Casting Stones (Stones Duet #1)

by L. M. Carr

  “Where’d you just go?” Shane whispers against my forehead, kissing it softly.

  I blink open my eyes and look at him. “Your words brought me back to when I was about eight years-old.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It was the first time I had a crush on a boy and I wrote him a note.” I smile sadly for the little girl I once was.

  “What did it say?”

  “I told him I liked him.” My chin drops to my chest, embarrassed for the little girl who still lives deep in me.

  “And what did he say back?”

  I inhale sharply and look up even though I want to run and hide. “He said I was ugly and dirty.”

  It’s Shane’s turn to inhale deeply and exhale with a sympathetic sigh. “Boys are assholes.”

  I smile in agreement and shrug my shoulders.

  “For the record, you’re beautiful, sexy and delicious.” With each word, he pecks my necks and licks where his lips have just brushed with a light kiss. “You have no idea how many men can’t take their eyes off you at the diner. They watch your every move.”

  I roll my eyes and snort, “No one at the diner looks at me that way.”

  His raised eyebrows and wide eyes dare me to challenge him. “One of these days, I’m going to get into a fight if those bastards don’t keep their eyes off you.”

  A tight smile slips across my face.

  “You’re my girl. For my eyes only.”

  Warmth fills my heart as I repeat his words.

  “Have you eaten anything since breakfast?” He shifts my body so I’m tucked in the crook of his arm with my face against his rising chest. I inhale deeply and take in his scent, a combination of cologne and soap. I release a slow breath, thinking about how Shane is the second man to ever hold me like this. I feel safe. I feel loved.

  He kisses the top of my head after skimming his nose along my damp hair. He whispers my name softly as he squeezes me gently, securing me to his body.

  “You smell good.” I admit, knowing I’ve most likely been caught stealing a whiff of him. I look up to see blue eyes sparkle with humor.

  “So do you.”

  I turn inward to conceal my giggle. We’re acting like a couple of normal kids and it feels so good. There weren’t many good things about my early years; sex, drugs and clubs didn’t exactly make for a normal All-American childhood.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?” I tilt my head with curiosity.

  “Did you eat?” He adjusts his body so he can reach for his cell phone when it rings with a ringtone that sounds oddly familiar. The sound is silenced with a quick swipe of his finger across the screen.

  “No,” I shake my head. “I came here right after I saw-” I freeze. Shane doesn’t need to know exactly what I saw. He doesn’t need a play by play of the scene that runs through my mind like an old black and white movie.

  “Let’s get something to eat.”

  I don’t really feel like going out. I’m not ready to face what’s outside the walls of Jenna’s apartment. “Do you mind if we just stay here?”

  “You need to eat.”

  I roll my eyes, “I’m sure Jenna has food here. She won’t mind.” I release my hold on him, walk into the small kitchen and open the refrigerator. On the top shelf wrapped in plastic bags are old deli meats and moldy cheese. I grab a key lime yogurt, but it’s half eaten with a spoon sticking out of the foil wrapper. The only edible item is an almost empty gallon of chocolate milk. I hold it up and offer it to Shane as if it were a delicacy. “Chocolate milk?” I flip off the lid and bring the container to my nose because it looks a little thicker than normal. My stomach rolls at the stench. “Ughh…it smells awful. I think it’s just a little spoiled.” I pour the rest down the sink.

  The grin that spreads across his face is a knowing one. “That must’ve been Collin’s.”

  “Collin?” I ask, my eyebrows furrow in confusion.

  “He left the same gallon at my place a while ago. That’s all he drinks. Well, besides beer of course.” I love the easy laugh that escapes through his lips.

  “I guess we’re going out then.” I rinse out the container and leave it on the counter.

  The ringing starts once again. Shane rolls his eyes and mumbles, “She’s relentless.” Inexplicable jealousy grows within me, wondering who is relentlessly calling him. Through the ringing I try hard to place the familiar tune. I have a vague memory of sitting on David’s couch in my pajamas eating popcorn from a plastic bowl. It was our thing on Friday nights.

  “Hey, sis. What’s up?”

  Oh thank God, it’s his sister! Relief expels in the form of a huge sigh as I mouth that I’m going to get ready. I step into the bathroom to reapply more concealer to hide my bruise. If my hair were still long and wavy, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. A blanket of blond hair would shield my face. But as it turns out, my thick hair wouldn’t stay in place so cutting it was my only option. I knew it was stupid of me to be upset over chopping my hair off, but it was the only thing that separated me from my mother. She gave me two things: her eyes and her big curvy ass.

  Shane’s face appears in the doorway as he leans against the framing, watching me dot lip gloss across my lips. One of the lights above the medicine cabinet flickers before dying out with a faded “pop.” I catch his eye in the mirror and immediately notice his expression changes from easy going to murderous. I swallow hard, suddenly feeling nervous.

  “Shane?”

  “If I find out who did this to you, I will kill him.” His words are ice cold as are his blue eyes. A chill runs through me at the thought of him being hurt or getting into a fight on my behalf. I stare at his reflection in the mirror. I’m not sure I like this disposition I’ve seen several times now. First at the sushi restaurant, in his truck and again right now. It’s a bit worrisome that he’s got these two very different personalities. I don’t think he would ever harm me, but the fact that he can switch from one to the other is a little scary.

  After a moment or two, he blinks rapidly as if he’s returning from a faraway place, his expression softening once again.

  “You okay?” I ask, turning around to face him.

  He either doesn’t hear me or isn’t okay because he turns and abruptly walks away.

  I cap up the concealer and put it away. When I enter the living room, he’s sitting on the couch with his face buried in the palms of his hands. His shoulders are rounded and bent, revealing the hard muscle of his back. His rigid posture is one of…defeat.

  “Shane, what’s wrong?” I sit on the coffee table across from him. Something in me is compelled to comfort him. I raise my hand to comfort him but change my mind.

  “I’m good. I just need a minute.” He pants through a whisper as he continues to breathe in and out slowly.

  “If you’re worried about my face, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

  His head snaps up and he sears me with wide blue eyes. “Not a big deal? Somebody hurt you. Somebody put his hands on you. It’s a big fucking deal!”

  I wince at the fierceness of his tone because I don’t understand what’s happening. One second he’s calm and then next he’s practically screaming at me.

  “Maybe you should leave,” I stand as my own anger boils deep within me. I have had enough crap for one day.

  “Remy, please,” I hear regret in the way he breathes my name before he adds, “I’m sorry.”

  “You seem to be saying that a lot lately.”

  He reaches out, wraps his hand around mine and gives a gentle tug, pulling me back into a sitting position. I look at our joined hands and notice he’s trembling like a leaf. I’ve been nervous before. I’ve been scared before. But something tells me this quivering is much more.

  “Why are your hands shaking? Tell me what’s wrong.” With my free hand, I cup his face and run my thumb along his cheek. “You can trust me, Shane.”

  I can almost see the war he rages internall
y. Fear, doubt, trust, and insecurity pour out from his gaze.

  “I’m fine. They’re just tremors.”

  “How often do they happen?” I whisper.

  “Not very often.”

  “What triggers them?” I ask, knowing I’m treading on very thin ice.

  “I don’t have triggers. My hands shake every now and then. Like I said, I’m fine.” My hand falls dejectedly when he lets go, walks into the kitchen. I watch him reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He leans over and takes a drink of water from the running faucet before tipping his head back. From side to side, he angles his neck to crack it. He gathers his phone and turns around.

  “Remy, please don’t worry.” The smile on his face seems genuine as his happy demeanor returns. “You don’t need to worry. I am fine,” he enunciates each word slowly and clearly. If he thinks this conversation is over, he is dead wrong.

  “Are you ready to go?” he sighs as he grab a few mints from the small bowl on the coffee table.

  I simply nod as I take his outstretched, steady hand. Our eyes meet and silently I beg for understanding, but my eyes reveal the pity I feel for him. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know when someone’s got demons they’re fighting. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Shane is battling demons of his own. I flip our joined hands over, ready to question the stillness, but the millions of questions I want to ask are lodged in my throat. I want to beg him to open up and tell me, but he will tell me whatever it is when he’s ready.

  Shane

  I walk silently with Remy by my side, guilt riddling through me for lying to her. I know she wants to ask me what the hell just happened and I wish I could tell her. I wish I knew exactly what the hell happened. What I do know is the tremors are happening more frequently and at all different times of the day without the usual triggers. The vivid memories. The bright lights. The piercing sound.I’ve always hated the stares by onlookers when these episodes begin, sending me into uncontrollable and unexplainable anger which usually ends in violence. I’m ashamed that my mother and sister have witnessed this on several occasions; the last being when Mia and I broke up and she refused to talk to me for weeks on end.

  Suppressing the rise of anxiety from deep within, I inhale and exhale slowly and glance at Remy from the corner of my eye. A small wave of calm spreads throughout my body. I notice she seems more relaxed and more at ease than she did earlier tonight. The bruise on her cheek doesn’t look so bad with makeup over it, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s there. Someone hurt her. Someone left a mark on her perfect skin. Someone will pay.

  I open the passenger door for her and step back. Abruptly, she turns to me and slides her hands around my waist, her fingers dig into my back. I can feel the desire in her touch as her chest presses into mine. I lift her small frame and set her down on the seat of my truck, wedging myself between her spread legs. Our mouths meet with desperate kisses. Our tongues invite the other to join in. The blood surges through my body, making me instantly rigid with longing for hers. I need her. I need to touch her. I need to be in her. Her hands roam against my chest as I pull her forward. I need this contact. As if we are the only two people who exist in the world, we make an unspoken promise of what is to come. An unspoken promise of the incredible connection that lies between us.

  “We need to eat something,” I offer instead of begging her to come back to my apartment to finish what we’ve started.

  “Shane,” she breathes heavily against my mouth.

  I kiss her lips softly, understanding her need to join our bodies.

  “Remy, I want you. I want you so bad I can hardly see straight.” I grin. “But I don’t want to rush into something with you.”

  With a deep sigh, she drops her head before pulling her cheek into a smirk. “Are you sure you’re not gay?”

  Fuck it! With narrowed eyes, I grab her hand and push my stiff dick into it. “Definitely not gay.”

  She laughs and exhales loudly. “You’re not normal. Most guys wouldn’t think twice about having sex with me.” Her greens widen in surprise and she stammers, “I mean…with any girl.”

  Remy swings her legs in and closes the door. With a playful expression, she watches as I jog around the front of the truck and slide into the driver’s seat.

  “Ready?” I ask as she secures her seat belt.

  “Take me…to get something to eat.”

  I lean over. “Come here. I have to tell you something.”

  She moves, listening intently. “Stop stealing my mints.”

  Her lips pull into a wide grin when she opens her mouth and reveals the small piece of candy.

  She turns the dial on the radio and fills the space with Taylor Swift’s newest song.

  Little does she know that I see her in my wildest dreams especially when I’m stroking myself until her name falls from my lips in a frenzied groan.

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE you’ve never been here.” I look around The Beehive, a lively restaurant known for its live music.

  “Nope,” Remy shakes her head, pops a cherry into her mouth and then sips the cranberry juice.

  “Have you always lived in Boston?” I ask after the waitress drops off our entrees.

  Immediately, her eyes flash to mine with a look of worry before she answers, “No.”

  “Always in Massachusetts?”

  “Yeah. I lived just outside of Boston for a few years...when I was in foster care.”

  Foster care. My chest tightens at the sad situation that forced her in to the foster care system. “How long were you there? How many times? Why…” Words fumble from my mouth. The thought of this beautiful woman as an innocent child living with strangers who probably were just in it for the money shreds me and my body stiffens with anger. As if she could read my mind, she opens her mouth and extinguishes my unease.

  “I told you what my mother is like. I spent a lot of years in and out of different homes, but I eventually found a wonderful foster family who took really good care of me. I was one of the lucky ones.”

  Eventually? I can hardly allow myself to imagine what life was like for her as a little girl. “How old were you?”

  “Old enough to know what was happening. Old enough to know my mother couldn’t take care of me.”

  “Why didn’t you stay with them then?”

  She shrugs sadly. “I didn’t have a choice. My mother completed the rehab program and both the court and Child Services thought it was best for me.”

  “And did you think it was best for you?” I wrap my hands around the neck of the beer bottle to shield the shaking of my fingers.

  “I think I was too young to know what the right thing was. Looking back now, I should never have been given back to her. She wasn’t a competent mother.”

  “What happened to the family who took you in?”

  “I still see him, but my foster mom died.”

  I quickly move the wooden chair beside her and take her hands in mine. “Do you realize how amazing you are? You’re working hard to get an education and do something with your life. You’ve overcome and beat the system. You should be proud of yourself.”

  She shoots me a look and whispers quietly, “No, I haven’t.”

  “Yes, you have. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel less than good about yourself. You’re going to graduate and get a job helping people. That’s a huge success in my book.”

  “Shane—”

  “Quiet.” I press my finger to her lips, silencing the self-doubt and criticism I know she’s about to say. “Accept the compliment and eat your dinner.”

  She stabs a piece of grilled chicken and smiles. “I’m glad you came to Boston.”

  “Me, too.”

  We stroll out to my truck after she declines my offer to get dessert. “Do you know how many calories are in those desserts?”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes at her comment; she doesn’t need to worry about her body. It’s fucking perfect.

  “I know a good way t
o burn a few calories,” I tease as I open the door for her.

  “I’m sure you do.” Using the backside of her hand, she slaps my stomach.

  “Are you tired or do you want to go somewhere else?”

  Her eyes sparkle with an expression I’ve not seen before. “Home.”

  My eyes shoot open, wide and surprised. Home? She wants to go home? I can’t let her go back home. It’s not safe there.

  “Why? Why do you want me to bring you home?” I pull back and search her face, hoping to find the answer to my question.

  “Take me home with you.” Her beautiful green eyes are crystal clear, speaking words of truth. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of trying to fight the inevitable.” She moves closer and whispers, “I want you.”

  Again, I crash my mouth into hers and devour her until she moans in discomfort. “Baby, I’m sorry. I got carried away.” I kiss the swollen part of her lip gently.

  “It’s fine. I grew up all over the south side. Southies are tougher than we look.” She turns quickly, opens the passenger door and hops in. I’m left standing there as she smiles at me through the closed window.

  I glance over my shoulder before I pull out onto the street and offer up a silent prayer to the traffic gods, hoping they’ll be kind enough to part the means streets of Boston tonight and let us get home quickly before I combust right here.

  I PARK ON the odd side of the street between a Saab and a Volvo. The tension floating between us is enough to crack the windshield wide open even though the windows are down as the crisp air nips at her beautiful face. I wanted to make her put her seatbelt back on, but when she unbuckled it and slid over to cuddle up next to me, the words fell silently on my lips. I knew she was safe with me as I wrapped my free arm around her petite shoulders. We didn’t talk much on the ride back to my apartment; she hummed along to an acoustic version of Ed Sheeran’s latest hit Photograph. I kissed the top of her head when she ran her hand over my stomach and gave me a little squeeze when the song ended. I tried to concentrate on the chords of the song just to distract myself. Her proximity was doing insane things to my body while my mind was reeling with thoughts of kissing her again, tasting her before finally being able to take her to my bed.