Breathe, p.10
Breathe, page 10
“You go take care of that and I’ll stand here and wait for you,” Broderick replies.
Jericha looks between us, wondering if leaving her fiancé there with me was a good idea.
“Go ahead, babe. I promise to be nice,” Broderick says so reassuringly that even I knew it was bullshit.
“Okay.” Jericha touches his arm then walks away.
“What’s your game?” Broderick asks, not wasting any time.
“My game?” I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans to prevent myself from smashing his face in with my fists.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”
I step closer, my chest almost bumping against his. He was a hair taller than me, about twenty-five pounds heavier, but I could still take him. “Maybe you should clarify yourself.”
He eyes me up and down. “Never mind; it doesn't matter because, by the end of this week, Jericha and I will be saying ‘‘I do’’. Then she and Cora will be moving to Arizona—with me.”
I feel like punching that Colgate smile off his face.
“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” he continues. “I guess that shows just how much she cares about you after all. Don’t be mad, though, because it was a last-minute decision made just moments ago in her brother’s room.” He leans into me and then whispers, “It was actually my idea. I know how much Jericha loves her brother, and I would love it if he’s there to witness one of the happiest moments of her life.”
This motherfucker. I clench my hands into fists and bite down hard on my tongue. Over his shoulder, I watch Jericha speak with one of the nurses, periodically looking our way.
“I’m giving you a verbal invite. Make sure that you’re there because,” his finger jabs into my chest, “it’s going to be awhile when you see her or your daughter again, considering we probably won’t come back to Seattle until the holidays.”
Jericha walks away from the nurses’ station. Maybe it was the look on my face that told her that she knew what Broderick and I were talking about because she wouldn’t look me in the eyes.
“Hey.” At the sound of her voice, Broderick steps away from me. “Everything is all set. You’re allowed to go in and see Gareth now.” Her voice comes out unsure as she tries to gauge the testosterone level in the air.
Broderick throws his fuckin’ arm around her again. “I was just telling Kian about the change in our wedding plans.”
Jericha shakes from under his arm and takes a step towards me. “I wanted to be the first to tell you, but—“
I press my lips against her forehead, not giving a damn if her fiancé was standing behind her. “There is no need to explain.” I grab her face and tilt it up. “I just want you to be happy.” I kiss her forehead once more and then walk down the hallway to see her brother.
Jericha. Jericha. Jericha. “Fuck, Giz, now I can’t get your momma out of my head. This is what I get for not manning the fuck up and telling my dying best friend to stop playing matchmaker and that his sister would never want my ass in that way. She and Broderick will get married, have a sibling or two for Cora, and move into a nice neighborhood where she’ll raise them along with you like she’s always dreamed.” I continue to scratch behind his ears.
Wait, why the fuck am I talking to a dog? I begin to laugh. This is what I get for getting shit-faced. Never again am I getting this drunk. And the lie detector says that’s a fuckin’ lie. I’ll stop after another drink or two. Or three. Just enough to make my ass pass out and forget about the fact that my best friend is dying and the only woman I ever loved and who happens to be the mother of my child doesn’t want my ass.
I run my hands down my face then get up from the floor with Gizmo by my side. Every time I feel myself swaying, my furry friend is right there, preventing me from falling on my ass. All the alcoholic concoctions that I consumed tonight suddenly fall heavy on my bladder. Shit! Don’t you dare piss on yourself. I hold my hands out in front of me because my vision is blurry as fuck as it searches for a wall. Smiling to myself when I feel the iron rails of the stairs, slowly, I continue to move to my right, feeling the surface until I reach a doorknob that I know belongs to the lower-level bathroom. I step inside and tell Gizmo to stay, turn the light on, yank my dick out, and take a never-ending piss into the toilet.
I give my dick a shake, flush, wash my hands, and turn the light off. I pull my shirt over my head and toss it, not caring where it lands, and then head straight for the refrigerator to give myself alcohol poisoning. I slam the refrigerator door with enough force to break it off its hinges when I see there’s only a carton of eggs, unsweetened coconut milk, a few bottles of Fiji water, and NO FUCKIN’ ALCOHOL! I meant to do a grocery store run, but what for now? This place would sit empty for a while. If I weren’t so drunk, I would’ve driven across town to my own four-bedroom home that sits in a quiet, secluded, kid-friendly neighborhood, with a lake view. Cora would love it. I rummage through the cabinets as if it’s a life or death situation because if I don’t find any booze I’m bound to die.
In the end, I come up alcohol-less and just worn out. Then, I remember that she kept her alcohol in the pantry. Well, shit. I lean against the counter and look over at Gizmo sitting obediently and watching me.
“Giz, I think I’ve officially lost my fuckin’ mind.”
Gizmo tilts his head slightly to the left, barks, and continues to stare at me.
“Yeah, you’re right. I need to sleep this shit off.”
I go into the fridge once more for my consolation prize, a Fiji water, then I march my ass up the stairs, stopping briefly when I hear Gizmo whining below. “Come on, boy. I promise not to tell,” I say to him, knowing damn well Jericha would have a fuckin’ fit if she knew Gizmo ever stepped foot into her room. She wasn’t like those dog owners that let their dogs sleep in the bed with them. Gizmo gallops up the stairs beside me. When we make it to the top, I stop in front of Jericha’s opened bedroom door and stare at her unmade bed. I bet the sheets still smell like her.
I rub the top of Gizmo’s head. “You stay on the floor tonight. I’m not going to have your momma killing me because she found dog hairs in her bed. But she’s not coming back. Gizmo whines once more but obeys and lays down on the area rug surrounding the black king-size, four-pillar bed with white bedding and multicolored accent pillows strewn all over. My dick pulsates from just remembering the many times I’d fucked her. Fast, slow, rough, hard, and to the point my dick drowned in her pussy juices. How I’ve imagined fucking her into a coma in this very bed.
I toe off my shoes, remove my jeans, and climb into her bed, burying my face in her satin pillowcase that she swears keeps her curls frizz-free and long-lasting. I inhale, taking in her saccharine fragrance, letting the aroma embed itself in my nasal cavity and flow into my system like a dose of melatonin. In no time, I drift off into dreamland.
13
Jericha
I’m standing in the corner of the elevator, my eyes shielded by my Ray-Ban sunglasses. I face forward and avoid the curious stares coming from the other occupants. My eyes dart up when the elevator chimes its destination, and relief washes over me when I see the twelfth-floor button light up.
“Excuse me,” I say flatly to the young couple making out in front of the open doors. I push past them when they refuse to separate, breaking their lip lock. I clutch my shoes against my chest. Right before the doors close, I hear the girl that was being slobbed down by her boyfriend or fuck boy of the week, before I interrupted them, call me a fuckin’ bitch.
The words don’t even sting. That’s how numb I feel.
I walk up to the tall, wooden door with the round archway. I pull out my key and insert it, hoping that it still worked. The lock clicks and I push the door open. It’s dark and quiet. I close the door, turn the deadbolt, and hinge the security chain. The light coming from the full moon shining brightly along Seattle’s skyline, through the four, floor-to-ceiling windows, cast a luminous glow over the empty open kitchen and living room area, exposed brick walls, and the winding black metal staircase is my only light.
The heavy pitter-patter sounds that Gizmo makes when he walks down the metal staircase, averts my attention. His big paws touch the dark-stained wood floor, and he runs across it to greet me. I kick off my shoes, padding barefoot to kneel down, wrap my arms around his furry neck, and accept his doggy kisses. “What are you doing out? Did Kian forget to leave you in the laundry room before I left?” I press my cheek against the top of his head.
When I left earlier, I was able to track Broderick down before he could make it to the airport. We talked everything out, including that Cora and I would be going with him to Arizona. We booked new tickets and made plans to transport Gizmo back with us. Cora and I are scheduled to fly out in three days, enough to give me time to break the news to my parents and Gareth that I would return a week before my wedding, which was still a month away, but then I received the call that Gareth was in the hospital, and all our plans changed.
Cora was staying with my parents, and Broderick took an evening flight to Arizona so he could be there for team training in the morning. The whole point of me stepping foot in this condo tonight was to box up a couple of things and pick up Gizmo to take him with me back to my parents’, but I’m physically and mentally drained, and waiting until the morning sounded better.
I send a quick text to my mom, and then Gizmo and I walk up the cool, metal stairs. With every step that I make, I carelessly tug off my dress, hearing it rip in several places and not much caring. Next, I unhook my bra, leaving all my clothing strewn somewhere on the stairs. I’ll pick them up in the morning.
I walk into my dark bedroom, head straight to the bathroom, and press the light switch that shines above the walk-in shower lined with a gray stone backsplash and floors surrounded by clear glass walls. I turn on the powerful jets then slip off my thong. I turn around to grab a towel off the shelf and scream when I come face-to-face with Kian, shirtless in a pair of black cotton boxer briefs. My eyes trail over him, making out some of the tattoo designs. Black and red ink complimenting each other. Body built with lean and strong muscles thanks to whatever workout regime he was doing. I pause at his bedhead. Sable strands cut low on the sides while the top ones lay long and messy. He's the quintessence of a sexy, damaged soul.
My skin begins to burn, and parts of my body begin to pulsate in places from just a sweep of his eyes over every inch of my body. When his eyes stop on my breasts, the muscles in his jaw flex tightly, and the word fuck slips quietly from his lips.
Gizmo barks then runs across the floor, skids to a stop near Kian’s bare feet, rolls rolls onto his back.
Kian squats down and rubs Gizmo’s belly. “I bet you’re happy that your momma is home.”
“I’m not back for good,” I almost say.
Gizmo pants loudly with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, drool dripping onto the floor while his eyes slowly close from the wonderful sensation of having his belly rubbed.
“How about we go downstairs and let her—" Kian’s dark irises shoot up and roam delicately over my face—“relax and unwind,” he finishes as his eyes pause on my dark, amber ones in understanding. “Take all the time you need. I have Gizmo.”
“Thank you,” I reply softly, still as naked as the day I was born and unashamed.
I turn the shower off and light my peach-scented candle that sits on a bathtub tray, opting to take a bath instead. I turn the handles of the faucet until warm water cascades out into the clawfoot tub. Once it fills up halfway, I drop in a bath bomb that instantly turns my water blue, similar to how I feel.
I fill the tub then submerge my body into the blue abyss and rest my head against the porcelain back, staring at the wall. I momentarily get lost in my thoughts and feelings while the water temperature shifts from hot, to warm, to cool. Then, out of nowhere, I come apart and bawl my eyes out.
I tiptoe down the stairs. Kian is pacing back and forth, now in a pair of dark jeans and bare feet, with his cell phone pressed to his ear as watches Gizmo smack away on his dog food. From what I can hear, he’s ordering pizza. Large thin crust with pepperoni, ground beef, bell peppers, mushrooms, and extra cheese.
He remembered.
Kian turns my way when he feels my presence. His intense gaze has me tightening the belt of my yellow terrycloth robe, making my frigid body as hot as when he saw me naked thirty minutes ago.
He ends his call and places his phone on the counter, and then he places his palms on the counter behind him, bringing all of my attention to the tightening muscles in his chest and abs.
“Hey,” I exhale.
“Hey,” his voice comes out deep and smooth.
“I don’t know if I was hearing things, but did you just order a pizza?”
Kian rubs the back of his neck. “I did. Have you eaten?”
I shake my head.
“Me either,” he mumbles.
I nod and tuck a curly strand that’s still a little damp from when I submerged my whole body underwater behind my ear.
“Where’s Cora?” He pushes away from the counter and saunters my way until he’s standing in front of me. He’s so close that I can smell the top-shelf liquor lingering on his breath.
“You’re drunk.”
“Last time I checked, I was a grown man.” Kian steps closer, and I take a step back, but he reaches for the belt of my robe and pulls me forward. I try to pry his hands away, but his grip tightens. “I’m glad that you’re here.” He pauses and rests his forehead against mine. I close my eyes and brace my hands against his stomach, feeling the muscles flex beneath my fingertips. “A higher power must’ve heard my silent prayer of how bad I needed you here with me right now.”
“Kian,” I gasp when one of his hands travels up into my hair and the other down to squeeze my ass. My body relaxes and molds against his, feeling every hard plane of his body.
“Shhh.” His lips slant over mine. “I’ve lost enough in my life,” he chokes up. “Gareth is dying. And I’ve lost my daughter and you again. Maybe I can make another deal with Death and ask him to take me instead since I have nothing to live for anymore.”
“Stop talking like that.” I tilt my head back and grab his face.
“But it’s the truth.” His vacant eyes stare down into mine. “I have nothing to lose. Nothing to gain, so why should I fuckin’ care anymore.”
His last words paralyze me.
He releases me and my reflexes almost pull him back to me.
“Another drink sounds good right about now,” he says and disappears inside my pantry, returning with a bottle of Wild Irish Rose. “Shit, it’s been a while since I had any of this. I remember during our senior year, me, you, and some of the cheerleaders and football players broke into the stadium and we had fuckin’ party on the field and got drunk off our asses with this shit.” He looks down at the bottle.
I laugh. “That stunt got us a month's worth of Saturday school too.”
“It would’ve been worse if Coach didn’t speak up for us. They were talking about expelling our asses.”
My eyes concentrate on the muscles in his arms as he twists the top off the bottle, and then they fixate on his Adam’s apple as it bobs up and down when he takes a swig. “Want some?” He holds the bottle out to me.
I walk over to where he stands behind the island, grab the offered bottle, and take a sip, letting the burn warm my esophagus. “It tastes just like I remembered it.” I offer the bottle to him; he takes it, fingers brushing over mine, and takes another swig, keeping his murky eyes on me.
He sets the bottle down on the counter. “I remember it tasting even better whenever I sucked it off your tongue.” His eyes linger over my face. “We used to do some freaky shit, Jericha,” he murmurs and comes closer. “Especially whenever alcohol was involved and I fucked your pussy with my tongue and sucked on your clit.
I release a shuddering exhale, feeling my nipples pebble beneath my robe, and my pussy becomes slick.
”I enjoyed eating your pussy.” My breathing heightens when he braces his hands on the counter, effectively caging me in. “Loved the way you squirmed against my mouth and called out my name every time I would flick my tongue over your clit, over and over, before sucking it inside my mouth. I would give anything to taste your pussy again then stretch it with my dick so I can feel you come all over it.” He lowers his head, his lips slanting over mine. “I’m using all my fuckin’ willpower not to place you on this counter right now, spread you wide, and feast on you.”
I inhale the Wild Irish Rose on his breath. “We shouldn’t.” My chest heaves up and down.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you on this counter right now and savor your pussy.”
I close my eyes. “B-because.”
“Because what, Jericha?” He tugs on the belt of my robe.
“Because I’m engaged to Broderick.”
He becomes quiet for a moment. “Do you love him?” His voice comes out strained.
I open my eyes. “Of c-course, I do.”
“Then that should’ve been your first response. Not that you’re engaged to him, but that you love him.”
“But I do love him.”
“No, you don’t. Not as much as you love me.”
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” I scoff.
His palm presses against my chest, and his thumb caresses beneath my breast. “Tell me that you don’t love me.”
I knew if I lied, he would be able to tell by the way that my heart would beat against his palm.
“Tell me,” he pleads as if my answer would change his life forever.
“I’m marrying Broderick,” I reaffirm, the only safe answer.
He shakes his head, not wanting to hear my declaration. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m sorry that it’s not the answer you want to hear. What more do you want me to say, Kian?”
“I want you to be honest and tell me that you love me,” he beats his hand hard against his naked chest, and then he grabs my face and forces me to look at him, “and say that you’ll marry me instead.”
