Without You (Without You Duet Book 1)

by Marley Valentine

I know the level of pain I can and cannot withstand. Every feeling has its day to be felt, and those days are far and away for me. In order for me to survive, I try not to feel anything at all.

Sometimes I wonder if death really is the worst thing, because being alive and feeling so empty and hollow seems to be much worse.

“I didn’t know you were the one bringing them—not that the revelation changes anything—but I loved that someone else was trying to keep his memory alive,” he explains, his eyes imploring me to listen. “Like someone, besides me, was still trying to keep him close beyond the grave.”

It’s complicated and messy, and who would I be if I moved on from Rhett? What would that say about me? What would that say about what we had?

“I was jealous,” I say under my breath, unsure of whether I really want to admit to this with him. “Of me?” he asks incredulously. “It’s complicated.” I sigh. Long, lean fingers grip my chin, tilting my head up. “Everything about this is complicated. Tell me,” he urges.

“It’s my favorite time of the day.” “The early morning?” “No,” he says gruffly, and I imagine him shaking his head on the other side of the phone. “Talking to you.”

“Does it freak you out?” “Does it freak you out?” I counter. “Deacon, I’ve had my whole life to get used to being attracted to men.” “I’m not attracted to men,” I say boldly. “I’m only attracted to you.”

“Get on your back,” he demands. “I want you to remember my face when I fuck you. So you know exactly who you’re walking away from, and the man you better fucking come back to.”

“What was that for?” I ask her calmly. With not an ounce of remorse or shame for the slap, her shoulders are squared, her head held high as she looks at Julian and back at me. “He’s Rhett’s,” she deadpans.

“My heart didn’t beat for him the way it does for you. The rush, the ferocity, the desperation to be with you—I have never felt anything with such strength and conviction, about anybody or anything.”

He’s heartbreakingly beautiful in our role reversal, taking care of me, protecting me, fighting for me. I’ve never had a single person love me enough to do that.

“Can you please put a shirt on?” I begrudgingly reprimand. “Why? I polished my nipple rings just for you.”