Faith (Stregth Series Book 2)

by T. L. Nicholas

  He squeezes my hand. “Bayleigh, nothing about me feels obligated to anything about you. I’m here because I want to be, and I’m just going to keep saying it. It’s not going to change tonight, tomorrow, next week, or next month. It’s for exactly that reason I’m not worried about the sex part. I have all the time in the world. I don’t feel rushed, and I’m sorry if that makes you uneasy, or makes you feel like I’m not interested. I couldn’t be more interested, but, as I said — I have all the time in the world. I’m not in any hurry, besides the fact that you can’t anyway, so it wouldn’t make any sense to be upset about it.”

  “But I can.” Oh my God.

  “You can, what?” he asks, not even suspecting.

  “I can… have sex.”

  His hand tightens on mine, “You can? Did he tell you that today?”

  “No.”

  “When did he tell you?” he asks quietly.

  I don’t want to answer him, and it must be emanating from me. “No lies, Bayleigh, remember? I won’t be mad.”

  I have no choice. “At my last appointment.”

  He nods. He drives quietly for a while, his face a mask. I have the urge to fill the silence, but resist. I’m waiting for him to let go of my hand, betrayed, but when I loosen my hold so he can, he tightens his.

  “Are you scared?” he asks quietly.

  “Of what?”

  “Are you afraid to have sex, since you haven’t since… everything happened?” his voice is quiet, controlled, though I can see the veins in his neck pulsing.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a little. I’ve read all these things about triggers for rape victims, and how you’ll think you’re okay and then all of a sudden you’re back there and you’re screaming, and then the guy is all freaked out and it hits home how damaged you are, and then poof, he’s gone.”

  He squeezes my hand, then brings it up to his lips, lightly kissing the back of my hand. “I won’t do that.”

  “You can’t say that. You don’t know what you’ll do, until you’re in that situation.”

  “I do know, Tiny. I won’t go ‘poof’. Is that why you didn’t tell me? Because you’re scared?”

  “I don’t know. Everything seems so complicated, and what if I freak out?”

  “What if you do? I’ll do everything I can to get you through it and I’ll still be there when it’s over.”

  “What if I don’t freak out, and instead it’s just awful. You’ve been… around… and I haven’t really. What if it’s just not good? What if I’m not good?” I feel the heat in my cheeks and can’t believe I’m saying this aloud. He’s so easy to talk to, though, that sometimes I forget I’m talking to him about him.

  He stops the truck in the driveway and my heart is racing. Now I’m scared, this is it, but I reach for the door handle anyway. He stops me, his hand tightening on mine, and I freeze.

  “Bayleigh?” He waits until I look at him, his eyes sad. “One? It’s not an audition. You already have the part, whenever you decide you want it. There’s nothing to worry about on that front. If things are awkward, or you freak out, or everything that could possibly go wrong, does? We’ll work on it until we get it right. Two? It’s not as if you’ve told me, so now we’re going to walk in the house and have sex. You being cleared doesn’t change anything. When you’re ready, I’m here. But not until you’re ready. Nothing has changed from how things were an hour ago.”

  “But what if I want to?” I ask.

  “Well, if you want to, I just want you to ask yourself a couple of questions first. Do you want to because you want to? Or do you just want to get it over with? If the answer is that you just want to get it over with, I can’t help you with that. As much as I want to be with you, I deserve the same, so unless you really just can’t imagine another minute without me, it’s a no-go, Tiny.”

  I know he’s just given me exactly the out I needed and I appreciate it more than I can say. He’s right. Most of me just wants to go ahead and get it over with so he can realize I’m not what he wants and we can just move on from this. I am scared. More than a little bit, and I hate it, but I have no idea what to do about it.

  The rest of the night is uneventful. We haven’t said another word about it since we got out of the truck. He made dinner; grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables, and we ate while watching a court show. I realize that he’s set them to record and when I ask why, he says because they make me laugh.

  I’m too distracted to pay attention to this one, though. I feel guilty because I haven’t told him everything. He thinks the only thing that kept me from telling him was fear, and I don’t know how to tell him the other thing. I keep trying to think about that, how he might react, what he’ll think about it, and while on the one hand I don’t think he’ll care, it still keeps nagging at me. There’s something that I’m missing, and I can’t figure it out.

  His cellphone rings and we both jump. Apparently, I’m not the only one lost in thought. He answers it, and I can hear a masculine voice on the other end, but I can’t make out words. Jace tells the man on the other hand that something sounds fantastic and then, “Well, if you don’t have any other reason to go home, you can just stay there if you want.” There’s a pause while the other person speaks. “Yeah, then you can get an early start. No, I don’t mind. I’ll be out in the morning.” He disconnects.

  “That was Ben,” he says to me. “He’s going to stay at my house tonight so he can get an early start in the morning.”

  “How’s that going?” I ask.

  “Really well. If he’s gotten as much done as he says, he’s basically superman. I’ll go out and see how everything looks tomorrow, but I’m really not worried about it. From what I saw this morning, I think he’s totally capable.”

  “What’s he doing?” I ask, then wish I could take it back. I promised myself I wouldn’t pry about his house.

  “Just some stuff I needed finished. I had been working on finishing the basement, but I haven’t worked on it in a while. I figured why not let him do it? I got some food and snacks for him earlier, so he should be set. Plus, I don’t like the house being empty all the time, so it’ll work out really well if he doesn’t mind staying while he’s working.”

  “Jace, you can go home. You don’t have to stay with me every minute.”

  “Are you asking me to leave, Tiny?”

  “No, of course not, but you have a house, your own space, that you’ve barely even visited. I feel like you’ve put your life on hold because I can’t be alone.”

  He sits his plate on the coffee table, leaning forward and turning towards me. Taking my now empty plate out of my hands, he places it next to his on the table. “I told you before, I haven’t put my life on hold, Tiny.” He takes my hand, engulfing it in both of his.

  “You have though. You’re always here, and you have someone else working on your house just so you can be here all the time. You’re paying someone else to do things that you could do for yourself,” I say.

  “All of that’s true, Bayleigh, except for one thing. I haven’t put my life on hold for you, I put my house on hold for my life.” He’s so serious, it makes me feel weird. Like this is important, but also like I shouldn’t read too much into it.

  I laugh, not knowing what to say.

  “I want to be with you, Bayleigh, wherever you are. You’re comfortable here, your things are here, you’ve been here for months, so I wouldn’t ask you to leave. This house has been your home, and so here is where we stay unless and until you’re ready to move on.”

  “That’s not fair to you, though. Don’t you miss your house?”

  “No, but I missed you when I went there today. I’d rather be here, Tiny. Okay?”

  I nod. He leans forward, kissing me lightly. “Can you do me a favor?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Let me worry about what I want, what I need, and what I deserve. I appreciate your concern, but, unfortunately, I think most of it comes from a place where you
feel like you’re a disappointment, or that you owe me, or that any minute now I’m going to walk away. None of that is true, but I do understand why you feel that way. Instead of worrying about that, about how I feel, I want you to just think about how you feel, what you want, and what you need. Just for a couple of days. Can you do that?”

  “I guess. I can try.”

  “That’s all I’m asking for. Thank you.” He kisses me lightly again, then a little stronger. I lean into him with no thought, no hesitation. When he breaks contact, sitting back with a smile, I wish he didn’t.

  “I’m going to put the leftovers away, and you have to take your meds. Do you want me to make coffee?”

  “I’ll help,” I answer.

  He stands and gathers our plates, walking towards the kitchen. I follow, carrying our drink glasses. I still have some tea left. He’s been making my favorite tea every day since Alex told him how.

  He scrapes our plates, placing them in the dishwasher, while I take my pills with the rest of my tea. When I turn back around he’s holding the canister of coffee aloft, as a question.

  “I’ll drink some,” I answer.

  He makes coffee while I wrap up leftover chicken, potatoes, and vegetables, putting them in the refrigerator.

  While the coffee is making, he washes the pots, and I grab the towel, drying them and putting them away. He wipes down the counters, while I run the dishwasher, and then get mugs down for coffee.

  I sit down at the island, crossing my arms on the counter and laying my head down on them.

  “You okay, Tiny?”

  “Yeah. I’m just so tired. I don’t know why, I was fine a minute ago.”

  “You can go to bed if you want. You don’t have to have coffee.”

  I drag my head up from my arms. “But I want coffee. Coffee is good.” I flop my head back down.

  He laughs. “Okay, then we’ll have coffee.”

  I feel it when he sits my mug in front of me, but I can’t quite make myself pick my head up again.

  “Would you like me to get you a bendy straw, so you can drink it from your current position?” he asks. His laughter makes me smile and I make the required effort to pick up my head and reach for the mug.

  “I can do it. I think,” I say, then wink at him. He laughs again, and I join him. “Why am I so tired?”

  “I don’t know. You took the anti-anxiety pill this morning, so you’ll miss your first dose tomorrow. It can’t be that.”

  I nod. I take a drink of my coffee. “Wait. I don’t think I did.” I say.

  “You don’t think you did, what?” he asks.

  “I don’t think I took my meds this morning. When I came out here to make coffee, I found your note. I got my coffee, but I was so preoccupied thinking about what the surprise might be, I don’t think I ever took them.”

  Jace opens the cabinet, picking up my pill box. The box is opaque, to protect the pills from light exposure, so he opens this morning’s compartment. “You didn’t take them.”

  I close my eyes. I’m such an idiot. “I’m sorry, Jace. I didn’t mean to.” My eyes immediately fill with tears and I swipe at them with the heels of my hands. “I can’t do anything right.”

  I hear the cabinet close. “Bayleigh, don’t do that. You forgot to take some pills. It’s not the end of the world. All it means is that you’re a day closer to being off the anxiety pills.”

  He puts his arm around me, pulling my head into his chest. “Don’t cry. It’s not worth crying over, Sweetheart.”

  “I feel like a moron. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m not even that upset about it.”

  He hugs me tighter. “Good. I’m glad you’re not that upset. The crying is probably because of the depression, or maybe it’s because of not taking the pill this morning. I don’t know how long it takes for that, but it could be.”

  I nod. “Maybe. I can’t believe I forgot them.”

  “Is it wrong that I’m kind of happy?” he asks, and I look up at him, confused. “I mean, you were so excited to see what I left for you, you forgot what you were doing. That means I did good, right?” I smile, and he continues, “I mean, I’m sorry you forgot them, but glad I made you excited for something.”

  “I felt a little like a kid on Christmas morning. It took all my restraint to not run right in to see. I had to force myself to finish making my cup of coffee.” I laugh and he smiles. A big, unrestrained, crooked smile. He’s so sexy, it makes my stomach knot up with nerves.

  I reach up, putting my hand on the back of his neck, and pull him down to me for a kiss. He doesn’t resist at all, kissing me back with more fervor than I expected. He’s always so gentle now, but this isn’t gentle. It’s urgent, with a hint of desperation, and his need sweeps mine along with his. Desire whips through me faster than I can keep up. When his arms wrap around me, dragging me up off the stool, I can’t get up fast enough.

  His hands move to my waist, and he pulls me in closer, but it’s not close enough. I slide my hands under his shirt, needing to feel his skin with mine. He deepens the kiss even further, and just when I think I’ll never be able to breathe again, he breaks it off. He kisses my jaw, nips my ear with his teeth, and rains kisses down my neck to my collarbone. He knows all the right buttons to push and when my legs start to give, he lifts me to the counter, never taking his lips from my skin.

  My exhaustion combines with what he’s doing, making me feel high. It’s so surreal, I can’t even be sure it’s really happening. He takes my shirt off, throwing it across the kitchen. Pulling the strap of my bra down over my arm, he trails the path it makes with his lips. He moves his hands up, along my ribcage, and I flinch away when he reaches the scars.

  He stops, looking in to my eyes. He pushes me down, slowly, until I’m lying on the island, never breaking eye contact. I cover the scars as much as I can, crossing my arms over my chest. He pulls the stool over, to the side where they’re the worst, and sits down. Slowly, he pulls my arm away, and the fear of rejection floods into my eyes. I can feel it, and his eyes soften. He looks down, his fingers tracing every scar, and tears pool in my eyes, one sliding down the side of my face. He looks back up, then lowers his head, kissing each scar, gently, taking his time. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to go away.

  “Bayleigh.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, until it hurts.

  “Bayleigh, look at me.” I shake my head.

  “Look at me. See me, not what’s in your head,” his voice is demanding and gentle all at once. I can’t resist.

  I open my eyes, looking at him. He kisses another scar, and I start to close my eyes. “No, look at me. What you think I’m feeling isn’t what I’m feeling, Bayleigh. You are perfect, absolutely perfect. Watch me, and see that for yourself.”

  “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

  “You can. You’re the strongest woman I know. You can. Watch me, Bayleigh.”

  I can’t tell him no again, so I force myself to watch as he kisses another scar. It’s painful, watching the best thing that has ever happened to me collide with the worst. As I watch, he gently, almost lovingly, touches his lips to every scar on that side of my ribcage. His face never shows any sign of disgust or horror. Never the slightest hesitation or recoil. When he pulls the cup of my bra down, exposing my scarred and battered breast, I again want to close my eyes and hide.

  “Perfect,” he mutters, his hand coming up to lie flat on my stomach. He kisses the scars on my breast, one by one, working his way to my nipple. He licks it lightly, then blows gently, and it tightens to an almost painful degree in response. His eyes sparkle on mine. “See? Perfect.”

  He continues back down across my ribcage, then stands, kissing across my stomach as he moves to the other side of the island. He sits, beginning the process on the other side of my body. I don’t flinch away this time, watching him kiss every scar he comes to.

  I tangle my fingers in his dark hair, pulling him in tighter, and he nips me in response
. I arch my back into him, wanting more. More pressure, more urgency, just more.

  He stands again, pulling me up to sitting, and kisses me deep. I meet him, unable to make the kiss deep enough to fill the void I feel. In frustration, I jerk the bottom of his shirt up, craving his skin on mine, and he breaks away just long enough to take it off and fling it away, before returning to me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he deftly removes my bra and it joins our other discarded clothes.

  I kiss his neck, his ear, using my tongue to trace around the edge of it, and he shivers. I like making him shiver so I do it again, and he mumbles something I can’t make out. I flick the inside of his ear with the tip of my tongue, and his arms tense up like bands of steel as he mutters ‘Jesus’. I smile. I know it’s been a while for him, and that he’s not used to doing without — I’m really starting to enjoy myself.

  I drag my nails lightly from the back of his head, across to behind his ears, then down the sides of his neck. I kiss across his collarbone and his head falls back to allow me access. I push myself back on the counter a little so I can kiss his chest, and when I gently bite his nipple, his hands slam down on the counter so he can hold himself up. Knowing I’ve found another button to push, I do it several more times, licking and sucking on it in between, before moving on to the other one.

  He’s letting me do whatever I want, and what I want is more. I kiss his chest, and reach for the button on his jeans. Just as I get it undone, his hands clamp onto my wrists, stopping me. I look up into stormy blue eyes. “You don’t have to do this, Bayleigh,” he says, his voice so husky it’s barely recognizable.

  “I know that. I want to,” I say. He doesn’t release his grip or move at all. He’s frozen, staring into my eyes. “Unless you don’t want to?” I ask, my heart breaking.

  He closes his eyes, breathing deep and letting it out slow, before reopening them. “I can’t remember a time I wanted anything more, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. If you’re not sure, it’s okay. I need to be sure that whatever you do, it’s because you want to, not because of what you think I need.”