ONE
Jake
Owen didn't know who he was really running from when he took off from Coral Pines. In his mind he was probably escaping the police and his imminent incarceration for the shooting of my daughter.
What he was really running from was his imminent death.
I'd been up for three days straight but felt as if I could've bench pressed a semi-truck and rowed across the Coral Pines River and back and still not have fully exerted myself.
I was fucking elated.
I was also scared out of my mind.
Over the years it was that lack of fear that helped me to be able to carry out my work, and do it well.
But when I stood on the rickety front porch of Bee's Nan's house with one hand on the doorknob, I couldn't bring myself to turn it. I was frozen in fucking fear, unable to face what might happen behind that door once it opened.
What would Abby think of me when she came face to face with the blood that was literally still on my hands? When the reality of what I'd done, what I did, and what I would do again was right in front of her. What happens when 'Jake kills people' is no longer just an abstract idea?
Bee knew I was going to find and kill Owen, she encouraged me by showing me the pictures of the aftermath of Owen's vicious attack on her. She knew my blood would boil, and I would seek immediate revenge. When I turned that knob and Abby saw me, saw the bloody proof of who I really was staring her in the face and it all became real, would she still feel like she could accept that part of me? Would she still want me in her life? In Georgia's?
Abby loved me, for exactly who I was, fully knowing the devil lived inside me. Knowing of the brutality that was part of the deep seeded makeup of who I truly was.
It was easy to live with a theory, something that almost wasn't real because it wasn't something she had to deal with. It was entirely different to come face to face with the truth of it all.
Fuck.
I could've washed off the blood and pretended like I didn't murder the motherfucker who'd almost killed the only two people I would die a thousand times over for, that the evidence of what I'd done wasn't dried on my skin. It would have been easier that way, but only in the short term. My plans for Abby and Bee were long term. I didn't want to be clean when she saw me. I wanted to rip off the band-aid and take whatever was coming so we could move forward as a family.
My family.
Over and over again, Bee told me she loved me, But I needed her to see it.
I needed her to see me.
No matter who I'd killed in the past I'd never felt even the slightest bit sick about it, never even given it a second thought, but just the idea of losing Bee again made my fucking stomach roll.
I never should've left her.
But I was a fucking coward.
I never should've come back for her.
But I was a fucking coward.
I'd used a weak-as-shit rumor as my excuse to leave Bee because I was nothing but a weak, weak man who convinced himself whole heartedly that there was a possibility that it was true, that after our one perfect night together, she could go and fuck Owen, the boy next door/psycho rich kid.
What I was really doing was pushing Bee away before she got too close. Before she could really understand what made me tick and made the decision to leave me, I left her.
I’ve regretted it every second of every hour of every day since then.
For four years, I lived my life with my eyes closed and without Bee, because for the first time someone had the capability of actually hurting me instead of the other way around. So I used the bullshit rumor Owen's friend told me about Abby and Bee as my way to leave Coral Pines as quickly as my bike would take me before Bee had the chance to tear me apart at the seams.
The problem was that Bee was so fucking deep under my skin that every day she wasn't with me was a torture all it's own. But at the end of the day, I'd always thought that I'd done the right thing by her, by leaving, no matter the reason, because I knew she was better off without me.
I was positive I'd done the right thing for once in my life.
After four years, of the need to see her, talk to her, touch her, hadn't faded. It became stronger. So strong that my need for her was stronger than my need for anything else.
When it came down to it, I didn't come back because I thought she needed me. I came back because I was a selfish prick who couldn't stay the fuck away from her.
I loved her. Always had. Never thought I would be capable of that kind of love, but from the very moment I'd ripped that hoodie off her head in that junk yard and a beautiful pale faced red head stared up at me from the wrong side the barrel of my gun, I knew my life would never be the same.
It was because of her.
I didn't want to run, didn't want to live without her anymore.
So I decided not to.
I've doled out my fair share of torture, but none could've been more painful or cruel than the time I'd spent without Bee. I'd packed the saddle bags of my bike, days before I'd even heard of my father’s death, and took off that very night.
I headed back to Coral Pines.
I was going back to get my girl.
I decided to stop being a pussy and just open the fucking door, when it swung wide open and I avoided a head injury by mere inches.
"Sorry, I heard your bike." Bee said, staring up at me with those wide eyes that I could get lost in all day every day. Her robe hung open, perky little rounded tits peeked out the top of her favorite Guns-N-Roses tank top, the tight shorts she always slept in left little to my imagination.
I'd spent a lot of time imagining when it came to Abby.
I stood my ground on the porch, feeling like this time I came in that I needed permission of some sort to cross into her house. "You're bleeding" Bee said, frantically patting me down, inspecting me for wounds.
"Bee, baby, look at me" I said, trying to get her attention. She kept going, kept looking for the source of the blood. Grabbing her arms, I held them down tightly to her sides, forcing her to look up at me. "Baby, it's not my blood" I assured her. Bee finally paused when she processed what I was trying to tell her. Much to my surprise she sighed with relief, slowly running the back of her hand down the side of my face, cradling my jaw in her palm.
This was it. This was when I fully expected her to turn and slam the fucking door in my face. If she didn't want me anymore I could at least live the rest of my pitiful life knowing she wouldn't have to be afraid of Owen.
At least I'd given that much to her.
Bee could reject me.
She could call me a monster and tell me she never wanted to see me again.
As much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, after four years apart I'd moved way beyond a 'no'.
To be perfectly fucking honest...
I wasn't sure I could take no for an answer.
Bee didn't give me a chance to imagine what that kind of scenario it would look like because she placed her hand flat on my chest. "It's done?" she whispered.
I took a deep breath, "It's done, baby," I assured her.
And then she did it.
Something that put to rest all my inner dialogue about what she would do or how she would feel.
She smiled.
That smile reached from one ear to the other and was the most gut–twisting, fantastic thing I'd ever witnessed. "Tell me everything" Bee said, excitement flashed in her eyes.
She looked possessed.
She was hungry.
I was instantly hard.
I lifted Bee up into my arms and crushed my lips to hers. I'd waited way too fucking long for that kiss. Soft but demanding. Angry and passionate. A bit of heaven and a bit of hell. I put everything I ever wanted to tell her into that kiss. Every I love you, every I'm sorry, and every thank you for loving me back was said without words. I kicked the front door closed and carried Bee to her room. Pausing in the hallway, I gestured to the closed door across from Bee's.
"Georgia?" I mouthed.
"Fell asleep with her headphones on listening to Disney songs," Bee whispered, biting her lip.
I fucking LOVED my girl.
"Yay fucking Disney," I muttered.
What happened after that could only be described as frantic.
In her room, we tore at each other’s clothes like our lives depended on being naked. It had been so long since I'd seen all of her. When I unhooked her bra and tossed it to the floor, I stepped back to admire my girl.
I know I'm a sick fuck, but her scars turned me on more now than they did during our first time together. They were a little less visible under her sleeve of tattoos, but they were there, and I couldn't help but step forward and trace my tongue around the deep red lines around her collar bone.
"My girl is so strong, so smart, and so fucking sexy" I spoke into her skin like I was talking directly to her scars, kissing and licking each and every one of them as I made my way to her shoulder and down her arm.
I was about to come in my pants like a twelve year old boy.
I needed Bee, and I was going to show her how very fucking much. I lunged at her, pressing my lips to hers, our mouths opening and our tongues mingling together like they were the ones fucking. I picked her up and carried her to the bed, tossing her onto the mattress and falling on top of her, our lips melded together, our bodies speaking to each other in a language that only two fucked-up people like ourselves could understand.
I'd always belonged to Bee, ever since that very first night. But right then, in her tiny bedroom in her Nan's house, years after we first met, she was finally going to be all mine, and I was going to make sure every part of her body knew who it belonged to.