Second Shot

by Shandi Boyes

  I wait for Ava to close the glass sliding door before shifting my gaze to Carey. “Hugo knows, doesn’t he?”

  I don’t know why my words are laced in panic, but they are. I guess I could use the excuse that Hugo is like my big brother, so it’s a little odd for him to know about my sexual activities.

  A cringe crosses my face when Carey nods his head. “I accidentally let it slip,” he confesses.

  I sink deeper into my chair, my heart walloping, my mouth ajar. This feels worse than the time my dad found a condom in my purse the night of prom. Even more so as Hugo has not only seen me at my worst, he has also seen me naked. It was a complete accident. When I snuck into the male latrine when his squadron was out on a training drill, I thought I was going to be in and out before anyone returned. I was wrong. So very, very wrong.

  I snap back to the present when Carey’s heated gaze gathers my attention.

  “Did you know I was going to be here?” I ask. I strive to keep the panic out of my voice. My efforts are reasonable.

  My heart beats even faster when the concern in Carey’s eyes escalates. “No. And I’m taking it by your surprised response you didn’t know I was going to be here either?”

  “No,” I reply with a concise shake of my head. “Not that I’m disappointed. I like spending time with you. Even if you have to do it with your clothes on.” I keep my tone playful, wanting to ensure my pendulum-swinging moods don’t cause any more alarm to form in Carey’s eyes.

  The coolness of the chilled wine I’m sipping does nothing to ease the panic roaring through my veins when Carey says, “If Wesley hadn’t told me about your ninety-day rule, I would have assumed you were a sex addict. Nearly every conversation we’ve held has you mentioning my nakedness.”

  Overlooking the fact Wesley and Carey had that type of conversation about me, I chug down the remaining fruity liquid inside my glass, praying it will stop unwilling words spilling from my lips. As much as I’d love to deny Carey’s cheeky taunt, I can’t. Sex addiction is just like every other addiction. You never fully recover from it.

  Choosing avoidance as the best option for this awkward situation, I gather Carey’s empty schooner glass off the table and attempt to charge for the door. “Refill. You look like you need a refill,” I mumble on my way.

  My brisk pace halts when Carey seizes my wrist. His grip is soft enough he doesn’t hurt me, but firm enough to demand my attention. It also sends a zap of lust rocketing to my core.

  I suck in a nerve-clearing breath before locking my eyes with his. Just like every time he glances at me, the understanding in his eyes forces words out of my mouth I never thought I’d speak. “I did some stuff when I was younger I’m not proud of. Stuff I’d prefer you didn’t know,” I disclose, deciding honesty is the best policy I can work with right now.

  The empathy in Carey’s eyes switches to a gleam I can’t recognize. “Does Hugo know about this stuff?” he asks, his voice low and risky.

  I take a moment to consider my reply. “Some of it, yes. But not all of it,” I admit. Although Hugo knows of my attack and the events that directly followed, his disappearance nearly five years ago means he doesn’t know about every shameful thing I’ve done.

  Carey works his jaw side to side before questioning, “Wesley?”

  I nod without pause. “Wesley knows everything about me, Carey. The good and the bad.”

  The scruff on Carey’s chin can’t hide the tick in his jaw. His annoyed response fuels my anger. If I didn’t have men like Wesley, my dad, and Hugo in my life, I wouldn’t have a life. It is that simple.

  “Wesley isn’t your enemy, Carey,” I caution, my voice shaky and brimming with emotions. “You are. There is no greater enemy to a man than his own self-consciousness.”

  Chapter 26

  My confrontation with Carey quickly sees the mood shift from energetic and playful to stifling and uncomfortable. Although Hugo and Ava do their best to pretend they can’t feel the negativity plaguing the air when they return from doing the dishes and putting Joel to bed, it is too uncomfortable for me to ignore. Carey hasn’t said or done anything to irk me, but as I said earlier, words aren’t required to express a person’s sentiment.

  Unable to handle the inquisitive glances of Hugo and Ava for a second longer, I place my empty wine glass on the patio table and stand from my seat. “I have a lot of editing to do tomorrow so I better head off.”

  Hugo pushes back from the table. “Let me grab my keys; I’ll give you a lift home,” he offers.

  Before I have the chance to cite an objection, Carey perks up, “I’ll take Gemma home.”

  Quicker than the strike of a cobra, Hugo dives back into his chair. “Great,” he and Ava shout at the same time, their faces lined with glee.

  Ignoring their glaringly obvious matchmaking, I shift my eyes to Carey. “It’s fine. I can call a taxi.”

  Even with his eyes doused in agitation, Carey holds my gaze. “I’m heading off anyway. It’s no trouble.”

  “You live in Ravenshoe; my cabin is at Bronte’s Peak – fourteen miles in the wrong direction,” I retort, my voice coming out with a hint of bitchiness.

  I’m not angry at Carey; I’m fuming at myself for allowing an event six years ago to still hinder my quality of life today. Last week I said I’m the only one who can allow my past to affect my present, but today is different. Normally, on this day every year, I chase away haunted memories with decadent cupcakes and an expensive bottle of wine. I don’t sit across from the man who sacrificed his own happiness to ensure I kept mine, and I don’t spend it with a man who sends my mind into a tailspin from his briefest touch. There are so many emotions pumping through me right now, I don’t even know which way is up.

  A length of silence stretches between us when we undertake a sweat-producing stare down. If it were any other day than today, I'd succumb to the pleading look in Carey’s eyes and accept his offer. But the events six years ago have my agitation on edge and my composure ruffled.

  Hugo and Ava’s heads bounce between Carey and me like they are watching a tennis match. Their mouths are gaped, and their eyes wide. They stop bouncing when Carey snarls, “I either drive you to your cabin or you stay at my place. The choice is yours.”

  Ava’s mouth gapes open as far as mine. I know Carey’s eyes could reach my soul with one sideways glance, but I never fathomed he could read my emotions so easily. Although my standoffish demeanor is pleading for seclusion, my eyes are begging for me not to be left alone. Silence is great when you're watching someone from afar. But when you're alone, sometimes silence can be your worst enemy.

  When several seconds pass by without me responding to Carey’s statement, Ava kicks me in the ankle under the table. “Ouch,” I wince before rubbing the sting to my ankle with my other foot.

  After issuing Ava a stink-eye that only makes her smile grow, I shift my eyes to Carey. “Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

  Hugo spits out the beer he was gulping, sending speckles of malted liquid all over the tabletop.

  When a flare of panic ignites in Carey’s eyes, I snarl, “Don’t ever put anything on the table you aren’t willing to lose, because you can’t guarantee who is going to sneak up behind you and steal everything you’ve ever wanted.”

  Part of my remark is from the disappointment of seeing panic in Carey’s eyes, but most of it resides from my attack. I tried to shake off the horrid feeling I get on this day every year a majority of the night. But no matter what I do, I can’t pretend like nothing happened. All it took was accepting a drink from a man I’d been fascinated with for weeks, and my entire world came undone.

  I instantly regret my outburst when Carey replies, “You don’t think you're preaching to the choir? I did have everything I’ve ever wanted stolen from me.”

  Guilt curls around my throat, silently asphyxiating me. I can’t believe during a low moment in my recovery I completely forgot that, more than anyone in this room, Carey knows what it feels like to hav
e your life upended in an instant. He knows how cruel the world can be just as much as I do. I'm a terrible and horrible person.

  Before I have the chance to stumble out an apology, Carey yanks his car keys out of his pocket and nudges his head to the driveway. If it wouldn’t hurt him more than I already have, I’d beg Hugo to take me back to my cabin. But unable to add pressure to the knife I just stabbed in Carey’s chest, I gather my purse hanging off my chair and follow him to his Camaro.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper into Ava’s ear when I hug her goodbye.

  She tightens her grip around my shoulders. “A reaction is a reaction, good or bad, because only a lifeless person can’t respond.”

  Blood surges to my heart when I connect my eyes to Hugo and he silently offers to drive me home. That proves what I’ve always known; Hugo will stop at nothing to ensure everyone surrounding him is safe and protected. Even giving up his freedom, and perhaps even his life.

  “I trust him. I know he won’t hurt me.” I don’t know why I murmured my statement. I’m fairly sure Carey didn’t hear anything since he is already sitting in the driver’s seat of his Camaro.

  “He’d never hurt you, Gem,” Hugo confirms before wrapping me up in a tight hug.

  I sigh heavily, fanning his neck with my hot breath. “If only you could say the same thing to him about me.”

  “I know today is hard for you, but remember the only way you can erase bad memories is by replacing them with good ones,” Hugo whispers into my hair.

  God—I should have known he would have never forgotten the significance of today.

  “I wouldn’t have bad memories if I listened to you six years ago.” Not giving Hugo the chance to reply, I slip into the passenger seat of Carey’s Camaro.

  Unlike last month, Carey drives the entire fourteen miles at the designated speed limit. The further we travel, the tighter the hold around my throat becomes. I feel sick. Not just from the cold sweat of my nightmare this morning still clinging to my skin, but from guilt for the callous words I said to Carey.

  Maybe Wesley was right? Maybe I’m not strong enough to pursue a relationship with Carey. My heart refuses to listen to the pleas of my brain, but my intuition is telling me to evaluate all the options. Carey and I are the equivalent of lightning and thunder. Alone, we already have people on edge, but put together, we could be catastrophic.

  When Carey’s Camaro rolls down the gravel driveway of my cabin, I swing my eyes to him. The air is forcefully removed from my lungs. My god he is beautiful. In pain, choked with remorse, but beautiful still the same. I gasp in a shocked breath when the unidentifiable glint in his eyes finally dawns on me. His eyes carry the same amount of concern my dad’s did the day he peered down at me rummaging through a dumpster twenty-four years ago. He isn’t angry at me or my closeness to Wesley. He is concerned for me.

  His worry makes it easier for me to say, “Something bad happened in my life six years ago. Something I still have trouble processing how to explain.” My words are shaky and full of emotion.

  My assumptions about his concern are proven on point when it grows from my confession. “Is that what caused your frightened response two weeks ago?” he asks, his voice dripping with worry.

  “Yes,” I force out.

  My one word hits Carey like a physical blow. A predatory glimmer sparks in his eyes, and his fists snap into tight balls. I can tell he wants to say something, but unlike my inability to hold in my comments, he seems to have control over his mouth.

  As a stretch of silence passes between us, I pluck at the hem of my shirt.

  “I want to tell you what happened, but that’s not something I can do right now,” I mumble when the silence becomes too great for me to ignore.

  I’m barely holding it together as it is, let alone running the risk of having a man who intrigues me more than any man before him look at me differently. That is not something I could handle. That may very well be the final straw that makes me crack.

  Disappointment floods Carey’s eyes. “You have to go through pain to understand it.” He locks his beautiful dark eyes with mine. “You don’t look at me the same as everyone else, as you understand what I'm going through.”

  “Partly,” I reply, my voice low.

  Although I don’t fully comprehend what Carey is going through, I do understand it is something that will never go away. No matter how much we both wish it would.

  “Give me the same chance,” he pleads. The worried tone of his voice swells my heart.

  “I want to,” I mutter, my voice croaking with emotion. “And one day I will. But not today.” My emotions are too raw for me to hold this type of conversation right now.

  When I feel stupid tears welling in my eyes, I lean over and press a kiss to the edge of Carey’s jaw. I need to ensure I'm as far away from him as possible in case my silly tears decide to fall. I refuse to let another man see me cry about what happened to me six years ago. Tears are a sign of weakness. I'm not weak. My attackers are.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I mumble before throwing open the car door.

  Before I can get one foot onto the driveway, my wrist is seized. I inhale greedy breaths as I strive to wipe the panic off my face. When I'm happy I’ve returned my cheeks to their normal coloring, I twist my neck to Carey. He stares at me with concern, worry, and another glint I can’t recognize.

  I surface from the sea of pain I’m drowning in when he leans over and seals his lips over mine. When I gasp to fill my lungs with life-replenishing air, he slips his tongue inside my mouth. The heat of his passionate kiss dries my tears and fills my heart with hope, while also freeing me from the tornado of emotions that has been hammering me all day. He kisses me until every doubt niggling in the back of my mind that my life ended six years ago vanishes, and nothing but begging for more overtakes my thoughts.

  Toeing off my shoes, I climb over the small space between us and straddle Carey’s lap, all while keeping my lips attached to his. A burning of lust rises to the surface of my skin when I feel the heat of his cock through his shorts. He is thick, hard and long, undoubtedly surging my confidence to a summit it hasn’t reached since my attack. My hands are all over him. Under his shirt, raking my nails over the hard bumps on his stomach, and weaving them through his hair that is overdue for a trim.

  I’m so immersed in heating every inch of Carey’s skin with my touch I don’t notice Wesley sneaking up on us until it’s too late. When he taps on the driver’s side window of Carey’s Camaro, I jump so high, I smash my head on the lining of the roof.

  My furious stink-eye does nothing to lessen the shit-eating grin on Wesley’s face when Carey rolls down his foggy window. Not speaking a word, Carey interrogates Wesley’s motives with a snip of annoyance in his eyes that sets my pulse racing—in a good way.

  Perking his lips, Wesley drops his eyes to his watch. “Would you look at that. . . it’s still August.”

  My brows join in confusion.

  While drifting his eyes between a disheveled Carey and me, Wesley questions, “You guys met in June, right?”

  I smash my back molars together when Wesley’s sudden interest in our gathering dawns on me. Not catching the reasoning behind Wesley’s unwanted meddling, Carey nods his head.

  “July, August, September,” he recites, flicking out his fingers as he counts down the months my usual ninety-day rule would force to pass before I undertook in any sexual activities.

  The line between Carey’s heavy brows smooths when he figures out Wesley’s intrusive tactics. The fire in my belly simmers to a dull flame when Carey’s thick penis braced against my aching core softens.

  Sensing my disappointment, Wesley cockily winks. “I’ll see you inside, Poppet.” My vicious snarl increases when Wesley smiles a traffic-stopping grin.

  Once Wesley climbs the stairs of our cabin, the fire of need in my belly switches to hope when Carey mutters, “I want to know you as well as Wesley does.”

  There is no chance I can hold
in my smile, so I set it free. “If you play your cards right, you’ll know me better than Wesley.”

  A heavy line of confusion marks the space between his dark eyes.

  “Wesley hasn’t seen me naked,” I announce with a cheeky wink.

  The heaviness weighing down my chest clears when a spark of lust explodes in Carey’s eyes at the same time a soul-shattering grin graces his kiss-swollen lips. It takes all my strength not to react to the thickness growing beneath me, but I give it my best shot. Although I’d love to spend a few hours with him hoping he could turn my haunted memories into good ones, I’m still balancing on the crest of an emotional wave, and I can’t guarantee how I’d react if this were to go any further than an innocent grind-up.

  Snubbing the protests of my tingling womb that it can handle anything Carey is willing to give it, I ask, “Do you have any plans two weeks from Saturday?”

  My stomach knots when I spot a blemish of unease in Carey’s eyes. His wary response reminds me that I’m not the only one silently requesting to be handled with care. He needs to be taken care of with just as much caution as I do. He might have a much bigger and harder exterior than me, but our insides are exactly the same.

  “Your schedule is so busy you have to plan dates two weeks in advance?”

  The worry in his eyes fades when I explain, “It’s not a date. The Bristol half mile is on. Wesley may be many things, but he doesn’t know a clutch from a gas pedal. I like talking shop during races.”

  Carey cocks his brow. “You’re not one of those girls who talks nonstop during races, are you?”

  A conceited grin curls on my lips when his voice comes out super husky and laced with arousal. “God no,” I push out, pretending to gag in disgust. “Although I can’t make any guarantees I won’t scream at the TV numerous times throughout the night.”

  Giddiness clusters in my muddled brain when a smile I haven’t seen before etches onto Carey’s plump lips. It’s a smile of a man who isn’t broken, a smile that fills me with hope that I’m not the only one baffled by our bizarre connection. You’d swear days have passed since our heart-clutching disagreement at Hugo’s, where it’s only been a matter of an hour. I shouldn’t be surprised. Time doesn’t matter when you’re truly getting to know someone. Relationships are not measured by time. They are measured by undeniable connection. Two broken people will either fit together perfectly, or break each other beyond repair. If given the chance to fully explore a relationship with Carey, I believe we could have something truly beautiful.