Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  Jenna knew her friend was right…and that was when she decided she’d take that chance.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  SLEEP…IT HAD become the answer for everything. He couldn’t handle the brightness of life anymore, and H was no longer dulling its edges. It was harsh and bright and relentless. He couldn’t make decisions anymore, couldn’t work up the motivation to do anything, and even his guitar wasn’t taking the pain away.

  He should have been happy. He should have found comfort and strength in his wife and new son. Instead, they just added to the feeling of being buried under a mountain of have tos. He had to do this; he had to do that; he wasn’t a good person if he didn’t do x, y, and z.

  It had always been a cloud that had been with him, but the chemicals usually helped, often taking the edge off the shit life threw his way. But now…having that dark cloud along with more responsibility than he felt he could handle made him feel completely lost. The only thing that helped anymore was sleep.

  If he could, he would just sleep the remainder of his life away.

  It didn’t take away the needs, though. When he woke up, he still wanted a beer or a hit. He’d still go find some nasty girl who’d let him fuck her in a way that was probably illegal in most states, even though she’d happily consented, and he always found new things to do to get himself off. And then he’d gorge himself, because when he went back to sleep, he’d go for what seemed like days without eating.

  And then he’d go back to sleep. It probably was days.

  Sleep was his savior.

  Yeah, he was being a shitty dad, husband, and friend, but he knew he’d be worse if he were awake and trying to deal with it. He knew his family and friends wouldn’t understand anyway. It was evident in all their dealings with him that they’d never had a clue. Maybe he’d played it off all too well all those years. He’d acted like a disinterested asshole for so long, made them not care, so they had no idea how badly he’d been hurting inside.

  Only anymore it didn’t hurt. He didn’t know that he’d ever be able to explain it to anyone, but it was a feeling of detachment and of needing to feel detached. It was sleep that took away any anxiety he might have felt; it was necessary for him so that he didn’t have to look at his son anymore, knowing deep inside how much he was failing the child but feeling unable to do anything about it. He knew what Brad would say…he’d tell Ethan to stop being a lazy son of a bitch and do something about it, but that was the problem…he was helpless to do anything.

  And after a few months of the same pattern—sleeping for eighteen-plus hours a day, eating, talking for a minute or two with Val and Chris, maybe finding something to make the cloud lift a little, and every third or fourth day going to find someone meaningless to fuck—he realized something really bad was happening with him. Sure, he’d heard Val’s questions, sensed her worry, but it was like she was behind soundproof glass. He could see it but couldn’t do a damn thing about it. It was bad, though, worse than it had ever been, and he was afraid that now the rest of his life he was going to have to deal with whatever it was. He knew his life sucked. No one would want to live that way, but he also had no answer as to how to change it. So he kept sleeping. It was the only thing that helped him survive.

  Val wasn’t helping. She was constantly harping on him to get out of bed, to spend time with her and Chris, to do something. Couldn’t she see he was dying?

  He had no name for whatever it was that was overtaking him, had no idea what to call it or how to describe it. It only was what it was, and it had become a permanent fixture in his life. Hell, it had become him.

  He thought once or twice about getting help…but only pussies did that.

  One day, he was still sleeping in the afternoon, and he felt Val sit on the bed next to where he lay. He was on his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow. She touched his shoulder and then he heard her voice. “Ethan, wake up.” A little louder. “Wake up, Ethan.” Her voice was quieter again when she said, “I can make some coffee if you want.”

  He didn’t want to get up, and coffee was no motivator. He wanted—needed—sleep. She didn’t understand. She had no idea what he was dealing with, but he didn’t feel like explaining it to her. He only wanted her to go away. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

  Her voice was firm again. “Ethan, it’s two o’clock. You should get up.”

  Now he was getting pissed. That she just couldn’t get him, couldn’t empathize, wouldn’t even try was irritating. Like getting out of bed would solve shit. It was childish, but he said, “What for? Just leave me alone, mom.”

  “We need to talk, Ethan. Please. Please just get up for a while.” No change in her voice. He wasn’t getting through to her at all.

  It was frustrating enough. He’d fallen in love with this girl who was day to his night. She’d never be able to comprehend any of the thoughts or feelings going through him. Yes, he knew she loved him too, but they just didn’t fit together. Not at all. And for some reason it was pissing him off this morning. “If I have to tell you one more time…” But sweet sleep grabbed him by the brain again, and let him float away, away from the problems, the anxiety, the pressure, and Val’s insistent voice.

  Until she spoke again, this time, more firmly. “What, Ethan? You’ll what?”

  That was it. He was going to have to be mean to get through to her. He just wanted to sleep…nothing else. No conversation, no analysis, no interaction. “Just get the fuck out of here.” He knew she wouldn’t believe what shit was going on in his head, so he managed to piece together a bullshit argument for why he needed to sleep. “I’m tired. You and that little brat were so goddamned noisy this morning.”

  She didn’t let him go any further. “Brat? You’re calling your son a brat? That precious child who wants nothing more than his father’s love?” Oh, she might change her mind. If only she knew. His kid didn’t need to be exposed to the shit in Ethan’s head or whatever the fuck was going on with him. It was better Ethan be in bed than infect his son with whatever was going on with him. But she wouldn’t stop. “Did you know he’s talking now, Ethan?” Fuck, yes, he knew his son was talking, and if he hadn’t been so deep in this hole, that sentence might have made him cry. “He says real words, communicates. But I suppose you think that’s just noise.”

  She just didn’t get it. She was making it worse, whatever was going on. Trying to make him feel guiltier than he already did wasn’t going to get him out of bed. It was making him angry, and—on one level—Ethan preferred that to feeling nothing or feeling numb. “Goddammit, Val. Just get the fuck out of here.”

  Maybe that worked. She was quiet and Ethan suspected, because of her sigh, that she was going to leave. Then he could just slip back into that cocoon of nothingness he’d created for himself. He could disappear again.

  But no. That’s when she hit him harder than ever with her words. “Can we talk about your depression, Ethan?”

  That punched him in the kidneys. She knew. She knew something was wrong. Was that what it really was—just depression? That didn’t seem to cover it all, though, because he didn’t always feel sad. That didn’t seem entirely accurate and yet… “Who says I’m depressed?” He didn’t want to talk about it anyway. Giving it a word somehow made it worse.

  “What would you call it, Ethan?”

  No way in hell was he exposing any weakness to his wife. No way. He was pretty sure her opinion of him was in the toilet anyway. “You’re bothering me. You’re always bothering me. That’s what my problem is.”

  She still wouldn’t leave. “How am I always bothering you?”

  Jesus. “The kid constantly screaming. You constantly harping on me about shit. I just want to be left alone.”

  But she wouldn’t. Her voice was more strained now. He could hear that through the haze. “A little solitude is good for a person, Ethan, but you’re taking it to the extreme and you know it.” She didn’t understand. He needed it. It was all that was keeping him alive anymore. �
��Fine. You can treat me like shit. You always have. But you need to spend time with your son.”

  Seriously? He had always treated her like shit? And to bring his son into it…didn’t she realize that not interacting with his son was probably the best thing he could do for the child? “Goddammit. Just leave me the fuck alone, Val. How many different ways do I have to tell you I don’t want you around?”

  It was like she’d turned off the emotional part of her brain. “Fine. I’ll leave.” He felt her stand as her weight left the mattress, but there was something about the way she’d said it. She was just turning herself off, giving up on him instead of simply doing the one thing he’d asked for, the one thing he’d needed—time to himself. She wasn’t going to help him fight. She was just giving up.

  As though someone had possessed him, he got out of bed. There was no thought involved. He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around to face him. God, she was beautiful. She was still like an angel to him after all these years. His muse… But right now, she looked cold and cut off. There was no anger in her eyes, no passion, no love. She looked cold. Did she still love him? Did she care? “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

  “Let go of me, Ethan. That hurts.”

  She was lost to him, and it was as though his father was taking over his body…that part of him, that animal that he’d fought to keep down, the part he’d drugged senseless, but there it was and it took him over. The look of fear and sadness in her eyes couldn’t stop it. “Not until you answer my question.”

  She was near tears, and it still couldn’t shake him out of the dull rage inside him. “I’m getting away from you. That’s what you wanted, remember? How many times did you tell me to just leave you alone?”

  He managed to let go of her arm, and she turned to leave again, but then it was as though he had absolutely no control over his body. That same hand, no longer under the auspices of his own brain, grabbed her arm again, and he pushed her against the wall. No. That wasn’t him doing that, was it? It was as though Ethan were watching his father all over again.

  He could see Val’s strength. She was tough, and she was trying like hell to hide her fear, but there it was. She looked like his mom and somewhere deep inside he felt that old ache. But he was deep in there. He couldn’t talk to her, couldn’t tell her he loved her, needed her, wanted her. He heard his father’s voice when the words came out of his mouth. “You still love me, don’t you, Val?” She struggled, but he tightened his grip. “Val?”

  He could hear it in her voice, not just anger and strength but desperation. She was like a cornered animal, and he could see it in her eyes, that moment where she was unconsciously deciding if she wanted to fight or flee. It made him feel desperate too, as though she were his only link to reality.

  She struggled against his hand but was no match for him. She found her response and that was to flee. She tried wrenching her arm from his hand clenched around her arm but couldn’t. She looked angry too, though. “Let me go, Ethan. You wanted me to leave you alone, so I am.”

  The part of him buried deep inside wanted to pull her close, hold her, beg her to stay, beg her to never stop loving him, but the shell, that other part, the part that felt like his dad, wouldn’t let him do it. That part of him bitch-slapped the part of Ethan that loved this woman and sent him reeling across the room. It took over him completely, and Ethan felt like he was watching helplessly as his hand pressed against her neck, starting to squeeze.

  He could see her, though. She looked scared as she said, “Stop it, Ethan,” but he was unable to stop. He could feel his fingers closing in on her neck harder, as though it would shut her up forever, and he sensed, rather than felt, her hands pushing against his chest, slapping at him, then turned into fists, beating on him.

  He fought it. He had to. He was watching himself kill the only woman he’d ever loved, the woman who’d brought him a beautiful son. Down inside there somewhere, he fought and clawed to get loose. He had to, before he did something he’d regret, because as much as he wanted to blame his behavior on his father or some other entity, he knew it was himself. It was the darkest part of him, the part that would never be happy, would never love or care about anyone. And he fought against it, afraid the better part of him would never win.

  But it did.

  The conscious part of himself was able to stop it. He regained control of his mindless emotion and forced himself to let go of her neck. Oh, that beautiful, delicate neck…and what had he done? She looked hurt and afraid. He wanted to pull her into an embrace, assure her he loved her and tell her this would never happen again.

  Instead, as soon as he took his hand off her, she got out of his reach.

  As much as it hurt, he let her.

  He heard her go into Chris’s room, but he had to get away. He slipped on the pair of dirty jeans on the floor next to the bed and stumbled out of the room. First, he stopped by the fridge and grabbed a beer, and then he made his way to a chair in the living room. He heard Val rummaging around the house, but he just sat there until she walked past him toward the front door. Then he made his way to the garage. They didn’t park their cars in there. Instead, it was where they kept the Christmas tree and all of Ethan’s guitars, amps, and other equipment. He’d had heating and cooling installed in that space the year before and, up until six months ago, had spent lots of free time in there. He sat on a stool and just stared at his black beauty, one of his first guitars, one that had seen him through good and bad, pretty and ugly. That baby had known him before he’d even met Val, and even it couldn’t comfort him now.

  He knew she was leaving.

  He knew what he’d done—whether he’d felt like it was out of his control or not—had been the catalyst, and that was it.

  He couldn’t even cry, but part of him wanted to.

  As he heard her start the car just outside, he stood up and walked over to a shelf where he had pedals and other gadgets stored and picked up the small box tucked in the corner. He lifted the lid, and there she was…his only savior, the only lover who’d ever understood him.

  He stared at her for a few minutes, wrapped in her little plastic bag. And then he sighed. He opened the drawer on the table just under the shelf to pull out the blackened spoon. Maybe, maybe just one more time, she could dull the edges, because he really couldn’t take this shit anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  JENNA FELT A knot in the center of her stomach. Against her better judgment, she’d decided to just embrace her feelings for Ethan, and now it appeared that she’d been a stupid idiot. He’d called her earlier that day on her cell and said, “I really need to talk to you. When can I come see you?”

  Her heart seemed to stop beating, but she forced herself to say, “You can come over tonight. I should be home a little after five.”

  Since then, she’d been a nervous wreck. She knew it. She just knew it. He’d managed to make it through her defenses, and now he was going to rip out her heart. She tried to be rational, knowing that he wasn’t necessarily going to do anything of the sort, but she had no idea what to expect.

  Well, if he was going to hurt her and dump her, better now than a month from now. After talking with Sophie, Jenna had decided to just fully embrace her feelings for Ethan. What a dumb ass. She’d never learn.

  So when he finally got to her apartment, she’d managed to cool herself somewhat. No sense acting like a smitten little girl if his feelings weren’t the same. She opened the door. “Hey, there.”

  He didn’t look like he was ready to call the whole thing off. No. He didn’t seem closed off or distant. Instead, he said “Hey” back, and she closed the door behind him.

  She had to know, though. She’d been tense all afternoon, worried about what Ethan had to say, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She could feel how tense her shoulder muscles had become, and she wondered how long it would take to let the anxiety go. She tried to sound as casual as possible when she said, “So what’s up? What was it you ne
eded to tell me?”

  “That can wait,” he said as he got close to her and took her face into his hands. His kiss took her breath away. She hadn’t expected that, not for a moment, but she wasn’t turning him away. Instead, her arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. His tongue was warm but insistent. It was a hell of a hello greeting.

  When he ended the kiss, she had a hard time opening her eyes. Well, if nothing else, she was pretty sure he hadn’t come over to break up with her…or if he had, it was the weirdest break up she was ever going to go through. She smiled when she finally looked at him. He was a sight, a gorgeous rock god, and that he was here with her kind of floored her. “Seriously, Ethan, you had me all stressed out today, wondering and worrying about whatever it was you had to talk to me about.”

  Imitating the tone of her voice, he said, “Seriously, Jenna, there is nothing to stress about. I’m just not ready to talk about it. I mean…you answered the door in this skimpy little tank top that’s clinging to your curves. Your twins are talking to me, begging for my attention. No way can I concentrate on something stupid right now.”

  She didn’t laugh, though she was tempted to. It wasn’t funny and yet it was hilarious, that Ethan Richards, a guy who could probably have any woman he wanted, was distracted beyond belief by her breasts. She hadn’t thought twice about what she was wearing, aside from the fact that she’d been hot all day and wanted to wear something cool once she got home. But before she could even reply, his lips were on her neck, kissing her and licking the flesh, and Jenna was starting to think the season had nothing to do with her body temperature.

  She would have thought it would take some time to switch gears, but it really didn’t. She was ready. She felt a sigh—almost a cry—escape her throat as she dug her fingers into Ethan’s back. His lips moved down her neck to her collarbone and then down to her cleavage, the part of her body he claimed had distracted him from all else. And that was it. She was wet and ready to beg him to take her in less than a minute.