Bad Influence (Bad Love 3)

I swallowed hard, pushing through the gates, and made my way to his he

adstone. I didn’t speak. I didn’t cry. I just sat, cross-legged on top of his grave. I listened to my CD on a loop for hours, picking grass and watching other people come and go as they greeted their loved ones, before I uncrossed my stiff, numb legs and started walking once more.

Up next on the pity party tour was the vacation rental. I stood in front of my grandparents’ closed garage, mustering up the strength to open the goddamn thing. Slowly, I brought my fingers up to the keypad, sliding the cover up before punching in the code. The door lurched before starting to rise, inch by inch.

The first thing I saw was the brand-new black car with the red ribbon still attached to the hood. The graduation present he never got to give me. I shook my head, eyes burning with tears, already regretting the decision. I thought it would be cathartic. I thought wrong. When I turned to leave, I spotted a box in the corner with my name written on it in my dad’s handwriting and scooped it up before hightailing it out of there.

By the time I get back to Lo’s, I’m kicking myself for leaving my phone behind. My feet are sore, body aching, and I’m glad to find the house empty because the emotional exhaustion from today is setting in. I feel raw and flayed. Like someone split me open, and all the ugly shit I keep locked up inside spilled out for everyone to see. Grieving. Abandoned. Heartbroken. Alone. In my mind’s eye, I see myself bending down to pick them up one by one, stuffing them back inside me. But every time I get one thing locked up, another breaks free.

Pushing the door open, I walk back into my room, sitting on the floor next to where I left my phone. I stare at the box for long seconds before the need to hold something of his wins out.

I pluck a picture I’ve never seen before of my dad sitting on the floor with an acoustic guitar. I’m next to him with wispy hair much lighter than it is now as I attempt to hold my toy guitar just like him. I flip it over to find ME AND MY GIRL—2003 written in my dad’s signature handwriting. All caps and sloppy strokes. Tears blur my vision as Jimmy Eat World’s “Hear You Me” plays on my headphones.

I sift through the rest of the contents of the box. With each photo and old birthday card I find, my throat gets tighter, my hot tears falling faster. The dam breaks, my grief hitting me like a Mack truck. It feels as if it was just yesterday that I stood over his casket, saying goodbye, instead of a year ago, making it hard to breathe.

In a moment of weakness, I pick up my phone, tapping out a text to Jesse. I shouldn’t text him. He left me. But I miss him so much in this moment that it physically hurts. My thumb hovers over screen before I finally hit send.

I need you.

I stare at my screen, willing him to respond. When it’s clear he’s not going to, I clutch a picture of my dad to my chest and lie down on my side, head throbbing and heart breaking. Tucking my knees into my chest, I close my eyes and let the tears fall freely, until there aren’t any left. When my eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, I give in to sleep, not bothering to get off the floor.

Warm lips press against my temple, stirring me from sleep. “Baby,” Jess whispers, and the empathy in his voice—and the comfort I feel from it—has unshed tears welling up again already. I don’t know what time it is. It seems like I’ve only been asleep for minutes, but the stiffness I feel from lying on the floor tells me it’s been at least a couple of hours.

“I’m sorry,” he says, kissing me again, this time on my cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” He peppers kisses to my neck, my face, my lips, whispering his apologies in between. Jess scoops me up, carrying me to bed. He sets me on the edge of the mattress and peels my boots and clothes off, leaving me in nothing but my underwear. He follows suit, stripping down to his boxers, and then lies down, pulling me into him, my head resting on his chest, his thumb tracing patterns on my lower back.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” His free hand pushes the hair from my face, some of the strands stuck to my cheek, glued there by dried-up tears. When I cover his hand with mine, giving it a squeeze, I feel his swollen knuckles under my fingertips at the same time Jess flinches slightly.

“Are you hurt?” I ask. I can’t see, so I reach for the lamp on the side table, but he stops me, holding me in place.

“I’m fine,” he assures me. “Go to sleep, Allie. We’ll talk in the morning.”

But I don’t listen, snaking my hand between his legs, gripping his length. I’m desperate to feel him. Desperate to connect.

“Baby, stop. We don’t have to do this tonight,” he groans, but I feel him harden beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. I pull him out through the opening as he rolls onto his back, both hands raised, still unsure, as he looks down at my hand working him.

Needing to feel him one last time, I push my underwear down my legs and kick them to the floor before I climb over him, positioning him at my entrance. When I sink down onto him, we both groan, my head falling forward, hands braced against his chest, his fingers flying to clutch my hips. I slide up and down his length, his forearms flexing as he helps my movement. I ride him hard and slow, needing to get closer, but I can tell he’s still holding back. I don’t want to be treated like glass. Like I’m fragile. Emotional. Even if right now, I’m both of those things.

Bending forward, I kiss him, tasting the familiar tang of blood on his lips. He growls when I tug on his bottom lip with my teeth and then he has me pinned to the mattress, thrusting into me before I can blink.

Yes. This is what I need.

Clasping my wrists in his hands, he holds them above my head as he flexes into me. My knees cradle his hips as I take everything he gives me.

“Nothing is better than this. Fucking nothing,” Jess rasps before leaning down to swipe his tongue across my nipple. I arch into him, jerking one hand free, needing to touch him. I run my fingers through his hair while meeting him thrust for thrust. We may not be the best communicators, but our bodies are intrinsically linked, inherently compatible.

His free hand slides down my body before hooking around my thigh, holding it in place as he pushes deeper. His movements are slow but firm, his sweat-slicked stomach sliding against mine. I take in every scent, every sound, every feeling, and commit it to memory, knowing that I’ll call on this night every time I miss him. And it’ll have to be enough.

“Fuck, I can’t last much longer,” he admits, his voice rough. I wrap both legs around him as he snakes a hand between us, using the flat of his fingers to rub me, bringing me to the brink along with him.

“Jess,” I breathe, tumbling over the edge. He gives one more pump before letting go, then he plants a kiss on my collarbone before collapsing onto me, his harsh breathing fanning across my chest.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but I’m not going anywhere now. I won’t leave you again. I won’t lose this,” he promises as I trace the damp skin of his back until goosebumps form beneath my fingertips. I swallow the lump in my throat, and I’m thankful the dark room allows my tears to fall unnoticed. Because the truth is, I’m the one leaving this time. And it has everything to do with the fact that I can’t need him the way I do. I broke the rules. I got attached. I need to be the one to cut it off.

* * *

I WAKE UP, MUSCLES ACHING, but relieved to be back with Allie. After Lo left, I put down the bottle and started to form a plan. I took enough fights over the last two weeks to pay off Crystal’s debt and two months’ rent. After that, she’s on her own. For good this time. My phone died last night, and when I turned it on after my last fight, it instantly lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”