Scared of Forever (Scared #2)

by Jacqueline Abrahams

  The next morning, I go and get fitted for a new suit. Can’t possibly go to a black tie event in jeans and a t-shirt, can I? I don’t see Emily at all for the next few days, though I do see Blake, twice. And both times, he shoots me a hate-filled glare, but doesn’t say a word. Saturday arrives quicker than expected. Why was I even going? To torture myself by spending the whole evening watching Emily with Blake? I sigh as I adjust my thin black tie. Suffocation. I just want to yank the damn thing off.

  The town car drives me to the extravagant hotel that is hosting the event. Hungry photographers flank one side of the expansive steps leading to the entrance, wielding cameras like heavy artillery. Two heavy-set bouncers stand at either side of the huge glass doors, completely committed to their job of keeping the paparazzi out. Still, cameras flash mercilessly at everyone who walks past. Maybe they won’t recognize me. They probably don’t. But they snap away anyway.

  As I walk past the bouncers, invitation in hand, I spy the familiar stiff and upright frame of the woman that is Eliza Carson. A woman who always looks so angry. Everything about her is angular. Her hair is pulled tightly back from her face and pinned in a very organized bun-thing on top of her head. Her red gown is so very fitting for the hell montage that comes to mind whenever I see her. She smiles as she greets the incoming guests. All the strangers, smiling their own prefabricated smiles right back at her.

  And then she sees me.

  She immediately walks over, the artificial smile staying put.

  “Tyler,” she coos. “I didn’t think you were on the guest list.”

  “Dad couldn’t make it,” I say shortly.

  “How unusual,” she retorts sarcastically. “But what, pray tell, are you doing here? If I remember correctly, you, my son, hate these events.”

  “Maybe I’ve just decided to rejoin society,” I reply nonchalantly, stuffing my hands into my pants pockets. As I do, another familiar frame strolls into my peripheral vision. Emily looks radiant, beautiful and so very uncomfortable, as she laces her arm casually through Blake’s.

  Tonight doesn’t do that dress justice. I preferred her in the no shoes, no makeup, messy-haired version. But she looks beautiful nonetheless. I quickly avert my eyes. Not wanting to allude to anything in front of my mother.

  But she’s like a hunting dog when it comes to sniffing things out. She moves a step closer.

  “I would hope that you’re not here to cause any trouble,” she scolds quietly.

  “When are you going to figure out that I am not the troublemaker? I just haven’t followed the blueprint you designed for my life when I was born. I’d hardly call exercising free will a form of troublemaking,” I reply coldly.

  I avoid her eyes and turn to walk away. Her hand grips my arm gently. “Tyler, this is an important night. Try not to embarrass your brother and I with your rash impulsiveness.” I shake my hand free and continue to walk, so glad to not be a member of Team Fucked Up, AKA Eliza and Blake.

  I barely see Emily for the first hour of the event. I look for her, but the ballroom is huge, and the bouffant hairstyles and large, swishing dresses are keeping her well out of my line of sight. Not to mention my avoidance of Blake relegates me to the opposite end of the room from her.

  Walking over to grab a drink, I eventually see her without her annoying other half. She’s talking to a very elegant and attractive girl, about our age, and her date, possibly the only guy in here who looks more uncomfortable than I do. She looks so comfortable in their company that I assume they must be friends. I walk over and tap her on the shoulder gently.

  I’m thrilled when her eyes light up as she turns around and sees me. “Tyler!” she exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

  “Making my compulsory one night only public appearance,” I say with a smile.

  “Oh. This is Maia, and Jackson,” she says, stepping aside to introduce me to the couple. “Maia is really involved with this charity. Guys, this is Tyler, Blake’s brother.”

  “Nice to meet you both,” I say with a warm smile and a nod. They both smile friendly and, hallelujah, sincere smiles. “It’s a great cause,” I say, looking up at the large banner over the stage. An initiative to stop domestic violence in our community.

  “It’s ironic,” the girl says to Emily, “that most of the domestic violence victims in this community are standing here next to their husbands, smiling as they write checks to help stop it.” There is a clear sadness in her eyes. Jackson puts his hands protectively around her waist and kisses her temple.

  I stay and chat with the couple and Emily. I find them to be so down to earth. It’s refreshing. Jackson and I immediately hit it off. When Emily and Maia leave to the ladies room, he and I stand at the bar and continue to talk. Blake is at the opposite end of the room. I’m sure he’s so self-absorbed and fixated on networking that he hasn’t even noticed me yet. Jackson clears his throat.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, turning back towards the bar.

  “No problem, I just figured that I’d distract you from wanting to kill him, that’s all,” Jackson says with a small smile.

  “Is it that obvious?” I ask.

  “To be honest, I tolerate Blake because he and Maia are friends. That’s not to say that he didn’t try to get in her pants a few months ago,” Jackson says.

  “He has a habit of doing that.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m glad he got past it, otherwise I might have been moved to break his fucking neck,” Jackson says with a scowl.

  I laugh. I like this guy. He sees through Blake. Not many people have that ability.

  “And Emily’s a great girl,” he adds.

  My eyes trace the path that her and Maia took to the powder room. “So what do you do, man?” I ask Jackson, distracting myself.

  “I’m at Brown, Maia and I both are,” he says. “I’m from Atlanta. These bullshit parties really get on my nerves. I only come because Maia has a foundation that deals a lot with these assholes.”

  “I hear you,” I say. “I’ve been to every corner of the world to get away from this shit.”

  “So, you’re nothing like your brother, then,” Jackson surmises.

  We both glance over at Blake, who is talking animatedly to a grey haired man and his wife. They all look like idiotic jack-in-the-boxes, laughing at each other’s every sentence. Ten to one he hasn’t even noticed that Emily is not standing next to him. But I am willing to bet my every last dime, and I have a lot of dimes, that when the photographers outside come storming in to take photographs, or crowd around outside next to the exit at the end of the night, Blake will make sure she’s right there with him.

  Maia and Emily leave the restroom, but instead of walking back over to us, they find a seat at a table across the room. Jackson and I continue to talk, both of us happy that we’ve actually managed to find decent conversation in this suffocating place.

  Chapter 14:

  Emily

  “How are things with Blake?” Maia asks, washing her hands. Just as I’m about to answer, a woman walks out noisily from one of the marble tiled stalls. I avoid answering, knowing that gossip spreads in this town quicker than wildfire.

  We walk out together, but rather than go back to Jackson and Tyler, we find a seat in the far corner of the expansive ballroom. From my vantage point, I can see Blake, guffawing at some old lady’s presumably hilarious story. I can also see Jackson and Tyler standing casually, still chatting at the bar where we left them.

  “Jackson seems to be getting along well with Tyler,” Maia observes. “I’m glad. He usually spends these things pretending to enjoy himself, while silently cursing everyone around him.”

  Across the room, Jackson laughs at something Tyler says. “Tyler is very likeable,” I sigh. “He’s nothing like Blake.”

  Maia laughs. “Are you saying your fiancée is unlikeable?”

  “No,” I defend quickly. “I’m just saying that more and more, I’m feeling like Blake is not really the person I want to spend the rest of fo
rever with.”

  “Does it have anything to do with him?” Maia asks, nodding her head towards Tyler.

  “Maybe a little,” I admit guiltily. “Blake is public enemy number one to Tyler, and vice versa. Both of them are so interested in this pissing contest to best each other all the time. Tyler has been so nice and kind. And Blake is, well Blake is the man I am supposed to be marrying. It’s all so confusing. Blake wants to marry me. So I know he cares genuinely for me. And Tyler, well, I can’t really tell whether Tyler is taking such an interest in my friendship because of me, or because he lives to piss his brother off. Why else would he show up here tonight?”

  “Blake is my friend,” Maia says. “But after lunch last week, you know how I feel about your relationship. And I can only tell you what I see. I see Blake, who at this very moment reminds me a lot of my father. Working the room. Socially in his element. What I haven’t seen is Blake actually scanning the room, looking for you. And I’m guessing Tyler is here because of you. Even before he walked over, I noticed him because he’s a new face. And all he did was scan the crowd. He looked relieved when he walked over to us earlier.”

  Maia looks pointedly at me. “And I also didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, either. Em, you will end up hurting someone here. It’s inevitable. But being with Blake, if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be, isn’t right either. How did you manage this Em, getting your feelings trapped in the middle of two brothers like this?”

  I shrug miserably. I don’t even know the answer to that myself to be able to give it to Maia. A waiter strolls past us and I grab another glass of champagne from his tray. I knock it back quickly, though I don’t even usually drink. But as the jumbled thoughts try to sort through themselves in my head, I find that having the glass in my hand makes it all feel infinitely easier to digest.

  After a good half an hour of talking and counselling from Maia, and a few more champagnes, we walk over to Tyler and Jackson. Tyler is punching Jackson’s number into his phone as we arrive.

  “I leave you alone for a few minutes, and you’re already giving your number to strangers?” Maia teases, leaning up to kiss Jackson.

  “Tyler’s going to join in on a game of ball before he leaves next week,” Jackson replies. “Wednesdays lunchtime. At Brown, the casual courts. Do you know where they are?”

  “I think I remember from orientation,” Tyler replies, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

  “You went to Brown?” I ask, looking up at him.

  “Nope, just orientation,” he says with a smile. “I decided to fly around the world taking photos instead.”

  The champagne begins to take effect right about now, as I feel slightly unsteady on my feet. Tyler notices and takes a gentle hold of my elbow, righting me.

  “I don’t think anyone noticed,” he whispers in my ear.

  I noticed. I noticed how, from the time he found me, he hasn’t left my side. I also noticed Blake, blissfully unaware of my presence at all, and especially not presently connected to the brother whom he hates.

  Maia and Jackson excuse themselves, and Tyler and I stand at the bar, alone. I need to talk to him. From the corner of my eye, I see Eliza Carson across the room, staring intently at the both of us. Thankfully she averts her gaze when I look at her, and walks in the opposite direction.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say to Tyler, parroting my thoughts. “And I need to get out of this room. It feels too stuffy.” I say, feeling suddenly hot and uncomfortable.

  Tyler shoots a cautionary glance at Blake, laughing in the sea of silk, voile, and gold. “Come on,” he says, looking concerned.

  I follow him down the same corridor as the ladies bathroom. “I’m not going to be sick,” I say reproachfully.

  “We’re not going there,” Tyler answers. He takes my hand in the empty corridor and opens the fire exit’s door. We descend down one set of stairs, onto the maintenance level of the building. The air down here feels clean and cool, even though it smells like a mixture of bleach and fried foods. I sit on an upside down milk crate in the long corridor, not caring that my dress is splayed untidily on the floor around me.

  Tyler crouches in front of me. “What’s going on?” he asks gently.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, tears welling in my eyes. “This whole situation is so fucked up! Why couldn’t I have met you first?” The words slide out of my mouth, possibly propelled by the champagne, before I can stop them. “It’s always the same. Even before you arrived, we’d come to these things together, and Blake would virtually forget I existed. Then you arrived, and when you stand next to him in comparison—well, you make me see the things in Blake that I ignored before, for whatever reason.”

  “You do have the ability to change your mind,” Tyler says quietly. “You aren’t married yet. It isn’t too late.” His eyes search mine, looking for an answer. Some sign of hope. They bore into me intensely. My entire body lights up, a burning warmth coursing through my mid-section. I’m so scared of my actions around Tyler now, especially when I’m so uninhibited by alcohol.

  I grab his hand silently and we walk down the corridor. I open the first door we see and turn the handle. It opens easily. In the dark, with only a small amount of moonlight illuminating the room from a small, high window, I see rows of crockery and cutlery on metal shelving down the center of the long room. I push the lock button on the door, sealing us both in.

  Tyler eyes me cautiously. “Emily, I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to be alone with me?” I ask, taking a step forward, meeting his eyes in a silent challenge.

  “No,” he says. “I’m saying I don’t trust myself alone with you.” Tyler snakes an arm around my waist. My skin burns under his touch.

  “We’ve been alone before. Why is this time different?”

  “You know why,” he whispers. Tyler looks as if it’s taking all of his willpower to maintain his resolve against me.

  “I don’t,” I say softly. “Tell me why.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he says with a smile. “But you’ve been drinking. And believe me when I say that I’m using every ounce of restraint that I have to stay away from you. How will you feel about this in the morning?”

  “I may have been drinking, but you will still be Tyler in the morning. The world may end. But you’ll still be you. I’ll still be me. We’ll still have been here, alone. And I’ll still remember why I locked that door,” I say softly. “Your brain may be telling you one thing, but your body—” I stop speaking as I let my eyes wander down to the very obvious hard on in his pants.

  Tyler takes a step forward and crashes his lips into mine without a second’s more hesitation. My mind finally catches up to my body, realizing that I have wanted this for so long. Our lips dissolve into each other’s. My god! His lips. This kiss. So sweetly erotic. Tyler grips me firmly around the waist and moves in closer, pushing me gently against the cold wall. I don’t even register the temperature. My own body feels like it has been lit on fire. His hand reaches back to unclip my hair, and it falls freely over my shoulders.

  My hands grab hungrily at his shirt, yanking it from his pants. I feel him, hard in every way imaginable, pressed against my thigh. My fingers move fluidly up his back, feeling his muscles clench under my touch. He gently turns my face and leaves a trail of soft, delicious kisses down my neck. I move to undo his belt. I want to feel him. Need to. To know, just once, what Tyler Carson feels like. The smell of him is intoxicating. As he delivers kiss after mind-blowing kiss, his hands roam freely, as if memorizing every curve of my body. His fingers leave blazing trails on my skin wherever they venture.

  He leans up abruptly and cups my face in his hands. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” he whispers lowly, searching my eyes, his breath ragged.

  “I need you. I’ve never needed anything as much as I need you now.” My conscience doesn’t make an appearance. I know that the w
ords I have just said to Tyler are the whole, complete, and unadulterated truth. He searches my eyes for confirmation, his own lusty, heavy-lidded eyes betraying the true depths of his arousal.

  I quickly undo his belt and unzip his pants, our eyes locked together, and take him, solid and throbbing, into my hands. His eyes close briefly, relishing my touch. I slide my hands up and down. He drops his chin, eyes still closed, breathing erratic. My body aches to feel him. A searing, white hot, yet magnificent pain like I have never known before.

  Without warning, he steps back and gathers the yards of silk that make up my skirt and bundles it up around my waist. He stops for a brief moment, before he slides my G-string down. Tyler looks up and meets my eyes, his own glowing with lust. Each kiss, each touch, each moan. He gives each small component one hundred percent of his attention.

  He grabs my thigh, hitching my leg around his waist. He kisses me gently and slides into me, pushing carefully into the warm wetness. He looks at me intently, his gaze smoldering, penetrative. My body screams, as does my mouth.

  “Ssshhh,” he whispers breathlessly, as he slides deeper into me, each slow and purposeful movement lifting my body higher and higher towards ecstasy. Tyler fills every inch of me, body and soul. His hand grips me tightly around the waist, the chains in the back of my dress digging mercilessly into my back. I don’t feel the pain, just the pleasure. My fingers grab at his hair, his neck. To stop my screams, I bite down on my lower lip. Hard. My body writhes against his, waves of pleasure taking me higher than I’ve ever been before. Tyler watches me intently, his eyes averting only to kiss my neck, shoulder, any part of me that he can get his mouth to. I struggle to stay silent, biting so hard on my lip now that I taste a hint of metallic blood. The orgasm that rocks my body feels like an implosion. Losing my battle against silence, forced to scream, Tyler pushes his lips against mine, using his arm and body to remove any amount of space left between us. His last thrust into me is deep, purposeful, gentle yet loaded. He groans loudly against my lips. I watch his last moment, and enjoy the satisfying end.