by Kat Kenyon
He also looks concerned, his huge hands come up and cup my face, nearly breaking me open again before they stroke back into my hair. He’s waiting for me, his soft look of understanding leeching the last of my pain away.
“If you meant what you said, then I’m more than happy.”
He answers by curling up to kiss me slowly. “I meant every word. You’re mine. And I’m utterly yours.” He’s crystal clear as he whispers, “I love you. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
His kiss deepens into something that sweeps away everything. The drought of weeks and weeks is gone under his touch. The pain is gone, and his absolute certainty is sweeping away my doubts.
And I let go. Of the hurt. The pain. The fear. I let him sweep away everything and replace it with love, so when he’s done, and I’m shaking in his arms…we’re clean.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tyler Blackman
I can breathe.
It’s not an exaggeration. I didn’t know how little air there was without her. The boulder on my chest is gone and the pain that has wracked my body has evaporated.
The thought of being without her for more than a minute is too much, so I make her get up and shower with me. We’d both like to stay in bed for the whole day, well, a whole additional day, but she has her last day of work and I still have practice and film review.
And she’s too thin.
I’m taking her to eat. I’m going to watch her eat something, and for the first time in months, I’m starving. It’s been ages since I was hungry, and I’m going to clean out the place.
From the brush of her hands in the shower to the feel of her lips around me, until I cling to her, each thrust another promise, the morning is a dream I didn’t think I’d have again.
Every time she passes as we dress, I touch her, brush my lips over her. She does the same, fingertips grazing as we pass. I’m inhaling her every chance I get. Vanilla and orange, soothing my soul and roiling my blood.
I’m sitting on the bed getting my shoe on when she straddles me, thighs sliding around my waist, arms gliding around my neck to envelop me in a hug and press herself into me.
She sighs happily, melting around me. I bury my face in her neck and see my mark. I grin with childish satisfaction.
I know I shouldn’t have done it, at least not there. It’s tacky and she’ll hate it, but I fucking love it.
I used to mark up her chest, putting my brand all over them, not caring who saw. She had to wear shirts to cover them up, but this time I marked her so everyone can see it.
She can’t cover this, hehe!
She slaps my shoulder and pulls back to look at me, her nose scrunching up.
Still cute.
“I know what you did.” She tries to look mad but sucks at it.
Adorable.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” My self-satisfied smirk spreads as she stretches her neck to the side, applying pressure to see if she can find it. I guide her fingers to the spot just under her jaw, on the slim column of her neck where the black-specked mark is noticeable.
“A hickey, Tyler. Really? Are we in ninth grade?”
“Nooo.” I reach up and stroke her neck, thumbing the mark gently. Looking her directly in the eyes I tell her my truth. “It’s barbaric, but I wanted everyone to know. I’d fucking tattoo my name on you if you’d let me. I’ll tattoo your name on me as soon as you tell me where.”
I’m certain about her and about us. I know who I am now, no doubts and no backing out.
I’ve surprised her, I can tell, her eyes widen and dilate. Her fingertips slowly rise to my lips. Sucking them in, I catch them between my teeth, holding her gaze. The intensity of it is something I used to be uncomfortable with. It was too much emotion for me, then. Now, I welcome it. Instead of the wash of feeling being overwhelming, I feel stronger.
Her lips meet mine, her nails scratching through the short hairs on my head, raking through to grab the long hair on top as her small body grinds against me. Soft yanks turn into harder pulls as her little moans break out against my lips, leaving us both panting.
The heat from her pussy has me at attention, telling me she wants another round and I want it too, I do, but we’re going to eat first. I’ll be damned if the first thing I do is let her keep starving herself. What’s best for her will always come first, so whether she likes it or not, I stand with her wrapped around me.
“No, let’s stay,” she complains, biting my shoulder, locking her legs behind my back, and pushing up on my hips to kiss me again.
“Food. Now.”
Pouting, she slides up and down on me, looking for friction, trying to get me to change my mind. “Why?”
“Because both of us are gonna blow away if we don’t start eating.”
I release her slowly, letting her feet meet the floor, having my own pity party at giving her up for even a minute. Kissing her softly, I stroke her cheek and remind her of my promise. “It’s my job to take care of you, that means this too. You and I both know we haven’t been eating the way we should.”
She lets her forehead meet mine with a soft nod, and I feel her smile more than I see it.
Turning around to grab her purse from her desk, she meets me at the door. We give each other a soft look as my hand falls to the knob.
Everything outside this door is the same as it was a day ago. The pressures are still there. The people looking to pull us apart. Family, friends, teammates, even the media is exactly who they were in the weeks that led up to our breakup. All of that waits for us outside the door, and yet, everything is different.
I’m different.
I’m not afraid or confused. I’m not lost under the weight of the world. Instead, I find her heart to be the only thing I’m carrying—something I can do without reservation.
I have my girl as we walk out the door. With her hand in mine, I finally feel like I’m getting things right.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rayne Mathews
We both know we need to talk. To hold on to the sense of relief and life, we need to put the misery of the past behind us.
I was afraid to leave the cocoon of my room, afraid the magic would disappear and leave me colder than before, but it follows us out the door, my hand in his, and doesn’t dissipate as we ride down on the elevator and enter the lobby.
The surprise, then wink and smile from the person at reception is proof it isn’t just my imagination, and the warmth doesn’t leave when we step out into a cool, windy morning.
The instant I shiver, Tyler tucks me into his body, sheltering me from the cold.
I remember this.
“Do you have any questions?”
His question brings reality to my fantasy, but his eyes are clear, no hesitation, no signs the dream has to be over.
“How many?”
Tears spring to his eyes as he nods and tries to swallow.
“Three total times. It sounds pathetic to say I didn’t mean for any of it to happen, but at the time, I didn’t feel like I could control it.”
“Do I know who?”
It may seem like picking at a scab, but I know if we don’t address this, it will always hang over me, a threat and a fear that’ll rub my heart raw. It’s hard to know, but I’m relieved that it’s not as bad as I imagined, not the dozens of girls who sent me images, taunts.
“The first one, Val, was right after the Oregon game.”
“Wait, she’s the volleyball player?”
“Yeah.” He looks like he wants to throw up. It’s a gut punch since we’d been together right before, but something about it isn’t right.
“What do you mean right after? You guys flew home that afternoon, so it was before, right? You guys went to dinner with them.”
“No, she caught me in the hall after the game.”
Memories of that weekend flash like lightning and I’m not sure if I’m shocked or angry. “You mean after you took the hit in the head and had
a concussion?”
His guilty look is so pained it hurts. “I know I’m terrible, but I—I don’t know how to explain it. I was angry.”
“At me?”
Stopping, he whips me around to face him. “No. My dad said he was pulling me from school when I was dressing, then at her because she wouldn’t leave me alone.”
How does that make sense?
“Wait, you were mad at her, but you had sex in a hall?”
“No!”
Covering his mouth with a hand, his eyes steady as he says, “No. I didn’t fuck her in the hall or anywhere else. I didn’t touch her except to push her away, but I was so afraid I’d hurt her, I didn’t stop her until—Fuck!”
Tears rise in both our eyes.
“Did you want her?”
“No.” His conviction is a bomb dropped, obliterating my doubts.
“So, a blow job?”
He gives me a hard nod, and pulls me tight, trying to fold his body over mine. It hurts, but this is just too important to avoid, the hurt and ugly need light and air, or we’ll sink into the dark again.
“Tyler, if you had a concussion and didn’t want her, then that isn’t cheating, that’s rape. Did you say no?”
A jerk of his head, with a tremor so hard I feel it, and all I see is denial and a touch of fear. “No, I’m not going to make excuses. It was my fault.”
“Tyler, if you said no and you were injured, she took advantage.”
“I could have fought her off. I could have stopped it. It’s on me.”
Shaking my head, I hug him as hard as I can. He can’t see it, but I remember he was still messed up on Sunday. This is nothing like I thought, nothing like the things I imagined him doing behind my back.
“Rayne, I fucked up then. I fucked up after your performance and again a couple days later. No other times, and all of them were my fault.”
“When you left me?”
God that hurts.
Without letting me go, his breathing comes hard as he speaks into my hair. “I left and got smashed. I went to the Carson when I should have stayed with you because I didn’t know what to do about my dad, life, and it felt like I had failed you already. I went and drank my weight in whiskey…Shay went down on me.” He chokes out the last part, nearly crushing me.
“You got smashed and Shay was there?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I say, pulling back to look at him.
Agony and shame line a face I love, two emotions I don’t think he’s earned, not like I thought. “Did you want her?”
“No. And I told her so. But, I didn’t push her away like I should have. I didn’t keep my shit together, but I’ve got it now. I swear it will. Never. Happen. Again.”
I believe him. But each word he says makes me mad, and not at him. “So, you got a blow job injured, and one while you were tanked? What about when I found you?”
Pain laces his words. “People knew. People were gonna tell you about the basement. I’d lost you already, so when I found her practically naked in my room, I just, I gave in. You deserved better.” His Adam’s apple works overtime before he croaks out, “You still do.”
For the first time in my life, I feel violent. His shame and the truth change things. At least for me. “Shay raped you in the basement.”
Brows drawing down, gulps of tension working hard to keep him talking, he’s convincing. “No, I’m a big guy, I could have stopped it. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”
He’s convincing, except for the facts.
“Would you blame someone if they took advantage when I was drunk?”
Like a still frame taken on film, he freezes, body so tight I’m sure he’ll snap. A slow dawning crosses his face, but he locks it down and finally shakes his head.
“It’s not the same. I’m stronger. I got hard, it’s my fault.” Hard eyes meet mine. “You’re tiny. Someone touches you, and I’ll end them.”
Heat and determination become living things between us for a moment. I know what he’s saying. I know why he’s saying it. And I may disagree, but we’re here, together. Dropping my head to his chest, I make a promise to myself and him, sending the thought out to the same entity that let him get off the ground.
“I know. I know you would.”
“I won’t fuck up again. I’ve got you,” he promises.
Stormy eyes meet mine for an instant, his lips dropping to mine, and when he lifts his head, when it’s over, each moment gets lighter.
• • • •
We both have places to be when we’re done, so we get food and let ourselves relax into the day.
He’s more grounded than he was before, the old stress not tightening every muscle, driving him so hard it looks like he’ll break. He’s himself, but more. He’s powerful, and it’s amazing and terrifying. It makes me feel alive and connected to the man sitting across from me.
“What are you smiling about?”
“You.” I’m not even going to try to lie. He hasn’t.
“What about me?”
He pulls my chair closer and kisses my temple. His palm closes around my neck and he thumbs the bruise he left behind. I should be mad or embarrassed, but I’m not. When I got dressed and saw it in the mirror, it was my proof he’s real.
“Hey,” he whispers, his fingers graze my side in a subtle threat to tickle me. He wants my attention, the wrinkle between his eyes growing as I stare.
“What?”
“What about me has you smiling like that? I want to know,” he asks, pulling me onto his lap.
“You’re different.”
“I’m different how?” His voice drops to a whisper as he pulls me tighter.
Settling into him, I take a deep breath of how he smells, dragging my nose along the stretch of his neck, the skin moving from hot velveteen to sandy stubble, the pulse of life just under the surface. A constant pulse. Slow and steady.
He’s happy, really happy, and my chest fills with all the fear that comes when you get what you want after so long, the energized desperation to hold on tight.
“Different good,” I tell him. I don’t want him to think for a second I don’t love the change. “I don’t know how or why, but you feel stronger, maybe.”
“I started seeing someone,” he admits, blasting my chest wide open. He says it so fast, it feels like a gunshot leaving my heart bleeding out while I stand by wondering what happened. I don’t understand why I can’t see it spilling to the ground.
He’s seeing someone?
“Talking to my therapist has really helped—”
Oh, holy fuck—
“…and I’m not afraid of what I want anymore. I want you, you’re the only thing that matters.”
Even as he pauses, I’m still expecting to see physical damage from the imaginary drive-by, and it takes me a second to speak. I know I missed a few words when my heart disintegrated, reformed, and restarted.
“You started seeing a therapist?”
“Yeah.” A look passes across his face, and I know he can see where my brain went. “What’d you think I meant?”
Shaking my head to clear my own damage, I ask, “And ball?”
“I love playing. I want to make it to the NFL. I wanna go pro, but I could get hit at any moment. On any play, my knee could blow out, or head injuries could knock me out of the game. Fact is, I need the degree. Smart people get the education because ball’s a crap shoot. It could vanish in a moment, but what I know is real, what I know is permanent is you, and fuck anyone who tells me it’s too soon.”
We’re eighteen and we’re supposed to be too young, but he’s right. Fuck anyone who tells us that or tries to come between us.
“I love you.”
His smile is brilliant as he kisses me. “I love you, too.”
When the kiss ends, he laughs and presses his lips into my hair. “I don’t want to give you up to go to practice.”
“I don’t want to go to work.”
“So, we bo
th have to suffer for a couple hours?”
Rolling my head under his chin, I give a little whine to let him know what I think of that.
“Do you have plans for the holiday?” he asks.
The question hangs between us for brief heartbeats, just long enough for me to know I don’t want to be away from him.
“Not really.”
Which is true. Going to Corey’s isn’t set in stone and no matter how much I want to see him, I feel like I’m just breathing again and don’t want to give Tyler up, not even for a couple of days.
“I’m meeting my mom for Christmas at her hotel. Will you come?”
Slowly stroking my spine, he moves me so I’m facing him better, a small grin playing on his face.
“You’re meeting your mom at a hotel?”
His face gets sad then turns to resignation. “Yeah. Mom left my dad, so no family holiday.”
“Tyler, I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. It’s not your fault.” Soft brown hair falls over his eyes, forcing him to try to swing it out of the way.
“Dad did shit for so long, he sunk himself. He did this.” He smiles softly. “He thought he could do anything he wanted to me, and Mom didn’t agree.”
When his hair falls forward again, I brush the silky strands back, hurting for him over the breakup of his family. “Still, it has to hurt. I hope they aren’t putting you in the middle.”
“Dad is. It’s who he is, and he’s desperate for an ally, but I’m not it.” He doesn’t need to say more.
“So, he’s still calling constantly.”
Those texts and calls used to be a trigger that would turn a great day into something dark, but there doesn’t seem to be any trace of tension in him. His body is relaxed, except for his arms around me.
“Yeah.” Small shrug. “He calls at weird hours, so I ignore him. I don’t even listen to the voicemails anymore, I just forward them to Mom.” Disgust then annoyance flickers before he says, “I don’t want to deal with him.”
“What about your tuition?”
Beaming, he gives his chest a stroke. “I’m a starter, baby.” Smug confidence tips his lips up. “I got my scholarship for next year.”
