by Rose, Amali
Pain that changes you into a person you no longer recognize.
Dropping everything in my hands, I pull the photo out of the yellowing envelope and lock onto the grainy black and white picture.
My chest heaves, my eyes burn, and my throat feels as though it’s closing up as that tiny image reduces me to a violent vortex of grief.
Quickly stuffing the photo back into the box, I dump everything else on top of it and replace the lid, wishing desperately it was that easy to hide my pain away. I lean down and shove the evidence of my life gone so wrong under the bed, before giving in to the cleansing sobs that are fighting to escape.
Reaching over to my purse that is still lying on the bed, I pull out my cell phone and manage to calm myself so I’m only a snotty, hiccupping mess, rather than a snotty, sobbing one.
Unlocking my screen, I search through my contacts and pull up the name I should have called a long time ago.
With a shaking finger I press the call button, take a deep breath, and wait for the call to connect.
Flynn
“Fuck.” The word escapes my mouth with a hiss as her mouth slides up and down my shaft. Warm and wet, and completely fucking perfect.
The sound of her gagging grabs my attention and I realize I’ve broken her golden BJ rule. No deep throating.
Pulling back, that luscious mouth releases me and I’m left with just her tiny hand grasping me, slowly jerking me off.
Too slowly to get me off, and she fucking knows it. Bright green eyes gaze up and I feel my dick jerk in her hand.
“I’ve warned you about that, Irish,” she reprimands. I try to hide my smirk because, seriously? Only this woman could scold me during a blow job and still have me painfully hard.
“Lost my head for a second.” I thread my hand through her long, auburn hair and electricity pulses through me as I drag her up to stand. “Both of them.”
“Jesus, that was lame.”
I open my mouth to defend myself but, luckily for me, this girl has a different, much better, use for my mouth and I wrap my arms around her, enjoying the slide of her tongue against mine. The gentle nips at my bottom lip that have me rocking against her, trying to create the friction we both need. Her noises are becoming more and more desperate and, forgetting any pretense of gentleness, I roughly pick her up, determined not to wait a second longer to be buried balls deep in her sweet pussy.
She wraps her legs around me, and it may have been a while since we were last here, but our bodies haven’t forgotten exactly how good we can make each other feel.
I pull her even closer and I can feel exactly how wet she is as she grinds against my bare skin. Sliding my hand down, I cup her ass and the moan that falls from my lips is so loud it practically echoes around the hotel room.
Reaching around from behind, I move her panties to the side and, with no preamble at all, push my middle finger inside her. Her responding gasp brings a smirk to my lips. I fucking love every one of her filthy sounds.
Her head falls to my chest, a halo of red surrounding her face and she pushes back against my finger.
“More,” she rasps.
Happy to oblige, I fill her with a second finger, reveling in her breathless whimpers. Stopping my movement toward the bed, I abruptly spin her around, push her up against the wall, and slam my mouth to hers. She opens for me immediately and the taste of her, combined with the feel of her pussy tightening around my fingers, has me desperate to come.
Just as I am sliding a third finger in, the irritating buzz of my cell phone starts up, distracting us both.
“Ignore it.” I sound like a commanding asshole, but if I don’t get her off in the next thirty seconds, my head will explode.
And, again, I mean both of them.
She takes me at my word, and I close my eyes when her hands begin teasing down my chest, nails applying just enough pressure. She’s close to my cock, so fucking close, when the phone starts back up.
Her movements still and she looks up at me, her eyes sad, reminding me of the last time we saw each other.
“You should get that, it’s probably important.”
“No.” My voice is firm. “This is more important.”
“This isn’t real, Flynn. You know that.” A gentle kiss is placed on my mouth. “Answer the phone, baby.”
I wake with a start, my phone jumping all over the side table, blaring the annoying tone I use in an effort to force myself to answer calls.
Still half-awake and pissed as all fuck to have been woken from my dream, I snatch the cell up without looking at the caller ID.
“What.” Too annoyed for niceties, my tone is harsh.
“Well, good morning to you too, grump.”
Charlie’s gentle voice has me on alert straight away.
“What’s wrong? Is she okay?” I try to tamp down my apprehension, but it’s hopeless. Wyatt Monroe will always be my Achilles heel and I have no fucking problem with that.
“Relax, cowboy.” A small smile crosses my lips at the old nickname. “She’s…” Her voice trails off and the familiar anxiety-driven numbness settles over me.
“She’s what, Charlie. Tell me.”
“She’s not doing great, okay?” Her voice is reluctant, and I know she’ll be beating herself up for this phone call, worried that she’s betraying her friend. Charlie has been Wyatt’s best friend since they were eight years old when they bonded over their love of Reese’s Pieces and Nick Carter.
Hell, she was one of my best friends for a few years. Before everything happened. Now, not so much.
Luckily for me, she’s a stand-up person and stays in touch, albeit rarely and irregularly, to keep me updated on how Wyatt’s going.
“I think— no, I know, she’s struggling at the moment. Her friends are all getting married and having babies.” Her voice cracks on the last word and I feel that crack resonate in me. Just as broken as I am.
“Anyway, she’s been doing it tough for a while now, I guess, but you know her.” A somber chuckle carries over the line. “She just buries her head in the sand and pretends that everything is okay.”
It takes everything I have in me not to let my bitterness rain down at that giant understatement.
“I guess you know that better than anyone, though.”
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice brusque. “But she called you and talked it out? She’s good?”
My questions are met with a silence that makes every one of my pulse points roar to life. We’ve never had this conversation without it ending in one fact. Wyatt is okay.
Because as long as she’s okay, I can breathe.
“I think…” Again, her voice trails off and the combination of frustration from my earlier dream and annoyance at this beating-around-the-bush bullshit causes me to snap.
“For Christ’s sake, stop with the fucking dramatics and just tell me.”
“Calm down, Flynn. This isn’t easy for me, you know.” Her voice thickens as though talking is difficult, and if I was a better man, I would regret the way I spoke to her.
If I was a better man.
“Charlie…”
“Okay, okay. Jesus.” She inhales deeply before letting out a nerve-riddled sigh. “I think you need to go and see her. You two need to sort your shit out. I have no idea what that looks like, or what it involves, but she deserves to have some peace and she’s never going to get it the way you guys left things.” A pause. “Neither of you will.”
My fingers tighten around the phone and a persistent throb starts beating in my temple. I have a performance on The Graham Norton Show tonight and then the European leg of this shitty promotional tour is done. I have a week before I have to start it all over again back in the States. The perfect opportunity to go off the grid.
Memories start to play on a loop through my mind and my heart picks up speed at the thought of seeing her. Touching her. Smelling her.
And, there it is. The creeper-line. I try to rein myself back in.
“I th
ink this would be good for both of you,” Charlie’s voice interrupts. “You need to give her a chance to say the things she never got to.” Her voice remains neutral, but I feel the accusation like a right hook and just like that, my memories switch from ones of loving and laughing to ones of incrimination and bitterness.
I take a moment to be selfish and consider if doing this would be what is best for me.
Can I even face the living embodiment of my greatest regret?
The table vibrates under my tapping fingers and the sound of a melody I’m working on fills my ears. With my headphones on and a cap pulled down low over my eyes, people are paying me no attention.
I’m confident my presence in New York has gone unnoticed so far. I’ve learned that is one of the perks of doing things on the spur of the moment. No one knows your plans, so there’s no one to spill the beans. However, the reality is, I have no idea how many camera lenses might be waiting for me out there, hidden away. But from my booth in the back corner of this cozy diner I have a clear view of the entrance, while remaining obscured from the large front window. Concealed from public consumption.
Picking up my pen, I scrawl a couple of lines of lyrics, frustrated that this song doesn’t seem to be coming together. The melody woke me up a few nights ago and I had to quickly grab my guitar and record it with my phone to make sure I didn’t lose it. I’ve spent the last two days traveling and trying to work on the lyrics, but the words aren’t coming.
Scribbling out the last line I wrote, I slam the pen back on the Formica surface and scrub my hands across my face. Removing my headphones, I gulp down the last of my coffee and check my watch.
Charlie refused to give me Wyatt’s address or phone number, agreeing only to give me the name of this diner that she frequents, which turned out to be her aunt’s. My ass has been planted in this booth all morning and I feel my frustration with Charlie rise, but before my temper has a chance to ignite, I remind myself that as far as this story goes, I’m the bad guy. I don’t get to be pissed.
The door clatters open, bringing with it a gust of frigid air and a sound I never thought I would hear again.
My eyes are fixed on the laughing redhead and I shadow her movement with my eyes as she makes her way across the diner, falling into a booth with a chatty pink-haired girl who hasn’t stopped talking since they entered.
I spend the next few minutes watching her without one damn ounce of shame, reacquainting myself with all of her little quirks. The way she can’t keep her hands still, constantly touching, gesturing, grasping. The shake of her head and roll of her eyes when she is amused. All of her little mannerisms that I never thought I’d get to see again. I watch it all, captivated, memorizing this new version of the girl I loved.
I wish I could say I waited. Or, that I tried to wait until she was alone. For a moment where my presence wouldn’t throw her carefully constructed world into a tailspin. But it would be a lie. Because being in the same room as her, without being able to touch her was just too damn hard.
Pushing up from the table, I stride purposefully over to her table, trying to convey the confidence that seems to have deserted me, right when I need it the most.
A fraction of a second before her friend spots me, her eyes widening, I see Wyatt’s back straighten as though a jolt of electricity has shocked her, and I see her wary eyes search the room.
I force my feet to stop at their table. The urge to run is sudden and all-consuming, but when she looks up and her gaze meets mine, a sense of home fills me.
We stare at each other wordlessly. The air is thick with tension and I try to read her reaction, but it’s a shock to realize that I am no longer fluent in Wyatt Monroe.
“Hey, guitar-boy.” A wry voice has my head spinning toward the friend, who apparently is a feisty one. “Can we help you?”
I slide my gaze back toward Wyatt, waiting for her to say something. When she doesn’t, simply continuing to look at me with an expression that screams confusion, I step up.
“Just wondered if I could have a word with Wyatt.”
Pink’s eyes jump between the two of us, trying to read the situation, and I get a few more seconds to admire Wyatt before I’m shut down, ruthlessly.
“You know what?” She taps a finger to her mouth as though deep in thought. “Usually I’d say that sounds like a grand idea, but it doesn’t look like she wants to talk to some random stranger who approaches us creepily in a diner. Mmm ’kay? Run along now.” Her lips form a hard line and I get the sense she’s going to be tough to win over, which causes me to shake my head and give her my trademark smirk.
“I promise you, I’m not a random, creepy stranger. I’m—”
“I know,” she cuts me off. “You’re Flynn Maguire, and you probably don’t hear this a lot, but I couldn’t give two flying fucks. Buh bye.” She waves me off like I’m an inconsequential bug, and my smirk grows to a full-blown grin.
I think I like this one.
“Not what I was going to say, Pink.” I bathe my tone in sarcasm, a language I’m sure she understands. “I was going to say I’m her—”
“Flynn, don’t.” Wyatt’s anxious voice interrupts, but it’s too late.
“—husband.”
Wyatt
“Holy fudging croc sucker.”
You can say that again.
“Come again?”
“Come again,” Cassidy mimics Flynn’s question with a savage smirk before her expression morphs into one of indignation. “Don’t judge me, I have kids, I can’t swear anymore, donkey dick.”
I watch their exchange through wide eyes, but I hear nothing over the sound of blood rushing to my brain. The thrum of my heartbeat.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My eyes find Flynn’s and I see the exact moment he realizes his mistake and all I can feel is shame. Because it never would have occurred to him that he was my dirty little secret.
But that is only because he was too busy making sure I was his.
“You’re married?” Cassidy aims this directly at me. “To Flynn Maguire?” My stomach drops a little farther with every accusatory word.
“Look, if you don’t mind, Wyatt and I have some shit we need to talk abo—”
“Uh uh, pipe down, Romeo, this doesn’t concern you. Wyatt?” She does that thing where she quirks a single eyebrow. It’s always fascinated me how she does that. I’ve spent an embarrassing number of hours in front of the mirror trying to replicate that withering look.
I was not successful.
“It was a long time ago.” The hesitance in my voice is embarrassing and I can see the confusion all over Cassidy’s face. This is not the Wyatt she knows. The person she has laughed and cried with for eight years. This is the version of me I swore would never see the light of day again.
And she won’t, I quickly decide. Straightening my back and ignoring Cassidy’s curious stare, I lift my eyes to meet Flynn’s, prepared to blow him off and send him on his way. But when my gaze clashes with his, my breath catches in my throat as a tsunami of relief washes over me.
He’s here.
He’s here and I have missed him so damn much.
Tears prickle behind my eyes and I swallow hard, resisting the almost overpowering instinct to leap up and wrap myself around him. To touch him and make sure he’s real. But clarity prevails, and I take note of his hunched shoulders and guarded expression. I remember the pain on his face the last time I saw him, and I realize that I don’t deserve the luxury of his reassurance. The bad guy never does.
Instead I give him a tense smile.
“This isn’t a very good time.” I incline my head slightly toward Cass. “Maybe we could get together tonight?” The words come out in a rush and even though I know I should send him on his way, the need to talk to him is suffocating.
A whoosh of air escapes him and his face smooths as though he’s relieved at my suggestion.
“Yeah, that sounds great. Just tell me where, and I’ll be there.” The lilti
ng sound of his Irish accent fills me with such familiarity and I allow myself a moment to remember how I used to love closing my eyes at night, falling asleep to the sound of his voice. His accent isn’t as pronounced as it once was, and I feel the regret of the years I’ve lost with it, with him, intensely.
I notice a table to our right, full of teenage girls, watching us curiously. Their brows furrowed as though trying to figure out where they know Flynn from. God, he must hate that.
“How about my place? I think privacy would be a good idea.”
A smirk flits across his mouth. “You always did like keeping me to yourself.”
My eyes narrow, but a quiet laugh from across the table reminds me that we are not alone.
“Not the way I remember it but play it that way if you have to. Give me your phone.” I hold my hand out in anticipation. Flynn slides his cell out of his back pocket without hesitation, placing it in my hand. His fingertips gently nudge me, and I can feel the pink blush bloom across my face.
Lighting up his screen, I look at him expectantly. Exasperation courses through me when he just stares back, wordlessly.
“I need your passcode.”
“You know my passcode, Wyatt.” His voice is quiet, but firm and my heart picks up speed when I realize what he’s saying. He still uses my birthday.
Heat floods through my body and the vinyl of the seat sticks to my skin uncomfortably as I wiggle around, trying to get comfortable under his intense gaze. Giving my head a quick shake to clear it, I enter my phone number and send myself a text so I have his.
“I’ll message you my address later, and you can come around seven.”
“Okay.” He opens his mouth and I think he’s going to say something else, but instead, he simply closes it and stares at me for a beat before turning around and walking out without another word.
I watch him leave, a million thoughts and questions suddenly racing through my mind and I kick myself for not asking them. Tonight, I promise myself.
“You.” Cassidy’s voice gains my attention and I turn to face her, finding an accusing finger pointed my way. “Have a lot of explaining to do.”
