by Mandi Beck
With his bottom lip clamped between his teeth, gripping my hips, he rocks, gliding his pierced head through my dampened lips, the jewelry glistening from my come. “Birdie. Fuck, Birdie. Look at us,” Stone groans. “Look how fucking pretty that pussy is with my cock all over it. Mmmmm.” He closes his eyes for a second but I’m not able to. He’s right—the sight of us, him slicking through me, rubbing me in such a delicious way is so, so pretty. I’m incapable of looking away.
“Please. I’m ready. Please don’t make me wait anymore,” I beg.
“I’m gonna need you on top, Birdie. This first time, I’m gonna need you to fuck me.” I gaze down at him, seeing the seriousness creasing his forehead. “The next time, the next time I’ll be the one fucking you.”
Without breaking eye contact, I reach between us, taking him in my hands, reveling at the weight and heat. Lifting on my knees, I rub the pierced head of his cock over my clit and then to my entrance, slowly sinking down on him, wincing at the stretching that brings with it a twinge of pain.
“Easy, Wills,” Stone soothes. Pressing his thumb on my clit he rubs slow circles, helping to make his entry easier, and as wet as I already am, his easy touch makes me even more so. Inch by inch, until I’m completely filled by him.
Doing a little shimmy, I hum low in my throat. “Oooh. That new barbell . . .”
Stone grins wickedly, “You like that, huh?” He gently pistons his hips while simultaneously pulling me down.
“Ahhh, I thought I was fucking you,” I murmur breathlessly.
“Then fuck me, Birdie,” he rasps.
It’s all the encouragement I need. I ride him like it’s our first time. Like it’s our last. Like we haven’t been connected like this in way too long. And when we come together, in perfect rhythm, it’s beautiful and raw and dirty. Just like him.
Sore in the most delicious places, in the most amazing ways, I stretch lazily. Content. More than content. After Stone fixed my headlight and Cora brought Lyric home, we made dinner and put the baby to bed, together. Like a real family. And then Stone brought out the watermelon lollies. Smiling at the memory, I roll over to see the other side of the bed empty. Disappointed, I get up and pull on a pair of sweats and pull a cami over my head, leaving the room in search of my daughter and Stone. As quietly as I can, I poke my head into the nursery to see Lyric sitting up with her little stuffed bird. When she sees me, she grins and hops up, reaching for me over the rails.
“Good morning, little song bird,” I say, unable to contain my own smile. “Should we go get some breakfast? Maybe Stone is making us some coffee. No, you don’t want coffee.” Tickling her little belly, I head out of her room and downstairs. “Stone?” I call. No answer. “Stone?” Walking into the kitchen I peek out the front window and see that his truck is gone. I place Lyric in her highchair, sprinkling some puffy cereal on the tray for her to munch on. “Where in the world is he, Lyric?” I ask, feeling a sense of dread settle over my heart. The number of times I’ve gone to bed and woken up without Stone was too many to count toward the end of our relationship. Going to the little built-in desk in the corner of the kitchen I grab my phone from its charger and swipe the screen to pull up the message it says I have.
Stone: Sorry I had to leave. Something came up. Had to go to Austin. I’ll call you soon. Don’t be mad. I love you.
That’s it. A text telling me not to be mad. Which just makes me mad. Even if he did say he loves me.
Stone
TWO DAYS IN AUSTIN TO get everything squared away because of some bullshit technicality. In those two days I haven’t answered any of Willow’s calls, only leaving cryptic texts and calling her when I know she can’t answer. Not the best way to go into this whole thing, but if I speak to her she’ll ask what I’m doing, what’s so important that I left her warm and naked in her bed without so much as a morning quickie. My plane just touched down in Toronto and I’m hoping that customs isn’t a bitch because I’m ready to see the girls.
Just as I’m walking through the terminal, Dane dogging my every step, my phone flashes with Willow’s face. Now that I’m back, there’s no reason to not answer. I need to find out where she is anyway because that’s where I’m headed.
“I was just getting ready to call you.”
“Where are you?” Willow asks, her voice thick with tears.
“Wills, are you crying? Why the fuck are you crying?”
“Where are you, Stone?” she asks again, sniffling.
“I’m at the airport in Toronto, where are you?”
“At the studio. Can you come?”
“I’m on my way. Are you okay?” I ask her. Worried that she’s crying.
“I’m fine. Just get here,” Willow says and disconnects the call.
“What the ever loving fuck?” I mutter.
It takes me forever to get to the studio, but when I do I find Willow and Lyric in the first sound booth, sitting in the mixing room. Willow’s listening to something with her eyes closed, Lyric asleep, head on her mama’s shoulder. I open the door and hear my voice through the speakers. “Willow’s Lyric, two voices alive under my skin. Yeah, Willow’s Lyric my rhythm from within.”
“Where did you get this?” I ask quietly, since they didn’t hear me come in.
Willows eyes fly open, tensing until she realizes it’s me. She mutes the music, swiveling to face me, then gently placing Lyric in the little playpen in the corner.
“I was looking for something I recorded the other day and came across this. It said Willow on it so assumed it was mine.”
I nod. “It is yours. Yours and Lyric’s.” I tilt my head in the baby’s direction.
“There’s more than the song on the disc,” she says, watching me. Her eyes red rimmed and a little puffy from crying.
Confused as fuck, I’m not sure what she means. “I only did the one song. I was hoping the guys could come add to it.” She’s shaking her head no.
“It’s not a song. It’s—it’s you talking to Bear,” Willow says, a look of guilt flushing her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to listen but it just played.” She trails off as I stand there and try to remember what he and I talked about that day and why it would make her call me crying. “Where have you been?” The question comes out of nowhere and catches me off guard while I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck Bear and I were talking about.
“I had shit to take care of, Wills. I had people to see.”
“A woman?” she spits out in an accusatory tone.
“What? Where the fuck did that come from?” I demand, snorting out a breath at how off base she is.
“Well, what am I supposed to think, Stone? You just walk out and avoid my calls for days. Got what you wanted and the chase was over, huh? Made it too easy for you I guess,” she all but snarls.
“Easy? Woman, I've stood by and watched you on the arm of another man. You think that shit was easy? I've been here every step of the way knowing I deserve every little bit, and more, of whatever shade you threw at me. And still I stayed. Made sure you knew I wasn't going anywhere.” Throwing my arms out to my sides, I inform her, “None of this has been easy. For either of us, Birdie.”
“Love’s not supposed to be easy, Stone,” she says softly.
“I never expected it to be. I just wanted you to see that it's worth it. That we're worth it.” Tapping the corner of the envelope against my thigh I watch as her thoughts dance over her face, through her eyes. Stubborn woman. “You can try to stop loving me, Birdie. It won't work because I'll never let you forget why you shouldn't. Not loving you isn't an option for me. You're always going to be the only one I want to make music with. The only one I want to fall asleep with and wake up to. The only one I want to have my bad ass kids with, and you know they will be.” I chuckle softly. “So you go ahead and try. I'll be right here to make you fall all over again.”
Willow stands there with tears pooling in her whiskey-colored eyes, her lip clamped between her teeth. On steady legs she walks over
to the mixing board and presses a couple buttons, and after a few seconds Bear’s voice fills the air, followed by my own.
“Do you mean everything you said? About Lyric and making a home with Willow?”
“God damn right. Every word.”
“Are you planning on taking her away from here? From us? I mean, if she’ll have you.”
“I’m all done being first. I put my dreams ahead of everything because music, ya know? And Wills let me because it was our thing. She may not have wanted in the band, but we made music . . . together. And then I let the devil get me. Let addiction take everything that meant anything to me and just leave me empty. I’d been lost for a long time. But not anymore. I have purpose. I found my rhythm again. Willow is my rhythm. I finally feel whole again. Unbroken. If Willow says this is where she and Lyric want to be, then this is where we’ll be. We can work shit out with the band and the label. If they don’t like it, that’s too damn bad. If I learned anything in rehab, it’s that we only get this one life. We may get a couple redo’s but you gotta make them count. I want to make this one count.”
She stops the recording. “Did you mean it?” Her eyes are wide, disbelieving.
“Every damn word,” I repeat what I told Bear.
Willow still looks torn. Like I’m going to take it all away any second,
“Wills, stop fighting me.” Exasperated, I run my hand through my hair. “Stop fighting me and let me be your man. Let me be a dad to Lyric. I want us to be a family. I'll stop touring, I'll do whatever. Just stop fucking fighting me.”
Frustration and a little desperation lace my words. “Tell me what you want, Birdie, and it's yours,” I plead.
Shaking her head no, “I don't want you to give up music and touring. It's who you are, what you were born to do.” With sad eyes she continues, “I know I love you. And I also know I've changed. My pain has made me stronger. I won't let you walk all over me again. To hurt me and Lyric, or yourself.”
“Good! Good, God damn it. I promise that I won't fuck this up again. And if I do in any way, you give me hell. Don't take my shit, Birdie. You're the only one who’s ever called me on anything. Don't stop now. You walked away once. I won't make you do it again. I promise you—fuck, I promise me. I won’t.” Every word I’ve said is truth. I want to be a better man for them. I want to be a dad to Lyric and give her sisters and brothers, and I want us all to be a family. Convincing Willow that I mean it is another story though. “What do you want, Wills?” I ask her softly, running a hand over her loose hair, brushing it over her shoulder.
Eyes on me, tears still shimmering, she says, “I think more than anything, I just want you to mean it.” Smoothing a finger along my jaw she lets her hand drop way too soon for me. “I just want you to love us and promise not to hurt us. And more than anything, I want you to love her and me unconditionally. Because we’re a package deal now,” she adds, unnecessarily.
“Promise. All of it. I can even prove it.” Handing her the large manila envelope in my hand, I take a step back to give her some space. I took a chance doing this, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.
“What is this?” she asks, her brow furrowed.
“Open it,” I urge.
Nerves getting the best of me, I pull out a lolli and unwrap it without taking my eyes off of her. Rolling it around in my mouth nervously, I watch her read. Her eyes growing wider and wider, her bottom lip trembling more and more with every page she turns. When she finishes, she looks at me with wild eyes, holding the papers up. “These are adoption papers. For Lyric,” Willow says, dumbfounded. I nod in agreement. “How? W-why?” she stammers.
That was the easiest question that she’s asked all night. Taking the lolli from my mouth, I answer honestly, “Because I love you. Both of you.” Her eyes close, tears slipping past her lashes to run down her cheeks.
Taking advantage of the moment I reach into my pocket for the ring that’s been burning a hole there. “Birdie?” Her eyes flutter open and she gasps, her hand flying to her neck, covering the coordinates bar dangling there. “I’m not asking you now, because as ready as I am to have you be my wife, you need more time and I respect that. I hate it, but I get it. My fuck-ups weren’t little, not something we can get past without some work. I want you to hold on to this though.” I take her hand and slip the canary yellow diamond on the ring finger of her right hand. “I don’t deserve you. I never have even on my best days, and I damn sure didn’t on my worst. But I love you. More than anyone else in the world ever can and that’s gotta count for something.” Her watery smile gives me hope. “I want to be your family. Want the three of us to be a family, and I want to add to it. I want to teach our kids what real love is, what it looks like, and that people can make mistakes. But that they can also learn from them and be better for it.” Grazing my finger over her lip, pulling it from between her teeth, I smile. “I wanna make babies with you, Birdie. Make music and love. Sing pretty and promise to always fuck you prettier.” Willow laughs and I give her the rock star smirk. “My heart doesn’t beat in rhythm when you’re not around. I need you, to be me. I’m your rhythm, and you’re for damn sure mine.”
Popping the lolli back in my mouth, I gently pry the papers from her and set them on the chair. Taking her hands, I wind her arms around my neck, resting my forehead against hers just taking a second to be in the moment, Willow doing the same. With her scent surrounding me, I feel content as fuck. Like all the shit we’ve been through was so we could be right here. At one time I swore she was my everything, and still I threw her away to chase a high that would never be enough. And now, I love the two of them more than I love myself, and they’re the only high I’ll ever need. I’m more sure about that than I am anything else in my life. And for an addict, to quit being selfish and admit that he loves not only one person but two more than himself is a huge damn declaration. Two years ago I was sitting on my couch, high out of my mind and positive I was going to die, ready for it. If anyone had told me then that this is where I’d be now, I’d call them a fucking liar. I don’t deserve a chance at a happy life with them. But I’m sure as shit not going to let it go.
Willow breaks into my thoughts. “You know you can’t leave us, or cheat on us, or any other awful thing, right? I mean, we’re going to be the only sure thing in your life forever. Can you live with that?” she asks, pulling the lolli from my mouth and popping it into her own. Her pretty lips wrapped around the stick drawing my attention. She has no idea how fucking hot that is.
Shaking off the inappropriate need to see her lips wrapped around something else, I get serious, “Never again, Wills. Took me losing you and almost offing myself to realize how fucking stupid it all was. You’re all I’ve ever needed. The fame, the money, all that other shit . . . fuck that. It’s always been you. I won’t lose sight of that again. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you and into the next because it’ll take at least that long.”
She watches me intently, most likely trying to find even the slightest hesitation. After what seems like an eternity, she nods. Surprising the hell out of me when she slips the ring from her right hand to her left hand, and beams up at me around that fucking lolli before she tosses it aside. “Marry me.”
I close my eyes for a beat, not believing what just happened. This isn’t how I saw it going down, not for a second. When I open them she’s still there, still smiling. “You’re sure?” I rasp, my voice little more than a whisper.
“I need you, to be me.” She shrugs, tears shimmering in those whiskey-colored eyes of hers as she repeats what I’ve always told her. “We need you.”
Wrapping her in my arms, I place a kiss over the ring, each corner of her mouth, and then finally the beauty mark dotting her bottom lip and tell her, “You’ve got me.”
And just like that, my heart started beating in rhythm again, a steady cadence that I had been missing and vowed to never lose again.
The End
A note to Readers
Le
t me first start by saying thank you. I know that you have so many choices out there and I am humbled and grateful that you chose me. I can’t thank you enough for that. Ever.
This story started out as a thousand-word final paper for one of my English classes a couple semesters ago. It was while I was writing Love Hurts. I never expected anything to come of it but the characters wouldn’t leave me alone. They screamed and pulled at me, often times pushing Deacon out of the way until I just listened. I knew that I would have to finish their story at some point and that it wouldn’t be a pretty one. Not entirely. I knew that I would write about things that people hated, were afraid of. But I didn’t have a choice. This was their story. I like to joke and say that I made a list of all the things people hate to read about, drugs, rape, cheating, love triangles, and that’s what I set out to write, checking each box as I went. I promise I didn’t. In fact, the thought of what I was writing, the fact that it was so different from what I had written previously, made me nervous. I found myself warning people about how different it was whenever they asked what I was working on now. I’m not sure why. I was just anxious, more so than with my last series, about how it would be received. I still am, but now it’s out in he universe and therefore kind of out of my hands. I hope that you loved it.
To victims of sexual abuse.
I wrote this story the way that I did to show that even though women are victimized, they don’t have to live the life of a victim. We’re stronger than we sometimes think. We carry our scars on the inside where no one else can see. Our healing starts from the inside out. Always know that you ARE strong enough. You ARE worthy. And it is NOT your fault. What you are is a survivor. What you aren’t is someone cowards victim.