Credence

by Penelope Douglas

  Hours later, Noah and I work away in the shop, our empty dinner bowls of Jake’s chili sitting on the cement floor. The wind howls outside the bay door, but the wood-burning stove crackles in the background, and I don’t even need a coat out here.

  Although, I’m wearing two pairs of cozy socks inside my slipper clogs as I putter around in my jeans and Noah’s flannel.

  Pushing up my sleeves, I dip the rag in the turpentine and bring it up, slopping it across the top of the chest and scrubbing off the remnants of the finish.

  “Doing okay?” Noah asks.

  I look up, seeing him digging in a coffee can, the nuts and bolts inside jingling.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the sudden interest in furniture rehab?”

  I laugh under my breath, sloshing the rag into the can again. “Maybe it’s an excuse to be where you guys are,” I tease. “All of us working together.”

  His white teeth peek out as his smile spreads.

  “Or maybe I just don’t want to be left alone inside with your brother’s wrath,” I mumble.

  I’d had to wash my hair after the oatmeal this morning. Kaleb helped with the bikes sometimes, but I caught on very early that Jake didn’t make the same demands of him that he did with Noah. Probably because he couldn’t push Kaleb around and didn’t want to risk pushing him too far.

  Sometimes Kaleb helped here in the shop. And sometimes he took care of the animals, chopped wood, repaired various equipment around the property, hunted, played with the dogs, or shut himself up in his room. He didn’t stick to only things he wanted to do, but it usually had to be things where he could be left alone. I knew that much.

  I continue, my two low pigtails bobbing against my chest as I rub the wood down to its natural color.

  Maybe it’s an excuse to be where you guys are.

  I might not have been joking about that. College brochures and course catalogs sit on the kitchen table right now, because as soon as I sat down earlier with my laptop to try to go online to fill out applications, I suddenly needed air. Every university takes me away from here.

  “It’s not personal, you know?” Noah says.

  I look up at him.

  “Kaleb,” he clarifies.

  I drop my eyes, focusing back on my work. I find that hard to believe. Does he spit in most people’s hair? Noah doesn’t know everything.

  Tossing the cloth back in the can, I walk to the basin and wash my hands. Noah crouches down to lie on his back, sliding under the bike again.

  “Don’t you want to know what happened to him?” he asks.

  “If he wants to tell me.”

  I actually am interested, but my pride won’t allow me to show it.

  I whip my hands, flinging the excess water before turning off the faucet.

  “He’s like our father.” Noah twists a wrench, looking up at his work. “They don’t trust women. Until you, anyway.”

  Trust me how? And wanna bet it was one woman who ruined it for all of us? How original. And not at all silly.

  Noah tosses his tool, and I see the black all over his fingers. “Hand me that wrench with the yellow tape on it, would you?”

  I head over to his worktable and grab the long silver tool with a black handle and yellow tape. Walking over to him, I drop down and slide under the bike with him.

  “And you?” I ask, handing him the wrench. “Do you trust me?”

  He uses the tool, tightening or loosening something, not making eye contact. I’m still not sure what that means, though. Trust me to have their backs? Not hurt them? Be faithful? Never abandon them?

  He’s silent for a few more moments, and the seconds start to stretch as the dread inside me churns.

  “I heard you last night,” he says in almost a whisper.

  Heard me…

  His tight lips purse as he tightens the bolt. “Daddy didn’t love you, so you let mine fuck you so he will.”

  I stare hard at him as he works, and even though his anger rocks me, because this is Noah and Noah is always my friend, his words don’t necessarily hurt. He needs to say something.

  He goes on. “Maybe you’ve done without for so long, you’re confused that sex means love.”

  He hands me the wrench, and I take it.

  “Maybe you’ll do anything to make sure he never forgets you exist,” he nearly whispers. “Even if it means spreading your pretty legs.”

  The jaw of his smooth, tanned face flexes, and he still won’t meet my eyes, but even though his sharp words try to cut, I’m not mad.

  He frowns, and I can tell the wheels are turning in his head.

  “Or maybe…” he says. “Maybe you’re like me, and you’ll do anything to feel good.” He finally turns his eyes to look at me. “Even if it means never remembering their last names.”

  I hold his gaze, both of us lying on our backs and Jake and Kaleb somewhere in the house.

  The flecks of green in his blue eyes darken, and I’m almost at ease until I see his stare harden on me.

  “I wanted to be in there with you,” he whispers.

  The dark space under the bike hides us from the door, and I don’t run away, because I’m not scared of Noah.

  And I am scared of him. I like that he talks to me.

  But sometimes I’m afraid of it, too.

  “They don’t talk to me, either,” he murmurs. “I was going to make love to you, you know?”

  My gaze falters. He says it like he’s never done it before.

  “I was going to make love to you,” he repeats.

  And I finally get it.

  Not screw. Not fuck.

  He was going to make it matter.

  His chest rises and falls, and even though I know I have a warm bed inside filled with a man who holds me so tight and will never not care for me, I…

  I want to see Noah.

  I want to hear him.

  “Talk to me,” he says.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  He hesitates, his baseball cap sitting backward on his head as I watch his lips softly start to move.

  “Did you like watching me on the couch the other night?” he asks in a low voice.

  I search his eyes, fear holding me back but desire keeping me planted.

  “How far would we have gone if he hadn’t come in?” he presses.

  I breathe in and out, holding his eyes, and all of a sudden we’re back on the couch. The space is small, the air is thick, something is happening, and we don’t know what or if we should, but we know we don’t want to stop yet.

  He reaches down, but I don’t look to see what he’s doing. Instead, I hear his belt buckle jingle, and his zipper open. His eyes search mine, probably wondering if I’m going to flee. Or waiting for me to flee.

  But I don’t. Not as he reaches inside his jeans and not as I watch him stroke himself out of the corner of my eye.

  “How far?” he urges.

  How far was I going to let him and Kaleb go that night? Would I have let them take turns? Or would we have gone to a bed and would I have let them have me at the same time? We’ll never know, but I do know one thing.

  “I wasn’t going to stop,” I tell him. I turn on my side, tucking my hands under my cheek as I look over at him. “I just wanted to let go and have the moment. Even if you were using me to feel good, because I wanted to feel good, too.”

  He nods slowly. “Sucks, doesn’t it?” A beautiful smile plays across his lips. “Craving that fucking escape so badly, because someone else left you empty?”

  I move in, placing my hand on his chest as my nose brushes his cheek. “Nothing about you is empty,” I whisper. “I can feel your heart.”

  It beats against my hand, and I close my eyes, feeling his warm body move and thinking about what he would feel like. How he would’ve felt that night we were interrupted.

  It wasn’t just an escape, Noah. It wasn’t. It was a connection.

  A connection I feel with him probably stronger than anyo
ne here. No one loved him enough. Jake’s respect has been too hard to earn, and Kaleb doesn’t talk to him. Like me, Noah doesn’t have a place he belongs. He gets everything I’m feeling, he sees what I see, and he knows what I walk around with, because even though he’s not alone, he’s lonely. He didn’t have anyone to talk to here, and just like my parents’ house wasn’t a home, neither is the peak for him. He doesn’t feel good here.

  Until maybe now.

  He quickens his pace, and I open my eyes, looking down at his hand, moving inside his jeans. My clit throbs despite myself, and the warmth between my legs aches.

  “Noah…” I breathe out, begging him. “Go slower. I like watching you. I like it slow.”

  He turns his face toward me, our lips brushing each other. “Tiernan…”

  I lick my lips. “Take your pants down more.”

  He bends his knees up and pushes his jeans and boxers down.

  He pulls out his cock, thick and hard, and I watch him rub his thumb over the wet tip and continue stroking it. I know he’s watching me as I watch him, but I don’t care.

  Someone—maybe me—straddles him, and I see it in my head. He makes love to her from the bottom, pumping his hips up into her.

  Slowly, I unbutton his shirt with one hand. I spread the shirt open, his naked skin from his neck down to his groin waiting for me. My fingers hum with desire. I want to touch him.

  But I don’t.

  “Slower,” I tell him. I don’t want him to come yet.

  “Open your shirt.”

  I meet his eyes.

  “He won’t see,” Noah murmurs. “Open your shirt for me.”

  I falter, the pulse in my neck throbbing. I want to.

  I…

  “He won’t find out,” Noah says, tossing a look behind me toward the door to the kitchen.

  What would happen if he did? At any second that door could open.

  “Open,” Noah growls under his breath. “Your fucking shirt, princess.”

  I reach up, holding his eyes as he jerks himself and unbutton his shirt that I wear. Underneath, I sport a tight, tank top, and he doesn’t even ask. He bares his teeth, yanking it up over my breasts. His lungs empty as he stares at my body, and I lie on my back again, letting him drink me in.

  My nipples harden, sharpening to points in the chilly air. “Noah…”

  He licks the palm of his hand, dragging his tongue over it, and dipping back down to jerk himself harder, his eyes never leaving my body.

  He fists his hard cock, cum dripping from its tip. He inches in to touch me, and I shake my head.

  No.

  He stops, his angry eyes zoning in on me.

  “No one says no to me,” he whispers.

  I smile a little.

  “I want my mouth all over your body,” he says, staring at my breasts. “Let me taste them.”

  I shake my head again, but my skin tingles with the idea. His mouth hungrily sucking on me… God.

  He makes me feel powerful. With Noah, I’m not embarrassed to demand or refuse. He dangles on my line and not the other way around.

  “Faster.” I push my tits up for him. “Do it faster.”

  He breathes through his teeth, stroking himself harder and faster, and I watch his mouth open and close as he longs for my breasts.

  I slip my hand down my jeans and inside my panties.

  He groans, watching me finger myself. “Take ’em down.”

  I shake my head, swirling my wet clit.

  He growls again. “Take your panties down and show me something wet.”

  “Noah, no.”

  I can’t. I’ll lose control. This is what I love with Noah, and what I want to keep. I can love him but stay level.

  He pants. “I want your panties balled up on my bedroom floor so bad, but I’ll fuck you right here if I have to, Tiernan.”

  I eye the couch in the corner of the shop, a moment of surrender almost taking me over.

  “Let me in your bed tonight,” he asks. “He won’t find out.”

  I open my mouth to say something—to refuse—but I can’t force the words. I don’t want to deny him. I want him to be happy.

  “He won’t find out,” he whispers again. “He’ll never know, Tiernan. Drop the pack. Just let go.”

  Everything washes over me at once, and I almost say “yes.”

  Drop the pack.

  Like that day in the ocean and everything I was carrying that would drag me down and drown me. Just let go.

  I almost do.

  Instead, I dive in, holding his face and kissing his temple as he strokes himself. “I’m sorry.”

  And I slide out from under the bike and climb to my feet, running toward the kitchen door as I pull down my tank top and fix the flannel.

  “Tiernan,” he groans behind me, sounding disappointed, but I don’t stop.

  Running into the house, I slam the shop door and bolt up the stairs, heading to my bedroom.

  What the hell is the matter with me? Noah is the only one I’m completely fearless around. Why would I complicate that?

  I wanted him. I wanted to climb on top of him and love him and hold him and make sure he wasn’t alone.

  I swing my door open and pull off the flannel, kicking off my shoes and socks, because I’m sweating.

  These fucking men. I squeeze my eyes shut, still aching between my thighs. My clothes itch, and my heart pounds.

  “Tiernan.”

  I blink, hearing my name. I turn my head, looking out my door, across the hall, and seeing Jake standing in his room wearing a towel. He uses another to dry the back of his hair as steam billows out of the bathroom and into his room.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I stare at his bare chest and muscular calves, the towel tucked just above his groin, and the pulse in my clit throbs harder.

  I shake my head.

  Slowly, I unfasten my jeans and push them down my legs, his eyes on me as I pull my tank top over my head.

  I see his breathing turn heavy as his eyes fall down my body, and I don’t hesitate another moment. I slip my panties down my legs, bearing my pussy, and he’s off. Dropping the towel in his hand, he stalks across the hall and into my room, slamming my door closed before he grabs me. I have a moment to inhale before he lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapping around his body, and his hand smacks my ass.

  I whimper but smile as he pins me up against my wall, fisting my breast as he thrusts inside of me and pumps me hard and fast, his grunts and growls hot on my neck.

  I moan, everything hot and alive under my skin. I’ve loved in Jake the same things I’ve loved not seeing in Noah, but… I may have had it wrong.

  Jake’s not in control, either.

  Tiernan

  I tear off the sheet and crumple it up in my fist, tossing it onto the table. I hate sketching. I’ve been at this for two hours and every design comes out looking ten times worse than whatever’s in my head. I can’t draw.

  I pick up a freshly sharpened pencil and start again, remembering the lines and curves of the chest out in the shop as “Blue Blood” by LAUREL plays on my phone on the table. Using light strokes, I fill in the feathers and filigree, not really worried about the bones of the design, just the colors. Every scheme I use seems childish, but I want to have an idea of what to do before I use any paint on it.

  I lay my head down on my arm, picking up the gold pencil and brushing the highest points of the feathers as the snow falls out the window. I like this time of day. The sun just before it rises, the house is quiet, except for my soft music, and everything is asleep. My mug of coffee sits close, steam rising into the air, and I’m awake before anyone else but rested. Not like at night where I’m crashing into my pillow at ten p.m. because I’m exhausted.

  My fingers work, peeking out of my long sweater, but a shadow falls over the paper as someone stops behind me. I pause.

  But only for a moment.

  I take a breath and continue, glossing up the trim of the c
hest as Kaleb walks to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup. I knew it was him, because Jake and Noah would’ve said ‘good morning’.

  He stands at the counter, and even though I’m tempted to look up to see if he’s watching me, I don’t. I switch out pencils, my hand hovering over the choices before I finally pick up the violet and light blue ones. Keeping my head nestled on my arm, I shade the left tip of the chest, working diagonally before switching to the blue to continue the design.

  He comes over, standing behind me again.

  What, Kaleb?

  I dig in my brows, my body tense and bracing myself for whatever mean shit he’ll do now, but after a moment, I decide to ignore him.

  I continue shading in some blue.

  Unfortunately, the same thing happens, and I pause. I want the colors to blend, but the change from lavender to blue is too abrupt. I scribble harder, changing directions, trying to make the colors melt into each other, but he’s standing behind me, and I can’t concentrate. I lift my head, struggling to make it work as I switch from shading in lines to shading in circles.

  Still, though…the transition is too sharp. I reach up to tear the sheet off and throw it away.

  But his hand comes down on top of mine, stopping me. I’m about to throw him off, but he gently pulls the pencil out of my hand, sets his coffee down, and plants his other hand on the table, leaning over me. I watch as he holds the pencil between his fingers, pinching it all the way down at the tip, and shades in a circular motion along my line and then uses his thumb to rub the colors together, blending it just how I wanted.

  He continues, the wind howling outside as a curtain of snow falls beyond the windows, and my shoulders relax a little as he picks up the violet again, bringing streams and drops into the blue, almost like a…

  Like a watercolor. I want to smile. It’s exactly what I was seeing in my head.

  I pick up the green pencil and start on the final section, shading in circles like he does. He follows, blending in his blue with my sea green, and our hands brush as we rub the colors with our fingers.

  Does he draw a lot? I move my head, wanting to look up at him, but I catch myself in time.

  I finish the legs and add some fancy handles to the drawers, only faltering for a moment when I see him uncrumple some of my previous drawings. He lays one down on the table, smoothing it out and hands it to me.