“Was that sarcasm?”
“No.” He pushed up to mirror her position on his elbow. “You are. And beautiful. And sometimes funny, when you’re not hiding in your armor.” One hand lifted, and his fingers trailed lightly over her hair. His eyes held hers captive, and the open warmth in them called to her longing. He moved, bringing her head closer, until his lips brushed against hers.
Not enough. She tilted her mouth to meet his again. He let a warm kiss linger before he leaned away to speak.
“The Hi Way.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “How about you tell me what happened earlier.”
Last thing in this life she wanted to talk about. Especially with him. But she banished irritation from her voice, keeping it soft. Maybe a tad sultry. “I got a headache.”
“Why?”
She covered the hand that now rested near her ear and then trailed her fingers over his arm. “Don’t know.” Leaning toward him, she erased the small space he’d put between them and drew another kiss, this time deeper, from his mouth.
This song she knew…this dance she’d practiced several times over. He took what she gave, and she gave a little more with each offering until she had molded herself against him. For a moment he hesitated, separating their kiss.
“Tell me why,” he whispered, his voice rough.
In the flicker of the firelight, she searched his eyes. The burn of longing smoldered there, but maybe not just for her body.
Her body was all she could give.
Please don’t ask… She moved against him, and he fell to his back, matching her kiss for kiss, touch for touch.
In the end, all men were the same. This was really what they wanted.
~*~
You need to stop.
Cheryl moved against him, every touch threatening to topple his prior resolve. He knew what lay on the other side of those kisses—a pleasure not far out of reach—and the desire for it could overrule logic.
She had to know control was melting from his mind. No doubt she could feel his slide from thought to reaction.
Why is this so hard?
Easing back up, Brock focused his concentration on control. He’d let it go too far. Cheryl caught his shoulders as he gently pushed her away, her fingers digging for grip as her kisses kept the hot fire of yearning ablaze.
It’d be so easy to snuff out the tiny voice telling him to stop.
“Cheryl…” He rolled onto his hip, nudging her away. One more kiss, gentle and much more chaste, and then he completed the separation.
Her breath caught in a small cry of protest. “Brock.” Her hand slid over the back of his neck, around his shoulder, and landed on his chest. “I want you.”
Surely she felt the relentless pounding of his heart and the desire that still pulsed throughout his body. It wouldn’t take much, and they’d be intertwined again, going somewhere he knew they weren’t ready for.
She molded to his side, and her soft, warm lips slid against his neck.
God, help…
The groan that escaped his lips fueled her passion, but he caught her as she moved, not allowing her to melt against him again.
His voice came ragged, but he forced the words out. “We need to stop.”
She pulled away, just enough to search his face. “Why?”
He sat up and examined her. She looked like a porcelain doll against the darkness of the night. The firelight increased the contrast of her dark hair and fair complexion. Exquisite. But in that moment, raw and vulnerable, he glimpsed the traces of scars that etched against her soul. Under her flawless beauty and her carefully constructed walls of perfection, she was a mess.
This wasn’t going to go well.
She moved again, her mouth finding his.
His hands framed her head, fingers curving into her hair, and he tipped his face so that the kiss was broken, but his forehead still rested on hers. “Please stop.”
She stiffened, stared at him for a moment, and then moved away.
Brock sat straighter and brought his knees up toward his chest. “Don’t be like this, Sherbert. This just isn’t going to lead us where we want to go.”
“What does that mean?”
The hard lines of defense resurfaced on her face, the cold edge in her voice. He should have known better. He had known better. This whole deal—lying on a blanket under the stars next to a fire—what had he been thinking? Not anything with clarity.
“What do you want from this relationship?”
Her eyes pinched. “I don’t know what you mean. Can’t we just see where it goes?”
“Yes.” He looked back at the fire. “But don’t you have any idea, any hope, for where you want it to go?”
She sat wordless, and the silence built a thick wall of strain between them.
“Cheryl, I know what I want…and I’m pretty sure having sex tonight isn’t going to get us there.”
“You’re not making any sense. I’m not trying to trap you into…into marriage or something. I just wanted to be with you.”
She missed his heart entirely, because long-term commitment was exactly what he wanted. “Can I tell you something, and you promise you’ll listen?”
Her beautiful lips, the very lips that had been soft and sweet against his mouth two minutes before, hardened into a cold line. “Sure.”
Which meant she probably wasn’t going to listen.
“I slept with Kayla on our third date.”
“So this is sort of like our third date…you think it’ll be unlucky?” Sarcasm chilled her words.
“No. That’s not it at all. It did something to us.” He rubbed the back of his neck and then picked up a twig and began poking the embers in the fire pit. “Like we felt obligated to each other, but not in a good way. I stayed with her because it was like I’d made a silent commitment to be with her, and when she didn’t honor that unspoken code, it felt like she’d torn off a layer of my soul. Honestly, I’m not even sure I loved her, not like I should have, which is probably why we never set a wedding date, but after we’d been together… I don’t know. Things just got complicated, not better.”
She pulled in a long breath and then blew it out slowly, but when he looked at her, the chill in her expression remained.
“Cheryl.” He reached to trace the outline of her face. She sat stoic.
Her attention shifted from him to the fire. He moved to bring her face back to his, but she pushed his hand away.
“Don’t.”
His heart dropped with a painful thud at the angry tone of her voice. “Don’t what?”
“This was a mistake. All of it.” She pushed off the ground to her feet, and she didn’t look back as she slipped into the darkness.
Brock raked a hand through his hair and slunk back to the ground. Staring at the stars above, defeat pressed hard into his chest.
The growl of his truck cracked the silence of the night. The thief. Whatever. She could have it.
What was he doing with her? Love her, Lord? He’d never get ahold of her heart. She’d locked it up tighter than the federal penitentiary. He’d never have it.
Maybe it was best to let her go.
I cannot forget the wailing, no matter how much I wish to silence the memory.
Women, in pain. Physical agony. Emotionally shredded. Death hung heavy in the room.
No one warned us, and we cannot tell others. The code of silence cannot be broken.
Who would want to hear our story anyway?
~23~
Cheryl didn’t bother folding the clothes as she threw them into her luggage—a stark departure from her neat-freak, control-driven norm. One thought propelled her past all of her carefully maintained rituals and through the pain searing her skull.
Leave.
She didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong with Brock. He wasn’t the sort of man she could manage from a distance. He wouldn’t be satisfied with her body and serving-sized pieces of her heart as she deemed fit. He wanted everything.
Except she k
new for a fact he really didn’t.
Not looking at what she was doing, she grabbed another fistful of laundry. Suddenly a hint of outdoorsy musk swirled in the room. She paused, hand in midair, ready to toss the wad of clothing into her bag, and studied what she’d snagged. Brock’s hoodie. She hadn’t returned it to him yet. Her body slipped into autopilot, and she brought the clothing to her face, burying her nose into the sweatshirt. Her eyes slid shut, and she inhaled deeply.
Why had he pushed her away? Couldn’t he understand? That was all she had to give him, really all that he’d truly want. She would have been satisfied just to be with him, to let their bodies meld without making everything so deep and complicated. It was enough for her. Why couldn’t it be enough for him?
A knock rapped against her bedroom door, and Cheryl ripped the sweatshirt away from her nose. Another memory she’d have to lock away. She’d leave his hoodie on the couch downstairs in the morning. Ethan would see that he got it.
The hollow tapping sounded again, louder this time.
“Sherbert, we need to talk.”
He’d come for her? He hadn’t chased her when she’d left the fire pit, and that had been hours ago. Why was he showing up now?
“I’m not kidding, Cheryl. Now.”
She tossed his sweatshirt to the corner before she ripped the door open. “What?”
His eyes, hurt and serious, moved from her, to the bed where her suitcase lay open in the frenzied-packing mess, and back again. “Just like I thought.”
“What’s just like you thought?”
“You’re running. Again. That’s all you know how to do.”
“I told you from the start that I couldn’t stay here.”
“Yeah, but you never told me why.”
“This is why. You.”
“Me? You can’t stay because of me, because I want to be with you, to see you happy, and I want to do what’s right?”
Cheryl spun away, marched to her bed, and began folding the clothes she’d flung into her bag. “Stop it. You’re so self-righteous, looking down on anyone who might do life differently than you.”
“What?” Brock left the doorway and followed her into the room. “Where is this coming from?”
“Oh, just go, Brock. Just leave me be. You’re driving me crazy!”
“I’m driving you crazy?” He stepped between her and the bed. “I can’t keep up with you. You make me dizzy. One minute you’re tempting me, and the next you’re leaving, and you don’t give any space in between for me to get my head straight.”
She glared at him and then reached around his frame to snatch another rumpled piece of clothing.
He stopped her attack against the sloppy clothes with both hands over hers. “Stop doing this and just talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You’re asking too much.” Had her voice just cracked? “Just let me go.”
The air seemed to still as the weight of his look drew her into something like a trance.
“No.” He pulled her hands to his chest and made her palms rest there. His head came against hers. “I’m not just letting you go. I love you.” Slowly, he nudged her face until his lips grazed hers. “I love you.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt, and the pounding in her head abated to a small throb. What if love, the kind of love Brock offered, was enough? If he knew, would he still feel like this?
“Are you hearing me, Sherbert?” His hands moved from hers and threaded through her hair.
Her lips quivered. “Yes.”
What was this man doing with her? She didn’t deserve him, didn’t deserve his devotion. She could tell him she loved him too, which she was almost certain she did, but always there would be a piece of her he couldn’t have. He wouldn’t be okay with that. He would keep sifting until he discovered what she couldn’t stand for him to find.
Or she could lay it out for him now and save them both the heartache.
Courage, where are you?
Don’t say it…
The pain in her head flared.
Just tell him and get it over with.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
No one else knows. He doesn’t have to either.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears dripped from her lids to her nose.
“Cheryl?” His thumbs traced the wet trails under her eyes. “Just talk to me.”
This man fights for those who have no voice. He stands against people like you. He’ll never forgive you.
“You should go, Brock. You don’t want me.”
His head left hers, but his hands remained. She opened her eyes to find him scowling.
“Do you think I’m a stupid man? That I can’t see the reality in front of me? I’m standing here telling you that you drive me crazy, but I love you. I want you to stay with me.”
“Brock…”
“No.” His fingers gripped tighter on her hair. “You’re not sending me away. We’re dealing with this, right here, right now.”
Cheryl griped his forearms and shook her head. “You love those kids.”
“The kids?”
“Yes. I can see how much you love them. You’re their champion, and…”
“That’s what this is about?” He gave a small, confused laugh. “You think I can’t love you too?”
“No.” Cheryl stepped back and pushed his hands away from her. “But I know how you think.”
“About what?”
She sighed, wrapping her arms around her middle. “About me. Because…I…I should have one.” A wave of fear crashed over her, and her voice shook.
“You should have one?”
Drawing her posture straight, she forced herself to look at him. “I got pregnant. Ten years ago.”
Brock stared at her, and she could see him mentally filing through what she was trying to tell him. With a subtle step back, he scowled. “What happened?”
“I was…seeing one of my professors. His name was Michael.” She wrapped herself tighter, but it didn’t stop her body from shaking. “By the time I found out he was married…” She shut her eyes and drew a deep breath. “Anyway, he already had a family, and I was a student, so…”
Eyes wide, he continued to gape at her. “So…what?”
Her teeth sank hard into her bottom lip as pain exploded in her heart. There had been some bad moments in her life. Really horrible ones. But only two had been worse than this one, and this ran pretty close to those. Telling this man, this good man who said he loved her…
He’d walk. Turn around and leave her room and never look back. Worse, that love he said he had for her? It would crust over, freeze up, and turn into utter contempt. Because how could a man like Brock Kelly ever look upon a woman like her with anything else?
But there wasn’t any turning back now.
She forced the truth through quivering lips. “I terminated.”
Terminated…a clinical word for…
Though she didn’t want to, she watched Brock as he sifted through the synonyms for terminated. His pinched expression told her exactly when he landed on the more common word.
Aborted.
She’d had an abortion.
In just a few more seconds, his conservative pastor’s son been pro-life since forever mind would go to the next word. The one she couldn’t place in her vocabulary when it came to that event. The one that had sent her reeling earlier that evening.
Brock looked at her, the deep love that had been in his eyes now replaced with horror. He’d found that word, put it over her name, and mentally branded her with it.
Agony seared through her. This was why. She’d sworn she’d never, never, never tell a soul. Ever. Because she knew how the other side thought. She knew what Brock was thinking.
“Say it,” she seethed.
He took another step back. “What?”
“Say what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t know what to think. I need to process…”
“Get out!” She flew a
t him, her hands colliding with his chest with a mighty shove. “I know what you’re thinking, what you all think in your pristine church world. How could she do that? Right? How could she kill her unborn child? How can she live with herself? You don’t have any idea what happened. I don’t need your condemnation, so get out. Just leave, and don’t ever come back.”
She’d pushed him to the frame of her door before he finally caught her elbows and fought against her. “Stop this, Sherbert. I just need to think.”
Her hand flew. In her rage, she didn’t even feel the smack of her palm against his cheek. “Don’t ever call me that.”
He fingered the spot on his face that was beginning to turn red, and his glance measured her from head to toe. She didn’t want to see the result of that calculation. The cool of the door filled her palm, and she flung it as hard as she could. Still shaking, she leaned against it with her back and slid to the floor.
She’d known it, should have listened to the warnings in her head. Not even Brock Kelly could love a blood-stained woman like her.
Stillness seeped through the hall beyond her door. Leave, Brock. The floor creaked under her, his weight shifting outside the halls. Guess she got her way. Her head fell to her knees as she wrapped her arms tight around her legs.
Something scuffled against the door behind her. “Cheryl.” Brock’s deep voice vibrated through the wood at her back. “I’m still here.”
She winced. What was he doing? Waiting to convince her that she was a sinner? She knew. This everyday hell wouldn’t let her escape that fact.
“I told you to leave,” she screamed at the door.
“No, Sherbert.”
With a fresh surge of fury she didn’t understand but couldn’t control, she jumped to her feet and ripped the door open. He jerked himself straight, and his hand, which apparently had been resting on the door, fell to his side.
“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that? I hate you, Brock Kelly!”
He flinched and took a step back.
“Get. Out.” She slammed the door shut again and waited until his footsteps echoed off the last of the wood risers below. Crumbling to the floor, she let the sobs loose. Life had been better when she’d kept her heart on ice.
Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2) Page 19