“A monster,” I finish flatly. That’s what he feels like he can’t escape. His father, his brother, his blood. His perceived destiny.
Jasper rolls smoothly to his feet and steps to the very edge of the yard, where ground meets water. The gentle current sends slender green blades of grass waving in front of his toes.
I let my eyes wander his nude form—the wide, wide shoulders, the trim, trim waist, the absolutely perfect butt, the long, thick legs. He’s magnificent and I don’t think I could ever tire of just watching him. Even with his head bowed and his muscles tense with his hellish memories, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, monster or not.
“I’ve tried to make myself get back in this water, to kill that fear like my father killed Jeremy. But I can’t. I can’t make myself get in. All I see is my brother, floating away, and me watching him. Helpless. I’ll never know if I could’ve saved him if I’d gone out sooner, if I’d had the courage to face my father. I only know that I didn’t. That I survived and my brother didn’t.”
Once again, I feel the urge to go to him, but I’m fairly certain my comfort would be more of an annoyance to a man like him. Such a loner, such a silent sufferer. It’s heartbreaking, but it’s also amazing to watch. I can almost see the strength coursing through the veins beneath his smooth, golden skin. Even at his worst, even when he feels defeated by a past he can’t control and thwarted by genetics he can’t escape, he’s ready to take on the world. And win.
I see his upper torso expand and contract. A sigh.
When he turns to me, his eyes are clear again, as though the haunted man of moments before was more a ghost of mine rather than his. “Let’s get you dressed so I can show you around. It’s that or spend the day like this,” he says, pointing down at his erection. It has already filled the condom we just used and is threatening to burst from the tip.
“Where the hell did you get your stamina?” I ask, trying to just go with his mood swing rather than continuing to delve into something I’m not sure can be fixed.
“Costco,” he replies, deadpan.
I can’t help laughing, especially when I see the slight twitch of his lips. Maybe this is how he heals. Maybe this is how he keeps moving on. He embraces who and what he is and pushes the rest down, shoves it so deep he can ignore it for a while.
The only problem with that tactic is that one day, it won’t be pushed down. It will refuse to go and he’ll be forced to deal with it or suffer the consequences.
But that day is not today. Today can be whatever we want it to be, whatever he needs for it to be. And I’ll be that for him, with him. Because I care. Probably more than I should.
Definitely more than I should, I correct in my mind. I think I’ve already done something stupid like fall in love.
TWENTY-FOUR
Jasper
For reasons I’m more comfortable not exploring too deeply, I was already looking forward to spending the day with Muse. Even before she walked out onto the front porch with her flaming hair in a loose knot and her long, curvy legs squeezed into form-fitting pants. But now, seeing her, I’m even more enthused.
She stops suddenly and my eyes drift up to hers. They’re twinkling with mischief. They tell all, which is something I love about her. She’s transparent and doesn’t try to be anything more than that.
“Have you changed your mind about how you want to spend the day?”
“Yes, but I think it’s important that you’re able to walk.”
Her laugh is a tinkle. That’s the best way I can describe it. It’s light and happy and carefree, three things I never attribute to myself or my life. It resonates within me, like something comforting and highly desirable might.
Maybe comforting isn’t the right word. I don’t feel comfortable, necessarily, when I look at Muse, when I hear her laugh. I feel all sorts of other things, though—desire, possessiveness, ferocity. A trace of anger that confuses me. Guilt. Protectiveness. In truth, I have no idea what she makes me feel or why. I only know I shouldn’t want this. But I do.
Spontaneously, she launches herself at me where I’m standing on the second step. I catch her easily and she winds her arms and legs around me. “You’re a tease, Mr. King,” she says in a throaty voice, her eyes locked on mine. There’s heat in the emeralds and I think for a second about carrying her right back inside and losing myself in them, in her until neither of us can think. Or walk.
But to do that would be even more heartless than what I’ve already done. She thinks she knows the worst about me now that I’ve shared some of myself, some of my history with her. But she doesn’t. And she won’t. Not until it’s too late.