From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) (36 page)

“Hello. Juliette Weston,” she replies, shifting and blushing under my gaze.

Her friends disappear. My friends are long forgotten.

“Will you marry me, Juliette Weston?” Sounds like a pick-up line, but it’s not. I’d do it. I can feel my heart pounding, pulling me to her. Our souls attaching, becoming one.

Yes, I’d do it. For her.

She giggles, then quickly replies, “Why don’t we start with a first date.”

“How many dates until you’ll marry me?”

Her sweet smile falters as surprise momentarily takes over, but returns when she realizes I’m not joking. “Let’s just see how things go from here.”

From here…
From this moment on, I was hers and she was always mine.

THE UMBRELLA GOES
flying as I shove Dylan away from Jules and grab her by the waist. I set her down behind me, hoping to protect her. “Henry, get her in the car!”

“Austin!” she screams as Henry tries to pull her to safety.

When I turn back, Dylan’s eyes are locked on her as he makes a move to get to her. I punch him, a surprise blow as he’s knocked sideways. Recovering, he turns to me, ready to fight. “Austin, I love her.”

“You barely know her!”

His hands fist at his sides and his breathing is harsh. “She loves me.”

“You’re deranged, Dylan!”

Jules’ cries are heard over the rain that drenches us. I turn to her as she says, “Pleas--”

A punch to the right side of my face sends me to my knees.

“Dylan! Noooo!” Jules screams.

“Get in the car, Jules.” Losing control of my better judgment, my retaliation is quick and I land a hit straight to his left cheek. He falls this time and I hit him again when he looks up. “Fight. Damn it!” Dylan lays on his back and I hit him one last time. When I back away, his face is bloodied, but his eyes are open staring into the cloudy sky above with his arms wide open--not fighting at all. “Get up,” I yell.

He looks at me. Despite the chaos of the scene, he says, “Finally, I got what I deserved.”

“What does that mean?”

“Treat her well.”

“What are you talking about?” When he doesn’t respond again, I say, “Fuck this!” Turning, I go to the car and slide inside. Henry takes off and I look down at my hands, bloodied and sore.

Reaching across the space that divides up, she touches my arm gently with her fingertips. “Austin.” Her voice calm, trying to soothe.

The air in the car is stifling. I look over at Jules, confused by what happened back there. We’re over, although the words haven’t been spoken by either of us… yet. I feel sick to my stomach, hating that I stooped to Dylan’s level. Why did he kiss her? He set me up. Made me do it.
Motherfucker.

“Jules, we need to talk.” I despise the anger that coats the words, never thinking I’d taste such an emotion when it came to her.

“You hit him. You hurt him,” she says, finally looking in my direction. When her eyes meet mine, I see her pain and tears. “Austin, I don’t understand.”

“What I don’t understand is why you’re defending him?”

“I’m not.” She adjusts her body, angling her legs toward me. “I’ve just never seen you act like that—”

“Don’t turn this on me like I’m the bad guy. There’s obviously something going on between you two.”

“You’re right. I’ve lied… or not told you everything. What I have told you is I’m not whole, as a person.”

“I love you. I accepted it, you, your hesitation and caution. You’re different with me. I thought we had moved past all the other stuff.” I lean forward, dropping my head against the back of the front seat. “Do you love me?”

“I love you, Austin.”

It relieves me that she doesn’t hesitate this time when it matters, but the other hard questions haven’t been asked. With Henry in the front seat driving, I decide to finish this conversation when we’re alone at my place.

THE ELEVATOR RIDE
is silent for thirty-seven floors. When the doors open, she walks into the apartment, but I can see by her body language that she’s not feeling at home. This is going a lot different than I thought it would, so I ask, “Are you staying?”

“Am I welcome?”

“Of course.”

She walks to the window and stares out, her eyes seeming to fixate on something in the distance. With her back to me, she says, “Dylan and I used to date.” My mouth drops open as she continues. “For years. We met in college and moved to New York together.”

“You’ve been in New York for more than six years, Jules.” A glutton for punishment, I ask, “What happened?” I sit down on the couch, the adrenaline from earlier draining from my muscles.

“He left me for another woman.”

“So he wants you back? That’s what this is all about. He wants you back after all these years, after he cheated on you?”

Turning around, she says, “Yes.”

My mind goes into overdrive realizing my relationship with Jules is not simple. It never has been, but it’s much more complicated than I thought. She’s changed since dating me, become more the girl I had a beer with in a pub that first time. That’s progress. But now… “Am I losing you?”

Sitting down next to me, she says, “I’m not to be won or lost, Austin. I have my own feelings and wants.”

“What do you want then?”

“I want you.”

A sense of calm settles my heart and I lay back. “I want you too.”

“It’s not that simple though.”

“No, you kissed him. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Standing up, she looks conflicted. Her arms hang by her sides, but her body is angled toward the door. She wants to bolt, so I sit up, prepared to hold her, prepared to ask the difficult questions, but she says, “I meant, I want to be with you. I love you, but… I might still love him too.”

I drop my head down into my hands. There’s a pain that happens when people feel their insides fighting to get out, it’s a punch to the gut that sends you to the mat, hoping the hits stop coming. But while you’re writhing in the most excruciating pain imaginable, you somehow know that the pain is worth it—the fight that you were hyped up for before you entered the ring. Those highs are balanced with the lows.

I want to hate her, but I love her. I want to tell her to get the fuck out of my apartment, but also tie her to me and keep her here. I want to beg her to stay and pick me. But I won’t. I won’t because in the end, she’s become my insides and like that punch to the gut, the highs I’ve had with her were bound to find their corresponding lows.

When I look up, I ask, “You might, or you do?”

I’m answered with silence, her apologetic eyes meeting mine. I stand, taking my phone and retrieve a business card from my pocket. I dial the number and bring the phone to my ear. Walking to the window, I can’t see the street, but the rain has cleared and there’s this sunset that sends light peeking through the adjacent buildings. It’s beautiful, something bigger than us, and something bright in the middle of this depressing mess. The guy answers and I say, “This is Austin Barker. Please turn the truck around and return Ms. Weston’s belongings to her apartment. I’ll have my driver meet you there with the key and payment.” When I hang up, I look at Jules.

“Austin?”

“I love you, but I won’t be second best.”

“You’re not.” There’s a plea to her tone that matches her expression. She comes to me, her fingers fisting my shirt, holding me to her. Tears run down her cheeks. “I was honest with you
because
I love you.”

“You were honest with me now. Not these last six months. I think you should stay at your place. It’s best before this gets any messier.”

“Messier? My life is already a complete mess and you’re sending me packing without even talking about this. Austin, I don’t want to lose you.”

I cup her cheeks not for her, but because I’m selfish and want to touch her in case this is the last chance I get. Wiping her tears away, I lean in holding my cheek to hers, and whisper, “You can call me if you need me, but I can’t make any other promises to you.” I hear her breath catch. Her body shakes as her soft cries wrack her body, her arms tightening around my back. She knows this is what we need to do, what she needs to do. I don’t want to be her fallback. I want to be her everything. But I can’t be anything for her until she realizes that and wants to be everything for me as well.

“Henry will drive you home,” I say, releasing her.

Her eyes widen when I back away, crossing my arms over my chest to restrain myself from touching her again. Without warning she throws herself against me, hugging me, and whispering through her tears, “I love you. I love you so much, Austin. Please know. Please know I do.”

Dropping my arms to my sides, I nod, not returning the embrace. The rest of my pain tries to reveal itself, but it’s not good for me to give so much away. “I love you, Jules.” Her hands fall away and she walks to the elevator. We’ve got about thirty seconds left together before the elevator will be here, so I ask, “What happens after you have your heart broken?”

The doors open behind her and she steps inside. After pushing the button, she looks back at me with tears sliding down her cheeks, and says, “You go numb.”

The doors close and I’m left alone. A day that was the start of two lives becoming one is ending with both lives being broken.

THERE’S A WHOLE
list of women I can call when I want easy, no-strings attached sex. Women who will come if I call. Jules was the only one who made me think twice, made me think about marriage and a family.

From my office, I watched the sunset hours ago. I’ve been staring at the Rusque ever since. I thought I’d have more time with her, more questions answered, and hoped to be numb by now. She seems to be an expert in damage control, but the loss of emotion seems to have evaded me. Now I’m pissed.

“Fuck!” I throw my glass of whiskey, mad it didn’t get me to the wasted state I wanted. I want to call her, to go after her, to know what the fuck she’s up to.
Is she with Dylan? Are they back together?

I’m so fucking stupid—the birthday dinner when he sat across from my girlfriend chatting her up. That time he showed up at her apartment that time with some bullshit excuse that he was there to see me. We had drinks at the bar and he spoke in sports metaphors while listening to me talk about Jules
. Is Brandon in on this too? Does he know about Dylan?
He must.
Fucker.