Free Flesh: A Romance Novel

by Daya Daniels

  She runs a hand through her auburn hair and gives me a fake smile. “It’s just about Brandon.”

  I wait, tipping my head forward, encouraging her to speak.

  “Well, he told me you’re good friends with Austen.”

  “Yeah, I know him.”

  She forces a laugh. “Apparently, well enough to have dinner with him and fly kites with them on the beach.” That smile of hers is back again. She covers her mouth with her hand. “I don’t know. I guess I never thought teachers spent so much time with the fathers of their students, that’s all.” She cocks her stupid head to the side.

  I shake my head and stare at her. “We’re neighbors sort of, Raine. I don’t know what you want me to say. And Austen Lennox is living on my best friend’s property, as you know.”

  She huffs.

  “Are you saying I’m doing something unprofessional by flying a kite with your son?”

  “No, no, no.” She waves her hand around, her hips jerking from side to side as her hand does. She glances just over her shoulder at Brandon, who sits in the back seat of their jeep next to Raine’s father. “I just want Brandon to spend more time with Austen alone. We’re trying our best to establish a family sort of thing for him, bring some normalcy back into Brandon’s life.”

  “I assure you I didn’t spend that much time with them, Raine.” It isn’t true.

  What possessed me to think Brandon wouldn’t tell his mother this information?

  She takes a deep breath. “We’re getting back together.”

  I give her a blank stare as the back of my neck flares up with heat. Huh?

  “Austen and I.”

  “Ohhh,” I say softly, laughing a little. “Well, that’s great, Raine.”

  At the vision of Austen’s hands and lips all over this woman, I feel starved for air. Her confession is a painful reminder of the person I lost with no explanation. Austen is gone and on top of that he’s cut off all communication with me. I’ve been rejected—traded up for someone younger—someone he has history with.

  When I look at this woman, all thoughts of insanity creep into my mind.

  Austen and I never talked about Raine. It always seemed like one of those topics it made no sense to broach. She’s not a bad-looking girl. She’s tall and slim, with big breasts that are probably perkier than mine.

  Why wouldn’t Austen want her?

  “I’m very happy for you and Austen.” Checking my watch, I lift my eyes to meet her hard stare that I pretend not to see. “I really have to go.” I make it about ten feet before Raine speaks again.

  “I really came to talk to you because I was just wondering why your truck is parked outside of old man Morris’ house like all the time?”

  Is she stalking Austen?

  My feet freeze to the ground for a split second before I’m marching back to where Raine stands, my gait purposeful and my fists balled at my sides.

  What is she doing? Does she want to die? Where is my gun?

  Think. Think. Think.

  “Landscaping,” I say inches from her face, attempting to keep my threatening body language under wraps, but I’m failing miserably.

  This is one thing I won’t let happen.

  I’d murder this woman before she ever speaks of what she thinks she knows.

  “Landscaping,” she repeats back to me.

  “Yes, landscaping. My husband and I are looking into having some professional landscaping done at our property.” I tip my chin upward, staring down at Raine past my nose, daring her to say something else dumb. I’m aware that if I drop kick this woman, I’ll find myself unemployed faster than I can repeat the alphabet backward...and that’s fast. I’m also reminded that her seven-year-old son would also be a witness to the attack, which calms me a little.

  Her mouth contorts into a weird expression then she smiles. “Well, okay then, Mrs. Stone.”

  “Okay.”

  “You have a good evening,” she calls out.

  Fuck you.

  I’m already walking away with a pounding heart and cloudy brain, desperately wanting to cry.

  “I’ll see you at the July 4 celebration!”

  Lifting my hand, I give Raine a dramatic wave and don’t stop my stride. I’m pissed, but I have no one to be angry at besides myself.

  Because from the moment I met Austen Lennox, I knew he’d ruin my life.

  ~

  It’s late at night.

  I can’t sleep.

  After spending the last three hours twisting and turning in bed, I slipped on a baggy T-shirt, not bothering to put on a bra, and a pair of ratty shorts. I retreated to the kitchen for a bottle of wine then brought it out here on the back porch. I’m barefoot and sitting alone, staring out at the ocean and the white moon that shines down on it, accentuating the waves that roll in. The wind whips over the dunes, pushing on the fencing and the grass that covers it. And just beyond the distance is the wide expanse of the beach. It’s incredible out here. There’s no mistaking that. And even when I’m consumed by inner turmoil I find peace in sitting out here, just staring out at the ocean and the twinkling stars in the night sky.

  When I left my bed, I debated sitting out on the front side of the house to watch Summer and Anthony, but Trav completely ruined that once pleasant pastime for me.

  I readied the house, along with Helen, for the arrival of Zac and Ethan. I cleaned everything from top to bottom. I scrubbed the tile floors until my fingers were raw from bleach and my face was covered in sweat. After a while I didn’t know what I was scrubbing at since there was nothing left to be wiped away.

  I suppose I was attempting to scrub away the dirt in my life...

  Even now, I still feel filthy.

  Chuckling, my eyes start to burn. Instead of letting my tears fall, I take another gulp of merlot, letting the taste linger on my tongue for a little while before I swallow it. After this bottle, I plan to drink another. And then maybe another.

  No matter how much I try, I can’t rid the feeling of suffocation, of something heavy and unrelenting pressing down on my chest like grief. The overwhelming sensation of loss when I remind myself that he’s gone. He doesn’t want me anymore...just like the man upstairs.

  Placing my glass down on the top step, I stand and walk down the rest of them, walking until I find myself lazily strolling down the sandy path leading to the beach.

  The wind picks up, whipping my hair around everywhere. I stop and stumble in the sand, attempting to keep myself upright. I’m definitely drunk. A few giggles leave me as I head toward the edge of the water, staring up at the night sky and the stars that are as distant as I’d like my thoughts be right now. The cool water washes over my toes and the sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline relaxes me.

  I keep walking until I start to jog. My heart pounds in my chest and my calves start to burn when I settle into a pace.

  I keep running.

  My feet slap the wet sand and stir up the salty sea until my shorts are soaked. I stumble and fall to my knees, allowing myself to sob helplessly for a moment before I make it to my feet again.

  When I do, I run faster.

  I’m sprinting.

  My breathing is heavy and my face is hot. Tears dribble from my eyes and slick my cheeks.

  I’m surrounded only by the tumultuous ocean to my left.

  To my right is sand. Lots and lots of sand. And just beyond the sand and the endless dunes are houses spread apart by open space. Occasionally they’re lit up, but most of them are in darkness, since it’s after two in the morning.

  I keep running...

  And the journey feels like forever.

  I spot the light on the front porch of the cottage and it’s like a beacon, guiding me toward where I need to be. When I finally make it there, I come to a sudden stop, placing my hands on my knees, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

  His motorcycle is parked outside.

  What am I doing here?

  Will he let me in?


  Will he speak to me?

  I know I look like a hot mess. My hair is everywhere. My legs are covered in sand. I straighten my clothes, still heaving for breath and sniffling.

  I approach the door, lift a hand, and imagine it’s Raine’s face.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Austen

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  “What the fuck,” I grumble, making my way toward the front door after being awoken from my sleep, kicking a few boxes on the floor out of the way.

  After the news I’ve been given today, I’m not in the best of moods. Not getting sufficient sleep is only going to make me feel worse.

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  Yanking back the curtain, I see her standing beneath the outdoor lamp that illuminates outside the front door. Growling, I undo the latches and open it.

  We meet eyes for a split second, but then mine lower and fix on the sight of the stellar pair of perky tits that would win gold hands down in a wet T-shirt competition. Her hair is all over the place and wet in some places, sticking to the skin on her face and neck that’s covered in sweat and sand. Her pretty blue eyes widen as she looks at me.

  I’m standing in front of her wearing nothing but a loose pair of lounge pants. “Callie,” I say softly, looking around.

  “Hi.” She hiccups then her breathing becomes erratic.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her face twists as she wipes her tears away with the palm of her hand.

  I step closer, desperate to console her, but I won’t. I look around, scanning the area left then right. “Did you run here?”

  She nods and begins to sob.

  “Callie,” I say firmly.

  She spins away from me—her posture slumped and her chest shudders when she begins to cry.

  “Callie.” Walking toward her, I place my hands on her shoulders. “Callie.”

  She whips around in my arms, gritting her teeth as she gets in my space. “Did you fuck her?”

  I keep my expression impassive and it takes me a minute to understand who she’s referring to.

  “Did you? Huh. You fucked her, didn’t you?” She pushes up on the balls of her feet to make herself taller, which entertains me.

  Is this why she’s crying?

  Is this why she’s upset?

  Is this what propelled her to run all the way here at two o’clock in the morning?

  Her blue eyes are crazed. “Did you, Austen?” She shoves me in the chest a few times and that’s when I get a whiff of the wine on her breath.

  She’s drunk.

  I snatch her by the forearm, drag her inside, and shut the door.

  She sniffles and wipes her face, staring at the wooden floors beneath her bare feet. “You fucked her, didn’t you?” She lifts her head.

  I take a deep breath; my jaw is tight with irritation at her assumption and something about her hellish appearance amuses me. “And what if I did?” I ask without emotion.

  Her brows knot as a few tears trickle from her left eye.

  “I’m nothing to you, Callie, right? Just some guy you fuck.”

  She rushes me like a Black Friday shopper in a Best Buy store. She slaps me in the face, once, twice, three times and it’s beautiful fucking pain. I love every second of it. I love that I make her feel this way—flooded with anger and inadequacy just like how she makes me feel when she leaves me after we’ve finished fucking.

  “That’s it, Callie,” I encourage. “Fight for what you want. Hit me again. Go ahead.”

  And she does a few more times, earning annoyed laughter from me.

  I take it all without moving an inch until her movements become crazed and I restrain her, locking her wrists in my grip. “I’m nothing to you, right?” I tease, brushing my lips over hers.

  “No,” she squeaks as her bottom lip quivers wildly. “I tried to—”

  “Tried to what?”

  “I don’t know.” She shakes her head and stares down at the floor for a moment. She looks at me. “You won’t talk to me. You won’t answer my calls. Or reply to my messages.” The expression on her face becomes innocent, childlike. “I just wanted to—”

  “Fuck.” I finish her sentence, lifting a brow.

  “No.” She inhales sharply.

  I let her go.

  She backs away and covers her face with her hands. Her wild hair is everywhere, falling over her shoulders in thick, dark waves. As upset as she is, she looks absolutely stunning, good enough to eat, fragile like tissue paper. I want to hold her in my arms and never let her go.

  I step closer and hold her face by the sides, forcing her to look at me. Her skin is soft. The sight of her nipples peaking against the wet fabric of the T-shirt she’s wearing, and the supple mounds of her breasts are messing up my concentration.

  I focus on her narrowed eyes. She looks about ready to pounce. If she does, I swear I’ll wrestle her to the floor and fuck the frustration right out of her.

  In the last few days, I’ve taken Brandon to the zoo twice. The second time Raine simply showed up where we went out to eat and Brandon asked her to stay. Then a few times after that she even showed up here unannounced. Each time I sent her away. Whatever Raine has said to Callie has obviously upset Callie enough to accuse me of fucking her, but nothing of the sort has happened and never will.

  Doesn’t Callie know?

  My heart cracks at the sight of Callie’s tears. She’s hurt. I want to stop them then I want them to fall from her eyes, because for once, they need to spill for me.

  “I never fucked her, Callie. I haven’t fucked another woman in a while—not since we started doing this regularly.”

  She squeezes her eyes shut. One tear slips from the left one. When she opens them, she stares at me.

  “Is this why you came here? You came here to ask me this?”

  She takes a deep breath. “I miss you.”

  My chest swells as if her words fill me with extra oxygen—much needed air.

  “I came to-to-to tell you that...”

  “What?” I’m desperate for her to speak.

  Say it.

  “I don’t know,” she murmurs. “Nothing about this is right.”

  Sayyyyy it.

  “But I—”

  Say it!

  “I love you, Callie. I do.”

  Her shaky fingers curl around my wrists and her frantic breaths puff against my lips, warm and sweet.

  “I love you.” I shake her a little, making sure the words settle in her brain. “And you love me too.”

  Her lips are parted, but no words escape.

  “You do, Callie.”

  She blinks slowly. “I can’t, Austen,” she rasps.

  My brows knot with irritation. “You’ve said the words before, Callie.”

  Albeit in the throes of a powerful orgasm, but she’s said them before.

  I bob my head as I repeat the words with a jaw so tight my molars are throbbing.

  “I haven’t. I can’t, Austen. I love—”

  With the shake of my head, I shut my eyes and laugh before I walk away.

  This woman is infuriating!

  “I love Trav, I do.”

  Spinning around, I march toward her. “Is that why you’re here then, Callie, because you love Trav?” I peer down into her panicked face. “Or are you here because you want to be here, with me?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers, staring up at me. “I don’t know anymore.” The tears are flowing again, so fast that I don’t think she can stop them.

  I want to hold her. I want to tell her everything is going to be okay, that I’ll keep her safe in my arms away from all the shit in the world, but I just can’t. I know I can’t promise her that. I want too much from this woman. So much that it makes me feel ill and dizzy. She makes me irrational, desperate for her presence and the feeling of her delicate skin beneath my fingertips. I hate that she makes me feel this way, tangling my insides up in knots and flooding my brain with nothing but thoughts about the future.


  When did I ever give a shit about the future?

  I laugh, and her expression becomes desperate.

  “Austen, please.”

  “Austen what!” I shout, causing her to shake, surprised at my own rage about this entire situation. “Austen what, Callie?”

  She says nothing.

  The air between us is thick with something fucked up.

  “Callie, I love you. I want more from you.”

  “I can’t give that to you,” she whispers.

  I take a deep, frustrated breath. “I came here to start a life...”

  She shakes her head, her long, damp strands swaying with the movement. “I can’t give you a family, Austen. I can’t have any more kids. I’m forty years old.”

  Stalking toward her, I grab her face by the sides. “And that’s fine because I don’t want more kids, Callie. I made up my mind a long time ago that I’d put all my energy into taking care of Brandon once I got out. I don’t want to have more kids. So, there you go. And besides, I’m pretty fucking sure I could get you pregnant.” My tone is cocky and Callie’s wet T-shirt is doing nothing to help all my thoughts about filling her with my cum.

  “You’re serious. Aren’t you? You can’t be serious.” She blinks slowly. “What about Trav?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut then open them to find her bottom lip quivering.

  “I can’t leave him. I’d NEVER leave him. He’d never survive, Austen, if I left him. I would never even consider it. I would die first.” She wriggles out of my grip and gives me a look of disgust. “What you’re asking me is selfish, Austen.” Her voice lifts a few octaves. “It’s selfish. You’re selfish!”

  “Yes, exactly, Callie,” I growl. “I’m selfish!” I feel no shame about my admittance. “But you know what...he is too!”

  “Oh, fuck you!” The expression on her face quickly becomes horrified.

  “Yeah, whatever, Callie.” I start off toward my bedroom. She can let herself out.

  She rambles on about how I only care about my own needs.

  And when I hear the word “prostitute,” I spin around and march back toward her, getting in her face. “You...are married to a man who makes you feel guilty about wanting sex, needing sex, wanting companionship—a basic fucking human need, Callie. He can’t give you anything anymore, yet you cling to him like a fucking life preserver, when all he’s doing is dragging you down to the black abyss he’s drowning in and making you miserable.” I flick a lock of hair away from her face, observing the tears pouring from her eyes.