Only for Her

by Cristin Harber

  “I was a kid, so I really didn’t know better.” His eyes well, and since we’re splayed on the floor, tears leak sideways into his hair. “She was perfect. Beautiful. Funny. We were happy.” He looks at me. “Maybe we weren’t. I guess I was too young to know. I was the center of her world, but not really. Her demons were. I just didn’t understand it. But… she was the center of mine. Mama’s boy.”

  His honesty shreds me. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I eventually learned that she took pills like candy. I even remember bits and pieces. Think I thought they were candy. God, she looked the mom part. I remember that. Fuckin’ Joan Cleaver lookalike. But something ate her up inside, and she would nap and snack on her candy. I was her little pill boy when she couldn’t stand up.”

  My guts twist as I see where his explanation is going.

  “I thought she was asleep. She always went to sleep, and I’d just play until Pops got home. He’d ask me about it, I think. But she always said it was our special secret.” His voice cracks. “She must’ve been dead for hours, and I was sitting at her feet, playing G.I. Joes or some shit.”

  I squeeze him in our awkward hold on the ground. “It’s not your fault, Grayson.”

  “Of course it is. She couldn’t even get up, and I fed her pills. Her heart stopped. Nothing violent, but she could’ve been saved if I’d picked up the phone and called 911.”

  “You were a baby.”

  “I was man enough to hide a secret from my father.”

  “Gray—”

  “I killed Calinda Ford, the woman you named the child I didn’t know after. And Pops—damn me, I think he was normal before that. But that night, he spanked the shit out of me for killing my mom. I deserved it, I get that. But for a man who’d never touched me like that before… I didn’t go to school for two weeks. Everyone thought I was mourning Mom, but truth was, I couldn’t sit down, couldn’t move without crying.”

  Tears pour down my cheeks, into my hair. The burden he’s been carrying all these years is that he somehow believes that guilt is deserved. I flash back to the night in his trailer after the Sadie Hawkins dance, when Grayson said he’d first stood up to Pops. We were eighteen, or almost. My heart bleeds for him. More than a decade of that drilled into him…

  Grayson pulls a long breath. “I’m not sure Pops had it in him to be a dad. Never seemed into it. Never looked me in the eye. But the day Mom died, I became the enemy. The bastard child he didn’t want and couldn’t get rid of because I was his last tangible memory of her.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  He blinks wayward tears away and locks his gaze on me. “And now you do. Won’t change anything, but maybe you understand.”

  “Understand… what?”

  “Everything about me.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Grayson

  I’m spent. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. I’ve tapped my reserves, and I’m depleted. But I do have Emma in my arms, lying on her hardwood floor. It’s more comfortable than living in a dug-out burrow in the desert. It’s more peaceful than my time spent alone in a hospital bed. Emma shifts, and I reposition us so that she’s not bearing the burden of lying on the hard floor.

  “You okay?” she whispers.

  “No.”

  “You’re going to be though.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  The night crawls by, and I can’t tell if she’s asleep. Her breathing pattern never changes, her muscles don’t relax. Finally, I shift to see her face. She’s out.

  “Emma?”

  Nothing. The girl doesn’t budge. Then I realize she’s fallen asleep clinging to me. Her fingers are flexed into my muscles, and her body blankets me in a way that I can’t peel away from. Not that I would. For the first time, everything is laid on the table, and I can breathe.

  I stand, and she holds onto me tightly, still sleeping. As carefully as I can, I make my way to her couch, where our night started. I’m not sure why, but I can’t head for her bedroom. I don’t have permission or some shit. I can’t explain it, but it’s hers to invite me to. Just like the rest of this house, the rest of her life… I want in, and as evidenced by earlier tonight, I can’t ram my way in.

  She stirs when I lay us down. Her cheek is glued to my bare chest, her soft hair tickling me.

  “You okay?” she asks again, voice sleep-soaked.

  “Getting there.”

  She takes a deep breath as she fully wakes. “I’ll tell you a story.”

  My heart squeezes. “Yeah. Could use one of those.”

  Silence lingers, and I’m sure it’s close to dawn. The night is still dark through the windows, but there’s the slight hint of morning.

  “Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She has blond hair and green eyes.”

  God, Emma’s stories always take me away, make me feel better. This one feels as if it’s going to kill me, but I keep quiet, trying to trust in her to save me from tonight.

  “Every day, she wakes with a smile. She puts on her princess hat and lines up her princess dollies, giving them each a good morning hug. With worldly two-year-old advice, she tells each toy to have a great day because the sun is out.” Emma sighs. “The sun will always rise, Gray. Even if we have to be saved from ourselves, there’s nothing a little princess charm and a hug can’t help.”

  I let her words coat me, sink in. I don’t need to be saved from tonight. I’ve never needed the here and now more than right this second. “True enough.”

  Her hand gingerly slides up my stomach, her palm drifting over my light smattering of chest hair. “What I said earlier… I was unhinged. Awful and angry. I’m really sorry.”

  I kiss the top of her head and inhale the sweet sunshine of her scent. “I deserved it.”

  “Oh, Gray. I think you think you deserve more than you actually do.”

  Maybe. “Another conversation for another night.”

  “I didn’t know about your mom. I wanted a piece of you with me every day.” She sucks in a heartbroken breath. “You were with me every day. Every night. I couldn’t let you go.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Nothing has to be decided tonight.” The darkness in the window is melting to a deep purple. “Go to sleep, baby.”

  Her arms tighten around me. “Be here when I wake up?”

  I hate that she has to ask, but I deserve it. “Promise.”

  Even as my eyelids hang heavy and I feel Emma relax into a slumber, I can’t help but wonder at all the things I never knew I wanted. Holding a baby, naming her. Watching her walk and talk… I hug Emma close, hoping to hell I finally have something to dream about, and I let myself drift to sleep.

  Emma

  A heavy, warm weight holds me in place, and I inhale a long-ago-familiar soapy scent that makes me melt. Then my eyes shoot open, and I realize I’ve been sleeping—drooling, oh my freakin’ god—on Grayson’s bare chest. As smoothly as I can, I fix that problem and try not to panic enough to wake him. Seriously, I’m asleep on my couch with him? The last twenty-four hours have been insane. I wipe the corner of my mouth and hope I didn’t snore.

  “Morning, baby.”

  His greeting is grated and gravelly, sexy without trying, and I can feel the deep rumble of his words in his chest since I’m plastered against him. “Morning.”

  It feels too early to be awake. The sun’s up, but it’s soft. I’m struck by how odd it feels to wake with a good morning from a half-naked man and not Cally. There’s a pang in my heart. I miss her. But this… this is nice. I can’t say it’s not enjoyable. I love my daughter, but I’m twenty years old, a day short of my birthday, and I’ve had little time to just be me, not Mommy. Though I really wish Cally was at home too.

  “What’s that look?” he asks.

  Oh, that’s a conversation I need a cup of coffee for before we dig in. I sigh and figure vagueness is best for the moment. “I’m off the charts on an emotional roller coaster.�
��

  His tongue darts over his bottom lip, and he nods almost imperceptibly. “Know that feeling.” But a fire hits his eyes, making them shine like emeralds on fire.

  Grayson wraps me in his thick arms, making me sigh against his chest. Our bodies entwine, and it’s so familiar. I want to melt and nuzzle.

  “We need to talk about the part where you forgive me, Emma.”

  Because that’s the only option. Now that he’s back, I’m not letting go even if I’m terrified of him walking away from Cally as he did me. “Working on it.”

  “Then we move forward one day at a time, and it’ll be fine.”

  I want that. But that’s a fairy tale, something I thought we had before. “Before… when we were in high school, my biggest fear was one day you’d find out how I felt and want nothing to do with me.”

  He nods, making some agreeing-growling sound that set my insides afire.

  I swallow the same fear I had when we danced around our feelings in high school. “Time changes people. You don’t know me anymore. You might not like this me.”

  We lie in silence. I’m not sure if he’s readying to refute my concern or agreeing as he realizes that for the first time.

  “Gray?”

  “No, you’re right. But some things don’t change, baby. You’re still you. You’ve probably got a camera close by, and I bet if we unpacked these boxes, I’d find a hundred pictures of our daughter.”

  Our daughter. My heartstrings are pulled tight.

  His chin touches the top of my head. “You’re still the same sweet girl who tries not to trust but can’t help it, and you know we have a history that we can rebuild on.”

  He’s right… “Is that enough?”

  “Has to be.” His confidence is almost enough to make me believe. “I don’t know where you work or who your friends are. I don’t know what you watch on television—”

  “Bubble Guppies and Mickey Mouse Club.” I look up to appraise his reaction. I’m not the normal twenty-something. Then I remember everything he’s said and that I’m probably smashing his gunshot wound and he’s too tough to say anything. He’s not the normal-average anything. Maybe we’re in more the same place than not.

  “Bubble Guppies and Mickey Club.” Grayson squeezes me tighter. “I’ll have to check them out.”

  “Mickey Mouse Club.”

  A heart-stalling smile breaks across his face. “Right. Mickey Mouse Club. Ten-four, pretty mama.”

  In that second, with that nickname, I’m done and in love. That’s all it took. “I want this to work.”

  He lets out a long, harsh sigh. “And thank fuck for that.”

  “I’ve never understood how we work like we do.”

  “But we do…” The rawness in his voice cuts me deep. “Forget the obvious—that you’re beautiful and sexier than the dirtiest dream of a destroyed man. Emma, you have a good heart. That’s your thing. That’s you. Some things don’t change, baby. You always believed in love. You grew up with the perfect example, the perfect family.”

  True.

  “Our path isn’t pretty, and maybe we’re still hovering near the starting point, but I’m the man you’re supposed to be with.”

  Butterflies beat in my chest. “But it’s not just me, Gray.”

  His eyes darken. “I have to live with that for the rest of my life, but you better believe I’ll spend it making it up to her. To both of you.”

  I’m in his arms, floating as if this is a dream. “That’s a lot to promise.”

  “Ever heard me say something I don’t mean?”

  I shake my head.

  “I love you, Ems.”

  He kisses my cheek, his stubble scratching against me in a way so manly, so sexy, I moan. It just slips out. I hadn’t even been appreciating the masculine beauty I’m pancaked on top of. I was too busy falling in love over and over again.

  “Besides loving you more than you can imagine,” he whispers roughly, “I’m laying claim to this dangerous body too, baby.”

  A heat wave rolls through me. I’m suddenly hyperaware of how his jeans are the last layer before he’s naked on my couch. Though my super-sexy flannel pajamas might put a damper on his interest level.

  “I look pretty hot in my jammies, huh?”

  “Wouldn’t be us if one of us weren’t downplaying.” His mouth runs from my cheek to my ear. “Let me be really clear. I stripped you near-naked in your kitchen. I’d tear this off you this second if I didn’t think there was the slightest chance you’d run.”

  “I’m not going to run.”

  Shivers run down my arms when his lips dip onto my neck, his tongue dragging down. My body hums as the mood shifts. We’ve had somber, remorseful, flirty, and now this. Arousal hangs heavy in the crackling air. Tension I can’t deny squeezes us together.

  His lips tease my neck. “Feels good?”

  “Yes.” I moan as he shifts to get a better angle.

  “Taste good too.”

  Everything is different from high school. He’s harsher, stronger, more confident. His erection strains in his jeans, and he cups my cheek, his thumb toying with my lip. Each minute passes by slowly. His green eyes darkened, an emerald fire blasting under his blond eyelashes. If I were to picture desire, it would be his face watching me now.

  He drops his hand down my chin, around my neck. The rough calluses on his hands grate over my skin, and it’s erotic. Grayson studies my reactions, my mews, the way my head tilts and my back arches. His eyes fall to my lips as my breathing stills, and when his hand smooths down my chest, caressing the swell of my breasts, longing ignites deep below my stomach.

  “Beautiful, Ems.”

  In his arms, I believe it. Unlike on the stage where I dance for dollars, this is the truth. I know it in a way that doesn’t matter anywhere else on Earth. “I’ve always been yours. Don’t hurt me again.”

  “Promise.”

  His hand heads south, and my fingers move to his neck and spear into his thick hair. A groan that I remember from years ago falls from his lips as my fingernails scratch into his scalp.

  He closes his eyes, quietly sucking in a breath. “You do good things to me.”

  His mouth hovers over mine. I feel the softness of his warm breath on my lips. I can almost feel him, almost taste him. I close my eyes. This exact feeling is how I remembered him, so close it would kill me, so close I nearly drove myself insane every Wednesday.

  His lips find mine, and he’s hungry. One second of softness morphed into a beast. He’s over me, his mouth eating at mine, his hands running harshly over me. I love it, need it. I crave him as though he’s my drug of choice.

  His tongue pushes into my mouth, forcing mine to dance with his, and I gasp into his kiss. He shifts on top of me, and my palms climb up his back. The feel of his flesh under my nails is too much. They dig into him, marking my man as he consumes me.

  I’m pinned beneath, scoring his back, groaning as he flexes his iron-hard shaft between my legs. In one quick movement, he has my shirt over my head, and I’m clawing at his jeans, dragging them over his ass.

  Grayson dominates me. His hands grab mine, pulling them above my head. I laugh and smile. I try to bite his lips as he spreads my legs wide. My pajama bottoms are still on, but I’ve dragged his boxers down enough to steal my breath, sear my soul. My heart races because from one quick glimpse and feeling his heavy weight rubbing against me, I know that Grayson Ford is freakin’ huge, bigger than I remember, and my nerves explode in my chest.

  I need him. The idea of him pushing into me, stretching me makes me shudder, dizzy with want. I’m practically a virgin again for him, and I’m dying. My teeth dig into his shoulder as his hand works under the drawstring of my pants, between my thighs, expertly rubbing my clit.

  Shit, shoot, shit. I’m gonna die from orgasm. I can’t breathe and bite him harder.

  “If you’re going to mark me like that, pretty mama, you should know I bite back.”

  A full-body shiver eru
pts over me, and I arch for more friction against his hand. “Swear?”

  He nods. “To God.”

  We’re pressed together, bare chests and fumbling with our pants. His head drops down, and with a hot, wet kiss, he takes my hard nipple into his mouth, sucking deep enough I wonder if I can come from that.

  “God, Gray.”

  He responds—tongue and teeth—and I’m going to climax from just his hand and tongue. He moves to the opposite breast, repeating his tease and tug, and the time lapse is almost enough to make me cry for him to never stop. But when his mouth takes my nipple, he slips his fingers into me, spearing me deep and hard and letting his thumb rub my nub. I’m seconds away from orgasm. The man’s my body’s master, and with one strong, circular sweep of his thumb, I explode.

  I throw my head back, clenching on him. His mouth leaves my breast and takes my lips and tongue, kissing me hard as his hand still pumps into me. I open my eyes, and his green ones are vibrant again. The fire’s still there, but there’s a spark and a shine that I know I’m responsible for.

  “I’m on the pill. Don’t you dare stop.”

  Everything stills. With one long, hard look at me, he takes my mouth again after mumbling, “Yes, ma’am.”

  We fight with what’s left of our clothes. He’s kicking off his jeans, and I’m tangled in my pants, but finally I’m free and wrapping my legs around his waist. He’s primed; I’m wet. Our eyes are locked, and he’s huge. Nerves hit me again.

  “Sure, pretty mama?”

  I nod, wriggling myself into position for him to take me. The head of his thick erection is there. I feel it, want it. I’m nodding into his kiss, moaning for more and flexing my hips. My wetness coats the head of him, but not until he moves, just a fraction of an inch, do I feel heaven—and it’s going to hurt.

  “Just—a little—bit.” Tension strains in his jaw.

  Sweet Jesus. But he flexes again, pushing deeper into me, stretching me, and my body accommodates him. I’m panting, gasping, breathing through the rush. I’ve had sex once in my life. With him. Years ago. But my lady parts are in virgin territory again, remembering how insane this feels, how much I love him.