by Ella Brooke
Old and dirty. That’s how she sees me.
I try to force my mind off Poppy, breathing in the comforting scents of oil paint and turpentine. Rock music plays from the speakers, and I’m wearing a pair of paint-smeared jeans and a T-shirt. It reminds me of my college days; getting lost in work, dealing with life through my art. I miss this. I’d stopped completely after Danneel’s death and was sure I wouldn’t bother with it again.
I add a little more ochre to the canvas, and my mind goes to Micah and the talk we had earlier this morning. We’d been sitting at the island in the kitchen, eating bowls of cereal, his short legs dangling, kicking the legs of his stool. He’d looked at me with his big hazel eyes and tilted his head.
“Is that pretty lady coming back?” he’d asked, and I’d barely been able to breathe.
“Maybe,” I said, not wanting to go into it more than that.
“Is she going to be my new mommy? I really want a mommy, and she seems nice.”
It had taken everything in me not to lose my shit and break down at that moment. The memory of Danneel’s death had washed over me again, taking me right back to that night when I’d held Micah in the aftermath, knowing it was just going to be him and me. Knowing that I’d have to raise him alone as a single father. I was so scared at that moment, and when the nurses came to take him for a few hours, so I could allow myself to grieve, I’d gone straight to the hospital’s stairwell and let it all out, wailing into the echoing metal.
This morning, I’d changed the subject with Micah by talking about some cartoon he liked, but it felt as if I’d been knocked flat.
I’m in love with Poppy. Completely, utterly in love with her.
I hadn’t realized it until the moment of Micah’s innocent question that, even if I hadn’t wanted to admit it, I’d already been thinking about forever with Poppy.
I don’t know how I’m going to do this. How am I supposed to live the rest of my life without seeing her beautiful face? Without her giving me that devilish little lift of her eyebrow that tells me she thinks I’m full of shit? How am I supposed to live without those little smiles of hers, the ones that make me feel like I’m about a hundred feet tall?
How am I going to fall asleep every night for the rest of my life without her in my arms?
I toss the brush down. Fuck it.
I head up to my office. More importantly, I head for the bottle of whiskey I keep in the liquor cabinet in there. Micah’s nanny has agreed to stay in the penthouse for a few days while I work through this, and I’m all for taking advantage of that. Getting good and loaded sounds like a fantastic idea.
But by the end of my fourth shot of whiskey, my mind has begun to remember other things. Unwanted things. Things about my parents that, like Danneel, I’ve tried my hardest to banish into a dark corner.
Suddenly I’m back in my old room again. The one with the tattered curtains and the mattress on the floor. Outside, the rain had just started to pelt down, with a crack of thunder rolling in the distance. But it wasn’t the storm I was afraid of; it was the clock. It was almost 7:30—the time my father came home of a night, intoxicated from after-work drinks with his buddies.
And judging by the slam of the front door and all the yelling, he was right on time. So I waited. Again, like clockwork, I heard him shove my mother against a wall, the crack of a palm hitting a cheek as loud as that damn thunder. But tonight would be the last time he’d dare touch her.
I was fifteen now, and strong—much stronger than the coward in the other room had been when he was my age. For years, I’d watched on as he hit her, swore at her, degraded her, powerless to stop him. But not anymore. Now, I could take him on and show him who the real man of the house was.
After flexing my arms, I flung open the bedroom door and stalked out to the living room. My mother was on the floor, sobbing, blood dripping out of her nose. When my father looked up, he smirked. I’ll never forget it; he had no idea what was coming to him. I rushed him, slamming him up against the fireplace that he was damn lucky wasn’t lit. He stumbled into the pile of charcoal and tried to get back on his feet again but couldn’t. He was even more drunk than usual, and I was going to play that to my advantage.
I took the poker from its holder just within arm’s reach and struck him with it. Nowhere that could kill him; just hurt him. I hit his shins, his knees, his thighs, and arms. Tomorrow his body would be riddled over with cuts and bruises, yet that still wouldn’t amount to the scores he’d given my mother over the years.
When I was finally done, I scuffed him by the collar and made him look right into my eyes. “You touch her again, and I’ll kill you,” I said, my hatred for him laced on every word.
Then I shoved him back into the fireplace and turned to help my mother.
That night, we left him there—a blubbering mess that neither of us would ever see again.
With a few blinks, my eyes refocus on the bottle of whiskey. I pour another shot, down it, then get up, ready to go and put the finishing touches on her portrait.
Chapter Fifteen
Poppy
I know watching Netflix with a tub of double chocolate ice cream is kind of pathetic, but if this is what I need to do to heal and move on, then so be it. Bring on the reality TV shows and weight gain, because I’m committed.
Just as I settle in to watch the latest episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, the intercom for the door buzzes. Seriously? Just after I sat down. FML.
With a heavy sigh and very reluctant effort, I jump up and head over to the intercom to press the button. “Who is it?”
I hear muffled voices on the other end, one high-pitched and the other older and feminine.
“I can say my own name!” I freeze when I recognize that little voice. “It’s Micah Stone. Can I come up and see you, Poppy?” My gut somersaults. What the hell is Nathaniel’s kid doing here?
“Um, okay,” I manage to sputter out, and before I stop myself, I hit another button, allowing Micah entry into the lobby downstairs. Shit. A second thought hits me. What if he isn’t alone? What if his asshole, yet devilishly handsome father is with him? And Nathaniel’s using Micah as a way to see me. No… surely, he wouldn’t stoop so low.
Within a minute, there’s a series of solid raps on the front door, and when I sneak a peek through the peephole, I’m relieved to see Micah and his nanny. Thank God.
I step back and release the chain over the door before opening the door wide. Micah practically leaps into my arms, squeezing me so tight my bones start to hurt. What on earth is this about?
As soon as Micah releases me, I take a deep breath. Seeing him and his nanny was about the last thing I expected today, and my mind is still reeling. The nanny starts to apologize profusely, saying that they found my address on some paperwork in the penthouse, and Micah wouldn’t stop insisting on talking to me.
I smile and reassure her it’s okay. “Honestly, it’s fine. I was just having a quiet night in anyway,” I tell her, then look back down at Micah. “Micah, how can I help?”
“It’s my dad,” he replies, his eyes glazing over a little. “He’s so sad, and I don’t know what to do. I try to cheer him up all the time—I even gave him my favorite teddy to cuddle, but he still cries.”
The wave of sorrow that sweeps over me is the worst one yet. Poor little Micah; he shouldn’t ever see his dad like that. Maybe I was too hasty the other night at the gallery. Maybe Nathaniel and I should’ve made a time to talk about things properly; clear the air on a better and more mature note.
Fast forward an hour, and I can’t believe I’m here. Standing outside the gallery.
If I had any sense of self-preservation at all, I’d turn myself around and go back home to the safety of my Netflix and decadent tub of ice cream.
But when a brokenhearted little boy shows up on your doorstep and tells you that his daddy’s been crying and he bets you could cheer him up, you pull on your big girl panties and go check on the asshole you’re pretty damn
sure you might be in love with.
Micah’s earnestness, his big, hazel eyes that reminded me too much of his father’s… I just hadn’t been able to say no. I’d promised him that I would check on his dad.
And here I am.
I might be an idiot, but at least I’m one who has a heart.
I use my key (which I forgot to return to Nathaniel) to let myself into the gallery and quickly put in the code, so the alarm doesn’t trip. The nanny told me that Nathaniel had been holed up here at the gallery for days, so this seemed like the place to find him.
I grimace. If he’s in his office with some bitch, I’m going to lose it.
As I walk in, I see that there’s a light on in one of the back rooms, so I head that way, hoping I’ll find him there and get this over with.
“Nathaniel?” I call softly as I approach the door. There’s no answer, so I step inside the room and look around. All that’s in here is a large drop cloth, splattered with paint, an array of painting supplies, and a huge canvas. I glance around again for Nathaniel, but there’s no sign of him. Curious, I walk around to the front of the canvas.
As soon as I look at it, I freeze. My jaw drops.
It’s… me.
I can barely breathe as I step closer to the painting. It’s gorgeous. The artist captured everything, from the angles of my face to the weird way my lips quirk up when I’m smiling. The woman in the painting… me… is giving that little smile, her eyes sparkling mischievously. Who the hell has done this?
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” a deep voice says behind me. I spin, and Nathaniel’s standing there in the doorway, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand.
I tilt my head and gesture at the bottle. “Please don’t tell me that’s what you’ve been doing the last few days.”
“Like you give a damn,” he says with a smirk, but there’s no missing the bitterness in his voice.
I walk toward him. I can barely breathe. My stomach is twisting, my heart pounding. I knew I’d be affected seeing him again, but I didn’t expect it to be so intense.
I should have known better.
I reach him and lift my hands, cupping his face between them. “I care,” I murmur, meeting his eyes. He looks away, and I say his name. He meets my eyes again. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Micah came to see me,” I add, still being gentle. “He’s worried about you. He said you’re sad, and that he thought I could make it better.”
A tear slides down his face, and I gently wipe it away with my thumb. “I’m sorry he bothered you… I didn’t know he realized…”
“He didn’t bother me. I’m glad he told me,” I say softly. “He was worried. He’s a good kid, clearly. He doesn’t seem to believe in standing back when he thinks someone needs help.”
Nathaniel gives a small smile. “He was asking me about you. I thought I played it off okay, but maybe not,” he says. Then he takes a deep breath. “Micah’s mom—”
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say, remembering what little Dad had told me.
“I need you to know this,” he says, quieter, and I nod. If he wants to tell me, I’ll listen. “Micah’s mom and I were married for a little over a year. I was crazy about her. When we found out we were expecting, it was one of the happiest days of my life.” He pauses, and it seems like he’s struggling to continue. I gently run my fingers through his hair, and he takes a deep breath, meeting my eyes again.
“She had a good pregnancy, right up until the end. There were some complications…” Even before he says it, I know the words that come next. My heart breaks more than it ever has in my life. Oh, what a fool I’ve been. “She died in childbirth,” he finishes in a whisper, and I blink back the tears.
“Oh, Nathaniel,” I whisper, my heart aching for both him and Micah. “What was her name?”
“Danneel,” he says, almost inaudible. “After she died, I never expected to love anyone that way again. I didn’t think there was anyone who could make me feel the way she did. Until you.”
All I can do is stare at him.
“I’m so in love with you, Poppy. It knocked me on my ass, and it was the last thing I expected. But this week… the prospect of living without you—”
I don’t let him finish, pulling his head down so I can kiss him. I pour every bit of love and longing I can into my kiss. He sets the whiskey bottle down, and then his arms are around my body, holding me close, devouring me.
“Poppy,” he groans.
“Yes,” I whisper. It’s all he needs. He carries me to a chair and sits down, pulling me onto his lap, so I’m straddling him. He pulls down the bodice of the strappy dress I’m wearing, freeing my breasts. The cool air makes my nipples pucker, and Nathaniel’s intense gaze only makes them harder. He lowers his head and takes one nipple between his lips, sucking greedily, and I cry out in need. His other hand tweaks and pulls my other nipple, and I’m on the verge of coming just from having him touch me again.
“Nathaniel,” I moan, and he hikes up the skirt of my dress and rips the thin little silk thong I’m wearing right off.
“I need you,” I murmur, undoing his jeans and lowering the zipper. His cock springs free, and it’s all I can do not to cry in relief. I’ve missed every bit of him, and I knew after that first time we were together that no one would ever make me feel the things he does.
Without another word, I lower myself onto his cock, and he fills me, so deep, stretching me, and I cry out at the overwhelming sensations he’s making me feel. I stay, just like that, impaled on his cock, my forehead pressed to his as his hands torture my breasts.
“Mine,” he growls as he gently rubs his thumbs over my nipples. It’s exquisite torture, and I moan. He always knows exactly what I need.
“Yours,” I pant. “I’m yours.” There’s no point in denying it. He’s everything I want; everything I need. I move over him, slowly, savoring the sensation of my sex sliding over his cock, of him filling me, then retreating almost completely, over and over again; a slow, decadent torture that has me sweating, panting, begging.
“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmurs, watching my face with intensity as I near my release.
I smile down at him. “As if I planned on giving you a choice,” I tell him, and in the next breath, I’m coming, hard, and I hear him shout my name as he goes over the edge with me.
Afterward, he takes me up to his office, and we spend the night putting the sofa in there to good use, eventually falling asleep in one another’s arms.
Epilogue
Poppy
It’s been nine months since I let Nathaniel back into my life. It hasn’t always been easy, I think as I glide onto the ice. This gorgeous little neighborhood park is the perfect place to ice skate, and we wanted to make sure Micah had a chance to do it as often as he wanted. I glance forward to see him skating beside my dad, who is wobbling a bit but managing all right.
I smile—I’m glad he came around. It almost came to fistfights a few times, at first, between Nathaniel and my dad, but they’re okay now. Mostly, my dad sees how happy I am, and I’m grateful for that conversation we had after he saw Nathaniel and me together. It’s made a world of difference for both my relationships.
I finally graduated, and I’m working in a great little gallery in Manhattan. I’m dating a man who treats me like a princess, and I’m getting close to Micah, who’s a great kid and shares my appreciation for superhero movies. But I never want to replace his mom. I know that Danneel will always hold a special place in both Micah’s and Nathaniel’s heart, and I’m completely okay with that.
And as for Nathaniel and me? I swear I love him more every day.
I do a few little jumps and spins, and turn to see Nathaniel grinning at me.
“A woman of many talents,” he says as he takes my hand.
“And I’m just getting started,” I quip with a smile.
“Don’t I know it. Shall we sit?”
I nod, and he leads me over to one of the b
enches at the side of the rink. Fairy lights twinkle in the trees overlooking the pond and skaters pass us in a blur. It’s cold, but not bitingly so, and I take a deep breath and let it all surround me. My dad and Micah circle around again and Nathaniel waves Micah over. Micah gives him a grimace but waddles off the ice and comes up to us.
“Yeah, Dad? I want to make sure Bruce doesn’t fall,” he says, and I bite back a laugh. Nathaniel pulls something out of his coat pocket and hands it to Micah, and the two exchange what can only be described as a giddy smile.
Micah waddles over to me, grinning, and thrusts something at me, then goes back onto the ice. I laugh and look down at my hands. He’s handed me a little black box. I glance at Nathaniel, who’s watching me, a small smile on his lips.
I open it, and there’s a key inside. I recognize it as the key to Nathaniel's penthouse. I look up at him in shock, then look back at the key, noticing something shiny dangling from the keychain.
“Oh my God,” I say, tears springing to my eyes. A penthouse key… and a diamond ring. I stare at Nathaniel, and he gives me one of his gorgeous, lazy, mouthwatering grins.
“I told you I was never letting you go again.” A few tears are streaming down my face, and then he makes me cry harder by getting down on one knee and taking my hands into his.
“I love you with everything I am, Poppy. I want forever with you, and I promise we’ll make it beautiful. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
“Yes,” I cry, getting on my knees and throwing my arms around him. “Yes, Nathaniel. I can’t wait to marry you.”
He kisses me, my joyful tears mirrored with tears of his own. He holds me close, making love to my lips.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“I love you, too. Forever.”
“All mine?”
“All yours.”
When we finally break apart, we settle against the back of the bench, steering our eyes upward to the sky. It’s a clear night, with billions of silver stars winking at us, and the occasional laugh from Micah, out on the rink, each time Dad almost slips on the ice face-first.
