Unwanted (The Unlucky Ones, #1)

by Marley Valentine

I think back to last year and how different it looked for Gael and Jordan. Two best friends secretly pining for the other, forced to admit their feelings and deal with everything that came with it.

These guuuuys! How did I not realise it was them

God knows when I let myself think about him, I miss him with a ferocity that is strong enough to maim me. Some days the ache consumes me; swallowing me whole and ruthlessly spitting me back out again.

I may have learned to rise above rock bottom, but I was yet to rise above and forgive Frankie York. What was worse is, I was certain I hadn’t yet learned how to unlove him either.

And even after all this time, that connection was reignited the second I laid eyes on him. It didn’t matter that we’d done and said unforgivable things. I knew down to the marrow of my bones that he was mine and I was his.

And guys? Could I confidently say I’d never noticed them before? Or was it that Arlo was the sun, the moon, and the stars, and nothing else really compared?

They were like three pieces of a puzzle that just fit, talking without words, their actions and body language expressing their interest and comfort perfectly.

“You’re not different,” he says. My own hands drop and find purchase on his hips as he slides his up my chest and neck, moving to cup my jaw. “You’re finally exactly who you were meant to be.”

“You don’t want to hear about how I fucked my way through Seattle trying to forget you?” Fingertips ghost down the length of my neck, starting at my chin, passing my Adam’s apple, and stopping at the hollow of my throat. “Or would you rather hear about all the guys I let inside me, imagining they were you.”

Low blow

Whatever I thought was salvageable has now been completely obliterated. There is nothing left of us but rubble and ashes. There is nothing tangible that we can hold on to and put back together.

“I don’t want good things,” he whispers into the space between us. “I’ve never wanted good things. I just want you.”

“Feel for as long as you like or need. There is no expiration date on pain, there is only acceptance.”

“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 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.”

“I love you, Arlo. Every part of you. The things you love about yourself and especially the things you hate. I love them all.”

“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.”

“I want to feel you on my cock.” Stroke. “In my mouth.” Stroke. “In my ass.” Stroke.

“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.”

“Everyday, I am worried that I will wake up one day and the person I love most in this world won’t wake up with me.”

“You were careless,” I say hoarsely. “With your life and our love. You were careless, and I was petrified of losing you.”

“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?