How did I get here?
How did we get here?
I pull away and, at first, it seems like he’ll refuse to let go, but then his hand falls.
The space I’ve created leaves room for my anger to return, but I’m not the only one. Ransom’s gaze is sharp now, his jaw grinding as he glares at me.
Good. That’s good.
If he’s forcing me to feel, anger is the emotion I prefer, I’ll take fire in my veins over an unyielding weight in my chest all day long.
Ransom jerks away, taking wide, furious strides from us, not stopping until he’s at Arsen’s passenger door with his head twisted in the opposite direction.
Arsen frowns, holding his hand out toward me, and I know what he wants, so I dig my keys from my bag, dropping them in his palm. But as I start toward my car, Beretta wraps his arm around me and everyone swaps.
Arsen and Ransom leave in my car while Beretta and I climb inside the other.
I don’t speak or glance toward him until I realize we passed my neighborhood and are headed toward Balboa Pier.
He doesn’t bother finding a parking spot, but cruises right up on the sidewalk.
He parks five feet from the door of Newport Coffee Company and kills the engine, stepping out without acknowledging me.
My leg bounces, the stubborn part of me wishing to stay right here, but I too jump out, and stomp my way inside the shop.
In my peripheral, his lips curve, but he glances the opposite way to hide it, and within minutes, we’re back inside the vehicle.
As we pull up to my house, I find my car inside the garage, the door left open and Beretta pulls up beside it, locking us inside.
Inside, Beretta nods toward the back deck, so I follow his lead, stepping up to look out over the ocean.
His face is pinched tight, as if he’s unsure what to say or how to say it, but a long, pained sigh leaves him.
“It’s not jealousy,” he finally says, meeting my eyes while keeping his head forward. “When he sees us with you. It’s not jealousy. It’s anger. Defeat.” Another sigh, and a sad, quiet chuckle. “It’s frustration, but not with you. With himself. He’s angry and sad and frustrated with himself.”
“Beretta—”
“He wants you, Jameson,” he cuts me off. “More than he’s ever wanted anyone. He craves you, and he hasn’t craved anything in a long time and even when he did, it was just a guy being a guy and looking to hook up. It was nothing compared to the way he wants you.”
“That’s easy to say.”
“No. It’s not,” he stresses with a bit of a bite. “It’s really fucking not, but I’m telling you because I don’t know if he can. I think he would, eventually, but only once he officially snaps and has handed every guy in this town their ass when you get stubborn and run their way.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s the truth,” he throws back. “Jameson...” He licks his lips, looking off, and when his eyes come back, they’re steady, clear, and piercing. “The girl you saw him with in the park, that was his sister.”
My chest clenches.
Of course it was.
He was tender and sweet, a little helpless and heartbroken.
Beretta keeps my attention. “Jameson, Ransom can’t... execute. He hasn’t been able to since everything with his sister,” he shares somberly. “His shame is like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
Unease weighs on my lungs. “Shame?”
His brows dig in. “Over what he was doing while she was fighting for her life.”
My stomach drops to my feet, and I grab on to the railing for support as it becomes clear.
“He was with a girl.”
“He was with Amy.”
My fingers claw at my top, clenching.
Beretta’s gaze sharpens, pain and a heavy hint of hope within them. “He was fucking Amy, for the first and only time, while his sister was on the operating table.”
Oh god.
I feel sick for him.
“He needs, but he can’t seem to get past his mind. Something disconnects, and he shuts down.” Beretta stands tall, honored. “We love him, so we help him.”
My mouth opens, and he lowers his chin, waiting for me to connect the pieces.
“You help him…” I trail off. “By being with him, being together?”
He nods. “He tries, but he goes numb when he feels himself losing control, or sometimes it’s as simple as someone touching him in the act. We don’t.”
“So, you, or Arsen, fuck the girl, and he...” I stare at him.
“Tries,” he explains. “He’ll touch, play, depending on where he’s at in his head, and when his body goes numb, he backs away. We slip in, handle her, so she’s none the wiser, and he listens while doing what no girl can.”
He relieves himself.
I shouldn’t care right now, this isn’t the time, but I can’t stop myself.
“Who fucked me?”