The Redemption Series

by Leigh, T. K.

  “Never better,” she breathes.

  “Good.”

  “Good,” she repeats, licking her lips as she peers at me. A tendril of hair had escaped her knot and fallen in front of her eyes. Instinctively, I brush it behind her ear, her skin soft. A craving to feel even more of her overwhelming me, I graze my fingers along her cheeks, admiring the freckles dotting her complexion. Brooklyn’s always hated them, but I’ve always loved them. They make her stand out, her beauty unmatched by anyone else.

  As I savor the smoothness of her delicate skin, a spark shoots through me, low and deep in my core. Her familiar aroma invades my senses, bringing back even more memories of our times together. Sitting on the beach. Exploring the Common. The feel of her legs wrapped around me when we finally did kiss. God, I love the way she smells, the way she feels, the way she always seems to easily break through every wall I’ve erected without even trying.

  My heart pounding in my chest, my gaze focuses on those lips. Lips I’ve watched kiss too many other men when they should have been kissing me all along. Lips I was lucky enough to be the first person to ever kiss. Lips I’ve almost kissed a few times since, but something’s always stopped me. I don’t want anything to stop me now.

  “Brooklyn.” I dart my tongue out, forgetting where we are, who we are. All I can think about is getting a taste of what I’ve deprived myself of for too long now. I don’t care that she’s a friend. I don’t care that she’s engaged, although I should. All I care about is feeling her lips on mine.

  “Yes,” she exhales, her breath dancing on my mouth, making it tingle with the promise of what’s to come. Her tone isn’t questioning. More like confirmation she wants this, too.

  I cup her cheeks, rubbing the pads of my thumbs along the pink flesh of her lips. She plumps them out, her body trembling beneath mine. Every inch of me burning with need, I slowly erase the little space left between us. My heart pounds against my chest, wild and savage. My nerve endings ignite, a fluttering low in my stomach.

  “Brooklyn,” I say once more as my lips almost skim hers, giving her one last opportunity to say no.

  “Yes.” She closes her eyes, jutting her chin toward me, preparing herself, moistening those perfect lips I’m dying to taste. But I know I won’t be able to stop at just a taste. I’ll need more. Brooklyn isn’t the type of girl you kiss, then forget. Even though I was forced to do just that over sixteen years ago, I never did. How could I? Brooklyn’s the type of girl you love, you cherish. The type of girl who captures your mind, heart, and soul.

  I close my eyes, time seeming to stand still. Just as I’m about to finally experience Brooklyn’s kiss, a loud bang reverberates through the rink, snapping both of us out of our trance. Our bodies become rigid, the moment breaking as quickly as it began…just like all those years ago.

  She blinks repeatedly, then a look of horror crawls across her expression. “I need to go,” she says hurriedly, pushing against me. I roll off her, raising myself to my skates.

  Unsure what to say, I wordlessly help her back to a standing position. The instant she has her balance, she takes off, skating toward the edge of the rink. I chase after her, catching up with ease. Guilt seeming to ooze from every pore in her body, she keeps her head lowered. I hate that she won’t look at me. Acid burns deep in my stomach at what we almost did, how I almost kissed my sister’s best friend. My sister’s engaged best friend. I’ve been cheated on and it’s a horrible feeling. How could I put Brooklyn in that position?

  I follow her back to where she left her shoes, smiling a greeting at the swarms of kids filling the rink for this morning’s practice session. There’s so much I want to say, but don’t even know where to start.

  “Listen, Drew,” she begins when I remain awkwardly silent. Her trembling fingers make it difficult for her to undo her laces, so I kneel to help her. She withdraws her hands, allowing me to unlace her skates. “What we almost did…” She lowers her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t,” I respond, my voice firm. Neither one of us speaks as I effortlessly remove both skates. Then I meet her eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” I add softly. “It takes two to tango.”

  She grabs her boots and yanks them back over her skinny jeans. “But I should have known better. I do know better. What just almost happened…” Standing, she gestures to the rink. “It can’t happen. It won’t happen. I don’t know what came over me. I guess I was lost in the rush of skating. Wes has been nothing but good to me.” She avoids my eyes. “He deserves better than me almost kissing someone else.” When she returns her gaze to mine, I see the remorse clear as day. It looks like she’s on the brink of tears. “Especially you.”

  She spins around and hurries toward the exit, skirting kids gearing up for their lesson, their parents helping with their skates.

  “Brooklyn, wait!” I call, darting after her, the thin blades on my feet no impediment. Reaching for her arm, I force her to stop. “Don’t run away from this.”

  “From what? There’s nothing here. At one time, I did think there was, but I’ve learned from that lapse of judgment. Yes, you were my first real kiss, but that was years ago, when we were young and made some really bad mistakes. So if you don’t mind, I need to get ready for lunch with Wes’ mother, who’s flown into town so we can start planning our wedding.”

  Those words hit me square in the gut. I’m on the brink of finally telling her the truth of what really happened, why I broke the promise I made her, but don’t. It’s not worth it. It won’t change anything.

  When I drove to the rink, the last thing I expected was to almost kiss her. Now it’s all I can think about — the feel of her body against mine, the heat of her breath intermingling with mine, the way every inch of me craves her in a way I didn’t think it ever would again.

  “Is that what you want?” I press, my voice unsteady.

  She opens her mouth, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. There’s a subtle tremble in her lower lip as she responds. “It’s too late for what I want.”

  The sincerity in her answer surprises me, although it shouldn’t. She’s always been one of the most honest people I know. I drop my hold on her. “And what’s that?”

  She shakes her head, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Then she turns and disappears out the doors, still ignorant of the truth.

  Chapter Eight

  Brooklyn

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say breathlessly as I hurry toward a small private table in the dining room at the exclusive country club where Wes is a member. Wes and his father, James, immediately stand when they see me approach.

  “No worries,” Mr. Bradford states jovially, leaving a kiss on my cheek. “We just placed our orders. Wes took it upon himself to order for you.”

  I smile at Wes, allowing him to kiss my cheek, as well, his being much more sensual and endearing. “Thank you.” He pulls my chair out for me and I take my seat.

  “Pleasure to see you, Mrs. Bradford.” I reach for the sparkling water in front of me.

  “You, too, Brooklyn dear,” she replies with a touch of superiority.

  During my relationship with Wes, I’ve come to expect this from her. By the lack of any offer of congratulations, I’m confident his mother isn’t thrilled with the idea of him marrying me, a girl from Somerville, a middle-class town she probably considers to be the slums. While my father has a noble profession as a Boston firefighter, one he still enjoys, it isn’t exactly a high-income job. Yes, he does well for himself, but it isn’t even close to the same level the Bradfords are accustomed to.

  As much as Mrs. Bradford has tried to mask her distaste, it hasn’t worked. I’m certain she’d rather Wes date any of the women she’s paraded in front of us when we’ve attended one of the myriad of charity dinners together. Such as the subtle hints that Scarlett rowed during college, like Wes. Or that Deborah enjoys the Museum of Modern Art where Wes is a high-level donor. Or that Caroline is an avid runner, like Wes. He may not have notic
ed what his mother was trying to do, but I did. It must be eating her up that he proposed to a woman who doesn’t come from among the country’s wealthiest families.

  “I understand the ring didn’t fit. Such a pity.”

  I grit a smile, smoothing my skirt. Wes grabs my hand and my eyes float to his. Without saying a word, he lets me know that she doesn’t matter, that nothing she says can make him feel anything less than the unequivocal adoration he’s bestowed on me since our first date. And that look, that compassion, that love makes me feel even worse about what almost happened between Drew and me a few hours earlier.

  Knowing he’d be there, I went to that rink to clear the air between us…to stop thinking about him. But since leaving him, he’s all I think about. Not Wes. Not the thought I’ll soon be marrying the man of my dreams. It’s all Drew and how a part of me wishes we hadn’t been interrupted by a group of rowdy kids.

  “I dropped it off at the jewelers on the way here,” Wes declares with authority. “It will be ready in plenty of time for the engagement photos.”

  “Engagement photos?” I furrow my brow, my mouth feeling drier than the Sahara. I reach for my glass and take a large gulp of water, nearly finishing it.

  “Of course, dear,” Mrs. Bradford says. “I’ve called in a few favors and was able to book the premier photographer in New England, if not the country, to take your photos one week from today.”

  “One week?” My eyes widen and I swallow hard, my lungs struggling to get a full breath of air. It’s one thing to have agreed to Wes’ proposal. I thought we’d have a long engagement, time to get used to the idea of spending the rest of our lives together. “Isn’t that premature? We haven’t even discussed a date, let alone where we want to get married. Shouldn’t we have that taken care of before we announce our engagement?”

  Mrs. Bradford reaches into her oversized purse and withdraws a large planner with Post-it notes sticking out from the pages, placing it on the table in front of her. “Wes has provided me with a copy of your schedule when you begin your PhD program this fall.”

  “And?” I straighten my back, a heat building on my face, my defenses kicking in.

  “The curriculum looks to be extensive. Do you intend to work, as well?” She arches a superior brow.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ve spoken to the woman in charge of events here and she can fit us in August twenty-fifth, since Wes has insisted the wedding be up north instead of back home in Georgia. Lord knows why. A southern wedding is much more charming. Everything southern is much more charming, if you ask me.”

  “Mother…” Wes’ voice is a warning. His hand finds my thigh and squeezes, trying to comfort me, but all I hear is August twenty-fifth…

  Five months.

  But that’s not the worst. It’s that date. It’s stupid, considering it’s been nearly seventeen years, but I’ll remember that date for the rest of my life — the date I gave Drew my first kiss. The date he gave me so much hope, only to rip it away the following day.

  “That’s around Molly’s due date.” I look at Wes, burying the memory, coming up with any reason why we can’t get married on that date. “She’s agreed to be my maid of honor. I can’t get married without her by my side.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to.” He faces his mother, an air of confidence about him. “There must be another date to choose from, something more convenient for all involved. Even if we have to get married somewhere more private, less sought-after.”

  “Brooklyn begins her PhD program in September,” she shoots back. “I don’t see her finding time for all the fittings and pre-wedding requirements when she’s defending a thesis.” She shifts her cold eyes to mine. “Do you?”

  I can’t help but feel her presence here is just a way to persuade me not to marry her son. I wish I had considered his family when I said yes. I should have expected Mrs. Bradford to fly in and take control of everything. From the few times I’ve visited with them, I quickly deduced she’s all about appearances. And her baby boy getting married? She’ll want to turn it into the social event of the year, even if it doesn’t occur in the south. Would I have answered Wes any differently if I had stopped to consider his mother? Yesterday, I would have said no, that I’m marrying him, not her. But now, I’m a mess. I can’t answer anything with absolute certainty.

  “I’m sure I can find the time.” My voice lacks any conviction. I’ve already started stressing about how to balance my job and the requirements for my classes. Due to budget cuts and being short-staffed, I work over sixty hours a week. I have no idea how I’ll be able to find enough time in the day to give my cases the attention they need, prepare for my classes, and plan a wedding.

  “You know you won’t have to work once you marry into this family, don’t you? Perhaps you should reconsider your plans for the fall semester. Or your current employment.” Mrs. Bradford pinches her lips. “Or both. That would solve the problem of rushing to get this wedding taken care of before you return to class.”

  “I love what I do.” My response is pointed and sharp, particularly after Drew’s snide comment yesterday that I’m only marrying Wes because of his money. If I quit my job and pull out of next semester, he’ll think that’s the case. “I don’t care that it pays less in a year than what your family probably makes in a day. I didn’t agree to marry your son because he’s well-off. Hell, when he asked me to marry him, I was wearing a dress I got off a clearance rack at a discount clothing store.”

  “And you looked stunning,” Wes chimes in, leaning toward me, his breath on my neck warming my skin.

  I steal a glance at him, my heart expanding at how much this man has supported me since the beginning of our relationship. “I’d rather have a fulfilling career that allows me to support myself. Wes understands this.”

  “Yes, but what about children?”

  “Dear,” Mr. Bradford interrupts. He gives me a comforting smile before looking at his wife. “It’s admirable Miss Tanner plans to continue her education to better herself. They’re both young. It’s common for couples to have children later these days.” He returns his gaze to mine, his eyes practically identical to his son’s. For being in his early seventies, he’s a rather handsome man — a full head of gray hair, brilliant smile, and kind eyes. If Wes ages half as well as his father, I should count myself as lucky. But looks aren’t everything. “When the time is right, they’ll have kids.”

  Seemingly nervous about the direction the conversation has taken, Wes attempts to steer us back on topic. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement. Perhaps something before the start of the fall semester but not so close to Molly’s due date?”

  I fling my eyes to his. “Like, earlier this summer?”

  He shrugs, trying to play peacemaker between his mother and me. I have a feeling he’ll spend the rest of his life doing that very thing.

  “That’s not an adequate solution,” Mrs. Bradford says, much to my surprise, which is short-lived when she speaks again, revealing her reasons. “What about the pictures, and Molly’s…condition?”

  “Condition?” I repeat, unsure I heard correctly. “You mean the fact that she’s pregnant and will be bringing a beautiful life into this world?”

  “I don’t have a problem with it,” she interjects. “I’ve been pregnant, too. Twice.”

  I have to stop myself from returning a sarcastic remark along the lines that she should get a medal.

  “But think of your wedding photos.”

  “What about the wedding photos?” My voice rises in pitch, an uncharacteristic move for me. I can feel dozens of pairs of eyes fling toward our table, the low murmur of the dining room evaporating. I typically never allow my anger or frustration to show. After this morning, I’m not myself. Everything feels like it’s ready to implode, like I’m on an out-of-control freight train barreling toward a cliff.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I return my eyes to Mrs. Bradford. She’s as calm and collected as always. H
er dark hair is cut to above her shoulders, not a single strand out of place. She wears a respectful amount of makeup, just enough to give her a feminine flair. Her light pink sheath dress is perfectly tailored to her slender body. As the wife of a man who is worth millions, she looks and acts the part, more so than her husband.

  “Molly’s my best friend. Regardless of her ‘condition’,” I state, using air quotes, “I’ll cherish those photos and will be able to show my nephew the day he went to his first wedding.”

  “Mother…” Wes finally speaks up, noticing my composure waning. “It seems the only one who cares about the photos is you. Let’s move on.”

  With a sigh, she returns her eyes to her planner. “This doesn’t leave us with much of an option. I wish you’d consider getting married at the family home down south. Our estate is large enough to cater to several hundred people, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about it being too close to Molly’s due date.”

  “We could wait.” I turn to peer at Wes. “Live together a while first. Get married after I finish my program.”

  “That’s in three years.” His brows wrinkle as he stares at me. “I’ll be thirty-seven.”

  “Noah, Molly’s fiancé, is forty, yet they put their wedding on hold when she got pregnant. In the long run, does it matter whether you get married? The important thing is that you’re with the person you love and cherish. The wedding is more for everyone else. Don’t you agree?”

  Wes lowers his voice, his face long. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “Of course not.” I avert my eyes, not wanting him to see I’ve been having second thoughts all morning. I promised myself I’d give Wes the chance I never have over the past eight months. I need to show him I’m serious about us. Straightening my spine, I address Mrs. Bradford. “What other dates are available here?”