Chapter 8 The Freakout
CHAPTER EIGHT
the freakout
CHEYENNE
Imay not have much experience to base this opinion on, but I’ve decided that every date should involve sweatpants.
For one, they’re comfy as hell– absolutely perfect for curling up on the sofa while settling in to watch a movie.
And for two, the sight of Iver in his heather grey sweats has been doing unspeakable things to me since I arrived at his packhouse tonight.
From the time he answered the door with those pants riding low on his hips, the thin cotton leaving so little to the imagination, I knew I was in big, big trouble.
We greeted each other with a hug. Then, a kiss. And for the first time in over two years, I found myself aching for more.
Of course, Iver’s a consummate gentleman, so our greeting at the door didn’t devolve past that. Probably a good thing, considering I have no idea how I’d react if he tried. That’s the thing about trauma– it’s wildly unpredictable. I never know if or when it’s going to turn me into a raving lunatic.
What is it that this guy sees in me, again?
The mate bond strains in my chest as if in answer to that question, and I look up to see Iver returning from the kitchen with fresh drinks in hand for each of us. My pulse flutters as he draws closer, his lips pulling into one of those criminally sexy grins.
Retaking his spot beside me on the couch, he hands me one of the glasses, raising the other to his lips and taking a sip.
I wonder if he even likes vodka cranberry or if he’s just drinking them because he thinks they’re my favorite.
It’s cute that he remembered what I ordered at the bar the first night we met, but to be honest, I’m not very particular about what I drink, so long as it’s strong.
He makes them strong.
I’ve found I don’t need as much liquid courage as I used to, though. I’ve quickly become comfortable around Iver, slowly building trust and getting to know more about him. Javi was right; he’s a good guy. Far too good for me.
I glance over at him as he settles in on the sofa next to me, the hem of his t-shirt riding up as he shifts his weight to get comfortable.
My eyes zero in on the tan strip of skin at his waist as I catch a fleeting glimpse of his lower abs.
My mouth runs dry and I quickly avert my gaze, distracting myself by leaning forward to grab another slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table.
Iver picked it up from some place called Dino’s in Stillwater.
I’ve already had three slices, but it’s hard to resist going in for more when this is by far the best pizza I’ve ever tasted.
Although it admittedly feels a little weird to be stuffing my face right now while Tom Hanks’ character is currently starving on screen.
In an adorably endearing effort to stay on-brand after watching Survivor together, Iver selected Castaway for our movie night. Turns out, it’s actually a solid choice for a date since there isn’t much dialogue– we can exchange all the commentary we want without missing anything important.
“Screw getting rescued, I could totally live by myself on an island,” I say as I go for a bite of pizza, this slice just as delicious as the previous three I inhaled. I swear, the sauce, crust, and cheese ratios balance each other perfectly.
“You say that now, but I think anyone would go crazy after that much isolation,” Iver replies, leaning back and tossing an arm up over the backs of the cushions.
I shake my head as I chew and swallow. “Nah, not me. I like being alone.”
“I’m trying really hard not to take offense to that,” he mutters, shooting me a side-eyed glance.
I snort a laugh. “Well hey, that just shows what good company you are since I’m choosing you over solitude, right?”
He arches a dubious brow.
I roll my eyes, swatting his arm with the back of a hand. “Fine, I guess you’re welcome on my island. Probably wouldn’t hurt to have a big strong man around to build a shelter and hunt for food.” I waggle my brows teasingly as I sink my teeth into my pizza slice.
“Oh yeah, that’s all I’m good for?” he scoffs.
I shrug as I chew, winking at him as I swallow the bite. “Eye candy, too. I’ll bet you’d rock that loin cloth.”
“Well, that’s a given,” he remarks, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.
Did it suddenly just get warmer in here, or is it just because I’m now picturing him in various stages of undress?
A blush heats my cheeks as I turn my gaze back to the TV screen, stuffing my face with pizza and willing the butterflies swarming in my belly to settle.
“There’s just one problem with your plan,” Iver muses.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, turning back to him after polishing off the rest of my slice. “What’s that?”
“No pizza on the island,” he deadpans.
“You’re right,” I gasp, wincing. “Guess it isn’t meant to be.”
We smile at one another, then both turn back to the TV, sipping our drinks as we watch the movie play out on screen. The liquor warms my insides, a pleasant buzz settling over me as the two of us drift closer together.
“So, uh, I’d like you to meet my parents,” Iver says after finishing off his vodka cranberry, leaning forward to set the glass down on the coffee table.
My heart skips a beat, head snapping sideways. “Your parents?” I repeat, my voice coming out shrill with trepidation.
“Yeah,” he breathes, meeting my eyes with a bashful grin. “They’ve been asking about you a lot. Fair warning, they’re kind of intense, but it’s only because they’re really excited to get to know you.”
I stare back at him like a deer in the headlights.
“I can put them off a little longer,” he adds, plucking the empty glass out of my hand. “Do you want a refill?”
“I’m good for now,” I murmur as my mind races.
It’s one thing for Iver to accept me, flaws and all, but what if his parents don’t? Will that change his mind?
“Hey, you alright?” he asks, scooching in closer and sliding a finger beneath my chin. He tips it up, compelling me to meet his eyes. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything with the whole meeting the parents thing. My family’s just a big part of my life, and I want to share that with you.”
“I get it,” I say, even though I definitely don’t. I barely remember my own parents. I’m not exactly well-versed in the concept of family.
“You have nothing to be nervous about,” Iver reassures, sweeping his thumb along my jawline as he holds my gaze. “They’re gonna love you.”
“Who said I was nervous?” I scoff sarcastically.
His lips curve into a smile, and when my gaze drops to them, I suddenly realize how close they are to my own. We’re sharing the same space, breathing the same air, and if I just lean in…
Sparks bloom between our skin when our lips touch, softly at first, then firm and eager. I tilt my head as our mouths fuse, a rush of heat surging through me as the intensity ramps up, our bodies pressing in closer to one another’s.
I swear every time he kisses me, he awakens more of my long-dormant biological responses to touch. My stomach swoops, my heart beats faster. I’d given up on ever feeling this way with anyone. I thought I was broken.
Turns out I’m not, I just needed the right man to show me the way.
I give into the sensation of his mouth on mine, to the pleasure winding in my core.
Pulling him closer on instinct, my hands grip onto his thick shoulders, his own landing on my waist. Our kisses turn downright filthy as the two of us get lost in the moment.
Iver slides a hand up underneath my shirt to palm my breast through the fabric of my bra, and I arch into his touch, chasing it.
Parts of me I forgot even existed are slowly awakening beneath his steady hands, his touch breathing new life into my body.
I want more, more, more, even as I feel the shadows of my past begin to creep in.
His other hand slides down, teasing the waistband of my sweatpants, and that’s when it happens. My brain short-circuits, and suddenly those hands aren’t Iver’s, but Alpha Paul’s. They’re not gentle, but rough and insistent, intent on destruction.
“Stop!” I choke against Iver’s mouth, my throat tightening in fear as every muscle in my body tenses simultaneously. “Stop, stop!” I push at his chest, jerking back in a panic.
Iver shoves backwards, holding up his hands as his blue eyes pop wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
I scramble away, retreating to the other end of the couch and tucking my knees up into my chest, burying my face in the tops of them. My body trembles, a wave of memories suffocating my lungs.
His hands grabbing for me, the ripping sound of fabric as he tore my clothes away. The weight of his body on top of mine, his hands circling my wrists to restrain them, his knees forcing my thighs apart…
“Hey, just breathe,” Iver coaxes in a low, even tone, pulling me out of my memories and back to the present.
I suck in a shaky breath, releasing it on a stilted exhale as I lift my head. “This isn’t going to work,” I mumble numbly. “I can’t…”
“Chey…” He leans forward, reaching out for me.
“Just don’t,” I snap.
He pulls back, his knuckles whitening as he clasps his hands together in front of him.
Fuck, I’m completely shutting down. It’s like a slow-motion car crash where I can see it coming but can’t prevent it from happening. My chest is heaving, hands trembling.
“I-I need to go,” I stammer, swinging my feet over the edge of the sofa and pushing up to stand.
Iver springs to his feet, chasing after me as I bolt for the front door. “Chey, let’s just talk about this…”
“What’s the point?” I bite out, whipping back around to face him. “This’ll never work between us, Iver, and it’s all my fault. I’m just… fucked up. I’m too damaged.”
“No, you’re not,” he insists.
“Really?” I huff, throwing up my arms. “What the hell was that, then? If we can’t even make out, then how the hell are we gonna seal our mate bond? Hm? You know what that entails. If we can’t… if I can’t… it’ll break!”
“Maybe fate will give us more time,” Iver suggests optimistically.
I roll my eyes, making a scoffing sound in my throat. “Yeah right.”
“Why not?” he challenges, folding his arms across his chest. “It happened for my friend Ace’s parents. It could happen for us…”
“No, you and I both know that’s not how it works,” I grumble, brows drawing in as I drop my gaze to the floor. “There’s no use. This is… I’m sorry for leading you on, okay?” I lift my chin, my throat tightening with emotion when our eyes lock. “This just isn’t going to work.”
Iver stares back at me for a long moment, his eye contact strong and steady, his posture tall and confident. “Just… come here,” he rasps, spreading his arms to invite me in.
My feet move on their own accord, and I fall into his waiting arms. His chest is warm, his embrace safe. Tears well in my eyes, slipping from the corners as I bury my face in his chest, breathing in his woodsy, masculine scent.
“It’s okay, Chey,” he murmurs, his hand stroking my back soothingly. “We’ll figure this out. Both of us, together.”
I sniffle as I pull back and lift my chin, gazing up at him. “How can you still want this?”
He smiles down at me softly as he wipes a tear away with his thumb. “Because you’re worth it.”
“No I’m not,” I mutter, hanging my head in shame.
Iver takes my chin in a hand, lifting it and forcing me to meet his eyes. “Yes, you are,” he states emphatically. “Please, just stay, Chey. Let’s figure this out together. Nothing’s ever been solved by running away.”
I wind my fingers into the fabric of his t-shirt as I stare up at him, paralyzed with indecision.
I should leave.
I should spare him my damage and set him free.
I should, but I want so badly to stay.
“Come on, let’s go watch the rest of the movie,” he coaxes gently, stepping back and taking my hand.
I don’t resist when he leads me back over to the couch, getting me settled in front of the TV before he heads to the kitchen to make each of us another drink. We watch the movie as we sip them, and slowly, my anxiety ebbs and I start to come back into myself.
We don’t kiss again, but we do snuggle in closer at some point, full-on cuddling by the time the credits roll. And while I feel like we just took two giant steps back, there’s at least a glimmer of a path forward for us.
And like he said, we’ll only get there if we work together.