by Kali Brixton
I needed to push those thoughts away. She wasn’t mine to have—not until she knew who I was, what I had done. God knows it took all my strength and then some to turn down her offer last night—an offer that I had wanted since I first noticed she was becoming a woman. The few girls I had ever been with had been a knee-jerk reaction to something going on with the girl I loved. Charlotte went to the 8th-grade dance with some douchebag named Larry? I got drunk at a party I shouldn’t have gone to and lost my virginity to some blonde tramp from another school who slapped me when I called her Charlotte. She gets hit on by some stupid varsity basketball player in 9th grade? I flirted with his girlfriend and got her to break up with him. I was an asshole of mega proportions, vying for the title with Mason, who of course still won that title handily, but the hurt of being told I couldn’t even have a chance with her lead me to do a lot of stupid things—like not paying attention when Aidan saw that sniper.
She had shown up tonight because she was worried about me, only to have to run into some bar skank I had brought home again to lose myself in for the night because I was tired of feeling nothing but pain—the pain of losing my best friend and the pain of never being able to have what I always wanted. The fight we had was necessary and ended with her in tears and me trying to comfort her. Charlotte was always beautiful, but when she cried, so fragile and exposed before me, I couldn’t help myself. I had to kiss her. I knew I shouldn’t, but I had to claim those beautiful rosy lips and taste her. She smelled like sugared vanilla and creamy coconut, with just a hint of something sweet and fresh—pineapple maybe. And, that body—soft curves and perfection in every square inch. I knew she looked amazing in her clothes, but fuck, the things I wanted to do to her seeing her like that. The evidence of my arousal rested against her back all last night. Just kissing her made my dick rock hard, and I was pretty sure I was close to bursting into flames at the mere sight of her being nearly naked.
I would have loved more than anything to have claimed her last night and washed away the sadness from those bright green eyes. She wanted it, as did I—two broken hearts finding comfort and strength in each other. But, I couldn’t have it on my conscience that she would wake up this morning and regret what she had done. I knew she was still a virgin—a fact that thrilled me to no end—and as much as I wanted to have my way with her, I couldn’t do that to her. I’m a selfish, no-good, drunken bastard, but I couldn’t stand to let her give herself to me, knowing that she needed all the facts before she could decide something like that, and when I wasn’t a drunk dumbass who would ruin her first time.
The truth is, even though I’ve been in love with Charlotte Kasen since I was eight years old, I couldn’t wrap my mind around what it would entail for her to be mine. I had been scary Deacon who watched over and protected her like a brother, just like Aidan asked me to years ago, but every fiber of my being wished that things had been different for us. I wish I could’ve only been the boy-next-door instead of the boy her family took pity on and brought into their home like I was family. I knew I would have to get myself cleaned up because I was falling apart with all the guilt I carried, but a brief thought had me second-guessing if staying away from her was the kinder thing to do.
I wondered if some other lucky bastard would be more capable of rising to the challenge. If it was better that she be happy with another man, to take his last name, to sleep in his bed, to carry his children… If my promise to her brother should be forever, even though she was nearly eighteen and I no longer lived in the same house as her. I felt like a dick even thinking about betraying him, but the thoughts of Charlotte being happy with someone other than me stuck my heart like a jagged knife and stole my breath. I had to talk to her, to be honest with her, to let her know that I’ve harbored all these feelings for her for years. I had to let her choose because when all was said and done, it was ultimately her decision to be with the person who caused her brother’s death.
When I finally opened my eyes, it took me a moment to register that the sweet little thing that had slept so peacefully next to me was gone. Her side of the bed was cold, and her clothes were no longer laying across the wooden bench at the foot of my bed. I listened carefully for any noises in the house, but I was only greeted with silence. A pang in my heart resounded, and I knew she was gone. I picked up my phone, which had died in the night, and put it on charge, planning what I was going to say to her today.
The jeans that I had flung across the room last night in a fit of lust pulled over my thighs, my hands making short work of the zipper and buttons, the thought of last night making me hard all over again and leaving a smile on my face. I’d never seen Charlotte filled with so much desire before, but I knew it was something I needed to see more of—much, much more. I had slipped a t-shirt on just as the dinging of my phone started to sound with missed notifications. I noticed a missed call from Merritt’s aunt, a number I had saved in case of an emergency. I dialed the number as fumbled around the sink, looking for my toothpaste that had gone missing. She answered, and I told her I was returning her call. Her next words stopped me in my tracks and set me on course for the next two years.
Deacon, I think Merritt’s in trouble.
Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte
I had shown up that night, a night when I was supposed to be staying with Nikki to work on a project we had due next week, but I had seen enough over the past few weeks. With no answer to any of my welfare check texts or calls, I decided a face-to-face confrontation was in order. Aidan had been gone for a couple of months, and we had all noticed how Deacon kept pulling away more and more.
When the door opened, there was a disgusting blonde bimbo who answered the door. “Who the hell are you?”
I let my eyes roamed her body: thickly built, blonde hair—obviously from a bottle—and cheap clothing. Everything about her was cheap, just like every other girl I had seen sniff around Deacon since he was a junior in high school. I always wondered if this was his type, why was I not an option? Because I was younger than him? Too heavy? Too much of whatever it was that kept him at bay?
I straightened my back, even though the hurt in my heart weighed me down, and looked her dead in her raccoon-rimmed eyes, “I’m Charlotte, and I—”
Her expression darkened. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” A voice I recognized very well asked who it was. She replied, “Your little girlfriend is here.”
He stumbled to the door, obviously drunk and undeniably angry. “Why are you here?”
“I came to check on you. You hadn’t returned any of my calls or texts. I was worried.”
Tiffani—if that’s even her real name—nudged him out of the way. “When you can remember that my name is Tiffani, give me a call.”
She stormed past me in a fury, cheap perfume following her in a cloud. “What did she mean by that?”
“Mind your business, Charlotte.”
“Well, if you’d answer your phone, I wouldn’t have to make house calls to interrupt whatever you and Bimbo Barbie were—about to do.”
“What I do in my apartment is my business.”
“Do you think this is the best way to cope with losing him?”
“You need to go.”
“And why the hell should I do that?” My curse threw him off-guard. He looked at me like he saw a horn growing out of my head. I never cursed, and he knew it. Too bad. The gloves were off, and I wasn’t pulling punches.
“Char—”
“No! What you’re doing is unhealthy, Deacon. I know you miss him, but you can’t drink yourself into oblivion. A wouldn’t want this. Not to mention all the other—things—you can get from doing whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Quit trying to psychoanalyze me. You have no idea what I’m going through.”
“And drinking yourself to death will heal the pain? Is catching things you can’t pronounce, let alone cure, gonna fix it?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. “Ch
arlotte, you’re walking on thin ice here. I can only take so much.”
I knew I was, so I decided to go in for the kill. All the cards were on the table, and this was do-or-die. I placed my hand on his firm chest, right above his heart. “Don’t you feel anything?” He stiffened, nostrils flaring. I held my hand firm and steady. “Don’t you let yourself feel anything at all? For anyone? He was your best friend, my big brother, my mom and dad’s child. Can’t you let yourself fall apart in the right way? Even just for a moment?”
Anger flashed in his eyes, and he approached me, voice booming. I didn’t realize I was backing up until my back smacked the wall, and I had nowhere else to go. A cloud of his manly scent enveloped me, and I had a hard time thinking straight. That was until I saw the fine mist started to form in the ordinarily arid eyes of this dark, brooding soul. “What good would it do, Charlotte? Hmm? What good would it do? It won’t bring him back; I can’t bring him back…” his deep voice cracked on that last word and he went completely silent, trying to rebuild that fortress around his emotions again. But it was too late. He was exposed and vulnerable. I looked through the blurry veil of tears and saw him, really saw him. This gruff man of stone was grieving too and couldn’t find his way out of the darkness.
That was all it took. I couldn’t hold it in for another second. Hot tears burned their way down my swollen cheeks, and I completely fell apart. No more hiding it. My tears pooled into my shaking hands. I cried for Aidan and him, for my parents who missed their son immensely, and for my brothers and me. I only stopped to catch my breath between sobs when two large arms wrapped themselves around me. The warmth radiated off his body. It felt so good and so right, like the two puzzle pieces finally clicking together.
I felt a rough touch under my chin, and my head was involuntarily lifted until my teary eyes met with his. He was comforting me, holding me, caressing me, trying to peer into my soul. Deacon was showering me with compassion.
“Deac…” my voice came out as a whisper, carried away on the wind. I thought he hadn’t heard me until he framed my face with his large fingers.
“I can’t fucking fight this.” His answer pained, but his lips on mine were anything but. Gentle at first, deepening with passion with each passing second. He kissed me like a dying man taking his final breath. Kissed me like tomorrow didn’t exist, and it was a stroke before midnight. Wanting, longing, desperation… I could feel it in every spark between us—an eternal flame being lit.
He pulled away from our passionate kiss, leaving my lips swollen and wanting more. His deep voice vibrated off the walls surrounding us, and within my heart, words coated in sincerity and something else I couldn’t quite peg. “What do you want from me, Charlotte?”
What did I want? A million and one things—and every single one of them involved this man. “You” was the only word I could let slip past my lips. I needed to feel him, embrace him—every sharp, broken, beautiful piece of him. I wanted him to be my first and my only—needed him to be.
He stiffened for a moment, then as he exhaled deeply, he leaned forward and tenderly kissed me. “I can’t resist you anymore.”
He lifted me into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist. He never took his lips from mine, somehow blindly navigating through the dark apartment, and laid me gently on top of his bed. His masculine smell permeated the sheets beneath me. All man, all him—woodsy, citrusy, and warm. That intoxicating scent drugged me and put me in a stupor. I was in big trouble—or at least my heart was. Slowly and delicately, he removed my clothing with a reverence I didn’t think Deacon was capable of. I was only in my bra and panties when he stopped, his intense stare did nothing but stoke the fire raging in my body. He stared at me, and I stared at him for what seems like hours but was probably only mere seconds.
This was it. We were going to go through with it. Years of delicious tension had culminated into this incredible moment we were about to have together. He stripped his jeans and shirt off, leaving his boxers in place, which seemed to be masking a rather large part of his anatomy. Hello there. The bed dipped under the strain of his massiveness. The mattress was quickly filled with his body, all muscle, and hardness. He leaned over me and laid a soft kiss on my lips, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Simple, chaste—even though those kisses were migrating lower and lower on my body. I had dreamed about this moment forever. Wondering what his body looked like entirely naked, what his rough, calloused hands would feel like on my smooth skin, what his fingers would feel like combing through my hair. Soft caresses, sweet kisses all over my body, when we’d finally… Lost in my thoughts and the experience going on around me, my arms reached over the top of my head, my hand hit something on the nightstand, knocking it to the floor, the sound of glass cracking catching us both off-guard.
He jumped up from the bed to check out the damage. Turning on his little lamp, he released a sharp breath and picked up the object off the floor. “Fuck.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I lamented, hating that I had broken his belonging. “I’ll get you a new one.”
“It’s not that…”
I looked at the picture frame he held in his hands, and it was a picture of him in my brother, my brother sporting a big grin and Deacon looking stoic as usual, sitting behind a piece of broken glass. “That’s such a good picture of you all.” Deacon’s face was noticeably pale, and I worried he was getting sick from all the booze. “Are you okay?” He ran into the bathroom and slammed the door, the sound of vomit hitting the toilet. I caught my breath and ventured to check on him. He was crying into the toilet, mumbling incoherently. I grabbed a washcloth and wet it, putting the cold cloth on his neck and helped him swish some mouthwash around before going back into the bedroom.
I picked up my clothes and laid them across the seat at the edge of the bed, Deacon taking the corner of the bed, his head in his hands. I prepared to get dressed again when he stopped me. “Please don’t go.” I nodded, and he took my hand, leading me over to his side of the bed. He pulled back the covers and motioned for me to get in. I edged myself back over to the other side, and he climbed in after me. I leaned back, his hand finding my stomach. “You’re perfect.” He laid a soft kiss between my breasts, right over the heart that was trying to break free of its confines. “Too perfect for me.” I gasped when he flipped me to my side, pulled me against him, throwing the covers back over us. His large arm rested on my stomach, his hardness against my back. His staccato breathing slowed to a steady rhythm as he kissed my shoulder and my neck before nuzzling his face against it. His movements stilled and his now quiet breath fanned the baby hairs on my neck.
So, I know I’m a virgin and everything, but I feel like I missed something here. I laid there for a few moments before I hesitantly decided to rip the bandage off. “But, I thought…”
He tightened his grip around me. His silence seemed to signal a debate within him. I heard a long exhale, and I could tell his nostrils were flared by the change in the air I felt against my neck. “Not tonight, Charlotte. Sleep. We’re going to talk in the morning.”
Disappointment rang through my body. No, it felt more like embarrassment and humiliation. Was I completely delusional? Had I imagined he might have feelings for me? Feelings like I had for him? I had never felt more like a complete loser in my life. Not tonight, Charlotte. I could read between the lines of his rejection: Not tonight—or ever—Charlotte.
Okay Deacon, message received loud and very clear. It was the second time my heart had broken today, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Somehow, I managed to lull myself to sleep in the arms of a man who pitied me, me whom he only saw as his friend’s annoying little sister who needed to be held.
Starting tomorrow, I’m officially moving on from Deacon Devereaux…
I woke up that morning, my heart in a bind. Dear Cinderella: A dream isn’t a wish your heart makes—unless your heart wishes for you to die inside just a little bit more. I went to work in a fog, my head swirling around
the whole Deacon mess, and how I wished with all my heart, I could just quit caring like I had told Nikki I had numerous times over the last two years.
Grey had gotten a call at one of the rentals needing him to look at something and left on lunch early to check on it while the guys were eating. Davies had come into the office and offered me a peanut butter cookie, but I politely declined. I had gotten used to peanut butter not being in the house over the years because of what had happened with Deacon, and I never could stand the thought of it after he told me what happened the evening he left his dad’s home for good.
I was munching on a potato chip when I heard a commotion outside and looked out to see the men trying to separate two of the guys. I jumped up and ran over to the door, making my way down the small steps to the trailer. One of the men who had been with us a while, Davies, was cursing as Deacon stormed past me, into the office, his hand smeared with blood.
“What happened?”
“Leave it alone, Charlotte.” He walked into the office and slammed the door shut.
Davies had blood on his face, and I had deduced what happened. I planned to try and smooth things over, worried this would cost Deacon his job and the company money, until I heard Davies say, “It was just a fucking peanut butter cookie. What the hell is his problem?”
“You should have backed off when he said he didn’t want it, man. You didn’t have to shove it in his face.”
Poor Deacon. I knew Deacon’s aversion to peanut butter and the painful memory he associated with it. I may not be a big fan of his right now, but he would never tell the men why he won’t eat it, which probably led to what had happened. Davies laughed again and called him a bad name. Whether I wasn’t a big fan of Deacon’s or not, he didn’t deserve to be ridiculed like this. An ugly thought crossed my mind, and I channeled my inner Grinch to follow through with my plan. I walked over to him and swatted his hand, knocking the mangled peanut butter cookie out of his hand.
