Page 24 of The Try Line

"No," I rasp, my voice hoarse with emotion and pure fucking need. "We… we can't do this."

I straighten out my fingers and push him back, blinking furiously.

Jason doesn't step away, but he doesn't move closer, either. We stare at each other for a few more long, painful moments.

And then I walk out. And the moment I’m out of view, I run.

I run straight up the stairs and into my bedroom, locking the door immediately.

"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!"

I scream into my pillow until my throat is raw, and then pace around the room restlessly. I tear at my hair, pulling it at the roots and rubbing my hands furiously over my face. My heart is beating rapidly, and I can't catch my breath. I'm concerned I might actually be having a heart attack, the way my chest feels so tight.

I need to calm down. Cool down.

Stomping into the bathroom, I turn the shower on cold and get in, not bothering to take off my underwear until I'm already under the spray. My erection taunts me by smacking against my stomach when I finally wrestle out of the wet fabric. At first, I ignore it, but it hurts and maybe an orgasm would help clear my mind. But it doesn't matter how much I stroke myself, I can't seem to reach a release.

A huge crack of thunder shakes the house, reminding me of how fucking stupid I am. I'm perfectly aware that you're not supposed to take a bath or shower during a thunderstorm, but of all the stupid mistakes I could make right now, this seems the safest. If I get struck by lightning in my own home, it'll serve me right.

I stay under the freezing cold stream of water, jerking off like it's a punishment, until it becomes obvious that it's not going to work. It's not enough. The lights flicker, and then there’s a loud clap of thunder, a distant boom, and the power goes out again. I should probably get out of the shower.

Dripping all over the floor, I pad over to the linen closet to grab a towel. Before wrapping it around my waist, I bury my face in the thick fabric and let out a harsh wail of frustration. The only way I’m going to get any relief is to go downstairs and dig into my box of shame. Which means I’ll have to sneak past Jason.Fuck.Staringdown at my hard cock, I beg it quietly to go down, to give me some damn peace. I try using a gentler touch and some lotion to soothe it into submission, but it smells like my wife and the guilt makes me nauseous, while somehow doing nothing to help the most infuriating erection I've ever had.

A while later, with a pair of sweatpants covering a boner that I might need to seek medical attention for, I quietly open my door and peek into the hallway. I'm less than two steps out of my room when my cell phone rings, making me jump so hard I nearly trip and break my dick. I suppose that would get me out of sex and cure my raging hard on. Maybe.

My cock doesn't even manage to deflate while Janel nags—Look,I'm calling it. I’m in a shit mood and she's officially nagging— about getting the generator ready. She heard that loud boom as well and found out that a transformer blew. I remind her that it hasn't been an hour yet, but she's so convinced that I'm going to blow it off, she needs me to do itright now, with her on the phone. I don't even hide my sigh of exasperation, which only serves to piss her off. I suggest that she have a glass of wine to calm her nerves, since it's looking like she'll be staying the night at her parent's house due to the weather taking a turn for the worse, and she tells me to go fuck myself.

That's exactly what I was trying to do before you so rudely interrupted!

When Janel is finally satisfied that the food in the fridge isn't going to rot, and we mutter some half-hearted apologies for being at each other's throats, she asks how things are going here. I tell her, mostly honestly, that we went to our separate rooms as soon as we got home and that I haven't spoken to Jason at all. She reminds me that there are cold cuts and pasta salad in the fridge, and I remind her that we left at least two bottles of wine in her parent's garage fridge. That gets a small laugh out of her, so I suppose I'm off the hook for my earlier comment. We say goodnight, and then I'm alonein the dark kitchen. I crack open a bottle of whiskey and take a couple of swigs, staring at my troublesome dick the whole time.

Well, at least no one is home to interrupt me.

Using my cell phone as a flashlight, I head downstairs to my office. I light a few candles, laughing to myself about setting the mood, and retrieve my box.

CHAPTER 11

JASON

The power's been out for over an hour. After what happened, I packed my stuff, deciding I should probably go stay with my parents instead of leading myself into temptation and doing something completely idiotic. Trying to pass the time, I jerked off to porn while pretending I wasn't thinking about Mik and scrolled the internet for so long my phone died. I want to go downstairs to get my e-reader, but I’m afraid to run into Mik. I left it in the basement the other day when I went down to help clean up after the party. I'm praying it has enough charge to distract me through the worst of this impromptu lock-in.

Mik left me in the utility room at the edge of unloading in my briefs again. My brain was scrambled after our moment of weakness, and I followed him upstairs. At this point I probably can't even label them moments. They're not premeditated by any means, but I swear as soon as I get around him, my brain shuts down. The sound of his muffled cries of distress snapped me out of it before I could knock down the door and demand more.

No matter how much I let my anger get to me, I don't want to hurt him. Not really. I mean, part of me wants to wreck him, to bringhim to his knees and make him sorry for the fucking agony I've been in since the day I made the mistake of professing my love to him. To remind him of what we almost had. But hearing him pace the room and mutter to himself made me realize that would break him, and I don't want that.

My lust and anger aren't worth tearing him apart. It's not worth tearing their family apart.

There's a lot my sister does that makes me want to shake the living daylights out of her, and I've never agreed with the way she wanted to change Mik. We disagree on a lot, always have. But she’s my little sister. I’ve always been incredibly protective of her, and I'd never want her to get hurt. I’d never purposefully hurt either of them.

And okay, maybe there's an itty-bitty sick part of me that derives the tiniest bit of pleasure from how miserable Mik must have been over the past eighteen years, being forced into this picture-perfect American dream life that doesn't at all fit the man I knew so long ago. I've seen the evidence of how hard he's had to hold on to the pieces of himself that never fit into the box he forced himself into for my sister's sake.

But isn't that what he gets? Isn't that just a fucking motivational poster worthy prime example of lying in the bed you made?

He told me he loved me. That he always had, and always would. And then he chose her.

Maybe it was never really a choice. Maybe he was doing the right thing. But fuck, it hurt. It still hurts.

I overheard Mik in the hallway earlier, bickering with my sister as he made his way downstairs to get a generator ready. She texted me after, said the roads are flooded in town. She's staying the night, if not longer, with our parents. And Jase is staying at his friend's house. We're stuck in this house, alone.

---