The Wrong Heart

by Jennifer Hartmann

  Is it?

  I mean, it was. For a while, it was everything. Zephyr and his heart were my final tie to Charlie—the last tangible piece of the man I loved with my whole heart.

  I suppose it still is.

  Important, anyway.

  But it’s not everything.

  “Yes,” I answer honestly, drawing my eyes back to Parker. The lines in his forehead crease, and his jaw stiffens. “He’s gone now, though. We don’t talk anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  I spit the words out quickly, because if I don’t, I’ll choke on them. “He saw what I looked like and never spoke to me again. I must not have been what he was hoping for.”

  A flash of pain crosses Parker’s face, a wince, almost as if my admission were a sharp slap across his cheek. He grits his teeth together. “Or maybe you were everything he was hoping for, and he wasn’t ready for that.”

  My next breath lodges in the back of my throat, not expecting something so kind and reassuring to pass through Parker’s lips. I inch closer to him on the couch, placing my palm against his thigh. “Thank you. That was really sweet.”

  “Sweet,” he parrots, glancing at my hand. And then in one fell swoop, he snatches it up, pulling me by the wrist with his left hand and using the other to scoop me off the couch and position me on his lap. His fingers glide up my spine until he’s gripping the back of my neck, our foreheads almost touching while I straddle him. “If you knew all the things I wanted to do to you right now, I don’t think you’d be calling me sweet.”

  A surge of desire blazes through me as I press my groin into his, running my fingers through his soft hair. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to.”

  “Oh, I fucking want to. I want you so much it’s killing me,” he nearly hisses, grinding his erection into the heat between my thighs. “It’s killing me because I can’t…”

  Parker’s eyes close, and he goes silent.

  “You can’t what?” I brush a lock of loose hair from his forehead, then place a tender kiss to his hairline. “Tell me.”

  A heartbeat goes by, and then a growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating into mine. He yanks me off his lap and flips me over on the couch until I’m faceplanted into the cushions. I squeak in surprise when he lifts me up by my midsection, my ass jutted out, ramming into his hard arousal. Parker’s hands sweep up the back of my thighs as he drags my dress up over my hips, then palms my cheeks sheathed in lace. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

  I hear his belt buckle unlatch, and something in me freezes.

  God, I want him, there’s no doubt about that…

  But I don’t want him like this. Something doesn’t feel right. He’s angry, and I don’t want to be on the receiving end of his transferred aggression with my face buried in his sofa cushions. “Parker, wait.”

  He hoists me up until my back is flush against him, one hand cupping my breast. I lose myself for a moment, yielding to his touch, relishing in the way my skin dances to life when his lips dip to my ear, and he whispers, “You on that pill? I want to come in you.”

  His words shoot tingles straight to the throbbing juncture between my legs. I arch against him, nodding. “I am now.”

  A little late to be inquiring about that, considering I had to race to the pharmacy and purchase the morning after pill following our foolish, unprotected sex romp in my backyard. Then I panic-called my OB-GYN to order in a prescription for birth control since I’ve been on-and-off it for over a year now.

  Parker rasps a quick “good” into my ear, and then his zipper unfastens as he tugs my panties down my hips. He gathers my mane of hair in his fist and moves it aside while he holds me up with his opposite arm. His mouth finds the back of my neck, his tongue teasing me into submission. When his fingers drift from my hair and snake around my midsection, delving between my thighs, I instinctively bow my back, seeking his touch.

  A groan reaches my ear as he thrusts two fingers inside me, causing my knees to buckle. I drop my head back against his shoulder, feeling his hot breath kiss my temple.

  But when I twist around to make eye contact, he removes his fingers and pushes me back down onto the couch until I’m on all fours, and he’s grasping my hips between both palms, aligning me with his pelvis.

  Damn it.

  “Parker, stop,” I murmur, low and hushed because part of me doesn’t want to stop, but loud enough that he can hear me. Because we should. “Not like this.”

  He stills, his fingertips digging into my waist. “You want to stop?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did I do something?”

  Pushing up on my arms, I lift to my knees and situate my clothing, tugging up my underwear and pulling my dress back down. I face him, noting he’s staring at me with a wounded expression, wrought with confusion, propped up on his knees like me. “I just… I want more than that,” I admit, swallowing down a wave of emotion.

  I feel a little silly.

  This was supposed to be a sexy hook-up, and I’m ruining it with feelings and a desperate need for intimacy.

  Parker’s eyes narrow, like he’s trying to figure me out. Read between the lines. “You want more than sex? A relationship?”

  “No, I just…” Collapsing into a sitting position, Parker does the same, inching down slowly and yanking his zipper back up. Our eyes meet, and I continue. “You don’t want to look at me, or kiss me, or maintain any genuine connection. It just makes me feel… cheap. In a way.”

  He shakes his head through a frown. “That’s not… fuck, I’m not trying to. I don’t fucking know how to do any of this.”

  “Don’t overthink it, Parker,” I urge, scooting closer to him and clasping his hand between my two palms. “Just feel. Follow your instincts.”

  “My instincts? My instincts are telling me to bend you over and fuck the shit out of you right here on the couch. That didn’t work out so well.”

  I can’t help the amusement from seeping in, and I slip him a smile, placing one of my hands to his heart. “These instincts.”

  Parker flinches when I make contact with his chest, instinctually moving back.

  “I know you want more, too,” I tell him. “I see your struggle. I feel it. I hear it in your voice, and I want you to know that I’m listening. When you’re ready.”

  He ducks his chin to his chest, his eyes floating away from me. His heart thumps against the pads of my fingertips, hurried and turbulent, trying to tell me all the things he can’t seem to say.

  And then an idea comes to mind. I pull my hand from his chest and rise from the couch, my eyes inspecting the walls.

  “Where are you going?” Parker wonders, watching me with stoic curiosity.

  I find what I’m looking for and move to the far wall.

  Then, I flip off the light switch.

  “Melody?”

  The room darkens to nearly pitch-black, the only light source being the moon radiating in through the front window. Parker doesn’t have much furniture, so my trek back to the couch is fairly graceful, and his shadowy outline comes into view as I near him.

  Instead of taking a seat beside him, I’m feeling bold, so I move into the same position I was in earlier. The same position I was in when the tornado hit—when the lights went out and all we had was each other to cling to.

  I climb into his lap.

  Parker stiffens below me, his breath shuddering as his hands reach out to gently grip my waist. “What are you doing?”

  Leaning forward, I press a light kiss to his forehead, my hands lifting to cup his jaw. I whisper back, “The dark is the very best secret-keeper. The things we say in the dark never have to leave it.”

  —TWENTY-FIVE—

  The lights flicker off, and my blood runs cold.

  “Melody?” I can just make out her shadowy silhouette as she finds her way back to the couch, slinking through the cloak of darkness that has filled the space. The moon from the open window behind her provides a sheer backlight while she inche
s her way closer. Melody hesitates for a moment when she reaches my parted legs, my belt still loose around my waist, button unfastened. For a moment I think she’s going to settle in beside me, but she straddles me instead. Her knees climb up on either side of me, caging in my thighs, her dress riding up her hips and inviting my hands to grip her waist, pulling her further into my lap. “What are you doing?”

  Melody leans in, brushing a delicate kiss to my forehead. Her fingers graze up along my jawline until she’s cradling my face in her palms like I fucking mean something to her. “The dark is the very best secret-keeper. The things we say in the dark never have to leave it.”

  I feel myself melting, liquefying in her hands, my brittle outer layers flaking and splintering. Her touch is calming, and the feel of her pressed into me, her breath coasting along my upper lip, causes me to wrap my arms around her middle and release an expulsive sigh.

  She told me to follow my instincts, but my instincts have always urged me to lurk in the shadows and build shatterproof walls. Vulnerability is poison. Emotions are toxic. Becoming soft is a solicitation for pain and disappointment.

  My instincts have never once demanded reckoning for the demons I’ve kept buried for so long. They’ve never encouraged me to exorcize them, to find solace and healing in another human being.

  But Melody found a way in. She’s breached me somehow, and all I want to do is eradicate every little thing that has soiled my veins for nearly three decades. Every cruel word and beating. Every cigarette burn. Every insult, every slap, every bee sting and papercut.

  Every second spent in that fucking closet wishing for death.

  Melody dusts both thumbs over my cheekbones, her face only inches from mine. Her thighs grip me, her hair splaying over both shoulders like an added curtain. “I won’t force you, Parker… it’s okay if you’re not ready,” she breathes out gently, her words only adding to my desire to spill my guts. “But if you are, I’m listening.”

  “I want to, I just…” I swallow, my eyes closing. “Fuck, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  She slides her hands down my face until they’re resting on my shoulders. “Tell me who she is.”

  “What?”

  “In your bedroom… you said that you’ll never be him, and I’ll always be her.”

  My mother’s face flashes through my mind, a mask of evil. Yellow eyes, like the Devil himself. I thought maybe she was once—the Devil—until I learned that alcoholism discolors the sclera of one’s eyes. I realized she was only a vile, selfish human who threw her only child away like he was trash; who whittled him down to almost nothing. Heaving in a ragged breath, I croak out, “My mother.”

  Melody tightens her hold on my shoulders, a little gasp breaking through. “She was abusive?”

  “Yeah. My father passed away when I was five years old—he was a structural worker, iron and steel. He built tall ass buildings and shit.” Chewing my inner cheek, I force myself to continue. “He fell on the job one day. Died on impact, from what I was told.”

  “Oh, my God…” Melody presses another kiss to my forehead, sighing deeply. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah, it fucking sucked. We were close. It was just me and him, and our mutt, Roscoe. I still remember the cops showing up that afternoon. The babysitter made this horrible screeching sound that I can still hear, clear as day. She took in our dog, and I begged for her to take me, too. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.”

  Her head shakes back and forth in disbelief, her hair tickling my face. “Did you go to live with your mother then?”

  I nod. “She ran off with some asshole right after I was born, leaving me with my father. She gained full custody when he died, and that was when my life completely fucking changed.”

  Memories pour over me, from those first few days of loss and confusion, to worry and anxiety, to constant bone-chilling fear.

  “Her name was Roxanne,” I continue, dropping my head to the back of the couch, my fingers grazing up and down Melody’s spine. “She was an alcoholic—the real mean and nasty kind. She’d smack me around just for fun, pinch me, pull my hair and make me cry. I think she got off on that shit.”

  “God, Parker…”

  My jaw clenches, my body stiffening, yearning to throw my walls back up. “Her favorite thing to do was burn me with the butts of her cigarettes. I’d scream and beg for her to stop, but it only made her laugh. Sometimes I can still smell it… acrid and metallic. Smelled like death.”

  Melody sniffles, and I think I see a soft reflection of tearstains tracking down her cheeks. She glides her hands to my neck.

  “She would go on these benders, locking me in my bedroom closet for days with a sandwich and a glass of water. No flashlight, no toys or games, nothing. It was pitch-fucking-black in there, to the point where my mind would play all these tricks on me. I’d see things. I’d create things. I had this imaginary friend…” I falter with an unsteady breath, regrouping. “I’d have full-blown conversations with fucking shadows. And then I actually thought I was dying—it had been days since I’d seen her or even heard anything outside the door. Sometimes I would hear yelling or laughter, or things falling, breaking… you know? I was certain she’d forgotten about me and disappeared, just like she disappeared on my father.

  “Turns out she was dead. Drank her sorry self to death. A neighbor came by to check on us when she hadn’t seen us for a while, and found her in the kitchen. I heard the neighbor scream, so I started pounding on the closet door with all the strength I had left. I tried to scream myself, but I couldn’t… I could hardly even breathe or keep myself upright.”

  I feel Melody’s knees tremor against my outer thighs, her fingers quivering along the nape of my neck. Her forehead presses into mine as she inhales slowly. “I don’t know what to say,” she admits quietly.

  “There’s nothing to say. I’ve never told anyone about this before—not willingly, anyway. Just the cops. And my sister, Bree, a long time ago.”

  She sniffs. “You have a sister?”

  “Foster sister. She’s honestly been the only good thing in my life.”

  Until you came along.

  “This is why you’ve never been in a relationship? Why you don’t like women?” Melody wonders, somehow inching closer to me.

  Swallowing, my hands fall down her back, landing at her hips. My silence fills the space between us, my answer evident. I don’t want her pity, or her tears. I’m not used to shit like that, and I have no idea what to do with any of it.

  Truthfully, I’m not sure what I want or what I’m looking for, but the way she’s holding me right now, wrapping me up in her warm limbs with the kind of affection I used to crave all those years ago… it’s enough. It’s a calm I haven’t felt since I was just a little boy on my father’s front porch as a gentle breeze rolled in, causing the daylily petals to dance to life.

  Fleeting beauty. The most precious kind.

  Melody nuzzles her nose into the crook of my shoulder, her tears dampening my skin. “You like me, though,” she concludes in a raspy breath.

  I let out a choppy sigh, instinctively holding her closer, losing myself in her warmth, in her citrus scent. She’s the only beam of light in this dark room—my only escape.

  She’s my moon.

  “I’m not her, Parker,” Melody murmurs near my ear, making me shudder. “I would never hurt you.”

  Fuck, I know she’s not her. She’s nothing like her.

  Melody March is a fucking revolution, and she’s come to overthrow everything I’ve ever trained myself to believe about women, about intimacy, about… hope.

  Maybe hope isn’t toxic.

  Maybe she is hope, with hair made of cotton, eyes like the sea, and a mouth I haven’t stopped thinking about since she gifted me with that very first smile.

  Sliding one hand up her back, I twist my fingers through her hair, tugging her head back until our faces are aligned. I blink through the layer of darkness between us, eyes adjusting, mak
ing out the faint glistening of tears staring back at me. Her lips part, welcoming me, tempting me, as her fingers curl around the base of my neck. I dip in closer until our noses touch. “I’m falling for you,” I breathe against her lips, almost grazing them. “But I don’t know how to fall without crashing and burning.”

  Melody makes a sound, a little gasp, her hands rising up to clasp my face again. She arches her body into me, whispering, “I’ll catch you.”

  Those three words seduce me, and I move in, our lips lightly brushing together, just like they did in her dark basement. The only other time someone tried to kiss me was when I was fifteen years old—one of Gwen’s friends, who was dared to. Set up to humiliate me. The moment our lips touched, the girl yanked my shirt up, displaying my scars to her gaggle of girlfriends.

  A cruel prank, designed to tear me down, strip me of any remaining trust, and force me into the shadows where I eventually learned to thrive.

  Until she found me.

  Starlight and moonshine.

  The perfect complement to the dark.

  Melody shivers as I hold her, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other gripping her waist. Our lips touch so delicately, so curiously, a prelude to something profound. Unsteady breaths mingle together, heartbeats hurried, bodies buzzing. She makes this sexy little humming noise when I taste her bottom lip, gently pulling it between my teeth. Our pelvises grind together, our grip on each other tightening.

  My hands find their way to her face, cradling her jaw, and I pull back to trace my thumbs along both lips, memorizing the shape as my gaze follows. “This mouth has captivated me since the first day you smiled in my direction, all sweetness and sunbeams. It fucking pissed me off.”

  She shivers. “You think about my mouth?”

  “More than I care to admit.” Her body buzzes with anticipation, waiting for me to take that kiss she’s been dying to give me. I dodge her lips to trail my tongue along her jawline, nicking her skin with my teeth. “I’ve thought about how your mouth would feel against mine, and if your lips were as soft as that look I’d always see in your eyes when you’d watch me.” Gliding my tongue back down, she arches her neck with a moan. “I’ve thought about it wrapped around me.” I nip at her jaw again. “I’ve jerked off a hell of a lot of times picturing that pretty mouth sucking me off.”