by B. N. Toler
“Hi,” she murmured after I shut the driver’s side door.
I pressed my lips together as I stood before her, holding my gym bag in one hand and lunch cooler in the other. I didn’t know what to say. Why was she here? Last time I’d seen her, she’d rambled on about everything but the issues she brought to the table.
She studied my face for a moment, her gaze filled with concern. I still donned a nasty black eye from my fight with Henry. To his credit, he’d been a better fighter than I’d thought he’d be, but in the end, he’d been out cold on the ground. And when he came to, I helped him up and we walked back inside together. Things have been cordial enough ever since. “Your eye?”
“Long story,” I grumbled. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse. Her dark gaze drifted over my face, almost as if she were familiarizing herself with me again. “You look…good,” she noted timidly.
Yeah, what looked best? My black eye? My exhaustion? Or my apparent lack of patience? I didn’t want to be a dick, but I didn’t want to be nice to her, either. We’d done this before. She’d gotten to me; she’d somehow seeped her way inside me, and made me feel and want things I hadn’t in a long time, and then she’d shut me out because she was incapable of dealing with her insecurities and feelings. Now she was here, showing up out of nowhere, making small talk? This was bullshit. They weren’t things I could simply brush under the rug. I’d made myself clear the last time she did this. We were done. I’d thrown her in a river. What else could I do to get the message through to her?
“Hannah,” I growled her name through clenched teeth. Who did she think she was? Or better yet, who did she think I was? Some pushover that would go weak because she was giving me sad eyes?
Her gaze flashed with panic at the impatience in my voice. Holding her hands up as if she were going to rest them on my chest to calm me, she stopped short. “I know.” She shook her head, dropping her hands to her side. “I know I have no right to just show up this way, again, but…”
“But what?” I snapped. She had to stop doing this to me. Just when I was getting over her, she’d show up and fuck it all up.
A clear stream slid down her delicate cheek as her lip trembled. “I just had one of the worst days of my life. The kind of day that breaks you and tries to take you to your knees, and the only reason I got through it was because of you. Because you were in my head telling me to be strong.” She paused a moment, her gaze on mine, her chest rising and falling as she breathed choppy gulps. “I need…I need you, Wren. Please.”
Looking away, fixing my gaze on the river, I gripped my bag and cooler tightly. My hands itched. I wanted to hold her and push her away all at once. My pride was choking me. I wasn’t the kind of man to talk about feelings and being hurt. But that was what she’d done. She’d pulverized me. I had to turn her away. I couldn’t do this again; especially when she was so emotional. She’d get what she needed and leave me hanging like a chump. What if this was just a moment of weakness for her; a moment when she needed someone to comfort her, and I was the only option? She had friends. She needed to go find them. I opened my mouth to tell her to leave, but before I could she slammed her body against mine, wrapping her arms around me, clinging to me, resting her head against my chest. My body tensed as I held my arms out, still holding my bag and cooler.
“I’ll leave,” she whimpered. “I can tell that’s what you want, but I just needed to feel you for a second; hug you, even if you don’t hug me back.”
Something tightened in my chest when she fisted the back of my shirt as she cried. Fuck. What was going on with her? I’d seen her emotional before, but this seemed deeper; rawer. Something really bad must have happened. My stomach knotted. Was she okay? Really okay?
When I didn’t attempt to hug her back, she pushed herself away from me and wiped at her face. Her gaze was on her car tire when she spoke again. She wouldn’t look at me. “I’m sorry,” she rasped before clearing her throat.
“Hannah.” Her name came out gruffly. She still wouldn’t look at me.
“Look at me,” I ordered her. Bringing her gaze up, she met my stare. “I need a shower.” Walking past her, I had just stepped inside the garage when I looked over my shoulder. She hadn’t moved. Apparently, I hadn’t been clear. “I need a shower,” I said again. “I think a hot shower would do you good, too.”
Her features relaxed as her eyes glossed over again.
“Come on,” I told her as I jerked my head indicating for her to follow me. Once inside, I dropped my stuff at the base of the stairs and sat, unlacing my boots. When I’d slid them off, I stood and waited for her to go up before me. She was timid; unsure. Always so unsure. She barely moved unless I gave her some gesture to do so, as if she wasn’t sure if I was really inviting her in again. Slipping her sandals off first, she ascended the stairs, and I followed behind her. At the door of my bedroom, she halted, but my hands found her hips and I moved her forward toward the master bathroom. I knew what she was doing. I knew her well. She was scanning the room, looking for evidence that someone else had been here—another woman. I couldn’t blame her; if it had been me entering her bedroom this way, I’d have done the same, but I wasn’t going to give her time to play forensic detective because it would be a waste of time—there hadn’t been another woman since her.
She’d provided enough crazy to last me a while. In the bathroom, I tugged my shirt over my head and tossed it aside, then undid my belt and pants. Hannah watched me, her arms crossed, almost as if she were hugging herself. Dropping my pants and boxers, I kicked them aside and opened the glass door to the shower, turning it on. When I turned back, she was still frozen, watching me. Whatever was going on inside her head was bad. Seeing me naked was usually a good thing. Moving before her, I pulled her arms apart and lifted her shirt over her head. I undressed her completely, and she let me. Her stomach was flatter, her legs smaller. She had been tiny to begin with. And it wasn’t that she looked bad, but I didn’t like it. When I bent, pulling her pants and panties down, helping her step out of them, my forehead pressed against her belly. Her fingers gently threaded in my hair and I stilled for a moment. For all the uncertainty and anger I was feeling, something else hit me hard. Peace. This woman was the opposite of what I wanted in so many ways. She represented chaos, and when her insecurities and anxiety flared, I wasn’t sure I could handle it, but damn if in that moment I didn’t feel a calm I hadn’t felt since I’d last had her with me, near me. When I stood, her hand dropped. Moving it behind her, she hid it. I pulled her hair from the knot on her head, letting her dark hair cascade down her back. I motioned for her to give me one of her hands. Taking her hand, I led her inside the shower, positioning us so the water hit both of us. Ducking, I let the water shower over my head for a moment then, after wiping my face, I turned us so the water was to Hannah’s back. Taking her head in my hands, I tilted it back to wet her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed as I held her there, my body against hers, the warm water shooting between us. When she raised her head, she gazed at me, a rawness in her eyes that shot through me, a need I had only seen a glimmer of because she’d worked so hard to hide it from me before. Right there I wanted to flee from her; pretend I didn’t see what I saw. I didn’t want to set myself up for round two of hurt by Hannah. But I couldn’t. And since I couldn’t, I did the other thing I badly wanted to do. The only thing I could do.
I kissed her.
When our mouths met, she clung to me, a grateful whimper escaping her as I lifted her in my arms and squeezed her to me. Our skin slick, we slid against each other, frantic with need and want. Suddenly, she braced her hands against my chest and pushed off slightly, her gaze on her hands before moving it slowly to my face, searching my eyes. I shook my head, frustrated. I knew what she was doing, and this wasn’t the time.
“No,” I gritted, taking her wrists and gripping them tightly. “Stop second-guessing. And we’re not s
topping so you can memorize details and word it in your head to use later when you’re writing. Right now, you’re here, with me, in this moment. We’re writing our story right now, Hannah.”
She swallowed hard, her glossed eyes focused on my face. She bobbed her head a few times, letting me know she understood. “There’s no place I’d rather be in this world than right here with you,” she confessed, her voice quiet but sincere.
Taking her in my arms again, I kissed her hard. I have no idea how long we were in there, but we took our time. We washed each other, slowly. And when we were finished, I was too amped up to bother drying off. Picking her up, I took her straight to bed. Her skin was smooth and wet, her nipples budded. Droplets of water from my soaked hair fell on her face and chest as I kissed her everywhere. Goddamn, I’d missed her. I was grateful she was there, but I was still angry. The war inside of me waged; one part of me wanted to punish her for what she’d done, and at the same time, the other part of me wanted to give her exactly what she came for—relief.
“Wren,” she whispered as she fisted my hair, her hips lifting in a plea, trying to meet me, find more of me. My hand skated over her breast, down the ridges of her ribs, and found her hip. It was one of those moments when my primal instincts as a man pushed me to take her hard and fast, drive deep inside of her, make her moan and cry out in pleasure. But something told me to slow it; to take my time. This wasn’t about sex. This was more. So much more. I needed to break her. I needed the wall she’d built to crumble and expose her. Not just tonight, in this one vulnerable moment, but for good. She came to me for a reason. She came to me for peace. Well, sometimes peace comes at a price. If I was bending, forgiving, which was usually as likely as hell freezing over, she’d have to, too. She’d have to lay herself bare to me, give me the one thing she’d never given me, or anyone in a long time.
Trust.
Complete and unadulterated trust.
And I wasn’t sure she could.
“Only the broken know what it’s like to live
inside their imagination, creating worlds to dream in,
we are artists of the mind. Our true gift is survival.”
-Christy Ann Martine
Every cell of my being was honed in on Wren, his large body against mine, his heat, his breath tickling my skin. On top of me, I relished the feeling of his weight, the way it pinned me to the bed. He was between my legs, his length pressed against my slick sex, thrusting his hips ever so slightly, taunting me. I was raw with want. And hurt. I had so much pain and anger built up inside of me I needed to release. I needed him to wring it from me, drain me of it, make me feel lost in him.
“No more running, Hannah,” he growled. “This is it,” he went on, his hips still grinding against me in a maddening rhythm. “You came here tonight because you needed me. If I take you now, you’re in this. You have to trust me. No more running away.” I turned my head slightly, breaking our eye contact, but he took my jaw in his large hand and turned it back, forcing me to look at him. “I know I’m not the easiest man to deal with, but you have to talk to me when you get lost in your head and thoughts. You have to give me a chance.”
My chest tightened, the sincerity in his voice and the intent in his stare slamming me. He meant it. This was it. I was apologetic, but was I going to do something about it? Either I committed to his terms right here, right now, or we were done. For good. I knew, more than anything, that I wanted him—needed him—but fear still held my heart in its cold hand. Wren was many things, inspiring to me in so many ways, but he was just as flawed as me. He could be cold; abrasive. He rarely thought to share his feelings. And he lost his patience easily when it came to emotion. And here I was, a gargantuan ball of emotion, full of doubts and insecurities. Our path to a chance at forever would be bumpy. He was hard and unrelenting; I was soft and easily wounded. We would drive each other mad. Staring up at him, I gently brushed some of his damp locks from his face and ran my fingers over his beard. Flawed like me, he might be, but he had moments where he forgot himself and let me in. Moments where I saw the tender side of him. Moments he’d never know how much I cherished. He was hard yet vulnerable, just like me. I was terrified as our gazes were locked, him waiting for me to agree. That uneasy feeling in my belly I got whenever I thought about us moved in. But in the end, I knew nothing terrified me more than the thought of never seeing him again. It was why I came.
“I’m here,” I whispered to him. “I’m with you.”
His thumb brushed gently over my cheek as his dark stare burned into mine. He’d never looked at me like that before; with want and fear to match my own. He was just as afraid as me; afraid to give us another chance, but also afraid not to. I hated seeing that doubt in his gaze. It meant he was afraid of me—that I might hurt him.
“I won’t,” I told him. “I won’t leave, and I won’t shut you out.”
He bobbed his head once, driving into me.
And then, with ease, he made love to me.
Untimely Death
The casket was dark mahogany and I could see my silhouette in the glossy finish as they lowered it into the ground. I was the only mourner left, the others having dispersed after the procession. My grief had seized me—like a hand in a sock puppet, holding me in place, keeping me frozen.
He was gone.
He was really gone.
My eyes burned to cry, but my body was depleted. Now, in wake of tears, they ached.
Everything ached.
How could I go on?
How could I live without him?
Hannah was sprawled out on my loveseat, her glasses that were too big for her face perched on her nose, a book in her hands.
“You killed me?” I questioned.
She turned her head, her smile meeting her eyes. “I killed Alex,” she clarified.
“But Alex was inspired by me.” I pointed to myself. “So technically you killed me.”
She grinned wider. “Emotional angst, babe.”
I stared at her blankly. “You killed me,” I repeated.
She sat up and dropped the book beside her before rushing to me and climbing on my lap. I set the paperback advanced reader copy of her soon-to-be-released novel beside me, freeing my hands. Her fingers laced in my beard as she smiled at me.
“You could look at it like I killed you,” she began.
“You did kill me.” I snorted. “There’s no other way to look at it.”
“Or,” she said loudly, silencing me, “you could look at it like I immortalized you.”
I smirked, waiting for her explanation. This should be good.
“You could see it as the ultimate proclamation of love. You’ll live forever in their hearts. Readers will cry their eyes out for you. They’ll always remember how they felt at that moment. They’ll remember how the heroine was moved and changed by loving you.”
I tilted my head. “Were you moved and changed by me? I thought I was just a muse for your story.” A small indention formed between her brows as if my words bothered her. I was only kidding with her. “I was just joking, babe.”
“I know.” She nodded her head once, the indentation still firmly planted. “But I thought that for a bit of time. I thought I’d never be able to finish the book without you…that you were my muse, and that was all. You turned out to be so much more. And you did inspire me. I hope you know that.”
“And now?”
“Now, I know I didn’t need you for The Comeback Kid. The book was never dependent upon you.”
I frowned slightly. I wasn’t sure how I should take that.
“I needed you for my story, Wren,” she finally clarified. “I wrote this book for everyone else, but I needed you for me, for my own tale. The book is fiction; what I feel for you is very real.”
I pouted out my lower lip. She was being all sweet and sappy.
“Don’t make fun of me,” she scolded, giving my chest a smack.
I winced, feigning pain. “You just told me you needed me for y
our own real-life love story, and now you’re beating me.”
She huffed. “You see, that’s why I was willing to kill you in the end of the book. Your death was far more poetic and romantic than anything you’d really say in real life. My readers deserved a gorgeous and touching ending.”
I laughed loudly. “I see. Snuff my life for the thrill factor, eh?”
She shrugged. “It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.”
We both chuckled as she leaned in to kiss me. When she pulled away, I told her, “It’s good, Hannah.”
She twisted her mouth with uncertainty. “You’re not partial or anything,” she joked.
“Well I can’t say I’ve ever read a romance novel, nor would I, had I not been involved with the author, but there’s a lot of heart in those pages.” I was proud of her. Taking her hand, I kissed it. “Are you nervous?” Her novel, The Comeback Kid, was scheduled to be released in three weeks, and other than her editor, I was the first person she allowed to read it. Courtney was next.
“Yes,” she admitted.
Her gaze drifted away as she thought about it. A lot rode on this novel for her, and not just monetarily. It was the question of her gift, her art. It worried me what would happen if it didn’t do well—how would she handle it?
It had been three months since she’d shown up at my house the second time and we’d reunited. She was more humbled than ever. She was open now, accepting of the love I was trying to give her. Her best friend Deanna’s loss and experience had snapped something in her. I hated it took something so brutal to bring her to that point, but I was glad she was changing. Not just for me, or us, but for herself. Things had been good; quiet. We’d found a calm between us. She stopped pushing me away, I tried harder to remember she overthought everything. We were both growing—changing. She incorporated me into her life, never hid me from her friends or family. Whenever possible, we all got together. They were good people. She had a pretty great support system. It reminded me to up my own game. Kegs was growing on her. He was a bigger clown than me. We took a while to get here, but it was worth the crazy ride. Fortunate didn’t begin to cover what we had.
