CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

MCKINLEY

A year in the hospital did me good. I learned a lot about abuse, and about myself. I’m not the same woman I was. Two years after being released, I have gone on with my life and, if the pictures are any indication, so has Jagger. I still think about him every day, but it’s not nearly as painful as it once was. My therapist calls it healing. I still deal with the guilt for everything I put him through, but I’ve learned that, at the time, I didn’t see things clearly. I hope he is as happy as I am now. He deserves the world, and I don’t believe for a second that he’s waiting for me. Women fall to his feet on a nightly basis, and after what I put him through, I can’t blame him for moving on. After all, that is what I asked him to do. Besides, my therapist is right. Living in the past is a dangerous game.

I open the door to my apartment after my day of work is done. Mia will call me soon, and we’ll talk on the phone. She used to come and see me, but she doesn’t anymore. She has her own issues now, and she does what she can to stay as reclusive as possible. I don’t judge her, because we all have our demons, and she was supportive of me, so now it’s my turn. Now, I really get how hard it is to watch someone in pain.

Opening my door, I step inside with a smile on my face. I have no idea why, but the scent of cinnamon makes me smile. I buy myself cinnamon scented pine cones every year during the Christmas season, which, of course, starts in October if you ask the stores. I won’t complain, because it means I get to enjoy my favorite scent for longer.

I walk to my bedroom to get changed after my day working in a hospital. My clothing always comes off before I do anything else, because hospitals have tons of germs. I whip off my shirt, and the second I step into my room, decorated in various shades of purple, I stop in my tracks. Am I going insane? For real, this time? I swear I’m staring at Jagger, laying on my bed, hands behind his head, feet crossed so leisurely. I’m imagining it. I must be.

I stand holding my shirt, staring with an open mouth in utter shock.

He chuckles. “I said I would wait a hundred years, but I didn’t know how difficult it would be.”

Holding my shirt in front of my chest, I ask, “How the hell did you get into my apartment?”

“Oh baby, we live in a shitty world, and nobody does anything for the right reasons anymore. It’s all about money. I paid off your lease, and asked for the key, since I’m helping you move.”

I shake my head, as if I can knock sense back into my brain.

“What?”

He gets off the bed and approaches me, and I tremble. I don’t know if it’s because what he said made me angry, or if I’m scared. I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now. I’m so conflicted, I can barely see straight.

Placing his hand on the side of my neck, he leans down and inhales with a groan.

“I’m tired of waiting, baby. I’m losing my goddamn mind. The music is dull without you. There are no words left to sing. You took away my sole reason for existing.”

He drags his lips down my neck, and I shiver from the contact. When you’ve been with someone like Jagger, and then it’s over, you remember it felt good, but you don’t remember exactly how good.

“Why didn’t you find me? You were supposed to find me, and glue my heart back together. Was this all one-sided? Did you feel nothing for me?”

His voice breaks toward the end, and it guts me.

“I felt everything for you. When I was released from the hospital, it had been a year. I googled you, and saw picture after picture of you with women. It appeared you had moved on, so I was letting you live your life in peace, without a ghost from your past popping up when you least expected it.”

Jagger presses his forehead to mine. “They were just pictures. I take a lot of them, but I guarantee you, none of those women were with me. I told you I would wait for you. And I did.”

Pulling his head back, he has a heated expression in his eyes. I can’t tell if it’s anger, but I suspect it is.

“Who is Sydney?”

How the hell does he know about Sydney?

“The internet, baby. I have it just like you do,” he answers my unasked question.

“A man I’ve been seeing,” I squeak, like a scared little mouse.

“Does he fuck you as good as I used to?”

I can feel my cheeks heat bright red as I gasp, “Jagger. Oh, my god. No. I’ve been on three dates with him. We haven’t even kissed.”

Leaning down, he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it gently.

“You’ve lost weight, but you’re still so fucking beautiful.”

He takes my wrists in his hands, and stares at the scars.

“I thought I would die the day you did this. And then you left me, and I wanted to die.”

I moan softly when he kisses my scars.

“I needed you. So many times. Desperately. The day things ended, I was destroyed. Maybe I should be over you by now, but I’m not. And I never will be.”

Placing my hand on his face, I do the only thing I can do, I apologize.

“I’m sorry, Jagger. For everything I put you through.”

He shakes his head. “The worst part is I’d go through it all over again, to feel just one time what you made me feel.”

Sliding my hand to the back of his neck, I pull his head down. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”

Tentatively, I press my lips to his, unsure of how he’ll react, but he is here for a reason. With one hand he pulls my shirt out of my hand, that held it the entire time, tosses it on the floor, and he tangles the other in my hair as he growls into my mouth, and kisses me back.

He pulls my hair, forcing my head to the side, and swirls his tongue around mine with the occasional grunt. Turning me around, his lips still on mine, he walks me backward to my queen-sized bed. Breaking our kiss, he lays me down.

“I need you. Tell me you need me, baby. Tell me you missed me.”

“I missed you, and I need you.”

Reaching behind him, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. I stare at the tattoo on his chest that was not there before. A red broken heart with my name. He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“I was drunk and emotional.”

He climbs over me when he notices the tears running down my face.

Dragging his thumb through the wetness on my cheek, he shakes his head. “I didn’t come here to make you cry. I’m not trying to hurt you. All I’ve ever wanted is to be allowed to love you.”

I place my hand over the tattoo on his chest. I’ve never hated ink more than I hate this particular piece. Reaching underneath my back, he unfastens my bra before slowly drawing the straps down my arms, and tossing it on the floor. He stares at my breasts like he’s never seen them before.

“Fuck. Still perfect.”

He holds one in his hand, and stares at me while flicking his tongue over my nipple. I moan and he groans, “Beautiful.”

“Jagger, please. I need you inside me.”

I stare at him wide eyed as he shakes his head.

“No.”