Star-Crossed Secrets

by Kali Brixton

  And she always will be.

  36

  Everleigh

  Cheetos + rocky road ice cream = a much-needed coma.

  After dragging my sorry ass up here, I thought a junk food binge and mindless TV would be a willing formula for the blues. I think the only things I accomplished was a three-hour nap, a zit that will no doubt arrive tomorrow, and cellulite. Even when I showered earlier, I still couldn’t get the funk of today off me because it’s bone deep.

  I had played against fate in a game of Russian roulette and lost.

  Big time.

  There’s no more hope of making things better now, so everything else can wait.

  Lia sent me a few texts this evening to call her. All she got in return was a text back saying that I’d talk to her in the morning because, to be honest, I can’t possibly handle anything else today.

  I’m done.

  So officially fucking done.

  If I speak to any of the girls tonight, I know myself well enough to realize that nothing good would come out of what I have to say. The same motherfucking club I didn’t want a damn thing to do with in the first place is the same damn club that’s now cost me my career and my chances of sparing a little girl and her grandmother from separation during Greta’s last few years.

  And the fucking cherry on top of this clusterfuck-filled sundae is the fact that come two p.m. tomorrow, a beautiful Italian girl will walk down the aisle and marry the man I can’t help but love with every fiber of my being.

  Life just checkmated my ass hard and dry today and told me to suck it.

  So, instead of putting on my big girl panties and dealing with the fallout, I’m going to find something to lose myself in until I can fall back asleep and forget all about disloyal workers, vengeful bitches, cheating fathers, and men who were always so far out of my league, they might as well have lived on Jupiter.

  Grabbing the remote, I put my Cheetos bag on the coffee table with my half-melted container of rocky road and curl back up under my heavy fleece blanket. It’s sad when the only ice cream in your freezer ironically reflects the current state of your life. The rain pours down heavily outside my big floor-to-ceiling windows, matching my yucky mood perfectly. I should go crawl in bed, but if I do, that puts me closer to waking up in the morning, with a big unsolvable puzzle still awaiting me to crack.

  Fuck it. Let’s see what the satellite has to offer at midnight.

  New releases to rent that I didn’t even want to watch at the theaters.

  Unrealistic porn with ridiculous titles.

  You may keep your Assraelis and Penistinians, thank you very much.

  A local news piece covering a car bombing on the other side of Atlanta.

  Some asshole probably pissed off the wrong person and got barbecued. No, thanks.

  The 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice.

  Yeah, that’s exactly what I need. Unattainable, ill-fated love with a precious declaration of undying devotion at the end. That shit only happens in movies and romance novels.

  Next.

  Zombies eating the brains of people who don’t have any in the first place.

  A vacuum cleaner with a cat-massager attachment.

  I have no words for that one.

  I keep flipping and flipping until an old favorite pops up.

  Ah. Something I can live with…

  As Drew Barrymore builds a house of waffles while Adam Sandler tries to get her to notice him, I can’t help but envy her character a bit. Wouldn’t it be lovely if your memory would wipe clean each morning when you woke up? A fresh start every day with the pain of the past far, far away.

  I sigh deeply. If only…

  My eyelids grow heavy once more as Rob Schneider makes his cameo, and I hope I can dream of Hawaiian pizzas and a world where everything magically works itself out in two or three hours.

  Although, when I finally do fall asleep and dream, it’s about doors being knocked on loudly.

  Soft, then hard. Then harder still.

  Close, then closer.

  I jolt with a start, realizing that the pounding in my dream is someone knocking at my front door. My clock in the kitchen reads a few minutes after midnight. Who the fucking hell is stupid enough to pound on my door at this hour?

  Another knock rings through the heavy wooden door as I scrape myself off the couch cushions and stumble over to the door. If someone thinks they’re pranking me without catching an ass-whoopin’, they’ve got another thing coming…

  But the peephole is much crueler than some ding-dong ditching douchebag.

  Because standing on the other side of my door is a drenched Luca, looking like he’s getting ready to knock once more.

  I should go into my bedroom and pretend he’s not there. Call security and have them remove him from the building. Better still, I should invite him in and use him as the pincushion for the new blade that the Amazon fairy left me the other day along with childproofing materials I no longer need.

  I know I shouldn’t open this door.

  So, tell me why my fingers won’t listen to reason and are unlocking everything right now? Even stranger is why my hand is turning the doorknob, letting in trouble that has no business being here. And the coup de grace? As I’m standing here lookin’ like a hot mess, the man who broke my heart stands outside my door for whatever reason, drenched from head to toe, and could pass for a model for in men’s perfume ad.

  Why? Because life is not only a cruel bitch, but an unfair one as well.

  Luca

  Ev stands at the door, sleep heavy in her eyes, looking like every man’s fantasy with her tight pajamas hugging every delectable curve on her perfect body. Her dark hair is piled high on her head and her face is clean of makeup. How is she always so beautiful? So amazing? I know I look like a wet dog that got caught out in the rain because I had to park so far away from her building’s front door and here she stands, absolute perfection.

  She opens the door wider, a bewildered expression. “Luca, why are you—?“

  I close the distance between us as she speaks and plant my lips on hers, demanding her kiss. Soft pillows meet mine, pouty lips I’ve been deprived of for far too long. A mouth I need to devour like it’s my last meal and I’m a starving man.

  My arms wrap around her waist and pull her close as I kiss her with everything I have to give, unable to hold back now. She needs to feel this—this insatiable hunger I have for her. How much I crave her, need her…

  Whack!

  Pain throbs in my cheek as I open my eyes and see the fury in hers.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she yells, pushing me away, wiping her mouth. “You’re getting married in like fourteen hours and you have the fucking nerve to come here and kiss me like that?” Her screech is loud, but there’s a catch in her voice. “What kind of selfish asshole does that?”

  Holding the side of my face that just got slapped, I watch her walk into the living area, pacing as she shakes out her hands. “The kind of selfish asshole who loves you.”

  There’s a slight hitch in her step, causing her to stumble at my words. Ev comes to a halt, frozen and unwilling to look at me. “Don’t.” She turns and side-eyes me, her face turning to stone. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “Do what?” I ask as I lock her door, regretting that I forgot how hard this girl slaps.

  Her stance is still as she brings her arms around and crosses them under her amazing breasts. “Don’t come here thinking you can say things like that to sow some late-minute wild oats before getting married.” Her eyes are glassy, her hands wild and flailing. “It’s been a horrible day, and I don’t have the patience for kicking you in the balls. I’ll cut those suckers clean off and put them in my trophy case. Then, I’ll have a mess to mop up and a body to deal with in the morning.”

  She looks completely serious—and most likely is—but she’s going to listen to everything I say before deciding the fate of my testicles. “I need to tell you some things, but
first and foremost, there will be no wedding tomorrow.”

  Her eyes meet mine. “What are you talking about?”

  I take a couple of tentative steps toward her, noticing her foot leaning back when I take the third step as if she’s afraid to come near me. “I broke it off.”

  Her arms cross in disbelief. “And what's your fiancée have to say about that?”

  “Not much since she’s with her husband and their son.”

  Ev’s face is comically distorted as she tries to wrap her mind around my words. “Husband?”

  “And their son. None of that matters, though.” I brave another few steps toward her as she retreats another two. “Because the only girl for me is standing right here, looking at me like I’m insane. Which is okay, because I am. I’m certifiable when it comes to her.”

  Her arms tighten as if she’s trying to protect herself—from me, from the pain, from everything that tainted our time together.

  I step into the living room area, putting us both in the same space, bringing us closer once again. “She’s the one and only girl I’ve ever loved. And when she told me almost seven years ago that she loved me too, I couldn’t say it back.” Ev’s chest expands more than normal, no doubt trying to catch a breath and push away the past hurts as I close the distance step by step, slowly to not scare her away. “Not because I didn’t want to, but because I loved her so damn much,”—my eyes squeeze together, then reopen and refocus—“I’d do anything to keep her safe—including agreeing to a marriage I didn’t want to protect my family and her from someone horrible. But that’s over now…and I’m not going anywhere.”

  Everleigh

  Hazel orbs lock onto me through their scope as the crosshairs of determination level at me, leaving me defenseless. He stalks toward me like I’m his prey, laser focus, no hitch in his step. It’s methodical and wild all at the same time. I need to escape, but my body’s rendered useless, electrified by his stare and his pursuit.

  I can’t think straight. All this…whatever’s he’s doing is clouding my senses, pushing out reason and common sense. Only a few tattered threads of clarity remain to see through it all. Stay strong. “What makes you think that this is what I want?” I question as I come to the end of the road.

  My back hits the brick wall, rendering me motionless as he continues to stalk toward me.

  Three steps.

  I should flee—or at least fight. Yet, this live wire within my body, thrumming with excitement demands surrender, especially under his predatory stare.

  Two steps.

  “Because you are the other half of my soul, Everleigh Greene. You’re the very best part of me, the part I can’t live without—and I never want to from this moment on.”

  One.

  His hand extends across the small space, asking silently for mine. Sharp stings of electricity bite where our fingers touch as he pulls my hand behind enemy lines. A calloused thumb smoothes over the top of my hand, somehow stroking my heartstrings with each gentle strum. “Every cell in my body knows you. Your laughter, your cries. Your tears of pain, and your sighs of pleasure. Every last one of them is written right here.” Bringing my hand to his chest, he flattens it against the damp fabric until steady thunder rumbles against it.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  The symphony that became my white noise machine years ago, a masterful wave that revives me as it pulls me under.

  His voice softens as he draws closer. “I’ve spent a long time trying to make my way back to you, Ev, hoping for another chance at ‘us’…and I hope to fuck you want that too.”

  Our lungs fill with the air of the shared space between us, forging us together.

  I can’t give in, though. That’s how half of a decade disappeared without apology. I lower my gaze, needing the connection broken before I do something stupid like give in. Because if I fall this time, it will be the end of me.

  “How can I ever trust you after what you said to me that night?” My voice sounds so broken, I almost don’t recognize it myself. “Why should I believe you, Luca?”

  He lowers my hand and begins unbuttoning his shirt. I watch as he peels away the layer, then reaches for the hem of his undershirt.

  Sex won’t fix this. It’s a band-aid, a patch. I need real, beyond-carnal love. The kind that prevents the hurt at all costs, but can redeem itself in the moments when all else fails.

  “Luca, this isn’t about—“ My reasons for why this can’t happen halt in their tracks as his naked torso comes into view.

  The soaked white shirt hits the floor, leaving only hewn muscle and ink behind. A story is inscribed on his chest, one I’ve never been told before on a tablet I once knew so well. A tale that begs to be retold.

  Silhouettes of tall pines litter his chest from shoulder to shoulder. A forest of secrets.

  He glances down at the tattoos, then looks back at me. “A year after I left, I was so homesick. Everything was new and different and all I wanted was a reminder of where I truly belong.”

  I bring my hand to touch them, to make sure they’re real and not some crazy dream. Muscled flesh pebbles beneath my touch, still wet from the rain. I trace branch after branch, from one tree to the next. “Georgia pines?”

  “I prefer to call them evergreens.”

  A twinge echoes deep in my heart. That ridiculous nickname I’ve hated for so long, now made beautiful, meaningful in just a few short words.

  I trace my way through the forest and come to the edges of a metal object, drawn to be so life-like, its sole job to help its owner find purpose and direction.

  “Someone who once believed in me told me that if I ever lost my way, I’d always have a home in her heart.”

  I gulp hard, the memories of that day clawing at this one. His compass. A gift I thought didn’t mean anything because I didn’t, now a prominent piece of the artwork.

  The compass is tilted, with true north pointing toward the centerpiece of the tattoo—a large black wolf with a haunting emerald stare. “This is the direction I choose. That I’ll always choose from this day forward.”

  I smile as I stroke the imaginary fur of our shared Celtic zodiac animal. “Your wolf.” I didn’t think he cared when Dad told us all our animals because his Italian heritage differs from our Irish and Scottish ones.

  “It’s our wolf…” His hand closes over mine and holds it still, his gaze sober and serious. “But I don’t have green eyes.”

  Every blink tries to clear away the flood of impending tears, tears I didn’t think I still had left to shed, only to fail. A soft sob escapes me as I look at the whole picture.

  His fingers capture my chin as I memorize in disbelief the beautiful artwork he committed to his body forever, forcing me to look into eyes that are as misty as mine. “There’s been a lot of time that’s passed since last we were together, Ev, but you were always with me. Every moment, every breath for the last six years, there wasn’t a second that I didn’t want to be wherever you were.”

  My chest tightens with the overflow of emotions swirling within it.

  “I know this makes me a completely selfish bastard, but I wanted you to miss me as much as I missed you—to love me with every fiber of your being the way I love you.”

  Tears overflow their banks and flood down my cheeks.

  He missed me.

  He loves me.

  His hands cup my face as his mouth descends on mine, pressing me into the brick wall, stealing my breath with movement and assault. His teeth, his tongue, his lips. Giving and taking, taking and giving. Claiming me and letting me claim him in return.

  My fingers thread into his thick, dark strands, holding him close as continues to kiss me into oblivion. His hands meander down my body, a body that’s teeming with excitement it’s not felt in years. He pulls my waist to him, closing any space between us, his hard erection brushing against me as we move against one another. I release his hair and glide my nails against his ribs, latching into his back as I h
old him as closely as he holds me. Brand new muscle is woven beneath a familiar tapestry of perfection. He groans into my mouth and grinds his hard cock between us. One of his forearms leans against the wall near my head as he breaks the kiss to nip at my lips. The other snakes slowly between us, flattening against the outside of my pajama bottoms as it descends to where I crave his touch. I arch into him when he finds the right spot, his firm hand pressing against me as it brushes against my slit through my clothes.

  “Tell me, Evergreen,” he murmurs against my lips as I pant. “Is this wetness I feel here,”—he grinds his touch into me, making me edge closer to losing control—“From the rain soaking my pants?” He transforms his pressure into gentle brushes, teasing me now. “Or from this sweet figa of yours?”

  I moan at his words and ministrations, needing more.

  His feather-soft touches drag slowly up the front of my pants and toy with the waistband. “Give me permission, Ev.”

  My half-lidded eyes meet his heavy gaze as I nod my head slowly, forgetting everything but what I need most from him at this moment. Holding my stare, his hand slips beneath my underwear and slowly finds its way to my arousal-soaked folds. His fingers explore and play, slipping against me.

  “Fuck,” Luca bites out. “You’re soaking wet, Ev.”

  The muscles in my lower abdomen tighten with each stroke of his fingers. He continues to tease my clit as one finger slips through my arousal, and finds my entrance. The tip of his finger slowly breaches it and works its way in further, then further still. “So damn tight.” He works me over, again and again, the sensitivity of the entire area mounting, making my body hum. Another finger slowly joins the other, stretching me even more. The burn sharp at first, then lessening as my excitement continues to coat his fingers.

  He finds his rhythm, strumming my body just like I remember, the sensations overwhelming as the past collides with the present.

  “I love the way your body responds to my touch. The way you melt beneath it.” My nails bite once more into his flesh. A sharp hiss pierces my ear before his teeth nip at my earlobe, a tiny amount of pain to balance the pleasure building below. He continues to work me into a frenzy until I can’t take it anymore.