by Foxx, Gloria
“Boston.” His name explodes from my lips, half gasp and half scream as I balance on a precarious perch.
“Come on Sterling.” He says with a snarl, his face tense, lips pulled back baring his teeth.
And with one more stroke he goes deeper, slamming me onto his cock, burying himself and grinding against me. He pushes me beyond endurance, over the edge. Swept away, my body grasps with the greed of a troll as he pulses and jerks.
His breath rasps in my ear, every part of me quivering and throbbing in time with his ragged breathing.
I would have collapsed if not for the brick wall behind me and the solid wall of Boston’s chest holding me against it. Unable to think, my body hot and heavy and thick like molasses, I pull him closer. I could remain here forever, forgetting that although hidden in a dark corner we are nearly in the street.
Boston doesn’t forget. He pulls away with care. I can feel him slipping from me as I drop one leg and then the other. I groan, my hips protesting the return to earth, to supporting me after straining to hold Boston tight.
I pull Boston toward me. We’re almost exposed on the street and I want to taste him again.
He draws my lower lip between his before moving to my upper lip. “Sterling. We have to go.” I’m still not quite sure what he means, but he’s pulling away from my seeking lips, capturing my attention. “I’m sorry Sterling. I can’t help myself, but if we stay here any longer someone’s going to catch us.”
“Here?” I mumble, confusion clouding my voice as I press against Boston, trying to tempt him.
He pulls away and the cold skims my heated flush. “We’re on the street Sterling. Remember?”
Reality blasts me, chilling me as much as the cold air on my moist skin. Boston pulls his underwear and jeans into place, buckling his belt, while I stand mortified with my clothes in place, although I’m sure I look a sight. I smooth my skirt and tug my shirt down, pulling my jacket closed. It’s dark in the doorway, but I’d never guess he just had sex. I take a step toward him, only now noticing the sticky moisture on my thighs.
“Where the hell is my underwear?” Embarrassment makes me sharp, the thrill of only moments ago a cold and lonely memory.
He smirks, his lips barely parted. I can tell by the glimpse of white teeth in the dark alcove. I picture the dimple in his left cheek as one corner of his mouth turns up while the other curves down.
Kneeling, Boston tugs at my thong. It’s still around my ankle. Unrolling the scrap of fabric, he stretches the strings, bumping my other ankle. “Here. Step in.”
I lift my free leg and Boston works my thong over my foot. My irritation melts. I feel a bit like Cinderella as the prince fits the glass slipper onto her foot, except Boston’s dragging my thong up my thighs, pulling the strings over my hips. I wriggle, slipping it into place and then I’m wriggling and pressing against him as his hands cup the rounded curve of my bottom.
Boston backs up, pulling his hands away and shaking a finger at me. “Oh no you don’t.” Shaking his head he mumbles, “That’s how we got into this situation in the first place.
I advance, oblivious again to the public street beyond the darkness. He retreats until he’s on the sidewalk, a street light glinting in his eyes as he smiles. “C’mon.”
“I guess dragging you back isn’t an option.” My question is laced with hope.
“As much as I’d like to take you up on that invitation, I can wait until we get back to your apartment.”
Turning, I head toward my car, the suddenness of my change in direction surprising Boston. “Well, what are you waiting for?” I call over my shoulder.
He catches up in a couple of steps, keeping pace alongside me, but not touching me. When we reach my car, parked along the curb, I unlock the passenger door before moving around the back to the driver’s door.
I lean down to work the key into the lock as Boston opens his door, triggering the interior lights. Panic thrusts through me, forcing the breath from my lungs. My keys drop from fingers numb with shock. I think to get the keys from the ground, but when my knees buckle, all thought of finding keys vanishes.
I crumple into the street, panicky thoughts racing through my mind. How can this be happening?
Why is Brock doing this to me?
Chapter 22
“Sterling?” I don’t hear it at first. Boston is inside the car while I’m outside. “Sterling? Where’d you go?”
The sound penetrates and thought of my missing keys returns. “I dropped my keys,” I say, my voice the breathless tenor of alarm.
I’m resting half on the cold pavement, half against my car. I can’t hold myself up. The cold metal of the car would be chilling my cheek, except that I’m already frigid.
A car door slams, but it doesn’t register until Boston comes around the back of the car. “Maybe my phone will help.”
It’s too late to pretend I’m looking for keys. I could care less about the keys anyway. I’m trying to hold myself together with tenacity and grit and cold air. That’s all I have right now.
“Sterling! What happened?” He’s there, one hand on my thigh, the other on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” I don’t respond, partly rigid with panic, partly embarrassed. He shakes me, trying to make eye contact..
“Sterling, look at me … look at me.”
My eyes move. I see concern flooding his and I struggle to respond. “Someone … someone has been in my car.”
“What?”
“My car, someone’s been in it.”
“Okay.” He stands, peering in the windows. It looks alright. There’s stuff in there, but it doesn’t look like there’s any damage.”
Little does he know. I’ll have to tell him now.
“C’mon Sterling. We need to get you out of the road.”
He pulls me away from the car, sliding an arm under my knees. “I can walk.”
“Okay.” He backs away, but he’s skeptical. I struggle to my hands and knees. “Let me help.”
Hoisting me upright with my right arm, he ducks below and I’m on my feet, Boston’s body alongside mine takes my weight, his arm around me holds me steady. I’m not helping at all. I feel like he’s rescued me, and I suppose he has.
My feet are moving, and I stumble at the curb. Boston lifts me to the sidewalk. Opening the passenger door, he deposits me, closing the door.
He must have found the keys with no trouble because he slides in beside me in seconds.
“Put on your belt,” he commands. I fumble with it, getting it as far as the buckle before he takes over, threading the tab into the receiver.
He pulls away from the curb before I can bring myself to talk.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“I thought I’d moved beyond this.” The night in my bedroom came to mind. “I guess not.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Someone’s tormenting me. Emma’s car seat is in the backseat.”
I keep my eyes forward as he turns to look. “Emma’s a baby?”
“You know about Emma?”
“I guess not. I thought she was a friend, maybe someone connected to Logan, maybe someone from high school.”
“She’s my little sister.
His hand bridged the distance between us. Warm and strong, his fingers squeeze my forearm before sliding to my hand and lacing with my fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“Where’d you hear about Emma? From Annie?”
“Logan. Remember, he was angry about Emma.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay Sterling?”
“Apparently not.”
“Want to talk about it?
“No.”
I huddle into myself. We are quiet the rest of the ride to my apartment.
Boston parks and I still can’t rouse myself.
“Would you like me to move this stuff?”
He turns away from the backseat meeting my eyes.
“I suppose.”
“Can you walk?”
“Sure.” That might be a lie. I’m not at all sure.
Boston slams the driver’s door and my body jerks in response to the sudden sound. He opens the back door, putting me in motion. I release the seat belt latch and hand-over-hand I thread it back into place before pulling the door handle. I get to my feet without incident and push the door closed. I watch Boston gathering the car seat and diaper bag through the window and then he withdraws, only to reappear above the roofline.
“You okay?”
I don’t answer, instead watching as he comes around the back of the car with the diaper bag jammed beneath his arm, the car seat dangling from his hand. It looks so forlorn, empty and askew as it hangs from his grasp.
He presses the keys into my hand before pulling my door open, pushing the lock and slamming it closed again.
“C’mon.” His strength radiates into me when he wraps his free arm around my shoulders, ushering me toward my apartment.
I manage to unlock the door. I push it open, not really aware, but trying to stay far away from the car seat. Boston guides me in, closing the door behind me as I stand, unable to move.
“Where should I put this?” He hefts the car seat with ease as he pulls the diaper bag from under his arm with his now free hand.
He deserves to know. I promised myself I’d tell him. “Bedroom.” He looks at me, question in his eyes. “Across from the bathroom,” I say, in case he doesn’t know, but he does.
“I know. You’re okay with that?”
“If we’re going to make this work, even for a short time, you need to know.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I listen as the door opens, but his footsteps don’t continue. I try to imagine what he thinks, and the only thing that comes to mind is “crazy.” I hear his footsteps sounding in the bedroom now and in a moment he is back. I’m still frozen near the door, motionless.
“I never realized when you called her your baby sister you meant literally.”
“I did.”
“She lived here with you?”
I hoped for a minute I could get out of this. I could put it off, but we’d come this far.
“No.” I meet his eyes, see the questions. My mind must be working again because I realize I said no to putting this off, not to his question. “I’ll tell you.” I struggle with my jacket, turning the sleeves inside out as I drag it down my arms, letting it drop to the floor.
Shuffling to the futon, I sit, curling my feet beneath me. My motions are measured and controlled although I feel lost, out of my depth, floundering. I’d let hope back into my life and now with my future unclear I don’t dare to hope.
Boston pulls off his jacket and picks up mine, hanging both on the hooks near the door. I stop watching him when he comes my way, my gaze turning to my hands as my fingers pluck at my skirt, folding and pleating the fabric.
He sits on the edge of the futon, turned toward me. Funny, in this moment, I think his perch can’t be all that comfortable. He says nothing, only watching me as my fingers fidget until he reaches out, covering my hands with his and stilling my agitated motion.
Boston gives me time, but I don’t speak. A long time passes, or maybe it just feels that way.
When I can’t stand it any longer, I suck in a breath preparing to speak but Boston beats me to it.
“You raised your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Your mom?”
“In prison for felony drunk driving—her fifth.” It comes out like a croak, squeezing past the lump in my throat.
“I see.” He shakes his head, dropping his forehead into his hand.
“Now you know.”
“Everyone makes mistakes Sterling.”
“Yeah, and I’m giving you a second chance.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re giving me a second chance too.”
“Yeah. Tell me about Emma.”
“I wanted nothing to do with her, a squalling red-faced reminder. I didn’t want to love her, but I couldn’t help it. She needed me. My baby sister needed me,” I said, my voice raw and hoarse.
“You put off college to raise your little sister?”
“I thought I could do both, but only two weeks in, before college even started, I figured out I’d never make it. I blamed her for ruining my plans, for ruining my life. Some days I wished she’d never been born, but she’s my sister and she found her way into my heart.”
“She died in Brock’s drunken driving crash?”
“Yeah.” I shouldn’t be surprised he put it all together. I’d given him the details while omitting the one element that connected everything.
“Did you leave her alone with him?”
“God no.” I whipped my head in his direction no longer studying the hand still holding mine as the answer burst from me with force, my eyes pleading for understanding. “I left her with my mom. She just got out, almost three years sober, and she wanted to get to know her baby.”
“How’d she end up in that car?”
“I guess my mom wanted a drink even more than she wanted to know Emma. She brought her back while I was at work and left her with Brock. He was drinking too.”
“How is Logan involved?”
Images of Logan coming to the lounge flash through my mind. “I thought he didn’t care, but I guess he does.” I didn’t exactly answer the question.
“Wait.” I watched as he tried to puzzle it out, the dawn eventually coming as he made the connection.
“That’s right, Emma’s Logan’s baby.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, but that didn’t matter anymore. She was my baby sister and she needed me.”
“Why do you blame yourself?”
“I went to work. I didn’t answer the phone when Brock called.” My voice is low, a moaning wind in the dead of night.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I should have known better than to leave her with my mother. I had first-hand experience. I wasn’t there when she needed me,” I add on a quivering breath as I struggle to ignore the ache behind my eyes, the dry scratchiness beneath the moisture pooling in my eyes.
“You feel guilty because you weren’t there when Emma needed you?”
“I suppose.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to move on with my life.”
“Not what are you going to do for you, but what are you going to do for Emma?”
“She doesn’t need me anymore.”
“Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow, in question. “What happened to Brock?”
“He’s out on bail, but his trial begins later this month.” I counted the days in my head. “Nine days”
“You’re going to be there.” He said it like a statement, a forgone conclusion, as if I could do nothing less.
“I’m supposed to testify. Annie’s pushing me, but I don’t know if I can handle it.”
“Come here.” He didn’t leave me any choice, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close as the tears swept over my eyelids like a river swelling over its banks.
“Of course you can handle it. She has no better advocate than someone who loves her. You made sacrifices for her. You provided for her. You even did without, putting her needs first. The least you can do is speak up for her when she can’t speak for herself.”
I feel like a failure again. “You’re right.” I dash my fingers across the tears on my cheeks, sniffing my nose to keep the snot from running down to my lips.
Boston holds me tight, holding me together as I’m flayed, open and exposed with the rawness of Emma’s death as close to the surface as it’s ever been. “I feel like I’ve let her down,” I snivel, not liking this version of myself.
“You haven’t let her down. You can still be her representative. You can be strong for her.”
I don’t feel strong. I’m worn down, nearly as rough now as when she died. “I tho
ught the worst of Emma’s death had passed. I thought I finally had my life back together, almost as good as new, almost as good as before she was born. Why does it have to be so hard?”
Boston strokes my arm, his fingers tracing patterns from my elbow to shoulder as I recline against his chest, soaking up his heat. “You know Sterling, love can be a burden.”
“You can say that again.” I grimace as I say it, shame blooming, my cheeks heating and my head buzzing. I held my breath wondering whether Boston would call me on my callousness.
He doesn’t. “It monopolizes your thoughts, dominates your time, demands your attention, but it’s worth it.”
My brows furrow as I think, my lips pouting in contemplation. “But it’s painful too. That makes it so easy to avoid.”
“True,” he agrees.
I’d already learned that with Boston. Why didn’t I think to apply it to Emma as well? I tilt my face up to his, seeing mostly his jaw from where I rest against his chest. He must have felt me move, because he looks down at me, light shining in his eyes. “You had good times with Emma right?” I nod, not trusting my voice to respond. “Think about the good times; picture them in your mind.”
I do, I remember her bright blue eyes smiling up at me, her loose curls running riot around her face. I remember how as a baby she kicked, thrashing in excitement. I remember how she cried big fat tears when she fell on her butt. I remember a day when Brock, being particularly mean, left me in tears. Emma climbed up on my lap, patting my cheek. “No cry mama.”
“She called me mama you know.”
Boston must have been studying my face because as soon as I realize what he meant, he said, “You wouldn’t trade those memories for anything would you.”
“No.” I’m sniffling again, but a smile is forming, shining through the ache behind my eyes, easing the tension building in my temples as I try to hold back tears.
“They’re worth any burden.”
I snuggle into his arms, remembering how Emma had snuggled into mine, a watery smile on my face.
Chapter 23
“Come on in,” I holler, hoping that Annie can hear me. The knocking stops.