Chapter 36
Jett
“I’m so proud of you, baby,” I praise the woman standing next to me. The survivor.
She turns her gaze to me, and it’s enough for me to see the storm in her whiskey eyes. The light that was starting to spark has dimmed. It makes me want to find Elias and destroy him. “Take me home, Jett.”
“My place okay?”
“Anywhere with you is perfect.”
I nod, chest warming as I wrap an arm over her shoulder and guide her toward my truck. I help her slide into the passenger seat, clip her seatbelt, and watch her eyes stare through the windshield. I want to say a hundred things, but nothing feels right in this moment.
On the way home, I run through The Willow—a local fast-food restaurant—and pick up a couple of cheeseburgers, some fries, and two milkshakes. Strawberry for her and chocolate for me.
When we pull into my driveway a few minutes later, I can’t help but pause; the weight of the day, the therapy, the truths are weighing me down. I glance at her, forehead resting on the window as the sun shines into the cab of my truck. She’s lost in her own thoughts and on the verge of breaking.
“What do you need?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She startles, almost as if she forgot I was sitting here. “Can…can I shower?” Her voice cracks. “I feel dirty. Like I can feel his hands on me.”
My chest aches at that. “Of course you can.”
We both open our doors and slip out of the truck. I carry the bag of food and tray of milkshakes as I follow her up the front porch. She steps aside for me to unlock the door. As Wren passes by, our shoulders brush and heat ignites from where our skin touches.
Placing the takeout in the kitchen, I walk back into the living room where Wren is staring at framed photos, lost in thought.
“Ready?” I ask, and she nods.
We head upstairs toward my bedroom. Flipping on the light to my en-suite bathroom, I pull out a fresh towel and washcloth, placing them on the sink. With a glance around, I mentally pat myself on the back for remembering to clean up all the little hairs from shaving.
“I’ll get you something comfy to wear.”
She gives me a small nod, avoiding my eyes. “Thank you.”
I give her arm a reassuring squeeze, a silent I’ve got you before closing the door behind me.
I grab a pair of my softest boxers and a faded hoodie—one she used to steal in high school—and leave everything on my bed before leaving my room.
With the soft click of the door, I feel like I can finally take a deep breath.
My footsteps carry me down the stairs, where I grab my milkshake from the kitchen table. I pause in the doorway and decide to place Wren’s in the freezer. I don’t see her eating anything right now.
Dropping onto the couch, I take a swig of the thick chocolate milkshake. A cold wave rushes through my brain, and I bring my hand to my head. I squint my eyes as I fight the brain freeze and I’m thrown back in time.
While I was away fighting a war, she was here fighting her own battle, one she fought alone when I had my platoon.
I can’t let that thought go.
Everyone knew what I was facing—six years of sand, fire, and bodies…
so many bodies. Waking up in a sweat with the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder burning my lungs.
Losing Rafe. Fuck. Watching the light go out in one of my buddy’s eyes.
Coming home and realizing I don’t know who I am anymore.
I don’t fit the shape of this town. War changed me.
It carved me into this new version of myself.
One who isn’t a fuck up anymore. I’m calmer.
Broodier, if you ask my sister. Quieter.
I don’t let my emotions control me. Except that night at the bar when Wren was being harassed.
People knew the reason for my changes, but her?
She fought her war alone, behind closed doors. Against someone who was supposed to love and support her, not turn her into someone she couldn’t recognize.
I fought with weapons.
She fought in silence.
Everyone failed her. Producers, employers, friends. No one saw the light tamper out of her eyes.
But most of all, I failed her. If I hadn’t convinced myself she was better without me, she could have avoided all this pain.
I drag a hand down my face, staring at the blank TV as the familiar taste of acid burns in my throat from the guilt I carry. When she needed someone the most, I was gone. Hell, I was the one to blame.
The stairs creak, and when I look up, my breath catches in my throat.
Wren stands at the bottom of the steps, hair piled on top of her head, cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower.
She’s wearing my high school football hoodie with Silo Bay Hawks cracked and faded across the chest. It’s big on her, the hem kissing the tops of her thighs, my boxers nowhere in sight.
She’s not Wren Drummond, former reality star.
No, she’s Wren Drummond, the innocent girl I fell in love with.
The girl who used to steal my clothes because she wanted to be closer to me.
My childhood best friend, who grew into a woman in front of me.
She challenged me, allowed me to be vulnerable.
She was my safe place, and I took her for granted.
“You look beautiful.” The words slip from my lips in a whisper.
She ducks her head the way she used to when she’d get shy around me. Except this time, there’s hesitation in the movement, like she’s waiting for another shoe to drop.
“Come here,” I say gently.
She walks toward me, slow and unsure as she rounds the couch. When she’s close enough, I wrap my hand around her wrist and tug her toward me. Wren falls on my lap, melting into my chest as she tucks her head under my chin.
She smells like me. Like mine.
I press my lips to her forehead and feel her shoulders relax even more. “I’m so fucking sorry for everything you went through. For leaving you.”
Her breath hitches. “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is,” I argue.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she whispers. “It’s all out in the open, and we can move on.”
I sigh. “Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head.
“What do you need?”
She shifts on my lap, her head tipping up so she can look at me. Soft, delicate fingers trail up my chest and goosebumps erupt over my skin before she grips the fabric of my shirt.
“You.”
The word hits me harder than a bullet to the chest. I swallow hard, looking into her whiskey eyes. The golden flakes shimmer brighter like stars glistening in the night sky.
“How?”
I see the desperation spark as her gaze locks on mine. Her eyes flick to my lips briefly, then back to mine. “Help me forget.”
“Are you sure?”
She takes a deep breath, a tremble moving through her whole body. “I need you. Help me erase the pain. His voice. His touch. The way he hurt me.”
My jaw tightens as I tilt her chin up and search her eyes. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
She shoves off me, and I worry I’ve pushed her too far. But then she’s climbing into my lap, straddling me as her knees dig into the couch on each side of my hips. Her hands cradle my face as she settles her weight fully onto me. I can feel the heat from her center seeping through my jeans.
“I want your mouth on mine,” she whispers, lowering until her lips hover over mine. “I want your hands touching all of me. I want… I want you to make me feel good. Safe.”
Fuck. I’ll make her feel safe while making her feel cherished, desired, and loved.
I kiss her. Not soft, not delicate, but hungrily. Like I’ve been starving for her taste since the moment I saw her.
She gasps as I slip my tongue in her mouth.
Her hands slide into my hair, tugging gently, pulling me closer like she’s desperate to fuse us together.
Our tongues battle, twisting and tangling.
My thumbs stroke her hips, the soft skin beneath her thong straps.
She moans into my mouth, the sound raspy and wanton, and my control fractures.
One of my hands smooths up her spine, under the hoodie, my fingertips trailing down the length. She shivers, grinding down on me as our bodies are pressed closer. Our heartbeats slam against each other.
She leans back slightly, grinding against me, teasing and testing as I buck my hips into her. I swallow her gasps as we move together. Sliding my hand to her front, I brush my thumb over her bare mound.
Dragging my index finger between us, I gather her arousal before rubbing her clit. “Is all this for me?”
She moans, throwing her head back, exposing her rapidly beating pulse. I lean forward, nipping there and sucking the skin between my teeth.
“Oh, god, Jett.”
I run my finger over her entrance, teasing her with my touch. “You’re dripping for me, Whiskey.”
“Don’t stop,” she begs.
I obey, plunging a finger inside of her as she whimpers.
“Yes,” she pants, moving her hips for more friction. My girl is greedy, and I love this side of Wren. The side that takes whatever she wants.
I begin to rock my fingers in and out of her as my thumb circles her clit. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“For you, J. Always for you.”
As much as I love having her ride me, I need to be inside her so fucking bad.
Slipping my hand free, I wrap my arm around her.
I spin us in one quick move so her back presses into the couch as I hover above her.
Our lips collide in a frenzy of pure desire as I work my pants down.
Wren sucks in a deep breath when my cock springs free.
“J.” She lets out a shaky moan, desperate for my touch.
“What’s the matter, pretty girl?”
“I need you to touch me, taste me, do something.”
I wrap my hand around my cock and pump, needing some sort of relief. Whiskey eyes follow my movement, her hips thrusting in the air on their own volition. My thumb gathers the bead of pre-cum leaking from my cock.
I bring my thumb to her lips, smearing the bead. Her tongue swipes it off, and she moans as our eyes never break contact.