by Frost, Sosie
Honey reached for me. I ignored her touch.
I didn’t know why.
“I’m not a man who cared about his father,” I said. “Not one of those people who would do anything to earn his approval. But I wish that, for just one fucking moment, he would have treated me like my brothers.”
“And no one knew anything?” she asked.
“Fuck no. Mom kept it a secret. The affair. Getting knocked up. Everything. And Dad took her back knowing I wasn’t his. Punished me for it, not her. And for over twenty goddamned years, he didn’t have the balls to tell me the truth, to give me a reason he beat on me so much.”
Honey watched as I paced the room. Hated that. Hated how she saw me. How she always searched inside me, like I had anything else I might have offered her.
I wasn’t a complicated man. I wore everything on my sleeve—and then tattooed it on my flesh so no one would forget. I didn’t tolerate lying and never spoke a false word, yet Honey demanded more. More answers. More kisses. More of…
Me.
“I can’t believe you kept it a secret this whole time,” she whispered.
Seemed the easiest thing to do. “Everyone hated me anyway. Didn’t want to give them more reasons.”
“Hated you?”
Why was I telling her any of this shit? I’d never needed to unburden my soul before. That’s why God had invented whiskey. But without a drink to drown the truth, the words tumbled out. And, for some reason, she listened.
Varius always said confession was good for the soul. I’d never believed him. It was one thing to confess sins to someone above who couldn’t be assed to listen. It was another to reveal all the shitty, terrible things from my past to the one woman who wouldn’t stop caring.
“I told you about the barn burning down.” My voice turned hoarse, still scarred by the smoke. “I said shit hit the fan the night it burned down. But I didn’t tell you why I was in the barn. Why I couldn’t spend one more fucking moment with the man who had just spat in my face and told me he wasn’t my father.”
“You weren’t hiding?”
“Hiding only so I wouldn’t kill him.” My fists still ached for the pleasure of cracking his nose. “Or myself. Fuck. I’d just wanted to be alone. Had a smoke. And for just one split-second…I realized that I’d been vindicated. I was right. He didn’t have a reason to hate me.” I held her stare. “But I could give him one.”
I mimed the flick of a cigarette butt.
Honey gasped. “The fire wasn’t an accident?”
Not at first. Not until I lit the second cigarette.
And I loathed myself for it.
“It was one idiotic moment of blind hatred,” I whispered. “I hated him. Hated myself. Hated my mother. Hated the farm and the family and the years and years of shit abuse. So, I dropped the cigarette…”
“And?”
“Regretted it immediately.”
“What did you do?”
“Only thing I could do,” I said. “Dove over it. Gave myself second-degree burns on my hands and arms trying to beat the fire out. But the barn was practically tinder at that point. Rotten wood stuffed to the rafters with hay. Only took a couple seconds before it was over.”
She bit her lip. “You’re lucky you’re alive.”
“Only cause Rem pulled me out. Hauled me out of the barn, punched me in the fucking face, and told me not to say a goddamned word. He took responsibility for the fire.”
“He must have really loved you.”
“Maybe.” My voice lowered. “Or maybe he’d finally had enough. Rem blames himself for how I turned out, but, in reality, he was a good kid. I sunk him down. Dragged him to the parties. Put the beers in his hand, handed him the first joint. Without me, he would have straightened the fuck out. Married my sister years ago.”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“Of course, I can.” I laughed. “Without me, none of this shit would have happened. Rem knew it. He realized what was happening—how bad it was and how worse it could get. He saw an opportunity to run, and he took it. He shouldered the blame so he could get away from me. It was the smartest thing he ever did.”
She shook her head. “Tidus, not everyone has an ulterior motive. Rem wanted to take care of you. A lot of people do.”
That I didn’t believe. “He gave me a second chance, but what chance did I ever have?”
“The same chance as any of us.” She smiled. “A chance to be happy.”
“Fuck.” Like it was that easy. “You want to know where I was going tonight? Why I went to Ironfield?”
Honey answered so honestly, so emphatically, that I almost thought it was sarcasm.
“Yes. Please.”
“Because every day for the past five months—since the last time I blacked out—I’ve been trying to figure out what the fuck made me this way.”
“What way?”
“Broken.”
She reached for me. I ignored her.
“Tidus, you aren’t broken.”
“How can I know that until I know who the hell I really am!” I pounded a fist against my chest. “I don’t have a fucking clue whose blood pumps through my veins. Until I find out what sort of man my real father was, how can I know who I’ll become?”
“You are not your biological father,” she said. “Just as you’re not the man who raised you.”
“Can you be sure?”
Honey stood. She got too close to me and took my hand in hers.
Why did I tell her all this?
“Is that why you’re always going to Ironfield?” she asked. “Are you looking for your father?”
I nodded.
“Did you find him?”
“Yeah.”
That surprised her. “Have…you ever talked to him?”
No, and it was just another source of shame for an already humiliated man. “I know where he lives, but I haven’t seen him. I’ve never had the balls to knock on his door.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Curious?” I laughed. “Honey, I’m fucking terrified. I sit outside his house in my truck, just watching. Waiting. Summoning the courage to go to his door. Every time I go to Ironfield, I tell myself that I’m not leaving until I do it. Then I sit in the truck until I pass out from exhaustion because I have no goddamned idea what I’ll find.”
“Why torture yourself?”
Because I had no other choice. “I need to look this man in the eyes.”
“Why?”
“So I’ll know if I stand a chance in this world.”
Honey didn’t let me walk away. She gently kissed my fingers. Comforting.
Didn’t deserve it.
Any of it.
“What chance?” she whispered. “Tidus, you’ve already escaped the worst parts of your life—but you haven’t started to live yet. What can this man tell you about yourself that you don’t already know?”
“Everything. I’m sober now, but that means fucking nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t understand it, Honey.” I pulled from her. “I can still taste my last sip of whiskey. I remember the smell. The texture. The bottle in my hand. Warm, because my hands shook too much to hold a glass with ice. That urge doesn’t go away. That need.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Don’t ask me about the harder drugs. Don’t think I have the strength to even explain that fucking joy.”
She shook her head. “You’re stronger than you think, Tidus. You’ve been sober for this long—”
“Five fucking months? That’s nothing. That’s just enough time to start thinking I’ve escaped. But there is no escape. There is no finish line. I will fight this until the day I die or the day I surrender. And I have no idea if I can handle it because I have no idea who I am.”
“You are Tidus Payne.”
“I’m not.” My voice roughened. “I’m not a Payne. I’m another man’s bastard son. What if I’m destined to be a piece of shit like him? What if this is
who I’m meant to be?” I flashed the scar on the inside of my elbow, the track marks even a tattoo couldn’t hide. “What if I’m always gonna be some worthless, half-drunk, broken addict gunning for an early death?”
“Do you really fear that?”
More than fucking anything. “What if every group I’ve attended, every baggie I’ve flushed, and every bottle I’ve broken is for nothing? What if the progress I make is for nothing because there’s always something inside me that prevents me from healing?”
“And what if there’s not?” Honey asked.
Then she wasn’t optimistic—she was a fool.
“I’m not telling my family about the sobriety,” I said. “I can’t get their hopes up…not if there’s even the slightest chance I can’t stay clean. I’m not going to disappoint them again.”
Her hands were warm. Soft. I wasn’t used to that feeling—how gently she could stroke my cheek, my arms, my chest. She pulled me towards her.
I didn’t want comfort. Didn’t understand it. Couldn’t handle the kindness. Honey was better than me in every way, but I didn’t have the strength to push her away.
She stared at me with those baby-bunny eyes. “You are not going to fail, Tidus.”
“You don’t know a thing about me.”
Honey smiled. It killed me. “Maybe that’s good.”
“How?”
“Because I don’t know anything about your past, where you came from, or what you’ve done. All I see is a man in front of me. A brave man. Someone who has been hurt and hurt badly.” Her words softened. “I see a man who doesn’t need any help…but might want someone to cheer him on.”
It couldn’t be that easy.
It’d never been that easy.
But Honey’s words seduced me harder than heroine.
She tugged me to the couch, forcing me to sit. Her kisses silenced my words and froze me in confusion. It was too much. The softness. Her promises. Her compassion.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Knew even less how to ease my raging cock.
Honey moved onto my lap, straddling me, holding my face between her dark fingertips.
“Please, talk to me,” she whispered. Her full lips parted. Did she want to be kissed or did she silence her own words? “I’m here for you. I want to help. Tell me what I can do.”
Nothing.
She could stay perfectly still. Slow time. Ignore the world.
How long before I said the wrong thing, revealed the wrong truth, and broke her beautiful heart?
I wasn’t good with words. I’d already exposed everything that should’ve stayed hidden. Nothing else to give her. Nothing else to say. Nothing that might’ve explained to her who I was or what I wanted to become.
I had nothing else to offer her.
But she could offer me everything.
I wrapped my arm around her, coiling it up to capture her neck in my hand. She went still as I held her firm. A damned miracle. The woman usually squirmed and wiggled and fought for me as hard as I tried to pin her down.
My blood boiled as she surrendered to my kiss. Fuck. This woman would destroy me. Every second I held her in my arms I trespassed in paradise.
Couldn’t get enough.
Couldn’t get away.
Couldn’t tell myself no.
That new addiction should’ve terrified me. Instead, the heat coursed through my veins with crazed passion. Honey’s whimpers made me harder. She slid over my jeans and ground against the denim. Her hands tangled with me as we both reached for my zipper. With a frustrated whine, she struggled against her own jeans, refusing to remove her lips from mine as she kicked them away and settled on me.
I didn’t have patience for her panties. Had even less desire to take them off. I yanked them to the side, freed my cock, and held her over me.
One of these days, I’d be gentle with this woman.
One night, I’d take her how she was meant to be taken. Gently. Reverently. Worshipped and caressed.
It would not be this time.
Tonight, rage battled misery. Frustration threatened to suffocate me. Waiting was anathema. Tenderness lost.
I gripped Honey by the hips and slammed her onto my cock, embedding her entirely with every inch of my straining flesh.
I feared I’d hurt her.
Just the opposite.
Honey wrapped her arms around my shoulders and buried her face against my neck. Her words faded into soft whimpers as I invaded her warmth.
I’d brought her to orgasm with a single thrust. What might’ve been a source of pride filled me with dread.
Honey was as lost in me as I was in her.
I held her tight, nearly burned by that heat enveloping me, pumping me, promising me forbidden pleasure. Honey was every sanctuary I’d never explored. Every kindness I’d never taken. Every comfort that might’ve shielded me from my own destruction.
As bad for me as any drug.
I’d drowned myself in alcohol and shoveled handfuls of any pill into my mouth to find that same escape. But the one thing I’d learned after months of cold sweats, teeth-chattering shakes, and rock-bottom pain was that anything that felt that good…
Was bad.
I hated to think it, but the truth tore at my soul.
Honey wasn’t helping me.
Honey had become my newest addiction.
And she had no fucking idea.
How could she? The woman’s smile brightened the darkness, and her touch soothed my endless torture. I had nothing to defend myself from her beauty, her kindness—hell, even her delicious cooking.
Honey was a living, breathing, amazing woman who offered me everything with the bounce of her hips against mine.
For too long, I’d lost myself in her presence. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. She mastered everything that had once destroyed me. But instead of offering me strength, she drove me to weakness.
Just one more touch.
One more kiss.
One more mind-shattering orgasm as she bounced, shuddered, and collapsed in my arms.
Maybe I’d always be a slave to my addictions. I had nothing else to offer society, nothing else that’d ever bring me as much pleasure as surrendering to animal instinct and escaping a world that hated me as much as I hated it.
What harm was there in fueling this addiction? What could be better than feeding the sin as Honey’s body arched, core tightened, and the heat coiled within us both? I’d never been strong enough to fight. My cock was too big, her pussy too tight, and every movement within her a delirious strike deep into her soul.
Honey murmured my name.
And she asked for me.
She begged for me.
She wanted me.
The woman had so much potential, and yet she destroyed her future as thoroughly as I’d ruined my past. She forced herself deeper to fit every last inch of me within her. She rocked over my lap, bouncing to exhaustion—through shivers and aftershocks, crippling agony and blissful release.
And she did it all to delight me.
She offered me too much—the best and worst of this world.
I’d spent the last five months living in pain. My willpower had strained, fractured, but hadn’t broken.
Not until tonight.
I surrendered to the trembles of her body, watched as her ebony petals engulfed me with heat and slickness. The vulgarity of it—the beauty of it—nearly drove me insane. I spread her open, claimed the deepest parts of her, and still, she whispered my name.
I’d hit many highs in my life, and sunk to more lows, but nothing rocked me harder than losing myself inside the only woman who thought she understood those demons.
The intensity boiled inside of me, bursting into her with thick, molten ribbons of my own desire, regret, rage, surrender…
I lost myself.
Broke every rule of sobriety.
She was too perfect for me. Too good.
Honey Hudson made me happy.
And that
made her no better than the drugs, alcohol, and life I’d left behind.
I’d hurt myself too many times before. Didn’t give a shit about my own feelings, heart, body. But, when I’d finally forced myself into the pit that was sobriety, I’d made one unbreakable vow.
I swore I’d never again hurt someone who tried to care for me.
But Honey was as bad for me as I was for her.
And my only salvation was that if I wasn’t strong enough to break the addiction…
I wouldn’t be cruel enough to break her heart.
14
Honey
Tidus was a difficult man.
He made it difficult to cook, clean, think…
Tough to do anything when I melted so easily in his arms.
I folded my hand into his as I peeked into the pot on the stove. My truck had a nicer kitchen, but it felt good to stand up straight, and I had room for the full line of ingredients and dishes.
It also helped to be far from anything reminding me of Daddy while I committed culinary blasphemy.
I left the call on speakerphone, shooing Tidus away as his hands began to wander.
“Don’t you forget, Honeybee…” Daddy busied himself in his own kitchen, rattling pots just to drive Momma up the wall. “You only want a teaspoon of salt.”
I’d doubled it. “I know, Daddy.”
“And one tablespoon of garlic powder.”
I’d added one teaspoon. “I remember, Daddy.”
“One tablespoon onion powder.”
I’d halved it.
“Half a cup of bourbon.”
I hadn’t added any. Instead, I’d brewed a strong batch of espresso and poured in about three tablespoons.
“Can’t beat that recipe,” Daddy said. “No, sir. That is the finest sauce you’re gonna taste this side of Heaven.”
I dipped my finger into the pot before turning off the heat. My recipe was nothing like Daddy’s—still just as savory and spicy but teased with a chocolate and coffee shadow that had filled Tidus’s apartment with a blue-ribbon aroma.
“Only got a couple more days until the Brawl-B-Que,” Daddy said. “Are you nervous?”
“No way.” I lied. “You taught me everything. All I gotta do is cook a little brisket and bathe in glory.”
Tidus perked up, his gaze hungry. “I do love it in the shower.”
