by Harper Sloan
I shrug. "Everything happens for a reason. I didn't always feel that way, but I finally realized that as long as we give every situation our best, we've given ourselves the best chance to succeed in life. If you trip up on the way, then you figure out what you can learn from those stumbles or falls. No matter how painful it might be when we do falter, you have to be able to learn from your past, take something positive from it, and never let it hurt you again."
The silence ticks on as his eyes roam my face, studying my words and me at the same time. A few minutes later, one side of his mouth tips up, and shockingly, the sight doesn't kill my ability to function--thank God. "You know, I've never thought about it that way," he rasps, lifting up to curl his hand behind my neck. Curling his body up, he pulls me gently toward him--our lips meeting in the softest kiss.
"Stick with me, hubby. Told you, we're going to put all those destroyed pieces back together, one fucked-up past at a time," I whisper against his mouth.
He shifts and pulls me down with him, pressing another light kiss on my lips. I roll to the side, a little sad to lose the pressure of his cock against my center, but even that doesn't take away the high I have of being skin to skin with this man in my bed. I'll get his cock later.
"What about your past?" he hedges a little hesitantly. I don't think either of us thought a silly game of twenty questions would turn so emotionally heavy. "I know about the shit boyfriends, but I know that isn't all of it."
"How do you know?" I evade.
"You told me you felt empty. That even living the high life, you felt that way... like something was missing. You said your past had hurt you and that you had to learn to let people get close enough, even if they might hurt you. People, not men. You had to let people get close."
"You got all of that because I didn't specify the gender?"
"Who hurt you? Who made you afraid to let others close?"
I shift, settling in with my back to his chest and look out the window again. "My parents."
"And ..." he adds, encouraging me to continue.
"Weston and me ... we were mistakes. Accidents. Whatever you call a pregnancy that isn't wanted but kept, even though I know they don't have some grand moral clause that would have prevented them from terminating us. It's been Wes and me against the world. Our parents hated us, didn't hide that, and blamed us for them not making anything of their lives. When we moved into the trailer park we lived in growing up, Luke and Jamison were our neighbors. The second we met, the two of us became four, and the struggle growing up wasn't as bad. They had shitty parents too, so our bond solidified over our need to protect and care for each other. We ate more frequently and didn't spend the majority of our days dirty and smelling like trash. Hey, how about you ease up the hold, hulk." I come out of my memories when his lazy grip on my hip gets tight in the middle of my trip down memory lane, trying to sound carefree even when the ghosts of childhood past are thick in the room.
"Sorry," he grumbles. "Go on."
"They didn't touch us physically. They used their words instead of their fist. They didn't care for us, though, and even to this day, I have no idea how Child Protective Services didn't intervene. We were dirty more often than not, malnourished, and never had clothing that fit right. When Wes and I found music, though, it was the last straw for them. They didn't just hate us anymore; they hated us."
"Why because of music?" he asks befuddled.
I get his confusion. Out of everything I said, it does sound odd that our musical talent would be the tipping point for our crappy parents.
"Before we came around, they were just about to sign a recording deal. When I say just, I mean my mom puked during one of their final negotiation meetings, and it apparently slipped out that she was pregnant. The label decided they didn't want to sign them after finding out their lives were a little more complicated. We, according to them, stole their chance at their dream, and then when they realized how good we were, I think they looked at it as us stealing that dream all over again."
His breath leaves his body in a rush, tickling the hair at the top of my head. "That's fucked up."
I smile, despite the fact that I hate talking about my parents. Leave it to Chance to put it so simply. "Pretty much."
"How did you find something positive out of that, Wren? A normal person would have let that mark them for life."
I ponder his words, thinking back to my chat with Weston. "I don't think I did completely, not until very recently, to be honest. I always looked at that time in my life as being worth it because I had my brother, Luke, and Jamison--who are as much my brothers as Wes is--and in the middle of all that, we found music. But it was pointed out to me recently that I let them and their greed for what we have--coupled with the greed of a few jerks I dated--make me jaded. God, I was even letting my love for music turn cynical. I had forgotten to look for the positive. But once I remembered what it was like to see things in a light that wasn't burned out and wary of others' motives--well, let's just say it isn't so hard to deal with those memories. Not when I look at my life now and think it might have been worth those years if they brought me to where I am now."
"Was that just us putting a destroyed piece back together for you?" he asks softly.
"Yeah, Chance. It definitely was." I smile and turn, pressing even closer as he adjusts his body to allow me to curl into his side. The heaviness of our lazy afternoon chat settles over us, the mood turning almost peaceful now that we both got something so heavy off our chests.
"I'm really happy," I say, softly and hesitantly.
"I am too, Wren. I am too."
"I know we haven't known each other long, but you know more about me than anyone outside of my guys. The people who think they love me--they love the Wrenlee of Loaded Replay. They obsess over that girl, thinking that they know all there is to know about her--but they don't know me. No one besides my guys and Dyllan do. Until now. It's ... well, it's just important to me that you know that."
His arm gives me a squeeze, his hand traveling from where it had been curled around my shoulder in slow movements until he touches my hip. His fingers flex, pads digging into my naked flesh. I lift my leg up to lay over his body, feeling the heat of his cock against my thigh.
"Thank you for giving me you," he hums into the silence.
"Don't hurt me." The words are out before I realize I didn't think them but spoke them, and I wish I could stuff them back in.
"The last thing I want is to hurt you."
"You have the power to do it, though. Like I said, we haven't known each other long, but regardless, I find I'm becoming addicted to the way you make me feel."
He's silent for so long, my eyes grow heavy, and I feel my body relax even more into him.
"The only other time I felt something close to this was right before my fiancee changed the way I looked at everything."
Well, I'm wide-awake now. I sit up, his hand falling from my side, and turn to look at him. Chills wash over me, and my stomach bubbles with unease.
"What the fuck did you just say?"
"What the fuck did you just say?"
Wren moved so quickly. One second, she was soft and compliant in my arms, and the next, she was sitting next to me, naked as the day she was born, looking like she was about to throw up and kill me at the same time.
I think back to what I just told her, having been so lost in my head and the odd sense of happiness this woman makes me feel, that I didn't even hesitate to tell her about Jessica--someone who I've worked really hard not to tell anyone about. Ever. Having a hard time recalling my words, my silence only infuriates her more. I watch the color rise on her skin, wishing it was there again because of what I was doing to her body and not because I pissed her off.
"I was trying to agree with you about becoming addicted to how you make me feel but point out that if anyone has anything to worry about, it would be me." That is what I said, right? Fuck. I didn't think she would get pissed about it, though.
"Chan
ce," she seethed deeply, her mouth hardly moving to say my name.
"What, Wren? It's true. This feeling I have now is nothing even close to what I thought I had with her, and I had years to build that up before I felt it with her. Years. I know you for not even two full fucking weeks, and it doesn't just surpass what I thought I knew; it blows it out of the fucking water. So yeah ... I get being scared of someone hurting you."
"You said your fiancee."
I pause. I was halfway off my back, reaching for her, when she spoke. I replay the last five minutes. My eyes widen when I realize that I had been so lost in my memories of Jessica's betrayal that I referred to her in the present tense. Wren looks seconds away from running, so I move quickly to grab her and roll, so her body is under mine--trapped between the mattress and me.
"Let me go," she fumes, refusing to make eye contact with me. She's looking away and to the side, giving me her profile.
"Never," I vow, knowing that I'm not just talking about right now. No fucking way would I give this woman up--even though we're still very much getting to know each other, I doubt anything would be able to make me give her up.
"I can't believe you let me be the other woman. I'm not that person, Chance, no matter what people think of celebrities. I would never cheat or help someone cheat. Relationships should be sacred. Oh, my God."
"I'm not engaged, Wren."
I get her attention with that. Her head snaps from the side, giving me her furious blue eyes. "You said your fiancee," she reminds me.
"Yeah, I know what I said, Wren. You want to curb that attitude and let me explain myself?"
She deflates slightly but not much.
"I get your anger. I would be pissed too, but I'm not engaged. It was a slip of the tongue."
Her body relaxes more. The anger dimming slightly. Not completely, but enough that I know she's listening to me.
"If I roll off you, are you going to run?" I ask, concerned that she isn't comfortable with my weight on her like this.
"Don't you dare," she grunts and shifts her body. I had pinned her legs down with my swift movement but was balancing my weight on my elbows and feet while she adjusts her position. Her legs come out, spreading, and wait for me to settle back down.
Taking this as a good sign, I relax my body and let it cover hers once again. This time my cock hits her wet heat, growing harder. She widens her legs with a shimmy of her hips, her pussy lips spreading with her movements to welcome my cock with a hug. I feel the wetness from the tip of my cock against my belly, the warmth of her cunt on the bottom of my cock and balls making my eyes cross with need. She brings her legs up, hooking them behind my back, and digs her heels into the small of my back.
"There. Now finish what you were saying."
God, this girl is going to be my undoing.
"I don't like bringing other people into bed with us. Not like this." It feels wrong to talk about Jessica with her pussy coating my cock with wetness.
"I don't like bringing other people into anything with us, but at least I know it's my body that has you while it happens, not someone else."
Twisted as fuck logic, but I get it.
"Fine," I breathe. Dropping my forehead to hers, I refuse to look away from her searching gaze. "I met Jessica when I was a senior in high school. It was the typical head cheerleader meets the new transfer student turned quarterback, and just because it's expected, we went on a date. I went with it because I was a shithead teen who didn't care about anything. I wanted to play football and get my dick wet. The rest was fuck all to me."
I hate to think about this shit, let alone talk about it. The pain I feel remembering those years was never worth it, but for whatever reason, it doesn't sear through me like it used to. I have a feeling that has everything to do with the woman under me who's looking at me like she's hanging on every word I'm saying. Her body wrapped around me as if she is afraid I might leave her. Fat fucking chance.
"I had just moved the summer before school started. I tried out for the football team because I knew it would get me pussy. It did at my old school, so I went with what I knew worked. Like I said, I was a punk--an angry punk who didn't feel as out of control when I was fucking someone. It just so happened that I was one hell of a player on the field. I took over when, two practices in, the only quarterback worth a shit broke his leg."
"This is a lovely story," she gripes, narrowing her eyes.
"Told you I didn't like bringing other people into bed with us."
She rolls her eyes. "Just continue, and I'll try to remember that I don't want to hurt your fat cock."
"Right." I feel my lips twitch. She's trying to hold on to her anger, but my guess is she isn't unaffected by our position, and it's making it harder. Literally. "We dated through the school year. My coach was a big reason that I lost the chip I had on my shoulder. I owed him so much, but even he couldn't get me to accept scholarships to play ball after graduation. It didn't matter to me that he thought I was good enough to go pro. I didn't care about the potential riches he was dangling over my head. Nothing he could say or try to predict was going to change my mind. It was never a question that I would go into the Marines. Jessica wasn't exactly on board with that, but she stuck with me. I still don't know why she did."
"Why were you so set on the Marines?" she interrupts, making me pause.
"My dad was a Marine. He raised me alone, and his sister helped him when he was overseas. Even as a single father, he never failed to show me how much he loved me. He was my hero, and when I lost him, I wanted nothing more than to make him proud and follow in his footsteps."
"Oh, Chance"--she trembles-- "I'm sorry, honey." Her hands reach up, her fingers dipping into my hair, palms against my cheeks.
"It was a long time ago, Wren. I've made peace with losing him. The Marines did that. They gave me back my dad."
"You said your aunt helped raised you?"
"My mom was a one night of fun thing and had no interest in being a parent when she found out she was pregnant. My dad, though, he wanted me. He got her to sign over her rights, and she never looked back."
Wren's chin wobbles slightly, drawing my attention. "I'm not upset about that, Wren. Don't feel sorry for me."
"I'm not. What your dad did was beautiful. I can't help that it makes me all girly."
"Can I finish now?" She nods. "Aunt Tracy was my best friend. Even though she was a lot younger than my dad was, she took me without question when he died. She was twenty-five when she became my guardian. Eight years later, she was more of a friend than that, but she was, without a doubt, the most important person in my life. That was always a point of contention between Jessica and me, but being the stupid fuck I was, I thought if I put a ring on her finger, it would bring them closer while I was gone."
"Gone?"
"Overseas. Right out of boot camp and fresh out of high school."
"Oh." She nods.
"Jessica was taking classes at the local community college, so she was still living at home with her parents that first year I was gone. I came back, and I figured the next step was for us to get our own place. Tracy didn't like it, but she also didn't hold me back. Jessica was on cloud nine, though."
"And you?" Wren asks. "Were you on cloud nine too?"
"I had just come back from war. I might not have been a punk kid anymore, but I still thought with my dick more than my head. Moving in meant I got to think with my dick when I wanted to."
Wren frowns.
"Anyway, I was home for a while before we were called back. We hadn't been planning, so we still hadn't set a date for our wedding. When I left, we promised each other that when I got back, we would make sure and take care of that. This time, I was gone for eight months. I had moved to a specialized team at that point, and we handled some fucked-up shit. Communication back home was next to impossible, but still, when I got home, she opened her arms with a smile. We started planning with the hopes that we would get married in the fall of that year. Tracy kept t
elling me that twenty was too young to get married, but I was too stubborn to listen."
Knowing the next part would be the hardest, I take a fortifying breath before continuing. "My team was sent back before we could get married. I was gone for almost a year that time. Aunt Tracy passed away two days before I got back--drunk driver. I was a fucking mess by the time the plane touched down. The only thing I could think of was that all my family was gone. I was on autopilot the whole way to the apartment I shared with Jessica. She didn't know I was coming home. With the news about Tracy, I didn't even tell her, so I wasn't shocked that she wasn't home. It wasn't even noon, so I dropped down on the couch and waited for her."
"Chance," she calls softly, and I look up, realizing I had zoned in on her collarbone while I talked.
"Yeah?"
"Is the rest of this story going to make me want to commit murder?"
I think I fell a little in love with her right then.
"Well, it did for me, so maybe."
"Right." Her bottom lip rolls, and she bites down on it with her teeth, nibbling for a second before releasing the plump flesh. "I'm sorry about your aunt. I bet she was amazing."
"Thanks, babe. Can I finish now?" She nods. "Jessica got home two hours later. I'm not sure who was more shocked, her or me, when she opened the door. Maybe I should have called her to tell her I was coming, but I had talked to her the week before, and she knew we would be coming home soon. She kept talking about how she was almost finished with the wedding plans, and she couldn't wait for me to get home. She forgot, however, to mention that she was a lying bitch. She screamed, but after she had realized I wasn't some stranger about to kill her, she got weird. I wasn't in the right mind because of the grief I was dealing with, on top of just waking up, so it took me a second to realize that the flat stomach she had when I left was now huge and swollen."
"What?"
"She was seven months pregnant."
"You have a kid?" Wren screams. I pull back my head slightly from the sheer volume behind it.