On Solid Ground (A Touch of Fate)

by K. L. Grayson

  I take a deep breath, push the car door open and step out … but my feet don’t move. I’m exhausted, and not at all prepared to walk in that house and deal with Harley. As much as I love her and want to move past this, I can’t act like everything is okay. Because it isn’t. Her accusations hurt, and the more I’ve thought about it today, I don’t think this is something I can just get over. Can I?

  Squaring my shoulders, I walk into the house. Max wastes no time propelling himself into my arms, and even though he’s getting big and I’ll probably hurt my fucking back, I toss him over my shoulder.

  “Hey, buddy!” I spin Max around a few times and then he grunts when I toss him on the couch. “How was your day?” I ask, ruffling his hair.

  Swatting my hand away, he jumps up and follows me when I walk into the kitchen to take off my jacket and empty my pockets. “I learned about presidents today,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly. I can’t help but smile, because I know he’s probably chomping at the bit to tell me all out about what he learned. This kid loves history and he’s too darn smart for his own good. “Do you know who the eighteenth president of the United States was?”

  “Um”—I scratch the side of my head—“honestly, no. I don’t remember.”

  “That’s okay,” he says, running to his book bag that is hanging on the back of a chair. He pulls out a book and runs back over. “I can tell you. Here, sit down.” He kicks out a chair and I sit down, but not before looking up and catching sight of Harley leaning against the counter. She has a big wooden spoon in one hand, and a rag draped over her shoulder.

  Her gorgeous green eyes are watching me, and they’re swirling with an array of emotions. I try hard not to concentrate too much on them because I need to stay strong. If we’re ever going to make it, we have to move past this the right way. That means no brushing it under the rug.

  She takes a hesitant step forward as though she wants to say something, but Max nudges me in the arm. “See,” he says, pointing at the book. I reluctantly look away from Harley at the picture Max is indicating. “That is Ulysses S. Grant. His wife was Julie Dent, and as a wedding present her parents gave them eighty acres. Do you know what he did with those eighty acres?” Max asks, looking at me with wide eyes and a smile to match. My eyes drift toward Harley and Max nudges me again. “Dad?”

  My heart clenches and I refocus my attention on Max. He calls me dad every day, and every day it affects me the same way. I thought the feeling would fade over time, but it hasn’t. Even if Harley tossed me out on my sorry ass today, I’d still love this little boy with every piece of my soul. That’s not something that will ever change.

  All of a sudden it hits me that Harley hasn’t said anything else about the adoption paperwork. She hasn’t signed it—hasn’t even mentioned it—and I can’t help but wonder if she’s changed her mind. Does her lack of trust in me filter over into my relationship with Max? “I love you, Max,” I say, trying to ease the tension that’s creeping in around me.

  “I love you too,” he says quickly, tapping his finger on the book to redirect my attention. “But I asked you a question.”

  “Right.” I nod, pushing my insecurities away so I can concentrate on my son. I’ll worry about everything else later. “Um … he lived there?”

  Max rolls his eyes, something that he’s perfected over the past year. “Well, duh. Never mind,” he says, waving his hands through the air. “Let me just tell you.” I don’t even bother trying to talk because right now I’m just happy that he’s found something that piques his interest and he’s sharing it with me. “Yes, he lived there, but now it’s a farm in St. Louis.”

  I internally berate myself for not remembering one of my favorite places to go as a child. “Grant’s Farm.” I laugh when Max gives me a now-you’re-getting-it look.

  “You said you didn’t know!”

  “I forgot.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “I have.” Nodding, I grab the book from Max and slide it across the table. “They have all sorts of animals, if I remember correctly. But do you know the best part about it?”

  “Hardscrabble?”

  I furrow my brow. “Huh?”

  “That’s the house that Grant built himself before he became president. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

  “That is cool, but I was talking about the Clydesdales.”

  “Horses?”

  “Not just any horse. They’re very special horses and—” My words trail off when Max starts thumbing through the book. Apparently, I’ve bored him. “Do you want to go sometime?”

  His head snaps up, a chunk of hair falling in front of his eyes. I brush it away. “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can we go soon?” Max asks, sitting up in his seat.

  “Of course we can.” Why on earth would I say no?

  “Awesome!” Max gets up and walks over to Harley. “Dad said we get to go Grant’s Farm. Can we go this weekend?”

  Tilting her head, Harley runs a hand through Max’s hair. Her eyes are glassy, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like beg her for forgiveness. Not that I’m above begging, but I honestly don’t feel like I have anything to apologize for. Plus, Max doesn’t need to know that we’ve been fighting. So instead, I just sit here and watch their interaction. “We’ll see,” she says. “Your dad and I need to talk about it first.”

  Max smiles and fist-bumps the air and then turns to me. “That means yes,” he whispers, “When mom says ‘we’ll see,’ it’s always a yes.”

  “Hey.” Harley laughs, the tinkling sound sending a shiver down my spine. It’s been a awhile since I’ve heard her laugh, and that’s a sound I want to hear every single day—multiple times a day—for the rest of my life. Not hearing it isn’t an option. I’m not sure I’d survive without it. “You need to quit giving away my secrets,” she says, pointing playfully at Max. “Now let’s eat.”

  “What’s for dinner?” Max and I both ask at the same time, earning us an interesting look from Harley.

  “Spaghetti.” Harley hands each of us a plate, takes a pot off of the stove and puts it in front of us. “Dig in,” she says, her eyes lingering on mine for a few beats before she sits down next to me.

  Dinner flies by and Max talks us into watching a movie with him afterward. Harley walks in the living room just as the opening credits begin, and rather than taking her normal seat next to me on the couch, she sits in the recliner. I want to tell her to get her ass over here where she belongs, but I somehow manage to hold myself back. I want her to come to me because she wants to. Hell, more than that, I want her to have a little faith in me.

  I stare at Harley for several seconds, hoping to catch her attention, because I desperately want to see her eyes. She has the most expressive eyes, and I know they’ll tell me everything I need to know about what’s going on in her head right now. But she doesn’t look over and I eventually turn my attention to the TV, making a mental note that as soon as we get Max into bed, we’re having a talk. Come hell or high water, we are going to lay everything out on the line. Unfortunately for me, by the time the movie ends, she’s fast asleep.

  Max’s head is resting on my shoulder, a soft snore coming from his mouth. Scooping him up, I carry him to his room, tuck him in bed and shut the door. I walk back into the living room and stop dead in my tracks at the sight of Harley curled up in the chair with her gorgeous hair fanned out around her head and her long black lashes resting softly against her face.

  She’s so fucking beautiful.

  My eyes drift her to her belly. She hasn’t gained much weight, and to most people she probably doesn’t even look pregnant, but I can see it. Her normally baggy t-shirt stretches tighter than normal around her stomach, and when I think about the fact that she’s carrying my child—that a piece of me is growing inside of her—it makes my heart swell with more love than I ever thought possible.

  She shifts in the chair and I watch her wiggle around as she tr
ies to get comfortable. She finally settles back, her right arm flung over her head, the left across her belly. I catch sight of her engagement ring and tilt my head to the side, examining the diamond that I spent so long picking out for her. As I stare at her ring, the memories of the day I proposed come crashing in. All at once I know exactly what I have to do.

  Quietly, I walk to Harley. Unable to resist touching her, I brush my knuckles across her forehead and then along the side of her face. “I’m going to make this better,” I whisper, even though she’s asleep. “I promise you we’re going to get through this, and we’re going to be stronger because of it.” She stirs again and I kiss her lightly on the cheek before sneaking one arm under legs and another around her back. When I lift her from the chair, she falls against my chest and nuzzles her face in my neck. With her back in my arms, everything in the world somehow feels right again.

  I make quick work of tucking her in bed, and then I walk back into the living room, grab my phone and call the one person who can make my plan a reality. She answers on the first ring. “Quinn. I need your help.”

  The soft rays of the morning sun filter in through the curtains and I roll over in bed. Rubbing my eyes, I blink slowly several times, allowing them to adjust to the light. When they finally come into focus, I’m left with the most amazing view—one that literally takes my breath away.

  Tyson’s round chocolate eyes are watching me, and when I offer him a small smile, he returns it. “Good morning,” I say, clearing my throat when the words come out scratchy from sleep. Tyson doesn’t say anything, his eyes merely continuing a leisurely path over my face that leave a trail of heat in their path. My body tingles, humming with pleasure under the weight of his gaze, and it almost becomes too much.

  “What?” I whisper. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  His lips tilt upward in the most beautiful smile. He runs a finger down the side of my cheek and I tilt my face into the palm of his hand. The touch of his skin against mine is a welcome feeling and I nearly sigh in contentment.

  “Like what? Like I love you? Because I do.” Leaning forward, he drops a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m madly in love with you, Harley. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and I’m going to love you long after I leave this earth.”

  If I were standing up, my knees would’ve buckled. Shaking my head, I close my eyes for a brief second, a feeble attempt to push back the tears. They seep past my lashes anyway. When I open my eyes, a few trickle down the side of my face. “I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. “The way I reacted was immature, and I hate this rift that we’ve somehow created between us. I trust you … I promise I do. I just have this horrible fear of getting hurt—of losing you again—because the pain from that night still haunts—”

  Tyson swallows my words when his mouth lands on mine. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open up, inviting him in. The kiss is soft and gentle, our mouths molding together the way they’ve always done. When his hand lands on my hip, his strong fingers curling inward, I relax into his body, allowing him to pull me close. Just as I think our conversation is going to turn purely physical, he pulls back, causing a tiny whimper to fall from my mouth.

  “I didn’t know how else to shut you up,” he says with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Now I see where Max gets it from—oomph.” He grunts and then laughs when I elbow him in the gut.

  We lie still for several seconds, simply watching each other. We’re clearly in uncharted waters, and I, for one, am not really sure where to go from here.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, feeling it’s worth repeating.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you right away—”

  Now it’s my turn to steal his words. My lips find his in a gentle kiss. “You’re forgiven,” I whisper, my lips brushing his again.

  Two words. As simple as that.

  Tyson cocks his head to the side as though he can’t believe I forgave him so easily. His eyes are pinning me to the bed, and the disbelief on his face quickly transforms into a look of determination. “Now can I tell you what happened with Brit?”

  I nod and listen patiently as he tells me everything that happened from the moment he heard her voice to the end of their coffee meeting. I’m confident he doesn’t leave anything out. Not only does he tell me word for word what they talked about, but he also tells me what was running through his head the whole time. It nearly breaks my heart to hear how worried he was about me—about how I’d react and the stress it would put on both me and our baby.

  With each word he says, guilt over our argument grows. By the time he’s done talking, I’m nothing but a big ball of emotions. Here I was so pissed off, and the whole time he was thinking about me.

  I open my mouth to apologize again, but Tyson presses a finger against my lips to stop me from speaking. Then he uses the thumb of his other hand to wipe away my tears. “If you’re going to apologize again, I don’t want to hear it. I know you’re sorry, and I forgive you. We’re not going to let this have any more control over us than it already has. Do I make myself clear?”

  I nod, nipping at the pad of his finger. His authoritative tone seems to have created a bit of a fire in the pit of my stomach.

  “Can I tell you I love you?” I ask, leaning in for a kiss. It’s brief, but when I pull back, I suck his bottom lip into my mouth.

  “You can tell me that as much and as often as you want. As long as touching is involved,” he adds, snagging the bottom of my shirt and tugging it up just enough to get his hands on my belly.

  His big, warm hands rub gentle circles over our baby, and I soak in every second of it because I didn’t get this with Max. Scooting down on the bed, Tyson kisses my belly several times. “Couples fight all the time. This hasn’t been our first fight, and it sure as hell won’t be our last. But the important thing is that we talk through it.”

  “That works”—I give Tyson a cheeky smile—“because I love talking.”

  “See,” he says, looking up with a beautiful smile. “That was easy, wasn’t it? Do you know what we get to do now?” he asks, his eyes full of mischief.

  He lifts my shirt over my breasts and sucks one of my nipples into his hot mouth. “Oh, fuck,” I say, moaning at the way he swirls his tongue.

  “That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against my skin.

  I pull my shirt off as fast as I can. “I can’t remember the last time we had make-up sex.”

  Tyson releases my nipple with a pop, and then he sits up and quickly pulls off both my shorts and underwear. “Then I guess we’re overdue.”

  “Well, what the hell are you wai—ahhh—” Tyson’s mouth descends on my clit, robbing me of all thought and sound. His tongue presses down and then he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, causing my hips to nearly buck off the bed.

  “Easy, baby,” he mumbles, looping his arms under my legs so he can hold them down. My body coils tight with each nip and suck, and when he slides a thick finger inside of me, my eyes roll back and I push my head into the pillow.

  “Oh, God,” I say, moaning. “Please don’t stop.”

  A low growl rumbles from Tyson, sending tiny vibrations through my body. His tongue and fingers work in perfect rhythm, and I dig my heels into the bed as tiny sparks of pleasure ignite in my belly.

  Right when I’m ready to explode, Tyson stops.

  “No.” Pushing up on my elbows, I shake my head. “What are you—?”

  Tyson slants his mouth over mine, stealing my words. I realize now that that’s his way of shutting me up, but right now I don’t care. His throbbing cock is poised at my entrance, and it’s the best damn feeling in the world.

  Pulling back, Tyson trails his lips along my jaw and then he kisses the sensitive spot just below my ear. “I want to be buried deep inside this sexy little body when you let go,” he whisp
ers. In one beautiful motion, he slides inside of me.

  Home.

  Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I pull him in close. His muscles flex with each deep thrust, and I revel in the way his body feels against mine.

  “You feel so fucking good.” Tyson’s hot breath fans the side of my face, and then he fuses our mouths together for a searing kiss. Our tongues push and pull in rhythm with our bodies, the sound of skin slapping skin and rough grunts so incredibly erotic that it sends me right back to the edge.

  Breathless, I pull away. “More.” Tyson’s eyes flare with desire. Because he knows my body better than anyone else ever will, he pulls out, grabs my hips, and then flips me over on my stomach before lifting my ass into the air. Any other time in my life, this position would’ve left me feeling open and vulnerable—but not with Tyson. With him, I feel sexy as hell.

  He fists my hair, tugging on it just enough to tilt my head back. It doesn’t hurt, but there is a bite of pain that spurs me on. “Fuck me,” I beg, not at all feeling guilty for how needy I sound.

  With one hand in my hair, I feel him guide his cock back to my entrance. Only instead of sliding in, he rubs the swollen head against my pussy and over my clit, which is now throbbing incessantly.

  “I like it when you beg,” he says, his voice raw and gravelly. I smile to myself because this never gets old. Tyson loves the dirty talk, but not near as much as I do. “Beg me, Harley,” he says, emphasizing his words with another gentle tug of my hair.

  “What if I don’t want to beg?” I shift my hips to try and get him to hit a certain spot. He evades me at every turn and I growl in frustration.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, a smile in his voice. Releasing my hair, he slides his hand around to my breast and tweaks my nipples, pinching and pulling the way he knows I like it. I finally decide that enough is enough. Slipping my hand between my stomach and the bed, my fingers find my clit, as well as the swollen head of his cock. Wrapping my fingers around him, I pump twice before letting go and then sliding my fingers through my folds.