9
1737 Words
JORDAN
The moment I swing the door open, three-year-old Zara barrels into me, her tiny arms flinging around my waist.
“Uncle Jordan!”
“Hey, bug!” I crouch down and let her bounce against me, her curls tickling my chin. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Is it? Because you’ve been avoiding everyone.”
I look up to find Sharon my ever-blunt older sister leaning casually against the counter of my mini bar, a half-empty wineglass in her hand.
I sigh. “Nice to see you too, Sharon.”
“Don’t deflect. We literally had to hunt your ass down.”
“I’ve been busy. Work and stuff.” I stand and nod toward her drink. “And I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable.”
She grins and tosses back the rest of her wine before crossing the room to hug me. “I missed you, little brother.”
“Hmmp.”
Zara’s already back on the rug, surrounded by dolls and toy cars. Her soft hum fills the space, easing the quiet that always feels too heavy in this house.
I head to the bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey. The burn steadies me.
“I heard about Taylor,” Sharon says after a moment, her voice lower now. She looks down, tracing the rim of her empty glass. “You’re probably surprised I know about her. I, um… saw her file in your study two months ago. The week you got back and were setting up your new office.”
My grip tightens around the glass. “What did you see?”
“Just her name and a photo.” She gives me a guilty look. “It stuck with me because I was directing a movie about domestic violence around that time.”
I exhale slowly. “Don’t do that again.”
Her brows knit. “Do what? Direct movies about domestic violence, or go through your stuff?”
I glance at Zara, who’s now talking softly to one of her dolls, and then gesture for Sharon to sit. She does, reluctantly. I take the stool beside her.
“You’re strong, Sharon. You’ve proved it a hundred times. So no I’m not telling you to stop making movies about real issues. But my case is different. I don’t want you anywhere near it. The less you know, the safer you are.”
She stares at me for a moment, her expression softening. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snooped.”
I nod, taking a slow sip of whiskey. The silence stretches before she asks quietly, “How are you holding up?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, though it sounds hollow even to me. “Her funeral service is tomorrow.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you going?”
“Yeah. But I’ll stay in the background. I don’t want anyone recognizing me.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Wait, you’re still in hiding?”
I groan and roll my eyes. “You make it sound like I crawled into some cave in the woods. I’m just… keeping a low profile. Getting reacquainted with the city.”
She shakes her head, half-amused, half-worried. “Well, your best friend seems to think otherwise.”
That bastard.
My jaw clenches before I even realize it, a pulse of heat shooting through my chest. The audacity. Felix always has a way of inserting himself where he doesn’t belong, like a splinter I can’t dig out.
“You've been talking to Felix?”
She shrugs. “He called to complain that you've been,” she makes a quote and unquote sign, “unreachable.”
“He runs a tech firm. He should know how these things work.”
“He's worried, plus, he's run out of excuses for his wife about you not making it to dinner.”
Nadia. God, I miss her. I saw her last night but we couldn't spend much time together. She had to rush back to the office to finish up a dress for a client's wedding next week.
I wanted to tag along and go watch her work, but she wouldn't have it. She instead reminded me of the no strings rule. Like I hadn’t heard it the first dozen times. Like she didn’t already have every string in my chest wrapped around her fingers.
“He said something that struck me, though.” Sharon pauses and pours another glass before she continues. “He said his wife is glowing..like..happier and s*x-sated glow. He also said he asked to meet her partner.”
Sharon’s words hang in the air like smoke.
My throat tightens. A bitter taste coats my tongue, jealousy, sharp and uninvited. I try to laugh it off, but the sound that comes out is more of a growl.
“That’s…” I swallow hard, trying not to let Sharon see how much her revelation rattles me. The last thing I need is her sniffing around my business. “If I remember right, the open marriage was his idea. He even bragged about drafting a set of rules, one of them being that neither partner should ever know who the other was sleeping with.”
Sharon arches a brow, arms folded. “Well, I guess he’s changed his mind.”
I snort, though it feels hollow. “And his wife?”
Sharon shrugs. “We don’t move in the same circles. There is no way of getting her side of things.”
Well, I’ve heard her breath catch, and felt her skin tremble against mine. If anyone could ask, it’s me. But how the hell would I even start that conversation without giving myself away?
Hey, sweetheart, how does it feel knowing your husband’s losing his mind?
Yeah. That would go well.
My burner phone buzzes against the coffee table. I glance down, and before I can stop myself, a smile creeps in.
“You changed your phone?”
Shit. Sharon’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I look up, and she’s eyeing me like she’s caught me doing something suspicious.
“No,” I say, shoving the phone into my pocket. “It’s a work phone.”
She gives me that look, the one that says she doesn’t buy it but doesn’t care enough to push. “Sure. Whatever. I’m starving. Let me see what you’ve got in that kitchen before I faint.”
I rise with her, masking relief with an easy grin. “Make yourself at home. If there’s nothing decent, order takeout, anything you want.”
Her smile blooms, warm and bright. She turns back long enough to plant a quick kiss on my cheek before disappearing into the kitchen. “Thanks, Jordan.”
I scoop Zara up and nuzzle her nose. “I have to head out now, bug. I’ll see you and your mom later, okay?”
She nods, giving me a quick squeeze before letting go. “Okay, Uncle Jordan.”
I kiss her cheek, set her down, and grab my car keys.
As I step outside, the cool air hits me, sharp, grounding. But beneath it, something stirs an ache I’ve been trying to ignore all day.
Just the thought of Nadia sends heat crawling under my skin. Every breath feels heavier, like my body remembers her before my mind even dares to.
I slide into the driver’s seat, fingers tightening around the wheel, the thought of Nadia pulling me forward, slow and sure, like gravity.
I used to think Nadia’s laughter was addictive but the breathless sounds slipping from her lips now are on another level. They wind through me, sharp and sweet, a kind of intoxication I never want to recover from.
I kiss her again, slower this time, my hand tracing the curve of her back before sliding to her front and tugging up her skirt. “If you make that sound again,” I murmur against her mouth, “I’ll f**k you right over the hood of my car.”
She laughs softly and gives my arm a playful slap. “That’s scandalous.”
I graze my lips along her neck then my hand moves towards her radiant heat. I stroke her curls until my finger brushes her slit. “And thrilling. I’m getting turned on just thinking about it.”
Something flickers in her eyes, a mix of daring and curiosity I’ve never seen before. “So…do you want to?”
“You’d let me?”
Her lips part. “Maybe.”
I pull her closer until her breath catches, my voice dropping. “Be serious, sweetheart. I’m not playing.”
Her tongue brushes mine, light as a spark, and something inside me breaks loose. I lift her easily, and she hooks her legs around me, her slimy center pressed against my throbbing shaft.
“Let’s do it,” she whispers, her lips brushing my ear. “It’s dark out here anyway. No one will see us.”
Her words hang in the air, teasing and dangerous. I pause, my breath rough against her skin. The night hums around us — the faint buzz of streetlights, the soft echo of our hearts racing in sync.
I want her. I always want her. But this isn’t just desire anymore, it’s deeper, consuming. I’m in love with her. Completely. Desperately.
“Sweetheart…” I whisper, half warning, half plea.
She cups my face, her thumb tracing the corner of my mouth. “Don’t think,” she breathes. “Just feel.”
That’s the problem, I feel too much. Every time I touch her, I lose a piece of the restraint I built trying to keep this thing from consuming me.
Still, I kiss her, slow, deep, and desperate like I can quiet the noise in my head with her taste alone.
When I finally pull back, she’s trembling, her breath ghosting over my lips.
“And make it worthwhile,” she whispers, eyes glistening. “Because this is the last time you’ll ever see me.”
The words slice through me. My chest caves, breath stuttering.
For a moment, I just stare at her, searching for something, hope, a lie, or anything.
She’s masked her emotion, and all I see is a wall so high it would take a storm to break through.
My stomach sinks, that familiar punch of despair hitting hard, leaving me empty and broken.
- Writer
