Where We Belong
Page 20
“Have lunch with me tomorrow?”
“Okay." She sits upright, rubbing at her tired eyes, and cocks her head to the side. “Are you leaving? Please don’t leave,” she begs, pushing out her bottom lip.
I pull her face toward mine and laugh against her mouth. I suck that sexy-as-hell bottom lip into my mouth and bite it playfully. She groans, closing her eyes. Damn, I shouldn't have done that, because now I want to do it again. Only this time I want to add a little hand action and—
Now I have to leave before I act on these thoughts. “It’s late. You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted, and we both have to work tomorrow. Plus," I kiss her nose, "I’m coming over to make you and Max dinner tomorrow night, so I need you nice and rested.”
Her face brightens with the most gorgeous smile I've ever seen, and I make a mental note that making dinner for her and Max makes her a very happy woman. And making her a very happy woman is at the top of my to-do list.
“But I just got you,” she grumbles, her smile slowly fading. “I’m not ready to let go quite yet." Isn't that the truth?
Maybe it's the way her eyes misted over when she said that or perhaps it was the way her voice softened, but something snapped inside of my chest. Something powerful and way beyond anything I've ever felt. As though she felt it too, Harley leans forward, lowering her forehead to mine.
“I don't want to go either," I say, grabbing her hand, linking our fingers together. "But we’ve literally been together for—" I lean back, looking at the clock on her wall “—three hours. I think it’s a little too soon to have sleepovers." She bends forward, pressing her entire body against mine, and claims my mouth. I open up for her, grip her neck in my hand, and we kiss wildly, breaking contact only when we're both panting and out of breath.
“Tomorrow." I say, kissing her nose, each eyelid, and her chin. “And every day after that. Okay?”
She huffs out a breath. “Okay.”
WE SPEND THE NEXT two days at work texting back and forth, eating lunch together, and both days I pulled her into an empty exam room, locked the door, and we made out like two horny teenagers. Both nights after work, I arrived at her house to find Max ready and waiting for me.
Max and I played soccer, freeze tag, built a fort, played Candy Land—he totally cheated, by the way—and then both nights he stood on a chair at the counter and asked a million and one questions while he helped me make dinner for his mom.
After tucking Max into bed, Harley and I stayed up late into the night—both nights—getting reacquainted. We alternated between deep sensual kisses and heartfelt conversations that left both of us either on the verge of hysterical laughter or tears. It’s been fun getting to know her again, and I enjoyed telling her about my time in New York. She said she’s never been so I vowed to myself that someday soon I would take her and Max.
We both learned that not a whole lot about either of us has changed. When asked, Harley danced around what happened with her during the first couple of years after I left, and I let her get away with it—for now.
One thing I’ve learned is that Harley is a very physical person, which is something I never would have guessed. She likes to be touched, and if I’m not touching her, then she is touching me in some way or another. But don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining—that woman can touch me any damn time.
I’ve also learned that she loves when I talk dirty to her. No joke, it sends her from zero to sixty in two seconds flat. The first time I did it she ended up straddling me, shoving that delicate little hand of hers down the front of my pants. The second time, she let out a noise so fucking erotic, I had her flat on her back with her shirt and bra bunched up around her neck before she could even register what had happened. Both times I had to diffuse the situation before it went too far.
Honestly, I’m not sure how much more I can take though. I don’t want to stop her, and I know that one of these days I won’t be able to. There is a passion between the two of us that is unexplainable. It’s something I never felt with Brit—hell, with anyone—and I know that if we aren’t able to act on it soon, one of us is going to combust.
I've always enjoyed work and have never been bothered by back-to-back shifts…until Harley and Max. Now I hate working the long hours and spend the entire time thinking about them and wondering what they are doing. We text and talk, and she and Max send me a few goofy selfies, but it’s not the same. I want to be with them.
Today is my day off and waiting for Harley to finish her shift has been hell. I watched a baseball game I had recorded, thought about Harley, did laundry, thought about Harley, went for a run, thought about Max…and Harley.
I finally got fed up and drove to the sporting goods store. If I couldn't stop thinking about them, then I was going to do something for them. I remembered Max telling me that he was going to ask for a soccer goal—one of those little portable ones—for Christmas. Well, he won’t need to ask for it. Not only did I buy two goals, but I also got him shin guards and a new ball. I would have gotten him a new pair of cleats, but I didn't know what size he wore.
The two goals are lined up in their front yard and I'm sitting on the porch, tossing the ball around, when they pull into the driveway. Max jumps out of the car, running over to one of the goals at full speed. "Wow," he says, rubbing his little hand along the orange pole. His sparkling eyes find me and a wide grin splits his face.
He looks at the goal and then at his mom, at the goal again, and then finally at me. His voice is innocent and full of wonder as he walks toward me, asking, "Is this for me?"
"It is," I confirm, squatting down to his level. "So is this," I hand him the new ball, "and these." When I hand him the shin guards, he looks at his overflowing arms and then back at me. His smile is beaming and spontaneous laughter bursts from his mouth. The look of pure joy and amazement about drops me to my knees. I've known Max for less than a week and already there isn't a thing I wouldn't do for him.
Dropping the equipment out of his hands, Max propels his little body at mine with so much force that he knocks me off-balance, causing both of us to tumble backward. His arms latch around my neck as little fits of squeals and giggles fly out of his mouth.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you. This is so cool. You're the best. I love it! I'm gonna play with it all the time, like all the time." He takes a deep breath, pulling back to look at me. "Can I play with it now? Will you play with me?" he asks, bouncing from one foot to the other.
I pick up his equipment and hand it to him. "Absolutely. Go get your shin guards and cleats on."
"Yes!" he shouts, bouncing into the house. Straightening, I turn to Harley, and all of my excitement dissipates at the look on her face. Her eyes are misty and a trembling hand covers her mouth.
Two strides and I'm in front of her. "What's wr—oomph." This family must have a thing with throwing themselves at people. Before I can find out what's wrong, she slams her mouth against mine.
MAX, HARLEY, AND I spent the next two hours playing three-man soccer, and ended the night eating pizza and watching How To Train Your Dragon.
“Mmmm…I missed you." Harley nuzzles my neck, peppering kisses along the outside of my jaw, and my cock stirs.
Max’s head is leaning awkwardly against my arm, and if the small, wet spot forming on the sleeve of my shirt is any indication, I’m fairly certain he fell asleep. I can’t really move, but I have no desire to anyway. I like it here, wedged between a snoring four-year-old and a beautiful woman that can’t seem to keep her hands off of me.
“I missed you too,” I say, shifting my arm carefully, trying to lower Max’s head to the couch without waking him up.
“Here,” Harley says, standing up and reaching down to pick Max up off the couch. “Poor little guy wore himself out. I’m going to put him in bed." She walks off down the hall, a limp Max hanging from her arms, and I can’t help but smile. It’s a beautiful sight and it kills me that someone was actually stupid enough to walk away from the two of them.
The words spill from my mouth before I even have a chance to second-guess myself. “Who is Max’s father?"
Her body stiffens against mine and she leans back, releasing her grip from my hair. I know I’m making her uncomfortable, but I have to know. I need to know what happened…why he left. Harley stares at me, blinking absently several times. Her vibrant green eyes have grown cold and distant, and I hate that I put that look on her face. Reaching up, I thread my fingers through her hair, hoping to salvage the moment.
“Please don’t pull away from me,” I sigh. “I can see that this is hard for you, but I need to know." I rest my forehead against hers, willing her to come back to me, but I can tell it’s already too late. She pulls backs, dislodging herself from my embrace, and stalks off toward the kitchen. I follow behind her quietly and watch as she grabs two water bottles out of the refrigerator. She doesn’t say a word, just continues past the stove and out the sliding glass doors into the backyard.
She hands me a bottle, but I shake my head. I don’t want something to drink. I want her to talk, that’s what I want. She shrugs her shoulders, twists off the cap, and takes two long swigs. Her eyes are trained on something in the distance, but I can tell by the far-off look on her face that she isn't really looking at anything…she's thinking. What the hell is there to think about?
She bites the inside of her cheek and blinks several times, obviously trying to keep from crying. When she finally speaks, her voice is laced with contempt. “I don’t know who Max’s father is," she says, avoiding eye contact.
Wait. What? “I don’t understand."
“It’s not difficult, Tyson,” she snaps, throwing her hands up at her sides. When she sees the questioning look on my face, she closes her eyes and drops her chin. “Just think about it for a second,” she murmurs.
It’s a simple question. How in the hell could you not know who the father of your child is?
"Did you have a one-night stand?" I ask, confused.
She scrunches her eyebrows and glares at me. "No, I didn't have a one-night stand."
My eyes stay locked on hers, but for the life of me I can't come up with any other reason. Again, how do you not know? "You're gonna have to spell it out for me, Harley. I don't—"
"I was raped, Tyson," she yells. Her words slam into me like a freight train and my heart starts pounding against my ribcage. No...NO!
This isn’t happening.
Please God, please tell me that didn’t happen.
I rush over to her, fighting back the lump forming in my throat. I grip her arms firmly, jerking her to me. “Who, Harley?" I demand. "Who was it?" The roaring in my ears is pounding in sync with my heart. I clench my jaw as my mind focuses on nothing other than destroying the motherfucker that hurt MY girl! I know I need to calm down, but she needs to tell me who did this. I'll fucking kill him.
What kind of sick fuck—?
“I said I don’t know." Her shrill voice rings loud, and through my rage I finally register her ashen face and trembling body.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the anger that’s boiling inside. I slide my hands up her arms, cradle her face, and gently pull her to me. My thumbs tip her face toward mine, and when our eyes collide, all I see is…fear.
No. No, no, no. "Harley," I soften my voice, pushing my anger aside. Her eyes drop. "Look at me, please," I say, nudging her chin softly. She raises her face, meeting my gaze. She blinks rapidly several times and lifts her hands to grip my wrists.
FUCK!
I fucking scared her.
My hands slide to her shoulders, down her arms, and then I turn her hands over, linking them with mine. I lower my forehead so we're nose to nose.
"I would never—never—hurt you." My words are pointed yet soothing, and a gush of air rushes out of her lungs.
Her chest heaves several times and she squeezes my hands. "I know," she whimpers. "I know you wouldn't. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
The guilt and pain in her voice is my undoing. "No. You have nothing to be sorry about. Just please don't ever fear me," I beg, bending down so that we're eye level. "I will never hurt you." She nods once and I lean in, stroking my lips over hers.
"I know this is hard for you…" I pause, my eyes glancing around the yard, trying to find my words. Guilt burrows deep in my gut and my stomach rolls. I know it isn't fair to ask her about that night, but I have to know. "I still have questions," I say softly. "Is that okay?" I raise my eyebrows questioningly and she nods once.
Her strength amazes me.
“You don’t know who did this?" I ask again, this time keeping my rage in check. She shakes her head slowly and tries to look away, but I don’t let her. Why won't she look me in the eye? She's told me no three times and each time she looked away.
I'M NOT SURE WHAT the fuck just happened, but when he jerked me toward him, I could see—no, I could feel—the anger rolling off of him. In that moment, when those same chocolate brown eyes met mine, all I saw was Dallas. Fortunately, his gentle touch quickly brought me back to reality.
I hate doing this. I hate lying to Tyson. This is no way to start a relationship—I know that—but I can’t tell him. I won’t do that to him, I just won’t. The look in his eyes is already heartbreaking enough. He’s hurting for me and I can't stand to see him like this. I know he would blame himself if I told him, and that’s the last thing I want.
“Harley," he whispers, leaning in close. I can see the tears pushing at the confines of his eyes, begging to be let free, but he’s doing it…he’s holding them back. “Baby, you didn’t see who attacked you?" He's pleading with me, his eyes desperately searching mine, wanting me to change my mind. I shake my head. “Are you sure?”
I squeeze his hands, holding on for dear life and hoping that he doesn't see right through me. "I didn't see his face," I lie. "It was dark out and he came at me from behind."
I'm going straight to hell.
Please. Please forgive me for lying.
I have to protect him and this is the only way.
"Please say something," I beg, tugging him forward. He disentangles our fingers and runs a hand through his hair and over his face in exasperation. He walks a few steps away from me to take a deep breath. His chin quivers and he swallows hard. When his eyes reconnect with mine, he loses the battle and a few tears roll down his grief-stricken face.
"I don't know what to say." His voice cracks as he holds his arms out to his side in confusion. "When? Where? Fuck!" He grips his hair and turns away from me, facing the horizon. "Fuck!" he grunts, low and hard. I want to reach for him and hold him, but I don't.
This is new, it's fresh, and he's going to have to go through all of the emotions like I did. I've had five years to be mad, yell, and get angry. I've battled it, I've lived with it, and I’ve come to accept it. The past cannot be changed, and no one knows that better than I do. It doesn't mean that the pain, fear, and anger don't consume me, because some days they do. It just means that I've learned to take one day at a time and deal with those days as they arrive.
"Harley," he says desperately, slowly shaking his head, "when? When did this happen? Why didn't you call me?"
I inhale deeply and then blow it out slowly. I know that when he finds out I did call him, he's going to flip his lid. But I also know that there’s no way to avoid this. Tyson is no dummy…once he finds out Max’s birthday, he’d figure it out anyway.
"I did, Tyson. I did call you." The memory of that night—the memory of calling Tyson over and over, just for the calls to go to voicemail—prove to be too much, and I feel the emotion roll in
my gut. I close my eyes, remembering my desperate words, begging Tyson to call me. I push back the anger that starts to creep forward and remind myself that it's in the past.
It's. Over.
I've accepted it, I'm stronger because of it, and I'm not going to let it take him away from me.
"What?" he gasps, shaking his head vehemently. "No. No. No!" he barks, shoving his finger into his chest. "If you would have called…if you needed me…I would have been there. I would never abandon you during something like that, Harley!"
Oh, God, this is going to be hard. Please, God…please don't let this drag me back down. I've worked too hard to get where I am, and right now I need you to give me the strength to get through this.
I walk over to Ty and link my fingers through his. He doesn't resist, but he doesn't look at me either. "Look at me," I demand, throwing his words from earlier back in his face. I can see the battling emotions swirling deep in his still-averted eyes. He doesn't know whether to be angry or devastated, but he's trying to stay strong—for me.
"If we're going to do this, I need you to look at me." His eyes lock with mine. Good. "I need to know that this isn't going to destroy us. I've worked too hard to get where I am, and I'll be damned if I let this come between us. I will not lose you over this."
His eyes widen with shock at my pointed words and he pulls me to him. "You're not going to lose me," he confirms resolutely, "but I need answers, Harley. I hate to push you, but—"
"It happened the night you walked away from me." Crap. Shit. Crap. I didn't mean for it to come out like that, and I instantly regret my words when utter devastation consumes his beautiful face. "I'm sorry," I say, reaching out for his other hand. "I didn't mean to say it that way." I pray that he believes me…the last thing I want to do is hurt him.
His nostrils flare and his chin quivers, but he's fighting—he's fighting like hell to hold himself together. I can see the questions flashing across his face, but it’s obvious he can't bring himself to ask any of them. That's okay…it's my turn to be strong.