More Than This

"Jesus Christ, Kayla. Where the fuck have you been? Where is your phone?" His hands are out, asking me to hand it to him. I get it out of my purse. It's flat.

I've just walked into the house and everyone is here. Jake, Logan, Lucy, Cam, Heidi and Dylan.

Jake takes the phone off me and sees it's dead.

He walks to the bedroom in a huff, presumably to charge it.

When he walks back he seems pissed.

"Start charging your fucking phone, Kayla. I'm sick of this shit,” he growls out.

"Jake,” Logan says, its a warning.

I look at Jake, he's never acted like this before.

Only that one time when he thought me and Logan were fucking around.

Jake snaps his eyes to Logan, then looks to me, and his features even out. Something else takes over.

He walks up to me and takes my hands, I'm wary, because I don’t know what the hell is going on.

"I'm sorry, baby. I've just… we've been trying to call you. Has no one talked to you today?"

I look at him, brows furrowed, confusion all over my face. I sweep the rest of the room and everyone is watching me, waiting.

For what?

I slowly shake my head no.

"I'm scared, Jake. What's going on?"

He takes my hand and walks me to our bedroom.

He sits me on the edge of the bed and starts pacing the room.

He keeps looking up at me, and I know he's nervous or something, like he's trying to find the right words to say next. It's like the conversation is playing out in his head and he keeps restarting it.

He's opened his mouth three or four times already but keeps snapping it shut, changing his mind.

What the fuck is going on?

"What the fuck is going on? Just say it already. You're scaring me. Is it your parents? Did something happen? Julie?"

"Shit!" he says. "No, baby, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. No, they're all good. It's not that, sorry, babe.”

"Then what is it? Just tell me. Just get it out. Please?”

He sits on the floor, on his heels, in front of me.

His head bowed.

His hands hold both of mine, playing with the rings on my fingers. My mom and dad’s wedding and engagement rings.

It's about them.

When he looks up there are tears brimming in his eyes.

"They caught him, Kayla. They found the asshole that killed your family.”

***

I don't leave the bedroom for three days, and the whole time, Jake is beside me, leaving only when absolutely necessary.

I hate this me, this stupid, broken me.

I hate that Jake is back to being the guy that has to save me.

And I hate him.

I hate him so fucking much.

Christopher Leon.

That's the assholes name.

The murderer.

The one that took everything.

It shouldn't matter, that they caught him. I mean, it shouldn't make me this upset, because whether they have him or not, it's not going to bring back my family.

Apparently he was busted breaking into another house and the DNA matched.

Nathan, Jake's dad, has kept Jake informed on the situation. He’s been keeping a close eye and making sure the asshole doesn't find any loopholes in the system that might make him think he deserves less than what he fucking is.

A murderer.

The guys came around to check on me a few times but Jake said I wasn't up for visitors. Even James came around once. I even heard him and Jake talking, like a legit decent conversation. No name calling. No punches.

Nothing like a fucked up girl to bring peace between to enemies.

So for three days I cried, I sulked and I went through all the stages of grief all over again, like I was reliving their deaths.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and today, I woke up, and reached the final stage, Acceptance.

I was not going to let this asshole ruin me, not again.

I will not let bad people dictate what should be a good life.

Jake walks into the bedroom and pauses slightly when he sees me up and dressed.

He's been super wary of me, not wanting to push me too far, or suffocate me, or be too far away.

He has been perfect.

My perfect boyfriend.

He eyes me sideways, a little confused.

I would be too.

I'm wearing yoga pants, one of his baseball jerseys and holding his bat.

"Hey, baby." I saunter over to him and kiss him. Really kiss him. He kisses me back and cups my ass lightly.

"Jesus, Kayla. I've missed you," he says, as he deepens the kiss and leads me toward the bed.

I laugh into his mouth. "Jake, its been three days, not three years"

"I know but it's hard… I was going to say it's hard keeping my hands of you but I think I'll leave it there… yep… it's just hard,” he says this with a smirk, as he thrusts into me and I laugh out loud.

"It's so good to hear you laughing again," he says, as he takes my face in his hands and looks into my eyes. "I so much more than a lot love you, you know that right?"

I nod. Because I do. I do know. And I so much more than a lot love him too.

"So what’s with the outfit?" he asks, slowly standing up from the bed, and pulling me up with him. "Not that I don't love it. It's hot as fuck, you wearing my jersey, but why?"

"I want you to pitch to me.” I throw him a baseball.

"What?"

"You've never pitched to me, I want to see if I can hit one, please?"

"You want me to like, pitch to you like you're a child, or you want me to challenge you?"

"Challenge me."

"Okay then…"

We go to our little back yard and for an hour or so, we take my mind off Christopher fucking Leon.

"Hey umm… Mikayla?" Jake says. Pitch, hit, chase, repeat.

Jake barely ever calls me Mikayla, so what ever it is he's about to say, I'm already paying attention.

“Yeah?” I answer, wariness in my voice.

"Umm, I know that uhh,” he clears his throat, takes his cap off, runs his hand through his hair, then replaces the cap, backwards. Nervous habit. Shit.

"I know that you wear your mom’s engagement ring, but umm… I mean, what happens if, I mean when, a guy, uh, hopefully me. I mean, what happens if… when… said guy, me, wants to propose?"

What. The. Fuck.

Where did this come from?

“What are you saying, Jake?"

His eyes go big.

“Oh shit, Kayla, no! I'm not asking you, shit. I was just um, I was just wondering.” His hands are in the air, waving frantically, he's animated trying to get his point across.

I laugh at him, because he's trying to backtrack, and it's fu

***

We order Chinese for di

"I would want my own ring,” I say.

“Huh?"

"When said guy, hopefully you, proposes, I would want my own ring. Just so you know." I look down at my food for a second, then back up to him.

A blush is creeping to his cheeks.

I continue, "I love these rings, but it's like, it's theirs you know. Like, it represents them and their story. I think I would want my own, to represent my fairytale, my prince, my happily ever after."