by LK Farlow
Her father tries to silence her, but his fruitless attempt only causes her to turn her anger on him. “You! You promised me I could have him. You lied!”
Fed the fuck up with all of it, I step up to a still-screeching Amanda. “Stop fucking screaming.” My voice is low and lethal. “Give me my Mimi’s ring and get the hell out of here.”
Amanda pries the ring from her finger and chucks it at me. It bounces off of my shoulder and rolls across the floor, where my mother bends and retrieves it.
There’s still a lot to hash out, but I have no desire to do it with an audience. Christ knows, we’ve already given them quite the sideshow act.
I tap on the mic still clutched in my hand and clear my throat. “As y’all can see, there’s no cause for celebration here tonight. Sorry for the confusion and the inconvenience. Please pick up your gifts and a slice of cake on the way out.”
AJ
The minute people begin filing out of the room, I tuck tail and follow. This night has been one giant clusterfuck of weird, and I need a minute to get my head on straight.
I’m almost home free when Stacia halts my progress. Again. “Not so fast, AJ.” She directs me back over to where we were standing, positioning between me and the exit so that I can’t try and make a break for it. “Are you okay?” she murmurs.
Unsure how to reply, I simply shake my head. So much has happened in such a short window of time, I’m not even sure how to process it.
Brock’s dad is a raging, abusive jackass. Amanda is a straight-up sociopath. And Brock…loves me? This night has been like something straight out of a soap opera.
Five minutes later, the only people left in the room are me, Stacia, Brock, West, and Mr. and Mrs. Larson. I notice Brock moving my way, and as if I’m a fucking Olympic sprinter, I rush to close the distance between us.
Brock wastes no time and gathers me into his arms, burying his face in the space between my shoulder and neck. “I’m so sorry, Abby Jane.”
“Is…is this real?” I whisper brokenly, clinging to him.
“So fucking real. I love you, Abs.”
I pull back just enough to peer up at him. “I love you, too.”
Our happy reunion is quickly interrupted by none other than his d-bag of a father. “Well, look at the happy couple,” he sneers, and Brock whips around to face him, placing himself between us.
“Just give up. It’s over. Your bullshit plan failed.”
I gasp as he grabs Brock by the collar of his shirt. Just as fast, West moves in to restrain his uncle. As he’s hauled away from Brock, he loses his mind. “You ungrateful little shit. Your mother should have fucking aborted you like I fucking told her.”
I can tell Brock has something to say, but his mother beats him to it. “That’s quite enough, Everett. It seems as though you’ve forgotten which one of us holds the power.”
“You fucking bitch!” he roars, desperately trying to shake West’s hold. But Brock’s cousin is a beast and only tightens his grip.
“We’re finished,” Mrs. Larson tells him coolly. “I’ve had Marta pack you an overnight bag. We’ll arrange a date for you to officially move out.”
“You can’t do this! I won’t let you!”
When she simply laughs at his empty threats, he goes berserk, finally breaking free. He charges her and rears back to hit her, but she beats him to the punch—literally—and rams her knee into his groin, laying him flat out.
She moves to stand over him, a wicked gleam in her eye. “You seem to have forgotten our prenup, Everett. You only get to leave with what you brought into our marriage, and if memory serves…that would be jack shit.” She gives him one last repulsed look before spinning on her heel and marching away.
“Come on, kids,” she calls over her shoulder, and obediently we all follow behind her leaving Brock’s sorry-ass excuse of a father in a heap on the floor.
BROCK
I pull Abby Jane aside while everyone else heads to the parking lot. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” Like the fucking band at Vinny’s…seven days without her has made me weak, and I might die if I have to wait another second to have her alone. Plus, we have a fuck-ton to talk about.
She hesitates, and I swear my heart skips a beat…or three. Finally, she nods, and I clasp her hand in mine, leading her to my truck. Stacia shoots us a mischievous grin while West simply smirks.
I pull my keys from my pocket and hit the unlock button before opening Abby Jane’s door for her. She’s in the process of buckling her seatbelt when my mom walks over and joins us.
Mom wraps me in her arms and squeezes me tight in that way only a mother can. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry I let things get like this.”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“No. No, it isn’t. But I swear I’ll make it up to you. I know you two have a lot to discuss, so go on.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, selfishly hoping she says yes so I can get my girl somewhere private.
“I’m sure. Why don’t y’all come for breakfast tomorrow?”
I glance to Abby Jane, and she gives a small nod. “Sounds good. Love you.”
“Love you too, honey. Drive safe, okay?” Mom presses a kiss to my temple and sets off toward her car.
Abby Jane pulls her door closed, and I head around to the driver’s side and climb up next to her. “Mind if we head to your place?” My voice shakes with nerves.
“That’s fine, Brock.” Her tone is soft and gives nothing away.
The elevator ride up to her apartment is quiet, but not in a comfortable way. It’s tense and awkward—much like the drive over. I feel we’re trapped in a will-she-or-won’t-she limbo.
Will she understand, forgive, and take me back…or will she tell me to kick rocks? Even though she told me she loves me too, I’m still nervous. Is it enough for her to get over what I put her through? Honestly, it could go either way.
Once we enter her apartment, we both just lamely stand there, staring at one another. I’m too chickenshit to make the first move, and Abby Jane looks torn. Finally, after several tense moments, she launches herself at me, twining her arms around my neck and wrapping her legs around my waist.
“Don’t think this means you’re off the hook.” She cries the words against my lips. “I just…need this. Now.” Her words end as she licks her tongue across the seam of my lips. Instantly, I part them, granting her entry—like I’d ever deny her.
Our kiss is some sort of reckoning—all-encompassing and powerful. A fucking tornado could have swept us away, and I don’t think we would have noticed. She keeps her lips sealed to mine until we have to pull away to breathe.
Both of our chests are heaving as we come back down to earth. “I really fucking love you, firecracker. More than words can describe.”
“Speaking of words…I guess we should talk.”
“We probably should,” I agree.
“C’mon.” She links her pinky with mine, not releasing me until we’re in her bedroom. “I’m gonna get changed first,” she says as I take a seat at the foot of her bed.
Abby Jane turns her back to me and slips the straps of her dress over her shoulders before shimmying it down her body. I almost choke on my fucking tongue when I see that she’s as naked as the day she was born.
“Fuuuuuck,” I groan out the word, taking in her creamy, tattooed skin, my eyes clinging to the sweet curve of her ass.
The thought of her with nothing under that dress all night just about does me in. She’s a temptress without even trying.
She steps into her closet and comes back out in a pair of hipster panties and a tank top and crawls into the bed, slipping under the covers. “Mind if I join?” I ask, not wanting to assume.
“Sure.”
“Mind if I get a bit more comfortable?”
She gulps, then shakes her head that she doesn’t mind.
Her eyes follow my fingers as I loosen my tie and slip it over my head. Her breath hitches as I undo the buttons of my shirt and remove it. She
pulls the duvet up to her chin when I toe off my shoes and socks and remove my pants, leaving me in my boxers.
“Still good?” I ask, not wanting to push her too far out of her comfort zone…yet. Wordlessly, she snakes an arm out from under the covers and pats the spot next to her.
We sit for a few moments, simply staring at one another before she speaks. “I’m not mad at you.” She says the words so quietly that I’m not sure if I imagined it or not.
“What?”
“I’m not mad at you.” Her voice is stronger now, more confident. “I understand that we were both manipulated and lied to. I know that you tried—many times—to reach out to me. We could have resolved this a while ago if I’d answered your calls, but I…”
“You were hurt,” I finish for her. “I don’t blame you for not picking up. I probably wouldn’t have either, if our roles were reversed.”
“Has…has your dad always been like that?”
“Honestly? Yeah. But it’s gotten progressively worse over the years.”
I feel her shift under the covers, freezing when I feel her hand brush against my side before she lays it over my heart. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Good fucking riddance. Seeing my mom put him in his place tonight was phenomenal.”
Abby Jane cracks a small smile. “Yeah, it really was.” Slowly, she scoots closer to me, snuggling into my chest. “I do have a question though.”
“What’s up?”
“Stacia?”
“Ah. Yeah. That was actually all West. The morning after the shitshow at The Colony Grill, while I was at my parents’ house, he went to her and explained everything and got her on board. She and I texted all week—she kept me in the loop with how you were, and she helped me plan everything for tonight.”
“So that’s why your tie matched my dress!” Abby Jane laughs, and it sounds like the best song I’ve ever heard. “That sneaky, conniving bitch!”
“I’m basically forever indebted to her. But…you’re worth it.”
“Fuck yeah, I am. Don’t you forget it either!”
I roll us so she’s flat on her back, with me hovering over her. “Missed that sassy, smart mouth.”
“Let’s get y’all reacquainted then,” she murmurs as she spreads her legs, leaving me room to settle between them.
I grind into her, and she moans. “Missed that too.” I practically growl the words as my inner caveman chants Mine! Mine! Mine!
She wraps her legs around my waist and uses her toes to push my boxers down. “I want you. I’ve missed you.” She pants the words, and I fucking love it— love that she’s just as desperate for me as I am for her.
“Want you too,” I groan as I push her panties to the side so I can slide home. “Fuck, Abby Jane, you feel so good. Like heaven.”
“Yesss,” she hisses as I move inside her, using my body to show her just how sorry I am and how much I love her. “I love you. Don’t stop.”
“Never, Abs, never.” I mean the words in every way imaginable. I’ll never stop giving her pleasure. I’ll never not put her first. I’ll never stop loving her. I’ll never let her go ever again.
AJ
Brock and I made love on and off all night long, until we were too physically exhausted for more. It seemed like the best idea at the time. But as we drag our tired bodies out of bed to go to his mother’s house for breakfast…yeah, not so much.
“C’mon Abs, we gotta get up,” Brock murmurs as he drags his fingertips over the dip between my hip bone and rib cage.
“Five more minutes,” I beg. “I’m so tired.”
He moves his fingers lowers still. “I think we’re…what’s the equivalent of a sex hangover? Over-orgasmed?”
Chuckling at his antics, I push his hand away and force myself to leave the bed. “I’ll start the shower if you start the coffee.”
Brock climbs out of the bed, his erection saluting me loud and proud. “Will do, firecracker.”
I pad into the bathroom and fiddle with the shower knobs until the temperature is just right. The hot water soothes my aching, well-used muscles. I’m reaching for my shampoo when the door opens and Brock joins me.
“You know,” he says as he takes the shampoo bottle from me and squirts some in his palm. “I had an epiphany when I was starting the coffee.”
I lean into him as he lathers up my hair, massaging my scalp. “Did you now?”
“I did. You know some people say the only way to cure a hangover is to keep drinking?” I nod and step back under the spray to rinse my hair. “Well, maybe that’s the cure for being over-orgasmed…”
“What? Drinking?” I ask, unable to follow his logic.
“No, firecracker.” He drops to his knees before me. “More orgasms.”
Forty-five minutes and three O’s—two for me and one for him—later, we’re finally out the door and on our way to breakfast with his mom.
Upside, we’re not going to be late. Downside, I’m pretty sure I look exactly how I feel…freshly-fucked. If my rat’s nest, semi-damp hair and flushed cheeks aren’t a dead giveaway, the lovely hickey I’m sporting on my collarbone will be.
Yay, fun.
Brock picks up on my nervousness as we pull through the massive iron gate that surrounds the Larson house. I jump when I feel his hand come down on my ever-bouncing leg. “Abs, chill. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
“Is it? What if your dad somehow—”
“That asshole is done. Don’t even worry about him, okay?”
I bite the corner of my bottom lip, pulling it into my mouth. “If you say so.”
“I do.” He parks his truck, and my mind spins at those two little words. I do…words he almost gave to someone else. I wonder if one day he’ll give them to me? “C’mon, firecracker. Let’s go eat.”
He grasps my hand as we walk up the steps, only letting go long enough to knock on the door.
“Honey!” his mother exclaims wrapping him in a tight hug. “You don’t need to knock. Not anymore.”
Brock shrugs his shoulders. “Old habits.”
She looks back and forth between the two of us, as if she’s not quite sure how to greet me. “Well, y’all come in.”
We follow her into the house and the scent of frying bacon fills my nose. “Oh, yum,” I groan right as my stomach lets out a loud grumble.
“Smells good, right?” Mrs. Larson asks. “I make sure Marta buys it really fatty. Just tastes better that way.”
“That it does,” I agree.
We follow her into the kitchen, where there’s a kind-looking older woman plating up the most delicious looking breakfast—big, fluffy pancakes dripping with syrup; thick, crisp bacon; and fresh fruit drizzled with poppyseed dressing.
“I thought we could eat on the porch?” Brock’s mom asks as she picks up a plate piled high with food. Brock and I do the same and follow her out to the enormous screened-in area.
I’m in the middle of a huge bite when she addresses me. “Abby…AJ…”
“Either,” I tell her, covering my mouth with my hand.
“I feel as though I owe you an apology. My husband is a despicable man, and I should have left him long ago. Unfortunately, for a long time, I fed into his image is everything diatribe. Thankfully, I’ve removed my rose-colored glasses. I hate that his actions—our actions—hurt you.”
She’s definitely right about their actions hurting me, but I can see the genuine remorse in her eyes and hear it in her voice. “It’s okay, Mrs. Larson—”
“Please call me Dina, dear.”
“It’s okay, Dina. I was hurt, but…I get why y’all did it. My parents—as you know—are so much like Mr. Larson. I really just want to put all of it behind us.”
“I’ve always liked you, AJ. I’m very happy you’re back in Brock’s life. You’re good for him.” As much as I don’t seek approval from others, I beam at her words.
“What about Dad?” Brock asks, addressing the elephant in the room. “What now?”
“I’ve already met with the lawyer and thanks to our ironclad prenup, it should be a fairly easy process. He’ll be by tomorrow to finish packing his things and soon we’ll be rid of him altogether.”
“I’m proud of you, Mom.”
“Not as proud as I am of you, honey.”
In the weeks after Engagemageddon, Brock and I manage to merge our lives seamlessly. Without the added pressure from his father, he was able to drop his weekend lessons and cut down on his volunteer hours, and he’s now working with his advisor on his major.
We still study together twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And as of last week, I see him every day, seeing as he moved into my apartment. His reasoning was we had already spent too much time apart—between our lost school-aged years and the week we do our best not to discuss—and to be honest, it was an easy sell.
Especially with finals and graduation looming on the horizon. That shit is sure to keep us busy. Not to mention, falling asleep next to him is no fucking hardship. And waking up to his mouth between my legs is the best alarm clock known to mankind.
AJ
A Few Months Later
Within an hour of receiving our diplomas—Brock’s in education, not poli-sci, mind you—we were on a private plane—a graduation gift from Brock’s mom—Vegas bound. Because what screams FUCK, YES! WE MADE IT, LET’S CELEBRATE! louder than the City of Sin? Nothing, that’s what.
About an hour into our flight, I’m kicked back in my oversized reclining seat, reading a sexy as sin book about a man falling for his best friend’s daughter when Brock whispers huskily in my ear, “Wanna join the Mile High Club, firecracker?” The gravel in his tone, combined with the words on the page in front of me, have me rubbing my thighs together.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Why not? It’s just us…” His eyes run over my body, lingering heatedly in all the right places.
“And the crew. And the pilot.”
“Not if we go to the…fuck, what’s the bathroom called on a plane?” He stops and thinks for a moment. “The lavatory! That’s it.”
