“My god, Charlie,” I groan. My cock is hard, and I step closer to my girl, watching as she gets herself off.
It’s hot, so fucking hot. Her eyes close as she moves the wand over her pussy, her fingers circling her clit. I kneel before her this time, my hands massaging her thighs, and she whimpers with delight. “God you’re sexy,” I tell her.
She moans, her back arching, the vibrator buzzing as she gets herself off.
I kiss her, pulling her mouth to mine, hard. Needing to taste every sweet thing about her. She writhes against me as I kiss her, pulling her to the floor. The vibrator forgotten as she straddles me. Her eyes are fueled with heat as she rides me, our fingers lacing, our bodies one.
When she comes again, it lasts a good long time. I roll on top of her, pinning her to the floor. “God, I’m glad you’ve moved in.”
She nods, then says playfully, “Me too. Because I now have a live-in fuck toy.”
My eyes widen, laughter escaping us both. “God, you are so unpredictable. The things you say…” I shake my head.
“I love you, Spencer Beckett.” She grins, her expression softening. “And you’re more than a sex toy - you’re my everything.”
10
Charlie
“Wait, you’ve never been to Target?” I stare at Spencer like he is an alien from another planet.
Spencer laughs, reaching for the coffee canister. “Oh shit, we’re out of coffee.”
We’re spending the day moving the rest of my stuff in. Not that I have much, a lot of what I did own had to be tossed after it was doused in pig’s blood.
But I enjoy setting up the townhouse for the two of us. It will no longer be bachelor pad central. It’ll be our place. I’m still not sure about Spencer putting it in my name, but I know his intentions were meant to be sweet, and I no longer want to deny him the need to take care of me ,and protect me. Because I know in my own way, he needs me just as much as I need him.
“We can grab coffee on the way,” I tell him as I throw my banana peel in the trash and take the last bite. My appetite is back now, and the nightmares have stopped.
“To Target?” He says, lifting a brow. “You know we can order anything you want online.”
I chuckle. “That defeats the whole purpose.”
“The purpose is buying shit.”
“You’ve clearly never had the Target experience. I really can’t get over the fact you’ve never been there.” I let him help me with my jacket and we head out the door. “Sometimes I forget how different our lives are.”
In his car, he plugs the address into his GPS. “So what exactly are we getting there?”
“Not sure. I’ll know once I see it.”
He shakes his head, laughing, and says sarcastically, “That makes sense.”
I swat his arm. “It’s the best place for throw pillows, candles, and well, basically a cart full of stuff you never knew you needed. Trust me.”
He chuckles as we turn into the drive-thru of a coffee shop. “One Americano and one—” He looks over at me to place my order.
I lean over him and speak into the intercom. “I’ll have a nonfat, double tall, half vanilla, vanilla mocha...oh, and don’t forget the whip.”
“That will be eight dollars and fourteen cents at the window,” the barista tells us.
Spencer pulls forward. “Your coffee is over five dollars?”
I pull out a ten dollar bill. “My treat, but yes, I have expensive coffee habits. I guess we haven’t really done a lot of normal boyfriend-girlfriend things, have we?”
Spencer waves my money away. “Yeah ,we’ve been too busy catching stalkers, dealing with grief, losing jobs, hospital stays—”
“Yeah.” I cut him off, frowning, knowing there’s still a shadow hanging over us. Because even though Winslow confessed to creating those posts, she wasn’t the one driving the Taurus that night, and I doubt she’d have had enough strength to throw a rock through my window. “Everything has been so...dramatic...”
“I’m glad we can do normal things now,” Spencer says, handing his debit card over to the barista at the window, then turns to me and winks. “Even if it means spending an afternoon at a megastore.”
I nod, but I can’t help the frown that tugs at my lips as I let my thoughts drift back to that terrible night.
Spencer hands me my drink. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, shaking the memories away, then grin, wanting today to just be about Spencer and me, with no talk about stalkers, or Winslow, or anything else that has tried to get between us. “I think I need to buy a cute pillow, or two, to make me feel better.”
He chuckles. “Good thing we’re going to Target then.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye as he pulls up a playlist. “And you’re wrong, Charlie. We don’t just do dramatic things. Last night was pure fun. Not to mention sexy as hell.”
“It was.” A huge grin pulls at my lips as I remember how naughty I was, how liberated I felt. I was nervous to bring out my toys with Spencer, but he loved playing with them. With him, I feel like I can be myself, that I can trust him with even my wildest fantasies - which all revolve around him.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks as we drive toward the shopping center.
“I was remembering last night.”
“It was a good movie,” he says deadpanned.
“So good,” I agree, playing along. “The climax was thrilling.”
“And stimulating.”
“The plot got going really fast.”
He chuckles. “It was hard, real hard. But the ending? Damn, I saw it coming a mile away.”
When we get to Target, we’re both laughing so hard we’re crying and when we get out of the car, he pushes his hand in my back pocket. Keeping me close. Claiming me. I’m his. And I like it.
Because he’s mine too.
Coffees in hand, we push the red cart through the aisles, and I grab some throw pillows.
“Really, pink pillows?” He grimaces.
I bite the corner of my lip. “How about seafoam green? Everything you own is grey, this will look nice against it.”
“I don’t know what seafoam is, but I can handle green.” He kisses my cheek. “And we need some cozy blankets to match.”
I laugh. “Did Spencer Beckett just say cozy blankets?”
He elbows me playfully. “What? I’m not ashamed to say I like to cuddle with my girlfriend.”
I twist my lips, my smile probably growing obnoxious to other shoppers. Spencer and I are in a love bubble and it is impossible to suppress.
By the time we get to the register, the cart is full of lavender dish soap and scented candles. A little dry erase board for the kitchen where we can write down notes for one another. And I got a cute framed print with the quote, Fight for the fairy tale, it does exist. I plan on hanging it over our bed.
Our bed.
A rush of endorphins run through me. I still can’t believe this is my life.
“Let’s grab lunch before we go home,” Spencer says as we leave the store with armfuls of bags.
Soon we are at a cafe, ordering at the counter. We slide into a little corner table on my favorite street in town.
“So I’ve been wanting to talk to you…”
“About what?” I ask, smiling as the waitress brings us our salads and sandwiches.
“I think maybe you should stop working.”
I pick up my ham and cheese. “Why?”
“So you can focus on other things. The master’s program is hard enough.”
“I don’t know.” I take a sip of water. “I’ve been working since I was sixteen.”
“I get that - and it’s so impressive. Your work ethic is amazing, Charlie. But you don’t need the money anymore.”
I exhale. “I appreciate the Target shopping spree today, but I need to help with costs. I mean, even if you cover the house, I need money for like...tampons and birth control and to go get drinks with Jill.” I smile as I make
my point. “To buy new underwear and bras.”
“I can buy that for you, Charlie.”
I shake my head. “Wouldn’t that make me exactly what Winslow accused me of? A money grabber?”
Spencer leans across the table, taking my hand. “I love you. I want to take care of you. Let me.”
I still hesitate.
“I have plenty of money. Let me spend it on you.”
It’s a lot to accept, but at the same time, I don’t want to be the girl I used to be. With such a chip on my shoulder, I wasn’t able to accept the good things life gave me. I have nothing to prove, and Spencer knows that. He wants me just as I am.
“Okay, but under one condition,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“We go to the record store after this and pick out some new music. Together.”
“Deal.” He sits back, smiling. “And I have a condition too.”
“What’s that?”
“You and I are going to Nantucket this summer.”
“For how long?”
“Two months. If you aren’t working, you can’t fight it.”
I shake my head. Two months in Nantucket seems like heaven. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes, Spencer Beckett,” I say, thinking that my entire life is falling into place.
11
Spencer
“This is everything?” I ask Sam as I flip through the manila folder he brought over, my chest constricting as I take in the photos of the young woman wearing a Princeton hoodie making fish lips at the camera, another one with her arms around two girlfriends, and the last one of her at her high school graduation with her parents.
“Her name was Shannon Michaels. Pretty sure that’s your girl,” Sam says as he skims through the envelope of money I toss him. “She was eighteen, a freshman at Princeton when she was killed in a hit and run three years ago.”
I rub the back of my neck as I flip through the information Sam collected. She was the valedictorian of her graduating class in high school, and like Charlie, she was a scholarship student from a blue-collar family.
I remember it now. There hadn’t been much media attention at the time, but I recall hearing about it briefly. A small memorial had been set up, with a gathering of students singing songs and lighting candles at the scene of the accident. I hadn’t cared much at the time. Sure, it was brutal and unfair, but I hadn’t known the girl.
Hadn’t known that it was my brother who killed her.
“Want to tell me why you’re looking into her case?” Sam asks.
“No,” I say, dismissing him. “I’ll call you if I need anything else.”
I don’t get off the couch as he leaves. My head is spinning, emotions choking me. The girl had her whole life ahead of her, and it was snuffed out because my brother had been reckless. Worse, he’d run away like a coward.
“Damn it, Ethan, what were you thinking?” I lean my head back on the couch and close my eyes, my brother’s haunted eyes the only thing I see.
I get it now. The late-night phone calls when he’d been so intoxicated or stoned that I couldn’t make out what he’d been saying. He’d killed the girl, but that wasn’t what killed him. It was shame, remorse...guilt. They were the noose around his neck. If I’d had any doubts before that he drove his car off that cliff on purpose, they’re gone now.
“Fucking coward,” I grit out, fingers curling into fists. But it’s not just my brother I’m angry with, it’s the man who helped him hide his crime. The man who was supposed to teach us morals and decorum. It’s as much Ethan’s sin as it is my father’s and I know what I have to do.
“Hey.” Charlie’s smile falters as she comes into the room. “I thought I heard someone. You okay?”
I push the folder toward her. “My guy brought this over.”
Charlie picks it up and flips through the pages, sitting beside me as she does. She doesn’t say anything when she closes it, just studies me, waiting.
“I have to tell them.” I take her hand and she gives a small nod. “Fuck.” I close my eyes again, hating this, but knowing I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t do the right thing. “They live forty minutes away, I’m going to go there this afternoon.”
Charlie lifts her brows. “Today?”
“Before I change my mind.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes before Charlie says, “You should tell Ava. She deserves to know.”
A shiver races down my spine, because I know she’s right. As much as I want to protect Ava from this, once the media gets ahold of the story, she’ll be pulled into this.
I dial her number.
“Hey loser,” Ava says when she answers.
“Is Prescott with you?”
“Um, yeah, why?”
I inhale a long, deep breath, then tell her, “Put me on speaker. He should know too.”
Once I know that only they can hear our conversation, I tell them everything and my plan on visiting the Michaels. Prescott mutters a few explicit curses, but Ava remains silent.
“Need to do this,” I say, emotion strangling me.
My sister says softly, “I know. You’re doing the right thing.”
But as I end the call, I’m not sure I am.
“You are,” Charlie says as if reading my mind. She places a hand on my arm. “Doing the right thing.”
“Will you come with me? I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”
“Of course.” Her fingers twine with mine, and I take the strength and support she offers freely.
I’m not sure I could do this without her. And later, when we pull into the driveway of the address Sam provided, it’s Charlie who reminds me why I’m doing this.
“You’re a good man, Spencer. You’re not ruining the Beckett name. You’re bringing honor to it.”
“God, I love you.” I kiss her hand, then get out of the car.
A woman in her mid to late fifties, tired and sad looking, opens the door as we approach. “Can I help you?”
Shit. I came all this way, and yet I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to say.
“Mrs. Michaels?” Charlie asks when I hesitate, her fingers linked with mine.
“Yes.” The woman nods, frowning.
“We wanted to talk to you about Shannon. Can we come in?”
Her eyes light up slightly. “You were friends with my girl? Of course.” She opens the door wider so we can enter. “Please, come in. Make yourself at home.” She takes our jackets and leads us to the living room, then offers, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No,” I say, finally finding my voice. I sit on the floral couch, Charlie beside me. “Is your husband here?”
“He’s in the garage. I’ll get him.” She leaves us, and I sit there wondering how I’m just supposed to spit out the words.
“Just speak from your heart,” Charlie whispers.
A few moments later, Mr. Michaels comes into the living room followed by his wife. He holds out a grease-stained hand I shake it.
“Anne says that you were friends with Shannon?”
“No, actually I never met your daughter.” I drag my palms over my legs, feeling the weight of their frowns on me. “I came here, because...” God, this is hard. “I recently found out some information about her death.”
Anne sits down in the chair across from me, her movement slow, her expression unreadable. Her husband puts a hand on her shoulder, which she takes, and they wait for me to continue.
“I remember hearing about the accident when it happened, but like I said, I didn’t know her.”
“If there’s something you can tell us,” the man, whose name I know is John, chokes out, hope in his eyes. “Anything to help us...understand.”
“I believe it was my brother who hit her.”
Anne sucks in a shaky breath, but neither of them say anything, they just wait.
“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what happened.
I wish I could tell you more. But from what I know, he believed she died instantly. And he...” Emotions make it almost impossible to says the words. “He left her. I’m so sorry.”
Silence. It stretches around us. Suffocating.
“Why are you telling us this?” John asks.
“I know I can’t bring back your daughter. There’s nothing I can say, or do, but I couldn’t hide this...”
“And your brother, why isn't he here?” Anne asks, tears rolling over her cheeks.
“He took his own life, not long after.”
Anne and John exchange looks, but I have no idea what they’re thinking. I feel all the guilt, all the shame that should be Ethan’s placed upon my shoulders.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks with the apology. I let out a shaky breath. “I’ll make a statement to the police. And I’d like to start a scholarship fund in Shannon’s name.”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting. Threats. Screaming. Tears. But not what happens next. Both John and Anne move toward me. She wraps me in a hug, and he places a hand on my shoulder. I’m not sure how long they stay there, but it’s long enough for tears to gather in my eyes.
“Thank you,” Anne whispers before she pulls away.
“What’s your name, son?” John asks.
“Spencer Beckett.”
“You’re a good man, Spencer. I know it wasn’t easy for you coming here like this. But your brother’s sins aren’t your own. You don’t have to carry the weight of it.”
And for the first time since I found out what Ethan did, I feel that weight lifted. And it hits me, that next to love, maybe the second most powerful thing in this world, is forgiveness.
12
Charlie
The Michaels are good people. I knew it when we walked in the door, but even I’m taken back by the acceptance they show Spencer. And it leaves my heart aching, because I wonder how things would have been different if Ethan had been brave enough to face his mistake, if it had been him in this room, confessing his transgressions. Maybe guilt wouldn’t have killed him. Maybe he’d still be alive, and Spencer’s family wouldn’t be broken.
Forever Princeton Charming Page 8