Collided: Dirty Air (Book 2)(90)
Cries and groans fill the silence of the empty desert, our heavy breathing providing the best soundtrack.
“Oh my...Liam…” Her sultry voice runs against my skin, the heat of her combatting the cold air around us. Sophie’s not one for false moans and words to boost my ego. She keeps it simple and sweet—just like her.
A warmth creeps up my spine as I come, my dick pulsing inside of Sophie while I continue to slowly pump over and over again. It’s a mind and body fuck all at once.
I collapse on top of her. My lips leave soft kisses on her neck in a silent apology, the dark spots already forming, evidence of our night together. “I apologize in advance for the hickeys.”
Her throaty laugh brushes off my comment. I pull out of her slowly, disconnecting our bodies, both of us sighing at the loss. My lips find hers again and leave a lingering kiss before I grab a blanket from the corner of our makeshift bed.
“You spoil me.” She runs a hand across the soft quilt.
“Take advantage of me. You won’t hear me complaining.”
She sighs as she finds her preferred spot against my chest, her body hugging mine while one of my legs wraps around hers.
Sophie hasn’t spoken much today. I don’t know what to make of her silence—a rarity for her. I push away a seed of doubt about Sophie leaving next week, about where we stand as friends once the season finishes. About what will happen with McCoy and what I’ll do without her by my side next year.
I drift off to the rhythm of her breathing and her fingers brushing across the bare skin of my chest. I’ll face my problems tomorrow.
31
Sophie
People describe heartbreak as this instantaneous feeling where a heart breaks into a million irreparable pieces, scattering in different directions. Some pieces go missing while others stab you in the foot as you clean up the mess. Heartbreak is a ruthless fucker like that, kicking you while you’re already down.
I think those people who describe heartbreak are liars. Every single one of them who talk about a shattering experience, like you can fix a heart with superglue and willpower.
I can safely say heartbreak feels dull and hollow, leaving behind nothing but a husk of an organ. A broken, mangled weight inside of me, clenching and unclenching at the words Liam shares throughout the night. The glances he takes at my body, the feeling of his hands touching me, the way he sets me on fire from a single caress. His actions cut out parts of my heart with a rusty serrated knife.
Hearts don’t shatter because that’d be too easy. Hearts get ejected from an airplane, left to fall hard sans parachute.
Liam hiding the issue of his contract with McCoy is a surface-level problem. I know he has pure intentions. The real issue is his love for McCoy and his uneasiness at accepting his contract deal despite a problematic ex, a negative work environment, and the potential sacrifice he’d make giving me up. And for what? Friends with benefits? In the end, we’re a shinier upgrade from what he typically prefers.
The black sky with radiant stars brings me comfort amidst my sadness. Liam knocked out hours ago, too content and satiated to stay awake. Despite my grief, I loved every single second of the night.
I should be happy and thrilled with how he cares about me the way he does. And I am. But also I’m not. Selfish, I get it. People can blame the only child in me for wanting my cake and eating it too. The thing is, being an only child meant I had lots of leftovers, so I never had to share my cake, let alone decide between eating it and saving it.
But when Liam wakes up to the desert’s sunrise, it’s obvious what I have to do. I’ve thought about it for hours. For the sake of him and his future, I need to make a sacrifice because he won’t do it. My test earlier failed, proving to us both how much he wants to continue with McCoy. Somehow I pretended his words didn’t faze me when he pulled the trigger, stating his wish to stay with his team while blowing my heart to pieces.
His wish is my command.
Lucky for me, I know the way to get to Liam. Over the months, I’ve learned everything about him, from the way he preps for races to his preference for cuddling with me on rainy days while he reads a book. What I’ve learned most of all is how he has very few triggers. With people like him, all I need is one spark to bring his demon to the surface, challenging his life built on illusions and half-truths.
I’m about to blow this shit up like World War III.
“Morning.” He looks at me with groggy eyes and a lazy smile. The knife digs deeper inside of me, a clusterfuck of ripped-up tendons, veins, and arteries. A slow bleed invisible to the naked eye.
I sit up and take a few deep gulps of air to gain courage. “I’ve had a lot of fun. I really can’t thank you enough for helping me with the list.” I take a breath to steady my voice, the sharp inhale feeling like a thousand piercing needles against my lungs. “But with the end of the race season, we need to call it quits. Friends with benefits has been fun and all—great even—but you have to race, and I need to go back to school.”
I wish I could shut my eyes and erase the pain in his eyes. To take the words back and swallow them whole, pretending I don’t know about his deal.
“Fun? Fuck fun. What the hell are you even talking about?” The roughness of his voice scrapes against my eardrums. He sits up to meet my eyes, his blue ones hitting me with a reflection of the rising sun behind me.