Now And Always (Crown Creek)

by Theresa Leigh

  Just like I knew he would, he immediately understood. Pulling me close to him, he flipped over onto his back. I landed astride him in a move that was so skillful that once again I had to remind myself that this is Ethan. Ethan is fucking me right now, and oh God, I am going to come.

  I pressed the heels of my hands to his chest and squeezed my eyes shut, intent on controlling the orgasm that skated along the edge of my nervous system and bringing it out on my own terms.

  But then I felt a new, exquisite pleasure.

  My eyes flew open, landing first on Ethan’s face. His jaw was tight with focused concentration as he looked down to where we were joined. Another shudder ripped through me, and I realized a half a second later that he'd pressed his thumb right over my clit.

  “Oh.” I shimmied, trying to skirt away from the delicious pressure, but he gripped me with his strong carpenter’s hands and held me fast. “Oh God,” I cried, helpless to the feelings he wrung from my body, helpless against the shivering rise of an orgasm that seemed to start at my toes and roll upward in waves. I shrieked and sank my nails into his chest as if holding tighter would help me keep a grip on my sanity, but it was useless. I was gone.

  I sagged forward just as he sat up. Catching me in his arms, he held me tight as I shook. I buried my face in his shoulder and screamed his name. I felt like a rag doll in his strong hands. He could mold me, was the nonsensical thought that bubbled up in my brain, but the more I thought it, the more it seemed like the truth. He could smooth down my rough edges, those jagged pieces of me that were forever getting snagged by life.

  He could shape me into something beautiful.

  The stubborn part of me wanted to resist being shaped. But his love and care felt too good.

  “Claire, God.” He looked stricken. “God, you’re so beautiful. I’m going to—” He shuddered, his whole body taut with the strain of holding back.

  I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want either of us to hold back anymore. We’d wasted too much time denying ourselves this perfection. I pressed my hands to his face and kissed him hard. “Come with me,” I urged against his lips.

  His lips parted. I felt him stiffen inside of me, then he surged upward with a cry. As I came with him, blackness licked the edges of my sight, erasing the past. All I could see now was a beautiful future with Ethan Bailey.

  We fell back onto the bed, his arms still wrapped tight around my waist. He pulled me flush to him, and the soft hairs on his belly tickled mine.

  My belly.

  Reality flooded back. I had no future with Ethan.

  I'd made sure of that the week before Halloween.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ethan

  She fit against me like a dream. I held her as her breathing slowed, and her body relaxed, her head growing heavy on my arm.

  All I wanted was to have her fall asleep like this. With my free hand, I traced a trail up the hills and valleys of her hips and waist and then up to her silken hair. She liked to be petted, I’d noticed. Like a cat. And I wanted Claire purring.

  Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, I whispered, “Are you asleep yet?”

  “How am I supposed to ever sleep again?” She bit back a yawn.

  “I know, I get it. Now my dreams are never going to measure up to reality.”

  “Wow, good line. Were you always this smooth?” she wondered, laughing.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I teased, running my hand back down her silky skin. "Literally though, were you always this smooth?"

  "Another great line. Damn.”

  I chuckled and slid my hand around her stomach, intending to pull her closer.

  She stiffened. Her muscles tightened as she sucked in, drawing her belly away from my touch.

  I didn’t know what to do, so I kissed her shoulder again. And waited.

  “Everyone already assumes it’s yours,” she blurted.

  I froze. I didn’t mean to draw my hand away. But I did, and she let out a shaky breath.

  “Don’t cry,” I begged. "Not after what we just did."

  "I wish it was yours,” she spat. “I fucking wish it was.”

  I held perfectly still.

  What would she say if she knew I'd claimed this baby as mine the moment I knew she was pregnant. Even before she'd admitted it to herself, I’d put myself in the position of father. Of Daddy. I took care of her so she could take care of my child, but I hadn't allowed myself to think of it that way because it wasn't actually mine

  “Claire?”

  “Yes, I do know who the father is,” she said tightly.

  “I wasn’t saying—”

  “And no, he doesn’t know,” she continued.

  I stayed still. I almost forgot to breathe, I was holding myself so carefully, perfectly still.

  She rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. She searched my face for something, and when she didn’t find it, she shook her head in confusion. “You’re not going to ask me who?”

  “It’s not my business.”

  “It kind of is.”

  I frowned. I’d never needed to ask her anything, because Claire always told me.

  She always told me.

  She flopped onto her back. Her arms dropped behind her head in a gesture of surrender, and she stared at the ceiling.

  “Remember that fight we had?” she asked.

  “No.” I tried to pull her closer. “I’m sure it was stupid, and it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  She barked out a laugh. “Of course you remember, don’t be an idiot. It was at the Crown. The week before Halloween.”

  She was too stiff to hold now, so I flopped back onto my back too. It was my turn to stare at the ceiling, because of course I remembered. “You were pissed at me for standing up that girl you wanted me to date.”

  “Julie,” she reminded me. “Everly’s friend from nursing school.”

  “Right.” Why was she bringing this up now? “You were super pissed at me.”

  “And I still am.”

  “What the fuck?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re mad at me for not going on a date with some other girl…now?” I gestured to our naked bodies. “Really? Right now you’re mad about this?”

  She turned her head and faced the opposite wall. “She still texts me about it, and I’m pissed at you because I have to agree with her that yeah, you’re totally this huge asshole, which….” She turned back to me and then mimicked my “look how we’re both naked” pantomime.

  “Which you clearly don’t believe,” I finished for her. “Otherwise—”

  “Yeah.” She licked her lips and fell silent.

  The air felt heavier, and my throat tightened without my permission. There was no danger in sight, but a sharp squirt of adrenaline made me taste metal in the back of my throat all the same.

  “I was mad at you, Ethan. So mad at you.”

  “I know. I remember.” Her rage had blindsided me. The whole bar went silent as she screamed at me. And to my everlasting shame, I’d screamed right back. Bad things. Hurtful things. She’d stormed out, and I’d chased after her, hell-bent on making her see how wrong she was, but she’d been a sprinter back in high school. I could have caught her if I’d needed to chase her for miles, but over the hundred feet to her Jeep, she may as well have been flying. She’d dashed to her Jeep and then floored it, nearly taking out the side mirror of a car pulling in as she raced to get away from me.

  I would never forget how it felt to stand there in the parking lot under the flickering sodium light, the night bugs spinning crazily in the beam as my heart pounded in my ears. “Right,” I said carefully. “You stormed out and went home.”

  “I didn’t go home,” she corrected in a small voice.

  This was new information. “Where did you go?”

  “Well, for a while, I just drove around. Trying to figure shit out.”

  “What was there to figure out?”

  “Two things.” She looked at me. “Fir
st I needed to figure out the perfect way to punish you for not listening to me. And then I had to figure out why I cared so fucking much about you not listening to me.”

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t listen,” I tried to correct her, but she pressed her finger to my lips.

  When I fell silent, she continued. “If a late-night boxing gym had been open, that would have been way better. But I ended up at the pool hall.”

  “Gross.”

  She gave me a look and lifted her chin. “I drank a lot of beer and talked a lot of shit and it felt good because I wasn’t acting like Claire King. Because that was why you were pissed at me, remember?”

  I pressed my lips together, because I did remember. I’d told her to stop being so fucking Claire-like, which was unimaginable now. How could I want her to be anything else but her?

  She nodded when she saw I remembered. “Right. I was there trying to not be myself. Because I was a busybody control freak, according to you, anyway. According to a lot of people in my life, I guess. But I never let it bother me until you said it.” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat.

  “So I thought, fuck it, let’s lose control.” Her smile kicked up. “I let a guy buy my drinks. He and I got to talking. It was nice, actually. He teased me about being lost, I gave him shit because he was acting weird too. He said something about having a shitty night.” Her eyes went far away before she snapped back to the room. “Anyway, we played some games. Pool. A round of darts. He was there with his brothers.”

  My scalp tingled and my knuckles itched. I opened and closed my fists, then rolled away from her. I looked around wildly, my dresser, the window, the wall. The blood roared in my ears, as loud as an oncoming freight train.

  Claire rolled over, propped herself up. She angled her face until it was directly in my line of vision and I had nowhere to look but her. “I went home with him,” she said. “I wanted it, Ethan. He didn’t do anything to me I wasn’t looking for in that moment, so just put that thought right out of your head. Don’t even think about trying to run off and avenge me, you hear me? I made my choice. And I own how absolutely stupid it was.”

  “So you—”

  “I didn’t want to be myself anymore, so I had a one-night stand. We were as careful as we could be, but it didn't work and now I’m pregnant.” Her voice was flat. Emotionless. “So there it is.”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t think it. Couldn’t say it. Even though I knew. “Who?” I croaked.

  She looked me dead in the eyes. “J.D. Knight.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Claire

  He jumped from the bed like he’d been touched with a match. “J.D.?” he shouted.

  The anguish in his voice wrenched at my heart. For a moment, the weight of how badly I’d hurt him was enough to make me sink through the floor.

  But he kept going. “That asshole? That trashy piece of shit? You slept with him?”

  “Watch it!” My cheeks blazed hot. “Don’t you dare judge me, Ethan. Don’t you fucking dare.”

  “I’m not judging you, I’m asking you what the fuck you were thinking when you climbed into bed with him?”

  I wanted it to be you! I screamed internally. But I wasn’t going to say that now. Maybe five minutes ago, when he was looking at me like he couldn’t believe his luck.

  But now he looked at me like I was something heinous he'd stepped in with his favorite boots.

  And like hell I was going to put up with that. “You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking that I can do whatever I want. And that I can fuck whoever I want, and that I don’t owe you anything just because you’ve had a crush on me since middle school. I was thinking that I can live my life however I choose. I was thinking I'm a busy fucking woman and I don’t have time to stand around waiting for my gutless wonder of a friend to find his balls and strap them on long enough to finally figure out how he feels about me. You took too long, Ethan. You took too fucking long.”

  I'd gone out that night to try and hurt him.

  And I'd succeeded. He snapped back like I had slapped him. Suddenly freezing, I yanked the covers up to my chin. Come on, I wanted to beg. Laugh it off. Shake your head at my antics and forgive me like you always do. Come on, Ethan. I’ve made so many mistakes with you. Surely this isn’t the one that breaks you.

  “I knew it. I knew this would ruin everything,” I said. And then waited. I was giving him his line. Come on, Ethan. Now you say, “No, it didn’t.” I looked at him, half smiling in anticipation of the next thing out of his mouth.

  He turned away.

  He wouldn’t look at me. A second ago, he’d been staring into my eyes like they contained all the mysteries of the universe, but now he wouldn’t even look at me.

  I couldn’t stand it.

  I leaped from his bed and yanked my panties on before throwing my top over my naked chest. “I really thought you were better than this, Ethan.”

  His shoulder jerked, but he still wouldn’t turn to me. His flat voice floated over his shoulder. “I really thought you were better than that, Claire.”

  “Oh fuck you.” A sob caught in my throat, choking off the rest of my words, so I stomped around to his front and made sure he looked me in the eye before I lifted both middle fingers and shoved them under his nose. He eyed them, then looked back up at me.

  All I could do was spit a wordless hiss before I yanked on my pajama pants, grabbed my purse, and left him, knowing without a doubt that once I went through his door, I would never come back.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ethan

  She slammed the door so hard, it set the glasses in my kitchen cabinets to ringing.

  For a long time, it was the only sound I could hear. I was numbly impressed that she’d caused them to vibrate this long, until I realized that the ringing in my ears wasn’t the sound of glasses but of my own ferocious rage.

  I should be over it by now. I knew that. I was supposed to let it roll off me. Be unaffected. Be a man.

  The worst thing a man could do was get wounded, and then admit those wounds never healed.

  I told Claire I was over the daily torments the Knight brothers had dished out to me. I was over the constant low-level panic of the school day, the fear-soaked sweat that covered me every time I heard J.D.’s shouted laughter rise up in the cafeteria, because I knew that it was me he was laughing at.

  I told her I was over the bullying because I wanted to be over it. All of us had done stupid things as kids, but we were all adults now, and those shitty mistakes should be forgiven.

  But I hadn’t forgiven. Because I hadn’t fucking forgotten how it felt to be Bookworm Bailey. I hadn’t forgotten the constant wondering why. Why had they chosen me as their favorite target? What had I done to deserve the taunting, the humiliations, the beatings? I was well-liked, a good student, a two-season athlete. On the outside, I moved through the hallways of Crown Creek High School with aplomb. Not a shining star like Claire, of course. But not a loser. Not the traditional target of pathetic bullies like J.D. and Rocco.

  I never understood the reason they singled me out, so I still carried that wariness inside of me. I still scrutinized everything I did, searching for signs of weakness that might make me a target. I checked every word before I said it. I rehearsed every action before I did it. I lived in a state of constant alertness. I could never relax, and that was because the small, broken part of me that cowered in fear of J.D. Knight still called the shots in my brain. After all this time, he was still the shadow that lurked in my nightmares, still the monster that lived under my bed...

  And Claire was having his baby.

  Rage thumped in my ears and crept into my sight until everything took on a blood-soaked tinge. “Fuck!” I shouted and whirled to slam my fist into the mattress. I punched and punched, again and again, imagining it was J.D.’s face I was beating to a bloody pulp. I’d done this before tonight. Imagining how I would finally fight back had always been cathartic.

&nbs
p; Tonight it wasn’t enough just to imagine.

  I yanked on my clothes and grabbed my keys from my dresser. The next thing I knew, I was in my freezing cold truck, speeding toward town.

  Crown Creek is a small town. It had sprung up a little over a hundred years ago. First the mills were built to harness the power of the three cascading waterfalls that leap and dash over the rocks as the creek dives swiftly from the higher elevations south of us to the flat plains of the north. The town formed around these mills, both the fancy houses of the merchant owners that stood in stately rows along the deeply cut bluffs of the creek and the workers’ cabins that huddled in the low-lying areas prone to flooding. The owners spent their riches on building the library, endowing the small historical society, and frequenting the prim and proper shops that make our town so postcard perfect. The workers spent their pennies on cheap beer to wash away their troubles and even cheaper forms of entertainment.

  In time, Crown Creek divided itself in two. One part meant for the wealthy. And the other for the not-so-wealthy.

  As the mills’ operations grew, the owners saw the need to get their flours to the city quickly and laid down the tracks for a spur line connecting us to the main branch of the railroad. It was those tracks that formed the unofficial barrier between the two sides of town.

  On the one side were the picturesque Victorian mansions, the tidy, brick-fronted stores, and the soaring spires of the two competing churches that made up the center of Crown Creek.

  On the other side were the ugly, rusting grain silos, the seedy strip clubs, and the loud, degenerate pool halls of what was commonly called Crown’s Edge.

  Avoiding an entire section of such a small town is hard to do. But as my truck’s wheels thumped over the train tracks, I realized that for the past six years, I’d been doing exactly that. Staying scrupulously on what I considered “my side” of town to avoid running into the very person I was now breaking every traffic law to find.