Till It Hurts by Cora Brent
Tori
Now
Having a routine again feels good, even if there is a strangeness factor added to my days while living in the same house as Jace.
It’s the end of my first full week working for Paul Elkins. I was wrong to assume there wouldn’t be much to keep me busy. Paul’s office is a warren of disorganized documents dating back more than three decades, which I would estimate is the last time the filing was done properly. Even though Paul’s granddaughter Nina tends to eye me with some suspicion from her receptionist desk, Paul himself has been cheerfully receptive to my idea of modernizing his way of conducting business. All week I’ve been working on scanning reams of old paper and then organizing the digital files.
As for Jace, we’ve become a pair of cautious roommates. He appears to spend his days either doing small repairs around the house or disappearing for long stretches of time with McClane. Often the dry dirt of west Texas is visible on his shoes when he returns so I would guess that he’s out hiking. I remember how he used to love exploring the vast, unkempt terrain outside town. He and Colt both.
Jace is usually an early riser and today he’s gone when my phone alarm begins beeping. I’m sure he’ll be around later when I return from work, but he’ll also likely make himself scarce soon after I walk through the door. He doesn’t go out of his way to initiate conversations and neither do I, but we haven’t erupted into anymore obscene shouting matches. I appreciate the improvement. Jace doesn’t pepper me with questions or show much interest in what I’m doing, yet I can’t shake the sense that he’s quietly inspecting me from a distance. He hasn’t mentioned how long he’ll be staying here and I haven’t asked again.
Meanwhile, despite his best efforts to maintain a low profile, the presence of Arcana’s most famous son has attracted much notice. It’s unnerving to walk outside and see the house being watched, either by neighbors or by people I’ve never seen before. Vehicles drive slowly down the street at all hours. I can see their headlights filtering through the window shades when I’m trying to settle down at night and suffocate the noise in my head. I’m not the one they are interested in seeing, but I can’t stop anyone from snapping my photo and posting it wherever they please. This makes me uneasy, even though common sense dictates that Timothy Gatlin won’t see me as a threat, not now. I’m beaten. I’m vanquished. If he really wanted to get to me, he could have done so at any time during the months I cowered in my apartment alone and cringing at the shadows on the walls. It’s irrational to believe I’m in any danger here.
Yet it also would have been irrational to fear getting my head bashed in by my pillar-of-the-community boss.
So there you go.
Irrational things happen. They happen all the time.
At least for now, the fact that Jace is slumbering down the hall every night is reassuring. Jace is big and strong and imposing. Jace won the freaking Super Bowl. No sane person would dare to take on Jace Zielinski. And despite our tortured history, I’m certain he would never allow any physical harm to come to me while he was around.
Plus there’s McClane, who is currently resting his head on my thigh while I spoon cornflakes into my mouth. He wags his tail when I absently reach down to pet him. I’ll be very sorry to lose my new friend when Jace decides he’s had enough of hanging around his grandmother’s house. Yet I’m starting to understand that I have a bigger problem than the pending absence of McClane.
I don’t want to see Jace leave either. I don’t want him to go at all.
I feed a handful of cornflakes to McClane and verify that he has food and water in his dish before getting ready for work. This morning the bleary exhaustion is proving tough to overcome and I have myself to blame. Last night I tossed and turned on the couch bed and finally swallowed another pill around three a.m. I feel comforted by the fact that I was able to obtain another month’s worth, although I should be more careful about rationing them. Paul Elkins granted me an advance on my first paycheck, which enabled me to visit three different urgent care clinics with three different stories about why I needed meds. The first two were seasoned doctors who were skeptical of my phantom back injury and fake nerve pain. The second doctor in particular pressed me to fill out a mental health evaluation and so I quietly exited when he left the exam room. But the third doctor was youthful and highly sympathetic to the agony of a young female patient, especially when I produced tears as I described my history of painful kidney stones. He wrote out a prescription for Vicodin. There’s one refill, which I’ve already collected, leaving me with a cushion of twenty three pills. I can get more.
A lengthy hot shower succeeds in lifting my fog and I’m in a good mood when I search through my bags and ask for McClane’s opinion on what I ought to wear to work today.
“What do you think of this one?” I hold up a wrinkled black top that’s really more appropriate for cooler weather.
The dog tilts his head from his armchair perch. I decide to interpret the pose as skepticism.
“You’re right.” I stuff the top back into my largest suitcase. “This shirt doesn’t do much for me. I never did like it.”
My work wardrobe has always been a testament to monochromatic blandness. Lots of black. Occasional splashes of gray. I’m not a girl who enjoys standing out and my trendy hair color is only thanks to participation in a breast cancer fundraiser last fall. By now the color has faded and continues to messily grow out. I always planned to change it back to my natural color, a nondescript blondish brown. I just haven’t gotten around to fretting over my hair. For reasons.
“If you ever try to fuck with me again, you stupid bitch, I’ll kill you.”
This always happens. The brutal echoes of that moment haunt me without warning.
Unfair!
Just when I was feeling relaxed and semi happy, Dr. Timothy Gatlin returns to remind me that he’s won. He now sends me scampering over to my purse to withdraw a bottle of pills, which I clutch like a talisman. I’m longing for one now, for the way it eats the sharp edges of my terrors and let me be me. I could have one. I can still function with one pill. Hell, twice this week I’ve taken them in the middle of the day and still managed to do everything I needed to do. I might yawn a little bit at my desk but no one will care.
I twist the lid in my hand and make a deal with myself.
Later.
I can have one at lunch.
Satisfied with the compromise, I lower the pill bottle back into my purse. McClane jumps off the couch and nudges my arm with his nose.
“Good boy.” I pat his head and he regards me with reverence. He has his scars too, on his face and the right flank of his body. Jace mentioned in passing that his sidekick had been a stray. McClane understands pain and suffering.
I decide to wear a skirt. It’s a flare cut the color of blue denim and falls just past my knees. The skirt is wrinkled, but then again so is everything else I own. It doesn’t look bad when I pair it with a white cotton shirt and accent with a mustard colored belt. After adding a light sweater, I return to the bathroom to see the results in the mirror.
To my surprise, I don’t look bad. I’ve often been told I have a young face and could easily pass for a college student. My hair is rather a sight but brushing it and clipping a section on the right side makes a difference. I could pass for pretty, especially after covering most of the scarring with concealer and arranging my hair to obscure the rest. The girl in the mirror smiles.
McClane whimpers when he sees the keys in my hand. He sits and beseechingly offers his paw. Don’t leave me. I give him a biscuit from the box Jace keeps in the pantry. I promise him that I’ll be home later and remind him that Jace will probably be back soon. It occurs to me that I’ve said more to this dog in the past week than I’ve said to another human being in half a year.
The weather is warm with a honeyed taste of spring. By now Gloria would have planted colorful flowers in the pottery collection clustered by the front door. I should do the same.
I lock the door absently, thinking of flowers and sunshine as I walk to my car. I don’t even notice the man until he bizarrely shouts, “CHEESE!” He’s a shadow with an oversized grey hoodie that cloaks his face and he’s holding something that looks like a weapon.
With a shriek I drop my purse. The contents roll out onto the sidewalk. The weapon is not actually a weapon but a cell phone. He snaps a photo and dashes to a waiting black van. Before he even has the door shut the van is speeding away, squealing tires and all.
Another of Jace’s fans. His shout was intended to get my attention and he didn’t mind if he scared the ever loving daylights out of me in the process.
I fall to my knees and try to refill my purse but my heart pounds and my vision dances. I wrap my arms around my waist and lean forward, trying to breathe and calm the aftershocks of panic. I hear tires crunch and I’m afraid to look up.
“Tori!”
Relief spills out in a long exhale. It’s just Jace. He sprints over to me after jumping out of his truck, which he’s abandoned in the street.
Jace drops to the ground and pushes my hair aside, trying to see my face and figure out why I’m huddled on the sidewalk. “What happened?” He’s alarmed, worried.
Breathe in. Breathe out.“This guy came out of nowhere. He took a picture. Really, it’s nothing. It’s no big deal. I was just startled.” My words run together and I rub my arms, suddenly cold beneath my thin cardigan.
Jace is furious. He practically growls and glares this way and that. “Fucking vultures. Stalking people for sport.”
“They do this to you all the time?”
“They try. Usually they’re aiming to get a cheap shot they can sell. Or at least post on social media.”
He’s still angry, craning his neck around in search of more lowly tabloid hopefuls. Then he sees that I’m trying to collect my spilled belongings and helps by picking up the amber bottle of prescription pills. I freeze and fight the urge to snatch it from his fingers but he hands the bottle over without examining it.
“Thanks,” I mutter and close the zipper on my handbag once everything is tucked inside.
Without asking if I need help getting up, Jace grips my upper arms in his big hands and manages to be gentle while also exhibiting superior strength as he lifts me to my feet. I sway for a second, breathless from the brief pressure of his touch.
Jace doesn’t notice. He’s distracted, still looking around. “I guess you’re on your way to work.”
“Yes. How do you stand it, Jace?”
His eyes swing back to me and one eyebrow lifts. “Stand what?”
“All the attention. You never liked it, being the center of attention. You preferred standing back, always the thoughtful observer. I guess it was the writer in you.”
He recoils at the word ‘writer’ and I think I’ve just made a mistake. It’s not like I’m trying to point out his failure over never becoming a writer. Jace Zielinski is about as far from a failure as a man can be. Yet this life that he has, it wasn’t what he wanted. I’m one of the few people, maybe the only person, who knows what he really wanted.
He looks away again. His voice is low, resigned. “You’d be surprised what you can get used to. What you can become.”
No, I wouldn’t.
If I admit this, he would ask me why. I take a step away from him, toward my parked car. “I really need to go.”
“Wait. Tori?”
I turn around. “Yeah?”
He looks me up and down and the corner of his mouth tilts up. “You look really nice today.”
He still has it, this power to make me melt. The heat in my cheeks warns that I’m blushing. “Thank you. Um, you look nice too.”
Jace chuckles, probably thinking it’s an odd remark, given that he’s sweaty and dressed like he was just out for a run in the wilderness, which is probably true. There’s dirt on his sneakers.
He continues to watch me as I get in my car and drive away. When I look in the rearview mirror I can see that he’s still posed beside the curb, just watching.
Paul always beats both me and Nina into work. He waves to me from his office when I walk in and take a seat at the desk that was installed just for me in a niche just beyond the tiny waiting room. Before I left yesterday, I set aside the boxes I plan to deal with today. Next week I’m going to begin tackling the antiquated accounting system. There is far too much in uncollected receivables and I want to make sure Paul gets his money’s worth for hiring me. The work is easy and the daily routine of having a job makes me feel normal. Or at least close to normal.
“It’s eight minutes past nine, Nina,” Paul announces when his granddaughter tries to tiptoe in.
She snaps her gum. “Sorry, Pop Pop.”
Paul closes his door for conference calls all morning and Nina is in a chatty mood. She has a new boyfriend. His name is Ashton and he works in a Plainsfield bar. Nina’s parents would like her to return to school at Hutton State to finish her degree in recreational studies, but Nina has other plans. She’d like to be a singer. She’s already performed at two high school dances, a neighbor’s sweet sixteen and her parents’ anniversary party.
“So what are you doing this weekend?” she asks when she takes a break to apply glue to her nails. “Anything fun?”
I’ve given absolutely zero thought to the upcoming weekend. I kneel on the floor and pull open a new box. “Think I might come to the office for a few hours. I want to make a dent in all this scanning.”
Nina is unimpressed. “I’m sure you’ve got better options.”
This particular box includes a stack of old copies of the Arcana Tribune. “Not really.”
She throws me a sly look. “How’s life with Jace Zielinski?”
“Quiet. He does his thing and I do mine.” It’s not the first time she’s tried to get me to talk about Jace. All I’ve told her is that our families were close. Given the way things are in Arcana, I’m sure she’s heard there’s more to it than that.
She notices that I’ve returned to my desk to spread a newspaper out on the surface. “What’s that?”
My fingertips smooth out the cover page. “It’s the issue from when Arcana High won State.”
“So it’s about Jace?”
“No. This is long before Jace’s time. It’s thirty-two years old.”
The grainy, youthful face of my own father smiles at me from the past within a carefully posed formation of Arcana High School football players. He was the kicker on that team. He’s standing beside the quarterback, Clay Hempstead. Many of the last names captioned below the photo are ones I recognize, the fathers of kids I would someday go to school with. When I spot Jace’s father, a surge of visceral loathing tempts me to crush the paper in my hands. I have to remind myself that the high school kid in the photo had no idea what kind of self-centered, contemptible man he would become. Before I fold up the newspaper I use my cell phone to take a snapshot of the cover photo. Carrie might like to see it. She’s always hungry to hear more about our father as she has no memory of him.
Nina asks me if I can cover the phones so she can meet Ashton for lunch. I don’t mind at all. I packed a ham sandwich and a yogurt for lunch so that I wouldn’t need to leave the office. Paul himself doesn’t really take a full lunch. Around noon he always leaves for a walk down to the gas station for a candy bar, chips, and a tin of breath mints. I’ve been hoping he’ll say more about Gloria, specifically about why she went to such trouble to construct her will the way she did. But so far Paul has said nothing. Maybe there’s a law involved, client confidentiality or something. I would give a lot to know what she was thinking.
After I finish my lunch and neatly dispose of the trash, I withdraw the pill bottle from my purse, rolling it around in my palm. Even as the clatter of the contents within fills me with dread, I’m about to pop the lid and take one. Then Paul suddenly returns and I hastily push the bottle back into my purse. Paul smiles at me and drops a candy bar on my desk.
“Thought you could use a treat,” he says.
I smile. “Thank you. How’d you know that Twix are my favorite?”
“Lucky guess.” He’s about to walk away and then pauses. “Are you all right, Tori?”
With my foot, I guiltily nudge my purse farther away beneath the desk. “Yes, of course.”
Nina takes a long lunch and then she leaves early. She and Ashton are going camping this weekend. I’m still sitting at my desk when six o’clock rolls around and Paul cheerfully kicks me out.
“By the way, you’ve been doing an excellent job.” He throws a rather frustrated glance at the empty reception desk where his granddaughter usually sits. “Perhaps your work ethic will rub off.”
I’m glad for the praise, even though I don’t believe my work ethic is so wonderful. “When you’ve got some time, I put together a slide presentation that highlights the details of the new billing system and-“
“It’s the weekend.” Paul waves me off. “Go home. We can talk about it next week. There’s no hurry.”
I take that as a sign that I’m kicked out until Monday. But I don’t mind. As I drive home I find that I’m actually looking forward to being there. McClane is always good company. There’s also Jace. My stomach flutters at the thought of seeing Jace and this might be dangerous but it feels good anyway.
I pull up to the curb, keeping a wary eye out for unwelcome visitors, and it’s not until I’m inserting my key into the front door that I realize that something is off.
Jace’s truck is not here.
And his truck is always here in the evening.
I twist the doorknob and hear no joyful bark of greeting from McClane. Inside, the house is dark and oppressively empty. When I switch on every light I can find, that only solves one problem. Now there’s plenty of light but no sign of either Jace or his dog. The blow to my heart is inexplicable. Did I really think Jace would stay here forever? He’s on top of the world and there’s nothing here for him, not really.
I drop my bag on the floor and begin opening cabinets in the kitchen in search of an answer but there’s none in sight. It’s not like Jace brought a full set of dishes along with him. Whatever belongings he carried into the house are kept in his bedroom. The one I haven’t been inside in nearly ten years and don’t especially want to enter now.
After standing in the lonely kitchen and chewing on my thumbnail for a minute, I heave a sigh and walk down the hall. The instant my hand connects with the worn brass doorknob the memories crash together in my head. I can see his nervous smile as he slowly opened the door to show me the thoughtful romance of his efforts. Rose petals everywhere. His hand on my back. His mouth on mine.
“I love you.”
I switch on the light and I’m staring into ten years ago. The room hasn’t changed. The same vintage music posters remain neatly thumbtacked. His collection of hardcover literary classics are lined up like patient soldiers on a wide floating shelf. And the bed where we made love for the first time is still in its place against the left wall.
The room pulls me in like a magnet. I find myself sinking down onto the bed, which is too soft and covered with a faded blue and white quilt that was lovingly sewn by Gloria. I smooth the cotton fabric with my palm and become swamped by a profound sense of loss. For people and for moments. For mistakes and for what might have been.
I’m so submerged in my own thoughts that it’s a shock to find myself staring into McClane’s doggy grin. He barks once and then jumps on the bed too, plainly thrilled to participate in whatever new game I’ve invented.
Half a second later, Jace walks in to discover that I’m lounging around in his bedroom.
“What’s going on?” He’s not angry, just puzzled.
I bolt to my feet. “I’m sorry.”
He snaps his fingers and the dog jumps off the bed. Then he takes a good look at my face and frowns. “Did something happen? Was there another goddamn stalker hanging around?”
“No. Nothing happened. I was just afraid you’d left.”
His eyes flicker. “No.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
He gestures behind him. “I’ve got my bags stored in the closet. I was just out for a drive.”
“Right.” I take a step away from the bed where I lost my virginity to him. I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about that now. If he ever thinks about it. “I really am sorry.”
He shrugs. “Why?”
I edge nearer to the door. The walls of the room seem closer than they did when I walked in. He takes up so much space. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that’s been laundered too many times and jeans with a small rip in the right knee. He doesn’t look like a millionaire football hero. He just looks perfect. He looks like Jace. “I shouldn’t have come in here. I don’t want you to think I was trying to snoop.”
His head cocks to the side. “I don’t think that, Tori.”
Things happen to me when he says my name. Things that might make me do something stupid.
“I’ve got to go.” I speed walk to the safety of the kitchen. Jace doesn’t follow and I’m grateful.
I hear him and McClane go out the back door and I fill Gloria’s largest brass bottom pot with water. Spaghetti, both cheap and easy to prepare, has long been one of my top food groups and I always have multiple boxes on hand. Unfortunately, it’s not until I’m waiting for the water to boil and idly toying with a box of angel hair pasta that I realize I’m out of tomato sauce.
My dinner plans foiled, I spill the pot of hot water in the sink and rummage through the pantry. I should have stopped at the grocery store on the way home. The best I can do is combine the last of the bread with slices of American cheese. I’m an expert at grilled cheese. It was the meal I prepared most frequently on the nights when my mother was off doing something exciting while leaving me and Colt to fend for ourselves.
As an afterthought, I toast an additional sandwich on the griddle and then carry it outside on a plate. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I spot Jace in the dimmest corner of the yard with a shovel. He’s digging a hole, an odd chore to tackle after the sun sets. McClane scampers over to me with something in his mouth. He wags his tail, drops the object and picks it up again before galloping away once more. I hope whatever he’s carrying wasn’t once alive.
“In case you’re hungry,” I call to Jace, holding up the plate before setting it in the middle of the redwood picnic table.
He stops, straightens his back, and looks in this direction. If he says anything then I don’t hear it. I return to the kitchen, eat my grilled cheese and read the latest volume of The Best American Short Stories on my phone. Jace must be digging quite a hole in the backyard because when nine p.m. rolls around he’s still out there. In fact, it’s not until I’m in my pajamas and unfolding my couch bed that he and McClane return indoors. The dog runs in here to find out what exciting current events are happening and revels in the affection I give him. Jace walks into the kitchen, washes and dries his sandwich plate, and then walks out.
“Thanks for the food,” is all he says before retreating to the shower. Twenty minutes later, the door to his bedroom opens and closes and I know that’s the last I’ll see of him tonight.
McClane must have tired himself out in the backyard because he’s already snoring on his throw blanket in the corner. I kind of envy that dog, being able to fall deeply asleep with such ease. What a nice talent to have.
I’ve already switched off the lamp and I’m watching the ceiling beams while considering whether I want to take one pill tonight or two. There’s not much I need to do tomorrow. Maybe trying for a pill free night would be a good idea.
After all, I’m not stupid. I’m aware of the damage that can be done from long term usage of painkillers, both to the brain and to the body. I think of those tortured souls at Cloud Springs, so many of them desperate and addicted. How many were once exactly where I’m at, staring at a dark ceiling and feeling the first stirrings of fear?
McClane suddenly raises his head and issues a low growl. It’s not a sound I’ve heard from him before. It’s packed with menace.
Then a battering ram hits the front door. At least that’s what it sounds like.
There’s a second thud, even louder than the first, that knocks a picture of the wall. Glass shatters. McClane snarls and lunges for the door.
I scream. “JACE!”
He vaults out of his bedroom, a silhouette that streaks into the room and lands at my side.
“Tori.” He feels for me in the darkness and I clutch his thick arm.
Blood roars between my ears. My voice is both a shriek and a whisper. “Someone’s trying to break in!”
McClane barks with murderous ferocity. Jace finds the table lamp and switches it on. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts. He’s also holding a gun.
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
I shake my head and release his arm.
Jace cautiously approaches the door. He checks the peephole and then cracks the blinds of the sidelight window. McClane has stopped barking and now just keeps up a low, steady growl.
“Take it easy,” Jace soothes him and turns from the window. “I don’t see anyone.”
This makes me feel no better. “He was out there, I swear.”
Jace is confused. “Who? You saw someone?”
“No. I mean they were out there. Or maybe it was just one person. I don’t know.”
His gun is still in his hand, pointed at the floor. “Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”
“Wait!” I leap out of bed and run to his side. “Don’t go out there.”
“I’ll be right back. Lock the door behind me.”
Instinctively I seize his arm and feel hard, tense muscle. I drop my hand as if my fingertips have been burned. Suddenly I’m freezing even though it’s not cold in here at all. I cross my arms over my chest. “Can’t you just call the police?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, that’ll turn into a big deal. I’m sure it’s just some fucker playing a prank.”
“Jace, don’t. Please.”
His face softens. “It’s okay. You’ll be safe in here.” He whistles through his teeth and snaps his fingers at McClane. “Guard the lady.”
The dog takes the command seriously and plants himself right in front of my feet so that anyone who comes my way will have to go through him first. It’s a comforting thought and yet my heart still thuds in my chest as I watch Jace unlock the door, gun in hand.
“Be careful!” I shout and he swivels to glance at me but steps outside anyway.
I flip the latch as soon as the door closes and hate that he’s on the other side. My teeth knock together. McClane whines pitiably with his eyes fastened to the door, waiting for Jace to come back. I pace in front of the couch and toss around the idea of calling the police anyway.
I can’t catch my breath. I’ve never suffered from asthma but my chest is tight, as if being squeezed by an invisible inelastic band, and I wonder if this is what an asthma attack feel likes. My favorite black pullover sweatshirt is folded on a nearby chair and I snatch it, pulling it over my head. I’m so cold that my hands shake.
Remembering the sound of broken glass, I look around and see that one of Gloria’s framed cross stitch projects has fallen off the wall. The frame is still intact, just cracked. Gingerly, I set it atop the piano.
The dog remains fixated on the door. A minute passes. Then another. I should have a weapon. I’m useless when it comes to self defense, something I’ve already proven. Looking around, I spot the unopened box of angel hair pasta left on the counter earlier. A box of noodles won’t frighten anyone but it’s all I’ve got and holding something, anything, in my hand makes me feel less powerless.
There’s a knock on the door and it’s Jace. I know this because McClane’s tail wags merrily and because Jace uses the secret knock from when we were kids. He and Colt learned it from an old movie.
Knock. Knock Knock. Knock. Knock. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The breath I’ve been holding leaves my chest in a whoosh and I run to the door to flip the lock. Jace walks in looking no worse for the wear and it’s a toss up which of us is happier to see him, me or McClane.
He locks the door behind him, checks the safety on the gun and then sets it down on the small table by the door. “Just a bunch of high school punks. They were hanging out at the end of the block and they took off.” He notices the pasta clutched in my hand. “What were you planning to do with that?”
I relax my grip on the box. “Maybe they’re gluten intolerant.”
He smiles. Then he sets his hands on his hips and searches my face. “You okay?”
I toss the pasta box back on the counter. “Sure. Just another run in with your fan club.”
He winces and looks over his shoulder at the door. “I should have installed a better lock already. I’ll do that tomorrow. And I’ll see about getting an alarm system.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t have to be afraid, Tori.”
I nod but I suppose I don’t appear real convincing right now because he closes the distance between us.
“Hey.” He tips my chin up. “Between me and our four legged friend, there’s no way anyone’s getting in here.”
I rub my arms and try to smile. “I know. I just got startled. You were probably sound asleep.”
“Not yet. I was reading.”
“Oh. What were you reading?”
“A book about the bubonic plague. You’re shaking.”
“I must be cold. It’s cold in here.”
“It’s not cold at all and you’re wearing fleece.”
He’s right. And I’m not even cold anymore. I’m trembling now for a different reason. I’m trembling because he’s so close and so warm and so gentle and concerned. I can’t help it. I throw my arms around his shoulders and press close.
Jace inhales sharply but he doesn’t push me off. On the contrary. His arms circle my waist and his hands reach beneath my shirt, connecting with my lower back.
“I’m here,” he murmurs and I tighten my hold on him. I never want to let go. I breathe him in and my lips taste the skin at the pulse point in his neck.
The low rumble in his throat is all lust and it’s contagious. I can feel him, all of him. His strength and his heat and his desire. I want him just as badly, maybe more. To prove this, I arch my body against his, using my grip on his shoulders as leverage to pull myself higher, aiming for the rigid length of his cock. He’s hard enough to penetrate layers of fabric and rub into a sensitive spot between my legs. I moan out loud and try to rub harder. Now that I’ve started I can’t stop. Nothing will ever cure me of him. Not years of separation or the echoes of heartache or the frank understanding that we are not us anymore.
I want him anyway. He wants me too. He just hasn’t admitted it until now.
Jace bunches the fabric of both my sweatshirt and my tank top in his fists and swiftly lifts it all over my head. My bare nipples tingle against the sudden exposure to his chest and Jace follows up his first move by pushing his hands inside my flannel pants, catching my underwear, and forcing both to my ankles. I step out of them with eagerness. I’m no longer even slightly cold. I’m on fire.
We kiss and we’re not gentle. We can’t be. There are too many years of pent up hunger to satisfy. I tug on his boxers and he helps me get rid of them. He sucks my neck and then seizes handfuls of my hair before bending his head to use his mouth on my breasts. There’s only so much we can do standing up and he’s thinking the same thing. He lifts me in his arms for a short trip to the sofa bed. We fall into the sheets and my legs part to let him in. He’s heavier than he used to be. He’s a brutal block of muscle, bigger in every way, but I love the way he feels. I’ve been waiting for him and my body welcomes him back even as I revel in the ways he’s different now.
I’m ready to be wrecked after his first thrust. He knows it, and he’s ruthless with every push. He sets the rhythm and his dark eyes gleam as he watches me writhe underneath him.
We’re no longer kids. We’ve both learned a few things since we last did this.
Jace, for instance, has learned to talk dirty. “Fuck, you’re still the best my cock’s ever had.” He hooks my left leg with his arm and drives deeper. “Do you know how many times I’ve fucked you inside my head since I got here?”
With every word I’m getting hotter, closer. I want to hear it all. “Tell me.”
“I’ve had you every filthy fucking way, Tori. And I mean every filthy way. Whether I’m taking you with my cock or my tongue it’s never enough. I’ll always want more. So will you. You’ll fucking beg for it.”
“I’ll never get enough of you,” I grit out through my teeth. “Never. And yes, I’ll beg if you want me to.”
He obliges, pulling back and rolling his hips to tease with the tip of his cock while I moan with frustration.
Jace is in complete control. “All right. Beg.”
I arch my back and open myself wider. “Please, Jace.”
I’ll cry if this is some kind of game he’s playing. I don’t think it is. No, I’m sure it’s not. He means everything he says.
Jace gazes down with triumphant intensity. He lifts my hips in his hands and carefully enters me again. He’s going slow and deep, so deep. “Let me watch you come now, honey.”
I’m coming whether he wants me to or not. It’s an avalanche of sensation. I stretch my arms over my head and give in and it feels fucking glorious. Time is suspended and an explosion of lights dance behind my closed eyes. My body stretches and convulses and then sighs with uninhibited pleasure.
But Jace is still going. He pumps and he curses. Cold reality intrudes, as much as I don’t want it to.
“Pull out,” I gasp.
He hesitates. Then nods.
Jace gets right to the brink before pulling out with a roar to come in hot spurts on my belly. I wrap my arms tightly around him as he shudders. The instant he’s spent, he snatches his boxers from the floor and carefully mops up what he left behind. Then he collapses beside me, drapes his arm over his head and groans.
“Holy shit, that was good.”
It was. But I’m feeling greedy. I can come again with ease and I’m still so turned on that I can’t stand it. When he feels me swing a leg over to straddle him, he moves his arm and cracks an eye open, amused.
“What do you think I’m made of?”
“Don’t care.” I start moving my hips, grinding on his thigh. “Just lie there and let me use you.”
But Jace will allow no such thing. He tackles me to my back before I can yelp. Then he hovers with a conceited smirk and slides down to bury his head between my open legs. His tongue is as insistent as his cock and he knows exactly what he’s doing with them both. He licks and sucks and teases in all the right places.
“You’re so damn good at this,” I gasp out.
He likes hearing me talk and likes it more when I start shaking and crying out. Jace moans into me and he works his tongue harder, as if he’s getting off on this just as much as I am. My hips buck wildly and the vibration rolls from somewhere deep and inaccessible to everyone but him.
My body still hums with the tremors when he withdraws his mouth and rearranges my position once more, this time so that I’m on my belly. He’s hard again by now and he rides me from behind while kneading my ass in his hands. I don’t know how many times I’ve already come. Five? Six? At this rate I’m likely to set a world record. Jace pulls out and strokes himself as he shoots all over my lower back. He places a gentle kiss between my shoulder blades and uses his boxers as a mop one last time before tossing them aside.
I’m afraid to sit up. I can’t bear the possibility that he’s going to declare this was a mistake and disappear into his bedroom.
But he doesn’t do that at all.
Jace pulls the covers back, helps me get comfortable on the pillows and gathers me gently to his broad chest. A long time has passed since anyone held me like this and I close my eyes when his fingers begin to stroke my hair. The thud of his heartbeat beneath my cheek is the best soundless music and right now I have the courage to make a confession.
“I’ve missed you, Jace.”
His fingertips freeze at the base of my neck.
I swallow hard. “I just mean that I’ve missed having you in my life. I don’t know what would have happened between us if we’d stayed together. We were so very young. I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry and it was all my fault. But every day I miss the boy next door. I miss my friend so much.”
Jace switches off the light. His strong arms continue to cradle me as his breathing grows deep and even. Just when I’m beginning to believe he’s fallen asleep his voice finds me in the darkness.
“It wasn’t all your fault, Victoria. God knows I’ve missed you too.”
He drops a kiss on my head and then he really does fall asleep. I’m still wrapped in his arms but his muscles have loosened and his heartbeat has levelled off. I’d love nothing better than to fall asleep in exactly this pose and change nothing until morning. Yet somewhere deep within, an unpleasant ache makes my pulse accelerate while my limbs fight the urge to thrash around. The horrifying prospect of an anxious, endless night is not even eased by being in Jace’s arms, despite the fact that there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be.
Carefully, inch by inch, I slip away from Jace and out of bed. I remember leaving my purse on the kitchen table. I don’t want to search out the pill bottle, remove one, and swallow it with water drunk directly from the kitchen tap. I’d much rather toss the contents in the trash and never crave another pill again.
But I don’t toss them in the trash because they let me sleep. They clear my head. They keep me calm.
Jace stirs when I crawl back into bed with him. His arms reclaim me and I’m happy. For once, I’m so very happy.