Stronger

by Blue Ashcroft

  I nod, tears falling down one cheek. For a little boy who couldn’t protect his sister. “I can’t imagine.”

  “They were best friends,” she says, wrapping her arms around her knees. “It’s true that she was close to Knight, but nothing like she was to Geoff. I mean, they were together basically since they were tiny.”

  I nod and wipe a tear.

  Ally makes a small snort and turns away from us, doing something that looks suspiciously like wiping her eyes. “Damnit, so freakin’ sad.”

  “I get it, I get it,” I say, putting out a hand, because I can’t take any more of it. I’m not the most empathetic of people, but Rain has spelled it out in a way that makes it impossible not to feel. “But I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.”

  “Maybe you’ll have to help him see he’s wrong.”

  “How?”

  “Yeah, how?” Ally asks, putting her chin in her hands. “He’s a stubborn ass.”

  Rain shrugs. “I don’t know that part. I know it will be painful though. It was for me. It may be painful for him to live the life he is, but it’s a pain he’s comfortable with, a pain he chose, so he could avoid some other, worse, pain. When you help him, you’ll be kicking his crutch out from under him.”

  “I don’t want to hurt him. He’s been hurt enough.”

  “Knight says he’s been happier lately. With you. Maybe you could just stay his friend, like you have been.”

  But we haven’t been just friends. We’ve been so much more than that lately. He’s let me in on his secrets. I’ve let him into my life. “I don’t know. How can I be his friend and keep this from him?” I ask, gesturing to the note.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the thing to push him with.”

  “How so?”

  “Maybe you should tell him you know who it is, and see how he reacts.”

  “And then what if he kills someone and the blood is on my hands now?”

  Rain shakes her head. “No, don’t tell him who it is. Just have a heart to heart with him, and then tell him you know who it is. See what he does. He might surprise you.”

  “He might hurt me.”

  “Geoff wouldn’t hurt a girl,” Ally scoffs.

  “Not physically,” I admit. “But he’s unhinged when it comes to his sister.”

  “He has a right to be,” Rain says. “But give him a chance, and then decide whether or not to tell him.”

  “I’d rather just make a plan with you guys,” I say.

  “And we can, if this fails. But go to him first.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Thattaboy!” Ally gives me a thumbs up, and Rain gives me a small smile.

  “You can do it,” she says. “We’re behind you.”

  “I’m getting that,” I say. I go to hug Rain, and Ally wraps herself around both of us.

  “And if it doesn’t go well, I get to kick Mike’s ass, right?”

  “Right,” I say, laughing. “You’ll get to kick his ass.”

  “Good,” she says, cracking her knuckles. “I haven’t been in a fight in far too long.”

  Rain and I exchange looks, then fall together in a pile laughing, while Ally simply stares down at us in confusion.

  It feels good to let people in. And it’s thanks to Geoff forcing his way in that I have. Now I need to return the favor, and give him a chance to live again, if he’ll take it.

  Chapter 15

  When I go outside, he’s standing next to his bike, leaning against it with folded arms. It’s a cool night but his jacket is draped over one arm.

  “Booty call, Dollface?” He smirks, but the look in his eyes is anything but good humored, and he folds his arms tighter, bunching up the muscles there. “Or did Joshy prissypants prove me right by being a wimp when you needed him?”

  I swallow back a retort, because I need Geoff for now. The Geoff that’s my friend, not the defensive, angry one that’s facing me now. It’s been a couple of days since Ally and Rain and I decided to give Geoff a chance and see what he did when told what I’m about to tell him.

  But seeing him there, in a tee shirt and ripped jeans, ignoring the cold wind like his muscles are some kind of armor against it, I don’t want to say what I have to say. I want to get him to take me to that pool bar, and I want to laugh with him, maybe drink with him. Just have a night of fun first.

  “I just wanted to see you,” I say.

  His face falls in surprise, like he didn’t expect us to stop fighting so quickly. I admit we’ve wasted a lot of time fighting. “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason?” I ask, grabbing a helmet and strapping it on while he stares at me agape. “We’re friends, right?”

  “I don’t know. I thought you said you didn’t trust me.”

  “We’re both experts at saying things we don’t mean. Honestly Geoff, would I be about to get on the bike of your bike if I didn’t trust you?”

  He presses his lips together, then tosses me his jacket and straddles the bike. “Get on.”

  “Okay,” I say, doing as he asks.

  “Where to?”

  “That bar.”

  “Which one?” He asks, kicking the stand back.

  “The one I didn’t get to go to before. With the pool tables.”

  “That’s not your scene, Dollface.”

  “Amy.”

  He sighs, a low, gruff noise. “That’s not your scene, Amy.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m with you,” I say, disgusted to realize I mean it. That I really do trust him to protect me. I’ve fallen into it so easily. I used to be an island, and now I’m depending on the guy I used to hate. But disgust fades to something else entirely as he wraps my arms around his hips and starts the bike to vibrating, thrumming life. He pulls out of my driveway and turns towards the main road. It’s a beautiful evening, not yet dark outside, and green trees whip by us. The wind smells nice. I rest my head against his back.

  The ride is quiet and when we get to the bar, and he gets off the bike and reaches to let me down, I can see something different in his eyes. I think he was happy I put trust in him. It makes sense I guess, since according to Rain his trust in himself is shot. If she’s right.

  “Stay close to me,” he says, reaching out one beefy arm to tuck me against his side. “That’s it, Dollface.”

  I grumble at the name, but do as he says once again. I’m used to him taking the lead, maybe because I’ve experienced one situation where him taking the lead is definitely preferable. Mmm…

  “So what do you want to do now?” he asks, murmuring against my ear in a way that makes my neck tingle.

  “Pool,” I say, pulling away from him to lead the way to a table that’s by itself in the back.

  “Have you played before?” He asks, picking out a cue.

  “No,” I reply, looking for one of my own. He smirks at my pick, and I pick another one, trying to look like I know what I’m doing. “But I’m sure it’s not hard.”

  He raises one dark eyebrow, then shrugs and grabs a triangle and sets up the balls on the table. “I’ll rack, you break?”

  “Sure,” I say, folding my arms around my cue.

  “You might want to chalk that,” he says, pointing to a small cube next to me on the table. It has a round indent in the top, and he makes a little twisting motion with his fingers, letting me know how to put it on. I twist it around the top of the cue.

  “Why?”

  “Keeps it from slipping.”

  “Makes sense,” I say, smiling at the blue powder on the tip of my stick.

  “Your break,” he says, stepping back from the table and presenting it with a sweeping motion of his hand.

  “Right,” I say, stepping to the top of the table, because that seems like where he wants me to step. I stare at him with an awkward smile. “What’s breaking again?”

  He sighs, then laughs, then comes forward and leans one hand on the table, the other on his cue, and nods towards the balls. “
The break. You break them up and send them all over the table so that we can start getting them in and decide who’s which.”

  “Who’s which?”

  “I don’t really play tournament rules or anything, just how me and my friends have always played. But we play first one to get a ball in chooses stripes or solids, first one to get all of their balls in, and the eight ball, wins.”

  “I see.”

  “But you have to hit them with the white ball to get them in. And it’s a scratch if you don’t hit your ball, and it’s a scratch if you hit mine first, and it’s a scratch if you don’t hit three bumpers.”

  “What’s a scratch?”

  “Geez,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Don’t you know anything about pool? Why’d you want to play?”

  “I thought it would be fun to learn. You seem to enjoy it.”

  “Yeah, it was cheap. Easy to do when I was a teen.”

  “Yeah. So a scratch?”

  “That means I get to pick up the white ball and do whatever I want with it.”

  He grins, and it seems like there are other things he’d like to do whatever he wants with. I shake off a shiver of anticipation and set the white ball down. “So I just hit them really hard?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  I put my cue down on my hand, like I’ve seen people do on TV, but it feels so much more awkward than it looks. I push it forward and it slips off my knuckles, not even making contact with the ball. I put a hand on my forehead and try not to look embarrassed that I have no idea how to do this. It really does look easy.

  “Want me to show you?” he says. There’s a glint in his eyes, and his lips are playfully pursed. His face is so handsome. If showing me means he’s coming closer, I’m not sure I can handle it.

  “Okay,” I say breathlessly.

  He sets his pool cue aside, standing it against the wall effortlessly, and comes slowly up to me. He stands behind me, and I can feel his shoulders wrapping around me, so wide. He leans forward to put his arms along mine, and I can feel his chest and abs flex against me. So hot. I hold back another shiver. It’s not the night for this, it’s not the time to revel in our incredible sexual chemistry. But maybe I can for just a moment longer.

  He runs a finger along my arm as his hand comes to rest against mine, completely unnecessarily. I blush and keep my head down.

  “Nervous, Dollface?” he asks, his breath coming down on my neck.

  “No, it’s just a game.”

  “Sure,” He says. He pulls my arm back, adjusts my cue to be over some fingers and under others, pulls my arm back and the cue with it. “Ready?”

  His breath is driving me crazy, warming my neck and spreading that electric feeling down to my toes. I can’t be this close much longer. I can’t step away either. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  He guides my arm forward and my cue hits the ball in a clean, soft stroke that goes just to the left of the center ball. The balls make cracking noises as they ricochet around the table.

  Geoff doesn’t let me go. For a moment, his hands are over mine, then he takes the pool cue out of my hands and sets it aside. His arms wrap around me and he goes silent, his lips on my hair. He breathes in deeply. What is he thinking?

  “I missed you,” he says.

  I reach up and grab onto his forearm. It’s thicker than my bicep and rock hard. Kind of like him, all over, inside and out. “I missed you too.”

  “That day on the beach, it’s haunting me,” he murmurs, running his lips lightly along my shoulders as he says it. “The way you looked up at me, letting me control you, own you, please you. That was the best feeling in the world.”

  I nod, because it’s true. Even if it makes him a bit conceited, I have to concede it. “Not enough to make you want more than sex, though,” I say, pulling away from him and moving towards the table. It feels awful to pull away like that. I just want to run back and wrap up in him, but we have things to discuss, and I can’t let myself fall into that trap again. Just like the beach. Just because he wants me, doesn’t mean he cares, or wants what I want. And what do I want?

  “Your turn?” I ask quietly.

  He nods, then studies the table with a small frown. When he bends to take a shot, I check out his ass. Tight. I just want to—

  “My shot again,” he says, as a ball goes in the pocket.

  “But you just went.”

  “I get one in, I keep going.”

  “Just obsessed with getting it in, aren’t you?”

  A grin comes over his face, warming up his dark features. “Depends on where I’m putting it.”

  My face goes flame red at the innuendo. “Go, then. Go ahead and put it in wherever you want, since it’s not my turn,” I mutter.

  He shrugs, putting his huge shoulders up and then down, and leans forward again. I come closer so I can see what he’s doing, he hits the white ball into one of his balls, then that ball hits another, then that one goes in the pocket with a smooth clink. He stands and chalks his cue, biting his lip to conceal a smirk, which he then unleashes in full when he catches me watching. “Good with my hands, right Dollface?”

  “I told you I preferred Amy.”

  “Yeah well, Amy is for special times.” He leans over his cue, lining up a shot by studying angles. That’s why I had thought I would be good at pool, it should just be angles.

  “So you won’t actually use my real name unless we’re making out?”

  He stands, exhaling in frustration because I apparently messed up his concentration. “Right now I’m trying to focus.” He lines it up again, deathly silent, then exhaling as he moves the cue into the ball. It hits one of the solids in a wacky angle that hits the bumpers twice and goes in a pocket I never would have expected. Dude is smart.

  “Wow, you’re good.”

  He grins. “I know.”

  “So tell me this, Mr. smart guy.” I slide up alongside the table and sit on the front, forcing him to look at me rather than the table. He leans forward, hands on either side of me and looks me over, eyes slowly moving from my hair to my lips, and then to my eyes, and then lower. He swallows, like his mouth is suddenly dry.

  “Tell you what?” he asks softly, putting a hand up like he’s going to touch me, but then putting it back down.

  “Why aren’t you taking any of your scholarships? You’re smart. You deserve them.”

  “Who have you been talking to?” he asks, pushing away from the table and me. I’ve lost him. Again.

  “Ally. But you were the one who asked me what I would think if you did have those scholarships.”

  “Yeah, I did.” He scratches his head. “I don’t know. It’s not for me.”

  “Why, because when you were a teenager, when Camille was alive, you couldn’t hope for that?”

  “You’re one to talk about doing things because of other people, when you won’t go to beauty school because of your moms.” He folds his arms and glares at me with a dark look.

  “And you’re good at avoiding conversations about you by deflecting them onto other people. But we’re talking about you right now.”

  “I just don’t feel like taking advice from a hypocrite.”

  “I’m not a hypocrite,” I say, sitting on the table with a sigh. “I’m just a coward. But I’m completely different from you. I didn’t have anything terrible happen. I don’t have any excuses. I just don’t want the people who have raised me as their own to be disappointed. You have the opposite problem. You don’t care about disappointing your family, as long as you don’t have to do what you want.”

  “How do you know what I want?” he asks, his expression darkening. “Like you could understand me.”

  “Oh cut that shit out,” I say, walking up to him. I plant a finger in his chest and poke him with each word for emphasis. “You. Are. Just. Like. Me.”

  “How?” He says, deflecting my finger away with a look of disgust, like it has something dirty on it.

  “If you really didn’t want nice thi
ngs, you wouldn’t be going after them. You wouldn’t have applied for those scholarships, because you don’t care what your parents think. And you wouldn’t have constantly chased me, a girl you know isn’t into the no commitment thing, if you didn’t deep down want a girl you could commit to. It’s not that you don’t want it, it’s that something happens before you get it, and you back down.”

  I grab his shirt and pull him forward. I’m smaller but I caught him off guard, and he stumbles forward and catches himself on the table again, trapping me beneath him. But judging by his expression, he’s the one that feels trapped.

  “You confuse people,” I mutter, pulling his mouth down to mine. He gives in with a groan, sealing his lips over mine. His tongue dives in, stroking my teeth and tongue, and his hands wrap around me. His weight and hips press into me, pushing me against the table. I lean back on my hands as he deepens the kiss, stroking deeper, his tongue and lips settling into a steady rhythm that’s setting me on fire. Not a blazing fire, but a smoldering one, one that’s getting hotter by the minute, and if he thinks he can use this to distract me from the topic, he’s dead…right.

  I sigh and reach one hand up into his hair. He puts one hand down to support us so I’m not leaning too hard on the table. He groans when I pull on the hair at the back of his neck and then grip his neck to pull him closer. His lips are surprisingly soft for someone who likes to think himself so rough. He can’t stop kissing me, and I can’t stop letting him.

  He pulls back, allowing us both to breathe, then looks at my lips for a moment, back up into my eyes, and I know he’s going to take them again. He does, ignoring the fact that we’re in a dark corner of a bar. And by making me feel so good, by making me feel like I’m floating and my knees are going to collapse, while holding me up and forcing me to continue to take the pleasure he can give, he’s making me forget too.

  I can’t even think about what other people would think of me for once. It just feels too damn good. It’s not because he’s a bad boy, though that would be easier. It’s because Rain is right.