by S. R. Grey
“What is wrong with me?” I choke out before losing it completely.
Chase gathers me in his arms and rocks me while I weep softly, tears for Sarah, tears for all that’s been lost, tears for all my weakness, tears for my irresponsibility. Finally, when I have nothing left, Chase loosens his hold and I sit back.
I place my hand on my chest and take a deep breath, while my attentive boy swipes wet streaks from my cheeks and smoothes back my hair.
I whisper forlornly, “I want to tell you, Chase. And I’m more than ready to tell you. But I don’t know how to tell you.”
Chase appears to consider this quandary we’re in.
A beat passes, and then he gently says, “I have an idea, okay? It may not work. But then again, it just might.”
“All right,” I whisper, willing to try anything at this point.
My boy nods, smiles tightly, and kisses my cheek. He then twists on the swing—the chains creaking in protest—until his back is facing me. I stare at strong, wide shoulders, covered by a taut white tee.
Suddenly, it dawns on me what my boy is doing. Chase has found a solution. Sharing my secret may be less difficult if I don’t have to face him directly. My mother’s reaction all those years ago has obviously scarred me, but this, this may just work for me.
His cotton tee is worn and thin, so the darker inked portions of the tattoos lying beneath the material are not so hidden.
Hmm…
There may be one more thing we can do to almost guarantee this experiment is successful.
Slowly, I lift the hem at the back of Chase’s shirt. He glances over his shoulder to see what I’m up to. My eyes meet his. “May I?” I ask, hem in hand.
Realization dawns in his blues, he knows me well enough that he quickly figures out what I’m trying to do—share my secret with the angel on his back. It seems appropriate. In fact, it feels right. So right that when Chase lifts and tugs his shirt over his head, the words I’ve been trying to say start to bubble to the surface.
My eyes stay fixed on the angel. The wings, the falling feathers remain in the periphery. But they don’t go unnoticed. If Chase’s wings are broken, then mine are shattered. Maybe that’s why we work so well together, why we have from the very beginning. Some things are meant to be, and Chase and I have been destined from day one. We are two broken people who, when put together, become whole.
I reach out and tentatively touch the angel. A shiver runs down my boy’s spine. Finding my voice, at last, I begin my tale, digging it out one detail at a time.
“The night Sarah died I was watching her. You’ve heard that, and that part is true. But, I wasn’t sleeping when she went in the pool.”
Chase is still as can be. He’s allowing me to speak without interruption. His head stays bowed, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath.
My words are no longer bubbling at the surface, they’re boiling over.
“I was upstairs when I heard Sarah screaming. I was in my bedroom…but I wasn’t alone.” My boy’s breathing stutters, but I don’t stop. “I was with Doug Wilson. We weren’t having sex, but we were getting there. Not because I really wanted to, but because I feared saying no. He came over drunk that night, and even after I told him I was babysitting my sister and he should really go, he still forced his way in.”
I don’t detail how Doug pushed me aside in the doorway and told me laughingly to “get upstairs and spread ‘em.” If I share that tidbit with Chase, he will undoubtedly find Doug Wilson and fuck him up thoroughly. And though a part of me would relish seeing my ex brought to his knees, I have enough on my conscience these days. Like how I didn’t stop Chase from hurting the junkie who hurt me. In fact, I encouraged it, counted on it. Chase’s sin belongs to me. I have no doubt the junkie had to be hospitalized, and I condoned it all. But I shake these thoughts off, for now, and skip to the next part of the story.
“Remember how I told you Doug used to use my fear of upsetting my mother against me?” I pause long enough for Chase to nod once. “Well, that night was no exception. Doug threatened to break up with me and tell my mom I was to blame if I didn’t just shut up and let him stay. That’s why I was afraid to kick him out. Not that I really could have anyway. But still…”
I take a breath, and stare at the profile of the angel’s bowed head. “Doug finished the can of beer he’d brought with him, then went into the kitchen and grabbed one of my dad’s beers out of the fridge. Sarah was on the sofa watching television, and I remember her looking at me like she was wondering why I was letting this rude kid do these things. Her expression steeled my resolve, at least briefly, and I actually had the courage to ask Doug to leave. I told him I’d been watching a movie with Sarah and we wanted to get back to it.” I pause, let out a harsh breath. This is still hard, but I go on, “I can hear Doug’s response, still. He laughed and said, ‘She can watch a movie without you, Kay, you’re not that important.’”
Chase stiffens and I am imminently grateful I left out the part where Doug called me a “dumb slut” and said I was good for one thing only.
“Anyway, I went upstairs to use the bathroom—and really just to get away from that asshole for a minute. I was hoping maybe I’d think of a way to get him out of the house, but when I started back down the stairs, Doug was coming up.”
I tell Chase how Doug blocked my way when I said we shouldn’t leave Sarah unattended, and then I tried to get past him. “But Doug backed me up the stairs and into my bedroom. He said a few minutes alone wouldn’t kill her.” I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “God, he used those exact words, Chase.”
I blink back tears and stare at the angel for the next few minutes. Chase doesn’t move, he remains as still as a statue. I know he’s waiting for me to continue—and I plan to—but a part of me wishes I could see my love’s face right now so I could discern what he’s thinking. We’re getting to the hard part though, and I fear my words will fail me again if I take a chance and ask Chase to turn around. So, for now, I ask for nothing.
“I didn’t stop him, Chase,” I grind out, the angel blurring through my tears. “I was weak and afraid. I figured he was probably right. Sarah would be fine for a few minutes. I wracked my brain while Doug was pushing me down onto the bed. I was sure I’d locked all the doors, especially the one that led out to the patio…and the pool.” I choke up. “But it must not have been locked, after all. I must have forgotten to slide the lock earlier.”
At this point, everything rushes back, all the memories, all the feelings.
God, please help.
I break down completely, the floodgates opening. I sob, “My sister slid that door open, she went outside, she either got in or fell into the pool. She couldn’t swim though. She couldn’t swim, Chase. She couldn’t swim. Oh, God”—I am back where I was four years ago—“God, please help, please, please help. Don’t let her die, please, God, please.”
I am wracked with grief as Chase turns to face me.
“It was my fault.” I stare into Chase’s eyes and see my pain reflected in gunmetal blue.
He shakes his head, but I continue, “My sister died because I couldn’t find the strength to speak up to an asshole I shouldn’t have even been dating.”
More memories flood me, and I relive them now through my words.
“His hands, God, his hands, they were all over me, Chase, while my sister was outside drowning. And I knew nothing, nothing, not until I finally heard her screams.”
My boy is trying to take me in his arms, trying to comfort me, but I’m pushing him away like he’s Doug Wilson. “Kay, Kay,” he says softly.
“I didn’t want him touching me.”
I slap at Chase, but he catches my hand. “I know, baby, I know. It’s okay. He’s not here, it’s just me.”
I finally still and let my boy hug me. “I’m a horrible person, Chase,” I sob into his bare shoulder, “a horrible daughter, and a horrible sister.”
“No you’re not any of those things.
What happened that night was just a terrible, terrible accident.” He pauses. “In fact, if anyone carries any blame it’s Doug Wilson. He should’ve never put you in that position.”
Doug definitely played a role, but guilt still plagues me.
Chase asks, “What did that fucker do when he saw what had happened?”
I tell him the truth. “Doug ran away.”
And that’s exactly what happened. Doug Wilson took off.
After I heard Sarah’s screams and jumped out of bed—thankfully, still fully clothed—I ran downstairs and out to the back. Doug was on my heels, but he stopped short when he saw me dragging my sister’s lifeless body from the water. As I was administering CPR—to no avail—Doug turned and ran. To this day, no one—besides him and me, and my mother after I told her—knows he was there with me that night.
Oh, and now Chase Gartner knows the truth.
After I finish, and my story is laid out before the man I love, I say, “See, you’re not the broken one, Chase. I am.”
He trails a finger down my tear-soaked cheek. “That’s not true, baby.”
I catch his hand and squeeze it tightly. “Yes, it is true. I am shattered.”
He takes a deep breath. “Then I guess we’ll be broken together.”
I look at him and shake my head in disbelief. “You don’t hate me now? You don’t want to run away and leave forever? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
Chase looks as pained as I feel right now. “God, of course not,” he says. “I love you, Kay. Nothing changes that.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses my lips with fervor.
I can’t believe this man’s not turning away, like my mother did four years earlier when she heard the same story. My boy’s love is so much truer though. His belief in me is so solid it makes me think maybe I am not to blame for everything that happened that night.
But, just in case, when our lips part, I lay my flayed heart out before me, and say three little words—to Chase, to Sarah, to God, to a mother who’s forsaken me, “Please forgive me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHASE
“There’s nothing to forgive, sweet girl. You’re not to blame for what happened.”
I tell Kay this, again and again, but she continues to try and stop me. “No—”
I place one finger on her lips and cup her chin in my hand. “Shh…” I shake my head. “There is nothing you can say that will ever convince me you’re responsible for what happened to Sarah.”
“But I left her alone, Chase,” Kay protests. “I didn’t protect her.”
“That wasn’t your fault, baby. I told you, if anything, it’s that asshole’s fault. He took advantage of your fear of your mother and your fear of him. He forced his way into your house, he wouldn’t leave, and he trapped you upstairs. How were you supposed to fight him?”
I get all those words out in what I hope is a soothing voice. But it’s far from easy, since what I really feel like doing the entire time I’m speaking and comforting Kay is finding that dick, Doug Wilson, so I can lay him the fuck out. Fucking prick, putting my girl in a position like that—playing on her fears, on her insecurities, all the weaknesses that plagued her back then.
She’s so much stronger now, and that’s what I tell her. I know it still tears her up that her mother disowned her after finding out the truth. But I tell Kay it’s her mother’s loss that she chooses to stay turned away. It’s true. That heartless woman’s firstborn is a beautiful, kind, and caring woman. Kay is the polar opposite of the heartless bitch who bore her twenty-three years ago. Her mother is only cheating herself by not speaking to the only daughter she has left. Of course, I keep these thoughts to myself, as the last thing I care to do is upset my girl any further.
As the night wears on, we remain on the back porch. My girl curls up and nestles under my arm, her head against my chest, while I keep the swing swaying. After a while, Kay asks me to play more music. I choose a song I’ve been listening to a lot lately, a song from one of my dad’s albums that reminds me of my girl. It’s a U2 song, aptly titled “The Sweetest Thing.” I share my feelings about this song with Kay and she smiles for the first time since confessing her perceived sin.
That smile is so precious to me, because it’s the first step of Kay forgiving herself, which is really all that matters.
The next night, the Fourth of July, we are once again out on the back porch, but things are much more lighthearted. I have Kay laughing and smiling, all due to my sorry attempt at making dinner an hour earlier.
“Okay, so I’ll never be a chef on TV,” I concede as I lean back against one of the posts.
We are outside getting ready to watch some Independence Day fireworks. Tonight is the last night of the carnival down at the church and their fireworks display is set for nine thirty. I check my cell, five more minutes. And then the black night will be lit up with more than just the blinking fireflies hovering around.
Kay plops down on the swing, a dish of vanilla ice cream in her hand. Yeah, dessert I had no problem with. It was easy, just scoop from the carton and you’re done.
“Chase,” my girl begins, laughing as she dips her spoon into the ice cream, “the cheese on a grilled cheese sandwich goes in the middle, not on the top.”
“I was trying to make it fancy,” I explain, defending my culinary faux pas.
This earns me more giggles, and I am so glad I messed up dinner after all. It’s worth it to get my girl back to carefree. We’ve had enough heavy-heartedness the past two days.
A loud boom sounds off in the distance and the fireworks commence. And though they’re not exactly close, the fireworks extend high above the tree tops, so we’re given a pretty damn good show.
As the first spectacular sprays of color brighten the dark horizon, Kay sets her dish down and comes to stand next to me. I wrap an arm around her shoulder and she leans into me. A huge burst of pink and silver explodes high in the pitch-black sky. The colors sparkle and remain suspended in the air for a few seconds, before shimmering back toward the ground. The next explosion is even bigger—gold, purple, and green light up the sky. And then another firework goes up and bursts into a huge shower of red.
I “ooh” and “aah” like a damn eight-year-old as each pyrotechnic goes off, which elicits soft laughter from the girl under my arm. Without warning, Kay lifts to her tiptoes and kisses my cheek with her warm, soft lips.
When her lips remain, I turn my head so it’s my mouth, not my cheek, she’s kissing.
“I love you, mmm, so much,” she murmurs, her words muffled somewhat by our mouths moving against one another.
I don’t bother to say it back, showing is better in this case. So I back baby girl over to the swing until she has no choice but to sit down on it. I kneel before her on the wooden porch slats, and position my body between her knees.
“What are you doing, mischievous boy?” Kay asks, lounging back as I settle between her legs. “I know you’re up to something.”
“Always,” I respond with a wink.
Kay is wearing a dress, one of those sexy, lacy ones I fucking love. So it’s with joy that I drag the material up along her legs, slowly. Sweet girl lets out a little gasp, and I hoarsely say, “Watch the fireworks, baby.”
Loud booms echo off in the distance, so I know the light show is still going on behind my back. Of course, I plan to do things to Kay that I guarantee will cause her some fireworks of her own. So it’s really up to her which display she prefers to view.
When I glance up I see my sexy girl prefers to watch me at the moment. She’s biting her lower lip and keeping her caramels on my hands as I slide her panties down her legs. I toss them behind my back. She watches as I kiss a path from the inside of her knee and up the length of her inner thigh. And she’s fucking mesmerized when I pick up the dish of ice cream she set down earlier and spoon some onto my tongue. I close my mouth and arch an eyebrow at her as her eyes widen. That’s right, you’re going to fucking l
ove this, baby, my wicked grin hopefully conveys.
I softly touch Kay’s oh-so-ready core with my ice-cream-coated tongue, giving sweet girl a dose of very cold and very hot, delivered in one long, languorous lick. Her head lolls back. Baby, who’s less shy about sex every time we’re together, pushes her pink and swollen against me roughly. I slip my hot and cold tongue inside her and am rewarded with the sexiest moan I think I’ve ever heard.
And this is just the beginning, I am just getting started.
In fact, eating ice cream right off of Kay’s pussy sounds like a delicious plan, so why delay? I’m sure she’ll like it too—very sure, in fact—so I scoop up a big spoonful. The ice cream is melting, so I angle the spoon above her swollen sex and drizzle a little sweetness right onto my already-so-sweet girl’s little clit. Baby girl gasps as vanilla drips down to where I plan to be very soon. I lap every drop up slowly, teasing, and savoring all the sugary sweetness combined with my sweet fucking girl. I cover her sticky pussy lips with my sticky lips, tasting and nibbling. And when every last bit of vanilla is gone, I circle her clit with my tongue until my girl comes undone for me.
When Kay rasps out she wants me inside her—like right fucking now—my cock is out of my pants in three seconds flat and I slide into heaven. The swing rocks unevenly as I thrust into my girl fast and rough. Kay shifts until she’s practically lying down, and I shift with her, still on my knees. I hook my fingers under her right knee and hoist her leg up over my shoulder. This angle allows me to go so deep.
Shit.
My girl must like this new angle too, she’s panting and moaning and asking for it harder still. That, I can do. I fuck so hard that the chains holding the swing up protest loudly. But when I slow to an almost stop, baby girl moves against me, keeping her little movements hard and rough. “More, more, more,” she chants as she fucks my cock all on her own. “Please, Chase, more.”
Fuck the swing. I give my girl what she wants. And though the fireworks down at the carnival are have long since finished, our own fireworks continue well into the night.