A Flawed Heart (13 page)

“Yeah.
He was a soldier. He loved
the corps. He was really sweet…but stoic. He kept to himself a lot. The only
person who could drag him out of his own head was my mama. He loved to hunt,
and he would take me. We used to go every summer. I learned a lot from him…I
felt really angry for a long time. I was angry that he was
taken
from
me—that I was robbed of having him in my life. I miss him every day.” I feel
the familiar wound in my chest opening.

“I know what you mean. It was so bad after my mom died…it
still is. I felt…I
feel
angry too. I struggle with it. I just feel this
rage,
and I have no one to inflict it on, you know? At the
end—on
her last day—I couldn’t fucking
take it. I freaked and went to the park.
When I came home, she was dead. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I never forgave
myself, and I never will. I just want to
fucking
hurt
someone as much as I hurt, but I know my mother wouldn’t have wanted that. She
wouldn’t condone my hurting anyone, or anything. She always said there are two
kinds of people in this world—those who take care of others, and those who need
to be taken care of. My mom took care of everyone. I’ve been really hard on my
father, but I just feel as if he could have done more. When she started to
fade, he brought her home and had Hospice come in. I mean, he’s a goddamned
oncologist and he just surrendered to it. He just gave up and let her die. I
wanted him to fucking fight for her.”

The floodgates have opened, and the rage he’s speaking of is
rising up. His fists are balled, the veins in his neck are pulsing, and his
face is turning scarlet with all the frustration—all of his hurt.

I reach up and run my hand down his spine. “I know. There’s
so much anger, and no place to put it. I want to tell you that it gets better
or easier, but it doesn’t. It hurts every day, and getting out of bed is a
struggle
every day
. I was depressed for a really long time after.”

Lydia says I’m depressed, and that I should go to a shrink,
but
fuck
that. What the fuck are they
gonna
do? They’re not
gonna
bring
her back. It’s not something that can be fixed. Fuck. I don’t usually talk
about this shit. I just play music. That’s my therapy, you know?” He looks to
me, desperate for some kind of answer.

I wish I had one for him, but I don’t.

“Why don’t you play for me now? Maybe something that reminds
you of her?”

“Yeah…all right.”

He refills his cup of wine, and mine, and stands to move to
the piano bench. I adjust myself on the blanket to look at him. He places his
hands on his keys and speaks to me, but looks at the ivories.

“After she died, I thought a lot about how our home would
never be
home
again without her. It’s just a place.
Just
rooms.
It’s the people in your life that make home real to you, you
know? Like, it’s a
feeling,
not a place. I moved out right after she
died.”

I had those exact thoughts earlier—with him, Lydia, Kat, Ben
and Alana. It
felt
like home, being with them, but I don’t want to tell
him that yet.

“So, this is a song I listened to often after she passed
away.” He begins to play. His fingers are so graceful on the instrument. Soft
notes enter the silence and Jason begins to sing.

His feet pump the pedals at the base of the grand piano, and
his voice floats through the room, raspy and breaking my heart. He sings his
pain out—he pours it out. All the regret, I feel it through his voice and the
words he sings. I feel my own pain rising up in my chest, meeting and merging
with his. I want so much for us to heal each other, to make a whole out of
broken pieces. He finishes the song, his eyes still closed,
his
hands frozen on the keys. I wipe a stray tear from my eye—then stand, and go to
him. I sit down beside him and rest my head on his shoulder.

“That was beautiful. Thank you for playing it for me,” I
whisper.

He lifts his head and places his lips at the top of my head.
“It’s really nice to hang out with you, Claire. I mean, just us. I like it.”

“I like it, too. It’s nice to be with someone who
understands. It means a lot to me that you sang for me, and that you told me
about your mama. I know it’s not easy, but singing helps, right? I don’t think
I would have made it without music. Life is never the same after someone close
to you dies. It’s like you die too, and another person takes over, living your
life. The life you should have had fades away…and you’re like a ghost of
yourself.
Ghosts with just voices.”

“
Ghosts
with just voices…
that’s
Snow Patrol
, right?
Set Fire to the Third Bar
?
That’s a beautiful song.”
A grin crosses his face in spite of the somber moment. Then he presses his
fingers to the keys once again. “Will you sing with me? I want us to sing
something together, right now. Will you do that for me?”

I’m lost in his eyes and I admit a little more to him than I
should. “I would do anything for you.”

His eyebrows perk up. “I’ll have to remember that.”

He plays the keys and the sound reverberates through the
room as we sing. The smile that owns his face right now could warm even the
coldest of hearts, and I’m lost in it. The sound of our voices melds perfectly
together. As we begin the chorus, he starts to push me with the melody he’s
playing, driving my voice up and bringing a torrent of feeling with it.

I stand and move to the side of the piano, so that I can let
my voice come fully out from the depths. My eyes stay locked with his.

Once again, I see my feelings on his face. It’s as if he’s
my perfect match—the other side of the same coin. He pounds the piano, his
whole body moves as he sings and plays. I want to crawl inside his skin. This
is heaven to me—watching Jason’s gorgeous face display every emotion imaginable
as he sings with me. We finish and I feel exhausted from the emotional
outpouring. Jason on the other hand, is bursting. He stalks toward me, with
fire in his eye.

“God damn, Claire.”

He grabs my hips and presses me into the piano. His eyes are
filled with lust, and he devours my lips in a frenzied and passionate kiss. The
sun has set, and the only light illuminating the room comes from streetlights
and the soft lamp beside the sofa. He moves his hands to my ass, and I feel his
hard-on up against the seam of my jeans.

“I want you right now, right here,” he whispers. He moves
his hands down to open my belt, and I reach down and lift his shirt over his
head, exposing his upper body. I toss his shirt and trace my fingers down his
chest. Goosebumps rise on his inked skin, and my fingers find the patch of hair
above his belt. I open it, and he kisses me again. He slides his pants and
underwear off, now towering completely naked in front of me. I only have
seconds to appreciate his naked body before he undresses me and spins me
around. My stomach is pressed against the piano and my breath escapes me as he grinds
his cock into my ass, opens my bra and tosses it to the side. He presses his
chest into my back and I lean back into the warmth of his skin. His movements
are so impatient, so hungry.

“I can’t wait to be inside you again. All I do is think
about you. Tell me that you want me.” He kisses and licks my shoulders, and his
words make me wet.

“I want you.”

A growl escapes him as he runs his hand around my middle.
His fingers find my clit and rub quick circles around it. The burning ache
between my legs intensifies with his touch.

“You like that? That feels good?” He plunges two fingers
inside me, swirling them around. I gasp at how good it feels.
“How about this?
Do you like this?”

I’ve never had someone speak this way to me before. It turns
me on and makes me feel vulnerable at the same time, but something inside me
wants to answer him. “Yes. I like it. Don’t stop.”

He brushes my hair over my shoulder and kisses between my
shoulder blades, still rubbing his hard cock on my ass as he pleases me with
his hand. I’m on the edge of coming and my skin breaks out in sheen of sweat,
but Jason withdraws his long fingers.

“Don’t move,” he whispers.

I do as I’m told. He moves from behind me and my skin chills
at the loss of contact. I try to catch my breath as Jason fumbles around. He
returns and I hear the crinkling sound of a condom wrapper opening. I don’t
want to know why Jason has condoms in his rehearsal space. I just want to feel
him inside me again. My need for him outweighs my doubts and jealousy. I turn
to look over my shoulder and see our reflections in the large, now darkened,
windows.

“Can anyone see us?”

“No, we’re too high up. Unless someone’s out on a roof with
binoculars, we’re fine. Let’s give them a good show, just in case.”

He grips my hip with one hand and places the head of his
cock at my entrance with the other, but doesn’t push inside me. He grips my
hair and pulls it so my face is angled toward him. I love the way he takes
control. He leans in and kisses me with his mouth open, his warm tongue
flirting with mine. Then he enters me, and I gasp at the familiar ache as my
body adjusts to him. I break the kiss, gasping and clutching the piano to
steady myself. He swivels his hips, his cock fills me, and then he begins to
thrust deeper. I steal a glance and see our reflection in the window. Jason
grips my shoulder, holding me steady as his thrusts quicken. His head is tilted
back, the silhouette of his perfect profile reflected in the glass. He kisses
the back of my neck, moans, and then slides one hand down to my clit.

“Do you see me fucking you in the window? Do you like that?
Tell me.”

He’s awakening a part
of me that I didn’t know was there.
“Yes. I like it. I like to watch you
fuck me.”

“Shit. Claire. You’re
gonna
make
me…you feel…so good.” He grips my hip and one of my shoulders, completely
controlling the movement, driving himself into me—so deeply that I cry out from
the pleasure.

“That’s right, baby. That’s it…” He climaxes just a moment
after my own release, and we collapse onto the piano. The cold surface against
my bare breasts makes my already hard nipples tingle. We stay like that until
our breathing becomes even again, and Jason gathers the picnic blanket and
wraps it around us. He brings me to the sofa and we cuddle together in silence.
I close my eyes and rub my face against his chest, drinking in his smell as he
rubs his nose in my hair.

“Can I ask you for something?”

“Of course, anything,” I answer.

He takes my hand and laces our fingers together. “I want you
to be my girlfriend.”

I smile from ear to ear, and laugh at his demure question
after he just fucked me against a piano.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing.
Jason, I’ve been your
girl since the first time I saw you. I’m yours.”

He lets out a contented sigh. “That makes me very
happy
.
Very, very,
happy.”
He lifts my chin with his calloused fingers. The kiss we share is
so intimate, so laced with emotion. “Will you stay with me again tonight,
please?”

“Yes. I’ll stay.”

Chapter Seven

I wake in a room that’s now familiar to me. I can tell it’s
raining from the soft tapping on the roof and the lack of light coming from
behind the curtains. This would normally bum me out, but it makes lying in bed
with Jason—
my boyfriend
—that much more enjoyable. He sighs and readjusts
his body next to mine, pulling the blanket up to cover my chest. It’s such a
sweet and caring gesture. I smile at his sleeping face. I’m falling so hard for
this man, whose passionate nature fluctuates between violent and tender from
one moment to the next. I can’t believe he’s lying next to me, with his arm
draped over my body and his mouth open slightly as he sleeps. This feels so
right
, as if I’m supposed to be here
with him. His grip on my body tightens and he opens his eyes. He smiles as his
gaze rests on my face.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey.” My smile widens in spite of my attempt to remain
cool.

Last night, after our
date
in the music building, we walked back to his house, holding hands and talking
the whole way. It was so easy—so natural. When we got home, we lay in bed and
kissed but that was it. He was so gentle and so enthralled in everything I had
to say. We drank a bottle of wine, but I was far more intoxicated by his touch.
He stroked my hair, my body…he wanted to know more about me, so I told him
about my life in Georgia, and he told me about growing up in New York. He went
to private school, got into trouble a lot, but was also very introspective and
spent a lot of time writing and playing music—things his mother encouraged him
to pursue. It was nice to learn more about him and to share more of myself with
him.

“So, what are you up to today?” he asks, his voice raspy.

“I have to work at four.”

“Do you want to meet up for coffee or something later?”

“Yes. I’d like that. I’ll text you after work.”

“Okay
.
Go get your iPod.”

“What?”

“Give me your iPod. I want to see what music you have.”

I oblige his request—his
demand
—as I wiggle out from
under the sheets and crawl across his bed in my underwear and tank top. My ass
is on display and he reaches up and gives me a little spank. I squeal and swat
his hand away. He laughs and puts his hands behind his head. The sheet has
drifted and most of his skin is visible. I see his cock is hard, and my face
heats up. My heart races as I absorb reality—he’s
mine
. I reach into my
bag and grab the iPod and my breath mints. I pop one in my mouth to rid myself
of morning breath.