His lips flatten out. “I don’t think he could go through what he did and ever come out the same, man.”
I fall helplessly into a chair and rip at my hair. I only stop the self-abuse when Tierra sits down in my lap, needing comfort.
This can’t be his life.
It has to get better.
It has to.
It’s after midnight by the time I decide to reply to Charlotte. I spent the entire day at the hospital in and out of Terrence’s room, checking on him. Each time, he seemed in such agony. So confused. Afraid. All it did was charge this violent storm of emotions inside me.
Spinning and spinning and spinning.
I feel out of control with madness and rage.
The urge to blame Charlotte is overwhelming.
She got behind that wheel. She did this to him.
It’s the only reason I can explain why I’m sitting outside the door of her dad’s loft. Needing to see her. To blame and punish her. To fucking yell at her.
Don’t think of her soft, silky hair.
Don’t think of her brave blue eyes.
Don’t think of the way she feels like a perfect fit in my arms.
Don’t. Fucking. Think. Of. That.
Instead, I try to remind myself of the drugged out girl who caused all this heartache and pain. I try to remember her. Not my Charlie girl. Charlotte fucking English.
My hands tremble as I shoot her a text.
Me: I’m outside.
I wait for a couple of minutes and then the soft click of the lock tells me she’s here. The door creaks open, revealing the monster to me.
Beautiful goddamn monster.
I’m shaking with anger mixed with need. I want to pull her to me and hug her. I also want to call her every name in the book. Instead, I do nothing. I wait for her to come to me. Slowly, she steps into the hallway, looking too innocent. I want to dig deep and find the horrible person who did this to Terrence.
Where is she?
The girl standing in front of me with her messy blond hair and toned, bare legs isn’t her. This is my fucking girl. Not that monster.
She approaches, her brows furled in concern, hands tentatively reaching like she’s afraid to touch me. It makes me wonder what I look like. Is anger billowing from me like the heat of a bonfire? Is there wildness in my eyes? What makes her afraid to come closer?
I snag her wrist, yanking her toward me. Her palm rests on my chest as she stares up at me. My heart beats hard, trying to escape its cage, and there’s no doubt she can feel it. I grip her jaw, searching her eyes for something I can latch onto and rage over. All I find is worry and sadness.
I can’t take it.
I can’t take her.
My throat hurts trying to keep my emotions at bay. Holding it all in is painful. I release her, dropping my arms to my sides. If I keep touching her, I’ll do something regrettable.
Soft fingertips crawl up my neck and then caress my jaw. I close my eyes when her lips press to mine, unable to kiss her back. Gently, she runs her fingers into my hair and massages my scalp. Tension bleeds from me as I relax at her touch.
I expect words, but she has none for me.
Honestly, the words would set me off. Her touch does wonders to calm the storm raging inside of me. I drop my head down, my forehead resting against hers. Finally, I reopen my eyes to stare at her. This close, she has direct access right into my head. I hope she can see all the pain and heartache because I can’t keep it all in anymore.
The urge to touch her is overwhelming. This time, I don’t want to cause pain. I need to filter mine out through her. Maybe her touch will make it feel better. I grip her hips, tightening my hold as I draw her nearer. She angles her head, slanting her mouth over mine. I accept the kiss this time, greedily searching for relief in her taste. Her slick tongue that tastes like toothpaste cools the heat burning inside me. I want to suck it all off her tongue and keep her locked in my arms forever. My palms slide to her ass over her skimpy sleep shorts. I grab a handful of her ass, squeezing. Her breath hitches when I run my fingers along the underside of the fabric, touching her bare skin beneath.
“Come inside,” she pleads. “You’re tired. You need rest.”
I let her lead me inside, wondering how I lost the hateful fire and instead sought solace in her. She locks the apartment and leads me to her room. Once we reach the dark space, she crouches down to remove my shoes. Then, she unbuckles my jeans. As soon as they hit the floor, she works at pulling off my shirt.
“Come to bed, baby,” she murmurs, taking my hand, urging me to go with her.
Fuck, I’m so tired.
Emotionally drained.
Fading fast.
Like a fucking wussy, I let my fucking girl help me into bed. She covers me up with the blankets and then curls around me like she has the power to hold me together despite my rapid shattering.
I toy with a strand of her hair, scowling into the darkness. “I came here to yell at you.”
“Do you want to yell at me?”
“Not anymore.”
She finds my lips with hers, pressing a soft kiss there. “You can yell later if you feel like it. Sleep now. Let me hold you.”
The last bit of energy dissipates in the air around us. I fade into the darkness, thankful for the reprieve from the anguish. I’m a devilish man with cruel intentions, but instead of acting on them, I let the angel kiss away all the bad.
“Don’t let me go,” I murmur, half asleep.
“Never, Cal. I’m never letting you go.”
Charlotte
Cold.
Empty.
Sad.
I wake
