Page 38 of Everything In Between

THIRTY-ONE

hayes

My heart feels like it has jumped into my throat.

“Really?” I ask her gently, worried that if I speak too loudly her offer will disappear into thin air.

Jersey settles back into her spot next to me and wrings her hands in her lap. Her normally full lips are pressed into a tight line and her typically glittering eyes are more reserved.

She gives me a small nod and shies away from my gaze. “I’ve only ever played my original songs for a few people. It’s not something I share easily. Maybe someday I’ll be able to share my words with the world, but until then, they’re the biggest part of my identity that I still claim for myself.”

“This one’s called A Piece of Me,” she says, reverently.

I start a bit, understanding now why she averted her eyes when I said I would carry a piece of her with me a few moments ago.

Her eyes find mine and I still see the trepidation behind them.

I clear my throat and give her hand a squeeze.

“I hope you know by now how much you mean to me, and that I’d do anything to protect you.

I’ll do the same for your words. It means the world to me that you’re trusting me with something so sacred. I promise I don’t take that lightly.”

Her gaze softens, and she looks down at the guitar in her lap. Untangling her hands from mine, she places them on the strings and then takes a deep breath, blowing it out and then starting the first chord progression.

I sit back and watch her work her magic.

Her voice echoes through the living room, swirling and taking shape as if it’s an entity all its own. Similar to the first time I saw her perform, I find myself falling under her spell. Her words wrap around me and consume my every thought.

As she finishes the first verse and begins the chorus she opened with, I reflect on the meaning. Her words are descriptive, all coming together to tell the story of where she started and ultimately—what I’m assuming—is leading to where she is today.

Her tone grows stronger once she hits the crescendo of her chorus. Her eyes flash to mine and she fights off a smile, clearly appreciating how I’m hanging on her every word.

How could I not? She’s an artist, weaving together pieces of the English language to create the most intricate story, highlighting her journey and her struggles.

I’m mesmerized by her, fully and irrevocably entranced.

All that’s left

Is a piece of me

A piece of my soul

That’s broken and blue

It’s one regret, a broken dream

Begging to be true

Leaving behind

Only a piece for you

Jersey’s struggle with her creative identity is one I know she’s been dealing with for most of her career. She’s hinted at the level of despair she has about not being granted any creative freedom, but this song alone shows me that those feelings run far deeper than what she’s hinted at.

Jersey transitions into the bridge of the song, taking the melody and changing the key a bit so it stands out.

Subconsciously or not, her posture changes as she gets ready to lead into this next section.

Her shoulders square, her spine straightens, and the wistful expression she has on her face morphs into one of determination.

They won’t stop me

I’ll keep trying

I’ll keep going

Never backing down

I’ll never give up

I’ll never stop fighting

Until all that’s left are the words

That together create a piece of me

She strums a few more chords and hums along to the melody, her face taking on that wistful expression once again. My pulse is pounding in my ears, mixing with the beat of her song.

Slowly, she finishes out the song and then lets the final note linger a bit longer, dissolving into the silence of the room around us.

Our gazes lock and I suck in a deep breath, unable to put into words what I’m feeling. It’s a mix of admiration that I got to listen to a personal concert performed by her, and gratitude that she’d show me the most intimate parts of herself.

Slowly, I reach for her, taking the neck of her guitar and carefully setting it off to the side. She tracks my every move, watching with interest to see what I’ll do next.

When her guitar is safely placed next to her, I wrap my hand around her wrist, urging her closer to me.

“Come here,” I murmur. She comes willingly, not needing much coaxing until she’s climbing back onto the couch.

I shift a bit, wincing as I find a comfortable angle for my knee. Jersey crawls closer toward me and tucks herself into my side, leaning her head on my shoulder and snuggling into me.

Her breath fans across my lips as I regard her. She traces the angles of my jaw with her thumb, eyes staring soulfully into mine.

“What did you think?” she asks me, her voice a whisper.

“I think you amaze me more and more every day,” I tell her honestly.

“I wish everyone at the label felt that way when I sang for them,” she tries to joke. I can hear the sadness in her voice and it makes me sad for her. Especially knowing what kind of talent she has, what kind of creative touch she possesses for music.

“There’s no question in my mind now that Cal and your label are intimidated by you.” She pulls back a little, waiting for me to explain. “Your song is amazing, and your voice is . . . unmatched. Together, you’d be the complete package. Can you imagine what kind of power that would give you?”

She shrugs one shoulder, but I can see she’s hanging on my every word.

“You’d have people falling at your feet, traveling across the world to see you, to get a piece of you.” My voice falls soft. “The power you’d wield would send the entire place into a tailspin. They’re only telling you no because they’re not willing to let go of their control over your career.”

“You think so?”

“Jersey, I know so,” I say with conviction.

Something shifts in her gaze and she leans forward, closing the distance between us until our chests are pressed together and her nose runs along the length of mine.

I guide her to move from my side onto my lap.

Once settled, her thighs on either side of mine and her hands resting on my shoulders, she pauses for a moment, letting the tension build between us before she presses her lips to mine, kissing me tentatively.

I can’t seem to help myself though, and my hand snakes up from her waist to cup the back of her neck. She makes a mewling sound as she kisses me, wrapping her arms around my neck and arching her back.

My fingers tangle in her hair and I angle her head to the exact position I want her in so I can kiss her deeply. I pour everything that I can’t say with words into this kiss, and I hope she can feel it.

I want her to know how awestruck I am by her.

I want her to know that I think she’s the most amazing and wonderful woman I’ve ever met.

I want her to be confident that she can be whatever version of herself she wants to be, even if it seems impossible right now.

There’s so much more I wish I could put into words, but they seem to escape me the longer she kisses me—flitting from my brain like a whisper in the wind.

Maybe it’s the painkillers doing their magic, or maybe it’s her, but I barely feel the ache in my knee, too transfixed by this woman sitting on my lap.

Her nails gently scrape down the length of my arms, and she threads our fingers together.

I’ll never tire of Jersey’s touch all over my body. Every inch she graces comes alive with desire and yearning for her. I pull away, staring down at her with hooded eyes, and wondering how the fuck I got to be so fortunate to get to have these quiet moments with her.

My life has never felt more complete than it does right now with Jersey in my lap and her hands all over me. God, now that I’ve experienced what it’s like to have her here, I can’t imagine a world where she’s not.

The mere thought has my heart constricting to painful levels, and to ease some of the ache, I untangle our hands and wrap my arms around her, drawing her closer to me until there’re only inches between us.

Finding her lips again, I kiss her tenderly, breathing her in and memorizing her taste. She kisses me back, matching my enthusiasm.

It’s all I can do to commit this moment to memory—focusing on how absolutely flawless she is. Her passion and her depth, her thoughtfulness and her dedication. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have the privilege of experiencing the intimate parts of Jersey Matthews—both physical and otherwise.

I wonder if she was meant for me all along, if all these years I’ve had so many failed relationships, all in the name of finding her someday.

I’m one lucky fool.

“Fuck, you look so hot right now,” I mutter, and she preens with the praise. My fingers tow with the curled ends of her hair, twisting the silky strands between the pads of my thumb and forefinger.

“Am I hurting you?” Worry appears in her gaze.

“Absolutely not.” I can’t imagine the disappointment of her stopping. I appreciate her worry for my post-injured self, but really, she’s up high enough on my thighs that her grinding over my cock isn’t hurting me at all, in fact, quite the opposite. “There’s too many clothes between us still.”

She arches a dark brow and she bats her eyelashes at me. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I lean forward and nibble on her earlobe as my fingers reach for the hem of my T-shirt she’s wearing. Slowly, I raise it up and over her shoulders and head. “Hmm. That’s a little better.”

My mouth waters at the sight of her, topless, sitting in my lap in only a pair of black lace panties.

The gold necklace around her neck glints in the light of the Christmas tree, accentuating my number across her chest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier than her right now.

Her nipples harden, under my gaze, begging for my attention.

“Now what?” She’s breathless, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide as she waits for her next instruction. I love this side of her, and I love that I’m the only one who gets to see it.

A wicked smile appears on my face. “Take off your underwear.”