Trouble

Chapter Eighteen


Mia



I can feel warmth on my back. Fingers trailing lightly over my skin. I can’t remember every feeling such contentment when waking.
Then I remember where I am, and who is touching my back.
Jordan.
I’m in his bed.
Last night comes flooding back to me. A vivid beautiful memory of the sex Jordan and I had.
Then horror hits when I realize I’m naked.
Completely bare. Laid on my stomach.
My body is uncovered.
And Jordan’s awake.
He’s seen my scars. Probably looking at them right now.
I feel sick.
I meant to wake up before him and put my clothes on. I wasn’t ready for him to see them. Not ready for him to question me about them.
This all my stupid fault.
After seeing Anna Monroe number two yesterday … and how nice she was to me, and the disappointment I felt that she wasn’t my mother … coupled with the fact that the last Anna left on the list might actually be my mother…
It set off another episode which sent me running to a convenience store, then a motel where I holed myself up for the day and binged myself sick.

“Hey,” Jordan said softly as I walked through the lobby.
I knew he was behind the reception desk, I just couldn’t bring myself to look at him, knowing what I was going out to do. I was afraid he’d see it written all over my face.
I hadn’t spoken to him since yesterday. He’d been so sweet to me about the Anna thing, but I was lost somewhere deep inside my head … I still was.
“I’m going out,” I said. And that was it.
Then I was out the door and in my car, driving to the convenience store on the outskirts of town and buying what I needed to make myself feel better in the only way I know how.
I parked in a quiet spot and started to rip open the food, then realization hit me, quickly followed by panic. What if someone saw me out here? What if Jordan had followed me and knew what I was doing? It was irrational, I knew that, but my head was a mess.
The what ifs were there, and they weren’t leaving anytime soon.
How would I explain to him? How would I make him understand?
I wouldn’t. I’d lose him.
That was when I saw the sign for a motel just down the street.
Shoving the food back in the bag, I set my car in drive and drove to the motel.
It looked sketchy and rundown, but I didn’t care about that. I just needed to be alone, so I got a room.
Once in it, I sat down on the bed and ripped into the food. As the food hit my palette, a discontented peace slid through me that I had needed to feel since I’d left Anna Monroe’s house.

I’d hit low. And after I was done, all I’d wanted was Jordan. It was like an urgent panic … a desperate need to be with him.
He’s the only person who has ever made me feel good and whole.
I’d wanted him to give me those feelings back, so I’d cleaned up, then was out of that hotel and in my car, driving back here to him … taking my clothes off … asking him to make love to me…
I just hadn’t thought beyond that. The possibility of him seeing me. Seeing my scars.
I need to get out of here.
Moving quickly, I slide out of bed, taking the sheet with me so I can wrap it around myself.
“Morning,” he says. I can hear the careful in his voice.
I can’t bring myself to meet his eye. “Morning,” I say. “I just … need to use the bathroom.”
I’m in there a second later, locking the door behind me. Moving to the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror above it. I hate what I see staring back.
I sit down on the toilet, trying to control my emotions, the urges I’m having right now.
I need to get dressed and out of here, but I can’t because I left my clothes outside when I was stripping in front of Jordan.
What was I thinking? I don’t act that way. That isn’t me.
But he makes me want to be that way. He makes me want to be something … someone, better.
And now he’s seen the hideous scars I hide, and it’s going to be too much for him. I’m going to lose him, just when I’d got him.
A gentle knock on the door. “Mia? Are you okay in there?”
“Yes.” My voice breaks. “I’ll be right out.”
Wrapping the sheet tight around my body, I slowly open the bathroom door.
Jordan is sitting on the edge of the bed wearing black boxer shorts. Nothing more.
If I wasn’t in my current messed up state, I would take my time and truly appreciate his fine body which I’m seeing for the first time in daylight.
To say he’s toned is putting it mildly. I could happily run my pinky finger along the lines of his six-pack for hours.
His eyes lift to mine. “Hey,” he says in a gentle voice. Getting to his feet, he comes over to me.
Wanting him to touch me so badly, yet afraid what it’ll do to me if he does, I sidestep him.
“Thank you … for last night.” Thank you? I couldn’t think of anything better to say? “I’m going to go to my room…”
“Wait.” His voice comes from behind me. “Don’t leave. Talk to me.”
I sigh and turn around. “What do you want to talk about?”
“This … you and me.” He gestures a hand between us. “The way you’re acting now – shutting me out. I thought after last night…” He scrubs a hand over his bed hair. “Look, I think I know why you’re acting this way … why you wouldn’t let me turn the light on last night … the scars on your bottom and thighs…”
I visibly cringe. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I can feel my traitor eyes filling with tears.
“So tell me.” He takes a step toward me, holding his hands out.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You’ve told me the other things that bastard did to you. You can tell me this. I haven’t laid judgment, and I’m not about to start. Babe, I’m here…”
I shake my head. A tear drips from my eyelashes. “Forbes didn’t do this to me.”
His face freezes. I see his fingers curl into his palm. “Who?” His word comes out slow.
Fear courses through me. I feel exposed. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing so very badly that I was dressed right now.
“Who, Mia?” I can hear the anger rising in his voice. I know he’s not angry at me, he’s angry at who hurt me.
Another tear hits my cheek. I rub it away with the back of my hand and take a gulp of air.
“Oliver. My father.”
“Your dad did this to you?” The disbelief in his voice hurts me. It makes me feel like trash.
“Yeah, well not everyone is lucky to have a great dad like yours, Jordan.” I don’t mean to sound bitter, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “My father wasn’t the caring kind of man who loved his child like yours does. Mine was a sick, cruel bastard who used to beat me whenever the feeling would take him, usually with his belt. The scars are from that.”
I yank the sheet from my body, exposing myself. I turn my back to him. I’m feeling insane levels of pain, and have absolutely no sense of anything right now. I don’t know what I’m doing or where my mind is at. I’m just doing…
“If I’d been particularly bad, as he put it, which wouldn’t take much … just leaving the cap off the milk. Or the especially bad crimes I could commit … being a minute late when returning home from school – then he’d use the metal buckle end of his belt. You know, to cause more pain and damage. Helped make his point.”
Hot tears are dripping down my face. I leave them burning my skin so that I can feel something. Because I need to feel something. Anything.
“He taunted me with knives and guns. All part of his sick games – letting me know where I stood in the food chain. I’ve lost count of the number of cracked ribs and broken bones I’ve had. Broken fingers that I’ve reset myself. Dislocated shoulders. Popped out knees from his boots stamping on them.” I pull in a hard, painful breath. “So that was my life, and now you know all of it, and I’m leaving.”
I grab the sheet, covering myself, my self-loathing possessing me like a disease. All I want is to get out of here, but Jordan is quick.
His arms come around me from behind, caging me to him. I don’t fight to leave because part of me doesn’t want to. I want his care, more than anything.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I feel the tremble in his body. He presses his cheek to mine. My eyes close on the pain that’s burning me from the inside out.
“No, Mia,” he whispers. “No.”
The feel of his arms, his hands … his safe hands that I know would never hurt me…
I break.
Like glass shattering, I go. My legs give out, but Jordan is there, holding me. Lifting me into his arms, he carries me to the bed.
I wrap myself around him, burying my face in his chest as I cling to him and cry out years and years of deeply buried pain.
“I’m here … I’ve got you … always. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again, Mia. I swear.”

***

At some point, I fall asleep. The sheer exhaustion from crying, and reliving my past pain with Jordan had taken its toll.
When I wake, my eyes are swollen, and my head is sore and heavy.
I lift my head from Jordan’s chest, blinking my blurry eyes into focus. His are closed, but his arms immediately tighten around me.
“Don’t leave.” He opens his eyes.
“I wasn’t,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
His hand rubs circles on my back. “How are you feeling?”
Rubbing my eyes, I rest my chin on his chest. “I’ve felt worse.”
He nods in understanding.
“Thank you … for being here, for listening.”
“I’m always here for you.” He touches my face. “Do you need to talk some more, now you’re feeling a little clearer?”
I shake my head. “I feel okay at the moment. I want to keep feeling okay.” I lie my head back on his chest and listen to the gentle drum of his heart.
My eyes graze over his tattoo, which covers his right pectoral, goes up over his shoulder, and down his arm, ending at his wrist. It’s tribal, with quotes woven through it.
I run my fingertip down his arm, reading the quotes I’ve seen before, but paying attention now…


Not all who wander are lost.


That’s on his bicep.
“I had this tattoo done in three parts,” he explains. “That was done while I was traveling. I had it done in Indonesia.”
My fingers move down to his forearm…


If you can’t live longer, live deeper.


“I got that done after my mom died.”
I give a sad smile, then press my lips to the words, kissing them. I sit up, shifting my body so that I’m straddling his waist. His hands go to my thighs.
“You finished checking me out?” He grins.
“I’m checking out your tattoo, and no, I’m not done.” I smile, then lean close to read the words on his chest…


I don't go looking for trouble.
Trouble usually finds me.


I let out a laugh. That is such a Jordan thing to say. But why do I know that saying…
“Harry Potter.” I jab my finger at the tattoo.
“Ow!” he complains, rubbing his chest.
“Sorry.” I smile sheepishly. “That’s a quote from Harry Potter, right?”
He gives me a suspicious look. “Yeah, it is. Why?”
I shrug. “No reason … geek,” I cough, covering my mouth with my hand.
His eyes narrow, then he’s moving like lightening, tackling me back and pinning me to the bed with his body.
“Arrggghh!” I let out a squeal of laughter.
“Did you just call me a geek?” He hovers his face above mine. His face is serious, but I can see the mirth in his eyes.
“Nope.” I press my grinning lips together.
“No? I’m pretty sure you did just call me a geek.”
“Noooo.” I give a gasp of shock. “I mean as if getting a Harry Potter quote tattooed on your chest would, in any way, make me think you’re a geek. I’d say it’s the coolest thing ever.”
“Smart-ass,” he quips. “And seriously, babe, Harry Potter is f*ckin’ cool. The kid’s a wizard for f*ck’s sake!”
I start laughing. I love seeing this side of him. The one I don’t think anyone else ever sees, the stripped down version of him. The real him. The one he hides away, deep inside.
He starts laughing with me, then runs his hand down the side of my face, his thumb pressing against my lips, sending fire shooting through me. The laughter is gone quickly, his lips replacing his thumb.
“I love to see you laughing,” he says against my mouth.
My hands slide down his back. “I love that you make me laugh.”
Smiling against my mouth, he gives me one last kiss, then lays his head on my chest.
I start playing with his hair. He makes a sound of appreciation, so I figure he must like it.
“I am a geek,” he mutters after a while.
I stop playing with his hair. “Yeah, you are.” I smile. “But you know what? It makes me like you even more.”
He squeezes my hip, pressing a kiss against the peak of my breast.
I start playing with his hair again. “So … what now?” I ask the question which has been hovering in my mind since we first had sex.
I know we’ve had two dates, a freak out from me when things first got heavy between us, and now we’ve had sex followed by an emotional breakdown from me.
Truthfully, I just don’t know what’s actually happening between us.
I know what I want, but the problem is, I don’t know what Jordan wants from me.
His chest lifts on a breath, his hand stroking the skin on my shoulder. “Well, I was thinking that I would leave you in bed, get up and feed Dozer ’cause he’ll be wanting his breakfast, and he needs his meds. Then I would make pancakes for my woman, and bring them to her in bed. Afterward, once she’s happily fed, I thought we could spend the rest of the day in bed … only if she wants to, of course?”
His woman. I’ll take that as a good thing.
He lifts his head, resting his chin on my chest. His warm eyes stare at me, filled with feeling, feeling he has for me.
I lift my head, placing my arms behind for support, and bring my face closer to his. “She wants,” I murmur.
His pupils dilate, eyes darkening with lust.
“Actually, Dozer can wait a bit longer to be fed.” His hand moves down my body. Lifting slightly, he puts it between us, slipping his finger inside me.
“Oh, my god,” I breathe. I feel him grow hard against my thigh.
“Babe, so wet … already,” he groans.
“It’s you … what you do to me.”
“And I plan on doing a whole lot more,” he promises before sealing his mouth over mine.

***

After making love to me, Jordan finally relents and goes to feed Dozer.
I retrieve my panties, and put on one of Jordan’s t-shirts that I nab from his closet. It’s huge on me, nearly reaching my knees.
I’m wandering around his bedroom, looking at a map of the world he has tacked to the wall. There are pins in it with a drawn line under the pins, marking the route of all the places he has traveled. The last pin is in Thailand, but the drawn line goes onto India, through Nepal, then across China to Hong Kong, up to Shanghai, finally ending in Japan. I’m guessing that’s where he would have gone if his trip hadn’t ended early.
I look at the photos pinned up around the map, pictures of a slightly younger Jordan in different locations with his friends.
He looks happy; bright eyed.
Looking at these pictures, seeing the fun and adventure in his face when he didn’t know what was to come, makes my heart hurt for him.
Beneath the map is his desk. There are a few framed photos sitting on top of it.
One is of a dark haired woman, smiling happily into the camera. She must be Jordan’s mom. I pick it up, examining it. She looks quite young in the photo, maybe my age, and she’s really pretty. She has the same eye color as Jordan.
Putting it down, I pick up the next picture. It’s of a young Jordan, maybe four or five, held in the arms of a man whom I’m guessing is his dad as he looks exactly like Jordan does now. Beside his dad, tucked into his side, is a petite blonde haired lady. She’s really beautiful. Oh right, she must be Jordan’s mother. Maybe the other woman is an aunt or something.
I’m just putting the picture down, when Jordan comes in with a tray containing pancakes and two cups of coffee.
Could he be any more perfect? I keep expecting to wake up and find out this is all a dream and I’m still in that motel bed back near Boston.
He puts the tray down on the desk, and his arms come around my waist from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head. “That’s my mom and dad.” He points to the picture I was just looking at.
“Your mom was beautiful, Jordan.”
“Yeah, she really was. You remind me of her a bit, you know.”
“I do?” I smile.
“Yeah, she always used to speak without thinking like you do.”
“Hey!” I exclaim, giving his side a pinch.
“Hey! Knock it off!” He laughs, wriggling behind me. “I’m really f*ckin’ ticklish!”
I tilt my head back, looking up at him. “Hmm … I didn’t know that.”
He stares down at me, narrowing his gaze. “Yeah, and I didn’t tell you for the very reason that’s going through that gorgeous head of yours right now. So don’t go getting any ideas about tickling me again.”
“As if I would.” I smile sweetly.
He shakes his head, giving me a quick kiss on the lips.
I pick up the photo again and examine it. “You look exactly like your dad.”
“Well, yeah, he was a handsome f*cker when he was younger.”
Shaking my head, I laugh as I put the picture down.
“Who’s this?” I point to the picture of the dark haired woman.
Jordan loosens an arm from around me and picks up the frame. “Abbi … she’s my real mom.”
I turn, surprised.
He meets my eyes. “She died giving birth to me. She had an undiagnosed heart condition, and her heart gave out during delivery. She died soon after I was born.”
My eyes fill with tears.
God, he’s known so much loss. He’s lost two mothers.
I reach up and touch his face. “I’m so sorry.”
He puts her picture down. “It’s okay. I never knew her. It makes it hard to hurt over her loss if you know what I mean. But my dad has told me everything about her growing up, and I have photographs.”
“So, the woman you call mom…?”
“Belle. She was my dad’s childhood sweetheart. They broke up when she left to go to college. That was when he met Abbi, and they had me. After Abbi died, dad was raising me alone, with the help of my grandpa as dad was already in the force at this point. Then Belle moved back home when I was about three or four. They ended up getting back together, and she raised me as her own.”
“They never wanted any kids together?” I ask.
A strange look crosses his face, like he’s never considered it before. His lip pushes out. “Nah, I guess not. They already had perfection in me, so what more could they want?”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Right.”
Chuckling, he moves from behind me and gives my butt a pat. “Come on, let’s eat before my hard work goes cold.”
We sit down at the desk. Jordan gives me the chair and pulls over a stool for him to sit on. I tuck my legs underneath me. It’s a subconscious move on my part. Still covering up my scars, even though he knows they’re there and exactly how I got them.
Telling Jordan all about Oliver was like opening the door on a dark room and letting the light flood in.
It doesn’t fix things or change my memories, but knowing I have him to talk to makes it easier.
Picking up a pancake, I tear a piece off and put it in my mouth. I see Jordan’s eyes making work of me, especially the partial leg he can see. He looks like he’s remembering what we did half an hour ago. I give him a look.
“What?” he says, eyes wide with innocence. “It’s not my fault you look hot in my t-shirt. And you have great f*ckin’ legs.”
A flush shimmers through my body. I can feel myself growing needy for his touch again.
I wonder if I’ll always feel like this about him.
I take another bite of pancake. Swallowing, I get an unexpected pain in my stomach. I grip my hand to my stomach. I know where this is from. I went a little rough on myself yesterday, and this is the first time I’m eating since.
Jordan notices. “Hey, you okay?” His brow furrows with concern.
“Yeah, fine.” I’m a little breathless as I ride out the pain. I put the pancake down. “Just women’s things.”
“Do I need to make the most of you while I can?”
I grin, the pain subsiding. “We’re good for a few more days, so feel free to take advantage whenever the mood takes.”
“Oh, I intend to.” He puts his pancake down and pats his lap.
“Now?” I bite my lip.
“Hmm.” He nods, that sexual shimmer in his eyes that he gets. The one that tells me he’s about to make my body feel amazing.
Getting off my chair, I straddle him, resting my arms on his shoulders and linking my hands behind his head. I can feel him already hard against me. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only for you, babe.” His hands go to my behind and his fingers trace a gentle line over my scars.
My body tenses, my muscles locking.
“Relax,” he soothes. “It’s just me.”
I nod my head, and try to relax.
Standing with me, he carries me to the bed, laying me down.
“You’re beautiful.” He drops a kiss to the base of my neck. “Every single part of you.” He moves down my body, laying on the bed beside me, and turns me to my side, facing me away from him. “Nothing about you is ruined…” His hand gently moves over my behind, down to my thigh. “Or broken, or marred…” He moves down, placing a kiss on my behind. “Just gorgeous, babe.”
Jordan moves up my body, curling his around mine with his chest to my back, hugging me to him.
“But nothing on the outside compares to what’s in here.” His voice comes in my ear, as his hand slips under the t-shirt. He presses his large hand between my breasts, covering my heart. “This is what I’m crazy about, what’s in here.”
My heart feels replete with him, ready to burst. Needing to be closer to him, I turn in his arms and bury my face in his neck, breathing him in.
I’ve never met anyone like Jordan. He’s a miracle to me. My miracle.
He’s like breathing fresh air for the very first time.
I realize that I didn’t start breathing until him.
I didn’t start living until him.
“I breathe you, Jordan,” I whisper against his skin.
He tilts his head back, eyes staring down into mine. “I breathe you too, babe.”