by Mandi Beck
I pull out of his grasp, and he lets my arms fall, making room for me to push back slightly so that I can take a breath and clear my head a little. I grasp at my fleeting anger that is slowly being overcome by lust, even though I can still feel the lingering effects of just having him buried inside of me.
Looking down, I focus on his chest, on the tattoo that spans across it.
“When am I the only one, Deacon? When does it stop?” I ask him softly, my anger and lust being replaced with sadness, leaving me feeling defeated.
Making eye contact, I can see his hurt, and even regret, but it doesn’t even come close to mine. This, this right here is what I had been afraid of. This all-consuming need to be with him but never really being enough because no woman ever has been. Where does that leave us when all is said and done? How could we ever go back to what we were after we’ve had a taste of what we could be?
Shaking away the sadness that has seeped in and taken over, I let the anger rise to the surface, because that is the only way I’ll come out of this alive. Broken and incomplete in a way I wasn’t aware was possible, but alive.
“You let Veronica suck you off because you were pissed. Do you hear yourself right now, Deac?” I ask. “How long ago was it? So help me God, if you fucking say last week, I will kick your ass, Deacon,” I tell him deadly serious, my fight returning full force at the thought.
He looks away from me, the ticking muscle in his jaw making me nervous. I don’t even want to know anymore, I just want out.
“I would never cheat on you, Frankie. Whether you want to admit it or not, we are together. It’s just you and me, Princess,” he says softly, reaching to brush hair off of my forehead and tuck it behind my ear.
I try my best not to react to his words, to his gentle touch and his habit with my hair.
Staring at his muscled chest I ask flatly, “When, Deacon?”
“The night you were supposed to come to my place from the bar. She showed up and told me that she saw you leave with Cristiano. Said that you guys were practically fucking in the back of a cab.” He says the last through gritted teeth, his body hard. I laugh incredulously at him. “You mean to tell me that Veronica fed you a line of shit that you believed and it pissed you off so badly that your dick found its way into her mouth? You know what, Deacon? Fuck you.”
I manage to get out from between him and the door but don’t make it far before he grabs my arm and jerks me back to him.
“I’m not fucking proud of it, Frankie. I get pissed and I do stupid shit, but I don’t want to be that guy with you. I just—I fucked up. I want to deserve you. I’m trying, Princess,” he says earnestly.
I have nothing to say to that, so I stay quiet, concentrating on getting my breathing under control.
He clears his throat, startling me a bit.
“I didn’t ask before because I didn’t want to know the answer or give you a reason to question me about what went on that night when you didn’t show up. I had no right to ask you, but now, now that we’re together I have the right to ask.”
He steps in front of me, making it so that he can see my answer as well as hear it, his hold on my arm never relenting.
“Did you go home with him that night?”
“Pfft. I hate to tell you, Deacon but your rights went to shit the moment that she walked through the door. Not because you let her blow you, but because of why you let her do it.” I spit the words out, glaring at him.
“Did. You. Take. Him. Home?” he demands in a danger-laced voice.
I just stare unblinkingly at him in answer.
“Did you let him inside what is mine, Frankie?” His tone deathly serious, the volume rising yet the tone lowering menacingly at the same time.
I yank my arm out of his grip. “I’m not yours, Deacon. You won’t let me be because of things like this. You, letting your temper lead you around by your dick.” I wasn’t going to tell him that what he thought was Cristiano and I practically fucking was actually a friend bringing me down from a panic attack. Cristiano was the only one there for me, and I won’t apologize for that. But then Deacon pushed me too far and my temper now matched his own.
“Why can’t you just tell me the truth?” he accuses.
“The truth? You want to know the truth? I was having a panic attack and he helped me through it,” I shout. “I needed you. Again. And again you weren’t there for me. Do you see a pattern here, Deacon?” I ask, my eyes narrowed and glaring. “I need you, you need a blow job. I suffer twice.”
He flinches as if I’d hit him. The hurt that washes over him is like a blanket, covering him completely. “You blaming me, Princess?” His voice is strained when he asks. “You blaming me for his sins? For a panic attack I didn’t know you were having? Why didn’t you tell me?” Shaking his head, he pins me with his beautiful, sorrowful eyes, which right now are murky with pain and guilt.
I don’t really blame him. I’m angry. I just want him to hurt like I’m hurting and to understand that this fight isn’t just about Veronica. It’s bigger than her.
His voice, which a moment ago had been pitched low, is now raised in anger and accusation. “You want to put that all on me? Go ahead if it will make you feel better. I already blame myself for not being able to save you from him that night. Remember this though, both times I wasn’t there when you needed me is because you wouldn’t let me be,” he bites out frustrated. I’ve thrown him.
“None of that shit matters now though, does it? Just answer the question, Frankie.” I’m not sure why he’s putting so much importance on this. To ease his own guilt maybe? I won’t allow it and refuse to answer him, crossing my arms over my chest. It does nothing but infuriate him even more.
“Did you fuck him?” he yells loud enough to echo around the dance studio and bounce back at us from every corner.
“No!” I scream just as loudly, stretching on my tiptoes to get in his face. I poke him in the chest. “No, you asshole. I was still thinking about how much I wanted you. You better believe I’ll fuck him now though,” I hiss as I spin on my heels and stalk away.
I don’t even flinch when I hear him roar “Fuuuuuuuuck,” followed by the tinkling of glass as he puts his fist through what I’m guessing is my mirrored wall.
Chest heaving in anger, I don’t even register that I’m bleeding all over the fucking place until I nearly slip in the blood pouring from my hand. Running my good hand through my hair, tugging at the long strands, I take a moment to get my shit together. I need to go after Frankie and talk this shit out. I knew that she’d be pissed if she ever found out about that night, but I honestly didn’t think that she’d leave me, and I definitely didn’t think that she’d go to Cristiano or blame me for everything. Frustrated, I glance around the studio looking for a towel or something to wrap my hand in. Spotting one, I snag it and head to the door, yanking it open. I run right into Sonny.
“Hey, brother. Good thing you were in there, I just spotted Veronica getting into her car and she looked pis—”
It’s then that he notices my hand in the towel red with my blood.
“Son of a motherfucker!” he spits out under his breath. “Where’s the Princess, Deacon?”
“I don’t have time to do this shit right now, Sonny. I have to find Frankie.” I go to push past him but he steps to the side blocking me.
“She knows, doesn’t she? Veronica came here like I told you she would and ran her fucking mouth.” Shaking his head at me, he huffs a breath in exasperation.
“Not now, Jameson! I need to talk to her. You can lecture me later. Right now though, fuck off.” Brushing past him, I make it about two steps before he spins me around by the shoulder. I cock my arm ready to throw when someone hooks my arm stopping me.
“What the fuck is going on? Deac, calm the fuck down, bro!” Mav grabs my wrist and holds my injured hand up, looking at me with raised eyebrows.
Muscle in my jaw ticking, I yank out of his hold.
“What happened to your hand an
d why the fuck are you swinging on Sonny? Somebody better start talking,” he demands, looking between the two of us glaring at each other.
“This dumb fucker got caught up just like we told him he would,” Sonny tells him.
Mav looks confused and then it dawns on him, “Frankie.”
“Yeah, yeah. Deac fucked up again. Just like he always does, right? You two can stand here and talk about what a fuck-up I am, I need to go find my girl.” As I turn to leave, I nearly mow down my father.
I start cursing under my breath. “I can’t catch a fucking break today!”
My pop doesn’t even say anything, just holds out his hand. He’s so used to my temper getting the best of me it doesn’t even faze him anymore. It was the reason I started fighting in the first place. It was an outlet for all of the anger roiling through my blood. Though I haven’t fought angry since I was a punk kid.
Placing my injured hand into his waiting palm, “Pop, I don’t have—”“
“You gonna tell me why you’re bleeding all over my gym two days before a fight and throwing punches at your brother, Deacon?” he asks as he unwraps the towel and inspects my injuries.
“I gotta go find Frankie, Pop. I messed up.”
“Frankie?” he asks, looking up at me over the top of his glasses.
I wince, nodding. We hadn’t talked about telling our fathers yet, but it looks like mine is about to find out.
“You two, go get ready for the charity event,” he tells my brothers, not breaking eye contact with me.
Leaving us alone—well, as alone as you can be in the middle of a crowded gym—I know I’m going to have to tell my dad everything.
“Pop, can we talk about this later? I promise I’ll tell you everything then,” I plead.
“Son, you’re not going anywhere until we clean up this hand and make sure that you don’t need stitches. While I’m doing that you can tell me what has you all fired up and what the hell it has to do with the Princess.”
Following him passed the lockers to the First Aid room, I hop up onto the table while he gathers the supplies he’ll need.
“Start talking, Deacon.”
I sigh deeply and explain to him all that’s happened since her birthday, omitting the night with Veronica and that Frankie and I are now together.
Head bent over my hand, which is now clean and bandaged, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“Ever since you were little, the two of you had a connection. I honestly thought that by now you would be married, on your way to having a family of your own.”
Shaking his head he continues, “She was the only one that could calm you down when you let your hot head get the best of you. It didn’t matter that a lot of the time it was her that you were losing your temper over.” Chuckling at the memories he looks at me with a sad smile on his face.
“Deacon, you’re a lot like your mother—all fire and passion with a quick temper. They’re some of the qualities that make you a great fighter, but you have got to start thinking before you act. You’re twenty-seven, a grown ass man. It’s time to start acting like it. Fix this shit with Frankie, Deac. I won’t have you and your impulsive actions fuck with the relationship we all have. We’re a family. Fix it and then get your ass to that dinner. No excuses.” Nodding once, he makes sure that I understand and then leaves me with a pat on the back.
Hopping down, I head for the parking lot at a jog. I have to make this shit right.
Slamming the Rover into park, I bound up the stairs to Indie’s front door, knocking twice before I throw it open and rush in. I come to a screeching halt when I see him sitting on the couch in the front room.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Flashdance?” I snarl clenching my fists, ignoring the instant discomfort in my left one.
After looking me up and down in my disheveled state like some pile of shit he stepped in, he meets my eyes.
“So Indie was telling the truth. You are with Frankie,” shaking his head, not trying to mask the disgust the thought brings him.
I’m too pissed to play games with his ass right now.
“Did she call you here?” I ask through clenched teeth.
He snorts his disdain at me.
“Clearly you’ve already screwed it up. That’s got to be some new record, Deacon, since I just talked to her the other day and she never even mentioned anything going on between the two of you.” He flashes me his teeth in a grimace like he’s saying “tough break.” “I guess it’s a good thing that I’m staying in town. She’ll probably need a friend to be there for her.”
I’m about to lose my fucking mind and take his ass to task when he snaps his fingers and points to me. “Hey, we have something in common now! Well, besides Francesca.” He giggles like a little fucking girl.
Not taking the bait, I stay silent, feeling the heat from my temper race through my veins, heating me from the inside out until I feel like a volcano ready to fucking blow. When I do, somebody better hope I don’t kill this asshole.
Sensing that I’m not going to engage him, he shrugs and goes on.
“Sadly, my girlfriend and I have, how do you say? Split up? Yes, that’s the term,” he says, playing down his knowledge of American slang. “So we’re both single now, you and I.”
His smug smile falls from his face as I advance on him, chest heaving. I’m stopped in my tracks though when Frankie walks into the room with Indie. Looking from me to him and back to Rico Suave, she walks over and puts a hand on his arm and speaks to him in fucking Spanish, not so low that I can’t hear what she’s saying but too fast for me to understand any of it, taking my mad to a whole other level. I just stand there seething as she speaks, trying to follow what she’s saying to him.
She gives him a sad smile, squeezes his arm, and goes to move past him down the hall to her room.
Livid, I stand there and watch her walk away. Pointing a finger at him, I give his ass one warning.
“Stay the fuck away from her.”
Leaving Cristiano and Indie standing together, I stride to Frankie’s door and open it without knocking. Spinning around, her shoulders fall in defeat when she sees that it’s me, knowing that there’s no way in hell that I’m leaving without talking this out.
“Deacon, I really don’t want to do this right now. I’m tired. I’m tired of it all, and I just don’t have the energy to hash shit out tonight.” She takes in a deep breath and says softly, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I don’t blame you, for any of it. I just—I don’t blame you.” Turning her back to me, she walks over to the dresser and starts pulling out what she’ll need for the banquet that we need to be at in a couple hours.
“It doesn’t matter if you do or not, I do. I’m not going to give you time to decide this isn’t right, because you know it is. We. Are. Right. Frankie,” I say emphatically as I stare at her reflection in the mirror.
“Deac, let’s not do this, okay? I don’t want to be hurt or upset by you and the things that you do. I want to go back to the way we were. I just—I want to be friends again.”
I can hear the quiver in her voice and see her lip trembling. I never wanted to do this to Frankie. I never cared about who I hurt in the past because I never bothered to stick around long enough to see the aftermath.
Coming up behind my girl, I bring my arms around and lightly grasp her delicate wrists in my hands, caging her in so that she has to listen to me. Speaking to Frankie’s reflection, I press my front into her back.
“I can still taste you on my tongue, Princess.” My voice is low and gravelly with emotion that I’m not used to hearing.
“My cock is still sticky from being buried inside of you. I can smell myself on you, baby, and it does something to me—it makes me fucking crazy.” Leaning in, making sure not to break eye contact, I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling our mingled scents, dragging it down her neck, and placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. “Tell me how we forget about that, Frankie. Explain to me how I go back to lov
ing you from a distance and pretending. Because right now, I don’t see how it’s even a possibility.”
Closing her eyes, breaking our gazes she huffs.
“I never said that we would be able to forget, Deac. I said I just want to go back to the way we were and be friends.” Pushing against me, I let her break free. “I can’t be like this. I don’t want to feel this way or wait for the next girl to show up knocking me down a peg and breaking my heart a little in the process because she wants a piece of what I have. I am a strong woman, Deac. I have overcome a lot in the past few months, but I don’t think I can be strong enough to survive you.”
Seeing tears hanging from her lashes threatening to fall, I pace away from the sight in frustration. I want to put my fist through every fucking thing in this room right now. Slowly taking a deep breath to calm myself, I lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest to try to keep my heart from falling the fuck out at her feet.
“What do you want from me? You want pretty words? Huh?” I ask her in a voice beat down by love. “You know that’s not me, Frankie. I can’t be someone I’m not, but I can be the man that loves you because that’s the man that I am. Whether you believe it or not.” Looking at her profile and her trembling chin, I wish that she would just look at me. I need her to see the truth in my words since my actions have fucked me. On an exhale I continue trying to convince her. “No matter what chick shows up, none of them will matter. Not one of them has ever even come close to getting what you have,” I say vehemently. “You have me, Frankie. All of me, and that’s never gonna change.”
Shaking her head, she looks me in the eyes. Crying openly now, she whispers on a broken sob, “I don’t want all of you. All of you hurts too much.”
Straightening at the blow of her words, I take one step toward her and then stop. My head reeling from the hurt, confusion, and a million other emotions fucking with me right now. Is she for real? Once again I pour my heart out, bleed all over the place and bare my soul, and she tells me that she doesn’t want me? That she survived that animal, Andrew, but she can’t survive me? What more is there to say? What the fuck else can I possibly do to prove to her that I’m in this? I fucked up, yes, but I have never even thought of touching another woman since we got together. It’s always been her.