by Ariel Ellens
“Of course I do,” I say. “But I won’t ask. You’ll tell me. I trust it, Colt. I trust you.”
“I... you...”
“What?”
“I... you...,” he repeats.
“Aren’t you forgetting a word there?”
“I don’t know, am I? What if everything just fits there. You can be my everything.”
Our lips touch, casually for a second. Then I close my eyes and lean back, both my hands gripping Colt’s t-shirt. I pull at him, wanting him on me. He comes at me like I want him to and he’s body is against mine. Right on my couch. Our mouths are locked together, our tongues fluttering and teasing as the rest of our bodies warm up and begin to move. Colt places his right hand to my hip, coming towards my stomach a little. The move is so small but he’s at a spot that leaves me in a mix of tickling and tingling, sending waves through my body that are scorching but go straight to my heart.
I’ve never been so attracted to another person in my life. I don’t want to just be naked with Colt for the pleasure of his body against mine, I want both of us together, to be exposed, for everything.
The kiss breaks momentarily, just enough so I can exhale and inhale, adding a slight moan that Colt matches with a groan. Then he kisses me again and I kiss him just as much. The lower half of his body is alive and in full swing. He presses against me, moving gently but with purpose. I move back at him, wanting to take this as far as we can. Right to my bedroom and stay there... all night and all day tomorrow. Colt’s fingers creep under my shirt. Feeling his skin against my skin just feels so right. He’s slow and calm, making it that much hotter. His hand stops just below my bra, his thumb sliding under my bra but stopping. The move is sexy and I hate him for it.
Why does he have to be so perfect?
His lips move from mine even though I’m not finished with him. His lips touch my chin and then the tip of his tongue takes over, moving down along my neck. He moves to the right side of my neck and slowly kisses, working his way up to my ear. He stops like he had done before, breathing.
My hands are down at his belt, pulling, moving, wanting him.
“Bella,” he whispers, his hot breath feeling good but tickling the inside of my ear. “Bella... I’ve fallen for you...”
“Good,” I say. “I think I...”
I lose the words. I can’t remember the last time I told someone I loved them, other than Becca-Ann. And even then, it’s always in a text messages... fun best friend text messages...
I’m stammering, wanting to find the words and wanting to say them to Colt.
But I can’t.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, “I feel the same way too.”
He kisses me again and lifts himself up, allowing his hand to get to the button on my pants. I hurry and do the same to him, our hands fight for space and to see who could move faster. Everything then becomes an erotic blur of breathing, moving, kissing, and undressing. I trust Colt and don’t need to ask about protection but I do watch as he prepares himself.
Then we start, I finish, and it all continues...
The sounds of our souls coming today echoing through the living room as we find a comfortable spot on the couch, constantly moving and changing. My nails dig into his back. My hands travel down. My hands come up his sides, force him up so I can touch all his sweaty stomach muscles and chest. When I do so, his hands move to my chest too. He holds me. He loves me. He has me...
And I have him.
When Colt finally falls to my body again, the climax of our feelings and the day coming at the same time, we’re both left breathless, both realizing that all we want and all we have are one in the same as long as we’re together.
His head is buried against my neck as we catch our breaths. My hands are around his back, holding his broad shoulders. My lips against his collarbone.
“Bella... I want to tell you everything,” he says.
“Good,” I whisper. “I want to hear it all.”
“But I want you to see it. To see her.”
“Who?”
Colt takes a deep breath and then says, “My mother.”
-Chapter 17-
I’m on the back of his bike, my hands tight around him, the world ripping by us. I’m wearing his helmet again, leaving him unprotected. The ride is calm even though the roar of the bike and the wind pounding at us is harsh. It’s a strange thing to feel but with each second that passes, we gain more ground. More ground towards Colt’s truth and more ground for the two of us together.
We ride up a small hill where it levels off, keeping us high enough above the town that the scene is actually pretty. Considering the death and sadness surrounding us. Colt stops the bike and we get off. I stand, waiting for his next move. I’ll admit it, cemeteries freak me out. It’s a reminder of what’s going to happen to all of us, which is the deep philosophical sense of it. The dumb childish sense of it all is because there are corpses in the ground. And thanks to many October nights spent with Becca-Ann watching scary movies, I can’t help but expect a hand to shoot up from the ground and grab my ankle.
That doesn’t happen, but Colt does shoot his hand at mine, taking it. Within walking two seconds our fingers interlock and we walk side by side, in silence. We switch from the narrow road to the grass. It’s not hard to find where his mother had been laid to rest. The mound of fresh dirt is high above the ground, along with a collection of flowers on top. It’s sad. It’s morbid. But when I look at Colt, he doesn’t have any emotion. His eyes just stare at it, like he’s just thinking about it all. All the moments that lead this one.
We stop and my toes are a foot away from the dirt.
The air around us is peaceful, with a slight breeze.
“She was a great woman,” Colt says. “The only one who actually believed in me.”
“That’s good,” I say.
I consider saying something about my mother but I don’t want to steal anything away from Colt. He knows it’s not a secret about my mother and her problems. And we’re not here because of that.
“I think I did this,” he says, pointing to the grave. “This is all my fault.”
“How? That doesn’t seem possible. You weren’t here.”
Colt looks at me. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Colt crouches down and touches the dirt. He pulls a small rock from the mound and rolls it between his thumb and pointer finger. He stands again and tosses the rock to the ground.
“She would never admit how sick she was,” Colt says. “She was afraid I’d hurry back. That I’d neglect my businesses. That I’d lose everything for her. And I would have. I would have taken more money and found a way to cure her.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“She had cancer. It started with headaches a year ago and just... exploded from there. I paid for all I could, all the treatments her insurance wouldn’t cover. I paid to have the house remodeled to make it more comfortable for her. And I knew she was going to die, but I didn’t think it would have been like this. When I talked to her a couple Fridays ago she sounded so weak. She told me she had a rough day with her treatment and that she just needed rest. I didn’t believe her so I asked to speak to my father. That put her into shock.”
Colt pauses. He looks at me and touches the corner of his right eye.
“I don’t speak with my father very much, if ever. Very bad blood. He had a drinking problem for years and while he may have been out of it, I remember him hitting me. Hitting my mother. And hitting my older sister. She was smart enough to run when she turned sixteen, moving to Florida. The last I heard from her was a postcard from San Diego. She’s happy, married with a son, but keeps her distance. Even from me. All because of our father.
I managed to get him on the phone to ask about Mom. I tried to keep cool and keep it about her but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help but ask questions about my businesses, about abandoning the family, and then bringing up the nightclub incident. He owns a garage and in his mind, I
should have worked there. There was no interest in the family business, especially since they’re all alcoholics. We never got along and it tore my mother up, from the inside out.
When I left I wanted to make something of myself to prove I could do it. I wanted to come home and show my parents that life existed outside their house and that I could provide. But it just never happened. It never worked. Nothing was ever good enough... and the worst part...”
Colt stops and grits his teeth. I watch him turn from grieving to anger in a few seconds. I do the only thing I can think of; I move towards him, slowly, and I put my hand so my pinky touches his. I hook mine around his, telling him that I’m there. I won’t walk away either, no matter what he has to do.
“... the worst part was that he blamed my mother for everything. Said she babied me, left me leave, wouldn’t let him hit me. My mother would sneak around and talk to me. And brag about me. I made it a point to see her once a month, no matter how bad it was with my father. Things got physical last time I was there, two months ago. I actually had a plan to get her an apartment near me and bring her out. She had a few more treatments and then I was going to talk to her doctor about moving her. That obviously didn’t have a chance to happen. Her body and heart just gave up from the pain. When I talked to my father last, we got into it so bad she actually told me I was killing her. He said - and trust me, it’s burned in my memory forever - “You son of a bitch, you’re killing her! You’re killing your own mother...”
“That’s not true,” I say. I slide my hand to his and grip his hand tight. “That’s not true. You didn’t do a thing wrong.”
“I could have been there more.”
“Maybe that would have made it worse.”
“I didn’t even find out for a few days... he wouldn’t call me. My cousin called me after he found out. I wasn’t allowed to come but I did anyway.”
My mind suddenly saw the man running down the street after us.
“I wasn’t at the viewing or funeral. I showed up to the funeral home after everyone left and begged to see her. They let me. And for the funeral, I was up there...”
Colt points above us, up another ridge. There’s a thicket of trees and I can’t imagine him standing there, spying on his own mother’s funeral.
“My father has destroyed the family over the years, but it’s my mother, I had to be here.”
“You did the right thing.”
Colt looks at me. “Yeah, I did. Because I walked into a bakery and saw you. Come live with me.”
“What?” I yell. My voice echoes through the silent cemetery.
“I’m serious, Bella. Let’s leave. Together. Say goodbye and go.”
I can see it. I can see us doing it. What do I have here?
“Colt...”
“No, Bella. Don’t be afraid of yourself. Don’t be afraid of fate. Don’t be afraid to open up.”
I stare at him. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep and I don’t want to shut Colt down. Because it feels so right. It’s feels perfect. I’ve never run away before.
I open my mouth, figuring to just go with fate and see what my mind and heart could come up with.
I hear the sound of a twig snapping and when I turn my head, all hell breaks loose.
“Get out of here!” a voice booms.
My eyes quickly realize it’s the man from the sidewalk.
Colt’s hand is tight around me, too tight, causing pain.
“She’s my mother,” Colt says. His voice is low, calm, but has the undertone of a vicious animal ready to strike.
“You put her there,” the man says. He blinking fast. “You greedy punk. You murderer.”
“Murderer?” Colt growls.
He starts to move. I tug at him but I can’t stop him. He drags me with him as he approaches the man. It doesn’t take me long to compare features and realize the man is Colt’s father.
This is not good.
“Look what you did,” the man says. “And what’s this, a little hussy girl?”
I can imagine Colt’s other hand making a fist. I hurry and get between the man and Colt. I look at him and hold his other wrist.
“Please,” I whisper. “Not in front of your mother.”
Colt’s breathing like I never saw a person breathe.
“Listen to the girl,” the man bellows.
Hussy girl?
The girl?
I can only take so much too. I swing my foot behind me and kick the man in the knee. It’s a horrible thudding sound and he cries out. By the time I look over my shoulder he’s one on knee in pain.
Whoops.
I look back at Colt, unsure what to do next. I’m not even sure why I did what I just did.
“Take me away,” I say. “I’ll go anywhere with you. Right now.”
“I… Bella…,” Colt says.
I don’t have a chance to say anything else before he’s on the move again. And I’m right him.
The man screams but we ignore him. I find myself smiling, feeling almost liberated. I know all I need to know about Colt and just how strong and amazing of a man he really is. And I got to kick his deadbeat father in the knee.
We get to the bike and he hands me the helmet.
He’s smiling.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
I’m out of breath and my heart is battling against running with Colt and my life here, now.
“I can’t believe you kicked my father,” he says. “Right in the knee. He has bad knees.”
“Oh... shit...”
“No, it’s amazing. Next time you get a chance, aim higher.”
He comes in for a kiss and then taps the helmet. The bikes starts as I put the helmet on. Then in a sexy getaway motion, we hop on the bike and speed away. Colt moves faster, letting the cry of his motorcycle overtake the yells of his father.
I’ve never felt so free in my life.
And I mean it... Colt can take me anywhere he wants.
-Chapter 18-
He takes me to the bakery.
To my bakery.
To the family bakery.
It’s quite honestly the last place I want to go.
But here we are, sitting out front.
I hope for a second that he’s just showing me the bakery. Maybe some kind of sign or fate thing. Or better yet, he’s going to let me say goodbye before we speed off again. At this point I don’t even want to go to my apartment. I’ll get new clothes somewhere else. Start over. It’s all I can imagine right now.
He turns the bike off.
My heart sinks.
I have no choice but to get off the bike and I watch him do the same. I take the helmet off my head, shaking my head.
“No, Colt, not here.”
He comes at me. He puts his hand to my face, his thumb moving up and down my cheek and then to my lips.
“Yes, we need to be here. This is where your passion was stolen.”
“My passion is for you.”
He smiles. “I know that passion...”
Damn, now my mind is thinking sex. Maybe Colt and I should go back to my apartment.
I know that’s not likely, not at all.
“You’re going to go inside and bake something. I don’t care if it’s a loaf of bread or a chocolate chip cookie. We’re taking our passion... and our love... and we’re leaving.”
“One thing,” I say.
“One thing,” Colt says. “Maybe this time it’ll taste good.”
I back away from him and shake my head. He’s such an ass, especially for a guy who five minutes ago wanted to fight his own father.
But it’s Colt and I wouldn’t expect anything less.
I open door and then lock it. It’s strange coming in through the front door. It takes me back to being a little girl when I’d ride my bike to the bakery to see Grammie and Grandpa and sneak a piece of bread or some cookies. I don’t know how I never ended up overweight, eating as much as I did from this place.
Colt walks to the counter and leans on it. He points to the oven behind the counter. “Go to it. Make me something.”
“Pushy, aren’t we?”
“I get what I want. All the time.”
I walk around and turn the oven on. I’ll just bake some bread. Something easy. I set up the side counter and grab my bowls and begin to work. It takes all of a minute for me to realize just what Colt wants to prove here. This is what I’m meant to do in my life, just without all the background noise pushing and pulling at me. There’s not much lighting on in the bakery since the place isn’t open and a smile is on my face.
I reach for the flour, spreading some out on the counter and then look to my right. Colt is gorgeous, just so so so so gorgeous. Leaning over the counter. His t-shirt pulling tight. His arms exposed. I take a second and look at his tattoos. The shapes, twists, and colors, like a beautiful mess. The message screams exactly what Colt is and I love it. As I sprinkle flour down on the counter, he reaches over and put his finger into it. He touches my nose and laughs.
“Don’t start something,” I say with a flirty warning.
“Don’t try me,” he says.
My right hand is in a bag of flour. I have enough to make something happen. I start to pull my hand out when Colt reaches over again. I freeze, waiting to see what he does.
This time he puts his hand into the flour and starts to draw.
No, he’s not drawing... he’s writing...
He’s writes I love you in the flour.
It’s so cheesy. So corny. And yet it’s so romantic. It’s like a hopeless romantic gesture.
I use my left hand and shove my finger into the flour next. I keep my message simple. I write the number 2.
I love you 2.
Colt looks at me and I look at him.
There, we said it.
Sort of.
A tension begins to float between us. I’m not sure if I like it or not so I follow my heart again.
I take my right hand out of the flour and throw it at Colt.
There’s a white cloud of dust and Colt’s face has a thin layer of flour on it. That’s enough to break the uncomfortable silence between us as I start to laugh. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts and I fall back, stumbling into the oven. I cry out in pain but I’m still laughing.
