Chapter Nineteen
Liv
The power of the engine vibrates my skin, penetrating through muscle into my bones. The sharp wind swipes at my face and tousles the ends of my hair against my back.
The most unnerving part of it all is being attached to the one man I thought I’d never be close to again.
He feels completely different, but having my arms around him still feels like home. The depth of my grief has been buried so long that it feels like a cork has popped, and ribbons of emotional turmoil are bursting out of me.
It’s impossible to stomp those feelings back down when he’s right in front of me and refuses to go away.
It isn’t fair.
I have a life. I was doing everything right. I got the degree, the career, and a fiancé.
But it isn’t enough. Not when the one person whom I would have chosen over all of it stumbles back into my life and refuses to leave.
He shows up, and this sick part of my brain can’t leave him alone. The compass over my broken soul always points to him.
His hand covers where mine overlap over his stomach, holding me steady as he pulls over the curb into my driveway and up to my little yellow cottage. Before he lets go, he squeezes, and that small gesture twists my already mangled mind.
Why is he doing this to me?
I stand up, struggling to get off the back of the bike before he tells me it’s safe to, desperate to escape the situation I’ve put myself in.
I’m unbuckling my helmet at my front door by the time he turns his bike off and catches up to me. “I forgot my keys,” I utter towards the door instead of facing him. The alcohol is making my head spin.
“Do you keep a spare?”
I shake my head, letting it thud against the wood.
“Alright, just give me a second.” He disappears off my porch, and I don’t bother checking to see what he’s doing. I’d rather drown in self-pity.
The door whooshes open after a minute or two, and my head drops before I catch it and look up into his grinning face. “Madam,” he gestures sarcastically. “The lock for your kitchen window probably should have been replaced a decade ago.”
I hardly hear him, though, because my eyes zero in on the tattoo under the collar of his shirt. One of the tattoos that I’ve never been able to see very clearly, but tonight his t-shirt is looser, and the collar doesn’t fit snugly at the base of his neck.
“Are those… Olive branches?”
He glances down at his ink as if he doesn’t know it’s there, or is considering whether he can get away with lying. But I can see it clearly enough, and my question was rhetorical.
Along each collar bone is an olive branch, curved slightly to follow the path of his clavicle. He doesn’t insult me by trying to dismiss it, but he also doesn’t respond at all.
“Did you get those because of me?”
“Liv…” He starts, but I cut him off.
“Yes, or no.”
“Yes.”
I shove past him into the living room, raking my hands through my windblown and tangled hair.
“What do you want from me, Hayes?”
“I told you I’m here to keep you safe.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“After all this time, after all we went through, what do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you. I just want to be part of your life.”
“Why?” I cry, flinging my hands towards him.
“Because you’re my girl.”
“I’m not,” the words come out barely above a whisper, caught in my throat.
“Yes, you are. You always have been.”
“I’m not!” I yell, throwing the couch pillow at him. He snatches it out of the air easily. “I’m engaged!”
“I know!” He yells back, squeezing the discarded pillow in his hands.
“Then what do you want from me?” I beg him to answer as I break further.
“Anything you’ll give me.”
“Anything?” I ask condescendingly.
“You need a bodyguard? I’m here. You need a guy to fix your car? Done. I can build you a house, I can give you a tattoo. I know how to sew. I can play guitar. I don’t do a lot of cooking, but I’d learn if you never wanted to cook another meal.”
“Why?” I shrug in exasperation. “Why do you want to do any of that for me?”
“I taught myself how to do everything so I could be something to you someday. Even if it’s only a glimmer of what you need.”
“But why!” I beg this time, losing control of myself.
“Because I messed up! Is that what you want to hear? Will that make you feel better?”
I shake my head, not bothering to humor him with a response.
“I fucked up and lost the most important person in my life, and now I’m begging her to give me a crumb of forgiveness. I will be anything you need as long as you don’t shut me out.
“You need a ride home because you’re drunk or because you’re scared? I’ll break every traffic law to get to you. You need someone to fill your gas tank? I’ll make sure you never go below a quarter tank.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I mutter to myself, and he just shrugs. “That’s ridiculous,” I say with more gusto, regaining control of my emotions.
The frustration feels better than the sorrow, and I focus on that as I pace back and forth in front of him, suddenly coming to a grinding halt.
“My feet hurt.” I spin facing him fully, and he sees the challenge on my face immediately.
He takes a step back, falling onto the couch, and patting his thigh.
I grit my teeth together because I’m not actually bold enough to let him touch my feet.
I keep pacing. Burning hotter with each lap back and forth. “What if I want you to be my little bitch boy, fetching me coffee and scrubbing my floors?”
“It’d be my pleasure.” His face is calm, not offended or put off by my suggestion. He’s not bluffing, and it only angers me further, but I’m not entirely sure why.
If you had asked me years ago, I would never have believed that he and I would be relatively strangers. But to equate our relationship to something as meaningless as a formal relationship, servitude even, it feels like a slap in the face.
My knee digs into the cushion right in front of his crotch, making him flinch slightly. But his eyes only darken when my hand grips the underside of his jaw, holding his face taut.
“And, what if I spit in your face and tell you to fuck off?” I threaten, leaning closer to him than I should. My entire body hovers over his, and even without touching, the static between us clings to my skin.
His face is stone, but his eyes tell a different story, wild to the brim with the Jensen that I know.
His head tips back a fraction, hooding those wild eyes ever so slightly, then his mouth opens…
Not a single word comes out as he stares at me…
Willing me to spit in his mouth.
I stare at him, fighting against myself not to take the challenge, not because I want to win so desperately, but because to my core… I want to know what it’s like.
I want to know how he’d react.
And that’s dangerous.
Heat curls in my belly, and I gasp, shoving his face to the side, roughly. I launch myself backwards to put distance between us.
I never should have let myself get that close.
“Be gone before I get up in the morning,” I dismiss him, slamming my bedroom door.
* * *
12 years ago…
“Do you want me to wait until you’re finished so I can give you a ride home?” Noah asks me as he logs out of his computer. He’s been staying after school most days, like me, to work on college prep.
We sit in near silence most days, focusing on our computers, and sometimes he will share his snack with me, but this is the first time he’s ever offered me a ride.
“No, you go ahead. I’ll catch the city bus, it runs in an hour.”
“You sure?” He asks kindly.
He smiles at me, but I don’t think he’s flirting with me. I’m not used to anyone paying me any attention, so sometimes I’m not sure.
It doesn’t matter, though. Boys at school have never given me butterflies like Jensen does.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I smile at him as he throws his backpack over his shoulder and says goodbye to Mr. Arkett at the front of the computer lab.
Once Noah leaves, Mr. Arkett leans back in his chair to look at me. He’s my chemistry teacher, but he picks up the extra shift in the evenings to monitor the computer lab for students like me who don’t have internet access at home.
“Always the last one standing, Livvy.”
“I know,” I giggle. “I can leave now if you’re ready to head out.”
“No, I don’t have anything to get home to.” He stands up from his desk and stretches his arms above his head. It pulls his school polo up just a bit, exposing his flat stomach.
Mr. Arkett is only 26. He’s a graduate of our high school and started teaching here right out of college. He teaches my chemistry study group, too, so I see him more often than my other teachers. And most Saturdays.
He’s really quite handsome. His dark hair is always tousled and kind of messy. There are a few girls in school who signed up for Chemistry just because he teaches. I didn’t, I needed the extra science credit to graduate with honors, but I don’t blame them.
“Well, I’m just going to submit this scholarship application, and I’ll be done.”
He sits down at the seat next to me, where Noah was sitting, and spins the chair to face me. “Take your time.”
It’s hard to focus when I know he’s sitting so close. His knees are only a foot away from the side of my chair as he swivels back and forth on his wheels.
“You’re a smart girl, I think you’ll do great things in college.”
“Oh, thank you.” I feel the blush creep up my neck at his compliment, but it only worsens as his attention stays on me.
“You’re pretty, too. The boys will love you.”
I’m not shocked at his words because he’s complimented me before, but I’m still unprepared with a response.
No one ever says things like that to me, aside from Hayes, but he’s different. He made it firmly known that I was his best friend, and he’s not willing to be more than that. The disappointment of that stings badly, and I’ve decided to stop hoping he’ll change his mind.
I clear my throat. “I’m done.” I shut my computer down without facing my cute teacher, begging my red cheeks to calm down before I have to look at him.
“I can take you home.”
“I was going to catch the bus.”
“Nah, it’s late, and there are too many creeps out there. I’ll drop you off.”
“Okay, thank you, Mr. Arkett.” Nerves tingle across the back of my neck as I smile shyly at him, and they only intensify when he smiles back.
“Call me, Landon, after school hours. Remember?”