Knockout

by Tracey Ward

  When Laney dipped her hand down over his pants, I quickly looked away and made for the kitchen. I could hear my parents in there but I wasn’t ready to face them. I needed to take a breath and forget what I’d just seen and heard so I darted into the hall bathroom and shut the door. I left the light off as I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes and breathing evenly. It would never stop stinging to see him with her. Just as I knew a part of him she could never get her claws into, he let her have a piece of him I had been denied. I had the best of him, the real him, and I knew it but it still stung. I was greedy. I wanted all of him. And I wanted him to have all of me.

  Seconds after I’d closed it, the bathroom door yanked open and slammed shut. When the light snapped on I stared at Kellen standing there just a foot away. His chest was heaving, his eyes were wild and he looked surprised to see me, just as surprised as I was. It looked like I wasn’t the only one looking for a hiding place.

  I opened my mouth to tell him I’d go, that I’d give him the space, when he stepped toward me.

  His mouth fell on mine, warm and hard. My mouth sighed open and his tongue slid inside as his hands bunched in my hair. I gripped his hips to pull him to me as he crushed me against the wall with his body. It hurt. My hair where he pulled it, my hips where our bones met and ground against each other. My heart where it leapt up and died in my chest, burning out in a pyre of want, love, longing and fear.

  He lowered his hand from my hair to my neck, running his thumb down the front until it found my collar bone. He traced it roughly, following the bones to my shoulder then around my back. He traced my spine with his fingers, feeling over every notch that led down to my hips. He pressed his thumb into my hip bone as he followed it forward, making my breath hitch sharply in my chest. I worried he’d move lower and I’d be lost and this thing that shouldn’t be happening would go too far and I’d have to stop it. But I couldn’t. Not again. Not now.

  But his hand moved over mine where it clung to his body. His fingers traced the bones of my fingers, feeling the bumps of my knuckles lightly, delicately. I shivered against him, grabbing onto him harder. He moved his hand up under my shirt, passing quickly over my stomach to my ribs. It tickled something fierce but I fought the urge to laugh, feeling like if I did it’d turn to crying. I was too many emotions wound too tight for too long. Something had to give and when it finally did, I had no idea what it would feel like.

  As with most things between Kellen and I, I was fairly certain it would hurt.

  He drug his fingers over the ridges of my ribcage slowly. He didn’t touch my breasts, he didn’t even nudge my bra. He only followed my bones as he learned their every point and bow. He ignored the soft tissues and warm curves on the surface as he memorized my frame underneath. It was something no man had ever done before. The sharp edges of my body, my too large build, had always been a sore spot for me. I preferred men to focus on the feminine parts, no matter how minor they were. But now as Kellen looked beneath the surface and searched out this part of me, the inner workings of how I moved through the world, I didn’t mind. I was humming through to the marrow with his every touch.

  There was a knock on the door, making both of us jolt.

  “Kellen?” mom called gently.

  He froze, his mouth still on mine, our breathing uneven and sounding suddenly so loud.

  “Kellen, are you alright?”

  I tried to pull back to let him speak but he had me pinned against the wall from top to bottom. He kissed me once again slowly, unapologetically, before answering her.

  “I’m fine,” he called, his voice rough.

  “Alright. Well, dinner is ready when you are. Looks like Jenna is a no show so we’ll start without her.”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  We listened to her footsteps fade down the hall. I took my hands from his waist and let them fall beside me, but still he stayed pressed against me. He watched me as I moved, his eyes giving nothing away.

  “You better go,” I whispered.

  “This wasn’t a mistake,” he told me quietly.

  “It wasn’t good.”

  “Bad timing doesn’t make it wrong.”

  “If it’s not a mistake, it’s not good and it’s not wrong, then what is it?”

  His eyes turned sad as he stared at my face, as he watched it become tight with anger and guilt.

  "It's too soon, is what it is," he whispered.

  "Why? You wanted to wait until after you were married to fuck your wife's sister?" I asked bitterly.

  The magnitude of what we'd just done was hitting me hard. When we'd kissed before it'd been different. They'd been broken up. I was sure they weren't getting back together again. But now they were engaged. Sure, things were rocky but they were still engaged. He was still cheating on her. And he was doing it with me. I was the other woman. An impulse buy. Disposable. Forgettable. Like a Twix.

  The realization made me want to knee him in his Almond Joys.

  Kellen surprised me when he grabbed my face hard, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were intense, still sad but also angry.

  "I didn't mean for this to happen now. Not yet. Do you know how many years I've wanted this? How many times I've thought about you?"

  "No," I whispered.

  "Hundreds. Thousands. It's nearly a daily battle for me to keep my hands off you so I'm sorry I slipped up, I really am, but I don't regret it. I could never regret you. Not one inch, not one second. Not one breath."

  I tried to shove him away, to shake him off. He held me firmly.

  "You're engaged to Laney," I said viciously, tears of anger and hurt stinging my eyes. "We've been through this. You don't want this with me."

  He let his forehead fall against mine even as I fought him.

  "I want everything with you."

  "Shut up," I whispered harshly, falling still. "Stop saying things like that, it doesn't mean anything. It's what you say to all of them. To Laney, to the girls at school, the girls at the firm. Don't talk to me like that. Like I'm just another one of them."

  He released me suddenly. I fell forward into the empty space he had held. I was breathing hard. I was fighting angry, but when I looked at him all I wanted to do was cry.

  “Vous n'avez jamais été l'un d'eux,” he spoke quickly and quietly, too quickly for me to fully understand. “Vous avez toujours été le seul. Le seul que je veux et le seul que j'ai trop peur de toucher. Vous êtes trop et vous êtes tout. Mais je suis fait peur. Je suis fait de cacher ce que je veux, de vous. Votre sœur et moi sont faites. Je suis fin ce soir. Et puis je suis venue pour vous.”

  I shook my head, willing back the tears. “I don’t know what you just said.”

  “That’s alright,” he told me, taking hold of the doorknob. “I’m going to show you.”

  When he left he closed the door quietly behind him. I flipped the light off and turned the lock then sunk down onto the cold tiles. I sat there in the dark surprisingly dry eyed and clear headed. I understood what had happened. I knew what was wrong with it and why I felt sick to my stomach from it, but I also felt light. Dizzy. Like I was riding a roller coaster and we had just come to the top. I was about to plummet. To dive down into the wild crazy free fall that made it all worthwhile.

  I hadn’t understood most of what he’d said, but what I had caught was this:

  …the only one…your sister and I… coming for you…

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Okay, tell me again what happened,” Sam said, sitting up in her seat on the couch. “Tell me about the bone thing again.”

  “No,” I replied warily.

  “It was hot!”

  It was. It was weird and hot and so beyond inappropriate. How did he make my bones feel sexy? How was that possible? I had no idea, but I still felt it. Ten days later and I was still humming inside.

  “Don’t tell her again,” Bryce pleaded. “I’ll have to clean the couches.”

  “Okay, fine, but tell me what he said agai
n. The French part.”

  “Oh, yeah, alright. You mean the part I didn’t understand?”

  “Tell me what you did understand.”

  I sighed, trying to remember. “Something about ‘the one’ which could have been about Laney, something about ‘my sister’ and him, and then he said he was coming for me.”

  “Is he in love with you or is he going to murder you?” Bryce asked.

  Sam and I glared at him.

  He put his hands up innocently. “I’m just saying, it sounds like he’s a hit man. I’m pretty sure you’re living the movie The Professional.”

  “Probably,” I grumbled.

  “No, he’s in love with her, you jerk!” Sam shouted at Bryce. “He always has been.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Now Sam glared at me. “That’s because you’re in denial. He broke your heart once and you’re scared to let him do it again.”

  “How is that not a valid fear?”

  “How did he break your heart before?” Bryce asked curiously.

  “Seriously? You care about this? Don’t you have magazines to read or something?”

  He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “TVs busted and the mail isn’t here yet. This is the most entertainment I can find right now.”

  “Great.”

  “So, dish,” he said with a fake valley girl accent, making me smile. “What’s his deal and junk?”

  “Wow,” Sam whispered, staring at him.

  “Okay, fine,” I relented. “When I was seventeen he and Laney were broken up. It seemed like it was permanent. He came over, no one else was home, things got a little intense, but he pulled the plug before they got out of hand.”

  “Or into your hand,” Sam said with sly smile.

  “Stop it. So then he tells me that it’s wrong. That I was only seventeen and it couldn’t happen even though he wanted it to.”

  “He’d wanted it to happen since she was fifteen.”

  “Thanks, Sam. I was leaving that out so he didn’t sound like a sexual predator.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Well, when you were fifteen he was what? Twenty-one?” Bryce asked.

  “Nineteen at the time, his birthday wasn’t for another month,” I said, splitting hairs and knowing it.

  “And he didn’t touch you before that?”

  I shook my head. “I never knew he even wanted to. At that point we’d always been close friends. Kind of each other’s only friend.”

  “Hey!” Sam cried indignantly.

  I rolled my eyes. “I barely knew you. As far as I knew, you were some Goth chick who would turn all Wicca and want me to drink bat guano on a full moon. You were a big question mark at that point.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “So he broke your heart ‘cause he got all up on you when you were seventeen but then he pumped the breaks because he didn’t want to go to jail?” Bryce asked, getting us back on track.

  “Kind of. Okay, here’s the thing – he’s a man whore. Or at least he used to be. Sex is how he deals with women. He doesn’t let people get close because he has abandonment issues and daddy issues and all this whole mess of crap messing up his head. If he was a girl, he’d be workin’ the pole on the weekends. So he doesn’t get emotionally involved with anyone—“

  “Except you,” Sam inserted.

  “But he uses sex to fake it with women.”

  “And you know all of this because you’re close with him?”

  “I’m pretty much the only one, yeah.”

  “You’re the one,” Sam says, referencing Kellen’s French rant.

  “Maybe.”

  “Jen, he loves you. Deal with it.”

  “What does it matter? He’s still the same guy. The same issue that was there that stopped him four years ago still applies – he can’t connect. If we have sex, he’ll shut down on me and that’ll be the end of everything with us. It’s not worth it.”

  “Are you sure? Have you seen his body?”

  “Sam,” I growled.

  “Okay, okay. Kidding. I know, the Kellen you know is worth more to you than the body all the girls want to bang. I get it. But maybe he’s changed.”

  I snorted. “People don’t change.”

  “That’s dumb,” Bryce said.

  “See?” I said to Sam. “Bryce knows.”

  “No, I mean you’re dumb, Jenna.”

  I scowled at him. “What?”

  “People change all the time.”

  “Don’t start this,” I moaned. “Not you. Bryce, please don’t feed me some Harlequin romance shit about how my love can change him and make him whole. Life is not like that. You can’t take the bad boy and love him into being Prince Charming.”

  “No shit,” he agreed whole heartedly. “That’s not what I’m saying at all because that’s insane. No. What I’m saying is that people can make changes in their lives if they have the right incentive. It has to be their choice, it has to be for them, but they can do it. Addicts get clean, alcoholics go dry. It’s possible. I’m living proof.”

  Sam and I sat silently staring at him, neither of us sure if we could ask the big question. Bryce looked back at us patiently, sipping his coffee. Finally he realized we weren’t going to man up and ask so he spoon fed it to us.

  “Alcohol.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ah, I’m so sorry.”

  “Anyway,” he said, ignoring our awkward responses, “my wife didn’t know. I hid it really well, which is the sure sign of an addict that knows he’s an addict. You don’t hide things you don’t see a problem with. But I hid it from her and about a year into our marriage she caught on. It was getting out of control at that point and she tried to get me help but I refused. I wasn’t ready to give it up. Not for her, not for anything. Then she got pregnant and she told me she was leaving. She didn’t tell me was leaving if I didn’t get help. There was no ultimatum. She was straight up leaving and she was taking my kid with her. I told her fine, fucking go. I didn’t need her or that kid.

  “After she was gone, I spiraled out. It got ugly. I almost lost my job, I lost a lot of my friends and my family was fed up with me. But I hadn’t hit bottom yet. That didn’t happen until she sent me a sonogram in the mail. No note, nothing from her at all. All it said was what had been printed on the screen. Addams, Boy. I was having a son. And that kid, with his tiny unformed fingers and fat little misshapen feet, had a real piece of shit for a father. This was his shining example of what it was to be a man – a selfish loser on the floor eating three day old pizza and drinking his breakfast from a warm whiskey bottle while his wife went through the scariest, most emotional and difficult experience of her life alone. That’s the moment I saw myself and saw what I was. It didn’t make sense to me what everyone was bitching about until I saw it through my child’s eyes. That’s when I decided to get help. No one could have pushed to me to it, no one could have loved me more and made me want it for them. It was just a moment of pure clarity where I saw my life for what it was and it was crap.”

  “Wow,” I said inadequately. “Congrats. You know, on getting clean.”

  “Thank you. It wasn’t easy and there are still times, even now years later, when I make mistakes or I feel like I’ll fail. But I want it. I want to be clean for me because I want to be the right kind of father for my son and the husband my wife deserves. But don’t get me wrong. I’m selfish. Most addicts are. I’m not doing it all for them. I do it so I can look at myself in the mirror in the morning and not want to put my hand through it. That’s the difference. You can’t ask someone to change for you. They have to want to do it for themselves because they’re fed up with how their life is going. Maybe this guy loves you, maybe he always has, but whether or not he can handle all the ins and outs of being with you, that’s up to him. You can’t make that happen for him.”

  “So I should walk away,” I said, feeling like it was the right choice. The smart decision.

  “Is that what I said?�
�� Bryce asked, sounding annoyed. “No, I said people can change. Find out if this guy has.”

  “Okay, but the only way to find out is to have sex with him and see if he stops talking to me.”

  “Well, there you go,” he said, tipping his cup to me.

  I frowned. “That has got to be the worst advice I’ve ever heard. You were doing so great with the inspirational story about your son and overcoming your addiction and then you dive-bomb into ‘fuck him and find out’? Are you kidding me?”

  “Admittedly, I make a great cautionary tale,” Bryce said, standing to head for the door. “But my advice is worthless. Anyway, mail is here. Later.”

  “What the hell?” I muttered, watching him go outside into the sunlight.

  “I got him a flask for Christmas last year,” Sam said glumly. “Now I feel like a douche.”

  “Well, we didn’t know.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I told her firmly. “He’s still engaged to Laney. I’m not doing anything or making any decisions based on one grope fest four years ago and an ill-advised make out session in a bathroom. Kellen Coulter is he who is and until I see otherwise, I’m assuming that old dog doesn’t know any new tricks.”

  “Ooh, speaking of tricks and dogs, I read about this position where you have a dog collar and you take a squeaky ball and you—“

  “I’m not listening to this.”

  I nearly ran for the back of the store.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My first indication that the old dog was up to some tricks came from Laney herself. I thought I would hear from Kellen at some point but he’d gone silent and I wasn’t about to reach out to him. Not after the way things had gone. I still felt like a slut and a terrible sister and talking to Kellen, even if he had always been my closest friend, seemed shady to me now. So I stayed out of it. Whatever he had rambled at me in the bathroom was his business.