My thoughts roam to my father. I felt so betrayed by him the night Bruce took me. And then when he erased me and dumped me right into the lap of Slade. None of it made any sense. But even though I didn’t understand it, I still trusted him. I still do. Dad once told me that he creates programs that are extremely valuable to our homeland’s security. I know without a shadow of a doubt that my dad was protecting something big if he was playing “chicken” with Bruce on who’d budge first. I think Dad was counting on Bruce to have a little heart in him considering he was practically an uncle to me.
Did it hurt that he seemed to have chosen to protect our country over his only daughter?
Of course.
Did I understand it?
Definitely.
Do I forgive him?
I did the moment I woke up on the floor in the room above the bar.
When Dad erased my entire existence, took away my boyfriend, and forced me to live with an asshole, I wanted to hate him. But as much as my Dad was always controlling my every whim, there was a reason. He loved me enough for two parents. He had to. And sometimes, he went a little overboard. Over the years, it was frustrating and annoying, but not once did I ever question his love for me.
As Bruce crunched down on my finger with those pliers, I didn’t question it then. I was upset and confused. I was terrified out of my mind.
But there was never a question of his unconditional love.
So, yes, I forgive my dad. I will always forgive my dad.
And Slade?
Slade is a totally different story. Since our first encounter, he’s been this magnetic pull I can’t seem to get away from. But even though we’re constantly gravitating toward one another, he has seemed dead set upon pushing me away, aside from the past few days. The man I barely know has whittled a tiny place in my heart, and now, I care. I care about whether he wants me or not. I want him to want me. I question his feelings for me. I need his constant reassurance.
When he took the piano away, it gutted me. He broke my fractured being with one simple act. That piano had been the constant reassurance he’d been unable to provide. That Dad hadn’t been able to deliver through his emails. It had given me something to hold on to.
So when he took it, I lost it. A little piece of Joss died and Jill’s heart hardened there instead. What he did was unforgiveable.
What he did is still unforgiveable.
We might have made love, which was heavenly by the way, but my heart still holds on to that bleeding wound. My body may have said, “I forgive you, Slade,” but my heart is more stubborn and a bit angrier. My heart doesn’t melt the way my body does from a few sweet words and caresses.
“And now,” Bill says, interrupting my thoughts, “it is time for your treat. I’m pleased to announce that we’ll have our guest, Jill, playing the piano for us tonight.”
I gasp in surprise.
Slade leans over and pecks me on the cheek before whispering, “Showtime, Cupcake.”
My face burns crimson, which is ridiculous. I’ve played before hundreds and hundreds of affluent New York residents while wearing expensive, sparkly evening gowns, and not once did I falter. I’ve never doubted my ability to wow a crowd. But now, in front of fifty or sixty people, I feel terrified.
When Wolverine’s sidekick starts squealing in excitement, I grab the one nerve that seems to be left deep inside me. On shaky knees, I stand and walk over to the stage. Then I make the mistake of sweeping my gaze across the congregation. They’re all so expectant and happy to have me here. Nobody paid for this performance, yet I feel like it’s my biggest one ever.
With a deep breath, I climb the three steps and approach what appears to be a Baldwin Howard upright. The instrument probably cost less than a grand brand new in its day. It seems ancient, pushing fifty years, but it is well taken care of and loved, which causes my fingers to twitch at my sides.
As I sit, I notice a small microphone, and I click it on to speak to the crowd.
“This first song is my favorite, and I’m going to dedicate it to the little boy from our pew.” I throw the beaming boy a wink before I position my fingers.
When I start tapping out the beginnings of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” the boy sings loudly along. My grin is undeniable as I play just for him. He’s too dang cute and apparently the crowd thinks so as well because giggles scatter throughout the room. It’s sweet that they’re enjoying my music—even a children’s song.
After a standing ovation from the little boy when the song ends, I begin playing “Amazing Grace.” A chill skitters down my spine when the congregation starts singing along to my music. This is a first. Ever. I’ve played thousands of songs in my lifetime, but no crowd has ever sung along.
Tears fill my eyes, but my fingers effortlessly dance along the keys. Having been taught piano by a Baptist woman, I know hundreds of church hymns in addition to the fancier classical stuff because she made sure to teach me, so this song is one I could play with my eyes closed. But it’s also very special to me.
As my song continues, my thoughts roam to my mother. Dad said that he had this song played—the only one—at her funeral. I listened quietly while swaddled in his arms, my newborn eyes wide and alert as the sweet song filled the hearts of everyone in attendance. It’s always been a favorite of mine, knowing it was the last song she heard before being buried and the first one I heard. In that moment, we shared something together.
She’d be so proud right now.
Sure, she would have been proud of every performance. But this one, with the way my heart feels as if it could explode with joy, would have made her the most proud. I’ve played on extremely expensive Bosendorfers and for important people, but never have I felt so pleased at a performance until now. Tonight, on a simple Wednesday, in a small, simple church, in front of a group of happy, casually dressed people, on a simple piano, things feel different. Tonight, I feel as if I’ve played my most stunning performance yet. And the feeling is incredible.
Right before the song ends, I scan the congregation until I find Slade. His eyes are burning a hole right through me, and his lips are moving as he sings along with everyone else. It shatters something in my heart.
I have this moment because of him.
He took away something from me—from deep in my soul. But he also gave something back to me. This night wouldn’t have happened had he not had a jealous, low moment. We all make mistakes, and I think he realizes his.
My tears dry and my smile grows impossibly larger as I immediately launch into something more upbeat. The congregation instantly begins clapping and singing along to “Go Tell It on the Mountain.” And in this moment, I feel at peace, realizing now that Pastor Bill was right.
It’s okay to forgive Slade.
Joss forgives him. And so does Jill.
SHE’S AMAZING. I’VE never really seen her in her element. I mean, I’ve seen her play at the bar, sure, and she puts her all into it. But there is always something special that happens when someone is performing for a live audience. There is a spark of life, an incredible energy that lifts you up to an otherwise unreachable height. That’s why people talk about the rush of performing and the fact that there is literally a letdown, a crash from the high. It’s as addictive as a drug, and watching her now, I can see that she was born to fly.
I tear my eyes away from the vision before me for only a moment to glance around. Every face is as enraptured with her as I am. That’s when I notice my little sidekick sneaking over to me again. He scared the hell out of me earlier. I knew it was some sort of misunderstanding, but I couldn’t help the fear that engulfed me. The fear that he would say something that revealed what I truly am. Something that would tip off J and cause her to hate me again. I have to face the very real fact that this will happen eventually, but not tonight. Tonight, I’m finally finding some light to chase away the darkness of my past.
When he climbs up onto the seat beside me and offers his fist again, I can’t help but chu
ckle and bump it with mine.
“She’s really pretty.” He states it as fact, not looking for my agreement.
I give it to him anyway. “She is.”
He nods and faces forward, listening. I should have known that the reprieve wouldn’t last though, because about thirty seconds later, he turns to me.
“Is she your wife?”
My head jerks back in shock at the word. Wife. I’ve never expected to marry. Hell, if I’m honest with myself, I never expected to live past my twenties. I don’t remember my parents. Being raised by Uncle Mick taught me to live without emotion and stay completely unattached. Everything I know, I learned from him. He was grooming me to be just like him, to be his legacy and when he died, I was relieved because I was free to make my own path in life. But I didn’t know anything else. So I stuck with the skills I’d acquired. But, I’ve burned out, I want to find a different life.
I gaze up at my cupcake—she’s so beautiful and good. A longing pierces me, but I shove it back and refuse to acknowledge it.
My voice is gruff when I answer, “No.”
The kid doesn’t seem to notice my darkening mood. He just stares at me with knowing eyes. “You should marry her.” Again, a statement. “She’s pretty and nice, and she’d play the piano for you all the time.”
I feel one corner of my mouth lifting in amusement. Until he speaks again.
“You could have kids and I could come and play with them. And teach them all the superhero stuff while you’re out fighting the bad guys.”
I’m frozen in my seat. He doesn’t notice my reaction and turns his attention to the next pew, where a towheaded little girl is sticking her tongue out at him. After he returns the gesture, he scoots back down to sit by his mother. And still, I can’t seem to move.
Kids. Wife. Kids.
These are words I have studiously avoided. What kind of father would I make? What kid should be saddled with someone like me as a parent? The pang in my chest is back, and I rub the spot to ease the ache as my eyes drift up to the piano again. She will be an incredible mother someday. With someone as untainted as she is by her side. Someone like Jack.
Bitterness and jealousy burn in my chest. An unbidden image comes to my mind—J floating down the aisle of this church, her face filled with every bit of the happiness I see on it right now. Only it isn’t Jack waiting for her at the altar. It’s me.
She’s mine. It should be me.
I shake my head to dislodge the thought, but it’s there now. Even though I lock it up tight in the recesses of my mind, it remains.
Just then, she makes eye contact with me. Her eyes are glowing and happiness radiating from her. She’s winding down now, playing “Homeward Bound,” a sweet folk song about missing your loved ones and the joy that is felt when you know your journey is almost through and you’ll be homeward bound again. Homeward bound.
What the hell am I thinking? Once this is over, she’ll be headed back to her real life. To her father, her performing, and another fucking Ken Doll boyfriend. But tonight, I’m the one she’ll go home with.
Tonight, she’s still mine.
All of a sudden, an uneasy feeling skitters across my skin. Looking to my right, across the aisle and two rows back, I see Jack sitting there staring intently up at J. He must feel my eyes on him, because his head turns and we lock eyes. There is suspicion in his, as well as . . . jealousy? I can’t help the smug look that comes over my face.
That’s right, shithead. She’s mine.
He glances up at her again, and when his gaze returns to mine, I harden my face, slowly shaking my head. I know he gets the message to stay the fuck away from my girl. With one last look in her direction, he stands up and heads to the large, carved-oak double doors that lead to the front lawn of the church.
I follow his movements with my eyes until I’m sure he is out of the building. Then I turn back around in my seat to see Cupcake striding toward me, her hands on her hips, glaring. She obviously saw my exchange with Jack. I sigh, knowing a fight is brewing. She opens her mouth, most likely to hand me my ass, but is interrupted by several members of the congregation gushing out their admiration and approval. A pretty blush blossoms on her cheeks when they beg her to come back and play for them again soon. I’m sure she was plied with compliments and praise after every professional performance, making me wonder what it is about this crowd that makes her bashful.
When the crowd finally disperses, I grab our jackets and her purse before standing to leave. As we walk down the aisle, I automatically reach for her hand. She jerks it away though, and I turn to her, raising a brow in question. At the expression on her face, I remember. Right—kitten has her claws out. I take her arm and gently steer her out the door and off to the side of the building where the darkness keeps us mostly hidden from view.
“What was that about?” she hisses.
Before I can stop myself, I back her up against the stone wall, forcing her to tilt her head almost all of the way back in order to look into my eyes. “I was simply making it clear that he should stay the fuck away from what’s mine.”
Kitten’s eyes narrow and she pulls out a claw, poking me in the chest with it. “Yours?”
I press her a little harder against the wall. “Mine.”
“First of all, I don’t know what gives you the right to ‘claim’ me like a caveman and I’m his shiny, new cave. But even if I were okay with that, you didn’t have to be such an ass about it.”
“I’m pretty sure the three orgasms I gave you today make it damn clear who you belong to.” As I say the words, I know it’s true. I’m not going to let her go, she’s fucking mine. I lower my head and kiss the sensitive little spot behind her ear before nibbling on her lobe.
She gasps, “Don’t say orgasms at church, Slade.”
“Why? You think God isn’t aware of why you were calling out his name this morning?” I bite on her lobe a little harder this time.
She sucks in another quick breath, but her outrage fading under the arousal I can hear in her exhale. I place a hand on each side of her head, pressing in all the way so that our bodies are flush against one another, and I feel her hardened nipples brushing against my chest. Definitely more arousal that anger. In some back part of my mind, it registers that we are outside a church, but I figure I’m going to Hell anyway, so I move in for the kill.
“Does frat boy get to put his mouth on you?” I breathe in her ear.
She shakes her head.
“Does he get to suck on those pretty nipples?”
Another shake.
“Does he get to slide his cock into your dripping pussy and make you scream his name?”
A tiny little moan escapes her mouth.
“Who gets to do those things, baby?”
When she doesn’t answer right away, I shift closer and let her feel just how hard I am, pulling on her earlobe with my teeth . . .
“Answer me, baby. Who gets to lick you and taste your sweet sugar?”
“You.” She whispers it so low that I almost don’t hear it.
“What’s that?”
“You,” she says again, a little louder.
“Are you mine?”
She sighs, resigned. “Yes.”
“Damn straight.” I cover her mouth with mine, diving into a deep kiss. Then I bring my hands to her shoulders, sliding them down—
“Ahem!”
I stop abruptly at the stuttered sound. I lift my head, turning it to see Bill’s reproving eyes and I shrug sheepishly. “Sorry, Bill.”
He rolls his eyes, but there is humor behind the stern expression on his face. “Take it off church grounds, Mr. Slade.”
I feel heat on my cheeks. You’re fucking blushing, dude? “Of course.”
I grab J’s hand and pull her in front of me, using her as a shield to hide the bulge in my pants. Her head is down, but I can see that her face is bright red as we quickly make our way to the exit. Once we are outside, she covers her face with her hands and
her shoulders begin to shake.
I made her cry. Fuck!
As I start to take her into my arms, I hear a soft . . . Is that . . . Did she just giggle? I remove her hands from her face and sure enough, she’s laughing. Without her hands to mute the sound, she’s full-on belly laughing.
“I-I just got caught . . .” She sucks in a deep breath of air. “I just got caught making out at church!”
I find myself laughing along with her. Mostly because the ridiculousness of the situation is funny as hell, but also because her laughter is infectious.
“I’ve never . . . I’ve never done anything like that.” She gasps the words, bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
“Made out at church? Me neither.”
“No!” Her laughter is subsiding now as she tries to catch her breath. “No. I’ve never broken the rules like that. Done something so crazy and a little reckless.”
The smile on her face is big and bright, chasing away any residual worry I had that she might be upset by the situation.
“How’s it feel, Cupcake?” I grin at her and wiggle my eyebrows.
She falls into a fit of giggles once again. “It feels . . .” She gets a mischievous look in her eye and glances back at the church doors. “It feels fucking great!”
I throw my head back and laugh harder than I have in years. This woman is pure sunshine and she is breathing life back into me when I didn’t think that would ever be possible.
Once our laughter subsides again, I throw my arm around her shoulders and steer her towards my black pickup. “Come on, baby. Let’s go home.”
When we reach the truck, I notice something fluttering under windshield wiper. As I go around to the driver’s side, I grab the torn piece of paper and feel the hair on the back of my neck rise, unease trickling down my spine. My eyes scan the area, but don’t see anything at first, then I notice a dark compact car parked on the street about twenty yards away. I stare intently, trying to make out if someone is in the car. My instincts are telling me to just get out of here and get J somewhere safe, so I shove the paper in my pocket before climbing into the cab.
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