Chapter 64
Sixty-Four
The ground underfoot is unstable, slippery, treacherous—and it’s one hundred percent a metaphor for my life. The light drizzle turns into a battering rain, seeping into my eyes and soaking my hair and clothes as I log mile after mile.
I haven’t voluntarily run once in my life until now. Plenty of gym teachers and coaches forced me to do so over the years, and I loathed it. But when everything at home started closing in on me earlier, I shoved my feet into some sneakers and took off.
My body isn’t overly thrilled with the idea, but my mind welcomes the distraction.
I try my damnedest not to think. About how fucked up things are with Remy. How it’s impacting Jax and me. How tensions seem to escalate every week as I continue navigating this busted up trio.
I thought all this shit would improve after the wedding…but nope. I’m on a constant tightrope, fighting to keep my balance, not fall on my ass or head, and not burden the two people on either end of the rope.
The rain ceases, and my harsh breath plumes in the air. Water seeps through my soles as I clear my mind. The entire reason I’m punishing myself with this fucking activity is to get out of my head. I focus on the rhythm, the pace, the slap of rubber against the cement.
When I make it to the outlook, I pause, absorbing the Pacific in its stormy beauty as I heave for air. A sharpness grips my chest, reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve done something this cardiovascular, never mind the hit to my lungs from the pack of cigarettes I’m smoking daily.
It’s almost Christmas, and I want to make it special for my girl. Like last year, when Jax and I created new traditions, getting a tree together and—
A wince closes my eyes as images of Jacqui riding me while sucking off Remy blazes into my mind from last December.
And that fucking lingerie she wore was obscenely delicious, etched forever in my mental archives.
My cock stirs under my shorts, even though I’d like nothing more than to wish that vision away.
Nothing is the same. And I don’t want it to be—but I also don’t want my relationship with Jacqui to crash and burn.
I give the ocean a final glance, turn around, and begin the punishing run home.
A bell tinkles overhead as I push through the doors of a boutique in Half Moon Bay that I’ve passed but never stepped foot into.
Its windows suggest it’s full of feminine wares like clothes, scarves, handbags, and jewelry.
Since I’m Christmas shopping for Jacqui and my mom, this place seems promising.
The sharp tang of incense hits my nose and as I rightly suspected, the store overflows with bohemian vibes from the merchandise to the color scheme.
A woman greets me with a smile. “Anything I can help you find?” She’s a tiny thing, with long, graying hair swept into a braid and a walking advertisement for the store’s clothing.
“I’m just looking but thank you.”
She smiles warmly and disappears through a maze of racks.
I meander through the space to check out what’s here.
There’s no way I’m picking out clothes—I’ve learned that’s a terrible idea for women.
Instead, I scope out the jewelry in an extensive glass case.
Toward the middle, I’m drawn to an earrings display sitting on top.
It features sea glass in a variety of earth tones—blues, greens, pinks, browns—their surfaces honed by years tossed in the ocean, some nearly translucent.
They’re beautiful and suited for Jax in more than a surface-level way.
After rotating the stand through each section twice, I settle on an aquamarine pair that dangle from sterling silver hooks.
Next, I check out a wall with colorful purses, knapsacks, and satchels. Lifting an oversized bag from its hook, it seems ideal for my mom with compartments and pockets she’d find useful in her travels. I think it works with her overall aesthetic.
I pay for the items and leave the store, my mind jumping to how Jax and I will have a couple of days all to ourselves soon.
My heart lifts, the anticipation stirring.
I can’t wait to pick out a tree and decorate it together, open gifts, and sink into everything about her.
And I need my fucking fix. It never abates for her, this pulsating, ever-growing craving.
Lately, it’s tinged with desperation…like I’m standing on the beach, the sand collapsing under my feet as the tide whisks my girl out to sea, out of my grasp.
Shaking off the doom, I drive home.