by Lisa De Jong
“Let me kiss you,” I whisper, moving my face close to hers.
She turns her head away from me. “I can’t, Drake.”
“Fuck, Emery. Didn’t you listen to a word I said? Don’t let me push you away.”
She flinches. In my haste to make her stay, I didn’t realize how much anger was radiating from my body. How my hands had tightened around her wrists.
Letting go, I back away, gripping my hair between my fingers. Why do I keep doing this? “Just go,” I whisper, turning my back.
My room’s never been so quiet, even when I’ve been alone. The empty space inside of me just grew a little bigger.
I wait until the door clicks before sliding to my knees. I’m lost, completely fucking lost.
I USE MY SLEEVES TO WIPE my eyes one last time before opening the door to my room. Kate’s probably not here, but if she is, I’m going to have some explaining to do. I drove around for at least an hour, trying to fix my blotchy, red face. It obviously didn’t work because I can’t stop crying.
When the room is in view, and Kate is nowhere to be seen, I let out a huge breath. It’s just me and my misery. We’ve been quite the pair for a long time now, and the aches and pains in my chest aren’t new to me.
With a quick tug, I pull my tear-stained sweatshirt over my head. I don’t know if it’s just me, but when things happen, things I’d like to forget, I want to get rid of everything that might hold that memory.
I throw my sweatshirt from the night before against the white wall behind my bed, watching it fall in a heap. When my mom left, I clung to some of the dresses she’d bought me. I still have a few of them buried deep inside a box somewhere. Every once in a while I like to take them out and remember the way things were. And sometimes I wonder if she held onto anything of mine. Did she take a piece of me with her, or didn’t I matter that much?
Damnit! I hate this. I hate how the sad moments in life bring back memories of every other sad moment I’ve ever experienced.
I throw on a pair of fresh gray sweatpants and a white tank and fall on my bed, not bothering to wash the make-up from my face. Tears probably washed away most of it anyway.
Curling up, I fold my knees to my chest, and remember the last time I saw my mom. It’s the one way I know to make myself cry, and I need to chase more of this sadness from my body.
I walk into the large skating rink with my dad by my side. I’ve been rubbing my hands raw since he told me to get in his truck. I know what he’s up to. He’s never been good at surprises.
As we pass the ticket counter and round the corner, the crowd yells, “Surprise!” I look up and HAPPY 13th BIRTHDAY, EMERY hangs on a huge banner on one side of the room. If my dad really knew me, he’d know this isn’t my thing. I hate parties. I don’t have a ton of friends. Most of these people are probably here for some free cake and a round of skating.
My dad bumps my shoulder with his. “Are you surprised?”
I paint a smile on my face. It’s my specialty. “Yes! Thank you, Daddy.”
“I love you,” he says, tapping his finger on my nose.
“I love you, too,” I reply, a genuine smile covering the old, fake one. Deep down, I know his words are true. He tries so hard for me, to make me happy. To make up for all the things he thinks he did wrong with Mom.
He disappears in the crowd. It’s an awkward moment for me. Alone. Disconnected. I’m the guest of honor, but I’d rather slip out the side door and sit in the bed of my dad’s pickup truck.
I walk around the room for a while, talking to a few kids in my grade, as well as neighbors and family friends. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, but as soon as I’ve blown out my candles, I make my birthday wish come true and disappear outside without anyone noticing.
I was born in July. One of the hottest, most humid months of the whole year. I shouldn’t want to be out here, but it’s quiet.
I remember where my dad parked his truck and make my way to the back of the building to find it. My white tennis shoes dig into the gravel, leaving a path of dust. My dad’s not going to be happy with me, but then again, he’s rarely happy anyway.
Hoisting myself up, I sit with my feet dangling off the bed of his old beat up truck. It’s Sunday, and the highway that runs by is quiet, and the air is still.
I sit with my hands pressed to the hot metal and count the minutes until someone will come looking for me. That’s when I notice it … the old blue Chevy driving around the back of the building. I don’t recognize it, and that says a lot because I know almost everyone in town and what they drive. My heart races as it comes toward me, slowing as it gets closer. Maybe coming outside alone wasn’t such a good idea.
When it’s close enough, I can see in the driver’s side window, and my heart stops. I recognize the person behind the steering wheel. Even after all these years, I’d know her anywhere.
A soft tap on my door brings me back to reality … the screen on my old movie going black before it was over. Pulling the covers up higher, I try to ignore the sounds at first, but when I hear them again a few seconds later, I don’t feel I have much choice.
I peek out the tiny hole in my door but can’t see anything. Against my better judgment, I open it a crack, hoping whoever is messing with me hasn’t gone too far.
That’s when I see him, sitting against the wall outside my room. Navy lounge pants have replaced his jeans and a gray t-shirt molds to his chest, but what really catches my eye is the agony on his face. His jaw clenched. His brows furrowed. Skin pale. I can’t deny how broken he is, and even after everything he’s done, there’s no denying it … he’s beautiful.
He never takes his eyes off me as he stands, taking slow steps in my direction. “What are you doing here?” I ask quietly.
His head tilts as he watches me carefully. “I couldn’t sleep without seeing you again. I think we have unfinished business. Can I come in?”
Without much thought, I open the door the rest of the way, silently inviting him in.
For once, he came to me.
He’s fighting back.
I step back into my dark room, not stopping until my legs hit the edge of my bed to put distance between us. I both hate and love when Drake is so close.
I’m not sure what I expected, but he doesn’t stop until his toes are practically on top of mine. I watch his hand slowly creep up until it disappears and wraps around the back of my neck, his thumb running against my jawline.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, lowering his forehead to mine. His voice is like a million pieces of broken glass begging to be put back together.
“Drake—”
His fingertips cover my lips. “Please. Let me touch you. I need to know that you’re real. That this is real.” He stops, removing his fingers and lightly brushing his lips against mine. “I promise to give you as much of myself as I can, but I need to go slow.”
Trust. It happens easily, but it can be broken even easier. Question is, how easy is it to gain it back?
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
His lips cover mine again, sweet and slow. “Please. I need this. You need this.”
Just as that infamous two-letter word is about to pass through my lips, his hands graze my collarbone, slowly working their way down my chest. All I hear is our mixed breaths as the familiar tingle runs down my spine. My body’s betraying me again.
“Be with me,” he whispers as his thumbs brush across my nipples. He presses his warm lips to my cheek, repeating it all the way down my neck.
Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to tell him no right now.
Not that I’d ever want to. Even if it’s just tonight, it’s going to be our night. The way his lips and hands worship my skin, it’s going to be a good night.
In a silent answer, I wrap my arms around his neck. He responds by wrapping his muscular arms around my back, ensuring that every inch of the front of my body is touching his.
There’s a tiny lingering voice in my hea
d telling me that we shouldn’t be doing this. We have too much to work out. Too many unsettled things between us. Deep down, I’m hoping this will open us up to each other.
Our bodies stay pressed together for several seconds before his hands settle on my hips, his fingers working to find the space between my pants and t-shirt. “Lift your arms,” he instructs, tugging my shirt over my head. He tosses it onto the bed before settling his hands back on my hips. His eyes fixate on mine as he skims his fingers up my sides and hooks them under my bra straps to pull it down. His hands make quick work of the clasp in the back, allowing the lace garment to fall to my feet. I wonder if he feels how hard my heart is beating. It’s thunderous … working hard enough to keep my mind from rethinking this.
With trembling fingers, I touch his stomach, using them to push the soft cotton to reveal one of my favorite parts of him. He has a perfect six-pack. And his chest, it’s a sculpted work of art.
“Emery,” he growls as my fingers continue their way up his smooth, hot skin.
I pull up on his shirt, and he lifts his arms, allowing me to take it off. We stand, shirtless, eyes locked. My room is dark, but a tiny strip of light comes in from between the curtains. It’s enough for me to see the battle isn’t over. This time, we’re going to win, not the ugly voices in his head.
My shaking hands fumble with the drawstring on his pants, loosening the tight knot and pulling until all that’s left is two strings hanging. I glance up at him before moving any further. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
My fingers graze his stomach before I slip them inside his waistband. I’ve never been more nervous or more excited at the same time. He gasps when my hand wraps around his warm cock. Slowly, I begin to move, watching him tilt his head back as his hands tighten their grip on me.
This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, but my experience is limited. When his lips part, it’s the reassurance I’ve been waiting for.
“Stop,” he growls, gripping my wrists.
I lower my eyes, not wanting to see any disappointment in his.
“Look at me,” he demands, holding my face in his hands. “I stopped you because I didn’t want to end the night like that. Don’t think for one second that I didn’t like it, because, Em, I fucking loved it.”
Smiling, I lean in to kiss him. He meets me halfway, much hungrier with this kiss. Hands, his and mine, are everywhere. Adrenaline is high, so high that I have no idea how I ended up on my bed with Drake straddling my thighs. His hot mouth trails down my skin, sucking and lapping each nipple before burning a path down my stomach.
Not a single thought goes through my head with exception of the amazing things Drake Chambers can do to me.
When his fingers slip under my waistband, his eyes search mine. Life’s filled with a bunch of forks in the road, and we both know this is a major one. It’s a threshold that once we cross we can’t get back over. For me, it’s a moment that will probably make or break the rest of my college life. I’m not the girl who considers this another college experience. This will become part of my history, good or bad.
Resting my shaky hands on his shoulders, I push lightly. He acknowledges it, pulling my pants down my legs. He stands quickly, letting his own pants fall to the floor before climbing back up the length of my body.
I feel him at my entrance, but he hesitates, studying me carefully. “I’m not a virgin,” I whisper, watching as one side of his mouth turns up.
“I never thought you were.”
“Everyone assumes,” I say, turning my head to the side.
His warm, calloused fingers press against my cheek, forcing me to look up at him again. “I’ve learned not to make any assumptions about you. You surprise me every day. Every fucking day, Em.”
Feeling him enter me, I pinch my eyes shut. Sex is an emotional thing that I’ve never let myself fully experience. I saw it as an expectation. Another mile on the road to adulthood. But this, with Drake, I want it to be different. I just don’t know what that is right now.
He buries his head in my neck, whispering to me as he continues to enter me.
“Relax.”
Another slow motion.
“I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”
A little deeper. God, it feels so good. My heart swells as he presses all the way in, filling me completely.
“You feel so fucking good wrapped around me.”
He moves out, and slowly pushes back in, giving me time to adjust. He repeats this a couple more times before we find our rhythm. I never knew it could be like this, his hands and mouth paying just as much attention to my body as the rest of him. It’s never been this way for me.
My fingers tangle in his hair as my legs wrap around his trim torso, bringing us even closer. “Jesus,” he says, his lips still pressed to my neck.
“Not quite,” I tease, lifting his head to kiss his swollen lips.
He smiles against my skin. “Oh yeah,” he says as he speeds up his motions. That familiar pressure I felt in the bathroom with him that night starts again, but this time it’s even more intense. With each movement, he’s right where I need him, pushing me higher.
I love that feeling. The one that happens right before falling, and this time, I fall hard and fast, my body clenching his tightly.
“Fuck.” He pumps into me with one final thrust, curling his fingers in my hair, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
Sweat drenches his hair and our skin. That was the best freaking physical experience I’ve ever had in my life. It’s the first time I’ve let myself let go. It’s the first time I’ve left the lights turned on, and really let someone see me, let myself see anyone.
“Are you okay?” he asks, kissing my chin. I still feel him inside me, and I want more. This part of me has been locked up for too long.
“More than okay.”
“You don’t regret it?”
“Not yet. Give me a day or two,” I tease, combing my fingers up and down his back.
Grinding his hips against mine, he says, “Then we’ll just have to do this again tomorrow, and the next day, so you don’t forget how fucking good it was.”
“That I won’t easily forget.”
“Me either.” His voice is lower this time.
AFTER EMERY STORMED OUT of my room earlier, I sat in the same spot for over two hours, staring at the wall. My shoulder wasn’t bothering me anymore or maybe it was, but I didn’t feel it because my chest hurt more.
I had to check on her to make sure she was okay. I had to see her to make sure I was okay.
I wasn’t after she left.
I wasn’t until I was in her room, my lips on hers. She forgave me. Now, I have to forgive myself and part of that requires giving her a piece of me. This thing we have is about more than sex, and I need to show that to her. I should have done it after she told me about her mom, but I wasn’t ready then. Maybe I’m not ready to let the past out in the open now, but I want Emery to know that she’s more than just a game to me. She means something …
Her fingertips blaze a trail on my back, relaxing me as my breathing evens out again. She trusted me. Now, I have to show her that I deserve it.
“My dad died when I was eleven,” I say quietly, my lips moving against her neck.
Her fingers stop, and she nudges me, trying to force me to look at her. “Drake.”
I need to keep talking, or I may never be able to get it out. I’ve detached myself … too much.
“He grabbed his coffee one morning, kissed each of us on the top of the head, and climbed into his car. It was the same routine he had every morning, but that morning he was upset with me …” I stop, trying to swallow down that part of the memory. Now that I look back, he had every right to be angry. I always acted like a punk where my sisters were concerned.
“Drake,” Emery whispers, pulling me back.
Her fingers lightly comb through my hair as I take a deep breath and continue. “A few minutes after he left, we heard siren
s but didn’t think much of it because we lived close to a busy highway. My mom grabbed our lunches from the fridge, and we all climbed in the car to go to school.”
The next part is difficult. Emery must sense it because she slides out from under me, laying her cheek against the pillow beside mine. Face to face, nowhere to run but to the truth. To something I’ve never told anyone. “We drove through our neighborhood like we always did, but when we got to the stoplight along the highway, red and blue lights were flashing everywhere. I guess that’s what I was looking at when I heard my mom scream. I’ll never forget that scream,” I say, lowering my voice. Even now when I close my eyes, I can still hear the gut-wrenching sound that I heard that day. A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down again.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, pressing her palm to my chest. There’s just enough light shining through the window that I can see her eyes watering. I never let any tears fall, not since the first day, but right now, they’re threatening.
“His light had turned green so he started across the road, and a drunk driver crashed right into his side of the car. They said he died almost immediately.”
She stares into my eyes, cupping my cheek in her hand. “I’m sorry. So so sorry.”
Holding my stomach, I attempt to chase away the queasy feeling I have whenever I picture the bent metal that used to be his car. He didn’t stand a chance. “I didn’t just lose my dad that day. I lost my mom, too. She’s never been the same, or even a shadow of who she used to be.”
“What was your dad’s name?”
“Michael,” I answer. I can hear my mom saying it in my mind. I used to know what was going on between them by the way she said his name, whether she was happy, angry, or sad … that’s how I knew.
“How old are your sisters?”
“They’re fifteen and eleven,” I answer, quietly. “I pretty much raised them after he died.”
She briefly removes her hand from my cheek, wiping the tears from under her eyes. I don’t want her sympathy … I just want her to understand me, why I’m not all warm and fuzzy. Why I have a metal shell around my heart. “What do you mean you raised them? You were only eleven.”
