35. Simon
Chapter thirty-five
It's been three days since Cyrus' on-air love confession to Jordan, and we haven't heard from her.
Not one of us.
Cyrus is a wreck. He's suspended from work, even though social media is still blowing up with positive reactions to his outburst, and he barely leaves his room.
I'd be at Jordan's place in a heartbeat if it weren't for Icarus' texts these past few days. I am going crazy with fear that this silence means she's decided to be done with us.
My phone buzzes with a message.
Russ V
Get the guys. She's going to call in a few. Do not miss it.
I run into Cyrus' room, kicking open the door. He's lying face down on his bed, still in the grey sweats he wore yesterday, his hair frizzy and unkempt. He startles and narrows his eyes at me. "What do you want, Simon?"
"Get in the living room. Russ just texted and said Jordan is going to call us."
Cyrus is on his feet immediately, pushing past me to get to the couch, his phone clutched in his hand. He looks down at it like it's a lifeline. "Rafe!" he hollers. "Get in here!"
Rafe slinks into the room wearing a tight black t-shirt and basketball shorts, raising an eyebrow. "What's up, Cyrus?"
"Jordan's going to call."
I flop down between them and cross my legs on the couch. I assume the call will come to me since Icarus texted me, but we all have our phones out, just in case.
I'm reminded of the times we'd gather on a couch in our shitty apartment and video call Jordan before we broke her heart.
My phone rings, startling me so much I drop it. Cyrus swears and snatches it off the ground, putting it on speaker as he answers.
"Jordan?" he says roughly.
"Hi." Her voice is small and broken, and hearing it makes my heart crack in my chest.
"Hey, peaches," I say gently. "How are you?"
"I've been talking to my therapist," she says without preamble. "A lot." None of us know what to say to that, so we wait silently. I can hear her breathing through the phone. Eventually, she continues. "I don't know if I forgive you yet."
My heart aches. I hoped this call would be her way of letting us know she was ready to take a step forward. But instead, it appears to be a call to push us further away.
"We understand, Jordy," Rafe says quietly.
"But I need you three to move in with me."
The silence settles between us like a living creature. The phone slips from Cyrus' fingers, and he swears softly as he picks it up.
"Are you there?" Her voice is filled with vulnerability, and I curse myself for not responding to her in the first place.
"We're here," I tell her. "Just processing. Are you sure?"
"No. But Dr. K thinks I need to give you all more opportunities to earn my trust and that it could help my recent anxiety attacks. Vick agrees with her."
"And do you agree?" Cyrus' voice is thick with emotion.
"I don't disagree. Plus I… I've been feeling sick." The three of us exchange loaded glances. Is this scent sickness? Why are we just now hearing about her feeling sick? "So, will you do it?" She tries to hide it, but there is no missing the vulnerability in her voice.
"We're packing up now, and then we'll be on our way," Rafe responds, nearly leaping off the couch. "Slime, call your friend and tell him we're moving out. We'll see you soon, Jordy."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I whisper under my breath. "Are we really doing this?"
The three of us stand outside Jordan's condo with suitcases at our feet. I've never seen three people move as fast as we did, loading up our things to leave the house Joey let us stay in. When I called him to tell him we were moving out, the massive Beta was thrilled for us but told me to keep the key just in case.
He's right, but having someone point out that this may not work out still stung.
"We're really doing this," Rafe responds, quickly squeezing my shoulder. He knocks on the door, and it swings open moments later. Russ is standing in the doorway wearing a pair of grey sweats and a black tee, and I crane my neck to see if I can catch a glimpse of Jordan behind him.
"She's in her nest," he says, answering my unspoken question. "She asked me to get you guys settled in the guest rooms."
"Is she going to come out?" Cyrus asks as he pushes his way into the condo. It's a big space, with an open concept and lots of windows for natural light.
Right in the foyer on the wall is an image that has been burned in my mind. "That's Meg's!" I say, tapping Rafe on the shoulder. "That's Meg's, right? Look at the empty milkshake glasses."
Rafe tilts his head to the side, and a grin stretches across his face. "It is. She painted our table at Meg's."
"And hung it in her house." My heart squeezes. Meg's was our place. It was somewhere we went as a group so many times I can't even begin to count them. "She never let us go, did she?" I ask quietly.
"No, I don't think she did," Icarus replies, gesturing for us to follow him down a hallway. We pass the clean, modern kitchen, with a tea kettle and an espresso machine side by side, and my thoughts travel to mornings together, making her a latte while she eats breakfast and chatters on about the news.
It's so domestic, so normal, that it makes my heart ache for a future that is still uncertain.
"We only have two rooms," Icarus says, pointing at two doors across from one another. "Sorry about that. But one of you is welcome to sleep on the couch."
"Nah, we'll be fine," I say, wrapping my arm around Rafe's waist. "It won't be the first time we've bunked together." The Alpha in question stiffens under my touch and grumbles under his breath but doesn't say anything to the contrary.
It's only when his dark eyes look at me, full of questions I'm not ready to answer, that I realize I may have stepped over a line.
We get our things unpacked and meander out into the living area, where we find Icarus messing around with tea leaves. He looks up and smiles warmly. "Tea?" he asks us. "I'm making a mug for Jordan. It's growing on her."
"Is she coming out?" Cyrus asks again, stalking into the kitchen. I can see him fighting against his instincts to go hunt her down.
Icarus raises an eyebrow at him, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. "You're in her space, Cyrus, I think you can back off and give her some time to adjust."
Cyrus shrinks back, thoroughly chastised. "Sorry, I just really want to see her."
"I know," Russ replies, touching Cyrus' large shoulder. "I do. And she's been psyching herself up for this. So let's treat her like a skittish baby d-"
Russ' phone pings, and he looks down at it, eyebrows furrowing. After a moment, he stores it in his pocket.
"Simon, she'd like to see you in the nest."
My stomach falls out of my ass. "Me? Why me?"
He shrugs and takes me by the elbow. "Yep. You. Better take the shot while you can." As he leads me out, I catch the jealousy flashing on my packmates' faces, but it quickly gives way to relief. If she's willing to see me, this is a good sign, right?
I'm led through a bedroom with a king-sized bed dressed in navy and coral to a door off the side of it. Icarus stops before opening the door. "Please, be gentle with her," he whispers to me. "She's been fragile lately, and I'm worried."
"I'll never hurt her again," I promise. He seems satisfied with my answer and hands me her mug of tea before he backs away, leaving me staring at the white door. With a deep breath, I open it, getting hit in the face with Jordan's creamy peach milkshake scent.
"Hey, Simon," she says softly. She's in the middle of a massive, sunken mattress in a beautifully decorated nest in shades of reds and pinks with grey and ivory accents.
"Hey, Omega," I respond, setting the tea on a side table. I squat down to look her in the eye. "Can I come into your nest?" She doesn't hesitate and nods eagerly. I climb into the nest and sit across from her, unsure what to say.
What do I say to the woman I have loved since I was eight?
"Can I have your shirt?" she says, breaking the silence. I don't hesitate to rip the gray shirt off my torso and extend it to her.
"Anything of mine is yours," I tell her honestly. "Whatever you need."
She pulls my shirt to her face and inhales deeply before wrapping it around one of the throw pillows. I feel a little awkward in just my denim, my torso entirely on display, but Jordan doesn't seem to mind.
In fact, her eyes trace the tattoos on my flesh, and something that may be heat flashes in her eyes. She crawls across the nest towards me, her hips swaying in the star-print lounge set she's wearing. My pants tighten uncomfortably as I imagine all the things I want to do to her in that position.
"You have your nipples pierced," she hums, her eyes traveling down my torso. "And your belly button?"
"All the cool girls were doing it."
She snorts, brushing her finger across the tattoos on my chest. "How many do you have?"
I glance at the back of my hands, the sun on my left hand and the crescent moon on my right. "Basically, my entire body," I tell her honestly. "Once I started, I couldn't stop."
"Why'd you start?"
"It was right after me and the guys split. I was so angry, so hurt, that I wanted to have an outlet for it. This felt like the least self-destructive thing I could do."
She runs her hands over my shoulders and collarbone, stopping at a small circular spot of untouched skin. "Why's this blank?"
I can't stop the blush that climbs up my face, heating my flesh. I dip my head, unable to make eye contact with the Omega of my dreams. "I couldn't bring myself to put anything there."
"But why not?"
"Do you remember the summer between ninth and tenth grade when we were at the waterpark?" I ask, finally looking up to make eye contact.
"Yeah, you were being an idiot and broke your clavicle because you dove out of the raft." She shakes her head, narrowing her eyes at me. "I still can't believe how stupid you were."
"Hey!" I say with mock indignation. "What fourteen-year-old boy isn't an idiot?"
"All of you certainly were," she grumbles. "But that doesn't explain why you didn't get tattoos here."
"Afterwards, I was so sore, and my body was beat the fuck up, but there was a part that wasn't bruised, do you remember? You looked at it and said-"
"'Looks like your body left me space for my bite mark,'" she whispers. Her long fingers grab my chin, and she wrenches my gaze down to hers. "What are you saying, Simon?"
"I'm saying I couldn't tattoo it. It didn't feel right when that's your spot."
I tried several times over the years to put a tattoo there. But I never went through with it. It never felt right to put color in a spot that was always meant to hold the silver scars of her teeth.
"Why did you ask me to come in here, Jordan?" I say quietly, my breath feathering across her lips. "Why me?"
"You never gave up on me," she replies, her hand drifting from my chin to rest around my throat, under my jaw. "You were always there, weren't you?"
"I used to sit outside of HUG and hope to see you at the coffee cart," I admit, feeling like a creep. "Sometimes I'd sit across the street and just stare up at the light in your window and hope you'd catch me, if just so I could get yelled at by you."
"Why?"
That single word holds the heaviest question she could've asked. There is so much I could say to it. I could tell stories about our childhood together, cut myself open, and bleed my truth onto the floor of the nest, pouring out every obsessive, anxious, obsessive thought I've had about her.
Instead, I stroke my fingers down her cheekbone.
"Because I love you, Jordan Cross."
Her lips crash into mine, almost pushing me to my back. She's nearly flat on top of me, kissing me with an aggressive passion that hurts, but in the best way possible.
Jordan's tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for her, letting her lead, encouraging her to take from me what she needs. I wrap my hands around her waist and drag her down to rest over my rapidly thickening cock, where I begin to grind her against my length as we devour each other's mouths.
She pulls away. "No, I'm in control here."
I drop my hands and nod, locking eyes with her, praying she sees the sincerity in my gaze. "Whatever you want from me is yours, Jordan. I belong to you, mind, body, and soul. Just please, please, let me love you. Please forgive me. I'm begging."
She sits up, rocking against my cock, shooting pleasure up my spine. "Begging, huh?"
"I'll get on my knees. I'll kiss your feet." I shift her a bit so I'm sitting up, looking her directly in the eyes. "Jordan, I have hated and regretted every fucking moment without you. I can't do it again. I don't know if I'll survive."
And there it is.
The truth.
The dark cloud that drove me away from the guys, from Rafe, and that guided every artful masochistic expression on my body.
I have struggled with depression in some way all of my life, but when I lost Jordan, I began to spiral. Nitro helped pull me out to a manageable level.
Well, Nitro and some really good SSRIs.
Jordan tilts her head to the side and slides off my lap, rising to her feet. The slinky black tank leaves nothing to the imagination, clinging to her curves, and it is nearly impossible to drag my eyes away from the way her nipples push out against the fabric.
She looks down at me, red hair wild around her face, and fists her hips. "What are you waiting for, Simon?" she says quietly.
"What?"
"You said you'd get on your knees."