CHAPTER482
I inhale deeply, savoring the memory as I wander into the middle of Arrick’s apartment from the elevator, while he follows with our bags and dumps them by the end of the couch as I take in the open-plan space with joy. I haven’t been here in months and its sheer familiarity is making me feel calm, like coming home. Instantly still inside, like breathing warm soothing air after being out in the cold and I inhale slowly, the atmosphere washing over me. Welling up at how much I missed this place too. It smells like home-cooked food, men’s aftershave, leather, books, and something familiar and clean. It’s a weird combination but it’s how it always smells, bringing back so many mixed emotions.
Arrick’s apartment has always been a place I love to be, as it’s so very him; modern mixed with traditional. Open plan and industrial, yet with old battered armchairs and new comfy couches. A mix of old bookcases and steel framed shelves holding a collection of books, decorative pieces and picture frames. Walls lined with both abstract art and photographic prints in an array of wood, metal, and concrete frames. He has very male tastes, yet he is also a little eclectic and sentimental.
His kitchen is all steel and dark wood, minimal, and usually immaculate, but I notice a discarded box on the counter and what appears to be a broken picture frame on the surface next to it with a mess of glass spread carelessly across it and the floor. I move towards it impulsively, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder, frowning at the sight of it and steps out in front of me to go towards it.
“I’ll deal with it.” He throws me a light smile and leaves me to get myself comfy. Left to look around and reacquaint myself with my home away from home.
I pull off my coat and glance over to see him picking up the pieces until he pulls the picture free, looks it over, and then leans in to look over the box that is sat open. He frowns harder and reaches inside, lifting out a book and dropping it back in.
“Tasha. She was supposed to pick up what was left of her stuff and leave my key card back with Frank. Guess she was a lot more pissed than I gave her credit for.” He drops the photo in the box and turns to open a cupboard to retrieve a brush and pan to clear up the mess. I wander over, eyeing up the broken shards and lean up to catch a glimpse inside the box. The picture is facing up, a love portrait picture of Arrick and Natasha at a wedding or party, leaning in together to pose. I can’t say it doesn’t affect me because it does. A horrible sick feeling and a wave of chest pain that I try to push away.
Underneath is an assortment of things I recognize as Arrick’s; a sweater he wears a lot when he trains, and I have even worn on the odd occasion, a book, some DVDs, a couple of T-shirts and some toiletries. I move away, not wanting to keep coming back to the picture staring up at me. Looking at the broken frame instead.
“She broke this? Why?” I lift my hand to touch the picture frame, to wipe away some of the shards scattered across it, but Arrick catches my hand in mid-air.
“You’ll cut yourself, baby, let me clear it up.” He kisses my hand before moving it back and letting it go, to sweep off the pieces quickly. I watch him quietly, keeping my hands out of the way and try to let this go, let any talk of her go over my head.
“My guess is she came here when she landed, and this is her way of telling me to go fuck myself. It wasn’t exactly pleasant this morning.” He furrows his brow as he opens another cupboard and throws the pan contents in a concealed trash can. Domestically capable and showcasing his pretty hot physique when doing anything manual, like bending and showing off an ogle worthy tight ass.
“This was your picture?” I can tell by the style of the frame that it matches ones he has in his bedroom. The grey concrete frames, too masculine for the dainty pink and floral tastes of Natasha. I hate that she came here and broke something that belonged to him, even if she was in it too.
“It was. It was still sitting in my study along with stuff I had for her to pick up.” As though suddenly reminding himself, he turns and walks off to the side of the room to go check and comes back with a box. He places it next to Natasha’s box and lifts the lid, looking inside and chewing on his lip. “She’s taken what she wants I guess.” He closes it again and piles the two boxes together. Sliding them farther over to the corner of the counter to deal with later, eyeing me up warily. Attention coming back to me now that he has dealt with her little tantrum and I stare back at him with a heavy sigh.
“If you broke up over two months ago, why are you now only trading items?” I eye him suspiciously, watching the small shake of his head as he looks at me with an indulgent appraisal and a raised brow, seeing hints of the green-eyed me coming out to play. My direction on this topic is clearly unsettling him, and he probably thinks a storm is brewing, considering the delicate nature of this particular subject.
“She was a little too emotional the past few weeks; what with us and her dad, so I didn’t see it as majorly important. I guess this sort of symbolizes that she finally realizes we are done and not going back.” He seems a little mournful for a moment, that hint of guilt breaking through, but it disappears behind that cool façade quickly and I wonder if he ever misses her at all, the way he missed me.
“She didn’t accept it before?” I hate talking about this but as usual, my inquisitiveness is my biggest flaw, overtaking my impulsive instinct to ban all conversation that concerns Natasha. I want to know more about what’s been going on between them since I left here. A part of me wants to fill in the blank spaces, even if it hurts me. I want to trust him so badly.
“She was clinging to the hope that I still loved her enough to fix things. Only problem being, I realized if I ever loved her at all then I would never have thrown away everything for you. I guess I never loved her in the way I thought I did. It was hard for her to deal with that and she is still struggling to come to terms with it. Not that I blame her … I truly turned out to be a major shithead, to both of you.” Arrick turns and switches on his coffee machine, pulling out the drawer compartments to check if his housekeeper has refilled it and then hits the front power button. Turning back to me with a sigh, eyes scanning me softly. I start fiddling with my nails, watching him while my brain runs through a hundred questions and niggles that I am not sure I even dare to put out there.
It’s not that his confessions and adorations don’t get to me, they do. Everything he ever says tells me that this is real, it makes my heart soar and insides react. I am too wary to really show him anything just yet still feeling this out. Arrick’s face seems to straighten suddenly, his expression taking on a serious tone and he reaches for my hand, pulling it to his and wrapping it within his fingers protectively.
“Look, I need to be honest about this. I still answer her calls and I still talk to her if I run into her somewhere. I don’t make a point of seeing her, but sometimes she shows up. I’m still her friend and I want her to move on; if being in her life for a while longer helps her then that’s what I’m going to do. This stuff with her dad sealed the deal, she isn’t in a good place right now. I don’t want this to affect us, but I don’t want to hide this from you either.” Arrick leans his butt on the counter across from me so his head comes closer, catching my chin with his fingertips and tilting my face up to him tenderly. So much going on in those eyes of his and I really want to be able to believe him and not feel like his words are slicing my soul.
“You have nothing to worry about. I’m yours. You’re mine. No one is going to come between us if we don’t let them, and I am sure as hell not about to go looking anywhere else. It may have taken losing you to realize how much I fall to pieces without you, but I’m not an idiot that makes the same mistake twice. I know where my heart is, Sophs, it’s always wherever you are.” His focus on my face is mesmerizing, I bring my brows together and swallow hard in a bid to get my emotions to behave. Smiling softly, acknowledging that I do love what he is telling me, trying to show a little more to him when he’s being so beautiful to me. His softening look tells me he sees it.
The spurt of the coffee machine makes him look around for a second, straightening up before coming back the breakfast bar and sliding up behind me snugly, arms encircling my waist as he rests his body against me. My stomach lurching, heart aching as I take deep slow and even breaths in a bid to keep it together. He always knows how to set me off so effortlessly and I wonder if this is how Emma feels anytime Jake touches her.
I’m still holding my tongue, a thousand petty things poised childishly inside my mind, insecurely, waiting to pour out concerning his speech about her, but I know how immature and selfish that would make me. I know she is close to her parents and her father’s illness will be ripping her. Being a nurse means she probably knows without any doubt that he is dying. I flinch at the wave of deep guilt concerning her and it cements my inability to tell him how I wish he would just cut all ties with her for me.
Selfish girl.
He brushes my hair back, so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of my shoulder, letting me sag into him and I let out a small sigh of satisfaction, contentment. He’s learning fast in such a short space of time how to weaken my resolve, how to touch me for maximum impact. I always knew he was clever at certain things, I guess this is something he is very good at too.
“Sophie, you know me. I hope you still trust me enough to believe me. I’ve never been this way with anyone, even Natasha. That has to tell you how I feel about you.” He pushes me gently with his knees behind my legs, so I into his hold. I push my butt back into his groin naughtily in retaliation, the mood lifting at his playfulness. Pushing all other thoughts aside, for now, unable to ruin this moment.
“I do, I believe you.” I respond softly, leaning my head back against his throat, closing my eyes at how it feels to be in his arms this way. So many times, I thought of how this could be, missed how this felt, missed him and his touch. He runs his fingers down my throat gently.
“I never got the whole mushy touchy-feely thing Jake is all about, the constant touching and smooching Emma, twenty-four seven. Never really someone who wanted to walk around pawing at my girlfriend or spend copious amounts of time only wanting to be alone to paw my girlfriend. Natasha used to joke about the fact that I was allergic to too much intimacy. Sophie, it’s never been like that with you, ever. I want to be close to you, I have always just touched you, hugged you, held your hand and been comfortable being attached to you, even when it was innocent. I have always wanted you with me, no matter how often I saw you. You were my shadow for years and it’s only now I realize it’s because I wanted to be with you all the time, that touching you was a necessity.” He turns me in his arms, so I can rest my butt against the counter, his fingers trailing down my exposed arms, making them tingle. Eyes locked on one another steadily. “I know in myself how different this is. Because all I have wanted to do since we kissed again was to be wrapped around you, touching you, being connected to you somehow, even if it’s sat beside you on a plane and holding hands.” His fingers come to mine and connect, completely intertwined."
