Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2)

by Jodi Watters

  “You had to pick Denver, huh?” Hands tucked into the front pockets of his well worn jeans, Beck’s broad shoulders were huddled inward, the flannel shirt he’d thrown over his favored white t-shirt severely inadequate considering the inclement weather.

  He tilted his head toward the sky with a scowl, as if she’d ordered up the January snowstorm herself.

  “Gotta go, Ash,” she croaked into the phone, still motionless but finally finding her voice.

  “About damn time,” Ash said, dryly. “Take it easy on him, okay? Hear him out before you bust his balls. And tell him I shredded his letter. It never crossed my desk.”

  He disconnected their call but Hope didn’t notice, the hand holding her phone still stuck to her ear.

  Beck looked over her shoulder, seeing her apartment in all its dumpy glory, then looked toward her Toyota parked nearby, the burnt orange paint almost completely covered in white.

  “Glad to see you’ve upgraded,” he said, with a small grin. “And I’m freezing my ass off here, honey. You gonna let me in?”

  Only her mouth moved. “What’s wrong with Denver? I like it here.” No, she didn’t. She hated it. But he didn’t need to know that.

  He pointed skyward. “It’s frigid and it’s snowing. Two of my least favorite things. I guess I need to dig out my arctic tactical gear if we’re gonna live here now.”

  We’re. We. The magic word.

  Stepping back, she motioned for him to enter, watching as he dropped his duffel down on the brown sculptured carpeting, installed sometime back before she was born. A swatch of faded pink fabric was visible between the open teeth of the zipper. Her blanket.

  Propping his hands on his hips, he surveyed the large room in one quick glance, the entirety of her apartment no more than a five-hundred square foot box.

  “I could do something with this. Needs paint, maybe some crown molding. Definitely updated appliances. It’s a little small, but I’ve bunked down in tighter barracks.” Lips quirking, he shrugged. “My mother used to say that you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Now I know what she meant.”

  Hope tracked his body, then searched his blithe expression. He looked a little, well... worse for the wear honestly. Thinner. Still as muscled and fit as before, if not more so now. But, it was less bulk and more whipcord lean. Several days had passed since he’d shaved, and he looked to be a few weeks overdue for a haircut, too. Unfortunately for her, he was pulling it off like a cover model for Men’s Health magazine, and making a strong case for the unnecessary use of razors, too. She perversely wondered how many other women had noticed, as well. Then wondered if he’d dabbled in some break-up sex himself. His aggressive neighbor came to mind, the one who liked to jog with her camel toe showing, and Hope nearly bit through her lip.

  “Yeah, well the roaches and I don’t need another roommate, and I doubt my slumlord is looking to remodel. Why are you here, Beck?”

  Because I was just starting to move on without you, she added silently. I spent an entire waking hour yesterday without your face foremost in my mind. And I fell asleep last night with dry eyes, and I dreamed of a day that I didn’t miss you so badly it made my guts turn inside out.

  “I made a mistake.” The glint in those green eyes warmed as he held her gaze and the uncertainty in them was something she’d never seen before. “A damn lot of them, really.” He laughed without humor, running a hand over his head. “Now I’m trying to right them.”

  Nodding, as if she understood when she really didn’t, she sat in the corner of the sofa, tucking her freezing feet underneath her. Any intention of taking it easy on him went out the window once the vision of him with another woman entered her mind and she waited him out, unsure if he considered kicking her to the curb a mistake.

  “I spent September in rehab. And some of October, too.” His tone was deathly serious, his gaze holding hers without shame. “I made it to one-hundred. Just not one-hundred and one.”

  A lump formed in her throat, the feeble barrier she’d put up since opening her door melting away. It took all she had not to stand and cradle him in her arms, whispering cliché words of encouragement while giving him every bit of strength in her body.

  “It was, without a doubt, the toughest forty-five days of my life. And I went through BUD/S and high risk SERE-C training to get my trident pin.”

  Hope had no idea what either of those things were, but they sounded hard. Schooling her expression, she bit back the platitudes, knowing he’d see them as pity. As weakness. Something to be rejected for the ridiculous fear it might make him less a man.

  Tilting her head toward a chair, she invited him to take a seat, breathing in his familiar musky scent when he sat next to her instead, his thigh aligned against hers. The cold still clung to his clothes and his dark hair was damp with melting snow.

  “On a positive note,” he continued, reaching for her hand, his grip solid and surprisingly warm. “Sam booked a swanky, oceanfront facility with a gym, a spa, and a restaurant. It’s like staying at a five star hotel, except you surrender your mouthwash and shoelaces when you check in. And if you puke anywhere but in a toilet, you have to clean it up yourself.”

  Holy shit, he was for real.

  He hadn’t just gone to some wellness spa where you did Bikram yoga and ate nothing but vegan green drinks for two weeks. He’d gone to the big boy detox center. Where some nasty Nurse Ratched made you mop up your own vomit.

  Imagining a utilitarian treatment facility with flat white walls, blue florescent lights, and straps and buckles on the beds, she squeezed his hand, appalled on his behalf. “Did they let you go outside?”

  He snorted in amusement. “It was rehab, Hope. Not prison. A lot like my first few months in the Navy, really. Every minute of the day was set in stone, scheduled right down to when I would eat, sleep, and piss. I spent the first forty-eight hours in the medical ward, where I learned the strictly enforced puke rule the hard way,” he said, lifting a dark brow.

  Hope cringed, moaning sympathetically, but he brushed off her concern.

  “The rest of the time was mostly about making it through the next hour, then that night, then the next day. The one-on-one therapy sessions with the shrinks sucked and the group meetings were basically non-stop. It was like going to confession every day, only you did it in public. And in front of junkies.” Lifting their clutched hands to his mouth, he kissed her knuckles softly. “But it helped.”

  “Oh, Beck.” He seemed so cavalier, while she was dying inside for him. And her already broken heart broke some more. “I wish I’d known. I wish I could’ve helped you.”

  “Nobody could’ve helped me, Hope. Except me. Addiction is a solitary thing.”

  Rubbing her thumb over his finger, she spoke softly. “How many days has it been?”

  “One-hundred thirty-eight,” he answered immediately, not pausing to count. “Some are easy. Some aren’t. But, that isn’t why I humped through knee deep snow to see you,” he said, dismissing his experience. “I owe you an apology, Hope. For the way things ended between us. I’m not proud of the way that went down.”

  Her heart plummeted. “So, that’s what this is about, Beck? You’re making amends to the people you’ve wronged? Clearing your conscience and crossing them off an apology list?”

  Returning my blanket so you can move on, breaking my heart all over again?

  He smiled, shaking his head. “It’s not a twelve step thing, if that’s what you’re asking. I guess it’s more like a baby step thing.” His smile fell, replaced by shock when he suddenly looked toward the window.

  “Aw, fuck.” Dropping his head back against the sofa, he groaned. “I just realized I’m gonna have to teach our kids how to snowboard now, instead of surf. All right, so along with the strictly enforced puke rule, I’m enacting a policy that all family vacations take place on the coastline of an ocean. You can pick which one.”

  Huh? Hope blinked slowly. “Okay, maybe it’s the overwhelming smell of mi
ldew in here,” she motioned around the room, “but I’m having a hell of a time following this conversation.”

  He smiled, his teeth perfectly straight and white. Jesus, his mother must have paid an orthodontist a fortune. It was worth every red cent, though, because it sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

  Squeezing her fingers, he stared at their clasped hands, tracing the pad of his thumb over her bubble gum pink painted fingernail.

  Swallowing, he spoke quietly. “I would see the same therapist at the facility, day after day. We had a standing appointment at three o’clock sharp. A real asshole in a sweater vest and crease pleated khaki’s. Kept an hourglass the size of a soda can on the corner of his desk. Kept pounding the same damn words down my throat, too. I would sit there, watching the sand sifting down through the narrow tunnel, and he would say, ‘feel the feelings, Mr. Smith,’ over and over again.” His lips twisted, but he didn’t look up. “It would take one-thousand, eight-hundred seconds for all the sand to drain, give or take a few depending on my level of concentration that day. Once it did, he would reach out and flip it over, and our battle of wills would begin again.” He inhaled sharply, exhaling emotion he couldn’t put into words. “Eventually his will won.”

  Slanting his head sideways, he looked at her with beautiful green eyes. “My life since you came into it, since that very first night, has been like a dream. A really good dream. I know it sounds cheesy, Hope, but I’m thankful, and so fucking grateful to you. And if this is what it’s like to be with you? This dream I’ve been in?” He opened her hand, flattening his much larger palm against hers, sealing them together. As stall tactics went, it was a good one. “The one where I’m happier than I’ve ever been, because you’re with me and I’m with you?” His eyes met hers. “Well, then I never want to wake up.”

  Holy shit, Hope thought. Coming from Beckett Smith, those words were like delicately crafted poetry. “Who are you and what have you done with Beck?”

  He barked out a laugh, shaking his head sheepishly. “I know. I’m turning into a real fucking pansy in my sobered old age.”

  “You’re not old. Older, yes,” she teased, grinning when he winced. “But, I like this side of you. All hard muscle and alpha male on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside.”

  He didn’t debate her assessment.

  “Come back to me, Hope.” Whispering the words she’d been dying to hear for months, he added, “We can live in Siberia if you want, I don’t care. Just give me a chance to make this right. Tell me you still want me. That you still like me.”

  “Where have you been the last few months?” she asked, instead of answering him. Because according to her math, there was almost three months of missing time.

  “Working. First in South America, then Northern Africa. And a month in the place where everything is beige. Just got back yesterday.” He pursed his lips. “Your brother has a mean streak. Holds a grudge, too.”

  Warmth heated her cold body and she grinned. “Then I guess I still like you. And honestly, if I tell you it’s probably a lot closer to love, are you gonna head for the hills?”

  “Only if you’re coming with me, princess. I’ll get a white horse, if necessary.”

  “Well, speaking of coming.” Her smile was sinful as she shifted, clutching his shoulders and straddling him. With a knee on each side of his thighs, she aligned their bodies up just so.

  Hard to soft. Cold to warm. Heart to soul.

  Pressing her lips against his, she inhaled his relieved sigh, taking a deep breath of her own. Deeper than she had since he’d left her standing in his living room. His strong arms banded around her, pulling her against him for a hug so tight, it nearly cut off her airway. Dipping his dark head, he nosed her hair aside and buried his face in her neck. Warm lips met her tender skin briefly, the rough abrasion of his stubble sending a jolt of purely female pleasure through her body. He stayed like that. Not moving, not speaking. Just holding her too tightly and breathing her in. The abrupt heave of his shoulders, followed by a stuttered shudder, surprised her.

  She gasped, and without thinking, said, “Are you crying?”

  His snort was muffled by her hair, but there was no denial. “Fucking pansy,” he grumbled uncomfortably, his tone sheepish. “I’m feeling all the feelings, okay?”

  “Oh-kay,” she said, hiding her smile. Squeezing him reassuringly, she laid her lips against his temple, the kiss meant to soothe. To connect. “Oh, my God, I’ve missed you. And suddenly, I’m very hungry.”

  “Missed you, too, honey.” His lips were hot against her neck as the air shifted, crackling with sexual tension. “And I should apologize now for how fast this first time is gonna be. My hand’s barely getting the job done.”

  Letting out a surprised laugh, she nuzzled his stubbled jawline, swiping her tongue over his sensitive earlobe. “So poetic. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  If he didn’t have a condom in his pocket, she was going to kill him. Well, maybe not kill. That seemed a little too harsh considering she had her hand down the front of his unbuttoned pants and her tongue in his mouth. But she was going to maim, for sure. And God knew, she had plenty of weapons at the ready to do so.

  “You have a condom, right?” Mumbling against his lips, her breathy words were barely discernible.

  Releasing his mouth long enough to let him whip her pink t-shirt over her head and pop the front enclosure on her bra, she pushed out of her sweatpants. Only one leg was free, but that’s all she needed, happily staying perched atop his lap.

  “Do you?” His answer in the form of a question sounded distracted, but felt like a test. At least she wasn’t the only one obsessing over revenge sex.

  “Sorry. Used ‘em all up last weekend.” She bit his bottom lip. “Frat party.”

  His dark head stilled, his lips a breath away from her nipple, and Hope cursed her stupid humor.

  “I’m tapped out, too,” he said, warm air rushing across the sensitive tip. “Hit Club Kitten on my way out of town.” His wet mouth closed over the aching nipple, suckling her with teasing pulses. “Don’t worry. We’ll name our first child after my Aunt Agnes.”

  His hair was soft in her fingers and he yelped when she gave it a good pull. She could forgive his awful condom joke for one glaring reason—based on the substantial erection in her hand, he still wanted to have sex with her even though she’d been wearing sweatpants. The same sweatpants as yesterday. And she was pretty sure there was a diet Coke stain on the thigh.

  That was keeper material if she ever saw it.

  A rush of wetness flooded her when he ran his fingers through her slippery folds, his mouth moving to her other breast. Her core clenched at the pleasurable touch, months without it making her crazed with lust, and she squeezed her fist around him in response. Circling the pad of her thumb over the thick head, she pushed his t-shirt up past his belly button and slid back on his lap, bending down to take him into her mouth. He stopped her with a garbled moan and the tug of his hands under her arms.

  “Uh-uh,” he mumbled, the most inarticulate command she’d ever heard him utter. “Inside pocket of my duffel. Condom. Now.” He moved to stand, but she didn’t budge from his lap, not wanting to lose the sexy power position.

  “Do not move an inch,” she whispered against his lips, not loosening her hand from his hard length. “Let me get it.”

  Kissing him again, tasting his rich, masculine flavor and inhaling his familiar scent, made her heart burst with joy. The last five months had been a torturous blur, her life a series of motions without emotion. Without hope. She hadn’t even dared to wish she would ever see his beautiful face again, much less hold him in her arms. And now he was here, hers for the taking. For the keeping.

  “Don’t move,” she instructed again, with a snooty point of her index finger, reluctantly hopping off in search of protection. Quickly shedding her stained sweatpants and damp undies, she r
ifled through his kit of bathroom supplies, tossing everything aside until her hands snagged on the long strip of foil wrapped packets.

  “Oh, thank God.” Ripping one off and holding it up high, she looked at him. “Safe sex, the only thing keeping poor Baby Aggie from a lifetime of name-shaming.”

  The smile froze on her face when she drank him in, his big body relaxed back on her ugly plaid couch, making it look like a prized piece of furniture on the showroom floor. The button fly on his jeans was wide open, his erection free and proudly prominent, but he wasn’t nearly naked enough. No male torso that perfect should remain covered by cloth, two layers of thin cotton and soft flannel standing between her and his sculpted pectoral muscles.

  When his hand gripped the base of his thick erection and he pumped once, then again, she thought she might dissolve into a puddle of her own fluid. His fathomless green eyes held her spellbound, tracing her body as he stroked himself slowly, lightly, with just the tips of his fingers. Her skin heated to burning as his gaze skittered between her breasts and the juncture of her thighs, stealing her breath when he finally looked into her eyes. The fact that he was still fully dressed, his tanned skin bared only from his flat navel to the top of his hair roughened thighs, made watching him even more forbidden. He was total man candy.

  Frozen in place, she stared at his moving hand. “Holy... moly,” she finished lamely, afraid her mouth was agape, but not really caring. “I want to watch you do that from start to finish.”

  His grin was wicked, locking on her thighs. “Only if you let me watch, too, princess.”

  Oh. My God. A visual of that sinful scenario popped into her head and it was straight up pornographic. And highly, outrageously appealing.

  Whimpering, her voice was bashfully agreeable. “Okay.”

  He groaned, closing his eyes briefly as he gripped himself in a tight fist.

  She wanted in on that action, taking a step toward him. “Unless you want your clothes cut off by a horny woman wielding a sharp pair of scissors, you better take them off yourself.”