14. Jeremiah

Chapter 14

Jeremiah

I can tell something's off the moment Oakley steps out of the classroom, her shoulders hunched like she's carrying the weight of the world or some shitstorm. Her eyes are fixed on the ground and her hands clutch her books like a lifeline. She doesn't even notice me at first, lost in whatever hell is going on inside her head.

"Oak," I call out, my voice slicing through the buzz of students spilling into the hallway. She jumps, those blue eyes snapping up to meet mine, and there it is—that flash of something raw and edgy before she slaps on a too-quick smile.

"Hey, Rem," she says, voice soft but not fooling me one bit. Rem, haven't heard that nickname since she's dropped back into my life but anytime she's said it now it feels good. No one calls me that but her.

"Cut the crap, bunny," I press, closing the distance between us. "You look like you've just seen a ghost. What's eating you?"

She shakes her head, waves of golden hair catching the dim light of the corridor. "It's nothing, really?— "

I just stare at her because she'll crack, she has to.

"I swear, it's nothing. I'm just tired today," she says too quickly, shaking her head. The lie is obvious.

"Don't bullshit me," I growl, stepping closer. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Can we not do this here?" she whispers, a plea in her gaze.

"Oakley." My tone brooks no argument, and I see her resolve waver.

I grab her hand, ignoring the current that zips up my arm, and lead her outside.

The fall air of October hits us as we exit the building, the buildings of St. Charles casting long shadows across the courtyard as the yellowing, rotten leaves lay across every surface. I guide her over to where my bike waits. She's seen more than her share of confessions, from both myself and Oakley.

"Talk to me," I insist, stopping by the bike and turning to face her. Her scent wraps around me, and it takes everything I have not to get sidetracked.

"Jeremiah, I—" She hesitates, chewing on her lower lip.

"Out with it," I growl, my patience fraying.

"Okay, well…"

I don't give her a chance to dodge again. In one smooth move, I back her against the bike, my hands planting firmly on the metal on either side of her hips. The motion cages her in, and our bodies are so damn close I can feel her every breath.

"Jeremiah," she gasps my name breathily, caught between the bike and me, and damn if it isn't the hottest thing I've heard all day.

"Tell me," I demand, my voice dropping an octave, the words vibrating between us .

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her eyes locked onto mine. In this space where it's her and me and the thing we used to do together, I see it—all the want, the fear, the need. It's a heady mix that has my blood singing, and the urge to close the gap, to taste her cherry-kissed lips, to stake my claim, is almost unbearable.

"It's nothing, please," she pleads, and the tremor in her voice is like a siren song.

"Please what, bunny?" I lean in, my lips hovering just above hers, my breath mingling with hers. "Tell me what you need."

"Just to get out of here," she breathes out, but her body tells a different story, pressing ever so slightly against mine. And fuck, I'm only human.

"Is that really what you want?" I tease, my mouth brushing against the corner of hers, not quite a kiss. "Because your body's saying something else entirely."

"Please," she moans, and the sound sends my senses spiraling.

"Please what, Oakley?" I murmur, letting my lips brush her ear. "Talk to me. Tell me why you're so scared and then maybe I'll take you for a ride."

"You're too close," she says, her voice trembling.

"Am I?" I smirk, enjoying the way she shivers. "Maybe this is exactly where I need to be."

"Stop it," she pleads, hands pushing weakly against my chest, but there's no real force behind them. "Not everything has to be a quid pro quo."

"I can't help if you keep shutting me out.," I demand, my tone softening just a fraction.

"Fine," she bites out, frustration flashing in her eyes. "You want to know? Everything about physical touch freaks me out. It sends me into a panic. I can't...I can't handle it. Too many people in class were too close today and it just got to be too much."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I ask, frowning. My hand instinctively reaches for her hip, thumb brushing over the fabric of her dress. Her breath hitches, and I feel a surge of protectiveness.

"Because I'm broken," she says, tears welling up. "And I didn't want you to see how messed up I am."

"Oakley," I say, my voice low and intense. "You're bent but not broken. You're stronger than you think. And do you really think I would judge you on how messed up your life is? In case you forgot, my life is full of fucked up things."

"Promise?" she asks, looking at me with those big, vulnerable eyes.

"Promise," I reply, sealing the vow with a kiss to her forehead. Her skin is soft, warm under my lips, and I feel an overwhelming urge to shield her from every hurt.

"Now," I say, lifting her chin with a finger so she meets my gaze again. "Are you going to let me in, or do I have to fight my way through those walls you've built?"

She nods, a small, vulnerable movement that does funny things to my chest. I fight the urge to pull her into my arms further.

"Yea, I know you'll keep me safe from certain things. But you're not safe for me." Pain lances through me because as much as I want to fight against her statement, it's true. I've already proven that.

"C'mon," I murmur, my thumbs tracing idle patterns on her hips. "I'm taking you for a ride."

"Okay," she agrees, her voice steadier now .

She shoves her books into her backpack, and I go to take it from her, and she shakes her head.

"It's gonna be heavy, Oak. I can put it between me and the tank or I'll have someone come grab it." I tell her, but something about the look in her eyes tells me that's not happening.

"No, thank you. I'd really rather have it with me and on my back. Just please don't push me on this." Considering everything, I concede even though it annoys me knowing she's gonna have that heavy shit on her back.

Grabbing the helmet off my right handlebar, I tug it on her head, tucking all the wisps of hair in so they don't get caught. Flipping the visor up so she can see me, I lean in, my fingers grazing her neck and chin as I fasten it on her. She's not smiling, but she's not scowling at me either, so I'll fucking take it.

"You ready?" I tell her, giving her the chance to speak. To give voice to anything else she might need to say in this moment, but all she does is nod, looking adorable in her dress, cardigan, and this clunky helmet that makes her look like a bobblehead. My little bobblehead, but still.

I grab her by the waist and lift her up and put her directly on the back of my bike. Could she swing her little, short self on, yes, but this way gives me a fucking hard-on and clearly, I'm a goddamn masochist.

"Always such a gentleman," she says, a hint of sarcasm lacing her words.

She grabs the back strap as I climb on and lift the bike up and off the kickstand. Settling into our seats, I feel her grip around my waist tight and familiar. I haven't had anyone else on the back of my bike in years. Just her. Always her and since she's been back in my life and on my bike, I've finally realized it's a comfort I hadn't realized I missed.

I rev the engine, the deep rumble vibrating between us, and we take off, leaving the campus behind. The wind whips past us, carrying away the weight of words, history, and everything between. Oakley's grip tightens as we speed up, her soft hair whipping against my neck.

We ride for what feels like hours, letting the bike take us away from the present. It's just two wheels and the asphalt and us. My favorite place to be, between her thighs. Finally, I pull over at an overlook that offers a view of the valley below. A food truck sits off to the side, its neon sign flickering invitingly.

"Feeling hungry?" I ask, glancing back at her. Her cheeks are flushed from the ride, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Starving," she says, her lips curving into a smile that could light up the darkest night.

"Stay put," I tell her, though part of me doesn't want to let go just yet. I walk over to the truck taking off my helmet, order us some food, and return to find her gazing out at the horizon. The setting sun casts a golden glow over everything, painting a picture so perfect it almost hurts to look at it. I take out my phone and snap a picture of her sitting on this damn picnic table. She sparkles just like a fairy, and I'm tempted to call her Tinkerbell, but I'd like to keep my balls intact today.

"Food's here, bunny," I say, placing the food on the picnic table. She spins around and moves to sit on the bench. Silence wraps around us comfortably. The only sounds are the distant hum of the food truck's generator, the few other people that stop to enjoy the view or food, and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

"It's beautiful," Oakley finally says, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, contemplative.

"Yeah," I reply, though I'm not looking at the scenery. My eyes are fixed on her, taking in every detail—the way her hair catches the light, the delicate line of her jaw, the way her lips part slightly as she breathes.

"You're staring," she says, catching me off guard.

"Yep," I tell her. I have no need to deny it. I'll stare at her as much as I want and never be fucking ashamed of it.

She looks down, a faint blush creeping up her neck, and I wonder if every part of her can turn that color. How easy would it be? Does it spread quickly or is it a slow flush?

Guess I need to fucking address the elephant in the room. "You know what happened with Royce wasn't what it looked like," I start. "You need to know that."

Her eyes flash with something. Hurt, anger, maybe even hope, and she looks away.

"It doesn't matter," she says softly but firmly. "Whatever it was or wasn't, it still happened and look at us. We're all splintered. I don't have my brother or my best friend."

"We can't go back," I admit. "But I want…I need us to figure out how to move forward."

"I miss this," she whispers finally, breaking the silence. "Being with you. You always were so hard to say no to and yet so easy to hang out with. You were like sunshine to me."

Her words fucking sting because I'm not sunshine, but she is, and the fact that she called me her sunshine rips at my insides.

Claim her. Lock her up and never let her go. She's yours, always has been and always will be.

"Do you know what it feels like to have your body seize up and alarms scream in your head whenever someone gets too close or looks at you too long?" She shudders, her small frame wracked with the effort of confession. "It's panic, Jeremiah. Raw, unfiltered panic that takes hold of me and—and I hate it. It chains me down, stops me from being normal, from?— "

"From what?" I push, needing to understand her torment as I round the picnic bench and sit down next to her.

"From being with someone. I tried telling my parents, but they just waved me off and sent me to their doctor. All he wanted to do was write me a prescription for Xanax and told me to go shopping." The last words come out as a choked sob, and she buries her face into my chest.

"Fuck," I swear, the word slipping out before I can catch it. Her honesty guts me, leaves me reeling.

"Jeremiah, I've tried to drown it out, the fear. I mask it all and try to be the fun party girl who people like, but it makes everything worse." Her admission is barely audible against the cotton of my hoodie, but it cuts through me, sharp and clear.

"Jesus, Oakley." My frown deepens, concern etched into every line of my face.

"Are you still...have you ever been with anyone?" The question is blunt, raw. I need to know the depth of what I'm dealing with.

"Not before or after. Just that." She shudders and I feel like I could puke.

"Fuck," I swear softly, my hand pausing from rubbing along her back. A virgin. My girl. The thought sends another surge of protectiveness through me.

"Jeremiah, I don't want your pity." Her voice is a plea that wraps around my heart and squeezes.

"Are you still comfortable around me?" The question hangs heavy between us, even as I fight to keep my tone nonchalant. "Even after everything, even when you're pissed at me?"

She hesitates, then nods, and it's like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. "Yes, but it's infuriating," she confesses, and I can sense the frustration boiling.

"Good," I breathe out, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Because if you weren't mad at me, I'd think I wasn't trying hard enough."

"Trying to do what?" She sasses back at me, letting her melancholy linger away for now.

"Trying to get under your skin." My words are deliberate, each one carefully chosen to rattle the bars of the cage she's trapped herself in. "Trying to be the one you can't push away."

"Jeremiah Blackwood, you're impossible," she huffs, but there's a smile teasing at the edges of her lips.

"What if I had a solution? It might not work, but it's worth a try," I counter, watching her reaction like a hawk. "You said you feel comfortable with me."

Oakley nods, but she's eyeing me suspiciously.

"Listen to me," I start, my voice low and steady. "I've got a proposition for you."

She looks up, her interest clearly piqued.

"Go to my football games. Let me keep an eye on you from the field." The words tumble out before she can interrupt, each one deliberately calculated. "In exchange, you get something too. You practice whatever you want on me." My offer lingers between us. I want this and so does she, and if she needs to do it this way, then we can. She feels stuck, like she's never going to be able to escape that night. I think a positive experience could help her forget, and I sure as fuck am not going to let her do this with anyone else. I dig my nails into my palms at the thought of someone else touching her. I need to keep my head on right now, so I don't scare her.

"Jeremiah," she whispers, and there's that soft sass, her voice a caress and a slap all at once. "You can't just offer me sex lessons in exchange for knowing where I am at all times." I am annoyed and impressed that she saw through my request for her to come to my games. Games are the only time I can't keep an eye on her.

"But I can," I interject, a little rougher than I intend. "Because when it comes to you, Oakley Ashford, there isn't anything I can't or won't do."

There's a flicker of something in her gaze then.

"Let me be the one who helps you face those fears," I plead.

"Fine," she finally murmurs, and the single word is a victory. "But Jeremiah, I'm in charge."

A grin splits my face, all teeth and predatory satisfaction. "Bunny, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Well, since we are just talking about everything today…" My words trail off as I gauge her reaction. "I've already had your stuff moved to the house."

Her eyes widen, definitely in anger. "You did what?"

"Consider it part of the deal." My hand slides to her waist, fingers branding her through the fabric of her dress. "Your safety isn't up for negotiation, Oakley. At the house, I can keep an eye on you, make sure you're okay. And if I'm not available, one of my brothers is or my cousin."

"Jeremiah Blackwood, you are infuriatingly presumptuous," she snaps, but there's no real bite to her words, just the flush of her cheeks betraying her.

"Maybe so," I concede, smirking at her flustered state. "But tell me you don't like the idea of waking up safe, knowing I'm there."

"Damn you," she whispers, the fight leaving her as her body subconsciously leans into my touch.

"Every night if you want," I murmur against her ear, lips grazing her skin, the words a sinful caress. "But only if you say yes."

Oakley's response is a shudder that ripples through both of us.

"Fine," she breathes out, defeat laced with anticipation. "But, Jeremiah, this is my game now."

"Oh, love," I assure her, a dark promise dripping from every syllable. "I don't play any game I don't intend to dominate."