Too Late

by C. Hoover

  I lift one of her legs to my side. Then the other. “My car,” I whisper, wrapping her around me.

  It’s dark enough outside and the property is encased with enough trees that I’m not worried about neighbors seeing us as we climb in my back seat. The only thing I’m worried about is the fact that her fiancé is inside the house and getting caught would mean...

  I don’t even want to think about that right now. Dalton hasn’t texted me yet, so we’ve got time.

  I shut the back door and reach over the front seat, grabbing a condom out of the glove box. When I fall back against the seat, she’s sliding on top of me, mouth on mine, hands on my chest.

  Down my chest.

  I lift her bra over her breasts and work my mouth over her at the same time she frees me from my jeans.

  Once I get the condom on, I grab her hips and position her on top of me while she pulls her panties aside. I lean my head back against the seat so I can watch her face as I enter her.

  We make eye contact and I begin to lower her on top of me, slowly. Everything grows much quieter in the car as we both hold our breaths. My eyes never leave hers the whole time she’s taking me in. When we’re finally skin to skin and I’m fully inside her, we simultaneously release a sharp exhale.

  “My God,” I whisper.

  It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt—finally being inside her.

  It’s the guiltiest I’ve ever felt—knowing how much danger my lack of willpower is putting her in.

  She leans forward and wraps her arms around my neck. “Luke,” she breathes against my lips.

  I fucking die.

  She called me Luke.

  My mouth finds hers again and I kiss her the way she deserves to be kissed. With conviction. With respect. With feeling.

  She begins to move on top of me and she’s all I see.

  I close my eyes and she’s all I fucking see.

  I had no idea it could feel like this.

  That sounds so cliché, even as I’m thinking it. But his hands, his mouth, the way he touches me—it’s like my response is what he lives for.

  And right now, the only thing I’m focused on is the way he’s moving his hand against me, touching me in just the right place that I’m afraid I might not only wake Asa up, but the entire neighborhood. As if he can sense this, he covers my mouth with his, stifling my moans as I crush myself against him. My legs begin to shake, my arms, my whole body, as the greatest sensation I’ve ever felt slams through me.

  “Luke,” I moan against his lips.

  As weak as I am in this moment, I find the strength to continue moving until I’m the one having to stifle his sounds. His mouth is incredible. He tastes like fruit. He tastes sweet.

  Nothing like the bitterness I swallow when I kiss Asa.

  When we’re both no longer shaking, and I’m still on top of him, he leans forward and feathers his lips across my shoulder.

  I don’t know how I went from hating him two hours ago in the kitchen to feeling more for him in this moment than all the days before combined.

  Knowing that he’s not like Asa...that’s he’s the complete opposite of Asa...it’s so...attractive.

  He’s good. He’s a good guy. They actually exist.

  It all came together like an epiphany while I was floating in the pool. Him calling himself by the wrong name. Him taking a Spanish class that is years beneath his ability, only to conveniently be in there with me. The way he continued to reassure me that I needed to trust him, but he would never say why. Using another girl as a decoy.

  That was the kicker. I figured that one out before he even came clean at the pool.

  When Dalton said Carter...or Luke, rather...was telling the truth, I knew there was more to it. More to her. More to him blatantly making out with someone else when he’s in the same house as me. I told myself that if he came outside and denied ever being with her that I would know then that he’s a liar. That he’s just like Asa.

  But if he came outside and told me the truth—that he was using her to throw Asa off—then I knew I was right. I had him pegged.

  I just didn’t know which one I preferred to hear. That he was just like Asa...or that he’d been using me this whole time.

  As soon as he realized I had figured it out, I was expecting that to be the end of us. I thought he would fear for his job and try to cut some kind of deal with me to keep me quiet. Because guys like him...guys with careers, who are good and successful and kind...they don’t fall for girls like me.

  Or at least that’s what I was raised to believe.

  But I was wrong, because he’s not worried about his job. When he says all he sees is me, I believe him. Because all I see is him. And right now I want to soak up every second of him.

  His arms are wrapped around me and we’re both just trying to catch our breath. This was stupid. We both know it, but right now I would say it was completely worth it.

  “As much as I wish you could stay right where you are forever, you should go back inside,” he says.

  I know he’s right, but I wish he wasn’t. Inside is the last place I want to be after this. I run my fingers through his hair and can smell the fresh scent of shampoo. I bend forward and sniff his hair. “You showered? Before you came back to the house?”

  He smiles, I can see it even in the dark.

  “So you showered and you had condoms in your car? Were you expecting to get laid tonight?”

  He drops his head against the headrest and a slow, satisfied grin stretches across his lips. “I showered because I like to look good for you. I have a condom in my car because I like to be prepared. And it’s been there for six months, in case you’re curious.”

  I was, but I don’t have a right to be. He knows what still happens between Asa and me at night. If I could stop it I would, but it’s just not an option right now. Not until I’m no longer in this house.

  But we don’t talk about that. About the fact that I’m still with Asa, and about how what just happened between Luke and me wasn’t right, no matter how right it felt. But I honestly don’t care that I just cheated on Asa. I should feel guilty, but I don’t.

  Karma’s a bitch, Asa Jackson.

  Luke runs his thumb over my arm and pushes down my bra strap. He dips his thumb under it, rubbing back and forth. “Sloan?”

  I’m tracing his jaw. He has a great face. Masculine in all the right places, but a hint of soft femininity to his lips. “Yeah?”

  “How did you figure it out?”

  I grin. “You’re all I see, Luke. And I’m really smart.”

  He nods. “Yes, you are.” He presses his palms against my back and pulls me against him, but before his lips meet mine, my back hits the seat and he’s hovering over me, covering my mouth with his hand. “Be still,” he whispers, looking out the front window.

  My heart feels like it climbs up my throat.

  We’re dead. We’re dead.

  We. Are. Dead.

  I hear a heavy pounding against the window, but I’m not so sure it isn’t just my heart. “Open the fucking door!”

  I close my eyes, but feel Luke’s mouth press against my ear. “It’s just Dalton,” he whispers. “Stay down.”

  I nod and cover myself with my arms as Luke sits up and opens the door. Something comes flying into the back seat, and Luke catches it in his arms. “What the fuck!” Luke says, gathering whatever Dalton just threw at him.

  Dalton leans in through the door and looks at me. “Next time you two decide to sneak off and fuck, make sure you take your clothes with you.”

  Luke hands me my shirt and jeans that Dalton just threw at him. I frantically pull my shirt over my head, embarrassed that we were so careless.

  “Is he awake?” Luke asks Dalton.

  Dalton eyes him hard, saying so many things with that look that I don’t even begin to understand. “No. But you need to leave before you get us both killed.” Then Dalton turns and looks at me. “And you need to get back in the house before Carter
gets you killed.”

  He stands up, and right before he slams the car door, he says, “We need to talk before you leave, Carter.”

  I’m struggling into my jeans and Luke reaches over to help me. I really should keep calling him Carter in my head, otherwise I’ll likely slip up and call him Luke around Asa.

  “Are you in trouble?” I ask him. I button my jeans and then straighten out my shirt. He slides a hand around to the nape of my neck.

  “I’m always in trouble, Sloan. I wish I could tell you I’m good at my job, but I think this has proven that my priorities are a little out of line.”

  I laugh. “I personally think your priorities for the past half hour were spot-on.”

  He kisses me and says, “Go. Be careful.”

  I kiss him back, hard. And when I walk away from him this time, it doesn’t hurt quite as much. Because now I have hope. Hope that he has a plan to get us out of this mess.

  I smile the entire time I’m in the shower, because when I opened the back door and walked into a spotless kitchen, I knew without a doubt it had been Carter who cleaned it.

  No one—and I mean no one—has ever lifted a finger to help me around this house. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard that cleaning is the way to a girl’s heart, but based on my reaction, I’d say it’s the way to mine. Because I nearly cried when I heard the dishwasher running.

  That’s really sad. Loading a dishwasher means more to me than an engagement ring? From the outside looking in, it would seem my priorities are way out of line, too.

  But I much prefer them this way.

  Asa is passed out on the bed when I walk into our bedroom. He’s sprawled across the whole mattress, naked.

  Great. I’m going to have to try and wake him up or roll him to his side of the bed, but he’s way too heavy for me.

  I walk around to his side of the bed and grab his arm and try pulling him across the mattress. He doesn’t budge, but he does groan between snores.

  Then...he vomits.

  All over my damn comforter.

  I close my eyes and try to remain calm. Of course he would ruin this beautiful night.

  He continues vomiting between bouts of groaning, filling the room with an acidic smell. I rush to the desk and retrieve the trashcan, then I lean over him and lift his head so that he’s vomiting into the trash can.

  He throws up two more times and then finally, after a few minutes of calm, he opens his eyes. When he looks up at me, the terrifying look in his eyes from earlier is gone, replaced with a childlike innocence. “Thank you, baby,” he mutters.

  I place the trashcan back on the floor and then put my hand on the side of his head. “Asa, I need you to try and stand up. I need to take the comforter off the bed.”

  He rolls over, away from the vomit, and pulls a pillow to his chest, falling back to sleep almost immediately.

  “Asa.” I shake him, but he’s out again.

  I stand up and look around the room, trying to figure out how I’m going to do this without having to go downstairs and ask for help.

  There’s no way I can do this by myself, and I’m not about to sleep downstairs on the couch. Not with Jon here. I’m praying Dalton or Carter are still here, because letting Jon or Kevin know that Asa is out cold will not be doing me any favors when it comes to my safety.

  To my relief, Carter and Dalton are standing at the door preparing to leave when I make it downstairs. Carter stands alert when he sees me.

  “I need someone to help me lift Asa so I can change my comforter. He threw up everywhere.”

  Jon mutters, “Good luck with that,” from the couch.

  Carter glares in Jon’s direction and then immediately starts to head to the stairs. I can see the disapproval in Dalton’s eyes, but he begins to follow Carter as well.

  When we all make it up to the bedroom, the stench is so bad, I’m forced to cover my nose to keep from gagging.

  “Holy shit,” Dalton mutters. He walks straight to a window and opens it. We all look down at Asa and I’m a little embarrassed for him that he’s naked. But knowing Asa, he wouldn’t care. And even if he did, it’s no one’s fault but his own that he’s in this position.

  Carter reaches down and tries to shake him awake. “Asa. Wake up.”

  Asa groans, but still doesn’t wake up.

  “What the hell did he take?” Carter asks, turning toward Dalton.

  Dalton shrugs. “Hell if I know. I saw him chew a few pills on the way to the casino. Heroin on the way home.”

  Carter doesn’t even hesitate when he leans forward and hooks Asa under the arms. He lifts him up and then stands, pulling Asa away from the bed.

  I immediately gather the comforter and wad it up. I’m not even going to attempt to wash this one. I set it in the hallway and then change the sheets, just to be safe.

  “Which side does he sleep on?” Carter asks, still holding him up beneath his arms. I point to Asa’s side of the bed and Carter drags him over there. Dalton helps lift him back onto the bed and I pull another blanket out of the closet and cover him with it.

  When I’m tucking it around him, Asa opens his eyes and looks up at me. He runs a hand over his face, wincing. “What’s that smell?” he grumbles.

  “You threw up on the bed.”

  He grimaces. “Did you clean it up?”

  I nod and whisper, “Yeah. I changed the sheets. Go back to sleep.”

  He doesn’t close his eyes. Instead, he lifts his hand and tugs at a strand of my hair. “You take such good care of me, Sloan.”

  I stare at him for a second—at this vulnerable version of him. And somehow, even with Carter standing in the room with me, I feel for him.

  I can’t not feel for him.

  Asa isn’t the way he is because he chooses to be. I feel like he is who he is because he was never shown how to be anything different.

  For that, he’ll always have my sympathy. He’ll never have my heart, and he’ll likely never even have my forgiveness.

  But I can’t help but give him my sympathy.

  I start to stand up, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist, pulling me back down. I lower myself to my knees beside the bed and Asa wraps his hand over mine. His eyes are closed when he whispers, “One time, when I was five...I threw up on my bed. My father made me sleep in it. Said it’d teach me not to do it again.” He releases a small laugh, but then his eyes squeeze together even tighter. “Guess the bastard was wrong about that, too,” he mutters.

  Oh, God.

  My hand goes to my heart as I ache for the little boy in him.

  I turn and look at Carter and Dalton, and they’re looking at Asa with just as much pity as I am. When I turn back toward Asa, he’s rolling onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow.

  He grips the pillow in both fists and presses his face against it so hard, I’m convinced he’s trying to smother himself. His shoulders begin to shake as they roll forward into the pillow.

  “Asa,” I whisper, soothing a hand over his head.

  He becomes a wreck of sobs. It’s the kind of cry that is so deep and heart wrenching, it’s not even accompanied by a sound.

  Completely silent.

  I’ve never seen Asa cry. I didn’t even know he was capable of real tears.

  He won’t remember any of this tomorrow. He won’t know if I left him here alone or crawled into bed and held him. I continue to sooth Asa’s head as I glance up at Carter. Dalton is no longer in the room. It’s just the three of us now.

  Carter walks over to me and I can see equal amounts of sympathy in his eyes. He lifts his hand and runs it over my cheek, then bends forward and kisses me on the forehead.

  He holds his lips there for several seconds before breaking away and walking toward the door. When he reaches the doorway, he turns around and stares at me for a moment. He lifts a hand and slowly runs his thumb over his bottom lip. My heart reaches out for him, but I stay planted on the floor, comforting Asa.

  I lift my hand and pull a
t a strand of my hair, winding it around my finger. Carter’s lips stretch into a ghost of a smile as he watches me for a few seconds longer, then closes the door.

  I climb onto the bed, under the covers, and I wrap myself around Asa, soothing his tears until I’m convinced he’s finally asleep.

  But right before I drift off, I hear him whisper, “You better never fucking leave me, Sloan.”

  The first thing I see when I open the refrigerator is a bowl of leftover spaghetti. Thank God.

  “See, Dad?” I whisper to no one. “She’s a fucking godsend.”

  I put the spaghetti in the microwave and then walk over to the sink to splash water on my face. It feels like I slept with my head in the fucking toilet all night. Hell, based on the stench of the bedroom this morning, I probably did.

  I lean over the counter, waiting for the spaghetti to finish heating up. I stare at the bowl as it rotates in circles inside the microwave.

  I wonder if I killed him?

  I doubt it. It’s been almost a day since we left the casino. If he died, the police would have been here by now. And if he lived, I’m almost positive he won’t press charges. He knows he deserved what I did to him.

  The microwave beeps.

  I pull the spaghetti out and grab a fork, then shove a bite into my mouth. I barely get it swallowed before I have to find the trashcan. I throw up twice, rinse out my mouth, and then force another bite of spaghetti into my mouth.

  I’ll push through this withdrawal like a motherfucker, because I am not turning out like that man.

  I eat another bite of spaghetti and swallow it down with my bile.

  Push through it, Asa.

  The front door swings open and Sloan walks inside. I glance at the clock and notice it’s barely after two. She’s never home from school this early. Either she doesn’t notice me standing in the kitchen or it’s that time of the month and she’s in a pissy mood, because she rushes straight up the stairs and to the bedroom.