by Bright, Sera
And then an amazingly loud ringtone screamed across the room. Instant mood killer.
Ash turned his head toward the sound. “What is that?”
“My new phone,” I said, rising to my feet. Very few people had my phone number, and a nagging worry that something had happened to Helen drove me to check it.
I walked over to the nightstand by the bed where I had left the lime-green canvas bag, and grabbed the wailing, vibrating phone out of it. The caller ID read James Flynn. Definitely wasn’t going to talk to him. I had so much better things to do right now. I ended the call and tossed the phone on the clean white sheets.
Within seconds, the phone went off again. I let it go to voicemail, but almost as soon as the voicemail alert ended, the phone switched back to the ringtone. I stared at the phone as if in a trance. Something was not right about my father’s persistence in trying for my attention. For instance, the very fact that he was showing some. He’d never called me more than once a week, let alone the same day I left him a message.
Across the room, Ash stood up. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I said, snapping myself out of my head trip. Either ignore it or deal with it, there wasn’t a third option.
I procrastinated a few more seconds by finding a t-shirt on the floor and pulling it over my head. Walking around naked in front of the windows where anyone with a kinky kick and a good pair of binoculars could see me was one thing, but talking to my absent father required clothing. Even over the phone. Boundaries existed in our relationship, as pitiful as they were.
I picked up the phone and answered before it went to voicemail. “What do you want, Dad?”
“Jesus Christ. You’re okay, I thought—” Static fuzzed across the line, and my father’s voice cut in and out. “—didn’t you answer the phone sooner?”
I twisted the bottom of the t-shirt in my fist, loathing how my father’s voice immediately made me feel like an awkward child. “Why are you calling me now?”
“I got your message,” my father said, his voice coming across clearer. “It sounded like something had happened, and I was worried. Are you in Havenwood? Are you in the house?”
Damn it. I had forgotten to end the call before I literally threw a temper tantrum with my old phone earlier. He must have heard the crash and decided to show some parental concern to work an angle, since he was ignoring my well-deserved insult.
“No, I’m not there right now,” I said rigidly. “Do you want something? You usually want something.”
Ash came across the room and stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. The knot between my shoulder blades eased as I let him hold me.
“I want you to get your ass back to the house and stay put, that’s what I want. I told you to wait there until I get there on Sunday. Don’t leave. Do you understand me?”
My stomach twisted. He never told me to stay in town. All he’d told me was to take care of the foreclosure before off-handedly offering to come and meet me. He could probably have prevented the foreclosure all on his own, and if he wanted to see me, he could have asked at any time over the last year. Now he wasn’t mentioning the foreclosure at all, and demanding I wait for him. My father had manipulated me into coming back for a reason, and I had no idea why.
“What’s wrong?” Ash spoke low in my other ear.
I raised my hand up. I couldn’t focus on Ash’s question and my father’s crazy meltdown at the same time. Ash’s chin swept across my hair as he nodded in comprehension.
“Dad, what’s going on?”
“Don’t—” The static broke up the words. “Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand!” My numb fingers lost their grip on the t-shirt. “What is going on? Why do you want me at home so bad?”
“—stay there. I need to be able to find you—” The call ended.
“Katie?” Ash asked.
I frowned at the screen. My father wanted me in Havenwood, to the point of being almost frantic about it, like he was actually worried about me. And I had never, ever heard my father express anything remotely resembling concern about my physical well-being. Not even when I was hospitalized with meningitis four years ago.
Ash’s arms squeezed me around my middle. “You’re starting to freak me out here.”
Then again, my father was also a lying, child-neglecting moron. I flung the phone back on the bed. Whatever was going on wasn’t my problem if he wouldn’t tell me the details. My problem now was how to regain my previous good mood.
I turned around in Ash’s arms and faced him. “You mentioned earlier going out and doing something tomorrow?”
He arched an eyebrow. “I did.”
“Up for a little road trip?” I raised myself up on my toes and kissed the corner of his mouth.
“And this would have nothing to do with your dad calling?”
I rolled my eyes. “He has nothing to do with it. I’m just suddenly in the mood for funnel cake, annoying hordes of people, and roller coasters.”
Ash studied my face for a split second, then hugged me tight, almost as if out of sympathy. I didn’t want sympathy, I wanted to go out and have fun and ignore some of my problems. The fact that this was in direct opposition to my father’s demands was simply a bonus.
* * *
“Stop!”
I bolted upright as Ash’s shout woke me from my sleep. Through the uncovered windows, no sign of dawn edged out the stillness of the night. He tossed in the king-sized bed beside me.
“Stop it.” He thrashed violently like he was shielding himself from a blow.
The action broke my heart, the same way it did every time. He’d always refused to acknowledge the nightmares, but sometimes I’d hear him cry out when he would sneak into my house at night. During those times, I’d keep watch because I couldn’t stand the thought of him facing the dreams alone.
The protests died in his throat. “Just don’t—don’t take her from me.”
Shock stole the air from my lungs. His parents had dangled the loss of our friendship to control him all those years? Sudden tears filled my eyes. They’d already been using me to hurt him before last summer, and I’d never even known it.
A thin sheen of sweat coated his body. I reached over and rested a light hand on his brow. Usually, I could comfort him without waking him by using soft touches and soothing words. His eyes flew open, wild and startled. I gave him a wobbly smile. He grabbed me by the arms and roughly hauled me to his side, clutching me to his chest. The crisp, cool cotton sheets tangled around my waist and breasts.
“You’re here,” he said, his breathing labored.
I draped my body across his torso and let him hold me close, not because I needed the shelter of his arms, but because he needed to be anchored in the present to know the past wasn’t real any longer.
Underneath my head, his breathing calmed and he slowly stopped trembling. He spoke, his words flat and soulless, “I hate them.”
“I do, too.” I pressed a kiss to his shoulder. In the dim light of the open space, the scars were completely invisible. But they were always there.
“Do you know they disowned me the minute I drove out of town last summer?” He laughed, the scorn thick in his tone. “All my grand plans to get away and they couldn’t have cared less. They didn’t need to use me as a weapon against each other anymore. But as soon as I came back, she started blowing up my phone because she wanted the prodigal son for her photo ops.”
I’d never asked for details before, unsure if I could handle knowing when I was powerless to do anything. But they hadn’t even attempted to try to control his life from across the country. It didn’t make any sense that they’d give up on him so easily.
I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. “What do you mean? About how you they used you as a weapon?”
“They hate each other. Almost everything they do is to punish the other one for whatever fucked up reason. They’ll use anything and anyone to do it—includi
ng me.” He repositioned himself in the bed, still holding me close. “My dad would try to quit drinking, and she would fuck it up for him on purpose. Leave bottles of liquor around the house. Greet him at the door with a beer. When he would finally give in, he’d inevitably lose his shit and come after me. And she’d be standing right there, telling him what a loser he was for not being in control of himself. She never tried to stop him, she was more interested in rubbing it in his face.”
An upswell of nausea engulfed me. How had he made it through without losing himself in the process?
He buried his face in my hair for a moment. “My dad’s the reason I came into your room that first night. He told me to go and check on you. At the time, I thought he was threatening to go after you, too. But I think—maybe he knew I needed somewhere to go, but couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. After that, he never said a word when I would sneak out of the house, and he wouldn’t let my mom say anything, either.”
Ash pushed himself upright and reclined back against the headboard. I curled myself around him, inhaling the warm, natural smell of his body that mingled on my own skin. I didn’t care why he had been allowed to find refuge with me, just as long as he’d found it when he needed it the most.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” he said.
I raised my head off of his chest and studied his face. The glow from the streetlamps outside the warehouse gave us enough light to keep from being in complete darkness. All traces of his earlier sadness were gone, like the nightmare or his admission of what went on in his personal house of horrors had never occurred. We weren’t so different at times. “What do you want to know?”
“I’m just curious about them.” He smoothed his hand over the intricate flower design on my upper arm and then took hold of the sheet. “You never said anything about wanting any before.”
The white sheet drifted down off my chest. “Because it was part of going off and having an adventure.”
“You and your adventures,” he said quietly, drawing the sheet completely off my nude body.
His erection pressed into the curve of my bottom. He probably wanted to forget about the nightmare. Who could blame him? And I was more than happy to help. It wasn’t exactly a huge personal sacrifice.
I moved to straddle him, the heat of his shaft hot between my thighs. “A girl has to have a hobby.”
“What made you start?” Lowering his head, he took my nipple in his mouth.
Too turned on to watch how I phrased my words, I said, “I wanted to see if I could become someone else—just for once.”
He snapped his head up. “What do you mean?”
“Just different than how I usually am.” I squirmed a little out of embarrassment, which had the opposite effect when he was nestled so intimately against me. I shuddered at the sensation. “Someone…better.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way you are. I think you’re perfect.” With an unwavering gaze, he stared up at me. “I always have.”
With an unwavering gaze, he stared up at me. He really did think that—before and now—but the idea continued to amaze me nonetheless. He put up with all my nonsense, and made me feel like I was someone worth fighting for, even if he had to fight me to prove it.
“Thank you.” I ducked my head with a tiny delighted smile, but added, “I like you, too.”
He circled my waist with his hands, kneading the flare of my hips and mocked, “A sincere, kind word from your lips? I die.”
“Jerk.” I cradled his face in my hands, cherishing the texture of stubble under my fingers. His eyes darkened, the thick lashes lowering under the weight of his desire. I waited for it. And then, like magic, there it was—the faint hitch of his breath on my lips. I loved that.
“Brat.” He bent his head and kissed the tattoo of the stylized swallow, his lips and teeth running along the sensitive underside of my collarbone. “This one is still my favorite. Does it mean anything?”
I rose up and put my hands on his shoulders, kissing the line of his jaw. “In Britain, when sailors would return from voyages, they would get tattoos of swallows to mark how far they had traveled. It’s around five thousand miles for each bird.”
He slipped a hand between our bodies, and I felt the tip of his cock penetrating my opening. So close. “And how far did you go?”
“Too far,” I admitted, shocking even myself. “I shouldn’t have ran away.”
The earlier despondency crept onto his face. We’d been careful to avoid talking about anything related to last summer. But just like our scars, it was always there.
I made a decision and sank down on over him, letting him bury himself to the hilt in my body. I exhaled slowly, it felt too good. Tonight it was about him and what he needed, not about my selfish decisions. He dropped his head back on the headboard, his eyes closed. I lived to see that blissed-out expression, knowing I could make him feel that way. That I could help him forget.
I leaned down, with the intention of kissing him, but he captured my face in his hands and kissed me first. Every touch of his lips and fingers was heartbreakingly tender, reminding me of our first kiss on the beach last summer.
Startled, I pulled away. He wasn’t treating this like a middle-of-the-night-distraction quickie. “What are you doing?”
“I want to remember you just the way you are right now.” He swept his hands lower. “How you taste.”
He held onto my hips and encouraged me to ride him in an easy rhythm. It was all so torturously slow and perfect at the same time. He reclaimed my mouth for another honey-sweet kiss.
“I want to remember how you feel,” he said against my lips.
I glided my smooth cheek across his. I wanted to do the same, too. “Because I’m leaving soon.”
“No.” He gripped my hips. “Because I’m planning on always remembering you.”
My breath quickened as I stared down at him. That heart-stopping serious expression had returned. He meant what he said.
He lifted up a little, and my inner muscles clenched around him. A glazed look entered his eyes. The taut ropes of muscles in his shoulders corded under my hands. His hands urged me to move faster. I didn’t require much persuasion, the friction was addictive. And this part I understood. This was sex. Everything was simpler when I could pretend I was the only one telling the truth with my body. It didn’t frighten me with promises I didn’t know if we could keep. Yet.
Our movements became more entangled and frenzied. His fingers raked over the skin of my lower back. I reached up and yanked his hair. Love bites stung my neck. His muscles began to shake and I knew he was ready. But the force of my own orgasm took me by surprise, and I let out a small shriek. His hands were in my hair and he kissed me as I screamed out my release into his mouth. His body convulsed, quaking with his own orgasm.
I collapsed on him, limp and breathless, laying my head on his shoulder. His hands trailed a path up and down the line of my spine. The rapid beat of his heart pounded all the way through into my chest. Drowsiness spread as my muscles softened. I could fall asleep like this.
He jolted forward. “Shit.”
“What?” I sat up, off-balance.
He pushed me gently off his lap and pulled out. Fluid smeared my inner thighs. We’d forgotten to use a condom.
“Oh,” I said with a yawn. “It’s no big deal, I’m already on birth control pills.”
Wordlessly, Ash climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Curious, I watched him go. Light glared out of the doorway and the sound of water running came from the room. He then came out with a wet washcloth in his hand. He knelt on the bed near where I sat, reaching over with the cloth.
I tried to snatch it out of his hands. “Thanks, but I can do it.”
“Shut up and just let me take care of you.” He swept the warm terrycloth over my skin. “I’m the one who made the mess.”
I wriggled under his ministrations. Every square inch of my skin had to be glowing scarlet.
He chuckled. “You’ll pull my hair, but cleaning you up afterward freaks you out?”
I laughed with him. My reaction was a tad ridiculous. If I was perfectly truthful, this was nice. Weird, but nice.
“Just so you know—” He tossed the washcloth over to the laundry basket by the bathroom door. “I had a physical before I came back, and I’m healthy.”
“That’s good.” The serious way he said it worried me. Had something happened to make him concerned that there was a chance he wasn’t completely healthy? Had he been sick?
“And I’m assuming you were checked out when you started the birth control pills, right?”
Now I got his meaning. He was fishing for my sexual history. A fresh wave of regret washed over me. Last summer I’d made it sound like he was just going to be the first of many.
“I’m on the pills because they help control the migraines. And there’s no chance I have any STDs.” My words tumbled out in a rush. “I haven’t slept with anyone else. Since last summer. Since you.” I scooted to the edge of the bed. I wasn’t running away, I was exiting the situation with what little dignity I possessed. “I’m going to take a—”
“Calm down,” he said, apparently unperturbed by my babbling. He snaked an arm around my waist, bringing me up against him, and we lay back in the middle of the bed. He spooned me from behind, tucking my head under his jaw. “I was trying to make sure we were protected.”
“There really hasn’t been anyone else.” I hadn’t even attempted to see if there could be anyone else. “I’m not lying.”
“I know.”
My body relaxed into his. I tugged the bedding over us. He’d called me out on my lies often enough. He believed me, which meant he was starting to possibly trust me, too.
He tensed. “Would you believe me if I said the same thing? That there hasn’t been anyone else for me, either?”
I went just as still and quiet. My fractured heart started to come back together. He truly hadn’t left me behind like I’d thought he would. “Yes, but—”
