From Our First: A Promise Me Novel

by Carrie Ann Ryan

  “I don’t want to think. Don’t ask me questions.”

  “Is this going to be another mistake?” he asked.

  “If it is, it’s one I want to make.” I knew those words were probably a lie. This was idiotic. It wasn’t what I’d come here for. It would probably only make things worse. But I kissed him, and when he lifted me off my feet, I wrapped my legs around his waist, needing more.

  “Just once,” I whispered.

  “Once.”

  He shoved my back against the wall, my skirt riding up to my hips. I arched into him, needing him, kissing him, forgetting the rest of the world.

  This was the man I had loved, and it was everything. If we could pretend, then we could walk away… This could be goodbye. I kept rationalizing all of this to myself, but it made no sense. It didn’t need to. I pulled at his pants, and he undid his belt buckle and pushed his jeans down to his knees. He slid his hands between my thighs, and I moaned, his fingers spearing me.

  “Already wet for me, baby.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Oh, so you’re feisty now?”

  “I was always this way.” I bit his lip, and he’d growled, capturing my lips again as he moved those two fingers. I arched, my body shaking as his thumb pressed against my clit, his fingers curling to rub the tangle of nerves inside me.

  He pumped in and out, his hands working hard enough to make me shake. I reached between us, trying to touch him, but it was too much. I came on his hand, his name a rasp on my lips as my legs shook. And then his fingers slid out, and I could finally grasp him. He was hard and thick, bigger than I remembered.

  “You didn’t grow here, did you?”

  He laughed. “No, still the same size. Damn, you’re so fucking beautiful, Myra. I always loved your curves, but I swear to God, I could lick you up.”

  “Not now. I can’t wait, Nathan.” I didn’t say the word later. Didn’t say “next time.” Because this could be the only time. I needed to languish in this mistake and not think about the future. And so, I gripped him and positioned him at my entrance. He met my gaze before slamming home. I gasped, both of us freezing at the riot of sensations. Nate was warm and so wide that I had to stretch to accommodate him.

  And yet, this felt familiar. As if we had done it a thousand times before with no time in between. I could barely catch my breath before he pulled out of me and then pressed back in.

  I met him thrust for thrust, my lips on his, my skirt moving farther up my body as he cupped my ass and spread me. He pounded me against the wall, and I scraped my fingernails down his back, leaving gouges. I couldn’t help it. I needed him.

  When I came again, I bit his shoulder, and he threw back his head and shouted my name, filling me as he came, as well.

  In the aftermath, the coolness of the air-conditioned room chilled my body, and my sweat-slick skin grew clammy. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t do anything. Instead, I froze against the wall, my body still holding onto him, his cock still hard inside me, and I tried to take a deep breath.

  “Myra,” he whispered.

  “I need to clean up,” I said, my voice wavering.

  “Shit. Myra.”

  “If you say you’re sorry, I’ll slap you. Please, pull out of me. I need to clean up.”

  So he did, oh so carefully. My panties were shoved to the side—we hadn’t even stripped each other entirely. I was still wearing my bra, for God’s sake.

  This was the heat and the temptation that had gotten us into trouble before. And here we were, making another mistake. All because I hadn’t wanted to speak, hadn’t wanted to think. And I’d thought this action might be worth the consequences.

  I was not the cool and calculated Myra that I showed to the world. I was now the temptress and the sin that had gotten me into trouble before. I didn’t want to hate myself, but I couldn’t help but despise the gravity of my mistakes.

  Nate was back in an instant as I fixed my skirt, and he helped me clean up. Still, I stood there, looking at him with his pants undone, his body sweaty. I knew there was evidence of what we had done on his back, my fingernails having left marks. But I couldn’t even look at him.

  “I’m clean. You’re the only person I’ve ever not used a condom with.”

  I hadn’t even thought about it. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d never had sex with someone without a condom before—other than Nathan. And at that point, we were married.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m clean, as well. I can show you the reports.”

  “Same.”

  “I need to go.”

  “Myra.”

  I shook my head, not meeting his gaze. “No. I need to go. I just…this can’t happen again.”

  “Myra—”

  “Goodbye, Nathan.”

  I picked up my bag, and I ran.

  And once again, he let me.

  Chapter 11

  Nate

  * * *

  I’d given her twelve hours, and I thought that was enough time. I knew from Macon that Myra wasn’t taking care of Joshua this morning, so I figured she should be home. If not, I would track her down, and we would talk. Because if we didn’t, I was afraid my head might fall right off my shoulders.

  How the hell had we gone from trying to understand what had happened in our past to having sex in my fucking living room? It made no goddamn sense. Yes, I was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean I’d needed to bang her right there.

  It was a mistake, a lack of judgment on both our parts. And we had to talk about it.

  But, Jesus Christ, despite that, I wanted to do it again. And that was the problem—one of many. Being with Myra again was like a thousand moments in time wrapped up in a necessary breath. I hadn’t thought to be with her again. I had never allowed myself to believe that it would ever happen. It couldn’t. I’d hated her at one point. But I had been wrong. I hadn’t known the truth. And I knew that I couldn’t hate her. Ever.

  I could only hate myself. But now we had slept together, and I didn’t know what to do about it. We needed to talk. Again. But I knew how well that had gone before.

  I had told my family members to talk to their significant others when things got insane, that communication always had to be the most important thing. So, I would live up to what I told others, even if it felt like I was raking myself over hot coals. And I had yet to figure out exactly how to grovel the way I should.

  I stood on Myra’s porch, not knowing if she was home for sure because her car could be in the garage. I knocked on the door and let out a breath, not knowing what to say, and hoping to hell that she was home, while also praying she wasn’t. This could be Schrodinger’s house. If no one ever came to the door, perhaps she was hiding from me, or not here at all.

  Myra opened the door as I was having my existential crisis. She stared at me, her eyes a bit puffy, her lips swollen as if she had bitten them rather than having my mouth on hers like I wanted.

  “I should have known you would be here this morning.”

  I swallowed hard. “May I come in?”

  “I suppose you should.” She took a step back, and I walked in, doing my best not to touch her or brush against her. Because if I did, I was afraid what I might do. It was hard to keep from touching her. I wanted to hold her close and pretend like our past hadn’t happened. That, somehow, we were moving beyond all the pain that had broken us. Only I knew that was a dream, and one I didn’t even want.

  And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

  “Do you want some coffee?” she asked, and that’s when I realized that she was holding a mug. She had on a long sleeve cotton shirt and jeans with holes in the thighs and knees. There were paint splatters on her wrists, as well as on her hips. Her hair was piled on the top of her head, although some of the layers were a bit short and fell around her face, the blond pieces making it look like a halo.

  She was both my fall and my salvation. And I was the one left wanting.

  “I would love some coffee,”
I said after a moment.

  She nodded tightly. “Then let’s get you some. Honestly, I’m glad you’re here. We can be adults about this. We aren’t children anymore.”

  “You’re right. And I think coffee would probably be the best thing right now because I sort of chugged mine before I got here. It might’ve scalded my throat.”

  She smiled half-heartedly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. We were off to a rocking start so far.

  I followed her into her kitchen and studied the lines of her home. It was beautiful, light in every corner, and places for photos and art and so many of the things that spoke of the person Myra was now, but I also caught glimpses of the Myra I had known before.

  There were no photos of her family other than her grandmother and a few female cousins I knew she liked. I didn’t see her parents or that annoying cousin, Roland. I didn’t see memories of her college year with me. But there were photos of the pact sisters. And of Joshua and the kittens.

  So many memories of when she was happy, when she was the Myra she was becoming, the one I desperately craved and wanted to get to know, even if I knew it wasn’t my place or my right to do so.

  Her kitchen was white with light granite and cabinets that looked almost modern country. I had seen a few HGTV shows, but Arden had decorated my place. I didn’t know what to call Myra’s home or style, other than comfortable. Not exactly warm, the coolness of the metal and the reclaimed wood and sharp lines of some of the pieces wouldn’t scream home to some. But I saw it, and I knew that it was pure Myra. Her home. So, while others might not see warmth, I did. Because beneath the icy exterior, there was a warmth to the woman. The person I had loved.

  And, deep down, I was afraid I still loved her.

  “Here you go.” She handed me a gray mug with hearts etched into the side.

  “This looks homemade.” I looked down at the mug in my hand.

  “Joshua made it, actually,” Myra said with a smile.

  I looked down at the piece of pottery that looked nothing like something a child would make.

  “Seriously? When I was his age, anything I made had enough holes in it to not be usable.”

  Myra snorted. “I did most of it, but he helped. Had his little hands in mine when I was at the potter’s wheel.”

  “So, you throw pottery?” I asked, not knowing that little tidbit regarding the woman I’d thought I knew so well all those years ago.

  “Sometimes. I work with mixed metals and other materials, too. However, oil on canvas is still my bread and butter. Cliché for the people of my hometown.”

  “I would think that would be watercolors.”

  She smiled at that. “True, after luncheons and then brandies after dinner. Okay, so that’s a historical romance and not so much the elite of California.”

  “I’ve seen your pieces,” I blurted.

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Other than a couple of the ones I saw around your home just now? Yes. Hazel has one.”

  “She does.” Myra smiled. “I’m working on ones for Paris and Dakota. Joshua has a small painting in his room. I also have something in mind for Arden, but it takes me a bit to get there. I have commissions and a show coming up. With everything happening so quickly with the attack and our friends being in danger, it’s been hard to get in the mood to create hope and happiness. My art’s gone a little darker than I want lately, and while that’s fine for an art show, it’s not the best thing to put into something for your friend’s wall.”

  I took a sip of the coffee and nearly choked.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Her eyes widened, and then she let out a breath. “I didn’t even think about it. I know exactly how you like your coffee, and I made it without even thinking. Do you have the same tastes?”

  “Yes. One sugar, one cream. Like we had at that diner.”

  “I loved that place. They had the best chicken fried steak with biscuits and so much gravy. Something I cannot have any more, unless I want to clog my arteries and work out for an extra hour the next day. But it was so good.”

  “I was sad when the place closed.” I took another sip of the coffee, trying to wash down the memories.

  “I hadn’t heard,” Myra said, sadness filling her eyes.

  “A couple of years after you left. The owner passed away, and his kids didn’t want to run the place anymore. There’s another diner there now, and I hear it does just as well. I never went, though.”

  “After I left…” she said, her voice trailing off. “I should have stayed to talk to you. I should have told you what happened, or asked you what happened rather. But I let my parents bully me like usual, and I left. I signed the divorce papers, and I was so hurt, I didn’t even talk to you.”

  I set down my coffee and shook my head, then moved forward so I was close enough to read her face. It was so hard to get a bead on her emotions these days, but I was learning. Though I wasn’t sure how much I should. What were we doing? Did I want this to progress? Or did I want for us to remain only friends?

  I wasn’t sure what the answer was, but regardless, I needed to beg for forgiveness and work on that groveling.

  “You left because I was an idiot. Because I believed your parents without doubting what I saw the way I should have.”

  “I wish I could have seen those photos,” she ground out.

  I swallowed the bile rising up my throat and then shook my head. “You don’t. You really don’t.”

  “I want to say I can’t believe they did that, but I can. Those are the same people who didn’t even tell me that my grandmother died. They are cruel, and so easy about it. It’s as if the lies and the audacity just drip right off their tongues, as if they don’t have to worry about the consequences of their actions. And maybe that’s true. Both of my parents come from money and have never had to worry about anything but what vacation they want to take next. They got their degrees to work in their jobs—my mother with charities, my father with the family business. I was never once told that I should follow in his footsteps. That was Roland, my cousin, the one you met.”

  I ground my teeth. “Yeah, I remember him.”

  “He’s the one following in my father’s footsteps. Because he was born a boy.”

  “But did you ever want to do what your father does?” I asked, wondering why we’d never talked about this before.

  “No, I didn’t.” She laughed.

  “You don’t regret the fact that your father never groomed you for that?”

  “They told me what degree to get so I could better help with the charities my mother ran. So I could take her place. It’s a hard business, one that doesn’t pay, but it’s good work, even if it’s mostly about trying to elevate your social standing.”

  “That’s a whole world that I have nothing to do with,” I said.

  “And I loved that you didn’t.” She bit her lip.

  “I always felt like I wasn’t good enough for you because I wasn’t from those circles.”

  “That was never the case, Nathan.”

  “But it’s what I felt. And I didn’t talk to you about it because I didn’t want to make things weird or hard for you. And that’s on me.”

  “I want you to know that I didn’t fall for you because you weren’t part of that set. You know? The girl who falls for the bad boy so she doesn’t have to worry about her past?”

  That made me snort.

  “We are not that couple. We never were. We fell for the people we thought each other was, not the people we thought we were running from.”

  “I’d almost forgotten how many times you used to see to the crux of the matter. You were always so brilliant.”

  “Were?” I asked, raising a brow.

  Myra rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you still think you’re brilliant.”

  I put my hand over my heart. “Ouch.” I let out a breath. “I don’t know how you’re ever going to forgive me, or if I even want your
forgiveness. Because I don’t deserve it.”

  “You don’t need to beat yourself up over it anymore,” Myra said, setting her coffee cup on the counter before pacing the kitchen. “That’s what my parents want. They want us to hate each other. They want me to be put in my place. Even if they’ve pushed me completely out of the family as much as they can, they still want me for certain things. And you being out of my life is probably part of that. Even if it’s deep down.”

  I frowned. “I’m going to ask something, and I don’t want you to get angry.”

  She froze, her brow rising. “I can’t promise that. Especially when you add a disclaimer.”

  “Fine. Did you sleep with me to make your parents angry?” I asked and then groaned.

  “Nathan Brady. Seriously?”

  “See? It was the stupidest thought. I don’t even know why I said it.”

  “No, I didn’t. And I don’t know why I slept with you, which sounds stupid. We had sex. As we were fighting, and sort of figuring out what the hell we were doing, we had sex in your living room or reading room or whatever the hell you want to call it. Against the wall. Without a condom. That was so stupid, Nate. Not only because of the lack of protection, but because of everything else.”

  “I know.” I ran my hands over my hair. “I have done many stupid things in my life, Myra. Most of them having to do with you.”

  “Ouch,” she said, the look in her eyes teasing.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Oddly enough, I do,” she said, picking up her coffee again.

  “I took so long to figure out who I was. Somewhere along the way, I lost you. And I will forever be sorry for that. But, here we are. We are so connected, and we can’t change that. Now, we have to figure out how to coexist in this world we created.”

  “We shouldn’t have sex again.”

  Nate winced. “If you’re going to put it out there like that.”

  “Nathan,” she said with a laugh.

  I sobered. “I missed you calling me that.”

  “You’re not the boy I used to call Nathan.”