Hope

by Sydney Lane

  "Corrine, I'm sorry for what I said the other night. I-"

  "Don't be." She cuts me off, shaking her head as tears fill her eyes. For once, I feel sorry for someone other than myself. "You were right, you know?" Tears begin spilling onto her cheeks, flowing down her gorgeous face. "I used to be so strong, and I never took shit from anybody, especially guys. I don't know what happened, but the more I cared for him, the worse he treated me, and the worse he treated me, the harder I fell. I just thought I could-" A sob catches in her throat, and I sit beside her, wishing I could somehow take away her pain. "I thought I could save him."

  Ouch.

  My sweet and funny friend fell into one of the deepest, soul-draining traps there is. There's nothing a woman loves more than a tortured man they want to save. Unfortunately, they rarely succeed.

  "What are you gonna do?"

  "I've already told him. I don't want to see him anymore." She wipes her eyes, smiling crookedly. "I'm done. I'm ready to move on." Her eyes are filled with pain, and I'm not sure who she's trying to convince- me or herself.

  "I'm sorry." I apologize again. Sometimes, it hurts to be right. I wish I'd been wrong about Seth, that they could've worked things out.

  "Don't be." She abruptly stands and walks to the door, throwing it open. "Now, go. Have fun and tell me about it in the morning."

  I walk to her, giving her a brief and awkward hug. "Call me if you need me."

  When the door closes behind me, I let out a whoosh of air, feeling somewhat drained. I'm not exactly comfortable with touchy-feely, soul-baring girl drama. But I'll be the friend she needs, and I will learn.

  Downstairs, I walk out into the evening heat, searching for Declan. I find him standing against his SUV, wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt, the sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up his forearms, exposing the tan skin there. His dark jeans hang low on his waist, tightly hugging his thighs and ass.

  Holy hell. My good guy. My naughty guy. All rolled into one irresistible package.

  "I was beginning to get impatient." He smiles, and I can't resist planting a quick kiss on one adorable dimple.

  "Was it worth the wait?" I spin for him, his eyes heating with desire as they trail down my body and back up. I wore heels just for him.

  "Always." His eyes are suddenly serious, pensive, before he snaps out of it. "Come on, let's go. We have reservations."

  Reservations? That certainly piques my interest.

  When he helps me into the car, his hands linger on my waist, his breath teasing my cheek when he leans in. I hold my breath as he reaches over me and buckles my seatbelt. His knuckles graze my arm, and he hisses between his teeth, jerking as if he's been burned.

  "Where are we going?" Clearing my throat, I try to appear unaffected by him.

  "Dinner." With his wrist draped over the steering wheel, he flashes a smile at me before turning back to the road. His hair is growing out, and his face is rough with new stubble. My nice guy is totally rockin' the bad boy look. Can he get any sexier? No, seriously. Can he?

  "No shit, Sherlock." Joking with him seems so normal. Now- that's a whole other issue.

  All I wanted was normal. He gave me extraordinary.

  "Just hold your horses. We aren't going far." Captivated, I study his profile while he drives. I'm so going to get a tattoo that reminds me of him. I need him on my body forever.

  He wasn't exaggerating when he said we weren't going far. Too soon, he's pulling into the parking lot of The Melting Pot, a fabulous fondue restaurant. I wonder if he knew it's my favorite. The self-satisfied smirk on his face tells me he did.

  "How did you know?"

  He shrugs his broad shoulders, winking at me. "Oh, I know a lot of things."

  And just like that... I can't wait for him to show me everything he knows.

  Because I don't think we're talking about restaurants anymore.

  Chapter 61

  Declan

  Mouthwatering. Tempting. That dress, those heels... her lips. She's trying to kill me.

  We sit across from one another, our knees touching under the table. And while my body initially responds to her on a carnal level, the minute she begins talking, I'm enthralled by her. Articulate and intelligent, she's a force to be reckoned with.

  Liza Nichols is the whole package.

  The days we went running, sitting on the banks of the river and sneaking into the stadium, we talked endlessly. For hours, we talked about nothing... and everything. It's only now that I'm able to fit the pieces together.

  She tells me how she went to Coach Senton and talked her way onto the team, how she's bringing her grades up so she can become a high school softball coach, her dreams to give back to underprivileged children. She giggles when she admits that she wants to go to a One Direction concert, and she blushes when she reveals her favorite sexual position.

  Amazing. Irresistible.

  I want to spend time in her world, getting to know her family and jogging with her dog, Hershey. I want to watch one of Taylor's games and cheer for Liza at every single game. When she tells me she's volunteering at the battered women's shelter, I want to go with her.

  The more of herself she reveals, the more I want to know. I'm ravenous, my appetite for Liza insatiable. So many times throughout the night, the words are on the tip of my tongue- God, I love you. I love you, Liza Nichols. Only sheer willpower and the fear that I'll scare her keep the words from escaping.

  "So, tell me about your family. I've been doing all the talking." Her eyes are sincere, genuinely interested, giving me her full attention.

  "There's not much to tell. I mean, my family sounds a lot like your family, but there were three boys instead of three girls." Leaning forward, propping her chin up on her fist, she listens intently, hanging on to every word I say. "Trevor is the oldest. He's the golden child- athletic, popular, and smart. Brody reminds me of him. I think that's why I always related to him." I shrug my shoulders, letting those words sink in. I'd never thought about that before. "Anyway, Ashton is the typical middle child. He was the class clown, outgoing, charming. If there's trouble to found, he'll find it."

  Liza's eyes grow heavy with a contented smile on her face. "More," she pleads.

  "You already know my dad is a preacher, and my mom is a teacher. Like you, I want to work with underprivileged kids, maybe coach at an inner city school. I want to marry the girl of my dreams, one who gets me yet challenges me, and I want a houseful of kids." I pause, lowering my voice. "What about you, Liza? Do you ever think about that?"

  Her eyes widen in surprise before she recovers. "Until recently, I didn't believe those things were possible." In an instant, several emotions play out on her face- sadness, regret, and resolve. "But yeah, I think I want to do that someday. I don't know about the houseful of kids, though." She giggles, the sorrow in her eyes renewed by hope. "Yeah, okay, maybe."

  She's quiet on the drive to the hotel, reflective. I'd give anything to be able to fight her demons for her. Even now, when she's so happy, the darkness creeps in, threatening everything she's worked so hard for. That's what I'm here for. To hold her hand while she seeks the light.

  I'm nervous when I pull up outside the hotel, worried that she'll think I'm being too presumptuous. I turn to her, explaining, "I got us a room here. Corrine packed your bag, and I have it in the back. Nothing has to happen that you don't want to happen. I promise." I hold my breath, anticipating her answer.

  "What?" Her eyes brighten as she looks around in wide-eyed wonder. "Corrine knew about this?"

  "Yeah. Jenna and Quincy helped, too."

  "I love it!" she squeals, shifting in her seat. "No one has ever done anything like this for me. Thank you."

  Those words pain me. She shouldn't be thanking me. I should be the one thanking her.

  "You deserve this and so much more. This is just the beginning, Liza." My voice is gruff, sticking in my throat. I get the same foreboding sense that she has scars from something I can only imagine. It makes me feel bo
th protective and violent.

  I exit the car, retrieving our bags from the back, and escort Liza to the elevator. Our room is on the sixteenth floor, allowing us ample time to study each other. The air crackles between us, charged with sexual tension. My body craves her, my heart beats for her, and my soul lives for her. I allow my eyes to travel down her legs, to her heels, and back up, lingering on the cleavage peeking from her neckline. Subtle yet sexy.

  I swipe the keycard outside our room and allow Liza to walk in first. Her gasp tells me everything I need to know. While we were at dinner, Quincy and Jenna worked their magic.

  Just a few short weeks ago, I wouldn't have believed this was possible. The idea of Quincy preparing the room for me is almost too weird to be true, but that's exactly what she did. My first glimpse of the room leaves me stunned.

  Candles of different sizes are on every spare surface in the room. Instead of cheesy rose petals, there are several large vases filled with daisies. Thanks to Corrine, I know they are Liza's favorite flower. I couldn't have done this by myself.

  "It's-" She stands in the middle of the room, turning in a slow circle as she takes it in. "Oh, Declan, it's beautiful." The candlelight is reflected in her eyes, now wet with tears.

  I drop our bags on the floor and walk to her, embracing her. "What is it?"

  Her hands push against my chest, and I brace myself for her answer.

  "There's something I need to tell you." Her lip quivers as she looks away. When her eyes return to mine, I know I'm about to hear about the moment that changed her. Shaped her.

  There's nothing she could say to change the way I feel about her.

  Chapter 62

  Eliza

  Zach's kisses are sensual, consuming, and so different from the chaste kisses I've shared with Jared that I begin to wonder if I've ever really been kissed before. I might drown in him, in this feeling right here. He expertly parts my lips, his tongue exploring my mouth. When his hand slips under my shirt, his thumb tracing my bra, I unabashedly climb up his body, moaning against his mouth.

  "Liza? What are you doing here?" The voice is instantly sobering, like throwing a bucket of cold water in my face. I tear my mouth away from Zach's, a sickening feeling creeping into my throat. Before I can react, Coach Maxwell grasps my shoulders, turning me to face him.

  My lips are swollen and raw from the drunken kisses with Zach. I can't look him in the eyes, can't face the disappointment I'm sure I'll find there. Zach moves in front of me, pushing me behind him.

  "Back off, Sanders. She's one of mine." Reaching around Zach, Coach grabs my hand and tugs me forward. "Come on, Liza. I'm taking you home." Without hesitation, I blindly follow him through the throngs of people, to his car. When he opens the door and pushes me inside, I climb in and stare at my lap.

  That was my last mistake.

  I feel his eyes on me, sense the anger radiating from him. I'm so scared, so ashamed.

  "What were you thinking, Liza? We have a game tomorrow or did you forget we were in the middle of a tournament?" The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. When it becomes obvious that I'm not going to answer, he starts the car and drives away.

  The next thing I know, I wake up, slowly becoming aware of being carried. My body jostles in Coach's arms, my head too heavy to lift. "Where? Are we?" My voice sounds like it's under water, the words slurred. Every time I open my eyes, the world is a blur of lights and colors.

  "Shhh. You’ll be okay. I brought you to my house so you could sober up." He tightens his grip on me, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. "I'll take you home in the morning."

  "But my parents." Talking requires too much effort.

  "I texted them from your phone. They think you're spending the night at a friend's." He thought of everything. Coach is young, only twenty-two, and half the softball team has a crush on him. Sadly, he's been the object of many daydreams. I'm too appalled to respond.

  The rocking motion as he climbs the stairs lulls me to sleep, and then, I'm on a bed, and he's removing my clothes. I try to resist, but he pushes my hands away, reassuring me. "Just let me take care of you."

  Darkness again, then awareness. His hand slips between my legs, his warm body pressed against my side. I'm totally nude, and so is he. I snap my thighs closed, pushing away his hands. "No. No." My head thrashes side to side, my efforts to escape ineffective. "Coach-"

  "Isn't this what you wanted? What you were going to do with Zach?" His finger roughly pushes inside me, and I feel a sharp pain slice through me. My hips buck against him, and I finally find the ability to fight.

  "No! Please don't. I wasn't going to do anything." I struggle against him, and he slides his legs over mine, pinning me beneath him. I open my eyes to find him staring down at me. His eyes are dark, emotionless. Evil.

  "Don't fight, Liza. I know what you were doing. I saw you," he hisses, accusing. He lowers his head, biting my breast, and I scream at the shock of it. "Always teasing me on the field, shaking your ass in my direction."

  His knees part mine, and I feel his penis against me, pushing. I try to move, but he presses harder. I'm still burning from the earlier intrusion, and when he thrusts into me, unforgiving, I feel as if I've been split in two. My mind separates from my body, and I lie motionless as he thrusts into me over and over again. His mouth is on my neck, licking and sucking, his breath hot and ragged. His hips pick up their pace, and he groans in my ear. Suddenly, he withdraws, spewing hot liquid over my stomach.

  The pain is indescribable, but the betrayal is unbearable.

  I trusted him. My parents trusted him.

  He throws a towel at me and tells me to get dressed. Then, he drives me home.

  Just like he said he would.

  Before I get out of his car, he reminds me, "I'll see you at practice."

  I run inside, stripping my clothes off, and a trickle of blood glides down my leg, the last remnants of my virginity. The last part of me.

  I lie in Declan's arms, blanketed in his warm security, and tell him everything, the things I've never spoken aloud. I was drunk and cheating on my boyfriend when I was raped by the coach I often fantasized about. I was the perfect victim.

  It was so easy to blame myself.

  Declan's ragged breaths draw me back to the present, and I finally look at him, afraid of what I might see. Does he pity me? Blame me?

  My eyes collide with his.

  No. No pity. No accusations. Just love.

  I'm so tired of fighting. Every time I fight, I lose.

  And I'm tired of hiding. Every place I tried to hide, he found me. Declan.

  Letting go is not so much about giving up as it is giving in. It's not about standing by, doing nothing, as your life falls to pieces. But it is about giving in to reality, letting go of old expectations and embracing new ones. Giving up is throwing in the towel. Giving in is learning to live again.

  Coach Maxwell took everything from me. He stole my life, my dreams, my...self, and after all this time, he's still taking more of me every day. I've been giving myself to him, letting him take, take, take... tonight, I fight back.

  "You know I would never take anything you weren't ready to give me, right?" Declan's voice is soft but intense, calming me instantly, wrapping its warmth around me. "I'll wait until you're ready to give yourself to me. I'll wait as long as it takes."

  "I'm ready, Declan." I take a deep breath and look away, afraid of his reaction. "Tonight."

  "Give me your eyes, Liza." At his command, I look up, my eyes meeting the dark depths of his. A connection builds between us, an electricity crackling in the air, that consumes me, truly devouring me in the best possible way. "Are you sure?"

  I nod silently, and he pushes me down on the bed.

  "Give me these." He slides his hand down my chest, lingering over my breasts. Lifting my arms, I pull my dress over my head and toss it away, revealing my barely-there bra. He never breaks our gaze, even when I unsnap the clasp and let my bra fall, exposing
myself to him.

  My breathing becomes labored, the air forced from my lungs. He gently traces the underside of my breasts before circling my nipple and sliding his hand lower, down my stomach to my thighs, his fingers whispering over my skin. He slides backwards, kneeling between my legs.

  "And these," he says as he draws my leg up, kissing the arch of my foot, delicately cradling my ankle in his hands. I get lost in his eyes, sinking deeper and deeper, while he creates chaos in my mind and body.

  His lips move up my leg, his kiss blazing of path of destruction, consuming any hesitation that might linger.

  This is right.

  This is real.

  "This, definitely. I want this." His fingers graze the apex of my thighs, only a slight strip of material between us. He begins drawing lazy circles there, driving me higher and higher. I close my eyes, dropping my head backwards. "Eyes." I open my eyes, once again connecting with him. I want so much more, but he's in no rush, pleasing me, torturing me. My eyes plead with him, begging him to go faster, and he arches his brow, asking a silent question.

  I understand. He's waiting for me to give him permission, giving me the choice to back out. I reach down, my thumbs sliding under the edge of my thong, pushing it down and finally kicking it off. I hope that's all the answer he needs.

  His fingers grip my hips, then suddenly, he flips us, and I find myself straddling him as he lies on his back. I smoothly slide back and forth over him, and he inhales sharply, his body tensing beneath me. "Give yourself to me, Liza."

  I rise to my knees, positioning myself over him, and swiftly take him inside me. As I begin moving over him, his eyes locked on mine, he points to my chest, hovering over my heart. "And Liza? This? Can I have this?" I nod, feeling otherworldly, as if I'm walking in a dream.

  "Take me, Liza." He grips my thighs, his fingers digging into my skin, urging me on as his hips rise to meet mine. Taking my hand, he places it over his heart, where I can feel his life beating beneath my fingertips. "Can't you feel it? I'm already yours."

  With every touch, he gives me back a piece of my shattered soul.