Conspire

by SE Hall

  “I, uh, I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe it. I need some time—’

  “Yeah,” I swallow hard, “that’s exactly what I said. I’m going away for a while; I’ll have my phone if you need me.”

  “Are you with him? Bry—Graham?”

  “No. He’s—”

  “Never mind, you just told me where he was. I can’t think straight, sorry,” she rambles through her crying.

  “I helped him do the right thing Lys. I got your brother’s confession out of him, on purpose, knowing it was being recorded. And I don’t regret it. I’m sorry it hurts you, I am, but that’s the only reason.”

  I wait. I owe her full disclosure, and needed to express my adamancy, but now I’m afraid it came out brasher than I intended. I chew on my bottom lip, dread closing in on me more with every passing second of her silence. He is her blood and I am but water…

  “God, this is so fucked up,” she finally mutters.

  “Lys, are you, are we, gonna be okay?”

  “Always,” her immediate reply a whisper. “Are you and Br, Graham, going to be okay?”

  “Considering my ex-boyfriend and father are directly responsible for the death of his brother, I doubt it. I can’t even look at him right now, what would I possibly say? He thinks he wants to see me, but that’s only to keep me safe, his protective instincts kicking in. Once he did, I think he’d realize he never wants to look my face again and I couldn’t,” I clear the sob from my throat, “I couldn’t handle watching that realization set in his eyes right now.”

  “Jocelyn Camille Craig, this is not your fault. I know that, he knows that, and deep down, so do you. Hunter and your father are both adults, they make their own choices, you can no more control their actions than you can the rotation of the Earth. Do. Not. Let them take this from you too.”

  Is she right? God, please let her be right. Or at least let her be right enough that he believes it too. “I’m gonna go, Lys, love you.”

  “Love you too, forever. I’ll be in contact soon, Jocie. Take care of yourself.”

  “You too.”

  Dusk falls as I pull up in front of the cabin in Stone Harbor. I didn’t even realize I was driving here until my car veered off onto the familiar exit ramp, but other than a hotel, it’s not like I have a whole lot of options. I feel comfortable here, and I trust he will let me know if I’m in danger.

  Grabbing Stripe and my bag, I hurry from the car to the front door, unlocking it and letting myself in. I open the door to the cat carrier, freeing her from the confined area, hoping she’ll stop with the incessant crying. Tossing my suitcase on the bed he and I slept in together, I stop and turn back, snatching it up and hastily moving it to another room; I’m not one for self-torture.

  For thirty minutes I drift purposelessly around the house and the backyard, down to the water and back up again, like a yo-yo on a broken string. My brain is processing so many thoughts so quickly, it’s honestly all just one big blur; my emotions fried to the state of numb detachment.

  Unable to take it any longer, I rub the top of Stripe’s head, promising I’ll be back in a little while before getting back in my car, driving to the only place that could possible bring me any semblance of contentment.

  Our, no, probably not—the lighthouse.

  It’s a short jaunt, one I could make with my eyes closed; eyes closed…no Jocelyn, don’t do that whole ‘everything reminds me of him’ thing sappy girls do! Shaking off the pity party, I sit up straighter, firm my grip on the wheel and keep going. How selfish am I? His brother is dead, his family destroyed, my family criminals, people in the Cerefore trials hurt, a company that provides the paycheck for hundreds of families crumbling…and I’m over here adrift in an episode of Teen Beat mourning my lost love life?

  Hunter was right about one thing—I do need to grow the fuck up!

  The climb up the stairs has never seemed so cumbersome, each step whittling away at the last reserves of energy I have left.

  Have left…what do I have left? My life. Alyssa. My integrity. My degree and work ethic…yes, yes this is a far more productive train of thought; the lighthouse works every time.

  As I gaze out the window, eyes piercing and focused, needing that one wishing star to fall, I hear it—tires on gravel. My first reaction is to flinch, cower in the farthest, darkest corner in case they’ve come for me, but I remain unmoved, my faith in him unfailing—he wouldn’t let them come for me.

  And anyone I ever tell will say I imagined it or that I’ve read too many romance novels, but I’ll be swearing on my death bed just as I am now; my whole body knows the minute he steps out of his truck. The air around me lightens and sizzles with an undercurrent, and the scent of him drifts up to me on the breeze, my skin instantly covered in goose bumps.

  Try as he might to walk softly, I count each step in my head as he takes it and force my bottomless inhale silent when he comes to stand at the opening behind me.

  I ask to the window, which I still face, in a faint whisper. “What are you doing here?”

  “Where else would I be, babe? I need to fix us; figured ours was the place to start.”

  THE GLOW OF THE FULL MOON silhouettes her as she stares out the window of the lighthouse, arms crossed snug across her chest, long hair falling down her back. Though silent, the rise and fall of her shoulders gives away her deep, steadying breath at my reply, but my stubborn girl holds strong and still, waiting for me to speak further.

  Even without the gauge on her phone, I’d have known where to find her—knew it before her bags were packed. If you can’t find a shirt, you look in the closet or dresser. Lose your keys, check the car, purse, pockets.

  Everything has its place, and this is ours. Searching anywhere else for the other half of us wouldn’t make sense.

  “Jocelyn, I know you’re hurting, and confused and angry. I don’t blame you one bit. But, babe, I’m hurting too. Any chance we can do it together?”

  “What happened, with everything?” her voice grim.

  “I turned everything over to the police, told them all I know, then watched from my truck as they hauled him and your father in for questioning. Went inside, grabbed my taps from their offices and off their cars, called Reagan, drove here. Oh, by the way, please accept this as my official resignation, boss lady, no two weeks or severance needed, but thank you.”

  She stifles her giggle and I take a few steps closer to her back. Now her sharp intake of air is audible, shiver visible. “Cold?” I ask, close to her ear. She shakes her head no, but wraps herself up tighter in her own arms.

  “Will you please look at me?” I run my finger along the length of her spine with a light touch. “J?”

  “I can’t,” her voice is heavy, laced with the sobs she’s desperately clinging to hold back. “I don’t want to see the way you look at me now.”

  I grab both her shoulders and spin her around, without warning. “Hey you, what does that mean?” I bend my knees and dip my head, looking up at her eyes she only offers to the ground.

  “How do I look at you now? Hell, I haven’t got to look at you for way too damn long,” I raise my voice in frustration, and immediately regret it when she cringes.

  “My family, ex, company, all did this to you and your family. You have to hate me.” Her tears flow unabashedly and I cup her face, tilting it up to mine as I swipe away the wetness with my thumbs, unable to keep up.

  “Is that what this is about? You think I blame you for other people’s actions? Jesus, Jocelyn, I’ve been aching to hold you, thought you were mad I lied about my name!” I blow out an angry, frustrated huff.

  “It was more than your name, and I may’ve been irritated, but I understand the why, and I,” her body starts to shake, tears flowing harder, “I love the who, whoever he is.” Tortured sobs stab at me, but words... words that heal.

  “Graham Eugene Harrison, born November fifth, nineteen eighty-eight, in Boston, Massachusetts, and he loves you so damn much it’s hard to
breathe right now. Jump,” I command, gripping her hips and catching her as she complies without a second thought.

  “Waiting,” I lift one brow, that wait immediately over as she crashes her mouth upon mine, scooting up higher and closer against me, thighs bearing down like a vice on my waist.

  She doesn’t just kiss me—she hands over every want, need, and desire in her sexy ass body—and tells me with each stroke of her tongue—she’s mine. Completely.

  And I answer, overpowering her feisty little tongue and taking control, showing her how damn happy I am to hear it, but she’s no longer the boss.

  “Mhmm,” she purrs, “ew sill aste ike-”

  I pull back from her mouth, laughing. “What?”

  “You still taste like him... I mean, the same.”

  “Oh yeah?” Fuck me she’s cute, terminal. “And how’s that, babe? How do I taste?” I walk us toward the wall as I ask, mindful not to slam her against it like the beast I feel.

  “Like,” she does the scrunched nose thinkin’ thing, “like my man, any name, same flavor—my favorite.”

  “I love you, Jocelyn.”

  “Love you.”

  “Know what’s coming, babe?” I question in deep, carnal warning and she nods slowly, her eyes taking on the dark shade of passion. “Ready?”

  “Uh huh,” she squirms against my erection, grinning like the little devil she is.

  I run my fingertip across her collarbone, flicking the necklace I gave her as I lower her feet to the floor. “Only thing you leave on. Hear me?”

  Again, her head bobs up and down in slow motion, and I back away, wanting a full view of the show. Piece by piece, she strips off all her clothes until she stands naked before me, more beautiful than ever. “Now me,” I direct.

  She slides her tongue along her bottom lip and prances toward me, hiding nothing of her fondness of my bossing. I help her, pulling my shirt over my head since she can’t reach, then let my arms dangle as she does the rest.

  Down on her knees for my boots and socks, up again for my buckle, I watch, fighting the urge to pounce. We have forever now—plenty of time—so I hold steady, savoring her every move.

  Once she has me naked, I cup her face, rubbing my thumbs on her flushed cheeks. “I’m asking now, Jocelyn, for everything.” I remind her of the words I’d told her the last time we were here, just like this, baring ourselves to one another in our lighthouse.

  “You already have it; everything I have to give, yours. Which isn’t much,” she snorts, “I’m unemployed, planning to move, and toting with me on my voyage to nowhere one seriously grumpy cat. Hard to resist, I know.”

  “You just don’t understand the cat.” I nip at her shoulder, lift her by both lush ass cheeks, only to take her to the ground with me. “And your nowhere is over. You’re coming with me,” I wink, “to Baltimore too.”

  Ah, the sound of her laughter; I’ve got to brush up on my funny, cause I want to hear it all the time.

  I hold myself up on one arm, her beneath me on the hard floor, and take my time, sucking my way down. Pulling a perked nipple in my mouth, I circle it with my tongue and she moans, back arching off the ground. “Graham,” the lust-addled, soft whisper of my name changes things up in an instant.

  “Again,” I urge, popping off her nipple and pushing her legs apart. “Say it again, babe.”

  “Grahammm,” she drawls out as I work her, hard and fast, two fingers buried inside her wet, clenching core. “Oh God!”

  “Nope, wanna hear Graham. Wanna hear it over and over,” I grunt, filling her with my dick in a brusque, determined thrust to the very depth of her.

  She screams it, best thing I’ve ever heard, and I place more of my weight over her long enough to get a good hold, then roll us, taking the brunt of the wood surface myself. “Beautiful,” I exhale, spellbound at the sight of her on top of me, unbridled, full breasts bouncing magnificently as she impales herself up and down in a brisk rhythm.

  “Whose dick you riding, J?” I dig my fingers into the dips of her waist and pull up my feet, knees bent, braced now to take over very soon. “Tell me,” I buck up, deeper inside her, “whose dick, babe?”

  “Y, ah, Graham’s, oh, yours,” her jibberish comes out in pants, then one non-stop moan as I use my thumb to play with her clit as she comes apart, stilling all but the muscles clenching around me.

  I’d love to get her on her hands and knees and drive into her from behind, but again, this damn floor. Instead, I push up and in, pulling her down in tandem, never straying from her clit. I roar, loud and explosive, as I come, hard, into her as she once again releases warm and wet down me.

  No way I can tell her what I’m thinking, haven’t caught my breath, but I pull her down flush against me, wanting to feel all of her all over me. Stroking her soft hair, I inhale the scent of us, and kiss her crown with each exhale.

  “Definitely not making like,” she softly giggles in my ear and I hold her even closer.

  “Wasn’t then either, babe. Wasn’t then either.”

  FOUR MONTHS LATER

  NEVER GETS OLD, coming home to find him in only low slung jeans, cooking dinner. Giving up long ago on forbidding Stripe to “help” him, on the counter, I stand back, undiscovered, and watch his tight ass and taut muscles in his back flex as he works.

  The music, always on when he cooks, is “Sparks” by Coldplay, bringing a smug grin to my face.

  “You know what Dante said about a spark, don’t you?”

  “No, what?”

  “‘From the little spark may burst a mighty flame.”

  “Be my spark, Bryce. Set me on fire.”

  And look at us today—still blazing.

  “You gonna stand there all night or come kiss me hello?” he calls out, back to me... how does he do that?

  I kick off my shoes and saunter over, slipping my arms about his waist from behind. “You gonna turn around so I can kiss you hello?”

  He does, giving me the sensual, thorough kissing I’ve needed all day, and I grouse in protest to his chuckle when it ends. “How was school today?”

  “Wonderful,” I sigh, exhausted, but happy... finally in law school, what I always wanted. “Your day?”

  “Riveting,” he jests, “but I’ll program all day, every day, to be home every night with you.”

  I’m about to scale him and steal another kiss when his phone quits playing music because it’s ringing. “Reagan” flashes across the screen and he answers on speaker. “Reagan the Elf, what’s your hair color?” He does it every time.

  “Pink, like pussy. Speaking of which, how are you?” She doesn’t miss a beat, giving it right back to him.

  “Not bad. Say hi to Jocelyn.”

  “Hey, Jocelyn. How’re you?” she asks.

  “Good, Reagan, thank you. How ‘bout yourself?”

  “I can’t complain,” she laughs, “new beau hung like a mule, new crib is swank and close to campus... all blue skies, my friend.”

  Gotta love Reagan.

  “Glad to hear it,” I snicker. “Girl, I’m beat. Gonna grab a hot bath while my man,” I squeeze his ass, “finishes dinner like the prince he is and let you two catch up. Bye, Reg.” I hear her say the same as I head down the hall to my jetted jacuzzi oasis.

  I strip off my layers—Baltimore, cold as a witch’s tit in October—and ease into the warm water, topped with my favorite lavender bubbles. He’s still on speaker so his hands are free to cook, and though he’s trying to keep his voice down, I can easily hear their conversation.

  I already know why she’s really calling. He probably thinks I didn’t see it, in class all day, but Alyssa had texted me the minute it aired, so I pulled up the internet on my phone in between classes.

  Hunter and my father were indicted today; breaking news when the CEO and COO of now closed JCC Pharmaceuticals are officially charged with murder, among a list of lesser crimes tacked on. Their money and prestige must’ve finally run out, months of bureaucratic bullshit they sh
ould not have been afforded finally over. I did try to call my mother to check how she was holding up, but much like my many previous attempts, she didn’t answer.

  They’re talking about something else now, and not on purpose really, I tune back in.

  “Cool tat by the way, got the pic,” Reagan says. “Looked up the verse, may’ve cried,” she laughs, a hollow shield.

  “Thanks, I thought it was fitting,” he replies. On the inside of his other bicep, in visible ink, Graham now proudly dons a tattoo that reads, no puzzle piece since the other half can’t be worn, “Genesis 4:10.”

  “So,” Reagan again, “your brother’s blood cries to you from the ground. What’s it saying?”

  This, I don’t know. I sit up, my breath caught in my chest, one hand gripping the side of the tub as I await his answer.

  “It’s saying ‘Love Jocelyn, completely and forever. Keep her, happy and safe, which I plan to.”

  I gasp, a single tear sliding down my cheek. The path to get here, I wish I could change for him and Devon, but here is better than that of dreams

  WE’D LIKE TO THANK THE following people, as each of them played a vital role in the completion of this novel:

  Toski ~ For your amazing photos, for working when you’re on vacation, for your continued support, and mostly, for being an amazing friend every single day; we love you hard, butch

  Sommer ~ For your vision, turning TCo’s work into a beautiful cover; we are so very thankful

  Kassi ~ What don’t you do, woman?? For editing, designing, formatting, promoting, and dealing with our crazy; you are irreplaceable, my sweets

  Kayla ~ For dealing with our dangling participles, made-up words, over use of the semi-colon; and inability to learn how to use the effin’ em dash—it really needs its own key on the keyboard. And no, S.E. will NEVER learn the dialogue tag rule, EVER! ;)

  Betas ~ Angela, Kelly, Michelle, Carrie, Jenn and others named in this list ~ for your time, great catches, and loving our characters as much as we do