29. Nolan
Chapter 29
Nolan
NOVEMBER
L ast night, when Bethany and the kids stopped by the station, I sensed something was amiss. She was distant and rebuffed my attempts to talk to her privately.
We’ve come so far, and I’m not letting her do this. Not to me or my kids.
By the time I get home, the house is empty. The girls are at school and Bethany’s at work.
The first thing that catches my eye when I step into my bedroom is the bed. It’s exactly how I left it yesterday morning. The clothes I’d thrown down are still there, a rumpled mess instead of the usual tidy pile. It’s obvious she didn’t sleep here.
I pick up my phone and send her a text.
ME:
Everything go okay last night?
Because I know she has two classes this morning, I don’t expect a reply right away. So, I turn on the shower, ready to wash away the craziness of my shift and put on regular clothes. I’m not tired. Last night was quiet after midnight, and I slept as much as my mind would allow.
Just as I’m stepping out of the stall, there’s a ding alerting me I have a text. I wipe my face, feeling the soft cotton against my skin, and then towel off, the damp towel heavy in my hands, before wrapping it around my waist.
BETHANY:
You home?
ME:
I am.
Her question strikes me as odd. Why is she asking me this?
With my pulse pounding in my ears, all I can hear is the whooshing sound while I wait, transfixed by the three dancing dots.
BETHANY:
Can I come over? I need to talk to you.
Fuck.
ME:
Sure. Everything okay?
She doesn’t respond, and that doesn’t quell the anger building inside me. I knew something was bothering her. There was a shift she couldn’t conceal when she walked into the station last night. Her eyes gave her away. The warmth behind them had turned to ice and I couldn’t figure out why. Guess I’m about to.
The doorbell rings and I throw up my hands. She has a fucking key. One she’s used multiple times. So why is she ringing the damn doorbell?
Pressing my palms into the vanity, I stare at my reflection. The tension in my shoulders builds. The next time I look at my reflection, the stress lines and dark circles under my eyes will have resurfaced. As they return, I feel the familiar wave of exhaustion—a heavy weight on my chest, a dull throb in my head—and the raw, exposed feeling of emotional vulnerability. I slam my palm against the vanity, knocking over a cup as the vibrations of my anger spread.
It was foolish of me to believe I could change her mind. She warned me, and I didn’t listen. My ego got in the way, told me that if I just showed her how good we could be together, she’d let me in, and we’d live happily ever after.
Bullshit!
Let this be my final lesson in love and happiness. The two cannot exist in my world and it’s time I face the facts and stop tying to find either. I’m doomed to be a miserable son of a bitch for the rest of my life. Might as well get used to feeling like I do right now. Tense, angry, and alone.
The doorbell rings again, and I don’t bother putting on clothes. With the towel still wrapped around my waist, I exit the bathroom and rush downstairs. When I reach the front door, I yank it open. My perpetual frown is back where it belongs, as I stare at the woman I want to strangle.
Bethany stands there, arms crossed, wearing her best armor. Cat-eye glasses sit atop her head, her hair pulled back except for bangs that partially cover her eyes. Sporting one of her cherished long dresses, this one dark green, with a sweater jacket draped and fastened once across her shoulders. The tips of her black painted nails are chipped, a sign she’s been nervously chewing on them since last night. A habit she does when she’s overthinking, just like she is now as she takes me in.
Her eyes are filled with lust. It’s obviously clouding her brain, keeping her well thought out speech from slipping from her lips. She better have a good look, because if she’s about to do what I think she is, it will be the last time she’ll get to.
I glare at her, a cold expression on my face, stepping back and making a sharp gesture for her to come inside. “What did you want to talk about?”
Coming back to her senses, her gaze drops as she walks past me and into the living room. “You can get dressed first. I’ll wait.”
Oh, hell no. I’m not about to make this easier on her. She can say what she feels needs to be said while I’m tempting her with my body, one I know she has trouble resisting.
With my arms crossed, muscles bulging, I don’t move. “I’m good. Go on.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Averting her gaze, Bethany turns to look out my window, facing the backyard instead of at me. “This isn’t working for me.”
“You’re breaking up with me?” My calm tone is a deceptive mask for the anger that burns within. “Why?”
“Because I am. Do I need a reason? I told you I wasn’t a relationship kind of person. But you wouldn’t listen.” A barely perceptible turn of her head reveals the unshed tears welling in her eyes; their silent weight speaks volumes. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
A laugh, loud and unrestrained, burst from my lips. It’s a laugh that lacks any humor.
I’m so tired of this game.
Fuck it.
“That’s the line you’re going with? The old, it’s not you, it’s me? Well, I call bullshit. I think you’re scared. What happened last night that has you running with your tail tucked between your legs like a frightened animal?”
“Nothing.” She spins to face me fully now. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and if anything, last night gave me clarity and showed me I’m not built for this. There are too many innocents who can get hurt, and it’s better to walk away now.”
“For who? For you?” Wanting her to feel the raw, burning anger that vibrates in my bones, I take a step closer. “Because it sure as hell isn’t better for me, or my girls, or your boys.”
With a sharp intake of breath, she crosses her arms tightly, her jaw clenched as she grits her teeth. Her eyes, hard and unwavering, bore into mine, while she bluffs her way through this. “For everyone.”
“I never thought of you as a quitter.”
That riles her up and has her close to yelling. “I’m not a quitter.”
I scoff. “Sure fucking seems like you are.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m a realist. Let’s be real. The life you want me to have isn’t the one I want.” Her voice grows louder, as if that will help me understand. “I don’t want this. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”
Words aren’t going to help me. So instead of using my words, I go for something else. I cross the room in five enormous steps and haul her into my arms, crashing my lips to hers. She resists me for only a heartbeat before she lets me in.
“Bullshit,” I groan as I kiss her hard, nipping at her lips. “You want me just as bad as I want you. Admit it.”
Her only response is the pressure of her nails on my back, a silent command to continue.
I don’t.
I won’t give her what she needs until she tells me the truth.
Moving her backwards, I only stop when her ass hits the couch. I flip her around, pushing her forward, until she bends, her front pressing hard against its back. “Don’t move.”
“Nolan, please.” With a whimper, she rubs her backside against the towel where my pulsating erection is eager to be set free. “One more time.”
Fuck that.
In an act of boldness, I raise the skirt of her dress and fling it up, revealing her bare ass. “You will not come. Do you hear me?”
“I need to come, please.” She squirms against my fingers as I drag them through her wet pussy until I find her clit. “Yes.”
Leaning close, I press my chest to her back and growl in her ear. “You will not come. Not until I give you permission. Say it.”
“I won’t come.”
“Fucking right, you won’t.” I smack her ass hard enough to leave my handprint behind. This time I don’t soothe it out. I want her to suffer from the burn.
I toy with her. As I tease her clit, her arousal intensifies, and the longing for release becomes stronger. Just as she’s about to fall over the edge, I stop.
I repeat this action several times. Each time I stop, I smack her ass, making her feel the sting. It’s such a deep, painful red now. She’ll be sore for hours, a reminder of her punishment. Fuck if I care. This is what she gets for thinking she can end us.
“Nolan, please.” She’s panting, itching to come, but there will be no relief for her, not today.
Dropping the towel, I drag my throbbing cock back and forth through her wetness. “You want to come?”
“Yes, please.”
Pressing the head of my cock into her tight cunt, I hold back, grabbing her hips with both hands. “It’s a need now, isn’t it? You need to come, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes.” She tries to press down on me, but in this position, I’m the one in control.
“Too, bad,” I tell her as I slam into her so hard the couch rocks forward. “You know what I want? I want you to admit it.”
“Admit what?” she squeals, her body quivering with each hard thrust.
“Admit that you’re scared. That you want me to do this to you for the rest of your life. Say it!” I shout, pulling her close, her body pressing against mine, my lips close to her ear, whispering the words I’ve been too afraid to speak. “Because I fucking love you, Bethany.”
She gasps, on the verge of coming just from my words, but because I’ve stopped slamming into her, she’s left needing more, unable to find release. “You can’t.”
“I do. I love you.” Turning her head, I kiss her hard. “I love you.”
With tears rolling down her cheeks, she denies it with a shake of her head.
“Say it,” I beg her this time. “Say it, and I’ll let you come.”
Her body collapses into mine as she falls apart in my arms, hysterical cries that almost have me joining in, but she refuses to admit what we both know is true. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Stumbling back, I separate myself from her, leaving us both breathless and desperate.
“Nolan.” Her voice is weak as she says my name. “I’m sorry. I warned you.”
I’m done.
Bending, I grab the towel and wrap it around my body. “You can leave!” and then I turn my back to her and walk away. I don’t want her seeing that I’m on the verge of breaking into a million pieces because she just ripped my heart out of my chest.
She doesn’t bother coming after me. The coward walks right out my front door and leaves without saying another word.
Fuck her.