Page 19 of Love Medley (Med Wreck Romance #1)

Chapter thirteen

Lucy

W hy did I suggest that we should visit each other’s apartments?

Regardless of what I told Jake, I’m beginning to think that I’m just coming up with any excuse to see him again.

And that’s not a good idea on so many levels—I’m in no place to start anything and Jake’s not available…

at least, not for long. But the thought of Sam and Jake together curdles in my stomach.

That’s probably pretty revealing right there.

My apartment is already clean, since Weston trained me to keep everything spotless. Little by little, I’m realizing what I saw as normal in our relationship just…wasn’t. The stark contrast between Weston and Jake makes that even clearer.

But breaking free of Weston’s patterns isn’t easy. I worry that most of my choices still aren’t really mine. The horrible thing is—I can’t always tell. Even now, it feels like he’s taking my agency.

Then a thought strikes me, and I laugh. Weston would hate me dating Jake—so I’m pretty sure that’s all me.

The buzzer rings, signifying Jake has arrived, and I push a button on my phone to let him in.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock. I take a deep breath and open the door.

The moment I see Jake, something unexpected stirs in my chest.

It’s not just attraction, although that's certainly present. There's something about him that quiets the constant hyperalertness in my head.

He makes me feel… grounded. Like I can breathe a little easier just by being near him.

But I shouldn’t be surprised. Every time I see this man, he’s steady and calm. My safe harbor. His gentle way of being puts me at ease in a way I’ve never known.

Why did I have to meet the perfect man…only to offer him up on a silver platter?

“Hi,” Jake says, his gray eyes twinkling down at me.

“Hi,” I say back, breathless with my internal discovery. Does it even matter what I feel if he doesn’t feel the same ?

We stand there longer than is socially acceptable, but I seem unable to tear my eyes from his.

After an extended moment, I clear my throat and stand aside, gesturing to my apartment. “Here it is in all its glory.”

Jake grins and strides in, his thumbs already hooked into his pockets. Riveted to his every movement, I trace his features in detail: the dark, mussed hair, the outline of his muscular biceps, his lean frame.

Then I shake my head. What am I doing? Focus on the objective, Lucy.

“It’s nice,” Jake says. “I have to say, your place is way neater than mine.”

His innocuous comment only reminds me of Weston and makes my heart pound erratically. I hold a hand to my chest, steadying myself.

Immediately, Jake is by my side. “Lucy, you went pale just now. Was it something I said? Let’s sit down.”

He guides me to the couch.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say, feeling faint. “I just realized that my penchant for cleaning got dramatically worse when Weston and I were dating. He had a lot of specific ideas about how he wanted the apartment to look.”

Jake’s eyes flare with anger. Strangely, I’ve never worried he would lose his temper with me. Maybe it’s because his anger is never directed at me—only ever on my behalf—and there’s a world of difference between the two. His gestures have always been gentle. Never frightening .

I wonder what it would be like…to be with someone that brings that kind of tranquility into my life.

“Did Weston live here?” Jake asks in an even tone.

I take a deep breath, trying to focus back on the conversation. “For the most part. He had his own apartment, but he was rarely there.”

“It must be hard living in a place where there are a lot of painful emotions.”

Jake has no idea. But then I think of him growing up with that awful family of his. So actually, maybe he knows exactly what it’s like.

“Yeah,” I say. And then to my surprise, all the words come flooding out.

In stutters and stops, I tell him an abbreviated version of the events of the night that still haunts my dreams. “I was locked in the bathroom…for hours. He didn’t hit me, but that’s probably because there was a door between us.

I called my friend Amelia for help, and I think she saved my life. ”

Jake listens to the whole story without commenting, just nodding and keeping eye contact. At some point, he grabs my hand and squeezes it periodically just to let me know he’s there.

I had forgotten what it was like to have a man listen to what I had to say before bulldozing me with his own opinions.

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” Jake says, his eyes stormy. “Weston is an ass that doesn’t deserve to walk on the same ground you do. I hope you know that.”

I give him a half-smile. “I’m starting to. ”

Jake hesitates, and then says, “Did Weston criticize what you were wearing the other day?”

My cheeks grow hot. “Yeah. This is mortifying to admit now, but Weston used to pick my clothes. He…just had a lot of opinions, and this way I’d steer clear of his anger.”

“Fuck,” Jake breathes, his hands fisted in his lap. “I hope you know now that he should be jailed for doing that to you. No man should ever tell you what to wear or what to do.”

God, this man. Why hadn’t I met him two years ago instead of Weston? The trajectory of my life would have been so different. “Thank you,” I whisper.

For a short time, we sit in silence. I’m increasingly furious with myself for dating a jerk like Weston when there were obviously good guys out in the world. Jake is certainly one of them.

“So…should we take a few pictures together?” Jake says, tapping a rhythm on his leg.

“Yes,” I say, eyeing his restless hands. Could Jake be nervous ? “Maybe we can take a couple selfies on the couch?”

“Sounds good,” Jake says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, I think we’ll have to be pretty close for the photos? Is that okay?”

Liquid heat immediately pools in my lower belly at his words. Eliminating the physical distance between us is dangerously appealing, and regardless of the consequences, I know I’m going to say yes. “It’s okay,” I murmur.

Jake shifts closer to me and slides an arm around me, pulling me close. I shiver with the sensation of his bare arm touching mine, his strength encasing me. “Are you cold?” Jake asks .

“No, no,” I stutter. “Um, this is good, let’s take some pics.”

I lift up my phone, but the phone slips out of my nerveless hand, and Jake catches it before it falls. “Here, let me do it,” he says.

As he holds up my phone, Jake leans into me so we’re sitting cheek to cheek, and I’m positive he feels my pounding heart.

Click, click, click.

After Jake snaps the photos, he gently extricates himself from me and hands me the phone. The moment he’s no longer touching me, I feel the void immediately and wish I could close the distance between us.

“How do they look?” Jake asks, jerking me out of my reverie.

Glancing down, I scan through the photos, my stomach doing somersaults as I glimpse an alternate timeline where Jake and I might have been a couple.

We look so happy…and so right together. More right than Weston and I ever did.

A niggling sense of loss fills my belly, but I shove the feeling far, far away.

I have baggage that I need to get rid of, and Jake has Sam. Trying to hide the pang of jealousy that sears through me, I say, “These look perfect. I’ll upload them later.”

And then, I blurt out the first thing that might break this unbearable limbo: “Should we head to your place now?”

Jake glances at me for a beat, a question in his eyes. But then he only says, “Sure thing.”