by Hazel James
“Yeah, who was it?” Eric echoes. He doesn’t look as happy.
I swallow, feeling like the lone target of the Rhoads Inquisition. “Paige,” I croak.
Maggie whoops and breaks out into a dance—if it can even be called that, considering she’s pregnant—while Eric curses and pulls two twenties and a ten from his wallet. Maggie snatches the money from his hand and dances all the way to her purse.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, leaning against the island.
“Eric and I have had a bet going over the last couple of weeks. I said you would finally admit you had feelings for Paige before the baby came and Eric thought it would be after. He should know I’m always right.” Maggie winks and kisses him on the cheek, then hands a pair of scissors to Austin.
Her words hit me hard. Feelings? For Paige? I think about that for a few seconds before realizing she’s right. Fuck me. But how did they figure it out before I did? “Hang on. You had a bet on me? And didn’t tell me? What the f—hell?” I ask, catching myself before I curse in front of my nephew.
Eric lifts a shoulder, then grabs the wooden spoon and stirs the pot. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been lately. You’re different. And I know you let her drive your truck.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Sergeant Espinoza and Officer Rattai stopped by the shop today. Seems you had an interesting night last night.”
I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Any word on what your mom’s doing in town?” Maggie asks in a quiet voice.
“Not yet. I haven’t heard from her since I took her down to the homeless shelter in the company truck. She was so wasted that she might not even remember what happened. But thanks again for letting me take a couple of days off work,” I say to Eric. “I sort of panicked when she showed up and needed a minute to clear my head.”
“Don’t mention it. We have your back anytime, you know that.”
“Uncle D!” I look up and see Austin at the dining room table with an assortment of dollar store art supplies. I dip my head at Maggie and Eric, then stride past the kitchen island and pull out a chair, spinning it so I can sit backward. “Here, you can use my crayons and construction paper. You should make a heart-shaped card. The girls in my class liked those ones the best on Valentine’s Day.”
With nothing left to do but follow the love advice of a seven-year-old, I select a piece of red paper, fold it in half, and cut out a lopsided heart. “What should I write on it?”
“How about ‘I’m sorry I gave you cooties’?”
The rain finally stopped, but the humidity is still in full force, making me feel like I’m swimming instead of walking up to Paige’s front porch. I shift the items in my arms and wipe the sweat off my brow, then, with a final deep breath, knock three times.
Ten seconds pass.
Lord, if you’re up there, can you please have her answer the door?
Twenty seconds.
I know I messed up, because that’s what I do. I’m a fuck-up.
Thirty seconds.
I’m sorry I cursed, Lord. That wasn’t very respectable of me.
Forty seconds.
I just need a chance to explain everything.
Fifty seconds.
Lord, please…
At fifty-seven seconds, the door opens.
AN INCH. THE DOOR OPENS just wide enough for one narrowed eye to peek through the crack. It’s not the same sparkling blue from this morning. No, this is more of a cold, I-want-to-physically-harm-you kind of blue. Figuring I have about three seconds before Paige slams the door shut, I get right to the point.
“I’m an asshole. A huge one. And I know I don’t deserve it, but I have a few things I’d like to tell you.” She studies me for a moment, then drops her eye to the Sonic cup in my hand.
“What’s that?”
“A peace offering.” Her eye bobs between the cup and my face. I’m not above bribery in any situation, especially one as serious as this. Finally, she opens the door another few inches. Her fingertips graze my hand as she takes her cherry limeade, and the contact reignites the swell of emotions I felt hours ago on my couch. Taking a cleansing breath, I hold up a tattered red T-shirt and pray like hell that I find the right words to keep Paige in my life.
“I outgrew this shirt when I was around eleven years old. That alone isn’t very significant, but I was wearing this shirt when Uncle Kurt and Aunt Helen brought me to their house. I was thirteen. I kept it to remind myself how blessed I was. I won’t bore you with the details, but I know what it feels like to sneak back into the cafeteria after school on Fridays to swipe some extra food, since I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat again until Monday. The first few chapters of my life were horrible, and this shirt represents the end of that.” I drop the scrap of red on the porch and lift another shirt as Paige nudges the door open a bit more.
“I was wearing this one the first time I saw a tornado. This was the night I lost my virginity. And this was the day I found out I was going to be an Air Force PJ,” I say, tossing each shirt onto the growing pile on Paige’s porch. “Those were all huge moments for me, and finally, the chapters of my life weren’t shitty anymore. They were exciting. Dangerous. Fun.”
With a heavy heart, I lift the tan T-shirt that has RHOADS written in permanent marker on the inside of the back collar. “I wore this shirt the day before my life changed forever,” I say in a quiet voice. “I couldn’t save the one I wore the day I was blown up because they had to cut it off me. I’m sure it ended up in some biohazard bag in Afghanistan, along with the rest of my uniform.” I drop my tan shirt on the porch and pull a worn picture from my wallet, fighting the familiar pang of guilt that comes with looking at the three smiling faces in the photo.
Paige sets her drink on a table inside the door and takes a step toward me to get a closer look. “This is Patch, his wife Kelsey, and their daughter Abigail. I was supposed to be the first one out of the helicopter that day, but I wasn’t. And because of that, Patch died. This is the family I destroyed. This is why I said I’d never get married. The chapters that represent the last two years of my life are so full of nightmares and regret that I can’t even see the words. It’s just page after page of black.”
She steps back and tries to blink away the tears pooling in her eyes. I move into the doorway and pass my thumbs over her cheeks as they spill over, then run a finger down the shirt she’s wearing—the one I gave her this morning. I’m happy as fuck she still has it on. “This shirt represents the day I realized I was tired of fighting the guilt. That maybe my counselor was right, and Patch’s death isn’t my fault. That maybe I do deserve some happiness of my own.”
I pause, gathering the courage I need to continue. “The shirt I’m wearing represents the day I opened myself to someone else. The next chapter of my life started on my couch about ten hours ago, and so far, the first page is blank. It’s fucking blank, and that scares me more than all the darkness that came before it, because I want you to be with me when I write it. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
A new round of tears roll down her cheeks, but the smile on her face assures me she’s not sad. I pull her into my arms and rest my head on top of hers as dormant nerve endings buzz to life. After I tried to kill myself, Clay told me that one day I would experience something completely mundane that would make me grateful to still be alive. I thought he was full of shit. Turns out, that fucker was right.
This hug is the best goddamn thing to ever happen to me.
“What’s this?” Paige asks, patting a piece of paper sticking out of my back pocket.
“Your card.” I step back and hand her the red heart. “Austin helped me decorate it with Ninja Turtles stickers, because nothing shows remorse more than pizza-eating reptiles who live in a sewer.”
She grins while she reads the message. “This is really sweet, but you didn’t give me cooties, DH. I’m immune.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s something all girls do in elementary school.” She takes my hand and twists my wrist, exposing my forearm, then uses her finger to draw on it. “Circle, circle, dot, dot. Now you have the cootie shot. Circle, circle, knife, knife. Now you have it all your life.” She lowers my hand again, but doesn’t release it.
“I’m impressed, Nurse Paige. That didn’t even hurt.”
“What can I say?” She grins and whispers, “I have a magic touch.”
“That you do,” I murmur, looking down at our hands, and then at the pile of shirts on the porch. She hasn’t responded to anything I told her, so I have no idea where her head is at. “I know I just unloaded a lot of shit on you, but I have more I’d like to share… if you want to hear it.”
She glances at the shirts, then locks her gaze on me. Her eyes, which looked murderous minutes ago, darken with desire. “I do. Later.” She pulls on our joined hands and leads me inside.
Her lips crash onto mine before the door even shuts. “Where’s Ali?” I disconnect long enough to lift my shirt over my head before finding her mouth again.
“Boyfriend’s house.” She tosses her shirt—my shirt—and it lands on her Sonic cup. I find that hysterical for about half a second, which is how long it takes for my eyes to find her tits. They’re barely contained in a pink, lacy bra and for the first time in my life, I literally salivate at the sight. I reach around and unfasten the clasp, and she slides the straps down her arms and tosses it somewhere in the foyer.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I growl, taking a nipple into my mouth. She arches her back, and I move my free hand down her side to grip her ass. This girl has curves for days, and she’s going to be the fucking death of me. I can’t begin to count the women I’ve been with over the years, but none have had this effect on me before. I move my mouth to her other breast, lavishing it in kisses and licks and bites that make her writhe against me.
“Bed?” I ask, no longer capable of speaking in coherent sentences. Paige is like a drug that I never want to be free of.
“Please, God, yes.” She jumps into my arms and rakes her nails over my back, setting my skin on fire, as I carry her down the hallway. The last time I was in her room, I nearly went insane from not touching her. Now, there are no rules, just promises of pleasure. I lie Paige down when I reach her bed, then free her gold curls from her rubber band and bury my face in her neck, sampling the soft skin below her ear. Paige mews and grinds against me, making my cock ache to be buried inside her. She lifts her hips, and I remove her shorts and matching lace panties. With her legs free, I lick and kiss my way up her thigh, relishing in the throaty moans that fill her room. Unable to keep my mouth away any longer, I dip down and savor the first sweet taste of Paige. Her legs fall open and her hands fly to my head as she cries out.
“You like that, huh?” I laugh, teasing her with my tongue.
“Just a little bit,” she pants.
I slide one curled finger inside her and catch her with my mouth when she bucks off the bed. “How about that?”
“More. Please.” She gasps and whimpers when I add another finger. Her hands leave my head, and I look up to see her sliding them up her body. She rolls her nipples between her fingers and thumbs, and moans when my fingers connect with the sensitive spot inside her. Nothing is sexier than a woman taking her pleasure into her own hands, but watching Paige do it is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“That’s it, baby.” I bring my mouth back down to her and set a frenzied pace with my fingers. Her cries grow louder, and each time, the sound travels straight to my dick. Seconds later, she comes so hard that the lower half of her body launches off the mattress. I catch her ass in my hands and string a line of kisses across her hips while she rides out her orgasm.
“Can’t breathe,” she wheezes. “You were… that was…”
I slide up her naked body with a wicked grin on my face. “Nothing. That was nothing.” I roll off the bed and grab a condom from my wallet, then toss my jeans and boxers on the floor. I stroke my cock twice and tear the foil packet open, but Paige sits up and grabs my arm before I can put it on.
“Can I?” I nod, kneel on the bed, and nearly come undone when she grips me.
“Christ,” I hiss. If it feels this good with just her hands, I’m going to lose it the minute I’m inside her. She slides the condom on, then runs her palms over my ass, my abs, my back—as if she’s memorizing me by touch—before lifting my hands and placing them on her breasts.
Her voice is husky with need. “I want you to touch me.” I obey and massage each side, first with my hands and then with my mouth, until her breaths turn frantic again.
“What else do you want, Paige?” I ask, lining myself up at her entrance. She looks up at me, wraps her ankles around my waist, and smiles.
“You.”
As soon as the word leaves her mouth, I sink inside her, feeling her everywhere. She’s wrapped around my cock and my back and all the dark places I fought against for so long. This isn’t the carnal sex I’m used to. This is making love in its purest form, and it scares the shit out of me. Each thrust makes me feel more exposed than the last, until I’m certain Paige can see straight into the depths of my soul.
Sensing the shift in my body, she sits up and pushes me onto my back. Her fingers spread across my chest and she leans down, letting her tits brush over my face while she rides me. Her cheeks flush as she picks up speed, reminding me of the night I crashed her table at Cattlemen’s. I knew then how badly I wanted her body, but I had no idea how much I would just want her. I grab onto her waist and lift my hips, and the added layer of friction sends her crashing, spiraling, screaming over the edge. With my name on her lips, I flip her over and drive into her, finding my own release in three deep thrusts.
Sated at a level I never thought possible, I collapse on the bed beside Paige. Our bodies are a mass of tangled limbs and racing heartbeats, and I focus on gulping air so I don’t pass out. This is normally the part where my unwritten rule of no cuddling kicks in, but I surprise myself and pull her into my arms. We’re sweaty and a little sticky, but neither of us cares about a shower right now. Instead, I lazily trace my finger up and down her back, hoping that she can’t make out the words that I’m writing, because if she could, she’d kick my ass.
I told you pigs could fly.
“DH.” I BLINDLY POKE AT the body beside me and connect with something—his side, his arm, his abs… they’re all equally firm—but he doesn’t budge. “Wake up.” I shake him.
“A little lower and to the left would be nice,” he murmurs.
“Is sex all you think about?” I joke.
“It’s hard not to when you’re lying half-naked beside me.”
A sliver of light from the bathroom falls on his side of the bed, giving me a peek at the sleepy smile on his face. “Your phone was ringing.”
“Whoever it is can call back at a decent hour. I’m too tired to move.”
I laugh and nuzzle into his chest. “So much for ‘a little lower and to the left.’”
“I can make an exception if it’s worth my while. Especially if you’re on top again.” His hand trails up my side and finds my breast right as his phone rings again.
“Sounds like it’s important,” I say, an inkling of doubt creeping in. Is he getting a booty call? I reach for my phone on my nightstand to check the time before remembering that I left it in the kitchen when I answered the door last night. I haven’t been out of my room since DH carried me here, unless you count our trip to the shower.
He rolls to the side of the bed and fishes his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Hello?” The irritation in his voice is comforting. He obviously wasn’t expecting this call and isn’t happy about it. “Thanks, Iniguez. I’ll be there in twenty.” DH throws the phone on the bed and rubs his hands over his face, then curses and throws the sheet back. “That was the police department. They brought in two suspects who were caught breaking and entering some
guy’s house. They found my address in one of their pockets.”
“So why do you have to go down there?”
“Rhoads Auto has had a contract with Moore PD for about 15 years. I asked the guys to do me a favor and keep an eye on the shop after my mother showed up. Sheila’s bad news, and I have a gut feeling that she’s up to something. Iniguez wants me to check out some mugshots to see if anyone looks familiar.”
DH stands up and pulls his pants on—which is a damn shame, because I could stare at his naked body for hours—then scans the floor for his shirt.
“It’s still in the hallway.” When he returns to my room, I’m dressed in yoga pants and a pink Taylor Swift shirt.
He drapes his arms over me and kisses the tip of my nose. “You don’t have to come with me. It’s two in the morning. You should go back to sleep.”
“I know I don’t have to come, but I want to.”
He rocks back on his heels and tips his head to the side. “Why?”
“Because you don’t have to be alone anymore.” I unwrap my arms from his waist and slide my hand down his forearm, hooking my first finger onto his pinky. DH doesn’t strike me as a full-on hand holding kind of guy, but this amount of contact is just enough to let him know I’m here because I choose to be.
Also, I love touching him.
He presses his forehead against mine, then, with a gentle squeeze of his hand, he leads me toward the front door. “Last night, I mentioned having other stuff that I wanted to tell you. We’ll have to save my explosion and the last two years of my life for another time, but I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes version of my fucked-up childhood on the way.”
By the time DH pulls into the parking lot of the jail, I’m seething. How two people can treat a child—their child—the way his parents did is beyond comprehension. I told him I already knew about the stolen truck thanks to Ali, but I had no idea he was held at gunpoint over a shady drug deal at his house or that his parents took off for almost a week the summer he turned nine… and that’s not even the worst of it. My fists clench so tightly in my lap that I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms.