Finding Her Way

by Sierra Hill

  My smile is immediately swiped away when someone knocks loudly at the door and says my name.

  “Brinly, darling. Are you in there?”

  Oh great. It’s the Wicked Witch of the East coming to ruin my moment.

  Preston zips up and holds out his hand to help me up.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  I hang my head in despair and embarrassment. “It’s my mother.”

  Preston

  “Your mother is here?”

  I’m stunned as I watch Brinly adjust her dress and fix her hair, using the small mirror against the wall, transforming from sexy mistress to a prim and proper princess. All for the sake of her mother.

  She calmly walks over to the door and opens it wide, allowing room for a woman who looks more like Cruella Deville than any family member of Brin’s. Her hair is snow white in a short, sleek bob, and she wears some sort of mink or fur coat.

  “Brinly.” Her mother’s voice is stern and devoid of warmth. She places an air kiss on both of Brinly’s cheeks and then glances around the room until her eyes land on me.

  It’s a death glare if I’ve ever seen one.

  Her nose turns upward as if she smells rancid trash and her dark eyes narrow.

  “You must be the hockey player.”

  The woman says this like it’s a disease. It takes me a few moments to find my voice. One, because I’m still coming down off the high from that amazing blow job Brin just gave me. And two, because I’m seriously at a loss of what to say.

  Taking three tentative steps forward, I extend my hand to introduce myself, but she waves me away.

  “No need for introductions. I don’t care to know you because you won’t be seeing my daughter again. Brinly, grab your things, we’re leaving.”

  Brin looks as stunned as I feel. I know nothing about her mother except that she’s an owner of some successful company and lives in New York. Now I understand Brin’s reluctance to ever talk about her mother. She’s the devil. Or a witch. And clearly a controlling bitch.

  “Mother, I am not about to leave this house tonight. I have an obligation to my sorority and our charity to be here to host this room.”

  Her mother, whom I still don’t know the name of, turns toward Brinly and I can only make out the scowl on her face.

  “If by hosting, you mean cavorting like a prostitute? Is that how you’re raising money tonight, Brinly? By offering your services to” – she waves a flippant hand toward me – “athletes?”

  “Mrs. Davis, that’s uncalled for,” I protest, stepping next to Brinly and folding an arm around her shoulder.

  Her mother turns her head slowly to stare me down. “It’s Ms. Davis. And you, young man, need to leave immediately or I will be making a phone call to the Head of the Athletic department and inform them that you forced my daughter into doing whatever sexual act you did tonight. And I’m sure your athletic scholarship won’t tolerate sexual harassment and rape from one of its recipients.”

  Brin’s eyes turn into saucers. “Mother how dare you even suggest such a thing. Preston is my boyfriend and whatever we do together is consensual.”

  Ms. Davis slips on her leather gloves, and ever so coolly, ever so calculatingly calm, flips over her palm to smooth out the wrinkle.

  “You have two choices, Brinly. You come with me this instant and we can discuss the possibilities of you returning to this university. Or you can stay with him,” she nods her head in my direction, “and you’ll not receive another dime from me ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

  It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room. This woman is the epitome of scary. Freddie Krueger and It have nothing on this piece of work.

  Brinly stands speechless, her face turning white as a ghost, yet her body flushing hot under my touch. My arm is still wrapped around her and I give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, reminding her I’ve got her back. I’m here for her.

  As if it all happens in slow motion, Brinly takes a step forward, leaving my hand to dangle at my side. I have no idea what she’s thinking or what’s going through her mind right now, but she bends down to a table near the door and grabs her purse, slipping the strap over her shoulder. Then she turns back to me, looks me straight in the eye and says, “Good-bye, Preston.”

  Her kiss on my cheek is whisper-soft, just a brush of her lips that I know I’ll feel there forever.

  Ms. Davis walks toward the door and Brinly follows, not even turning over her shoulder one last time.

  “Wait…don’t go.” I reach out to touch her but she’s too far away to make contact.

  I have no means of keeping Brinly here. Her mother holds all the cards. All I have is the way I feel about her and what I think our future could be like together. I need her in my life and can’t let her walk away like this under these conditions.

  “Please, Brin. I love you.”

  Apparently, that’s not enough for a guy like me to hold on to a girl like Brinly.

  Brinly

  My trust fund will be made available to me when I turn twenty-one.

  Four days from now.

  My mother knows it and I know it. It’s the only reason I left school last week and walked away from Preston. At the time, it was the only way to resolve the situation without any further theatrics from my mother. She could feel like she had control over me one last time. But we both knew it was short-lived.

  I took a leave of absence from Oak Ridge for the rest of the semester, approved by my mother who worked it out with the School Board and Administrators. I’m sure she paid them off in hopes that the time away from school would help me “reprioritize my life decisions.”

  What she fails to understand is that I’m an adult now. I’ve been making my own decisions for the last two years since I’ve been away at college and I’ve learned valuable lessons on standing up for myself. I may have played the meek and obedient daughter all my life, but I’m no longer my mother’s puppet.

  And in less than a week from now, I will be on my own entirely.

  I just hope it’s not too late to repair things with Preston.

  I love you.

  Oh my God, my heart was wrenched out of my chest and left bleeding across the floor of that room when I walked away from him last week. When he told me he loved me, I felt a pain so raw that I really thought I’d been shot. That ache hasn’t gone away and continues to fester, as I cry myself to sleep every night. I cry for Preston. I cry for my life with my mother. I cry for having to leave the school and the sorority I love.

  But most of all, I cry for the irreparable damage in my relationship with my mother. It will never be the same again.

  She’s been controlling all my life, but up until now, it was what I felt to be out of concern for my well-being. Muriel Davis had a shitty childhood, made even worse when the love of her life left her when he found out she was pregnant. From that moment on, my mother became a different person and wouldn’t let anyone, especially a man, dictate her life.

  And in doing so, she ironically controlled mine.

  But no more. It ends now.

  I’ve been texting and talking to Maddie and Lola over the last week and keeping them apprised as best I can with what was happening, although I didn’t tell them what I had planned.

  As for Preston, I just hoped he’d hold on a little while longer. If he indeed did love me, I hoped he’d give me the chance to prove that I loved him in return.

  I wake up on my birthday to find a note on the dining room table from my mother. She’s been unexpectedly called away to Japan for the week.

  Sayonara, Mother.

  Making a few phone calls, one to my attorney and the banker related to my trust, I then pack my bags and leave a note for my mother’s return.

  As I shut the front door behind me, hopping into an Uber waiting to take me to the train station, I say good-bye to the home I grew up in. I say good-bye to the life that never was mine to begin with.

  It’s a two-hour train ride back up to Oak
Ridge University, where Lola and Maddie wait for me at the train station, with birthday balloons and cupcakes in hand for my arrival.

  “Happy Birthday, Brin! Welcome back, girly!”

  I hug them both and smile, tears piercing the corners of my eyes.

  “It’s good to be home,” I say, knowing it’s the absolute truth. They are my home.

  Picking up my bags, Lola and Maddie move to the side and that’s when I see Preston standing against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, a bouquet of vibrant flowers in his hands. My eyes dart between my girlfriends, who both snicker and shrug and then they walk away, leaving me to face Preston.

  Swallowing the boulder-size lump in my throat, I blink back the tears that have now begun to run down my face, dropping to the floor like pieces of my past.

  Because in front of me is my future. My love. My Prince.

  “Preston.” I manage to squeak out from my parched lips.

  “Brinly.”

  He moves toward me with the confidence of a man who knows what he wants and a woman who only wants him.

  I jump into his arms, throwing my bags to the ground, and he catches me with strong arms.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I mumble, kissing every inch of his face and head. “I love you, too.”

  He chuckles, pulling his head back so he can look me in the eyes. His voice is full of humor.

  “Even though I’m just a hockey player?”

  My lips find his, warm and wet, our tongues making up for lost time.

  “You’re so much more than that to me. You’re my fairytale happy ending.”

  The End

  One Year Later

  I stretch and rollover to find my sexy Prince Charming still lying asleep next to me, wrapped up in the rumbled sheets, an arm thrown across his face. A secret smile tips across my mouth as I recall last night’s adventures in bed.

  Preston had a hockey game in Boston and rushed back home to surprise me last night. I hadn’t expected him until the next morning. I was sitting on the couch in my penguin pajamas working on a paper when he burst in the front door holding a bottle of bubbly and crushing me in his generous hug.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” I asked, laughing through a barrage of kisses.

  He’d pulled away and gave me a look that said I was crazy for even asking.

  “It’s the one-year anniversary of our first date, silly. It was exactly a year ago tonight when I took you out on our first date.” He gave me a knowing smile, his eyes scanning over my pj-clad body. “While I love this ensemble you’re rocking, you need to go pull on a hoodie and some leggings, because I’m taking you to the Harvest Festival to celebrate.”

  I was floored by his adorably sweet and romantic gesture. Not only had he remembered, but he took the time to plan our date and came back early to surprise me.

  And that’s no easy feat, considering his schedule as a professional minor league hockey player is insane in the fall and winter. Yes, that’s right. My boyfriend is a professional hockey player. I’m sure my mother is grumbling under her breath right now, wherever she is.

  Although Preston was planning on working after earning his degree, he’d actually decided to give the hockey thing a try. He’d drafted and was signed earlier in the year on an NHL farm team, playing for the Philadelphia Flyers minor league team. I am so proud of him and even though I’m still attending school at Oak Ridge University where we now share an apartment together, I go to his games as often as I can.

  It certainly hasn’t been easy to be away from him when he’s on the road, but we definitely make up for lost time when he’s home.

  Like last night.

  I sigh wistfully, running a hand down his bare chest, over the ripples and valley of his athletic stomach, until I reach the edge of the sheet.

  He groans at my teasing and seductively brazen action, and then with the skill and speed of a ninja, flips me over onto my back and covers me with his strong body.

  “You’re getting me hard, princess. Are you doing that on purpose?”

  Preston begins kissing my neck and collarbone, then moves down to my breasts, which arch forward for his attention.

  I love mornings like this. How could I not? I feel like I’ve won the lottery when it comes to Preston Dahl.

  There is no question in my mind that with him, I’m living my fairytale life.

  Part III

  Book Three

  Whipped (A Second Helpings Short Story)

  It’s impossible to get through a Thanksgiving holiday without some dysfunctional family drama.

  It’s just a hard and fast rule: if more than two members of the same family are gathered under one roof, they’ve been plied with savory food and holiday cocktails, and they’re required to spend time together – it’s a sure recipe for disaster.

  Except this Thanksgiving the discord isn’t with my family – albeit, my aunt Zoe is really getting on my last nerve with her man-bashing ideals. No, this year, I’m all whipped up over the guy sitting directly across the dinner table from me. He’s no relation to me (thank God, ‘cause that would be just ewww) but we did practically grow up together.

  Jase Lathrop is not of any familial relation to me or a member of my extended family. He just happens to be the boy I’ve had a crush on since I was a tween, when I had plump cheeks, pimples adorning my chin and a mouth full of braces. He also happens to be the guy who kissed me and then dissed me four years ago.

  It adds an entirely different meaning to diss-functional to this family gathering.

  “Jase, it’s so good to have you join us tonight, sweetheart,” my mother coos, blotting her lips with the holiday-décor’d napkin before returning it neatly back in her lap.

  My eyes snap to her as I see her smile sweetly at our unexpected guest.

  My dad chimes in with his booming voice, raising his glass in a toast.

  “Here’s to Jase. Thank you for your service.”

  A chorus of “here-here’s” goes around the table with the clinking of glasses, as I sneak a surreptitious glance at Jase through my lashes.

  He sits in his military uniform, as sexy-as-can-be, his smile as genuine as it’s always been, but this time when he snags my gaze, I notice there’s something a little darker residing there. The heat from his eyes seems to travel across the table, landing heavily between my legs, where I have to clutch my thighs together tightly to relieve the ache.

  That heat is quickly doused with the fact that he’s still off limits to me. Jase is my older brother Chris’s best friend. The one who practically lived here when we were kids, hanging out every weekend and during summer vacations until he and my brother graduated four years ago, each going their different directions. Chris went to college and Jase went off to the Marines. And I stayed back to finish high school.

  It was the night of their graduation party when Jase kissed me, making all my teenage fantasies come true and my teen emotions go wonky. It was only a kiss to Jase, I’m sure. It probably wasn’t even a memorable one for him since he was pretty drunk and by then had kissed a hundred girls. But to me, it meant everything.

  Although he’d been drinking, the kiss wasn’t a sloppy, slobbering drunken kiss. Jase knew what he was doing – cupping my cheeks in his hands, slipping his tongue across the seam of my lips, tasting me gently, before tilting my head and giving me the most sensual kiss of my life. He didn’t know it, but it was my first kiss.

  The perfect moment was cut short, however, when Chris called down the stairs that night and informed Jase they were heading to another party. The look Jase gave me was half apology and half longing. Everything about our kiss was over before it even began and left me hungry for more. Pining over a guy I’d never have a real chance with.

  Except now that same guy is staring at me with an expression I can’t quite interpret.

  By the way his dark gaze caresses my skin, turning my insides all hot and bubbly like the toasted marshmallows on the sweet potato casse
role, it sure feels like there might be a chance.

  The way he’s looking at me suggests he wants me for his after-dinner dessert tonight.

  “I’ll go get dessert served.”

  I watch, intrigued, as Cecilia jumps from her chair, practically toppling it over in her haste to get away from the table.

  I don’t blame her for needing to get out of here. The last two hours have been hell for me as I’ve sat in agony and regret, watching CC pick at her food, catching her furtive glances through her lush lashes that have set me on fire. That shy smile on her face and her golden shoulders exposed by the cut-outs of her blouse, have tortured my sanity with the need to touch her.

  I’ve known the Sundstrom’s since Chris and I were in middle school, when my mom and I moved to town after the divorce. As his best friend, I was always over at his house, hanging out and having sleep overs. At first, CC was just an annoyance, as any little sister is to teenage boys. But as we grew older, I watched her blossom and turn into a beautiful young woman.

  By the time she was fifteen, no longer wearing a mouth full of braces and filling out her bikinis like some pin-up girl, she became every fantasy in my pubescent spank bank. But there was nothing I could do about it.

  She was Chris’s little sister and too young for me at the time, so all I could do was watch from afar. It wrecked me then, and it’s absolutely tormenting me now knowing what those soft, luscious lips taste like. I want a second helping of what she’s dishing out.

  My pants are feeling a little snug – and not just from all the turkey I ate. My cock is pressed against my thigh with only one thing on his mind – kissing CC again. And maybe doing a whole lot more than we had a chance to four years ago.

  That one kiss – and the silken feel of her hair as I ran my fingers through it – along with the breathy gasp that escaped her mouth that night - took with me through the hells of bootcamp and has been embedded in my dreams all this time.