by Pratt, Lulu
It wasn’t exactly my idea of a sanctuary, but it would have to do, because I needed to take a breath after getting so close to Phoebe.
I fumbled with the lock and felt like I was shaking.
“Shit!” I whisper-yelled at myself in the mirror. “Why are you fucking like this? Why are you so damaged?!”
The mirror didn’t offer any reply. I was yelling at an inanimate object. Great.
Meanwhile, my cock was so stiff you could crack a brick on it. Being around Phoebe seemed to have that effect on me — constant anger, constant horniness. I was tired of being so dominated by my emotions.
But I still couldn’t fuck her. I still had a vow of celibacy to keep. More importantly, I still had Henry. I knew that he was becoming too affectionate to her, getting too settled in. And this girl, wonderful as she was… well, she didn’t want my problems. My life was fucked up enough without thrusting it onto someone else.
I needed to let off some steam. That was the obvious answer. I’d been racing out of the house that morning, and hadn’t had a chance to unwind. But it wouldn’t take me too long. I was so pent up that I knew I could, uh, clear the pipes in just a matter of minutes.
With that, I tugged my pants down, still facing the mirror, and whipped my hard cock out, letting it hover over the cold tile of the sink.
I wanted to touch Phoebe, just once, just once and then I’d never think about it again. And since I couldn’t do that, I’d have to settle with touching myself.
In a frenzy, I began to yank at my cock.
Ohhhhh shit. That was good.
This had been a long time coming. Only a day, actually, I corrected myself. How had it managed to feel like a couple of lifetimes?
I placed a hand on the rim of the sink to steady myself, the strokes coming hard and fast. Masturbation had been kind of elusive to me since… well, since the incident. After that, there was Henry to raise, a new life to start in a different state. And, more importantly, I had sworn not to lay with another woman, so the act of jacking off seemed futile. Why remind myself of what I couldn’t have?
But this was different. This was primal, necessary. If I hadn’t whipped my cock out, I’d just be looking at Phoebe and thinking about doing it, which wouldn’t be very gentlemanly at all. There’d hardly be any concentration left to fix her car.
All right, you caught me, I’m just making excuses.
Because the reason I was touching myself, the only reason that mattered, was that I wanted to fuck Phoebe so badly it made my bones ache.
My head tipped forward, my forehead touching the cool mirror, as I arched my hips to the sink.
“Phoebe,” I urged myself. “Don’t stop, you’re so close.”
Muscles in my hand and arm were beginning to cramp, and my breath was fogging up the mirror. I tried to tilt back, worried that in the violence of my desire, my head might shatter the glass.
But it was too late.
Pulling my cock ever harder, I felt my orgasm begin to swell, move, quake. I gritted my teeth, breath hastening as my body tensed in preparation.
And then I heard a noise.
It was a woman, yelling.
More specifically, she was yelling, “Get the fuck away from me!”
Phoebe.
Fuck, it was too late to stop the process I’d set in motion. I shoved my cock in my jeans, hastily zipping them up and closing my belt buckle. As I raced out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, I felt a wave of undiluted pleasure roll over me.
I had orgasmed in my underwear.
There was no time to think about the discomfort of the sticky substance oozing down my thighs. Phoebe was in trouble. At least I’m wearing dark jeans, I thought with not a little humiliation.
I rounded the corner, shouting as I ran, “Phoebe, what’s wrong?”
And then I entered the clearing of the garage, and saw red.
Big Bob had cornered Phoebe. He was standing too close to her and had a strand of her hair in his hands, lifting it to his nose. She was back in her lavender dress and had her arms up, trying to push him away. Henry was in the other corner, scared but not crying, clearly unable to process what was going on.
“You get away from her right now,” I said in a voice so low I wondered if it really belonged to me.
Big Bob’s splotchy face turned to mine, his hands still clamped around Phoebe’s hair. “We’re just having a little fun, you ol’ spoilsport. Besides, she’s not your girl.”
That’s right about when I lunged across the concrete, hurtling through the air on a collision course with Big Bob. He released Phoebe and she spun away, hurt and terrified.
My body hit Big Bob’s, and we both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and strength. Big Bob was no match for me. I was twenty-seven, he was in his fifties and ate little besides bacon and steak and hadn’t done a decent day’s work in the entire time I was there. Within mere seconds, I’d rolled him onto his stomach, pressed his face in the ground and straddled his back, grabbing his two wrists in my fingers and effectively creating human handcuffs.
Big Bob under control, I swiveled my head to Phoebe. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she murmured, though she was still visibly shaking.
I nodded, then leaned down to Big Bob’s ear.
“If you ever again,” I whispered, “try to touch her, or any woman, without their permission, I promise you it’ll be the last move you ever make.”
He chuckled, but because of my weight on his back, it came out more as a gasp.
“You really want your boy to see you acting like this?” he asked.
What a snake. The worst part is that he was right — I didn’t want Henry to think that problems were solved with violence, that the clash of a fist was more powerful than the nimbleness of the word.
But I wanted to make Big Bob bleed. I wanted to twist his arm and leave his face purple and black. I wanted… I wanted revenge.
That’s not like you, a voice in my head said. It wasn’t my familiar inner voice. It was her voice.
And she was right, all these years later. Revenge was her trademark.
I can’t do this, I realized, because then Henry would have two parents who were fixated on getting their way no matter what. There can only be so much crazy in one family. Besides, Henry had seen enough violence. He didn’t deserve to witness even a drop more.
“All right,” I said carefully into Big Bob’s ear, not wanting to let him know that he’d got to me. “I’m gonna get off you, but know that it’s only because my son is standing in this room. Were he not here, you’d be dead. Is that clear?”
Big Bob nodded. This time, he didn’t make a joke. My voice broached no possibility for humor. This was real fucking serious.
In one swift move, I extricated myself from Big Bob’s limbs and stood up. In a gentleman’s match, you offer your hand to the bested foe to help him rise to his feet. Big Bob was no gentleman. I moved to Phoebe as he struggled in the background, trying to find his footing, wheezing and moving like a man twenty years older.
“I’m fine, Carter, really,” she insisted as I closed in.
I wanted to take her in my arms and promise that I’d never let anything like that happen again. If I hadn’t been so busy jacking off, I thought with disgust, she would never have been put through this ordeal.
Once again, calamity was my fault. I was irresponsible, selfish — every word in the book. I was the one who deserved to be flattened on the ground and pummeled. I was the failure.
As if reading my mind, Phoebe begged, “Please don’t beat yourself up about it. You did everything you could. This isn’t your fault, it’s his.”
How did she do that? How did she flip through my pages with such ease?
“Henry,” I called, unwilling to look away from Phoebe, still scanning her body for signs of injury. “Come here, we’re going home.”
“Home?” Big Bob laughed.
I turned around, and saw that he’d finally managed to
make it to his feet. Good for him.
“Yeah, Bob, we’re going home.” My hands balled in fists at my side. “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
“I didn’t give you permission to do that,” he replied, satisfied with his power move.
Well, that was about enough of that bullshit.
“There ain’t any other mechanics in town. Even if there were, I’d still be the best. I’m smarter and work harder than any old scruff you could pick up off the road. So don’t threaten my job, because I know you can’t afford to fire me. And you just touched my—” I hesitated, then continued, “my guest, so I’m going to go tend to her wounds and try to forget just what an awful man you are.”
Big Bob snarled, but he knew he was licked. There wasn’t a better mechanic for, oh, probably one hundred miles. I was integral to his whole business.
I didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, I lifted Henry up and he wrapped himself like a monkey around my body and I took Phoebe’s hand. It was warm but dry. Together, we walked to the truck. I placed Henry in the booster seat, then opened Phoebe’s door.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, turning to me and blushing a little, “I can take care of myself.”
“I have no doubt. But you shouldn’t have to.”
She smiled and scooted inside the truck.
As I walked to the driver’s side and realized that my heart was still racing from the confrontation, I made a decision.
“Henry,” I said, clambering in and placing my hands on the wheel, “I’m dropping you off with Miss Keller.”
“Okey-dokey.”
I knew he wouldn’t put up a fight about this. It seemed like what had happened had already been forgotten by Henry. His sunny disposition had won and he was ready for the next adventure.
Much to my chagrin, that woman fed Henry whatever he liked, including a bottomless supply of hot chocolate. He’d come home with a sugar high that night, I was certain, but it’d be worth it — I didn’t want my son to see me angry, to see me out of control.
And as my hands gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles going white, I knew that the anger was a-comin’.
Miss Keller lived atop the diner she ran, a five-booth number with one fry cook and no waitresses. They made a decent ham scramble and the coffee was so thick you could barely stick a stirrer in it. The diner also didn’t have a name, because the locals just knew it as Keller’s. I wondered absently how she filed her taxes, then quickly realized that it was probable she didn’t file at all.
In no short time, we were off the main road, coming to a halt in front of the diner. Through the window, I could see Miss Keller leaning against the banquette and fluffing up her curls.
“Okay, Henry, let’s go.”
I lifted him out of the truck and walked him inside the diner.
Miss Keller threw down her crossword puzzle and cried, “Oh my stars, do I get to spend the day with little Henry?”
I nodded, and gave her the universal expression of beleaguered parents everywhere. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Mind? I’d love to.”
She took Henry from my arms, then eyed me up and down. “You taking a half day, Carter?”
I shrugged, dodging the question. “Sorta. I appreciate it, Miss Keller.”
She didn’t ask anything else. Best thing about Rough and Ready was that no one inquired too much. We all knew that our neighbors lived in these abandoned parts for a reason, and it was in your best interest not to get to the bottom of said reason. You wouldn’t find anything good down there.
“Pick him up whenever,” she called, as I strode to the door. “Take your time. Henry and I are gonna have a bang-up day.”
In moments, I was back in the cab of the truck after taking out the booster seat and giving it to Miss Keller in case she needed it for Henry.
“What was that about?” Phoebe asked. She didn’t abide to Rough and Ready’s unofficial ‘ask no questions’ rule.
“Just droppin’ Henry off.”
“Why?”
I took a deep breath then faced Phoebe, our eyes locking. “Because my son shouldn’t have to see me this upset.”
She nodded. She understood. Then, placing a hand atop mine, she whispered, “Let’s drive.”
CHAPTER 15
Phoebe
THE WIND whistled through the barely cracked windows as Carter pushed the truck to eighty, ninety, hundred.
“Slow down.”
“I-I just have to get out — I have to — no.”
Carter’s words were broken, his brows furrowed. I could see his cheek muscles working hard, clenching and unclenching, as he tried to control his temper.
Despite myself, I found his anger a little… ugh, okay, sorry to admit this, but it was a little hot. He was just so intense, so single-minded. So protective. None of the men I’d ever been with cared a fig about me. They’d just as soon replace me with a Juul and some Netflix.
But Carter defended me. He threw his boss — his boss! — to the ground in my name.
I shuddered at the memory. The way Big Bob’s hands had touch me. It’d just been a brush at first, one I naïvely mistook for an accident. But then he was trying to kiss me and had his fingers wrapped in my hair. You could’ve pushed him off, I reassured myself. You absolutely could have.
Still, I was glad it hadn’t come to that. I would not want to test my assumptions against the realities of an evil man.
“Where are we headed?” I asked.
“Why do you always have to know everything?” The tone was softer than the words, and I knew he meant it as a joke.
I laughed. “I’m just like that, I guess.”
There was a pause, and then he added, “I’m sorry. I’m not usually like that. Y’know. Violent, out of control. I’m—”
“Always in control, I know.” His silence told me I’d nailed it. “And you don’t have to apologize. For defending me, back there. For throwing him off. It was very brave of you.”
“Oh, hardly. Big Bob isn’t exactly the most intimidating man.”
“You’re not very good at taking compliments, either.”
His breathing was beginning to slow, his knuckles loosening from the wheel. My calmness was working.
“How’d you know this much about me? You ain’t been here a full day yet.”
“I pay attention to people I like,” I admitted, the words toppling out before I could think to stop them. “And I’ve been paying attention to you, which is how I know you blame yourself for shit that isn’t your fault.”
His eyes remained fixed on the road and I saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“That’s kind of you to say, even if it ain’t true. Had I not gone to the bathroom, Big Bob never would’ve—”
I guffawed. “What were you supposed to do, hold it all day so that your skeezbag boss couldn’t try anything? That’s not realistic, Carter.”
“But I could’ve—”
“Stop! Enough! Not everything is your responsibility.” I shook my head, exasperated. “I know you’re a good person, and that’s why you try to clean up every mess in your life, put the burden on your shoulders, but it’s just not feasible. It won’t help you prevent bad things from happening. It’ll only make you feel guilty.”
As my words hung in the air, I watched Carter’s face and worried that I’d gone too far even if I was right. Maybe I’d said too much, said things he wasn’t ready to hear.
Just as I was beginning to wonder if he’d ever speak to me again, Carter cleared his throat and said, “Phoebe, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to tell you the truth. The whole story.”
Oh. Shit.
Now it was my turn to balk. After his staunch refusals to talk, after his insistence that I was being too nosy, too prying, after those numerous abrupt exits or conversation shutdowns… after all that, now he wanted to open up?
I was frightened, afraid of what I might find in Carter’s depths. But I also knew wi
th unerring certainty that I wanted to understand this man, because he was a man worth the comprehension. And, if we’re being real, because I was still deeply, wildly, uncontrollably attracted to him. If I were to bed this man — and I hoped I could — it would mean hearing him out.
Even setting all that aside… I hungered for the story. There was no way to rest until I finally unearthed the mystery that was Carter.
“I’d like to hear it,” I said at last.
Carter kept his hands on the wheel, eyes forward, truck charging ahead. We’d covered at least ten miles, and I got the sense we weren’t stopping anytime soon. In order to tell his truth, I sensed, he had to be distracted. To focus on it entirely would cripple him.
“I haven’t told anyone,” he whispered. “Not in a very long time.”
“I’m listening.”
He took another deep breath then pushed it out between his teeth, preparing for battle.
“You have to understand, I was younger then. Hadn’t seen the world. So naïve. Just a little younger than you.”
I grimaced. Yet another reminder that I was younger than him. Carter wasn’t trying to be cruel, obviously, but it hurt to think that he saw me like that — as immature.
But then he added, “You’re smarter than I was. Probably always will be. You know better.”
Phew. This telepathy was getting weird, almost dazzlingly intimate, but I didn’t mind. He soothed my hurts the way I soothed his.
“Her name is Meghan.” He spat the word out like a curse. “We met in my senior year of high school, back in Texas. She was a transfer. All the boys wanted to be with her — she was blonde, blue eyed. Gorgeous. Looked like, well, like Henry.”
“She sounds pretty,” I murmured, trying not to let my disappointment be too evident.
“On the outside, sure. We fell hard and fast. She didn’t have any friends, so I broke it off with all of mine so that we could be lonely together. My grades started to decline, I got distracted. It was me and Meghan — nothing and nobody else. The day after we graduated high school, we went down to the local courthouse and got hitched.”
