Finding His Redemption

by Melanie A. Smith

  “Exactly,” I agree. “I say good riddance West, and bring on more pie.”

  “If you can actually eat another piece of pie after that, you really are my role model,” Alexsis jokes.

  I look down at the crumbs left on my plate and glance at my watch. I’m pretty sure they’re closing soon, not that I think I could actually eat another piece right this second anyway.

  “Eh. Maybe a piece to go,” I agree.

  Alexsis laughs. “Sounds good to me.”

  We rise, heading for the counter, but I stop her with a hand on her arm.

  “Thanks, Alexsis.”

  She smiles back at me and puts her hand on mine to give it a squeeze. “Anytime.”

  “And you know I’ve got your back the next time you need to moan over some idiot who doesn’t know what he’s got,” I assure her as we wait for the counter girl.

  “Well, here’s hoping I find that idiot soon. Pie can only keep a girl happy for so long,” she teases airily.

  As my ride drops me off at my apartment building way earlier and way more sober than I’d planned on being, I’m somehow thankful for my life right now. As crappy as the last few months have felt, I truly have a lot of good things going. My career. My family. My friendships. Love lost isn’t the end; it can always be found again if you’re open to it.

  It’s a thought that brings a sad smile to my face as I walk through the open wrought iron gate into the courtyard, the August night air warm and dry. And even though I know I shouldn’t wonder, I do. What’s West doing right now? Is he upset about the concert being shut down? Is he burying his disappointment in some groupie?

  Ugh. That last thought makes me shudder in disgust. I look up as I approach the arched entry door to the building itself.

  And the answer to my question sits on the top step. My breath catches in my throat as West rises, slowly descending the steps to stand in front of me. He looks exactly as he did onstage in his uniform tight black tee and dark wash jeans. Except his dark eyes looked tired and a five o’clock shadow is starting to bud on his strong jaw. Everything about him, perfect and imperfect, makes my heart pound in my chest.

  “Hey, Maxi.”

  I want to close my eyes against the swell of emotion his voice brings in me. I can feel the tears in my eyes. And everything I knew I’d feel around him floods me at once. Loss so deep it tears me open. Love so strong it heals. Hope that grates too sharply on the jagged edges of my heart.

  “What are you doing here, West?”

  His eyes search mine, dark and intense. He smells like sweat and guitar strings, heaven and hell, salvation and damnation.

  “You went to the concert,” he says.

  My brows pull together at his non-answer. “Yes …?”

  “I didn’t know if you would. But I figured it was more likely if it wasn’t me who asked.”

  My mouth pops open. “Jason … but … that was really you?” As soon as the stuttered accusation is out of my mouth I realize it may not make much sense.

  But he nods anyway. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me. So I had this whole plan.”

  “To get me to cover your comeback concert?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he admits, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But mostly to play the song I wrote for you.”

  My eyebrows jump. “You wrote me a song?”

  “Yep. And I came here to sing it to you. But now that I’m here, that feels all wrong.”

  My heart lurches at the thought that I may not get to hear this song, one I didn’t even know about until a minute ago.

  “You wrote me a song,” I say again, softer, breathier.

  One of his hands pops out of his pockets, starting to reach … until he stops it, clenching it into a fist and letting it drop to his side.

  “I did. Actually, I wrote a whole album because of you. Went to therapy for the first time since rehab because of you. I’m standing here, the closest to whole I’ve ever been … because of you, Maxi. And I could sing you a song. But I think just telling you is better. No flash. No theatrics. Just the truth.”

  My breathing stutters. “And what’s that?” I whisper.

  “That I’m not going to be completely whole without you.” He loses the battle with his hand, and he reaches up to cup my face. His fingers send warmth skating over my skin and running down my spine. “You speak truth. You don’t back down from a challenge. You don’t hide behind lies under the guise of doing what you think you have to. You’re beautiful, and strong, and you don’t take shit from anyone, especially not me. And I think I’ve loved you from the moment you told me there were more important people than you who needed my apology. It’s just took me a while to realize that wasn’t true. There’s nobody more important than you. Not to me.”

  “You can’t possibly mean that.” My voice wavers as I fight a losing battle against the tears in my eyes.

  He smiles softly, stroking his thumb over my cheek.

  “But I do. You showed me what I’d let myself become. And that I couldn’t stop hiding from it anymore. You were the only one who knew every awful thing about me. And you still chose me. I thought I’d never forgive myself for lying to you, for ruining what we might have had.”

  I tilt my head into his palm, and he runs his fingers down my jaw.

  “But you did?” I prompt.

  “I did,” he confirms. “Turns out I needed to learn to forgive myself to give myself permission to be loved. And, you know, to not be a complete asshole.”

  A laugh escapes me. “You’re not a complete asshole.”

  He scrunches his nose and tips his head back and forth. “I really was, though.”

  We both laugh, and the tears finally find their way out. I brush them away self-consciously.

  “And the other part?” I ask, not wanting to use the word “love.” It all feels like too much right now.

  “It’s why I’m here,” he says plainly.

  I press my lips together and look up into his eyes, fighting against thinking too hard about all of the broken pieces inside of me.

  “Why don’t you come up and we’ll talk,” I offer, taking a step back.

  His hand falls and he shoves it back in his pocket, nodding slowly. “Cool.”

  He follows me inside and up the stairs.

  The minute it takes me to fumble for my keys and get the door open make me feel like a teenager sneaking her boyfriend into her room. Except I’m far from the teenager who mooned over him. Now I’m the woman whose heart and mind are still more at odds than I’d like them to be.

  Once we’re inside, I gesture to the beat-up tan leather couch dominating the small living room.

  “Want a drink?” I offer as I kick off my shoes.

  But West is having none of it. He slides his hand over mine, tugging me toward him. I allow him to draw me in front of him but not too close. I stare up at him warily.

  “Am I too late? Are you seeing someone else?” he murmurs.

  “No,” I say, my mouth going dry. “And no.”

  The left side of his lips tip up. “You know, the last time I said this, it didn’t go over well.”

  Nerves tumble in my tummy. “Lies and love don’t tend work together in the same conversation,” I reply delicately.

  His brows pinch together. “I’m sorry for lying to you. For disappointing you, again. I promise you, I am doing everything in my power to be the man you deserve.”

  The war between me and my brokenness ceases. Because the truth in his words is undeniable. But more so is how I feel about him. The chance I can’t not take. And maybe he’s exactly what I need to heal my heart.

  “I believe you. That article, West … that was unbelievable.”

  His gaze softens. “I’m glad you read it. After everything I did, it was the only thing I could think of to even begin to explain — much less expect — forgiveness.”

  “But that’s why you did it, isn’t it?”

  He shakes his head adamantly. “I don’t need the
forgiveness of strangers. I need the forgiveness of the people I love.” He pauses, his eyes tightening with worry. “Will you forgive me?”

  “I forgive you,” I reply, almost automatically. Because I realize I already had. I’ve always known who he is deep down. And this time it really does feel like he’s on the right path, finally. “But you’re going to have to keep showing me.”

  He smirks. “I have a few ways in mind,” he replies huskily.

  My breath hitches at the glint in his eye. “Oh yeah?” I ask, barely above a whisper. “Like what?”

  He draws me into his arms, dipping his forehead to meet mine. “Like telling you the truth. Always,” he promises. He pulls back and stares deeply into my eyes. “I love you, Max Marshall.”

  A slow smile spreads over my face. He called me Max. I don’t point it out, but the gravity of it underscores his declaration like his subconscious is making promises to take this seriously too. If I’d had any doubts left whether he was worth the risk, they’d be gone. But I don’t.

  “And then what?” I ask teasingly, running my hands down his chest.

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Well, I was going to save fucking you for later, but if you insist.” And without hesitation, he leans forward and flips me over his shoulder, carrying me toward the bedroom.

  I squeal with surprised laughter. “Holy shit, West!”

  He walks into the bedroom and drops me on the bed, climbing over me. Before I can even catch my breath, his mouth lands on mine, his lips pushing my mouth open, his tongue invading my senses. Heat and desire pool between my thighs and I moan into his mouth.

  He makes to pull away, but I put my hands on his face.

  “I love you too, Kristoffer Westberg,” I breathe.

  His face draws together in an expression somewhere between relief and delight before his mouth is on mine again, his hands pulling at my clothing. And I’m right there with him, until we’re both naked, until he’s worshipping every inch of my body.

  His mouth trails down my chest, leaving a blazing trail of kisses that spread heat across my skin. His thumbs circle my nipples as his mouth goes lower, his teeth against the sensitive plane of my lower stomach creating a sharp contrast to his hot, silky tongue that sends jolts of pleasure shooting through my core.

  And when his lips land on my inner thighs, I whimper with anticipation. His hands leave my breasts to join his mouth and as his tongue works my clit while he slides two fingers deep inside me, I arch off the bed.

  “Oh my god,” I groan. “Yes.”

  He pumps with his fingers. “I love hearing you, Maxi.”

  He speeds up and I lose my words. With a grin I can feel rather than see, his tongue returns to the mix, lapping in circles and sending me into a frenzy. I come hard and fast, pushing into his mouth as I grip the bedspread under me.

  When the white hot fire of my orgasm starts to recede from my limbs, I push up. First to my elbows, watching him rise between my legs. And when his hard, ready cock comes into view, I push up to fully sitting, taking him in my mouth with the fervor that only post-orgasmic bliss can induce.

  I spare him nothing, shoving his silky length deep into my throat as I suck hard, using one hand to follow my mouth up and down as the other massages him lower. His hands fist into my hair as he groans and pushes through my lips to the rhythm I’ve set. I relax, silently begging him to fuck my mouth. And he does.

  God, the noises he makes. Deep groans that reverberate through him. I’m so wet and worked up I can barely stand it. I feel him tighten in my palm an instant before he pulls out of my mouth.

  I look up at him, licking my lips as he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

  “You are so fucking sexy,” he tells me. Then he pushes me back on the bed and runs a hand between my legs. “Shit.”

  He leans forward to where he knows the condoms are in the nightstand. A rip of foil later and he’s on me, his eyes boring into mine as he positions himself between my legs. And then mercilessly slides in hard to the hilt. I don’t break eye contact. I can’t not watch him.

  He fucks me with a desperation I feel deep in my soul. A need to be joined to him like this, to surrender to him, to us. He works my clit, clearly approaching his own peak quickly and not wanting to leave me behind. His other hand touches me everywhere. My face. My neck. My breasts. My stomach.

  His touch has a reverence, a depth it’s never had. And when we come together, it’s forgiveness in flesh, repentance from fear, redemption by love.

  28

  Open Arms by Journey

  * * *

  West

  I wake up in the middle of the night, lying beside Maxi in the dark. And she’s snoring so loud that I’m pretty sure it woke me up. Instead of being irritated, it brings a ridiculous grin to my face.

  Because I’ll fucking take it in a heartbeat. Getting her back is everything. I’ll surrender some sleep to her chainsaw-like snores.

  I get up and use the bathroom, then stop in the kitchen for a drink of water before heading back to bed. As I climb back in, I realize there’s no snoring.

  “West?” Maxi’s sleepy voice cuts through the dark.

  I slide all the way back under the blankets, settling in next to her. “I’m here,” I assure her, stroking her hair and wrapping an arm around her.

  She wiggles into me and my dick approves, pulsing against what I think is her stomach.

  “I dreamed you were singing my song,” she mumbles into my chest.

  I chuckle. “Really? Or are you just trying to get me to sing it to you now?” I tease.

  I feel her smile against my skin. “Will you?”

  I run a hand down her hair and take a breath. I was so scared of this moment just yesterday. But now? Not even a little bit.

  So I sing to her, losing myself in the story behind the song. It starts off with my life before her, thinking I had it all figured out. Until it moves on to the struggle and frustration of realizing I’m not the man she needs. Finally finishing with the gratitude for learning to forgive, to love both myself and her. Whether she ever loves me again or not.

  As I float back to reality, I feel her tears on my chest. I lean in to wipe them away.

  “Good tears or bad tears?” I ask after a moment when she doesn’t say anything.

  “Good,” she assures me with a sniff. “You have an incredible voice. Why have I never heard you sing? You know, for real.”

  She gives me a glare, and I instantly remember what she’s referring to: my attempted Maverick moment all those months ago. God, I almost forgot about that. But now’s not the time to tease her about it. Now’s the time to pony up some of that honesty I promised her.

  “Truthfully? My old man relentlessly beat me down anytime I opened my mouth to sing. Kind of takes the fun out of it.”

  She shakes her head against my arm. “I’m sorry to hear that. You really do have a gift. I had no idea.”

  “You’re just saying that because you love me,” I tease. Partially to deflect the praise, having a hard time believing it after all the negative programming. Partially to remind myself that she loves me. Guess I’m not the arrogant bastard I once was, because I feel a little cracked open by all this emotional crap.

  She leans up, and I can see the outline of her face above me. “I’m saying that because you have the huskiest, sexiest singing voice I’ve ever heard. I was touched by your song, West. More than I can even put to words. Nobody has ever written me a song, much less one that beautiful. But your voice?” she takes my hand and brings it between her legs. And she’s soaked. “That’s what it did to me.”

  “Fuck,” I groan, my lips finding hers in the dark. Then, between kisses, “You sure know how to compliment a guy.”

  “And you’ve sure learned what a woman needs to hear,” she replies against my lips. She slips on top of me, her wet core grinding over my dick. And if I thought I was hard before, I’m like granite now.

  “Careful,” I caution her, not sure how much skin-on-s
kin I can take before junior explodes.

  “I’m done being careful,” she murmurs, tilting her hips so I slide into her.

  I throw my head back as we groan together. Because holy shit. As her breasts settle on my chest, her lips meet mine, and her hips work me in and out of her … I’m so fucking hers.

  I can practically feel the love and trust radiating out of her, and I want to cry like a fucking baby. I never thought I could let someone love me like this. I never thought someone like her could love me like this.

  But it’s a brand new day. And me? Well, I may not be a brand new West, but I’m sure as fuck going to keep trying. There’s no going back, really. Because this woman owns me, body and soul, and fuck if I’m ever going to let her go again.

  Epilogue

  I Melt With You by Modern English

  * * *

  West

  * * *

  Two years later…

  “You know, I never thought I’d get to go to a concert without being recognized,” I murmur as we take our center seats, a few rows back from the stage. It’s not a huge venue but big enough for a sizable crowd.

  Maxi smirks up at me. “Don’t lie. You miss it,” she teases me.

  I try not to grin. I swear. But the woman knows me. I don’t even need to respond. I simply lean over and kiss her, unwilling to admit it out loud.

  But that’s not why we’re here.

  A few minutes later we’re joined by James and Jeudi. The women sit next to each other on one side of me, already chatting away as James settles on my other side. We fist bump and exchange greetings.

  “So the first concert of our bright new hope,” he says, jerking his head toward the stage. “Pretty exciting.”

  I bob my head. “Sure is.” My eyes fall on the row of guitars to one side of the stage.

  “You miss it, don’t you?” James asks shrewdly.