by Elle Kennedy
Jake looks alarmed. “What did you do, babe? Murder a teacher?”
“No.” I manage a weak smile.
“Then what?”
Hesitation lodges in my chest. I haven’t talked about this with anyone, save for the shrink my father made me see senior year. He’d consulted with the team therapist at Briar, who told him that after what I’d been through, it could be useful for me to talk about it with someone who wasn’t him. So I saw a therapist for a few months, and while she helped me come to terms with some of it, she couldn’t quite tell me how to fix my relationship with my father. And it’s only gotten worse in the ensuing years.
I study Jake’s patient expression, his supportive body language. Can I trust him? This story is embarrassing, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if people found out. I just don’t like the idea of being judged by someone whose opinion actually matters to me.
But Jake hasn’t judged me, not even once, since we met. He doesn’t care that I’m a bitch. He doesn’t care that I taunt him—he enjoys taunting me right back. He’s been fairly open about his own life, but then again, it’s easy to be open when you don’t have skeletons in your closet.
“Are you sure you want to meet my skeletons?” I ask wryly.
“Oh boy. You totally killed someone, didn’t you?”
“No. But I got knocked up when I was sixteen and almost died.”
The confession flies out before I can stop it. And once it’s out there, hanging in the air between us, I awkwardly stare into Jake’s wide eyes and listen to the crickets.
It’s a solid five seconds before he responds, whistling softly through his teeth. “Shit. Okay.” He nods slowly. “You got pregnant. Was Eric…?”
I nod back. “I lost my virginity to him. But despite what my father thinks, we weren’t irresponsible about sex. We were having it regularly for more than a year, and we were very good about using condoms. I wasn’t on the pill because I was too embarrassed to ask my dad, so I was super strict about condoms.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Jake says. “Now I get why.”
“When I missed my period, I was in total denial about it. I thought, okay, maybe it’s just stress. It’s not abnormal for women to miss a period, and sometimes it has nothing to do with pregnancy. But when I was two months late, I took a test.”
I’ll never forget how my stomach dropped when I saw the plus sign on that pee stick. The first thing I did was call Eric, who was less than helpful.
“Eric said it was no big deal and we’d get it taken care of. But he was right in the middle of playoffs, so his schedule was chaotic. He promised he’d take me but not until after the playoffs.”
Jake frowns deeply. “How long were you expected to wait?”
“A few weeks. But I did some research and found out the procedure is perfectly safe at three months. And before you ask, yes, I wanted to get it done. I didn’t want a baby. I was only sixteen. And Eric didn’t want a baby, either.”
Sadness washes over me as I remember those days. I’d been so terrified. “I couldn’t go alone,” I explain to Jake. “I was too scared, and way too humiliated to tell my cousins or any of my friends, and especially not my father. I needed Eric to take me, and we had it all planned out. He would have more time after the playoffs, and he’d drive me to Boston and we would get it done there.”
Jake runs his hand up my arm in a comforting gesture. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“I… I didn’t actually get the abortion,” I confess. “We had the appointment booked, but we never made it. I started bleeding one morning a few days before it. Well, spotting. I looked it up online, and most of the websites said that spotting during the first trimester was normal. I called Eric, and he went online too and concluded it didn’t sound like a big deal.”
“Where was he?”
“In Newport with his teammates. They were playing their semifinal round that afternoon. He said he’d check in with me after the game, and he did. I was still spotting but not too heavily.” I shake my head irritably. “Eric’s team crushed their opponent, so they were going out to celebrate. I asked him to come home, but he said there was no point because it was probably nothing, and he told me not to say anything to my dad.”
“So you just sat there at home, bleeding?” Jake says in dismay.
“Yes and no. Like I said, it started off really slow. Eric told me not to worry about it, and even I thought I was probably freaking out for no reason. So I ignored it and hoped the bleeding would go away. I had dinner with my dad, watched a movie in my room. And then a couple hours later, it went from spotting to…not spotting.” My throat tightens. “I called Eric again and told him it was getting worse and that I was going to tell my dad I needed to go to the hospital. And he said no way, because he didn’t want my dad to find out and kill him.”
“Selfish prick.”
I feel sick as I relive that terrifying night. “Eric decided to come back and take me to the hospital himself. He said to sit tight, and that he was on his way and would get there as soon as he could. He was two hours away.”
“And your father was right downstairs?”
The incredulity in Jake’s expression makes me swallow a lump of shame. “I get it, I’m a fucking idiot. I already know that, okay?” Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and I hurriedly swipe them away.
“No, I’m not calling you an idiot,” Jake says instantly, reaching for my hand. “I swear I’m not. I totally understand—you were scared. You were sixteen, and the guy who was supposed to support you chose to keep partying with his friends instead of driving home the second you told him you thought something was wrong.” Jake sounds furious on my behalf, and it’s actually kind of sweet.
I nod. “And at that point, I wasn’t going to risk waiting another two hours for Eric to show up. If he even did show up.”
“So you told your father?”
“I never got the chance.” My voice cracks. “I’d been bleeding all day long, and now it was nine o’clock at night, and I was feeling so weak and light-headed. When I stood up I was hit by a wave of dizziness and I passed out in the bathroom, and that’s how my father found me.” Queasiness pulls at my stomach. “Lying in a huge pool of blood. We actually had to tear out the bathroom floor after that, because the bloodstains wouldn’t come out.”
“Jesus.”
“Dad took me to the hospital. I don’t remember this part. I only remember everything going black in the bathroom. And then waking up in the hospital, where I was told I had a miscarriage and almost hemorrhaged to death.”
Jake’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “Is that normal?”
“Nope. Apparently I had an incomplete miscarriage, which is when not all the fetal tissue is expelled from the uterus. That’s why the bleeding was getting heavier instead of improving.”
“Shit. I’m so sorry.”
I nod in gratitude. But I don’t tell Jake everything else that happened in my hospital room. Like how I had a total breakdown in front of my father, crying hysterically and saying I was sorry, over and over again, while Dad stood there stoically, hardly even looking at me. And the longer I sobbed, the more embarrassing it became. I’d always been so strong and resilient, and suddenly I was wailing like a child in front of him.
He hasn’t looked at me the same way since. He wasn’t just ashamed that I’d gotten knocked up—I think he was equally ashamed of the way I fell apart. Dad doesn’t respect soft people, and that night I was beyond soft.
“Things were never the same with Dad after that. He pulled me out of school for two months because I was so emotional. Depressed, crying all the time. We told everyone I had mono, and Eric was the only person who knew the truth.”
“I can’t believe you were still with him,” Jake says darkly.
“Oh, I wasn’t.” I give a humorless laugh. “For so many reasons. He officially became public enemy number one to my father. Dad despised him, and he almost beat the shit out of Eric one da
y, because Eric kept showing up at our door trying to talk to me. Dad forbade me from ever seeing him again, and I was perfectly cool with that. I couldn’t forgive Eric for the way he behaved the night I lost the baby. I was crying and begging him to come home, to take me to the hospital, and he just didn’t care.” Anger bubbles in my throat. “I could have died. But getting loaded with his buddies and smoking weed was more important to him than making sure I was all right.”
I lean my head against Jake’s shoulder, and he plays with strands of my hair. “Dad became overprotective, but it’s funny—he was so busy with his job that he couldn’t really enforce all the rules he was trying to make me follow. So most of the time I did whatever I wanted anyway, and he’d lecture me about it afterward. I went back to school, started senior year, and acted out like every other teenage girl who’s trying to get her parents’ attention. It was the typical adolescent crap, and the more stupid shit I did, the more he noticed. So I’d stay out all night, drink, party, make him worry on purpose.”
It’s mortifying looking back on it. But we all do dumb things when we’re teenagers. It’s all those raging hormones.
“Anyway, now it’s five years later and Dad still views me as a disappointment, as weak. Even though I cleaned up my act a long time ago.” I shrug sadly. “But it is what it is, right?”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Jake presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re not weak, Brenna. Coach Jensen’s blind if he doesn’t see that. And calling your daughter a disappointment because she accidentally got pregnant? That’s a dick move. You don’t deserve that. And you definitely don’t deserve what that prick Eric did to you. I can’t believe you’re still in contact with him, that you actually allow yourself to feel any compassion for the guy.”
I sigh. “The breakdown I had after the miscarriage was nothing compared to the one Eric had. Losing me sent him into a tailspin. He blew off the championship game because of me.”
“No, because of him,” Jake corrects. “Don’t kid yourself, babe—he would’ve gotten kicked off the team eventually, even if he had played in the championship. Eric Royce was never going to the NHL. He clearly already had a burgeoning substance-abuse issue. He would’ve failed a piss test, gotten busted for possession, something. I guarantee it.”
“Maybe you’re right. But at the time, I felt responsible for him. I didn’t want to date him anymore, but I also felt an obligation to take care of him. It’s so messed up, I can’t even explain it.” I lift my head from Jake’s shoulder. “Eric was never there for me when I needed him, so why couldn’t I say ‘boy bye’ and let him self-destruct?”
“Because you’re a good person.”
“I guess.” I hesitate. “So are you,” I tell him.
“Nah.”
A hot lump of emotion fills my throat. “You are,” I insist. “Look at everything you’ve done for me—you helped me rescue my undeserving ex. You gave me a place to stay. You just listened to that whole sordid tale without judging me. Eric was—is—one of the most selfish people I’ve ever met. But you’re not. You’re a good guy, Jake.”
His big body shifts in discomfort, and it’s kind of adorable. You’d think he’d be thrilled to hear someone singing his praises.
I swallow repeatedly, because the lump keeps growing in size. This is so unlike me. I’m not usually this sappy. But despite the tickle of embarrassment in my belly, I still vocalize the words that are tugging at my heart.
“Thank you for being there for me.”
34
Jake
Morning sex is something I don’t get to indulge in very often. Which is a damn shame, because I love it. There’s nothing better than an orgasm first thing in the morning to set the tone for the rest of the day. But since I never have women stay over, nor do I crash at their places, I’m constantly missing out on one of my favorite activities. Until now.
For the past three days, I’ve woken up with my morning wood nestled between Brenna’s firm ass cheeks, one hand cupping a warm breast, my nose buried in her hair. It’s the best feeling in the world. No, scratch that—the best feeling in the world is when Brenna climbs on top of me and seats herself on my dick. We’ve been sleeping naked since she got here, because whenever we’re in my bed, our clothes end up coming off anyway.
“Don’t kiss me,” she warns, as she has every morning since she got here. She has a strict rule about not kissing with morning breath, which I guess I’m down with. But I’m also too impatient to get up, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and then fuck her brains out. I’d rather kick off with the fucking.
There’s something different about this morning, though. It feels like more than fucking. Feels more intimate.
Maybe it’s because of the confession she made last night. Opening herself up to me, allowing me to experience, at least secondhand, the traumatic events she’d gone through. She’d been so vulnerable, and for a moment I’d almost felt inadequate. As if this glimpse into her soul that she was trusting me with was beyond what I was capable of taking on.
I’m seeing the same vulnerability in her eyes right now, and it’s making the sex feel—
Nope, it’s not our locked gazes heightening the intimacy. It’s the fact that my dick is surrounded with warmth and wetness.
I’m not wearing a condom.
“Babe.” I groan, stilling her by grabbing her hips. “Condom,” I remind her.
She looks stunned that we’d forgotten. And I know it’s a big deal for her, because she’s typically such a stickler for condoms. After her confession, I understand why.
“I’m on the pill,” she says in assurance, and her expression becomes unusually shy. “I get tested twice a year. My last results were all clear…” There’s an unspoken question there.
“Mine too,” I say huskily.
“So maybe we should…” She visibly swallows. “Keep going?”
My pulse quickens. “You sure you want to bareback it?”
She nods slowly. “Yeah. But maybe you can pull out at the end, if that’s okay?”
The fact that she’s even allowing me to be inside her this way is a beautiful gift. And my mother always told me to never look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Of course it’s okay.” I roll us over so that she’s lying beneath me, her dark hair fanned out across my pillow. Jesus, she’s beautiful.
And because I don’t know when or if the bareback gods might bless me again, I drag out the out-of-this-world sensations for as long as I can. I fuck her impossibly slow. My hips move in a lazy rhythm, and so does my tongue as I slide it between her parted lips. We kiss and fuck and fuck and kiss, for what seems like forever.
It almost becomes too much to bear. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, kissing her there. She squeezes my ass and rocks upward, meeting me thrust for thrust. By the time I finally increase the tempo, we’re both moaning with impatience.
“Dammit, Connelly, stop taking your sweet-ass time and move.”
I choke on my laughter. “Jeez. So bossy,” I chide.
“Move,” she growls.
I stop completely. “I’m not your sex toy, Jensen. I don’t fuck on command.”
“You’re such a baby. Are you going to get us off or not?”
I love that she says us and not me. Brenna isn’t selfish in bed. She doesn’t lie there like a starfish and make me do all the work like some women I’ve slept with in the past. Brenna is an equal participant, and I love it.
I gaze down at her with mock seriousness. “I’ll let your insolence slide. This time,” I warn. And then I pound into her until we’re both coming.
Afterward, we lie on our backs, naked, and I can tell without even looking at her that her mood has shifted. Tension rolls off of her. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I was thinking about my dad.”
“We just had sex and you’re thinking about your dad. Awesome.”
“We just had sex. Period. And now I’m thinking about my dad. Pe
riod. Those are two unrelated events,” she assures me.
“What’s troubling you?”
“I want to go home and talk to him about everything, but I’m worried because I have such bad luck initiating heart-to-hearts with him. He’s so hard to talk to.” Her sigh heats the air between us. “But I think it’s time to have a real conversation about everything I’ve been feeling. Maybe for once he’ll actually listen to me, you know? Maybe I’ll finally be able to get through to him and convince him I’m not the same person I was back then.”
I trail my fingers over her shoulder. “I have the utmost confidence you’ll make him see the light, Hottie.”
“That makes one of us, because I’m not confident in the slightest. Like I said, I have terrible luck when it comes to conversations with Chad Jensen.”
I purse my lips for a moment. “I have an idea.” Then I hop off the mattress and onto my feet.
“Where are you going?” she demands as I duck out of the room.
“Hold tight,” I call over my shoulder.
In the front hall, I throw open the closet door and drag out my hockey bag. I unzip it, ignore the rising smell of old socks, and rummage around until I find what I’m seeking. As I saunter back to my room, something nags at the back of my mind, but I can’t quite bring the thought to the forefront.
“I’m about to do you a huge solid,” I tell Brenna.
“Oh really.” She sits up, and my attention is instantly drawn to her bare breasts. They’re round and perky, and her nipples are puckered from being exposed.
I have to snap myself out of it before the lust takes over. “I’m going to lend you my good-luck charm,” I announce, holding up the tacky pink-and-purple bracelet.
She gasps. “Seriously?”
“Yup.”
“But how is your good-luck charm going to help me? Aren’t all the mojo and good vibes it holds associated with you?”
“That’s not how it works, babe.”
She seems to be fighting a smile. “Uh-huh, how does it work, then?”