Redemption Lane

by Rachel Blaufeld

  He took a breath, still staring at the carpet. I brought my hand to his wild hair and realized it must be some type of tribute to his dad. Even with his fancy pressed suits and his perfectly tailored designer jeans, his hair was an ever-present memorial to his hippie father.

  With my hand sifting through his locks, he went on.

  “They never came home that day. The tire hit some leaves and rolled off when they braked . . . at least, that’s what the Youngstown police believed. But I always knew the truth. Jake had loosened the bolts and hadn’t been strong enough to tighten them back up enough the day before. Our sitter wasn’t paying attention and I was busy playing Legos, but I was watching Jake in the driveway through the window. I was jealous of him, of his free spirit, of how he did whatever he wanted to do.”

  His eyes met mine, the anguish in them painful to see. “You see, it’s my fault too because I watched and didn’t do anything. I saw our nanny go out in the driveway and grab Jake from under the car and bring him back to the house to clean up, but she never checked to see what he’d done. And I didn’t say anything.”

  He took a deep shuddering breath before adding, “By the next afternoon, it was too late.”

  I watched Lane’s back heave with slow, ragged breaths and remained quiet, suspecting he wasn’t done. My heart burned with searing pain for the broken man in front of me.

  “At nine years old, after we were sent to our grandparents in Pittsburgh, Jake and I made a secret pact in the dark hours of the night . . . after what our sitter told us right before we left. She said they could lock Jake up for murder. That was the night the nightmares began, and they lasted until I moved to Florida. Everyone thought they were just because my parents died, so it was easy to go with that excuse. Those dreams tortured me with guilt and obsession over Jake. I was so mad at him for what he did, but also scared to fucking death that I would lose him. I’d made a deal with the devil to never let anyone take him from me, so for years I covered up for all his stupid shit and went along with all of his dumb games.”

  “Lane, look at me,” I said and waited.

  He raised his eyes to meet mine, anguish turning them into two deep-water pools.

  “Lane, you were a kid,” I said gently. “You weren’t responsible, and neither was Jake. He was a kid too. You didn’t deserve to let this haunt you as long as it has—”

  He didn’t let me finish. “It’s why I was at yoga that night, the night you collapsed. I was covering for Jake. He was sleeping with the instructor and wanted me to pretend I was him. And like always, I never said no to him. Fuck, it was such a nightmare. You had fallen right on top of me . . . and your friend, she freaked out and ran off. I guess she was lit up on something too. At first, I was confused why no one was coming to help, and then I remembered I was supposed to be Jake. So I pretended to whip into action.”

  I stopped him, running my hand along his jaw, his beard bristling along my fingers. “My falling, nearly OD’ing, that wasn’t your fault either, Lane.”

  He shook his head. “Well, it was my fault you were all alone in the ambulance. I was so mad at Jake for putting me in a bad place again that when he showed up, I decided it was more important to reveal his little ruse. I wanted to check on you or visit you, something, but I never did.”

  Glancing up at me, he said, “Actually, that was when the offer to move to Florida came and I took it. It was a new start for me. No more Jake, no more fall weather with winter on its heels, no more emotional triggers. I’d seen a therapist a little when I first moved south and then declared myself fine. I was in the warmth, away from the cold weather that only reminded me of the worst time of my life. Then I met you and the triggers started again, not just old ones, but a new one. Love.”

  He took another long, deep breath and said, “I couldn’t give love if I didn’t feel worthy of love.”

  Was that what this was about? He wasn’t saying good-bye?

  Taking my hand in his, he threaded his fingers through mine before he snared my gaze. “I love you, Bess.”

  His eyes were so blue in that moment, clear skies for miles, and I wanted to fly away in them. Stunned at his admission, I could only stare at him, wondering once again if I were hallucinating. This couldn’t be happening, not to me. How could I deserve this?

  “To be honest,” he said, “I’ve thought about you every day since that yoga class. You seemed so beautiful on the outside, but I could tell you were broken on the inside, and there was such a push-pull going on inside me about whether to help you or not. I thought you were beyond repair, but that turned out to be me. You turned out to be the strong one. The one who made me want to fix myself after always fixing everything for Jake.”

  I frowned at him, frustrated at how hard he was being on himself. “Lane, you were not broken beyond repair. You need to forgive yourself. That’s the hardest step for anyone. Believe me, I know.”

  “Can you forgive me?” he asked, laying his head in my lap.

  “There was never anything to forgive.” I smoothed my hand over his head, comforting him like I did in his foyer—like a heartbroken little boy.

  “But I sent you away,” he mumbled. “I used our connection to forget all of this shit, our intimacy, when you showed up in Florida.” He stared up at me in pain, his eyes searching for forgiveness.

  With a sigh, I said, “I know. I knew you had something much deeper going on than the secret about knowing me and about the drugs, and as much as that hurt me, you deceiving me, I knew there had to be more. And I wanted to be there for you. Because I love you. I have since you kissed me in the hallway on Christmas. You stole my heart that night. And even though I saw you were all mixed up, I couldn’t make myself leave you alone.”

  Relief flooded me. The look I’d seen before deep in his eyes, the hazy fog of indecision and regret, it wasn’t just about deserting me—it was something much worse. A horrific event, a burden that no child should have, but Lane had carried it since he was nine years old. To make it worse, Lane had taken on his brother’s guilt too, although I suspected Jake felt the weight of his own participation in different ways. That haunted look was evident in his blue eyes too.

  “Well,” he said, “I took care of that for us. I sent you away, as if I could forget you. That night after you left, I decided to hunt down absolution . . . for you.”

  Brushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead, I confessed, “I knew you were wrestling something bigger.”

  Wrapping his arms around my knees, he squeezed. “I couldn’t forget you. The need to remember you was stronger than my need to keep this bottled up inside any longer.”

  I lifted his chin with my fingers, forcing him to look up at me again. “I knew you would slay your inner dragons. I didn’t know how, but I knew you would. I just didn’t know if you would come back to me. I’m not whole myself, Lane. My life, it’s boring and mundane . . . and simple. I’m not a party girl anymore. I can’t ever be. Watching movies with my dog is a big night on the town for me.”

  He kissed the inside of my wrist. “I love that—all of that—about you, Bess.”

  I half smiled as I teased, “But your playboy image will be tarnished.”

  I had to joke about something—this conversation was getting too intense. And Lane’s pain over his parents still swirling in the air was making me weak with need. I wanted to stick my hand deep down inside the man and pull out his suffering, then stuff it inside my own soul.

  He straightened, remaining on his knees, but bent forward and kissed me. It was a gentle kiss, full of promise. It was a promise I wasn’t sure he should make, one I didn’t know I could fulfill.

  “I’m not a playboy, Bess. That was my disguise. Women, partying, pretending to be naughty . . . those were my drugs. But with you, I can be me. Plain, boring, business executive me. And now I can be whole because you know the truth. Can you live with what I allowed Jake to do? What I’ve covered up all these years?”

  “Lane, you were a kid. You have to
accept that. I don’t have to accept anything.”

  “I am. I’m trying.”

  “Can you accept me?” I asked, my voice trembling. “For my past wild behavior? And my not-so-wild life now?”

  “I love you, Bess. You have to know that, boring or not.”

  I leaned forward and kissed Lane, winding my hands through his hair.

  And then I stopped suddenly, pulled away and asked, “How’s Jake?”

  I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks. I loved the man in front of me, but I’d come to care for his brother. And now I realized how much they both kept bottled up inside.

  Lane gave me a wry look. “I hear you two are friends now. In fact, the little fuck used it against me, pushed all my hot buttons, made me jealous enough to get on a plane and come back here.”

  I laughed. “He’s sleeping with Camper, I think.”

  He shook his head. “Well, I hope she doesn’t get too attached, because Jake doesn’t do commitment.”

  “But how is he?”

  “He’s okay. How’s he been when you’ve seen him?”

  “It’s been a while, but he’s always his same cavalier self.”

  His tone impatient, he said, “Well, I think he’s going to be shedding some of that. He’s going to work with a therapist that my doctor connected him with.”

  Apparently Lane was done talking. He pushed me back onto the couch and slid on top of me, taking my mouth.

  When he whispered, “Bess, I love you,” against me, my whole body shuddered.

  It was cold and wet outside, but I was warm underneath Lane, his long body covering mine. His hands were everywhere, touching, bringing life to my skin and meaning to the blood pulsing through my veins.

  Taking my hand, he lifted it and slipped it inside his pocket without ever breaking the kiss. My fingers caught something sharp inside his jeans, and Lane broke free only to say, “Take it out.”

  With shaky hands, I pulled out the necklace. It shimmered and sparkled in the evening light, catching stray colors streaming in from the window.

  “I think this belongs on you,” Lane said, moving to attach it around my neck.

  It was the first time I’d worn it; I’d never gotten the chance to put it on before it had disappeared. The pendant was cold against my skin, and I reached up to stroke it as my eyes pricked with tears.

  “Don’t cry,” Lane said, and wiped a tear from my cheek that had dared spill over my lashes.

  Then with a twinkle in his eye, he took my hand again and brought it over to his other pocket. Something else awaited me in there.

  Pulling it out, I found a bracelet. It had two strands of plain white gold rope that came together into a knot, like you would see on a gift bag. Dangling from the two loose strands were jewel-encrusted charms: a yellow-stoned B and an onyx-lined L.

  “Lane, it’s too much.”

  He shook his head and moved back to kissing me.

  Brooks interrupted with a bark. Jealous, he nudged his head under Lane’s hand, begging for attention.

  “I’ll do you one better, Brooks,” Lane said, grabbing his small piece of luggage he’d dropped by the door and pulled out a huge dog bone. It was shaped like a skeleton for Halloween, and had an enormous black and orange bow tied around it.

  Unwrapping it, Lane tossed it in the corner for my dog, and then scooped me up and carried me back to my bedroom. After laying me down on the bed with my hair spread out around my face, Lane kicked off his boots.

  “Those are kind of silly,” I said.

  He gave me a mock pout. “Hey, I was rushing to see my girl in the country, and ran to get a pair of shit kickers.”

  I giggled. “They’re Prada, Lane. They’re the furthest thing ever from shit kickers.”

  “It doesn’t matter, they’re off now and I don’t plan on going back outside.”

  Once again done talking, he climbed up my body and slipped his hands under my shirt, lifting it up and over my head before flicking off my bra. He unfastened my jeans with his other hand, then began tugging them off as I lifted my hips to help.

  Traveling the full length of my body with kisses, Lane snagged my thong and pulled it off with one finger before settling his face between my legs. His warm breath teased me before his tongue swiped up my center, landing where I silently prayed he would. Then he slipped a finger inside me, his mouth sending vibrations straight through my clit, his beard tickling the inside of my thighs in all the right places.

  I was burning up, ready to become a fiery inferno of orgasm, when he slid a second finger inside me. And then it burst through me. Flames were licking all around my body, and the only way to douse them was for Lane to dip inside me. But I didn’t want to put them out yet. I liked the sensation I was feeling and wanted it to last.

  Lane moved back up beside me. He had trapped my arms above my head with one hand and was smoothing his palm up my side when I whispered, “Lane, I need something.”

  “What, darling Bess? What do you need?”

  “I need my hands,” I said, sucking in a breath.

  Immediately releasing my hands, he said, “Did I hurt you?” with a pained expression.

  “No, nothing like that.” Using his sweet confusion against him, I tipped his six-foot-two-inch frame over on the bed and worked my way down to his button fly.

  One button, two, three, four, and I was shimmying his pants over his hips. He lifted his ass so I could tug his jeans and boxer briefs at one time, springing to life what I wanted. I felt Lane kicking his pants off his ankles and then they fell to the floor, leaving a very gorgeous and naked man in front of me.

  I didn’t hesitate, just dipped my head and put my mouth where I wanted. Licking his full length, sucking on the tip, tasting Lane’s pre-cum, the fire continued to spread all the way through me. I was lit up from the very bottom of my toes to the top of my head. When I felt his hand on my head, not commanding, but suggesting a little more speed and pressure, I gave it willingly. Taking him deep in my mouth and sucking my way back up, I heard a raw moan come from the back of Lane’s throat.

  “Bess, I’m gonna come, and I don’t want to yet,” he gritted out, now sounding a bit more demanding.

  When I stopped for a moment and looked up, this time he took advantage of my confusion—flipping me off him and on my back so he could dive into my body. He was bare again. This time he didn’t notice, just started making slow, luxurious love to me. With long and calculated thrusts, Lane drew the burn out of me, leaving warmth in its path.

  “Lane, you’re not wearing anything,” I said softly.

  He paused and pulled halfway out. “Shit. Again,” he said, holding himself over me, hovering.

  “I’m on the pill, and I haven’t been with anyone since us.”

  He didn’t answer. His lips landed ferociously on mine, devouring me with a kiss. I wanted him to move again, but he didn’t.

  Needing more, I lifted my hips, urging him on.

  “Bess, wait. I’m kissing the fuck out of you right now.”

  “I can tell,” I mumbled between the press of our lips.

  He let go and stared me down while he was still hard and seated inside me, and I was going insane with wanting to feel him move. “You waited for me?”

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “Me too, Bess. There’s been no one else. I tried to, but couldn’t.”

  That didn’t even sting—well, maybe a little—but I knew all too well what it felt like to try to convince myself that someone else was the someone for me. And I did more than try a year ago with AJ.

  “I love you, Lane,” I said, the moment feeling right to return the sentiment.

  And with that, he started moving—slowly at first, tenderly kissing me before the urgency rose once again. Then he picked up his pace, his tip hitting me in just the right spot. His hands slid back up, taking mine with his and pinning them above my head. I was like that—completely submissive to the man on top of me, baring my whole soul after he’d poured his o
ut earlier—when my second orgasm ripped through me. It did nothing to extinguish the flames inside me . . . it only stoked the fire.

  We ended up kissing and making love and sometimes screwing for what felt like days.

  At least, until dawn when Brooks finally whimpered to go outside.

  Lane

  For the second time in a year, Bess had to call in for coverage at work because of me. I could tell she didn’t like doing it, but she also didn’t love the idea of leaving me either. Which I liked—a whole lot.

  I got up the morning after my apology and our sleepless night of reconnecting, tugged on my Prada boots—I know, ridiculous—and let Brooks out. Taking in the country air didn’t provoke the same panic it once had. I was breathing easier now that the truth was out, at least with Bess and Jake.

  Having it out with Jake had been my first step, coming clean over how gutted I’d been and hearing him take responsibility was the beginning. Admitting what happened in the past to Bess was another step, one that had me in knots the whole flight and car ride to her. But now that it was over, I didn’t feel the usual anxiety I had in the past over traveling back to the brisk fall weather.

  Whistling for Brooks, a new panic set in. I had to leave. I was pretty sure that Bess might have passed my business as a priority, but that didn’t mean I could let everything go to shit. I had meetings scheduled and an office to run. Pulling out my phone, I e-mailed my assistant and asked her to push my schedule by a week.

  I wanted to dump the whole damn thing and drop off the face of the earth with Bess, but somehow, I knew that wasn’t an option for either of us.

  Walking back into the small house, I smelled coffee brewing.