What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’ll regret this later.
But the pain on her face was enough to bring a man to his knees.
“Why are you doing this?” Amelia asks from the passenger seat.
“I don’t know,” is the honest answer I give.
“I’ll end up sleeping in your living room or the kitchen, so I don’t see much difference from my laundry room because no way am I sleeping in that guest room.”
She’s referring to the guest room that was once Chris’s before they moved in together.
“You can have my bedroom.” Another what the fuck is wrong with me moment.
“I don’t want to sleep in your room either.”
“What the hell is wrong with my room?”
“I’m not trying to lie in the same sheets as your random hookups,” she states matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many girls have been in that bed?”
“Not as many as you’d think.”
“Pfft. I’ve heard the stories.”
“From who?”
“Christopher. Our friends. Everyone in this godforsaken town.”
“Why are you talking about my sex life, Millie?” I hiss, not glancing in her direction. “Do I ask about yours?”
“I don’t have one, idiot. You and Christopher are the only men I’ve ever been intimate with …” She lowers her voice. “The only men who’ve ever touched me.”
Her words send a jolt of guilt through me. Yet, for some reason, that guilt is then consumed by memories of what it was like, being with her … touching her. I want to scream at my cock as it stirs. This conversation needs to move to something else—fast.
I shift in my seat. “I’d prefer not to hear about any of those times.”
“Come on.” She smacks the center console. “Don’t act like Chris didn’t get dumb and talk about him and me before.”
“I shut him down every time.” It’s easier to tell her these things when the only light showing our faces is when we pass a streetlamp. It’s easy to not be a dick when we’re in the dark.
“Yeah, whatever,” she grumbles. “Boys will be boys.”
“You think I wanted to hear about the first girl I slept with sleeping with my best friend?”
She goes quiet.
I always tuned out Chris when he talked about him and Amelia being intimate. Not that he was a douchebag who bragged about it all the time.
Chris tried to get Amelia and me to get along. He’d ask me to go on double dates with them, but I always made up a bullshit excuse. I tended to steer clear of them together, but that doesn’t mean it never happened.
Not another word is said until we’re back at Down Home. I park in the back, kill the engine, and unbuckle my seat belt. Amelia doesn’t. She’s frozen in place, staring ahead, as if her mind is on something but nothing at the same time. I’m not sure if it’s because she isn’t confident if she can walk or if she isn’t comfortable with going into my apartment.
“Do you want to get out of the truck or sleep in it?” And for the first time since the entire ride, I pay her a glance.
Her head is lowered, and she’s biting her nails.
“It might not be as comfortable as your laundry room though,” I add.
She shoots me a look of annoyance before rubbing her tired eyes. “Yes, but more annoying since you’ll be there.”
“For someone helping you out, I’d think you’d be more appreciative.”
“I never asked for your help, nor did I ask to be dragged out of my home.”
“Whoa. You willingly walked to my car and didn’t fight me once on coming here, sweetheart.”
“I’m tired.” She takes a deep breath. “Let’s continue this argument tomorrow.”
Same. Fucking same.
“Let’s go inside then.”
I climb out of my truck, and this time, she doesn’t fight me when I help her out of the vehicle. There’s no struggle or conversation as we walk through the parking lot, up the stairs, and into my apartment. I grip her shoulders, ensuring she’s level, before hitting the lights.
She leans against the wall, and her voice is monotone as she says, “Wow. It’s been forever since I’ve been here.” Her gaze is straight forward, and she doesn’t look around the room.
“It has.” I cup her elbow and walk her to my bedroom. “Here you go, princess.”
She turns to stare at me, wide-eyed. “What?”
I scratch my jaw. “Did you think I lied about offering you my room?”
“Uh … actually … maybe … yes.” A blush spreads along her cheeks.
“We’d better get you in there before I change my mind and make you sleep in my closet or fridge.”
She shuffles into the room and mutters, “A made bed … shocker.”
I move past her to grab two shirts and two pairs of sweats, and I toss her one of each before taking my toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom.
She hugs the shirt to her stomach. “Where will you sleep?”
I turn on the bedside lamp. “Why do you care?”
“Um … maybe because I’m taking your bed.”
“Go to sleep, Amelia.” I walk to the door. “I’m fucking exhausted.”
I hit the light switch, the room dimming, and as I go to shut the door, she speaks.
“Hey, Jax?”
“Yeah?” I keep my back to her.
“Have you read your letter yet?”
My shoulders tense. “Nope. Have you?”
She sighs. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid of what it says.”
“Me too.”
Not wanting to continue this conversation, I shut the door and walk away before she tries to ask any more questions. My chest is tight as I stalk to the guest bathroom, drop my toiletries on the counter with more force than necessary, and then place both palms on each side of the sink. I bow my head, and for what seems like the first time tonight, I really absorb everything that happened.
Today felt like one of the longest days of my life.
Tears prick at my eyes, and I violently shake my head to get rid of them. I drag my arms up, glance at my reflection in the mirror, and then quickly look away. Amelia and I hurled one too many insults and too many truths at each other tonight.
“Would you be able to do it, Jax? Would you be able to go into that same room after you found the love of your life dead in there?”
I shut my eyes. “Goddamn it.”
Then, I splash water onto my face, brush my teeth, and head into the living room. I shrug out of my shirt, throwing it onto a chair, dump my shit from my pockets onto the coffee table, and then change my pants. I snag a blanket and my phone before collapsing on the couch. When I check my phone, I find a text from my dad.
Dad: Frankie said you took Amelia home?
Not exactly home, but he doesn’t need to know all the details.
Me: I did.
Dad: Thank you.
My head pounds as I toss my phone on the coffee table.
After making myself comfortable on the couch, I throw my arm over my face and groan.
My thoughts drift to the letter.
The one I’m too terrified to open.
And I sure as hell can’t open it while Amelia is in my bed.