West (A Roam Series Novella)

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

  I met her eyes. Real pain… “Trying not to touch you.”

  Tears filled her gaze, and she pressed her cheek to the pillow. “Just hold me,” she whispered.

  She was in my arms before she could finish her words. I kept her under the blankets, and me over, trying for some sense of decency. When she curled into my arms, I dropped the back of my head against the headboard, closing my eyes tightly and gripping her to me.

  Over and over I combed my fingers through her hair, unknotting tangles, avoiding touching her body as much as possible. I let my eyes wander around her bedroom, reading a Socrates quote out loud and admiring her swimming medals.

  Distract her.

  The dream fades in time; get through the next hours. “You’re fast- I’ve seen your records,” I commented on one trophy.

  “I can hold my breath for a really long time.”

  I shifted slightly, kicking my shoes to the edge of the bed. I wished I’d thrown on jeans instead of khakis and the dress shirt, but I’d already been dressed for class when I called her. “Clever use of your talent,” I smiled down at her.

  “It’s not nice to tease, Mr. Perry,” she said, actually managing to sound playful.

  And then she pressed her face to my chest.

  Through the thin cotton, I felt my skin tighten, and inevitably I knew what would come next. Shifting away from her, I didn’t want to frighten her with my erection jammed into her thigh.

  “West,” I corrected, quietly. Her hair, so soft, smelled wonderful; without thinking, I moved my mouth to the crown of her head, pressing a familiar kiss to her hair.

  She stiffened.

  “I’m feeling a little calmer. I need to go take a shower.” She drew away, and I let her go, knowing I’d gone too far. “I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

  I watched her disappear into the bathroom, and heard the click of the door locking.

  The bags with my laptop and books remained in my Pilot; I retrieved them, carrying them to the living room and settling in.

  I needed to focus.

  While it was my responsibility to help her through this and calm her after the nightmares, I had to be less familiar with her. I needed to create a partnership environment, not a romantic one.

  All I want to do is kiss her.

  I submerged my thoughts in the books, and after a while, I heard her ask if I wanted something to drink.

  “No, I want you to come rest on the couch, or back in bed,” I answered, continuing to read a passage on wormholes.

  “What are you reading?”

  When she dropped to the couch next to me, I turned to her.

  Pajamas. Well, those yoga pants as girls called them now (once upon a time they were called sweatpants) and a thin, gray V-neck. Glasses. Long, wet hair.

  “Sorry- I didn’t think you’d care if I wore sweats.”

  I dug my fingers into my temple. That fresh, vanilla smell, like warm cookies and sunshine, overwhelmed my senses.

  “It’s not that. You look about twelve years old in your glasses and pajamas.” Guilt gnashed at my gut. “Roam, I’m so sorry. I found you too early. I should have waited.”

  She crossed her legs beneath her on the couch, gathering her hair to one shoulder. “You couldn’t have waited. He’s here.” She pointed to the coordinates on her arm.

  The numbers for Madison, Ohio. The location of the Soul Alter.

  “You are so young to have to deal with all of this. The dreams- they are terrifying. They have the potential to drive you insane. That’s not an expression,” I clarified.

  I asked her about the dream, and we discussed the numbers and the mirrors she was seeing. We talked about going to Russia, where the reverse coordinates led, but agreed that we had no idea what we were looking for.

  What I was looking for. There was no fucking way I was taking her out of the country.

  When she said something about marrying Logan, I bit back a thousand questions. Why marry him? Because he’s going to boot camp? Because you think that’s the only way to keep each other when you go your separate ways? She was only seventeen, he eighteen.

  “In any life, was our child born?”

  I knew the questions that were coming. I always thought I’d be more prepared, but it was times like these I just wanted a cigarette so damn badly.

  “No.”

  When she asked if I had any other children, that was new. I spoke of Laurel and Violet honestly, and suddenly, she was on her feet.

  “Why are you upset?” I asked, very quietly, knowing she was on the verge of breaking down by just the pitch in her voice.

  She opened her mouth to answer me, and then closed it. Finally, she sighed. “I don’t understand why, I just am,” she confessed. “And I’m jealous for some stupid reason that I- I can’t figure out. And I…,”

  So that was it. The magical lust, the jealousy, the unearthly pull. “Our destiny- our fates- are designed to form a bond. It is chemical, pre-determined. Nothing can stop it. Nothing but you and I.”

  She stared at me. “And you want to stop it.”

  I fucking had her. She was staring up at me through her glasses, her lush, green eyes the color the grass after a spring thunderstorm. I had her; I could say anything, touch her in any way, and she’d be mine.

  And I knew how it’d end.

  “Nothing good comes of us, Roam.”

  Not this time. Not this girl.

  I wouldn’t let her die.

  Chapter Eight

  Julie

  Her head bobbed before me, and I lay back, groaning and locking my hands into her long hair. I shoved her head down even further, and Julie moaned as though sucking my dick was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  “Move,” I growled, knowing she’d be pissed if I came in her mouth.

  She pulled back, her fingers continuing to slide up and down my shaft. “I’m the only one who can do this to you. Not any of those other fucking girls, just me, Wes. Me.”

  I groaned, coming hard, and she flopped down on the bed next to me, satisfied.

  “You and all the other yous,” I fumbled for the joint next to the bed, lighting it without looking her way. “Amina gave a better blow job.”

  “Fuck you,” she snapped, completely naked, resting her hand on her growing middle. “I’m sick of getting fatter. Every day.”

  “You’re not fat, you’re pregnant,” I corrected, taking a long drag and holding it for a moment. Exhaling, I turned to her. “You still have seven months to go, Jules.”

  “I think it’s a girl. Girls make you ugly. They suck all your beauty, and now I look like a hag.”

  I gripped her naked breast, squeezing. “You’re smokin.”

  Grinning, she wore only her wedding ring. “I want to ask you something.”

  “What.”

  “I’ve got these friends who want to party with us. I checked them all out- no marks on their arms. No Alters.”

  “What? Where did you meet them?”

  “The restaurant,” she replied easily, reaching for the joint. I handed it over. “They have some really good stuff for us.”

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry about it, baby,” she crooned, kissing my bicep. “I’m the one working.”

  She took every opportunity to remind me that I’d lost my job at the plant.

  “You shouldn’t smoke this shit while you’re carrying my baby.” I spread my fingers over her stomach, smiling slowly. “And I hope it’s a girl. A beautiful girl, with her mommy’s blonde hair and green eyes.”

  “No, blue,” she argued, returning my grin. “Blue like yours, Wes, I love your eyes.”

  “And smart. So smart,” I added, laying back to stare at the ceiling. What did it fucking matter? The Alter was near; her numbers had changed a few days ago.

  I’d given up before we even started.

  “I’m just glad I’m not sick anymore. I hate throwing up.”

  “Annie was sick for m
onths. She never complained. She just kept telling me it would all be worth it when we held her in our arms.”

  “Enough about Annie!” She hissed, climbing to her feet from the bed. “I know it was supposedly me, but it was still someone else! Some other damn girl! Stop comparing me to your precious Annie. I hate it!”

  I watched her face fill with fury, remembering the way Annie’s nostrils would flare adorably when she was angry about something.

  “I don’t compare you to Annie. You’ll never be her. Ever.”

  The silence in our motel room chilled the air.

  “I fucking hate you,” she wrenched the closet door open, reaching for a dress. “I hate you. I want a divorce.”

  “Again?” I asked lazily, taking another long drag.

  “I mean it this time. I don’t want you, or your kid, or this shitty life.”

  I burst to my feet. Completely naked and towering over her, I backed her against the wall. “Don’t you dare hurt my baby, Julie. I will fucking kill you myself if you hurt my baby.”

  “It’s not a baby! It’s not even anything yet!” She screamed in my face, not cowering at all. “It’s just a bunch of fucking cells and blood!”

  I slapped her.

  I had never, ever hit a woman in my entire life, let alone a pregnant woman.

  My own wife.

  She stared at me, lifting her hand to her mouth. A small trickle of blood ran from her nose to her upper lip.

  “Julie… oh baby-…,”

  “Don’t touch me,” she sneered, wrenching her wedding ring from her finger, slipping it into her pocket. “I’d throw this in your face, but I can hock it for cash. Which we need, since you’re a jobless failure.”

  I took a step back and lowered to the bed. She grabbed her bag, rushed out of the motel room and slammed the door.

  The shoebox in the back of the closet. I hid a handful of pills in there last month, and I needed them.

  Holding them in my hand, I waited. When she came back, I didn’t want her to find me in a pile of my own vomit. I wanted to get just fucked up enough to get through the rest of the day, and be back to normal when she came in from her shift at the restaurant.

  By ten o’clock, I swallowed the pills and chased them with vodka. She wasn’t coming home.

  The motel room dissolved into long, dripping vines of color. The hallucinogens were expensive, but so fucking worth the trip. I wanted to disappear, to stop thinking of Annie, or any of them, or of my kid, or Troy, or my father.

  Just disappear.

  When the door banged against the wall, she hobbled inside, crying. At that point, I was completely fucked up. The alcohol added to the mess, and I barely recognized her. She stumbled, crying out, and I rushed to her.

  “What the fuck…,”

  “I’m bleeding, Wes, I did something,” she gripped her abdomen, doubling over.

  I stared at her.

  Cold realization clawed down my back.

  “What did you do?”

  Rage. Blood dripped down her legs, staining the carpet.

  “I didn’t want it.”

  I reached for her, grabbing her by the hair and slamming her head into the wall. No thoughts. Only revenge.

  I saw Troy.

  She was worse than Troy. I tightened my fist, pummeling her face.

  She recovered, her eyes flashing with hatred. “I didn’t want it! I told you I didn’t want it!”

  “You killed it!” I roared, desperate, seething.

  Can’t think.

  “I had an abortion, Wes. We don’t belong together. I don’t want your kid-…,”

  My hand took on a life of its own, curling around her long neck. She gasped, her eyes bugging as I squeezed. “You killed it. You had it cut out of you to die in some alley.”

  I crushed. I hated.

  I wanted someone else. Not this one.

  Not this horrible, wretched woman.

  Blackness.

  Chapter Nine

  Roam

  Suddenly, she was reaching for me.

  “You’ve seen some horrifying things,” she comforted, pressing the side of her cheek against my chest. “It’s been awful for you.”

  I fought with every shred of restraint I still managed to possess to not toss her to the couch, tear the yoga pants away, and bury myself so deep inside of her that I’d lose the ability to think.

  Instead, I flattened my palm over her hair, gathering a fistful into my fingers.

  “It has for you, too. You just don’t remember.”

  “I wish you had that,” she spoke against my shirt, and spread her fingers over my back. “An eraser for all the bad things.”

  When her fingers pressed into my skin, I slid my hands over her shoulders, over the birthmark I’d kissed a thousand times in other lives, and settled over her back. “I won’t let this fate change what you and Logan have. What you have is real. What we have… is dark.” I had to kiss her hair again. Just once.

  She lifted her face to mine. “So, you feel the same about me?”

  Blood rushed below my waist, and I was ready to tear her apart. I wanted her moaning in my arms, writhing, begging for me, pleading my name.

  “I do, which is why I am not touching you- remember?” I pinched her upper arms, nearly lifting her into the air to set her down a safe distance from me.

  I felt like a lecher.

  Managing to make it through the rest of our conversation about Troy, I finally ordered her into the kitchen to eat breakfast. She was way too thin, and I planned to remedy that for at least the time we spent together.

  After she ate (while I read) she went upstairs to put in her contacts and get her sheets. I followed her to the basement. Impressed with the mats and the gym, I insisted that she learn at least some self-defense basics.

  One thing at a time. I’ll have her firing a gun by next week.

  She was loading the washing machine with her bloodied sheets, and finally turned to me. “I’m not… due… and the bleeding stopped. Did I bleed because of the dream?”

  Back to France. Back to the woods, and my baby laying in the pile of dead leaves.

  She stood right in front of me, the same soul I’d loved and lost six times. This time, something about her was different.

  Complex.

  “You will have physical reactions to the dreams.”

  I was done talking about it. I couldn’t think about it anymore.

  “Great.” She flushed beautifully, and I sighed.

  “The Soul Alter will have them too. Dreams,” I added.

  “Really?”

  “They are vivid and convincing. You once said they were more like hallucinations. Yours are to give you insight into our relationship, and the past… his are to convince him to want to kill you.”

  She was holding her breath, and I took a step toward her, afraid she’d hit the floor. “I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Alice in Really Crappy Wonderland.”

  Crappy? I loved the way she spoke. So pure, never swearing…

  So much like Annie.

  She turned to finish starting the washer, and when she turned back, I smiled at her. “Come here, Alice.”

  She giggled; the sound was musical, something I’d never heard, something I wanted to hear again and again. Make her laugh. As much as possible, I added to my list of To Dos.

  “What am I going to learn first?”

  “Let’s start with the other day, at the football field. I grabbed you from behind.” I moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her chest firmly.

  That was a mistake.

  She squirmed against me, bucking, and every time her little ass hit my thighs, I nearly flipped her to the mat beneath me. “Now, stop what you’re doing. He expects that, and if you think about it, you’re only helping him get a better, closer grip on you,” I tried to sound tutorial, but my gruff, affected words came out menacing.

  “What should I do?”

  I showed her how to grab my wrist and deliver an elbow
jab. She did okay, but I could tell she was nervous. “We’re getting there. Now, say I’m trying to grab you or touch you. You do not want that- from anyone, remember?”

  Arms over chest, pissed off. I grinned. “Are you going to tease me? Are you even qualified to be teaching me this?”

  I thought of both wars I’d fought in, and the many people I’d killed- all for different reasons. “You’ve never seen me fight.”

  She sobered, nodding. “I don’t want you to touch me,” she repeated, blocking herself.

  As I advanced, I had her pinned against the basement wall in seconds. Both of her hands locked above her head, I forced my weight to hold her in place. Her hot breath came in tiny pants, and I cursed silently as my body responded to having her pressed against me.

  “Now, you have zero room to counter-attack.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered, pushing, thrusting against my pelvis.

  I lost the ability to think.

  I need to have her. Her hips were rocking in mine, and my grip tightened at her wrists, and I was about to rip her clothes off and take her virginity against the basement wall.

  “West!”

  I stepped back and released her, and she nearly fell to her knees. What in the fucking hell is wrong with me? I’d never had this little control, not with any of them, not with any woman, ever.

  “You don’t want to give your attacker the chance to pin you,” I snapped, turning toward the center of the mat to catch my breath.

  “Did I make you mad?” She rubbed at her wrists.

  Mad? I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

  “No. I’m going to come at you again. This time, I want you to stamp on my foot- hard- and then shove my chin back with the palm of your hand, like this.” I walked her through the steps, still on fire, still trying to breathe evenly. “Hard, though. Like you mean it.”

  Don’t let me fucking touch you, Roam.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Passion ignited my words. “You can’t hurt me. You are a stubborn kid and an easy target for anyone- especially the Alters. Not learning to defend yourself all this time tells me you’re not as smart as you pretend to be. Now hurt me.”

  She was pissed. When she attacked, I wasn’t prepared for her fervor, and my head snapped back at the heel of her hand.