Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
ROMAN
I’m high on him for days after that evening on the couch.
It plays over and over in my head no matter what I’m doing.
Eating the food he made, sitting with him and listening to him talk about his day with damn stars in his eyes, watching him smile and laugh.
Watching him come.
I see him come every time I close my eyes.
He was so fucking beautiful like that; blue eyes glazed with want, cheeks flushed, golden hair fanning around his shoulders, chest heaving, long fingers wrapped around his perfect, hard-as-fuck cock.
His pink lace panties.
He was wearing fucking pink lace panties.
It’s a damn miracle I didn’t come the second he showed them to me, smiling in that teasing way that makes me want to devour him whole.
And I wanted to, so much.
I came my brains out in what was probably one of the hottest experiences of my life, but all I could think about while we came down from the heat of the moment and he laid there, sated and satisfied, was how much I wanted to pull him into my arms and kiss him.
How much I wanted to feel him melt in my arms, to feel him feed me his sigh as I parted his lips and took that perfect mouth. To hold him until we fell asleep on that couch, his sweet scent filling my lungs.
We haven’t seen each other a lot since then, falling into the same pattern of our messed-up schedules that seem to be doing everything possible to keep us apart.
But even then, there will be food waiting for me when I get home, and the house will be full of his vanilla and caramel smell, so I will know he’s here.
But it’s not enough. I’ve always known it, even when I left, that no amount of time will ever be enough with him.
I thought I could do it. I thought I could let him go before it all became too much for him. I thought that in the end it would have been better for him, while all I managed to do was hurt him.
I never wanted to hurt him. All I wanted was for him to be free and happy.
Fuck, I’m so tired.
It feels like I’ve been tired forever.
I wonder what it would be like to drop this weight for good.
What it would be like to wake up one day and no longer remember the way my mom was looking at me days before she left, to no longer hear my father’s voice in my head.
To stop hoping for things that will never happen now that they’re both gone.
I wonder if my soul would finally feel lighter.
Maybe it finally will.
“Roman?”
That soft voice. I could listen to the sound of that sweet voice alone for the rest of my life.
I put down the glass of water I came to get when I came downstairs earlier, unable to sleep, bracing my hands on the edge of the counter, my head hanging between my shoulders, my eyes slipping shut in surrender, in defeat.
I don’t turn to look at him. I can’t.
My heart pounds so loudly in my ears that I don’t hear him walking towards me or reaching my side, and I know that if I tried to speak right now, my voice would barely come out because I’m suffocating.
It feels like all the anger, the pain, the regret in the world is lodged in my throat, until I can barely breathe anymore.
Because I fucked up. I left the only person that mattered to me, the only person that has ever looked at me and seen me because—
Because I was scared.
That’s what it all comes down to.
I was terrified that I would be too much for him, just like I’ve always been too much for everyone else. That I would be a burden to him, weighing him down. That I wouldn’t be enough for him to stay.
Because if my own mom left because she couldn’t handle being my mom anymore, and my own dad thought I ruined his life, why would a stranger be any different?
Shame burns my insides.
I did it for him, yes. I set him free because I really thought it was the right thing. But I also didn’t want to see him look at me one day like they did because I knew it would break me.
I left him before he could and I don’t think there will ever be a thing I will regret more.
A warm hand touches my back, rubbing it in gentle circles, and I know, without a doubt, that I would do anything for this man because he deserves the world.
But he deserves something else first.
I take a steadying breath and straighten up, his hand sliding away as I turn towards him.
My Jesse.
My beautiful, sweet, kind Jesse. Bathed in the moonlight slipping in from the kitchen window, eyes wide and worried for me.
“What’s wrong, Roman?” he asks in a voice that can’t hide the faintest of trembles.
Everything. Everything is wrong. But I want to fix it. Nothing else matters but fixing it.
Taking a step closer until we’re almost touching, I lift my hands, his breath hitching when I cup his face, holding him like the most precious thing in the world that he is.
“I’m so sorry, Jesse.”
The words are a rough whisper, the need to tell him, to make sure he knows, overriding everything else, every fear I might have. His lips part in a shaky inhale, his pulse thundering under my palms, his blue eyes wide and silver in the moonlight.
“I’m so sorry for leaving you. For not listening to you when you’re the only one I should have listened to.
” Fuck, why is my Jesse so damn blurry? “It’s my fault.
I don’t blame anyone else but me. I don’t even blame my dad for saying those things because I’m the one who chose to believe him, to believe both of them, because they were my parents.
And at the end of the day, you believe your parents when they tell you and show you you’re too much.
” Jesse’s hands come up to fist my T-shirt, gripping the fabric tightly, anchoring me to him, as he bites his trembling lip.
“And I shouldn’t have. I should have believed myself.
I should have trusted what I was feeling, my heart, you.
Because you were my best friend and my whole heart and I should have listened to you.
” My thumbs feather over his cheekbones, my eyes drinking in every inch of his face, before they lock and drown in his again. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Jesse.”
I feel empty when the last word leaves my lips. Drained. Exhausted.
But his hands keep me steady, close, settled, just like they always have.
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He only looks at me with that gaze that pierces my soul, his heart beating as hard as mine.
It’s seconds or hours later when he shakes his head, and blinding pain flashes through me.
But his eyes are warm when he speaks.
“Not Jesse.”
My heart stops.
“What?” I rasp out.
He takes a step closer, until his body feels like an extension of mine, his hands rising to frame my own face, and I feel like I’m going to die.
“I’m not 'Jesse' to you.”
My chest feels like it’s being crushed, the pain morphing into an excruciating brand of hope I don’t dare reach for.
“Blue?”
My voice breaks on the name, and his eyes flutter at the sound of it, glimpses of the same hope and fear swimming in them.
I lean down, unable to bear any sort of distance between us anymore, placing a soft kiss on his temple.
“My Blue,” I whisper hoarsely, reverently, repeating it over and over while I lay kiss after kiss on his eyelids, his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw.
His breathing is uneven when I pull back, and so is mine.
But he holds me close, his hands now sliding into my hair, his eyes dipping to my lips.
He’s the one who bridges the distance, who cranes his neck and brushes his lips against mine, moving with so much tenderness that for a few seconds I just stand there, letting that soothing touch permeate my soul.
“Kiss me, Ro,” he breathes into me, the words poured into my lungs, into my bloodstream. “I need you. Please, kiss me.”
Devastating relief tears through me as I fall into him.
I suck on his perfect lips, tasting them, savoring them, softly but insistently, until his sighs turn into quiet moans and he opens for me, letting me slide inside him and swallow all his sounds, and he takes it all and gives it back, kissing me with his whole body.
Showing me how much he missed me.
I don’t know how much time passes and I honestly don’t give a shit.
The rest of the world can go to hell. All that matters is this sweet man in my arms.
We break apart for oxygen but then we meet again, and again, insistent kisses that are both unhurried and urgent, both familiar and new.
They’re hey and you’re back. They’re where have you been all this time? and please don’t let me go again and I’m never letting you go again.
I’m never letting you go again.
When we separate, my lips feel as bruised as my heart, and Jesse’s are red and raw. Beautiful.
We’re still clinging to each other, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to release him now.
But as it turns out, I don’t have to.
Jesse takes a step back, his hands slipping away from my hair, and mine falling at my sides, but before I can mourn the loss of him, I feel his fingers thread with mine.
There is a small tug and then he’s walking, and I’m just following him wherever he’s going, his hand in mine.
I’d follow him off a cliff.
He takes us upstairs and when I realize his intention, my fingers spasm around his.
Because he turns into my room instead of his.
He sits on the mattress, looking up at me, and tugs me down to join him, until we’re both lying on the same sides of the bed we used to sleep in, until I’m wrapped around him and this time, it’s him holding me in his arms, tightly, so tightly.
My body melts against his, my knee between his legs, my face tucked against the soft skin of his neck, and when I exhale, it feels like ache, and relief, and grief, and happiness.
“I’m so tired, Blue,” I murmur.
He pulls me in even closer.
“I know,” he answers softly, his fingers carding through my hair. “Sleep, Roman. I’ve got you.”
Yes, I think as my eyes close, and I sag, surrounded by Jesse’s sweet scent.
He’s got me.
My blue jay’s got me.