Yeah, that would go over great.
Richard leaned in and brushed his lips against her ear, and she stiffened. It was slight, but I detected it. She didn't want his lips or anything of his on her, and I needed to save her. She needed me to rescue her. It was all the encouragement I needed.
I walked down the hallway and stopped at the entrance to the kitchen. Our eyes locked and she reached out and I grabbed her arm and pulled her behind me. I walked right past the room Tiffany was in and into the last bedroom. I dragged her into the room and turned to close the door.
I took a minute to calm down facing the door. I wasn't angry with her; I wanted to talk to her. I hoped the words would come to me, but she recoiled when I turned around. She hugged herself and backed up. She took a couple steps and her leg caught on the edge of the bed and she went down. When I approached her, she scooted back against the wall with wide, tear-filled eyes. I stood over her. I reached down to help her up, but she moved her hands in front of her face.
"Stop. Don't touch me."
I straightened up and backed away from her. I tried my best not to freak out, but Carrington was in a trance. Her eyes fogged over.
"Don't. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."
My eyes narrowed as I saw her protecting herself, cowering in the corner, and it hit me. All my own issues went away.
"Oh, my God. Carrington. It's me. It's okay. I won't hurt you."
Her eyes glazed over, and her body trembled.
"Carrington, it's me, Jackson. You're okay."
She blinked a few times and her eyes darted around the room and at the door, but then her eyes focused on mine. I sat down on the ground where I was and spoke in a soft tone.
"Carrington. It's okay. It's me."
"What's going on?" she whispered.
"I wanted to talk."
She exhaled and pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. I didn't move.
Tears fell down her cheeks and I wanted to go to her and hold her, but I didn't want to scare her.
"Why did you do that?" she asked as she wiped the tears from her face. "Why are you mad at me?"
Her tone of voice broke my heart. I wasn't sure if she was talking about now or if she was still back in Josh's room reliving what happened eighteen months ago.
"I'm not. I swear I'm not."
"We haven't spoken in over two weeks."
I relaxed a little, my shoulders slumped in relief.
"I know. I wasn't mad."
"What's going on with you, Jackson?"
"I don't know. I just. I don't know how to handle this."
"Handle what?"
"Handle having you back in my life." And not touch you or hold you or kiss you whenever I want.
She slid off the bed and crawled over to sit in front of me. We faced each other, our knees touching. She reached out and placed her hand on my arm, rubbing it with her thumb.
"Why does it have to be so complicated?" she asked. "Why can't we just be friends?"
"I don't know, Carrington. I was hoping you could tell me."
"I don’t know, either."
The corner of her mouth curled up, and my heart stopped beating out of my chest. It returned to a steady thud. I felt calm, the way it always did when I was near her.
"Has that ever happened before?" I asked.
"What?"
"You were back there again. In the place when Josh hurt you."
She shook her head but didn't say anything.
"Carrington, you know I would never hurt you, right?"
"Yes, of course." She took my hand and held it. I squeezed her hand back.
"But—"
"Jackson, I don't want to talk about it. Okay? Not now."
"Okay." I let it go. I wanted to talk to her about it, but instead I moved on to another subject.
"So, you and Richard, huh?"
"We had dinner. It's nothing."
"Does he know that?"
Chapter Twelve
Carrington Olivia Butler
As we rejoined the party, dozens of eyes turned to stare. Not at us, but at Tiffany standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips and her cheeks red. Jackson took cautious steps to approach; I dipped my head, motioned to Richard, and headed for the door.
Watching Jackson talk his way out of stealing away a few moments in an empty bedroom with his quote-unquote best friend, would have been entertaining, but I had more important things to figure out.
I had to figure out why I blacked out again.
It had happened a few times after the assault but not in a year. I grew careful of avoiding triggers. I learned that in therapy, but I had let my guard down since arriving in Tallahassee.
Nothing could have prevented Josh from hurting me. My therapist drilled that into my head. She said I had no control over Josh's actions, but I could avoid scary situations in the future. It didn't make sense to me—because if I could avoid it now, why couldn't I have avoided it then.
My mind would resort back to that night, and I learned to look for an escape, but not this time.
Jackson throwing me in that room and turning his back to me, the sound of the door locking and silence, it was all too familiar.
For a brief moment, I saw Josh and the relief in seeing him alive washed over me, but he turned to face me, and I saw the rage in his eyes. My mind didn't wait to see a change. I went into protection mode.
What I didn't understand was why this happened and why did it happen in front of Jackson? He saved me that night. If he hadn’t been there to stop Josh, I would be dead. His comforting voice gave me the will to fight for myself and my son's life.
My head ached as someone approached. Richard strolled over to where I stood.
"Hey, you okay?" He stood with his hands in his pockets.
"Can you take me home?"
"Sure."
When we arrived at his truck, he opened the door for me and I climbed in. He shut the door, and stood there. He made no attempt to walk to his side of the car.
"I know the answer already, but I need to ask anyway. Do I have a chance at all?"
"Richard." His hand sat on the open window, and I reached out and touched it. "I don't know how to answer that. Right now, no?"
"So, you're going to wait for him to come to his senses and realize what he's missing out on."
"No, I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure he stays right where he is at because I'm not ready to be with anyone."
"Carrington—" I squeezed his hand.
"Can you please just take me home?"
We didn't say another word, besides a whispered goodbye when we arrived at my house.
I stood in my foyer. My new home felt empty and hollow. Or maybe it was my heart that felt empty, and I felt so alone. No one was home. The silence gave me a chill. I headed back out the door and over to Kayla's house.
I knocked on the door. When she opened it, I ignored her concerned expression.
"Hey, how was your date?"
I walked past her and found Jack asleep on the couch, his arms wrapped around his Seminole stuffed animal. I wanted to pick him up, hold him, and remember why it was all worth it, what I went through. I needed to be strong for him. I sat down on the floor next to him and rubbed his back. He stretched and drifted into a deeper sleep.
Kayla stood across the room watching me with her arms crossed. I smiled at her. She approached and sat down on the other end of the couch and waited for me to speak. I wasn't sure what to tell her.
That Richard was a great guy who liked me a lot, but I pretty much blew that.
Tell her that Jackson and I were in love with each other, but after what he saw tonight, there was no way he would want me.
Although I spent eight months in therapy, I sometimes felt like the assault happened yesterday. I was naive to think being with Jackson would be the best thing for Jack and me. It was selfish to put that on Jackson. He had so much going on in his life. His career, his own hopes and dream
s, and my issues could mess that all up for him, and I wouldn't let him do that even if he wanted to.
I couldn't control what happened to me then, but I could sure as hell prevent it from ruining anyone else's life now.
"You okay?" She was the third person to ask me that tonight.
"Yeah, why?"
"Oh, I don't know. You have this creepy wide-eyed determined look on your face."
My face softened, and I made myself smile.
"I'm okay. Tonight was very ... educational."
"Oh, yeah. That's romantic."
"I'm just saying I learned a lot about myself tonight."
"Like what."
"Like I'm so not ready to date."
"Don't say that, but maybe pick someone who isn't one degree of separation from the love of your life."
Kayla had a way of breaking it down. She was right about that.
Josh was Jackson's best friend, and though I liked Jackson back then, I dated Josh. Richard was Jackson closest friend on the team. Maybe I should widen my search for companions to guys who didn't know Jackson Mitchell. Considering he was less than a year away from being one of the most famous people in the sports world, it would be a difficult task.
"I learned that this little guy is the most important person in my life, and I needed to focus on making sure he has the best life he can."
"Okay."
I ignored her confused expression.
"I learned that Jackson deserves to be with someone who can be one hundred percent of what he needs. He doesn't need a girlfriend in college with a kid and a slightly precarious mental situation."
"Oh, Carrington."
"It's okay. Like you said, I'm being mature about the whole situation."
"Well, yeah, but you’re not giving up and letting Tiffany have him,” Kayla said.
"Well, let's not go crazy here. I don't deserve him, but no way in hell does she deserve him, either."
She laughed and leaned over to hug me.
"That's my girl."
I was joking, of course. It didn't matter whether Jackson stayed with Tiffany or not. If she had any amount of self-respect, she wouldn't put up with Jackson's behavior. She was a beautiful woman from a great family and could have any man she wanted.
It didn't make me a bitch to hope she came to her senses and left my Jackson alone.
#
Jackson Latre Mitchell
Tiffany refused to cause a scene. She plastered a smile on her face and said her goodbyes. I followed. We exited the house five minutes later.
On the walk home, I took her hand, and she didn't pull away. We walked in silence, the house only five minutes away from my apartment. As we headed toward my door, she stopped and faced me, placing her hand on my chest.
"I'm going to be the bad guy for saying this, but I don't want you seeing Carrington."
"Tiffany—"
"No, let me finish. I know you said there was nothing going on between you two, and I believe you, but you're going to have to give me something here. I don't think I can deal with another scene watching you exchange looks or seeing you disappear into empty rooms and emerge with no explanation."
"Carrington needed me."
"She doesn't need you. She is stronger than both of us put together."
"Tiffany, you don't know. You didn't see ..." I almost told her about tonight but stopped. I couldn't break Carrington's confidence.
"I saw you, Jackson. She doesn't need you. She was doing fine with Richard, and you grabbed her."
"It wasn't like that."
"Tell me the truth, what would you do if she started seeing Richard?"
I lowered my head and refused to meet her eyes.
"That's what I thought," she said.
Tiffany dug in her purse for her keys and headed to her car.
"Tiffany, you don't know how hard this is for me. I could have prevented Josh from hurting her, but I didn't. I feel responsible."
She stopped walking but didn't turn to face me. Her shoulders shook, but she didn't make a sound.
"I could have warned her about Josh, and I didn't because I chose to believe he had changed, but he almost killed her and she's not over it. I don't know how to live with that."
She turned to face me.
"What am I supposed to do, Jackson?" Tiffany asked. "Sit by and watch my boyfriend show more concern for some girl than he does for me?"
"That's not true. I'm always there for you."
"No, you're not. You allow me to be here for you. It's not the same thing."
"You're not making sense, Tiffany."
"I am making perfect sense. You're choosing not to hear me."
"Why are you with me?"
She paused before she answered. She dropped her shoulder and held her hand out, face up.
"Because I love you."
Simple answer. I was sorry I asked.
I couldn't think of anything to say in return. I crossed the yard and hugged her, wrapped my arms around her waist and squeezed her to my body. I buried my head in her neck and tasted her, rubbing my tongue against her skin. Her body stiffened, and she didn't hug me back. I lifted my head, and she had tears falling from her eyes.
She didn't push me away and leave, but I couldn't read her thoughts. I figured she had reached her limit. If she walked away, I wouldn't stop her. Maybe she needed another push.
"Tiffany, I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not going to stop seeing Carrington. All I can tell you is that I won't disrespect you or our relationship. My connection with Carrington has nothing to do with us."
Why couldn't I end it. Stand up, be a man, and tell Tiffany we didn't belong together? My deep-seated need to take care of everyone messed with my head. I wished I wasn't that guy, but I was.
I am pathetic.
The argument sounded horrible even to my own ears. Why didn't she leave? Pushed me away, cursed my name, and left me standing there with her scent lingering in the air.
Instead, she collapsed into my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me close. She sobbed—gut wrenching sobs. I was afraid the neighbors would think I was killing a moose in my driveway. I felt her tears on my neck. I held her close. I could deal with a few tears if it meant she would leave me alone.
Her sobs settled after a few moments. She turned but not toward her car; she pulled me toward my apartment.
We reached the door and she blinked, surprised to find her keys in her hand. She unlocked the door and led me upstairs and into my room. A moment of deja vu hit me and the realization hit my chest. I suppressed the urge to push away and run out of my house screaming in frustration. What would it take to get this girl to leave me alone?
Instead of pushing away, I pushed her down on the bed and kissed her hard. She responded to my kisses and pulled my shirt over my head. I pushed my tongue in her mouth, as I lifted her dress up over her head and ran my hand down her body. I found her underwear and placed my hands between her legs. She gasped in my mouth and reached for my pants. My eyes shot open, and I sat up when I felt her reach into my waistband. The overhead light in the room was on, and I couldn't think of a legitimate reason to stop and turn it off. She tried to pull me down, wanting to kiss me as her hands explored, but when she wrapped her hands around me, I pushed her away. I didn't bother to look at the hurt look on her; I rolled her over on her stomach, closed my own eyes, and kissed her on the back of her neck and down her back.
I took my time and tasted every inch of her. I removed my jeans, put on a condom, and buried my face in her neck as I entered her. She remained quiet but responded to my touch. I moved slowly inside of her, waiting for her to come, and then I released inside of her.
I rolled off her and collapsed on my side. When I opened my eyes, she was staring at me. My chest tightened. She had the same satisfied look on her face she always had after sex. She was so much like a guy in that respect. Everything was okay because the sex was good. When did the roles reverse in this relationship? I felt alone an
d empty.
I sat up in bed and headed into the bathroom where I locked the door behind me. I discarded the condom and jumped in the shower. I waited for the water to get as hot as I could stand it. I let the water pound me. My fingers slick from touching her, I grabbed the soap and washed every inch of me. No matter what I did, I couldn't remove the smell from my nose or the taste of her from my mouth.
In the shower, my muscles tensed, and I tried to push the thought out of my mind, but all I could think about was she didn't taste or feel like Carrington. She didn't smell or sound like Carrington, and she didn't look like my Carrington.
I needed to do something. I couldn't go on like this anymore.
After my shower, I found Tiffany sound asleep, snoring under the covers. I gathered my stuff. I grabbed my computer and headed to the living room to study game tape for Saturday's game. I fell asleep sometime that night but woke up around six am. I headed to the facility, prepared to get my mind right for the game tomorrow. I made a promise to myself to deal with Tiffany later.
Chapter Thirteen
Carrington Olivia Butler
Jackson's normal Saturday morning phone call happened, but my feelings after Thursday night were anything but normal. He respected my wishes and didn't ask me about it, but I could tell he was concerned. Wake Forest was heading into town today. Not a football powerhouse, but I admired Jackson for preparing for each opponent the same.
"Do you know where Wake Forest got its name?" I asked.
"Not if my life depended on it."
I laughed out loud.
"Wake Forest is the name of the plantation where the university now sits."
"Really? So, like they used to have slaves and stuff. What kind of plantation was it?"
"I don't know. Cotton, I guess. It was owned by a physician named Calvin Jones."
"Was he a bad guy?"
"No, he wasn't. He was a mason."
"You have to give me something to go on here. I got nothing."
I grinned and pictured Jackson in bed in a hotel somewhere in Thomasville, Georgia, a few miles north of Tallahassee. He roomed with the backup quarterback, but he told me during our morning talks that his roommate got in a workout in the hotel gym before the team left for the game. It was his ritual. This was ours.
Hope for Him (Hope Series Book #2) Page 11
