Chapter 63 #2
“Fuck Tucker and Delaney, Bowen!” I can't catch my breath.
“What? Why are you mad then?”
Why am I mad?
Why am I mad?
“Is this a game to you? Was it just a few fucks? Scratch the itch and be done with it?” Done with me?
“Kitten…”
“I said don't call me that,” I spit, the feeling dreadful inside my stomach. I'll blame tiredness on the tears rolling down my cheeks. I'm so, so tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of wanting. Tired of tiptoeing around feelings and truths.
“You can't be serious,” Bowen rasps.
“About which part? I'm deadly serious, Briggs. That's what you want, right? Briggs and Meyer.”
“Fuck. Stop it.”
“You don't get to fuck me, call me kitten, and then pat me on the back and kick me to the curb and expect me to understand!”
“Are you crying?” His voice drops, frustrations softening around the sharp edges.
I scoff, wet and thick. “N…no,” I stutter over a sniffle.
“Kitten, turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around, baby.”
Baby…
I turn around, confused. But a whole new round of tears work their way down my cheeks when I look through the open window and see Bowen looking at me from across the driveway. He rolls his forehead on the glass, holding his phone to his ear.
“Hi.” It sounds heavy and raw.
“Hi,” I manage around the thickness in my throat. I don't even bother trying to wipe the tears away, just eat up the view of him. So close, yet so far. “You're there.” I move over to the window and place my palm on the glass. Bowen mirrors the move on his side. “You left the lake?”
“For tonight. Please stop crying.”
I use his hoodie to wipe the tears. “I missed you so”—hiccup—“so much.” The understanding of what I'm trying to say is evident in the way his whole body sags against the window. I didn't just miss him today. I have been missing him. I don't want to miss him anymore.
“I want to hold you,” he says, dropping his hand to rub at his chest. He's still wearing the same shirt and joggers from this morning. “I need to touch you, Kit.”
His hand tenses and relaxes, like he can't handle the space. Can't handle the fact he can't get to me from there. But rejection is a beast that doesn't like to let go so easily.
“You didn't even kiss me goodbye.”
He holds the phone to his ear even after I pull mine away and press the end button.
I look at him standing in that window across the drive. I outline him there, tucking it away with all the other memories of him through that glass. Then I yank the curtains closed.
Lana Del Rey swoons her sultry voice through my phone speaker on the bathroom counter. The perfect soundtrack to my pathetic unraveling.
The water has long since gone cold, but I barely notice. I rest my wet head on my bent knees, the water sloshing with my movement. The bath helped ease my sore muscles, but it did nothing to soothe my spiraling thoughts.
I can't get the ghost of his hands off my skin or the feel of his breath over my lips. He said so many things yesterday that made me feel like we were finally doing this.
He followed me home. He's right next door, yet my music hasn't been interrupted by a call or text. He's still silent. Would he even have told me he was there, had I not called?
I left the bathroom lights off, just a soft glow from the nightlight in the outlet. The air was thick from the hot water, but it's thin and cool now. I climb out when my eyes start to droop and dry off with slow movements.
Wrapped in a towel, I shiver when the last lingering layers of warmth give way to the cold air of the hallway as I pad over to my bedroom.
The house is quiet, and I can tell it's late from the sunlight being replaced by silvery threads of moonlight through the hallway window.
I push my door open and freeze.
Bowen is sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows resting on his thighs. He's spinning one of his rings like he was doing this morning. He must sense me, or he can hear how fast my heart hammers every time he's close.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I clutch the towel harder. My hazel eyes find his blue in the dim light of the lamp, and I have to press myself against the door to stop my feet from flying towards him.
He looks as wrecked as I feel.
“I'm terrified,” he says, low, like speaking too loud will make the fear materialize into a tangible beast between us.
“Of what?” I ask, looking at him through wet lashes.
“Losing you again,” he says, voice cracking. He scrubs his hands over his face and drops them back to dangle between his spread thighs. “I was caught off guard this morning, Kit. All I saw was your ticket out, and I knew you'd take it.”
“You didn't ask me not to leave.”
“You didn't ask me if you could stay,” he snaps, jumping to his feet. “You just stood there, let me gut both of us by being a dick. And for the fucking record, kitten, you didn't kiss me goodbye either.”
What?
“I've been scared of losing you my whole goddamn life, baby. So scared, I refused to see what's been right in front of me,” he sucks in a breath, rubbing his chest. His eyes shine, and my knees feel like they're going to crumble.
“Bowen…”
“How can't you see it?” I watch him move towards me, fingers splayed on the cool wood of the door at my back. I shake my head and choke when his hands reach for my face. His thumbs swipe the tears from my cheeks.
I sidestep his touch, my body wanting to revolt at the loss. I don't miss the hurt on his face, but I square my shoulders when they want to cave in anyway.
“Because I spent years pining over you, Bowen.
My entire teenage years, I spent wishing and hoping.
I got a sliver of you when I was already in the bowels of fucking hell, and I didn't claw myself out fast enough to keep you. I convinced myself it was a pity fuck. Or you had a weak moment and needed comfort. Two years is a long time to come to your own conclusions. I waited for a call. A text. A fucking carrier pigeon.” I huff, feeling vulnerable standing naked and bare, wrapped in nothing but a towel and a lifetime of hurt.
Bowen looks gutted, jaw so tense I'm sure his teeth are creaking under the pressure.
“You don't want me, anyway. I'm a recovering alcoholic.
I write your brother letters like he's still here to read them.
I'm selfish and self-centered. I believe the worst before I think rationally. I'm soft and sensitive. I cry a lot, and I need a partner who’s going to chase me every fucking time life convinces me to run.” I suck in a breath, feeling lightheaded.
“I can't look at myself in the mirror some days. I used to talk to my reflection like it was him,” Bowen starts, moving half a step towards me.
“I spent my teenage years wondering why it hurt so much to see you hurt.
I convinced myself you didn't want me around because it was easier than admitting I wanted things I didn't understand.” Another half step.
“I'm angry half the time, and words are fucking hard.
I can't promise you I'll have the right ones to say, but…
I promise you I'll try. And I promise you, kitten, if you want me to chase you, I'll follow you to the ends of the earth. Now please, for the love of fucking God, let me touch you.”
We fall together somewhere in the middle. I don't know who kisses who first. All I know is I can finally breathe with his lips on mine. He holds my face, wiping away the last tears.
“I'm sorry,” he murmurs again and again against my mouth. I let him swallow my whimpered apologies and cling to him like my life depends on it.
It feels like it does.
The towel is gone, and I shiver under his rough hands. I need his skin.
“Off,” I groan, pushing his shirt up his abdomen.
“Off. Take it off.” Bowen reaches behind his head, tugs his shirt off with one swift move, and tosses it aside.
Then he's picking me up and carrying me to the bed.
Before he can push me back, I tug his pants and briefs down, kissing my way across. Hip to hip.
His rings are cool against my scalp when he threads his fingers in my hair, and I look up at him through my lashes.
There's no time to consider the fact that I've never done this before.
All I care about is the groan in his throat and his rumbled “fuck” when I wrap my lips around the head of his cock and suck.
His hips give an involuntary thrust, and I moan around him. He tastes like skin and a heady flavor that has to be all him. I dig my fingers into his hip on one side and use the other to hold the base of him.
Then we lock eyes, and I let feelings guide me. I slide as much of him across my tongue to the back of my throat as I can, and his fingers tighten when I suck my way back to the tip, swirling my tongue around the sensitive underside.
“Fuck, have some mercy on me,” he groans.
I do it again, using my hand on the root to squeeze and stroke what I can't fit.
“Look how pretty you are. Jesus fuck, Kit. Just like that, baby.”
My eyes water, and my jaw aches, but I already know this is my new favorite thing. His taste. The smell of him. The way he watches me with a parted mouth and reverent eyes.
All too soon, he's pulling back and pushing me onto the bed. He rolls me until I'm on my stomach and hoists my hips up until I get the hint and settle on my knees.
I'm panting and moan low when I look back at Bowen to find him on his knees on the side of the bed. His mouth is swollen from my kisses, his pupils blown wide with the desire thrumming between us. He's never looked more beautiful.
“Are you sore?” he asks, and my cock leaks just thinking about it.
Yes. No. Not enough to stop whatever this is. Tomorrow, I'll need a break. But today? Now? I'll fucking die if he doesn't touch me.
“Not too much,” I mumble, groaning when he leans forward and kisses one side of my ass and then the other.
“Do you need a pillow, baby?” he asks, and my entire body breaks out in shivers when he runs his nose down my crease.
“A pillow?”