An Hour Later…
Jason's House…
Dakota Roth…
Coming home was the right thing to do - because we had only been inside Jason's house for a grand total of possibly twenty-minutes but already it felt more like home than anywhere my so-called mother had taken us upon leaving here.
It was an almost awkward forty-minute journey to the house he called home, and it most definitely was not the same home that I had spent the first five years of my life. Now Jason lived on the very edge of the town where I had been born - his new home lay on a large plot of land that was surrounded by fields and trees that led into a large forest where he had mentioned seeing deer's some mornings. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't excited about seeing that for myself.
The house itself was much larger than what I had grown up in. It was mostly set on one level with stairs leading down into a beautifully renovated basement that was apparently where Jeremy was sleeping since he had recently moved in with my dad. On the upper level of the home, the living space, kitchen, and dining room was all open-plan ensuring that you could keep conversations going from anywhere in the space. The front door opened directly into a small mud-room like area where dad had placed a coat rack and where shoes were clearly deposited as we all removed our shoes and jackets before stepping into the main area which was the living room, a large sectional sofa with the corded-material in a beautiful slate-grey felt more like a centre-piece than the large natural open fireplace or the huge TV that hung from the roof on a swivel bracket so it could be pointed in any direction that you wanted it.
Beautifully shined oak flooring that felt warm under the feet and dad explained the heated flooring, apparently a must when living in Colorado. The walls were decorated in a simple cream colour and the splashes of colour came from the furnishings, which were mostly a deep-navy blue. Silver-chrome fixtures completed the simple bachelor-pad feel of the place.
One thing that happened upon entering the home was the onslaught of affection from a gorgeous black and white husky that dad called Zeus. Instantly the dog latched on to me and refused to leave my side. And don't get me wrong I am not complaining - growing up I had always wanted a dog, but I knew that it wasn't something that we could realistically afford.
Now I mentioned that the drive back to my dad's place was somewhat awkward and that was because I was suddenly hyper aware of another person more than I had ever been aware of anyone before.
Jeremy.
Uncle Remy.
I really don't think that I am reaching, in my assumption that there is an attraction between us. I mean he thinks I haven't noticed him staring at me but like I said - it feels like somehow, I am connected to him in a way that feels entirely foreign and slightly scary if I am going to be entirely honest with myself.
The heat of his body still felt seared into my own body from the hug we shared at the airport. The weight of his stare was distracting in a way that no man has ever made me feel before and his scent - sweet baby Jesus, but it is as if it was made with the intention of driving me out of my damn mind.
I wouldn't exactly call myself experienced when it comes to men because realistically, when would I have ever had the time? Between school, house-work, and my part-time job - I barely even had enough time to get six hours sleep a night. So, I am not at all versed in the way this whole attraction thing goes but even I know it is beyond complicated. In fact, I would go as far as saying that right now, it feels like mission impossible. I mean the very idea of it is like some cheesy airport romance novel shit.
I am attracted to my dad's best friend. And I really don't think that I am wrong in my assumption that he is as attracted to me as I am to him.
"I am going to leave you guys to talk," Charleigh announced once she accepted the large mug of hot chocolate/coffee mixture that my dad had insisted on making upon our arrival here.
"Thank you, sweetheart," dad nodded before turning to his best friend, "'Rem could you show her to the guest room?"
"Of course," Uncle Remy nodded as he tore his gaze away from me and began to engage my best friend in conversation while leading her away from us.
"You want to move to the sofa?" Dad asked me as he picked up his own mug of the combined hot chocolate and coffee.
"Sure," I nodded and followed behind him, my eyes glancing down the long hallway where Remy was holding the door to a guest room open for my best friend - our eyes clashed and the heat in his gaze was consuming in a way I felt flood my panties. It was like a very real, very physical, and steady stroke over my body in places that only one other man has ever seen or touched.
Some would say I am a late bloomer - it was only last year that I lost my virginity, and it wasn't exactly all roses and romance. No, it was a quick and dirty rumble in a back alley near the club where Charleigh and I were partying and celebrating finally being done with college for the summer. I would be far pressed to even remember the guy's name - it wasn't at all how I pictured losing my virginity but at that point I was just desperate to get it over with.
Jesus Christ! I gulped before dropping Remy's gaze because, Goddamn it - I felt like he could read my every thought with that heated look. It was a look of a man almost blinded with lust and desire. And that was exactly why nothing could ever happen between us - if my dad were to find out, that would be it - friendship over and everyone ripped apart over a quick grope and fuck.
But that isn't to say I couldn't fantasize about it, right? There is nothing wrong with an active imagination.
"Now, as much as I want to hear all about your life, pumpkin, I need to know what led to this first," my dad carefully brushed his finger against my eye.
I would be lying if I said that there wasn't a part of me that felt a little afraid to admit this to my dad.
What if he agreed with my mom?
What if he blamed me too?
What if he got mad?
However, no matter how many what if's I asked myself, I knew that I had to tell him. I had to be honest about it because he had to understand just how bad things had gotten in Scotland. I needed him to understand why I had come home. Why I had fled my mother and why said mother had felt it completely acceptable to hit me so hard she left a bruise.
"It's a long story,"
"I've got nowhere to be, pumpkin," he tenderly reached for my hand and held it in his as a sign of encouragement and support that I didn't even realise I needed.
"Well mom met a new guy about a year ago, Stuart. Out of nowhere he just showed up one Sunday afternoon and barely left. I always felt uncomfortable around him - it was as if I could feel his eyes tracking my every movement. And his comments about me were always bordering on inappropriate but never quite falling definitively into actual offensive-" I began, and I could feel my dad tensing almost instantly, "it was fine during the day because I was either out at school or work, or with Char', and he never drank during the day, at least during the week anyway, but come night, time it was like a switch flipped and the drink was the catalyst. I was on guard all the time and barely slept whenever he was around. I had already had a lock on my bedroom door because mom never had any issues with letting men come and go from the house. But when Stuart appeared I started putting a chair up against the door too just in case. Anyway, he and mom started to get serious, and he moved in about a month ago,"
Rummaging in my bag, I pulled my cigarettes from inside and held them up to ask if it was ok to smoke and that was when Dad slid the ashtray across the small coffee table to me. Handing him one which he accepted and lit up, both of us inhaling deeply to try and calm the range of emotions that my story was whipping up around us.
The truth is - I hated the idea of telling anyone about what happened. I felt ashamed and dirty. Like somehow, my mom was right, and it was all my fault.
Did I do something that encouraged Stuart to do what he did?
Did I give off some sort of vibe that invited him to try his hand?
Gently, my dad squeezed my hand to encourage me to continue talking and so taking a deep breath I did just that, at first watching the twist of anger and out-rage that contorted his features until I was worried that he was indeed blaming me too. My gaze dropped as the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention.
Somewhere behind us, I could feel Jeremy. I could feel his presence as if he were actually holding me close to his body. I wanted to turn. I wanted to meet his warm gaze but a part of me feared that everyone in my life would blame me for what happened. And I didn't want to see that look on him. Not Jeremy. Not even my dad. I never wanted to feel the way mom made me feel. Not again.
But what the fuck am I going to do if they do blame me? I am out of options and places to turn.