Chapter 31 Penny
Penny
NOW
It’s not my pink-and-white Christmas decor decking out the house, but the house is nonetheless decked. The tree, while a bit wonky, is covered in ornaments that remind me of my childhood. Homemade, vintage, and just a bit worn.
The windows have wreaths, the banister and fireplace have garland, and the lights are twinkling. Well, most of them anyway.
It took nearly all afternoon to get everything done, and while I may have been bossy, I’m not a complete monster. I decided to cook everyone a hearty dinner. When I told Fia and Jesse that, after they both fell back on the couch, exhausted, Fia threw a skeptical glance my way.
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yes! It’s going to be cooked. Not gourmet,” I replied, leaning into the fridge to see what I’m working with.
The key is to never promise good food. Then, if by some miracle you don’t burn the living hell out of everything, everyone is impressed.
The only thing I can assure will be perfection are the after-dinner espresso martinis.
After much chaos in the kitchen, and probably too much salt, I serve dinner around the coffee table, since it seems no one is willing to move from their spots on the sofa. It’s something Nan would’ve never allowed, and in a way, it feels rebellious, like we’re all kids, home alone again.
Snagging a pillow from the chair, I sit between the coffee table and the sofa, exhaling a tired breath and digging into dinner.
The chicken bake turned out half decent.
I watch as Jesse and Penny take bites. No one’s complaining.
“Hey, don’t forget we need to wash those sweaters for our picture on Christmas morning,” I remind Fia, and Jesse chuckles.
“Still doing that?” he asks.
“It’s tradition, Jesse.” Fia smirks.
“Do you remember the year the carolers showed up and your Nan was so excited she just decided to join them on the spot?” Jesse asks, laughing to himself, and I can’t help but reminisce, too.
“I was so embarrassed, she just ran out the door and followed them, leaving us in our ugly sweaters on the front porch,” I reply with a hearty laugh.
Fia’s eyes dart between us, a small smile playing on her lips. No doubt happy that Jesse and I are friendly again.
“She was the best.” Fia smiles to herself, and I know if we say one more word, someone’s going to end up in tears.
So I stay quiet, looking up at the old, crooked tree, the strands of lights twinkling next to the crackling fireplace, and the two people across from me.
A wave of guilt simmers in my gut, one that’s haunted me all damn week.
Guilt for trying to push Fia from this home, even if it’s still what I think would be best in the long run.
Guilt for not visiting Wilmington often the last few years, for thinking I had more time, or maybe not thinking about the time at all.
And then there’s Jesse.
He wasn’t wrong when he said he knew every detail about me. The things that made me tick, my biggest hopes, my fears. There once was a time I shared that all with him. And if I’m being honest, I wonder what it would be like to share them again with him.
But that’s where the guilt comes in.
I slept with him last night when I knew I had to leave again.
In five days, I’ll be packing up my convertible and heading home.
He’s not some one-night stand I met at a wedding. He’s not an easy goodbye.
I’ve let myself slip into the cozy daydream that Christmas brings, but I can’t let myself forget what lies outside of this bubble.
We have separate lives. All three of us.
“Thanks for making this again.” Fia eats the last morsel off her plate, and Jesse pats his stomach.
I hold my fork, still chewing, deep in thought, because there’s another thing I feel guilty about. Tomorrow, I might drive to the prison to see my brother. I can’t go home, after all of this, without finding out if he’d be willing to sell the house.
Maybe he’ll be thrilled to get a third of the money—he can use it to start life again in a few months. I doubt there’s anything else we can talk about, if he’ll even agree to see me.
“I need to talk to you both about something that’s happening tomorrow.” I abruptly interrupt Fia and Jesse’s conversation about Tank.
They turn slowly to look at each other, and my stomach squeezes.
“Why are you two looking at each other like that?” I ask, feeling exposed.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something, too,” Jesse starts, and now I really feel sick.
“Okay…you go first,” I reply shakily.
Fia clears her throat, and I drop my fork. It clinks off the ceramic plate. They definitely aren’t telling me something.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he starts again, green eyes meeting mine, and I see the nervous teenage boy behind them.
“Okay…”
“Christmas is Wednesday…and I was wondering if you could do something for me…uhm, as a favor.” His elbows rest on his knees, his chin in his palms, and I wait with bated breath.
“Go on.” My pulse is through the damn roof.
“Fia and I are going to the prison tomorrow afternoon.”
It takes two seconds for that to sink in. I glance at my sister, who looks pale as a ghost, unmoving.
“I didn’t know you were talking to Danny,” I say directly to Jesse. There’s a new sharp pain in my chest. Why didn't he tell me? But now isn't the time to address it, not in front of Fia.
“Yeah, I am.” Jesse nods hesitantly. “And we want you to come with us.”
I lean against the sofa, taken aback.
“I know this is really hard for you, but we’ll be there. He gets out in five months, and maybe…” Fia starts, but it’s like the fork is lodged in my chest. It’s tight, and I’m cornered.
Fia doesn’t know exactly why I haven’t seen him in ten years. She just thinks it was a falling out of sorts.
She doesn’t know I have a box of unread letters in a closet at home. And she doesn’t know about the one drawn up by my lawyer that I’ll be bringing tomorrow.
“Last week, after visitation, he told me he needed to talk to you. He’s genuine, Pen.” Jesse’s talking directly to me. “I know he’s hurt you. He’s hurt us.”
I swallow, tears pricking at the back of my eyes, immediately giving me a headache.
I’m not sure if this is the worst or best thing to do, but I nod. “I’ll go.”
Jesse’s eyes light up, his head tilted, the firelight glowing off his cheekbones. “Really?” Disbelief coats his voice.
“Yes, but I want to do this alone,” I add, feeling queasy. I hate lying to Fia. But there's no other way. “I need to see him alone.”
They pause for a moment and collectively say, “Okay.”
Jesse’s foot finds mine under the coffee table, knocking into it playfully. “Thank you.” He smirks, but I can’t offer anything in return.
I’m not sure if it’s a self-destructive desire or a complete lack of consciousness licking up my throat like a flame, but whatever it is, it pulls me straight out of bed. I can’t be alone with my thoughts any longer tonight.
That’s all it is, I tell myself as I tiptoe across the dark hallway, grip the brass doorknob, and push the door open while my eyes adjust.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, my ribs tight under my flannel nightshirt, and then, like a match dropped in kerosene, my body roars to life the moment Jesse looks up, a playful grin spreading on his face.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
We already hooked up once.
That was supposed to be closure. It was supposed to be a release of emotions, of all the bottling up, to solidify that we no longer hate each other. An end to a long era of wondering.
But I’m not sure Jesse feels that way.
My knees hit the soft edge of the mattress, and as I crawl on all fours toward him, he reaches up, running his rough hands down my body until they stop, holding my hips in a perfect grip.
As I hover over him, my knees on either side of his tapered waist, he stretches up effortlessly to suck my tongue into his mouth, consuming my mind.
I shouldn’t be in here right now.
It’s decidedly wrong, but I am not a good girl.
All we are is two people who were once in love. Two people who gave each other all their firsts, all the pieces of each other to hold tight.
Two people who hurt each other and still can’t talk about it.
So we just do what we know we can do right.
We kiss.
There’s no sweet gentleness, just rough neediness. A neediness you have when you’re parched, drinking water like you can’t consume it fast enough, like every cold drop will save you, will heal a part of you that you can’t even see.
So I take each kiss from him greedily.
The tightness of his fingers encasing my exposed skin makes me gasp, and I let out a wicked laugh.
“Quiet, baby,” Jesse purrs, and I do as he says, forgetting time and space. His fingers work quickly at the buttons on my shirt until there are no layers between me and his hands. He cups my tits, squeezing my perked nipples, and I throw my head back, grinding my hips into his hard pelvis.
I want him to take away the pain that still sits in the center of me, threatening to spill out.
Because fuck closure.
Jesse Rivers ripped me right open, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
But he gives me no time to think as one hand leaves my chest, cupping my ass as I straddle him, and his hot tongue finds my chest.
The feeling of his hair between my fingers, his arms protectively holding me up, draws a whimper from my mouth.
I haven’t spoken a word to him since I entered this room. No instructions. One look, and he knows what to do, knows what I want.
He once told me my amber eyes give everything away, and even in the moonlight of this room that holds so many ghosts of our past, I lock onto his eyes, begging him to chase them away.
Just for tonight.
He hooks a thumb in my panties, easing me up to my knees so he can rip them from me. His fingers expertly find the place I ache for him, and his mouth returns to my neck.
“I want to taste you, Penny…” he growls into my ear, and I buck my hips against his hand, needing the friction. He fills me with another finger, and I take it. I roll my hips into his touch, but Jesse snaps his hand away, leaving me empty and pouting in his face.
“Ah-ah, not so fast. Be patient, and I’ll make you feel good.”
The bulge of his length presses into me, barely contained by his black boxers, ink weaving into his forbidden fruit, and I snake a finger under the waistband and watch his dark pupils grow into the emerald field around them.
Jesse grabs my wrist with a quick cockiness. “You’re not listening to me, princess.” His voice is strained, white flashing under his lips.
He flips me over, and my head hits the pillow, eyes trained on him as he crawls back.
I writhe against his strong grip. Seconds go by before his tongue is licking up my center. My back arches at the hot touch of him.
He adds a finger, moving his tongue in a way that has me wondering how anyone could be this good, but I push the thoughts from my head, focusing on this man worshipping my trembling body.
I whimper as he adds two more long fingers, stretching me. Quickly, a hand clamps my mouth, his arm extended up my side. He pulls away, and desperation sears through me as I drip for him, his mouth hovering just over my core, not touching me.
“Be a good girl and stay quiet,” he instructs, and every instinct in me to be feisty dissipates into thin air.
Falling silent under his hand, I nudge his head back down to satiate me, eyes rolling back as he devours me like I’m the most delicious treat he’s ever tasted.
Nothing else exists while he’s worshipping me, and it could’ve been seconds, or minutes, I have no idea, but his hand clamps down on my mouth as a wave of ecstasy rolls through me.
My whole body shudders against the damp comforter, my muffled whimpers filling the air…
his name on the tip of my tongue…his tongue torturing me as I continue to drown under his spell.
He releases me from his hold, sits up, hair messy, eyes full of lust, looking down at the puddle he’s left me in.
It’s impossible that this is the guy who broke my heart.
And yet, as I study his face, the curves of his glistening lips, tracing down the lines of ink, the magnolias that lead to my fucking name on his back, every piece of me hurts.
I didn’t have to shut him out like I did.
I could’ve called him.
I could’ve looked him up all the times I was in California.
I thought I was protecting myself, but right now, I’m not sure I was.
Jesse runs his lips gently over my body, and tears prick at the back of my eyes, because all I can think about is what would’ve become of us if I chased after him that day.
If I took care of him the way he always took care of me.
I shut my eyes as his lips find mine in the dark and encase his jaw in my palms, holding him to me like my life depends on it.
I don’t cuddle after sex. I don’t sleep over.
My dating life has been loose, ruleless, and at times non-existent.
I always lost interest quickly, because no one ever compared to someone I didn’t want to admit I was still comparing them to.
No one made me feel like this: Safe, wanting to stay up into the night just so I don’t miss out on anything because the next day isn’t guaranteed.
Jesse clears his throat, his rough fingers tracing light lines down my shoulder as the early morning catches up to us.
“What’s next for you, Pen…for us?” The gruffness of his voice doesn’t mask the raw vulnerability.
Pulling the covers up to my chin, I know he feels my body tense against his, but at least the dark acts as a shield. He can’t see my face.
It’s contorted and pained, and I don’t want him to see me like this, so I clear my throat, too, waking from the sleepy state I was in. The room doesn’t feel warm enough, even against the planes of Jesse’s body.
“I can’t stay here forever,” I whisper and know it’s not the answer he wants. “I have to get back to my life at home.”
He doesn’t reply.
“There’s a lot going on right now. I have a really busy winter with my business, Fia’s having her baby in three months…then Danny will be out. And then there’s the house—”
“I understand,” he says in a way that makes me believe he doesn’t understand any of it.
“Can we just lie here a little longer together?” I ask, and he pulls me closer to him, until my body is inside the curve of his, not an inch between us.
We lie there for another hour, silent, until I get up to leave. Quietly, so no one knows our secret.