by Piper Lawson
“Doesn’t seem so urgent.” I survey the bowl of marshmallows and box of Rice Krispies cereal someone must’ve brought, because I’m pretty sure they weren’t in the hotel cupboards.
“This, though—this is a priority.” She smiles. “Here, lemme help.”
I take the bowl and stick the marshmallows and butter in the microwave. When I grab a spatula and turn, I bump into her, jostling my arm. I hiss out a breath of pain.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “You should sit down.”
“I can microwave marshmallows.”
“Evidently you can’t, bro,” Beck calls.
Every muscle in my torso tightens, but I grab my coffee and sink into the chair across from Beck.
I watch Annie make the squares as Beck catches me up on stuff from school.
“This is a nice place,” he says after a few minutes. “Zeke’s taking care of you.”
Annie comes over and sets a plate of squares on the table. “He knows you’re going to recover. There are options for reconstruction. The doctor said so himself, and physio—”
“Physio won’t do shit when what’s in my hand is sliced in two,” I state.
Annie and Beck are quiet while I take a bite of a square. It tastes familiar, but everything else has changed.
“You’re still a musician,” Annie says. “This doesn’t change that. Zeke believes in you.”
“He gets a paycheck when people bring in money, which I don’t see me doing. He has a tour leaving in ten days, and if I can’t play, there’s no way the invite still stands.”
My voice has a new edge. The anger’s not directed at Annie, but she stiffens.
Beck looks between us before rising from his seat. “I’ll leave you guys to it. One for the road?”
I don’t say anything as Beck takes a treat and leaves.
Once the door’s closed, I shove out of the chair and say what we’re both thinking.
“I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole.”
I drop onto the couch, and Annie shifts onto the arm, tucking her feet up in front of her as she watches me.
“It’s understandable,” she says softly.
“It’s not. None of this is understandable.”
A wave of panic rises up, and I fight to keep it down. It’s a losing battle.
I’ve never felt out of control. No one has ever made me out of control. They can take things from me—home, family. I’ll survive. But this…
I’ve always managed myself. I’m the one I can count on. But now I’m broken. Someone took me from me.
The worst part is I never saw it coming. I was prepared to lose everything, had felt that before between walking away from Annie and then having my dad die in front of me and losing my contract after.
But how can you prepare for the possibility of losing yourself?
The question is still spinning in my mind when Annie shifts over me, careful not to bump my bandaged arm. Her weight settles across my thighs, and suddenly my attention’s on her, not my fucked-up life, not my fucked-up hand. It’s impossible to think of anything but her floral scent and the way she feels pressing against my groin.
My bad arm’s off to the side as if I can forget it by keeping it out of sight. With my good hand, I brush the hair back from her earnest face, tuck it behind her ear.
No matter what’s going on, I have this girl. It feels like a small mercy, but I know it’s more than that. It’s everything.
“Don’t give up on me,” I murmur.
Her eyes turn liquid. “Never.”
Her lips find my neck, and I shift, giving her better access.
Maybe if I pretend hard enough to be normal, it’ll happen.
“Back when we were kids,” I start, “I used to check you out. I didn’t admit it to myself. I’d tell myself I was curious what you’d come up with next, but I really wanted to stare at those lips. I was obsessed.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” she murmurs, kissing down my chest. “They’re obsessed with you, too.”
My heart kicks. So does something else, because she’s squirming in my lap. There’s no hiding how hard I’m getting under my sweatpants.
“You’re gonna kill me,” I murmur at the ceiling as my head falls back on the couch. Cool air flows around my groin, and before I know it, a smooth hand fists my cock.
“You seem healthy to me,” she replies.
My tortured groan ends on a laugh. “Annie—”
“Relax. You’re supposed to be healing.”
She works the pants down my hips, and I lift to help as my cock springs out.
The first stroke of her hand from tip to hilt has me hissing out a breath.
Fuck, yeah.
The second has my ass tightening, my hips thrusting up into her grip. Sharp pangs of pleasure jolt up my spine, pulling my balls tight. The blood flows through my veins, and I’m throbbing.
My arm throbs too.
It’s been days since we’ve done this, and I haven’t forgotten the need I have for her.
She’s eager and open. She meets my gaze with a look of wickedness, silently telling me exactly what she’s going to do next.
Yes.
This beautiful girl with a heart the size of the world is going to make me see stars.
But I can’t kick the throbbing down the left side of my body.
Her tongue finds the head of my cock, licking the bead at the end, and that’s what I need to forget everything.
I want to flip her over and drive into her until I’m so deep she’ll never get me out. I want to spread her wide and eat her until the only word she knows is my name.
I can’t.
So, I let her fuck me.
“Harder,” I grunt.
She resists, licking down the underside of my dick while giving me a little squeeze at the bottom.
“You’re saying you don’t like this?” she teases before pulling my head into her mouth and sucking slowly.
I groan. “Annie.” There’s arousal in my voice, but the frustration has her brows pulling together. “Quit dicking around.”
With a moment’s hesitation, she moves back down my body and there’s no dicking around this time. She fists me with both hands and takes me as far down as she can.
Yes. This is what I need.
I need her.
I need this moment. Everything’s okay in this moment.
I catch her hair in my hand, twist it behind her head to keep it out of her way—and to tug on her, to pretend I’m dragging her toward the inevitable conclusion of this when she’s the one dragging me.
A piece falls back in her face, and I capture it, tugging it into the makeshift ponytail. Doing that jerks the necklace out from under her shirt.
The rose and the ring.
My heart twists.
I’m so close to coming, and the blood rushes in my veins as thoughts rush to the surface of my mind. They’re incongruent, but they feel true.
I wish she’d never kept that rose.
I wish I’d put that ring on her finger.
I wish I hadn’t stayed with my dad in the hospital and bailed on my first contract.
I wish I’d made us take a cab home.
I wish I’d never let her talk me into believing I could be more than I am.
When I come, she takes everything—my release and my anger and my devastation.
As I sag back into the cushions, Annie settles herself on my thighs once again. She kisses me, and I taste my own salt mixed with her.
“How does it feel now?” she asks, pulling back.
It sounds like a casual question, but it’s not. She needs to make me whole again. It might as well be scrawled on her cheek, words she wrote herself.
“Better,” I lie.
It’s the one gift I can give her, and we’ve lost enough this week.
3
“Tell me why you want this job busting your ass for people who couldn’t care less if you were born unless you forget the refill on thei
r Pellegrino.”
Beck’s rapid-fire question has me leaning across the kitchen table in his and Tyler’s apartment.
The first of my two final exams isn’t until tomorrow, but already, I feel as if I’m being grilled.
“Because I need money to pay next semester’s tuition and living expenses and my rock star dad cut me off for failing to tell him I was at performing arts school.”
He cocks his head. “Cute. One more time.”
I square my shoulders. “Because I’m a hard worker, I don’t give up, and I’ll wait whichever tables you tell me to for as many hours as you want.”
“Good.” Beck rises from his chair and goes to the fridge, where he pulls out two Coke cans and hands me one.
I pop the tab and take a long drink. “Thanks for helping me practice for interviews.”
The reality that I need to provide for myself is sinking in. I’ve submitted resumes to at least twenty places—a few administrative positions, plus serving since there seem to be more of those available.
“Give them the answers they want, and someone will give you a chance.”
My gaze scans the apartment, landing on the guitar leaning against the wall. “Think I should take his guitar to him at the hotel?”
“So he can play it with his teeth?” Beck’s laughter dies when he sees my expression. “Manatee, he’ll ask for it if he wants it.”
That statement bothers me. Tyler’s been doing his best to assure me he’s okay, but it doesn’t feel right.
“I ran into the nurse on my way to school this morning. She said his hand seems to be healing, but I don’t know about the rest of him. Have you noticed anything strange in the last couple of days?”
The way Beck shifts against the counter, frowning, doesn’t ease my mind.
I turn my soda can in my hands. “I know it’ll take time, and this is part of the process. He’s been through a traumatic event, and—”
“You both have.” Beck crosses the distance between us, tilting his face down to search my expression. “Tyler dropped one of his classes rather than rescheduling the final.”
My brows shoot up. “What?” He didn’t say anything this morning in the hour it took me to get up, shower, put away the pullout couch and leave for Vanier.
Beck shrugs. “I think he figured he had enough on his plate. The pain’s been bad again.”
Something else he didn’t tell me. My hand tightens on the can until it makes a crunching noise, and I set it on the counter.
Beck lays a hand on my shoulder. “He’s gonna work it out. It’ll take time. More than four days.”
But I hate the thought of Tyler lying to me. If he wanted to keep me from worrying, it’s having the opposite effect.
I get why he kept things from me back in high school, when he was trying not to want me.
Now, we’re together. We don’t need secrets. They’ll only keep us apart.
The door opens, and Tyler starts inside before pulling up, looking between Beck and me. “Hey. What are you doing here? I thought you were studying.”
Beck’s hand slides off my shoulder.
“Beck’s helping me with practice interviews for jobs,” I respond. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Needed some more clothes.”
He hasn’t been back since that night.
This is good. A step forward.
“Let me help.” I follow him into his room. “Beck said you dropped a class.”
“You’re talking to Beck about me?” Tyler turns, arching a dark brow.
Before I can answer, Tyler closes the distance between us and presses me up against the door.
The expression on his face turns hungry in a heartbeat. He drops his mouth to mine, kissing me hard. There’s an edge that didn’t used to be there, as if he’s proving a point. To me or himself, I don’t know.
“We should talk,” I protest even though my body’s already loving his new plan.
“You don’t want me.” He says it like a statement, not a question, but when he pulls back to study me with dark eyes, there’s a wariness underneath.
I take his face in my hands, struggling between giving into his immediate intention and forcing us to talk. About school, or what’s in his head, or what I can do to help erase the dark shadows under his eyes.
Tyler’s said himself he’s a doer, not a talker. Besides, the fact that he showed up here is progress.
I can try to understand that instead of getting hung up on the fact that he’s not telling me every thought in his head.
I can meet him where he is, get him through this however he needs.
“I always want you.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. He reaches under my skirt to grab my tights, and I take over, working them down my legs. When I have one foot off, he pushes my hand back against the door and grinds into me.
I work on his jeans, get them and his boxer briefs down. He’s positioned himself between my thighs, his mouth hungry on my jaw, my neck. I shut my eyes as my head falls back against the door, but we can’t get the right angle.
“Bed,” I murmur, and he tugs me toward it.
He drops down first, and I move over him. If this is what he needs, what we need, I can do it. Having tons of sex with my crazy-hot boyfriend is not a hardship.
He’s breathing shallowly, eyelids at half-mast and gaze smoldering. “Feels like you’re doing all the work lately, Six.”
“If this is work, sign me up for overtime.”
His shirt is halfway up his chest, revealing cut abs and smooth skin I want to trace with my lips and tongue.
His slow smile grips my heart. “I owe you one. When this is all over, I am going to lie you down on this bed and eat you until you scream.”
“Deal.”
If I wasn’t already wet, I’m soaked now.
I position him at my entrance, brushing him through my slickness once before I sink down on his cock.
We both groan at the feel of it, and I move to thread my fingers through his, hitching a breath when I realize I can only grab one.
His fingers tangle with mine, gripping hard, and I arch my back to take him as deep as he can go.
His heavy exhale is satisfying, but the look in his eyes isn’t.
He’s not here.
And it hurts.
I thought I could reach him without words, meet him the way that he understands.
But if he’s not here when he’s inside me, I don’t know where to find him.
I don’t know how to bring him back.
“Happy start of exams,” Pen singsongs as she grabs my waist.
I lose my balance and wobble on the skates. “Only you would get excited at the prospect of high stakes written evaluation,” I say once I right myself. “I only have two, but I might not survive it if you take me out and I end up concussed. I have a very high center of gravity.”
“Hope you’re talking about your huge brain… because your tits aren’t that big.”
I laugh, the cold air rushing down my throat.
The ice rink in Central Park is full on a weekday afternoon. Elle, Rae and I decided to take a break from cramming for finals in the Vanier library to meet up with Pen. It feels like a spot of brightness in the horror of the past week.
“Your parents must be stoked you’re going home,” I comment.
“My dad’s been asking for weeks what food I want for the holidays. Knowing my mom, she’s probably making it in small quantities so I don’t get fat. Have you talked to your dad?” Pen prompts.
“No.” I think of the unanswered call I made from the hospital a week ago. “But Haley sent me an ‘exam emergency kit’, with socks and notebooks and a huge Starbucks card. At least she’s in my corner.”
Pen’s brows rise. “Did you tell her about Tyler?”
I stare past her at the dozens of people skating happily around the rink oblivious to what’s going on with us. “Not yet.”
Pen slides to a crisp
stop thanks to the figure skating lessons she took freshman year of high school. “How is he?”
“The wound is healing. But the cut only tells half the story. I found a list of the best physical therapists in New York, but Tyler says he can’t afford them. I told him that’s the only way he’ll be able to play again, but he shut down.”
Motion catches my eye, and I see Elle waving from the boards with cups of something on the railing in front of her. Rae’s there too. I head for them, Pen gliding smoothly beside me as we weave through the skaters.
“I’m on to desperate measures—having sex just to get him to talk to me.”
“We’re talking about sex now? I would’ve put Baileys in this hot chocolate,” Elle comments as we pull up next to the boards. Rae hands me a steaming cup.
I’m relieved to see them. Their comfort has been steadying. If there’s a silver lining to what happened, it’s that I have real friends here to support me. Not only that, but they understand the pressure Tyler’s facing, because they signed up for it, too.
“Right now, it’s the only time I feel connected to him. Tyler’s never been the most talkative person, but… he used to talk to me. I think he talks to Beck. But I can’t help feeling like he’s slipping away. When we’re together, I don’t know if he’s lying there thinking ‘I’m lucky I’m not dead,’ or ‘I can’t believe this happened to me,’ or”—I take a breath—“‘There goes my future.’ I keep thinking it could have been worse. I could have lost him. But in a way, it feels like I already have.”
It’s the first time I’ve said those words out loud, and they gut me. The idea that he might not come back the same from this is horrifying.
It also feels selfish. How could he be the same? Tyler will have to live with the physical consequences of that night. Even if, through some miracle, they can repair his hand and he can play the way he used to, it’ll be a long road back.
Two empathetic faces peer back at me from under knit hats, Pen’s from between her earmuffs.
“He loves you. That much hasn’t changed, and no one can take that away,” Pen reassures me.
When Pen heads for the benches to take off her skates, chatting with Elle as she goes, Rae stays behind, pulling something out of her jacket pocket.
