Hardcore: Volume 2 (3 page)

Or maybe it was the realization that in another life, we might have had a chance to be together, a chance we wouldn’t have in this one.

I looked into my own eyes, the dullest version of green that they ever were. I was a washed-out version of myself, a copy of a copy. The person who I thought I was didn’t exist, and I didn’t recognize the person I found in the shadows.
 

I walked down the hall and out the door, flipping up my hood. The sleep had done my body well. I was at somewhere around eighty-five percent — no headache, no more nausea. Not from the concussion, at least.

As I spanned the blocks to The Kyle Building, I tried to prepare myself for the conversation, as I had been for hours. I didn’t know if he’d accept me walking away, wondered if I’d have to push him. I had to tell him something, but what? I could feed him a line, or I could tell him the truth. I imagined saying the words, pictured the betrayal in his eyes, in his voice. Instead, I would spare us both that pain.

By the time I walked up the sidewalk to his building, I just wanted it to be over and behind me.

George waited at the door, smiling wide. He tipped his hat as I approached him. “Hello, Miss James.”

“Hello. Thank you, George.” My smile was as thin as my nerve. I walked through the lobby and stepped into the cold, mirrored box as dread crawled around in my chest.

I found myself standing at his door, waiting. I didn’t know what for. A sign maybe. Something to change my mind or stop the momentum of what was happening. But nothing came, and nothing would.

I closed my eyes and knocked.

He greeted me with an easy smile and pulled me into his arms fast enough that he didn’t notice I wasn’t okay. I couldn’t even pull away. The comfort was too much to resist, and I closed my eyes.

His chest rumbled against my cheek when he spoke. “It’s only been one day since I’ve seen you, but it feels like a year.”

“I know.” God, how I knew.

Van leaned back and smiled down at me, so excited that he’d still overlooked my demeanor. I wanted to pretend for a second more, wanted to be the reason he was happy. But I was a fraud.

“I thought we could run today, if you’re up for it. I wanted to bring my camera and take some pictures of you.” His eyes were bright and open, and the crack in my heart split wider.

We need to talk.
I willed my lips to speak the words. They didn’t move.
 

My brain tripped over the thought that if we ran, I could get the code for the roof access door. Pin locks were easy to hack. The wear on the buttons took out all the guesswork, though I’d still need to put together the sequence. It would save time if I knew.
 

It was that easy to convince myself. I could run with him. I could give him another few hours. Or at least I told myself that it was for him.

I tried to smile, but I knew it was weak. “Sure.”

That was the moment when he finally saw me. His face fell, the shift small enough that I knew he didn’t realize the gravity of what I was hiding. He cupped my cheek. “You okay?”

I laid my hand over his and tried harder to reassure him. “Yeah, just tired.”

“You sure you’re up for a run? We can go another day.”

And with that impossible statement, the vice around my heart screwed tighter. “I’m up for it.”

“Good.” His worry melted away and bliss took its place. “But first …”
 

His fingers touched my chin, lifting it as he brought his lips to mine in a way that healed and broke me all at once. I didn’t think I would ever have the chance to touch him again, and I memorized the moment, every point where our bodies touched, every kiss. His arms wrapped around my waist, and mine twisted around his neck as he stood straight, taking me with him, leaving my feet dangling off the ground.
 

I pulled away with my eyes welling. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Worry creased his face at the sight of me. “Cory—”
 

I stopped him with a kiss of my own, and with each breath, I tried to tell him everything. My confession. How I felt about him. What I wished for and what I wanted. That I was sorry.

When I finally broke away, I hugged him tighter, pressing my cheek to his to hide my face. My lips were at his ear, and I said softly, “I’m fine. Take me running, Van.”

He set my feet on the ground and looked down at me, smoothing my hair as he thought about arguing. I could feel his questions, but instead of asking, he kissed my temple and trailed his hand down my arm, threading his fingers through mine before towing me to the door.
 

Van scooped up his camera on the way out, and we made our way out to the sound of our footfalls echoing in the hallway and stairwell. Neither of us spoke until we reached the roof when he smiled down at me.
 

“Where do you want to go?” I asked, watching him spin dials on his camera.

He took a couple of test shots and glanced at the digital face. “I just want you to run. I’ll be behind you, but try not to think about me.”

Not possible.
“Try to keep up.” I jogged backwards until he smiled, then spun around and took off.

Everything was wrong and right, fucked up and perfect, all at the same time. I climbed and ran, ignoring the headache creeping in, wanting to forget everything. I wanted to run until I was lost, even to myself. My focus turned to my muscles, the rhythm of my feet as I ran, the pauses when I jumped or vaulted.
 

Before long, everything fell away until there was nothing outside of the city and my body. The two worked together to take me to that familiar place in my mind where I was whole.

I found myself on top of Logan Tower, the same place that Van stood and took the photos that ended up as an installment in his gallery. As I stood on the ledge looking over Manhattan with burning lungs, I wanted to close my eyes and fly into the sun, explode and disappear. The wind spun around me, lifting my hair, pulling and pushing, urging me to the edge. I looked down at the street far below, where people went on with their lives in the cabs and on crowded walkways, in the buildings all around me as I wished for another life.
 

Van touched my arm, and I turned to face him. His brow was heavy with emotion, his face drawn as he slipped his arms around my waist and pulled me off the ledge. I saw everything in his eyes that could have been, everything I would lose as he set me down, held me close. And for that moment, we existed in our own universe, caught in our own gravity.

Every step that took us back to The Kyle Building twisted the knife, and when we reached the scratched up metal door, I watched over his shoulder like a rat as he punched in the code to the access door. I felt sick as I followed him down the stairs, dizzy and green. Maybe it was too soon to run after getting the shit beat out of me. Or maybe I was just fucking scum.

I followed Van down the stairs, through his hallway, and the second his apartment door closed behind me, I knew we were at the end. When he turned, the look on his face told me he knew it too.

He opened his mouth to protest, but I beat him to it.

“We need to talk.” The words were sandpaper in my mouth.

He took a step toward me. “Cory—”

I took a step back. “No, Van. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you.” A tingling ran up my arms, up my neck and cheeks.
 

Tell him as much of the truth as you can. He deserves as much as you can give him.
 

There was one solid reason why he shouldn’t be with me that no amount of truth could change.

I took a breath. “I’m not made for this.”

“Don’t do this, Cory.” The urgency in his words tugged at me like a physical tie.

I shook my head. “This is too much, too fast. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, either. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.” He didn’t move, but the words commanded me. I was compelled to give in to him, and I pictured myself doing it. It would be so easy to walk across the room and into his arms. But he had done nothing to deserve the pain I would bring him. His idea of me was nothing near the truth.

“You don’t know
anything,
Van. If you did, you’d never want me. That’s the honest truth.”

“Then tell me.” He said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“I want to.”
But I can’t.
My voice broke, the futility of it like a bomb in my chest.

In two steps, he was in front of me. “Then do it,” he said softly. “Don’t run. Stay.” His fingers slipped into my hair, to the nape of my neck, and he pulled, bringing his lips to mine.

I leaned into him, desperate. Our lips were hungry, our hands frantic on each other for the last time. I couldn’t pull away, and he knew he had me. His touch told me he was mine and I was his, and every kiss he laid on my lips was meant to convince me to stay, that he was worth it. But I already knew, and the decision was already made.

So with each kiss I gave him, I said goodbye.
 

He felt it, I knew, because he took more, pushed more, nipping at my swollen lips, his hands rough on my body, fighting to keep it for his own. He picked me up and carried me to his bedroom where he laid me in bed, our lips never parting. Regret for the selfishness of wanting him twisted around the comfort of his touch as he dragged his fingers down my chest and to the hem of my shirt as mine did the same. His hands were rough as he pulled it up, and I arched so he could tug it off. He reached behind him, grabbing a handful of his shirt to yank it off and toss it.

His brow was low, casting shadows across his face as he sat back and undressed me, pulled off my boots, then pants, then panties in a hot flurry until I was naked before him. His hand trailed down my stomach and to my pussy, his thumb finding my clit to rub it slow. He slid it down my slit, wetting my lips on his way back up to rub the bundle of nerves again as he dropped the hem of his sweatpants. His cock sprang free, and his fist closed around his shaft as he dragged it up and down to the rhythm of his thumb against my clit.

He leaned forward after a moment, laying his shaft against my pussy, and I angled my hips, cradling him as he flexed his hips against me, using his free hand to pull out his wallet. He ripped the condom open with his teeth and backed his hips away, reaching between his legs as he grabbed my wrists with his other hand. He looked down at me, looked into my eyes. I could see myself reflected in his, the person I wanted to be. But that wasn’t who I was.
 

“You’re
mine,
” he whispered as he drove into me.

I gasped, eyes pinching shut as my neck arched, arms pinned over my head. I couldn’t move, and I didn’t want to.

“Mine.” His voice trembled as he slammed into me again.

There were no more words, only the rhythm of our bodies, fast and hard as he claimed me and gave himself to me with each motion, every kiss, pushing me closer until I came, calling for him, and he followed as I’d asked.

Our bodies slowed, and he let go of my hands to hold my face, his forearms next to my shoulders and fingers in my hair. We watched each other as our hearts quieted, and I traced every line of his face, every curve and shadow, the emotion, the need mirroring my own.
 

“Don’t go,” he said and kissed the corner of my lips. “Don’t run.”

“I have to,” I whispered.

He looked down at me, and even though his words were matter-of-fact, I could see the heartache in his eyes. “No, you don’t. You’re choosing to.”

“You don’t understand.”

His jaw was set, but his thumbs shifted against my cheeks. “Enlighten me.”

“You shouldn’t want me.”

“But I do. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, not in my whole life. We’re equals. We’re matched. I can keep up with you, and you can keep up with me. You understand me. I can see it when you look at me. I can feel it, right here.” He touched my heart.

I turned my head, and my eyes found the city outside his window.

But Van didn’t look away. “You can’t throw anything at me that I can’t handle, Cory.”

The determination in his voice, his trust in me, it was all too much. I needed out. I shifted so he’d move to let me up, though he didn’t for a long moment.
 

“Please, let me go.”
 

His jaw clenched, and pain flashed behind his eyes as he sat. I rolled off the bed and reached for my clothes. When I glanced back at him over my shoulder, his lips were flat and his brow was low.
 

“I’m here when you change your mind. I know you’re scared, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

I shook my head and buttoned my jeans. “I wish it were that simple.” I reached for my shirt.

“How can I fix this if you won’t talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to fix.” I yanked on my shirt and turned to him. There was only one way to end it. I should have known he wouldn’t let me go. It was a mistake to sleep with him. A selfish mistake. My voice was hard and empty when I spoke. “You said we were made of the same metal, but we’re not. You’re gold, and I’m brass. Just let me go. There’s nothing lost here, Van. You and I are nothing.”

His face drew tighter, and a flush crept up his neck and cheeks. “Bullshit, Cory. You can’t tell me that didn’t mean anything. You can’t tell me you don’t feel this.”

I shook my head and lied. “I don’t feel this. I don’t want this.”

His wide chest rose as he sucked in a breath. “You’ll come back to me. This isn’t something you can just walk away from.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Van.”

His words were biting and sharp. “Don’t tell me what to do or what to feel. Tell me why you’re running.”

“Because I have to.” I spun around and took off, grabbing my pack and boots on the way out of his apartment for almost the last time. The next time I came back would be to steal from him.
 

I leaned against the elevator wall and pulled on my boots. When I rested my head against the cold metal and closed my eyes, guilt and shame slipped over me, into me.

We were over, and I would never be the same again.