by J. B. Havens
As they munched on crisp salad and warm, fresh Italian bread, Drew dove into the conversation he’d promised her over dinner. “I know you aren’t ready to tell me your story, but I’m gonna tell you mine.”
“Nana is very protective of you. Are you going to tell me why?”
“I wouldn’t be sittin’ here with you right now if it weren’t for her. She saved me.” Drew sighed and looked past Meg, fixating on a faded banner emblazoned with the flag of Italy hanging on the opposite wall. He spoke as if he were narrating a story.
“I lived a charmed life as a kid. My dad was an executive for a large furniture manufacturer. Mom was very involved in charities and clubs. Appearances and social status were everything to them. I was their golden boy, excellin’ in school and sports. Quarterback of the football team. We were state ranked. I was set for a full ride at Tennessee U. My girlfriend all through high school was a cheerleader and planned on becoming a nurse. I had everything in the palm of my hand, and it was ripped away in an instant. And it was my fault. I killed my girlfriend.”
Meg gasped but didn’t speak. Her mind raced with questions. What did he do? Is this why he gets all the curious looks everywhere we go? She couldn’t reconcile what he’d just revealed with how he’d interacted with her so far.
Drew took another deep breath and continued. “After a family celebration, I was drivin’ Abby home. I lost control of the car and flipped it. She died on impact, and I lost my leg. My football career and my future died that night, along with the girl I loved. Suddenly, I became a liability to my parents, rather than an asset. They were more concerned with what people would say and losing the status of having a son likely headed for the NFL than with helping me recover. I had several surgeries over the following months, and in addition to the prescribed painkillers, I self-medicated with alcohol. Other than the required physical therapy to learn how to walk again, I had no plan and no purpose. With each day, I sank deeper into a hole I didn’t know how to crawl out of.”
Their server appeared, balancing two plates heaped with steaming pasta. Drew paused the conversation as the meals were set down in front of them. He also ignored the stares from the other diners.
“Crushed red pepper and parmesan cheese are on the table. Can I bring you anything else?”
Meg inhaled the scent of the seasoned marinara appreciatively and shook her head. Drew smiled up at her. “No, thank you. This looks great.”
When the server was out of earshot, Meg urged him on with eyes full of sympathy. She knew all about feeling trapped in a hole, and now she understood the reason for the strange looks from the bartender at the Jailhouse. Taking a sip of her wine, Meg picked up her fork and patiently waited for him to continue.
“Once I could stand on my own two feet again, so to speak, I needed an outlet for my energy and rage. I’d heard about this underground cage fighting scene and decided to check it out. At that point, I really didn’t care if someone beat my ass. It was a new high, and I felt like I deserved every bit of the pain. It was brutal, bare knuckle boxing locked inside a cage like an animal. All I did was fight and sleep. Nolan, the guy fixing your jeep, took me under his wing, sorta like a big brother would. I guess he needed someone to focus on, too. Nolan’s wife had died some months before, and he was all alone. One day, after he saw me bruised and bloodied one too many times, he dragged me home to Nana. She confronted me and told me if I didn’t get my act together, I’d need to leave the motel. Together, he and Nana convinced me to stop fighting and put my energies into something positive. I signed up for car repair classes at the community college and some construction classes just for the hell of it. I apprenticed with him at the garage and got my mechanic certification. The construction and home improvement courses gave me what I needed to help Nana at the motel.”
Drew paused, assessing Meg’s reaction. Her forehead wrinkled and her lips pursed as she asked, “What about your parents? Weren’t they taking care of you?”
“Financially, yes. Emotionally, no. They thought if they threw money my way, I’d be fine. They had no interest in associatin’ with a crippled and bitter son,” Drew related matter-of-factly. “They later decided to retire to Florida, so I rarely see them or talk to them. Nana and Nolan are my family now.”
Drew saw empathy in Meg’s eyes. “I don’t really have any family myself,” she mumbled.
“Look, Meg, I know you’re runnin’ from somethin’ and hurtin’. You don’t have to tell me what it’s all about but let me help you. If I can come back to life, so can you. Be brave with me.”
Chapter 14
Meg
I’m still licking my lips, hoping for another taste of the Italian lemon cream cake I had for dessert. Sitting in Drew’s truck, holding hands across the middle of the seat, feels so real, so natural, that I refuse to allow myself to question the rightness of it. Everything Drew told me over dinner is still rattling around in my head. The sheer tragedy of it breaks my heart. Glancing over, I study his face, the dash lights illuminating his strong features. How he endured so much pain and still remained such a good man is beyond me. He had his struggles, the marks on his knuckles attest to that. I rub my thumb across the ridge of scar tissue on the back of his hand; the bumps feel strange under my fingertip. He squeezes my hand in response, not looking from the road for even a second. I don’t have to wonder why.
I sense the tension in him, as if he’s anxious about something. Is he nervous about what might happen when we get back to the motel?
“Drew?” I begin, nerves making me half-sick.
“Yeah, darlin’? What is it?” Again, he doesn’t look at me, but keeps his eyes glued to the road.
“You’ve told me so much about yourself tonight, I feel . . . I need . . .” I sigh, the words I usually refuse to even think are now stuck in my throat, choking me. Brandon? What should I do?
“Darlin’, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Drew soothed, rubbing his thumb in circles on mine.
“I know that. I want to tell you. We have so much more in common than you think.” Gently pulling my hand from his, I crack the window slightly. I need the air on my face right now. “I was married before.”
“Me—” He begins, but I cut him off.
“No, let me say this. You deserve to know.” I fiddle with a fold in my dress, playing the material along between my fingers. “His name was Brandon and he was the love of my life. We had a great life together. A big, beautiful house, careers, a loving family. But that all changed. He got sick, you see. Kept getting sick and never seemed to get better. Finally, we convinced the doctors to run more tests, but by that point, it was too late. He was dying. Cancer.” I wipe away a stray tear and forge headlong into the story. “We didn’t have much time, even with chemo, so he decided he didn’t want to spend the remainder stuck in a hospital bed hooked to IVs and tubes. So, we withdrew our life savings, quit our jobs, and spent every last second we could together. He lived for two months. Then he was gone and I was alone. I was a shell of myself. Then, a few weeks after his funeral, I missed my period.”
I pause, looking at Drew. His jaw is set in a tight line, and his eyes are fixed on the road ahead of us. I begin to lose my courage. The little bit I’ve told him already is killing me inside.
“Darlin’?” he softly urges me. Be brave with me, he’d said. Okay, Drew, I’ll try, I think to myself.
“I was pregnant. With my dead husband’s child. It was heartbreaking and joyous all at the same time. I had a piece of him I could keep forever. He would never truly be gone now, or at least, that’s what I thought. I was about two months along when I started to bleed and cramp. I rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. The baby was gone.”
Drew makes a choking noise and grips my hand tighter. “Worse, the doctor told me that it was a miracle I’d even gotten pregnant. I have a deformity in my womb; I can’t carry children to term. So I made him tie my tubes because I never wanted to feel that sort of pain, the emotional
hurt, not the physical, again.” Unable to look him in the face, I feel my shame settle upon me like a shroud.
“I went . . . crazy. I broke every dish in the house. I ripped all the sheets to shreds. I destroyed furniture, everything I could get my hands on. My grief and rage were unending. Therapy didn’t seem to help. So one day, I put the house on the market and sold everything I hadn’t ruined. I got in Brandon’s Jeep and I drove away. I’ve been driving around for almost six months. Then I ended up here and found you. I don’t know what Brandon would say, but I think he’d want me to be happy. I think he’d like you. So you see, you and I are very much alike. We’ve both lost everything. My parents are dead, too. I have a brother, Justin, but we’re not close, so I’m alone in this world.”
“Not anymore you’re not.” We turn in at the motel and Drew slams the truck into park. Reaching across the seat, he grabs me and hauls me up against him. My breasts flatten against his chest and my face is inches from his. “You’re not alone. I know we just met, I know this is crazy, but . . . I want you. Not just for tonight either.”
Placing my palm against his cheek, I look deep into his eyes, losing myself in the pool of truth I see there. He does understand, and he means what he says. I’m afraid, though, so very afraid I’m not good enough. I’m damaged. I have a broken heart and a broken body. I’m not good enough for a man like him.
“I need to do this one day, one night, at a time. Just being here with you, like this, is hard for me.” I rest my forehead against his, breathing his scent deep into my lungs. “I haven’t had sex in over a year,” I confess.
“Me either.” He brushes back a piece of my hair that had come loose. “I’m scared too.”
He kisses me then, soft and questioning. Seeking. I give in with a groan, sliding my hands over his shoulders and into his hair. I love the way it curls around my fingers and the softness of it.
“Take me inside,” I beg, breathless.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure that if you don’t, your Nana is going to get a show right here in this truck.”
Chapter 15
Meg
Drew unlocks the door to his room, shoving me inside quickly. I kick off my heels and grab at his shirt, jerking it out of his pants.
“I need skin.” Frustrated by the tiny buttons, I rip the shirt apart. The disks pop off and fly everywhere with tiny plinking sounds. He strips the tie and the ruined shirt off the rest of the way and throws them in the corner. He flips me around so my back is pressed against the front of him. I feel his warmth through my dress, my lovely dress that is suddenly in the way and too tight against my sensitive skin.
“Patience,” he whispers against the nape of my neck as he leaves a trail of kisses. I gasp when he bites where my shoulder joins my neck; I shiver and thrust my ass back against him. His hands explore my body, testing the weight of my breasts. My nipples harden, pushing against his palms through the material.
“Zipper . . . on the side.”
He chuckles against me. “So eager. We have all night; no need to rush.”
“The hell there isn’t.” I whirl around and step back from him, evading his reaching hands. Grasping the zipper, I pull it down, being careful not to snag it. The last thing I want is to wrestle myself out of this garment. The dress billows to my feet and I’m rewarded by Drew’s sudden gasp for air. Kicking it aside, I stand before him in my black garter set and thong. I feel a chill snake along my bare breasts, but I ignore it. I skim my hands down my sides, then back again, squeezing my breasts as I step closer to him. His eyes darken with passion, now the color of stormy seas, and he strides purposefully toward me. Drew grips my hair, roughly jerks my head back, and devours my mouth. I moan at the contact, loving the small bite of pain along my scalp. I grasp his sides, squeezing the flesh there, pulling him even closer to me. He pulls away for a moment, his eyes telling me everything I need to know.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Then we’ll both die happy.” I reach down between us, grasping him through his pants. He groans and thrusts against my palm.
As fast as lightning, Drew squats down and picks me up by the thighs. His mouth locks onto mine again as he walks us back to his bedroom.
“Drew.” I moan his name, my senses overloaded. His smell, his taste, the feel of his skin against mine, it’s all too much.
He sets me on the edge of the bed, his belt now eye-level with me. He sees the question in my gaze and shakes his head. No.
He steps back and unzips his pants, pushing them down his thighs, showing me his black boxer briefs. They fit tightly, outlining the hard length of his manhood. Forcing my eyes lower, I stare in fascinated wonder at his muscled thighs, letting my gaze travel down to where his leg ends and his prosthetic begins.
“Does it hurt?” Reaching out with both hands, I glide my palms down his thighs, the hair there tickling me slightly. I stop at the edge of the sock-like garment he wears under his prosthesis.
“Sometimes, if I’m on my feet too much, but it’s usually fine.” He reaches down with a finger to tip up my chin. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now?”
“No. I don’t want to talk at all, at least, not with words.” Grinning, I grab the band of his boxer briefs, dragging them down his hips and over his thighs, only stopping when his pants get in the way. I look up at him, lifting my eyes so that he can see every intent written on my face. I grasp him firmly; his hot skin feels amazing against my fingers and palm. I stroke up and down, paying special attention to the ruddy head. He isn’t huge, but neither is he small. He fits perfectly in my grip. I add my other hand, using both in tandem.
“Meg,” he groans, rocking his hips with my motions. Leaning forward, I swipe him with my tongue from root to tip. He curses softly and pulls away. “No. As much as I want your mouth on me, I won’t last if you do that. Next time.” He shoves his pants and boxers off the rest of the way and climbs over me.
I scoot back on the bed until my head rests on a pillow. Pulling him down, I kiss him deeply, moaning loudly as his naked skin comes into contact with mine. I writhe, trying to get as much of him against me as possible. He pulls his mouth away, only to descend. Kissing my neck and chest. Holding my breasts in both hands, he suckles first one, then the other. Pleasure surges through me, shooting straight between my legs, pooling there.
“You have the most perfect boobs I’ve ever seen.”
Blushing hotly at his words, I can’t find the will to respond. He keeps one hand on my breast, twisting and pulling at my nipple, while the other runs down my side and over my waist. “Drew, please,” I beg. I feel his smile against me seconds before his clever fingers pull down the waistband of my panties. He parts my folds, gently nudging and exploring.
He growls when my wetness coats his fingers. “You’re so wet already. My god, woman.” Playing his fingers back and forth, he zeroes in on my clit, rubbing in soft circles, forcing cries from my mouth. I scratch my nails along his back, digging into his muscles. Moving his hand down further, he slides first one, then two fingers inside me, keeping the heel of his hand pressed against me where I need it most. Starting gently and then picking up the pace, he pumps his fingers in and out of me, twisting and curling his fingertips, until he finds the spot that makes my hips jerk against him.
“That’s it,” he whispers against my neck.
I pant, out of breath and coated in a light sheen of sweat. His fingers keep up their steady assault and the pressure builds.
“Drew . . .” I start to say, but the words die in my throat as my orgasm hits me. I slap at the bed as my hips jerk against his hand, seeking more stimulation and trying to escape it at the same time. Slowly, he lets me come down, then pulls his hand away.
He stares in my eyes as he slips his fingers into his mouth, licking my wetness from them. “You taste just like I thought you would. Delicious.”
My face burns,
and he laughs before kissing me deeply. He rolls to the side and I watch as he detaches his prosthesis with a soft click, leaving the sock with a long metal pin on the end. He then slides it down and off, so I see his scarred leg for the first time. Setting the limb off to the side, he drapes the sock over the top.
“Just to warn you, try not to touch me here.” He gestures to the end of his leg. “It’s very sensitive; it’s almost painful when it gets bumped.”
“Noted.” I move to the side, standing in front of him now. I maintain eye contact with him while I unhook first one garter, then the other, and slide the hose down my legs. Tossing them aside, I follow with the garter and thong. I’m naked and feeling a little vulnerable in front of him. No one but my husband has seen me like this. I grasp his hands when he reaches for me.
“Come here.” Planting his foot on the floor, he pulls me onto his lap. My legs are spread wide on either side of his hips. He places both hands against my face, demonstrating that he wants to be in control. “Kiss me,” he orders, and I gladly comply. We’re nearly eye level as we sit intertwined; it’s intensely intimate on a level I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced. I keep my lips locked with his as he lifts my ass slightly and guides himself to my entrance. We aren’t using protection, but in that moment, I trust what he told me, and I don’t think either of us wants anything separating us, even a thin latex barrier. He grips my hips with both hands and rocks me forward, sliding the full, thick length of him deep inside me in one smooth stroke. I gasp, and my head falls back. “Jesus. You’re magnificent,” he growls against my throat. I loop my arms around his shoulders and rock my hips with the pull and push of his hands.
