by Coralee June
My chest heaved in and out. Each breath was a painful reminder that another person in my life was unreliable. I didn’t blame him, but I did. I didn’t hate him, but I hated all the shitty situations and decisions he’d ever made. “Oh, Blakely,” Decker cooed before wrapping his arms around me. He pulled me into a sincere hug, and I nestled my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting smell. “Did your dad say these guys were dangerous? Are they going to come after you?” Decker asked while holding me.
“I saw one of them staring at us as we drove away. I don’t think they’re going to come after me. But I don’t really know,” I said.
“Should we call the police? Do you know what these guys looked like?”
I squeezed him tighter before answering, my words were muffled because my lips were pressed against his pulse. “I told Dad we should call his parole officer, but he said she wouldn’t be able to do anything. I feel so helpless,” I explained.
Decker placed his hands on my shoulder and put me at arm’s reach. Bending over, he peered into my eyes as if trying to gauge the pain within their green depths. “I’m gonna figure something out, okay? Lance and I have been talking about taking you to Chicago. Maybe it’s time we take a weekend trip. Get away for a little bit and give your dad time to get out of town. In the meantime, I have a friend on the force that could possibly help us. I know you’re worried about your dad, but you are my priority.”
I couldn’t meet Decker’s gaze anymore. It felt too intimate, too important. So instead, I looked down at the ground and let hope bleed out of my lungs on an exhale. Decker was giving me his air. “What about Dad? Who’s gonna make him a priority?” I asked.
“He’s a grown man, and he’s going to make himself the priority for now. I’ll talk to Lance as soon as he gets home, and we will go to Chicago. You’ve already missed two days this week, might as well miss a third,” Decker said while giving me a pointed stare I could feel in my bones. He used his index finger to lift my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye once more.
“Are you going to tell Lance?” I asked. “Dad didn’t want me to tell anyone.”
“Why did you tell me?” Decker asked, avoiding the comment about Lance.
“Because even if things have been weird between us, I trust you. I’ve never had someone I could run to when I was upset.”
Decker’s thumb brushed across my lips like he was praising them for the words I’d said. I had to force myself not to open up and taste his skin. “You trust me,” he replied, awe painting his tone. “You can trust Lance, too. You can tell him, or I will. Either way, he cares about you and deserves to know what’s going on.”
On a whim, I wrapped my arms around Decker’s neck and stole another hug. I claimed his confidence and comfort as my own, letting the heat of his skin bolster me as I trembled in his arms. “Okay,” I whispered.
I felt Decker’s lips press against my forehead, and I closed my eyes to revel in the feel of his lips on my skin. It felt warm. It felt like home. It felt like safety and contentment and happiness. I had never had someone that was like a safe place to land. My life was full of turbulence, and Decker was like my calm in the eye of the storm.
“Blakely, you’re killing me here. I hate seeing you like this,” he murmured.
“I hate feeling like this. I’m worried about him.”
“We got this, okay?”
“Okay. What if they go after you guys, too? I don’t know how these things work. I don’t know what these men are capable of.”
Decker gave me a confident grin. “I’d like to see them try. Come on, Blakely. We won’t let anything happen—I won’t let anything happen. I care too much about you for that.”
Those words reminded me just how much Decker and I needed to discuss. We needed to talk about what happened last night and what was building between us. We needed to figure out how to stop this inevitable pull.
But we didn’t bring any of it up. Decker guided me to the couch and sat me down, threading his fingers through mine as he pressed his body to my side, offering wordless solace as I stared at the television. “When did you say Lance would be back?” I asked.
“I don’t know. He’s very picky about his beer, goes to a local brewery across town to get his pretentious IPA.”
I laughed. That seemed like a very Lance thing to do. We sat there in silence for a moment. Our skin kept brushing, but I wanted more.
It wasn’t until his pinky finger caressed the outside of my knee that I caved. “I need you, Decker,” I whispered as I crawled into his lap, draping my legs over his thighs. I wrapped my arms around his neck, curling my body against his chest.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a soft voice.
“I just need a minute,” I rasped. I was sad and stupid and scared. I was reckless. I was redundantly predictable, using a vulnerable moment as an excuse to cling to Decker Harris for dear life.
“One minute, Blakely. That’s it.”
I trailed my fingers up and down his chest. He gasped. I nestled closer. He stiffened. I breathed him in and moaned against his skin.
He kissed me.
He consumed me.
He tasted my soul and asked for more.
“I shouldn’t do this,” he groaned against my lips, the tenor tone vibrating against my mouth. His sweeping tongue invaded my moans with fervor, making me grow hot with shame. I shouldn’t kiss him. I shouldn’t do this, here, now, anywhere, anytime.
I tore my lips from him, and it felt like severing a limb. Phantom pain rocked through my body. “I’m sorry,” I whispered while shaking my head. Here I was, fucking up our precarious relationship once more. “You’re trying to comfort me, and I jump your fucking bones. What is wrong with me? Dad is on the run for his fucking life, and I’m here doing this,” I hissed before gesturing between us then slamming my palm against my forehead. I went to move off his lap, but Decker held me still, his arms like steel cages locking me in.
“Nothing is wrong with you,” he cooed before gently removing my hand from my face. He gently kissed my palm, peppering affection along the lifelines grooved into my skin while keeping his eyes locked on me. “Not a single”—kiss—“damn”—kiss—“thing”—kiss—“is wrong with you, Blakely Stewart.”
“We should stop,” I murmured.
“We should,” he agreed.
“Are we going to?”
“No.”
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. His arms wrapped tighter around me, crushing my bones against his hard muscles. “What about Lance? Your job?” I prodded.
“We’ll figure it out. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t even know what this is.”
“Let’s not define it by nothings and somethings anymore,” I whispered. I didn’t want this to be a momentary lapse in Decker’s judgment. It felt like this brief allowance of intimacy was a slow-moving train wreck. Once the metal crunched and the tires screeched, he’d remember why this wasn’t a good idea. Decker was simply triggered by his hero complex. He was motivated by the idea that this time, he could step in front of the metaphorical bullet, and I was selfish enough to let him. I couldn’t handle the disappointment if he declared anything tonight then went back on it tomorrow. I’d already lost one person with good intentions today.
“How about we just call this what it is?” Decker said before setting me off his lap. The front door knob jiggled. Lance was home and standing on the other side of the front door. I listened to a set of keys rustling through the door.
“What?” I whispered, knowing that our moment was nearly over.
“Tragically inevitable,” Decker replied just as the front door opened and Lance walked inside.
22
Decker
Lance swooped in to save the day, and I let him. He called Mr. Stewart’s parole officer and demanded that she look into the situation. He called the apartment security and advised that more precautions be taken to prevent anyone from showing up unannounced. He called our par
ents and informed them about our random trip to visit them so we could get away while things cooled off—not that my parents particularly cared.
Then, he booked our flights, picking first-class tickets because he was feeling extra generous. He called his boyfriend—Sean—and invited him with us, but Sean turned him down. He worked weekends as a barista and couldn’t get the time off. Usually, I would be extra eager to meet his boyfriend, but someone else had consumed all of my protective energy. Apparently, I only had enough headspace to pour my focus into one person at a time. Blakely had never been on an airplane before and was freaked out during takeoff and landing.
We had a moment of weakness on the plane. I could still feel her hand in mine, squeezing for dear life as the plane ascended. It was nice feeling like a person worthy of her faith. Lance saw but just laughed at her, chalking the hand holding up to her terrified expression on her face. I had half a mind to book more trips just for the opportunity to freely hold her hand in front of him without shame again.
Our parents’ mansions in Barrington, a suburb of Chicago, sat side by side. Manicured lawns and designed porches littered the neighborhood. Not a blade of grass was out of place. Everything about this place was pristine and organized.
I hated it.
Blakely got out of the limo that picked us up from the airport, a luxury Dad arranged because he liked to appear like the doting parent. I followed after her, pushing my pinky along her arm as I stood on the sidewalk between our two homes. It was a secret touch meant only for us, and I found myself stroking her creamy skin any chance I got.
Lance and I had met here between our two homes plenty of times. We were always playing pirates and robbers on the section of grass where our lawns met. Climbing the massive tree outside my bedroom window and chasing each other with water guns in the hot summer heat were a couple of my favorite childhood pastimes. There were a lot of good memories here, but a lot of bad ones too.
“Wow,” Blakely said with a low whistle while looking around. I didn’t think it actually hit her, the amount of wealth we had, until that exact moment. Her expression was wild and electric, tension heavy on her shoulders as she gnawed on her lip. I covertly brushed my pinky against her skin once more, this time dragging my padded finger along the vein in her wrist. She sighed. I needed to be more careful in front of Lance, but I couldn’t help myself.
Every little touch. Every little sigh and lingering glance had my dick at full attention. We hadn’t figured our shit out, but I wasn’t holding back anymore. I didn’t see the point. Blakely made me feel capable, reliable and needed. I wasn’t doing either of us any favors by staying away. It might go nowhere, but I wanted to be there for her while we navigated this crisis with her dad.
“I thought you were maybe upper-middle class with credit card debt out the ass, but this is like…” her voice trailed off, and it was kind of adorable in a refreshing sort of way. I found myself staring for an inappropriate amount of time at the freckle right outside the corner of her mouth. It was tiny and faded but oh so tempting.
“Both my parents are world-renowned surgeons,” Lance boomed with pride. “They’ve written books, gone on Ted Talks. They take power couple to the extreme.” Blakely nodded before looking down at her outfit. She was wearing tattered jeans and a band shirt. Her hair was a frizzy mess from the red-eye flight, and the mascara on her lashes was smeared. She ran her hand along her shirt while biting her lip.
“You look great,” I whispered so low only she could hear.
She let out a shaky breath just as the ornate front door opened and out walked Mrs. Trask. She was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, her black hair swept up in one of those classy bun type things that no-nonsense women and ballerinas wore. Her teeth were bright white and artificially straight as she walked forward with her arms outstretched for a hug. Her dark skin looked soft under the shining, Chicago sun. It wasn’t until I saw her wistful eyes that I realized how much I missed the Trasks.
“Lance! You better get your ass over here and give me a hug,” she teased. Lance dropped his duffle bag and ran for her like the Mama’s boy he was. They embraced as she squealed. Lance picked her up a bit just to prove he was a strong, growing boy, because that’s the kind of shit he liked to do. “Put me down, you weirdo,” she protested while swatting his arm.
Once her feet were firmly on the ground, she turned her attention to me and grinned. “Hey, Mrs. Trask,” I greeted with a shy wave. Blakely turned to look at me with a teasing smile at my awkwardness. Fuck. I wanted to kiss that smile off her face.
“Mrs. Trask, huh? No more Aunt Katy? We’re too cool for that now?” she teased, drawing my attention back to her. Mrs. Trask then stalked over to me for a hug. I gently patted her back, and she pulled away to finally get a look at Blakely. Her eyes softened with barely-masked pity, making me cringe. I knew Blakely was repulsed by sympathy from strangers. She didn’t like people knowing her story without being the person to reveal it. We had to be honest with the Trasks about why we were here, and I knew it was bugging Blakely to see the sympathy pouring out of Mrs. Trask. “Blakely, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, warmth dripping from every syllable.
Mrs. Trask was adept enough at reading body language not to offer Blakely a hug. She simply stretched out her hand for a handshake, Blakely readily accepted it, and Mrs. Trask maintained eye contact in those reassuring ways most doctors had mastered. Mrs. Trask was used to instilling confidence into her patients and made sure to do that with Blakely, too.
“It’s really nice to meet you,” Blakely replied before snapping her hand back and wrapping it around herself. I didn’t even think she realized how scared she looked.
We stood awkwardly on the front lawn for a moment before Lance finally broke the tension. “Okay, well, let’s go inside,” he offered while picking up Blakely’s suitcase. Lance and Mrs. Trask walked inside, and Blakely and I followed after.
“They’re going to love you,” I promised in a whisper.
“She looks at me the same way you did when I first showed up on Lance’s doorstep,” she gritted. I felt disbelief and chagrin. Mrs. Trask didn’t have a mean bone in her body. It just wasn’t in her nature. I wished I could go back in time and change how I approached our first meeting. Maybe if we started off on the right foot, this forbiddenness wouldn’t be so daunting. I pulled on her wrist, stopping her in the hallway as Lance and Mrs. Trask put away our stuff.
“When I first saw you, you know what I thought?” I whispered.
“No.” Her eyes were still somber, so I bent lower to stare at her straight on.
“I thought, damn, she looks like the perfect storm.” Her face wrinkled up in confusion, and I realized that I was royally fucking this up. “Shit, that’s not what I meant. I think storms are beautiful. Chaotic. They’re filled to the brim with power and electricity. They spark change. They inspire new growth. Storms can be scary, but I love them,” I whispered.
And I think I’m starting to love you, I wanted to say, but for now, this metaphor would have to do.
She looked around for a moment before leaning up to slowly kiss me on the cheek. I closed my eyes like the simple peck was a blowjob. I was thoroughly fucked, and I didn’t even care. “I just thought you looked like a creeper,” she finally whispered while pulling away. I stared at her face as she started laughing in amusement.
“Punk,” I chided.
“Decker?” a familiar man’s voice said, making my stomach drop. I spun around, praying he didn’t see everything that had just transpired.
“Mr. Trask! So good to see you!” I said while stretching out my hand in greeting. Lance and Mrs. Trask started to descend the stairs at that moment.
“Good to see you too, son,” Mr. Trask said with a grin. He looked like he had gained some weight since the last time I’d seen him. He’d always had a ridiculous metabolism and looked skeletal. He had tan skin and brown eyes with balding gray hair on top of his head. “This must be Blakely, I presume?�
� he then asked while giving me a curious glance.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Blakely replied on cue. I was starting to sweat from the nerves. It was hard keeping such a huge secret when all you wanted to do was scream it at the world. We all stood in the entryway for a moment, talking about our flight and the weather. I knew I should have gone next door to see my parents, but I didn’t want to. There would be no excited greeting from Mom. There would be no proud family dinner with us sitting at the dining room table and catching up. Dad liked to take us out to five-star restaurants and show off his happy little family to convince everyone the home intruder incident wasn’t his fault.
I wouldn’t eagerly go to my childhood bedroom to reminisce over my life. I wouldn’t watch television on the couch with Mom or talk sports with Dad.
The only family I had was Lance Trask. And now, Blakely.
The only place I wanted to be was here.
“Decker, go get that plate of food on the kitchen island. I made some healthy snacks for us. Let’s all stop standing around and go sit in the formal living room.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I replied. I didn’t want to leave Blakely for even a second, but she followed after Lance with her mouth dropped open in shock as she took in the home and all its pristine, beautiful decor. As I passed by on my way to the kitchen, I watched her settle on the couch next to Lance with an uncertain huff. Once in the kitchen, I quickly grabbed the tray. It looked like cucumber bites with cream cheese. It was so quintessentially Mrs. Trask.
By the time I made it back to the living room, Mrs. Trask was already bringing out the big guns of the conversation. “Blakely, I am so sorry it’s taken us this long to meet. Your mother requested a completely closed adoption. I wish I could have had the opportunity to know you.”
I winced before setting the tray down and sitting in one of the plush, cream accent chairs by the fireplace. “I didn’t even know I had a brother,” Blakely swallowed before eyeing the cucumber snack with trepidation. “Can you tell me your adoption story? I’ve been thinking about that lately.”
