His Mission

Frantic Heart.

I glance around my bedroom in panic. Am I ready for Jake Melvin to be in my room? What if he thinks I'm inviting him round for sex? Panic brews inside my chest. What have I done? I never should have invited him round to my bedroom! I don't have time to freak out because he's standing outside, throwing stones at my window. I push it open before leaning out to search for him. It's pitch black outside, which makes it impossible for me to find him.

"Jake?" I call out in a hoarse voice. The cold night air whips against my warm cheeks. I hear a grunt of effort coming from below me before Jake appears in my line of vision. He's climbing up the drain pipe of the house while using the wall to bear most of his weight. I stifle a laugh at the sight of him before taking a step back to give him space. He effortlessly climbs through my window with a backpack slung over his shoulders. He shoots me a devilishly handsome smile before dropping the backpack to the floor. It lands with a soft thump.

"Hey, Wentworth." He winks at me. I press a hand to my lips in disbelief that he's standing in front of me. Nobody has ever been inside my room for years. It feels weird, almost as if he's seeing a part of me that I haven't shown to anybody else. A person's bedroom is an insight into their mind, it's their safe space, a place where they're allowed to be vulnerable and express themselves without hesitation.

"That was pretty impressive," I say to him before shutting the window. His grin deepens before he takes a small step forward. My breathing catches in my throat when he lifts his hand to brush my dark hair out of my face.

"How are you feeling?" He whispers, his warm breath tickling my cheeks. He tucks the strand of hair behind my ear, and his fingertips lightly graze over my neck. I'm hit with his intoxicating scent, and it makes me lean into him for more. The feeling of his cold fingers against my warm skin ignites my body to life. A soft whimper slips through my lips because he makes me feel good. It's been so long since I've felt good. Jake leans closer until his lips are aligned with my ear. He inhales slowly, almost as if he's savoring the scent of me. Is he as crazy about my scent as I am with his? His breathing labors, and he seems to be affected by my closeness. His fingertips gently stroke down my neck. His touch feels like a thousand fireworks exploded inside me.

Heat rushes to my core, but I quickly step back to abandon the rare feeling spreading inside me.What am I doing? The pain relief I took earlier must have been strong stuff because I'm acting way out of character than my usual careful self. Jake appears curious and apologetic at the sudden change in my posture.

"I'm sorry. Did I overstep?" He asks while I take several steps away from him to distance myself. I quickly shake my head in protest. "N-no. It's my fault. I don't want you thinking I invited you round here for... you know." My cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment. Jake stares at me for several seconds with a blank look on his face.

"For what? I don't understand."

Relief floods through me when he seems genuinely confused at my explanation. "For sex."

Jake's eyes grow wide with realization, and he releases a light laugh. The sparkle returns to his eyes, and he looks amused at my thought process. He bends down to pick up his backpack. I watch with curiosity as he unzips the top of it before pulling it open.

"I didn't come here expecting sex from you, Wentworth. I bought you medicine, and a stuffed animal."

My heart melts, and I drown in embarrassment at the exact same time. I bury my face in my hands to hide my mortified expression from him. He pulls out a stuffed duck before handing it to me. The duck is wearing a cupcake as a top hat, and it's the definition of adorable.

"Thank you," I breathe out, feeling the butterflies permanently set up camp inside my stomach. Jake grins before pointing in the direction of my bed. "Is it cool if I sit down? I promise I won't try to claw at your pink pajamas like a wild sex starved animal."

His words earn a hearty laugh from me. Jake pauses before watching me in awe. He looks like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last second. I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of my laughter. I don't want to wake Mom or Trevor.

"You can sit down." The smile stretching across my lips is one I haven't experienced in a long time. It's genuine, happy, and it feels good to be reminded of those emotions. I've felt nothing but darkness for so long, I'd forgotten how good it feels to laugh without a care in the world... Even if it did only last a few seconds. I stand a little awkwardly in my room when Jake takes a seat on the edge of my bed. It's weird to experience sharing my space with somebody else. He seems genuinely at ease inside my room, and he begins looking around to soak in the decoration.

"I like your room," he says while eyeing up the pictures hung on my wall. They're mainly of me and my father when I was younger. Mom didn't reach for the camera after his death. What happy memory is there to capture when the light in your life is brutally taken away from you? The camera sits on a shelf, collecting dust and rotting away.

"Thanks. That's my Dad," I say proudly, pointing at the photo closest to him. Jake doesn't say anything, but he observes the photo carefully. I walk over to the photo before smiling warmly at it. It's a picture of us sitting on the edge of a pier. "He was teaching me how to fish, but he didn't know how to fish himself. He was adamant we'd catch one. We stayed there for hours until he caught sunburn and we had to leave." I laugh fondly at the memory. I feel Jake's eyes burning into the side of my face with curiosity. I tear my eyes off the picture before looking at him. "You love your Dad," Jake makes an observation, almost sounding surprised.

"Yes, I miss him every single day," I tell him. Realization dawns in his eyes, and he looks at me with a hint of sadness radiating from his aura. "He died when I was younger," I say quietly. I expect him to squirm with discomfort at the topic of death, but he doesn't. When I bring up the topic of my father, people generally avoid eye contact. Jake doesn't tear his eyes off me for a split second. He silently offers me his hand, and I slip mine into his. He gently pulls me toward him before turning me around. His arm slides around my waist, and he guides me so I'm sitting in between his legs on the edge of the bed. He rests his chin on my shoulder from behind.

"I'm sorry about your Dad," Jake whispers down my ear. The sensation of his warm breath hitting my neck causes my eyes to flutter closed. I can feel his chest rise and fall behind me. I'm certain he can hear the ferocious thumping of my heart. It's beating wildly inside my chest at an uncontrollable pace. It's the closest and most intimate I've ever been with him, or anyone else. I expected myself to feel awkward or out of place, but I feel relaxed inside his hold. Jake points to the next picture on the wall while keeping his lips aligned with my ear –

"Tell me about that one," Jake says to me. I'm grateful for the distraction, but I'm even more grateful to talk about Dad. It's been a long time since I reminisced about the best memories I had with him. I take my time talking through each picture. It makes me feel closer to Dad than I have in a long time. Jake remains quiet for most of it, but he asks relevant questions during the silence. I'm surprised to find he's an excellent listener... It's just another quality of his that I'm beginning to adore.

I talk about my father until my eyes grow heavy. Jake's arms tighten around me with each passing hour, and we naturally shift from a sitting position to a lying position on the bed. My head rests on his chest, and I take deep shallow breaths while fighting the urge to sleep. I don't want this night to end. His fingers slowly comb through my hair, and he releases a quiet yawn underneath me.

"Do you think your Dad would have liked me?" Jake asks me. His voice is deeper than usual, with a tired raspy tone to it. If I wasn't so exhausted, I'd find his tired voice incredibly sexy. I don't have to think about his question to know the answer. A genuine smile stretches across my lips when I answer honestly —

"I know my Dad would have loved you."