by Lexi Ryan
I don’t know how long we stay there. Kissing as our bodies rock. But it feels more intimate than anything I’ve ever shared with anyone else before. And when her body tightens around me and I feel her orgasm coming again, I pull back to watch her face—to memorize the way she looks as the pleasure washes over her. She bites back a moan, her dark lashes on her cheeks as she lets her release roll over her again.
Something unlocks in my chest. For the first time in months—maybe for the first time ever—I understand what it means to make love. I’ve used sex to hide from the shitstorm inside me, but lovemaking is the storm. As I move inside her, the connection between us tears down the walls around my ravaged soul and throws them open for her to see. For her to judge and decide if I’m worthy. And for the first time since the warehouse fire, I want to be worthy. I want to be enough for someone’s tomorrow. I finally want to plan my own future.
The thought fills me with more elation than fear, but there’s an even stronger emotion that grips me as I press my mouth to hers. For once in too long, it’s one I want to share and not hide, and it fills me with hope as I find my own release.
“We should probably sleep.” I stroke a hand up Teagan’s bare stomach to settle between her breasts. I can’t stop touching her, holding her, feeling her. Tomorrow is a busy day that starts with us spending hours apart, and I feel like I have to soak up as much of her as I can tonight so she doesn’t slip away in the morning.
“Probably,” she says on a sigh. She’s no better, keeping her fingers threaded through mine or a hand in my hair, on my chest, my thigh. We crossed a line tonight—not just physically, but emotionally—and neither of us is in any rush to fall asleep.
“You have to be up early for the . . . What did you call that ceremony?”
Teagan turns in my arms, rolling to face me with a hand under her cheek. “It’s called a Mehndi party, and it’s a tradition where the bride and her bridesmaids have henna designs applied to their hands and feet.” She smiles softly. “Saanvi’s will be the most complex, so we’ll keep her company and entertain her while it’s done. It’s more fun than it sounds, but it gives the bridal party time to give the bride advice before her big day.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“I’m glad Saanvi wanted to pair some of the Hindu traditions with the traditional Catholic wedding ceremony, which”—she rolls her eyes—“is long.”
I’ve always thought Teagan was beautiful, but right now, flushed from lovemaking and curled up next to me, there’s a glow to her that makes me ache for more. More from her. More from us. If I could steal hours from next week to give us tonight, I’d do it. Instead, I settle for kissing her again, running my hand down her back, mapping out each tiny peak and valley of her spine.
She breaks the kiss and traces an imaginary line across my pecs, as if she wants to memorize me in this moment as much as I want to memorize her. “How will you spend your morning?”
“I’m going to check on Isaiah. He’s healing, but without his dad around . . .” Some of the night’s warmth and joy drains from me. “I don’t know. He probably doesn’t want me there, but I can’t let him push me away.”
She scoots closer, nestling her head in the crook of my shoulder. When she sighs, her breath dances across my chest. “You’re right. He needs you.”
I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know about that.”
“He does. He talked about you a lot.”
“When?”
“On Monday—after you left and before he was discharged. He admires you, and I’m sure he misses his dad, but he knows—on some level—that he’s lucky to have you.”
“Thank you.” Taking the words as more than blown smoke is hard, but I make myself do it—even if that little bit of truth feels heavier than I expected, like a weight I’m not sure I can carry or deserve to.
She returns to tracing across my chest then dips her hand lower to take a similar tour across my abdomen.
“You were right this morning, you know.” I focus on my breathing. In. Out. It’s so hard to talk about this shit, but I want to try with Teagan. I want her to understand. “I’m sorry that I shut you down when you tried to talk to me about Max this morning. It’s just . . .” I search her face. “I do blame myself, and maybe if Isaiah’s mom weren’t a total piece of crap, it wouldn’t be so hard, but I feel like I failed to protect the person that kid needed most in the world.”
Her fingers trail up my side, then my neck, and into my hair, until she’s nudging me to my back and rolling to straddle me. When she looks into my eyes, there’s sadness in hers. Or perhaps . . . compassion. Understanding. “It wouldn’t be easier if you’d died next to Max. The kid was dealt a shitty hand, but it would only be worse for him if you were gone too.” She grazes my stubble with her fingertips. “I know it’s hard to be the one who lived, the one who carries that, and maybe it’s self-centered to perceive your grief through my own needs, but I want you to know I’m so grateful you made it out.”
I shake my head, trying to find the words to speak around the thickness in my throat. But there’s nothing to say, and this feeling in my chest? I needed to hear that. I never realized I needed someone to say it out loud. “Thank you.” I grip her hips. “I spent a lot of months getting through each day by pretending everything was normal. It was the only way I knew how to cope.”
“It’s fine to pretend that things are okay if that’s what it takes to get through. And it’s fine to sometimes pretend with some people that you’re okay, even when you’re not. But you need to have people in your life you can talk to. People you can confide in when you’re not okay. People you trust to see you that vulnerable.”
“Are you volunteering to see my ugly insides?”
She puts her hands on either side of my head and leans forward, her dark hair falling like a curtain around us. “Yes, Carter. I’m a nurse,” she says, smiling softly. “Ugly insides are my specialty.”
Carter
Teagan and I fell asleep after two. For the first time in too long, I didn’t have a single nightmare. I slept hard, but habit has me up at five.
I tuck the blankets around Teagan, pull on my jeans and a T-shirt, and head downstairs. I don’t want to wake her up, and I’m dying for a strong cup of coffee.
The dining room is quiet, but the kitchen staff has set out some pastries, fruit, a selection of teas, a carafe of coffee, and . . . I sniff. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I smell bacon.
“Good morning, sir,” a young blonde says, stepping out of the kitchen. “May I get you some hot breakfast? We have bacon, scrambled eggs, and French toast this morning, in addition to the offerings on the buffet, of course.”
I blame my upbringing, but when I’m short on sleep, I don’t just crave coffee to get moving. I crave bacon. Or at least I used to, before my appetite abandoned me.
I grin at the server. “Bacon and eggs sound great, thank you.” I take a seat at one of the white-clothed tables, sip my coffee, and scroll through emails on my phone as she retrieves my meal. Brayden sent out third-quarter Jackson Brews P&L reports—which I’ll open and skim only enough to say I did and send back with my approval. Beth sent me an email with a link to a story about a firefighter who lost his father (also a firefighter) with a note about it.
I’ve been sitting on this for a month, waiting for the right time to give it to you. It’s a story of grief, guilt, and forgiveness. Thought of you. Hope you’re well.
My chest goes tight. She’s only tiptoed around the subject of the warehouse fire before, but this is definitely less of a tiptoe and more of her taking my hand and urging me to take a full step. A month ago, it would’ve pissed me off and I’d have deleted it, but now I think I might be ready. I flag it for myself to read later.
“Here you go, sir,” the server says. She places a plate of steaming bacon and eggs in front of me, and I thank her before digging in. I feel a little odd eating down here without Teagan, but she already told me I’d be doing breakfast on my own
this morning. She and the bridesmaids and mothers will be taking breakfast in Saanvi’s suite.
I’m scrolling through Instagram when I hear someone clear his throat. I lift my head as Rich pulls out the seat beside me and sinks into it. Shit. Just the asshole I don’t want to see.
“Good morning, Carter.” He has a steaming cup of coffee and holds it between two hands as he studies me. “I wanted to apologize about last night.”
I arch a brow. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Liam’s right. I get a little . . . unreasonable where Teagan’s concerned. You know how it is, right? She was my first love, and then we grieved over my best friend together.”
I nod but take another bite of my breakfast instead of responding. I have so many questions, but I’m not sure I should be getting my information about Teagan and Rich’s history from Rich—especially considering the warning she gave me about how he manipulates people.
He blows out a breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling protective of her, and I’ll probably always love her, but I do know she’s a grown woman who gets to make her own decisions. I’m sorry if I came off a little too intense. I’m going to make an effort to be better. I don’t want to be in the way of you two enjoying yourselves this weekend.”
Well, hell, that sounds downright mature. “Thank you, Rich.”
“You’re welcome. Let me know if I can help at all, okay?”
Unlikely. “I don’t think we’ll be needing anything, but thanks anyway.”
He nods. “I know it’s hard for her to talk about the past, so if you have any questions, I can fill in details. I want her to be happy.”
“I think what she needs to be happy is for you to let her go.” I pause a beat. “Completely.”
Anger flashes in his eyes—there and gone in a beat—and then he smiles at my nearly empty plate. “I remember those days.”
I frown at the bite of eggs remaining. “What days?”
“The run-ragged-by-Teagan days.” He looks at his watch, then back to me. “I mean, here you are before the sun’s up, trying to get some basic sustenance.” He holds up his hands, palms out. “Been there, done that. I’m not judging.”
Dude, you almost made it through a conversation acting like a civilized adult and you had to go and ruin it. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”
“I’m just being friendly. And hell, I remember what it’s like. If Teagan’s anything like she used to be with me . . .” He looks around the room, ostensibly to make sure we’re still alone, before dipping his head and adding in a quieter voice, “And Heath? That dude was my best friend, and I mean no offense when I say he couldn’t keep up with her, and he tried. Not that it mattered to Teagan. She’s a modern woman with needs . . . And I didn’t mind helping her out with those.” He winks at me and stands, and I’m fucking speechless.
Maybe guys in his world talk to practical strangers like this, but I’d never even say this shit to my brothers about a woman I was seeing or saw in the past. It’s bad form and more than a little sleazy. And what’s he trying to say, anyway? That Teagan stepped out on Heath? With him?
“I’m saying that you should do what you can to keep up with her if you’re not into sharing . . . if you catch my drift.”
“I don’t think I do, Rich,” I say, forcing calm into my voice. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nope.” He mimes zipping his lips and locking them, and slowly backs away. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He points both index fingers at me, wagging them as he heads to the door. “Godspeed, sir.”
He leaves the dining room, and I make myself count to ten. On the one hand, I want to run after him and punch him in the face. On the other hand, I’m here to save Teagan from drama, not to cause more, so I make myself stay seated until I finish my coffee.
I’m about to leave when Saanvi comes in. She’s a shorter and thinner version of her sister, but they both have a smile that lights up their whole face.
“Good morning,” she singsongs.
“Good morning, Saanvi. How are you feeling this morning?”
“I’m great! No hangover, thanks to copious water, Gatorade, and some healthy exercise to clear some of the booze out of my system before sleeping.”
Exercise. It’s rare that I feel like the biggest prude around, and yet my first two conversations of the day are certainly making me feel that way. I like Saanvi and I like her fiancé, but I really don’t want to know about the “exercise” they did last night.
She must spot my cringe because she laughs. “A walk, Carter. Liam and I took a midnight stroll along the lake. As in, actual exercise.”
“Right. Sorry. And good. I’m glad you’re well this morning.”
“How’s Teagan?” Saanvi asks, filling a plate with Danishes.
“Good. Sleeping.” I motion to her plate. “I thought you were having breakfast with the girls this morning.”
“Yeah, but that’s in, like, two hours.” She lowers her voice. “And I am a little hungover.”
“The truth comes out.”
“Worth it.” She grins and takes a seat beside me. “Liam likes you, you know.”
“He’s a good guy. I’m glad he approves.”
“He said Rich rubs you the wrong way, though.” She says this casually, as if she’s just putting the information out there, but I can tell by the way she watches me from under her brows that she’s trying to read my reaction.
And how exactly am I supposed to respond to this? I blow out a breath. Fuck it. “That’s putting it mildly. I can’t stand the guy.”
She nods slowly, tearing a lemon pastry into bite-size pieces. I’m not sure if she’s going to eat it or play with it. “You’d probably feel differently if he’d started off on a better foot with you. I mean, he planned on coming here to sweep Teagan off her feet, and then suddenly, last weekend he found out she has this boyfriend—you. He’s trying, but I don’t think it’s easy for him to put on his best face when you have what he wants most.”
“Did it ever occur to him that Teagan doesn’t want him to sweep her off her feet? That their relationship has been over since high school, and he needs to let her go?”
Saanvi drops the pastry and pushes her plate away. “Is that what she told you?”
“She doesn’t want him.”
“Not that. The . . . She said they haven’t been together since high school?”
She said I couldn’t ask questions. She said he pushed his way back into her life. “I know it was complicated between them,” I say, carefully evading what I clearly don’t understand. Rich’s insinuations rankle me. Am I the only one here who doesn’t know what the fuck went down between them? How am I supposed to help her if I don’t know the whole story? “She removed him from her life for a reason.” I hesitate for a beat, then decide to take a chance. “I guess that’s why I don’t understand why your parents would insist on inviting him this weekend.”
Saanvi sighs. “I guess because as far as my parents are concerned, Rich saved Teagan’s life.”
I don’t try to hide the shock I’m sure is all over my face.
“Not literally, I suppose, but she was a disaster after Heath died. Rich pulled her out of bars when she was too trashed to know her own name, got her away from guys who wanted to take advantage of the fact that she was trying to lose herself.” She picks at a cuticle, her eyes far away, as if she’s remembering those days. “We were all grateful for him. He was the only thing that kept her grounded when she was spinning out of control, and even when her grief made her treat him like shit, he stuck around. He kept her safe.”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure she sees it that way.”
She squeezes my shoulder and sighs. “I love that you want to protect her from her ex, but I want you to understand that he’s not a bad guy. To me, to my parents, he’s just a guy who’d do anything for Teagan.”
“So would I,” I say softly. “But with all due respect, I hope that if she ever wants to start over witho
ut me, you and your family won’t push me back into her life.”
Saanvi stares at me with those big, sad eyes. “I wasn’t blowing smoke when I told you I’m rooting for you. Regardless of her history with Rich, I like her with you. She blossoms when you’re around.”
“Thanks, Saanvi. I’m rooting for me too.” I wink at her, then head out. All this talk about Teagan’s past without her around makes me uncomfortable.
When I enter the room, the bathroom light’s on but all the other bedroom lights are still off. Teagan’s asleep in the bed. She’s curled on her side, her arms tucked into her chest and her dark hair spread out on her pillow.
I strip off my shirt and my jeans, and when I’m in nothing but my boxers, I slip into bed behind her, pulling her tight against me. I press my mouth to her neck. She’s so damn warm and smells like springtime. Like a new life and second chances. The thought makes me laugh at myself. I’ve never been a poet, but she makes me wish I had it in me—the pretty words and the perfect explanations for my mistakes. She makes me wish I were better in so many ways, but I’m not. All I have to offer is this: myself. My battered, broken heart. And my desperate wish to become whole again.
I might not know all the details about her past, and I might not be the one who dragged her out of bars when she was grieving for the love of her life, but I’m here, and I care about her so much that I feel shaky when I imagine letting her go. Maybe it’s true. Maybe Rich did save her in some way, but right now—this weekend, for all its scheming, lies, and pretense—she’s saving me.
I slip a hand up her shirt, greedily skimming my fingers over the soft skin of her belly. Her sleepy moan sends a whip of pleasure down my spine. She arches into me, and my cock hardens against her ass.
My kisses on her neck grow greedier, and when I cup her breast in my hand and pinch her nipple, she gasps. Then all of the sudden she cries, “Stop!” She yanks out of my arms and jumps out of bed.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I sit on the edge of the bed, facing her, and turn on the bedside lamp.
