Back To The Start Box Set: Five Full-Length Novels by Aly Martinez
“We’ll start moving my stuff over slowly, but I’m gonna hang on to my apartment for a little while longer, just in case you need some space.”
I wouldn’t need any space. I would have happily lived the rest of my life between those four walls with Jude, but I thought it was really freaking sweet that he would offer to keep his apartment in case I did.
Draping my arm around his middle, I hugged him hard. “You’re real.”
He slid his arm under me and exhaled a reverent, “Love you too, Butterfly.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jude
One month later…
“Who in the hell moves five days before Christmas in Chicago?” Devon complained as he helped me drag my dining room table off the back of Alex’s truck. “It’s cold as fuck out here!”
“At least it’s not snowing,” Alex grunted.
“Less talking. More moving. We’ve got exactly twenty minutes before Rhion’s uncle gets here.” After pulling two chairs off, I headed straight for the stairwell. I held the door with my back for them to follow through with the table.
“I’m dying to meet this guy,” Devon said, backing up the first step. “I looked into him a while back. He owns these huge real estate companies that buy entire city blocks of property. Maybe he can give me some advice on the market.”
“You planning to buy a tower downtown now?” Alex asked. “Last I heard, you were looking for a roommate so you could afford that penis implant you’ve had your eye on.”
“Oh, fuck you. Two dates with Brianna Talbot and, suddenly, you got jokes.”
Alex held his side of the table in one hand and flipped him off with the other.
“Rhion owns millions in real estate companies,” I corrected. “Pete just runs it for her.”
Devon flashed me a wicked grin. “Yeah, but Rhion’s a stripper. I want to know how the market is looking should I decide to buy a house, not which body oil brand is the best.”
I glowered as the stairwell door slammed shut behind us. “She’s not a fucking stripper.”
“Simmer down. We know she writes books,” Alex said. “We play along because it’s entertaining to watch her make up shit on the fly. She’s sharp—I’ll give her that.”
“Easy!” I yelled as the top of the table scraped against the railing when they made the turn to the second flight.
“Sorry,” Devon said sheepishly. “Anyway, where is Little Miss Creativity anyway? She could at least be holding doors.” He balanced the table on his thigh as he pulled the one to the second floor open.
“She’s been working all morning, trying to finish her book before Pete gets here.”
Thankfully, my table made it the rest of the way up the stairs scratch- and dent-free. Just as we got through the door, I heard Rhion call my name from the bedroom.
Devon and Alex carried the table to the empty dining room, Rhion having given hers to Braydon days earlier. She’d said that she had an attachment to mine, and while I couldn’t deny that it held some seriously fond memories for me too, I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel about serving my mom and dad Christmas dinner on a table I’d fucked Rhion on. But Rhion had told me that she’d buy a new tablecloth, and then she’d pointed out that they’d be sitting on a couch I’d fucked her on. Sleeping in a guest room I’d fucked her in. Showering in a shower that… Well, you get the point.
While we’d only found out about Pete’s visit last week, my mother had been planning her visit down to Chicago since I’d mentioned Rhion’s name back at Thanksgiving. To say they were shocked that I was dating my fiery Butterfly would have been a vast understatement. They’d lived through those first few months after the fire with me and knew firsthand how badly that night had affected me—how much she had affected me. The one time I’d had lunch with my dad, he’d spent two full hours asking if I was sure she was the same woman.
My parents only lived a few hours outside the city, so it had taken a lot of effort to keep them away as long as I had. But the last thing I’d needed was my mom bursting into tears the second she saw Rhion’s scars. And she would have. She still cried every time she saw mine. My mom was insane, and if I stopped to think about it, she was probably the reason I’d fallen so fast and so hard for Rhion. My affection for crazy women had been born and bred into me.
“Yeah, babe,” I called back to Rhion as I set the chairs down next to the table.
She came strutting down the hall in a red-and-silver ball gown. It fit her figure like a glove, hugging her every curve, but the long sleeves and the high neckline were what caught my attention. Never—not once—had I seen Rhion in anything other than low-cut, short-sleeve, or sleeveless shirts. She’d layer up with jackets when we went out, but at the base of it all was always a tiny top. When I’d asked her about it on a particularly cold evening, she’d told me that she’d lived in skintight compression garments for over a year. After that, she’d vowed never to put on another long-sleeve shirt for the rest of her life.
While I’d hated that she’d gone through that, I was so fucking proud of her. Rhion was scared of a lot of things. But she was also the bravest woman I’d ever met. Effortlessly so.
“What do you think of this dress?” she asked, doing a spin.
I tilted my head as I walked in her direction. “Is it Coronation Day already?”
“Hilarious,” she deadpanned. “Pete’s going to want to take us out to some ostentatious restaurant for dinner. I want to look the part.”
I placed my hands on my hips and gave her a squeeze. “Butterfly, people refer to you as the Park family heiress. You are the part.”
“No. My shoes are the part.” She waggled her eyebrows and lifted her dress to reveal a pair of sexy heels encrusted in silver stones. “Otherwise, I’m just a simple girl with impeccable taste.”
“If those are diamonds, it’s gonna make me giving you an engagement ring one day seriously uneventful,” I said before kissing her on her forehead.
She laughed and patted my chest. “They’re just crystals.”
“Of course they are. Anyway.” I smacked her on the ass. “I hate that dress. Go change.”
Her mouth fell open. “What? Why?” She smoothed the front down and then uncomfortably shifted her shoulders, making it clear she hated the damn dress too.
“Hey, man,” Devon interrupted. “We’re going to duck out before she castrates you.”
I kept my eyes on Rhion as I called out, “Sounds good. Thanks for the help.”
After a muttered, “No problem,” and “Good luck,” the door closed behind them.
Rhion launched in. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. I just hate it. It’s got sleeves.” I drifted my fingers over the top of her breasts. “And I can’t see these.”
She frowned and turned away, talking over her shoulder as she headed to our bedroom, “It’s called being classy, Jude.”
I followed her. “It’s called hiding, Rhion. But what I’m trying to figure out is why you’re starting now.”
She scoffed. “I’m not hiding anything. It’s cold out and it’s a nice dress.” Pulling her hair over her shoulder, she backed up to me and asked, “Help me out of this?”
“Gladly.” I kissed the curve of her neck as I slowly pulled the zipper down, stopping halfway to whisper in her ear. “But, first, tell me why you’re covering your scars for Pete. And don’t bullshit me, Butterfly. It never ends well for you.”
She didn’t reply, so I patiently waited by trailing kisses up and down her neck. It wasn’t exactly torture for me.
“He stares at them,” she finally whispered so softly that it was barely audible.
I froze but kept my lips pressed to her skin.
“I think my scars bother him. Ya know. He was really upset after—”
“Fuck him,” I ground out, righting myself and turning her in my arms.
“Honey, my dad would have been the same way,” she cajoled. “My burns are a constant
I barked a humorless laugh. “Trust me, Rhion. I understand that more than anyone else. But I swear to God—other people don’t get to shame you for surviving a horrific event. He wants to stare? Let him.”
She caught me by the back of my neck, sliding her hand over the ridges under my hair. “Hello, pot. You’re black.”
While I still wasn’t eager to have her touch my scars, I never stopped her. It burned, a sizzling that radiated over my entire body, but in a lot of ways, I thought I deserved that.
“Mine are different and you know it.”
“I don’t know that,” she lied quietly.
Though it was only a lie to me. Rhion believed that my burns were just as beautiful as hers. I disagreed wholeheartedly.
Mine were a reminder of failure.
And hers were a display of survival.
Hers were soft, barely visible beneath the brightly colored ink she’d used to decorate them—not cover them the way I’d done with my hair.
Mine were hard. Ugly. And downright offensive. Exactly like the night I’d acquired them.
As strange as it may sound, if they had been on my face, I would have worn them with pride. I would have accepted her designation of the title “hero.” I would have looked myself in the mirror every day knowing I’d earned them in the most honorable way possible—saving her.
Especially now that I knew what an incredible person she was.
A life I almost allowed to be snuffed out.
It some ways, the guilt and regret became heavier after I’d fallen in love with her.
At least, when she’d been a stranger, leaving her to burn in those flames had only been a notch on my conscience.
But now that she was mine. The woman I had every intention of spending a lifetime with. The woman I’d almost lost before I’d ever gotten her. It was a notch on my entire soul.
“You have to let it go, Jude,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes and allowed her fingerprints to brand me. “How did this become about me?”
“It’s always been about you. You saved me a lot of years ago. Maybe it’s my turn now.”
I laughed sadly. “I don’t need saving, Butterfly.”
“I disagree.” She suddenly disappeared.
When I opened my eyes, she was walking to her vanity.
“Sit down.” She signaled to the small stool.
I narrowed my eyes. “I need to go get the rest of my stuff out of Alex’s truck before you do my makeup.”
She glared. “Shut up and sit down, Jude.”
I chuckled and followed her direction.
“Close your eyes,” she ordered.
Humoring her, I sucked in deep breath and scrubbed my hands over my jeans as I allowed my lids to fall.
She began brushing my hair in rhythmic strokes. Dragging the brush through before following it down with her hand. While I hated the long hair something fierce, the way it felt when she toyed with it definitely had its merits.
She stopped, and I heard the brush land on the table and then the sounds of her digging through a drawer.
“You know, if this were a romance novel, this is when I’d give you an inspirational speech that would magically take away years of hurt and then cut your hair off.”
My pulse quickened as I shot to my feet. “Don’t you dare!”
She winked at me and motioned for me to sit back down.
I cautiously lowered myself back to the stool while warning, “I’m serious. Don’t fucking cut my hair.”
“Relax. I’m not. As you so often like to remind me, life is not a romance novel. Now, close your eyes and hush.”
Her reassurance did nothing to slow my heart or make me trust that she wasn’t up to some type of Rhion Park craziness that would more than likely cause me to lose my mind.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” I stated.
She glowered at me for several seconds but relented to my caveat with a roll of her eyes.
Using my shoulders, she urged me to face the mirror. “As I was saying, seeing as how I know nothing about cutting hair and I’m also quite fond of yours, we are going to have to make do.” She lifted a black hair tie up in my direction.
My body sagged in relief as she went to work picking my hair up into a small ponytail and looping the end to make more of a bun type of thingy.
“I look like a douchebag,” I said when she finished.
She giggled and tugged her dress up so she could straddle my lap. Encircling my neck with her arms, she replied. “You don’t look like a douchebag. You look sexy. Though you might have to buy a pair of skinny jeans and a bow tie to complete the look.”
I chuckled and leaned in for a kiss, but she denied me by swaying away.
“I don’t have any inspirational words that can fix years’ worth of hurt. But what I do have is time, Jude. And I’m never going to stop trying to make you see your burns for the beautiful masterpieces they are. Maybe it will happen after I trick you into marrying me, because I couldn’t think of a more perfect husband—scars and all.
“Or maybe it will happen after I convince you to give me a baby who won’t ever see your burns as a flaw, but rather a testament to the fact that you saved his or her mother from an impossible situation.”
“Jesus,” I breathed as the idea of starting a family with her sang in my veins.
She dodged another kiss. “Maybe it will happen when we have gray hair and you’re holding my hand in the rocking chair next to me and it finally hits you that, without those scars, I wouldn’t have been able to live the amazing life I know we’ll have had together.” Her voice caught at the end.
And I felt that same emotion in the marrow of my bones.
God. I wanted that with her.
The life. The family. The future.
The perspective. The forgiveness. The pride.
“But, for now, let’s make a deal. You wear your hair up tonight and I’ll wear a different dress. We can be beautifully flawed together.”
And that’s when it hit me.
That’s all I ever wanted to be with her.
I didn’t have to be perfect.
I didn’t have to be the hero who did everything right.
I didn’t have to carry the guilt and shame of my actions that night.
I didn’t have to own any of it.
With Rhion, I was free.
To her, I was perfect.
I was the hero who did everything right.
I didn’t have a reason to carry guilt or shame. My actions had been successful in saving her life.
And there was nothing to own.
To Rhion, I’d always been free.
She’d even written over a dozen books showing it. I had just been too damn consumed to accept it.
“Jesus,” I cursed, burying my face in her neck.
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
It was.
A yes to the hair.
A yes to getting married one day.
A yes to making babies.
A yes to raising a family.
A yes to growing old with her.
A yes to an amazing life.
But, most of all, a yes to being beautifully flawed together.
Tipping her to the side, I kissed her with my entire being.
Lips. Tongue. Heart. Soul.
Scars and all.
Chapter Thirty
Rhion
True to his word, Jude wore his hair up that night. True to mine, I wore a strapless, black cocktail dress when Pete took us to dinner. As I’d expected, Pete stared, but every time I started to squirm, Jude was there with a reassuring touch to set me at ease.
Surprisingly enough, Pete didn’t take us to an ostentatious restaurant, but rather a chain steakhouse. I thought he did it for Jude’s benefit, to make him feel more comfortable. Though, judging by the glares they exchanged for most of the meal, I wasn’t sure it was all that effective.
Dinner. Was. Awkward.
Jude was polite and tried starting innocent conversation with Pete. Pete, however, threw snide insults disguised as jokes back at Jude every chance he got. Meanwhile, I nervously slid my mother’s diamond across the chain so fast that it was a wonder I didn’t cause sparks.
By the time we finished our salads, Pete was already making up excuses about why he needed to get back to his hotel as quickly as possible. Normally, I would have been hurt, considering I hadn’t seen him in over six months, but I was so relieved when he stood to leave, still chewing his last bite of steak.
Though my disappointment rang loudly.
My heart broke as I watched Pete so obviously shun Jude. They were two of the most important men in my life. I wasn’t naïve. Pete had more than made his feelings on Jude clear on the phone weeks earlier. It wasn’t like I’d expected him to change overnight and immediately accept him into our little makeshift family. I had, however, hoped that it would happen that way.
There was a myriad of reasons why I loved Jude. But the way he guided me back to our apartment without saying a single negative word about Pete was one of the biggest reasons. He recognized that I was hurting and took it upon himself to make it better even though he was the one who had been wronged. Another one of the reasons I loved Jude because he took his time making love to me as though he knew I needed the connection between us. A reminder that he would always there for me, no matter what the situation. Or at least that was what I took from his whispered promises that it would be okay. I wasn’t sure it would, but with Jude’s loving, green gaze staring down at me, I knew unequivocally that I would be.
We eventually fell asleep. Sweaty, sated, and, for me, closer than ever before.
The next morning, I pried my eyes open and found Jude sitting on the corner of the bed, fully dressed in one of his work suits, his hair still damp from a shower.
“Wake up, beautiful.”
“What time is it?” I asked, stretching out like a cat.
“Seven. But Zach just called to tell me Pete was at the elevator. You might want to throw on some cloth—” He was cut off by a knock on the door.