Hurt sparks inside me, prickling my skin, but I shove it back down. I unbutton my peacoat and let it fall off my arms as I step out of my boots. I approach him standing there in the middle of his living room, hands set loosely on his hips, chest expanding and deflating with each arduous breath. When I’m only a foot away, I tug my blouse up and over my head. His jaw ticks as he watches, his eyes casing me, darkening and curious. I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, letting it slip to the floor, my eyes still hooked on his.
His nostrils flare and his fingers dig into his hip bones, but he doesn’t drop his gaze. “Stop.”
“You don’t want me?”
I’m playing with fire, but the flames are the only thing keeping me warm.
Dean sucks in a deep breath. “I want all of you, Corabelle.”
I close the gap between us, grasping his hands in mine and placing them over my breasts. I release a tiny moan when his thumbs graze my nipples. “I’m right here.”
“No.” The word comes out forced, almost painful. His right hand slides up my chest until it’s directly over my heart. “I want all of you.”
I want that, too.
I want dinner dates and movie nights and homemade breakfasts after long, magical nights of lovemaking. I want to hold hands in public. I want to go on road trips, see the ocean, and laugh until our bellies ache.
But he’s Dean.
And I’m Cora.
And we are not meant for any of those things.
I drag his hand back down until he’s cupping my breast. I arch against him, my head tipping back as our groins touch together and he starts to palm my breasts, his desire taking over. “Please.”
This puts him over the edge and he growls out, “Fucking hell.”
His arms link underneath my thighs and he hoists me up, my legs curling around his waist. He carries me to his bedroom, our mouths locking together, our bodies ready to go, but our hearts desperate for so much more.
This is enough. This is okay.
I tell myself this as Dean fucks me doggie-style on his bed, pulling my hair, nicking my skin with his teeth, and whispering dirty words into my ear.
If I can’t have all of him, I’ll settle for some of him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Miss Lawson?”
I straighten out my pencil skirt and turn from the white board, discovering far too many eyes on me. Questioning eyes. Curious eyes. Some worried, some fascinated. I give a tug to my ponytail and force a smile. “Yes, Jenna?”
It’s my first day back in the classroom. Again. First it was an abduction, then it was a suicide attempt. If my students learn anything from me, I hope it’s some valuable life lessons—that, and the greatness that is Gatsby.
“You’re bleeding.”
I suck in a breath and glance down at myself. My white button-down blouse is dappled with red droplets. My eyes shift to my wrist, where I notice blood is dripping out from beneath my bandage. I didn’t even realize I was scratching it. I clear my throat, flustered and embarrassed, as I reach for a tissue on my desk. “Goodness, I didn’t even realize. Thank you, Jenna.”
I excuse myself for a moment to clean up, the whispers and chatter lingering in my ears long after I’ve walked out of the classroom. I lock myself in a bathroom stall to collect my bearings, pressing my palms against the door and leaning forward, taking in deep, steady breaths. My gaze drifts to the blood stains seeped into the white fabric of my blouse, branding me with a sinister reminder of my pain. It laughs and mocks me, telling me this will never be over.
Deep breath. Deep breath.
Before my tears break through, the bathroom door creaks open and two fellow teachers march inside, gossiping amongst themselves. I go still when my name escapes their lips.
“…feel sorry for her. It’s got to be tough getting back to normal after something like that.”
“Suicide, though? I mean, really. Way to completely botch up your second chance at life. I can’t imagine surviving something like that and then trying to throw it all away.”
I watch through the stall crack, clutching my necklace in a clammy fist as the two women fluff their hair in the mirror and reapply lipstick.
“You’re being way too harsh. I can’t imagine surviving something like that, period. I have no idea how I would cope.”
“With alcohol and ice cream like normal people? Besides, Maryann heard from Kara that it wasn’t even about the kidnapping. She started banging her sister’s husband, the guy who was trapped with her, and the sister found out. She went psycho and OD’d.”
“Whoa. Seriously?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Shit… Cora doesn’t seem like the type. She’s so sweet.”
“Well, you heard about her liaison with Troy Adilman years back. The girl gets around.”
The women share a laugh, and I think I might get sick.
“I don’t blame her, really. That guy Dean is delicious. I totally creeped his Facebook page. Honestly, I wouldn’t say no to being chained up with him for three weeks…”
The conversation fades out as the teachers retreat from the bathroom, leaving me heaving into the toilet bowl. My necklace remains in my hand, tears streaking down my cheeks, and I tell myself over and over, “I’m okay. It’s still beating. I’m okay.”
I didn’t plan this.
Call it insanity, call it some kind of twisted closure—regardless, it wasn’t planned.
I park my car along the side of Hawthorne Lane, an older subdivision with no sidewalks and an abundance of leafless trees. My boots crunch against the thin layer of snow turned icy from the colder temperatures. I wrap my scarf around my neck as I saunter up the walkway, my nerves the only thing warming me up. When I reach the front door, my hand stops mid-air before my knuckles reach the metal screen. There’s still a Christmas wreath mounted, proudly displayed, even though it’s the end of February.
She is still holding onto something cheerful, long after it has passed.
My eyes close tight and I grit my teeth together, my arm falling to my side.
I can’t do this.
But before I can make a quick escape, the door pulls open, revealing a beautiful, young woman with long hair made of obsidian silk. Her skin is as white as the snow beneath my boots, and her chocolate eyes flash with something akin to recognition, despite having never met her before.
And then I see something else in those eyes—something I am all too familiar with. Something haunting, raw, and painful… something that tethers and binds us like blood.
I know right then that her story is true and guilt eats away at me for even doubting it.
“I had a feeling you would find me. Come in.”
My lips part to speak, but only my breath escapes me, hitting the frosty air like a puff of smoke. I nod my head and step through the threshold as she holds open the screen door. “I’m so sorry to drop by unannounced. I wasn’t sure how to contact you. My name is—”
“Cora Lawson. I know.” Tabitha offers a small smile, closing the door behind us. We share a poignant look, a knowing look, and she guides me to a brown loveseat in the main living area. “Sit down. I’m sure you have questions.”