Jax came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I closed my eyes and leaned back into him, loving the feel of his arms around me. When Jax held me like that, the world seemed right, even if most of it sucked.
I still had problems; I still thought about them. I stressed about the Iain thing, about having to possibly see him more. He was my boss’ brother, after all. I was still at odds with my best friend, still isolating myself from my mother. I was still carrying the fear from the attack, but it all seemed a little more manageable with Jax. I felt like I could face anything with him by my side. It was alarming, but it was also somehow freeing.
I never thought that needing someone would be freeing, but needing Jax…that was freeing, that was natural. That was right.
“What are you thinking about?” he murmured, his lips pressing a tender kiss to the back of my head.
“Just things,” I said, smiling. I tilted my head and Jax nuzzled my neck.
“What kinds of things?” he asked, his lips vibrating against my skin. I could feel him smile.
“That this carpet would look good in your living room.” I shrugged.
Jax lifted his head, studying it. “It would,” he agreed. “Let’s get it.”
The causal usage of ‘let’s’ made my heart thump erratically in my chest, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It excited me because I wanted it. I wanted the “us” with Jax. I smiled and nodded in agreement, allowing him to grab it off the shelf.
Four hours and two trips home later, we were staring at the huge pile of purchases spread out on the living room floor. He’d bought the solid birch table, chairs and bench, as well as a dark gray sectional couch and several kitchen supplies: pots, pans, dishes, cups—the works. He hadn’t had any of those items at the house he rented from, as the common areas were already furnished.
“Oh, I forgot about this part,” I tittered gleefully, rubbing my hands together as I looked at the chaos on the floor. “IKEA instructions are notorious for being complicated. I’m so glad Jenna and I skipped this part. Secondhand IKEA furniture comes already put together.”
“I can build a shelving unit without instructions,” Jax pointed out, kneeling on the ground and organizing the boxes. “I’m pretty sure this will be easy.”
I smirked, kneeling down beside him so that I could help. Every guy said something like that when it came to furniture assembly.
And naturally, Jax broke the mold for that too. He swore a little, and had to improvise a few times, but it only took two hours to set up the sofa and the dining room table.
We stood back to admire our handy work. I’d swept and cleaned up while he finished with the table, and the apartment was looking more like a home. The shelves were still empty and void of personalization, but it was getting there.
Jax wordlessly slid his arm around my waist, resting his hand against my hip. He pulled me closer to him and kissed the top of my head. “Thanks for all your help. You make this place feel like a home.”
I couldn’t help but duck my head and smile. The effect Jax’s words had on me was ridiculous. Not that I was surprised; the man had my heart.
“Well, thanks for distracting me,” I responded. The last few weeks were hard on me. Hard enough for me to reconsider seeing a psychiatrist; hard enough for me to feel weighed down with the decisions I’d made. All the damage I’d caused inadvertently while trying to protect the ones I cared about—and myself.
Jax was a welcoming respite from all the bad shit that chased me around every conscious moment of the day—and most subconscious moments as well. After the shit went down with Jenna, my nightmares came back. Only these nightmares were not memories forcefully replaying in my mind. These nightmares were about Jenna being in danger, and me unable to save her.
They were a perfect metaphor for me breaking Jenna’s heart. I’d wanted to protect her, not cause unnecessary damage by telling her something that may not even matter. In the end, the hardest pill for Jenna to swallow had been my silence.
Jax’s fingers gently squeezed my hip, urging me to return to him. “I’ll be a distraction for you any day,” he murmured, using his arm to guide me so that I was standing right before him. His hands cupped my face, tipping my chin back so he could claim my lips.
It was Monday morning, and I was doing a non-traditional walk of shame down the stairs to the second floor. I’d spent the night at Jax’s again, and needed to stop off at home so I could get ready for the day. I needed a shower, a change of clothes, and my toothbrush. Stat.
I slid my key into the lock of our apartment, hesitating for a moment. Although Jenna and I had briefly spoken at Jax’s the other day, I wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to receive me. I’d spent the weekend helping Jax get set up in his new place, and Jenna hadn’t been home often either. She’d been busy with Kyle. When I did stop by the apartment for a change of clothes, it was vacant.
At this hour, Jenna should be getting ready for class. I could hear the distant sound of music playing. I took a deep breath and twisted the key, unlocking the door. I pushed it open and walked inside, closing it behind me. Music wafted down the hallway, spilling out from Jenna’s partially opened door and joined with the sound of her blow dryer.
I walked down the hall and cautiously peered in. Jenna was running product through her short tresses, styling her hair. Her makeup was already perfectly applied, and she dressed in her typical manner: jeans and a baggy yet dressy top that hugged her narrow waist.
She glanced towards the door, seeing me. “Hey,” she said, looking back at the mirror. “How was your weekend?”
“Good…yours?”
“Great.” She smiled, her eyes taking on a dreamlike quality. “Kyle is incredible.”
“Wait, did you…” I felt awkward for asking the question. I wasn’t sure if Jenna was still angry at me, but I was dying to know. I wasn’t an idiot; I’d put two and two together. Kyle had been in Jenna’s bed with her, but after our conversation all those weeks ago, I guess the possibility of them actually having sex hadn’t really crossed my mind. I hadn’t thought Jenna was ready for it.
She glanced at me again, biting her lip as she warred between spilling the beans and freezing me out. She decided to go with the first choice. “Yes!” she finally blurted, her cheeks flushing. “And Harlow, it was perfect. He was perfect! I…I actually wanted to.” She looked lost, as if the admission startled her.
I stepped towards her, trying to hide my smile. Even though I wasn’t certain about Kyle, even though I worried about him hurting her, I was so thankful that Jenna had finally been able to get past that fear when it came to intercourse. Separating yourself from sexual abuse victim to sexual being was no easy task, and I knew that Jenna still had a long way to go, but at least this encounter would give her hope that it was possible for her to still experience a sexual life without the panic. I was happy for her, happy for that relief and elation that danced across her flushed face.
“Jenna, that’s great,” I told her sincerely.
“You really mean that? I know you don’t like Kyle…”
“Of course I mean it, and it’s not that I don’t like Kyle, Jenna…I’m just apprehensive about him. He’s a star, or well on his way to being one anyway.” I shrugged. “I’m…protective of you.”
At my words, Jenna’s mouth hardened. She took a deep breath, dropping her gaze. My shoulders slumped. “I know,” she said simply. She bent over to pick up her book bag. “I need to go…”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you later tonight?” I asked, stepping aside so she could leave her bedroom.
“Yeah.” Jenna nodded.
“Maybe we could do Ryan Gosling and Ben & Jerry’s night?” I added hopefully.
“Well…I was supposed to hang out with Crimson tonight, but maybe she could join us?” Jenna responded, pausing in the hallway.
“Yeah, no that’d be great,” I said, my words rushing out and tripping over one another. I hadn’t really had a chance to hang out with Crims
on in a while; it’d be good to see her again. I tried to ignore the fact that the idea of sharing this ritual with Crimson made a tiny swell of jealousy rise up.
Jenna gave me a small smile and headed down the hall and out the door. The apartment was oddly quiet without her. I wasn’t impervious to the fact that usually, Jenna would have waited for me to shower and dress. She was still mad at me, but she was trying to move past it. I suppose that was all I could ask of her. I’d hurt her badly, and she needed time to get over that.
At least she was speaking to me again, and sharing a little bit of her life with me. With that thought, I sighed and glanced around the apartment. Moisture started to build on my palms, and I suddenly felt light; weak.
I hadn’t allowed myself much of an opportunity to be alone in this place, not since the attack. If Jenna wasn’t there, then Jax was.
I drew in another shaky breath and shook my head, trying to clear out my jumbled thoughts. I didn’t want to revisit the night of the attack, and I hadn’t really done so in a while—I was too distracted by the drama with Jenna and Iain.
Still, I couldn’t think about having a shower until I locked the doors.
* * *
Professor Sharpe announced that towards the end of our Creative Writing class we would have a guest speaker, someone who was going to talk about the process of writing a book, publishing and marketing it. He thought we could benefit from the opinion of someone that wasn’t him.
“An outsider’s view,” he’d explained with a smile. “And one of my personal friends from University. I’m excited for you all to meet him! We’ll actually be reading his novel and then discussing it.”
My interest was piqued; we hadn’t yet had any authors visit our class to discuss the lengthy process. I doodled on my notebook, half listening to Professor Sharpe’s lecture. I only lifted my eyes off the page when I heard the sound of the lecture hall doors opening and Professor Sharpe stop mid-sentence to greet the visitor.
“Iain! Welcome to Creative Writing. It’s been awhile since you’ve been in this hall!”
The sensation of my stomach falling was discomforting. All I could do was blink stupidly towards the door where Iain Bentley stood. He gave Professor Sharpe a small, friendly smile. “Yeah, it’s been some time, Nick.”
Professor Sharpe motioned for Iain to join him at the podium. I sank down lower in my seat, frowning. In a million years, I hadn’t expected Iain Bentley to be the guest speaker that Professor Sharpe had arranged. His career was just launching, after all. How much success could he have seen?
Iain walked up to the podium, exuding confidence from every pore. He was comfortable in front of a huge crowd of students; he was at ease. I watched as he shook Professor Sharpe’s hand. The professor grinned and pulled him in for a hug, slapping him on the back. He muttered something that none of us could hear, and Iain nodded.
“Alright, if you’re ready then?” Professor Sharpe arched a brow. Iain inclined his head and stepped up to the podium.
His eyes slowly drifted over the faces before him, and I slunk down even further in my seat. I didn’t want to be seen. Thankfully, I was sitting behind a very tall, very large guy, and Iain’s eyes glanced right past me.
“I’m Iain Bentley, the author of Circumstance. It released a few months ago, and has already been well-received. Or at least, Professor Sharpe likes to think so.” He added this part playfully, like a joke. Some of the students chuckled at his attempt, and Iain raised his hand with a smile. “I know, I’m not the best at telling jokes. But I seem to know what I’m doing with this writing thing, so that’s why I’m here today. That and Professor Sharpe probably didn’t assemble a decent teaching outline for today.” More laughter followed his statement, mainly from the female students. Most of them sat up taller in their seats. Delilah was sitting beside me, twirling her hair with a flirtatious smile. I wanted to smack her. Of course she’d be salivating all over Iain.
Iain went on to talk about the gist of his book, his journey with finding the right agency to publish him, and how traditional publishing differed from self-publishing. Professor Sharpe was an expert at self-publication, while Iain had gone the traditional route. It was interesting to hear the differences between the two methods, but I couldn’t focus. My nails dug into my palms as I thought about Professor Sharpe’s words. He wanted us to read, and discuss, Iain’s book: the book that was written about me.
I couldn’t even bring myself to read the summary on it, or any of the reviews. How was I supposed to read it?
“I’m really honored that Professor Sharpe has selected my book as a part of your reading list. I can’t wait to hear what you all think about it.” I realized with surprise that Iain was wrapping up his speech. He stepped away from the podium, leaving it to the professor.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Iain. Your book is incredibly well-written and raw. I’m sure my students will enjoy it. Why don’t you tell them about the Margo show?” Professor Sharpe added, grinning at Iain. Iain almost blushed at his suggestion.
“No, that’s quite alright. I’ve said enough.” Iain politely smiled.
“Fine, I’ll tell them. Iain’s flying out tomorrow to appear on the Margo Morning Show in sunny LA!” Professor Sharpe informed us, speaking as though he was a proud father. The class clapped for Iain, and shouted out congratulatory comments. I remained silent, all colour fading from my face.
“Are you okay?” Delilah demanded, looking at me. Her nose was wrinkled with distaste.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I muttered, dropping my head so that my hair would shield my face from her judgmental eyes. I could see her through the strands, leaning away.
“Well, you look like you’re going to throw up,” she said.
I ignored her, willing the class to just end. I did feel a little nauseous.
“If you throw up, don’t aim it anywhere near me,” she added. I rolled my eyes, my fingernails digging deeper into my skin. She was the first thing I’d aim for.
Finally, Professor Sharpe wrapped it up with a reminder to pick up a copy of Iain’s book from the local bookstore, and we were free to leave.
Now the next challenge came. The challenge I wasn’t looking forward to: leaving without Iain noticing me. I took a deep breath, steeling myself.
“I am going to go up and talk to him,” Delilah declared. I ignored her again, beginning to make my way out of the lecture hall, following the sea of students and trying to be inconspicuous. I wanted to leave undetected, but Professor Sharpe caught sight of me.
“Ms. Jones! Come here please!” he called out, alerting Iain to my presence. Surprised to hear my last name, Iain looked up. His eyes locked with mine, and I was trapped. I couldn’t ignore my professor; he knew I’d heard him. I walked down the rest of the stairs, joining my professor and Iain at the front of the class.
Delilah glowered at me with pure rage, obviously put out that Professor Sharpe hadn’t asked her. Still, she lingered, waiting for her opportunity to speak to Iain.
“Ms. Jones, I wanted to introduce you to Iain Bentley personally. Iain, Harlow is my star pupil. Her work is phenomenal,” Professor Sharpe said, grinning at me with great affection.
Iain seemed dazed by my presence; he couldn’t take his eyes off me. “I know,” he muttered distractedly.
Professor Sharpe glanced at him quickly, his eyes widening with surprise. “You know each other?” he asked, looking from me to Iain.
Iain swallowed hard, and I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He forced a smile for Professor Sharpe. “We’re…acquainted,” he finally said.
“Right.” Professor Sharpe’s smile faded slightly and he cleared his throat. “Anyway, as I was saying…Harlow is one of my most talented pupils. I really feel that with the right encouragement, she’d be a fantastic author—if that’s what she chooses to do after graduation. I’ve already offered to help her tackle the self-publishing sea, but figured an introduction to someone going the traditional route would be
beneficial as well.”
Iain pursed his lips, nodding with agreement to Professor Sharpe’s explanation. He was dressed in grey dress pants and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his lean forearms, the muscles taut with tension.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely, taken aback by Professor Sharpe’s open praise.
“I thought she’d benefit from some guidance from you, Iain. If you aren’t too busy promoting your new book that is,” he joked, shoving Iain’s arm playfully.
My jaw fell slack as Iain’s Caribbean eyes smoldered. “I—” I couldn’t think of a single response. I clamped it shut.
“I’m rather busy, unfortunately,” Iain finally said, picking up on my discomfort. “But if you ever want to shoot me an email with questions, I’d be happy to answer. I’d also recommend you to my publishing agency. I can’t guarantee approval, of course.” He fished a business card out of his pocket and held it out to me. I took it with a trembling hand, our fingers brushing for the briefest of moments.
“Good!” Professor Sharpe’s hands clasped together. “Now, how about we go for lunch, Iain? Catch up, just like old times?”
“Sounds good.” Iain nodded. He gave me another look, speaking a thousand words without saying a single one. “It was nice seeing you again, Harlow,” he added, humor sparking in his eyes.
“Yeah, ditto…” I said numbly. Delilah chose that moment to approach Professor Sharpe for her opportunity to speak to Iain. I left, and I could feel Iain’s eyes on my back the entire time.
* * *
“What’s wrong with you?” Crimson asked, tilting her head. Her curls fell over her shoulder and nearly into the glass of wine she held on her lap.
“Nothing,” I muttered quickly, not wanting to divulge the complicated mess in my head.
Collide Series Box Set Page 65
