Текст книги "Torn"
Автор книги: Kim Karr
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
“Fuck, Dahlia, I have cranberry juice and limes in the car, could you wait a minute?”
“No I can’t. I don’t care about mixers right now. I just want to stop thinking about all this madness.” Lifting the bottle in the air I make a toast. “Here’s to making dumb decisions and not always being able to own up to them.” With that, I burst out laughing and then start crying. I take one more sip from the bottle.
Both of my best friends come over, Aerie grabs the bottle and says, “Here’s to never being able to keep a boyfriend because you’re just too damn picky.”
I raise my hand as if holding a glass and say, “Here’s to not being picky, but to waiting for Mr. Right.”
After she downs a healthy dose of vodka, she hands the bottle to Serena. Serena takes it and holds it in front of her. “Here’s to being a shitty parent. May your sons never get into the kind of trouble that you can’t help them out of.”
What? I look at Serena and know this isn’t the time to ask but I wonder what’s going on with Trent. I need to comfort her so I raise my imaginary glass again and say, “Here’s to moms who do everything they can to help their children.”
It’s now that I realize these women have their own issues. And I should have been there to help them like they’ve helped me. How do I not even know what’s bothering them?
I grab the bottle and make another toast. “Here’s to always listening to your friends and understanding their issues.”
Once all of our feelings are out there, we spend the rest of the afternoon eating Chinese and drinking what’s left of the 750ml bottle of vodka before we all pass out. The three of us are careful only to talk about Serena and Aeries’s lives and never say the name Ben or River.
Chapter 8
Into the Nothing
Ben’s Journal
I spent the morning pressing a bag of ice to my lip—nursing my wound and my pride, too. I didn’t expect that pussy to go all Rambo on me. Maybe I should have taken him more seriously. Either way, he got a few good ones in, but so did I. I’m confident that pretty boy is at least sporting one black eye.
I knew Dahl wouldn’t go straight to him after the argument I witnessed them have. That’s not her MO. Whenever we argued we both always needed space to calm down before discussing issues. I thought she would be at the beach, so I wasn’t surprised when I drove by our house and saw her car there. She must have been thinking of me, and all the years we shared together. That’s evident just by where she ended up.
I stood on the front porch for at least fifteen minutes trying to figure out if I should go in. Instead, I decided to revert to the way I won her back the only time we ever broke up. I grabbed a piece of paper from Mom’s car and left her a note. I know she’ll know it’s from me the minute she sees it. Hopefully, it will be enough to convince her to call me. I don’t care if I have to leave a million notes—if that’s what it takes, I will. She has to spend time with me, it’s the only way I can get her to see I’m the only one for her.
Chapter 9
Blurry
Hours later I awaken, sore, aching, and sprawled out on the oversize sofa with Aerie as my pillow and Serena as my blanket. The overhead lights are on, but do nothing to help me focus. It’s pitch-black outside and the streetlights are on so it has to be late. I try to lift my head but the thudding sensation that kicks up at the movement makes my pulse race and my stomach turn. I gag down the bile inching its way up my throat, but all that does is make the taste in my mouth even worse.
Looking around at the Chinese takeout containers, I find an opened water bottle. As I sit up to drink it, I try not to disturb Aerie or Serena and scoot carefully off the couch. My head is pounding, but my heart feels like it has lost its beat. The rage I felt toward River has dissipated and I’m left with the awareness that we need to talk about what happened this morning. Yes, I was mad at him for not telling me what he knew, but Grace asked him not to. I get it, and I’m ready to talk now, I just hope he is.
When I walk through the house I can’t help picturing how I was in the years after Ben died—all alone. It breaks my heart to think about how isolated and alone I felt. How my grief overpowered any feelings of hope. I wish I could go back and wipe away those years and the toll they took on me, but I can’t.
Opening the front door to leave, I notice Ben’s keys hanging on the hook. Why had I never gotten rid of them? I shake my head and walk out into the coolness of the night. When I approach my car I see there’s a folded piece of paper on the windshield and I know instantly it’s from Ben. The note is folded the same way as all the other notes he had ever left me—and he left me an abundance of them during our short three-month breakup when I thought he might be cheating.
I open the note and read the short but to-the-point message.
I’m sorry. I miss you. I love you. Let me talk to you.
Ben
Bitterness rushes through me. Is he kidding me? I am not going to forgive him. He made his choice, he left me alone, and now that I’m happy he thinks we can just go back to the way we were. Well we can’t. And even if we could . . . I don’t want to. I love River and that’s something I would never change.
In fact, I know what I have to do—I have to cut my ties with him. I rip the bottom half of his note and shove the other half inside the kangaroo pocket of my sweatshirt. Opening the car door, I search for a pen, and then write a brief note to Serena telling her to make sure Ben knows this house is now his. It hasn’t been ours since he chose to leave. He can’t have me, but he can have our house.
I walk back into the house and lay the note on the entryway floor and anchor Ben’s keys on it. As I leave, I hear the wind chimes and I know this is the last time I will be walking out the door of this house. It’s not my home anymore, it’s not our home anymore, it’s simply Ben’s. My home is in LA and that is where I’m heading.
* * *
I spend the drive home trying to figure out the semantics of not telling versus lying, of trust versus forgiveness. I know River’s lie of omission wasn’t out of malice or spite but out of his overwhelming need to protect me. Ben’s lie wrecked me, changed me, and left me alone. River’s omission did none of those things. So maybe I can look past this, I think I can, actually, and I just hope I can still trust him. Why is facing our issues so much harder than escaping?
Xander’s Mercedes is parked close to the steps leading to the front door when I pull into the driveway. It’s one in the morning and I’m surprised he’s still here; he’s usually so uptight about getting up early for work.
After parking the car in the garage, I walk up the stairs and notice a huge hole in the wall next to the door. When I see the key we keep above the doorframe laying on the ground, I wonder what happened. The door is unlocked and as I enter the kitchen, I can see Xander passed out on the couch, his shoes still on, his arm slung over his head, and a half-empty bottle of Patrón on the side table. His shirt is untucked and his skin is exposed. Grabbing my concert T-shirt quilt from the hall closet, I pull it close to me for a moment, and then head back to the living room. Covering him with the blanket, I notice a hint of a tattoo down the side of his torso I never knew he had. I set the liquor bottle on the counter and turn the lights off before heading to the bedroom.
I’m a little apprehensive about seeing River. We haven’t talked all day. Since we got together we’ve never gone this long without talking. I’m not even sure anymore who was actually angrier. Me at him for not telling me he knew it was Ben’s shooter that attacked me, or him at me for having gone to see Ben.
When I see that he’s not in the bedroom, I’m a little surprised. Everything is how I left it, just messier. My wedding dress lies flat on my hope chest, with the garter and pearl earrings nestled on top of it. I put everything there so I could easily slip back into the dress and get ready again. Originally, I thought we’d be returning from Grace’s later that afternoon. I hang it in my closet, having no idea when we will be getting married. The thought makes me a bit uneasy, so I seek solace by walking over to the glass doors. I look out into the night, at the beautiful view of the Hollywood sign that I love so much. I’m not sure why; maybe because it represents hope.
As I stand here looking out, a fleck of light catches my eye and I see him immediately. He’s sitting in a chair down by the pool just staring into the darkness. Opening the door, I pause to admire him; his long lean body, his always-messy hair, and I wonder if I really want to address our issues right now.
Taking a deep breath I walk the many steps down to where he’s sitting and I know he must hear my approach. He sits there, one leg propped over his knee, leaning back, and sipping a beer.
“You decided to come home. I wasn’t sure you were going to,” he says without even a glance in my direction.
“River, of course I came home. Of course I did. I just needed time to calm down and figure things out. Get my head together.”
“Hmm . . . funny, I’m not sure ‘of course’ can be assumed in any conversation we have from now on.”
Taking another sip of his beer he adds, “And what do you mean you needed to figure things out? You needed to get your head together? I thought we did those things together, but I guess I was wrong.”
“River, I was mad and . . . ,” I start to explain but stop. He won’t even look at me and I know I need to get his attention before we continue talking.
“You can’t finish your thoughts. You could earlier. Should I help you? You’re mad at me for not telling you, but I’m not going to apologize for that, Dahlia. I had my reasons. But the next time you decide to slap me after meeting with your ex-fiancé, maybe you could at least stick around to listen to what I have to say.”
“I’m sorry that I slapped you. I shouldn’t have done that. But I trusted you and you kept something important from me. How can I trust you won’t mislead me again?”
Shaking his head he hisses, “Come on, Dahlia, you know you can trust me, I’ve never lied to you.”
“I didn’t say you lied, I said you didn’t tell me. But you also allowed me to believe I was attacked by some random stranger. I know Grace asked you not to tell me who he was, but you really should have.”
His stare is almost unbearable. He shakes his head and it infuriates me, but he says nothing so I keep talking. “Come on, River, you even hired extra security because you were worried that he would still come after me. I guess you went through all that trouble for nothing since they caught him. I’m safe now.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I’m not sure it even matters anymore.”
“Of course it matters. Why would you say that?”
“Stop saying of course. I’m done with this conversation.”
Since I’ve never really experienced him being angry at me, I’m unsure of how to proceed. Should I force him to talk about it? What will happen if I do? Am I ready to find out? I’m not sure about any of that. But what I do know is that River needs to understand that I love him. He needs to know that even though we haven’t worked out our issues he matters to me.
As tension fills the air between us, I watch him, still unsure about what to do. After a few more seconds of unbearable silence, I close the distance separating us and stand directly in front of him. Avoiding eye contact he leans forward, setting all four legs of the chair down. It kills me to be standing here like this, unable to touch him. I want him to talk to me. I have to break the silence. So I ask, “Do you know your brother’s passed out on the couch?”
“Yeah, well he did his best to keep up with me,” he says, setting his beer bottle down next to at least a dozen others. Cocking his head to the side, he just barely glances at me. “So where does all this leave us?”
I answer in complete honestly. “The same place we were yesterday. I know we both have issues to work out, but I’m not sure talking about them anymore tonight is a good idea.” Then I grab his hand and pull him out of the chair. He comes willingly. A bag of ice falls to the ground and I notice his other hand is wrapped in a kitchen towel. I swipe his hair from his forehead and try to look at him, into his eyes, but they are unfocused and the skin around one is slightly discolored. I cup his face and he closes his eyes. I run my fingers around the outline of his swollen bruise. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah, not anymore,” he shrugs.
I lift his hand and can see that it’s also swollen and bruised. “God, River, is it broken?”
He laughs slightly before saying, “You know, I have no fucking idea, but it hurts like hell. Xander had me move my fingers and when I did, he told me to suck it up.”
I carefully caress his hand and bring it to my mouth, softly kissing it. “You can’t go after Ben every time you see him. Fighting with him isn’t going to change anything.”
“Might not change anything, but makes me feel a hell of a lot better.”
His body tenses and I know this still isn’t the time to discuss Ben, but it is the right time to tell him how I feel. I run my fingertips along his cheek, silently apologizing for slapping him before saying it. “I really am so sorry.” I hope he knows I mean it for more than just the slap. Leaning into him, I take his other hand and bring both to my mouth as I tell him what I’ve wanted him to know since I drove away this morning. “River, I love you, Ben being alive doesn’t change that. You know that—right?”
Exhaling, he grabs my face and looks directly into my eyes. Despite his drunken state, his eyes seem more focused and his words are clear. “I want to believe your love is only for me. That your lips are mine. That your kisses are meant for me. That your body belongs to me.” His arms move to my waist and tighten around me and he presses his hard body against mine. “But when you leave me to see him, it’s hard to know for sure.”
My breath quickens in anticipation because I know if my words can’t put his mind at ease, erase his worries, or ease his fears—my body can. It always responds to him. It’s not forced. It’s natural. No one can ever make me feel the way he does. He knows this . . . I just need to remind him.
He shuts his eyes tightly as if he’s trying to read my mind, but he doesn’t have to. I know if he tries hard enough, he can feel my love. Opening his eyes, he stares back at me, as if waiting for me to respond to him, but I need to show him. So I crush my lips against his. And I’m surprised when he opens his mouth hungrily and allows me complete access. I wrap my arms around his neck and rub flush against him. I want to be one with him and I know he wants the same. His kisses start off hesitant, but when I push my hips into his, they become more aggressive. He runs his mouth down my neck to the bare spot that Aerie’s sweatshirt doesn’t cover.
Gasping, I push him back slightly, feeling guilty for using my body to explain my feelings when I know we should discuss what happened. “Maybe we should finish talking.”
His lips find my neck again and at first he merely growls in response. “I don’t think talking is what we need to do right now.”
I drop my head back and let him find his way. How can I not? My body responds on its own. It’s his. My anger completely evaporates at his touch. Leaving no bare place on my body where his mouth hasn’t touched, he looks at me in a way that leaves me breathless, wanting him, wanting more.
He steps back and strips his shirt off before bunching the bottom of mine and doing the same. Not wanting to lose his touch, I lean into him. I need to feel his bare skin against mine before the sweatshirt is even over my head. He swiftly tosses it to the ground and snakes his arms around my waist, pulling me to him, thrusting his hips into me.
He moves his mouth to my chest and when I run my hands down the front of his jeans I hear his sharp intake of breath. We are both much more aggressive than we have ever been. I moan as he pulls and tugs on first one nipple then the other. I hastily unzip his pants and shove a hand into them. His head drops back, but he hastily brings it back to mine and kisses me again.
Taking my hair down, he tries to run his fingers through my tangled strands and I know he can feel the sand in it. He stops immediately and looks at me questioningly.
“Did you go to the beach again today after I saw you?”
I nod and swallow, wondering why he’s asking, but I answer truthfully. “Yes. That’s where I went when I left Grace’s.”
“Why would you go back there? Did you see him again?” he hisses.
“No—of course I didn’t go see Ben again. I went to the beach because it brings me peace. I needed to figure things out. If you would’ve called or texted me you would’ve known.” I swallow back my hurt.
“Like I said, ‘of course’ is no longer assumed. And what exactly were you figuring out?”
“Nothing. Everything. You. Me. Ben. I don’t even know.” I notice he doesn’t address not calling me, but let it go.
“I didn’t realize we needed figuring out,” he seethes.
“We don’t. That’s not what I meant.”
He goes back to sit in his chair. He scrubs his face with his hands before picking up his nearly empty beer bottle and swallowing the rest of it down, but he never breaks his unnerving eye contact with me.
As he continues to stare at me in a way I haven’t seen before, I decide I need my old River back before we can keep talking. I don’t want to let him slip away, but don’t know what to do. Averting his intense stare, my eyes dart to the stillness of the water and I know that is where I can find peace. So I strip off my pants and dive into the pool, wanting to wash my body of the sand and bottled-up emotion. Tranquility shoots through me as my skin meets the coolness of the water. Surfacing, I swim to the side and gesture to him to join me. He sits there, his pants unzipped, and shakes his head no.
Splashing water in his direction, I goad him, “What? Are you too drunk to swim? Because there sure as shit are a lot of empty beer bottles next to you.”
He crosses his arms and smirks at me and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. A few more seconds pass. When I splash him again his expression changes and this time he smiles. “I could swim laps around you with all these bottles tied around my waist.”
“Prove it. Come on. Don’t be chickenshit. I bet you tomorrow’s coffee run you can’t beat me in your condition. In fact, I’ll even throw in a hold-your-breath contest.” I figure even though he always swims faster and can hold his breath longer, I doubt he can best me at either now. And honestly, I don’t care if I win or lose—I just want him back.
“I’ll take that bet and I’ll have a double espresso, but it doesn’t mean I’m not still mad as hell at you.”
Without another word he stumbles slightly as he removes his jeans and boxers, then dives in. He swims to the opposite end of the pool and grabs the ledge. I stay where I am, giving him his distance.
“So how’s this contest going to go?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Hold your breath first works for me.”
“Okay, why not. Let’s do it. On the count of three. One. Two. Three,” I say and then I plunge underwater.
When I come up, I’m not even sure he went under.
“Guess I win,” I say, gasping a little for air.
He nods but says nothing, his stare more intense with every passing second.
“Okay, what’s next? Laps? First one to the end wins.”
“Sure,” he answers.
And with that, I say go and just take off. I feel him swimming near me as we pass each other somewhere in the middle of the pool.
When I finish my laps, I look for him but he’s not swimming, he’s standing next to me, watching me. He does his best to keep a straight face, but my exhaustion must be apparent. Through the glow of the moonlight I catch his expression.
“Stop smirking. It’s not funny.”
“It kind of is,” he says as he hoists himself up and out of the pool.
I study his perfect naked body and he catches me when he turns to extend his hand. Helping me up, his grip doesn’t falter. I eye him as he watches me steadily, a slight hint of amusement in his face. Once I have both feet back on the ground he takes a step back. He drops his head and I can tell he’s trying to contain his laughter.
Looking up, he grins and with a hint of smugness says, “You look tired.”
I frown. “You cheated.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. I was the first one to your end of the pool. I finished my lap. You didn’t say we had to return.”
“Whatever,” I silently dare him to go on, but he doesn’t.
He just stands there and his closeness makes my pulse race. He’s taking me in and I can tell. I take a step closer to him. I see his chest rising and falling a little more rapidly. I brace my hands on his shoulders.
“What do you want?” he whispers.
“You. I want your lips on mine. I want you to kiss me.”
Maybe it was the touch, maybe it was my answer but whatever the reason he swiftly picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer to me. I tilt my head back and his lips attach to my neck. They are warm and soft. When they meet my mouth, it falls open to let him in. As water drips from our naked bodies, he carries me toward the stairs heading to our bedroom. With my arms draped around his neck, I rake my fingernails along his shoulder blades and he shivers. He hastily sets me down on one of the steps and hovering over me he asks, “What else do you want?”
Gasping, I manage to answer, “You. Just you.”
He grabs me, yanking me forward, and I know we’re not going to make it up the stairs. He takes my hands, raising them above my head, and locks our fingers together. He traces my mouth with his tongue and tugs on my lower lip. Freeing one hand, he runs it past my stomach down to my slick flesh. His touch sends an instant feeling of exhilaration through my body. My breathing speeds up and I work my tongue up his neck, wanting to taste every inch of him.
He inhales sharply and releases my other hand. Moving his hands to my waist, he then slides his hand to my lower back, forcefully pulling me to him. I am shaking with need as I shift my hands down to grab him. When my fingers stroke his thick shaft and I circle his tip, he groans.
He lifts his head and stares at me. “I need to be inside of you.”
“I’m yours. Take me.”
Forgoing any foreplay, his hands push my legs further apart. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before crushing his mouth to mine. I close my eyes as fire explodes through my body. Then he grabs both of my hands and raises them back over my head, holding my hands in place with one of his. I watch him as he takes himself in his hand, readying himself for me, and I gasp at the pure eroticism of it all. He plunges into me and I scream out as he takes what’s his. The pace he sets is hard and fast. Watching him and feeling the weight of his body on mine makes me tremble. I can’t touch him and somehow that only makes my need for him more intense. I know what he’s doing—he’s marking me, but I don’t care. He already owns every piece of me. If he needs this to remind him, I’ll give it to him.
When he grinds himself deep inside me, my head falls back and my legs tighten around him without any conscious thought. He urges me to follow his pace as he moves hard and fast and I follow. He seems to get lost in the moment, like he can’t get enough of me. I close my eyes and just absorb every ounce of him.
We touch each other everywhere. Our hands, our lips, our bodies, they never leave each other. Running, pressing, skimming, and gliding over every ounce of flesh, we continue to move at a pace we never have before. I open my eyes in time to see his close. My moans turn into his groans and before I know it I am screaming, “Oh God, yes!” over and over again. Pausing before taking one final thrust, he does the same.
Shuddering, he pulls out of me and lifts my arms over my head again with one hand while the other moves down my body. I’m taken aback as to what he’s doing but when his hot breath hits my neck and his hand cups my sex, I know. I moan. I can’t help it. I’m already so wet from the combination of him and me, that when he inserts two fingers inside me they easily slide in. His thumb presses against me as his fingers move in and out, over and over. I can feel him harden against my thigh and the need to have him inside me is stronger than ever. He moves his mouth to my breast and circles the nipple with his tongue before sucking on it, and, although I just came, I can feel it building again. The warm hardness resting on my thigh, his hand on my sex, his mouth on my nipple—it’s sensory overload and I scream out as pleasure tears through me.
I’m still panting a minute later when, without a word, he picks me up and carries me the rest of the way up the stairs and into the house. After kicking the door shut, he sets me on the bed and lies next to me, urging me to move on top of him. Of course I do. I tuck my arms under his neck and lay my head on his chest. Once my breathing calms, I kiss his neck and then nuzzle into it. He kisses my head and rests his cheek there. We both know we have to talk, but neither of us wants to and that’s okay for now.
After a few minutes, I peek up at him and his eyes are fixed on me. I raise one eyebrow and smirk at him.
He grins back. “What?”
I try to make light of a situation that I know is nothing but heavy. “You skipped all the romance, Loverboy.”
Laughing, he says, “You know it can’t always be rainbows and butterflies.”
I grin at him, remembering the first weekend we spent together and how I asked him if he was dreaming of rainbows and butterflies. Then inching myself up next to him on the pillow so that we are nose to nose, I say, “I think you got the butterflies part down pretty well.”
We lay together for a long while, but neither one of us falls asleep. Leaning over him, I push the hair from his eyes and kiss his nose. “I missed you today.”
“I missed you, too.”
“Don’t ever not call me again.”
“Dahlia, you’re the one who wouldn’t talk to me at Grace’s and then took off. Calling you wouldn’t change what happened, and, honestly, I was pissed at you and didn’t want to talk to you.”
Tears well in my eyes, and he pulls me back down to him. “Besides, how could I call you when you smashed your phone?”
I look at him, dumbfounded. “How do you know that?”
“I called Aerie this morning and she told me she was on her way to see you. Later on she texted me that you got mad and threw your phone. Care to tell me why?”
“I think you already know why, smart-ass.”
“Yeah, but I want to hear you say it.”
I give him a shut-up-now-before-you-get-in-any-more-trouble look and say, “Please promise to always call, no matter how mad we are.”
“First you have to promise you won’t hang up on me.”
“I promise to never hang up.”
Making a crossing motion over his heart he says, “I promise to call.”
“River, I’m sorry we never made it to Las Vegas.” We haven’t discussed our postponed elopement and I want him to know getting married to him is something I still plan to do.
He stares at me for a long time, maybe searching for answers to his own questions, questions he should already know the answers to. “There’s a lot going on right now. We’ll make it there when the time’s right.”
With that, I know we have done enough talking for one night. So when he wraps his arms around me, rolling us over, I close my eyes and get lost in him again.
This time we don’t take it slow, either, but River pours his heart into every touch and I show my love for him with every single kiss. I don’t know what time it is when we finish, but I lie back on top of him, ready to drift off to sleep. Tonight I don’t need to pick a side of the bed. I will stay where I am, where I want to be.
