Chapter 25
Wren
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
The idea of Jett leaving after everything we talked about tonight didn’t feel right. Having him stay here feels like a really big step.
But it also feels meant to be.
The realization hits me so suddenly that it almost knocks the breath out of me. Talking about our parents’ deaths, the reality show, and being called Snow White ripped open something I’ve spent years trying to keep closed.
I thought I was independent and building something when I lived there.
But really, I was lonely in a way I didn’t even know how to explain.
Lonely in my job and at the firm.
Lonely in fancy restaurants.
Lonely in a breathtaking condo overlooking a city that never cared if I existed or not.
Sitting on my couch with Jett, talking about real things and old memories, our parents and our regrets, I don’t want the night to end with him walking out my door and the house going quiet again.
I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
Panic is creeping in now that the words are out.
Him staying the night is a big fucking deal. And it’s not with anyone; it’s with the boy I loved. The man I may still love. The boy who broke my heart. The man who wrote me letters I never got.
Jett’s looking at me in a way that makes my stomach flip. His expression is serious, as if my invitation matters to him too. It feels like a shift in our relationship.
We move through the house together in this quiet, almost domestic way. It feels completely natural and surreal at the same time.
I lock the door while he switches off the television and the lamp. I flick on the small light under the microwave so the kitchen isn’t completely dark, and the soft yellow glow spills across the counters and floor, giving the perfect illumination for late-night bathroom visits.
It feels strangely intimate to have him in my space.
“Do you have an extra blanket for the couch?”
His question catches me off guard, and I’m hit with this ache in my chest. I don’t want him on my couch. I want him next to me.
“You can sleep in my bed.”
Jett freezes. “Wren…”
“I’m not making you sleep on the couch.”
He rakes his hand through his hair. “I don’t mind.”
I scratch my forearm, suddenly nervous. “I want you to...be next to me.”
The air between us feels thick. Charged.
I walk by him, grabbing his hand as I pass, and lead him up the stairs. With each step, my heart beats faster. I go to twist the knob on my lamp, but change my mind, allowing the moonlight to stream through my windows, covering the room in soft blues and silvers.
As I turn around, I find Jett already watching me.
“Are you sure about this?”
I nod easily. “So sure.”
With my reassurance, Jett reaches with one hand and grips the neck of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. Why is it so hot when guys do that? As my eyes trail over him, I forget how to breathe for a second.
Life in the military and on the farm have carved him into something solid. And unfairly attractive. Black ink covers his torso and chest before spiraling down his arm. His broad shoulders, defined chest, and strong arms look like they could lift anything. Or protect anything.
Protect me.
I don’t have time to process that thought before he pushes his jeans down, stepping out of them until he’s standing there in black boxer briefs.
I shouldn’t stare, but my mind and eyes are not in sync.
I’m captivated by the man in front of me.
It’s Jett, but it’s not the same boy I used to know.
He’s a man. A man who’s lived and fought.
Worked and lost. Came back and now stands in my bedroom, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
Before I can overthink, I’m moving. With each step, my pulse jumps.
Step.
Thump.
Step.
Thump.
Our lips collide, and it’s anything but gentle. It’s with a ferocity I never knew existed. This urge, need, desire to erase the space between us until we’re one.
We pour ourselves into each tantalizing tangle of our tongues.
It’s years of missed chances. Years of hurt and heartbreak. Wanting and not having. Unexplainable pain as we searched for our true identities away from each other. It’s silence. Letters. Memories. And what ifs.
His hands come up to my face before threading into my loose hair.
He kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he stops.
But I’m not going anymore. Not again. I came here to find safety.
A home of mine. And being here with Jett feels like the start of both.
I gasp in his mouth as he tilts my head higher, plunging his tongue deeper and making me moan.
He guides me backward slowly, until the backs of my knees hit the bed and I fall onto it, pulling him with me.
Our movements slow as the weight of what’s happening settles over us.
This isn’t like before. It isn’t frantic and careless. It isn’t full of anger. This feels like something we’ve both been holding on to for a very long time. The love we thought we lost but only buried deep inside us.
I feel his unsaid words and he swallows mine.
Jett lifts my shirt over my head, painstakingly slow, until I’m beneath him in nothing but a lace bralette and thong.
Those are peeled off me next, leaving me bare as he slips off his briefs.
Our eyes meet as he lines himself up at my entrance, and even in the moonlight, I can see his unspoken question of do you want this? And the answer is yes.
I nod and pull him in for another kiss, and that’s the only permission Jett needs as he slips inside. I gasp at the stretch of him. Pausing, he lets me adjust to him before moving.
No words need to be said, they’re spoken in his movements.
The way he tries to memorize the new version of me, every move and sound I make.
How he remembers the way I like to be touched by him.
He’s trying to apologize without words. Trying to love me without saying it, because it’s too soon, but we both feel our connection fusing together with each gasp, each moan, and each thrust.
And when I come apart with his name on my lips, it isn’t sudden. It’s like a wave building steadily, rising and rising until it crashes over me from head to toe. Warm and overwhelming. And emotional in a way I wasn’t expecting.
I feel powerful.
Worshiped.
Loved.
And I don’t let myself think too long about that last feeling.
As I drift off to sleep in Jett’s arms, I feel more content than I have in a decade.
The condo is too quiet when we step through the door. Everything feels too sterile. The white furniture. Neutral decor. Spotless surfaces. I want so badly to run through the place and trash it all, but I would never.
Instead, I kick my heels off near the door and leave them in the foyer.
That’ll show him. Rubbing my neck, I try to ease the tension sitting there as I wait for the explosion.
The gala went on forever, and we stayed longer than we planned.
I flashed too many fake smiles and laughed along to too many cheesy jokes.
I feel his eyes on me as I walk deeper into the condo toward the living room.
“You embarrassed me tonight,” he finally says, voice calm in a way I know isn’t really calm.
I glance over my shoulder. “I didn’t embarrass you.”
“You were flirting with him.”
I huff a humorless laugh. “It’s called talking, Elias.”
“Bullshit.”
I roll my eyes, which only pisses him off further, but I’m tired of being accused of flirting or cheating whenever I have a conversation with a man. I turn to walk toward the bedroom before tossing over my shoulder, “We were discussing real estate, not fucking.”
“Don’t walk away from me.”
I keep walking because I know this pattern. If I can get to the room and lock the door, he’ll cool off. But I barely make it four steps before his hand wraps around my wrist and yanks me backward so roughly I stumble.
Pain shoots through my wrist. “Let go.”
He does the opposite, grip tightening. “I said, don’t walk away from me.”
“I’m not doing this tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to watch my fiancée be a whore tonight.”
“I was—”
“You were laughing with him. Smiling. I saw you touch his arm.”
“It was harmless,” I nearly shout. “You’re being ridiculous.”
His face turns into a twisted snarl, and I know instantly I screwed up. I watch as his eyes go cold.
“You think you can do better than me?” he grits out. “I made you who you are.”
“That’s not what I said, Elias.”
“You think because you’re on TV, my TV show, you can do whatever or whoever you want?”
I tug, trying to free my wrist. “It’s your dad’s show.”
My stomach sinks because I shouldn’t have argued with him.
He pulls me closer. Too close. Before I can react, his other hand comes up too quick.
His fingers grip my throat, forcing me backward until my back, shoulders, and head slam into the wall.
A picture frame crashes to the floor beside us, glass shattering across the marble, covering my feet.
I don’t register the licks of pain, too focused on his hands around my throat.
I grab his wrist with both hands, trying to pull away, but he’s too strong, too mad, and I can’t get leverage. I can’t breathe. My lungs burn and my eyes widen as panic floods my chest.
“You think those people actually like you?” He’s yelling now, his face inches from mine as spit hits my cheek. “They like you because of me. I brought you into this world and you’re nothing without me.”
I try to speak, try to agree with him, because I’ve turned into nothing without him and this show, but my voice is too strained to understand.
Stars start to dance at the edges of my vision.
“You embarrassed me in front of people—important people—then you walk away as if you don’t deserve to be punished. You don’t get to disrespect me like that, or have you forgotten your place, Snow White?”
My chest seizes at the nickname. I’ve never heard him call me that, but if he’s using it now, then he has to agree with what the girls said about me.
I claw at his hand, nails digging into his skin, but he doesn’t react.
He keeps screaming and squeezing. The room starts to tilt as the lights blur.
My chest burns and my ears ring. My hands start to feel weak, and my legs shake.
This is going to be the end.
My vision tunnels, shrinking until all I can see is his face and the rage in his eyes. But as he starts to fade, another familiar face takes his place.
Cerulean eyes and dirty-blond hair hidden behind a backward cap.
And right before everything goes dark, I beg to live, because I don’t want to die here.
“Wren! Wren, wake up.”
Someone’s shaking me and my stomach sinks with dread. Fear.
“Wren, baby, wake up.”
I’m gasping for air when I open my eyes, my hands clutching at my throat like I still can’t breathe. The room is dark. Too dark. But I’m grateful for the little bit of moonlight still drifting in through the window.
This isn’t LA. I’m in my cottage on the farm, nowhere near California.
Elias isn’t in my bed. Jett is. Oh my gosh, Jett’s in my bed. Right now. Witnessing me having a nightmare from a past I’m ashamed of. A past I’ve been terrified to talk about.
“You’re okay, baby.” His expression is one of panic as he runs his hands down my arms. I’m still breathing heavily, tears streaming down my cheeks.
He pulls me into him, and I bury myself in his bare chest, sobbing and trying to catch my breath. I’m ashamed and embarrassed, needing to hide so he can’t see every emotion playing across my face. But it’s Jett; he already knows.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair, rocking back and forth. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re okay.”
He just holds me as I cry, never rushing me.
And I think I fall in love with him all over again.