A. Jackson - When We Met

“Then why did you tell me it wasn’t you? Why did Misha say it was her?”

I looked away for a second before saying, “Misha and Darryn are the only ones who have figured out what I’ve been doing every week. I don’t talk to them about it, but they’ve figured it out. And I needed help getting into your car to fix it the other morning. Misha knows you weren’t ready to know I was helping you. She was just protecting you.”

Even in the dark room I could see when her jaw started trembling and tears filled her eyes. “So all of this, this whole feeling safe with you, has just been an illusion? A product of not remembering certain nights, but for some reason, remembering to come to your room?”

“If that’s how you want to see it.”

“How else would I see it?” she nearly yelled.

“Sober, you feel safe near me, drawn to me. Drunk, you feel the same way. You came to me the first time, second time, third, and so on. Nights you don’t remember at all. But you still came to me. You knew I was safe, and that’s all I needed to know to keep taking care of you.”

“God!” she cried. “Why would you keep doing that week after week?”

“Because someone had to let you know.”

Her eyebrows pinched together in confusion as a line of tears fell down one of her cheeks. “Know what?”

“That you mean a lot more than you think you do. You don’t seem to think very highly of yourself—and I don’t know why—but you’re wrong. Whatever it is, you’re wrong . . . and Dean was an idiot to let you go.”

A soft cry burst from her chest, and when I started moving toward her, her voice stopped me. “Don’t! Please don’t.”

I sat back and watched helplessly as she tried to pull herself together underneath all those blankets.

“I want that to be true . . . but it’s just not,” she whispered. She didn’t say it like she was searching for more compliments. Every word had so much truth and pain behind it, the admission had me rubbing at my chest as I shook my head in confusion.

“Indy . . .”

“Thank you for taking care of me, and trying to protect me from myself, but I told you, I’m a mess. My life? It’s . . . God, Kier, it’s beyond complicated, and so many people have already given up on me—it’s not long before you will, too.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because there’s no reason for you not to. The people who were supposed to be there for me through anything gave up on me. Why wouldn’t you?”

My breathing deepened as frustration pumped through me, and I had to wait until I had it under control before I responded to her. “Well, you’re not giving me much of a chance to prove myself, are you? You’ve already determined that you’ll disappoint me . That’s a new one.” My lips quirked up on one side in a sarcastic smirk. “So this time it really is ‘it’s not you, it’s me’? And we’re not even dating.”

“Kier . . . ,” she protested. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right, Indy. I don’t.” I began shrugging off all the blankets, and her eyes widened. “No matter what you think about yourself, I see differently. See, I don’t talk to people unless I want to give them my time. And, God, Indy, I want to give you my time. But I see people, and I sure as hell see you. I may not know what’s hurting you, I may not know why you’re destroying yourself, but I still fucking see you. I see that you need someone to save you from yourself.” When I had all the blankets off me, I carefully stood, never taking my eyes off her pained expression. “And I’ll still be that guy. I’m still that safe place, and I’ll still be there ready to take care of you if you find you can’t handle whatever’s going on and you start trying to destroy yourself again. But I won’t listen to you basically tell me you’re not worth being saved. Because that? I don’t believe that for a goddamn second.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying,” she said as I turned to leave, and I looked back at her.

“No, I do. If I’m capable, I will save you every time, Indy. Believe that, if nothing else. I don’t need or expect anything in return. I’m doing this because it’s what you deserve and what I want to do for you.”

“I want you! You consume me in a way I’ve never experienced even though up until ten minutes ago it didn’t make sense! I want the feeling you give me to never end, but there’s no way—”

I dropped to my knees in front of her and cupped her cheeks in my hands and brought my mouth down onto hers. “Don’t finish that,” I growled against her lips before kissing her again.

Her mouth moved easily against mine, and when I traced my tongue against her lips, they parted on a soft inhale, allowing me access to tease her tongue with my own.

“I need to be able to touch you,” she pled before deepening the kiss, and I released her cheeks to begin quickly, and awkwardly, pulling down the blankets I’d wrapped around her.

Once her arms were free, I laid her back on the pillows and hovered over her body for a few seconds before relaxing on top of her. An annoyed groan sounded in the back of her throat when she tried to move her legs, but the six blankets wrapped—and now tangled—around her lower body prevented the movement.

Moving back enough so I could look down into her eyes, I shook my head and whispered, “Nothing is ever guaranteed, but you can’t write us off before you even give me a chance to prove that I can be good for you.”

That pained look was back in her eyes. “I have a feeling that you would be. I’ve had that feeling. But that doesn’t mean that I’ll be good for you.”

I brushed my lips against hers, everything in my body yelling to taste her again. “Let me be the judge of that.”

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, and my body tightened as I prepared to make my case again. Instead of the resistance I was coming to expect, she choked out, “My brother died. Two years ago last Saturday. But it was Thanksgiving, so it’s also kind of tomorrow.”

“Indy,” I crooned, my hands going to cup her cheeks again.

“He was my twin, and I loved him”—she cut off on a sob—“so much. We were nothing alike, but still inseparable until college. He was my best friend, and we loved to drive my mom crazy . . . probably just because she gave us such horrible names.”

I smiled and brushed at a tear. “I love the name Indy.”

Her watery gaze drifted over to me. “My brother’s name was Ian. Indy and Ian . . . Indy-Ian. All our friends just called us Indian instead of trying to say our separate names.” She laughed softly and shook her head. “He got a scholarship to play football in Texas. It was the first time we’d ever been away from each other, but I didn’t get accepted there, and there was no way he wasn’t going. It was like a dream for him. He’d always been so focused in school and football . . . my parents had always been proud of him.”

Her eyes got a faraway look as heavy tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Our freshman year Ian said he couldn’t come home for Thanksgiving, and our parents never really liked me, so I decided to stay here with Dean.” She must have seen my skeptical expression, because she added, “Ian always had to tell my parents to back off because they were never happy with me or anything I did. My grades were never as good as his. My boyfriends never measured up to Ian’s perfect girlfriends. My dad always said I dressed like a whore, but he congratulated Ian when he lost his virginity. It was always difficult with them. They practically paid me to move away from them.”

“Are you serious?”

She choked out a depressed-sounding laugh, and even in the dark I could see her eyebrows rise in confirmation. “So apparently Ian just told my parents he couldn’t come home because he wanted to come hang out with me here so we could have time without our parents fighting over how I wasn’t making them proud the way Ian was. He called me the night before Thanksgiving to tell me he was boarding a plane with a friend who lived in the area, and would be catching a ride, and not to tell Mom and Dad. There was some crazy snowstorm, and he got stuck in Chicago.”