Slipping out, my hands went to her thighs, where I rubbed slow circles to massage her tense muscles. She let out another soft moan, melting beneath my touch.
Sending her a rueful grin, I pulled away long enough to remove the condom and tie it off. My pants were still around my ankles, so I pulled them up before crossing over to the sink to toss it in the trash.
I glanced at her on my return, my breath catching in my throat. She was looking at me the way she used to, enamored.
How could she still look at me like that, after all I’d done? It was a fucking miracle. A miracle I knew I didn’t deserve. One I’d fight for anyway. A miracle I would never take for granted again.
Cupping the side of her face, my thumb brushed over her cheekbone, and I leaned forward to capture her lips with a quick beholden kiss. “You’re a temptress. I was planning on making you wait a little longer.” I chuckled.
She rolled her eyes, swatting gently at my chest, leaving her hand there. She glanced at it, fingers tightening into my inked skin a little as she tilted her head. Sadness tarnished her lips, pulling them into a slight pout.
“What are you thinking right now?” My heart pounded in my chest, beneath her palm.
“Just…you’re so different, and yet…so familiar.” She drew in her bottom lip a little, still studying the web of tattoos spanning my chest.
“I’m not that different, but I’m trying to be.” She frowned, not catching my meaning. “You know as well as I do that I—“
I broke off, the sound of feet hitting the floor above our heads, breaking my concentration. Harper drew away in a panic, searching for her clothes. I grabbed my shirt, tugging it over my head. Pausing by the kitchen doorway to pull up my jeans, I buckled them as I walked toward the stairs, trying to buy her a little time.
Asher stood at the top of the stairs, dark hair mussed and eyes heavy with sleep. He rubbed at them with his fist, his forehead wrinkling. “You’re still here.”
“Yeah, your mom and I were just talking. Gotta head out soon, though. What’s up, little man?” I asked, catching movement from the kitchen as Harper sprinted, slowing when she neared the stairs.
“I—“ Asher’s cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, and he looked down. “I had a dream.”
Harper moved forward, climbing the steps, kneeling when she reached the second one from the top and gently pushing his hair out of his eyes. “A bad one?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. He shook his head, looking from his mom to me and back to her again.
“No, it wasn’t bad but…I couldn’t fall back asleep. I kept wondering something.” He peaked at me, looking back when his mom spoke.
“What is it?”
Asher looked back down the stairs at me. “What do I call you?”
“What do you want to call me?” My heart felt like it was in my fucking throat. Harper’s head swiveled from him to me, tugging her lip in while she watched.
“Dad?” it was more of a question, and he immediately looked to Harper to gauge her reaction, relaxing when he saw that his answer hadn’t upset her. In fact, she was smiling, her eyes misting a little, but she collected herself, placing her hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I’d like that a lot.” I managed, surprised I could talk at all.
“Okay,” he nodded, satisfied. A moment later, he yawned deeply.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” Harper chuckled, standing.
“Night…Dad.”
“See you tomorrow, bud.” I grinned, lifting my chin when he waved. They disappeared down the hall, their voices low and gentle. I found myself staring at the yellow paint. Cheerful and bright, just like the two of them.
Harper reappeared at the top of the stairs. Tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, she descended. For a moment, time came to a standstill as I took her in. Every beautiful curve, the dimples that appeared each time she gifted me with a smile.
How had I gone over three thousand days without seeing that smile?
Exhaling sharply, I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide their slight tremble. That wave of regret just kept coming back to slam into me and remind me how idiotic I’d been.
Gramps tried to tell me, and if I’d listened…well. I wouldn’t have missed everything, and I wouldn’t have put that insecurity in Harper’s eyes.
She frowned, slowing on the last step, and I knew she had a read on my inner turmoil. Chuckling, I reached for her, drawing her toward me by the loop of her belt. “This whole day was amazing. Thank you for every minute of it.”
“Yeah…it really was.” She sounded mildly surprised by that admission. She studied me, teeth biting into her bottom lip.
“What?” I grinned, knowing a question sat on the tip of her tongue.
“Nothing,” she said, a touch of insecurity filtering through her irises before she smiled. “It’s getting pretty late.” Suddenly, her voice lacked the vibrancy and confidence it usually had.
“I don’t want to go, Harper. What I want is to take you to bed, fall asleep with you in my arms, and wake up with you next to me.”
“I think I’ll make you jump through a few more hoops before that happens.” She replied smartly, lips twitching with a smile; the vulnerability she’d temporarily displayed lifting.
“Fair enough.” I was happy giving her the lead, letting her decide what pace to set. It was a blessing to have a second chance, and I wouldn’t fuck it up. I knew it was going to take time—a fucking ton of time—but eventually, she’d trust me again. I’d chase that vulnerability from her eyes and never give it a reason to appear again.
“What’s that grin for?” she demanded, fighting a smile of her own.
“Come pick out furniture with me sometime this week.”
“I told you, we’re not moving in.” Her easy smile had slipped away, and she frowned pensively at me.
“Not yet.” I teased, and she arched a brow.
“Cal…”
“I’m kidding, Harp, well, half kidding. I really do want your input. One of those rooms will belong to Asher, and I don’t…I don’t know what he likes.” I frowned at that, the sting of that hitting home. “I thought you could both come with me and help me pick some things out.”
Seeing the range of emotion filter through my eyes, Harper’s hesitation gave way, and she softened, stepping toward me. Her arms slipped around my waist, and she peered up at me with the sweetest smile.
“Fine, we’ll come shopping with you. Just to prevent you from picking out ghastly royal purple gothic furniture.” She teased, her chocolate eyes sparkling. “And don’t worry about Asher, he’s really easy. You’ll see.”
I was instantly comforted by her touch, and her words lifted my heart and further fed that void. I could feel its hunger shrinking, feel myself shifting.
Rightening.
“Well, I should get going.” I finally said, eyes roaming over her gorgeous features, her melted chocolate eyes gazing up at with reflection. “What time does the bus drop Asher off again?”
“Three-thirty.” She replied, and I nodded, dropping another kiss to her lips before forcing my retreat.
Opening the front door, I glanced back at her over my shoulder, eyes meeting hers for a moment before I moved my reluctant feet forward. I pulled the door shut behind me, taking a deep breath of the chilly air.
Another cold front had moved in, but the icy blast of it did nothing to erase the stupid grin on my face. It was cold enough to snow—in April, no doubt—but I still felt warm. Ignited from the inside.
I climbed into my Jeep and started the ignition, peering up at the house once more. I could have sworn I saw the curtain in Harper’s bedroom move, but maybe that was just my hopeful imagination trying to conjure up another glimpse of her.
Putting the Jeep in reverse, I checked my mirrors and waited for a car to pass before backing up slowly. I’d barely made it out of Harper’s driveway before my phone was ringing, connecting to the Jeep over Bluetooth.
“Get your ass to the pub! Last-minute celebration of life concert!”
“How fucked up are you right now?” I sighed.
“Pretty fucked up, to be honest,” he paused to belch. “But I’m good to play. Dare’s here too. Come on. It’ll be like old times.”
I smiled, shaking my head a little. “All right, I’ll pop by. But I can’t stay long.”
“Yeah yeah, Daddy boy. You’ve got a bedtime now. We get it. Just hurry your ass up.”
Laughing, I ended the call, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, thankful at the welcomed distraction. The prospect of returning to my parents’ right now wasn’t high up on my list of things I wanted to do, not with my dad’s pissed off mug scowling at me whenever I walked into the room.
But I didn’t care—not a single fuck was given to his encroachment. I’d meant what I said: he didn’t have to be a part of the future—and that future tasted good.
I licked my lips, still tasting her on them. Desire stirred in my groin, and I drew in a calming breath. My want for that woman was endless; my love unending and running from it had needlessly tortured my mind until I’d nearly lost myself in the darkness.
It took Gramps leaving this heavenly earth for me to wake the fuck up, and that was a new regret I’d have to carry, along with the many others. Shame and guilt spread in my belly, abundant and teeming, but I put it all aside, determined to prove to myself and to everyone else that Gramps was right; I could have it all.
Calum
It was nearly three o’clock when I finally got back to my parents’ place. The show at The Warf had dragged on a little longer than anticipated, once we got up on that stage. The venue was smaller than the ones we’d grown accustomed to playing at, and somehow—the rush was amplified by the intimacy of it.
Word of the impromptu concert spread like wildfire on social media, and the pub filled to capacity.
It was incredible, and that, coupled with the day I’d spent in Harper and Asher’s company—well, I was riding on a high that felt untouchable.
Until I stepped into the foyer of my parents’ house, that is.
No lights in the living room were on, save for the television, its blue glow dimly illuminating the space around my father’s chair. He sat in it, a can of beer resting on the coaster on the end table beside him.
My father had always enjoyed a brew or two—and never more—after work. He didn’t believe that beer was truly alcohol, but given the empty cans littering the end table beside him—I’d say he was well over his usual two and through.
I cocked a brow, feeling out the atmosphere—my neck prickling at the sudden chill. My father’s clear and bitter gaze moved from the television to me, where I stood.
I knew better than to engage, but still. Drawing a breath, I gestured to the stairs. “It’s late. I’m going to bed. You should, too.”
He scoffed with repulsion, whether at me or my audacity at telling him what to do; I couldn’t tell for certain. The past few days, he’d vary from giving me the silent treatment to tossing dirty scowls my way every now and then.
A slew of pissed off words probably sat on the tip of his angry tongue, but he knew just as well as I did, that if he made a move to unleash them…
That’d be it.
I was done with this fight. It was one I’d never signed up for but found myself contending in regardless. Looking at my old man in his old chair, I realized that this was a fight he had with himself.
I was just the catalyst, the one he’d waited up for, ready to throw punches at.
Exhaling, I ran a hand through my hair and stepped fully into the living room. “Look, Dad, I’m really trying here. I—“
He cut me off with a harsh laugh from his chair, angry eyes assessing me from across the room. “You went gallivanting around the world, screwing anything in a skirt—escapades splayed out on magazines and the god damn Internet, shaming the name that I gave you and breaking your mother’s heart. You knocked up a girl that was always too good for you, and you let her raise your kid alone. And now I’m supposed to just congratulate you on finally pulling your goddamn head out of your ass? I don’t think so.”
My jaw clenched so tightly. I would have worried about chipping teeth if I wasn’t so hyper-focused on the spit hurdling from my father’s mouth.
The clock ticked seconds away, and my father smiled—slow, deliberate, and angry, like he thought he had the upper hand.
“I don’t need your fucking congratulations. And yeah, you’re right. I did all that and more, but I’m here now, head out of my god damn ass, and I’m doing everything to repair what I’ve damaged. You, though?” I paused, laughing darkly and shaking my head. “You’re an angry man so coated in pride that you can’t admit you have a problem, a problem you take out on me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed, eyes darting back and forth, like he was too pissed to focus.
“You can’t stand me because I represent what you took from her,” I told him gutturally, my glare unwavering. The strained silence between us was punctured only by the heavy breathing of two pissed off adults.
“I can’t stand you because you’re an embarrassment.” He denied, spittle flying from his mouth as he stepped into my space, index finger pushing into my chest.
Drawing in a controlled breath, I stepped back and shook my head. I could no longer shoulder the responsibility of being his scapegoat; of letting him back me into a corner where I felt I had no choice but to lash out against his aggression with my own.
This time, I wasn’t having it.
I’d lived with the man for eighteen years; I’d learned a thing or two about him, my parents, and my mom. I knew how he ticked better than he did.
“Mom was going places. You wanted to keep her, so you trapped her, and she stayed. But you weren’t expecting the guilt, were you? It’s easier to take it out on me, right? Easier to just blame me. You can pretend its “tough love” all you want, old man. But it’s just your deep-rooted self-hatred lashing out at a physical representation of your own shitty choices.”
This time, I anticipated his swing, and I ducked, easily avoiding it. My heart was thrumming with adrenaline, but I couldn’t hit him. I wouldn’t hit him.
“Go on. Ask me how I know,” I barked, dodging another swing. My question—so outside my typical way of handling him in one of his fits—threw him off guard, and he paused, brows knitted together with confusion. “Ask me.”
“What in the god damn hell are you talking about?” he snarled, lip curling.
“Blue trunk in Gramps attic.” I exhaled, my heart pinching as I pictured the old trunk of my mother’s memories. He paled, eyes widening as they focused on me, fist suspended in midair: her diaries, her photographs, newspaper clippings of articles written about her in local papers. My mother had been a promising pianist, singer, and songwriter, and she’d stopped it all to raise a family. “You’re lucky she loves you, and you’re lucky that Connor and I were enough for her. But don’t make this about me when it’s not.”
I left him in stunned silence, charging quietly up the steps. I padded past Connor’s closed bedroom door. No lights were on; she was likely sleeping. My parents’ door was open a crack, but Mom’s gentle snores told me she was still sleeping.
I slipped into in my room long enough to grab my duffle bag and acoustic. I’d call my mom and Connor in the morning and explain things, but for now—I needed to get the fuck out of there before my restraint buckled, and I did something I’d regret.
Gramps’ letter caught my attention when I turned to leave. I tucked the letter deeper inside my duffle bag before tossing it over my shoulder and picking up my case.
Calmly and quietly, I descended the stairs. I glanced into the living room as I passed, seeing Dad still in his chair, staring at the television; his expression unreadable. Shaking my head, I continued outside, closing the door behind me.<
br />
Tossing my stuff in the back of the Jeep, I ran purely off the adrenaline, my hands trembling slightly.
I drove toward Dare’s. Dialing his number, I let it ring. He answered just before voicemail picked up, sounding winded. “Hello?”
“Hey. You still up?”
“Yeah, why? What’s going on?” he asked, pausing to guzzle something back. “Everything okay?”
“The old man and I just got into it. If the offer still stands, could I crash on your mom’s couch?”
“Sure. Yeah, that’d be fine,” Dare said after a pause. “How far away are you?”
“About to pull into the driveway,” I yawned, the adrenaline fading, and the day’s events hit me almost instantaneously. I could hear rustling on the other end of the line.
“All right, I’ll meet you at the front door. Kinda have a lady visitor tonight, and Mama Deen’s been out cold for hours now.”
“That’s fine, do you. I just need to sleep.” I said, fighting off another yawn. I ended the call and killed the ignition. I was so tired, I left all my shit in the trunk and locked it, dragging my exhausted limbs to the front door of Dare’s Mom’s house.
He was already there, holding it open. Dressed in a pair of jeans and probably nothing else, Dare stepped back and pushed his hand through his long hair. “You and the old man fought?” he asked quietly, leading the way down the hall to the living room.
“Yeah, a little bit. I’d rather not talk about it though, I’m fucking bagged, and I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.” I yawned again, unable to help myself. The lack of sleep over the last few days was beginning to take its toll on me, and the exhausting exchange with my father wasn’t exactly helping.
“No worries, I’ve got somewhere else to be anyway,” Dare grinned. He gestured to the beige couch, where there was a folded throw blanket, a pillow, and noise-cancelling headphones.
“Nice touch,” I shook my head, chuckling a little. Sitting down, I tugged my boots off and leaned back. “Get the fuck out of here.” I lifted my jaw, and Dare gave me a weird, nervous half-smile before turning heel and heading for the basement.
Off Beat (Forgotten Flounders Series Book 1) Page 18