by S. R. Grey
“What happened there?” I whisper.
Chase admits he drank…a lot, hard liquor, vodka. Then, he tells me he got high. He smoked with Kyle and his friends. Not too much, but still. My once-addicted boy did something he hasn’t done in years—and that in and of itself is significant. With Chase’s history I know what potentially comes next—more drugs, harder drugs—coke, pills, God knows what…
With this in mind, I ask, “Was that it? Did you do anything else?”
“No, but…” Chase presses his lips together and looks over at me. “I almost… Uh, Kyle chopped up some lines and…and I was going to. Fuck, Kay.”
My boy turns away and I lean as far as over the console as I can and wrap my arms around him. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “You didn’t do it, though, right?”
“I almost did, baby. I was so fucking close, rolled bill in hand, bent over that shit.”
I freeze. I remain perfectly still with my arms around my guy. How did he stop? I wonder.
“And then I thought about you, sweet girl,” Chase whispers, as if he’s answering my thoughts.
He relaxes into me. “I walked out, left Kyle in the bathroom with the coke he’d just cut up. He had said when we first went in that I’d like it…and I was sure I would. I wanted it in my body, that’s for sure. I was ready to feel like I used to, wasted, uncaring. I can’t lie to you about that, sweet, sweet girl.”
I rub the back of his neck, play with his hair. “It’s okay, Chase. You didn’t do it, you stopped.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to do it. I wanted to shut everything out, get lost. But then I realized I care too much. I care about Will, I care about my life. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”
Chase straightens and I lean back some, so that we’re sitting and facing each other in the darkened car. “But mostly it was you who stopped me, Kay,” Chase continues. “You give me strength, even when we’re not together. You save me…you’ll always save me, baby girl. Just knowing you love me like you do.”
His gaze holds mine, and I can’t help it, I have to touch him. Leaning forward, I cover his face in kisses. I kiss him and lick him, sloppy and wet, and he loves it. The skin under my lips tastes so good, so right…so Chase. My boy groans under my assault, and then he pushes me back into the driver’s seat, coming right along with me, hands roaming my body, lips covering my neck, the whole way. “I need you, baby,” he groans into my ear. “Let’s go inside.”
I need him just as much right now, though I don’t tell him why. I’ll wait until he’s sober and not high to share with him the events of my own tumultuous night. Not to mention, I am sick to death of talking…and thinking. I long for an escape as well.
We end up in my apartment, since it’s the closest to where I’ve parked. Clothes are discarded hastily, a hodgepodge of fabrics left trailing from the living room to the bedroom. By the time we tumble together onto the bed, we are both naked, bare, in body and soul.
I’ve never experienced Chase fucked up like this, and it’s definitely different. He’s more aggressive than usual, which is saying a lot. He’s rough and crude, with his mouth and his hands. But I like it, it makes me wet, it makes me want him in this coarse way. “I don’t want it easy,” I tell him.
He smirks, cocky, drunk, high. “Good, you’re not getting it easy, baby. You’re getting fucked hard, harder than all the other times when I went easy on you.” My boy flips me over onto my stomach and hoarsely says, “Scoot up. Hold on to the headboard. You’re gonna need to.”
I grab at antique iron bars, and tremble with anticipation. I want him. I want him like this. He pushes me deep into the mattress with his weight. His skin burns heated against mine as he covers me with his body. I am breathless. His arousal jabs at my ass cheek, letting me know he’s more than ready. And so am I. I try to shift to feel him where I want him, but I can barely move.
Chase doesn’t let up. In fact, he does the opposite, gives me his full weight. He knows I love feeling him on me like this, so encompassing, so consuming.
Chase scoops up my hair and licks the nape of my neck. “Is that too much, baby? Am I crushing you?”
“No, I like it.” I gasp. He chuckles and eases up slightly.
“Is your pussy wet for me?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s see. I want to feel.” He reaches down between our bodies and slides his fingers along my slick core. I am soaked, so turned on. Chase groans, “Fuck, Kay.”
His fingers leave me and I feel him handling his length behind me. He nudges at my sex. “Spread your legs some more, sweet girl.” His voice is husky and thick. “Open up for me.”
He taps my ass with his cock, and I do as he asks. With no further warning, he sheaths himself inside me with one hard thrust. “Fuck, Chase, God,” I yell out, gripping the headboard bars.
He slams in deeper and holds still, making me squirm, which serves to harden him even more. This is a lot of Chase. But I want it. My boy buries his face in my shoulder, and his teeth graze my skin, making me shiver.
“Tell me what you want, baby.” He bites down hard. I whimper and he lets go. “Ask me for it,” he demands.
His cock is stretching me to capacity, while his whole body crushes me. I feel invaded, taken, conquered, and I love every bit of it.
My boy bites down once more where my skin is still tender from his first bite. I cry out, “I want you to fuck me, Chase. Fuck me.”
I rotate my hips beneath him, arching my ass up into his hips. He pulls out all the way—pauses—and reenters me on yet another long, hard thrust. “Yes,” I hiss into the pillow.
My boy’s mouth is at my ear, and he whispers, “Do you like my cock in your pussy, Kay?” He moves his hips, sliding in and out, in and out. So good. “Say it, baby. Tell me you love the way I fuck you. Be dirty with me.”
I like this dirty Chase, this crude and irreverent man. I want to go where he’s taking me. I need to be dragged down to where he is so we can build ourselves back up, together, stronger.
So I tell my boy the absolute truth, I share with him that I love everything he’s doing and I want even more. When I say, “I like the way you fuck when you’re messed up like this,” my boy groans, and then he pounds into me harder still.
Chase asks to hear more, so I confess all the filthy things I’ve dreamed of him doing to me. He tells me a few ideas of his own. That makes me share even more. I think my ability to match my boy on dirty and filthy surprises him, but he’s more than happy to do everything I ask.
He calls me the dirty names I ask him to, he puts his fingers in places no fingers have ever been, and he yanks my hair back when I scream for him to as he finger-fucks me from behind. But what sends me over the edge, what makes me scream in ecstasy, is when Chase does what he does best—fucking hard and dirty. He does this with finesse, though, moving me to where I suit him best. He positions me so I can take all of him when his thrusts become punishing and rough.
And that’s what Chase does now—punishes me with his cock. We’re both covered in sweat, me on my back, Chase on top, between my legs, pounding hard. It’s his hands that now grip the antique iron headboard bars, giving him the leverage to fuck me into oblivion. Chase once told me he could never imagine me craving oblivion, but he was wrong. I crave it now, in this way. Chase owns me and he can annihilate me if that’s what he wants. And I fear he might. But just when I think it may be too much, that this man may actually break me, Chase slows and stops. He pulls out and lowers his mouth to where his cock was just tearing me up.
I cry out his name.
He licks and kisses everywhere, his tongue probing where I throb, where I still feel the part of him that was just giving me so much pleasure and enough pain to render me incredibly sensitive to what he’s doing. now. I come swiftly, hard, my walls clenching with a powerful release.
I catch my breath, finally relax.
Chase moves back up my spent body and thrusts into me once more. I’m still euphoric as I feel him pum
p a few times, lazily now. He stills and releases into me. Then, my dirty, gorgeous boy collapses onto me to catch his own breath.
I hold on to him tightly, my fingers twined in his sweat-dampened hair. He shifts so that his weight isn’t too much, and though we’re not actively having sex anymore, he’s still inside. “Don’t leave me,” I whisper, arching to keep him where he is, even though I can tell he’s only partially hard now.
He chuckles. “I think it’s inevitable.”
Just then he slips out and we both groan at the loss.
“Just give me a few minutes,” my boy rasps in a tone full of promise.
I don’t doubt him, and sure enough a few minutes later Chase is hard and back inside me—body, heart, and soul.
When we wake the next morning, things are subdued. Chase is hung over, and I’m back to thinking about my mother and all she told me yesterday evening.
My boy and I are wrapped up together in the covers, facing each other as I finally share with him all that happened the night before. When I get to the part about Doug leaving the patio door unlocked, Chase’s expression darkens. His body tenses so much I fear he’s about to dart from the bed and track down my ex, which wouldn’t be too difficult since he’s probably still at the hospital with his mother.
I caress my boy’s arm and try to get him to relax. “Just forget it, Chase. I don’t want to dwell on this. I don’t want to waste any more time blaming and hating.” I pause. “I’ve been thinking. Life’s too short, and Sarah wouldn’t want us taking our pain out on each other. My mother’s done that long enough for all of us. I think we should let it go.”
He calms and assures me he’ll leave Doug alone. But something in his blues—which are darker than I’ve ever seen them before—tells me if those two ever run into each other… I can’t even think about it, but I do spare a second to imagine the look on Doug’s face when he sees Chase coming at him.
I smile, but only briefly, because Chase is saying, “You should have told me it was the anniversary of the day Sarah died. I would have worked something out with Will. We could have changed the ticket.” A beat passes. “Not that it matters, since he didn’t show up anyway. But still.” Chase sighs, and adds, “I do feel bad, though, for not coming straight home.”
I touch the rough stubble on his cheek. “Don’t feel bad, Chase. You didn’t know. And you’re right, I should have told you. From here on out I’m telling you everything, no matter how big or small. And I want your opinions on all of it too.”
My sweet guy is listening intently. He pushes hair that’s fallen to my cheek back into place, and says, “Speaking of opinions, how do you feel about your mother? Are you going to give her a chance?”
I can’t really read how Chase feels about last night’s unexpected reunion, but I know for a fact he’s not a big fan of my mother, seeing as how she hurt me so deeply, and for so long. So it’s with caution that I ask, “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should do what your heart tells you.”
I sigh, roll to my back, and stare at the ceiling. “I can’t just instantly forgive her for turning her back on me, but…I think I might want to try. Maybe over time we can reach an understanding.”
Chase draws me back to him and kisses me on the cheek. “Then that’s what you should do. You know I’m with you on whatever you decide. I’ll stand behind any decision you make.”
And this I know, I know Chase Gartner—my Chase Gartner—will always have my back.
Maybe I sensed this potential in him the day we met in the church parking lot, maybe I knew Chase was my destiny the minute his hands touched me, steadied me, kept me right. My boy was upfront with me from the start, calling me on my bullshit and asking me if I’d give him a chance, a real chance. And I did.
In doing so, I learned how to start taking chances of my own. And look at what I gained—I gained a best friend, a lover, and a future. Who knows where this love will take us. This love that has blossomed over lunches at a diner, this love that was nurtured by two broken people opening up to one another, sharing their fears, their hopes, their disappointments, and their dreams.
But this love isn’t all serious moments. It’s playfulness and fun too. This love is stolen hair ties and stolen lemon-lime sodas, hiked-up dresses, and first kisses by lockers. From mended cheap sunglasses, to mended priceless hearts, this love is healing. It’s also daring to open up, finding the joy in laying souls bared. And forgiving, always forgiving. Whether it is forgiveness found dancing under the stars, or forgiveness found in confessing to inked angels, this love fosters forgiving.
The love I share with Chase is good and bad. It’s real life, from sunset picnics on rooftops, from baguettes and brie, from making love under the Eiffel Tower…all the way to secrets kept to secrets revealed, to red balloons lost, magic found, tripping and falling, and picking each other back up. Because when Chase and I fall we will always be there to catch one another, like that day in the parking lot—the beginning.
This love is full circle. It will only end when last breaths are taken.
Chase and I are in this for the long haul. I’ve stood before him and he’s stood before me. And this is what it’s all come down to: Chase Gartner is my future, my forever. And I, I am his.
EPILOGUE:
LEAD IN TO NEVER DOUBT ME
(JUDGE ME NOT #2)
CHASE
On Sunday after church Kay and I walk back to the cemetery, together. We kneel at her sister’s grave.
Sarah Stanton.
I hold the love of my life’s hand as she recites three things about her little sister she will never forget. “One, you always had to have Hello Kitty Band-Aids on your cuts and scratches,” Kay begins.
My girl takes a breath and glances at me. I take her hand, squeeze reassuringly.
She focuses back on the granite marker and continues, “Two, when we had our little tea parties you always wanted the tiniest cup, the one with the chip in the china.” Kay sighs and murmurs, “I don’t know why.”
My girl waves her hand in front of her face to keep from crying.
“And three…” Her voice cracks. “You cried the first day of kindergarten. But when I promised to take you to your school and walk you to your classroom, you stopped.”
A single tear trails down Kay’s cheek. She goes to swipe it away, but I turn her to me and gently dab it dry. I hope my eyes convey to my beautiful girl how much I appreciate that she’s sharing this—her most private ritual—with my undeserving ass.
In case she doesn’t know, I tell her.
She responds, “I’ve wanted to share this with you for a while now, but I wanted to wait until after you knew everything. I’m glad you’re here with me today.”
“Always, baby. Not just today, always.”
I want our future to be always, I truly do. I know in my heart that someday I will ask this woman to be my wife. I love her that fucking much. So much that I can’t imagine a life without her. I am a part of Kay, and she is most definitely a part of me. We are dug into each other’s souls, burrowed in to stay. When Kay feels pain, it hurts me. When she’s happy, I am fucking joyful. And seeing my girl happy is my number one goal. If I can put a smile on her face at least once each day, make her life a little brighter, then I know I’ve done my best.
Since today is shaping up to be all about sharing and shit, when we get back to the house I decide to show Kay my sketchbooks from prison. I promised her she could someday see them and today feels right.
Not that I expect her to, but she doesn’t judge as she turns the pages of each book. But she does slow at the sketch of the beaten prisoner in the cell, the drawing depicting the cellmate standing at the bars, indifferent to the suffering right behind him.
“You saw that?” she asks quietly. I just nod.
Next, my girl reaches the drawing of the heroin addict shooting up. She studies the angels and their pornographic poses. When she looks at me and raises an eyebrow, I just shrug
one shoulder.
“Pervert,” she mumbles. She’s not judging, she’s actually trying to lighten things up.
“Look who’s talking,” I volley back, playing along. “If you stare any longer you might burn a hole in the paper.”
She swats my arm and we both laugh. But then my girl grows quiet. I ask her what’s wrong and she says, “Nothing, it’s just…”
My eyes meet hers questioningly, and she continues, “Well, it’s just I have to still write down the three things I told Sarah today at the cemetery, and I was wondering if maybe you’d like to see the journals. That way you’ll learn more about Sarah, what she was like.”
I tell Kay I’d love to see the journals, so she goes next door to her apartment to retrieve them.
While I wait for her to return, my heart swells with happiness that sweet girl wants to share with me what she has left of her sister, but my heart also breaks a little at the same time. My girl should have so much more than these fragmented memories she’s trying to hold on to. She should have her sister here with her, alive and well. I think I finally realize how very close Kay and Sarah were. In many ways, with such a big age difference, Sarah was like Kay’s daughter. Maybe someday I can give my girl a child of her own. Not a replacement for the sister she lost, never that, but a new life that may lessen her sorrow, a new life that’s part of her and me.
But all of that is for way down the road, not for today.
Kay returns and we sit on the living room couch. She opens the first journal and hands it to me.
I begin to read, and shit, do I learn a lot about little Sarah Stanton. In addition to what I heard Kay say earlier today at the cemetery, I discover Kay’s little sister loved chocolate-chip ice cream, but hated any that was fruit flavored. Sarah loved cloudy days, but feared thunderstorms immensely. She was just learning how to ride a bike the summer she died. When Kay and Sarah’s father gave the bike to a thrift store down the street the training wheels were still attached.