by Mj Fields
“Hurry,” I say as I pull my shirt up, but he takes my hand and holds it against the wall.
“Hurry,” I plead as he cups my cheek, gently gliding his thumb up and down my jawline.
“Hurry,” I moan as he moves his kisses down my neck to my shoulder.
“Hurry,” I say when he gently kisses the swell of my breast.
“Hurry!” I beg, needing more.
“Tell me you’ve missed me, Ava. That’s always next,” he says as he presses his erection against my waist.
I can’t tell him that.
“Tell me, Ava.” He lowers himself until he’s brushing his cock against my begging pussy.
I can’t.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he continues. “So fucking much. Tell me, Ava.” He pulls his lips away and looks down at me. “Tell me.”
Still, I say nothing.
“Until you tell me you missed me, we do the friend thing. Then, you want my dick, you get it, because you want me like I want you.”
“Luke...”
“No.” He turns to walk away then stops. “I’m in no fucking hurry, not anymore.”
When he walks out of the room, I lean back, panting. I wanted him, or...at least to feel...something, and he walked away.
He’s in no hurry?
I hear a door slam.
He’s pissed? He has no right to be pissed.
I push myself off the wall and start the shower. Standing under the water, my emotions are scattered everywhere, and he—
I stop myself from continuing that line of thought.
It wasn’t him. It was you, Ava, I silently scold myself. You threw yourself at him to escape the pain.
No more fairy tales, dammit. None. Life isn’t a fucking fairy tale. It’s not. It’s hard, it hurts, and the hurt doesn’t stop.
I close my eyes and tip my head back, allowing the water to pour down on my face. I can’t think straight, and I can’t not think. I tried to do something about that. I wanted to feel, but he shot me down.
Thomas, I’m so sorry. I am so sorry.
I want to promise him it won’t happen again, but I don’t know if it will be in vain. I know I’m confused, scared of what tomorrow holds because he is here, and because I am scared.
Luke never comes out of his room, and I never go to him. I kiss my babies then climb into the bed. I pull the covers tight around me and try to keep my eyes open, because every time I close them, I see him. I see him, and it hurts.
“I love you, Thomas...forever.”
That’s not a fairy tale. It’s the cold hard truth.
I see him smiling at me. He looks at me like I am the only person on the planet. He makes me feel like it’s true.
Smiling at me, he is beautiful, and I need him. He smiles at me, dammit, like everything is going to be okay. I know he will make it so. He will.
I see him, and he is right there. He is right there, but I can’t get to him. He won’t stop smiling, and I hear the song. I hear the song about the sun, and shaking, and luck changing. I want that. I want it to change.
“I want you back,” I plead with him.
He’s still smiling while I scream at him. My scream is pain. It’s hurt, need, loss. It’s life. It’s metal, and sidewalks, and poles. It’s love, and life, and death. It’s...suffocating.
He’s right there. Right there, smiling at me. He loves me. He does. And I’m not mad at him, and he’s not mad at me. I know our love will make it all right. I know it.
He’s smiling at me, and I can’t move. I can’t go to him, and he won’t come to me. He’s just...smiling at me.
I yell, telling him, “When you love someone, you don’t stop! When you love someone, they are forever a part of you! When you love someone, their pain is yours. Their hopes, their dreams, their life, their death—everything is yours! Please, please come to me...”
I try to move, but I can’t.
I want him to know nothing will make me turn away from him, and that it’s okay to come back, so I tell him, “Your dream, T. Your dream was to never be hungry, and to have love. And then it was to have a family. We have it all. Just come back, T. Just come back!”
But he doesn’t. And they won’t let me go to him. They are taking me away, and I am crying, screaming, kicking, and begging, but he just stays there, smiling at me.
“Shh...I know. Shh...It will be okay, I swear it. I swear it will be okay. I know it hurts, Ava, but it will be okay. I promise.”
I can’t fight him. He’s too strong. Too strong, and he won’t let go. He won’t, and I just want T.
It’s quiet, and I’m hot. I pull the covers off my feet, and up over my eyes. The babies are asleep, and I don’t want to get up yet. Just twenty more minutes.
I roll to my side and feel the heat of the sun beating down on me. I must have forgotten to draw the room-darkening curtains. And even though I don’t want to get up, I know if I don’t draw those curtains, the sun will wake them prematurely. I don’t want to get up, either, but I must.
I open my eyes and see that I am not in my babies’ room. I’m in T and my room.
I quickly roll over, and I am almost on top of...Luke?
He slowly opens his eyes and looks at me. I feel my eyes widen as he closes his.
He sighs then whispers, “You okay?”
“Why am I—”
“Bad dream,” he answers, slowly opening his eyes again. “You okay?”
I roll away from him, putting distance between us. “I’m fine.”
He gives a silent huff. “Good.”
Something vibrates, and he grumbles, “Shit.” He sits up and grabs his phone, looking at the screen before answering, “Hi, Mom,” as he lies back down.
Jade. He’s talking to Jade.
I attempt to flee, but he grabs my wrist and mouths, “Stay.”
I mouth back, “No!”
He smirks and nods his head, not releasing my wrist.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
He hits speaker and sets the phone on the bed before rolling onto his side and looking at me as Jade talks.
“You sure? Luke, you should be home; you’re healing.”
“Thing about healing, Mom, is it doesn’t matter where you are when you’re doing it, just as long as you’re doing the work.”
“That’s great, Luke, but the thing about being a parent is, when your child is healing, you want to help in the process.”
I suck my cheeks in, trying not to laugh. Jade never gets snippy with her golden boy.
He cocks his eyebrow at me while telling her, “Mom, I’m good. Doing the work. Actually, I’ve been lifting weights at the oddest hours.”
He’s talking about me, the ass.
“I think I’m probably the strongest I’ve ever been.”
“Strong enough to get in your truck and make it home so I can see that for myself?”
He sighs.
“Luke Lane...” Her voice cracks, and we both look shocked. “For nearly eight years, I have forced my focus on how proud I am of you, the man, and that I know”—she clears her throat—“I know Tommy is up there, watching over you, but no more. No more. You need to be home; do you understand me? I’m still your mother; you’re still my little boy.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t mom me. Do you know how many hours, days, weeks I have been on a damn computer, or in front of the TV, watching everything going on in this world? And how many hours I have spent on my knees—”
“Something you and I need to discuss, son,” Ryan begins.
“Ryan, shut up,” Jade literally growls at him. “Luke, I’m not asking you; I’m telling you, dammit.”
“I’ll be there when I can. I promise, Mom.” The way he says it is sweet, childlike.
“If you are not here for Christmas, your sister will be devastated.”
“Lauren is a senior in high school; she damn sure knows I’m not Santa Claus by now.”
Ryan laughs. “Pretty sure she still thinks you ar
e.”
“It doesn’t matter, Luke. It’s your fault she thinks you are, so you better make damn sure she still does,” Jade snaps.
I cover my mouth so I don’t laugh.
“Mom...”
“All those Christmas Eves you snuck out of the house, and then back in; what did you think she would think?”
Luke raises both eyebrows at me. “Only snuck in for the past seven years. The others, that’s when I was coming home.”
“Yeah, well, care to discuss where you were?” she asks.
He laughs. “Love to.”
I draw my finger across my throat, telling him I will slit his if he says a word, and he winks.
“Well, Lauren and Logan have a theory,” Jade taunts.
He grabs for his phone, but I smack his hand away. No way is he going to silence her. I want to know.
“I’ll see what I can do about Christmas,” he tells her while glaring at me. It makes me smile, until I realize that means he is going to push me to go home.
Like he’s reading my mind, he gives me a slow wink.
“Might have to be out of town for a bit longer. Again, I’ll see what I can do about Christmas.”
“I’ll pull a Lucas,” Jade warns, and Ryan laughs as we both look at each other.
“A what?” Luke asks, almost chuckling.
“Lucas threatened Ava that he would be there every day until Christmas if she won’t let him come see her, and she finally caved. He’s going to see her this coming weekend. So don’t you dare think I’m incapable of doing that.”
His eyes narrow a bit, no doubt wondering why I haven’t told him. Honestly, I forgot.
“Love you, Mom. We’ll chat later.” He hangs up.
Immediately, I tell him, “I forgot.”
He nods then rolls onto his back, linking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.
The anti-Thomas, I think as I look at him.
Two totally different men.
Luke’s skin is always tan; Thomas was pale. Both have/had blue eyes, but Thomas’s were darker and softer, while Luke’s are a crazy kaleidoscope of light blues—I swear they glow in the dark. Thomas had light hair, whereas Luke’s is black. Thomas’s features were softer; Luke’s jaw is square and his lips are plump. Thomas had ink, beautiful ink, everywhere. Hell, he even had me inked on him. Luke only has a flag and eagle with his father’s name, date of birth and death on his chest. Thomas was toned, with long, lean muscles; Luke can be best described as a soldier. His shoulders, chest, arms, abs, obliques, thighs—everything—are all muscular. I look down Luke’s body that is covered in just a thin, white sheet and see his toes peeking out from under it. Even his toes seem muscular.
In bed, they were also different. Thomas took his time. He made love to me. Luke...Well, Luke fucked like it was his job.
Luke Lane and Thomas Hardy could not be any more opposite, from head to toe, and inside and out.
Chapter Seventeen
He will change. — F. Gray
Luke
I open my eyes to find Ava slowly looking down my body. It’s been a long fucking minute since I have been inside her, and her looking at me like that is making things...hard.
I close my eyes and think of Mom. Yes, my mom can make an erection run and hide for months.
Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, I think until I finally feel like everything is settled down. Then I open my eyes to see Ava looking at me as she chews her lip.
There are a million things that are beautiful about her, but her eyes and lips have always been my favorites. Both are sexy as hell and telling of her every thought. Right now, she’s thinking about how much she wants to fuck me.
“You’re only thinking that because it’s a game men and women have played for centuries.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, her face turning pink as she again begins to chew on her lip, which makes me need to think about my mom again, but fuck if I want to look away.
“Guy likes a girl; girl knows it. Guy wants to fuck the girl; girl plays hard to get. Guy treats the girl a little shitty; girl damn near begs him to fuck her. Guy gets laid.” I sit up. “Except the story is a little out of sequence if we’re talking about last night.”
“Because you played bitch?” she says with all the old Ava attitude I have ever seen.
I lean forward, grab the back of her neck, and pull her hard toward me. I am centimeters from her mouth as she takes a quick intake of breath.
“I’m never the bitch, Ava.” I quickly pop a loud kiss on her nose then push myself up and out of bed. “And I can guaran-damn-tee I am better than him in bed...if you’d not beg for me to hurry.”
Her mouth opens and shuts like a fish out of water as I make my way to the bathroom.
She busts in as I am brushing my teeth, scowling at me as she proceeds to brush hers. She simply glares at me, and I feel awfully damned impressed with myself.
When she finishes, she walks over to the shower and turns on the water. She walks in then throws her clothes over the stone wall.
Ava’s naked.
Ava is naked.
Kryptonite.
I grip the counter’s edge, but the pull...The fucking pull is epic. I’m being sucked into it. I am going to fuck Ava. I’m going to fuck her now.
But I have no fucking condoms.
Does it matter?
Then I hear him. Chance cries, and then I hear the water turn off. In seconds, Ava is flying out of the shower, wrapping herself up and heading toward the door with shampoo still in her hair.
I laugh at her. “Get your ass back in the shower.”
“But he—”
“I got ’em. You can let them cry for more than ten seconds.”
“No, I can’t,” she says, slipping by me.
I catch her elbow. “Finish your shower, Ava. I got this.”
She looks at me, cheeks pink, flushed, and I know it’s from the rush of getting out and getting to the kids, but...“Damn.”
“Am I getting them or are you?” She looks away, rocking back on her heels.
“Finish your shower.”
In the babies’ bedroom, I try to hold my breath, hoping it will make my nose stop working.
“Hope, what the hell is going on with you? You’re...sour.” Chance squawks at me, and I look at him. “Two minutes, little man, then I’ll change you.” I look back at Hope. “Sweetheart, you okay? You don’t smell okay.”
Here I am, trying not to throw up, and Hope is grinning at me, chewing on her blanket, while Chance is telling me some sort of story, when I feel eyes on me.
I glance over my shoulder, telling Ava, “It’s not funny. It’s not.”
She laughs, nodding her head. “It’s funny.”
“Jesus, Ava, we need to get your breastmilk tested. Is there something wrong with it?”
“No.” She continues to laugh as she picks up Chance. “Tell your daddy that...” She stops and turns toward me, looking completely shocked, stunned. Honestly, I am, too.
“Tell his daddy, what?” My voice catches like a pubescent boy.
“That he likes Mom’s milk.”
“Don’t blame him,” I grumble under my breath as I wrap Hope in a fresh diaper. “So much better,” I tell the little girl as I lift her up. “We’re gonna have to call a fumigator. Maybe a whole team of them.” I grab the diaper responsible and look at Ava.
“No need for a fumigator; we have a diaper genie.” She points at the pail next to the changing table, and I dispose of the damn thing as quickly as possible.
“All right, little man, you’re next.”
I hand Hope to Ava as she hands me Chance, and he and I smile at each other.
“I’m your daddy, Chance,” I whisper to him. “I am.”
I sit in the rocker and reflect on the day. I would love to tell her that, as crazy as it was, as many shitty diapers of Hope’s we changed, as many times as we walked—well, she walked and I limped—in circles, handing Hope off to one anoth
er, it was one of the best days I have had in eight years, if not more.
I watch Ava as she looks at Hope nervously. I want to tell her not to worry, but I know she will.
Hope has a slight fever, and when Ava called the pediatrician, at home, and almost demanded a visit, she was told it happens with teething. The doctor told her that the sour smell coming out of Hope’s behind is also because of teething, and she told her that she would see them in a few days, but if she—meaning Ava—needed anything more, she should feel free to call.
Ava felt free to call when Hope’s temperature “spiked” from 99.3 to 100.4. Now, not only is poor Hope assaulted with a temporal thermometer every hour, but Chance is, too.
“How many teeth are they going to get?” I whisper, and she scowls at me.
I walk out after I lie Chance down to find Ava writing in a notebook.
I sit down on the opposite side of the couch and ask what she’s doing.
“Taking notes,” she answers without looking up.
“Notes on...?”
She peeks up at me suspiciously. “Just notes, Luke.”
I nod. She’s keeping it from me on purpose.
I reach over and snatch it from her, and she yells, “Hey!”
She tries to get it back, but I move it from hand to hand. Then she shocks me by pouncing on me to grab it. I hold it above my head and as far back as I can, and she ends up nearly straddling me, on her knees, leaning over me to get it. She’s laughing, and the sound of it is one of my favorites.
I have been here for a week, though some of it she didn’t know I was here. A week, and she seems so much fucking better already.
“Thank you,” I whisper toward Heaven, knowing I towed hell here with me, and that there is no other explanation for this right here—her laughing—than it being sent from above.
She finally gets the notebook out of my hand, and I grab her hips, holding her in place.
“What’s in the book, blue eyes?”
She bops me on the head with it and asks, “Why do you call me blue eyes when yours are bluer?”
I shake my head. She won’t get that answer, not for a long damn time.
