He stumbled back from her touch. “I hate myself. Hate my weakness when it comes to you. Hate how much I want you. How much I still want you. I have no right to feel this way, yet I can’t stop this need. Every time I see you…every time I fucking think about you, all I want is to knock you beneath me and bury myself inside you.”
She reached out to him again.
He leapt back, almost falling off the dock before catching himself on a post. Anger returned to his gaze. “Don’t you get it? I’m no good for you. I'm no good for anyone.”
“You have always been there for John and me.”
He shook his head. “I’m broken. I’m not the happy-go-lucky guy who showed you how to ride a bike or cleaned your skinned knee when you fell. That guy is dead. I’ve seen things, Cara. Done things I can never make right. They eat away at me day and night until nothing’s left.” He stared at his hands. “The blood won’t wash away. I scrub my skin raw and it’s still there. I’m not going to hell; I live it every day.” He grabbed her arms, his fingers gripping her tight. No doubt bruises would form. “The other night I wanted you, damn the consequences. I knew what I would destroy by taking you, but all I cared about was satisfying this need festering inside me. A few years ago, I was strong enough to resist you. I possessed enough morality to walk away back then, but I’m weak now, too far gone to fight what my body wants. You pushed me away. You saw what I’ve become.”
“I stopped you because you were drunk. I didn’t want you to regret anything. I know the kind of man you are, Pete. You’re a good man.”
He grinned. “You’re wrong, baby. I’m not.”
“You’re not what?”
His smile fell. “A good man, not anymore.”
“Everything all right, Cara?” a voice called from across the way.
Pete shoved her away from him. He scowled at Stan before looking back into her eyes. “Friends, right? If you want to throw your life away on some piece of—”
Cara rushed forward, stopping within inches of him. Her hands shook from frustration and fury. “Don’t pull the jealousy crap with me. I’ve told you the truth about Stan all along, but you don’t want to hear it. Here are some other things you’re not going to want to hear. Stan was there when you weren’t. He answered my calls. He listened when all I wanted to do was talk and cry about you. He never touched me except to comfort me. He sure as heck never took anything I didn’t offer.”
“Cara?” Stan took a cautious step toward her.
She put her hand up and he halted. “I’m fine.”
Stan focused on Pete. “You don’t sound fine.”
“It’s over.” Pete tried to push past her.
She stepped in front of him. “Oh no, you don’t, I still have some things to say to you.”
“I’m not talking about our current conversation. This…whatever is going on between you and me, is finished. I’m through looking out for you, Cara. Don’t call me. Don’t ask about me and stay the hell away from me. Like you rattled off earlier, baby, you can take care of yourself.” Pete stared at her a few seconds before throwing Stan a fleeting glance. “I guess the better man did win.”
Pete pushed past her. He stopped in front of Stan. Cara tensed, terrified she would have to break up a fight. “She’s all yours, Morrison.” Pete continued up the dock.
He never glanced back to see what he left behind or to catch the tears falling from her eyes. I hate him for making me cry like a prissy girl.
“Are you okay? He’s out of his mind. Come on, let’s get you inside, you’re shivering.”
Stan and Cara walked back inside to the party, the reception in full swing, young and old revelers crowding the dance floor. Centered on a large rolling cart sat a four-tiered cake garnished in red-icing roses, and surrounded by several workers as they prepared the towering confection for the cutting ceremony.
“I’ll be right back. I have to fix my face. God, I must look like a nightmare.” Her makeup probably smeared all over her face, after the water works she let loose back there.
Stan offered her a tissue from a small pack he had taken out of his pocket. “You’re beautiful, smears and all.”
Why didn’t she want Stan? Everything would be so much easier, but she wanted Pete and always would, no matter how much she wanted to punch him in the face.
“I’ll be at the table,” Stan said after a moment.
Cara faked a smile and nodded.
She walked into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. Yep, she resembled a freaking raccoon. She grabbed a wad of tissues, wet them, and began to wipe off the black mess beneath her eyes. Too bad the dark chaos strangling her heart didn’t rub off so easy.
The door creaked open. Rose Schmidt strutted in like a cat about to get a big bowl of cream. She glanced at Cara, not with concern, but interest. The kind of interest you see in the eyes of the paparazzi when they catch a star in a compromising position.
“Girl, don’t let him get to you. Stan Morrison has caused more tears than a rancid onion. Now, Pete Cross on the other hand…” Rose shuddered. “I don’t care if the guy’s a cripple. He is fine.”
Cara scowled. Her hand gripped the sink like a vice. Rose was a second away from getting a free nose job. “Yeah, Pete is one in a million.”
“Shit, girl, Pete is hot. I’ve wanted a piece of him since high school. Almost did at the senior party. Well, that is until he spotted you and Stan getting busy. I don’t know why, but he’s such a papa bear when it comes to you. No offense.” Rose grinned. “Tonight’s the night.” She applied another layer of blood-red lipstick to her collagen-inflated mouth. She fluffed her hair and glanced over at Cara in the mirror. “You have a little smudge on your cheek, right here.” She brushed Cara’s cheek with her nail. Cara scowled. Rose must have sensed the danger because she tossed her cosmetics in her bag. “Have a nice night. I know I will. Ciao.” With a perky skip in her step, she left the restroom.
Cara took a couple deep breaths and released them slowly. After one last glance in the mirror, she walked out of the bathroom and headed toward her table.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the backs of Pete and Rose exiting to the parking lot. Rose had her arm locked around his waist, and Pete’s hand was propped on the top of her perky behind.
She didn’t want to think about what it meant to see Pete leave with her. The sight burned deep in the center of her chest, twisting and stabbing her already damaged heart. Once again, tears threatened to break over her lower lashes. She kept them at bay. If he was done with her, then maybe it was about time she let him go. Release the childish fantasy. She glanced back at the door Pete had walked out of and frowned.
Who needed love anyway?
Chapter 9
“Dude, do me a favor…” Pete glanced up at the sound of John’s voice. His eyeballs itched and burned as if dipped in sand. Sleepless nights and endless shots tended to wreak havoc on a man’s vision. “…Take a fucking shower. You stink. You’re wilting the plants over there.”
John was complaining about hygiene habits? The man’s feet smelled like rancid blue cheese.
“Oh, and my friend Todd from the police academy called for you again. I wrote his number on the pad in the kitchen. It’s a great opportunity. I pulled a lot of strings to get you an interview.”
Yeah, John wanted Pete to sign on as a firearms instructor teaching pencil nose recruits how to shoot weapons. Perfect opportunity, my ass, just what I need, access to unlimited firearms and artillery, sounds more like a fucking bad day for anyone who got on my nerves.
For the past ten days, Pete had glued himself to John’s couch and he didn’t intend to extract his ass anytime soon.
“Did you pick up a six-pack for me?” Pete kicked his feet up on John’s shaky coffee table, knocking over a beer tower he’d built last night.
John rolled his eyes. “Will you shower if I say yes?”
“You bet.”
“Then yeah, they’re in the fridge.” Pete sto
od and John held up his hand. “Shower first…then beer.”
“Are you for real? I’m not that bad.” He didn’t dare sniff himself and prove John’s accusation.
“Dude, you’re stripping the damn paint off the walls every time you raise an arm. So yes, you are that bad. I’ll tell you what. If you are a good boy and take your bath, I’ll treat you to ice cream.”
“Ice cream? Make it a burger and shots and you got a deal.”
John patted Pete’s head. “You’re such a little pain in the ass. Fine, we’ll make it burgers, but no shots. I don’t feel like hauling you in through the door again. My back is killing me after carrying your fat ass into the house last night.”
Pete batted away John’s hand. Guy’s a half an inch taller and he thinks he’s tough shit. Pete shook his head. “Yes, Daddy Dearest.”
John cringed. “Don’t call me daddy. It sounds wrong.”
Pete left the living room, grabbed a towel from the linen closet and then stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stripped off his shirt and got a whiff of something foul. Okay, he needed a shower, stat.
After pulling off his sweat pants, Pete jumped into the steamy shower. The hot water cascaded over his sore muscles, yet gave little relief. He lathered the soap over the worst of the disfigurement on his mid-section. He barely felt the swirl of his fingers over the scars, the burns so severe in spots they caused loss of sensation, the hard bumpy flesh another painful reminder of his failure. They didn’t ruin him from the outside. No, the flaws ran deeper, becoming a stain on his soul, tainting his existence.
He lost his desire to shower, change, or socialize around the same time he walked away from Cara. Food no longer appealed to him and judging by the droopy waist of his jeans, he’d shed more than a few pounds. Nothing brought him pleasure anymore. Life morphed into a complete waste of time, lonely days brought on endless nights, which dragged into monotonous weeks.
After the wedding, his mind plummeted into a dark place. He’d said his piece to Cara. However, his decision continued to haunt him. He knew she was better off without him. If he stuck around, he would end up taking advantage of her attraction to him, and since he was unable to offer her the type of commitment she deserved, he’d rather not cross the line.
Their dance had become a parting gift he’d bury deep in his heart and mourn, a memory he alone would cherish. As for the rest of the wedding, he’d rather burn all recollection to ash. From the beginning of the reception, he had known the time would come for them to settle whatever craziness wedged between them. He hadn’t intended to be harsh with his rejection, but logic took a backseat to envy when she showed up with Morrison glued to her side. Her choice in companion set an anxious tone throughout the night, but after she accepted his invitation to dance and his arms wrapped around her, he found peace.
She considered him a hero, harboring bloated fantasies about a man who no longer existed. Then he spotted John from across the room. His best friend watched him and Cara dance with the same level of trust and confidence.
John thought Pete wanted to protect Cara from Stan, when in fact Pete wanted to extract her from the competition, rip off her clothes, and surrender to the desire he’d denied all these years. John’s ignorance, like Pete’s deceit, struck without mercy. Pete’s anger exploded, not at Cara, but at himself. His mask needed to come off. Cara needed to see what kind of man she trusted. Maybe then she’d run.
When he dragged her out to the water’s edge, he’d planned to end this sham, to tell her to find another hero because he no longer fit her fantasy. Yet the knot in his chest took over and he told her a hell of a lot more. Whoever claimed that the truth shall set you free had no fucking clue what they were talking about. Invisible shackles now locked him to a prison of his own making.
If what he said to Cara wasn’t enough, he found out from John that they’d all witnessed him leave with Rose, Cara included.
When he left the reception, he expected Rose to start humping his leg the second they got in the car. She didn’t disappoint.
There should have been no problem revving his libido. He found her attractive. Any man would admire her long legs, slim tapered waist, bleach-blonde locks, and killer rack. Yet, when Rose pressed her lips to his and rubbed her breasts against him, he thought about Cara and the surreal calmness he experienced nestled against her on the dance floor. Any arousal fizzled, deflating his erection like a hot air balloon minus the flame.
When he called out Cara’s name as Rose worked her lips down his chest, well, shit, talk about a mood killer. Rose became livid. He dodged her open palm more than once. She yelled a few choice words before jumping out of the car, displaying a lifted middle finger, and marching across the parking lot.
He figured his lack of performance would have spread throughout the crowd. To his surprise, Rose kept quiet. No doubt fearing his less-than-positive response would tarnish her reputation as the town’s most desirable woman.
Likewise, he didn’t bother to correct anyone’s assumptions that he’d been with her. He let them believe what they wanted, putting the final nail in his coffin when it came to his friendship with Cara.
She must hate him. The fact left a huge void in his heart. It's what you wanted, right?
Pete lowered his head beneath the water. The gentle streams washed away a week of filth. He wished cleaning out what festered inside his soul was so easy. He worked his hands lower, closing his hands around his flaccid cock. Memories of Cara exploded in his head. He stroked himself and his shaft began to harden.
Everything about her amazed him. How she always smelled like sweet cherries and vanilla in the summer. The way her mouth tasted of cherry lip balm and fresh mint, an erotic combination, which drove him insane. He grinned as the sound of her laughter and the memory of her sweet sighs echoed in his mind. His hands worked quicker over his erection. The water and suds allowed his palm to glide with ease. Images of her tight tee shirts, stretched over her perfect breasts, filled his mind. How often did he want to tear the thin cotton from her body and feast on her ripe little nipples? Pressure built in his balls, lifting them higher. His movements grew quicker. He closed his eyes, drenched from the shower and his tears. He envisioned her on her knees, her bright blue eyes staring up at him with passion, his cock slipping between those perfect lips. He pumped faster. He pictured himself settled between her thighs, his cock sinking between her soaking wet slit, him pounding into her, taking her, claiming her.
Like a bomb, his orgasm hit. He grunted as his seed shot across the shower in spurts. His heart pounded against his chest. His head fell against the tile. Tears fell from his eyes. He would never know the pleasure of her. Never hear her shout his name or feel her settle in his arms after they made love.
At least he held on to a few precious memories locked deep inside his heart. They had to be enough.
* * * *
The Billiard Bar and Grill teemed with endless faces. Fourth of July weekend bustled in Heart Falls. The rich history of the area and American pride were woven into its foundation. People from every corner of the country came to see the sights and take in the many festivals in the area.
“Eight ball, side pocket.” Pete really missed kicking John’s ass in pool.
John laughed. “You don’t have it in you, brother.”
Amused, Pete lifted his gaze to John as he took his shot. The ball bounced off the opposite side, tapped the edge of the second ball, sending it into the called pocket.
“Asshole.” John took a slug of his beer. “One more game, but this time I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“Is there an echo in here, because I know you said the exact same thing no more than twenty minutes ago.” Pete laughed. He finished the last few sips in his bottle. “Rack ’em up loser…I’m gonna get another.”
“Fuck you.” John flashed Pete a dimpled grin.
Pete walked away cackling. He stepped up to the bar and ordered two beers and a shot.
The attr
active bartender gave him a double shot. “On the house, sugar.” He nodded with a wink, drank the shot, and walked back over to John.
After a few more trips to the bar and another couple of shots, the comfortable numbness had begun to take over, adding a false sense of rightness over his mood. He leaned on a stool, resting his leg as he waited for another round of beers. He glanced up, spotting John by the pool table. A tall, lanky man stood in front of him, closer than necessary. Something didn’t look right. When the man pushed John, Pete quickly hobbled toward them, ignoring the burn in his knee, the cane held tight in his hand. His adrenaline surged.
“What’s going on?” Pete asked.
John glanced at Pete. “He wants the table. Says those quarters there are his.” He turned back to the guy. “I may be off duty, but I can still haul your ass in for disrupting the peace.”
The guy glanced at Pete. “This ain’t you’re fucking business, boy.”
“You’re messing with my brother, making it my business.”
The guy looked him up and down. He frowned. “I don’t fight cripples.”
Pete dropped his cane. “Looks like I’m cured.” He swung, hitting the guy square in the jaw. The guy fell back. His buddies joined in and started swinging.
* * * *
The buzz of Cara’s cell phone woke her from a half-decent dream where her boss, Mrs. Philips, was taking orders from her. With a grumble, she glanced at the clock. Two o’clock in the morning.
“Hello,” she mumbled groggily.
“Cara, it’s John.”
The sound of his voice made her sit up. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine.”
“Well, then what the heck are you waking me up for?”
“It’s Pete.”
Her heart plummeted in her stomach. “What happened?”
“He’s in the emergency room, Cara. He took a blow to the head; they’re checking him out. I think—”
“What hospital?
“Heart Falls General.”
“I’m on my way.” She hung up, threw on her clothes, and grabbed her keys.
Cross My Heart Page 13
