by DM Davis
Me.
The broken.
Less than I was…
…and more than I should be.
The one who remains when the best was lost to this world.
Taken…
…leaving me behind.
“Hey,” his sex-laden voice rasps in my ear. “What happened?” Warm succulent lips graze my jaw and press to my mouth. “You were with me, and then you weren’t.”
My eyes shut tight, I coax him back to me, my hands tangled in his hair and pulling on his shoulder. Don’t stop, I silently beg, a heated mess of desire and desperation.
“Shh. Calm.” His hand covers mine, still tugging on his shoulder. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
A satiated breath quiets my ragged emotions. I press my lips to his, my body still encapsulated on his lap, in his arms. “Promise?” I whisper to him, to God, to the universe, and the demons I struggle to keep at bay.
He chuckles. “Yes, I promise.” His eyes seek mine. “If you’ll let me, I’ll hold you all night, into the next day, and…” His lips press to mine. “Forever,” he breathes against my mouth.
He’ll stay. Forever? Shocked and speechless, I can only nod.
Setting me on my feet, he stands, kisses my cheek. “Get ready for bed. I’ll join you in a moment.”
My feet move of their own accord, but his hand stops me at my door. Pressing in, his hand sweeps my hair off my shoulder. “I don’t want you to worry.” His lips graze up my neck, sending new bolts of pleasure to my core. “I didn’t forget. No sex. I remember.”
Maybe I should rethink that stance.
I quicken my pace and slip into my bathroom, closing the door behind me. I hesitate for only a second before dropping my hand to my side, leaving the door unlocked.
A rushed shower, tank top and boy shorts donned, I stare in the mirror, toothbrush in hand, my eyes bright, my cheeks flushed. Forever. His words dance across my lips, keeping me company as I brush my teeth.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Theo stands in my bedroom, staring at my bed.
“It’s daunting.” His eyes never leave it, but he pulls me to his side.
I press two fingers to my lips to keep from laughing. The idea of a big guy like Theo being intimidated by my bed is humorous.
“Don’t laugh.” He glances at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you have to get a running jump?”
The laugh I’ve been holding back erupts. I know he means me and not him—he’s plenty tall—but the visual of him running in from the other room and leaping into the air is too funny to ignore.
“I’m serious.” His crossed arms and twisted lips nearly convince me, but the mischief in his eyes gives him away.
“I have a stool.” I stifle my laughter and point to said stool on my side of the bed.
He nods, uncrossing his arms, his hand running over the silky damask comforter in rich burgundy, plum, sage, cream, and gold hues. His eyes roam the three layers of pillows. “Have you ever gotten lost in all those pillows?”
“Don’t make fun of my pillows.” I reach for the first few decorative throw pillows and begin tossing them in the corner.
“Me?” He moves to the other side of the bed. “I would never.” He grips one of the four massive bed posts as he rounds the corner, his strong hand and long fingers not able to surround its girth.
It’s a big bed, I admit. But it’s my pride and joy. An indulgence from its four-poster oversized footprint, to the ornate hand-carved mahogany headboard, footboard, frame, posts, and feet. The matching nightstands, dresser, chest, and armoire complete the regal set. “A bed like this deserves to be pampered with quality linens and seductive pillows.”
He stops mid-throw in helping me remove the non-sleeping pillows, his head quirking to the side as his eyes land on me. “It’s not the bed that deserves pampering but the woman who sleeps in it.”
Not waiting on my reply, as if what he said doesn’t rock my world—like most things that come out of his mouth—he continues removing the decorative pillows.
We slip under the covers. He on his back. Me on my side. With a single arm, he pulls me into his side, encouraging me to lie on his chest and cuddle close. Without prompting, he continues the twenty questions game.
“I’ve failed to inquire what you do for a living.” His fingers toy with my curls. “I’m sorry about that.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I feel like we’ve covered that already, but I guess we haven’t. I work for KassenAir. I’m the Layout Editor for their inflight magazine. I do a little content editing as well.”
I can feel his smile against my forehead. “I bet you’re exceptional at it, too.”
“I don’t know about exceptional, but Tyler and his bosses seem pleased with my work.”
“No doubt.” He stiffened when I said Tyler’s name—probably best not to dwell on that aspect of my job.
“Next question?” I opt to let him go again over fielding pointless questions about Tyler.
“Siblings?” His lips press to my forehead. His hands slowly caress my back and side.
“Three. Oldest brother Bobby, middle sister Nicole, and my youngest brother Timothy. Bobby and I have the same parents. My dad had Nicole and Timothy when he remarried. But I don’t consider them half-siblings. I love them the same.”
He kisses my brow again, squeezing me tight. “Of course you do.”
I ignore the warmth his words induce. “What about you? How many siblings?”
“Four. Two brothers and two sisters: Connor, Charlotte, Christian, and Claire. All four married with children, except for Claire. She’s expecting her first in July.”
“How did you escape the C-name train?”
He chuckles, hitching my leg up higher over his. I close my eyes and press into him. It’s intimate, yet wholly comforting, like broken-in shoes that can only fit this well after years of contact, molding to my foot and only my foot. Theo is my broken-in shoes. Doesn’t sound sexy at all, and still, here I am nearly panting and rubbing against him like a cat in heat.
His hands move, pulling at me, encouraging the contact, rolling to his side, pressing into my heat all while maintaining our conversation as if I’m not burning up in his arms. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked. As the youngest—” His lips press to my neck. “I assumed they ran out of C names.”
Gah, I can’t think. Question. I need a question. Mentally, I palm my forehead. Think. Oh! “Birthday,” I nearly screech.
“December sixteenth.” His muffled reply tickles my ear as his lips kiss along my jaw. “You?” he prompts when I don’t reply, too lost in his touch.
“Uh…December twenty-seventh.” Wait. “We have December birthdays.”
“Mm-hmm.” He’s not even sidetracked by this revelation.
“You knew?” I push on his shoulders, forcing him to look at me.
He blinks his half-mast eyes, his hair in tousled disarray. God, he looks like great sex and rumpled morning-afters. “Your form.”
Of course. “I should have had you fill out a form. I feel like you know more about me than I do about you.”
On a deep breath, he pulls back and settles on his elbow, hovering over me, his finger tracing the rim of my bottom lip. “What do you want to know, baby?”
I shake my head, not able to lock onto a single question. “I don’t know…everything?”
He nods, pressing a soft kiss on my mouth. “I’ll give you everything. You ask—” his tongue snakes across my lips before sucking on my lower lip, “I’ll give.”
Everything? His touch—his words—have me reeling, my breath hitching. “When you touch me. I can’t think straight,” I confess on a whisper.
His hand cups my cheek, and knowing chocolate eyes scan my face with tender reverence. “When you walk in a room, I forget to breathe.”
It’s dark, grimy. The maze of cars slow my steps. Round and round I run. I can hear her, but every time I get close, believing she’s around
the corner—she’s not.
I can’t find her.
I can’t call to her, or they’ll find me. And if they find me, I can’t help her.
Silently, I run up the ramps, trying to get to the third floor. The sound of my blood rushing in my ears, the pounding of my feet, and my ragged breaths keep me company, keep me going.
Another scream.
She’s fighting, yelling.
“Holly,” she cries.
Holly? Why is she calling her own name?
I have to get to her. I have to save her.
I finally make it to the third floor where our car is parked and run toward the screaming.
I can see her. I can see him.
But she’s not moving. She’s not the one screaming.
I catch my reflection in a car window.
It’s me. I’m the one screaming, caught in the arms of the tall blond. Crazed. Fighting.
I punch him. Without hesitation, he punches me back. The shockwave rattles my brain, and I fall to my knees. Gasping for air, I open my eyes to find Holly lying on the floor—motionless—mere yards away with the dark-haired guy moving on top of her.
“No! Get off her!” I scream. “Fight, Holly, fight.”
I struggle to my feet, shaking off the dizziness and the need to retch. “Holly,” I cry, stepping closer. Please fight.
Strong arms grip me from behind. I thrash in his hold, my battle not done. Only this time the touch is familiar. Welcomed.
My name. I hear my name and search for its source. That voice—I know that voice.
“Lauren,” he beckons me.
Theo.
My fight wanes.
“Lauren!” His voice, insistent.
I open my eyes, coming awake. My breathing is ragged. My heart pounds in my chest, and my eyes burn as I blink, trying to focus on Theo’s face.
“There you are.” His heavy breath mixes with my own. “You had a nightmare.”
“Theo,” I croak.
“You’re alright.” He wipes at my tears. My hand clasps his wrist, and he tenderly kisses my fingers. “I’ve got you.”
I sink into his chest. “I couldn’t save her.” My tears turn into sobs.
“Shh.” He envelopes me. “You’re alright.”
“I couldn’t get to her. When I finally did, he attacked me. I was too late. I couldn’t save her. She was already dead.
She was already dead.”
HER SHOULDERS WRENCH AS SHE CRIES. With each jerk, my heartache grows. Anger and remorse pump through my system like poison. My imagination’s on overload envisioning the horrors she experienced at the hands of her attacker. I shake with need to keep her safe and annihilate those who hurt her. My hold is so tight, I fear I may crush her.
“You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re alright.” I smooth her mess of curls, kissing her temple. “I’m here.” And I’m bloody well not going anywhere.
She burrows in, nuzzling closer. Her breathing slows with each passing moment as her tears cease and her trembling wanes.
“I’m sorry.” Her muffled words warm my chest.
Pulling back, I dry her tear-stained face. “You don’t need to apologize.” I press my mouth to her swollen ruby lips. “Never.” She’s been through hell, and she’s apologizing to me? There are no words to express the depth of my sorrow. The world should be apologizing to her.
She caresses the side of my face, her eyes glistening in the moonlight seeping through the windows. “Can I tell you about it?”
A rush of air leaves my lungs. Thank fuck. But the fact that she’s asking—like I haven’t been waiting with bated breath for her story—guts me. Tight-jawed, I manage a “Please.”
Rolling to my back, I tuck her into my side, tip her chin, and lay a soft kiss on her mouth, brushing wayward curls out of her eyes. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”
She graces me with the sweetest teary-eyed smile that has me holding her closer, saying a silent prayer, and envisioning a future where her pain is nonexistent and all her scarred, empty places are filled with my love, new memories, and nights where I hold her just like this, but for far different reasons.
“It was seven months ago, July eighteenth. My best friend, Holly, and I went to see a friend’s band that was playing at the West End.” She adjusts, laying her head on her pillow, facing me.
My arms are bereft without her. I hold her hand, needing the contact. She smiles and cuddles our joined hands against her chest.
“We had a great time. It was uneventful other than the fact that Pierce, the lead singer and the guy she’d been crushing on forever, finally made a move—got some balls—and asked her out…not as friends.”
A lone tear slides down her cheek and is absorbed in the pillow.
I squeeze her hand and slide closer. “It’s alright,” I whisper encouragement.
She nods, swiping at her eyes. “It’s just—” Her voice cracks.
I plant my lips on her forehead, wanting to imbue my strength.
“They’ll never get their chance.” Her voice is weighted by the loss.
“One of our friends pointed out two guys staring at Holly and me. They gave me the creeps. But in a blink of an eye, they were gone. I assumed they left.
“Around eleven we headed to our car, all concern for those guys lost in Holly’s excitement over Pierce.” Her blurry gaze focuses on me. “I was so happy for her. They’d spent years liking each other, but neither were willing to move beyond the friend zone. It was finally going to happen for them.”
I swipe at the increasing stream of tears but remain silent, letting her work through the memory.
“When we stepped out of the elevator of the parking garage, I instantly felt something was wrong.” Her eyes plead with me. Whether it’s to take her pain away or to understand the depth of her remorse, I’m not sure. Possibly both.
I want both. I want to take her pain away with every passing breath, but I also want to understand her remorse—her shame—for what happened to her and Holly.
“We never should’ve been there.” Her whispered regret tugs me to her like a lifeline.
I wrap her in my arms, unable to stand the distance between us and lacking the fortitude to continue witnessing her rawness. “Don’t. Regret is a hungry beast. Don’t feed it. You can’t change the past. But more importantly, you don’t need to justify your actions to me. I believe you did all you could to save Holly. Without even knowing all of the details—I know that.”
“But—”
I crash my mouth to hers. I can’t. I can’t listen to her beat herself up. I silence her the only way I know how, with love. Thankfully, she sinks into my kiss, giving herself over to it—to me—otherwise, I’d be a complete arse kissing a girl while she’s telling me about how she and her friend were attacked. It’s a dick move. Fuck.
“I’m sorry.” I pull back, scanning her face. “I couldn’t let you castigate yourself anymore.”
Her fingers take purchase in my hair, and her glistening blue eyes transfix me. “You don’t need to apologize for kissing me. Ever.” The quirk of her brow emphasizes her point while her tone reminds me that she might be hurting, but she’s no pushover.
A yes ma’am nearly escapes my lips before I replace it with an, “Understood.”
Her finger traces down my cheek, landing on the cleft of my chin. “I like you being protective.” Her eyes flash to mine. “A lot.”
The desire on her face—in the mix of all this pain—has me kissing her again. Tenderly. Slow and easy.
She pulls back on a sigh. “Save that thought.” Her fingers touch my lips. “I need to get this out.”
She doesn’t say the rest of what I hear: If I don’t tell you now, I may never get the courage to do it again.
A simple nod is my only response. I don’t want to hijack her moment more than I already have.
“As soon as we stepped off the elevator, an alarm went off in my head. Panicked, I turned to grab Holly’s
arm, to pull her back to the elevator, but he was already on her—dragging her away.”
Her breathing increases, her eyes focused on a spot behind me. I caress the back of her neck to keep her grounded as she continues. “Holly was fighting, but she was so tiny, it didn’t seem to make a difference. I lunged at him, but I was jerked back, grabbed from behind—”
Ah, fuck. There were two attackers? How the hell would two untrained women fight off two men? On autopilot, my body cocoons hers, tensing and flexing around her with the need to protect.
Her words punch through the nightmare in my head. “I broke free, turning, my arms swinging, ready to hit whoever was behind me. I clocked him on the chin, and as he stumbled, I ran for Holly. The dark-haired guy had her pinned to the ground, her skirt up. She was screaming, trying to fend him off.”
Lauren flinches and closes her eyes, the vision too much. “He hit her in the face so hard her head bounced off the pavement. She went limp.” She flinches at the memory as a sob escapes.
I hold her impossibly tight. “You’re not there. You’re here with me. They can’t hurt you.”
She continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “He didn’t stop. Even though she was unconscious, he didn’t stop. He went for his zipper. I rushed him—tackled him—knocking him to the ground and off of her. He was angry, cursing me, hitting me. I fought, but he was too strong.”
Her cries, buried in my neck, test my willpower. I want to scream at her to stop. I can’t take any more. But I know I must—for her.
And then she breaks me with her next words. “I felt helpless—like nothing I did made any difference.”
I’m back to the first day of self-defense class hearing her words. Her desire to be able to trust her body to defend herself and her need to feel confident and know that she can survive anything.
She felt helpless, and those arseholes made her feel that way.
Her words continue, but I can’t hear them like I should. The two guys were on her, beating her up, trying to get her to submit, but she kept fighting. My girl kept fighting. One guy held her down while the other one raped her friend. And still, Lauren didn’t stop, she didn’t submit, she didn’t cower.
