Hard to Love, Book 1

by W Winters

  “There it is,” I groan in her ear as she pushes her head back into the mattress. With each of my forearms pinned against her shoulders, I don’t give her an inch of movement. When I pick up my pace, slamming myself deeper inside of her, she has nowhere to go.

  “Take it, Babygirl,” I grit between my teeth as I fuck her harder, faster, mercilessly. Feeling her warmth wrap around my cock, she’s already screaming her pleasure in the crook of my neck.

  I pound into her, feeling her climax and reeling in the way her cunt pulses around my cock. She’s a damn good lover, urging me on and taking everything I have to give her.

  With the steady pounding of the headboard against the wall, I pick up my pace, feeling my own release coming.

  Not yet. I want her to cum again. I want to feel it all at least one more time.

  I slow down, repressing my urge, going against everything I want.

  And then I do it all over again.

  My heart’s racing and my blood ringing with adrenaline as I pick up my head to breathe when it’s all over. She whimpers when I pull myself out of her, that sound I can’t get enough of. Every sound she makes is like that. It’s everything.

  With her hair a messy halo and her eyes half lidded but still full of lust, she looks well fucked. She should always look just like this.

  Checking the clock, I only have five minutes, but Laura will give me shit if I don’t hold her for a minute. Her thighs shake when I clean her up.

  My exhale is easy as I get back into bed, listening to it creak as Laura sidles up next to me.

  It’s quiet for a moment. I kiss her hair. She told me once it’s what made her fall in love with me. When she was falling asleep, I kissed her hair. As if love is that easy.

  “You going to get another this year?” she asks me as her fingertips run down the length of one of the bands across my right bicep. I have a sleeve of tattoos running from my wrist up to my shoulder, but around my bicep are three thin bands with untouched flesh between them. One for each year I won’t ever forget. The first year, my mother died and the second, my father was murdered. The third year, I got revenge.

  “Another band?” I question her, feeling a crease settle between my brow just as she nestles into me with a soft sigh. Her eyes never leave the tattoo.

  “Yeah?” she asks.

  It’s been two years since my last tattoo. Because that’s how long we’ve been together. Maybe she doesn’t realize it’s been that long. I sure as hell do though. I didn’t get one last year. And I’m not planning on getting another.

  It was all before this. These past two years have felt like… like after. There’s no other way to describe it. She’s here; I have my crew. There are no more demons left to fight. It’s all just something I think of simply as after. “I think I might get something different,” I answer her.

  “You’re running out of room,” she humorously replies and looks up at me. Her pale blue eyes glimmer with affection. “Between the gears from your bike there might be a little space to put something.”

  A huff of a laugh leaves me and I settle back on the headboard, although the alarm clock tells me I’m already running late.

  “Maybe I’ll get something for you,” I suggest and watch how she pulls back slightly to get a better look at my face. Her disbelief makes me smirk.

  I grin as I whisper at the shell of her ear, “Don’t be too scared.”

  “Not scared,” she says, and pushes me away playfully as she answers. She still doesn’t know if I’m serious or not and I like it that way.

  Stretching my arms over my head, I roll out my shoulders and get out of bed. Grabbing my clothes, I get ready for tonight.

  She looks surprised that I’m getting dressed. Shit, I didn’t tell her. Sometimes she leaves when I’m gone, but damn do I want her to be here when I get back tonight.

  Zipping up my pants and buttoning them, I explain, “I have to go meet up with the boys. You staying here to study?”

  “Yeah, I really have to. If I do well, the advisor said I could apply to the nursing program and have a good shot.”

  “You will. You’ll ace that shit.”

  She offers me a small smile but doesn’t say anything. It’s not like either of us were good at school. There was too much shit going on. Too much real shit that took up everything we had.

  I get her insecurity, I understand it. But she’s with me. No more of that. “You’ll ace it, and then you’ll move in with me,” I tell her, as if saying it makes it an absolute.

  Laura’s eyes are silently warning me not to bring this up and she bites the inside of her cheek. I don’t push her; I don’t have time to fight about this again.

  Instead I pull my shirt down over my chest, lean over the bed, and give her a kiss. And then another with my hand spearing through her hair.

  “You go to school. Be a fine-ass nurse. I can take care of us. Your schooling and all that.”

  My words are meant to reassure her, but the bright light that’s always a constant in her eyes dims, as does her smile. She fights to keep it in place.

  “I know you don’t know how this is going to work. But I’ve got you. I’ve got us.”

  She’s quiet and that doubt is still there. She wants a certain life—a quiet, honest living with white picket fences—a different one from this, but her place is with me. She knows it, I know it, everyone does. “I’ll make sure you get everything you want. I promise,” I tell her, and my voice is resolute.

  “I love you,” is all she responds. That, and a kiss that deepens then turns into more.

  I’m going to be so fucking late.

  Laura

  Every time I see this house, it hurts. The jingle of the keys and the sound of a car driving down the road behind me are all that I have to comfort me as I walk through the front door.

  When I was a kid, I loved the slate floors of my grandma’s house. I remember thinking the coffered ceilings were the kind of thing castles had. I remember rocking on the front porch swing and the thoughts I had of stealing Mr. Timms’s roses from next door. His front yard was always prettier than Grandma’s overgrown shrubs. She worked at the diner until the week she died. She didn’t have time to smell the roses, let alone tend to them in her small front yard.

  Whenever I’d pluck a few roses, Mr. Timms always knew it was me and Grandma would make me go over and apologize once he told her. Stubborn old man liked his garden.

  That was then. Seen through the eyes of a child. I know better now. It’s a run-down house on a busy street in an old city. To add salt to the wound, the roses next door are grown over with weeds even though Mr. Timms still lives there. This street was destined for failure. I didn’t know it back then, and I’m sure Grandma didn’t see it when she bought the place after her husband of two years ran off with someone else and never looked back, abandoning her and her only son.

  The train, the highways, the steel mill behind the development. It’s all undesirable. My grandmother watched the neighborhood change as she aged. She hated what this town became when the steel mill went out of business decades ago and half the people here didn’t have a job anymore.

  I still remember the roses though. And I’ll never take down that porch swing.

  Shutting the door behind me, I take in what’s left of her home. Half the furniture is gone since holding the last estate sale. I kept Grandma’s chair though. I had it refurbished for her when the chemo stole her energy. I don’t want to sit in the chair. I don’t want to move it either.

  I just want it to stay in the corner by the lamp where she read the newspaper and gossiped on the phone to Esme, another waitress from the diner.

  Breathing out a tired sigh, I push off from the door and stare down at the bills in my hand. Grandma had plenty of them. And they keep coming.

  I should sell this place, pay off the debts, and move in with Seth. At least that’s what he says. But that’s a little too much like moving on from the only person who was a constant in my life and putt
ing all my faith in a man. A man who won’t even tell me he loves me. Even if I love him, he scares me. All of this scares me.

  The sound of the door creaking open startles me and I reward the newcomer with wide eyes and taking the Lord’s name in vain.

  It’s only Cami.

  “Shit,” she says and cringes when she sees my hand over my chest. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.” She ducks her head a little with a grin as she shuts the door and says beneath her breath, “My bad.”

  “You could have knocked,” I tell her and toss the stack of envelopes onto the side table at the entrance. It’s butted up against the stairs that lead to the second floor. The hard maple side table has been there for years. When I was a kid, I thought about jumping off the balcony on the second floor and landing on the table. A neighborhood friend was chasing me when we were playing tag. I was a reckless and stupid girl. Hell, I’m still lacking in that department.

  “Since when do I knock?” Cami walks right past me down the narrow hall and I follow her then stop when she gets to the kitchen. Leaning against the threshold and crossing my arms, I watch her open the fridge and take out a can of cola.

  “You kinda look like hell,” Cami comments with a wrinkled nose and then adds, “and you need to go grocery shopping.”

  “And to think… you’re the bright light in my world,” I say to mock my closest friend and her constant peppy tone.

  She laughs as she cracks open the can, drinking soda at 9:00 in the morning. Her long blonde hair is a mess; it’s obvious she hasn’t brushed it yet, and she’s still in her pajamas.

  “You’re looking rough yourself.”

  “Long night,” she says cryptically and takes another sip, but she can’t disguise the devilish smile she’s hiding.

  Her grin is infectious, and I join her at the small oak table in the kitchen.

  “Shut up,” I say then gasp as my eyes go wide. “Derrick?” I question her, feeling all those ooey gooey and excited emotions racing inside of me.

  “Mm-hmm.” She can’t even speak as she nods her head. Beaming, her full lips are upturned as her cheeks turn red.

  “Did you guys…?”

  She shakes her head quickly and shoves the can of soda a few inches in front of her, looking at it and then me. “Not yet. I just don’t want it to be a one-time thing, you know?” She talks quickly when she’s nervous. Not even taking a breath, she continues. “He came over and we watched a movie. It was awful.” She looks past me and shakes her head. “Like truly awful. I don’t know why I let him pick.” She breathes in for the first time, deep and easing the tension through her shoulders as she adds, “But it doesn’t matter, because he pulled me in all close.” She gets up and goes around the table. “Like this, you know,” she tells me as she wraps her arm around my shoulders and makes me laugh.

  “And then…” I draw out the last word, waiting for her to tell me the good stuff.

  She shrugs, strutting back to her seat and taking a drink while she makes me wait.

  “You’re insufferable.”

  “And you love me.”

  I pull my lips into a grimace for half a second but then add, “I do love you.”

  “I love you too… and I loved it when he kissed me.” She can’t contain her giddiness as she practically dances in her seat. “Not even just once, but five times.”

  “Any makeout sessions?” I question and she nods as she replies, “Yup.” The P pops as she says it. “Twice.”

  “So the yearlong crush is finally becoming something,” I say then smile as I get up and search for coffee. I listen to Cami regale me with the details of last night, putting the grounds in the top and pushing the button to start the coffee maker.

  “Slow and steady,” Cami says, then downs the last of her soda and gets up to grab another one. “Not like you two,” she adds.

  The coffee machine hisses, and I couldn’t agree more.

  “Different strokes and all that,” I half-heartedly reply. We did go too fast. It’s hard to come back from all of that. We were both tumbling downhill, and there’s no going slow when your life is free-falling. Better to fall fast together than apart.

  “Any update on that matter?” she asks.

  “Well since you’re making out with his best friend…” I trail off and exhale heavily while I stir sugar into my coffee and the spoon clinks against the ceramic mug. “...you should know,” I conclude before looking her in the eye.

  Sitting back in her seat at the table, she asks me, “Seriously. You going to be okay?” Both of her hands are wrapped around the Coke can as she leans forward.

  “You’re so intense sometimes.” I try to shake it off like Seth does, but Cami sees through me.

  “Have you told him?” she asks.

  I run my nail along one of the gouges in the wooden table as she talks. This table’s been through a lot, but it’s another thing I’ll never get rid of. Grandma said it belonged to her mom. So, really, it’s the only heirloom I’ve got. I’ve sat here and celebrated; cried and mourned. I sat here as I studied… even if I didn’t do so well in school. The first kiss I ever had was in the kitchen threshold and shortly after that, Seth took me on this table.

  Yeah, I’m never getting rid of this table.

  “It’s okay if you didn’t.”

  I confess, “He knows.”

  “And?”

  “And he was all… you know, as good as he could be about it.” It hurts. Everything hurts, so I drink my coffee like it’ll wash all these bad feelings down.

  “It’s a lot to go through at once.”

  “His solution is for me to move in with him, and he’ll just take care of everything,” I say as I toss my hand in the air and then stare down at my coffee through glossy eyes.

  I won’t tell her how he still didn’t say it. He still didn’t say that he loves me. It’s so stupid, but with everything going on, it means so much to me that Cami’s the only one in my life who will say it. She may be the only one to ever tell me those words again.

  “Don’t cry.” Cami’s voice is consoling. “You’re going through a lot,” she repeats.

  “I’m not crying,” I tell her a little too sternly and calm myself down, shaking out my hands. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. And that’s okay.” Ever positive and nurturing. I love her, but she doesn’t get it. We may both be in our early twenties, but she hasn’t gone through an ounce of what I’ve seen in the last three years. Let alone my childhood.

  “What am I going to do?” I ask her, not knowing myself.

  “You think too much,” she tells me after a long moment of silence.

  “You don’t think enough.”

  “That’s not the first time you’ve said that,” she jokes, and I let a puff of laughter leave me.

  “First things first. You’re going to study while I go through the bills. We have more than enough to pay the minimum on all of them…” She pauses as she hesitates but adds what I already know she’s going to say, “I still think you should tell Seth. He would pay them off.”

  “And I’d be in debt to him and he’d have more of a reason for me to sell it all and give it all away.”

  She stares at me for a moment, not saying what’s on her mind. Straightening in her seat, she drinks the rest of her second can of soda, making me even more jealous of how skinny she is. “You study, we pay the bills, and then we meet up with our men who are oh so bad for us and have a damn good time.” She ends with a smile and the one I give her back is genuine.

  “Yeah,” I answer her, taking a sip of the much-needed coffee. “You’re right. That’s a good plan.”

  She gets up to toss her can in the recycling bin, but she stops where she is and turns to me with a serious expression. “I’m happy you told him.”

  I swallow the bitter coffee, not knowing what to say. Happy and that moment don’t belong together.

  Seth

  “What’s up with this girly shit?” Derrick’s voice bell
ows from behind me. He’s not even through the front doors of this place and he’s already being a prick.

  I give it a moment, letting my eyes settle on his pale pink button-up paired with dark jeans. “You talking about that shirt you’re wearing?”

  It looks ridiculous. Derrick is jacked. He works out constantly and he was already built to be a big man.

  He grunts a laugh and says, “The girl I’m seeing likes it. Fuck off.” My chuckle is deep and short lived.

  “Must really like this one,” I comment. I’ve never known him to settle down or even remember the names of the different chicks he’s with every week. Not until now. Times are changing, though. For all of us.

  Standing in the middle of all this construction, of what will soon be my club, change is all I can think about.

  “Girlfriend material?” I ask him.

  “Something like that,” he says, keeping his answer cryptic. Landing a hand on my shoulder, Derrick gives me a squeeze and adds, “Finally coming together, brother.”

  “That it is.”

  He squeezes again, commenting that the couch in the corner is too fucking girly for our club, as if he has any taste at all, and heads past me to the bar. It’s not stocked yet, but the guys keep a stash on hand in the fridge. Drills are going, the TVs are being mounted, and the furniture is set in place now that the floors are down. The crew we hired is fast and on point.

  Laura picked out the furniture, well most of it, including the sofa Derrick’s not a fan of. It’ll all come together. She shares my vision, and the guys will get on board.

  Cracking open a bottle and tossing the cap into the bin with a clink, Derrick’s voice echoes as he asks, “Where are the fights going to be?”

  Selling guns is how we got this far, old business that was set in stone when we took over, but the fighting and betting? That’s a steady flow of cash I didn’t know was possible. A bar to push the dirty money through is the cherry on top.