Suffer Love

by Ashley Herring Blake

  Something soft flickers in her expression, but it’s a sad softness. I tighten my grip on her. “Should I have just said he’s a douche and I’m only pretending to be his friend so I can destroy his life from the inside?”

  A tiny smile slips onto her mouth.

  “You guys doing all right?” Scott approaches in battered Tevas. “You need to either climb or clear out. You’re clogging up wall space.”

  “Right. Sorry, man.” I take Hadley’s elbow, grateful for the mandate.

  She stumbles behind me, her head tilted to the side as she really looks at Scott’s skin art for the first time.

  “See something you like, darlin’?” His lips curl at her in a way that sort of makes me want to throat-punch him.

  She laughs nervously. “Oh. Um. Sorry. Just . . . nice tattoo.”

  I try to pull her away before we get our asses kicked out, but Scott just grins, clearly pleased. “Yeah, well. I figured the dude made the stuff, so he’d be the first to partake, know what I mean?”

  “Oh, yeah. My thoughts exactly.”

  “Okay, you guys still good?” Scott asks as he eyes a pair of dudes a few feet away trying to convince one of his employees to let them climb without a harness. Scott starts toward them before I can answer, calling over his shoulder. “Hey, seriously, no falling off and busting your heads open. I yak at the sight of blood.”

  “My thoughts exactly?” I echo when he’s out of sight.

  She laughs into her palms. “What was I supposed to say?”

  “Nothing. You say nothing to the guy who willingly had a needle stuck in his freaking neck.”

  She smiles, but it’s half-assed, and she wraps her harness straps around and around her finger.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, even though I’m pretty damn sure I don’t want to know.

  She crosses her arms. “This Josh thing is really bothering me, Sam.”

  I stifle a groan and pull my expression into something resembling interest. Because seriously, I’d rather talk about the possibility that Jesus smoked a fat one at the Last Supper than have another conversation about Josh Ellison.

  “I mean, I don’t get it,” she says, agitated. “Are he and Jenny back together?”

  “I think they’re working on it.”

  “But he’s a liar.”

  Her voice is getting edgier and edgier. I scrub a hand through my hair so hard it hurts. “He lied. He’s not a liar.”

  She frowns at my tone, but charges onward. “You really think there’s a difference?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m not! He messed up. So what? One bad choice doesn’t mean he’s an asshole forever.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I just think—”

  “Jesus Christ, Hadley, give it a rest! Can’t you just . . .” Let it go. But the words die in my throat. Hadley’s expression is a mix of anger and hurt, because I’m yelling. Freaking loud, grabbing the attention of half the gym.

  “Shit, I’m sorry.” I reach out for her hand. She lets me take it, mostly because I think I’ve shocked the fight out of her. “God, I’m sorry, Hadley. Please. I’m an ass.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I wait a beat, ready for more stupid to fall out of my mouth. A confession would be really nice right now, just get it the hell over with, but it doesn’t come because I’m a total pansy-ass. “Nothing. I’m tired, that’s all.”

  Her mouth parts in unbelief. Cold shame fills me up—hell, I don’t even believe me. “Had, I’m sorry.”

  She looks away, squinting at the other climbers. Her eyes land on a group of girls our age. They’re yelping and egging each other on, the girl on the wall laughing so hard, she’s now dangling from her rope like a sack of potatoes.

  “Let’s just climb, okay?” Hadley says, threading the rope through her device to give me some slack.

  I think I say yes, or at least nod. Doesn’t matter. I launch myself at the wall. Fucking Josh. Fucking parents. Fucking fuck. I take a different route this time, pushing everything from my mind that’s not me and the next hold. I swallow down everything I need to deal with. Everything in my whole goddamn life. I reach the top in a shower of adrenaline and a decent amount of oblivion. I rappel back down and unhook my rope.

  “Impressive.” Hadley’s voice is way more relaxed than before, but her smile is still tight.

  “Go again?” I ask, fingers tingling to get back up there.

  “Sure.”

  We both climb a few more routes. By the time eight o’clock rolls around, my stomach is growling and my arms and legs are aching.

  “What now?” Hadley asks when we get back into the car. She folds her arms around her knees, tucking herself away. Her hair sticks to the back of her neck, and her cheeks glow with the flush of exercise and excitement. Or maybe that’s just plain old pissed off.

  “Now.” I lean toward her to brush a kiss below her ear, desperate to diffuse this tension. I linger there for a minute, trying to memorize the way her skin smells and feels under my mouth. She sort of shivers and lets out a huge sigh. “We go back to my house and I cook you dinner.”

  She smiles and leans into me, my temper tantrum forgotten.

  For now.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Hadley

  My arms and legs and butt are already burning from using muscles I didn’t even know I had. The warm water from the shower runs over my skin, washing away the leftover chalk and soothing the blister on my right thumb. My body feels almost broken, but my mind is weirdly clear and still humming with Sam’s explosion.

  I throw on the jeans and long-sleeved shirt from my bag and find him in the kitchen. His hair is darker from his own shower, droplets of water sliding off the ends and onto the shoulder of his snug black T-shirt. He looks up from ladling a thick soup from a slow cooker into two bowls, the muscles in his forearms rippling. A smile ghosts across his mouth and we stare at each other for a few long seconds.

  “Chicken and dumplings?” I ask, glad for the distraction of food. He hands me the bowl on a plate with a thick slice of brown bread. I hop onto the barstool and he rounds the island to join me.

  “Uh, yeah. Hope that’s okay. I made it earlier today. It’s not fancy, but it’s good for sticking to your ribs after a workout. That’s what my dad used to say, anyway.”

  I slip a spoonful into my mouth. “Holy crap.”

  “Holy crap good?”

  I nod through a mouthful and he grins.

  “It’s Ajay’s favorite. He loves it so much, he doesn’t even use a spoon, just scoops up the broth and dumplings with a piece of bread.”

  “Ah. Good ol’ Ajay.” I rip off a hunk of bread. “Speaking of your verbose pal, what’s up with him and Kat?”

  Sam’s spoon freezes in midflight to his mouth.

  “Sam Bennett. Tell me he left that pig in her locker.”

  He lowers his spoon and turns to face me, a wry smile on his lips. “Now, that’s not a sentence one would expect to hear every day, is it?”

  “Sam.”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose such sensitive information.”

  “You do realize that your goofy grin is sort of giving you away.”

  He laughs and squeezes my knee. “Kat’s in good hands, Hadley. That’s all I can say.”

  “She better be, or I will personally ensure that Mr. Desai’s ability to procreate is severely impaired.”

  “Duly noted.”

  After dinner, we end up curled under a blanket on Sam’s bed, watching old episodes of Friends on his computer. We laugh at all the appropriate places, but it sounds forced, from both of us. I try to concentrate on the dialogue, on Sam’s fingers idling up and down my arm, but my mind keeps drifting back to his outburst in the climbing gym. I’ve never seen Sam so worked up. I know he’s struggling with his dad gone, and his relationship with his mom is borderline scary. He was angry, and I understand angry, but it all seem
ed directed at me . . .

  I shiver in Sam’s arms.

  “Was this a good date?” he asks, startling me out of my thoughts.

  I nod, my head nestled where his shoulder meets his chest. I breathe in his clean, soapy smell, letting the realness of him push out the doubts in my mind.

  “Sorry we didn’t go to a fancy restaurant or something. I wanted to do something memorable, something unique.”

  “No, I loved it. Scott was by far the highlight.”

  “Ha.” He takes my hand and threads our fingers together. “I could waltz you around my room if you want.”

  I laugh and nuzzle in closer. “Maybe later. Right now, this is perfect.”

  “Yeah. Almost perfect.”

  “Almost?”

  He inhales so sharply, it’s nearly a gasp. “Hadley. I . . . I need to talk to you.”

  I prop myself up on my elbows. “What? What’s wrong?” I ask, and his eyes fill with this deep sadness. He looked the same way at the gym when he realized he was yelling at me. I want to erase that look, soak it up with my skin and replace all of it with us. I touch his face and he closes his eyes.

  I press my lips to his. He tenses briefly and then releases, like he’s letting go of something heavy. He rolls me over onto my back and looks down at me, eyes roaming over my face. He slides his thumb over my lower lip and brings his mouth to mine again. His kisses are slow and soft, exploring my jaw, down my neck, and across my collarbone before traveling back to my lips, and I’m nearly panting by the time he increases the pressure. His tongue slips over mine, carefully at first and then hungrily. My body responds, greedy for him, for every part of him I can’t reach. I hear our breathing, little sounds rolling out of our throats, driving our hands over each other’s bodies.

  Everything fades into the back of my mind. My parents. My nervousness over this fragile young thing between Sam and me. His anger at the gym. Because this is right. This. His hands in my hair and his breath on my neck. This is what I want and I feel almost giddy just letting myself want it.

  I pull up his shirt and he yanks it off. I run my hands over his smooth skin, glowing almost gold in the dim light. His leanly roped arms lift my own shirt and we’re skin to skin, mouth to mouth, racing heart to racing heart. Everything is warm, everything is soft but urgent. His hips slide in between my legs and I gasp, the feel of him sending little shivers all the way down to my fingertips. I find the button on his jeans and flip it free, my fingers edging along his skin and into the elastic of his boxers.

  He sucks in a breath.

  I find his mouth again and tug his lower lip gently between my teeth. I push closer, the ache for him colliding with everything else. My hand dips lower.

  “God . . . Hadley.”

  Then everything stops.

  His hands encircle my wrists and he pulls them free, tucking them against his chest.

  “Wait.”

  His labored whisper barely filters through my own fog. My head spins, air pumping in and out of my lungs. “What? Why?”

  “Hadley.” His voice is soft in my ear, his breathing heavy. He kisses my cheek and lingers there.

  “Don’t you want this?” I ask.

  He lets out a ragged sigh. “Yeah. Jesus, of course I do. But—”

  “So I do too.” I try to pull him closer. I need him closer. Nothing is close enough. I press a kiss to his throat and push my hips toward his.

  “Hadley.” He cups my face between his hands. “Don’t. We’re not doing this right now. We’re not doing this at all.”

  That stops me. Stops the frantic pace of my heart, stops my hands from roaming. Stops everything. “Why not?”

  He exhales and dips his forehead against mine. “Because this isn’t right.”

  I push him back, now needing space between us. “What isn’t right, Sam?”

  “Us. Like this.”

  “Like what? What are you talking about?”

  He smooths a hand over my hair. The gentle movement should calm me, but his expression, his tone, his vague words send a pang of foreboding into my chest. Not foreboding—certainty that I’ve been an idiot.

  “Oh.” I jerk away from him, untying my legs from around his hips, and sit up. “Oh my God. Okay. I get it.”

  He sits up and catches my wrist. “Shit. No, no. No, you don’t get it. Can we just talk? Please, I need to tell you some things, but it’s . . . it’s really hard for me.”

  I swing my feet off the bed, my eyes already peeling through the dark room for my shirt. I find it and throw it over my head. It’s on backwards, the tag scratching at my throat, but I don’t even care. Embarrassment crawls over my skin and I yank my hand back when Sam tries to take it.

  “Hadley, please. Please stay.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . because I need you to stay.”

  I press a hand to my mouth and heave a few breaths. His expression is so earnest, so . . . I don’t even know. That same sadness from before but with something new mixed in. With a jolt, I realize it’s fear.

  “Okay. Fine. Just let me . . . I need a minute.”

  His shoulders relax. “All right. Thank you.”

  Without another look at him, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. It’s dark except for the light over the stove, the golden glow reminding me of winter nights and cups of chamomile tea. I find a glass and fill it with water, gulping it down in three swallows. I fill the cup again and drink more slowly this time, trying to still my pounding heart. Calm down. You can handle this. He’s just a guy. He’s just a guy.

  Tears threaten to crawl up my throat. The aching in my chest is almost unbearable as I try to hold them back, swallow them down with another gulp of water. I’m just about to set them loose when the overhead light flicks on. The glass slips from my hand, shattering at my feet in a dozen sharp, wet pieces.

  “Oh!” A female voice cuts through my shock. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I whip around and see Sam’s mom digging in a narrow closet by the door. She emerges with a broom.

  “I thought—” She startles as our gazes collide. She drops the broom, and everything in her face darkens and narrows. “Hadley.”

  “Hi.” I step over the broken glass. “I’m sorry about your glass. You surprised me.”

  “Surprise.” Her eyes roam over my rumpled hair and backwards shirt, but it’s not a friendly study. Cora Bennett is beautiful—an older, more chiseled version of Livy—but her expression is hard and cold. “Yes, I’d say this is a surprise.”

  “Sam’s upstairs. I was just getting a drink. I can clean this up.” I try to slide past her and take the broom, but she moves to the doorway, holding up a hand to stop me. I’m not sure why this woman seems to dislike me so much. I’ve barely spoken ten words to her, but the almost feral look in her blue eyes is evidence enough. Right now, I don’t have the energy to care why. I just want to get back to Sam, let him dump me with as much dignity as I can manage, and go home.

  But she has other plans. Her slender body is a wall in front of me.

  “Hadley, listen very carefully.” Her voice is as smooth as velvet, but sharp around the edges. “I know this is hard to understand, but you and Sam? Trust me when I say it is not a good idea. I need you to leave my house and I need you to leave my son alone.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Sam

  Jesus, this is a disaster.

  I listen as Hadley treads down the stairs, and flop back onto the bed. I think about my grandmother’s fuzzy upper lip. SATs. A bag full of dirty jockstraps. Anything to get my pissed-off body to go back to normal after having Hadley wrapped around me for so long.

  Christ.

  I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. The sight of her lying in my bed, tucked underneath me, looking so confused and earnest was exactly what I needed to push me over the edge of this whole ridiculous cliff I’ve been skirting for the past month.

  I get up and pace around my room, flipping on m
y iPod in the process. It picks up midsong, the frantic rhythm matching my pulse.

  I’m in full panic mode now. My palms are pouring water, my throat feels like I’ve been screaming obscenities at a Braves playoff game, and my mouth is watering because I seriously think I’m about to puke. I squeeze my fingers white on the sides of my dresser and try to get a damn grip. My mind runs circles around a thousand crappy ways to tell her, each one crappier than the previous crappy option.

  Why did I think I could put this off until now? I should’ve known the longer I waited, the worse the outcome. Ajay told me. Hell, even Mom told me in her own hands-off way. Now I’m in too deep and I’m about to freaking drown.

  The sound of glass breaking downstairs sends a cold stab through my veins. I grab my shirt and stuff it over my head as I fly down the steps. “Hadley, are you—”

  Mom’s form fills the doorway to the kitchen and her voice drifts back to me in one huge, nauseating wave. “. . . not a good idea. I need you to leave my house and I need you to leave my son alone.”

  What the hell?

  “Mom!”

  She whirls around, her eyes almost glowing, she’s so pissed. “Sam, what is going on? Did I not make myself clear on this issue?”

  I push past her to get to Hadley, who’s standing open-mouthed, her face flushed red, yanking at her fingers so hard I’m scared she’s going to rip them off.

  “I think I need to go,” she says.

  “That would be wise.” Mom’s eyes are on me like a snake viewing its next meal.

  “No, Hadley. We need to talk.” I take her hand, but she pulls away.

  Mom moves aside to let her pass, her arms folded in a bitchy knot over her chest. I follow Hadley upstairs to my room. She grabs her jacket and her bag with shaking hands, digging in the bottom for her keys.

  “Hadley.”

  “Don’t. Just stop.” Her voice quivers, not with tears but with rage. “Why does she hate me so much? What did I do?”