Love Me More Read online

  Table of Contents

  ARC Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Blair

  Blair

  Blair

  Finn

  Blair

  Tristan

  Blair

  Finn

  Blair

  Finn

  Blair

  Finn

  Finn

  Blair

  Tristan

  Finn

  Blair

  Finn

  Blair

  Tristan

  Tristan

  Finn

  Blair

  Blair

  Finn

  Finn

  Blair

  Blair

  Finn

  Finn

  Blair

  Tristan

  Blair

  Tristan

  Blair

  Finn

  Finn

  Blair

  Finn

  Blair

  Finn

  Blair

  Finn

  Finn

  Blair

  Tristan

  Blair

  Blair

  Finn

  Tristan

  Finn

  Blair

  Tristan

  Blair

  Blair

  Finn

  Tristan

  Blair

  Tristan

  Finn

  Blair

  Tristan

  Finn

  Tristan

  Finn

  Blair

  Finn

  Epilogue

  Letter To My Readers

  Acknowledgments

  About R.S. Medina

  Love Me More Playlist

  To Me:

  You finally fucking did it, bitch.

  Copyright © 2017 by Cadmus Ink LLC.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, incidents, and places are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public places are sometimes used for entertainment purposes only to help with storyline. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Editing, cover art and format by Alchemy and Words LLC — Amy Donnelly, www.alchemyandwords.com

  This horrible event is how it ends. This is how I die.

  My throat is on fire, and I can't stop screaming. My face is wet with blood and tears. I'm furiously trying to wipe both away, but it feels like it's never ending. It won't wipe off—it just keeps coming. I can't make it stop. And I feel like the blood is searing into my skin, staining me, branding me. I'm burning.

  My eyes are burning. I can taste the iron in the blood, and it tastes like I have pennies in my mouth. I want to throw up. I feel the bile creeping up from my stomach and into my throat. I'm going to be sick. I wish it would just happen so I could get this taste out of my mouth. I don't want throwing up to be the last thing I do before I die.

  My ears are ringing. I cover them with my hands to try and make them stop. But they won't stop ringing. My nose is burning from the smell of blood and gunpowder. The unwelcome smell of hot metal, what could be fireworks, and dirt crawls into and invades my nose. The same dirt that will be used to bury my dead body when this is over and my body goes cold.

  This is my last breath. I'm going to die. And while I'm terrified to the point I can barely move, all I can think about is dirt. And I must be having an out of body experience because I can see myself falling to my knees and screaming, and wiping away blood and crying. I see blood. Red is everywhere. It's too red. I used to like red, but now red is such a terrifying color. Red is such an ugly, unwelcome color and I can't believe I ever thought about painting my dining room that color. It's the color of pain and loss. It's disturbing and dark.

  Why is my life not flashing before my eyes? Why is time moving so slowly? Why can't I pull it together? My hands are shaking, and my eyes and lungs are burning, and my vision is spotty. My hands go to my shirt, and I have blood on my shirt too.

  This blood is never going to come out. It's going to stain permanently.

  It's not my blood, I realize. I'm not bleeding.

  Not my blood.

  A MONTH EARLIER...

  "I want a divorce!" I blurt and then slap my hand over my mouth to keep myself from saying anything else that I may or may not regret. Did those hateful words come out of my mouth? Those awful words, strung together? Especially the dreaded D word?

  Is a divorce what I want when it comes down to it? I'm angry, but saying those words out loud lifted a weight off my shoulders. I feel lighter already.

  Finn is giving me a million reasons to want to end our marriage and walk away. My life would be so much easier on my own. He's not giving me a good reason to stay. I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted, and I'm honestly so much better on my own anyway. I'm used to solitude. After years as a military wife with him deployed, I function better when I'm alone. I thrive on it. I'm used to him not being here and having to fix the car or the dishwasher myself. I'm comfortable relying on myself.

  "Is that really what you want?" Finn looks pain stricken. I look away. I can't stand to see the hurt in his eyes. Finn has always been hard to read. His face is emotionless, but for once I can see the shock and hurt registered in his eyes.

  I honestly think he's as shocked as I am that I spoke those words. I've never been the one to give up and walk away. I'm a fighter, and fucking stubborn. I'm not one to throw the D word out like it's nothing. And Finn knows how I feel about divorce. I'm staunchly opposed.

  This is serious.

  Tears fill my eyes. I hate that we are at this point. How did we even get here? I look at the man who used to look at me with love and affection, and now just looks at me like I'm a roommate or a piece of furniture in the living room. He's standing across from me in the kitchen, leaned up against the counter. I have to look up at him which always makes me feel kind of inferior since he's so fucking tall to my five foot three inches. His five o'clock shadow is coming in nicely, and even when I'm fucking pissed at him, I would still jump his bones in a heartbeat.

  At times, I feel like I'm a lamp or a couch to him. Not the person he fell in love with. I'm not the sweet girl who used to play video games with him when we were younger and had no cares. We ate whatever we wanted and slept in all day. We also used to fuck at least once a day. I know I'm no longer the girl who used to drive around for hours listening to music and talking. I know I've changed. Age and time and becoming a mom have changed who I am as a person. And to be honest, the change wasn't gradual. It was instantaneous. It happened the moment I laid eyes on that tiny, crying human being that I grew in my body. I went from who I was to who I am now in a split second.

  Finn also changed. He came back from his tours different. He came back...less than okay. The man I fell in love with and married was not himself. And I know that I can't blame him for that, but I do. And he won't talk to me. He won't tell me what happened. And I know that I can never understand that part of his life. I don't think I want to understand that part of his life, but I honestly hate that he blames me for all of this. I wasn't the only one who changed.

  Now, I'm a fixture. Just part of the daily scenery, something you don't even notice until it's moved or misplaced and the spot where it used to be looks empty, lik
e a picture frame on the wall. You walk past it every day, and then one day, if it has been moved, something seems off, but you can't quite put your finger on what or why.

  "I don't know," I whisper. And I really don't know. When we found out that we were having a baby, that this one seemed to be sticking, the realization was a total shock. My pregnancy was horribly timed, and this wasn't how I pictured it. We were so ready to start this journey together, but this was so different from what we both had expected. Part of it was the devastation I went through. Part of it was just Finn.

  Don't get me wrong, Finn is an excellent father. He loves Olivia, and Olivia is crazy about her daddy. She has him wrapped around her little finger. I think Olivia is the only light in Finn's world, but something changed. Finn doesn't connect with Olivia or me anymore. There's a part of him that is distant and reserved. We can't reach him.

  I pictured Finn being such a good father. I pictured us picking out nursery furniture, and bringing a baby into this world together. Watching our child grow, helping that baby take his or her first steps together and becoming a family.

  I changed, and maybe the problem is me. I think that there is still a part of Finn that wants to be that young couple that ate pizza and played video games and didn't worry about things like daycare payments and bills. And we can't go back to that. There's no going back.

  I cannot imagine my life without Finn, but at the same time, the idea of escape is beautiful and tempting. Trying is exhausting. Finn's mood swings and temper is exhausting. I'm tired of tiptoeing around him and making sure I don't trigger him. It's like walking on eggshells all the time. Like I'm constantly watching my every move to make sure I'm not going to do something to throw Finn and the house into a total tailspin.

  I don't know how to get back to the way we were...or if we can ever go back to the way we were. But I'm not sure what would be more painful at this point? Admitting defeat and throwing in the towel, or staying? But can I leave? Is it fair to leave him after everything he's been through? He's so broken, and the last thing he needs is to be abandoned. I just want to fix him. I want to glue all his tiny pieces back together, and bring back the man he once was.

  Finn doesn't even make eye contact. He looks somewhere above eye level, looking at me, but also looking through me. He rubs his stubble covered chin uncomfortably. Instead of looking at him, I look down at the dish towel I am squeezing in my hands. My knuckles are white with the effort. I try to relax. I focus on trying to line the edges of the towel up perfectly to fold it nicely. Why is this towel such an ugly plaid color?

  "I just want to go back to the way things were," my chin trembles. I know he can hear my voice is thick with what is held back tears, but he refuses to acknowledge them at this point. Finn has always hated when I cry. Tears make Finn uncomfortable. He thinks I cry too easy. And to be fair, I do too. I cry when I'm angry. I cry when I'm happy. There are pretty much tears any time I'm emotional. I cry at books, movies, cartoons, birthday parties, songs, you name it.

  Again, Finn confirms my fear. "I don't know that we can, Blair," he says, leaning his hips against the marble countertop. His gaze feels cold and unwelcome on me, and I want nothing more than to go back to better times, curl up in the warmth of old Finn, and stay there forever. But the old version of my husband is long gone, replaced by this battle worn, angry, depressed, asshole who isn't the man I married. I want to chip through his cold exterior and claw out the man I know is still in there somewhere, but I feel like the harder I push to make him better, the harder he fights and pushes me away, and the tougher his exterior becomes.

  He reminds me of a woman that was on an episode of Grey's Anatomy that I watched once. Strangely enough, it's a show Finn claims to hate, but secretly watches with me when he gets a chance, pretending to object when I accuse him of liking it. In the episode in question, there was a woman who every time she was touched, her body would calcify, turning to bone, making her unable to move. That describes Finn. The more I push or prod or beg for my old husband back, the harder he becomes, the more he calcifies and turns into bone, and I feel the harder it will be to get my old Finn back.

  I never would have thought that this would be my life, that Finn would become my enemy instead of my teammate, my partner. And it stings like a son of a bitch. I have no idea how we got here. There is no point in not being honest anymore, right?

  "I don't know where to go from here," I say, my shoulders sagging. I'm exhausted, emotionally and mentally, and it's taking a toll on me physically. I feel tired, weak, drained. And the one person capable of fixing it, can't seem to muster the strength to come back to me. Or doesn't want to. I don't know which is worse.

  "Me either," he says. It's a simple response, but fucking confusing. We stand awkwardly, neither of us saying anything. The fridge hums and I listen to the ice-maker kicking cubes into the freezer tray.

  "Maybe we should go to counseling again?" I suggest quietly. I try not to feel hopeful. I know he needs it. I need it. We need it. To help him get past his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and his anger and depression... to help us try to be a happy couple again. The last time we went to counseling, though, it had been wildly unsuccessful. Finn hated our counselor and thought he was a total tool. To be honest, I hated that smug, bald fucker just as much as Finn did, but I tried to explain to Finn that we couldn't base whether or not counseling would work for us on one experience, and that we could find a counselor who was a better fit for us. Asking for help is not Finn's strong suit. Asking for help is a weakness in Finn's eyes.

  "What good would that do?" Finn asks. "Counseling is crap," he reminds me. I don't bother arguing. When Finn makes up his mind about something, there's no changing it. He's just as stubborn as I am.

  I want to slap his face so hard. I want to scream and yell and cry, but I won't. I'm not shedding another tear for him, and I don't want to disturb Olivia sleeping in her crib down the hall. The frustrating part is that Finn is not even trying. He doesn't even look upset. And while I know that this is just Finn, I hate that he isn't emotional about our marriage and life together.

  How the hell am I supposed to know what he's thinking or feeling if he doesn't talk about it? His face is impassive, and honestly, it pisses me off. Because I want him to beg me to stay. I want him to tell me that he still loves me. That he can't imagine life without me, the way I can't imagine my life without him, but he doesn't, and he won't. That's just how Finn is, and Finn doesn't need anybody, and Finn doesn't beg. He obviously can imagine life without me, and he isn't in love with me anymore.

  Our relationship has always been one-sided. I once read a theory that you should always marry a man who loves you more than you love him. And I, in my youth, thought that theory was outrageous. No, you should obviously fall in love with someone who loves you just as passionately as you love them.

  Obviously, I did not follow that advice, because I was... am... the one who loved more. Like a fucking moron. Now I wish I had married a man who loved me more. I want to make that man Finn, but I can't change him or mold him into who I want him to be.

  I loved him passionately, and fiercely. And now I regret it because here we are. I love him, and he doesn't love me in return. I hate that I care so much for him. I hate that from the minute I laid eyes on him, I knew—this was it. In the most cliché, obnoxious way, when I first laid eyes on him, I knew that I wanted him. I can even remember what he was wearing when we met those many years ago. I remember the way he looked and the way my body responded to him like it knew he was going to be mine.

  He was standing with his girlfriend at the time at a party. She was pretty, with dark hair and big beautiful brown eyes. Finn definitely has a type. He goes for girls with long dark hair and long legs. She was gorgeous. He was in a striped hoodie, with a red solo cup in his hand, and he was laughing at something our mutual friend Carson was saying.

  Carson had dragged me to the party after I caught my longtime boyfriend cheating. It upset me, and I refused to le
ave my room. Carson knew I needed a good time and a few drinks—that's how I met Finn. We spent that night drinking too much and laughing and talking about his favorite bands. And as much as I want to say I hated his girlfriend, she was sweet. She spent the evening laughing and smiling openly, making sure I felt included. She was one of those people who was always happy, always down to have a good time, and made sure everyone felt included.

  Finn and I started out as friends, but after he had broken up with the girl from the party a few months later, we started dating, and we beat the odds.

  When Finn went away to boot camp right after high school graduation, everyone expected us to split. We were too young, they said. Everyone thought we didn't know what we wanted, but we didn't break up. We were a team, a united front. I knew that going into the Marines had always been Finn's dream. It was the only thing he had ever wanted. Who was I to hinder that? So I waited and supported, cheering him on from home. I wrote letters every day, accepted phone calls that lasted brief minutes, leaving my eyes stinging with unshed tears, because I missed him and his voice.

  When he graduated from boot camp, officially a Marine, we decided to tie the knot and make it official. It all happened so fast, everyone suspected that I was pregnant. But Finn and I just laughed it off and told everyone that we just knew we were meant to be together, so why wait?

  Even now, years later, I can remember how he made me feel, how he looked at me, how drawn I was to him. I wanted him in the way I've never wanted someone before. Call it what you will, because I don't believe in love at first sight, but it was some magnetic attraction that pulled us together. Something powerful and driving. I knew Finn would be mine.

  Why wasn't it possible for Finn to be that man? Why couldn't Finn just love me more?

  I straighten myself and place the now folded, ugly, plaid dishtowel on the counter next to Finn and begin to walk away without looking at him.

  "So you're just going to walk away?" he sounds irritated. Finn hates when I walk away from a conversation. He feels disrespected, and it instantly sets him off, but what else is could I say? I'm at a loss. I care more than he does. It's as simple as that. I've been willing to try anything and everything. I've fought and clawed to keep what is mine, but what is left to fight for? I refuse to cry and beg him to love me anymore. I want to feel wanted and needed and appreciated. And this conversation is going nowhere. I wish he would just say something. Anything. Because I can feel myself giving up the fight. I can feel myself letting go.