“Why are you apologizing to me? What happened exactly?”
“Let’s get you inside,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch. That had to count for something.
“Unless you want to leave.”
She frowned again. “Why would I want to leave? I need you to tell me.” And then her eyes widened, and she cursed. I kind of liked it when she swore. It was hot.
“What happened to me and what you and Chris probably just dealt with are two separate things. I know not everybody has the same experiences as I did, and not everyone would react the same if they went through similar experiences to mine. However, I know you. I know you’re not violent. Let’s go inside. I’ll take care of your hand, and you can tell me what happened with Chris. I knew you were going to talk with him today, but I didn’t know it was going to be an all-out confrontation.”
My heart hammered in my chest, and I leaned down and pressed my lips against hers. I knew my beard rubbed against her chin, and she smiled because I knew it sometimes tickled her.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” I whispered.
She blinked, her eyes filling for a moment before that went away as if I had imagined it.
“I don’t know why you think you don’t deserve me,” she whispered, and then I sighed and let her into the house.
“So,” I whispered.
“Come on, let’s ice your hand.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“It’ll give me something to do because all I want to do is baby you and make you feel better, and I’m really not good at that. If you can’t tell, I’m really only nurturing when it comes to my students, and even then, I’m not very good at it.”
I laughed softly.
“I’m really not good at this either,” I said honestly.
“You don’t have to be,” she said.
“Now, tell me what happened.”
I went through it all, and her eyes narrowed as I kept talking, her cheeks pinking with what I hoped was anger. Or maybe embarrassment for me. After all, I had hit someone today.
“That fucker.”
I barked out a laugh. “Really?”
“Why wouldn’t it be really? I cannot believe him. That is such a lie to try and save face. I can’t believe he would say that about Arden. I mean, I’ve only seen her on FaceTime, but she seems like a wonderful person, and she doesn’t deserve whatever he said about her. Hell, I want to hit him, too. And we know I’m never going to hit anybody. Not after what happened.”
The fact that she could say anything like that floored me.
“Maybe,” I whispered.
“Thomas was more emotionally abusive to me than anything. He belittled me, made me feel like I was nothing. He took my phone when I wasn’t listening to him. He cut me off from friends. I didn’t speak to Myra for my entire marriage because he thought she wasn’t good enough for me. My best friend wasn’t good enough. He cut me off from Paris even during school, so she thought I was a stuck-up bitch, even though he was the one that said she was. He did all of that, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late. He slapped me on my stomach and my thighs when I wasn’t skinny enough for him. He pulled me by my hair that one time, but never again because I flinched in public afterwards.
“He did all of that, and I hadn’t even realized he was doing it until it was too late. I became a statistic, and I didn’t even realize it. When I finally went to the cops, thankfully, they believed me. He’d told me over and over again that they would never believe me. He blamed me, just like Chris is blaming you now. It took a lot of therapy. It took a ton of talking and realizing who I was. I’m here now, and while I can never see myself hitting someone, maybe I could. To protect someone I love, maybe I could. But Chris deserves to go to jail. He doesn’t deserve any more of your time, and hopefully, no more of your thoughts.”
I looked at her then and cupped her face, wondering how the hell I found myself here with her. It made no sense to me. Not when I had spent so many years alone, making sure that everybody around me was safe and had what they needed. I hadn’t thought of myself.
“I want to find Thomas, and I want to hurt him. And that makes me feel like a horrible person,” I said, not wanting to hide that from her.
“Small parts of me want to hurt him, too,” she said, and I leaned forward, resting my forehead against hers as she iced my knuckles.
“I don’t know what that says about me that I want to retaliate. But in the end, I just want to be left alone.”
“Has he texted you since those first two times?”
She had finally told me about that, and I had seen such rage in her as she relayed the story that I wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap and take her back to my house, along with the rest of my family, where I could create a fort and no one could hurt us.
It was unreasonable, but sometimes, I got unreasonable for those I loved.
I froze. Loved? Wow, that was a new word. One I wasn’t ready to focus on.
“He hasn’t texted again. The detectives say he’s where he needs to be, back in California. That he isn’t anywhere close, and he’s checking in with his parole officer. He isn’t near me. And he can’t hurt me. They can’t trace the texts to him. We don’t even know if it was him. However, I don’t want to live in fear, and I don’t want to live in anger. Therefore, I’m living in whatever emotion I have left.”
I leaned forward and ran my lips across hers.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She frowned.
“For what?” she asked.
“For being you. For reminding me that my life isn’t the out-of-control weirdness of work or whatever the fuck Chris is doing. You’re here. And you’re pretty fucking amazing.”
“Between work and the date pact that is going nowhere with the others for now, thank you for making my part easy.”
I laughed and then kissed her, slowly at first until it deepened into something more.
We were in my kitchen, the two of us mired in so many emotions I knew we should probably slow down, but we didn’t. Instead, she raised her hands and let me strip off her shirt, slowly, until my hands were on her breasts. My lips there, too. Her hands slid down my back, cupping, grasping, and then we were both naked, her on the kitchen counter, and me standing there before her. When she slid the condom over my dick, squeezing the base, I groaned, going down to my knees first to lap at her. Her thighs were around my head, clutching me tightly, and I probed at her, my fingers slowly playing with her soft flesh, my beard rough against her inner thighs.
I laughed with her, blowing hot air over her pussy, nibbling, sucking, playing with her clit. And when she shouted my name, her pussy clamping around my fingers, I slid my digits out, licked them clean as she looked at me, her eyes dark, her mouth parted, and then I slid into her.
We didn’t need any words, because there weren’t any for this.
Instead, her wet heat enveloped me, and my body shook, the base of my spine tingling at first contact. With another inch, I was fully seated, my body rocking against hers. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I slid one hand around to the back of her head, tilting her so I could devour more of her, my other hand digging into her thigh. I was careful never to squeeze too hard, to hurt her in any way. She was precious to me. She was everything.
How the hell had this happened? How had I fallen so quickly?
Regardless, I loved it, and I thought I might love her.
I kept moving, sharing breaths with her, arching and aching as my cock pulsed deep inside her.
When I slid my hand down her thigh and in between us, brushing along her clit, she broke apart, her cunt wet and tight around my dick. I fell into her, coming hard, filling the condom as I roared her name in my head, but my lips were on hers, so only a breath of passion escaped.
And then we were shaking, still naked in my kitchen, laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Because this wasn’t the man I had once been.
She wasn’t the woman she had been before either. But this was us, and while I knew the ramifications of what had happened earlier would likely come back to haunt me—because they always did—and I knew her ex probably wasn’t done with her, right then, I could pretend. I could just be, and that was perfectly fine with me.
Because I had been missing this for far too long.
As her hands stroked me, laughter in her eyes, and heat renewing in her skin, I knew that no matter what, we would have each other when the dam broke and reality invaded.
We would have each other.
Chapter 13
Hazel
* * *
I rubbed my temples, took off my reading glasses because they were impeding my rubbing, and then went back to it. I was usually better at focusing and not getting headaches when it came to grading, but I hadn’t slept the night before, and that was my fault. Well, mine and Cross’s. But I couldn’t blame him for that, could I? I was the one who’d slept over. Actually slept over at his house, on a school night. I’d had to rush home this morning to make sure I could get ready and dressed on time.
I had barely made it in before my first class, and I knew that if my friends could see me now, they would think that I looked like a cat in cream.
Or maybe a cat with a canary in its mouth.
I wasn’t good at that idiom. I was far better at math. Or so I told myself as I looked down at my grading.
Dustin’s homework was in front of me. As I went through it, I nodded along at the progress I saw.
He was trying so hard, but there were still a few parts he wasn’t getting. I held up my notebook and took a few notes to try a couple of other pathways for him during our next meeting. He understood far more than he had before, but something wasn’t clicking yet. I was going to figure out how to fix that.
Because he was a brilliant kid with a ton of potential. And since I hated the word potential because all it did was have negative connotations for the other side of the coin, I would never tell him that. But I was going to show him that he could do this. He could figure this out, and we would find a way to make that happen for him. Dustin had gotten a better grade on the most recent exam than he had on the first one. I could already see the improvement. I needed to stop being so hypercritical of my grading and teaching and just breathe through this.
Dustin would get it. It would take a little time and some patience, but he’d do it. I wasn’t very patient in wanting to see my students succeed, though.
I found my reading glasses again, sipped at my now-cooling tea, and went back to grading.
I was nearing my lunch break and knew I should probably leave my desk since I had a headache, so I locked everything away and headed to the other side of the building where I knew I could pick up a sandwich since I hadn’t brought a salad or anything else with me today. After all, I’d been a bit preoccupied this morning. And a little late. All because of a certain man, one with very nice looks and an even nicer cock. Not that I was going to think about that right now. I could already feel the color in my cheeks, but I didn’t let that bother me.
After all, I wasn’t going to be that woman. The one who always thought about the guy she was dating and pretended that everything was fine.
Because we weren’t dating. We were past dating. We were in a relationship.
Somehow, an accidental blind date had turned into an actual relationship. And I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure how that had happened.
But I was fine. I would figure this out. I always did.
I ordered a small sandwich from the café with an iced tea, my water already in my bag, and then took a seat in the corner so I could eat it in peace—surrounded by people but not actually having to communicate.
That was the good thing about the mathematicians in my department—they knew when to socialize, and when somebody just wanted to sit in a corner surrounded by people but still alone.
I opened my sandwich and started eating, enjoying my lunch and trying to let my brain emerge from its fog.
Of course, my phone took that moment to start buzzing.
I looked down at the group chat and smiled.
All of the girls were working today, but it seemed we had decided to take our lunch break together. Or at least, a text break together.
Paris: Don’t you find it odd that Hazel still hasn’t told us much about what she and Cross are doing?
Myra: I know, right? I mean, they’ve been on how many dates together now? And we know she’s slept with him at least five times.
My eyes widened, and I held back a laugh, mostly because I was in public, and no one needed to ask me what this conversation was about.
Dakota: Hey now, be nice. When it’s our turn, don’t we deserve a little bit of privacy?
I always knew I liked Dakota. She understood me.
Dakota: I changed my mind. I want to know all the details. Tell me. I’m living vicariously through you here.
Dakota wasn’t my favorite person.
As the girls continued to text, each one adding more emojis and exclamation points, I scrolled down and began typing.
Me: I’m working here, ladies. Isn’t this a nighttime conversation?
Paris: Aha. You’re saying you only do it in at night?
I put my hand over my mouth, holding back a laugh.
Myra: You know, maybe Cross only likes it with the lights off.
Dakota: And, gasp, missionary.
I closed my eyes, trying not to laugh, but I knew it was a lost cause.
I snorted, grateful that no one was paying attention to me because they all had their eyes on their own phones, and went back to typing.
Me: You all are horrible.
Paris: But not as horrible as Cross. I mean, if it’s awful, you need to tell us.
Me: How exactly is that any of your business?
Paris: It’s our business because we love you. And we’re all bereft. Tell us.
Myra: Please? Please? Please?
Dakota: Everyone else is begging, so I’m just going to order it. Tell us. We want to know all the details. And since we can’t see you, we can’t actually ask you to show us the distance between your palms to talk about specific attributes.
Paris: Just tell us in terms of eggplant emojis.
This time, I full out laughed, and a few people looked at me. I just waved and pointed at my phone, rolling my eyes.
“YouTube video, have it on mute. But still funny,” I said, and they seemed to believe me.
I didn’t believe myself.
Me: Please, stop. I’ll give you details in person. I’m not writing it down.
Paris: Do we need to bring the good wine? You know, so you feel better? Or do we need to bring shots so we feel better about our lack of love life?
I smiled, looked down at the phone, and typed again.
Me: I’d bring the shots, ladies.
Paris: Bazinga!
Myra: Well then, I guess we’re going to have to bring the extra shots. I’ll bring the liquor, ladies.
Dakota: And I’ll bring the baked goods because I think I’m going to have to either soak up that liquor or bury myself in carbs. I could do both.
I laughed again and then set up a time for us to meet.
I loved my girls and the fact that I could feel this giddy about a guy again. I had no idea what exactly to feel about that, though.
Because everything felt so new and hot and needy.
I still didn’t know exactly what I was doing, but I was enjoying myself. And that had to count for something. Didn’t it?
I quickly ate my lunch and then went back to work, doing my best to focus on what was in front of me rather than let worry slide through my system.
Because I had been on this path before, hadn’t I? I had felt this happiness before, or at least a version of it.
Things with Cross were far different than they had ever been with Thomas.
But I had married Thomas. I had said my vows to him and promised the fut
ure.
And when he hurt me, when he degraded me, I left.
But I hadn’t left in time.
And now, he was out, still far away according to the detectives, but what if I was wrong?
What if I was trusting when I shouldn’t?
I let that thought simmer. It worried me more than it should, and by the end of the workday, I was a mess. I packed up and headed home, but I didn’t text Cross.
I should. I should have seen how he was doing, but I knew he was working and focusing on what to do about Chris.
I didn’t text him. I didn’t call him.
Instead, I did my regular routine of going home and making sure I was safe, and then I sat on the couch and looked at my phone, wondering if this happiness was just a fluke. After all, it had been once before.
What if it was again?
Chapter 14
Cross
* * *
I stood in my home workshop, running my hands through my hair as I tried to figure out what I was going to do next. I had a few projects on my plate. I knew that I would get to them; I always did. I wasn’t one of those artists who had to be in the moment at any particular time so I could focus solely on that project. No, I only took the work I wanted to do, and figured out what I needed creatively to start them.
Those projects would come, and I would be ready for them, but for now, I needed to clear my head so I could focus on what I needed to do and then finish up these papers with my lawyer.
I was finally dissolving the partnership, and most likely suing Chris if things didn’t get worked out beforehand.
I wasn’t going to talk to him again, hence why I was working here, with my lawyer doing most of the work for me so all I had to do was focus on making more money outside of what Chris could steal from me.
I still couldn’t believe that he had forged so many fucking documents. But I should, shouldn’t I?
After all, that was the whole reason I was leaving the partnership to begin with. Because I didn’t trust him. I never should have.
Forever Only Once Page 14
