Meant for More

by Liza James

  She shuts the door behind her, and immediately stalks forward as she throws her arms around my shoulders. "Bloom," she cries, clinging onto me tightly while we shift back toward my bed.

  "What's going on, Liv?" I ask, confused at her distress. She hasn't mentioned Carter in several days now, so I'd be surprised if this was related to that.

  "There's something I need to talk to you about. Something that’s been happening and I’ve just been too scared to finally address it with you."

  Oh, shit.

  "Okay," I reply carefully, pulling out of her hold and meeting her watery gaze. Tears spill down her cheeks as she lifts her hand and quickly wipes them free.

  "What is it?" I ask, but I already know what it's about. This is it. She's figured out what's happening between Carter and I. My heart hammers in my chest, my mind racing with concern over how to fix this with her.

  I wasn't ready to tackle this today, and honestly, I wish we could discuss this once I've gotten home from seeing my dad. But she's clearly in pain, and I don't want to hurt her any more than I already have.

  She bites her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth while her fingers fidget in her lap. "It's about you and—"

  Knock knock.

  My bedroom door flies open again, this time the one person who could probably make this entire situation worse.

  Carter steps into the room, two coffee cups in hand as he kicks the door shut behind him. He glances up and notices Liv sitting next to me on my bed, his expression suddenly falling into confusion and apprehension. He looks my way, and then bounces back to Liv immediately. "Well, what the hell is going on?"

  I look to Liv again, reaching out and taking her hand in mine. "I think I already know," I start, tilting my head to the side as I mentally prepare myself to confess the things she's hurt over. "Listen, I know that you and—"

  "Don't worry about it," she interrupts me, pulling back her hands and quickly standing. "We can talk about it later." She looks toward Carter and walks over to him, snatching one of the coffees out of his hand and lifting it to her lips. "Where are you guys headed to?"

  "What the fu—" Carter starts as soon as the cup is pulled free of his hand.

  "To see my dad," I reply, standing and gathering my coat and phone as I turn and walk toward them. "He went back to rehab last week."

  Liv's face lights up in clear happiness and surprise. "Bloom! I'm so happy for you. That's amazing. Maybe seeing you the other week really put things into perspective for him." She rushes toward me and hugs me again, pulling me against her in a tight embrace.

  I can't help but be slightly stunned at the genuine support she's offering me. Only because I know she's hurt and upset by Carter and I. But she's always been a good friend, and the fact that she's still standing at our side through this reminds me of that.

  "Thank you, Liv. Thank you so much." We step away from each other and she turns around with a smile and sip of her stolen coffee. She steps past Carter and pulls open the door, walking outside as she peeks back one last time.

  "Thanks for the coffee, Carter!" she calls, and his lips pull into a tight line as he sarcastically nods his head.

  I laugh, and step up to him, wrapping my arms around his waist when he offers me the single cup in his grasp. “For you,” he says, his tone turning soft and kind as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

  “She’s upset about us, you know.” I caution, appreciating his hold but reminding him of the distance we have to keep. “That’s what she was going to talk to me about. She was crying when she came in, Carter.”

  He slams the door shut again, closing us into the space alone. My skin immediately sparks, my chest rushing with the potent energy between us. His hands tighten over my waist as he twists us around so I'm pinned against the door.

  Carter instantly releases his hold on me and instead, firmly places his hands on either side of my head against the surface. "Is that what you wanted last night?" He presses forward, his lips moving across my jaw while his words weave through my blood. "When you were touching yourself to my voice? When you were moaning my name when you came?"

  "I wish I could fight this," I stammer out, forcing my hands to stay against my legs while he continues tormenting me with his touch. "But god, I want to give in to it so badly."

  "Then do it," he dares, using his teeth to nip at the soft skin over my shoulder. "You're already mine, Bloom." His fingers move to my neck, wrapping tightly around my throat as he shifts his lips closer to mine. He leans even closer, tempting me to give in, to kiss him while my heart races in my chest.

  My nipples are hard, pulling tightly against my shirt as my chest rises and falls against his. The proximity of our bodies, the blazing fire roaring between us suffocates just as easily as it ignites.

  His lips brush against mine barely before he pulls away again. My own fall open, my tongue and mouth eager to connect with his. I can practically taste him already, feel him moving against me in my mind while my body physically reacts to the images flashing through my head.

  "Are you wet, Bloom?" he asks, but his voice is temptation incarnate. He already knows. Of course, he fucking knows. He keeps his eyes locked on mine when he drops his other hand to the button of my jeans.

  Slowly. Meticulously. He unbuttons them and unzips them, watching me catch my breath while his eyes fall to my lips. He raises them again, and tightens his hold around my jaw as he slips his hand down the front of my jeans. His finger slides through my slick pussy and slowly rolls over my clit.

  I whimper at his touch, and while I know we should stay apart, I can't help but want this right now.

  But instead of touching me again, he pulls out and lifts his finger to my mouth, brushing it across my lower one so I can taste myself on him. He leans forward and speaks into my ear, his voice low and dark as he reminds me of my truth. "I do this to you. Every day. Every moment. Even if we aren't together—you belong to me."

  He pulls back quickly, straightening his shoulders and reaching behind me for the door knob. "Come on, we should hit the road."

  I stumble forward as he pulls the door open, my hands quickly reaching to button up my jeans now that he's shattered the clouds of sexual tension. "What the hell, Carter?" I mumble under my breath as I turn around and face him.

  A wide, arrogant smile pulls at his lips. His eyes are bright with satisfaction and on fire with desire. I can feel it, in the way he looks at me and when he's touching me when we're alone.

  This is too much.

  I can't contain it. I can't gain control of it. It's a wildly crashing storm, destroying lines and barriers as if they were nothing.

  He walks away from me, dangling his keys in signal of us leaving. I step out behind him and follow, intentionally forcing my mind to stay focused on where we're headed. I'll have to figure out all of this with Carter when we're finished visiting my dad.

  We're walking out the front of the house and toward his Jeep when my phone beeps with an incoming text message.

  Mom: Good luck today. Be safe, and tell Carter I said hello.

  My mom and I don't speak often anymore. Not right now, while she's traveling the world with her new boyfriend. I've been okay with it, because honestly, I'm used to absent parents.

  Growing up, it was easier to cling to Carter and Liv than my mother. My dad and her were always fighting, always arguing. Slammed doors and broken dishes. Painful and toxic words spewed between the both of them. He spiraled farther away into alcohol and she lost herself in depression and other men.

  I love her, I do. But I had to become incredibly independent at a young age and before my dad became an addict, he and I shared a closer relationship than my mother.

  "My mom says hi," I repeat her words as I jump inside Carter's Jeep and buckle in. He turns it on, the familiar rumble coming to life beneath my feet.

  "Hey mom," he replies, smiling a little as he says it. He's always called my mom—mom as well. But now, it feels a little different with the projection of ou
r relationship.

  We pull away from campus and head out of town. I lean back and settle into my seat, resting my head against the window as my mind wanders to my father. Various situations and conversations play in my head, some from my past, some hypothetically from the future.

  I can see us hugging and my dad apologizing, or him crying and the terror of him relapsing, or even a future that's bright and clear. One where my dad and I are working together in a studio, creating our own pieces and building something together.

  The drive to the facility is a quiet one. Carter knows I tend to slip into my own space when something big is approaching. I live in my own narratives, and while I haven't thought much about that before, it's been something I've tried to get away from lately.

  Sometimes, the narrative in my head distracts from my reality. That's when I lose the correct priorities of my life, what I should be focusing on rather than what keeps my mind entertained.

  Like filthy visions of Carter. Those could probably take the back seat while I work on fixing other areas of my life.

  But in times like this, when I'm anxious and stressed, it's hard to get away from running through every single potential outcome of our visit today.

  Finally, we pull in to the parking lot surrounding the large building. It's modern and clean, white and cream accents with chrome details. Big, bright windows line every wall, and I can see several people walking about on the other side. There's a courtyard off to the left, and it looks like it's currently busy with several patients as they stroll through it.

  My heart kicks up several notches and my stomach twists in anxious pain.

  "Breathe, Bloom," Carter says smoothly as he turns the Jeep off and shifts to look at me. "This will be good."

  I love his security, his constant positive outlook on life. It's refreshing when I need it, and also the strength I can use to pull from in moments like this. "Thank you," I reply quietly, fidgeting with my fingers in my lap while my eyes stay focused on the building. "What if he's angry when he sees me?"

  "Why would he be angry? He wanted you to come. He sent you the information for this. He knows we'll be here." He places his hand on my thigh, his long fingers spanning wide over my leg. My eyes fall to the movement, and it's in this simple touch that I can feel the stark contrast in my gut to when Benj touches me.

  This is different. This is real.

  I weave my fingers through his, feeling his heated skin and soft touch against my own. I pull from it, his power and bravery into myself. "I know you're right," I say, deciding to finally take the next step and unbuckle myself before pushing open my door.

  Jumping out of the Jeep, I look over to Carter on the other side as he walks around to me. "But you're a surprise." I finally tell him, my expression contorting into something awkward and shy.

  He halts his steps and turns toward me. "What? You didn't tell him I was coming?"

  "No, because I know he'll be glad to see you." I hurry ahead of him, skipping eagerly over the small lot. He groans out my name behind me, clearly irritated at my lack of communication. But I have a good feeling about this, and I know my dad will appreciate him being here.

  We reach the wide, glass front doors to the building. They automatically pull open as we near them, welcoming us into a space smelling clean and sterile.

  Everything inside the facility is white and warm. Countless plants are scattered along tables and the space is filled with beautiful pieces of artistic decor.

  Pleasant and inviting. That's what this feels like. New beginnings.

  Ironic, seeing as New Beginnings is the name of the rehab center. They've done a good job at creating that environment.

  Soft music plays over the speakers, and I can already see little groupings of family and patients scattered about. Some are chatting and eating, others are playing games or invested in deep conversation. My father isn't out here though, and my skin itches with anticipation.

  I walk forward and up to the check-in counter, quickly writing down mine and Carter's names on the visitor list. The kind clerk behind the desk smiles at us, taking our information and calling back to have someone let my father know we've arrived.

  We’ve arrived. Goosebumps line my skin in scattered places, my heart beating softly and rapidly with each passing moment.

  We sit on a small couch in the foyer—plastic and stiff—and it strangely does nothing to help comfort my nerves. But Carter's arm rests across the back of the sofa and that in itself is enough to help calm me.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Time slowly passes while my stomach tightens more and more. Why hasn't anyone come to get us yet?

  For a moment, I'm terrified that maybe my dad doesn't want us here. Maybe he changed his mind at the last second. But I'm suddenly reassured when a nurse finally comes out to us and ushers us back to the patient rooms.

  We walk down several corridors, passing large windows and bright lights as we move through the facility.

  "I'm so sorry for the wait, your father was finishing up a session when you guys arrived. He's excited to see you both." The kind woman with tired eyes looks over at us as she speaks, but directs her attention to clipboard in front of her again. "Ah, okay, just over here. Room forty-seven."

  We turn left at another corner, and finally step up to the narrow wooden door housing my father’s room. She smiles and tells us we can contact a nurse at any time if necessary before she walks away.

  I look to Carter for a moment, forcing a deep breath into my lungs before I finally turn toward my father's door and knock.

  There's nothing at first. A few restless moments pass in the quiet, and I absently start picking at my fingernails while we wait.

  Before I can even process it, the door swings open and my dad is standing right in front of me.

  I'm still, perfectly frozen while my gaze is glued to his.

  Salt and pepper hair. Clear eyes. Bright skin. Tentative smile.

  Open arms.

  "Baby," he says. His voice clear and his tone sharp.

  "Dad," I reply, and in an instant I'm launching myself forward and throwing my arms around his shoulders while he stumbles backwards.

  "Ahh, Bloom. I'm so happy to see you." He presses a kiss to my forehead, and then another to my cheek. He's chuckling, his laugh warm and low as it rumbles through his chest.

  I pull back and realize tears are already spilling down my cheeks. Wiping them away, I glance back at Carter, who's resting casually against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets.

  My dad follows my gaze and looks over my shoulder, fully comprehending the fact that I brought him with me.

  "Carter, Carter, Carter," he says, but his tone turns slightly detached and imposing. "I should have known you'd be with my daughter."

  "You know me. Been following her around for years now," he replies, keeping his voice light as he steps toward us. He holds out his hand, offering it to my dad who drops his gaze and watches it for a moment.

  I sigh in relief as soon as my dad shakes Carter's hand and pulls him in for a tight hug. "It's good seeing you, son," he says, and a wide smile overtakes my face uncontrollably.

  I throw myself forward and wrap my arms around both of them, surrendering myself to the beauty that is our little family. Both of these people, who I care for and love most in my life are here.

  "I love you guys," I say, my voice muffled against my dad’s chest as I speak. They both laugh and return the sentiment, stepping back while we each pull apart.

  I turn toward Carter and address him first. "Do you mind if my dad and I go out to the courtyard for a bit?"

  "Of course, I'll hang out until you're finished."

  I smile and reach out, taking my dad’s hand and tugging him behind me. I'm thankful to have Carter here, but I know I need to talk to my dad alone for a bit before the three of us spend time together.

  My dad hurries up beside me and rests his arm around my shoulder, tugging me against him as we both walk down the corridors of
the facility.

  "My baby," he starts, sighing in what seems to be relief and comfort as we stroll. "I've needed to see you with a clear head for a very long time now."

  I look toward him, meeting his face with my own eyes. It's now, in this moment when I can appreciate the smile lines around his mouth. I can see the wear and tear in his skin, the tan lines, the rough texture, the little scars announcing his lifetime in this world.

  "I've missed you," I say quietly, lifting my hand to my shoulder and weaving my fingers through his.

  "Not as much as I've missed you, baby," he replies and quickly leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of my head before turning and looking ahead of us. His eyes are glassy, and I know this conversation, this visit, is going to be hard. But it's everything we've been needing. "I'm sorry about the last time I saw you. At the restaurant. I hope you know I didn't mean anything I said at the end, and I'm sorry for the boy you were with then."

  "Benj. And he's fine. He was confused, but he understands." I look to my dad again, even though he won't meet my eyes as I speak. "I understand too, always. I know this is beyond difficult for you. I'm so proud of you for coming back here."

  He smiles as we approach the doors leading us out into the courtyard. They slide open as soon as we get near enough, and we step out into the crisp air and bright skies. The space is lined with beautifully trimmed trees. Greens and winter reds decorate the leaves and bushes around us. The pavement ahead of us is a sandy color, the kind that sparkles tiny piece of embedded glass. It’s beautiful and inviting. Several other people are walking by as well, lost in their own conversations or activities.

  "You are the only person who has stuck by my side through everything," he begins as we step toward a black, iron bench on the right side of the sidewalk. He tugs my hand and motions for me to sit down as he does. "Your mom, she didn't deserve what I did—to either of you—over the years. I can't be sorry enough for what I've done."

  "I know, dad. And she knows you're sorry too. She forgives you," I say as I hold his hands in my own lap. "I forgive you. Always."