Shattered and Shaken (17 page)

Entering the house, I'm startled at the sound of someone stirring on the couch. It's dark so I can't make out who it is. As they settle down, I tiptoe up the stairs, praying that it was Jack on the couch and not a skilled burglar playing possum. I rid myself from all clothing and hop in the shower, turning on the water. I welcome the ice-cold water first, and as much as I need to stand under the frigid water, my body's craving a nice hot shower. I'm covered in crusted dried blood. My feet are covered in mud, and my hair is tangled in knots all over my head.

Long shower my ass. I wash off, get out in under fifteen minutes, throwing away my puffball and spraying the tub with bleach. No offense to the pregnant lady, but I don't know her, and I'll be making a trip to the clinic tomorrow to get tested for any infectious diseases, just in case. You can never be too careful.

I brush out my hair, separate it down the middle evenly and braid it into pigtails. After brushing my teeth, I dress in my normal boy shorts and tank top, pull my bedcovers down, and crawl into bed. Before I'm able to close my eyes, my phone rings; it's Sophie.

“Okay, somebody better be dying, or Cooper better have caved,” I answer. She's silent. “Sophie?” I ask, making sure she's on the line.

“Yeah, I'm here. I was trying to come up with an excuse, besides the fact that I miss your freaking face!” she exclaims. No matter how hard I try, I can never be angry at her.

“Since you put it that way...”

She giggles. “Guess what?” she asks in a sing-song voice. I'm scared to guess. She's calling me at two in the morning, asking “guess what”. It can't be good.

Immediately, I assume she's in jail. “Oh shit. You're not in jail are you? How do you have your phone? Oh my God, you smuggled it didn't you?”

“Oh God, no! We already established that ladies like us won't survive in a place like that. Unless we surrender to being Big Sally's bitch. Not happenin', sista,” she announces. “I kissed Cooper!” she squeals, nearly busting my eardrum. What the hell is up with everyone and their high-pitched voices tonight? Well, preggers had a reason.

“Damn,
Soph, next time you decide to yell, stick you face in a pillow for crying outloud - sheesh,” I huff. She calls and interrupts my sleep to brag about kissing a guy. Really? She's acting as if she isn't the biggest slut in Jacksonville. “You're kidding me, right? You're calling me at two in the damn morning, to tell me that you kissed a guy - as if you haven’t done so before?” I confirm, speaking through clinched teeth.

She sighs. “Um, yeah. It's a big deal,” she replies matter-of-factly. “You have no idea how many drinks I had to feed him to steal that kiss,” she adds. Sounds like her. She doesn't know how to take no for an answer; it's not in her vocabulary.

“You fed him drinks? Please tell me it was purely alcohol and you didn't slip anything illegal into it,” I plead. If she did, I need to know. I'll need to research regulations for pleading the fifth before I get subpoenaed to testify.

“No, nothing illegal, yet; however, it's rather tempting,” she responds, far too seriously. “I don't know what it is about him, but I want him, all of him. I literally dragged him to the dance floor at
Wille's. I don't understand his disinterest. And his dick... Oh. My. God. His dick's huge. I saw the outline through his jeans,” she announces, overly excited. That's why she's so obsessed with this guy; she saw his manly bits. We're in trouble. Flaunting a penis around Sophie is like dangling a catnip-filled mouse in front of a cat; they won't give up until they sink their claws into it. I feel bad for Cooper. He has no idea how far Sophie will go to claim him. She's competitive, and she'll do whatever it takes to make him surrender.

Chapter Sixteen

AS I LIE IN bed, the aroma I've missed for so long lingers in the air, invading my nostrils. There's nothing better than being woken by the delicious smell of roasted coffee that you didn't make. I sniff the scent several times before I roll out of bed. I slide my feet into my slippers and head downstairs. I don't bother brushing my hair or teeth; my stomach's rumbling, craving the steamy deliciousness that's awaiting me in the kitchen. Plus, I can't wait to wrap my arms around my mother; it's been too long.

As I make my way down the steps, I miss the last one and stumble, grabbing the banister to prevent from falling. As I catch my balance, I hear my mother in conversation with a man I know all too well. My breathing labors, and my heart contracts with each syllable that escapes his mouth. I've always pictured what I'd do to him if we ever crossed paths, but now that he's here, all I want to do is run away and hide.

My legs go weak and give out as I scramble up the steps, so I begin to crawl. Before I make it up a single step, his front presses against my back, his arms circle my waist and he lifts me up. “Morning Butterfly,” he whispers beside my ear.

The sound of his voice causes me to gasp. Why is he here? Why? When he left, I was convinced I was going to drop dead at any given moment, but the pain I experienced then is nothing compared to what I'm feeling at this very moment.

“Let. Me. Go,” I demand between gasps, fighting to release myself from the hold he has on me. But as I push forward, he lifts my feet from the floor and carries me down the stairs.

“Calm down. If you'll calm down and promise not to run, I'll release you,” he promises.

 Normally, my heart rate would have sky rocketed, but right now, it's beating painfully slow. I feel each painful beat punch against my chest, and I want nothing more than to wither away, to disappear. Why do his arms have to feel so fucking good holding me? Why does my body betray me, and how can he do this to me? He’s speaking to me as if he never left, as if he's allowed to have contact with me. Words flow through my brain; evil and hurtful words surface, but I can't form them. How can I yell when he makes it hard to breathe?

Since I can hardly breathe, it's impossible to speak, so I nod, and his arms release me. Immediately, I grab the banister and dart up the first two steps before I'm pulled back, again. He pushes me against the front door, pinning my arms above my head, his touch sets the skin around my wrists on fire. “You broke your promise,” he says, disappointment in his eyes. Does he think I give a flying fuck about breaking a promise to him? He’s the master of promise-breaking. And the fact that’s he’s speaking to me as if we’re friends causes anger to surge through my veins.

“Well, I'm in the presence of a liar. It’s obviously rubbing off on me,” I smirk.

Pain takes over his features, and he looks at me as if I've bitch-smacked him. “Ouch, that hurt, Butter-”

I cut him off instantly. “Don't you fucking call me Butterfly! You lost that privilege a long time ago when you abandoned me,” I seethe.

He gasps as the words flow from mouth, looking bewildered. Good. Butterfly is what he called me after we first made love; the only time we made love, actually. He stated that butterflies represent life after death, and since I overcame depression after my father's death, it fit well. It was either Butterfly or Phoenix, and I despise birds, so Phoenix was quickly eliminated. He promised me nothing but happiness in my future. Yeah, that worked out well.
 

I don't know where all this courage suddenly comes from, but I'm not stopping now. I want to hurt him as badly as he hurt me, if not more. “You’re an insensitive and arrogant piece of shit. You don't even deserve to be living. You're a waste of space,” I hiss, glaring deep into his eyes so that my words penetrate his soul. His nostrils flare. His face turns red, and the veins in his neck become inflamed. He pushes my wrists into the door as he pushes himself away from me. His bare feet pad across the living room as he joins my mother in the kitchen.

Now, I’m even more pissed off. How dare she befriend Wyatt! She witnessed the pain he caused me. I need to vent, but the one person who would understand what I'm going through is dead, and I have no one to call. Sophie wouldn't understand, and Blake would go ape shit if he knew Wyatt was here, inside my home. Fuck! I stand against the door and gather my thoughts; I swallow them deep into the pit of my stomach then I join them in the kitchen.

Wyatt's shirtless, leaning against the counter, blocking the coffee pot. He has an elbow resting on the countertop as he sips his coffee from a red coffee mug - my coffee mug. Unwillingly, I gulp. My eyes trail down his core, taking in his muscles and the red basketball shorts hanging low on his hip. The tattoos that cover his entire right arm have my mouth salivating and my mind defying me. I don't want my body to react this way toward him; I will it to despise him as if he's toxic, which he is.

I stand in front of him waiting for him to move aside, but he doesn't flinch. Crossing my arms over my chest, I tap my foot and suck my teeth, warning him. His baby-blue eyes take me in from top to bottom. Chuckling and biting the left side of his bottom lip, he asks. “Am I in your way, Butterfly?” Of course not, I just cross my arms and tap my foot at everyone. Jerk.

“Yup,” I respond, cocking my head. He remains planted in front of the coffee pot, not moving in the slightest. “Coffee?” he asks, wrinkling his nose. Obviously, asshole. “That obvious? That would be the only reason I'm standing here tapping my foot, urging you to move the hell outta my way,” I reply, hatred enveloping my every word.

He sets his coffee to the counter, stands upright, and crosses his arms over his chest. “By all means, help yourself, but by the way your eyes seduced my body, I assumed you were simply enjoying the view. I'd never have thought you wanted coffee,” he whispers as he shrugs. Leaning in beside my ear, he adds, “Go ahead, sweetheart. It's all yours.” He walks over and takes a seat beside my mother, and they engage in conversation. God only knows how bad I want to smack that fucking smirk off of his face, but my heart won’t allow it. Stupid fucking heart. I pour my Joe and lean against the counter, sipping it slowly.

I feel nauseous as Mom explains how much she's missed him and how nice it is to have him back. But nothing about this is nice. In fact, I wish he was the one who
was dead, and it was Kyle sitting at the table sipping coffee with us. And how can my mother engage in conversation with the enemy? She might as well stab a knife through the center of my back; that would be less painful.

They begin to speak about Kyle and his death, so I take my coffee and go to my favorite place on the back deck, still fuming and incredulous that my mom is gushing over this
asshat who broke my heart.

I've missed talking to Kyle; it's been over a month. I relax into the chair and take in the scenery. I watch the fog evaporate into the air, watch the sun rise above the trees, and listen to the joyful melodies the birds let out. And for a moment, I allow my mind to go blank. Forgetting that the man who destroyed me is in
my
house, spending quality time with
my
mother, is almost too much. I let the pain vanish, temporarily, and nothing exists but nature. That is until the door that leads to the deck opens and Wyatt appears before me.

God, I need a better place to hide away. Why does my life have to be so complicated?

“Care if I join you?” he asks sheepishly, pulling a chair in front of me. Why did he ask if he planned on answering his own question?

“Yes, actually I do,” I answer, lifting my brows as if the answer to his question is obvious. Okay, so showing resentment toward him attracts him, so I should try another approach - kill '
em with kindness. Wyatt reaches for my hand; I pull it back and squint my eyes at him, advising him to back off. “You can join me, but don't touch me,” I command harshly.

He leans back into the chair and lets his hands rest on the arms. “Al, look, there's some things we need to discuss,” he begins.

I shake my head “Nope. There's nothing we need to discuss. You lied to me, used me, and left me... nothing more needs to be discussed. You're a dick,” I shrug.

He lifts his eyes to the sky and lets out a grunt. “You're impossible, you know that?”

I'm impossible, really? I kick his shin. “Ow, what the fuck was that for?” he asks, rubbing the pain out of his leg.

I huff, “Because you're an impossible dick, that's why.” Why the hell is he here asking dumb questions? He deserves everything I throw at him and more. I push myself from my seat and open the door to enter the house. I wish I could keep my mouth shut, but this is me. That’s just not going to happen. “You crushed me, Wyatt; leaving me broken and vulnerable - that's what the kick was for. You have no idea the heartache I went through. The decision you left me to make, by myself, was one of the hardest decisions a woman could ever make...” I will not cry any more tears over him. I force down the quiver that’s trying to come up. “And if I had a gun, I'd blow your balls off,” I manage to spit out with as much sincerity as I can muster, before going inside the house.

***

BLAKE’S WORKING AND SOPHIE’S
vacationing with her parents, so it's just me and my Kindle. Three hours later, I'm still on the first chapter of a book I've been dying to dive into. My brain's overloaded with emotions. I'm angry, annoyed, humiliated, dismayed, aroused; any emotion you name, I'm feeling. All the years he’s been away, I wished for his appearance, but now that he's here, I want him gone, kind of. I’m conflicted. I hate that my body reacts to him positively. I hate that my heart aches for him to tell me he's sorry and that he loves me. His being here has me strung out. Blake's repaired my heart, and once again, Wyatt's tearing it apart.

A knock on my door startles me. “Come in.”

Wyatt ducks his head in. “Sure you're not going to shoot my balls off or anything?” he asks nervously. Why the hell not! I’m too exhausted to fight.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” I scoot up my bed and cross my legs, providing space for him to sit.

He takes a seat almost a little too close for comfort. “Butterfly,” he begins, placing his index finger over my parted lips, which really pisses me off, even more so as his touch sends a tingle through my system. “Let me say what I came here to say and I'll leave, if that's what you want.” I close my lips and he continues. “I know you hate me, and it kills me to know I inflicted so much pain on you. I never wanted to leave you behind, but Kyle insisted it'd be best for me to just disappear.” His eyes mist as he speaks. His words remind me of the video Kyle recorded, telling me Wyatt did as he was asked.

“Where did you go, Wyatt? Did I not mean enough to you? You couldn't give me an explanation? Why?”

He swallows so hard I hear his saliva travel down his throat. “Al, Kyle stood up for me on so many levels. He protected me from my father; he accepted me as his brother. When he decided to join the military, I couldn't let him go on his own. I followed him.” He reaches for my hand, and this time I allow him to take it.

My eyes would normally tear up, but the creek's dry this time. “Go on.”

He nods. “I was so pissed that he made the decision to enlist without talking to me first, so pissed.” He bounces his fist on his knee. “I had to make sure he was safe, make sure he came back to you, even if that resulted in me dying. I was determined to keep his heart beating, for you,” he declares, squeezing my hand. His words make my throat constrict; I want to reach out and hug him, thank him, but I don't. He continues with his explanation. “That night I saw you in the kitchen crying, all I wanted to do was comfort you. I wanted to make your pain go away; I did it the only way I knew how. The conversation I had with Kyle didn't pop in my mind until you fell asleep in my arms that night. I watched you the entire night, never took my eyes off you…” His voice trails off as he struggles to compose himself.

And just when I thought my eyes were dehydrated, they fool me. I scoot closer to Wyatt, letting him know that it's okay to cry, man or not. His hand cups the side of my face. “I never wanted to hurt you, Butterfly. I'd never intentionally hurt you,” he whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. My eyes are filled to the rim with water. I can't tell him that I believe he wouldn't intentionally break my heart, because he did. He had a choice to tell me, but he didn't.

Now that I think of it, it should’ve been obvious. Each time Kyle was away training, I never saw Wyatt. We would talk over the phone, but he’d tell me he was visiting a family member out of state, or picking up some extra shift at work. How could I have been so blind?

He brings his face closer to mine, the tips of our noses touching. “I love you, Allie. I've never stopped. I loved you then, I love you now, and I'll love you, forever.” He captures my mouth, his tongue begging for entry, but I refuse.

I shove him away. "No. No, get out. Now!” I scream, attempting to dry the tears he doesn't deserve to see shed. He stares at me, speechless. “Get out, Wyatt!” I push him hard several times, but he doesn't budge. I jump off my bed and grab his arms, trying to pull him up and off my bed; he's too strong. So I do the only thing I know to do to make him leave; I punch him in the chest.

He stands up and holds his arms to the side, giving me full access to his body. “Go ahead, baby. You can't inflict any more pain on me than what I've felt every day over the last four-and-a half years,” he confesses.