Changing Forever (18 page)

I need her to put a few more seconds on the clock.

“I already told you … I can’t do this anymore. The first time it happened in the library, I thought you were just confused. Then it happened again at the party last weekend. And today … I’m not going to let you keep doing this to me,” she says, resting her forehead against the door. She hasn’t looked at me yet, and it’s killing me.

It may not be right, but I know how to weaken her resolve. Closing all the space between us, I press my chest to her back. She shakes her head like she knows what’s going to come of this. She knows the power I hold over her body, and the way it can change how she thinks.

I grip her hip with the hand on my good arm as I move my lips close to her ear. “Please, let me show you what I can give you. No one has ever affected me the way you do. Maybe there’s a reason for that.”

Brushing her hair away from her neck, I let my fingertips skim along her skin. She whimpers, relaxing into my body. I almost have her … my Emery. “Things won’t be easy, and I can guarantee I’m going to try to push you away again, but don’t let me.”

She braces her palms against the door. “I don’t know.” Her voice shakes as she tilts her head back.

Sliding my hand across her stomach, I kiss the side of her neck. Softly, lips barely touching her warm skin. “What do you have to lose?”

“Everything.”

I press my lips to her neck again. “And what do you have to gain?”

“Everything,” she cries, shaking her head.

“Then the question is, am I worth it? Am I worth risking everything?”

She wiggles, quietly begging me to give her some space. I give her just enough to turn around, afraid that if I give her too much, she’ll run away. There are tears running down her face, leaving harsh black lines. I cup her face in my hands and brush my thumbs across her cheeks, wiping some of the warm tears away. “Emery,” I say quietly, trying to draw her back in.

Her eyes burn into mine. “You tell me. How do I know that this time is different?”

I wince. “I know you probably feel like you’ve already given me a chance, but this time
is
different. I want this.”

She’s reading me. Hopefully what I feel on the inside is written on my face. I need her.

“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know, Drake. What makes you, you? Why are you constantly fighting against us?”

It’s like a cold bucket of water was just dumped over my head. “What?”

She removes her hands from my chest, but I catch her wrists, keeping our joined hands between us. “If you’re serious about this, you’ll let me in. You’ve never let me in the way I’ve let you in.”

I inhale, looking up at the old popcorn ceiling. There’s a lot that people don’t know about me. Things that might show just how imperfect things are for me. This is probably the main reason I’ve stayed out of relationships. Sex is one thing, but bleeding out your life story is something entirely different. I’m not ready for that, but I want something in between … I’m just not sure if Emery is willing to find middle ground with me.

“Let me kiss you,” I whisper, moving my face close to hers.

She turns her head away from me. “I can’t, Drake.”

“Fuck, Emery. Didn’t you listen to a word I said? Don’t let me push you away.”

She flinches. In my haste to make her stay, I didn’t realize how much anger was radiating from my body. How my hands had tightened around her wrists.

Letting go, I back away, gripping my hair between my fingers. Why do I keep doing this? “Just go,” I whisper, turning my back.

My room’s never been so quiet, even when I’ve been alone. The empty space inside of me just grew a little bigger.

I wait until the door clicks before sliding to my knees. I’m lost, completely fucking lost.

I
USE
MY
SLEEVES
TO
WIPE
my eyes one last time before opening the door to my room. Kate’s probably not here, but if she is, I’m going to have some explaining to do. I drove around for at least an hour, trying to fix my blotchy, red face. It obviously didn’t work because I can’t stop crying.

When the room is in view, and Kate is nowhere to be seen, I let out a huge breath. It’s just me and my misery. We’ve been quite the pair for a long time now, and the aches and pains in my chest aren’t new to me.

With a quick tug, I pull my tear-stained sweatshirt over my head. I don’t know if it’s just me, but when things happen, things I’d like to forget, I want to get rid of everything that might hold that memory.

I throw my sweatshirt from the night before against the white wall behind my bed, watching it fall in a heap. When my mom left, I clung to some of the dresses she’d bought me. I still have a few of them buried deep inside a box somewhere. Every once in a while I like to take them out and remember the way things were. And sometimes I wonder if she held onto anything of mine. Did she take a piece of me with her, or didn’t I matter that much?

Damnit! I hate this. I hate how the sad moments in life bring back memories of every other sad moment I’ve ever experienced.

I throw on a pair of fresh gray sweatpants and a white tank and fall on my bed, not bothering to wash the make-up from my face. Tears probably washed away most of it anyway.

Curling up, I fold my knees to my chest, and remember the last time I saw my mom. It’s the one way I know to make myself cry, and I need to chase more of this sadness from my body.

I walk into the large skating rink with my dad by my side. I’ve been rubbing my hands raw since he told me to get in his truck. I know what he’s up to. He’s never been good at surprises.

As we pass the ticket counter and round the corner, the crowd yells, “Surprise!” I look up and
HAPPY 13
th
BIRTHDAY, EMERY
hangs on a huge banner on one side of the room. If my dad really knew me, he’d know this isn’t my thing. I hate parties. I don’t have a ton of friends. Most of these people are probably here for some free cake and a round of skating.

My dad bumps my shoulder with his. “Are you surprised?”

I paint a smile on my face. It’s my specialty. “Yes! Thank you, Daddy.”

“I love you,” he says, tapping his finger on my nose.

“I love you, too,” I reply, a genuine smile covering the old, fake one. Deep down, I know his words are true. He tries so hard for me, to make me happy. To make up for all the things he thinks he did wrong with Mom.

He disappears in the crowd. It’s an awkward moment for me. Alone. Disconnected. I’m the guest of honor, but I’d rather slip out the side door and sit in the bed of my dad’s pickup truck.

I walk around the room for a while, talking to a few kids in my grade, as well as neighbors and family friends. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, but as soon as I’ve blown out my candles, I make my birthday wish come true and disappear outside without anyone noticing.

I was born in July. One of the hottest, most humid months of the whole year. I shouldn’t want to be out here, but it’s quiet.

I remember where my dad parked his truck and make my way to the back of the building to find it. My white tennis shoes dig into the gravel, leaving a path of dust. My dad’s not going to be happy with me, but then again, he’s rarely happy anyway.

Hoisting myself up, I sit with my feet dangling off the bed of his old beat up truck. It’s Sunday, and the highway that runs by is quiet, and the air is still.

I sit with my hands pressed to the hot metal and count the minutes until someone will come looking for me. That’s when I notice it … the old blue Chevy driving around the back of the building. I don’t recognize it, and that says a lot
because I know almost everyone in town and what they drive. My heart races as it comes toward me, slowing as it gets closer. Maybe coming outside alone wasn’t such a good idea.

When it’s close enough, I can see in the driver’s side window, and my heart stops. I recognize the person behind the steering wheel. Even after all these years, I’d know her anywhere.

A soft tap on my door brings me back to reality … the screen on my old movie going black before it was over. Pulling the covers up higher, I try to ignore the sounds at first, but when I hear them again a few seconds later, I don’t feel I have much choice.

I peek out the tiny hole in my door but can’t see anything. Against my better judgment, I open it a crack, hoping whoever is messing with me hasn’t gone too far.

That’s when I see him, sitting against the wall outside my room. Navy lounge pants have replaced his jeans and a gray t-shirt molds to his chest, but what really catches my eye is the agony on his face. His jaw clenched. His brows furrowed. Skin pale. I can’t deny how broken he is, and even after everything he’s done, there’s no denying it … he’s beautiful.

He never takes his eyes off me as he stands, taking slow steps in my direction. “What are you doing here?” I ask quietly.

His head tilts as he watches me carefully. “I couldn’t sleep without seeing you again. I think we have unfinished business. Can I come in?”

Without much thought, I open the door the rest of the way, silently inviting him in.

For once, he came to me.

He’s fighting back.

I step back into my dark room, not stopping until my legs hit the edge of my bed to put distance between us. I both hate and love when Drake is so close.

I’m not sure what I expected, but he doesn’t stop until his toes are practically on top of mine. I watch his hand slowly creep up until it disappears and wraps around the back of my neck, his thumb running against my jawline.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, lowering his forehead to mine. His voice is like a million pieces of broken glass begging to be put back together.

“Drake—”

His fingertips cover my lips. “Please. Let me touch you. I need to know that you’re real. That this is real.” He stops, removing his fingers and lightly brushing his lips against mine. “I promise to give you as much of myself as I can, but I need to go slow.”

Trust. It happens easily, but it can be broken even easier. Question is, how easy is it to gain it back?

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

His lips cover mine again, sweet and slow. “Please. I need this. You need this.”

Just as that infamous two-letter word is about to pass through my lips, his hands graze my collarbone, slowly working their way down my chest. All I hear is our mixed breaths as the familiar tingle runs down my spine. My body’s betraying me again.

“Be with me,” he whispers as his thumbs brush across my nipples. He presses his warm lips to my cheek, repeating it all the way down my neck.

Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to tell him no right now.

Not that I’d ever want to. Even if it’s just tonight, it’s going to be our night. The way his lips and hands worship my skin, it’s going to be a good night.

In a silent answer, I wrap my arms around his neck. He responds by wrapping his muscular arms around my back, ensuring that every inch of the front of my body is touching his.

There’s a tiny lingering voice in my head telling me that we shouldn’t be doing this. We have too much to work out. Too many unsettled things between us. Deep down, I’m hoping this will open us up to each other.

Our bodies stay pressed together for several seconds before his hands settle on my hips, his fingers working to find the space between my pants and t-shirt. “Lift your arms,” he instructs, tugging my shirt over my head. He tosses it onto the bed before settling his hands back on my hips. His eyes fixate on mine as he skims his fingers up my sides and hooks them under my bra straps to pull it down. His hands make quick work of the clasp in the back, allowing the lace garment to fall to my feet. I wonder if he feels how hard my heart is beating. It’s thunderous … working hard enough to keep my mind from rethinking this.

With trembling fingers, I touch his stomach, using them to push the soft cotton to reveal one of my favorite parts of him. He has a perfect six-pack. And his chest, it’s a sculpted work of art.

“Emery,” he growls as my fingers continue their way up his smooth, hot skin.

I pull up on his shirt, and he lifts his arms, allowing me to take it off. We stand, shirtless, eyes locked. My room is dark, but a tiny strip of light comes in from between the curtains. It’s enough for me to see the battle isn’t over. This time, we’re going to win, not the ugly voices in his head.

My shaking hands fumble with the drawstring on his pants, loosening the tight knot and pulling until all that’s left is two strings hanging. I glance up at him before moving any further. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

My fingers graze his stomach before I slip them inside his waistband. I’ve never been more nervous or more excited at the same time. He gasps when my hand wraps around his warm cock. Slowly, I begin to move, watching him tilt his head back as his hands tighten their grip on me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, but my experience is limited. When his lips part, it’s the reassurance I’ve been waiting for.