I keep my attention on the pages, but I’m not reading them.
“Easton?”
I set the papers aside.
Taryn says softly, “I know this is a lot to process. But you’re doing so well—”
She doesn’t have time to say anything else, because I catch her lips with my own, wrapping my arms around her torso and leaning her down onto the couch cushions. Stroking with my tongue. Lingering on her lips.
Taryn moans, and I dive deeper.
She can’t be done with me. Rationale tells me she’s only trying to help with these print-outs, but panic sits at the helm, whispering with its goblin voice that Taryn’s tired of supporting a confused, wayward adult and wants to get on with her life and her son.
I groan into her mouth, rubbing my dick between her thighs, and she meets my thrusts.
I’ll admit it—I’m using sex as a distraction, or a reminder that it’s fucking mind-blowing between us, so that maybe she’ll second guess her instinct to kick me out.
With one hand between us, I undo the button of my pants, slide into my briefs and pull my cock out. Taryn knows exactly what I’m doing and pushes my hand away so she can do all the stroking, squeezing, wetting my dick with my pre-cum, before she raises her hand up and spits on it, then lowers it back down.
Jesus, this woman. She’s so well groomed, a strict but loving mother and successful lawyer. Yet, she hides a layer underneath, and it’s a bad, bad girl. And I … and I …
Oh fuck, I can barely hold off with the thought of her bad girl pussy so close by.
My upper lip curls with a growl as I hike her tight skirt up and push aside her panties. There’s no time for clothes removal—in fact, it’s blasphemy to even think it, because that’s time away from sinking into her velvet silk.
Taryn doesn’t balk at my urgency. Instead, she greets me with equal eagerness, legs parting, arms wrapping around my neck. I fill her on a low, deep glide and swallow her gasps as she accommodates me.
Once her eyes open and meet my own, I slow down, become gentler in my thrusts as our noses brush and I fall into Taryn’s stare. It’s a place where all I want to do is pleasure her, enjoy her. Keep her.
Her breaths become erratic, our urgency rebuilding, and I cup her ass and pull her closer, creating a curving canal where my thrusts hit her G-spot, my balls practically sinking into her hot silk.
Every sound she makes gives me goosebumps. I’m surrounded by her, scent and taste and touch, and I refuse to blink as I take her over, her lush muscles tightening and straining. My vision blurs.
Taryn hides her face in my neck as she comes, gripping my upper back, her cry vibrating into my skin.
I lower my head and come with her, my fingers digging into her porcelain skin, cracking a flawless exterior I always thought was way too good for me.
On a husky exhale, I finish, my face buried in her hair.
Taryn wraps boneless legs around my hips. She keeps me inside her, and I’m all too willing to stay.
I can’t lose her.
I can’t.
Not when I’m barely grasping at anything.
32
Taryn
I’m happy.
As I stroke Easton’s hair, his head laying on my chest as he snores softly, I repeat to myself, I’m happy.
There are only a few times I’ve felt this way. Jamie’s birth, Bryan’s exit, passing the bar, scoring an internship at a coveted law firm, and this.
We have our work cut out for us. Easton has a long road ahead, and while Jamie’s journey was altogether different, I would still be committing myself to another decade of teaching a person how to live without a crucial sense. The patience involved, the upset … and there would be many angry moments from Easton. Frustration and unease, refusal to learn, depression.
There could be so much badness coming my way, but as Easton’s body lays against mine, a hairy thigh tossed over my legs and the slightest dribble of drool falling onto my chest, I think, this is where I want to be.
I nuzzle the top of Easton’s head, inhaling his soapy scent, my eyes fluttering closed as I kiss him soundlessly.
Sleep doesn’t come, despite how tired I am. My mind has other ideas, signaling a reminder that there is one thing holding me back from a happily ever after with Easton, and it’s not his condition.
Maybe it’s the comfort of my home, the dull roar of traffic outside creating a dome of endless, relaxing quietude, that I find the bravery to just end it already.
With careful shifts and scoots, I untangle myself from Easton’s heavy limbs and rise off the couch, padding over to my phone with bare feet. As I pick it up, it lights up the dark with eerie, artificial blue rays, and I send the text I know will change everything.
* * *
“Hey,” I say as I slide out of the front door of my apartment building and onto the stoop. I leave it cracked just slightly.
“Hi, Teddy.”
Bryan’s stare sheens in the darkness, oddly predatory despite the suit and tie meant to brand him as human.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, stuffing my hands in the pockets of Easton’s sweatpants. It’s more for something to say, since I can’t seem to stifle the butterflies winging a hurricane throughout my insides.
What’s so frightening? We’re out in public and I’m a door-push away from sprinting inside if things get scary. Easton’s right upstairs if I need him. So is Harper. Bryan’s been out of my life for six years. He means nothing to me, and I have every right to tell him to fuck off.
“I’m glad you texted,” Bryan says. He mimics my body language by throwing his hands into his pants’ pockets, splaying out his blazer and showcasing his pec muscles through his white work shirt. “Does this mean you’re coming back to me?”
Swallowing a sneer, I reply, “It means the exact opposite, Bryan. You lost your chance with us.”
“And you didn’t want to tell me this over the phone?”
“You never take phone calls seriously. Isn’t that what you always said to me? It’s only face-to-face, man-to-man, that you get deals done. Well, this is the deal of my life, and I’m saying, to your face, that I will not be coming back to you. And I will not be modifying the custody agreement, formally or informally. And”—I refuse to choke—“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
Bryan chuckles. “So that’s why you wanted to meet. To prove you’re a courageous teddy bear and tell me in person that you’re going to keep hibernating. You can’t avoid me forever, you know. I’m James’s father, whether you like it or not. And I will fight—”
“You can’t use your fists this time,” I say, as shocked as Bryan when I bare my teeth. But that’s where mothering instincts will take you. “Jamie and I are done with you. Done, Bryan. He’s a happy, healthy, well-adjusted boy, and you are not going to swoop in and screw with his head the way you used to. You don’t accept him. You don’t love him. You don’t love me.”
Bryan holds up a hand. “Now, that’s just—”
“If you want to try and own us again so bad, take it to the courts,” I spit.
“Why, because you’re not afraid of me there?” His tone drips with humor. “Now that you’re a little lady lawyer?”
I dare to step closer to him and tilt my chin up when I say, “It’s where I’m comfortable. It’s what I’m good at. And I will rip you to pieces in front of a judge, the public, the law, and I’ll win.”
“Oh, Teddy. Try as you might, you just can’t be scary.”
“I don’t have to be frightening to get what I want. Jamie is better off without you.”
Bryan’s glittering orbs turn to slits as he looks down at me. “And you think he’s better off with a wannabe fucktard who sleeps on your couch?”
I cover my hitch in breath, but Bryan’s gaze goes to my mouth anyway. “How dare you come here and judge—”
Bryan darts forward and I stutter back a step. “Why shouldn’t I? Huh? You have some strange man over here at all hours of the da
y and night, having access to my child and being alone with Jamie in ways where my son could be taken advantage of—”
“Oh my God, Bryan.”
“And how do you know he’s safe, darling? Is Jamie able to tell you? Does he have the verbal capacity to let you in on what his step-daddy’s doing to him—”
“You shut the hell up,” I whisper dangerously. “This, right here, is the reason why you don’t deserve one hair of my son. He communicates just fine, and if there were something wrong—which I am utterly confident there isn’t—he would come to me. Because Jamie trusts me and knows me and loves me because I am his goddamned parent who has been with him from the beginning!”
The end turns into a screech, but I’m past caring.
Bryan throws a finger in my face. “This is just the beginning, Teddy. I will get my lawyers to search every inch of you, of that fading rockstar up there, of this home, the conditions of my son’s upbringing, and I will tear you down. That total waste of space you have taking up real estate in your crappy home will be made into a pedophile. You will be made into a negligent mother who’ll have her son torn from her arms and sent to better living conditions with his father. You’re a lawyer, honey, you should know these things. Powerful, connected men always win. Isn’t that why you wanted to come play in our world? Become a lawyer and pretend you’re an equal? Isn’t that why you bolt your doors at night?” His laughter flows into the air. “Isn’t that why you gave yourself a point to bravery by texting me and facing off with me on the stoop of your dilapidated apartment? Big time attorney, huh. More like a fucking screw-up, like you’ve always been. I was the only thing that made you.” He palms his chest. “I’m the only thing that keeps you from living off city rat entrails. I know you cash my custody checks.”
I grind my molars together to prevent the irresistible urge to push him and sob and send him off this stoop and onto the ground.
“How the hell else did you manage your self-proclaimed single motherhood? Get through law school? Create a P.O. Box so presumably, I couldn’t find you, but you could keep claiming my checks?” He continues. “Does fuckwit up there know you have a monthly cashflow unrelated to your independence?”
“I did what I had to to survive!”
“Uh-huh,” Bryan continues, unperturbed by my snarl. “Just as I was biding my time. Waiting for you to come back to your senses and to Ohio, where you can be a good, well-kept Senator’s wife, and Jamie can be the rising star who’s overcome his disabilities and follows in his father’s footsteps.”
My lips twist in disgust. “How delusional are you to think Jamie wants anything to do with a father that nearly destroyed him? I don’t need your money anymore, asshole. I haven’t cashed your checks in six months—”
“Oooooh! Six whole months!”
This was a mistake. A complete failure on my part. I shouldn’t have texted Bryan, brought him here, and thought I’d make any headway in keeping him out of our lives.
“I’m taking this to court,” I say, seething. “I’m divorcing you, Bryan O’Neil, and keeping full custody of my son, and changing his goddamned last name. You are so undeserving of Jamie’s namesake I’ll be doing him a favor. Get off my property and—”
I don’t anticipate the punch.
I should’ve … heaven knows I should’ve, since history repeats itself so often. But passionate, tunneling anger shaded my blindspot further, and I crash into the sidewall behind me and slide to the ground before it even registers that my cheek rings with pain.
“You think you’re better than me, bitch? You think you’re gonna take away my family, my seat on the Senate? You think you can influence one single vote from the public with your pitiful, pathetic self? Fuck you, Teddy. Fuck you, Taryn!”
Smack.
Kick.
I thought I was better than Bryan. Stronger, now that I became smarter. Fearless from self-defense classes. Confident that I could protect my son.
Yet, here I am.
I throw a hand up while splayed on the ground. “Bryan—”
He picks me up under the arms, dragging me into the entrance vestibule of the apartment building.
“Easton!” I scream out.
When the front door slams shut behind him, Bryan uses the noise to cover the kick to my jaw.
33
Easton
I’m rattled awake by brutal shakes.
Blinking, squinting, rubbing away the sleep in my eyes, I find Jamie hovering above me, his eyes blindingly white in the darkness.
Help, he signs frantically. HELP HER!
“Who?” I say, sitting up.
But … I don’t say anything. When I form the word Who, it doesn’t register. I hear nothing when my mouth forms the word, only feel a vibration deep in my throat.
Panicked, I repeat, “Who?”
The clogged black hole of sound continues. I don’t hear anything. Not my feet hitting the floor, not Jamie scampering around in panic, pulling at my arm and dragging me into a standing position.
Oh, fuck.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuck
I can’t hear.
Mom’s in trouble! There’s someone hurting her and I don’t know what to do! I called 9-1-1 but can only leave the line open—you have to do something—I can’t talk to anyone! I’m so scared!
“Jesus.” But nothing sounds outside my head.
Doesn’t matter. Taryn’s in some kind of trouble—she’s not here, I don’t see her anywhere—and I’m off-balance, stumbling, swimming through a world thick with silence, a vulnerable fucking kitten in a jungle. I stumble around the apartment, unseeing of Jamie’s hands, moving so fast they’re blurring, knocking shit over and blinding the fuck out of myself when I turn on lights.
But I don’t see Taryn.
At Jamie’s agitated pointing, I throw the apartment door open and storm from behind the stairs, trying to find her.
My heart’s lodged in my throat. Maybe that’s why I can’t find my voice. I’m so thick with fear that there’s no rational—
I find her.
My dead run nearly topples me when I see her in between the entrance doors, the glass acting like a movie screen framing the violence raining down upon her.
I bolt forward without any thought to safety or danger—only to get to Taryn.
Taryn’s normally warm brown eyes train on mine, now cooled by saltwater, the tears cascading down her swollen, bloody cheeks. She’s on her stomach, using every effort to rise on her elbows, but a demon in a suit kicks her in the gut to send her back down.
A silent roar escapes me but swirls its fury in my head as I rush forward, soundlessly crashing through the glass and catching this fucking mutant completely off-guard.
He flies into the front door as I careen into him, solid wood catching his soft, pudgy, cowardly form. It’s a whirlwind of throws and blows and blocks and punches, and while I’m not a fighter, the thought of Taryn hurt, bloody and alone makes me want to travel into the depths of Hell for her.
Die for her, if it means this asshole can’t touch her again.
“I know who you are!” I roar as my fists rain down on him. The fucker tries to fight. He tries, but it’s hard to defend when someone has you curled up in a corner, protecting your dick of all things.
I don’t hear what I’m saying—garbling, sputtering, doesn’t matter—because I’m winning.
I’m fucking winning and this guy gets another boot to the neck, one more in the gut, and a pummeling fist to his eye socket—
Hands grip me. Drag me back. I spin sideways enough to see that it’s Taryn, standing, struggling, but pulling me back.
Her lips are moving, her eyes scrape side-to-side in a panic, but she’s dragging me away and I don’t know why.
“Let me kill him,” I growl, and I must look feral to her because she stumbles back. Yet, her grip on my arm doesn’t soften. “Let me fucking kill him!”
Sobbing, bleeding, she points through the broken glass.
Jamie s
tands near the foot of the stairs, clutching a tattered teddy bear, looking like he’s about five years old as he witnesses the carnage.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, but Taryn jolts beside me, so I don’t think I whispered it.
Red, white and blue lights sweep over my vision, and while Taryn rushes to her son, I turn and look through the front door, now bursting open with officers swarming in.
One grabs my arm. Yells something, but I can’t understand. He thinks I’m being a confrontational smartass and throws me up against the wall, pressing the side of my face against the plaster until it aches, then yanking my hands behind me and cuffing them.
The officer’s hot breath coats my cheeks as he continues to yell, his spit prickling against my scruff.
Then, there’s a sudden loosening. The officer backs off and I feel Taryn beside me. I tell my eyes to look at her, to reign in the overwhelming rush of fear and panic that’s consumed me. My heart thunders in my useless, decorative ears. I can’t hear my own breaths. I can’t understand what’s going on.
He’s deaf, Taryn signs at the same time her mouth moves with the words. He can’t hear you, Officer!
Paramedics rush to her side, preventing her from signing further as they encourage her to sit against the wall so they can tend to her. I don’t understand what’s being said anymore. Two other emergency responders bend down and aid the asshole.
“Don’t help him!” I say—or, more like shout, since everyone’s looking at me like I’ve just cursed in a library—but I’m not deterred. “He hurt her! He was going to kill her! DON’T HELP HIM!”
Hands, sticky and warm with blood, cup my cheeks. I didn’t see Taryn stand, or limp toward me. There’s no cue to register her drawing near. But, once she’s in my face, Taryn forces my gaze to hers.
“I’m okay,” she enunciates slowly, all for my benefit.
She’s not fucking okay.
“Help her,” I say to anyone who’s paying attention, my arms locked behind my back and emphasizing my struggle. “Somebody please help her, not that scum on the floor. Not—”
Playing You: Players to Lovers, Book 4 Page 21