by Coralee June
Lance wrapped his arms around me and held me as I confronted all the anguish in my system. “You aren’t like her, Blakely. You aren’t toxic or selfish. You aren’t cruel. You aren’t wrong for feeling happy. You should be able to let go.” He pulled away while keeping his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the eye. “You’re the best thing she’s ever done. Stop allowing her faults to twist your perception of yourself. We will get through this. You are not Sharron. You are you.”
We sat there at Mama’s grave for what felt like hours, swapping childhood stories. Some of it was painful to talk about, some of it was funny.
Most of it was healing.
Lance talked about Decker. When he first fell for him. Why he kept falling for him. We shared our mutual care for a man neither of us felt like we could have. We held hands as we cried, soaking Mama’s soil with tears that didn’t belong to her. We talked about our plans for the future. We talked about our hopes for one another. We talked about broken hearts and broken minds, about cancer and God and the suffering of people.
We bonded in a way that wouldn’t have ever happened if it weren’t for Mama. It was the only and most precious gift she could have ever given me.
“Ready to go home?” Lance finally asked when the sun had started to set. I nodded in response before standing up. It was time to go home. My real home. The home I shared with my compassionate, caring, and loving brother. He started heading toward the parking lot, but I stayed for a second longer to stare at Mama’s grave.
“Thank you for Lance, Mama,” I whispered to the ground, knowing she was somewhere between heaven and hell. A sharp gust of wind blew through, jostling my hair and slapping at my cheeks. It was cold and demanding, breezy, and harsh. I swear the cemetery smelled of roses and cigarettes. The air around me was a selfish swirl that racked against my skin and beat me raw.
And somehow, I knew Mama had heard me.
36
Decker
Three months. I gave her three months. I willed my phone to ring, forced myself not to ask Lance about her every time we met up for drinks. I tried, I really tried to give her space even though I knew space was the last thing we needed. It took me a while to heal, but I learned that bullet wounds were easier to fix than a broken heart.
But we all needed time. Time to heal. Time to grieve. Time to figure our shit out. Time to cope. But time did nothing to dull the ache I felt for Blakely—and it was an agonizing sort of pain. The kind that tore you up and spit you back out. I knew I’d never be the same.
I moved out of Lance’s loft and found my new normalcy in our distant friendship. The bond was still there, but I gave him the space he craved to navigate this new stage in our relationship. I missed him a lot, and this big house, which once seemed like a good idea, was nothing compared to the comfort I had in our shared loft.
I knew Blakely transferred to a local school, and it killed me to know she gave up so much potential to get away from me. The one time we spoke about her, Lance assured me that she wanted to protect my career. I understood it, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t like much of anything these days.
It took a while to get better, though I was back in the classroom, albeit a bit grumpier than before. I knew Max had seen Blakely. He talked about her loudly to Taylor, giving updates on how she was doing since the death of her father. It killed me to be away from her as she grieved. She’d lost two parents in the span of a year. The only consolation I had was that Lance was guiding her through her mourning.
I was painting the kitchen when I heard a soft knock on my door. Assuming it was a delivery for those light fixtures I ordered, I casually placed the paintbrush in my hand on the paint pan and went to answer it. Everything felt so slow. Everything was muted without Blakely. I caught myself imagining what she would think of the house I’d worked so hard to fix up. I imagined the warmth she’d bring to these walls.
Swinging open the door, my heart fell to my feet when I saw Blakely standing there in a pair of overalls and holding a paintbrush. She looked gorgeous, with her pale, blonde hair pulled back and a shy smile on her face. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” I replied, when what I really wanted to say was I love you. Please come home to me. Please love me back.
“Lance mentioned you were painting today and said I should come over to help.” It was a thinly veiled implication saying all the things I was too scared to ask. She held Lance’s approval and acceptance in her words, and I couldn’t fight the grin that kissed my lips.
“I could definitely use the help,” I said in a low voice while stepping aside to let her inside. She walked through the threshold and looked around, smiling at the wood floors as she padded across them. The walls were a shade of green that matched her eyes. The white furniture paid homage to her sun-bleached strands. The light fixtures I picked were delicate, like the curves that graced her body.
“Wow. This is beautiful, Decker,” she whispered in awe while trailing a finger along a side table. It was coated with dust from renovations, and I wished I’d known she was coming over so I could have cleaned up some. It was important to me that she liked the home I built; it was a shrine to my love for her, and I one day hoped I’d be lucky enough to have her living here.
She turned to look at me and swallowed, those entrancing eyes of hers trailing each dip and groove in my abs as she licked her lips. I looked down and realized I was shirtless and dripping with sweat. Patches of white paint coated my abs.
I loved the effect I had on her. “You ready to paint?” I asked, interrupting her welcomed perusal. She coughed then squeezed her eyes shut.
“Yup,” Blakely replied, popping the p with her plush lips. “Lead the way.”
We walked into the kitchen, a thousand burning questions searing my tongue. How was she? How was school? Did she still want me?
Did she still love me?
“This kitchen is amazing,” she cooed while taking in the granite countertops and decorative cabinets. I was painting an accent wall the same color as the dress she wore the night we danced in Lance’s living room. She was everywhere. She set her paintbrush down and turned to look at me, uncertainty in her eyes. I saw the same burning questions staring back at me. “So where should I start?” she asked.
I almost let my cowardice win. I almost told her where the paint was and where I desired her strokes, but I didn’t. “Tell me a truth, Blakely,” I demanded in that old familiar way which bonded us together. She smiled.
“I’m nervous as fuck,” she admitted.
“Me, too,” I answered honestly while taking another step closer. “Tell me another truth.”
She set down the paintbrush and took a step toward me. Just a few more truths, and we’d finally meet in the middle. “I missed you,” she whispered.
“I missed you, too.”
Another step. Another truth. Another pull that yanked us closer. I stared at the straps of her overalls, begging them to snap. I took in her long legs and the tear in the jeans at her knee. “Tell me a truth, Decker,” she whispered.
I cupped her neck and peered into her eyes. Her hands wrapped around my arms, squeezing at my biceps as she waited with bated breath for my admission. “I still love you, Blakely Stewart.”
“I love you, too.”
I kissed her like she was the last drop of water in the world. I savored her. I devoured her. I nipped and caressed and fucked with my tongue, lavishing her mouth with all the words I wanted to say over the last three months. She responded with earnest, tracing circles along my abs as her thankful tears coated my cheeks. Our truths were a tangible connection savored between us. She tasted divine and like my most cherished thoughts.
“I love you so much. You’re my lungs, Decker. You’re my heart.”
I snapped her overalls off and watched with fascination as the heavy denim shimmied to the floor, leaving her in nothing but an old shirt and a pair of pink panties. We collapsed to our knees, and it felt like we couldn’t get enough. My finger
s dug into her skin as she tugged at my hair. She removed her shirt as I took off my gym shorts. “You’re my everything,” I said between broken kisses and mended promises.
I unclasped her bra and groaned when I saw her perfect breasts bared to me. Cupping each in my hands, I kneaded and tugged as she writhed beneath me. Her hand dipped below the waistband of my boxers, and I almost came on the spot when her warm fingers circled the shaft of my cock. “I need you, Decker,” she moaned into my mouth.
I needed her, too. I needed her in every sense of the word. With her back on the hard tile, I peppered kisses on every inch of skin I could see. Coating her neck with my brand, I dipped lower as her back arched. I then kissed her stomach. I kissed her hip. I kissed her inner thigh and licked at the supple heat pooling through her panties. “May I?” I asked.
“Please,” she whispered before lifting her hips up. I pulled off the last layer of clothes between me and her perfect pussy, then lunged for a taste. Fuck, she was so sweet. I couldn’t get enough. Her moans echoed off the bare walls of my kitchen as I flicked my tongue over her clit, again and again, coaxing a tantric orgasm from her body. She stared at me, her hooded eyes heavy with intent as I enjoyed her. I wanted to eat her pussy until I died. I wanted to always have the taste of her on my lips.
Her orgasm was like a sweet, sweet symphony, calling me home, burrowing deep in my soul as I enjoyed every last drop of her pleasure. I didn’t let up until the last of her muscles had stilled. I wiped my face on her inner thigh before removing my boxers. “You’re mine, Blakely Stewart,” I promised. “You always have been.”
I aligned our sexes and pressed at her entrance, knowing that we could never finish this until she gave herself to me entirely. “I’m yours.” I slammed inside of her with a jolt, letting out a stream of curses as her tight cunt hugged me. I moved with the intent of making her feel me—only me. I wanted her to remember this moment. There was nothing between us now. No secrets. No lies. No harboring guilt or betrayal. It was just Blakely and me, and it was perfect.
Each slam sent our bodies into a frenzy. I sucked on her lips, enjoying the feel of her shaking body against mine. There were no doubts. No hang-ups about right and wrong. It was the first time we’d fucked without anything holding us back, and it was the most freeing expression of love I’d ever experienced. “It’s only you,” she whimpered as I slammed into her again.
“Only you,” I echoed.
We both came apart beautifully. Her screams were loud. My panting deafening. We fell apart the way we fell together—with passion and truth. With love. She writhed, but I held her still, milking every last bit of that moment and burning it in my brain.
After our breathing had slowed and our bodies relaxed, I pulled out and held her close, tenderly stroking her hair as I stared deep in her eyes. “Tell me a truth,” she said softly.
“I want this forever,” I admitted. It was the scariest truth I’d muttered to date. What if she didn’t want me back? What if she changed her mind? What if I hurt her? What if…
“Me, too,” she replied.
Me, too.
“Good girl,” I said.
Epilogue
Blakely
Two years later.
“It’s perfect weather for a wedding,” Rose said blissfully. I buttoned up her sleek, black dress as thunder roared outside. She looked incredible in her floor-length gown with flowers pinned in her hair. I bit back a laugh while thinking of my own white dress, which would probably be see-through by the end of the ceremony. There would be no umbrellas today; Rose preferred to dance in the rain.
The music played as we waltzed down the aisle in Decker’s backyard. The rain poured down on our heads, making my blonde hair stick to my neck. It was perfect.
Decker stood at the end, waiting for me as he took his place next to Lance. He looked handsome in his tux, despite it all. Those dark eyes took in my drenched appearance as I made my way toward him. There was even a leaf stuck to pants and mud coated on his shoes. I loved him. I loved every imperfect part of him.
My brother had that boisterous smile plastered to his face. True, unbridled happiness was flowing from his expression. I stopped in front of him, offering a kiss on his cheek before standing in my place. “I love you,” I whispered to him. “I’m so happy for you.”
Rose strutted down the aisle with her eyes locked on my brother, surrounded by Mr. and Mrs. Trask and everyone else that loved them. The crowd was a hodgepodge of people Rose and Lance had collected over the years. I was glad he found someone that loved the same way he did—without restraint. Lance once told me he fell in love with souls. He said it was the heart of a person he was attracted to, and Rose had the perfect heart for someone like my brother.
The ceremony was short and simple. They each wrote their own vows, and my eyes kept flickering to Decker’s, smiling at the idea of this one day being us. I was still in college, still working on my undergrad degree in education. I wanted to teach. Decker helped me find my passion and supported my decision to go to Rhodes College. It was local, but I stayed in the dorms freshman year. He was adamant that I have the full college experience, though we realized it was a waste of money when I spent more nights in his bed than in the college dorms.
The reception was moved to our living room when lightning struck a tree outside. We danced barefoot on the wood floors Decker and I had made love on too many times to count. We laughed, and Decker stole Lance for a dance. I watched the two men I loved most in this world celebrate their friendship and brotherhood. They fought hard to get to where they were, but they came out stronger than ever.
After we sent Lance and Rose on their way, I started cleaning up. Decker watched me as I hummed to myself, picking up beer bottles and roses petals. It felt like Mama was here, and I found myself feeling comfortable with the poignant scent. I’d finally gotten to a place where I could feel thankful for the role she played in my life. She brought me to Lance. She gifted me with Decker. “You look beautiful, you know,” Decker whispered into my neck as he wrapped his arms around my waist. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”
“Weddings are lovely,” I admitted before spinning around to face him.
“Tell me a truth, Blakely,” Decker said, making the corner of my mouth quirk up in a smile. It had been a while since we’d asked for truth. We lived our honesty now.
“I want to marry you someday,” I replied. Decker dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a little black box before getting down on one knee. My mouth dropped open in surprise as I stared at the glorious, perfect man kneeling before me. “Tell me a truth, Decker Harris,” I choked out through emotional tears.
“I want to marry you, too, Blakely.”
Thank you for reading!
Thank you for reading Tell Me a Truth. If you have time, I would greatly appreciate a review.
This book was a soul project. I love these characters and hope you do too. The idea for their story came to me after thinking fondly about a creative writing professor I had in college. He was ridiculously handsome and smart—a dangerous combination.
I worked at the campus library shelving books and was fired for reading too much on the job. I remember crying in his office, complaining about the injustice of it all when he said something I still think about to this day. (Don’t tell Mr. June)
“There’s something sexy about a girl that reads, hmm?”
I was swooning, ya’ll. SWOONING. He even did that sweeping eye-fuck thing hot guys do.
I wish I could tell you that he bent me over his desk, but real life isn’t always as fun as the books we read.
So here’s to you. Keep reading, you sexy badass, you.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without the support of my dear friends, Denise, Savannah, Claire, Jess, Kayla, and of course my wonderful PA, Amy March.
Also, I am especially indebted to my author tribe. They not only encourage me to work hard, but inspire me to be a bet
ter writer.
I am grateful to all of those with whom I have had the pleasure to work with during this book. I’d like to especially recognize my editor, Helayna Trask. She always takes the time to dive into the worlds I create and make sure they are perfect for you all. I would also like to thank all the dedicated members of The Zone.
Nobody has been more important to me in the pursuit of this series than the members of my family. I would like to thank my parents, whose love and guidance are with me in whatever I pursue. Most importantly, I wish to thank my loving and supportive husband, Joshua. Thank you for working hard for our family. And to my two wonderful children:
Everything I do is for you. Everything.
