The Gritty Truth

by Melissa Foster

She pressed her lips to his, unable to wait another second. She didn’t need to hear what he’d do, because she already knew. He’d already shown her the man he was. When their lips finally parted, the rest of those tangles inside her loosened and shifted, becoming lovely, welcome bows.

  “Thank you, babe. Thank you so damn much.”

  “Don’t thank me. Just keep being honest. I might need time to process things, but I want to be here for you.”

  “I will always be honest.” He kissed her again, softer this time, and said, “My place isn’t far from here. Can we go there to talk?”

  “I’d like that. I want to spend time in your world, Quincy, see where you live and get to know all of you. And if you have a hard day or hour, I might not know the right things to say, but I want you to teach me, because all of that bad stuff that you went through led to the person you are today, and I really like that guy.”

  Chapter Eleven

  QUINCY FOLLOWED RONI into his loft-style apartment above Whiskey Automotive, still in a mild state of shock that she’d shown up for the meeting. Talk about jumping in with both feet…

  “So this is your sanctuary,” she said quietly, leaning in playfully.

  He’d wondered if it would be awkward to be together after everything she’d learned about him and sitting through the NA meeting, and he was glad it didn’t feel that way.

  “You could call it that.” He helped her off with her jacket and hung it, and her purse, by the door. As he hung up his jacket, he said, “You can look around.”

  There was nothing fancy about his apartment, no walls separating anything but the bedrooms and bathroom from the open living space. The kitchen was just a counter, refrigerator, oven, and a few cabinets to the left of the entrance that led to the shop. Truman had left some of his furniture for Quincy when he’d moved out, including a wooden coffee table, an orange armchair, which now sat in front of the balcony doors, and a comfortable brown couch. Jed had helped Quincy build floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the wall to the right of the entrance. The shelves were full, and more books were stacked on the floor.

  “Cute kitchenette,” Roni said, walking slowly past the kitchen and table for two. She looked across the room. “Wow, that’s a lot of books.”

  “It makes me look like a hoarder, right?”

  She flashed an easy, natural smile, which made him feel even more at ease. She ran her hand along the back of the orange chair and said, “No, it makes you look like a guy who loves to read and grew up hanging out at a library. Your safe haven.”

  “I’d say that’s accurate. I never had books of my own when I was growing up, so now they’re my guilty pleasure. And you’re right, they are my safe haven. I had a lot of extra time on my hands when I got out of rehab, and I kept my mind busy with reading.”

  “My boyfriend the bookworm,” she said in a singsong voice. “I like knowing that.”

  “And I like hearing you call me your boyfriend.”

  “Good, because I like saying it.” She turned around and parted the curtains, peering out the balcony doors into the darkness. “What’s back there?”

  “A junkyard. This apartment is kind of a rite of passage. Tru lived here when he got out of prison, and he made it into a home for the kids before he and Gemma rented a house closer to the preschool. The Whiskeys put in a nursery in the auto shop downstairs so Tru wouldn’t have to leave the kids, and everyone helped watch them while they worked. Now that the kids are older, Red babysits them.”

  Roni turned with a surprised expression. “He took the kids to work with him? I love that.”

  “Yeah. He couldn’t part with them. He said he didn’t know what they’d been through, and he was worried something would trigger a bad memory for them. He even wrote fairy tales for the kids with nothing bad or sad in them.”

  Her hand covered her heart, and she said, “Oh my gosh. I love that, too.”

  “I’d give just about anything to have caused that reaction,” he said more to himself than to her.

  “You have caused that reaction, many times. You just didn’t see it,” she said, touching the couch, as if she needed to touch everything he owned.

  And he loved that, too.

  “I melted on the spot the very first day you picked up Kennedy from dance class, when she leapt into your arms, and every time you’ve picked her up since then.” She walked toward him and said, “When you told me you were taking Kennedy and Lincoln out on a date, you got the same melty reaction.”

  She took his hand as they sat down, and the intimate touch brought another wave of relief after not knowing if he’d ever have a chance to hold her again.

  “I love that the kids are so important to both of you,” she said softly.

  “Tru and the kids are three of the best reasons for me never to touch drugs again. I have a lot to make up for, and I have great appreciation for the love they give me,” he said honestly. “I want to be sure they know that. I’ll never do wrong by them again.”

  “I’d imagine they know that. But, Quincy, while I might get warm and melty over a lot of things, what I feel for you goes beyond that. I hope you don’t think that I’m holding your past against you in any way. I’ve found a place for your past, and for us, in here.” She patted her chest over her heart. “I know you did what you could with the kids given your addiction, and Tru did what he could. But that doesn’t make him better than you or make me think less of you. The truth is, you get that swoony reaction from me with almost everything you do and say. I love the way you love your friends and family, and while it felt amazing to be welcomed into their close-knit circle Friday night, what made it so special was that those were the people you love.”

  His chest felt full to near bursting. “Damn, babe. That’s…Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. It’s how you make me feel. I’m sorry it took a while for me to see things clearly. But when you first told me that you’d been clean for two years, I weighed that against the six and a half years you’d used drugs, and at the time, it hadn’t felt like very long. But what I’ve read online since then and the stories I heard tonight have shown me that two years in the life of a person in recovery are probably equivalent to about five years in the life of someone who isn’t battling addiction, struggling every single day to overcome something stronger than they are. And from what I’ve read, in the first few months of recovery, maybe struggling every single hour is more accurate.”

  “You really do understand,” he said with as much awe as disbelief.

  “I’m trying. I still have a lot to learn, but I’ve been thinking about a few things you said the other night. You might think Truman was born having all of his ducks in a row, but he lived a different childhood than you did. It sounded like he had your grandmother to help guide him, at least a little, before you were born. But you had no adults to guide you. And yes, Truman did remarkable things, but he was still a kid raising a kid in a house overrun by drug addicts.”

  She took off her glasses and set them on the coffee table. Then she took his hand and said, “Please listen to what I’m about to say, because it’s important. Truman is wonderful, but he had nine years before you came along to figure things out. I’m not saying it was easy for him, because I’m sure it was hell. But he has nothing on you, Quincy Gritt, because you were born into the worst kind of chaos, and you’ve caught up in record time. In two short years, you’ve not only lined up your ducks and set them on a path to a strong, stable future, but you’re also helping others get their ducks in a row. That is what great men are made of, Mr. Gritt, and I am honored that you chose me to be by your side on this journey.”

  His heart cracked wide open, her every word burrowing deep inside him, planting roots. Truman was his pillar of strength and character, the man he’d forever held on a pedestal, and this incredible woman thought he belonged there, too. “You can’t imagine how much that means to me.”

  Her long lashes fluttered as she looked down at their joined hands, her cheeks pin
ked up as her beautiful eyes met his, and she said, “Then maybe you can show me. I miss you, Quincy.”

  “God, baby, I miss you, too.” His arm circled her as their mouths came together, softly at first, in a kiss full of unspoken promises and unyielding hope. He deepened the kiss, pouring his pent-up emotions into their connection, and she kissed him more passionately.

  Their tongues collided, hard and hungry. She grabbed his hair, drawing a groan from his lungs and a moan from hers as she leaned back, bringing him down over her, and holy hell, he loved that taking. Everything felt different—the ferocity of their kisses, the way she clung to him, even the thundering of his own heart felt bigger, louder, as if it was beating hard enough for both of them. Their hands were everywhere, caressing, groping, claiming. She was so soft and luscious, and she was right there with him in their mutual devouring. Minutes turned to much longer, and the world faded away, until there was only him and Roni and the wild passion consuming them.

  He didn’t know how long they lay there making out, their bodies grinding and rocking in perfect sync. She was making those sexy noises, turning his blood to fire, and he never wanted it to end. He kissed her slower, more sensually, his tongue sliding over hers, then delving deep and possessive, drawing out their pleasure. She arched beneath him, moaning and holding him tighter as they both took the kiss deeper. She was his heaven and his earth, a delicacy he treasured and a grounding force he hadn’t known he needed. He wanted—needed—her with him tonight, in his arms, and he didn’t care if they kept their clothes on till morning.

  When their lips finally parted, he cradled her in his arms, tucking his head in the crook of her neck, both of them breathless, and said, “Stay with me.”

  “Hm?” she said, eyes still closed.

  “Stay with me tonight, baby. I just want to hold you.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. “All night?” she asked with a sweet curve to her lips.

  “All night.” He read a hint of hesitation in her eyes and brushed his lips over hers. “We don’t have to do anything sexual. We can watch a movie or whatever you want. I like being close to you. I want you in my arms tonight, and I want to wake up with you by my side.”

  She touched her hip, reminding him she was self-conscious about her scars, and that pained him. He didn’t even notice her limp anymore. When he looked at her, he just saw Roni, his sweet, sexy, strong girl with the bravest, most loving heart he’d ever encountered.

  “I’ll give you a pair of my sweatpants and a T-shirt to sleep in.” He gazed deeply into her eyes, wanting her to truly hear what he said next. “But just so you know, when you finally show me those scars, I’m going to kiss each and every one of them, and I promise you, I will not think they’re anything short of beautiful because they’re part of you.”

  She touched her lips to his and said, “You’re using your melting powers on me again.”

  “I’m just being honest, babe. But I don’t want to pressure you. If you’d rather stay at your place tonight, that’s fine.” He tightened his hold on her and said, “But not yet. I’m not done holding you.”

  She ran her fingers along his jaw and whispered, “I’d rather stay.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A SLIVER OF sunlight snuck in through the curtains in Quincy’s bedroom, streaking across his broad back, snaking over Roni’s hip, and dropping off the edge of the bed, as if its sole purpose was to create an illusion that she and Quincy were one. That was fitting, because it was exactly how she felt. Quincy lay sleeping with half of his chest on hers, one long leg bent at the knee, resting over her. His hair fell over his face, and he had the slightest curve to his lips. He’d been wrapped around her all night, making her feel safe. She’d been a little nervous about staying overnight, but she hadn’t wanted their night to end, either. He’d made her feel comfortable, and she was glad she’d stayed. The sweatpants and shirt he’d lent her were ridiculously big, but she liked wearing his things and being in his home. It had been wonderful lying on the couch together, kissing, talking, and sort of watching The 40-Year-Old Virgin. They’d laughed a lot, and it felt good not to be holding back any longer. Attending that meeting had changed things for her, confirming that she’d made the right decision. She could tell it had changed things for him, too. His touch felt more intimate, and even the way he looked at her seemed deeper and more open.

  When they finally went to bed, she’d wondered if he would try to have sex with her, and she hadn’t been sure that she didn’t want to. But he hadn’t even tried. As important as it was to know she could trust him, she’d been buzzing with desire since the moment he’d walked out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants riding low on his hips, his hot body and sexy tattoos on display. She wanted to know more about those tattoos. What did the sunflowers on his chest symbolize? Why did he have roses on his shoulders and hands? She wanted to know the symbolism behind each and every tattoo covering his arms, too. When she’d asked him, he’d said that most were drawings Truman had made for him when he was young, but then he’d wrapped his big, loving self around her, and thinking had gone out the window.

  His body heat had seared through her clothing all night long, and she’d been acutely aware of his arousal pressed temptingly against her. She didn’t want clothes between them anymore. She wanted to feel his heated flesh against hers, to experience the emotions that seeped off him every time he looked at her, and to allow her own desires to be set free.

  “Morning, beautiful,” Quincy said groggily, snuggling in.

  His rough hand slipped beneath her shirt, skimmed up her belly, and came to rest over her heart, setting off fireworks inside her. She wanted him, and she didn’t want to be self-conscious about her scars, but she was. Quincy hadn’t noticed them the other night, but it had been dark and they’d both been caught up in the heat of the moment. There was no place to hide in the light of day, and that made her anxious. But he’d bared his soul, revealed all of the uglier parts of his past, and she didn’t want to hide those parts of herself from him anymore, either.

  He kissed her cheek and went up on his elbow, captivating her with the desire in his eyes, and said, “Your heart is beating fast. You okay?”

  “Just a little nervous.” She mustered all of her courage and said, “I want to feel your skin against mine.” Before she could chicken out, she pulled off her shirt.

  Hunger flared in his eyes, and he lowered his gaze to her chest. She didn’t look away, needing to see his reaction as he took in the disjointed, decrepit-looking sunburst of scars above her left breast, leaking down her side to her ribs. Appreciation, empathy, and lustful flames rose in his eyes as he drank her in. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t even blink, and something warm and heartfelt joined forces with the underlying current of electricity between them.

  “Baby, you are absolutely gorgeous.”

  Relief exhaled with a sigh, the honesty in his voice making her want him even more. She didn’t look away as he traced the thin white scars and puckered skin over her breast with his index finger, touching every line, every indentation, the emotions in his eyes deepening. He followed the gnarly trail down her side, along the smooth, unmarred skin between her ribs and her waist. When he brushed his fingers over the indentation where a piece of metal had pierced her skin, she closed her eyes and he pressed a kiss there.

  “Open your eyes, beautiful.”

  She did, and the way he was looking at her made her feel beautiful, special, and wanted. He didn’t say a word as he kissed the trail of scars from her ribs up and over her breast, kissing every inch, until her whole body thrummed with desire and something much bigger.

  “There is nothing ugly about these scars, baby,” he whispered as he kissed them. “No need to hide them.”

  She touched the scars over his eyebrows and on his cheek, remembering what he’d said about the gash he’d gotten the night the man had attacked his mother. “The wall?” she whispered. He nodded, and she leaned up, kissing each of thos
e scars.

  He continued loving her with his mouth and hands, passionately and sensually. It was freeing and wonderful, and she somehow knew that was because it was Quincy touching her. It was the best feeling she’d ever experienced. He didn’t touch her like he was on a mission to have sex. He touched her like she was precious and he was trying to memorize every bit of her, scars and all. When his hand slid down to her hip, her belly clenched nervously. Not because she didn’t want to go further, but because she did, and that meant showing him the area covered in the worst of her scars.

  He must have felt her reaction, because instead of going further, he rose and brushed his lips over hers, whispering, “Thank you for trusting me.”

  She wanted to feel his touch, his acceptance, of the worst of her scars. She leaned up and touched her lips to his, and like an unearthed volcano, her imprisoned desire poured out in urgent, messy kisses. He must have been holding back just as much as she was, because in the next breath, their bodies took over. Her hips rocked against his hard length. His hand played expertly over her breast, squeezing and rolling the throbbing peak, sending pinpricks of need racing beneath her skin. He made a raw, sexual sound that vibrated through her. She grabbed at the sheets as he lowered his mouth to her breast, sucking and kissing, sending her body into a writhing, moaning frenzy. When he grazed his teeth over the sensitive peak, pleasure shot through her core.

  “Quincy,” she pleaded as he teased her right up to the edge of madness, intensifying his efforts with her every sound until “More” flew demandingly from her lips.

  She reached down and pushed frantically at her sweatpants, delirious from the want consuming her. He covered her hand with his, stilling it, and pressed his lips to hers in a painfully tender kiss that went on for so long, when their lips finally parted, she was dizzy with desire.

  “I want to undress you, and I don’t want to rush through it,” he said, and kissed her again, deeper and rougher, cradling her against him, as if he were telling her he was serious, he was in charge, and she could trust him.