Saving Jay: The Breaking Free Series, #3

By E.M. Abel

Jason “Jay” Clarke is more than a perfectly pressed suit and dimpled smile. He’s a man desperate for the things his money can’t buy, acceptance and love. 

 Jade is a strong and independent tattoo artist still healing from heartbreak. She’s moved to Virginia for a fresh start but never expects to find a second chance.

 They may be from two different worlds but there’s no denying their connection.

Jade is the light Jay has been searching for but will her love be enough to save him?

 **WARNING** Not recommended for younger readers

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.M. Abel
• Release date: Feb 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507739181

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by E.M. Abel

All rights reserved.

Cover Designer: Angie Fields, i love it design studio, www.facebook.com/iloveitdesign

Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Visit my website at http://emabelbooks.com

To my Grampy, George Woodbury Hannaford, who we lost to ALS in 2001.

You might have left this world, but your love and your spirit still live on.

Thank you for making all of us feel special and for being a shining example

of true unconditional love.

Preface

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

Note from the Author

Special Thanks

I sat silently as the woman in front of me continued talking about herself. She grew up on a farm, riding horses. Her mother was a dancer, and her father was a surgeon. She giggled as she pushed her perfectly styled hair behind her bare shoulder, her well-manicured hand grazing her tan skin.

I’d lost interest thirty minutes ago when our drinks arrived.

My mother had insisted I have dinner with this woman. Apparently, she came from a good family. She met the criteria—rich, conservative, and fucking boring.

Taking a deep breath to stifle the sigh I was dying to release, I brought my gin and tonic to my lips and didn’t miss the fact that her eyes followed. Her painted lips lifted on one side, and her eyes narrowed, giving her that seductive look women often went for while stalking their prey. I was no stranger to that look. I had seen it often enough.

So, what about you? the woman asked.

I placed my glass back onto the table separating us. I hadn’t been listening.What about me?

She smiled like she’d caught me fantasizing about bending her over and fucking her when it couldn’t really be further from the truth. I was sure plenty of men had imagined it—she was a beautiful woman—but I wasn’t one of them.

What kinds of things do you like? She uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again, careful to graze my leg.

I took another sip from my drink and contemplated my response. I could keep playing this game, pretending I gave a shit if she liked me, or I could just be honest and get it over with.

I like women with tattoos. I like a woman who genuinely gives a shit about what I think and doesn’t care about what’s in my bank account. I enjoy fucking women like I own them, and as you probably already know, I only own the best of everything.

By the time I finished, her pretty pink lips were parted, and her big blue eyes had widened. It wasn’t until I lifted my hand, signaling the waiter for our check, that she realized she was being rejected. Her look of shock quickly morphed into appalled disgust.

I knew it seemed harsh to reject a woman I’d only just met, but I’d been dealing with women just like her my entire life. I had seen the insincerity in her eyes as they scanned the room around us for a bigger conquest. I had smelled the fresh leather of her three-thousand-dollar purse that she hadn’t lifted a finger to earn. I had heard the manipulation in her voice as she tried to convince me that she was interesting and cultured.

She was a fucking snob, and she had nothing to offer me besides a blow job in the back of my car. Even that would probably be mediocre. There was nothing worse than a person who’d never been desperate, never known what it was like to suffer. That kind of person lacked the compassion and soul I craved.

She still hadn’t said anything when the waiter came over with the check. I removed a random card from my wallet and gave it to him without checking the balance. I never had to check the balance because, like the woman in front of me, I’d never had to work for my money. I chose to work mostly because I was scared I’d end up just like her.

Often, the things we detested the most in others were the things we feared becoming. And I didn’t want to see myself in her eyes.

ROADS PAVED

WITH GLITTER AND GOLD,

CREATING A MOLD OF LOYALTY,

BOUGHT AND SOLD.

DIRTY HANDS IN SATIN GLOVES

CALLED LOVE.

BITTERSWEET RETREAT

SALTY TEARS OF UGLY REGRET

AND UTTER DEFEAT.

UNTIL WE MEET.

Jade

Boston, Massachusetts

I opened the door to my apartment, the smell of weed and cigarettes lingering in the air. Noticing a small pile of cocaine on my coffee table, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as my heart sank deeper in my chest.

Yes! Oh god, yes! Harder!

My eyes opened, and my hand reached for my throat as bile rose there. I heard panting coming from my bedroom with the familiar sound of my bedframe squeaking. My hands began to shake, and adrenaline rushed through my veins. I stared at the pair of high-heeled boots on my floor. They weren’t mine.

Blinking away the tears that had gathered in my eyes, my feet began following the trail of clothes leading to my bedroom. The closed door drew closer, the sound of betrayal growing louder with each step. Damon said a woman’s name. It wasn’t mine.

Time slowed as my hand reached for the knob and turned it, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Pushing the door open, I watched as Damon’s tattooed back came into view, his hips thrusting, with another woman’s legs wrapped around his waist.

Gasping, my hand covered my mouth, and Damon’s eyes met mine, taking whatever hope I had left.

Jay

Virginia Beach, Virginia

Five Months Later

I lay on my back, panting, the taste of pussy and regret still fresh on my tongue. Nina might not have been the one, but she could fuck like nobody’s business. She smiled lazily at me, her blonde hair fanned out on the Egyptian cotton sheets. We were in her hotel room where we would often meet when she was here on business.

About six months ago, I’d offered to buy her a drink at a hotel bar in San Diego. Nina was a beautiful woman with long hair and bright blue eyes. She worked for a government contractor and often traveled for her job. The night I’d first met her, she’d looked rigid and unapproachable, cold even. But I had seen something there, a side she kept hidden under her professional persona, much like I did.

Thanks for coming over. I needed that, she murmured as she stretched out beside me on the bed.

I didn’t respond. Even after all this time, Nina and I still knew very little about each other. We’d exchange pleasantries, talk about the weather, or occasionally discuss work, but that was it. We kept everything simple and uncomplicated. I supposed it was so when this thing between us ended, it wouldn’t really matter much.

How long will you be in town for this time? I asked as I sat up and moved my feet to the floor. I stared at the white curtains in front of me, wondering why I’d come.

Just a few days. I’ve got some meetings on base, and then it’s back to San Diego again.

I nodded before standing up and walking naked toward the bathroom. I could feel her watching me until I made my way toward the toilet and closed the door.

This thing between Nina and me had been easy, a way to release the tension from our lives, but as time had gone on, the lack of connection had begun to wear on me. I’d spent years fucking women I didn’t love, but after experiencing more with Asia, I’d found it hard to go back. Nina was a nice woman, ambitious and driven, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t looking for anything more than sex.

After flushing the toilet and washing up, I made my way back into the room where Nina was now wearing a robe, facing the mirror and twisting her hair back into a braid.

How are things with you? she asked as the reflection of her eyes met mine.

I knew I needed to tell her how I felt, but it was never easy to tell a woman you didn’t want to see her again, especially after fucking her.

Can we talk for a minute? I asked after picking my briefs up off the floor and pulling them back on.

She turned to face me, a suspecting look in her eyes. Sure.

Resting my hands on my hips, I dropped my head to take a second and collect my thoughts before peering up at her. I’ve enjoyed our time together, Nina. Really, you’re a wonderful woman.

Her posture softened, and her eyes moved to the floor.

I just don’t think I can keep meeting you like this.

She nodded and glanced at me with a sad smile. Did you meet someone?

No. It’s nothing like that. I shook my head as I sat down on the edge of the bed. I thought this was what I needed, but now, I know it’s only distracting me from the thing I want.

Nina straightened her back, and when I lifted my eyes to meet hers, I realized they were rimmed with tears. Love, she murmured.

Taking a deep breath, I rubbed the back of my neck with my hand before dropping it into my lap. Yeah.

Love was the one thing I always wanted most, but I never seemed to get it right.

Jade

I worked to catch my breath as my vibrator shook furiously in my right hand. The aftershocks of my orgasm were still working their way through my body as I clicked the Off button with my thumb. Sighing and licking my dry lips, I stared at my bedroom ceiling as my heartbeat slowed in my chest. Sadly, self-induced orgasms had become the highlight of my day, and although I’d become quite skilled at getting myself off, it still wouldn’t be enough to clear the melancholy cloud that had followed me all the way to Virginia. Breakups had that affect, I guessed.

Finally catching my breath, I sat up in bed and looked at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. I still looked the same, but these days, I hardly recognized myself. My lips seemed to always turn down at the ends, and the playful spark in my eyes had faded. Betrayal had a way of making you question your worth and your judgment, and I had spent the last few months doing both. I didn’t know whom to trust anymore.

Putting my hands on my face, I lifted my cheeks, giving myself a smile that resembled the Joker, before dropping my hands in my lap again. I hated feeling like this. It was so unnatural. I’d always been positive and happy, but now, I was beginning to think I’d forgotten how to be that person. I wasn’t sure who this woman was staring back at me, but she wasn’t the Jade I remembered. The real me was lost somewhere inside the chaos of heartbreak and survival, but I was determined to find her again.

Friday morning, I walked into the shop to the sound of Black Flag playing on the stereo and the sight of Dustin sitting with his feet kicked up on the front desk. I opened my mouth to remind him of my appointment when he glanced up.

I got you, boss. Everything’s good to go, he deadpanned before redirecting his attention back to the phone in his hand.

Thanks.

I took a second to stop and gaze at the walls covered in a fresh coat of royal-blue paint and eclectic artwork. It was still hard to believe all this was mine. Tossing my bag onto my brand-new leather couch, I could smell coffee brewing in the back.

You made coffee?

Dustin’s eyes met mine, and he gave me a cocky grin but didn’t respond. He knew how much I needed coffee to survive the morning. It was already ten, but I’d worked until five. Making my way to the back room, I poured myself a cup, added my favorite French vanilla creamer after retrieving it from the fridge, and took a sip.

Ah…

Rough night? Dustin asked.

That sneaky ass had followed me, and his voice was so loud that I jumped, successfully spilling coffee down the front of my blouse.

Shit! That’s hot!

Fuck. My bad. Are you okay? Dustin grabbed a wad of paper towels and tried to hand them to me.

I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it off, exposing my black tank top. What are you? A fucking ninja? Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.

I glanced at Dustin and couldn’t help smiling when I saw him trying to hold back a laugh. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to laugh at myself. This was exactly why I’d moved down here—to surround myself with friends who could bring me back to life.

Luckily, I had a spare shirt stashed in one of the cabinets because things like this happened all the time. I could have just worn the tank top, but it seemed a little unwise to have my cleavage so easily visible, especially when I knew Dustin was a perv.

I grabbed the old Misfits T-shirt I’d stolen from my ex and cut up. It now had a wide neck that hung off one of my shoulders. I’d also shortened the length and the sleeves. Pulling it over my head, I adjusted it in the mirror and noticed Dustin still standing there, watching me with a lopsided grin.

Dustin was a nice guy. He was pretty hot, too, if you liked the whole tattooed bad-boy look, but he was also a huge man-whore and one of my oldest friends. I just didn’t see him as anything more than that. When I’d told him I was coming to Virginia Beach to open my own shop, he’d offered to come work for me. We’d both been born and raised in Richmond, but I’d moved away to Boston after dropping out of college nine years ago.

A lot had happened since then.

If I’d learned anything over the past nine years, it was that things were rarely how they appeared. Everyone had secrets, sides to them that they would keep carefully hidden under their skin. Being a tattoo artist, I often caught a glimpse of the things they kept there, and not all of it was pretty. People came to me for therapy, and my needles would etch the lines of their stories, of the memories they never wanted to forget. It was ironic how most of them were devastating moments in their lives, like death, illness, and heartbreak. The things that hurt the most often would require the largest badges of honor­, and I always found the most tragic stories made the best art.

I’d grown up believing anything was possible, if you worked at it hard enough. My mom had taught me to never give up, and she’d always nurtured my curious nature. She had been my partner in crime. When I’d decided I wanted to be a ballerina, she’d bought me tutus and signed me up for lessons. When I’d changed my mind and decided I wanted to be an artist, she’d bought me my first paint set. She had been so full of life, always eager to learn new things and have new experiences. I was taught to see the best in people, even when they couldn’t see it themselves.

When I’d lost her to breast cancer five years ago, my world had slowly come to a halt. The stars no longer shined as bright, and the excitement of life had dwindled into nothing. I’d lost the one person who understood me, who looked at life through the same eyes.

Later that year, I’d fallen in love with Damon. Now, looking back, I thought I had just been desperately searching for someone to heal me. I’d wanted to find that spark I’d lost, something all-encompassing to make me forget how utterly alone I’d felt. I’d gotten involved with someone more broken than I was, but we had both been good at hiding it. We had been naive enough to think that love could fix us. We were wrong. After almost four years of our crazy, dramatic, tumultuous relationship, I’d finally left him, and a few months later, I’d packed up all my shit, gotten into my Camaro, and driven back to Virginia.

It was time for me to start loving myself again.

Jay

Someone had once told me that every life was like a work of art, each unique and beautiful in its own way. All our experiences and influences would leave their marks, turning the once blank canvas into something full of color and character.

For years, the most prominent artist in my life was Jason Clarke Senior, my father. As much as I’d tried to fight his influence, it could be found in every choice I’d made. Sons tended to be more malleable for their fathers, and I was no different. He was in my life but never present. Our quality time together consisted of lectures, discipline, and punishments for my inability to meet his expectations. My father was a leader, a business owner, and a mogul who had very little interest in being a dad.

When I was young, I’d fought hard to gain his love. I’d played sports, excelled in school, and behaved in a way that I hoped would please him. None of it had worked. Nothing I had done was ever enough, so I’d stopped trying. I no longer fought for his love. Instead, I’d settled for his attention, and I’d demanded it in any way that I could. I’d skipped school, fought, and fucked his friends’ daughters. I’d done anything to make him look at me, talk to me…see me.

By the time I’d moved away to college, my piece of art had been littered with desperate attempts to earn my father’s love. It’d been splashed with shame and darkened by guilt. My life had been bleak and desolate while bathed in the glow of wealth and power. I’d learned early on to trust no one. I’d known that the number in my bank account was the first thing people would see when they looked at me.

The time away from home had given me some perspective, but I’d continued to self-destruct. Partying and sex had been the easiest ways for me to numb the absence of the substance I needed. Somehow, I’d still managed to earn good grades, and I’d graduated near the top of my class. Despite it all, I’d still had potential.

When I’d returned to Virginia, I rarely saw or spoke to my parents. I’d opened my club, Red, and slowly tried to create a life I could be proud of, one I could stand to look at.

About two years ago, I’d thought my success had opened my father’s eyes. Maybe he’d finally deemed me worthy of his love. So, when he’d offered me the position of CEO in his corporation, Clarke Industries, I’d been shocked and honored when I should have been skeptical. Years of trying to recover from his absence had been wiped away with one opportunity to prove he was wrong about me. I’d abandoned all my defenses for the chance of becoming the son my father had always wanted.

That had been a mistake.

It wasn’t until my father had been diagnosed with ALS nine months ago that my family had slowly begun to reunite. It was ironic how the threat of death could encourage you to live the life you wanted.

How was your date with Leslie, dear? She was lovely, wasn’t she? Such a looker, that girl. Did you know her father is a very successful surgeon? He’s also one of your dad’s golfing buddies.

I was in my Mercedes, driving down the highway, while my mother’s voice came out of the speakers. This had become a new ritual for us. After each blind date, she would call me to see how it had gone.

My mom and I had never really been close. As I’d gotten older, she’d tried to make things right between us, but I knew where her alliances lay. She’d made that perfectly clear from the beginning. She always followed my father’s lead, no questions asked. I wasn’t sure if it was devotion or fear that kept her by his side. Either way, I saw her blind submission as weakness, and she’d lost my respect. My father had stayed busy making money while she’d tried to reassemble our crumbling family with superficial glue, painting over the cracks as if we’d never been broken.

Yes, I know, Mom.

So? Did you ask her out again? I hope you were a gentleman.

I sighed as I prepared to disappoint her.

No, I didn’t ask her out. She’s just not the type of woman I’m looking for.

My mother was always trying to set me up, and although all my dates so far had been horrible, I’d found it hard to tell her no. Since we’d found out about my father’s diagnosis, I’d realized that no matter how many mistakes she might have made in the past, she was still my mother, and I loved her. The news was shocking, but I wasn’t sure if she’d really come to terms with it yet. I wasn’t sure any of us had. Suddenly, there was an expiration date on my father’s life, a constant reminder that our time together was limited.

I thought she was more concerned that he would never meet his grandchildren. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that children weren’t likely to come. I’d watched so many people settle for a life they had been pressured into, and I refused to become one of them.

She huffed into the phone. Jason Andrew Clarke, what do I need to do? These women are beautiful, they’re smart, and they come from good families. What else do you want?

I don’t know. Maybe some personality? Maybe someone who can actually have a stimulating conversation? Perhaps someone who’s done more with her life than spend her daddy’s money?

Not all women are fit for the type of life we lead, son. It’s better to commit to someone who can relate to you, someone who knows how to conduct herself…properly.

You mean someone who comes from money.

No, I—

Mom, I know you’re just trying to help, but have you ever thought that maybe this just needs to happen naturally? Maybe, just maybe, if I’m meant to be with someone, I’ll meet her on my own.

She scoffed, Oh, please. If I left it up to you, I’d never see you get married and have my grandbabies.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes toward the sky. Mom.

Don’t worry about it, son. You enjoy your lunch date. I’m sure this next one will have a wonderful personality.

There was no point in arguing. I was already on my way there. Bye, Mom.

Good-bye, Jason.

I held my thumb over the disconnect button, waiting to hear her hang up, when she said, I love you.

I felt an ache in my chest at her words. My mother rarely told me she loved me, but now, she would say it every time we spoke. I supposed this was her way of trying to make up for all the times she hadn’t said it, but it would only remind me of why she was saying it in the first place—because he was dying.

I know, Mom. I love you, too.

Even if she had been a pain in my ass, I’d spoken to my mom more in the past few months than I had in years, and it’d felt good.

I hadn’t known much about ALS before my father was diagnosed, but I’d learned that the disease affected the nerves in the brain and spinal cord. Some patients would live years after being diagnosed even though those years were usually spent slowly deteriorating. Patients would begin to lose muscle control, speech, and even the ability to swallow. My father was always a very proud man, and I was worried how he would handle things once his disease progressed. All I knew was, I wanted to be there for him and maybe build the relationship that I’d always wished we had.

It was Friday morning, and I’d left work early to stop by the tattoo parlor before going on another blind date. I’d been talking with my tattoo artist, Neil, about a back piece for a while now, and I’d finally decided I was ready to get it. I wanted to stop by to let him know and go over our ideas.

When I pulled up to the brick building across from the mall, I was surprised his truck wasn’t there. Instead, there was a bright blue Camaro in its place. Climbing out of my car, I made my way across the parking lot toward the front door. The sign said Closed, but I decided to knock anyway.

A few seconds later, I watched through the glass door as a woman I didn’t recognize walked out of the back room and approached, suspiciously eyeing me. She had long black hair that flowed down one of her shoulders, but the sides of her head were shaved, creating an edgy style. When her eyes met mine, I couldn’t look away.

We’re closed, she said, looking up at me from the other side of the door.

Where’s Neil?

She was uniquely beautiful with high cheekbones, flawless bronze skin, perfectly shaped pouty lips, and hazel eyes. She watched me for a few more seconds before unlocking the door and opening it.

You didn’t hear? She left the door open as she went to get something from the front desk.

I stepped inside the shop and looked around. Everything was different.

She handed me a card with Neil’s name and an address in Chicago. He moved a few weeks ago. Sold the shop to me. Is there anything I can help you with? she asked, moving to lean against the front of the desk.

It was impossible not to notice how attractive she was. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans that helped accentuate her long legs and an old Misfits T-shirt that was cut so that the collar was hanging off one of her slender shoulders. Her arms were covered in tattoos, and so were the tops of her feet that were peeking out between her jeans and her bright blue heels. I made sure to look her in the eyes before responding to her question although I was sure she hadn’t missed the fact that I’d checked her out. When our gazes met, she gave me a small smirk, but she didn’t seem fazed. I was sure she was used to it.

Neil was supposed to do a back piece for me.

Her eyes lit up, and a smile curled her lips. What are you getting?

I shrugged and scratched the back of my head. I felt a little uneasy about sharing my idea with her since it was so personal. I don’t know all the details yet. I just have an idea. I wanted to see if he could draw something up.

I’m Jade, by the way. My friends call me J, she said, grinning and extending her hand for me to shake.

I smiled as I took her small hand in mine and met her gaze. Nice to meet you, Jade. I’m Jason. My friends call me Jay, too.

I expected her to laugh at our similar nicknames.

Instead, she just stared at me before saying, Wow. When you smile, it’s like… She started making noises resembling an explosion and gestures with her free hand.

Now, I was the one laughing.

She wasn’t hitting on me. Things didn’t feel awkward at all. She was just making an observation and felt confident enough to tell me what she thought.

So, Jay, she said, smirking, as she scooted back to sit on the edge of the desk, you wanna see some of my work? I know you wanted Neil to do your back piece, but he’s not here, and I am. I have a portfolio on my website if you’d like to check it out.

Reaching behind her, she pulled another card out of a holder and held it out to me.

JADE HOLLIDAY

EXPRESSIONS TATTOO

757-435-9876

WWW.JADEHOLLIDAY.COM

I will. Thanks. I slipped the card into my back pocket.

Lifting one of her shoulders, she let it drop before standing up. I guessed she was hoping I’d make a decision now, but I wanted some time to think it over first. This back piece would be a big job, and there was no way I would let just anyone do it.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Jay.