Awaken Me (The Jaded Series Book 4) (17 page)

I grab a rag off one of the work benches and roughly wipe off the extra stain. I set those boards aside to dry and set up a few more on the sawhorses. The more I stain the wood, the deeper the stain on my heart gets. It festers and builds until I want to crawl out of my skin. I miss Anna so damn much that sometimes I feel like it’ll kill me if I draw my next breath. But when I’m with Chris, that debilitating pain isn’t so bad. The ache I’m used to feeling in my chest eases and my breaths come easier. And that’s what makes me angry. That’s why I push her away. I don’t want it to ease. If it eases, then that means I’m forgetting, or Anna doesn’t mean as much to me as she used to. I refuse to let that happen. It would be a disservice to Anna. She’s unforgettable in every way.

I stay out in the barn for several hours, staining wood and adding sealant to protect it from the weather. I’ve come to the conclusion that while Chris is here, I’ll work on the house to stay busy. The less I’m around her, the less she’ll occupy my thoughts. And once she’s gone, I’ll continue with the house. Anna would be sad that I haven’t done anything with it since she died.

My hands are brown from the stain by the time I’m done. I start lugging the wood to the house and set it on the side porch. I haven’t stained all the wood, but I have enough to get started. The sun is setting, so I won’t be able to do much with the porch this evening, but I’m still reluctant to go inside. My emotions are raw at the moment, and I don’t want to run into Chris while they are. There’s no telling what’ll come out of my mouth, and I’m trying my best to not be an ass to her.

I sit in my customary spot on the love seat on the porch and take in the stunning view of the sunset through the low canopy of trees. The temperature has dropped since I first went to the barn, but the cold breeze feels good on my heated skin. I smell something delicious wafting out of the house and wonder what Chris is cooking, then feel bad because I’ve been ignoring her all day, while she’s inside making dinner. It still doesn’t make me get up and go inside though. I sit outside until the sun disappears and darkness surrounds me.

With a heavy sigh, I know I have to face the inevitable and go inside. I’m met with silence when I walk through the door. It’s dark except for the light above the stove and a sliver of light from the bathroom where the door is cracked open. I walk toward the couch and peek over the back and find a sleeping Chris curled up on her side, her hand clutching her damn smut book. The blanket is tucked beneath her chin.

I briefly wonder what she read about tonight. Was there sex? Did her body react to the words like I think it did? Did she ache with the thought of someone touching her? Did she crave it? Did she think about me while she was reading it?

I shake my head and leave the thoughts and Chris behind as I walk to the kitchen. I find a container of chicken fettuccini on the counter. It’s still warm, so I grab a fork, sit at the bar, and eat.

I’ve got to learn how to turn off my thoughts when it comes to her. Unfortunately, they pop into my head before I get a chance to stop them. The woman is driving me up the damn wall, and I don’t know how to make it stop.

Once I’m finished eating, I rinse the bowl and go back out to the living room. When I demanded she take my bed last night, I thought that would be her last night here. Watching her sleep, her hair spread out over the couch pillow, her thick lashes resting on her cheeks, I can’t bring myself to leave her there. She looks comfortable, but I know she can’t be. I’ve slept on the couch enough times to know it’s killer on the back. I could wake her and send her to my bed, but I’d rather not. I’ve managed to avoid her most of the day. I prefer to keep it that way for the rest of the night. The only other alternative is to carry her. The thought of having her in my arms has my heart speeding up and my imagination running wild. I allow the feelings to surface in the quiet of night. Just this once, before I lock them away again.

I quietly walk around and stand over her, watching her sleep for several moments. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve seen. I may act like I’m impartial to her, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ll never admit it, but every time she points her green eyes my way, I want to get lost in them. Her pink lips hold me captive, and it takes everything in me to not pull her warm body to mine and claim them. When I hear her laugh, which I don’t get a chance to very often, it’s one of the sweetest sounds ever.

Chris shifts on the couch and lets out a small sigh. I push away my thoughts, already having let them linger too long. I bend down, carefully place my arms under her knees and upper back, and lift her easily. She mumbles something in her sleep and snuggles her face into my chest. She clutches my shirt in her small fist. Having her in my arms feels right. I shove the thought away in the secret box I have hidden in the back of my mind.

Not wanting to wake her, I take measured steps down the hallway to my room, walking sideways so I don’t bump her feet on the wall. I gently place her down and pull the covers from beneath her and then up to her shoulders. She turns my way with a small moan and a smile on her lips. I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and let my finger linger on her cheek. I don’t wish things could be different, because that would mean I wouldn’t have had Anna in my life for as long as I did, and there’s no way I could ever want that, but I do wish I could be someone different for Chris. I hate the guilt that eats at me every day. I hate that I can’t move past it. I hate that I want to be someone different. Someone who can let go of a person that’s no longer here and be someone who can love another just as deeply. And when those feelings emerge, I feel disgust toward myself, because I have no right to want those things. Anna was my one and only. I shouldn’t even consider wanting something even remotely close to what we had with someone else. It’s a never ending vicious cycle that won’t give me peace. Guilt, wishful thinking, disgust, and then back to guilt.

Taking once last lingering glance at Chris, I once again push the thoughts away, and leave her sleeping in my bed, a place I know I will forever see her now that she’s been there. The first thing I’ll be doing once she leaves is throwing away the sheets and comforter. No way could I sleep under the same ones she has. Not because she disgusts me, but because they will forever remind me of her, which is one less thing I need.

I pull the door closed behind me and walk back down the hallway. I go to the kitchen and head straight for the basement door. The light floods the dark room, showing the gym equipment I have down there. That’s not what I’m down here for though. I walk across the concrete and stand in front of the white door, both dreading and needing what’s on the other side. I hate going in there because my dreams are worse on those nights and the pain of them is debilitating. But I also feel the closest to Anna when I’m with all her things. I need that feeling right now. I need to be reminded of what I had and lost. Of what could possibly happen again if I open myself up. While I’m in this room, I swear I feel her in there with me. Her scent surrounds me, and I bask in it. As much as I dread being in there, I also love it.

I swing the door open and step inside. The door clicks closed softly behind me. I smell her immediately and my thoughts instantly calm. I breathe in deep and release it, feeling more like myself than I have in a long time. Anna had the ability to bring out the best in people. No matter the circumstances, if Anna was around she could always bring a smile to a person’s face.

A smile touches my lips now as I spy a big framed picture against the far wall. It’s facing away from me, but I know what’s on the other side. Anna went through a painting phase. She really did try her hardest, but she definitely wasn’t artistically inclined.

I came home one day after a short trip to a job site to find Anna covered in paint. She looked so cute in her paint-covered overalls. There were streaks on her arms, face, and even specks in her hair. She didn’t hear me come in, so I was able to sneak up on her. When I circled my arms around her waist, she jumped ten feet and completely screwed up the picture in front of her. I joked and told her the new jagged line made the picture look better. She playfully pouted, her face scrunching with fake hurt, but the twinkle in her eye told me it was all for show. To pay me back, she painted a line down my face, starting at my forehead and ending it at my Adam’s apple. We both ended up with more paint on both of us than the painting itself. She begged me not to, but I hung the painting of our house with the purple jagged line on the wall in the living room. I told her it was my favorite.

I sit down, lean back against the wall, close my eyes, and tip my head back. I allow all the memories I normally try to push back to flood to the forefront. Reliving every moment I’ve had with Anna, except for the most painful one. That’s a memory I have all too often. I don’t need to bring that one to mind. It comes and goes when it pleases, often leaving me desperate to make the pain of it go away.

Chris

I once again wake to a loud hammering noise. I’m so comfortable where I am that I don’t want to open my eyes. I know I’m back in Nick’s bed. I felt him carrying me last night. I didn’t want him to know I was awake, so I kept my breathing as even as I could. In my guise of sleeping I shamelessly snuggled into his warmth. I was damn near delirious with the feel of his arms and scent wrapped around me. And he was so gentle while carrying me down the hallway. When he pulled the blanket over me, and I felt him shift my hair, letting his finger linger on my cheek, it took a lot of effort to continue the ruse. Just that small amount of affection from him had goose bumps popping up on my arms. Thank God it was dark in the room and he put the covers over me. No way he would have missed them otherwise.

I was hurt yesterday when he left after our semi-normal talk. He was the one to initiate it and crumble some of the wall I put up once we left Maggie’s. I don’t know what triggered it, but one minute we were fine and the next he was closing himself off again. Then he was gone for hours. I know he didn’t go far, but it felt like he was miles away. He always seemed like he’s too far to reach, just like in the picture Ally drew.

I crack open my eyes and see the room is still mostly dark. It must be pretty early. It doesn’t look like the sun has risen all the way yet. I flip the covers off me, pull myself from the bed, take care of my morning business, and get dressed.

The hammering sounds again. It’s coming from the front porch, so I head that way. I’m surprised when I open the door to find a pile of old wood on the ground at the end of the steps. I look to the left and part of the porch is ripped up. Nick is bent over hammering in new planks.

I don’t want to interrupt him, so I wait until he’s finished with the board he’s currently working on before I talk.

“Wow! It’s going to look good once you’re finished,” I tell him. The new wood is a darker color. I’ve always liked the dark wood look. I’m glad he decided to use it for the porch.

“Thanks,” he says, not looking at me. He reaches over and grabs another board.

Before he can start hammering once more, I try again. “Are you planning to repaint the house?”

After lining up the board, he sets the hammer down on top of it and sits back on his knees. He runs his fingers through his hair, leaving it a disheveled mess. It’s chilly outside, but his shirt still has sweat spots, causing it to cling to his chest.

I see the internal struggle in his eyes as he stares out at the trees. I almost give up and go back inside, but he says, “Yes. I don’t know when, but I do plan on it eventually.”

“What color are you thinking?” I ask, pleased and encouraged he’s trying.

“Anna…” He stops to clear his throat and looks down. “Anna wanted it white.” He shrugs before continuing. “Seems like it would be a good color.”

I’m a bit taken off guard by his response. He’s never openly brought Anna up before. I know it hurts him to, so I’ve never brought her up either. I’d like to hear more about her, but I’ve never pushed the issue. I approach it carefully, just in case he wants to shut it down.

“I think it’ll look good with the dark wood. Did she help you pick the color for the porch?”

It takes him a few seconds, but he answers.

“Yeah. We disagreed with the color to begin with. Same with the color for the wood on the porch. I wanted to repaint the house with the same light blue and have black for the porch. That sounds odd, but I’ve always liked dark against light. She wanted the dark wood for the porch and the house painted white. I could never say no to her for long.”

He lifts his head and his lips are curved slightly in a small smile. His hands fumble with a nail as he once again looks out across the yard.

“She sounds like she had good taste. I would have picked the same colors.”

I hope like hell I’m not overstepping my boundaries and making him angry with me. That’s the last thing I want. But I can’t help but be curious about the woman who captured and held his attention for so long, even after she’s been gone for over two years. What makes her so special that he’s closed himself off from the possibility of forming an attachment to another woman?