by Ella Fields
“Playing Andy Warhol,” Dash said, returning with his own bowl of macaroni.
My nose crinkled as he scooped some into Peggy’s almost empty one for her.
“Andy Warhol?” she asked.
“He can draw like an asshole,” Dash said.
“You make it sound so appealing,” Lars drawled, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“Someone needs to keep that ego of yours in check.”
Peggy frowned at me, then at Lars. “I didn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t,” Dash said. “Being that Duchess Daphne over here tells no one anything about herself or her love life.” He waggled his hands and fingers in the air. “So mysterious.”
He had me there, and I winked at Peggy while she laughed. “I am a fickle creature, but”—I turned to Lars, bumping his arm with mine—“you should show her.”
I could’ve imagined it, but I swore his cheeks were coloring. “Uh, sure.”
“Careful now. He’s an artist,” Dash said. “He’s sensitive.”
Peggy pinched her lips together, trying not to laugh again.
Lars tossed a piece of licorice at Dash’s forehead. It bounced off, and I caught it before he could, throwing it inside my mouth.
Dash smirked. “My forehead germs are in your mouth.”
“And my foot is about to be up your ass,” Lars said.
Dash feigned fear, raising his hand to his chest as his eyes widened. “So where’s the baby mama?”
“Dash.” Peggy elbowed him.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “Just asking, geez.”
Lars looked up at Dash. “You know where she is, asshat.”
Peggy eyed me while Dash and Lars continued to shit on one another.
“I’m fine,” I mouthed.
Her thinning gaze said she didn’t entirely believe me, but she didn’t push.
Lars was busy drawing something again during biology, but I faced forward, unwilling to let him distract me too much.
Afterward, I opened my locker to find a piece of paper.
In a ribbon, below a stunning cartoon-like image of my face, Forever was drawn. The letters bold and golden, jumping off the page.
My hand slapped over my mouth, tears invading my eyes as I took in each impeccable stroke of color. Then my hand was pulled away and replaced by lips, my back pressed against the locker next to mine.
Lars’s giant, talented hands cupped and framed my face, the picture dangling between my fingers as he kissed every part of my mouth, then swept his tongue inside to give the same attention there. “I love you,” he said, low and breathless. “Forever.” He sucked at my lips, his thumbs brushing away tears while my tongue dueled with his.
“Mr. Bradby, do you need to see Mr. Denham?”
Lars pulled away with a smile, still breathing hard and still staring right at me. “No, ma’am.” He kissed each of my cheeks. “I’ll call you after I’m done with work.”
Then he was sauntering down the hall, leaving Mrs. Truncheon to scowl at me.
I turned back to my locker and grabbed my things. After shutting it, I shouldered my bag, the picture still clutched between my fingers as I moved for the exit, each step feeling lighter than the last.
They stalled and grew heavier when I saw Annika, whose eyes were stuck to Lars as he raced outside the doors.
Daphne
“I just don’t understand why you can’t tell me where we’re going.”
I hit the turn signal. “A little spontaneity won’t hurt you.” Lars shot me a dark look, and I laughed. “Relax, we’re almost there.”
We jostled a little, the car dipping and bobbing over the bumps in the dirt road. When the trees cleared, Lars sat forward with huge eyes as he gripped the dash.
My grandparents’ place was twice the size of mine. Cream and as long as a miniature castle, green vines with purple flowers draped the exterior, the sun casting the regal structure in a golden bubble.
Hedges and row after row of rose bushes clustered around the house, the driveway eventually smoothing out when we neared the barn where I parked.
Lars frowned when I stepped outside the car but joined me in front of it. “What’s going on?”
I clasped his hand, leading him down the drive. “Petra lives here.”
“Your grandma who doesn’t want to be a grandma?”
“That would be me,” Petra said, stepping out from the barn and dropping a bucket of feed to the dirt. “You must be the boyfriend she didn’t want to be her boyfriend?” At the shock surely marring my face, Petra smiled. “Thought so.”
I raised a brow, and she plucked off her floral gloves. “Wily old woman.”
She tutted, and Lars gently took her hand. “Lars. You’ve got one hell of a place, Petra.”
Petra beamed up at him, her eyes alight, still clutching his hand. “Are you as smart as you are beautiful?”
“Petra,” I hissed.
Lars coughed out a laugh, and Petra, finally releasing his hand, waved at him. “Oy, just playing.” Nudging the bucket to me, she said, “I was about to feed him. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be. You can do the honors.”
After saying she’d prepare some food, she let us be.
Lars took the bucket from me. “This is like something out of a book.”
“Pity you don’t seem to read much.”
“I read plenty,” he said, then swung his eyes to mine. “I just haven’t had a lot of time lately.”
My brows rose, and I kicked at a dandelion with my boot as we rounded the barn and headed for the stables. “Yeah? What kind of books?”
Lars was silent for a minute, and I was about to laugh and call him a liar when I caught him staring at the endless expanse of lime green, only broken by the occasional brown fence and swishing tail. “Narnia,” he said, voice rough.
“You’ve only read Narnia?”
“No,” he said. “I read fantasy, some thrillers and comics, but Narnia’s been my favorite since Mom read it to me when I was a kid.”
Now that he would soon have one of his own, I was tempted to ask if he would read it to them. I didn’t, though, fearing it was still too soon.
Inside the stables, he watched, stiff as a bone, as I fed Fletcher and ran my hands over his huffing nose.
“You can pat him.” I moved aside, but Fletcher didn’t like that and nudged my cheek, making me laugh with his tickling breath.
Lars bit back his smile, his teeth running over his bottom lip. “I’m good.”
“Scared?” I taunted.
Fletcher seemed to still at that, and Lars chuckled as the gray beast looked over at him with inquisitive eyes.
He rubbed at the back of his head, then let out a breath and moved closer. “Fine.”
“Not so bad, is it?” I said as Lars gently slid his hand over Fletcher’s neck.
Fletcher, I was sure, was happy to soak up the attention. “How old is he?”
I twisted my lips. “I think he’s just turned twelve, actually.”
Lars smirked at the horse. “She forgot your birthday? She’s so fucking rude.”
My insides warmed even as I smacked his stomach. “When is your birthday?”
Lars, still staring at the horse, said, “July eleventh.” Taking his hand away, he brushed it on his jeans. “You’re in June, right?”
“Twenty-sixth.” I grinned. “So respect your elders.”
His answering grin had my next breath shaking. “I always do.”
Fletcher whinnied when Lars took three deliberately slow steps toward me.
I stepped back, biting my lip, my butt pushing open the stall door next to Fletcher’s.
It was empty and mostly clean.
Lars picked me up and set me on the hay bales stacked against the wall, his eyes on mine as his hands moved up my thighs, shoving the skirt of my dress around my waist. “I haven’t seen you come in a few days.” His mouth closed in on my cheek, his lips ghosting over it.
My head lolled. “That’s
not that long.”
“It’s too fucking long,” he said, spreading my legs.
The hay itched and scratched at my thighs, but the extra friction only served to heighten the excitement when he dragged a finger down my center, pressing the dampening cotton into my body. “Don’t you need me, Cotton?”
“Yes,” I said, all breath as he sucked at my neck.
He made quick work of removing my panties and stuck them in his back pocket, then his finger was back between my legs, his eyes almost black as it eased in and out of me. They moved from my heating face to between my legs, and back again, as though he couldn’t decide where he wanted to look most.
With a tortured sounding groan, he unzipped his fly with his other hand, freeing himself.
He wrapped his hand around the hard velvet, still circling my slick flesh. My stomach trembled. “Inside,” I begged.
He removed his finger, sucking it while he grabbed something from his back pocket.
A condom.
He’d used one every time we’d had sex since finding out about Annika. I couldn’t exactly blame him, but a part of me did whimper with disappointment over the lack of trust. I reminded myself it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him trying to take back as much control as he could in this world that’d robbed him of it.
With one long, deep thrust, I was full, his hand slapping over my mouth when I sucked in a surprised rush of air.
He didn’t take it slow and sweet. His hips rocked forward, hard and swift as he kept his hand over my mouth, and our eyes stayed locked. He tore them away to glance between us, a familiar dark glint to his gaze as he watched his body enter and leave mine, over and over. “You eat my cock so well,” he murmured, then lowered his thumb to my clit to torture it.
I almost squealed, my eyes watering and my thighs trying to close.
He leaned over me, keeping them wide open with his other arm and his elbow, never slowing and never looking away. Sadistic pleasure moved across his face as he watched me splinter beneath him, unable to move. “Good?” He laughed wicked, low, and breathy. “Look at you, shaking and helpless. Falling apart.”
The spasms slowly let up, but he didn’t. I was soon against the wall, his hands hard around my thighs and his mouth slamming down on mine as he continued his assault.
I slapped at the rough wall of the stall behind me, then his shoulders, then his hair, tugging as his tongue matched his cock’s ministrations.
I was nothing but relaxed air, heavy yet floating, while the sound of our skin meeting and the harsh exhales escaping our fused lips sent the world closing in.
A long, throaty groan, and then, “Fuck.”
Aftershocks evoked goose bumps when I felt his body seize and his hands tightened their bruising grip on my thighs. His forehead fell to my collarbone, and I raked my nails over the back of his head, our hearts booming and our skin sweat-slick.
Horses huffed and moved about in their stalls, and the crow of the old rooster could be heard outside, but we didn’t move.
“Forever.” Lars kissed beneath my chin, his nose nuzzling into my neck.
“And ever,” I added.
At my whispered words, his head rose, and his sated expression transformed to one of pure joy. “You mean it?”
I touched his taut brow, my finger skating down the straight slope of his nose to his lips. “Of course, I do.”
We’d had one of the biggest obstacles thrown at us, one most wouldn’t be able to see past let alone scale, but we were scaling it, and with each day that passed, I was growing more confident that this forever he spoke of could very well become our reality. A relief, considering I didn’t want to give him up for anything or anyone, and he’d made it crystal clear he’d never let me.
After having brunch on the back verandah with Petra, we said our goodbyes, and I promised to take Fletcher out for a ride next time.
“I’m just worried I’ve forgotten how,” I told Lars as he got into the driver’s seat, and I clipped on my seat belt.
“It’s not like riding a bike?”
I put the window down, my eyelids fluttering as the breeze rushed in. “Maybe, I don’t know. It’s never been this long.”
“You do know how to ride a bike, don’t you?”
I laughed. “Yes, asshole. I do.”
He grabbed my hand, delivering it to his mouth as he expertly dodged the worst of the potholes and ridges on the road. “You’ll have to show me then.”
“I’m not riding that thing you call a bike.”
He set my hand on his thigh before turning onto the road that led back into town. “What’s wrong with my bike?”
“The seat’s too low, for one.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not meant to be sat on.”
I sucked back a laugh. “Good thing because you’d likely bruise your equipment judging by the look of it.”
Lars chuckled. “I’ve done that before, and it had nothing to do with the seat.”
He then went on to tell me of the times he’d ridden down a set of stairs and fallen off, his legs somehow getting tangled in the railing. “Ice packs for days,” he said, laughter and old pain in his voice.
“How old were you then?”
He thought about it a moment. “Not sure. Ten? Eleven?”
Apparently, he’d also landed a jump, but his feet had slipped, and his junk had been introduced to the frame of his bike. “That’s happened more times than I’d care to admit,” he grumbled. “Or remember.”
My cheeks hurt from laughing. “Yet you keep doing it.”
He parked outside his house. “Anything you love is worth a little pain.”
My chest fluttered and constricted. Unclipping my seat belt, I climbed over the seat and fell into his lap, staring down into his eyes. “I haven’t caused you that much pain.”
He raised his hand, grinning as he pinched the air with his fingers. “Little bit.”
I scoffed and grabbed his hand, nipping his fingertips.
Chuckling, he cradled my face and smacked his lips all over it.
I laughed, and then I moaned, twisting my head to give him more access when his tongue coasted up my neck.
My next breath whistled out of me as I slapped my hands against Lars’s chest and sat back. “Fuck. Annika’s here.”
Lars froze. “What?”
I scrambled off his lap, grabbing my purse and opening the door.
Each step I took over his front lawn toward his house, where Annika sat on the porch, her face red and a bunch of bags at her feet, felt like I was hauling bricks behind me.
She stood, a hand pressed over her growing stomach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
I looked back at Lars, who was paling more and more by the second, but I couldn’t find my voice.
The wind could’ve knocked him over as he stood there, his gaze flicking back and forth between Annika’s designer bags and her stomach.
“I’m guessing Daphne told you about my parents. How they think I got rid of it.”
My stomach sank, but Lars didn’t answer her.
Without so much as glancing at me, he stalked forward, picked some bags up, and took them inside.
“So she’s just what, moved in?” Willa asked. “I can’t believe they kicked her out.”
“Yep.” I took the star stencil from Willa’s travel kit, then grabbed a pencil. “Her parents were overseas, which is why she thought she had more time.”
Peggy almost spat out her lemonade. “To have the baby before they came back?”
I placed half the stencil over the page. “I don’t know.”
Lars hadn’t said much about the way Annika had just moved in. Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she was just staying there for now. I didn’t want to press him for information. Not when the situation already had him tossing and turning and smoking way too much. Weed and cigarettes.
So for the past week, I’d given him some space. It killed me to, but the fact he didn’t seem
to notice my absence only further proved it was the right thing to do for now. Until he’d cleared his head enough to figure out what they were going to do next.
“How do you feel about all this?” Willa asked.
She wouldn’t know as much as Peggy, being that she now attended the public school after her and Jackson’s parents found out about them.
“Not great, but”—I drew in a breath, inspecting the half star on the left side of the page—“I’ll be okay. We just need to see this through, I guess.”
Peggy stared down at the picture of her and Dash. She was creating an album of them, and she was already halfway done. “What does his mom think about it?”
Glenda had grown quieter, but that afternoon, she’d taken one look at Annika when we’d walked inside, and after only a minute of surveying the situation, she’d nodded her head before pointing her in the direction of their spare room.
The room housed Lars’s old single bed, toys and books he’d outgrown, and a boxed-up Christmas tree. Annika hadn’t seemed to mind, which shocked me, considering I knew she’d come from far more lavish surroundings.
The more I watched her, the more I realized just how much what was happening was rocking her world and tilting it upside down. Gone was the snarky girl with quick, heated retorts and gossip ready to spill from her pink lips. Now, she was just a girl. A lost girl with a baby growing inside her.
My boyfriend’s baby.
“They’re at the sonogram today.” I tapped my fingers on Peggy’s dining table. “Finding out the gender.”
Willa dropped her scissors. “How far along is she?”
“Almost six months, I think. She hasn’t been able to do it before now.” I dragged my hand through my hair, blinking at the two friends beside me. “I couldn’t go.”
Peggy’s brows scrunched. “Why? They didn’t invite you?”
“No, they did. And I’ve been trying,” I said, my voice low, the confession begging to be set free. “I’ve been trying so hard to get excited for him, for her even, but I just …” I set the pencil down and rubbed my cheeks. “But I’m not. I want to hate everyone, including that baby, and I feel fucking horrible for it.”
