Chapter 19
T he way life passes in a blur when things are going well truly is a crime that should be studied.
For the first time in my life, I wish I could hit the pause button to soak up every second of it.
But every day since our first date has flown by, and before I know it, a month has passed.
A month filled with secret looks, heated touches, and all manner of luxury dates.
A month of Jonathan carving a space for himself inside my walls.
A month of shared laughs and not an ounce of regret for my choice.
But like all good things, it comes to a screeching halt in the most abrupt way.
The morning started like any other, with the largest coffee mug I could find while answering the influx of emails that appeared overnight.
No matter how empty I leave my inbox at the end of the day, it’s always bursting at the seams by the next morning.
But as time ticked on, and eight turned to nine and nine turned to ten with no sign of Jonathan, unease started crawling through me.
Not showing up is not his MO. Being late is definitely not his MO.
Not texting or ringing me to tell me he was making a detour or had a last minute of site meeting?
Highly unlikely. Something’s not right. Firing off the last of my emails, I head up to Donna’s office.
If anyone here would know what’s going on or where he is, it would be her.
Only, her office is empty too, and going by the scattered paperwork on the floor of her otherwise meticulous office, it wasn’t a planned exit.
With anxiety crawling through my veins, I run back to my office to grab my phone.
I’m already halfway to the exit by the time Jonathan answers.
“Helen… My Da…” Three words, and yet they convey everything. The pain in his tone, the broken whisper, says it all. Something is drastically wrong. I need to get to him. Pronto .
“I’m on my way. Just please hold on,” I beg as I flag down the first taxi I see.
Stumbling my way through giving the man Jonathan’s father’s address, it’s all I can do not to shout and demand he hurry.
The last thing we need is to be pulled over by the police, but Jonathan needs me, and he needs me now .
As the car pulls into the driveway, it dawns on me I don’t have any cash, but before I can work out a plan, the car door is being yanked open to reveal a frantic Donna.
In my four months of working for the firm, never once have I seen her look anything less than polished perfection.
Yet, here she is, her hair looking like she’s been running her hands through it for hours, her feet bare, throwing cash at the driver as she pulls me after her.
“Thank God you’re here. I should have known to grab you when I got the call.
Go on up. He’s in Senior’s room.” Her words are a hoarse whisper that speaks of her own grief, and, not for the first time, I question just how she’s connected to the Four Points.
It’s glaringly obvious that she is, but that’s a question for another day.
Bracing myself, I head up the stairs, following the path we took the last time I was here.
As I brush my fingertips over the framed photos that tell the story of a happy childhood, my heart breaks for what I know lies ahead.
The grief clings to every corner of this house like a weighted blanket, determined to suffocate everyone inside.
I draw closer to the bedroom, the eerie silence solidifying what I’m walking in to.
There’s no wheezing breaths. The gentle whir of the oxygen tank is silent.
When I cross the threshold into the room, the sight that greets me nearly sends me to my knees.
Grief is something I’ve never been exposed to, and as I take in Jonathan, on his knees at his father’s bedside, with his head resting on the sheet while clutching his father’s motionless hand, I pray I never have to experience it firsthand.
This is gutting enough, and as my heart breaks for Jonathan, my resolve to be there for him in whatever manner he needs it only strengthens.
“Hey there, handsome,” I breath out as I edge closer to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and feeling him lean into it with a whole body shudder. He reaches up to link his hand with mine, drawing strength from me.
“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry, I...”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I cut him off, using my other hand to run through his hair. Sometimes, soothing touches is all we have to offer, and while they won’t fix everything, they can take the sharp sting away.
“I knew this day was coming, but I still wasn’t prepared,” he confesses, his attention focused on his dad’s prone form.
“I don’t think death is something we can ever be prepared for.
But at least he’s not in pain now, and you know he’s proud of you and all you’ve achieved.
” He lets out one last, ragged breath before getting to his feet and pulling me into his arms, burying his face in my neck while I run my hand through his hair.
We stay like what for what could be minutes or hours until a knock on the door forces us to separate.
Donna stands in the doorway with a man behind her.
He looks as wrecked as Donna, but underneath all that, I can tell he’s most likely a hardened criminal.
Something about the hardness to his features tells the story that his mouth may never speak.
“Sorry, Jonathan, but it’s time.”
“Give us five minutes, Seamus,” Jonathan says, and with little more than a tip of his head, Seamus steers Donna away from the open doorway .
“We should clear out; you don’t want to witness this,” I murmur, stepping back so he can detangle from me and say his goodbyes before he threads his hand with mine and tugs me out of the room.
Down the hall, he pushes open the door to what must have been his childhood bedroom, stumbling over to the bed with me in tow.
I barely have a chance to take in the school trophies lying about before he’s pulling me down and into his side.
“It’s ironic. He would be so thrilled to know I finally brought a girl into this room.”
“Are you telling me this isn’t where you bring all the girls?
I’m shocked.” I fake gasp, curling into his side and tilting my head so I can look up at him.
His blue eyes link with mine and as silence takes over, heat builds between us.
After seeing how fragile life is, how temporary and fleeting, the urge to feel connected to him on a baser level is almost more than I can handle.
I want to crawl inside his skin and live there, meld us into one so thoroughly, we can never be separated.
His eyes flicker between mine before trailing down to my mouth.
Tilting my neck up, I fuse our mouths together.
I pour all my conflicting, desperate emotions into this kiss, trying to tell him without words what this means to me.
With a hungry groan, he soon takes control, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and battling for dominance that I willingly hand over.
Curling my hands around his neck and playing with the hair at his nape, I cling to him, scared that if I let go, he’ll vanish.
I want his kiss more than my next breath.
I need his touch more than air. Soon, he rolls us over so he’s looming over me, bracing his arms either side of my head so I’m surrounded by him, his scent, and the heavy weight of him pressing me into the mattress, all while he smoulders at me with a look fit to make me explode.
I bite back a whimper as I try to pull him closer.
His need is plain as day as he rests his forehead against mine. “Are you sure?”
It's a fair question. So far, I haven’t let us progress past make out sessions, scared of giving myself over to him so completely.
But that fear has evaporated in the face of our fragile reality and left a burning need in his place.
“I’ve never been so sure. I want to be yours, Jonathan. In every way. Please, make me yours.”
“I’ll make you mine. I’ll claim you so thoroughly, no one will ever doubt who you belong to, so deep, you’ll never forget what it feels like to have me buried inside your pretty pussy,” he says on a hungry groan, nipping his way down my neck.
The thought of him leaving marks for all to see has me fisting his hair and holding him against me, encouraging him to mark me up.
God, the thought of wearing his marks on my skin is so hot.
As he makes his way lower, I’ve never been so glad I picked out a blouse.
Linking eyes with me, he deftly undoes the buttons, revealing my black lace bra to his gaze.
With a muttered curse, he kisses my heaving chest above the lace.
He leaves hot, open mouthed kisses across my breasts, before enveloping my nipple in his mouth over my bra, causing me to moan and clench his hair even tighter in my fist.
Fuck, I wish there wasn’t a barrier between his mouth and my skin right now.
At my whimpers, he smirks, asking me, “Does my needy girl want more? Hmm?” When all I do is moan, trying to pull him back down, he tsks, saying, “Good girls use their words, and you are such a good girl, aren’t you?
” The praise dripping from his words has me melting into a puddle beneath him as heat licks up my spine and lights me on fire.
“I want your mouth on me,” I beg on a whimper.
“My mouth is on you, sweetheart. See?” he croons, dipping his head to lave at my nipple through my bra again.
“I need to feel you, please,” I beg him, getting more desperate by the second. If he doesn’t hurry up and give me what I want, I might just lose it.
“That’s my good fucking girl,” he growls, reaching under me to undo the clasp and letting out a groan as he sees my bare flesh for the first time. His reverent gaze has me feeling like I’m floating. Nothing could ground me now .