Unwanted (The Unlucky Ones, #1)

by Marley Valentine

To anyone who has found solace in the darkness, you are not alone.

I don’t know what hurts more. How we got here or that it’s the first time in a long time I’ve seen any true and honest emotion on his face. He’s always so blissed out with a needle in his arm or powder up his nose, it’s hard to imagine he’s actually capable of feeling anything at all.

“You don’t love me,” I tell him coldly, keeping every sliver of emotion I have for him out of my voice. “You love the idea of me. You love how I don’t turn down the high, and how I don’t turn away from the rush. You love the way we fuck. You love the money we make off this shit, you love the power it gives you. And you love that even when you treat me like nothing more than the dirt on the bottom of your shoes, I come running back to you every fucking time.”

Even bruised and bleeding, I catch him when he falls.

I haven’t seen him since he said goodbye and dropped me off at rehab with promises he would be there when I got out. But he wasn’t.

What was worse is, I was certain I hadn’t yet learned how to unlove him either.

Except his eyes don’t hold the anger, the hurt, the guilt, or the pity I expected. He just continues to stare at me, his hazel-colored eyes full of longing. Full of yearning. Full of desire. For me. It hits me harder and cuts me deeper than any indifference and disappointment ever could. Because he’s looking at me the way he always has. Like time hasn’t passed. Like nothing has changed. Like he needs me. Like he loves me.

He may be a different man, and I know there’s more than just a black cloud hanging over us, but he’s still familiar. He’s still safe. He’s still my home.

I had some groveling to do. And I knew it had to start the second I opened this door.

It’s always been an unspoken rule: you are who you are and you love who you love; you never need to explain that.

compared? Now, with every part of me touching him, I was certain it didn’t matter who it was or what gender they identified as, I would never be able to see anyone but him.

Long fingers reach for my chin, turning my face till my eyes meet his. “It’s for the best,” he says. “For me. For you. For the greater good. But make no mistake,” he adds. “It is not what I want.”

“You think leaving you was something I did on a whim? Without a second thought?” There’s an unmistakable vulnerability in his voice now, his bravado and anger now missing. His mouth moves up my jawline. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. He stops when he reaches my ear and whispers, “Leaving you broke my heart.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

I couldn’t promise him anything. Not just yet. All I had was this. A kiss for a kiss. A touch for a touch. A heartbeat for a heartbeat.

“You’re determined to get under my skin, aren’t you?” The side of his mouth tips upward. “I’m determined to get under much more than just your skin.”

It was a reminder of all the years together we’d missed and a heated, messy introduction to all the things that could now be ours to explore.

“What are we doing?” he whispers. It’s the same question I asked him only minutes ago, but his doesn’t have the same desperation. This time we were sated and he was nothing but curious. I kiss him softly. “We’re taking one day at a time.”

One day at a time.

leans forward, placing his hand over mine. “It didn’t matter if I took everything or nothing with me to Seattle. No place has ever or will ever feel like home without you.”

“I’d like to introduce you to my Frankie.”

“You can only be someone’s reason to relapse if you were their reason to use.”

“I love your broken.” He rubs his thumb over my lips and kisses me gently. “I love your wronged.” He kisses me again, this time a little firmer. “And I love your selfish.” With nothing but love in his eyes, he pushes some wayward hairs out of my face and smiles at me softly. “I love you, Arlo. Every part of you. The things you love about yourself and especially the things you hate. I love them all.”

He was exquisite, and for the first time in a long time, I knew, wholeheartedly, that he was finally mine.

“You taught me how to love,” he exclaims. “Before you, I didn’t know what it was like to be loved, let alone to love someone in return. I love you, Frankie York. I always have and I always will.”

It’s brutal. It’s possession. It’s my Arlo.

“Only me,” Arlo grits out. “It’s only ever been me.” “Only you,” I echo as the first tear falls. “I promise it’s only ever been you.”

“Did you really think I could walk away from you twice?” “Did you really think I was going to let you walk away twice?” “You would’ve come to Seattle?” “I’ve learned from my mistakes, Frankie. And I would follow you anywhere.”

“For what it’s worth, his smile finally reaches his eyes.”

“One day you will understand the magnitude of my love for you. You will understand that all this”—he raises our joined hands in the air, gesturing to the meeting—“isn’t the ugly side of you. Do you know the strength, courage, and commitment it takes to live the life you do? “The ability to put your health and sobriety first every day is something you need to be proud of, because without it, we wouldn’t have this.” He kisses our knuckles. “We would still be two men in love and breaking one another’s hearts. Over and over again. But now, we get to live this beautiful life. Together.”