Four Score Read online

  I wriggle out of the way a little too eagerly, tucking myself back under the sheets on the far side of the double bed. Jase swings his legs onto the bed and turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he surveys me.

  “I have nightmares sometimes,” he says quietly, his brown eyes dark and troubled in the night.

  That slams into me like a sucker punch to the gut, almost making me double over in pain. My dear boy. Fate really dealt us a screwed-up hand when it chose our fathers. I might have loved mine more than almost anything in this world, but he still chose this life that took everything from our family. And Dornan … well.

  He killed your mother. Why haven’t you tried to kill him?

  I’m too afraid to ask him, and puncture the comfortable stillness that surrounds us. Right now, in this moment, I need him to be here with me, and asking the hard questions would no doubt destroy this fleeting peace we’ve found in the dark night.

  I swallow thickly. “You do?”

  He nods. “Always about the same thing.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut as he continues to speak.

  “It’s probably not what you think,” he says softly. “It’s not about that. It’s about afterward.”

  “Afterward?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Yeah,” he says, speaking slowly and deliberately, as though he’s agonizing over every word. “I’m at your funeral, and the coffin is being lowered into the ground, and as it is, I can hear you screaming my name.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask, the lump in my throat like a painful throb.

  “It makes sense now, I guess,” he says, his hand brushing against my stomach. “Shit,” he says. “Where’s your hand?”

  I reach in front of me and our hands find each other in the dark. His hand is warm and much larger than mine, and it brings me more comfort than I can say when he squeezes it gently around mine. The most platonic of gestures, but in this moment, it makes me feel so incredibly loved and safe.

  “Keep going,” I prompt him. “Why does it make sense?”

  “Oh,” he says. “Well, it makes sense that I’d be dreaming about you being buried alive. You were never dead.”

  I sigh. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry.”

  I see the outline of his shoulders shrug up and down in the darkness. His hand is warm around mine, and I hold on tight, not willing to let him go just yet.

  “It is what it is.”

  Neither of us says anything for a while.

  “Tell me,” he says finally. “What do you dream about? Is it what happened that afternoon? Or something else?”

  Sometimes I dream about you.

  “Sometimes it’s about that,” I say with difficulty. My throat feels like sandpaper. “But most of the time it’s abstract, you know? A loop of images that other people would probably find normal.”

  My voice breaks on the word normal, and I choke a little getting it back under control.

  “It’s okay,” he says quickly. “You don’t have to say any more.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, swallowing the proverbial rock in my throat. “I can handle it. Compartmentalizing, baby.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The conversation skips a beat as I drown deeper in our collective sorrow. Our grief.

  “I think about you all the time,” I whisper, surprising myself with my frank confession. “I could never forget you. Do you believe that?”

  “Yeah,” he says, and I can hear the emotion waver in his voice.

  “Why?” I ask. “You have no reason to trust me after the things I’ve done. Why believe me?”

  “Because,” he says, and I’m so close to breaking down I can taste the salt of my tears before they’re even spilled. “Because, when you were screaming just now, you weren’t just screaming.”

  I knew it.

  His voice cracks under the burden of our past. “You were calling for me, Julz. Over and over again. For a minute I thought it was my nightmare, until I realized I’d woken up and you were still yelling for me.”

  The dam bursts. I’m crying. “It was always you,” I say, my breath hitching as I drag in a sobbing breath. “It’s always been you.”

  Before I can change my mind, I shift closer, closing the space between us. I nestle my face into the space under his chin, our bodies pressed tightly together side by side, and I don’t let go.

  For six years, I’ve wanted him to hold me like this. To hold me and stroke my hair and tell me that it’s going to be okay. The words are slightly different, but that’s all right. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, right here and now.

  “Can you forgive me?” I whisper desperately in between my tears.

  “I already have,” he says. “Damn it, Julz, you could burn the whole world down and I’d still forgive you.”

  The darkness becomes a comfort instead of a foe, and within that darkness I cling to Jase.

  He doesn’t hate me. My dear boy doesn’t hate me like I feared he would. Somehow, it makes the pain inside me worse. Worse because of everything I’ve put him through. Grieving a dead girl for six years. Finding out I’m alive. Realizing the awful things I’ve done. And still finding within himself the strength and compassion to forgive me.

  Before I’m really aware of what I’m doing, I press my lips to his neck, a light, innocent kiss that could be strictly platonic.

  But my feelings for him are far from platonic.

  His body stills as I kiss him, but he doesn’t stop me. Tenderly, cautiously, I kiss him again, on his cheek this time. He doesn’t push me away, but his fingers tighten ever so slightly around my waist.

  My eyes have adjusted to the darkness well enough to see that his eyes are shut, so I take my chance and plant a kiss right on his delicious mouth. At first, it’s just my lips barely touched to his. After a few seconds, he responds greedily, opening his mouth, allowing our tongues to touch.

  When they touch, it’s almost like a jolt of electricity buzzes between us.

  And any hope of us breaking apart vanishes completely.

  “Julz,” Jase moans into my mouth as his fingers tighten around my hips. I run my hands over every exposed piece of his flesh, the only thing separating us a thin T-shirt and sweatpants on me, and a pair of boxer shorts on him.

  The feel of his mouth on mine, then lower as his hungry kisses dip to my neck and collarbone, is divine. It’s beyond divine—it is something I’ve been yearning for since the moment we lost each other in the most violent and tragic of ways. It’s almost like we’re back in my bedroom that horrid day reliving the moments we lost.

  The moments that were stolen from us.

  I groan involuntarily as Jase pushes my T-shirt up, exposing my nipple to the cool night air. He takes it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tender flesh before sucking gently, his growing hardness pressing into my thigh. He does the same thing to my other nipple, and as his teeth brush the spot where Dornan’s teeth punctured my flesh, my entire body freezes and I yelp loudly.

  Jase pulls back, my body immediately missing his touch.

  “Wait—” I say, just as he flicks on the bedside lamp. Before I can pull my shirt down to cover my breast, he’s staring at the purplish teeth marks.

  He looks from the bite marks to my eyes, questions and urgency in his hooded eyes. “He did this to you?”

  I tug at my T-shirt, but Jase’s hand is holding onto the hem, keeping my breast exposed. “Answer me, Juliette.”

  Angered, I twist away, pulling my shirt back down. “Who else would do it?” I say, suddenly furious with him. He gives up the shirt wrestle and instead reaches for my thighs, yanking my left leg up and gripping it tightly.

  I follow his gaze to land upon the jagged white scar on my thigh, the scar Dornan created when he plunged his knife into my flesh, another scar that irreparably marks me as his.

  I stare at the ceiling, blinking hot tears of anger and shame from my eyes. I don’t fight. I let him study my thigh, and when he pushes my T-shirt up to study my midsection of tattooed cross-scars, I speak.

  “Got what you wanted?” I ask bitterly, embarrassed to be so exposed in front of him.

  He continues to stare at my tattoos, almost dream-like, his eyes clouded and far away.

  “No,” he says. “That’s not what I wanted. Is this it? Where else has he scarred you, Julz?”

  His voice isn’t angry anymore. It’s gentle and horrified, and it washes away my own rage.

  “It’s not the scars on my skin that hurt,” I whisper. “It’s the ones inside my mind.”

  Right then, he looks sadder than I’ve ever seen him.

  “I should go,” he mutters.

  “No!” I protest. “I’m sorry, okay? I can’t help what’s already happened, Jase. I can only try to make sure the right things happen now.”

  He stands by the edge of the bed, apparently undecided, and I claw anxiously at anything I can say that might make him stay.

  “I wish things were different,” I whisper to him, hearing the tears in my voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah,” he says, his eyes clouded over again.

  And then he leaves me alone.

  He heads into the bathroom and immediately I hear the shower start. Maybe he needs a cold shower.

  I sure do.

  I lie there for a few minutes staring at the ceiling. I’m saddened and frustrated. Saddened by his sudden change of heart, his brisk departure.

  Frustrated because my entire body is alight, ready for his touch, his caress, and now he’s left me alone.

  Finally, I decide to hell with it. I’m not finished with him. We can’t leave things on that note.

  The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and I push it open, steam immediately greeting me.

  I can see his outline in the shower as he stands under the stream of water, tiny droplets hitting his skin at every angle.

  Brazenly, and without giving myself any time to chicken out, I lift my T-shirt over my head and toss it in the corner. Jase sees the sudden movement and turns to face me as I shimmy out of my borrowed sweatpants, leaving them on the floor. I pull the glass door to the shower open and step inside, happy that the water is warm, not cold.

  “What are you doing?” Jase asks, seemingly unimpressed.

  I shrug. “I don’t think we’re finished yet.”

  He laughs dryly. “Oh yes, we’re finished,” he says, turning to the side and grabbing a bar of soap from the caddy.

  I tilt my head to the side, gesturing to his rock-hard erection.

  “You’re lying,” I say.

  He turns away, running soap over his hair and rubbing at it angrily. “I can’t look at you without thinking about what you did with him,” he says bitterly, and my stomach twists painfully.

  “Jase—” I plead.

  “Everywhere I look!” He cuts me off. “This bathroom, the clubhouse. Everywhere! I can’t think of anything else when I look at you, Juliette!”

  I hang my head, the warm water soothing and scalding all at once.

  “I did what I had to do,” I say vehemently. “You would have done the same thing if you were me. I didn’t know he’d take such a shining to me, for shit’s sake. I wanted a job at the burlesque club, that’s all.”

  He slams his palm against the tiles so hard, it seems like the whole glass shower cubicle shakes.

  Right. Guess that was the wrong thing to say.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask, setting my jaw. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Unexpectedly, he cages me with his arms, pushing me back against the cold tiles. Every brush of his skin on mine, and his eyes on me, sends a thrill down my spine and evokes a delicious wetness between my legs.

  “No,” Jase growls. “What I want is to throw you up against this wall and erase any trace of him ever touching you. What I want is for you to be mine, and mine only.”

  My breathing quickens as he says that. His eyes are bright, wild almost, but I’m not afraid of him.

  “So do it,” I whisper.

  He hesitates, his hands loosely around my waist, his hard cock pressing into my stomach.

  I know why he’s hesitating. The past that lies between us.

  Let her go!

  “I want this,” I say to him. “I want this more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. I want to be with you, Jason. I’m not leaving you again. Ever.”

  My words seem to move something inside him. His hesitation disappears, replaced by a look of pure lust. He makes a deep noise in his throat as he presses my hips with his palms, driving me back again so I’m pressed harder against the wall. The combination of hot water running over my front and the cold tiles at my back is thrilling; there’s a slight draft coming in from the window and my skin springs to life in a million tiny bumps. Jase’s lips crash against mine as we desperately seek to reclaim what should have always been ours.

  “Julz …” he moans into my mouth, his hand leaving my hip and trailing lower. He traces a line with his index finger down my thigh and back up, where he swipes it along my slit.

  “You’re so wet,” he whispers, pressing a finger inside me. I clutch at his hard arms as he strokes his finger in and out, moaning when he hits that sweet spot inside.

  “Jesus, Jase,” I whisper, moving my hand down and gripping his thick cock. I start stroking him back and forth, slow at first, then faster. His breathing quickens and he stops kissing me, staring at me with hooded eyes.

  “That,” he murmurs, watching me stroke his length, “feels so good.” He closes his eyes for a moment, tipping his head back as he pants, and while he isn’t looking I figure I might as well do what I’ve wanted to do since I saw him naked in the shower. I sink to my knees, open my mouth, and close my mouth around the head of his cock.

  As soon as I wrap my lips around his shaft his eyes snap open.

  “Ohhhhh,” he says, as I suck and lick. “Jesus, if you keep going like that I’m not going to last.”

  I smile up at him and let him bounce out of my mouth, because the last thing I want is for this to be over when it’s only just begun. Jase responds immediately, dragging me up to my feet and pressing me against the wall again. He holds my hips firmly and kisses a deliciously warm trail down my neck.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he says, lifting me effortlessly so my legs are spread around him, my ankles locked together.

  He holds me with one hand as he guides his cock with the other, rubbing it in shallow circles against my clit until I’m thrusting my hips forward in frustration.

  “Jase,” I whimper, not wanting to wait a second longer, and mercifully, I don’t. He surges forward, thrusting into me in one long movement that makes my eyes roll back in my head as I dig my nails into his back. “Oh, fuck!” I moan, as he slowly pulls out of me, only the tip of him remaining inside me. Then he thrusts again, just as quick and hard as the first time, and I begin to feel a wave of orgasm build inside me.

  He notices too, because he thrusts harder, watching my face intently. “Come for me, Julz,” he whispers, and I do. I hold my breath as I reach that shattering crest, my core clenching tightly around his shaft as I come. He thrusts harder, deeper with each stroke, until I’m crying out his name, a loud scream that he covers with his mouth.

  I see white and stars, stilling as my orgasm tears through every fiber of me. He tightens his fingers around my hips and takes over, lifting me up and slamming me back down onto him as my core clenches around him and I continue to cry into the night.

  I collapse onto him, my head resting loosely on his shoulder, desperately needing a reprieve before we continue.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, stroking my tangled hair. “That looked intense.”

  “Is this okay?” he asks, as he begins to drive into me again. I thrust my hips forward, drawing him deeper inside me, and he smiles devilishly.

  “It’s better than okay,” I moan, grabbing his hips and pulling him into me so hard, it’s almost violent. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  My voice wavers as I say that. Jase cups my face in his hand, the other at my waist as he continues to thrust.

  “I never stopped loving you,” he murmurs in my ear.

  If I say any more, I’m going to cry, and I don’t want to cry right now.

  “Stop trying to make me cry and just fuck me,” I whisper heatedly.

  As soon as I say that, he stops and pulls out of me, hovering at my entrance like the cruelest tease. I try to pull him back but he resists me effortlessly.

  “This is not fucking,” he says plainly. “I’m not fucking you.”

  My eyes ask the question, what do you mean, and he doesn’t leave me hanging. He inches inside me again, deliciously slow, methodically and precise. I moan and press my fingers into his flesh.

  It has been so many years, but he fills me with himself so that I am finally complete again.

  So that I am loved.

  “I’m making love to you, Juliette,” he murmurs.

  And he’s right.

  I’ve dreamed of this moment for over six years. A reality where Jase and I could be together again. In my imagination, this was perfection. This was the culmination of years of longing and loss, of patience and distance and blood. I thought I’d be relieved. I thought I’d be absolved, that we’d live happily ever after, the end.

  And now that it’s here, I don’t feel any of those things. I don’t feel relieved, or content, or absolved of my sins.

  I’m just afraid.

  Afraid of so many, many things.

  I feel completely powerless. I don’t know what’s going on with Jase, my only lifeline to the club—my only lifeline at all, for that matter. Over the three days that pass after the bomb blast, he comes and goes from the apartment several times, never really telling me what’s going on. Each time he leaves, I can tell he’s reluctant to be away from me, which is both a comfort and a worry. Is he reluctant to let me out of his sight because he misses me?

  Or does he want to keep tabs on me because he doesn’t trust me?

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