Pretty Reckless, page 19
“Get up, Chase.”
Kat’s voice feels like a thousand tiny knives stabbing me in the forehead. Or perhaps it's the two quarts of grain alcohol fighting its way through my pores that are making it hard to focus.
“Feeling shitty, are we?” she snaps again. I loll my head toward the sound of her voice, cracking open a crusty eye with a grunt. “What were you thinking, getting drunk and barging in on my family? Have you lost your damn mind?”
It takes every ounce of strength I have to push to a sitting position. My stomach flip-flops. You know how when you turn a shampoo bottle upside down, that bubble floats through the liquid and pops on the other side? Yeah. It’s like that.
A bottle of water lands in my lap. I grip the cap with trembling fingers, trying my best to twist it off, but my hands are too shaky to get it. I fucked up. Big time. So much so I can’t even stand to be around myself right now, and not because I feel like ass. The expression in her eyes says it all. The stomach churning mix of anger, pity, sadness, and contempt. A look I’ve seen on a thousand other faces, I’d rather die than see on hers.
I sealed the nail in my own damn coffin.
“Tell me you didn’t . . .”
She grabs my arm and tears at my sleeve. I jerk it back, turning my face away. “I didn’t use. Just drank.” I came close, though. When Jarett pulled out that bag, every nerve in my body vibrated with want. The needful feeling zipped through my body, radiating from my fingers and toes. Even my cock twitched with the anticipation of feeling that bliss cycle through my veins.
As I stood there, watching his twitchy fingers hold it out for me, I realized one simple truth: I get that same feeling when I look at Kat.
I jerk it back, turning my face away. “I didn’t use. Just drank.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know!” I clutch my head as the clatter of my own outburst pinballs between my ears.
“That’s an unacceptable answer.” The crack in her voice twists the blade deeper in my heart. As my eyes begin to focus, my fogged brain attempts to process what exactly happened here last night. Memory loss—the prize waiting at the end of every vodka bottle. What did I do?
Snapshot images come and go in waves.
A smashed lamp.
A busted coffee table.
An admission of love.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I fucked everything up. And I’m sorry I led you to believe you were less to me than you really are.” I stare deep into her tear-filled eyes, hating myself for being the cause of those darkened pools of glistening glass. “I like to pretend that I have it all together, but I’m a fuckin’ mess, Katarina. The truth is, I’m hanging on by a thread and was ill-equipped to handle how much I really feel for you.”
“And you thought slamming the door in my face when I needed you most was the best solution?” I chew on my lips allowing her anger to seep inside the gaps splitting my broken soul. “After all these months, I finally get a little honesty out of you, but it’s too little too late. I came to you in a moment of weakness, and that was wrong. I know my place. You’ll never have to see me again.”
She rises from the edge of the busted table and crosses her arms over her chest as if she’s cold. Considering Athena’s house is set at the temperature for London Broil, I can’t imagine that’s the case.
“Your place is with me. Come home, Kat.”
“I am home. And if you’ll excuse me, I have a funeral to plan.” She pads across the room, but stops short in the doorway, chucking a quick look over her shoulder. “For what it’s worth, it was fun while it lasted. Have a nice life, Chase.”
Chapter 28
Kat
Why do people crawl from the woodwork when someone dies? No one gives a shit while you’re alive, but the second you kick the bucket, they creep around like termites. For me, it’s surreal. I feel as though I’m in a dream within a dream. Any second, he’s going to pop out of that box and drop a sloppy kiss on my cheek. I sit here on autopilot just waiting for it to happen, enduring a hundred kisses, a hundred hugs, and a hundred people claiming they’re sorry for my loss. Funny how people feel the need to apologize as if they’re to blame. If one more person tells me how sorry they are, I’m going to lose my shit. I’m half-tempted to jump on the metal folding chair under my ass and scream, “Why are you sorry? You didn’t do it!”
But instead, I fake a smile and make small talk as each bullshit mourner passes down the line from me to Nikos to our giagiá, who can barely stand under the weight of her grief. This isn’t what he would have wanted. He’s being cremated tonight, but we did this out of respect for her. In hindsight, I should have put my foot down. I hate this, and he would have, too. It’s a goddamn circus sideshow, and everyone’s come ‘round to gawk at the spectacle that is my father’s corpse. Two viewings, two hours each. Four hours sitting in this hell as my grandmother lies over his casket wailing to take her with him. It’s enough to make me want to puke.
Hushed whispers float around the tiny viewing room at Fisher’s Funeral Home. Cookie-cutter commentary like he looks good, he’s at peace, or he was so young catch my ear, making me want to scream, but I sit like a stone as I wait for them to leave. Every one of the people here who came out to pay homage to a man they barely knew gets to go home and return to their normal lives. They suck, and I hate them. All of them.
I need a drink.
It’s an uphill battle. The unquenchable thirst pulses on my tongue. Just one to drown out the noise. A single glass to take off the edge and calm my nerves. But one turns to two, two to three, and so on and so forth until your liver is so destroyed that you end up bloated and orange and alone on your bathroom floor at fifty-five. An undignified end to an unsung life.
When giagiá teeters to the casket again, I can’t bear to watch. I turn away, curling into myself like a shriveling flower. Nikos and Anna stand on either side of her heaving shoulders. Athena sits to my left, her head resting on Alex’s arm, while Mekky and Frulla huddle in the corner, blotting their eyes with Kleenex. Amazing how one can be surrounded by loved ones yet still feel so alone.
A large hand touches my shoulder, its warmth radiating through the thin fabric of my cashmere sweater. The clean smell of Cool Water and cotton filters around me. I don’t need to look to know it’s him. With my head bowed in defeat, I rest my fingers over his, accepting his comfort.
No words pass between us. The hateful things we’ve said and done can never be taken back, but in my darkest hour of despair, Chase arrived like a beacon of light to guide my way. He absolves me of my crimes and gives me what I needed from him all along—a friend.
Tears rain down on his sports coat as I unload the burden of my sorrow. Not only for my father, but for Chase and the friendship we had, the love we lost, and the bond forever severed by our childish behavior. We can’t go back to what we were, but he’s here now, and that’s all that matters.
We sit in silence, my dainty hand wrapped inside long colorful fingers. I miss these hands. The way they traversed my body, the way they touched my face when we kissed, the way they held me together with strength and assurance.
“Smoke a cigarette?” My voice is hoarse from crying all day. I sound like I’ve already smoked three packs, but the melancholy in the room is sucking my will to live. I need some air, even if it’s filthy with nicotine.
Silver moonlight shines down on the worn stone pillars of the funeral home. When Chase leans against it, a shaft of light beams across his sea glass eyes and reflects off the jewelry in his brow. My thin sweater does little to detract from the bleak December wind, and I shiver, subconsciously huddling closer to Chase. When he slides off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, the familiar scents of cologne, perfume, and tobacco encase me in their warm comfort. The last time he wore this suit, he was shagging me rotten in a closet. Emotion ripples through me like a stone dropped in a shallow puddle. It all happened too fast. How did we go from needing each other to breathe to hurting one another simply because we could?
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” I tell him, pressing my cheek against his chest. The heart jackhammering against my ear rivals the one thrashing against my ribs. At this exact moment, I’m not totally sure what I mean. The funeral home? The state? Earth? I’ve reached the winter of my discontent, and all I know is I’m ready for this feeling to end.
“Then let’s get out of here,” he replies, his voice reverberating against my face.
I raise it up to him, resting my chin where my cheek had been, and tracing the strong line of his jaw with my eyes. His lip ring dances against his mouth. Each little wiggle constricts my chest. Want cracks my resolve like a hairline fracture. “Can we go to your house?”
“Yeah. C’mon.”
We fall in step, walking side by side to his waiting Jeep. He stops suddenly and slips his hand into the inner pocket of his coat, his knuckles grazing my rib as he reaches for his keys. “Sorry,” he grumbles in a husky whisper. A faint white cloud plumes from his frozen lips just inches from mine and evaporates in the frigid night sky. A rosy glow blossoms on his cheeks and nose as he pulls the door open and helps me in. I want to cover them with fiery kisses, relighting the embers that once burned so bright.
The car ride home is just as awkward. His hands grip the wheel in a white-knuckle grasp as he speeds to his house as fast as he can get there. Our intentions may not be spoken aloud, but the reason for our flight is no secret. After all, our friendship was founded on one basic animal instinct: need. Everybody needs something. For him, it was closure, the chance to say goodbye to the woman he never stopped loving. For me, it was the power to learn to love again. And I do. After all is said and done, that love still fills my heart to the point where at any moment it could burst.
The tap of my heels echoes through the dark house as I enter behind him. I slip them off, huddling in the doorway as he says goodbye to a stranger in scrubs. An attractive woman around forty or so. She offers me a tight-lipped grin and disappears into the night, no doubt assuming I’m nothing more than a one-night stand. The notion doesn’t bother me. Not really. I’m no more wanted than a prom dress. Intensely loved for one whole day then thrown aside the very next, never to be looked at again. I’m used to that.
No, what hurts the most is how easily I was replaced. A new caretaker for Grandma. Someone else to tidy the house and start dinner. The job I had, the one I loved, and the one my foolish pride made me walk out on.
Chase clicks the switch on the wall, bathing the kitchen in yellow light. “You want some tea or something?” he asks, opening a cabinet.
“Do you mind if I take a shower? I need to wash the death off my skin.”
He turns, his crystal-clear eyes standing out against the dark cabinetry. “No, go ahead.”
I feel his hard gaze singeing the fibers of my sweater as I tiptoe down the hall to the bathroom. Water rushes against the basin. I strip off my funeral clothes, folding each piece before stepping under the scalding spray. It beats down on my back, forcing the stress of the day swirling down the drain.
Turning toward it, my eye catches on a bottle of apple shampoo sitting on the shelf. I swallow past the knot forming in my throat when a timid knock sounds on the door. “Kat?” Chase says, entering without my answer. “I brought you some clothes. I’ll just leave them here, okay?”
“You kept my shampoo.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You have every right to be angry with me, Kat. I did use you. I thought by helping you, maybe in some stupid way it would make her death less senseless, but that idea was fleeting. You stole my heart long before you invaded my bed, and I should have told you from the start.”
I hear his feet pad across the damp tile floor, see his finger pick the edge of the curtain between us. Chase’s vibrant skin pops out against the white backdrop of tile behind him. He’s so bright, so beautiful. A gorgeous rainbow next to an empty palette.
“This is all my fault. I forced you into that guy’s bed. Then I made you suffer because I was so mad at myself for letting it happen. I hate myself for driving you away. So, to answer your question, I kept your shampoo because it helped me pretend I still had you.”
“Devin and I went to Lips, Chase. It’s a gay bar. I told that guy to answer the phone. I just wanted you to hurt as badly as I did. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t go home with him?”
“I slept on Dev’s couch.”
I reach out, taking him by the wrist and yanking him into the shower. Tattoos show through the soaked tee clinging to his chest as he pulls me into his arms. Water sluices down our faces, dripping between our ravenous mouths. “I told myself I wasn’t gonna do this,” he mumbles, sliding his tongue between my lips. “But I can’t stand not having you.”
“Then shut up and take me, Chase.” I hastily tear the sopping T-shirt off his body. It falls to the floor with a thwap as I move on to his fleece pants next.
“Hold me.” Strong arms slide under my ass. He hoists me in the air and pins me to the cool tile wall. When my legs wrap around his middle, I feel his steel rod push against my needy pussy, stretching me wide with the delicious bite of decadent pain I’ve grown to love.
Chase and I go hard at each other like we’re going to war. We fight and fuck and curse and bite, leaving our hearts at the door. This is sex for survival. Weeks of pent-up angst pouring out of our bodies and slamming together into an orchestra of guttural grunts and slapping skin echoing through the tiny stall.
“I don’t know how much longer I can last. Come for me, Kat.”
The sweet release tickling my tailbone grows more intense as the shaft of his pulsing cock grinds against my clit. It snakes around me, gripping me like a vise and refusing to let go until I do. A rasping howl rips from my chest as my orgasm rockets me into orbit, but he doesn’t join me.
“What happened?”
“Not like this,” he pants, reaching out to turn off the faucet. “I want you in my bed.”
Still riding high inside me, he carries me from the shower leaking small puddles of water along the way. “I’m going to soak your pillows.”
“Baby . . . I’m gonna make sure you drench my entire mattress.” My ass bounces when he hurls me to his bed. “All I need is a minute to recharge.”
Grabbing my ankle, he slides me down to the foot of the bed where he stands, trailing a hot row of kisses up my thigh. He takes his time. Savoring me. Tasting me. Nipping at my flesh before reaching my sodden core.
“I missed this. The way your soft, smooth skin feels against my tongue.” His groan radiates through my middle. He toys with me, leisurely licking as if I were nothing more than a dainty dessert.
Gradually, I begin to unravel. A slow descent into madness as he circles my clit with all the ease of a Sunday afternoon. “Chase . . . goddammit,” I whine, digging my heels into his back as I ride his face, attempting to catch the release I’m desperately pursuing.
“Don’t make me rush this, Kat.”
“Please . . .”
A thick finger pushes past my soaking mound, followed by a second. My head digs into the bed, my hands fisting the sheets on either side. I’m walking a tightrope; all I need is a tiny push to send me spiraling into the black abyss. “Please? Are you begging me?”
“Yes, yes, yes . . . Chase . . . fuck . . .”
My ass leaves the bed as he throws my thighs over his shoulders and lifts, using it as a handle to bring me to his hungry mouth. The assault with his tongue continues without mercy. Flashes burst beyond my eyelids, pleasure rupturing the seam that holds me together. He slurps and sucks, whirling around my throbbing bud until I fall hard, crying out his name with heavenly relief.
The mattress dips all around me. The tangy taste of my own sweetness clings to his lips as they fuse to mine. It only serves to heighten the constant craving I have for him deep inside my bones. I don’t just want him; I need him. While the moonlight cascades through the windows, lighting his body in shades of gray, I can convince myself he’s mine one more time. One last hit before quitting him cold turkey.
A warm, wet trail follows his path from neck to nipple. He traces it painfully slow, taking it into his mouth as he fills my aching body with every glorious inch he has to offer. I’m expecting fire and brimstone to fall from the sky, and smoldering ash and life-altering flames to swallow us whole. I brace myself for another hard, angry fuck, but this is something altogether different.
Oh, God, no. Fuck me and forget me, Chase. Don’t make love to me, please. My heart can’t handle it.
Each languid thrust pushes me to the edge of insanity. I’m losing control, confusing sex and love and allowing myself to be swept away in the power of this moment. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
A fresh batch of tears wells in my eyes. He drops his lips to my damp lids, kissing them away, but more follow. “It’s okay,” he whispers in my ear. “Feel me, Kat. Let me in your heart.”
“This changes everything.”
He pushes up on his palm, cupping my cheek with his free hand. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
Chapter 29
Chase
When I roll over in bed, reaching for Kat, I find nothing but cold sheets. I sit up and look around, my body shivering without her there to warm my naked flesh with her hot skin. Outside my window, a brutal wind howls. The promise of a winter squall threatens to fall. I don’t care. Let the thunder and rain beat its vicious rhythm against the house, rattling my windows and shaking the walls. With her in my bed, we make our own storm.
Slipping from the covers, I pull on plaid pajama pants and an old Shinedown tee and stroll to the bathroom. Taking a piss with a raging hard on is next to impossible. I close my eyes, leaning a hand against the back wall, doing my business as best I can while thoughts of Kat’s lilting screams echo in my ears. Last night was incredible.
