It’s my boys.
All of them.
Adams, Banister, Rocket, and Davidson. It’s only a few photos, but I cherish those things.
I walk into the living room and she looks up at me. “Friends?”
I hand her a beer. “Yeah. Those were my boys.”
“Were?” she asks, twisting the top and taking a sip.
I take my hat off and toss it onto the table. I run a hand over my face and sit down. I stare at the photos on the table. Rocket’s arm is over Adam’s shoulder. They’re both smiling, and I can remember when that photo was taken.
“You’re getting married?” I ask Adams as I sit down and pull my boots off. After a ten-hour shift, I’m fucking exhausted. Marks from my boots and socks cover my feet, and my fucking balls are sweaty as hell. I need a shower, but I don’t have time if I want to get in another nap before we go on patrol. There’s been some shit going down on the east side of the village, and we’ve been instructed to go check it out.
“She said yeah, man.” Adams has never looked happier. It’s contagious.
“Well, fuck yeah,” Rocket says, walking in and putting his gun down. “I told you she would.” He sits down on Adam’s cot and throws his arm around his shoulder.
Both men are smiling, and I grab my phone from the bed. “Look at me, motherfuckers.”
“You okay?” she asks me, taking a seat at the other end of the sofa.
I snap out of it. “I’m all right,” I say, giving her a closed smile.
She narrows her eyes. “How come I don’t believe you?” She kicks off her shoes and twists on the couch, putting her feet up.
I look at her on my couch, making herself at home. I find myself wishing it was always like this. There’s so much I want to know about her. I’ve been nothing but open, but she has not been easy to get to know. I stand up and walk to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” she asks. I open the cabinet and pull out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.
“How about we play a game?” I say, coming back in.
She lifts a brow. “What kind?”
“We ask each other a question. We don’t have to answer, but if not, you have to take a shot.”
She gets an uneasy expression on her face before she takes a drink. “Okay,” she says, sitting up. “Can I go first?”
“Shoot.” I place the bottle and shot glasses down.
“How long has your brother owned Red?”
I look up, trying to think…I was sixteen. “A little over ten years.” That was an odd question to ask. Why does she even care? “My turn,” I say.
“Go on,” she replies.
“How long have you been a librarian?”
She bites her inner cheek. “About the same amount of time Bryce has owned Red.”
I nod. “So you’re around his age then?”
“Na-ah. That’s two questions, Grant.”
I smile, liking that she called me Grant. “My bad.”
“I think you should have to take a shot.”
“That’s not how this works,” I argue.
“Do we really have to follow the rules?” she asks with a smirk.
“Fine,” I say, reaching up and grabbing the bottle. I pour myself a shot and toss it back.
I suck my teeth. “Done. Now ask your question.”
She nods, seeming satisfied. “What’s the one thing you wish you could change about your life?”
“Wow. That’s a deep question.”
“You don’t have to answer,” she says, looking at the bottle.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask her.
“Maybe,” she says, looking cute as hell. God, the things I wish I could do to her.
I exhale. What would I change? Fuck, what wouldn’t I?
“I don’t really know how to answer that.”
“Well, drink up,” she says.
“No, no. I can answer.” I run a hand through my hair. “I’d change the way I feel.”
“The way you feel?”
“I believe that’s two questions, Dalton.”
She exhales. “Shit.”
“Shot time,” I say, grabbing the bottle and pouring her one.
She takes it and tosses it back.
“Now my question is, what’s the one thing you regret the most?” I ask as she places the shot glass back onto the table.
She scoffs. “Pour me another.”
I lift a brow. “Okay,” I say.
Why didn’t she want to answer that? What is this woman hiding? Why behind those pretty eyes is there so much sadness? I don’t understand it.
“Want to stop?” I ask her.
“You’re really not good at this, are you?” she says, and I realize I asked another fucking question.
“Dammit.”
She laughs, but then looks back at the table. Her voice turns serious. “What happened to them?” she asks, nodding toward the photos.
I wince after I take my other shot. “They died.” I shock myself. I haven’t said that out loud to anyone. It’s not something you talk about. Those were my boys, and I just said they died like it was no big deal.
But it was.
God, it was.
It killed me.
It still kills me.
“What were the files and shit about that night?” I decide to go for it.
She grabs the bottle and pours herself one. I sigh internally. She isn’t going to talk about it, but at least she didn’t freeze up.
“How did they die?” she asks.
“We were attacked,” I reply. “Why won’t you open up to me?”
“It’s not you. It’s me.”
I almost say what the hell does that mean, but I’d be breaking the rules again.
“Were you the only one who made it?”
“Yes,” I reply. “All of my brothers died, and I made it” My turn again. “What do you mean by it’s not you, it’s me?”
“My life is very busy. I don’t have time to get to know people outside of my work. So, this is new to me. Why did you leave the Army?” she asks.
How is her life busy? What the fuck does she do that takes up so much of her time?
“It was time,” I say. “Are you really a librarian?”
“Yes,” she answers, and I don’t know why, but I don’t believe her. “Do you miss the Army?”
“Every day.” I take a sip of my beer. “I know that’s odd, but I felt like I had a purpose there, ya know? Like my life was worth something.”
“I don’t think that’s odd. I get it.”
“How do you get it?” I ask.
She shrugs. “We all need something in life to make us feel…wanted, useful. I get why you’d want that.”
She plays with the label on her bottle. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive your mom?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have an answer for that. She’s been doing really well, but it doesn’t change what she did, how she was. Maybe one day I will.” I look out the window. The moon shines in through it, casting a glow across the floor. “When’s the last time you were in a serious relationship?”
She laughs. “That would be never.”
“Seriously? How?”
“Oh my God. That’s two shots back-to-back,” she says.
I roll my eyes, lift the bottle, and quickly throw back two shots. I blow out. “Okay.” I shake my head. “Jesus.”
She laughs and takes a drink from her beer. “Have you ever had a serious relationship?”
“I haven’t had time. I dated some in school, but it was never anything serious. I left for the Army at eighteen, and when I did come home, I wasn’t looking to settle. Besides, it’s rough on the people back at home, worrying constantly. I saw my boys and how much they missed their wives and families. I didn’t want to deal with that shit.” I exhale, thinking about Rocket’s wife. I never got to meet her or his family. We were all so close and yet, we never got to meet each other’s families. “Why
haven’t you ever had a serious relationship?”
“Never liked anyone enough, I guess.” All of her answers are short and to the point. She reveals only a little, just enough for me to grasp onto, but not enough to satisfy. It’s like having a taste of your favorite food, but not being able to eat the whole thing.
“You sleeping with anyone now?” she asks, looking bashful, which is cute.
I shrug. “Here and there. That guy Malcolm—you and him sleeping together?”
“Not anymore.”
“So, you were? And before you say it, I’m not taking another shot.”
She clamps her mouth shut. She looks down at the beer in her hand. “We were, yes. Malcolm is just a friend, though. We had an understanding.”
“So you were fuck buddies?”
“I guess. If you want to call it that.”
“You don’t have any feelings for him?” I ask. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I’m getting upset, and I have no right to be. She’s allowed to sleep with whomever she wants. Like she said before, she’s not my girlfriend.
“No. He’s just a friend. What about the women you sleep with? Any feelings?”
“No.”
I don’t tell Dalton that I am having feelings for her. That the way she smiles makes my heart double up and kick-starts my pulse. That her smell brings me comfort. I don’t tell her that the feeling of holding her while she was sleeping will be something I never forget.
The room quiets, and neither of us says anything. She looks over at me. Her lips are wet from her drink, her hair falling in thick waves down her back. I swallow and reach over to put my beer down. She doesn’t ask me where I’m going as I get up and walk over to my record player. Pulling out an album, I slide the record out and put it in place. I move the needle, and Garth Brooks starts crooning lyrics about making you feel my love.
This is deep, but somewhere inside of my soul, I feel this way for her. It’s too soon to say it out loud. Hell, I don’t know if I ever will, but maybe just for a moment, we can both forget the battles we’ve lived through, the war going on in our heads, and just be.
I turn around to look at her. She looks nervous. Why do I make her nervous?
“Dance with me,” I say.
“Here?” she asks, looking around. I know the space is small, but we aren’t moving all over the room.
“Yeah,” I say, sliding my hands into my pockets, because I’m a little nervous, too. I don’t want to press anything. I don’t want to be the reason she walks out. But I want to hold her so much it hurts.
She folds her lips in. I see the fight she has with herself. Like she shouldn’t do this, and I have no idea why. Why is this so hard for her? We’re just two people who obviously want one another and yet, she acts like it’s a sin.
What’s so wrong with me?
I know I’m not the best man. I know I’ve done stupid shit. No one is harder on me than me. But I deserve some happiness, don’t I?
After all the pain I’ve been through, all the hurt and guilt.
“If you don’t want this, that’s okay,” I say.
She looks over at me, places her beer onto the table, and stands up. I swallow as she nears.
She puts her arms around my neck, and I cautiously remove my hands and put them around her waist. Her eyes go to mine, and slowly we move, small step after small step. And as the music plays and the room fades away, I look at her lips, so fucking desperate to kiss them. Her eyes go to mine, but I’m not making the first move. If she wants me, then she’ll have to do it.
I’ve always been the one to make first moves. I’m confident. Some would say cocky at times. I know I’m a good-looking guy, so that makes it easy to get women, but this isn’t someone I just want to fuck.
I want more with this girl.
She makes no move to kiss me, though. Instead, she rests her head on my shoulder and we dance.
And that’s all we do.
Chapter Thirty
Jace
Weeks pass, and winter hits hard. It’s freezing in Atlanta, and a snowstorm bellows through the city. Dalton and I see each other a few days a week. We meet up at Hudson’s or at each of our places. The most we’ve done is kiss, and I swear to God, I have permanent blue balls. I rub my hands together as she bounces behind me.
“Hurry up,” she urges.
“I’m trying,” I reply with freezing fingers. We’ve rented a cabin in the mountains. It’s snowing all around us, but we’re not secluded. There are plenty of other idiots up here, too.
I push open the door and we hurry inside. Snow blows in behind us and Dalton quickly shuts the door.
“Jesus Christ,” she says, walking over to the table and putting the bags in her hands down.
We’ve brought cards, alcohol, and food. This will be a nice break from life, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping we could move our relationship a little farther. Dalton hasn’t made a signal move and I’ve sworn I wouldn’t, but tonight that might fucking change. I know she wants me; I can tell by the way she watches me when she doesn’t think I know. The way she presses her thighs together, the goosebumps on her arms when we touch.
I’m going crazy.
I know she has to be, too.
The wind howls against the door, and I bend down and toss some logs into the fireplace. I lay kindling on top of it before stacking more logs and striking the lighter.
Once it catches, I turn, looking over at Dalton who’s lighting candles. She has a beanie hat over her hair, her cheeks are flushed, and her freckles are makeup-free. She places the candle down and unzips her coat. While pulling it off, her shirt lifts a tad and I can see her stomach.
She has no idea I’m watching her.
She has no idea how much I want her.
She has no idea how beautiful she is.
She’s clueless to the way I feel about her. I mean, really, how many guys do you know would still be doing this? We haven’t slept together; we just hang out a few nights a week like best fucking friends who want to fuck like rabbits, but don’t because… God, I have no idea why.
She’s scared of something. I don’t know if she lied to me about never being in a serious relationship, but the way she stops things from happening between us makes me think someone did a number on her.
She walks over to the grocery bags and I look away with an exhale.
“What do you want to eat tonight?” she asks. She pulls out a jar of peanut butter and pulls open a few drawers.
“Chili?” I ask. We’re going to be here for the weekend, so we bought enough food to have options.
“Sounds good to me.” She twists the top off and sticks her found spoon inside before placing it in her mouth.
Jesus Christ. I feel like a hormonal teen. Everything she does makes me think of sex. It’s ridiculous. I stand up and walk to the kitchen to grab a beer from the box we have on the counter. I pop one open and open the fridge to put the rest inside.
This weekend is either going to be really painful or the best weekend I’ve ever had.
It took some time to convince her to even do it. She’s been distracted lately. When we meet up for drinks or have dinner, it’s like she’s got something else on her mind. So, I thought this would be good for us. She was hesitant and came up with an excuse that she had family plans she couldn’t get out of, but I kept on.
Until finally, she agreed.
I won.
I realize how big of a deal this is, so trust me when I say, I’m not taking it for granted. She has nowhere to go now. It’s snowing outside and we’re alone.
All weekend.
I’m going to break out all the moves until she gives in. I won’t touch her, but I promise before the end of the weekend, she’ll be all over me.
“Good?” I ask as she licks the spoon.
She nods. “Uh-huh.”
My eyes move from hers to her mouth before I take a sip from my beer. I lean back on the counter.
This is going to be tortu
re.
Chapter Thirty-One
Harlow
I can’t take it anymore. I really, really like Jace, and I want him so bad I ache.
This lying shit is killing me. I want to tell him everything. I want him to trust me, the real me.
I want him to know all of my fears and my weaknesses and how I really grew up.
I want to tell him what I do for a living and how much I love it, and can he handle how much I love it?
I want to tell him why I’ve been keeping anything from happening between us. To explain it all, but I can’t.
I can’t and it hurts.
I think about his hands on me all the time. At night when I’m in bed alone, I touch myself, wishing it were him touching me.
I come with his name on my lips. Part of me wonders if this is just lust. If we finally give in, will the feelings vanish? Like it’s just an itch we both need so desperately to scratch, and once we do, we can go on with our lives.
I know he watches me. I can feel it.
And the way he looks at me. There’s a sense of wonder behind those hooded blues. It’s like he’s scared that at any moment, I could vanish, and he’d be completely worthless.
He looks at me like I’m everything.
It takes my breath. Physically almost brings me to my knees. I’ve made this boy fall for me, and he doesn’t even really know who I am.
He has no idea how he makes me feel. How those looks are all I think about.
Because the truth is, I’m falling for him, too.
I feel it in my bones.
And it devastates me.
How will we survive this? I look at him as he puts away the groceries. His jeans hang from his hips, and he wears a button-up long-sleeved flannel shirt and boots with a snapback hat over his head.
He looks boyishly gruff, and it makes my mouth water. I dip my spoon back into the peanut jar and lick it clean.
I’m not stupid. I know he wants to take things farther, and God, so do I, but once we do, there’s no turning back.
I’ll have to tell him the truth. I’ll have to spill it all, and we know I can’t do that. I have my career to think about.
I’m not a girl. I’m a grown woman with a job that matters. Jace was supposed to be my way in. I need him to get to his brother. We’re still watching Bryce’s club, and Davy is on my ass. We’ve gotten into so many arguments, and I come out of his office pissed and mad at the world. Monroe takes pity on me, and we go out for a drink so I can vent about all of this shit.
Give Me Redemption (Give Me Series Book 4) Page 15
