Learning to Move Forward: Novella #3.5 Read online

  Jonathan asked, “I remember that. So why did you hesitate?”

  “I worried we were moving too fast. Our first date was rushed and chaotic with Laurel being admitted to the hospital that night, thanks to Chase. Then we were thrown into living with one another because of that bastard.” I didn’t realize it, but I made them both jump when I slammed my hand down against the sofa cushion. Just thinking about Chase made my blood boil.

  “Sorry for the outburst. Thinking about Chase angers me.”

  Jocelyn moved over to sit beside me and rubbed my back with her hand. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re reacting honestly to a situation and you need to let it out. Please continue.”

  I looked up into Jonathan’s eyes. “I sometimes wonder if the reason we fell for one another was because we needed each other at the time to get through the heartaches of our loved ones. You were there for me during Laurel’s healing. I sometimes looked up to you in a hero worship kind of way.”

  The look on his face nearly broke my heart. “You don’t truly love me?”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s not it. I do love you, with all my heart! Or at least I feel I do. I just want to be sure that we both love one another for the right reasons, not because we were thrown together. I guess that’s why I’ve been pushing you away to see if you’d still be there beside me, to see if you’d put up with my shit. You know how bitchy and straightforward I can be at times.”

  He laughed, making me wonder what was so funny, or was he laughing at me? “Darling, that’s one of the reasons I fell so hard for you! Just ask Garrett. I’ve dated women who were fake and clingy, who would go along with about anything I said just to appease me, all because of my last name and knowing I come from money. That turned me off quickly.

  “Then you came into the restaurant with Laurel that day. We’d both agreed they were being ridiculous how they were handling their separation. I remember Laurel excusing herself from the table so we could talk. I loved your “no holds barred” way of talking. To me you were a breath of fresh air and what I’d been searching for. Your looks made me want to get near you, but your attitude drew me in and cinched the deal.”

  “You mean you didn’t even care that I’m missing a hand? That I’m not a complete person, not perfect?” How was he able to look past everything when everyone else focused on what I was missing?

  “Honey, I couldn’t have given a damn if you were missing a whole arm. I liked you for you and then the more I got to know, the more I fell in love with you.” Jonathan was still kneeling on the floor, but moved closer to give me a chaste kiss on the lips. “I’m sorry you lost your hand in that horrific accident, but I’m in love with who you are on the inside, not just the outside.”

  Jocelyn reached into the drawer of her end table and pulled out a notebook. “I think we just discovered part of your problem and why you’re unconsciously driving Jonathan away. The issues surrounding the loss of your hand seem to be resurfacing. There may be some other issues too, but it appears you have the need to feel perfect around others or you expect them not to like you, so you create distance.”

  This is total bullshit. But then again…I did push several of my friends, and a potential boyfriend, away after the accident. Could my life have turned out different if I’d talked to a therapist like they’d advised in the hospital?

  My hand quickly flew to my mouth as realization hit.

  Jocelyn handed me the notebook. “Grace, I want you to go back to the last memories of your life, before it changed in the accident. You can write about any time frame from that portion of your past. I want you to tell me what your personality was like, who you associated with, pretty much anything you want to talk about. You can do all the writing at one sitting or spread it out over a couple of days. Then when you’re done, I want to meet back here and discuss it.”

  She turned to Jonathan. “Give her time to herself so she can write and focus on her childhood. If she opens up to you, then be a good listener and support any revelations she uncovers. We’ll all meet back here in a few days to go over things.”

  She stood to get her calendar and scheduled our next visit before giving me a hug. “You’re doing fine, Grace. I think the answer to keeping people at arm’s length lies in the past and we’ll get to the bottom of this so the two of you can be happy. I can see the love you have for one another reflected in your eyes. Things will work out, don’t you worry.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jonathan took my hand and led me to the door. I paused in front of the mirror by the elevator. I noticed for the first time in weeks, my emerald eyes did seem to have a sparkle back in them. He leaned in. “Your eyes are sparkling again, cupcake.” There he goes with reading my mind again. I guess he does really know me.

  I don’t know why he insisted on calling me that. He always claimed his favorite dessert was cupcakes and he loved having me for dessert, the pervert, but I loved him and it always made me giggle when he called me that.

  He leaned into me to view our reflection while we waited for the elevator. We did make quite the couple. His brown hair, with a touch of auburn and grey eyes seemed to complement my green eyes and long blonde hair. Then my eyes locked onto my prosthetic and I felt the sparkle fade.

  Remember to be perfect in everything you do! That’s how you get people to love you! Where the hell did that thought come from? Maybe I did need this therapy.

  Chapter 3

  We returned to Jonathan’s house, or now I’m supposed to be saying “our” house. I’d moved in here temporarily, as a safe place to stay until Chase was caught. Who knew I’d end up staying and getting engaged.

  Garrett thought Chase might be willing to do anything to get to Laurel, including hurting me. I couldn’t argue with him, because I had the same fear.

  He’d given me a variety of choices, including staying at his parents’ place, or even his penthouse, in the same building as our apartment. But I wasn’t comfortable staying with strangers. At least I’d felt some kind of connection with his brother Jonathan. Apparently, he felt the same connection because he was insistent I stay with him.

  Garrett had been sweet enough to arrange for security to go with us to pack up enough clothes that I wouldn’t need to come back right away for anything. What he didn’t know is that I’d been totally embarrassed about him seeing my lingerie and other unmentionables.

  He’d offered me any room in the house that I felt comfortable with. I ended up with the one right next to his. I wanted someone close by, just in case, and the décor just spoke to me. It was blue, much like my room at the apartment. For some reason, it made me feel at home and peaceful.

  I was surprised to learn that his parents lived only a half mile down the road from him. They lived in a mansion style home, while his was a little smaller, more subdued, more to my liking. It was a bit manly in style, but not the classic bachelor pad.

  Garrett recently surprised Laurel with an amazing home just down the road, as well. Since she has always been fascinated with Italy, he had an Italian-inspired mansion built for her and the kids. He wanted the added benefit of being closer to his brother and parents.

  The greatest shock came when Laurel’s brother and friend moved down and took over our old apartment. The hope was that if Chase showed up, he’d get the surprise of his life dealing with Donny and Freddie, who were furious with all he’d put Laurel through.

  Then Laurel’s parent’s, along with mine relocated down to the Orlando area, where the whole family is within a short driving distance of one another.

  I was lost in thought, thinking about all the changes that have happened within the past year, when I heard, “Darling?”

  I felt Jonathan come up behind me as I stared out the window at the front lawn. His arms wrapped around my waist as his lips trailed tender kisses from my neck all the way to lobe of my ear, where he bit playfully. “Where are you?”

  I just shook my head. “I’m just lost in my own thoughts. Talking with
Jocelyn seemed to open up Pandora’s Box in my mind. I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing. There’s just so much to think about in regards to my life.”

  “Do you have any preference for dinner?” His hands cupped my breast, rolling the nipples, causing me to push back against his crotch. His lips came down and bit lightly at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. “I already know what I want for dessert. Shall we add some whipped cream or chocolate to the menu tonight?”

  That’s my man. He sure had some crazy sex fantasies regarding food. However, I couldn’t complain too much, since I did enjoy sucking on a chocolate pop. I wet my lips as I began to imagine drawing him, dipped in chocolate, into my mouth. I liked when he tried to go “head” to “head” with me.

  His hips rocked forward into my backside. “At least I know I can still turn you on. The scent of your arousal is driving me crazy.”

  I felt his hands slip away from me, causing me to feel a bit abandoned. “I’ll go start dinner. The sooner we eat, the quicker we can get to the course we’re both longing for.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. I tried smiling and bending down a bit so he could get an appetizer view of cleavage, but something felt off.

  I decided to open Jocelyn’s notebook and think back on my happiest times prior to the accident.

  August 4,

  Dear Journal,

  I don’t know why I even bother writing “Dear Journal,” this is nothing more than a notebook of my thoughts and a means to try and figure out why I have a tendency to push people away. I guess I will just write and hope that in some of my thoughts the reasons will reveal themselves.

  It seems like the only people I’ve never pushed away have been my cousins, Donny and Laurel. They’ve both been the big brother and little sister that I’ve always wanted, but never had.

  Mom and Dad are great in some respects and very trying in others. They’ve always catered to giving me anything and pretty much everything I ever wanted in my childhood. I always had the best and most popular clothes to wear, the latest hairstyle, trends, or whatever else was the “in thing” at the time.

  Mom used to dote on the topic of perfection. “If you want to attract the right kind of friends, you need to come off looking as perfect as possible.” I always had to be mindful of how my hair and makeup looked, how I was dressed, how I carried myself…the list was unending; almost to the point of exhaustion.

  Where Mom instilled perfection in terms of beauty and being the proper young woman; Dad carried on with the finer details of life and work. “A person must present themselves in the best light. Even if you aren’t the best candidate for the job, you just make your potential employer believe you can be.” To him, every “i” was dotted and every “t” crossed. “Without perfection, the job is only half done.”

  I wasn’t surprised when I hit middle school and the typical cliques developed, that I’d be a part of them. I was welcomed into the “in-crowd” in the seventh grade, and by the time I hit my freshman year in high school, I was the leader of our group, making the rules. I’d become such a perfectionist that I decided who we’d allow into our little clique and who to keep out. Anyone caught fraternizing with someone sub-standard would be subject to being kicked out of our circle. We were what everyone wanted to be.

  The clique made me feel great, with one exception. I had double standards. I hid the fact that my cousin was a bit of a geek. Laurel and I hadn’t met until we were 13. Our parents’ work always came first and one or the other of us would end up missing the family reunions. When we met, I noticed her sitting off to the side by herself and decided to go talk to her since no one else would.

  We hit it off and managed to talk for hours on end about boys, school, favorite movies and songs, pretty much any topic, and we seemed to have similar likes and dislikes toward them. I knew I instantly had a new friend and could see Laurel’s hidden beauty, hiding behind baggy pants and shirts. So I begged my mother and my Aunt Sylvia to take us shopping so we could re-do Laurel’s wardrobe and image.

  My mother stuck her nose up at Laurel’s way of dressing, but Sylvia thanked me because she’d been trying to get her daughter to dress more feminine and “in style.” Between all of us, we managed to change her fashion sense, got her a new hair cut that flattered her face more, and was able to transform our little caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly.

  I felt the need to help Laurel since she was frustrated that no guy would talk to her at school and the girls all laughed at her clothes. But to be honest, I wanted to help her so if she ever came to visit, I wouldn’t feel the need to hide her from my clique. I needed to make her look like she belonged, even if she didn’t. I guess I was totally selfish with my ways, but I always strived for perfection.

  Laurel still had her geeky side with her passion for robotics and swimming. I had my love for tennis, cheerleading, and archery. I loved things that inspired my eye for details.

  The more I think back on my relationship with Laurel, the more I realize that while I transformed her outer appearance. I think she was busy transforming my inner form. I suddenly felt myself be more compassionate toward others.

  I let some of my standards toward perfection slide over the course of a couple years, just a tad, and my parents almost had a cow. “If you don’t dress properly, you’ll not attract the right guy, go to the right college, and find the ideal job in life.”

  They let up on me some when I started dating the quarterback to the high school football team. He was a junior and I was a sophomore. I was president of our sophomore class, the captain of our cheerleading team, and in every popular club the school had.

  It was around this time that I started having trouble relating to Laurel, because her focus was entirely on her swimming and robotics so she could obtain a scholarship to MIT and continue with her studies. At that point, I couldn’t care less about college. All I wanted was to be seen with the most popular kids in school. I could figure out what to do with my life later.

  We fought and I felt torn between wanting to be “perfect” for my parents, to gain their support or what I thought was their approval, and just having fun and being a kid. Why was I being forced to grow up so quickly? Was it because I was an only child? Why the need to be completely perfect in a flawed world?

  Is this my dilemma? I was happiest when I didn’t have to put on the ideal persona. But because it was ingrained into my psyche, I now have to either accept idealism or reject it?

  I don’t know…

  “Grace, are you okay?” Jonathan’s voice was filled with worry.

  “Yeah, why do you ask?” I looked up to see him standing over me at the couch, concern etched across his face.

  “I’ve been calling you for several minutes and you never responded. I finally came in here and you’ve been in almost a catatonic state.” He knelt down on the edge of the sofa, giving me a soft peck on the cheek. “Dinner’s ready. I made your favorite, pasta carbonara and a tossed salad.”

  My stomach growled. The thought of my favorite dish made my mouth water. “Perfect, because I’m starved.” I’d been too nervous to eat earlier in the day, knowing we had the visit with Jocelyn.

  I sat the notebook down and was surprised to see I’d filled up several pages of text. I realized I was a mouthy person, but I never thought I’d be able to even complete a paragraph, let alone one or two pages. I guess my issues are more deeply seated than I’d originally thought.

  ***

  Dinner was amazing, as always. Jonathan not only had a head for business, but definitely had creative talents when it came to food. I could manage a couple of dishes in the kitchen, but I easily stayed out of his domain and instead focused on the laundry to make up for my lack of cooking.

  The dessert was better than I could have imagined. We’d both been off our game when it came to sex lately. It was either him or me being too tired, one of us not feeling well, or some benefit or function going on that required both of us to be there. We’d gone from h
ot and heavy to good luck getting your ass pinched.

  Tonight he’d promised dessert and boy did he deliver. He’d set a fire in the family room’s fireplace, laid out an old blanket atop of a faux bear skin rug, and had a jar of chocolate sauce, fresh whipped cream, strawberries and grapes laid out in little bowls beside the hearth.

  I was about the lower myself to the ground, but Jonathan grabbed hold of my elbow and shook his head. “Not so fast, little missy. You’re wearing entirely too many clothes and I want you to strip, now!”

  I loved when he went all alpha dominant on me. He still held a playful smile across his face despite his tone. But I knew I didn’t dare cross him. The last time I did, I couldn’t sit comfortably for a day because he’d paddled my ass with his hand to the point of pain and then brought me to a screaming orgasm. I felt humiliated but turned on all at once.

  “Yes, sir.” I felt my heartbeat accelerate at the idea of him watching me strip. I tried to be as seductive as possible and could tell it was working by the bulge in his pants, along with the need to shift himself.

  My nipples hardened at his gaze as the last piece of material dropped to the floor. “May I sit down now, sir?” I questioned, trying to look contrite.

  He shook his head. “You haven’t completely stripped.”

  I made a mental list of everything I was wearing. I’d taken off my skirt, shirt, bra, thong, shoes, jewelry, and so forth. I didn’t understand what I could have missed. I looked up at him, my face perplexed.

  He moved toward me. He pulled his polo shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes, and started to unzip his fly. The muscles in his chest and perfectly toned abs rippled with strength as he moved. Every time I watched my man start to strip, my mind just flew off into another world and I imagined my body wound tightly around his, holding on for dear life while he takes me hard; hoping he doesn’t find out I’m not perfect. There’s that damn word again. Get off the damn perfection hang-up tonight and enjoy some of that dessert he’s offering up!