Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5)

by Burgoa, Claudia

  My entire body buzzes with anticipation as he begins to sink inside me. Each inch of himself filling me. Taking away the emptiness. As he presses himself inside me, something breaks; I can hear it. A shell, maybe. I don’t think any further as the pleasure of having him sliding in and out numbs me and lust overtakes my actions. Each stroke of his cock has a gentle tempo that builds another orgasm. A much more powerful one that feels as if he’s possessing me, making me his.

  Right as my insides combust he groans my name, coming along with me. Following me to the place where there’s no one else. His body shudders on top of mine.

  His head drops over my shoulder. “Mac, I love you, baby,” he whispers. For a few seconds I let myself go, enjoying the bliss after falling from the highest climax I’ve ever experienced.

  My eyes open when I register his scent, his voice, and his eyes. Fuck.

  What did I do? In that moment my blood freezes. Same eyes that blur with the tears I can’t stop from falling. Grief crushes my throat—stops my breathing—and I push him. I push Porter away. My heart breaks all over again as the ache increases. The force of the guilt helps me to push him away from my body and jump out of the bed.

  “Leo,” a sob escapes me. “I’m sorry. So, sorry.”

  “Mac?” Porter’s eyes open wide, he leaves the bed and takes a step closer to me, but I take one back.

  “Leave, please,” I beg him out of confusion, guilt, out of need. Because my traitorous body wants his hands, his arms, him. “I can’t. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

  He takes his clothes with him. As he leaves I shut the door close and collapse against it. Placing a hand over my mouth, I let myself cry. How could I do this to the love of my life?

  Everything inside me hurts. My stomach fills with sharp glass; my lungs deflate. I’m angry with myself. Did I break my vows? Cheat on my husband? When I see the door that Porter closed, I’m embarrassed for the way I behaved with him. My body shivers, missing the connection between us. What did I do to him? How is it possible that after everything I did, and despite the confusion, I want to be in Porter’s arms?

  “I’m sorry for freaking out,” I hear Mac say. “I shouldn’t have asked you to . . . Look at me, I’m such a mess. Everything you do for us is perfect. I didn’t have anything to give them for Christmas and you bought them so much. God, I wish I could . . .” She takes my hand, squeezing it gently. Loving. And even when I’m giving her my best understanding face, I’m fucking dying inside. Because two nights ago I loved her with all my heart. Making love to her had new meaning; I felt a fucking connection that meant everything to me.

  “You’re such a great guy,” she continues, her words shattering my heart. “Yes, you might’ve done pretty shitty things, but the man I met is strong, loving, caring, and so smart.”

  And I fall even more in love with her because of what she says, even when she’s breaking my fucking heart. “I’ll take whatever you give me, Mac, as long as you let me be by your side.”

  She shakes her head. “You deserve more than I can give you now.”

  “I understand, Mac.” I want to fight her decision, but we both deserve more and neither one can offer that until we face our own fears and move forward on our own. “Maybe this is for the best.”

  Her head drops slightly, her eyes facing the floor. “Promise you’ll continue being this amazing guy. You’ll find someone to fall in love and have a family with.”

  I nod, biting down the words I really want to say to her. Staying on my two feet instead of kneeling down and begging her to let me be by her side forever. Telling her that I’m in fucking love with her, that two nights ago I meant every word I told her. “As long as you promise that you’ll call me if you ever need me—or if the kids need me.”

  “I promise.” I pull her to me, holding her tight, and absorbing her sweet energy. Hoping that it’ll last me for as long as I live.

  “That’s a lot of money, Porter.” Molly stares at the check I’m giving her. “Where are you going to go?”

  “Seattle,” I explain to her, taping the last box and labeling it. “The money is to cover the rent of the house and for you to help Mac with Finn’s expenses. Send me her bank information when you have it, as soon as I find a job, I’ll start sending more. If Virginia tries to take away the children call me. My family has money; I know in my heart that if they learn about that shit they will help.”

  Virginia threatened Mackenzie with lawyers, saying that she’s not a fit mother. As much as I want to be angry with her for the shit that she told me, I can’t. That woman came in like a typhoon and destroyed everything that Mac had worked for. Moving out of Portland is shattering my soul because I’m going to miss my family. But I have to leave for them, hoping that this might be temporary and that Mac will find herself under the mountain of grief. Yesterday, I explained to Harper that I was going to go on a trip. Left her my phone number in case she had to call me. I promised I’d come running if she ever needed me and assured her that I loved her. That I was leaving because I had to see my family. She was okay with that, knowing that she’d have me here if she needed me. I have no idea if Finn understood me, but I got a hug from him.

  Yesterday morning, I searched for a place to stay in Seattle. I found a one-bedroom apartment close to down town. It’s a month-to-month lease. A place where I can stay, at least, until I work things out with Chris and Gabe. After that, I’ll make another plan. Mackenzie Brooke has my heart and I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve no intention of taking it back.

  “I wish she could see the amazing guy she has in you,” Molly says, smiling at me. “You’re a good kid, Porter. Whatever it is that happened before you came here, it’s in the past. I don’t want you to be that quiet, angry man again. Do you hear me?”

  “Thank you for everything, Molly.” I hug her. “Call me if you or Mac need me. I won’t be far away.” I carry the last box and head to my truck.

  “Porter, don’t go,” I hear Harper’s little voice, her arms enveloping my waist.

  “Remember what you promised me?” I squat and she nods. “You keep being a good student, a loving daughter, and a caring sister. I promise to come back.” I touch my heart. “You’re here, in my heart, because I love you like my own. Always. It’s only for a little while, but one way or another I’ll find a way back here.” She nods.

  I walk her to her house where Mac is waiting for her by the door, holding Finn. Her eyes are filled with tears. Fuck. Someday. Someday we’ll work things out. One day they’ll be mine.

  “Drive carefully,” she says, as I nod.

  “If you ever find space inside of that precious heart of yours, call me.” I kiss her cheek. “I’ll miss you.”

  With that I turn around and head to my truck, leaving behind what I love the most.

  “Kendrick? Why are you calling me?”

  “I thought you’d need to know that I’m moving to Seattle.” I start the truck, setting the phone in the cup holder as the Bluetooth takes over the call.

  “Why?”

  “I had to leave my current address, and honestly, I can’t be in Portland right now. Thought Seattle would be a good place to be while I recover from some shit.”

  “Do you have a place to stay?” I stare at the phone, making sure I’m speaking with Mason Bradley. What the fuck? If anything, I expected him to scream or threaten me. “Because my father could lease you his apartment for less.”

  “No offense, Mason, but why are you being nice?”

  “My sister will have my balls if I treat you like shit,” he responds. “That doesn’t mean that I won’t have an agent behind you twenty-four-seven. Another reason to lease you my father’s old place. Do I trust you? Fuck no. Are you allowed to be close to my wife? Hell no. I’ll text you the address, it has furniture, and all that shit in case you need it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t fuck with anyone, or I swear I’ll kill you.”

  “Now, that sounds more like the Mason
I know, the world makes sense again.” I kill the conversation, hoping that this is the right choice, that what I’m doing will help me to at least fix my relationship with the Deckers. As far as Mac goes, I hope one day she can care for me enough to . . . I have no fucking idea what, but I want to be by her side again.

  The roads are clear and in three hours I arrive at my destination. As I park the truck in front of the address that Mason gave me, I spot Gabe and Chris walking to the main door. My heart stops and I jump out of the car to meet them and find out why they are here.

  “Chris! Gabe!” I call out, as both men stop and turn around. They’re wearing winter coats and hats and look almost the same as they did the night they rescued me. Except for some wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “Mason was coming out to give you the keys and we wanted to do it instead,” Gabe says, handing me a set of keys. “See how you’re doing and . . .”

  “That sounds better than the truth,” Chris interrupts. “We need a few moments away from home; the Colthurst clan is driving us insane. I’ve always said it and I’ll repeat it again: They need to stop reproducing, there are too many of them.”

  Gabe shakes his head. “Why the sudden change, Porter?”

  “It’s a long story, why don’t you let me carry my things upstairs and I’ll tell you some of it.”

  After a few trips, we get everything down from the truck and into the apartment that’ll be my home for a couple of months. We sit and I tell them everything that I’ve been doing from the moment I started rehab, until I packed my truck and left Portland. It’s right after I tell them about leaving Harper crying by the porch that I realize that it’s dark outside and I’ve been talking for longer than I’ve ever remembered. Never before have I done it without interruption, without much prompting. As the last words leave, my body finds some kind of release.

  “You made the right choice,” Gabe says, turning to Chris who nods. “Coming to Seattle. I’d like to work on our relationship. Maybe let you into my life—into our lives.”

  “School?” Chris asks before I can thank Gabe for telling me that he’s planning on working shit out. “The move or what happened in Portland shouldn’t stall your plans.”

  “It’s online, it doesn’t matter where I live, as long as I have Internet,” I assure him. “Tomorrow I’ll start searching for a new job. Thank you, Gabe for giving me a chance. I swear to you that my intentions are to prove that I’ve changed. That I can be the man you tried to raise.”

  “Why look for a job if you have Steven’s money?” Chris asks.

  “It wasn’t much, and I left almost everything to Mac. She needs it.” I shrug. “Her son does. Since his dad died he hasn’t spoken a word.”

  Chris scratches his chin and shakes his head. As he opens his mouth, Gabe speaks, “Time to go. Porter, call us after New Year, my family is here, and I doubt we’ll have time to escape again.”

  I walk them downstairs, thanking them for the keys and for letting me unload all the shit I had inside my chest. It feels good to have someone to talk to. Not as great as it was to do it with Mac, even when she was the one who did the talking. With that in mind, I unpack my shit and decide to write to her.

  Dear Mac,

  Moving out of Portland was hard, but if that’s what you need, I’ll do it. In exchange, I want to ask for a favor. Let me write you a few lines, often, to tell you about my day, or my life. It’s lonely here and you’re a great listener. Exchanging letters can be a win-win situation, don’t you think?

  I arrived in Seattle in one piece, thought you might want to know it. Mason Bradley leased an apartment to me that’s close to the record studio where I used to make magic. I miss those days, my music. Letting all the shit I had inside go through each note I played. It was better than any drug I took, but that stupid kid inside me didn’t appreciate it. One day I hope to play in a venue and have you close by listening to the music I’ve written.

  How are the kids?

  Please, send me a picture of them, if you can.

  Love,

  Porter

  This is good, Mac, I repeat while sitting in the waiting room of my new therapist. At least I’m giving therapy a try. What happened with Porter was . . . ugly. Not the making love part, that was beautiful. But the way I felt and behaved after. I kicked him out of my bed, when I wanted to lose myself inside his strong arms. The repulsion, the bad taste, and anger toward myself are unhealthy. He’s a nice man. A wonderful, loving guy who goes out of his way to make me happy.

  Then there’s my relationship with my children. There’s something missing between us, a connection we lost when we lost Leo. Or maybe it’s only in my head. That’s why I’m here, to find the root of my problems. No, to face my problems. I know the root and I think I’m ready to face it.

  “Mackenzie Brooke?” The receptionist calls my name. Taking a deep breath, I walk toward her. “Today’s session is going to be seventy-five dollars. We accept all major credit cards or cash.”

  “Today?” I repeat back, she nods. “How about a check?”

  She points at the sign next to her computer.

  We only accept major credit cards or cash. Sorry for the inconvenience, but checks are no longer allowed as a form of payment. Thank you for understanding.

  Don’t doctors usually send you a bill after they dealt with the insurance, which I don’t have. This won’t stop me. I can pay today’s appointment. Then I’ll figure out the budget for the upcoming ones. The step I’m taking is for everyone, not only for myself, but for my children too. They need a sane mother who won’t be losing her mind every time something bad or good happens in her life.

  I sign the payment receipt after she swipes my debit card and hand it over to her. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Brooke, please take a seat. The doctor will call you in a few minutes.”

  Before I can sit back into the chair I sat in earlier, a tall middle-aged man, dressed in a pair of khakis and a tie enters the reception area, calling out my name.

  Instead of answering, I walk closer to where he stands, “That’ll be me.”

  His dark eyes sit behind a pair of wired framed glasses. They study me briefly. “Follow me.”

  We go through the narrow hallway, entering the first office. A small cozy room painted with a light gray color. A desk and a long couch sit across from a chair.

  “Mackenzie Brooke,” he repeats my name, smiling, as he extends his hand. “I’m Johnathan Welsh, your counselor. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” I respond, losing some of the courage.

  Taking a seat on the couch, and before I jet out of the office I blurt, “What should I talk about?”

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “We can learn more about each other. For example, where I studied and my experience. You could tell me a little about yourself. But you are free to talk about what is distressing you the most.”

  “The most.” I let out a nervous laugh. “Everything. I just don’t know if coming here is the answer to my problems. Do you think it’ll help?”

  He tilts his head to the side, watching me, as he lowers himself into the chair right across from me. “Do you have a goal Mackenzie?”

  “A goal?” I feel my eyes widen with the question, my head shakes a couple of times.

  “What kind of goal? In life, my career, my children?”

  He nods. “Something like that. As a therapist, I’m here to collaborate with you. Our goal is to identify what’s distressing you, what you’d like to change, and help you search for a way to achieve that goal.”

  “My . . .” Before I can say that Leo died, my throat dries, my chest compresses, and I want to leave the room. Is this normal? The first time I tried a counselor I couldn’t talk, I was crying from the moment I stepped into the office until I left. I stayed inside the car for about an hour before I could drive.

  The long silence stretches out as I regulate my breathing, try to
organize my thoughts. All of them are scattered throughout my mind. Images of my past. Leo. My present. Harper and Finn. My future. My kids along with Porter. Is he my future? That’s a question I can’t imagine answering, but how I wish I could say yes.

  A simple yes without second-guessing myself.

  “Do you have pets, Mackenzie?” I shake my head. “I do, a parrot.”

  “A parrot?” I question puzzled. “Does he talk back to you?”

  “He can only say cracker,” he says laughing. “Such a cliché, my children are allergic to animal dander. My now ex-wife and I thought that a parrot would make a great pet.”

  “Was it?”

  “No, and I got the parrot during the divorce settlement,” he complains.

  “Leo didn’t want to own a pet,” I confess. “At least not until the kids were old enough to help with the chores. I’m glad because after he died I could barely take care of our kids. A pet wouldn’t have survived my depression.”

  “Leo is your husband?” I nod. “How long ago did he die?”

  “Almost three years,” I say, drying my sweaty palms with my jeans. “It’s hard to look at the big picture. Guilt engulfs me each time I try to think outside the lives we . . . We had so many plans and he’s gone. He won’t reach his thirtieth birthday, see his children grow up, graduate, or get married.”

  I take a tissue from the box on top of the coffee table, wiping the tears that fall as I speak. It’s useless, the more I wipe, the more fall, and I hear myself sobbing. I’m not sure how long I cry, but once I am able to stop the waterworks, I look at my counselor who continues to watch me with concern.

  “Sorry, talking about him is difficult,” I whisper.

  “What made you come to visit me today?”

  “My kids, my . . .” I don’t say Porter. But he’s another reason why I decided to come. I hurt him with my behavior. Everyone is paying for the grief I’m going through. “Everyone deserves a better version of myself—I know I do.”

  He nods. “Alright, so it appears we have a tentative goal. Our time for today is over, but if you’re comfortable, we can schedule another appointment for next week. We can continue identifying what you need to work on and the goals you’d like to achieve through counseling.”