Shattered (Reflections Book 2) Page 11

  It wasn’t just anyone he didn’t to share me with, it was Cash.

  I swallowed the razor blades in my throat. We were rehashing this again, and didn’t that coil my insides and send my heart airborne.

  I could have just ended this here and now for good. I had hated that numb feeling that pervaded me when he decided he didn’t want to do this thing with me anymore. I didn’t have to entertain this conversation with him now, I was under no obligation.

  My heart, though. That stupid, useless thing that beat behind my ribcage had me behaving otherwise.

  “I already told you that it’s really not like that with him and I.” I didn’t even recognize the uncharacteristic whisper of my voice.

  He swept his tongue over his bottom lip before rolling his lips together in concentration. “So you’ve said.” He rubbed the corners of his mouth.

  I could practically see the thought germinating in his mind and knew he didn’t want to ask the question that was bursting at the seams inside of him. I squeezed my lids together, knowing I had a choice to satisfy his curiosity or not. “Just ask the question, Slim.”

  “When was the last time you guys slept together?” He looked at me intently, and just like he had all those weeks ago at the bar, he made me feel exposed again. Every scar I’d tried to hide was his to discover, like a roadmap to my heart. Shame that shouldn’t have existed prickled my skin, a deluge of guilt washing over me. I had had a life before I waltzed into the universe in which Sean existed, so why did I feel like I had something to be ashamed about?

  I squared my shoulders. “About a year ago.”

  He was careful to keep his expression in check, but I saw the flicker of possession strike a match in his eyes.

  Sean scratched at his cheek like a nervous tic, the stubble grating under the friction of his fingers. “So, was this a friends-with-benefits situation, or…” The words died on his tongue.

  I knew what he was going to say, and he was wrong. There was no meaning in the sex, no feelings attached to it. It was just that to me: Sex. It hadn’t even been particularly good sex, but it was something to do. Something that helped me not think for a little while.

  “It was sex,” I said. “There was no meaning to it, it’s not—”

  “Don’t say it’s not like that, Raquel, because to him it is.” He rubbed the back of his neck before his arms came around the width of his chest. His legs stretched out in front of him, one leg bent at the knee. “Cash might be the biggest piece of shit I’ve come across in a long time, but he’s not blind. He knows a good thing when he sees it, and he’s not going to take that in stride.”

  It took everything in me to keep my jaw fastened shut. He couldn’t have possibly been referring to me as the good thing here.

  “Stop being so cryptic,” I chided, losing the battle to stay quiet.

  “Fine,” he conceded with a curt nod of his head, “He’s not going to quietly go away. I don’t want to share you, and neither does he.”

  “Then what is it you’re telling me?”

  “This,” he gestured at the space separating him and I, “isn’t going to work between us when he’s still in your life. I’m not going to compete for what’s in here…” He pressed his palm gently against my chest, my heart kicking harder under his touch, “…if you can’t make the decision either.”

  “You’re not getting it.” Something came over me as I reached for his palm on my chest, my own palm blanketing his knuckles. “He’s never…” I swallowed, my cheeks singed with heat as I struggled to get in touch with the part of myself that I’d never visited before, my stare bouncing around, desperate to look anywhere but at him. “I never…”

  “Look at me.” He slid his hand free of mine, and my hand dropped to my side. He reached out and took it back in his own, scissoring our fingers together. “Just say it.”

  “It’s not a competition between you and Cash, because I’ve never felt this way for Cash before.” I wasn’t posturing. It was the truth. I had been with Cash, yes. We had dated, we had fucked, we had made memories together, some good, most bad.

  But I never trusted Cash with my heart.

  “And what do you feel for me?” He studied me with such rapt concentration that I thought I’d collapse into a nervous puddle at his feet. Why couldn’t he just read between the lines of what I had just said? Or have just been a typical guy about it and provide me with a noncommittal head nod that sent us both on our way?

  His stare was unrelenting, and I suspected he was waiting for me to level with him in a way that I didn’t know how. My pulse pumped wildly in my ears; my breaths were shaky. How was I supposed to tell him that my heart was dancing on a fraying tightrope and I was afraid to look down in fear that I would fall?

  At my reticence, Sean threw me a lifeline. “No bullshit right now.” His gaze riveted to me like a bolt on a screw, tight and all encompassing. “Do you want to be with me, Raquel?”

  Christ. I wished I had his perseverance.

  I took a fortifying breath, my eyes lifting skyward in search of a divine intervention to strengthen my nerves. “I do.”

  Sean pushed off of the fence, his tall frame casting dark shadows against the road under the moonlight as we came toe to toe with each other.

  “This is what I want.” He pulled me to my feet, leading me toward him as his weight found the thick rail of the fence once more, tucking me between his thick thighs, his hands settling on my hips. “You and me. Let’s figure this thing out.”

  “You didn’t want to do that before.” I was struggling to let the slight go. I hated how simple he was making this all out to be, as if he could just offer me the world again and expunge the hurt that still ached inside of me.

  “I’m sorry; I fucked up.” Guilt flickered in his eyes, a wince drawing his brows together. “I was pissed, and I let that rage get in our way, but I don’t want to play this game anymore. We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, trying to ignore that spark that’s turned into a full-fledged light show.” He swept his tongue on his bottom lip as I absorbed his words. “I want to be with you, and you just told me you want to be with me. So, what the fuck are we going to do about it?”

  Sean reached up and lopped a rogue strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on the stretch of my jawline, delicate and gentle, as if he was touching a priceless artifact, a worldly possession that was irreplaceable. I leaned into his touch, my skin erupting into goosebumps across my arms and up the length of my spine, my body humming in response at the contact.

  “Be with me,” he murmured breathlessly. “I’m done pretending I don’t want you to be mine.”

  His words sizzled on my skin, a sort of tranquility sweeping through me as his words registered. Maybe it didn’t have to be this hard. Maybe it didn’t have to be this painful. Maybe we could just be.

  He stood up from the rail of the fence, his figure towering over me, both hands coming to either side of my cheeks, the calluses of his palms like a balm over the wounds on my heart.

  “What do you think, Hemingway?” He lowered his head, his frame bending inward as his nose grazed mine. “Do you think you can extend the same courtesy you gave my sister to me?”

  My body swayed forward, and he caught me by the waist. Stupid bastard. Stupid body doing things my mind didn’t want but my heart demanded.

  “I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he assured. “Give me a chance to prove myself. You won’t regret it.”

  I held my breath as his mouth inched closer to mine. My arms went up to twine around his neck, his lids flittering open with surprise at my contact.

  “If you ever hurt me like that again—”

  “Then I never deserved you in the first place,” he interrupted, “and I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that.” There was poetic justice in the sentiment, and I knew he understood the gravity of what he was asking me.

  “Okay,” I conceded, growing bashful. “Let’s try this.”

  Hi
s smile was shy, like he couldn’t be sure if he heard me right. My lids fluttered shut just as Sean slanted his mouth over mine, my knees buckling under the indulgence of his apology. His arms tightened around my waist, reinforcing me against him as my palms settled against his chest. There was so much more said in that kiss than could ever be artfully articulated into words.

  Sean was sorry.

  But so was I.

  I was sorry for doubting him, for doubting myself, and for spending a moment of our time together questioning what we could be.

  I did deserve this.

  We deserved this.

  And if relinquishing our respective hold on our fear is what we had to collectively do to make this work, then we would release our grip on it without hesitation.

  He broke the kiss, our breath mingling as we searched each other’s eyes. “You won’t regret this, Hemingway. Just wait and see.”

  I pushed up on my toes, claiming his lips once more.

  Perhaps it was the promise in that intensifying kiss that emboldened me and silenced the litany of doubts that chorused inside of me. Or the current of electricity that could have powered a whole city that sparked between us and blinded the dark thoughts. Or maybe it was the thrill of the intoxication that swept through me as his mouth moved against mine, his fingers knotting in my hair as he deepened the kiss, holding me close like he would never let me go.

  Whatever it was, I believed him.

  I only hoped he wouldn’t regret it in the end.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Who the hell are you?” Livy asked as she caught sight of Raquel behind me when we finally made our way back into the house about twenty minutes later, breathless with chapped lips and frozen fingertips.

  My middle sister froze in the foyer with a box of ornaments in her hand, her features twisting with annoyance. Strands of light brown hair fell from her bun—the one she had spent more than ten minutes on trying to appear effortless—framing her face.

  Maria clipped her on the back of the head with a bop of her hand. “You forgot your manners in the attic, diva.”

  Livy scoffed; her occupied hands preventing her from soothing where she had been whacked. “Well?” Her unrelenting eyes remained fixed on our Thanksgiving guest.

  “This is Raquel,” I offered her with a cursory glance.

  Recognition sparked in my sister’s falcon-yellow eyes. “Oh,” she said in singsong fashion, leaning against the wall, adjusting the weight of the box against her hip. A sly smile tilted her mouth.

  “How did you miss her the first time, Liv?” Trina questioned, barreling down the stairs behind her, toting a storage bin of additional Christmas decor. “Were we eavesdropping on the same conversation?”

  I wanted to clap an open palm against my face. I had known they were listening in, but it was another thing for Trina to be so nonchalant about it, like it was as normal and expected as breathing.

  Livy tossed her head back, the loose strands of hair flying in her face. She’d missed the mark on trying to appear poised, as some hair got stuck on her lip gloss. Maria sighed as the helplessness registered on Livy’s face as she offered a lifeline and pulled the strands free from her sister’s mouth.

  “Thank you,” Livy muttered as Maria stepped away. “I wasn’t eavesdropping; I don’t have time for that,” she lamented. “If you guys haven’t realized, I’ve been focused during a pivotal moment in my life. The only interruption I’m allowing for my artistic process is when I need help.”

  That produced an eye roll from all of us, except Raquel. Here we go again.

  “Help with finding your humility?” I mused, winking at her. An inhuman sound rumbled in the back of Livy’s throat that ignited a wave of tinny laughter from my sisters that filled the foyer.

  “That isn’t funny!” Livy whined, appearing rankled as she jammed the ball of her foot against the floor. “I wouldn’t expect any of you to understand, but I’m under a lot of stress right now, okay? The play is in a few weeks, and if I don’t get my lines right, my career as we know it is over. Some sensitivity on all of your parts would be appreciated.”

  “Can you please stop behaving as though you’re appearing on Broadway? It’s the Eaton Theatre Group, Idina Menzel,” Trina snorted.

  Of course, true to Olivia’s character, she hadn’t seen the insult in that. Instead she eagerly said, “Do you really think I’m as good as her?” her eyes full of hope.

  In typical Trina fashion, she knocked Livy back on her ass. “That is not what I said. Not even close.”

  “Children, children,” Maria interrupted just as the two started a squabble at decibels that could have shattered glass. “Please find the spirit of the season and kindly shut up.”

  Livy hmphed, tossing her nose skyward and flying out of the foyer and into the living room. With a snort, Trina trailed after her, but it didn’t require supersonic hearing to catch the barbs they were still muttering back and forth at each other.

  “And that was Olivia,” I offered.

  “She is…” Raquel said beside me, her eyes glancing in the direction of the living room, where Livy had broken into a monologue about support that Trina was clearly ignoring.

  “A lot?” Maria offered earnestly.

  “Over the top?” I suggested.

  “I was going to say ‘endearing’.” Raquel blinked at us both, confusion washing over her features.

  As if I needed another reason to like her a little more, she had managed to take my sister’s deluded and inflated sense of entitlement that came from her acting dream and found something charming about it.

  “Don’t let her hear you say that,” Maria warned, breezing past us with a shake of her head. “She’ll try to sell you tickets to her play.”

  “I’ll already be there,” Raquel laughed over her shoulder in Maria’s direction as my older sister left us idling in the foyer, disappearing into the living room to referee the argument that our ma had now gotten involved in.

  I cocked an eyebrow at Raquel, and she gave me another quizzical look. “What?”

  My hands slid into my front pockets. “You’re going to A Christmas Carol?”

  “Yeah. I cover it every year.”

  Right, I knew that. I’d read her riveting review on it from last year, and the year before that, and well…yeah, the year before that, too.

  “Wanna be my date?” I asked, my mouth sloping into a lopsided grin. That play might just be bearable with her seated next to me, even if she was working. I was already conspiring about all the things I could do to her in the dark without anyone knowing.

  “No can do,” she said with a shake of her head, glancing at her fingernails while feigning boredom. “My boyfriend is the jealous type.” Her lashes flittered at me.

  My heart inflated ten times inside my chest until I thought the damn thing would explode. Boyfriend.

  She had said it.

  I was compelled with the urge to lift her off the ground and spin her around the room in my arms, but I remained rooted in my spot ’cause I wasn’t fifteen and dating the hottest girl in school. I was thirty years old and dating the hottest woman I had ever laid eyes on. Apparently, the effect on my brain was all the same, because it was taking everything in me not to beat on my damn chest right now.

  Boyfriend. I was her boyfriend.

  After the weeks of chasing her, having door after door slammed in my face. After being rebuffed. After tasting her mouth and that sweet spot between her legs. Fighting for her in a parking lot and then failing to convince myself that this was never going to work between us.

  There was no denying that she had hypnotized me with her beauty, but it was her heart—the one that had been shrouded in creeping ivy with spiked vines that previously kept her safe—that had left me spellbound. I would go to hell and back to keep her out of harm’s way. I would wield a hatchet and hack away those thorny vines until they released their hold on her entirely.

  Our relationship had been nebulous from the start
, but none of that mattered right now. She had chosen me; she had chosen us. And I would be patient in my pursuit of a permanent spot in her heart for as long as it took.

  “Your jokes are shit.” I chuckled, blood rushing to my ears as I added, “Girlfriend.” I liked the way that word sounded on my mouth with her in my reverie.

  I watched her bloom under the label. It was as if she was experiencing the warmth of the sun for the first time after weeks of rain. Her spine lengthened, eyes radiating with a kind of joy I don’t think she had ever experienced before. Despite the bruising on her face and along the length of her creamy neck, she was beautiful under the orange glow of the ceiling light above her.

  And she was all mine.

  “You didn’t like that joke?” she said, shifting her head innocently to the right, mirroring my grin.

  “I liked the boyfriend part, but the jealous part I can do without.”

  “Then don’t be jealous,” she advised with a perfunctory shrug of her shoulders, sounding like she was suggesting I didn’t have to eat my peas if I didn’t want to or something equally asinine.

  “How can I not be jealous when you consume my every thought?” I stepped toward her, and she stepped back—probably out of instinct—her eyes tracking me until her footsteps took her back into the laundry room and out of the scope of range for prying eyes.

  Raquel’s chest rose and fell, her footsteps tapering off when she had nowhere else to go. Her spine connected with the wall behind her when she turned, palms going flat, the tips of her fingers pressing into the drywall. Her expressed failed to mask her eager anticipation.

  How many times had we ended up in this exact same position? Toe to toe with one another, engaged in a standoff of wills and egos, and now hearts. I reached up to finger the ends of her soft hair, brushing them away from her face as I studied her.

  “As long as you’re part of that equation, I will never not be jealous of anyone who tries to interfere.”

  “No one is going to interfere.” She looked up at me under her sky-high dark lashes, those burnt cinnamon irises ensnaring my heart. “I won’t let them.”