by Beck, J. L.
“Tell him I said hi back next time you talk to him,” Jules murmurs with a mouth full of taco.
“Jules, what about you, how are your grades? Still kicking ass, I’m assuming?”
She grins. “Of course, Papa. Grades are the most important thing. It’s been a little rough getting used to things, classes, and figuring out where everything is, but my grades aren’t reflecting the mass chaos taking place in my life.”
“Good. I’m glad to see at least one of you have your head on straight.”
“Seriously, Dad?” Sebastian mumbles through a mouth full of food.
“What? It’s true. You know they say it takes men longer to mature than women? I’m starting to believe that statement.”
I roll my eyes but smile. For the first time in a long time, the storm inside of me calms. It isn’t wreaking havoc on my body. For the first time since Jules left, I can breathe, laugh, smile, enjoy the moment for what it really is.
We finish eating and then clean up in the kitchen like we used to. Once we’re all finished, we head into the living room. Dad takes the recliner as usual while Sebastian, Jules, and I pile onto the leather sectional. Somehow Jules ends up sandwiched between us. Seb turns on a movie, but it’s impossible to focus on it, with her sitting so close to me.
Her sweet vanilla scent wafts into my nostrils, hardening my dick. All I can think about is how much softer her skin is now, and how well we would fit together, my cock snug inside her virgin pussy. I bite my fist to stop the groan from escaping my lips. Neither she or Seb seem to notice, thank fuck.
As I sit there uncomfortable as fuck, enjoying her presence, I start to notice how heavy her eyes seem to be. I should be watching the movie, but like a creeper, I’m watching her. It doesn’t take long for her to nod off, her body slumping over, her head gently pressing against my shoulder.
Her lips are parted, soft breaths escape through them and it takes everything in me not to kiss her. When it comes to Jules, I’m not in control. She owns me, she fucking owns me. The movie finishes and Seb gets up from the couch and goes into the kitchen.
“Take her to your room. I’ll bet she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.” He pauses briefly, his tone deepening. “Then come back out here. I want to have a talk with you.”
Looking to Jules, she’s completely out, and I bet he’s right. Between the shit storm I brought down on her and the loss of her brother and father, I’m sure she hasn’t been sleeping well. I give him a nod and gently pick her up, tucking her close to my chest.
She whimpers, burrowing deeper if that’s even possible. When I reach my bedroom, I exhale. It’s been three years since we were both inside this room together. Three long years since we laid in that bed together.
With shaking hands, I place her down on the bed, allowing myself to stare at her for a second longer than necessary. God, I’ve missed this, simply admiring her beauty. Her soft blonde curls circle her head like a halo, her hands are tucked beneath her rosy red cheek, and her face is at peace. She’s beautiful, so beautiful and I never thought something like this would ever occur again, having her in my room, in my bed.
She belongs here. She’s yours.
My heart says with every gush of blood. She sighs in her sleep, and I have the urge to touch her all over, to kiss every inch of her, to worship, and protect her. I want to make her mine. Before I do either of those things, I walk out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. We aren't like that anymore. She’s not mine, she doesn't want me.
Each step I take away from the bedroom hurts, like I’m physically stabbing myself in the heart. Running a hand through my hair in frustration, I try to figure out what the fuck I’m doing.
“Grab a couple beers, son. We need to have a talk.”
My brow furrows in confusion, but I do as he says. Giving him one and cracking one open for myself. I don’t even get to take a sip before he’s talking.
“You hurt her?” he asks. I’ve never lied to my father, but I want to right now. I want to so fucking badly because I know what’s going to happen when I admit to him what I did.
“Yes,” I answer shamefully. His hand tightens on his beer bottle giving away his anger.
“You hit her?”
His question catches me off guard.
“Fuck no. I wouldn’t hit her. Not ever.” I can almost see the relief flood his features. I might be lost, broken, angry, but I couldn’t ever intentionally hurt her, not with a slap, or punch and I would kill any bastard that did try and touch her like that.
“Good. I didn’t know in which way you hurt her, and I know I raised you right not to lay a hand on a woman, even if she hits you first, but lately, I’ve been worried if my good-natured son is still inside you.”
His words sadden me further. I’ve let him down. Disappointed him.
“I’m still here, Dad. Just lost, really fucking lost.”
“I know, but you’ve been found. She’s back, Rem. She’s back and I can tell she still cares about you.”
I swallow, the saliva thick in my throat.
“I don’t know, Dad. She might still care, but I’ve hurt her pretty badly, did some really fucked up shit.” I don’t elaborate and I definitely won’t mention the audio I shared with my buddies. My dad would murder me if he knew I did something like that.
That's my burden to bear, my own pain.
“But you won’t do that shit anymore...right? You won’t try and get even with her for breaking your heart? Which, by the way, wasn’t her fault.”
The muscle in my jaw ticks. Of course he would say that. He’s been taking her side since the day she left, and I know she wasn’t really to blame for my pain, she was someone I could put the blame on. My mother left, and then she did too.
It was hard…too hard to fucking face alone.
“No. I won’t hurt her anymore, I swear,” I admit.
I decided before I even came here today that I wasn’t going to fuck with her anymore, but now that I promised my dad, it’s like it’s been set in stone.
She’ll always own a piece of my heart, that will never change, no matter how much I try and take it back. And I know now that hurting her only hurt me more. Now I can only hope that it’s not too late for her to forgive me.
“Good, ‘cause I’m not too old to kick your ass, don’t you forget that,” he snickers.
“Funny, old man,” I joke, and finish the beer in my hand before heading back up to my room. I have this overwhelming urge to be close to her. It’s like I need her in my arms to feel whole again. Staring at my bedroom door, I wonder if I can do this again. If I can subject myself to possibly losing her all over again.
I guess that’s just a risk I’m going to have to take.
Sighing, I open the door to my room quietly, hoping not to wake her, but when I step over the threshold, I find her sitting up on my bed. Alarm bells go off inside my head.
She's breathing hard, each breath labored while her hands are pressed to her chest, her big blues wide and full of fear when she notices me standing there staring at her.
“What's wrong?” I scan the room for something, anything that would explain her outburst of fear, but there's nothing to be found, it’s just us in here.
“Just a bad dream.” She blinks herself out of what seems to be a trance, her voice shaky and weak. I close the door behind me and cross the room until I’m standing next to the bed. I turn on the bedside lamp and watch as she scoots up to the headboard, pulling her knees to her chest in the process.
“Are you coming to tell me our truce is over? That you’re back to hating me?” Her voice is trembling, and I can’t stand to see her in such an anxious state.
“I’m not going to torment you anymore. I’m done fighting, Jules. I’m done. I don’t care anymore. You’re here and you aren’t going anywhere, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there is nothing I can do to change that. So please, don’t worry anymore. I can’t stand to see you so anxious, so worried. I won�
�t hurt you anymore...I’ll stop trying to break your heart like you broke mine.”
Her big blue eyes fill with tears, but her relaxed facial expression tells me she’s thankful for my words, for my apology.
“I didn’t…I mean… I wasn’t trying to break your heart.”
“Just…” My tongue feels heavy and I scrub a hand down my face, trying to gather the strength I need to talk to her about this.
“Let me finish and then you can say whatever you want.”
“Okay,” she mumbles, playing with a string on her t-shirt.
“I’ve never hated you. I know I said I did, and I know I treated you like I did, but I don’t think I’ve ever really hated you. I hated that you left, and I had no one to blame but you, but I didn’t hate you. I couldn’t.”
I lick my lips, and continue, “The truth is I hated myself for a long time for letting you go like I did. For not trying. The day my mother left, it killed me, but I had you. You were there to hold me up, keep me together, and then suddenly you were gone too, and I had no one. It felt like my entire world was crumbling.”
My voice cracks and I feel every single emotion I’ve tried to swallow down over the last three years rising to the surface. My gaze stays trained to the floor. I can’t look at her right now. I just fucking can’t.
“I didn’t know...I mean...I knew but…” There’s a rustling of sheets, and then a second later her hand is cupping my cheek, forcing my head up and my eyes to meet hers.
“You didn’t know?” I question, my voice deeper, my eyes bleeding into hers, searching for the answer to my question, an answer I know that lies deep inside her.
How couldn’t she know? I didn’t go on any dates with girls that asked me out...I never even had sex with someone, not until after she left. I was saving myself for her, waiting until she was ready, and I would’ve waited an entire fucking lifetime if I had to.
The look on her face is doleful. “I didn’t realize you wanted more until it was too late.”
There it is the proverbial slap. The confession.
“That’s bullshit, Jules,” I growl bitterly.
“No, it’s not. I was afraid, Remington. Afraid that I would lose you, my best friend. I was afraid if we crossed that line, if we jumped off the edge and it didn’t work out, that you would be gone forever. I was afraid of losing you…and then I lost you anyway so I guess it wouldn’t have mattered.”
She was afraid...fucking afraid.
I can’t even grasp onto the words that she just said.
“I loved you, Jules. I fucking loved you. Every single piece of you was embedded into my skin, and when you left a part of me died. I became bitter, angry, so fucking angry, and I’m still angry, but I’ve come to realize that the reason I’m this way has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes tearfully, and I retreat a step, watching as her hand falls into the air.
“Me too,” I mutter, feeling like I might break down. I keep walking backward until my back hits the wall, and then I slide down it, holding my head in my hands.
I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.
14
Jules
I don’t know if I should go to him or stay seated on the bed. He looks as devastated as I feel. And yet all I can think about is wrapping him up in my arms and asking him if he still loves me. I want him to still love me. The need to go to him is so overwhelming I find my body moving toward his as if it’s on autopilot and something I’m meant to do.
I move to where he’s sitting against the wall and slide down it, pressing my side against his. I can hear how heavy he’s breathing, his hands are gripping angrily at the long strands of glossy brown hair.
“Rem?” I whisper, turning toward him. He doesn’t say anything. His body seeping with tension. When I came here today, I didn’t expect for this to happen. I was certain I would leave here with tears in my eyes, and I think I still might. I don’t know if Remington is okay, if he’s mad at me, at himself, at us.
He’s not speaking and I’m starting to freak out a little.
I don’t know how to fix this.
How to fix him.
“I...I can go if you want me to?” My words must shake something inside of him, because he lifts his head, and turns to look at me.
I can’t contain the gasp that escapes my lips when I see the tears glistening in his eyes.
“Don’t leave, Jules. Not tonight. Stay with me. Let me hold you. Let me pretend that I didn’t fuck everything up. That I didn’t ruin us.”
“We aren’t ruined, Rem.” Are we? I don’t know if things could ever go back to being the way they were before, if we could ever be friends like we used to be, not with all the carnage, all the heartache, but ruined? We aren’t ruined.
“Let’s go lie down on the bed. We can talk more whenever you want, but for now, I just want you to hold me.” I tug on his arm, but he doesn't move right away, and for a moment I wonder if he’s changed his mind.
Then as if he can feel the doubt creeping in around me, he gets up. I notice his eyes are swollen and bloodshot as he pulls me to my feet, and I stare up at him, completely consumed by the man before me.
Instead of walking to the bed like I expect him to do, he goes over to the dresser and opens a drawer or two, rummaging through them as if he’s looking for something. A moment later he pulls out some sweatpants and a t-shirt I’m sure he’s worn a million times.
“Will you be good sleeping in this?” he asks, handing me the shirt.
“It isn’t my Mickey one, but it’ll do.” I grin, taking the shirt from his outstretched hand.
He smiles back at me and then I watch him as he flicks the button on his jeans and pushes them down his muscled thighs. I all but swallow my tongue at the image before me. I know we were just like this the other night, but I was drugged then and had no honor or morality.
Tonight is different though...tonight I’m me, and Remmy is, well him, and we’re normal, or as normal as we can be.
“Are you going to change or are you just going to stand there and watch me?”
“I…I don’t know, maybe I should change in the bathroom,” I say nervously.
“You know I pretty much saw you naked the other night, right?”
My cheeks heat in embarrassment, of course he did. Stupid Jules. Stupid. I must be showing every emotion that I’m feeling right at that moment because Rem cringes as if he realizes he said something wrong.
“I’m sorry Cole hurt you… If I would have known what he was planning, I wouldn’t have left you alone with him. I swear I had no idea that he put something in your drink and I thought you wanted to be with him since you went on a bunch of dates together. I was trying to let you go, let you be happy.”
“Dates? What? I never went on a date with him!” I nearly yell.
That fucking asshole.
Rem gives me a disbelieving look. “I saw you, Jules… at the diner, with Thomas and his girl. You all looked cozy.” There’s a jealousness that lingers in his voice.
“That wasn't a date, Rem. I was there to pick up some chocolate cake and he talked me into sitting down with them while I was waiting. I was there for like five minutes and as soon as the waitress came back with my order, I jumped up and left. It wasn’t a date, Rem, believe me. I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid him. The last thing I would do is subject myself to an hour long date with the guy.”
“Fuck!” he curses, clearly angry with himself that he believed Cole’s pathetic story.
“Yeah, we weren’t dating and as for the other night, I just want to forget it ever happened. It’s one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made.”
“Well, I want you to know I wouldn’t ever do that to you…to anyone…”
“I already know that. You’re a pure gentleman.” I roll my eyes, and he lifts a questioning brow at me.
“I wouldn’t go that far. I’m definitely an asshole, but I wouldn’t do that. I can’
t believe I was friends with him, that I didn’t see his douchebagness from a mile away. He never did end up coming back to the frat house and even if he tried, I wouldn’t have let him in. I won’t live with a fucking rapist. He’s pathetic and if I ever see him again, I’ll do more than rearrange his face. His family will need to make funeral arrangements.”
“He’s not worth it,” I respond, pulling my shirt off, and then unbuttoning my pants. As I push them down my legs, I catch Remington’s eyes wandering over my naked body. There’s a hunger in them, a primal need that’s directed right at me and it only gets worse when I reach around and unhook my bra. The need inside of me mounts when his pink tongue darts out over his full bottom lip. I want to kiss him, taste him.
My pussy clenches, but there’s nothing there to sedate the ache forming inside of it. I want Remington, almost as badly as I wanted him three years ago.
I slide the bra off and pull the shirt on that he gave me, trying my best not to react to him, and the heat in my core. When my head pops through the head hole, I find he’s still staring at me, but the look in his eyes has diminished a bit, almost like he’s suppressing the need.
“You want to wear the sweatpants too?” he asks, his voice deep, thicker than normal.
I shake my head without thinking, turn around, and walk over to the bed. He pulls off his shirt, discarding it on the floor before he follows me to the bed in nothing but a pair of boxers.
My mouth goes dry, and I chew on my bottom lip. I try not to let my gaze linger on his muscular chest and well-defined abs, but it’s so damn hard. It’s so unfair how good the last three years have been to his body. All deliciously firm muscle, each ab carved out like stone.
Gah, I have to stop.
He smirks when he catches me staring and I quickly crawl into bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin. I involuntarily shiver, my pulse quickening when he slides into bed and under the same sheet as me.
Bad. This is so bad.
