Only Him (One and Only Book 2)

by Melanie Harlow

  I’d slept with her, telling myself it was only for one night.

  I’d stayed in Detroit just to be with her when I should have gone to Boston.

  I’d told her how I felt and promised her a second chance.

  I’d hid the truth from her and then flat out lied when she asked me about the surgeon appointment.

  I’d let both of us fall in deep, knowing we would both get hurt.

  And now what? Was I supposed to go have dinner with her and her family, spend the evening making polite conversation and pretending nothing was wrong? Spend the night in her bed again, holding her and kissing her and fucking her and making promises and plans I knew I wasn’t going to keep?

  Miserable and full of contempt for myself, I got out my laptop and did what I’d already done a thousand times in the last few months—researched brain tumors and treatment.

  It was all horror stories, and the pictures were even worse. Finn had told me not to do this under any circumstances, and even though I knew he was right, I couldn’t help it. I needed to remind myself why I wouldn’t let Maren see me that way.

  Then I came across something new. A blog by a guy named Chad—an Ironman triathlete with a PhD in chemistry—who’d had a craniotomy to remove a brain tumor followed by radiation and chemotherapy. He had a great sense of humor about it. He claimed his side effects weren’t even that bad. Reading his story, I actually began to feel some hope that maybe I could weather this storm, especially if I knew Maren was counting on me.

  But then his posts suddenly stopped. After years of updating his readers a few times a month, Chad just disappeared. Months later, his partner posted on the blog that Chad had lost his battle and how hard it had been watching him fight it. How devastating the loss was. How unfair and confusing and painful and sad. How cancer had turned this brilliant, superstar athlete into a shriveled, sickly shadow of his former self. Of course, he went on to say how strong Chad’s spirit remained and encouraged all Chad’s readers to donate to cancer research.

  Angry at the tragic ending to the story and the injustice of it all, I slammed my laptop shut and tossed it aside. A moment later, I opened it back up, got out my wallet and donated to the American Cancer Society in Chad’s honor. It didn’t make me feel any better, though. If a guy like that—a chemistry genius who could swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, and run a marathon without a break—couldn’t survive, what were the odds that I could?

  Not good.

  My room began to feel claustrophobic, so I decided to take a walk. The rain had eased to barely a drizzle, but I didn’t care about getting wet anyway. I wandered the wet city streets with no destination, hands shoved in my pockets, head aching, desperately wishing there was a way out of this that wouldn’t break Maren’s heart and leave her thinking the worst of me. That had been the whole point of my trip here—to redeem myself in her eyes. Atone for what I’d done. But in true Dallas fashion, I’d managed to fuck it up.

  After I’d been walking for a while, I ducked into a little jewelry shop.

  My conscience taunted me. You think some kind of trinket is going to make it up to her?

  Ignoring it, I perused what the store had to offer, and when a saleswoman approached and asked what I’d like to see, I pointed out a necklace that reminded me of one of Maren’s tattoos. It was a little lotus flower pendant on a delicate gold chain. Delicate, feminine, beautiful. Just like her. I knew she would love it.

  I bought the necklace for her and walked back to the hotel, and was about to get in the shower when Finn called. After debating for ten seconds whether or not to answer, I decided I’d better.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Finn. You okay?”

  “I guess.”

  “How are the headaches?”

  “Shitty.”

  “Sorry to hear that. How about your vision?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “It’s okay.”

  “Any more episodes?”

  “One. Yesterday. Same thing as before.”

  “Did you lose consciousness?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good.” A pause. “I wanted to let you know I spoke with Dr. Acharya. He had a chance to look over your films.”

  “And?”

  “He agrees with me about the surgery. The sooner the better.”

  “Does he think it’s benign or malignant?”

  “We won’t know that until the biopsy.”

  “Does he think I’ll need radiation and chemo?”

  “Again, we won’t know that until we have all the information. But you need to have the surgery to get the information. He’ll go over all this with you Tuesday.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything,” I said quickly.

  “I know. I just wanted you to hear his opinion.” He paused. “I also wanted to let you know that I feel really bad about our conversation yesterday.”

  “Don’t worry about it. No point.”

  “Yes, there is, Dallas. You’re the only brother I’ve got. And I haven’t done a good enough job seeing things from your point of view or trying to understand your feelings.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “And how can I expect you to listen to me or believe I care when you feel I’m not on your side? But I’ve never been against you.”

  “No, you’ve been above me. There’s a difference.”

  “Fair enough. I admit, I have judged your choices because they’re not the ones I would have made. But I’ve been talking to someone about things, and—”

  “About my things? Talking to who?” I demanded.

  “No. About my things,” he said calmly. “I see a therapist.”

  “Oh. You do?” It surprised me. Finn’s life seemed fucking perfect. He seemed perfect.

  “Yes. Everyone’s got issues, Dallas. Not just you. But I’ve been talking a lot about you lately, and my therapist really thinks repairing our relationship is important. I do, too.”

  “Frankly, I’m not sure what’s there to repair,” I said. “We’ve never had much of a relationship. I’m closer to your kids than I am to you. I relate to them better.”

  “So let’s change that. When you get here, let’s get to know each other as adults and put the past behind us. Do you think we can?”

  “Maybe. Did you ever talk to Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she ask a million questions?”

  “Of course. But I didn’t tell her anything.”

  “I can’t believe she hasn’t been calling me nonstop.”

  “I told her not to bother you while you were on vacation and you’d call her from here.” Finn’s tone was firm.

  “Thanks.” My phone buzzed, indicating a text message. A quick glance at the screen told me it was from Maren. “Okay. Look, I better go. I’m having dinner with a friend tonight.”

  “You mentioned seeing someone before. Who is it? Anyone I know?”

  A lie was on the tip of my tongue, but at the last second, I decided to be truthful. I wasn’t even sure why. “Maren Devine.”

  “Your old girlfriend, right? Any sparks left?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Finn.”

  “Sorry. But I’d like to hear about your visit with her.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. My flight gets in around one or two.”

  “I’m really glad you’re not driving. Safe travels.”

  “Thanks.”

  We hung up and I read Maren’s message saying she’d meet me here at the hotel. Just seeing her name on the screen made my heart beat faster. I replied, offering again to pick her up. I wanted to do things for her.

  You could tell her the truth.

  Gritting my teeth, I shoved the thought aside and read her response assuring me she didn’t need me to come get her and she’d be here soon.

  Me: Good. I missed you today.

  Maren: I missed you too. Can’t wait to see you!

  That’s because you don’t know the kind of person
I really am.

  Tossing my phone on the bed, I undressed and got in the shower. Being in there reminded me of showering with her, and I recalled the way she’d looked as she stood naked beneath the spray, water streaming down her body. I remembered the way she’d tasted, the way she’d touched me, the way she’d whispered the sweetest things in my ear—I missed you, I want you, I trust you.

  I was hard in no time, and so fucking tempted to do something about it, but I denied myself. I didn’t deserve the pleasure.

  After I got out, I dressed in jeans and a dark blue button-down, put in my contacts, and wrangled my hair into something respectable. I glared at the Depakote in my travel bag for a moment, but ended up taking one. The last thing I needed was to have an episode at the dinner table. I was still humiliated by the one Maren witnessed yesterday.

  When I was ready, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. It nauseated me.

  You’re a miserable, lying prick. But you’ve got one last chance to make this right. Don’t blow it like you’ve done with every other good thing in your life.

  I wasn’t sure whose voice it was—my father’s? Finn’s? my own?—but I knew what it said was true.

  I had to tell her.

  She knocked on my door just after five. I opened it, unprepared for the way my knees nearly buckled at the sight of her.

  “Hi.” She smiled and came toward me with open arms. “I missed you.”

  “Hi.” I hugged her close. “You look beautiful. And you smell delicious. You’re probably not even wearing perfume.”

  She laughed. “Nope. Just a little lavender oil.”

  I released her and looked her over, head to toe. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

  Her cheeks bloomed with pink. “Thank you. How are you feeling?”

  “Better now that you’re here. I have something for you.”

  Her eyes brightened. “You do?”

  “Yes.” I took her by the shoulders and put her in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as I asked and I dug the little box with the necklace in it out of my suitcase and opened it up.

  “No peeking,” I told her, taking it from the box and undoing the clasp.

  “I’m not. I promise.”

  Reaching over her head, I draped the necklace around her throat and fastened it at the back of her neck. “Okay. You can look.”

  She opened her eyes and gasped. Her fingertips immediately went to the gold lotus pendant, which looked stunning against her skin. “Oh, my God. Dallas.”

  Our eyes met in the mirror and hers misted over.

  “Do you like it?” I asked.

  “I love it. It’s beautiful.” She sniffed. “You’re going to make me cry.”

  I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her temple. “No crying. It’s no big deal. I was on a walk today and saw it, and it made me think of you.”

  “It’s perfect.” She placed her arms over mine and squeezed. “I’ll wear it all the time.”

  “I’m happy you like it. It reminded me of your tattoo.”

  She looked down at her arm. “I love this tattoo. It was my first one.”

  “Yeah? What does it mean to you?”

  “I’ve always liked the symbolism of the lotus flower—rebirth, resurrection, revival. Its roots are in the mud at the bottom of ponds or rivers, and its petals emerge above the water. Every night they close up and duck beneath the surface, and every morning they rise up and open again. I got it at a time in my life when I needed to be reminded of my capacity for resilience. The lotus flower never gives up. It gives me strength when I need it.” She twisted in my arms so that she faced me, her arms going around my neck. “Thank you. Not just for the necklace, but for coming here, for spending time with me.” Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips to mine.

  Tell her, I thought as I slanted my mouth over hers and slid my hands down over her ass. Tell her, I thought as I walked backward toward the bed, bringing her with me. Tell her, I thought as I turned her around, laid her back on the bed, and lifted up the long white dress.

  But I didn’t. Instead I knelt down between her legs, pushed her white lace underwear aside, and devoured her like a starving man, her hands fisted in my hair, her hips bucking beneath me. After she came, she begged me for more, and I couldn’t stop myself from fucking her in that pretty white dress, her legs over my shoulders, her honey-colored hair spilling over the blankets, her fingers clawing the sheets.

  With my hands wrapped tightly around her calves, I was rough with her, like I was trying to show her the truth about myself, so rough I hoped she’d plead with me to slow down. Tell me I was hurting her. Push me away. I wanted her to hate me like I hated myself.

  But she didn’t. She moaned and gasped and turned her face to the side, throwing her hands over her head, her angelic features contorted with pain or pleasure or both, and I rammed my cock deeper inside her, making her cry out with every vicious thrust, but she never asked me to stop. And it felt good, indulging the villain inside me—wicked and sexy and selfish and greedy and powerful, so powerful I was drunk with it.

  I let go of her legs and leaned forward, pinning her wrists to the bed with one hand and taking her beneath the jaw with the other. “Look at me,” I demanded, forcing her head in my direction. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see who I am. I want you to know exactly who you think you love.”

  She tried to say something and I stopped her by sliding my palm up over her mouth. I didn’t want to hear her tell me she loved me. She couldn’t possibly. Not now and not ever. I wouldn’t accept it. “Shh,” I told her, driven even closer to the edge by her helplessness, by my audacity. “Just watch. And feel. How hard you make me. How wet you are. How deep I am.”

  Her fingers curled into fists and she whimpered beneath my hand, but she did as I asked, and the prolonged eye contact as I pounded mercilessly into her body sent me hurtling toward ecstasy. The muscles in my lower body tightened as unimaginable heat unfurled inside me. It was lust and anger and need. It was lies and truth, past and present, betrayal and devotion. It was love and it was hate and it was rushing, rushing, surging, cresting, erupting over and over again as my body stiffened and I poured myself into her in hot, uncontrollable bursts.

  When it was over, I took my hands off her and braced them on the bed above her shoulders. I could hardly believe I was still standing. “Fuck,” I said, closing my eyes. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d hit me. “I’m sorry, Maren.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  I opened my eyes. “I was rough with you. It was selfish.”

  “Did it seem like I wasn’t enjoying it?”

  “I have no idea. I was only thinking about myself.”

  She shook her head. “No, you weren’t. You were watching me the whole time.”

  “I shouldn’t have put my hand over your mouth. You could have been trying to say no.”

  “But I wasn’t.” She smiled. “I might be sore tomorrow, but I actually thought that was really hot.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.” Her smile turned a little shy, her eyes adoring. “You were all manly and dominant and strong. Power is sexy. I mean, I don’t want to be pushed around anywhere else, but you can get a little aggressive with me in the bedroom. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “I know you are.”

  She took my face in her hands. “And I’m crazy about you. All of you. Don’t feel like you have to hold back with me, okay? You can be your real self. That’s what I want.”

  I swallowed hard. “Maren, I have to tell you something.”

  “You can tell me anything. But can I have one second? I’m afraid of getting something on this dress, because I don’t have anything else to wear to dinner.” She squirmed, trying to make sure her dress wasn’t underneath her.

  “Oh, sure. I’m sorry.” I carefully pulled out and watched her ease off the bed.

  “I’ll be right back,” she sai
d, giving me a sheepish grin as she headed for the bathroom.

  “Take your time.” I pulled myself together and sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

  Could I do this? Was I really going to admit everything? Was I ready for what her reaction was going to be? Tears and pity and sorrow and pleading with me to have the surgery—and that was if she forgave me for keeping it from her all weekend. She’d be a mess at dinner, unable to explain why, and our last night together would be ruined.

  Then there was the thing she’d said about power. You were all manly and dominant and strong. Power is sexy. If she knew the truth, she’d never see me that way again. She’d see me as sick and weak and at the mercy of other people. Smarter people. Like Finn.

  The bathroom door opened, and she came out looking as perfect as she had when she’d walked in. “All good,” she said, her smile fading as she got closer to me. “You okay?”

  I stood up. “I’m fine. Ready to go?”

  Her head tilted to one side. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me?”

  “It was nothing,” I lied. The disappointment in her face gutted me.

  “It didn’t sound like nothing. Come on, tell me.” She slipped her arms around my waist.

  “I just—wanted you to know how much this weekend has meant to me. That’s all.”

  She smiled up at me. “Me, too.”

  “Should we head out?”

  “Yes.” But she hesitated. “There’s nothing else you want to tell me?”

  “No.” I could hardly meet her eyes. “That was it. I’ll just use the bathroom real quick, and then we’ll go.”

  “Okay.” She let go of me, and I hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I avoided the mirror.

  What the fuck was I going to do?

  Dinner was a struggle.

  Not because of the company—Maren’s sisters seemed great, and everyone was making an effort with me, but my head was not in the game.

  “So, Dallas, I hear you’re a tattoo artist?”

  I blinked at the guy who’d asked the question. Walter, his name was, although it was hard not to think of him as Buzz after Maren’s stories. He was tall and thin and professorial-looking, clean shaven with neatly combed sandy blond hair and wire-rim glasses. “Yes.”