by Lexi Ryan
She squints against the light and blinks at me. She takes in deep, gulping breaths, like she’s trying to calm herself down.
I’m an idiot. I should’ve woken her up before touching her. I fucking know better. “I’m so sorry.”
She gulps in air and puts a hand flat against her chest. “It’s fine. I’m the one who’s sorry. I haven’t had anyone crawl into bed with me in a long time. It scared me.” She gives me a wobbly smile and steps forward. She drags her fingers over my stubble and straddles my lap. “I’m glad it’s you.” When she presses her mouth to mine, the kiss is gentle. Shaky. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
I shake my head. Will she ever trust me enough to show me all of her ugly insides? “I think . . .” I trail my thumb down the side of her neck, and she closes her eyes. I think you might be as broken beneath the surface as I am. “I don’t ever want to scare you.”
“You don’t.” She presses her lips to mine again, but this time the kiss is firm and sure. She pours herself into it.
I saw the fear in her eyes—I recognize that haunted terror as well as I recognize my own reflection—but I let her drown her fear in me. I kiss her in return. I grip her hips and rub my tongue against hers until the connection between us is all that matters.
She draws back enough to pull her shirt over her head and toss it on the floor. Before she can press her body to mine, I roll her onto the bed and prop myself on one elbow so I can look down at her. I kiss her gently. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“It’s okay.” She strokes her hands down my back. “I’m fine.”
I don’t think you are. There’s more she’s not saying, so much she’s not telling me. But I won’t push. Not right now. I’ll give her whatever she needs. Distraction. Pleasure. Oblivion.
And I’ll give myself what I need too. Her.
She wraps a hand around my bicep and tries to tug me down. “I want you closer.”
I chuckle, scanning over her again. I memorize every inch, catalogue her beauty even as my mind spins wildly with all the ways I want to touch her. “I like the view from here.”
She arches, as if the words alone shoot pleasure through her.
“I love looking at you.” I bend, flicking my tongue against her peaked nipple. Gasping, she jerks beneath me. “Love tasting you.” I press my open mouth to her breast and trail my hand down her body, slipping my fingers beneath the waistband of her panties where she’s already slick. “Touching you.”
“Carter.” My name is a moan on her lips as my fingers dance across her clit. She parts her legs for me, letting me toy and play and touch until her whimpered pleas become louder and more frantic and she’s grabbing a condom from the bedside table and begging for me.
Pushing this morning’s conversations from my mind, I silence her moans with my mouth and we lose ourselves in each other.
“You’re beautiful.” I rake my gaze over her after taking care of the condom. She looks like a goddess in the warm light of the bedside lamp—flushed skin against white sheets in nothing but her satisfied smile—and contentment wraps around me as I climb back into bed with her.
Her pulse flutters wildly at her neck, and I dip my head to press a kiss there. “Your heart’s still racing.”
“You do that to me.”
I groan. “I want to do it again and again.”
Panic flashes across her face. “Carter . . .”
I roll to my back. “No rush. I meant it when I said so last night. You know what I’m offering. All you have to do is decide if you want it.”
She rolls onto me. “The truth is I’m not so sure you’re going to want me. Not the way you mean. You deserve that perfect girl Ethan said you’re looking for.”
I don’t want her. I want you. “What? You’re telling me you’re not perfect?”
She huffs. “Shut it. You know I’m not. And if you think I am, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I don’t want perfect, Teagan. Perfect is boring.”
“Okay, well, how about a little less screwed up, then?”
“You think I can’t be with a woman who grieved so deeply she had to be dragged from bars?” I watch as she pales and decide to go all in. “Tell me about your ugly insides, Teagan. Tell me about Rich.”
She lowers her body onto mine and curls into my chest, placing her palm flat against my pounding heart. “Sometimes I think Rich wanted me to be with Heath because he knew it was the only way he could get me back. Heath was Rich’s best friend and partner, and he was . . . Heath was a good guy. He didn’t do anything halfway. He loved me fiercely and made me feel like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. He was passionate about his job, about me, and about his friendships. That included Rich, so I never dared ask him to push Rich away.”
Sadness seems to seep from her pores, and I realize I never saw this side of her until she started opening up about Rich and Heath. Teagan is happiness and sunshine. It radiates from every inch of her. She sags against the weight of the story, curling into herself as if she can defend her heart from the pain of the memory. Seeing her like this is like watching her fade away. And it kills me.
I stroke her back in gentle circles, trying my best to comfort her.
“Rich and I were both a mess after Heath died. I told you losing Heath made me reckless, but what I didn’t say was . . . I slept with Rich.”
I wait for jealousy to ratchet through me, but it doesn’t. There’s nothing to be jealous of. I want her, but I’d never want to turn into a regret, and that’s all Rich is. “It happens. Grief can make us impulsive.”
She swallows. “The night I buried my boyfriend, I slept with his best friend. We were drinking, and I started crying. Rich held me, and the next thing I knew, we were kissing.” She buries her face in my chest and draws in a long, deep breath. “It wasn’t about sex. Not for me, at least. We were lonely and grieving and comforting each other. But Rich . . .
“I knew it was a mistake immediately. Hell, I think I knew it was a mistake even while it was happening, but Rich didn’t see it like that. He thought we’d be back together in no time. I was still a new nurse and I’d come home from work, exhausted from the long days and the demands of a new job, and he’d be there, waiting for me.”
She’s quiet for a long beat, and I can almost feel her sorting through the memories—analyzing them from every angle and trying to find the right details, the right words. “It was fine at first. I mean, I felt so bad for sleeping with him—for leading him on like that when I knew he was grieving too. I put up with his presence in my life for a while. And at first, I didn’t mind. I was lonely, but at least with Rich around, I wasn’t alone. Then things changed—they’d been changing, but so slowly I hadn’t even realized what was happening, and by the time I realized it, I was already under his control again. Like in high school. He’d show up to my house and grill me about who I’d seen that day. Who I’d been with. His cousin saw me at lunch with another guy—was I fucking him? He’d show up to the hospital and sweet-talk my coworkers and feed them little bits of my life and struggles. He’d tell them I was drinking more, but he was keeping an eye on me. That I wasn’t sleeping, but he was working on getting me to take the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed.
“He made my parents believe we’d fallen in love again while comforting each other. He made all our friends believe we had this secret love. He made them believe I was too ashamed to tell anyone I’d moved on. We weren’t even together as far as I was concerned, and he convinced everyone—everyone—that he was the only steady thing in my life, the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. He worked them so well that if I dared object and say we weren’t involved, they’d give me a lecture about how I was lucky to have him, how it was okay to move on, how they understood how guilty I must feel but I deserved happiness.”
She shakes her head, and some of that sadness I saw in her eyes before burns away into anger. “I let it go on too long. Because I felt bad for him. Because I
knew he was struggling with his own guilt and grief, I kept my mouth shut too long. He copied the keys to my house and always seemed to know where to find me. It wasn’t until later that I realized he put one of those trackers on my phone.”
“Jesus.” I thread my fingers through her hair and hold her tightly, as if I can somehow protect her from what he did all those years ago. I’d guessed it was bad, and if no one around her could see him for what he was, she must have felt trapped.
“He took control of my life inch by inch, and by the time I tried to take it back, it was too late. My friends turned on me. My family begged me to be reasonable. I got my locks changed and started going out again—bringing men home to spite him. I told Rich I didn’t care if everyone thought I was the biggest bitch in the world. We weren’t together and never would be.”
I kiss the top of her head. “That must have been awful.”
“I thought since I’d finally put my foot down, that would be it. I was an idiot. I should have done it weeks sooner. One night I came home from work—my house with its new locks that were totally going to keep me safe—and he was there. ‘You think you can lock me out?’ he asked, and when I threatened to call the police, he laughed in my face. He was the police. Everyone he worked with saw how crazy I’d become after losing Heath, and who were they going to believe?” She pauses for a long time, as if she needs to catch her breath. “Then he told me to pack my things. He couldn’t trust me living on my own anymore, and he’d talked to my parents about how I’d been sleeping around, and they agreed that I needed help. That I was self-destructing.”
“Your parents listened to him?”
She shrugs. “That’s just it. Rich’s manipulations were so good because he didn’t need to outright lie. I was sleeping around. I was drinking a lot. I was dealing with my own grief through all of this, but my parents are old-fashioned. They didn’t see Rich as a controlling narcissist. They saw him as the good guy who was trying to save me from myself. He’d manipulated them so completely that I couldn’t go to them for help. My friends didn’t trust me because of the poison he’d whispered into their ears. And he was a police officer, so I didn’t feel like I could call the cops either.”
“So you moved.”
She nods and slowly sits up again, returning to straddling my waist and tracing the muscles of my torso. “I didn’t just move. I ran. And until I saw him at Jackson Brews last year, I thought he’d finally let me go.” She trails her gaze up my chest and finally meets my eyes. “But you were there, and you understood I needed you. You have no idea how much that meant to me.”
I want to be there every time she needs me, but I’m not sure if she’s ready for that yet. I sit up, pulling her body flush with mine. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I cup her face in my hand and kiss her slowly.
“Don’t let him get to you,” she says against my mouth. “I don’t know what I’d do if he got in your head the way he’s gotten in everyone else’s.”
“I don’t like the guy, and I don’t trust him. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“But I do.” She studies my face, and I know we’re not talking about Rich anymore. “I’m so worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” I thread my fingers through her hair and guide her mouth back to mine. “In fact, with you right here, I’m fucking fantastic.”
Teagan
“I guess we pushed the Mehndi party back for nothing.” Saanvi tosses her phone on the bed and frowns. “Sabrina missed her red-eye, and she’s not going to be here until dinner.”
Mom frowns, and I can tell she wants to rant about my cousin breaking too many promises, and maybe even give Saanvi a lecture about how she told her Sabrina shouldn’t be a bridesmaid for this very reason. Our original schedule had us getting the traditional henna designs on our hands and feet yesterday, but Sabrina needed to stay at home another day for a story about some famous parrot, which was adopted by a country music couple, so we pushed it back.
Instead of giving her an “I told you so,” Mom lifts her chin and shrugs. “Her loss.”
We’re all gathering in Saanvi’s suite for her Mehndi party. My second cousin on my Dad’s side, Pari, is a henna artist, and she’ll use a special paste to paint designs on the hands and feet of the bridal party. Well, everyone except Sabrina, it seems.
“I’m sure she’s sorry,” I say lamely. I don’t really mean it. Sabrina’s pretty self-centered and wouldn’t show up on time to meet the Pope if there was nothing in it for her.
Saanvi waves a hand. “I don’t want to talk about her. Let’s talk about something happy.”
“Carter seems like a very nice man,” Mom says, turning to me.
That is something happy, indeed. “He really is, Mom. You don’t need to worry about that.”
Saanvi winks at me from across the room where she’s admiring the designs on Liam’s mother’s wrists. Pari has already completed her designs on the mothers of the bride and groom and has begun work on McKenna’s designs. She’ll do Saanvi’s designs last.
“I do worry, of course,” Mom says, pulling my attention back to the topic at hand. She studies me, and I can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s trying to decide how much to say. “It worries me that you felt you had to keep the relationship a secret—not once but twice.”
My brows shoot up. Twice. Someone’s been talking to Rich.
“How healthy can a relationship be if the woman is keeping it a secret from her family?”
“Mom . . .”
“Enough of that,” Saanvi says, waving her hands and saving me from having to come up with an explanation. “Their relationship is no secret now, so let it go. I’ve talked to him a lot the last couple of days, and I, for one, really like him.”
“I do too,” Mom says. “But Rich said you two acted quite serious when he met Carter last year, and yet you never told us about him then. And he seems wonderful, Teagan, but I keep wondering how wonderful he could really be if you’ve been here before and it didn’t work.”
“I’m sorry, Mom, but I don’t tell you about every guy I date.” I hate this lie. It makes me feel like such crap. But more than that, I hate the implication that Carter must not be good enough for me.
Saanvi studies me. “Do you love him?”
I open my mouth and close it again. “He’s been my friend for a long time.” I’m not sure how I feel about him. I loved him as a friend before we started all of this and have been attracted to him as a woman since the day we met. These days together have made those feelings tangle into a complicated knot I can’t make sense of.
“You’re afraid to love him,” Saanvi says softly. “He told me why.”
“Why?” Mom asks, her brow furrowing.
Saanvi squeezes my wrist. “Because of Heath, Mama. Carter has a dangerous job, and she’s scared to lose him like she lost Heath.”
I turn up my hand and let my little sister lace her fingers with mine. “That was why I didn’t want to get involved at first,” I admit. “But now . . .” Now I don’t care about that. Now I want Carter. Even if I had to go through the same heartache again, I’d want him.
“Oh, Teagan.” Mom sinks to the floor in front of us and puts her hands on my knees. “I am so sorry that still haunts you, but you cannot let this fear keep you from the person you love.” She smiles and slowly shakes her head. “It’s always scary to give your heart to someone—no matter their job—but far worse than that fear is living a life without the person you love. If you push him away again and something happens to him at work, do you think it’ll hurt any less?”
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t.”
She nods sagely and squeezes my free hand. “Then I think you have your answer.”
Then I smile, realizing Mom is talking me into a relationship with Carter, talking me into giving him my heart—despite Rich’s attempts to make her worry about our relationship. “Thanks, Mom.”
Carter
“I’m glad you’re here, Carter
,” Marta says, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me into her house. “That boy is in a funk, and there’s nothing I can do to get him out.”
“Is he taking his meds?”
“Yes, but he’s not talking. Not to me, not to his friends. He’s not even playing that dumb online survival game he likes so much.”
My chest goes tight. “You should have called.”
“Oh no, you’re busy with your wedding, aren’t you? Isaiah told me your girlfriend’s family is in town, and I didn’t want to bother you again after you two were kind enough to come over here Wednesday.”
“I could’ve gotten away sooner.” I should’ve come over yesterday. I could have made it work—slipped out between the brewery tour and the bachelor party, or even stopped by in the morning.
Marta puts a hand on my arm, warm and soothing. “He’s fine. A grump but not in any danger. Carter . . .” She hesitates a beat. “Do you remember what you asked me a couple of months ago? Before this mess with Isaiah’s accident?”
I draw in a deep breath. I asked her if she thought Isaiah would like to live with me. Marta’s age makes it hard for her to keep up with him. If he lived with me, it would take a weight off her shoulders. But she’d been offended by the offer. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean any harm, and I shouldn’t have overstepped.”
She frowns. “I know you didn’t. But I’ve thought about it, and I think that might be the best for my grandson. If the offer’s still on the table and you’re sure, I think we should let him decide.” Her hands shake as she wrings them together. “But only if he understands that I only want what will make him happy.”
“Of course,” I say softly. “I’ll talk to him.”
She hobbles into the kitchen, and I head to Isaiah’s room. His door’s closed, and I’m surprised when he answers my knock right away.
“Hey, bud. How are you feeling?”