She didn't answer his question because in that moment, she did want that.

"You know about Jace, right?"

He nodded, but no sympathy was shown. "It's unfortunate."

"Yeah."

Ben licked his lips and she watched, mesmerized by his lip ring and movement. He threaded his fingers through the back of her head and tipped her face to meet his. He was so close that she could smell the tequila coming off his breath.

Closing the distance, Ben didn't hesitate when he kissed her. And she let him because the truth was she had wanted to kiss him since she met him.

Ben's kisses were different. He didn't ask with his touch, he took and demanded. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and kissed her hard. Alyssa kissed him back with the same intensity, tasting the tequila on him. He tugged on her hair and she went to wrap her arms around his neck, but he stopped her and pushed them against the wall.

Reaching down, Ben gripped her thighs and picked her up. He shoved her back into the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles and he rolled his hips into her sex. Alyssa moaned. She became even wetter from the feel of his jeans pushing on her. His touch wasn't light and she liked that. He was rough with his kisses and his abrasive fingers kneaded her hips. She couldn't process it from the liquor hitting her hard. It was like he was touching her everywhere all at once, her body was climbing and she wanted more. His fingers slid around her hips and down to her wetness. Ben didn't hesitate and he pushed in. She clenched around him from the intrusion, both liking it but hurting from it too. Her back bowed and broke the kiss.

"Ow." Ben pulled his fingers out and put them in his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I had a feeling you would taste like this," he whispered.

Heart racing, she panted. "Like what?"

"Like a juicy sweet peach." Her cheeks flushed, burning from his forwardness. It was a good thing she didn't have panties to put on after the shower because they would be soaked right now. A slow grin danced across his face. Before she could process what was happening, Ben pulled her off the wall and had her in his room and on his bed in seconds. He licked her neck, biting the curve of her shoulder and she shivered. His hands went to her breasts and he groaned pushing his hips back and forth into her. Her head was spinning. Alyssa was wound up and turned on, and as much as her body was on fire and beginning for release, she wasn't planning on having sex tonight. Her hands found his chest, as his mouth found hers again. Ben did have a way with his rough kisses and she kissed him back again. Her legs tightened around his waist and he pushed his cock into her again. She tried to stifle her moans, but she failed. Ben's hand slid to the outside of her thigh where the boxer shorts slid up. He gripped her hard then reared back and slapped that spot. Alyssa jumped from the shocking sting. Before she could complain, he rubbed it in circles, heating it up and then pulled back and slapped her in the same spot, this time pressing his erection into her. It was a feeling she'd never felt, both pain and pleasure and despite her body reacting to it, she needed to stop it.

Alyssa brought her hands to his chest to stop Ben. She broke the kiss and turned her head to the side, breathing heavily. Ben grabbed both wrists and placed them above her head.

"I . . ." she breathed, seeing triple of Ben. "I think we should stop."

"I'll be the one to decide."

"No, I don't want to."

"You don't get to work me up only to say stop." He kissed her again, and she lost her train of thought. Her wrists were pinned to the bed as he used his other hand to slip into her boxers. She couldn't close her legs since Ben was on top of her, and he ran his fingers along her sex. He broke the kiss and pulled back with a massive grin. He pressed his wet fingers to her lips and painted them with her wetness.

"You still going to tell me to stop, because I'm pretty sure your body wants me." Then he kissed her lips, sucking them into his mouth and licking the evidence of her arousal off.

"I don't . . ." she said between kisses, and squirmed under him.

"Shhh . . . you want this," he insisted.

"I . . . no . . . don't . . ."

"Yes, you do," He found her sex again and thrust two fingers inside. Her hips came off the bed and her back arched.

"Ben" He kissed her to shut her up as his fingers pumped in and out. She whimpered not from pleasure.

"See? I knew you'd like it."

"It hurts . . ." His thumb circled her clit. "No . . ." Why did she have to drink so much? She was having trouble forming words. "Stop . . ." Her heart pounded and the room spun, she wanted him to stop but he wouldn't.

Ben added more pressure to her wrists while his other one kept going down below. They burned from his hold as she struggled to move. She didn't want this and yet she felt an orgasm climbing. He was confusing her moans of pain with pleasure and all she wanted was to stop it from happening.

Alyssa opened her eyes as wide as she could and tried to sober up. She stared up at the ceiling and said, "Ben. Stop."

But he ignored her and kept his torment on her body. He bit down on her neck, licking it and then biting again. Her blood was rising, the impending orgasm getting closer and she wanted it to stop.

"I said stop," she begged.

"I know you want this, baby. You've wanted my dick inside that sweet pussy of yours ever since we met."

She squeezed her eyes shut fighting off the orgasm. "I . . . I . . ." she couldn't get the words out as her release tore through, hitting her so hard she shuddered under Ben. She was motionless, in shock over the way her body reacted to his touch even though she desperately did not want it. How was it possible that she orgasmed the way she just did? She felt dirty, emotionless.

Disgusting.

"Yeah . . . That's it. I knew you wanted it. Give it to me," he muttered near her ear. Ben let go of her wrists and stood on his knees as she stared at the ceiling astonished. She heard a zipper, saw a blur of material . . . felt her body jerk, but nothing was processing. Her body was shutting down, her eyes grew heavy and she was sinking away.

And then she felt pressure between her legs and her arms went flying. Something wasn't right, she just didn't know what, only that she needed to stop it. Too much tequila. Her mind faded, darkness taking her under, as Ben grabbed her wrists again and pinned them down by the sides of her head, all the while a dull pressure built and built down below and she was powerless to stop it.

"Shhh . . . You want this."

Alyssa's head pounded when she woke up. She was disoriented and puzzled. What the hell happened last night? It was like a jack hammer was going off inside her head. She was still drunk and she was nauseous to the core. She sat up too quickly and the room spun, so she lay back down trying to fight off the bile rising to her throat. She had to work this afternoon but had no idea what time it was and looked around for a clock. The red light from the cable box said 6:00 am and she decided she was going back to bed.

Alyssa groaned and turned over to see a sleeping Ben and smiled. He was passed out. Last night had been fun, playing darts and trying to arm wrestle him. As she watched him sleep, confusion set in . . . what happened after arm wrestling? Her head pounded even more trying to remember how they ended up in bed. She remembered falling . . . and him kissing her and her kissing him back, but the rest was a complete blank. It was the first time she blacked out and truly had no idea what happened.

Something about last night wasn't sitting right in her gut. Maybe it was the after effects from the bottle of tequila she chugged with Ben? She shuffled her legs into a comfortable position and felt a sting between her thighs. She paused, wondering why that happened. She moved her legs again seeing if the sting was still there . . . and sure enough, it was. Did they have sex last night? No . . . her clothes were still on and even though she lusted after Ben when they first met, she didn't want to sleep with him. She didn't like him like that, especially after being with Johnny. Despite his refusal to speak to her, Johnny owned her heart completely. He just didn't know it.

Alyssa shrugged, going back to sleep deciding that she would think about it later.

The burial had been today.

Five days after Jace died. Five days after he watched Jace be taken off life support.

Watching your best friend be lowered six feet into the ground did shit to John's head.

It fucked him up pretty badly.

It had also been five days since he'd spoken to Alyssa.

When she showed up at the funeral, he couldn't bring himself to utter a word to her. He looked at her for a brief moment, the dark circles under her puffy eyes were pronounced and she looked very pale. He wanted to go to her, but he didn't have an ounce of energy left in his body. He was cemented in the chair. He kept his eyes locked on the coffin for the remainder of the service. It was better that way.

He hardly even spoke a word to Ford, or anyone from his small town that showed. He was drowning in the memories and that was all he could take.

That night on the back of his truck, under the moon, had been one of the best and worst nights of his life. He'd been to both heaven and hell and his head had been fucked up ever since.

The next morning when he and Alyssa left Whiskey River, they'd gone their separate ways. She'd made attempts to contact him, but he didn't want to talk to her. In fact, he didn't want to talk to anyone. He felt utterly alone inside. He wanted to be alone. He descended deeper into depression and it was no one's fault but his. What would he say? Let me cry on your shoulder? Hopefully she understood where he was coming from. He felt bad about it, but he was so fucked up in the head it was all just too much. The only time he spoke to someone was when he helped Maryanne with the funeral arrangements along with his parents. He spent his nights down by the river pounding beer after beer by himself.

A part of John had died with Jace that night. He wasn't sure if he would ever heal. So this was his way of handling it on his own. He didn't even reach out to his brother, Luke, who he looked up to.

So where was he now? Drunk, alone, and staring at a fresh lump of dirt and a tombstone still dressed in his suit and tie. His head was throbbing thinking about how Jace was under that red, muddy, ugly ass dirt rotting away.

But he wasn't really there now, was he?

Fuck. It didn't matter. What mattered anymore?

John stood tall at the burial this morning fighting the tears and his stupid emotions as he stayed strong for Jace's mom with shoulders back and hands clasped in front of him. Listening to her sobs and watching her visibly shake cracked him open inside. It was rough. A few times tears slipped out but he quickly wiped them away.

Once everyone left, John grabbed one of the twenty ounce beers he hid in his truck and cracked it open. He took a long, hard pull on it as he sat down in front of the fresh dirt in his suit not caring that the dirt would probably stain it. A stained suit was the least of his worries. John took another sip as he looked at the trees on the horizon. That cool refreshing crisp felt damn good as it slid down the back of his throat.

A deep blush swathed in warm orange hues coated the sky as the sun set. It was quite the contrast from this morning's bleak sunrise. The melancholy skies fit the mood though- after all, his small town was saying goodbye to one of its own.

Tilting his head back, John stared at the sky above him. Was Jace up there somewhere looking down at him? Was he making fun of his suit and tie and telling John how stuffy he probably looked and to go take it off? Or was he sitting next to him drinking a beer and he didn't even know it? John gulped hard. He looked back at the pile of dirt and picked a handful of it up. Closing his hand, he gripped it as tight as he could and then opened it slowly to a molded form in his palm. John stared at it for a few moments then moved his fingers, watching as the red dirt slipped through to the ground.

John raised his beer to Jace's headstone. "'Til I see you again . . ." He took a sip, and then tipped it over the dirt giving Jace a drink too.

"This isn't goodbye, Jace . . ." he took the last sip before he got up and went home to change.

He was going to get obliterated tonight.

John spent the days following Jace's burial by himself, or with Ford, getting drunk on his memory. When Ford left for the night, John would stay for hours longer drinking and listening to country music on the back of his truck down by Whiskey River. Those damn songs cut deep, especially drunk. In some bizarre way, he liked tormenting himself through music even though the whole point of pounding beers away was to erase every feeling.

This had become his life, and he was good at hiding it.

Alyssa had been nonexistent during this time too. He had no idea what she was doing, and at times he didn't even care. He stopped reaching out to her, but that didn't mean he stopped thinking about her every minute of every day. Truth was, he couldn't stop thinking about her. At one point she had become his other half, his best friend, the one he reached for. Now he was reaching for beers. He may be young, but there was a connection between them. There was no way it was all in his head. He'd seen the look in her eyes, the desire, the lust, it mirrored his own. Her eyes told a different story than her words. She was like a drug he couldn't stop craving. He missed her smile, the way her blonde hair would fall over her shoulders when she laughed, the way her eyes would twinkle when she was testing his patience. He even missed seeing her feet on his dashboard. He was reaching blindly for her all the time.

God, he wanted her so bad. John singlehandedly pushed Alyssa away. One day he would fix it, but right now he had other plans.

If it wasn't Alyssa on his mind, it was Jace. He felt his absence big time, like there was a hole in his chest that could never be filled. Like he was missing a part of himself. And even though he had Ford, John still felt alone. It wasn't the same. Like that one piece to finish a puzzle was forever lost. How did people move on?

Closing his eyes, John dropped his head between his propped legs and rested it on his forearms as a beer dangled from one hand. The fresh scent of cut grass mixed with dirt flooded his senses. John inhaled, absorbing the smell and exhaled loudly. He picked his head up and opened his eyes, looking straight at a gray tombstone. Jace's tombstone to be exact. He was missing his friend big time and wondered if Jace was missing him six feet under.

Of course not. Jace was dead.

John's chest tightened and his heart began to beat hard. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing away the pain. Fuck. He needed to stop thinking about Jace that way, but it was so difficult. If he didn't think about him, then it was like he was forgetting him.

Bringing the longneck bottle to his lips, John took a long hard swig on his beer. He'd been sitting out here for a few hours now and the only light he had was coming off the faint streetlamps while he nursed beer after beer. He just kept staring at Jace's grave thinking how this was all some sort of nightmare.

But it wasn't.

It was true life. And he was drowning in the memoires day in and day out.

Reaching over, John took out the last beer he had left. He cracked it opened, took a sip, and then he reached for the red solo cup. He poured some liquid into it, watched the carbonation bubble to the top and placed the cup next to Jace's tombstone.

"Thought you could use a drink. Actually, I thought you were lonely out here all by yourself so that's why I'm here, why I've been sitting here every night. Figured we could have one together." John took a sip of his beer. "Just wanted you to know that I'm still here thinkin' about you, buddy. You're not alone . . . Miss ya, man. Everyone misses you."

John shook his head, trying to blink away the tears that formed in his eyes. The pressure in his chest was all consuming. He ached terribly.

"Why . . . Why did ya have to go? It was supposed to be me and you against the world. Why couldn't you fight harder? Why did I have to call you that night? God, what I wouldn't give to turn back time," John sighed loudly, and let his head fall back. He clenched his eyes shut.

"You're here, but you're not. It's all so strange, like I can feel your spirit all around me. Sometimes I ask myself if this is real, that you're really dead. I just can't believe I don't have you by my side anymore." Tears stained his cheeks. "I'm not ready, man. I'm not ready to say goodbye."

Chills broke out across his arms as the wind blew and he shivered. John's eyes narrowed at the stone. A sad laugh rolled off his breath. How pathetic was he sitting here talking to a damn piece of stone as if it could respond? John was losing it.

"I just can't. Because if I do, then that means this shit is real and you're really gone. So I won't say goodbye, I just won't."

Bringing the beer to his mouth, John realized the bottle was empty. He eyed Jace's cup and reached for it.

"Not gonna drink it? That's cool. I'll drink it for you. Bottoms up." He brought the cup to his lips and paused. Extending his arm, John tipped the cup over and poured a line of beer out for Jace like he did last time. He prayed he wouldn't go to Hell for this.

He raised his cup, giving a silent salute then drank the rest of the contents.

Stumbling to his truck, John was drunker than he realized. Nevertheless, he was ready to go home and sleep away another day until the sun set then he would start all over again.

Looking over his shoulder he whispered under his breath, "I'll never forget you. Never. This isn't goodbye."

Placing a hand on the side of his truck to steady himself, John took a deep breath before he pulled open his driver's side door and climbed in. It took him a few tries, but he finally got the key in the ignition. Kick It in the Sticks by Brantley Gilbert came on the radio, and John cranked it up before he peeled out of the cemetery.

Pulling onto Broadway, John rolled down his window and dropped an arm out. Nothing felt as good as when he rode with the windows down and the radio blaring. There was something about music that revved his blood and got him going. The beat pulsed through him and he felt good. John was beginning to understand how Luke felt about music. It calmed his nerves and took him to another place in time. It allowed him to escape.

Focusing on the yellow line, John drove as straight as he could down the dark road that was encased by tall and very old trees. But it wasn't easy tonight. It was harder than what he was used to. He was exhausted, and it wasn't easy trying to follow two lines. Hey . . . When did two lines appear? And why were they moving? Which one was he supposed to drive next to when they were swerving in and out of each other? John slapped his face to wake himself up a little bit then sat up straighter. He couldn't wait to hit the sheets. Hopefully everyone would be asleep once he got home. He wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone.

Yawning, John stretched his arms and he arched his back. Damn, his bed never sounded so appealing than right now. Opening his tired eyes, John's heart jumped into his throat and he stepped on the brakes. His truck fishtailed on the gravel as he tried everything not to hit the deer in front of his truck. He never saw it coming. The deer didn't move until John veered to the right, slipping and sliding all over the road. The screech of his tires must have scared it, because it went galloping away into the field. As John's truck slowed down, the bed of his truck pulled right and onto the grass when it stopped. His heart pounded in his ears, he was nauseous to the core. He threw open the door, jumped out and paced back and forth. He shook so bad he couldn't control it. The scent of burned rubber permeated the air and it woke him right up.

Stopping in front of his truck, John placed his hands on the warm hood and bent over, relieving his stomach into the grass. It was nothing but liquid. He had been halfway to heaven-or hell tonight and it was something he never wanted to experience again.

John took out his cell when he got back inside his truck and sent a quick text to Alyssa. He knew he shouldn't, but he just had a near death experience and needed her.

I still want you. I need to feel you and I hate that I can't. I hate myself for hurting you. I know I fucked up, and I'm sorry, but I'm going to make it better. I promise.

Then John turned off his phone without waiting to see if Alyssa would respond and went home, otherwise he would be checking his phone every minute.

While lying in bed staring at the ceiling fan spin in circles, John decided that he was going to make a change. He watched his own life flash before his eyes and it scared the shit out of him. He should have never driven drunk, again, but he wasn't thinking clearly either. It was dumb and reckless, not to mention he could have killed someone. He could wake up tomorrow and be dead, but John wasn't ready to die. He had his entire life ahead of him and he didn't want to cut it short because of his own stupidity.

So tomorrow, he would tell his father that he was ready to follow in his footsteps. He needed to get out, get away from everything and everyone. It was the only way. He knew it would be intense, but maybe that's what he needed to get his head on straight. And who knows, maybe he would come to love it the way his father had. Only time would tell.

He was given one life to live, and he was going to live it to its fullest.

Three months later. . .

A lot had happened in the last few months, a lot of life changing moments.

The night he came close to meeting Jace at the golden gates was an awakening. He was living life on the edge, not giving a shit about what happened next. It was careless and selfish of him. He couldn't believe he let himself stoop so low, but he'd been passed the point of depression. He was drowning his grief and sorrow in alcohol which was the worst thing he could've done. It scared the shit out of him, but isn't that how life worked? It takes a life altering event to wake up.

After losing Jace, John realized how short life is. How valuable it was, a price couldn't be put on it. And from that day forward, John was going to make the most of it.

He didn't tell anyone, other than his family, of his decision. He probably should have, but not drinking was a fight in itself. Saying goodbye was hard, especially as of lately. It wasn't easy leaving, but he would be back and make things right.

The first couple of weeks at boot camp had been absolute torment on John. It hit him harder than he expected. Many times he asked himself, what had he signed up for? It wasn't child's play, that's for sure. It wreaked havoc on his body. His muscles were sore and he ached for weeks in places he didn't even know he had muscles. His mind was broken down by mental exhaustion and built back up. By stripping away all his negative thoughts and focusing on becoming a better person, a Marine, he was proving himself little by little. It's funny how thirteen weeks of camp sounds like a cakewalk, but it's anything but that. It was pure mental and physical exhaustion. It was taxing, not only on his body, but his mind as well. Nothing in his life had taken so much from him before. As drained as he was at the end of each day, John looked forward to the next.

He thought about the path he was taking and what he would become of it. It wasn't for the weak, that's for sure. Boot camp chewed up the weak and ate them for breakfast. Had his father not pushed him all those months ago, maybe he wouldn't be on his way home from training for a small break. That little push planted a seed inside of John. Life worked in mysterious ways and he wasn't going to question it. He was just going to roll with the tide and see where it took him.