Because of him. My biological father.
“Hartley. Baby, stop.” He pushed me away, only intensifying the crying I couldn’t break away from. Guilt swarmed my interior. Things were never supposed to be like this. Good people weren’t meant to be lead such tragic lives.
Except … they did.
He rubbed his thumbs underneath my eyes, his look firm and serious, lacking any certainty. The longing to scream at the top of my lungs was substantial. Curse this so-called loving God of ours. Damn the life he’d given Justin.
“This is why I never considered a relationship, Hartley. The damage is too big. Too much to burden someone with. You deserve the world, baby.”
I ignored what he said. Anything but a burden, Justin would never be a weight on my shoulders and I’d never want another man. I’d love him until my last waking breath. He was my soulmate. I’d known it since the seventh grade. I’d die proving it.
“The patches on your hip. What do they have to do with all this?” He kissed the tip of my nose, my stomach dropping at the tenseness in his body.
“I get extreme migraines. The pain patches keep them manageable.”
“What causes the migraines? Make me understand, Justin. Did he do this to you?” My stomach was rolling. I already knew the answer to my question before he answered.
His jaw clenched, fighting the emotion he was struggling to ignore. Being strong. Keeping control. Hiding his fear. All the things he’d been forced to do since he was a child.
Damn you. What god allows this kind of hell?
“Come on. Let’s sit down.” He took my hand and squeezed, leading me to the couch and pulling me onto his lap.
“Other than Jackson, I’ve never told my complete story to another human being, Hartley. Not even Tyler. It’s humiliating and shameful. And I only told Jackson what he needed to know as my attorney.” The look in his eyes was distant.
“James was abusive.”
After a lingering kiss on my head, for a while, we were both silent. My biological father – the man my mother loved - was a child abuser. He made Justin panhandle for money. What all else had he done?
“Justin, did he abuse you … sexually?” His mouth sealed shut, his body tight and tense against mine as he avoided eye contact.
“Please, baby. It’s okay to tell media love you. Let me help you. Lean on me.” My lips covered his sealed eyelids, kissing over and under them before moving to his mouth. I kissed him softly, pulling my fingers through his hair.
“I have irreversible optic nerve damage, Hartley. Too many blows to the head can cause pressure inside the skull and on the optic nerve. The pressure can obstruct the nerves and sever blood circulation, which causes acute migraines. They can get worse with time.”
“So he hit you that often? In the head?” I felt sick. My words slurring, I couldn’t understand why anyone would do that. He was avoiding my question about sexual abuse, making my stomach roll at the possibility. He pulled me into his chest again, kissing the top of my head again.
“I think you know the answer already.”
Still, he said nothing about my other question. For minutes, there was only more silence as we clung to each other while I rested across his lap.
“My mom. Do you think he’s abusive to her?” Justin’s lips sealed shut, the rage in his gaze enough to prove he suspected.
“Fuck, Hartley. I don’t know, baby.”
More lingering minutes of silence seemed to last forever.
“You deserve the world, Hartley. Maybe it’s best to end this thing. You have your whole life ahead of you. You sure the fuck don’t need to tend to man who’s flat on his back with migraines half the time.
“Stop! Don’t say that, Justin. Don’t ever do that again.” I shoved my hand against his chest, pushing him backward.
“If you fall, I fall. We deal with all this together. You and me. Your past. The migraines. It changes nothing about the way I feel about you. I love you. It’s unconditional, Justin.”
He eased me from his lap, standing. “Why, Hartley? Why would you want to live with a man who sometimes goes two or three days with a headache so severe he can’t stand to even see the light of day, much less get out of the house? Fuck… I can’t. I won’t…”
Long scalding tears fell down my cheeks. I hated James McDonald. He was nobody’s father. He deserved nothing but a prison cell in the worst of facilities. I knew at this moment that I’d never visit my mother again as long as she stayed with him.
“Stop! My God … stop. I love you. Don’t you understand what that means? I love you, Justin. I love what’s in here. Don’t you get it?” I pushed at his chest again. “Don’t you fucking get it?”
My hands pressed against his chest as I fought the spilling emotion. He grabbed my wrists, forcing me against the wall, his grip tight. He was emotional. He didn’t want me to know that, but I did. His body tensed over and over as he struggled holding back what he’d kept inside for so many years. He just held me that way, his hands tight against my wrists. My back against the hard wall. My pulse racing. While he stared. And stared some more.
“Fuck!” He dropped my numb wrists and walked away. After seconds, I followed him, listening to the door to his bedroom shut. I inched closer, stopping, not knowing if I should or shouldn’t. Maybe he needed space. Away from me. Alone to sort through all that had happened the last few hours.
Maybe he couldn’t overlook who I was. Maybe that was the bulk of the problem.
“Fuck this,” I whispered. He’d had nothing but space his entire life. I’d be damned if I’d walk away. My daddy taught me to never do that. Suddenly, the air around me felt different. Like my daddy was right beside me, breathing over my shoulder and urging me to do what I thought I needed to.
I already knew what that was.
I knocked quietly, hoping he’d answer.
“It’s open.”
I eased the door open to tightly shut blinds and no lights. He stood in the attached bathroom, staring into the long mirror with water running in the sink, quickly placing something into the cabinet to his right.
“Justin?” I whispered.
He stared at me, still facing the mirror. He’d been smoking weed. The aroma was strong.
“Is everything okay, baby? Were you … smoking weed?” He turned off the water, leaning forward and placing both hands on either side of the sink.
“He never forced himself on me, Hartley.” His head hung down, but his eyes rose, meeting mine. “He threatened. Always fucking browbeating,” he hissed. “Exposing himself again and again, always saying he knew what I wanted … when I never wanted a fucking thing from him.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry.” I inched up behind him, my arms encircling his waist and gripping him with all the strength I had left.
“The weed … it helps ease the migraines.” His eyes were red, his jaw tense. “Please, just go. Let me deal with this.”
I brushed my hands across his strong abs again, urging him tighter against me. Didn’t he realize I wasn’t going to leave him like this? Didn’t he understand how much I loved him?
“I’m not going anywhere, Justin. How many times do I have to tell you I love you before you actually believe me?”
This was it for me.
Unless he no longer loved me because of who I was, I’d never walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hartley
His breathing was hard and unsettled. On a chaise lounge beside the window, the onset of blurred vision made him squint as he leaned over to pull his Nike sneakers off. The pain worsening by the simple movement of bending his upper body was obvious by the bulging vein in his neck. I’d spent time the last week researching acute migraines. I was more aware of the symptoms.
“Here, baby. Let me help.” I knelt, reaching for his shoes. A strong arm grabbed my wrist. “I’m not a damn invalid. I don’t need anybody to take my fucking shoes off for me. You don’t need to be here. Not for this. Please, Hartley … just go.”
/> Clearly agitated, I’d heard of these headaches. Read about them. Coded them a million times. But I’d never experienced one taking place. I quickly tried thinking of some way to ease the pain, but I had nothing. I wasn’t sure what to do.
“I’m not going anywhere, Justin” I whispered. “Please. Tell me what I can do. It’s okay to need help, baby. You’re not always the damn gladiator.” His brows raised.
“We’ll see about that a little later,” he answered in a faint whisper.
“Is there anything I can go get you? Do you have any kind of meds or something that might help?” He rubbed his temples and before I realized what was happening, I felt tears dripping off my chin and onto the top of his thighs. Why couldn’t I just do something to help him? Why wouldn’t he let me?
“Please, Hartley. Just go.” Holy shit, why did he keep telling me to leave?
“Justin! Stop telling me that. Help me help you.”
Then it dawned on me. He’d never had anyone help him. Self-sufficient and strong all his life, it was clearly all he knew. He’d feel differently about that before long if I had anything to do with it.
The look in his eyes was skeptical. He was shaking his head, only making me cry more. The feeling of helplessness growing in me by the second. Then, I remembered something I’d read. I undressed, leaving only my bra and panties on. Migraine sufferers needed dark. And quiet. When I finished setting my clothes on the floor, I lifted his second shoe and eased it from his foot.
“Hartley.” He reached for my hand, his face a private disguise of emotions as his radiantly blue eyes gazed into mine. He kissed my wrist and stood up. Something crossed over his face. A look I couldn’t put a name on.
“I love you.” His lips twitched as he pulled me against him. Emotion swam through my body as I rested against the safe haven of his chest.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this. I just need some sleep.”
“Stop,” I whispered. “We’ll sleep,” I declared, with no intentions of letting him feel guilt for something he had no control over. He turned toward the table beside his bed at the sound of an incoming phone call on his cell.
“Ignore it,” he uttered, spinning his attention back toward the bed. It’s probably the club. Whatever they need, they can figure it out.”
I pulled back the thick comforter and sheets and lowered his shorts over the muscle of his tensing thighs.
“Come on, baby. Get in.”
Hesitantly, he crawled underneath the sheets and turned onto his side. I flipped on the ceiling fan, knowing he liked the bedroom nice and cold, and climbed in behind him, snuggling up against him, but not too close. His hand reached over and behind him, searching for mine. I wrapped it back across his waist, resting it against his pulsing firm abdomen. He was reaching out to me at last.
Burn in hell, James McDonald. I hope you get everything you deserve.
“Thank you for this, Hartley. I’ll never forget what you’ve done.”
“Close your eyes, Justin. Just rest, baby.”
He squeezed my hand just a little and lifted it against his chest. In only seconds, his breathing deepened as he fell asleep.
“I love you,” I whispered.
Another huge corner turned today, he’d opened up. He was trusting me more. Loving me—and more importantly—letting me love him back.
I wouldn’t sleep. I’d stay right here like this in case he woke and needed something. With a slow move, I eased my free hand up and across my mouth, silently praying to someone … somewhere … anyone … to help him as I tried not waking him through my cries.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Justin
I’ll fight for you until the end.
It was my birthday. My mother promised to make me peanut butter fudge. Said it would be waiting for me when I got home. One of the rare days I was allowed to go to school, I walked through the front door, the heat blistering since we didn’t run the air-conditioning much.
Anxious to see my birthday present on the kitchen table, instead, my body went still, my stomach clenching. My mother leaned across the table, her thin dress pulled up over her hips as James took her from behind. Her face toward the opposite wall, she didn’t see me.
Yet, James did.
With evil gratification etched in his face, my mother’s small frame brushed the edge of the table with each brutal thrust of his cock pounding inside her.
Another dream, my eyes were heavy and sticky with exhaustion as I awoke, staring at the clock reading 5:15 AM. As I’d done a dozen times recently, I recalled the name and phone number tucked away in my office desk. I’d be calling sooner rather than later, my decision made.
“Which sounds better tonight, boy? A full belly … or this?” His grin was revolting, his right front tooth chipped with the other stained and unhealthy. His hand rubbed his groin as that one tooth stood out like a huge turd in a punchbowl.
Unsettled thoughts and flashbacks filled my head. The sounds. Stares. Memories I wanted to abolish. All the times my mother sat and watched, doing nothing when the dick brain hit me. Turning a blind eye every time he rubbed his flimsy cock in front of me.
My gut grumbled. So fucking many things to consider.
Hartley.
Me.
Her mother.
James McDonald.
Did we have a chance in hell at a future with this shit storm our families shared? Was all this just a hopeless illusion?
I’d wired my mother cash for years. She worked part-time. Money shouldn’t have been an issue. My mind rattled with the reasoning behind that. Yet, in seconds, I was absolutely sure why. It wasn’t hard to figure out. She was definitely still sending him money. He was positively still threatening.
Why the fuck hadn’t she told me?
The sick bastard would pay.
Only one more shit show to get through. A big one. Then, I’ll make things good.
Hartley’s naked body was tangled against mine, her feet lodged between my legs with an arm around my chest. My dick stirred, just by the simple touch.
“I love your chest. And these tattoos,” she whispered, still drowsy with sleep. “Is there a story behind them?” I turned to my side and faced her.
“This one.” She ironically traced a finger around the first ink I’d ever gotten on the top of my left arm. Her eyes were like soft pools of goodness. She was everything I’d always wanted. The woman I needed to be touching. Having intimate conversation with. Fucking.
Though I still wasn’t entirely certain I was good enough for her.
“It’s a lotus flower.” I glanced at the medium-sized ink, remembering the day I’d walked through the tattoo shop. Still a kid. Lost. Searching for meaning in my life. “The lotus flower represents new beginnings. Closing the door to the past and opening another to the future.”
“JT,” Hartley whispered, the use of my nickname stirring the soft side of my emotion that only she’d ever been able to engage.
I looked at her face, knowing she still had questions. About my past. My mother. James. I also knew she wouldn’t force the issue. I brushed her hair behind her ear, kissing the tip of her nose.
“When I opened Venture, the rest of these…” I gestured toward my arm and chest. “They just became a self-expression of my life, I guess. I really never gave it that much thought.”
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered, pressing a hand against my chest.
I gazed into her eyes, feeling nothing but serious and committed. I loved this woman with everything I was. I was different because of her.
I pulled her down to my face, covering her lips with mine as I rolled on top of her. Soft and feminine, her satisfied groan went way down low in her throat.
“I love you, baby.”
My eyes unmoving from hers, I slid down her body, drinking up every drop of her honeyed essence as she watched. I was in my element with the woman I loved. Forgetting. Only feeling. Brushing everything else
to the side. Taking us to that place we both needed to be.
I moved back up her belly and hovered over her, reaching for her hips before gliding inside her, our bodies merging into one.
Long minutes later, when we’d both collapsed in fatigue against each other, I held her against my chest, taking in all that had happened. My anger was calming. I was only focused on the moment. And this closeness that was still hard to believe.
“I love you so much, JT,” she whispered.
I pressed my lips to hers, staying right there before finally easing back and closing my eyes. Wishing away the dull ache still fighting behind my head.
Hoping like hell our perverted family members wouldn’t come between us somewhere down the line.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Justin
Love wildly.
Work. It was imperative I get my ass in gear. Venture was my club after all.
The auction was tomorrow. Plenty of shit needed to be done. First, I needed to make the call I’d been avoiding.
“Just make it clean. Don’t fuck this up.” I ended my second call of the day to the long-time club member, returning the card to my desk and leaving my office to run a few things past Sam.
“Justin.” The gruff sound of Jackson’s voice was loud.
“Jackson,” I nodded. He sat at the bar with his normal drink of choice, Macallan 18, neat, no ice, the small glass of 18-year-old scotch twirling between his fingers. A very expensive Sherry Oak, I kept it stocked at the club simply for him and two other members. I sat down next to him. Since he claimed to no longer be a member, he was clearly here for one thing—Hartley. For seconds, we sat in silence, the song in the background unfamiliar. Sam had obviously taken it upon herself to add some new music. I liked it.
“Do you want a refill, Jackson? You look like you need one.”
He set the glass down and pushed it away.
“Hartley told me everything. About James. Christ, Wisely! I had no idea he’d been married to your mother. I didn’t realize he was the sick fuck who abused you.”
Crimson Sunsets Page 14
