Saving jay, p.1
Saving Jay, page 1
part #3 of Breaking Free Series
Copyright © 2015 by E.M. Abel
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Angie Fields, i love it design studio, www.facebook.com/iloveitdesign
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at http://emabelbooks.com
To my Grampy, George Woodbury Hannaford, who we lost to ALS in 2001.
You might have left this world, but your love and your spirit still live on.
Thank you for making all of us feel special and for being a shining example
of true unconditional love.
Preface
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Note from the Author
Special Thanks
I sat silently as the woman in front of me continued talking about herself. She grew up on a farm, riding horses. Her mother was a dancer, and her father was a surgeon. She giggled as she pushed her perfectly styled hair behind her bare shoulder, her well-manicured hand grazing her tan skin.
I’d lost interest thirty minutes ago when our drinks arrived.
My mother had insisted I have dinner with this woman. Apparently, she came from a good family. She met the criteria—rich, conservative, and fucking boring.
Taking a deep breath to stifle the sigh I was dying to release, I brought my gin and tonic to my lips and didn’t miss the fact that her eyes followed. Her painted lips lifted on one side, and her eyes narrowed, giving her that seductive look women often went for while stalking their prey. I was no stranger to that look. I had seen it often enough.
“So, what about you?” the woman asked.
I placed my glass back onto the table separating us. I hadn’t been listening.“What about me?”
She smiled like she’d caught me fantasizing about bending her over and fucking her when it couldn’t really be further from the truth. I was sure plenty of men had imagined it—she was a beautiful woman—but I wasn’t one of them.
“What kinds of things do you like?” She uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again, careful to graze my leg.
I took another sip from my drink and contemplated my response. I could keep playing this game, pretending I gave a shit if she liked me, or I could just be honest and get it over with.
“I like women with tattoos. I like a woman who genuinely gives a shit about what I think and doesn’t care about what’s in my bank account. I enjoy fucking women like I own them, and as you probably already know, I only own the best of everything.”
By the time I finished, her pretty pink lips were parted, and her big blue eyes had widened. It wasn’t until I lifted my hand, signaling the waiter for our check, that she realized she was being rejected. Her look of shock quickly morphed into appalled disgust.
I knew it seemed harsh to reject a woman I’d only just met, but I’d been dealing with women just like her my entire life. I had seen the insincerity in her eyes as they scanned the room around us for a bigger conquest. I had smelled the fresh leather of her three-thousand-dollar purse that she hadn’t lifted a finger to earn. I had heard the manipulation in her voice as she tried to convince me that she was interesting and cultured.
She was a fucking snob, and she had nothing to offer me besides a blow job in the back of my car. Even that would probably be mediocre. There was nothing worse than a person who’d never been desperate, never known what it was like to suffer. That kind of person lacked the compassion and soul I craved.
She still hadn’t said anything when the waiter came over with the check. I removed a random card from my wallet and gave it to him without checking the balance. I never had to check the balance because, like the woman in front of me, I’d never had to work for my money. I chose to work mostly because I was scared I’d end up just like her.
Often, the things we detested the most in others were the things we feared becoming. And I didn’t want to see myself in her eyes.
ROADS PAVED
WITH GLITTER AND GOLD,
CREATING A MOLD OF LOYALTY,
BOUGHT AND SOLD.
DIRTY HANDS IN SATIN GLOVES
CALLED LOVE.
BITTERSWEET RETREAT
SALTY TEARS OF UGLY REGRET
AND UTTER DEFEAT.
UNTIL WE MEET.
Jade
Boston, Massachusetts
I opened the door to my apartment, the smell of weed and cigarettes lingering in the air. Noticing a small pile of cocaine on my coffee table, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as my heart sank deeper in my chest.
“Yes! Oh god, yes! Harder!”
My eyes opened, and my hand reached for my throat as bile rose there. I heard panting coming from my bedroom with the familiar sound of my bedframe squeaking. My hands began to shake, and adrenaline rushed through my veins. I stared at the pair of high-heeled boots on my floor. They weren’t mine.
Blinking away the tears that had gathered in my eyes, my feet began following the trail of clothes leading to my bedroom. The closed door drew closer, the sound of betrayal growing louder with each step. Damon said a woman’s name. It wasn’t mine.
Time slowed as my hand reached for the knob and turned it, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Pushing the door open, I watched as Damon’s tattooed back came into view, his hips thrusting, with another woman’s legs wrapped around his waist.
Gasping, my hand covered my mouth, and Damon’s eyes met mine, taking whatever hope I had left.
Jay
Virginia Beach, Virginia
Five Months Later
I lay on my back, panting, the taste of pussy and regret still fresh on my tongue. Nina might not have been the one, but she could fuck like nobody’s business. She smiled lazily at me, her blonde hair fanned out on the Egyptian cotton sheets. We were in her hotel room where we would often meet when she was here on business.
About six months ago, I’d offered to buy her a drink at a hotel bar in San Diego. Nina was a beautiful woman with long hair and bright blue eyes. She worked for a government contractor and often traveled for her job. The night I’d first met her, she’d looked rigid and unapproachable, cold even. But I had seen something there, a side she kept hidden under her professional persona, much like I did.
“Thanks for coming over. I needed that,” she murmured as she stretched out beside me on the bed.
I didn’t respond. Even after all this time, Nina and I still knew very little about each other. We’d exchange pleasantries, talk about the weather, or occasionally discuss work, but that was it. We kept everything simple and uncomplicated. I supposed it was so when this thing between us ended, it wouldn’t really matter much.
“How long will you be in town for this time?” I asked as I sat up and moved my feet to the floor. I stared at the white curtains in front of me, wondering why I’d come.
“Just a few days. I’ve got some meetings on base, and then it’s back to San Diego again.”
I nodded before standing up and walking naked toward the bathroom. I could feel her watching me until I made my way toward the toilet and closed the door.
This thing between Nina and me had been easy, a way to release the tension from our lives, but as time had gone on, the lack of connection had begun to wear on me. I’d spent years fucking women I didn’t love, but after experiencing more with Asia, I’d found it hard to go back. Nina was a nice woman, ambitious and driven, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t looking for anything more than sex.
After flushing the toilet and washing up, I made my way back into the room where Nina was now wearing a robe, facing the mirror and twisting her hair back into a braid.
“How are things with you?” she asked as the reflection of her eyes met mine.
I knew I needed to tell her how I felt, but it was never easy to tell a woman you didn’t want to see her again, especially after fucking her.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I asked after picking my briefs up off the floor and pulling them back on.
She turned to face me, a suspecting look in her eyes. “Sure.”
Resting my hands on my hips, I dropped my head to take a second and collect my thoughts before peering up at her. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, Nina. Really, you’re a wonderful woman.”
Her posture softened, and her eyes moved to the floor.
“I just don’t think I can keep meeting you like this.”
&nb
“No. It’s nothing like that.” I shook my head as I sat down on the edge of the bed. “I thought this was what I needed, but now, I know it’s only distracting me from the thing I want.”
Nina straightened her back, and when I lifted my eyes to meet hers, I realized they were rimmed with tears. “Love,” she murmured.
Taking a deep breath, I rubbed the back of my neck with my hand before dropping it into my lap. “Yeah.”
Love was the one thing I always wanted most, but I never seemed to get it right.
Jade
I worked to catch my breath as my vibrator shook furiously in my right hand. The aftershocks of my orgasm were still working their way through my body as I clicked the Off button with my thumb. Sighing and licking my dry lips, I stared at my bedroom ceiling as my heartbeat slowed in my chest. Sadly, self-induced orgasms had become the highlight of my day, and although I’d become quite skilled at getting myself off, it still wouldn’t be enough to clear the melancholy cloud that had followed me all the way to Virginia. Breakups had that affect, I guessed.
Finally catching my breath, I sat up in bed and looked at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. I still looked the same, but these days, I hardly recognized myself. My lips seemed to always turn down at the ends, and the playful spark in my eyes had faded. Betrayal had a way of making you question your worth and your judgment, and I had spent the last few months doing both. I didn’t know whom to trust anymore.
Putting my hands on my face, I lifted my cheeks, giving myself a smile that resembled the Joker, before dropping my hands in my lap again. I hated feeling like this. It was so unnatural. I’d always been positive and happy, but now, I was beginning to think I’d forgotten how to be that person. I wasn’t sure who this woman was staring back at me, but she wasn’t the Jade I remembered. The real me was lost somewhere inside the chaos of heartbreak and survival, but I was determined to find her again.
Friday morning, I walked into the shop to the sound of Black Flag playing on the stereo and the sight of Dustin sitting with his feet kicked up on the front desk. I opened my mouth to remind him of my appointment when he glanced up.
“I got you, boss. Everything’s good to go,” he deadpanned before redirecting his attention back to the phone in his hand.
“Thanks.”
I took a second to stop and gaze at the walls covered in a fresh coat of royal-blue paint and eclectic artwork. It was still hard to believe all this was mine. Tossing my bag onto my brand-new leather couch, I could smell coffee brewing in the back.
“You made coffee?”
Dustin’s eyes met mine, and he gave me a cocky grin but didn’t respond. He knew how much I needed coffee to survive the morning. It was already ten, but I’d worked until five. Making my way to the back room, I poured myself a cup, added my favorite French vanilla creamer after retrieving it from the fridge, and took a sip.
Ah…
“Rough night?” Dustin asked.
That sneaky ass had followed me, and his voice was so loud that I jumped, successfully spilling coffee down the front of my blouse.
“Shit! That’s hot!”
“Fuck. My bad. Are you okay?” Dustin grabbed a wad of paper towels and tried to hand them to me.
I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off, exposing my black tank top. “What are you? A fucking ninja? Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
I glanced at Dustin and couldn’t help smiling when I saw him trying to hold back a laugh. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to laugh at myself. This was exactly why I’d moved down here—to surround myself with friends who could bring me back to life.
Luckily, I had a spare shirt stashed in one of the cabinets because things like this happened all the time. I could have just worn the tank top, but it seemed a little unwise to have my cleavage so easily visible, especially when I knew Dustin was a perv.
I grabbed the old Misfits T-shirt I’d stolen from my ex and cut up. It now had a wide neck that hung off one of my shoulders. I’d also shortened the length and the sleeves. Pulling it over my head, I adjusted it in the mirror and noticed Dustin still standing there, watching me with a lopsided grin.
Dustin was a nice guy. He was pretty hot, too, if you liked the whole tattooed bad-boy look, but he was also a huge man-whore and one of my oldest friends. I just didn’t see him as anything more than that. When I’d told him I was coming to Virginia Beach to open my own shop, he’d offered to come work for me. We’d both been born and raised in Richmond, but I’d moved away to Boston after dropping out of college nine years ago.
A lot had happened since then.
If I’d learned anything over the past nine years, it was that things were rarely how they appeared. Everyone had secrets, sides to them that they would keep carefully hidden under their skin. Being a tattoo artist, I often caught a glimpse of the things they kept there, and not all of it was pretty. People came to me for therapy, and my needles would etch the lines of their stories, of the memories they never wanted to forget. It was ironic how most of them were devastating moments in their lives, like death, illness, and heartbreak. The things that hurt the most often would require the largest badges of honor, and I always found the most tragic stories made the best art.
I’d grown up believing anything was possible, if you worked at it hard enough. My mom had taught me to never give up, and she’d always nurtured my curious nature. She had been my partner in crime. When I’d decided I wanted to be a ballerina, she’d bought me tutus and signed me up for lessons. When I’d changed my mind and decided I wanted to be an artist, she’d bought me my first paint set. She had been so full of life, always eager to learn new things and have new experiences. I was taught to see the best in people, even when they couldn’t see it themselves.
When I’d lost her to breast cancer five years ago, my world had slowly come to a halt. The stars no longer shined as bright, and the excitement of life had dwindled into nothing. I’d lost the one person who understood me, who looked at life through the same eyes.
Later that year, I’d fallen in love with Damon. Now, looking back, I thought I had just been desperately searching for someone to heal me. I’d wanted to find that spark I’d lost, something all-encompassing to make me forget how utterly alone I’d felt. I’d gotten involved with someone more broken than I was, but we had both been good at hiding it. We had been naive enough to think that love could fix us. We were wrong. After almost four years of our crazy, dramatic, tumultuous relationship, I’d finally left him, and a few months later, I’d packed up all my shit, gotten into my Camaro, and driven back to Virginia.
It was time for me to start loving myself again.
Jay
Someone had once told me that every life was like a work of art, each unique and beautiful in its own way. All our experiences and influences would leave their marks, turning the once blank canvas into something full of color and character.
For years, the most prominent artist in my life was Jason Clarke Senior, my father. As much as I’d tried to fight his influence, it could be found in every choice I’d made. Sons tended to be more malleable for their fathers, and I was no different. He was in my life but never present. Our quality time together consisted of lectures, discipline, and punishments for my inability to meet his expectations. My father was a leader, a business owner, and a mogul who had very little interest in being a dad.
When I was young, I’d fought hard to gain his love. I’d played sports, excelled in school, and behaved in a way that I hoped would please him. None of it had worked. Nothing I had done was ever enough, so I’d stopped trying. I no longer fought for his love. Instead, I’d settled for his attention, and I’d demanded it in any way that I could. I’d skipped school, fought, and fucked his friends’ daughters. I’d done anything to make him look at me, talk to me…see me.
By the time I’d moved away to college, my piece of art had been littered with desperate attempts to earn my father’s love. It’d been splashed with shame and darkened by guilt. My life had been bleak and desolate while bathed in the glow of wealth and power. I’d learned early on to trust no one. I’d known that the number in my bank account was the first thing people would see when they looked at me.
