Through the Lens

by K. K. Allen

  “I guess I have.” I nudge Maggie, who smiles up at me playfully. She obviously doesn’t believe the term belongs to her, but I think I’m with my dad on this one. She’s been more a partner to me than I’ve ever had in the kitchen.

  My dad continues to look through the photos, and Maggie continues to tell him who cooked each meal in them and the event each meal was cooked for. They have their own little conversation going, and I’m happy to stand back and watch my dad engage with someone besides the hospital staff, police, or his aides at the rehab clinic.

  We stay through his dinner and fill him in on the television show we’re filming with Five-Star Faye. And while my dad gives expressionless nods, he’s hanging on every word. He even starts to fill Maggie in on stories of his own experience with cooking. We would probably stay longer, but Kari peeks her head in to check his vitals again. His last two blood pressure readings had dropped slightly, but not enough to take him out of the high-risk zone.

  “All right, you two. We should give this handsome man some rest. I still don’t like where his levels are at, but they should improve with some sleep.” She narrows her gaze at my father, and he hands me back my tablet.

  “Keep it,” I tell him, placing the tablet on the tray next to his dinner. “I’ll be back to get it in the morning.”

  Maggie squeezes my hand. “I’ll step outside so you can say goodnight.” Then she leans into my father and places a kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Mr. Blake. It was fun talking with you.”

  He looks at her, eyes big and bright, and then he nods. “You too, Maggie.”

  When she walks out of the room, my dad pushes his tray away and looks up at me with a knowing gaze. “You’re in trouble, son.” And then for the first time that I can remember in years, he smiles.

  36

  Southern Roots

  Maggie

  The smile on Desmond’s face when he steps out of his father’s hospital room is contagious. There’s something lighter about him than when I arrived. Knowing that his father will be okay surely had a positive effect on his emotions, but there’s something else behind those beautiful blue eyes. He has a peacefulness that I’ve never seen in him before. The Desmond I met months ago was as wound up as a rubber-band ball. It didn’t take much to make him snap. I like this version of him. The version that is at peace with his life and his father’s condition. Even if it’s just for the moment.

  He takes my hand and leads me out the front door of the hospital then steers me to a car I assume is his rental. Just one glance at it makes me laugh. It’s a tiny red Chevrolet. “How do you fit in this thing?”

  He opens my door and chuckles. “I don’t, not well.”

  My amused gaze catches his over my shoulder as I slide into my seat.

  “What?” he asks defensively. “I was in a rush, and it was after midnight when I got in. I wasn’t going to argue.”

  I shrug, still pinching back a smile. “I’m just excited to see you try to squeeze in. That’s all.”

  He smirks as he backs away from the door. “That’s what she said.” Then he slams the door and starts to strut around the car like he’s some kind of comeback king. He opens the driver’s door, still smirking, and sinks his wide, tall frame between the seat at the steering wheel.

  “You did not just pull a ‘that’s what she said’ joke on me.”

  He starts the car, this time with a full grin. “I did, actually.” Then he leans in until his lips are less than an inch from mine, sending my pulse zooming to life. “Thanks for the setup.”

  He presses mouth to mine, letting his kiss linger. It’s like he doesn’t want to move too fast, but he doesn’t seem to want to pull away either. I breathe him in, finally letting the entire day settle over me until I’m at peace too. I’m here. With Desmond. His dad’s okay, and so is he.

  I settle back into the seat while he pulls the car out of the parking lot and turns down a city street I vaguely remember. “I can’t believe I’m back in this town.” As I say the words, I realize how much I once feared returning.

  “Is there anywhere you want to go? We’ve got time to kill until tomorrow.”

  I think about that for a second, considering all the familiar places that come to mind: my old school, my old neighborhood, the skate park I used to sneak off to just to watch cute boys, the mall, the hair salon my mom would drag Monica and me to every few months. While it’s fun to reminisce about those times, I’m not sure I want to revisit any of them now. “Nowhere in particular. Maybe we can just drive around?”

  Desmond shrugs. “Sure, we can do that. I’ll just cruise around my old stomping grounds. Just let me know if you want to stop anywhere.”

  It’s a ten-minute drive from the city hospital to suburbia. The neighborhoods are all as pristine as I remember, with their perfectly trimmed lawns and brick-accented exteriors. A warm, fuzzy feeling buzzes in my chest when I think of my childhood home, which I know is around here somewhere. I mostly know where we are because of the shared high school football stadium that sits proudly in the center of town. The one that’s currently lit up like the Griswald’s house at Christmas.

  “My dad used to take us to the high school games here when we were little.” As I say the words, we get closer to the stadium. The bleachers are packed with kids, the parking lot is crowded, and several school buses line the curb. “Is there a game going on right now?”

  “It looks like a pep rally or something. Games are on Fridays.” Desmond’s forehead scrunches up, and then he nods while turning into a parking spot against the curb. “Want to watch for a little bit?”

  One week ago, the thought might have terrified me, but not tonight. Tonight, an excitement sparks in my chest as I feel my face light up. “Yes, let’s watch.”

  I step out of the car in time for Desmond to join me and shut my door. He leans against the car and pulls me to his chest. We can see the field perfectly through the wrought iron fence. The team is currently getting into position on the line of scrimmage when I glance over my shoulder and see Desmond completely glued to the action. Then it hits me. “You played here?”

  He looks down at me and nods. “I was born on that field.”

  The serious tone of his words hits me hard in his chest, and for the first time since I met Desmond Blake, I don’t feel that divide between us that once made him my enemy. I feel our connection—in our past, in our present, and in our future. Desmond has never truly been my enemy—I see that now. He’s a missing link, a part of me. And I’m a part of him.

  My heart is full of emotions at my revelation. I turn to him and cup his face in my hands. Then I lift up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. When our mouths start to move together, it’s not just our lips that connect. Our heartbeats sync too. And when he deepens our kiss, when his tongue finds entrance into my mouth and his arms tighten their hold around me, I can feel every inch of my soul tethering to his.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispers, his intentions clear.

  “Okay.” I’m out of breath but smile as I hear myself speak.

  We’re back in the car and cruising not too far into a nearby neighborhood when Desmond pulls up to a medium-sized one-story house with the trademark brick exterior and bright, beautiful flowers lining the front. He parks in the driveway, walks me to the front door, and unlocks it with a key.

  “Is this your house?” I’m completely baffled, wondering if Desmond comes back to Dallas often enough to have his own home here.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, not that I haven’t thought of buying one here. This is Zach’s old home. His momma still lives here.”

  My eyes widen. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. She lets me stay when I come to see my dad.”

  We step through the entrance, and he flips on the lights. We’re standing in a living room, and the dining room is straight ahead. A kitchen is to the left, and a hallway to the right.

  “Is she home?”

  “Nah. She works l
ate most nights, but she’ll be home in the morning. Hungry?”

  Desmond whips up a fajita dinner with steak and all the veggies he can find in the refrigerator.

  I love watching him cook. “You’re very comfortable here.”

  He smiles and loads his plate with food before joining me at the dining table. “I spent a lot of time here in high school, and I lived here full-time while I went to culinary school. It feels more like home than my old place.”

  I frown at that. “Your dad seems very sweet. It’s hard to imagine him any other way.”

  Desmond nods, his expression showing clear confliction. I suppose he’s felt the same way often. “When he’s sober, he’s amazing. His autism doesn’t define him, you know? He would always have these outbursts of anger at the most random times, but it was manageable. Every time he lost a cooking job, he would turn to prescription drugs and alcohol. ‘To smooth his rough edges,’ his doctor would tell me. But once he goes down the substance-abuse rabbit hole, he can’t climb out of it on his own, and he’s a completely different person—aggressively impulsive, mean, violent.”

  “And rehab has never been able to help him?”

  Desmond shrugs. “For a short time, sure. But when he’s on his own in the real world, he falls back into the same cycle. The truth is, I’ve been trying to get him to move to Seattle for years. Why do you think that studio was available for you to move into so fast? I’ve never tried to rent it to anyone because it was always meant for him.”

  My eyes widen, and my chest squeezes. “And he refuses to move?”

  Desmond nods. “He needs predictability. Just the mention of moving sends him into a fit of rage.”

  I can’t imagine what Desmond goes through on a daily basis, missing his father, not being able to be there to steer him down a better path. I can finally understand his feelings of guilt that seem to always live with him.

  “You should talk to him again,” I suggest. “You say he turns to substance when he isn’t being fulfilled with cooking. Maybe instead of asking him to move to Seattle, you ask him to work in the kitchen with you.”

  Desmond seems to be considering my words, so I take my first bite of fajita. As soon as the food hits my taste buds, I’m moaning, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. “So good.” I didn’t realize how starved I was, but then I realize I haven’t eaten since the small breakfast I had before my father arrived at the kitchen.

  “I love that I can make you moan without even touching you,” Desmond teases.

  I’m so thankful for the lightened mood. I smile and take another bite until we’re both enjoying our food.

  We clean up the kitchen, and Desmond leads me to one of the bedrooms down the main hallway. It’s a small, simple room with white walls and a double bed. There’s a tall dresser on one side of the room and a wide closet door on the other side. I’m disappointed to see the lack of personal touch until he opens the closet door to reveal a splash of his culinary school years in the form of clothes, boxes, and stacks of magazines.

  “Here.” He tosses me an old crimson-and-black shirt with his high school football team’s name on it.

  I smile and look up at him before biting down on my bottom lip to keep from laughing. “You know, back in high school, this would have meant that we’re going steady. You sure you want me to wear this?”

  He chuckles and rips the shirt out of my hands before turning back to his clothes. “In that case…” He pulls another shirt from the hanger and walks it over to me then places it on my chest like he’s picturing me wearing it. “Maybe you should wear this one.”

  I look down at the shiny crimson fabric and swallow. It’s his old jersey. “Number twenty-four?” I ask with a smile. “That’s my lucky number.”

  His grin widens, and he leans close to my ear, stealing my breath with his words. “That’s ironic because you’re about to get lucky tonight.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows, and I push him away with a laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

  37

  Turnovers

  Desmond

  Maggie is currently devouring an old People magazine she found in my closet, wearing my jersey, which loosely hangs around her body. The bottom of it falls just above her thighs, and she’s kicking her legs in the air, making me instantly regret my decision to take a shower. But I need one badly after nearly twenty-four hours in the hospital. So I leave her to her reading material and walk across the hall to the bathroom.

  I wait for the water to heat and then step under it, feeling more of the weight from my trip lift away. Today was a heavy day, one I came into alone, not knowing what to expect after my father’s heart attack. The fact that I got to have some relatively normal moments with him, and with Maggie too, makes it all somehow worth it. I feel like I got a glimpse of my real father today, the one who loses himself to his disease far too often. And to see his smile again, all because of Maggie, brings to light a new feeling in me, one that has been building ever since the day Maggie Stevens stepped foot in my kitchen.

  I’m rinsing the soap from my eyes when I feel small hands roam up my back and around to my chest before sliding down my abs.

  “I thought you could use some company in here.”

  I can feel the upward curve of her lips on my back right before she places a kiss between the blades of my shoulders. “That was a damn good thought.” I’m fully aware of the growl in my tone. The fact that Maggie surprised me in the shower only turns me on that much more.

  My heart takes off at a gallop as she reaches lower, grips my cock, and strokes me slowly to full mast. She’s like a mind reader tonight, giving me everything I need without a selfish bone in her body. She gives and gives until she’s sliding to her knees in front of me. She takes me in her mouth and straight down her throat.

  I gasp and fall forward, my hand slamming against the wall to fully brace myself. “Maggie,” I groan when I’m getting close. But my plea only has her gripping my ass harder and pulling me deeper down her throat. “Holy shit.” I gasp my words and look down to watch her yank me out of her mouth just in time for my hot juices to hit her neck and slide down her heaving chest while her wide caramel eyes watch my reaction. My entire body explodes in what feels like a second orgasm at the sight of her. She’s so fucking hot.

  I tug her up to me and devour her lips, sucking them and nibbling them while shutting off the water behind her. Then I’m lifting her so she can wrap her legs around my waist while I carry her out of the shower and into my bedroom. I lay her on the bed while I tower over her, figuring out what I want to do to her first. She’s dripping wet, her hair soaking my pillow. Her lips are glistening red and puffy from my kiss. After a few deep breaths, I lower myself above her and stare deeply into her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  She smiles softly. “Where else would I be?”

  I swallow, her words drifting over me in a warm embrace. “You could be anywhere, Mags. But you chose to be here. Why?”

  Her brows bend together, and her smile fades a bit. “Do you really need to hear me say it?”

  I bite the inside of my lip, my pulse racing through my body. Then I nod.

  “Because I love you, Desmond Blake.” Her cheeks push up into a smile again. “Almost as much as I hate you.”

  I chuckle and bury my smile in her neck before kissing it. My heart is rattling around the walls of my ribs, and I feel like it might just explode. “Well, that’s a relief.” I pull back to look into her eyes. “Because I love you too. Almost as much as I hate you.” I touch her nose with mine, playfully, to tell her I’m joking.

  She presses her hips up to where my erection has already come back to life. “You must hate me a lot right now.”

  I thrust my hips against her and enter in one swift stroke. “You have no idea.”

  Almost as soon as I’m inside her, my eyes go wide. I’m totally bare, and while we’ve talked about the fact that she’s on birth control and we’re both clean, we’ve never actu
ally had sex without a condom. But damn, she feels good. Now that I’m inside, there’s no way in hell I’m pulling out, not unless it’s what she wants. I suck in a breath and wait because I think she’s making the same conclusion in her own brain.

  “Should I get a condom?” I finally ask.

  “You can, but”—she bites down on her lip—“I kind of want to feel you tonight.”

  It’s all the permission I need to rock my hips into her once more, slowly, enjoying every ounce of sensation as her walls grip my length. I reach around her and grab a couple pillows to prop her hips higher while never losing my rhythm. With my hands on her hips, and my eyes locked on hers, it’s only a matter of time before I feel the early tremble of her pending release.

  I hover over her, taking her mouth with mine as she moans out her warning. “Flip me over,” she demands.

  I don’t hesitate to obey. Wrapping my arm beneath her, I slide under her body while she climbs on top of me. Her hands are on my chest, and her hips are already working me at a faster pace than the one I had set. But this time, it doesn’t matter. I don’t try to control the rhythm. I don’t edge her to an orgasm the way I normally like to do. Because this time, it’s about more than the art of getting Maggie to her climax. We’re making love, and for the first time, I understand exactly what that means.

  As our limbs tangle and our kiss grows stronger, I know there’s no other woman in the world who could own me so completely. No one but Maggie.

  “I should have known I would find you in here, cooking.”

  Maggie enters the kitchen the next morning, wearing a beautiful smile. My high school football jersey is tucked into a pair of black drawstring shorts she must have found in my closet. She looks refreshed and happy, and I can’t help but smile knowing that I am part of the reason for her happiness.