Splintered Hearts

Forty Four

Noah

Sitting in this driveway for the last five minutes was getting me nowhere. I have to go in. I know that. My mind’s already made up. I just can’t force myself to move. I’m terrified and afraid he’ll hurt me again.

But although I’m scared, I’m doing this.

Getting out of the car, I walk up the steps, not bothering to knock, just walking in. Toeing off my shoes, I walk into the living room but don’t see Jamie, just another envelope. It’s quiet in the house, no signs of life at all.

Is he here? Or will this just lead me to another spot? I love the letters, and the scavenger hunt is fun, but I just need to see him. I’ve been at war with my own mind since Jamie told me about his accident. My heart broke for him. I just couldn’t trust myself around him then. While what happened to him was devastating, the way he treated me was not okay.

I need to know that won’t happen again.

Picking up the letter, I begin to read.

Hey baby,

I got to be honest. It’s come to my understanding and realization right now that you maybe aren’t going to read any of these. Honestly, that’s fine, and I hope that whatever you do, wherever you go you’re always happy. Since I don’t even think you’ll read this I’m going to say some really embarrassing shit, because you probably fled the country after finding the love of your life who treats you so much better than I ever could.

He fucking better.

So, you’re probably drowning in love and orgasms with some asshole from like, Italy or some shit, with a pretentious name like Luca or something fancy. I don’t know why I think Italy, but I see him being Italian. Tall, handsome, can cook way better than I can. Giant cock of course. Fuck, I hate that fictional man I just made up. Anyway, back to us, or I guess, what used to be us.

Before I ruined it.

On the coffee table are sketchbooks. I mean, depending on the time frame in which you read these, there should be. Or maybe you won’t read these at all, and they’re just sitting there to rot for all eternity.

I think you’re here, though. I like to think so.

Go ahead and look through the one on the table. After we met that first night, Bri bought me a sketchbook. I hadn’t drawn anything since Luci’s death, but meeting you was like a spark of life. Once I started drawing, I couldn’t stop. I hope you like them.

I grab the sketchbook, opening the first page and seeing a little note with washi tape.

For my little fox.

I put the note aside with shaky hands. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous. Turning the page, my skin heats with memory. Unlike the one with me looking up at Jamie, this one is lewd and detailed, but although the erotic image is dirty, there’s something about it that warms me. Jamie took great care in drawing me, and seeing myself the way Jamie does makes my chest flicker with heat.

Best Interview Ever.

I laugh at the title, turning the page as our memories play out. The sketchbook is half filled with various memories we’ve shared. Me on the couch reading, cooking, playing games, sleeping. Jamie drew picture after picture as if his fingers didn’t know how to do anything else. Pausing on the last picture, I take it in—Jamie on his back, looking up at me while I fucked him at the lake house. It’s detailed and really fucking good. What stops me, though, is the look in my eyes. They carry so much love. So much love. He’s captured it perfectly. While what he said when we got back hurt me, I know now, without a doubt, he didn’t mean it. I assumed that, anyway, but seeing this picture confirms it for me. Jamie doesn’t do well with words and gets frustrated when things don’t come out right. Jamie’s feelings are expressed with art, not words. This drawing, though? One thing is clear. Jamie loves me—really, really loves me—and he knows how much I love him back.

Grabbing the note, I finish reading.

After that first night we met, I picked up a pencil and I couldn’t stop. I just wanted to draw you. Every day, you’re all I thought about. Then you moved in.

It was hard for me to tell you how much I wanted you. So I drew instead. That first night in my room. That night you video-called me. When you moved in. When you kissed the scar on my chest. Fuck, I fell a little bit in love with you then.

Moment after moment, I drew, because I just needed all this pent-up feeling to go somewhere. I’m not good with words—at least not saying them out loud. None of these letters are good, I know that. I’m not great with words but I am good at drawing and that’s the best way I can show you.

The first night I started to realize I may love you was the night I saved you from that asshole at the restaurant. Seriously, fuck that guy. I hope his pillow is always warm. I hope he steps on a lego every day for the rest of his life. I hope he hits every red light for the rest of eternity.

I should thank him, though.

I thought I was sure when we fell asleep on the couch after I drew you. I couldn’t help it. My fingers were already moving the moment I sat down, watching your brows furrow with concentration as you updated your book log.

I knew for sure at the lake house. It was undeniable. I’d never shared so many parts of myself before. I wanted you to know me, but I was scared because you’re beautiful and kind and caring and I’m me.

Ugly and broken.

So instead, I drew.

I drew after you drew that little penis on my chest.

I drew a picture after we had sex for the first time.

I drew after I was trying to cook for you at the lake house.

After we read books together.

While you lay on the couch or slept next to me.

I captured it all because in those moments I felt way too much. You make me feel so much. All of this to say... Not very well, I know, I’m sorry. You are the writer. I am not. All of this to say... I love you, Noah.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Fuck, I will say it on repeat until the day I die. I am so fucking in love with you. You are the most incredible, funny, sweet, amazing man I’ve ever met in my life. I didn’t treat you like that, though, and I am really sorry about that.

I never had anyone teach me how to be a good man. I want to put the work in. I have been putting the work in. Like I said. Fucking therapy. That shit is intense, but it’s worth it if it means I can come out of it a better person. A better person for you and for myself.

Even if you don’t want me. That’s fine. Just know that I’m always here for you. I will always be here for you, Noah. No matter what. At the end of this you don’t have to be mine, but know that I’ll always be yours.

Always.

If you need more time you can go ahead and take that sketchbook, if you want it. If you don’t, I’ll just keep looking in it like I have been. If you need more time, that’s okay. I understand. I’ll wait however long I need to.

But—and only if you feel one hundred percent sure you want to try with me again—please go into my room. Now, if it’s been like ten years and you’re just finding this, I cannot tell you the state I’ll be in. I’m hoping you do this right away because I’m impatient and I miss you so goddamn much.

I know I have to wrap this up but I’m honestly scared. I deserve whatever’s coming, I know that. I lashed out at you for no reason and I’ll be sorry every day for the rest of my life. Just know I’m trying to change.

I’m going to stop writing now.

No matter what you choose, just please make sure it’s the right choice for you. That’s all I want, Noah. I want you to be happy.

No matter what.

I tuck the letters inside the sketchbook, unsure of what to do. I don’t move. All the words from these letters form a tornado inside my chest. Jamie’s sorry and I knew that weeks ago. I knew it when he told me his story. I knew it when I saw him at dinner and when I told him I was finding another place to live.

I knew he was sorry.

Instead of moving, I sit here, and try to leave my emotions out of this and just think logically for a moment. It’s hard because yeah, I miss him too. I love him just as hard. I’m hesitant, though, to take him back. I can’t carry the emotional burden for someone else. I just can’t do it. What I want is a partner, someone who lifts me up just as much as I lift them. Jamie couldn’t solely rely on me... which I told him.

In return, Jamie started therapy. That thought alone is funny to think about. Jamie doesn’t like to talk about shit, so sitting down with a stranger is so far removed from the man he was months ago when I moved in here. He’s putting the work in, mending things with his family, and taking a hard look at himself. I’m proud of him.

Jamie wants to show me he can change, that he wants to change, and I respect that. It can’t have been an easy thing.

My mind is made up.

Getting up, I walk slowly down the hall, still not hearing any noise. My heart thumps loudly with each step closer to his door. Opening it, I brace myself.

What?

The room is nearly empty, except for his bed and dresser. Where did his desk and shelf go? Walking inside, I see the stuffed fox in the middle of the bed, and turning from the room my eyes catch on the massive mural on the wall. Toward the end of my staying here Jamie wouldn’t let me in his room. It wasn’t hard, seeing as we slept together in my bed most nights.

“Holy shit.” My fingers reach out before I pull them back, not sure if it’s wet.

Hunter. Luci. Xavier. Lia. Bri. “Mark?”

“That one took some real talent.” I nearly scream, punching the air as Jamie smiles. “I had to dig deep for that one.”

“It’s amazing.” My eyes catch on the corner. Next to Mark. Me. Jamie painted me. “How much pain were you in when you finished?”

Jamie rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Yes.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. This man will never learn. “It’s absolutely stunning.”

“Did you finish the letters?”

I frown. I mean... I have to. “Letters?”

“The . . . letters.”

“I’m looking for my charger. Did I leave my charger here? I must have left it. I can’t find it packed in my stuff.” Looking around the room, I shake my head. “Have you seen it? It wasn’t in my old room.”

“You . . . came to get your charger?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I should have called. I was on my way home from work.” I blink at him and Jamie’s eyes narrow on me as he shakes his head.

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“You make it so easy.”

Jamie looks like he’s going to laugh, or cry, I’m not sure. Covering his face with his hands, he shakes his head. “You’re so mean to me,” he says, muffled behind his hands, and I can’t help a tiny smile. Peeling his hands from his face he shakes his head before eying my shirt. “I can’t with you.”

Looking down at my Mayor of Pound Town shirt, I shrug. “I wanted to dress up nice for you.” And I may have spilled some sauce on my work shirt and had this in the back seat of my car.

“I love you so fucking much.” Jamie goes to engulf me in a hug, and as much as I want to drown inside his arms, I step back, holding my hand out. Confusion flashes on Jamie’s face and although I want this to be done, I just can’t. “What?”

“I want this, so much you have no idea, but how am I just supposed to trust you? After all of this. After what you said to me.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know you said that, but you’ve said things before, and your actions contradicted those things. How am I supposed to just believe that you didn’t mean what you said when we got back? Maybe you’re just lonely now, and once you get tired again, you’ll want to leave me.”

“Noah—”

“Because that hurt, Jamie. So fucking much. I’m sorry for hurting you after the first time we had sex, but to throw it in my face... That was mean. How am I just supposed to believe that you’re in this.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that.” Jamie closes his eyes, seemingly counting to ten. “Here.” Reaching into his pocket he hands me a slip of paper.

Reading it, I’m confused. It’s a receipt. “Madd Ink?”

“That tattoo shop belonged to my best friend. The one who died in the car accident.”

“Oh.”

“His boyfriend still owns it.”

“Why are you handing me this?” Looking at the receipt, I’m more confused that there’s no cost on it.

Jamie doesn’t answer, instead he raises his shirt.

“Holy fucking shit.” My first instinct is to reach for him because my fingers know Jamie’s body almost as well as my own. Pulling back, I look up. “I don’t... What the fuck?” Elated, confused, a little shocked, I take in the tattoo. The same drawing I drew on Jamie’s chest.

Jamie had this tattooed. Jamie. Mister only gray and black, save for his cherry blossoms that were colored for a reason—colored because of Luci. “I can’t...” This is a lot, but my point still stands. “You can’t just get a tattoo because you want to get me back, Jamie. You can’t just... this is...” It’s too much. “You can’t do this to get me back.”

“Baby.” The husky name makes me shiver. “Look at the receipt. The date.” Confused, I look at the tiny slip of paper then focus on the date. Not only the date but the time stamp. Understanding hits me. “You got this when we were there?”

“That’s where I was the morning I was gone for a bit.” Jamie takes a tiny step toward me. “I waited for you to fall asleep and called the shop. I remembered when Maddox had it, they’d always be there early setting up. Cleaning. Marketing before they opened. I was betting on them being there. I went down and he tattooed the drawing you did.” Jamie takes a deep breath. “On the way back Ari saw me while she was jogging. What she said fucked with my mind, and that’s on me. I just... I just felt that she was right and that you were better off. I ended up hurting you because I thought you’d be better off without me. It’s hard to reconcile in my brain how much you love me. I’m working on that, I swear.”

Jamie takes a step and I let him, my eyes focused on that ridiculous tattoo. “You fucked up the flow of your tattoos.”

That makes him laugh, and fuck, I want to bottle the sound. Grabbing my hand, he places it over the tattoo. “It’s my favorite tattoo.”

“Okay, now I know you’re lying.”

Laughing, he brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it. “I’ll tell you right now, I will never lie to you ever again. I love this tattoo more than anything.”

Not wanting to cry, I look away. Fuck, I’m weak. “It is a nice rainbow-glitter cock.” A watery laugh escapes me. “The tattoo’s nice also.” Jamie laughs, pulling me into his arms and squeezing me hard. He lets me break down inside his safety. “You better not hurt me like this again.”

Pressing a kiss to my head, Jamie hugs me harder. “Never. Never again. I will never lie to you or hurt you on purpose.” Pulling back, he cups my face. “I’m still new to this. If I’m acting like an asshole for whatever dumb reason, put me in my place.”

“Oh, I’ll have no problem doing that,” I laugh, wiping my own eyes. “Therapy, huh?”

“I fucking hate it.” Offering me a smile, he shrugs. “But it’s working, a little.”

“I love you.” That takes Jamie by surprise, before his brain catches up and he pulls me into his arms.

“I love you too, little fox.” Heat dances behind his eyes. Fuck, I love this man.

“Baby.”

Jamie presses soft kisses against the side of my face. “What is it?”

“I just have one thing I need you to do.”

“Anything.” He kisses my neck and I shiver.

“I need . . .” Moaning Jamie bites down on the juncture of my neck. “I need you to tell me . . . in great detail . . .”

“Okay,” he murmurs.

“How you groveled to Mark.”

Losing all of his warmth instantly, Jamie glares at me. “Why do you always ruin shit?”

“A talent, my love.”

“Talent, huh?” Jamie gives me a wicked smirk that makes warmth pool in my belly. “I’ll show you talent, smart ass.” Picking me up, he throws me over his shoulder, smacking my ass.

Laughing, I pretend to squirm and try to get down. Jamie swats my ass again, leading me to my bedroom. “What are you doing?!”

“Anything you want me to.”