Forbidden- Our Secret Love

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by Elise Quinn Larson


  My law school program began on August 21st with a full schedule of required courses. I appreciated the small class sizes, the interaction between students and teachers, and the connection with the Idaho State Law Library, which became my daily base for study and research.

  My pre-law courses in Eugene gave me a good foundation, but actual law school was a real challenge—one I eagerly embraced as it took over my life that fall. When I wasn’t in class or at the library, I was on my computer at home, working on one project or another. Daddy soon complained that he never saw me except for a quick twenty-minute dinner.

  “You need to get outside,” he scolded one Saturday morning in late September. “Get some fresh air and exercise. Do something with Peter in this nice weather. Today would be perfect.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. Peter had called me several times with suggestions of one sort or another. “All right,” I sighed. “I’ll call Peter.”

  No doubt Peter and Daddy had conspired together, because he answered on the first ring. “Elise. What’s up?”

  “My father says I need some exercise.”

  “Anything specific?”

  “You tell me. What did the two of you decide?”

  He laughed. “There’s no conspiracy, counselor. We’re just concerned about you. How about cycling on the Greenbelt?”

  “Fine. I’ll bike down to Julia Davis Park and meet you there at two o’clock in front of the rose garden.”

  “Sounds good. See you then.”

  It was good. Late September is lovely in Boise, with warm sunny days, no wind, and just a hint of fall in the air. Wearing shorts and a T-shirt with my hair pulled back in a ponytail, I joined Peter as we rode past Ann Morrison Park, Kathryn Albertson Park and Quinn’s Pond, which was close to Trey’s apartment complex.

  We rode for miles on that sunny afternoon, weaving past hikers and joggers on the paved path. But as we neared Quinn’s Pond on our way back, I noticed one runner in the distance who was much faster than the others, and he was coming straight toward us. Only one man could run like that. Trey.

  For one panicky moment I thought of turning around, but I realized how silly that would be. What would Peter think? I slowed down instead, my eyes fixed on Trey as he approached us. Will he stop? I wondered. Or will he run right past me?

  He stopped just a few feet away, breathing hard and sweating in his tank top and shorts. All my starved senses came alive at the nearness of this man. Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch . . .

  “Hello, Elise,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Good. You?”

  “Fine. How’s law school?”

  “Good. How’s teaching?”

  “Going well.” He looked at Peter, who waited silently beside me, still on his bike but with both feet firmly on the ground.

  “Oh,” I said. “You remember Peter, from last Christmas at Grandma’s?”

  “Sure. How could I forget?”

  Tension fairly bristled between them. Peter sensed Trey’s hostility but didn’t know the cause. “Good to see you again,” Peter finally said, offering his hand.

  Ignoring the gesture, Trey quickly searched my face for some explanation, some understanding, some indication . . . We silently connected for a single brief moment before the wall slammed shut again. I released the breath I’d been holding as he looked away.

  “See you around, cousin,” he muttered, moving past me and picking up speed in his urge to get away.

  Turning, I watched his retreating figure while my mind screamed: Follow him! Talk to him! Tell him you’ll live with him because only love matters. Just love. Nothing else. Oh, my love . . .

  “Not a friendly sort, is he?” Peter remarked, breaking my reverie.

  “Not always,” I replied. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough exercise for today.”

  Peter and I spent almost every Saturday together that fall as the trees shed their leaves and the weather turned colder. My father was delighted, convinced our friendship was turning into something more. But he was wrong, at least about my feelings.

  I liked Peter a lot—his looks, his intelligence, and his caring nature. We enjoyed spending time together, swimming at the indoor pool, cheering at every Broncos game and skiing on Bogus Basin when it opened in November. We tried a different restaurant every Saturday night, but I declined Peter’s invitations to go to his apartment afterwards, knowing what he wanted. I enjoyed his kisses and his touch, but I wasn’t ready to go further. Not yet.

  He took me home at midnight on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, parking in the driveway. Big snowflakes quickly covered the windshield, wrapping us in a white cocoon. He pulled me close and I yielded to his kisses on my lips, my neck and further down, where he unbuttoned my coat and sweater to expose the swell of my breasts. My nipples hardened, aching to be touched. But his hand moved down to cup my private place, his fingers pressing against the fabric of my jeans until my hips started to move, seeking more.

  “Come home with me,” he whispered, “where we can do this properly. Please.”

  I pulled away, denying his need and mine as I refastened my clothing. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  He huffed out a breath. “Is it that guy? The one you fell in love with? Because if it is . . .”

  “No,” I lied. “I’m just not ready. I need . . .”

  “What? What do you need?”

  “Time. Just more time, that’s all.”

  “All right. I’ll wait. But not too long, because I’ll go crazy like this,” he said, pressing my hand against the hard ridge in his jeans. “I want you in my bed and in my life. Soon.”

  Chapter 23

  P eter was willing to be patient with me, but Johnny was not. His patience was gone. Completely.

  When I told Daddy I would not join the family for Thanksgiving at Grandma’s house, he didn’t argue. Instead, he called for reinforcements. He called Johnny, who appeared at our house on Sunday morning and cut right to the chase, imperiously summoning me to the family room. Daddy left us alone. I sat, but Johnny did not.

  I waited for him to speak—this dominant male who controlled our family and his employees with an authority that few dared to question. He stood before me in jeans and a black leather jacket, long legs spread apart and hands on hips, and I shivered slightly as our blue eyes clashed. This man is my father, I thought. Surely I can make him understand my pain.

  “You’ve rejected our family,” he stated. “Tell me why.”

  “I haven’t . . .”

  “Bullshit! We haven’t seen you since Trey’s birthday, seven damn months ago. You’ve missed every birthday since then. Where were you when Trey graduated? Where were you at our Fourth of July picnic? And now I’m told you intend to skip Thanksgiving! Is Christmas next on your list? What the hell is going on with you?”

  “You’re a smart man, Johnny. Don’t stand there pretending you haven’t a clue. You know why.”

  He scrubbed a hand through his gray-streaked hair. “If you hate me for what I did, fine. But don’t take it out on the family.”

  “I don’t hate you. I can even understand why you agreed to help my mother have a baby. I understand you never intended to hurt me or Trey, but you did. I love Trey with all my heart, but I can’t bear to see him at family events. It hurts too much when he won’t look at me, or talk to me, or touch me. I’m sure Trey is hurting also. How can you expect us to pretend there’s nothing wrong?”

  The sofa sagged as he sat beside me. “For the sake of our family, I’m asking you to try. I’ll ask Trey to do the same. Come for Thanksgiving. Everyone will be there except Quinn—we’ll watch his game on TV. Please, Elise. We’ve all missed you.”

  Please? I thought. Johnny is asking instead of ordering? I decided to push this a bit further. “When you talk to Trey, will you ask him to call me? He’s cut me off completely, and we need to resolve some things between us. Maybe that will help us deal with family events. Will you do that?”

  �
�All right. I’ll head over to his apartment. You can expect a call from him this afternoon. Just make sure you get things resolved,” he warned, “because this has gone on long enough.”

  The afternoon dragged as I tried to focus on a research project while waiting for Trey’s call. I’d almost given up when my phone rang at 5:30.

  “I’ve been ordered to call you,” he said. “What do you want?”

  You, I thought. I want you. Nothing else. “We need to talk.”

  “So talk.”

  “Not like this. In person.”

  “Seriously? Aren’t you afraid someone might see us? Put two and two together? Have us arrested?”

  His sarcasm was making this difficult. “No,” I replied. “I’m not afraid. I want to have a civil conversation with you, face to face.”

  He sighed. “All right. Seven o’clock at my apartment. Whitewater Park number 301, top floor facing the pond.” He clicked off.

  He was testing me. He knew I was nervous about going to his apartment, where someone might see us and draw certain conclusions. But he refused to come to my house, so I really had no choice.

  Wearing black jeans and a gray sweater under a white ski jacket with my hair tied in a ponytail, I rang Trey’s doorbell at precisely seven o’clock, holding my breath as the door swung open.

  “Come in,” he said, stepping back.

  I stood in the entryway and looked at him, willing myself to breathe. He hadn’t changed much. His dark hair was a bit longer, curling slightly below his ears. His jeans still hugged his legs in all the right places, and his sweater stretched across his chest and shoulders and the muscles of his arms. Breathe, Elise! Just breathe.

  But his blue eyes were icy cold and his unsmiling mouth was tightly set in his grim face. I’d asked for this meeting, but his wall was up and I didn’t know what to say. Or do. So I just stood there, feeling awkward.

  He shrugged. “Care to look around?”

  “Sure.” Slipping my boots off and dropping my jacket on the nearest chair, I toured the impressive one-bedroom apartment with its hardwood floors, quality furnishings, fireplace, ultra-modern kitchen and spacious bathroom with jetted tub. Avoiding the bedroom, I walked over to the living room’s sliding glass doors, which faced a large balcony overlooking a walking path and Quinn’s Pond.

  “Very nice,” I said.

  “Thank you.” He gestured to the white leather sofa. “Have a seat. Would you care for something to drink?”

  “No. Thank you,” I replied, sitting stiffly on the sofa’s edge.

  He walked to the kitchen and returned with a can of beer, popping the top and perching on a bar stool at the kitchen divider, obviously keeping his distance from me. He drank long, saying nothing, while I searched for words that might somehow break through that wall between us.

  I flinched when he crushed the empty can in his fist. “Did you come here to see the apartment and watch me drink beer?” he asked. “If so, let me grab another can. Hell, I’ll grab two. But I’ve got an eight a.m. class, so three is my limit.”

  “No. I came to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Us.”

  “There is no ‘us.’ You ended ‘us’ in February, remember?”

  “No. You ended it when you issued your ultimatum: ‘openly or nothing.’”

  “And you chose nothing. End of story.”

  “End of discussion, you mean. EOD. That text message cut me off completely, Trey. We might’ve discussed other options, other alternatives, but you refused to even consider . . .”

  The crushed can hit the counter. “Me? I refused? I came up with a good alternative, as I recall. Rhode Island, where you could feel safe. But no—you wanted to live in Boise. With me, you said. We’ll live together, you said. Then—just one day later—you changed your mind. Living together was off the table because your father said no. Our dirty little secret might come out. Your only ‘alternative’ was to hide out in your father’s house, sharing nothing but sex when you felt like it.”

  He slid off the stool, grabbed another beer, and sat in a chair across from me. “Then I waited,” he continued. “I gave you a choice: live with me openly or nothing. I waited for your answer, but all I got was silence. Nine damn months of silence! And now you want to talk about alternatives? Other options? Fine. Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

  He raised the can to his lips and took another long drink, hostility radiating from him.

  “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” I said.

  “Like what?”

  “Unreasonable. Sarcastic. Angry.”

  “You called this meeting, Elise. Take me as I am or leave.”

  “That’s what you said in February. All or nothing. Can’t you compromise at all? Try to understand my feelings?”

  He sat forward, elbows on his thighs and beer in his hand. “Okay. Let’s discuss feelings. Tell me about your feelings for Peter.”

  I stared at him. “Peter? What does Peter have to do with this?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that whenever we split, Peter is right behind me, ready to fill in. How does he make you feel, sweetheart? Is he good in bed? Better than me?”

  “That’s ridiculous. Peter is a friend. Nothing more.”

  His anger was wearing me down, defeating me. Instead of breaking through the wall, I could feel it growing stronger as my words just bounced right off in twisted wreckage. There had to be another way to get through to him.

  I got up and walked to where he sat, silently brooding, his eyes fixed on that can of beer.

  “Trey. Look at me.”

  No response.

  “Look at me, dammit!”

  When he looked up, I dropped to my knees before him, taking the beer from his hand and setting it on the floor. He froze, waiting. I moved closer, my right hand open with palm up in a mute gesture of supplication, inviting contact. He stared at me as his breath quickened.

  “Touch my hand,” I whispered. “Touch me.” I closed my eyes, holding my breath for endless moments while I waited in silence, hoping . . .

  “God, Elise!” he cried. His hand grasped mine, pulling me forward off my knees and onto his lap. I felt his whole body shudder as the wall cracked and split wide open, letting me in. “My God, but I’ve missed you!”

  He devoured my mouth like a starving creature, sucking and swirling, nipping and pulling until my lips were swollen and tingling.

  “What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me what you want.”

  “You. Only you. Always you.”

  He carried me to the bedroom—a room that seemed familiar with our grandmother’s quilt on the bed. That was my last coherent thought before I surrendered to the urgency of our need. Our clothes fell in a heap and we tumbled onto the bed gloriously naked, wasting no time on foreplay as he filled me with his sex and we climbed together into ecstasy.

  I floated down from the peak slowly, hugging him deep inside of me while my fingers explored his face, his hair, his shoulders, his back . . .

  “Like what you feel?” he asked.

  “Love what I feel. Love everything about you.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. Everything.”

  “No more doubts? Fears? Reservations?”

  “None. You win, my love. No matter what happens, we belong together.”

  “Promise? You won’t change your mind tomorrow?”

  “No. I promise.”

  He kissed me and I felt him growing hard again. His hips started to move, grinding against me until I joined his rhythm and we shattered once more, flinging the last tiny pieces of my doubt into oblivion.

  I woke at midnight, wrapped in his arms and the quilt he’d pulled over us after our third joining.

  “Trey?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “It’s midnight. I’ve got to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Home. My father will be worried. And I’ve got a class in the morning. So do you.”


  Untangling myself from the quilt, I groped for my clothes until he flicked on the bedside lamp. “Text your father,” he said. “Stay with me. You can swing by your house in the morning to get what you need for class. Don’t leave me now.”

  I knew what he was thinking. If I ran home now, would I change my mind again? Listen to my father’s arguments? Let fear overpower my love?

  Pulling my phone from the pile of clothes, I sent Daddy a text: With Trey. Don’t worry. Then I turned it off and crawled into bed, snuggling into the warmth of the quilt and Trey’s big body next to mine.

  Chapter 24

  I arrived home at seven the next morning, hoping my father would be on his way to work so I could get ready for my nine o’clock class. I was wrong.

  Daddy sat at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a coffee mug. He looked at me, no doubt noticing my swollen lips and tousled hair, signs of a woman who’d been thoroughly loved.

  “Sit down, Elise.”

  I sat.

  “You told me you were going to talk to Trey, to resolve some things for our family’s sake.”

  “Yes. That was my intention.”

  “And?”

  “Things are resolved, but I’m not sure the family will approve.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m going to do what I should have done months ago. I’m moving in with Trey. We belong together, Daddy. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but I listened to you in February and we’ve been miserable ever since. This is my life, and I’ll live it with the man I love.”

  “Your brother.”

  “My cousin. No one knows the truth except you and Johnny. I’m no longer afraid of disclosure. That simply won’t happen.”

  “You can’t be certain.”

  “I’m certain of only one thing: I love Trey. You and Johnny will not keep us apart any longer.”

  I poured myself a glass of juice and sat across from him, hoping to lighten the mood. “You’re not losing me, you know. I’ll be dropping by often. And you can come to the apartment for dinner. Trey is a fabulous cook. The apartment is beautiful—very modern with a great balcony.”

 

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