“That was awesome,” I whisper, turning and pressing my lips against his neck.
“Mmmmmhmmmm,” he murmurs, huskily.
I go to climb off his lap, but his arm goes around my waist, and he stops me, pulling me closer. Heart expanding, I wrap my arms around his neck, and he squeezes me, hugging me so hard my breath is knocked out of me for a second. We just sit there like that, hanging onto each other. And I realise that we both need it. For whatever reason, we need it.
So I just let him hang onto me.
And I hang onto him.
And we shove our broken pieces back together, even if they don’t go back together quite the same, we still try.
And for a while, it feels incredible.
CHAPTER 13
“That is not how you play air guitar!” I laugh, throwing a chip across the table at Roman, who is doing a poor impersonation of an air guitar.
“Yes, Spoosie, it is.”
“No, Spooser, it isn’t. You suck. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
He keeps playing his terrible air guitar and grins at me, cheeky, gorgeous. “We can’t be friends if you don’t play with me.” He wiggles his brows.
“No.”
“Play it, you know you want to, the music is calling to you.”
“Nope.”
He keeps playing, wiggling from side to side, and I can’t help it, I lift my arms and start playing air guitar with him. We both laugh, doing, what is, without a doubt, the worst air guitar playing in the entire world.
“We’re terrible.” I laugh, putting my arms down.
“No, you’re terrible, and you’re making me look bad.”
I snort and flip him the bird.
“Want to hear a funny story?” I say, wiggling my brows as I move into his kitchen and stir the food he’s cooking for us.
“You’ve always got a funny story, and I’m always wanting to hear it,” he says, slapping my hand away from his cooking.
“You’re doing it wrong,” I tease.
“Shut it, tell me your story before I hurt you.”
I grin at him, and sit down on a nearby stool. “So, there I was this morning, out in my yard, bringing my trash out. It was windy. I was wearing a dress. I also wasn’t wearing any panties. I saw my neighbour, I waved, and then leaned down to move my hose when the wind came in ...”
Roman grins. The devil.
“And my dress blew up, right up, and showed my entire ass to my male neighbour.”
Roman laughs, shaking his head. “He got the whole view, yeah?”
“The whole thing. Ass. Lady parts. All of it.”
“Admit it,” Roman says, grinning and walking over beside me, “you didn’t accidentally lean over.”
He pretends to be me and walks over leaning down really slow and sticking his ass in the air. I burst out laughing.
“Oh, look,” he says in his girly voice. “My hose is on the ground, I must pick it up. Ooops, is that my dress blowing up.”
He stays leaned over, and then stands in slow motion. “Oh, hi, neighbour. How nice to see you.”
“You’re a jerk!” I laugh, tossing another chip at him. “Seriously. It was an accident.”
“Sure it was.” He wiggles his brows.
“It was.”
“Well, looks like you’ve acquired a new stalker now. My job here is done.”
I huff, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
“I don’t know why we’re friends sometimes,” I joke. “You’re a dick.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I throw another chip at him, he catches it and pops it into his mouth. I roll my eyes and stand, walking past him to get another drink, but he catches me around the waist and hauls me against him. Then he brings his lips down over mine, kisses me softly, and lets me go with a grin.
God. He can be charming when he wants, I’ll give him that much.
I get another drink, with a stupid grin on my face, and then go join him on the sofa. I turn slightly and face him, and for a second, he studies me. It’s nice to have someone looking at me like that.
“You’re really pretty.”
I flush. “Ah, thanks.”
“Nah, seriously, I know I have said it before but you have a natural beauty. I don’t know many girls that can get away with not wearing any makeup and look as good as you.”
I smile. “I’ve never been into makeup.”
“You don’t need it, you’d be crazy to wear it.”
“Your ex wear it?”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course. She had to put her face on every morning.”
“Ah, fair enough.”
“I didn’t care, but, there was this one time when I was visiting her on the coast and a hurricane was coming. I said to her, go to the store and get some batteries, food, a flash light, things like that while I was tying everything down. When I called her a few hours later, asking where the hell she was, she told me she was shopping for makeup.”
I blink.
He’s kidding ... right?
“You’re joking?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I was so fucking angry.”
“Wow, that’s just ... wow.”
There's something about the world, about people, about love, that I'll never understand. I'll never quite grasp how a person can be selfish, cruel, manipulative, a liar, a cheat and an all round despicable human, yet they're the ones that are loved, deeper than most. They're cherished. They get chased. They get fought for. Why? What is it about those people that keeps others hanging on so tightly? What is it, about an ugly soul, that gives them all the good in the world? And why is it, I wonder, that the beautiful souls always get left behind?
“Can I ask you something?”
He nods.
“What, exactly, did you love so much about her? Honestly, I don’t understand. Everything you’ve told me, even from the second you met, has made me think she’s nothing but a cruel, heartless person. So what made you fall so hard?”
He studies me for a moment. “I don’t honestly know. I can’t really list the good qualities in her, and that’s the worst part. I’ve always known, deep down, that she wasn’t a good person.”
Then why?
I just don’t understand. Is it that his self esteem isn’t where it should be, and he thinks that’s the best he can do? Is it purely because she’s attractive, and he thought that was a score? How can you honestly love someone, with every piece of your heart, when they’re such a terrible person? How does one’s heart even open enough to let that kind of ugliness inside?
“You think I’m crazy,” he says.
“No,” I shake my head. “I just ... I just don’t get it, I guess.”
He sighs. “Sometimes I don’t, either, but I just couldn’t stop how I felt.”
“No, I understand that.”
“I’m not always the easiest person either,” he admits.
I turn towards him some more. “How do you mean?”
“I’m just ... not always nice.”
“You can’t say that and not explain, so come on, spill. I’m your Bestie, you have to tell me.”
He smiles, weakly. “Sometimes, I could just be a jerk. I get like that. Sometimes I need space and alone time, there are times I’m not affectionate, and I can be, cold, I guess.”
“That’s it?”
His eyes flash to me. “I’m not always nice, that’s not fair.”
“So, those things you listed, you think that means you deserved the things she did to you? You think that because sometimes you’re a jerk, and sometimes you want to be alone, that you deserved that?”
He stares at me, like he’s shocked. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
“There’s no guessing. You didn’t. We all have personality flaws, Roman. Some of us are too emotional, too angry, too mean, too clingy, too needy, too hard, too soft, but what she did, those weren’t personality flaws, that was just an ugly heart that cared only for itself. There is a big difference.”
r />
“If only everyone looked at the world the way you do. You’re a good person, Molly. Don’t change that.”
“Well, I think you’re a good person, too.”
“I am now, I wasn’t always.”
“Maybe,” I say, shuffling closer so he can wrap an arm around my shoulder. “But you are now, and that takes some guts, Roman. It takes strength to be able to admit you were wrong and become a better person. Not everyone has what it takes to do that.”
“Mmmm,” he murmurs into my hair.
I tilt my head back up and look up at him, our eyes holding. His eyes. I’ve met so many people in my life, but none have ever spoken so deeply through their eyes. The kindness and passion that lies beyond those brown depths, it runs deep. He runs deep. More so than I think he knows sometimes.
He drops his head and kisses me.
It’s slow, soft and long. Our fingers tangle with each others and our mouths press together, lips moving, tongues dancing. It’s an incredible moment. It feels good. Real even. I pull back first, lips swollen in the best possible way. Roman cups my jaw and tilts my head back, looking into my eyes again. “I’m going to go home,” he murmurs.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay, beautiful.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, then gets up and leaves.
My heart expands.
And it’s starting to scare me.
~*~*~*~
I walk up to my front steps, exhausted.
I’ve been at work all night, and honestly, I’m tired and more than ready for bed. I reach for my door when a voice comes from the dark. “Molly.”
It’s Michael.
And I can already tell by his voice that he’s drunk.
I squint, and he slowly emerges from the shadows, bottle of beer in his hand, swaying slightly. Just great. This is the last thing I need.
“What are you doing here, Michael?” I say carefully, not wanting to make him angry.
“I wanted to see you,” he slurs, putting a hand on the porch railing to stop himself falling over it.
“Yeah, well, you’re drunk. You should call a cab and go home.”
“We need to talk.”
“No,” I say, turning and pulling my keys from my purse. “We don’t.”
I put the key to the lock to open the front door, but his hand curls around my bicep and he pulls me back. My keys drop the ground with a loud clinging sound. I look up, trying to jerk my arm from his grips, but he’s got a tight hold on me.
“Let me go,” I say, my voice stern, but inside, fear is creeping up into my chest.
“We need to talk. You won’t talk to me.”
“Let me go, Michael.”
He sways a little, but he doesn’t pull his hand from my arm. “If you won’t talk to me, I’ll make you.”
I shiver all over and try to pull my arm back again. “I said no, Michael. Let me go.”
“Come on, Molly.”
“Let me go!” I demand.
“No,” he barks, jerking me so I stumble forward. He takes a staggering step back and wraps an arm around my waist. “I love you. I want to talk. Why won’t you listen to me?”
Fear lodges itself deep in my throat, and for a second, I feel like I can’t breathe. I try to squirm free, but he’s holding me so tightly, his fingers wrapped about my bicep, his arm around my waist.
“Michael, I’m asking you to let me go, please.”
“I just want to talk,” he says, turning his head to the side and breathing in my hair.
I want to vomit.
“Let me go, right now!” I screech, using all my strength to jerk backwards.
He stumbles enough that he has to release me to try and catch his balance. I reach for my phone, frantic. He takes a step forward, yelling, “Just listen to me!”
“No,” I cry, holding my phone out. “Don’t come near me.”
“Who are you calling?” he asks, eyes wide. “If you’re calling your father ...”
“Take another step, I’ll scream.”
“Don’t call your father!”
He lunges, I take a step back but he catches me around the wrist, causing my phone to fling out of my hand and skitter across the ground. This just went from a drunk fight to something so much more.
“Let me go!” I scream.
“Stop being such a bitch!” he hisses. “If you’d just listen.”
“Let me go.”
“Listen!”
“Let me go!”
“God dammit,” he roars, pulling his hand back and swinging.
His hand connects with my face so hard my head jerks to the side. It takes a few stunned moments for me to realise what’s happened. Pain explodes in my temple, and I sway on my feet as my vision blurs. That was a hard hit, and God, it kills.
“Molly, oh shit, I didn’t mean to ... I didn’t ...”
“Leave,” I gasp through the pain. “Right now, Michael. If you don’t, I’ll call my father and he will kill you. Walk away, leave me alone, never come back.”
He nods, pressing his hands together. “I’m so sor—”
“Leave!” I scream.
He turns and runs down the stairs, tripping and stumbling a few times before he disappears down the street. In somewhat of a daze, I turn towards the door and stumble towards it, only to realise my keys are on the ground somewhere. I lean down to pick them up and stumble as my head spins.
I drop onto my knees, turn my body and press my back against the wall, then angry tears rush down my face. Damn him. What kind of crazy person is he? I drop my head into my hands, and my face burns, my temple throbs, and my heart aches. It takes me a few minutes of quiet sobbing to get myself together, then I reach around for my phone.
I dial Jack.
Roman is back at work, and I have nobody else I trust.
“Hey, sista!” he answers cheerfully.
“Hey,” I croak. “Can you come over?”
His voice instantly sobers. “What’s wrong? What is it? Molly?”
“Can you just ... come over, Jack?”
“Of course.”
I hang up the phone, push to my feet and turn, opening the door after a few failed attempts. I stagger into the house and flick on the light, then I drop down onto the sofa and try to control the tears. I’ve never been hit by anyone before, let alone a man. A man I once loved. My heart feels like it’s splitting in two, I could swear it hurts more than my head.
A few minutes later, the front door swings open and Jack comes in. His eyes swing to me and rage flares in them. He might be more like his mother, but he has Mack’s temper. He’s calm most of the time, but when he explodes, he loses it and it can be a little scary.
“Where the fuck is he?”
I blink. “Jack ... what?”
“Where is he?”
He storms over and kneels down in front of me, taking my chin in his hand and tilting my head back.
“What makes you think it was a he?” I croak.
“Because of the way you sounded on the phone? Who did it?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It was that fucking ex, wasn’t it?”
“Jack, please ....”
“I’ll fucking kill him. I will.”
“Please,” I croak and my voice breaks. Tears run down my cheeks.
Jack’s eyes soften. “Shit. Sorry Mol. I’m sorry. Come on, can you stand? We need to get some ice on this.”
He wraps an arm around my waist and helps me stand. On shaky legs, I walk to the kitchen where he sits me down and then carries on to get some ice in a washer. He dampens it just slightly under the tap and brings it over.
“Really close to your temple there, Mol. I think you should get that checked out.”
“It’s fine, it’s okay. It looks worse than it is, I’m sure.”
“Seriously, though ...”
“Jack,” I plead. “Please. I’ll go if it gets worse. Can you ... Can you just sit with me?”
He
nods, eyes concerned. He knows not to argue with me.
“I’m staying then, I can’t have anything happening to you. And if that fucker comes back ...”
“He won’t,” I say, letting him help me down the hall to my room. “He’s too afraid of my dad. He’ll skip town, I can guarantee it.”
“Fucking piece of shit, hitting a woman.”
“Yeah,” I croak.
Jack lets me go for a second, and pulls back the bed covers. I sit on the mattress, and he kneels down, pulling off my shoes.
“I’ll get you some painkillers and water, get into the bed, okay?”
I nod, trying to fight back the tears that keep threatening to spill over. “Yeah, okay. Hey, Jack?”
He looks at me. “Yeah?”
“Will you stay with me?”
“I already told you I would.”
“I mean, will you stay in here with me. I’m ... afraid.”
He nods. “Fuck. Of course. I’ll be back soon.”
He disappears and I shakily change into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, then I climb into the bed, pressing the ice to my eye. It hurts like hell, and I wince as the cold penetrates my skin.
Jack returns a few minutes later with a couple of pills and a glass of water. He hands it to me, and I drink it as he jerks off his shirt, dropping his jeans until he’s only in his boxers. Then he climbs into the bed beside me. We’re both sitting, backs against the headboard.
“What happened?” he asks, shuffling closer.
“He was drunk. He wanted to talk. We got into a bit of a scuffle, and he just slapped me, but it was so hard.”
“I can see that. Fucking piece of shit,” Jack mutters.
“Yeah.”
“You okay, Mol?”
I look to him, and my bottom lip trembles.
“Aw, come here.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer, tucking me into his side. I snuggle into him, so grateful to have him in my life. Jack and I have never had any romantic interest, we thought about it once but we honestly both just never felt the need for it. We always had such a great friendship. It’s different to what Roman and I share. Roman and I, we connect on a far deeper level than Jack and I ever have, but Jack and I, we understand each other.