Blue Jay

PROLOGUE

ROMAN

The living room is dark as I sit alone on the couch, the quiet so loud it feels like a continuous buzz that never stops.

Only the barest light from the kitchen pierces the darkness, spilling on the floor—yellow, unwelcome, and unnecessary. Because I know every inch of this house, every corner, every memory it stirs, taking me back to then.

Back when I didn’t know what it was like.

The need to possess someone wholly. The crushing relief of belonging to them.

I didn’t know. Not until him.

Not until all the darkness and emptiness that had swirled inside me latched onto him, begging for, craving some of his light, some of his sweetness.

Not until I started wanting all of it, and all of him, wishing I could live under his skin just like he has run through my veins since the beginning.

Not until letting him go felt like dying the slowest and most painful of deaths.

He slipped through the cracks. Quietly. Effortlessly. Like it was inevitable. Like it was always supposed to happen.

I never stood a chance. Not against him.

My precious angel.

My little blue jay.

The doorbell rings, snapping me out of the violent onslaught of memories that I sure as fuck don’t need after the last few hellish days.

Getting up, I head to the door, a hint of satisfaction spreading through me at the thought of unleashing my bad mood on yet another unannounced fucker. There seems to be an endless supply of them in the past week.

I throw the door open, and I blame my exhaustion for taking me too long to realize, too long to register, the figure bathed in the yellow porch light.

Light blue eyes I’d know anywhere peer up at me, and longing I never forgot tears through me, lashing at my heart.

Jesse.

My blue jay.

Every muscle in my body tightens with the burning need to reach out, to touch him, to tuck his long, golden hair behind his ear just like I’ve done dozens of times, but I don’t.

I just remain rooted to my spot as our gazes lock and hold, as I watch him swallow nervously and fidget with his T-shirt. Like he’s scared I’ll shut him out like I did all those years ago.

I should. I know I should. For him. I should slam this door closed and set him loose one more time before it’s too fucking late.

“Ro?” he whispers in that soft, sweet voice that has always brought me to my knees, and it’s gravity.

It’s gravity pulling me towards him, gravity I can no longer fight.

I take one step outside, my hand already reaching for him, wrapping around his nape, before I grip him tightly and pull him into my arms.

And fuck, he comes beautifully, like it’s been merely hours since we last did this, since he tucked his face against my neck and breathed out his sigh on me, his fingers fisting the shirt on my back so hard it could rip.

His body molds to mine and it feels like I haven’t taken a proper breath in years, and I probably haven’t. How could I have? Without his smell in my lungs, his skin beneath my palms, without him in my arms.

You shouldn’t have flown back, little jay bird. You shouldn’t have let me catch you.

He burrows deeper into my embrace and my heart hammers in my ears, the drugging comfort of his presence already seeping into me.

Because I don’t think I can let you go again. Not even for your sake.