The Reality of Wright and Wrong

by Leddy Harper

  “I thought you left.” There wasn’t a sound on this earth sexier than Brogan’s morning voice. The grit he’d spoken with last night didn’t come close to the way his baritone raked over each word like large tires down a gravel road.

  When he moved closer, eyes narrowed and brow lined with deep creases, I realized I hadn’t responded. Then again, I wasn’t sure what kind of response he was looking for, considering he hadn’t asked a question, and seeing me here negated his theory that I had left.

  Either way, I forced my lips to curl as much as possible under his scrutiny and said, “Nope. I’m still here.” And then I clenched my jaw shut to keep me from saying anything else that would make me sound stupid.

  He laughed and slowly shook his head, eyes downcast and a lazy smile drawn wide across the scruff covering his cheeks. When he came to a stop about two feet away, he leaned against the glass partition. Coffee mug in one hand, the other deep into a pocket in his pants, he turned to face me. “How long have you been up?”

  “Maybe twenty minutes.” I peered over the ledge to focus on the scenery before me like I had been prior to Brogan coming outside. It was the only way I could communicate without locking myself in my own bubble, too afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. “I made coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind, Mercy.” There was a good chance he could bring me to orgasm by doing nothing more than saying my name. “I really appreciate it, actually. Thank you. Saved me from having to make it.”

  “I hope I did it right. I tend to prefer strong coffee. The blacker, the better. It was the only thing that got me through college. My friends call it my crack.” Before I rambled like one of those dolls on a string, I gulped down what I had left in my mug and took a bit longer to swallow it all.

  “What’d you study in college?”

  His curiosity took me by surprise. Honestly, I’d expected him to continue the conversation about coffee. Rather than obsess over his interest in my life, I cleared my throat, concentrating on the pink striations that cut through the sky, and answered his question. “I recently graduated with my teaching degree in early development.”

  “Nice. Have you started looking for jobs?”

  “Funny story…a small private school in town hired me.”

  He was quiet for a moment, which called my attention away from the sky and back to his face. Last night in the kitchen, his eyes had been a deep green, reminding me of a jungle. Wild and exciting—a hint of danger lurking along the dark edges. Now, standing outside with the light shining on them, his irises were more aqua. Brighter and softer. Even while he stared at me with such intensity, I found them calming. Reassuring. Nevertheless, just as dangerous.

  “In town? Like…here?” Hope sang in his tone—or maybe that was merely wishful interpretation. “Or did you mean where you’re from?”

  “Here. Ironic, right? I have a job but no house, no husband, no friends, and no family.”

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do? With the job, I mean.”

  I glanced to the side and studied the forest behind his house. “To be honest with you…no, I haven’t thought about it.” When I found his eyes again, there was an undeniable pull within me to speak without thinking. “This whole thing scares me. Up until last night, I had the rest of my life planned out. Jordan and I were supposed to find a house this week, get married next month, and then I’d live here, where I’d start the job of my dreams and live happily ever after. Now? I have no clue what I’m doing in five minutes, let alone for the next five years.”

  “You should stay.” Leaning forward, he pressed his forearms against the ledge with his mug captured between his hands and squinted off into the distance. “Your flight home isn’t for another week, right? So you should stay and hang out. Maybe you’ll fall in love with the town for reasons other than a guy. And who knows, you just might make new friends and find your own place to stay.”

  “Yeah…I don’t know about all that.”

  “Oh, and Mercy?” Without turning much, he caught me out of the corner of his eye. “When I said here, I meant my house. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

  Brogan may have returned his attention to the sunrise, but I couldn’t take mine off his face. I’d tried to admire him last night while we ate, but I didn’t want him to catch me staring, so I’d only been able to steal glimpses. And nothing came as close to painting the full picture as the sight of him while he squinted into the sun. I may have only been able to see his left side, but there was more to view on half his body than on any man twice his size.

  A thin, silver hoop wrapped around the edge of his nostril, so small the light barely reflected off it. Aside from a small disc that held the place of a traditional ear piercing, he had three silver balls in his ear—one on the front flap, one above that in the cartilage, and one on the inside; however, I didn’t know the technical names of any of them. And as I’d suspected last night on the sidewalk, ink littered every inch of skin, all the way around his neck, behind his ear, and into his hairline. Never in my life had I found this sort of thing a turn-on, yet regarding him now, I had no doubt I’d have to change my panties.

  “You trying to figure out if you should trust me?” He swung his head to the side to face me without moving his stance against the railing. “I get it. I have tattoos and piercings—some you haven’t even seen yet,” he added with a wink.

  I shifted on my feet in a desperate attempt to clench my thighs together without him noticing. The heat between my legs was more than I’d ever experienced. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it, Mercy?”

  “I know nothing about you.”

  He hesitated for a moment, and then asked, “Do you want to know about me?”

  That question didn’t require any time to formulate an answer. “Yes.”

  “Then, by all means, babe, go get dressed. We can get to know each other over breakfast.” He swatted my ass playfully and stalked inside, leaving me on the deck to stare at his backside as he walked away.

  And oh, dear God, what a backside it was.

  “Ask me anything.” Brogan sat confidently across the table with a wicked smirk on his face. He’d been cheerful since leaving me behind on the patio this morning, even though he hadn’t said much. It was more his demeanor that seemed light and happy.

  I wanted to learn all there was to know about him; albeit, I would rather have done so at his house, not at a four-person table in some small mom-and-pop restaurant. The tables were so close together, I worried someone would overhear. I imagined this was what speed dating was like.

  “I can ask anything? And you’ll give me the truth?” I doubted that. No one was that honest.

  He shrugged, yet when he spoke, he never broke eye contact. “Why not? If it’s something I don’t want to answer, I’ll tell you that. I’ve never understood some people’s motivation to deceive. If you did something, own it. No need to lie about it. If you didn’t want the backlash, you never should’ve done it to begin with. Am I right?”

  I wasn’t sure I necessarily agreed with him, but that would have to be a discussion for another time. “Okay, so…what’s your last name?”

  “Daniels.” He stared at me for a moment, as if expecting me to say something, and when I didn’t, he leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “But everyone calls me Wrong.”

  Well, that certainly grabbed my attention. “Why?”

  “From the stories my Nonna told, my mom used to tell me I was wrong all the time. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t remember. It could’ve been any number of reasons. Anyway, when I was about three, I was at church with Nonna, and someone asked me what my name was. I told them it was Wrong. It kind of followed me through life after that.”

  When his eyes dropped to my mouth, I realized I was toying with my bottom lip between my teeth and stopped. “Interesting story, except I don’t understand how that’s a nickname anyone would want to have.�
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  “It is what it is. I guess it’s fit through every stage of my life, so it stuck around.”

  I wanted to know what he meant, but I decided to move along. Otherwise, we’d spend all of breakfast discussing his nickname and the many reasons “wrong” fit him. I wasn’t sure I was ready to handle that quite yet. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a tattoo artist. Own my own shop.” Again, he regarded me, seemingly expecting some sort of reaction.

  And again, I didn’t give it to him. “Well, that certainly explains the ink,” I said with a soft giggle, which brought a smile to his face. “How long have you done that?”

  “Since I was sixteen—not on a real person until I was eighteen. My uncle was a tattoo artist. He saw something in me when I was young, so as soon as I was old enough to apprentice, he had me in his garage, learning the ropes. I started working in his shop the day I turned eighteen, and then I took over the business at twenty-five.”

  I fought against the urge to ooh and ahh. “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-nine. Damn, Mercy…you’re asking all the hard ones,” he teased.

  I decided to teach him not to complain. “When did you get married?”

  There was a split second that I worried he’d veto this question—hesitation clouded his gaze and he lowered his eyes. But instead, he ran his hand down his face and slouched in his seat. “I married my high school sweetheart when I was your age. Nonna was sick, and I wanted her to be at my wedding, so Jessica and I had a small, private ceremony with our closest friends and family.” His shoulders jumped with the slight laughter that rumbled through his chest. “It was mostly her family, since I didn’t have many relatives left aside from Nonna, my Uncle Jerry, and a cousin.”

  Unsure which direction to go in, I went with the first question that came to mind and made a mental note not to forget the others. “You said last night that you’re not married anymore. What happened?”

  “Same shit that always happens; am I right? I found out she was talking to some guy behind my back. Some chump I didn’t even know. But get this…the prick knew about me. He knew who I was, and he still had the fucking balls to creep up on my wife.” He dropped his chin and mumbled, “Bastard.”

  That sounded fresh, and it almost made me change the subject, except curiosity urged me on. If he didn’t want to answer, that was all he had to say. There was no reason to turn around until the tour guide said so. “How long were you married?”

  “Four years.” Sorrow flickered in his eyes, which created an ache in my chest I couldn’t explain. We’d only just met, so there was no reason for such intense empathy, yet there I was, in pain as if I’d lived through it all with him.

  Doing the math in my head, I asked, “So you’ve been single for the last two years?” Unfortunately, all I got in return was a chirped “Yup” and a short nod. If the waitress hadn’t sidled up next to our table with a tray of food, I would’ve pressed for more, but I had to take that as a sign to quit while I was ahead.

  While we ate, we exchanged surface-level questions and easy banter. It was nice and relaxing, not at all awkward like I’d expected. Then again, there was something about Brogan that set me at ease. There was also something about him that spiked my blood pressure and soaked my panties, but that could’ve been chalked up to his physical appearance and sex-laced voice.

  It wasn’t until we got back into his Jeep that we resumed our conversation. Before backing out of the parking space, he turned in his seat to face me. “Where to, babe? My house? Or are we only making a pit-stop there to grab your suitcase?”

  If I’d thought my name on his lips was orgasmic, it didn’t come close to the arousal-inducing way he called me babe. Granted, there was a very high chance that he called all women that to keep from using the wrong name, but I didn’t give a shit. He could’ve used whatever term of endearment he wanted. Which should’ve been my first sign to run far away.

  Unfortunately, I was too lost in the land of lust to see such a sign.

  “Your house…for now.” I smiled and then prayed it was sexy rather than pathetic. “I still have more questions for you, Brogan Daniels.”

  He shifted the Wrangler into reverse and revved the engine while wagging his brows at me. With an effortless laugh, he backed out and headed toward the main road. “Ask away, Mercy. Because once we get home, it’s my turn.”

  We weren’t far from the house, which was out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, so I didn’t waste a single second before diving in. “You said you didn’t have much family when you got married. What happened to your parents?”

  “Dad overdosed on heroin when I was four, and my mom killed herself shortly after. I was raised by my Nonna—my mom’s mom—which was why having her at my wedding was so important. She passed away less than three months after I got married.”

  “What about your uncle and cousin? Are they still alive?”

  “Yeah.” He had to raise his voice so I could hear him over the wind whipping in through the open windows. “My uncle’s a long-distance truck driver, so he’s never around, always on the road. And my cousin’s currently in jail for the third or fourth time—I can’t keep up. But I’m pretty sure he won’t make it out again. I think this one’s sticking.”

  “Oh my God.” I covered my mouth, hoping he hadn’t confused my shock for judgment. “What’d he do?”

  “Fucked a minor. Dumbass thought she was eighteen. She wasn’t. Turns out, she was only fifteen, and the house he thought was hers was actually her parents’. And the best part is…the bed he fucked her on, the one he thought was in her room was actually—”

  “Her parents’ bed.”

  Brogan peered at me out of the corner of his eye with a smile snaking across his lips. “Bingo. They came home and caught them, called the police, and that was all she wrote. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from that tree. The whole reason I got Uncle Jerry’s shop was that he was caught inking pretty girls in short skirts…who were not of age to get a tattoo. They shut him down real quick. Truthfully, he’s lucky that’s all he got nailed for. Had they found out about the blowjobs he took as payment, he’d probably be sharing a cell with his son.”

  Pulling up to Brogan’s house during the day offered a much better view than I’d had last night in the pitch black and drunk. It was built into the crest of a large hill—which made the hill seem more like a mountain. The narrow driveway was easy to miss if you didn’t know to look between the bushes, and without turning off the main road, you’d never see the house at all. In fact, only the roof was visible until you wound down a long, steep drive, paved with asphalt and lined with large rocks.

  He either enjoyed his privacy, or I should’ve taken his family history lesson as a warning.

  “Any other tough questions before we head inside?” He parked in the garage and turned to me with his hand on the key, as if waiting for my answer before shutting off the ignition. “Because once we go through that door, you’re in the hot seat.”

  “Are you a criminal?” My heart pounded too heavily for me to regret voicing that concern.

  With an impish grin, he shook his head. “No. I’ve never been arrested, nor have I ever committed a crime. And before you ask, I don’t do drugs. Never even smoked pot. Hand to God. You can’t possibly watch your dad choke to death on his own vomit and want to touch that shit—or any drug, for that matter.”

  “Were you there when it happened?”

  His hand fell away from the key, as though he didn’t have any strength left to hold on to it. And then he collapsed into his seat with dead weight. “Yeah. I have no idea where my mom was, but she wasn’t home.” As he spoke, he stared straight ahead, and I wondered what his mind’s eye saw. “I was young, so I didn’t fully understand what was going on. But the bits and pieces of that day that I do remember stuck with me and were always enough to ensure I never got around that shit.”

  “That’s awful,” I whispered, wishing like hell I
could do something to wipe those memories from his mind. It was impossible, but that didn’t mean I didn’t wish I could all the same.

  “Not as awful as finding my mom in the bathtub a month later. Now…that I do remember. In vivid detail. I saw a lot of therapists when I was younger, and they all believed that my mom’s death was clearer than my dad’s because I wasn’t aware my dad had died when it happened. I don’t know what I thought because, as I said, I was too young.”

  Instinctually, I reached over and placed my hand on his, which pulled his attention from the windshield to his thigh. His breathing slowed when he laced his fingers with mine, yet mine sped up—as did my heart.

  However, our clasped hands didn’t stop him from continuing. “If I think about it, I can recall the gurgling sound in the back of his throat, the color of his lips, and the officer who showed up. They’re short clips that play in my mind like a flipbook. But with my mom… There was blood from her wrists everywhere. It didn’t matter that I was only four. I was fully aware of what had taken place in the bathroom that day.”

  “It’s my turn.” I barely got that out, as if the emotions I’d felt after listening to his account of finding both parents dead one month apart from each other had become tar in my throat, causing my sentiment to become stuck on the way out.

  Bewildered eyes met mine in the dim garage. “What do you mean?”

  I nudged my chin toward the door at the top of the steps that led into the house. “It’s my turn to be in the hot seat. Come on. You’re wasting time, and if I decide to stay here, I plan to take full advantage of your pool.”

  4

  Brogan

  Mercy rested the back of her head along the edge of the pool, the water hiding the parts of her I craved to see. The subtle curve of her hips and smooth skin along her inner thighs. Granted, the best parts were still covered by a yellow bikini that left more to the imagination than I would’ve wanted. Regardless, the soft swell of her breasts that bobbed to the surface every now and then left me drooling and dangerously close to pitching a tent in my board shorts.