Katie
When I follow Jack into the church basement, every head turns in his direction. Not because he’s the youngest one in the room—along with me—and new to the group. No, it’s more.
He’s like a treasure chest with blinding light shooting out from the lock. It’s easy to see there’s something substantial inside. The wood splintering and revealing its contents in your presence would be a miracle. Who wouldn’t want to witness it?
The day we met, I found Jack’s charisma and looks entirely too overwhelming, but glimpses of the man he’s been hiding pulled me in, revealing more by the day. Making me feel at home. Jack . . . feels like home. My hand is tucked inside his, the smell of his leather jacket and soap keeping me cocooned in tight. I look up at him and know what everyone else sees. A pirate, a rom-com movie actor, a womanizer. A beautiful man who couldn’t possibly want for anything. But I’m more compelled by the man whose grip increases the farther we wade into the crowded room. The man who smiles trying to cover his nerves. I want to climb into his arms and worship him for being so brave. When he glances down at me, I can tell he senses that. Already he can read me, same as I read him.
Case in point, Jack asking me on the walk over what I’m upset about. Not wanting to remove focus from the upcoming meeting, I’d answered, “Nothing.” How would I explain the guilt I’ve been weighed down with since another phone call from my da this evening? He brought up the Olympic trials again, this time with far less subtlety. Since I won the gold medal, he’s been livelier, but that spirit is beginning to fade from his voice, and in turn, so is my hope for being free.
“We should have dessert for dinner tonight,” I blurt.
The strained lines around his eyes grow soft. “Been hiding a sweet tooth from me, Snaps?” He bends down and brushes a kiss across my forehead. “Damn, I had flowers hiding in my jacket the last couple days. But maybe I could have tempted you with chocolates.”
All that time he spent sitting in the lobby, he’d been hiding flowers? An anchor sinks in my stomach. “What kind were they? So I can imagine them, at least.”
“Roses, honey.”
I whimper. “What color?”
He laughs, probably because I sound so pathetic. I don’t care, though, because that’s how I feel, knowing I’d walked past a gift-bearing Jack. But if my wistfulness has succeeded in making Jack less nervous—and it appears it has—I don’t mind morphing into mush for a while. “This is where is gets complicated,” he says. “Did you know different-colored roses mean different things? Yellow is friendship, but it also means sorry. I was sorry as hell, but I didn’t want to give you some goddamn friendship flowers, right? So I added red.” Quicker than I can react, he snatches a kiss from my lips, letting his smiling mouth hover close. “Red means passion. Which is a fancy way of saying I spend a sick amount of time picturing you naked and moaning.”
“Right,” I breathe. “Red and yellow.”
His voice falls to a whisper near my ear. “Don’t forget white for the innocence you gave me. Pink for admiration.” A hand ghosts over my hip, rasping the material of my shirt against skin that’s grown flushed. “Blue for the impossible, because I never thought I’d get you back.”
“That’s a lot of colors.” I have no clue how I manage to respond or function like a normal human being, my heart is hammering so hard in my throat. “If I’d seen the roses, I never would have been able to walk past without stopping, you know.”
“Yeah. I know you’re sweet like that.” His sigh brushes back some flyaway strands of hair. “I think . . . I wanted you to come for just me.”
“I’m here now.”
He nods slowly, like he still can’t believe it. “What’s the reason behind dessert for dinner?”
I twine my arms around his waist, inhaling deeply of his scent. “It’s something to look forward to. No matter what happens in the next hour, there’s chocolate on the horizon.”
He’s quiet a moment. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“If you’d all like to take a seat?”
The firm, but friendly female voice from the opposite side of the room sends threads of tension back through Jack, but he comes along when I lead him to the rows of chairs. We take our seats halfway back, sharing our row with an older gentleman. There’s a short introduction from the group moderator, a lady in glasses and a heavy sweater, before she begins a presentation about the program. More specifically, she talks about the first step out of twelve, which is admitting a person’s life has become unmanageable, because of alcohol.
Silence falls, heavy and expectant, when she asks if there are newcomers in the room. Jack doesn’t raise his hand and I don’t expect him to, even though a handful of others indicate it’s their first time. Over the next twenty minutes, people leave their chairs and approach the podium, sharing challenges from the week, telling the room how many consecutive days they’ve been sober. Without looking over at Jack, his stillness and almost breathless attention makes me hopeful the meeting, finding out he isn’t alone, is having an effect on him.
There doesn’t appear to be anyone else interested in sharing, so the moderator returns to the podium. “Thank you all so much for your honesty today. If there’s no one else—”
Jack stands up. He’s still holding my hand as he tries to exit the row, but I realize it’s me clutching his fingers in a death grip, probably out of pure shock. He leans down and kisses my knuckles, giving me a reassuring nod as he lets go. I watch in disbelief as he strides around the grouping of chair to the room’s front, running a finger around the back of his collar, boots thudding on the floor. Just like when we entered the room, Jack’s very presence has the attendees in thrall. No one moves an inch, their curiosity spiking around me.
“Uh, hi. I’m Jack. And I wasn’t planning on coming up here.” He slides a glance at the moderator who has taken her seat once again in the front row, then his gaze finds mine and holds. Holds tight. “But I’m not sure when I’ll have my girl here with me again. I need to get this out now, when I know . . . when I hope . . . she’ll be around afterwards to help make it better.”
I have fallen flat on my arse for Jack. It’s crazy, isn’t it? Yes. Mental. It’s like he’s dragged my heart up to the podium behind him, though, bumping and stuttering along. I would be positive he’d accomplished that feat of physics if I couldn’t feel the organ slamming sideways in my chest, the impact reverberating through my entire body like an earthquake. I’m so proud and scared I might pop.
“This isn’t pretty, Katie, I’m sorry,” Jack says, yanking back my focus, slaying me with those green eyes from yards away. I shake my head to let him know I don’t care how ugly, that I won’t leave no matter what, but he’s already begun. “I drink because I don’t want to think. Like a lot of you said.” He pauses so long, I’m afraid he’s lost his nerve. “I’d tried beer before, but the first time I actually got drunk was my eighteenth birthday. My mother wasn’t home—” His words cut off abruptly, his throat muscles sliding up and down. “My mother wasn’t home, but some of her friends were there. And they got it in their head that I deserved a celebration.” Green eyes flash to mine. “They poured me some whiskey and it was fine at first. For hours. I felt . . . great, actually. Like nothing could touch me. I knew these women well, right? I wasn’t acting like myself—I was wasted—but, hey, at least I was being safe about it.
“Later on, though, we ended up in one of the bedrooms. I don’t even know how we got there, but suddenly they have me on the bed.”
It takes Jack some time to continue and I’m grateful. Grateful as the full minute ticks by, so I can force my breathing to stay normal. My bones are shaking, but I’ll be damned before I let Jack see the righteous anger beginning to trickle in, my intuition beginning to hum in anticipation of the oncoming blow.
“They tied my hands.” He clears his throat. Loudly. Like he can’t control it. “I didn’t like what was happening and I wanted to express that, but I kept my mouth shut instead. Men were supposed to want sex—I was supposed to—so saying no would mean something was wrong with me, right? I don’t know. It felt wrong . . . but my body reacted, so they kept going. Felt like it went on forever. Why didn’t I say no?” His eyes are apologetic, focused on me and it’s everything I can do not to cry. “In my head, I was screaming it, but I just bit down and let it happen. Let them use me. And through it all, the only thing that made what was happening bearable was being drunk. I . . . hid inside the buzz. Let it blank my mind. Same way I do now every time I think about what happened. Or shit, any time I—” He throws back his shoulders, jaw clenching. “Anyway, that’s all I got. Thanks for listening.”
Jack
Katie hasn’t said a word since we left the meeting. Did I go too far?
Her fingers are threaded through mine as we walk towards her hotel. That physical contact and the fact that she hasn’t split yet is the only thing keeping me sane. Swear to God, I didn’t plan on dropping my baggage on a room full of strangers. I also wasn’t expecting to listen to their stories and feel like I belonged there. I’m not the only one that plans their day around drinking or not drinking. How about that?
So I’d taken a shot and shed about nine layers of skin, right there for Katie to see. And Jesus Christ, I’m not sure it helped yet. There was an expectation in my gut that finally saying the words I’d kept inside for eight years would be a relief. Or I’d experience some magical lightness. Honestly, though? I still feel dirty. Still feel like Jack.
It seems like forever I’ve been punishing myself for not saying no that night. For closing my eyes and vanishing into my buzz while control was taken from me. Maybe it would have been more productive or therapeutic to be mad at the women who tied me up, but that anger and guilt has always been directed squarely at myself. I should have done something. Said something. If I’d tried hard enough to stop what was happening, my mind and body wouldn’t have retreated to two different camps afterwards, my body continuing to seek satisfaction while my mind told me fulfilling those needs was a weakness. Just like it had been that night.
Nothing I do with Katie makes me feel weak, though. Only strong. Capable. I choose to be clearheaded when I’m with her. I don’t have to make bad decisions to justify my guilt, because for the first time, someone believes I’m capable of making good ones. I’m slowly starting to trust that belief as well, but I’m still standing on shifting sand after exposing myself at the meeting. Not knowing what’s on Katie’s mind is tearing me up.
We ride the elevator to her hotel room in silence, although her head is lying on my shoulder, so I’m calm. For now. When we step inside her room, though, the tension inside me ratchets up, watching Katie rock on the balls of her feet, standing just out of my reach.
“If you can’t look at me the same now, honey, just tell me.” My blood is either a thousand degrees or twenty below zero. I can’t tell. “Put me out of my misery.”
Katie goes still. “Can’t look at you the same?”
“Yeah.” I rip off my jacket and fumble it, sighing when it falls to a heap on the floor. Part of me wants to do the same, the honesty of the last couple of hours making me exhausted. “Look, you wanted to help. But if this problem of mine is too much for you, I understand, huh? I’m sure as hell going to argue and try to change your mind, but give me a starting point. Something, Katie.”
“I do look at you differently,” she whispers through stiff lips.
Her words hit my stomach like a semitruck. “Okay. All right—”
“You’re even more amazing to me now.” Her exhale is so heavy, she sags a little. “You’re brave, Jack. And yes, you’re stubborn to carry that awful memory around without telling anyone, because what happened to you was awful. It was wrong. But to walk up in front of those people a-and bare yourself like that? I’m so proud of you. That’s how I’m looking at you.”
“So what is it?” Relief is finally drifting in, lightening the metal I swallowed eight years ago. Knowing Katie doesn’t think worse of me—is even proud of what I did—has allowed it to happen, and fuck, it’s like running at top speed without moving my legs. Almost. “Why aren’t you over here in front of me, where I need you to be?”
She presses both hands to her cheeks without responding.
“Katie.” I breathe in. Out. “Please.”
“You told me once that looking at yourself in the mirror after sex is difficult. Now that I know why, now that I know you drink to numb yourself, I’m worried you have that same problem with me. After we—”
“No.” A laugh tumbles out of my throat, because this worry of hers is one I can lay to rest. Finally, something I can actually control. “When I told you everything is different with you, I meant it.” My voice is sliced raw and I don’t care. “I’ve never held someone through the night until you. Never needed someone’s skin against mine so badly I can’t eat or think. Not ever.” Her body relaxes and she’s about to come to me, but I’m not done. I didn’t share everything in that meeting because some of the explanation belongs only to Katie. “Before what happened, women always looked at me a certain way. And I understood that interest between men and women because I lived with it, right there in my home. But after that night, it became less about fun and more about . . . doing what I was meant for. If I couldn’t open my mouth and say no that night, why shouldn’t the answer always be yes? Wasn’t I supposed to enjoy it?” I tuck my thumbs through my belt loops. “By then, I was drinking more and more often. So I stopped caring about being anything more than . . . serviceable. That’s what I was good for. This whole time, until you, that’s how I’ve been living.” I pause for a breath. “It’s more than that, though. I’ve hated myself for not saying no and . . . fuck, until you, I was saying yes to punish myself.”
A whimpering sound slips out of Katie’s mouth and my body moves on instinct, closing the distance between us, cupping her face in my hands. “Until me?” She covers my hands with hers. “You promise it always feels right afterwards now?”
“Right is an understatement, Katie,” I say, my tone rough. “You looked for more in me so I went to go find it. There’s no guilt in saying yes to you when you look at me . . . and I feel like more. Like I might have something to give.”
“You are more.” She studies me a beat, then nods, her gaze shining. “But I’d like to shank those bitches.”
A laugh puffs out of me, making her frown. This girl. She’s in my goddamn bones and she’s going to stay there. Whether she leaves or not. “If you’d come to my mother’s the morning I fixed the boiler, you’d have gotten your chance.”
Flames light in her eyes. “They were there. That’s why you—”
“Yeah.” My thumb brushes her cheek. “I’m sorry. It caught me by surprise.”
Just remembering the way they’d hugged me, leered at me, is multiplying the hot clench in my stomach. Does the urge to drink accompany it? Yes. Hell yes, it does. Shooting at the range helped calm the cravings over the last couple of days, but I have no weapon in my hand at the moment. So I focus on counting the freckles strewn across Katie’s nose until I come out the other side of the need. This demon is one I’m going to fight forever, but I’m not going to give up. When I decided to stop hurting the people who took the risk of caring about me, I didn’t take that vow lightly.
“I’m sorry you had to face that alone,” Katie murmurs, watching me with concern. “Sorry for every time you have to face it in the future.”
“It’s okay,” I say, to make her feel better. Even though it’s growing more obvious with every passing minute that I’m going to be pretty goddamn far from okay when she leaves. The worst of the craving has passed, but there’s still a layer of grime on me, leftover from spilling my guts. Laying a kiss on Katie’s nose, I back towards the bathroom. “Listen, I’m just going to rinse off. Be right out.”
Her right shoulder lifts slowly, tucking up near her ear. “You didn’t shower after training today?”
“Yeah, I did.” Katie is seeing right through me again, so I turn on a heel and enter the bathroom, already stripping off my shirt. After flipping on the hot water tap, I meet my own eyes in the mirror, which is like a slap in the face. A reminder to be truthful and stop hiding. “All those things I said . . .” Her small form appears in the doorway. “They’re just sitting on my skin, you know. Making me feel filthy. I don’t want to feel anything but clean when I touch you, Snaps.” Because her expression is so heartbroken, staring back at me in the mirror, I toss her a wink over my shoulder. “You are going to let me touch you, right?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation, before closing the bathroom door and peeling off her shirt. Damn, she looks pissed. Pissed and topless. My cock presses against the zipper of my jeans, begging to be let out. “But you’re clean for me right this minute. Just as you are. So I’m not letting you wash an inch.”
My heartbeat drowns out the drumming shower spray.