24. Grave Mistake
Chapter twenty-four
Grave Mistake
Haze
T he basketballs stop me cold. Every year, without fail, I find one here. My family denies bringing them, but they appear like clockwork. Now there are two…one in our team colors, covered in fresh signatures from the Commanders. My fingers trace over the scrawled names, my vision blurring.
A soft sniffle cuts through the drumming rain. I step around Jake's monument and freeze.
There she is—Anise from Behind the Lens, huddled against the marble base with her knees drawn up. But this isn't the seductive temptress who haunts my late-night sessions. This is someone else entirely. Her silver hair is plastered to her head, almost transparent in the downpour. Makeup runs in dark tracks down her cheeks, mixing with tears and rain.
And suddenly, I'm thrown back to that awful day. She sat in the front row at the funeral, spine rigid as steel, violet eyes fixed unseeing on Jake's casket. I remember thinking how young she looked, how small and broken. The same devastating grief that hollowed me out was etched into every line of her body.
Albany. Jake's Albany. The girl who made my son's eyes light up whenever she walked into a room. The one he swore he was going to marry someday.
My chest constricts painfully as the memories flood back. Jake talking non-stop about taking Albany to prom. The way he'd practice his basketball moves for hours, determined to impress her. How she'd show up to every single one of his games, cheering louder than anyone else in the stands.
The basketballs. All these years, she's been the one leaving them. Honoring my son's dreams when I was too lost in my own grief to even try.
Anise is Albany.
The memories hit me like a physical blow. While I've been fantasizing about her online persona, she's been here grieving my son. Grieving the future that was stolen from all of us.
My fingers clench into fists as rage and confusion battle inside me. How dare she be here. How dare she sit against my son's grave as if she belongs. The storm overhead cracks, sending sheets of rain cascading down the marble.
"What in the fuck are you doing crying behind my son's grave?" The words rip from my throat, harsh and raw.
Albany is Anise.
She lifts her head slowly, rain streaming down her face, mixing with tears she doesn't try to hide. Those haunting violet eyes lock onto mine. There is no way I can deny or justify or reason away my conclusion. Anise is Albany, my dead son’s girlfriend. Albany is Anise, the mesmerizing cam girl I’m losing my lover to.
"I'm exactly where I belong, Mr. Harmon." Her voice is steady, defiant despite the tremor I can see in her hands. "I've been coming here every year on this day since Jake died. Since I lost my first love, my best friend, and the future we'd planned together."
My mouth opens and closes, but no words emerge. Defiantly, she swipes a dripping wet lock of hair off her face and pushes to her feet. My eyes skate down from the lock of hair tucked behind her ear to the sodden clothes clinging to her slight frame as she faces me fully.
"You're not the only one who lost someone that day," she continues, chin lifted in a challenge. "And you don't get to dictate who mourns them now."
I stare at her, my emotions spiraling out of control. This woman—this girl who loved my son, the woman I've been watching perform online acts that make me burn—stands before me radiating both strength and vulnerability. My hand shoots out before I can stop myself, fingers wrapping around her arm as I yank her against my chest.
The rational part of my brain screams at me to stop, but I can't. I pull her against my chest, feeling her rain-soaked body tremble against mine. And then I'm kissing her, pouring seven years of grief and rage and forbidden desire into the press of my lips against hers. I clutch her arms, my iron grip inescapable. Rain pelts both of our faces as violently as the kiss. Mouths clashing, I kiss her until she's breathless. And then she begins to pummel my sides, her hands balled up into fists. She fights against me, her struggle only fueling the fire within me. I tighten my grip, my fingers digging into her flesh as I deepen the kiss, forcing her to take more of me.
She bites down on my lip, the pain sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I growl into her mouth, my hands sliding down to grip her ass, pulling her flush against me. Her fists continue to pound against my sides, her nails digging into my skin through the soaked fabric of my shirt.
The rain pours down on us, drowning out the sounds of our struggle, but I can feel her every movement, her every breath. Her body trembles against mine, her hips grinding against me in a desperate, feral dance. I can taste the salt of her tears, her anguish, her loss, and her pain mixed with the rain.
I break the kiss only to trail my lips down her neck, biting and sucking at her flesh. She cries out, her head falling back, exposing more of her delicate skin to my assault. Her fists continue to beat against me, but her struggles are weakening, her body melting into mine.
I lift her off the ground, her legs wrapping around my waist instinctively. I spin us around, pressing her back against the cold, wet marble of the monument. She gasps, her eyes flying open to meet mine, her violet irises dark with desire and anger.
I want to hurt her. I want to make her insides bleed like mine have never stopped. I want to claw into the center of her and unbury her secrets. How did she move on? How did she rise out of the ashes of her grief and turn herself into this magical creature I hate so much and still can't take my hands off? I want to bury myself inside of her more than I want to take my next breath.
I rip her shirt off, freeing her tits. I bite and suck my way down her neck, over her breasts, while yanking her skirt up over her waist. She fumbles at my pants.
"You want this, don't you?" I growl, my voice raw with anger and desire. "You want me to fuck you right here against my son's grave?"
She gasps, her eyes widening, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she reaches up, her fingers digging into my hair as she pulls my mouth back to hers. Her kiss is fierce, desperate, matching the wild storm inside me. Her hips grind hard and shamelessly against me, greedily demanding what I've offered.
"Yes," she hisses against my lips. "Yes, I want you to fuck me. If you can."
Her words are like a match to gasoline. I tear at her panties, the sound of ripping fabric lost in the pounding rain. My hands regrip her thighs, lifting her, spreading her wide as I press her back against the cold marble and shift my weight back to create space for her to undo my pants.
She grunts in frustration as she fumbles between our bodies, her eyes locked defiantly on mine. She’s as pissed off as I am. I can see the incandescent anger twisting and folding, turning her eyes twilight, clouded with smokey lust she wants to deny.
My cock springs free, smacking the center of her pussy. She slaps me across the face, baring her teeth. My lips peel back over my teeth in a hateful grin.
"This nasty little piece of work is what my son brought home?" I grunt, slamming inside of her with a harsh, brutal thrust that makes her scream. Her body arches against mine, her nails raking down my back. I fuck her hard, fast, each thrust a punishment, a claim.
"Is this what you wanted?" I snarl, my breath ragged. "To be fucked against my son's grave? To be used like a whore?"
She meets my thrusts, her hips bucking against mine, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. "Yes," she cries out. "Yes, Haze. Use me. Fuck me. Take it all out on me. I can take it."
Her words push me over the edge. I pound into her, my body shaking with the force of my need as I suck and then bite her shoulder. She glows, and some heady, delectable scent steams off her skin as we’re needled with cold driving rain. She yanks on my hair, dragging my head back, lifting my face from her shoulder, and slaps me again, hard and bruising across the cheek. I grin savagely at her, and her lips peel back from her teeth as she mocks me. She’s savage, a tiny, gorgeous, wanton little monster, and the need to possess her is stronger than the will to draw my next breath.
Her ass squelches into the water streaming down the marble as I pound her into the stone. The ground is steaming, creating a shroud around us. Like a veil that hides us from both the living and the dead, the condensation promises a bubble in time that won’t extend to either of our memories tomorrow.
But this isn’t some secret moment in time we’ve earned. This is stolen. Dirty. Neither of us deserves to be baptized here, at my son’s grave, with Heaven’s tears. I swing her away from the marble and lower her to the ground and into the mud. I’ll fuck her in the dirt, where we both belong. My feet slip at the last moment, and I land on top of her. She grunts.
I don't say shit. Don't offer her an apology. I don't care if I broke her ribs. How could she? She had my son, and now she's taking my lover. And I still want her. I'm still driving my cock in her tight, sweet cunt like I own it. I can't keep my mouth off her skin, glowing like a mother of pearl even in the absence of the sun.
My fingers grab her dripping strands of silver hair and pull with each slam of my hips against hers. My skin smacks against her, the sound of our wet flesh slapping together primal and filthy.
Oh God, my cock is gonna burst. I'm so fucking hard it hurts. She smells so fucking good I can't stop biting and sucking at her delicate skin. She tastes of forbidden fruit. I swear I can taste cocoa lingering down her neck, as if Sal had already marked her.
Her nails rake across my back as I hunch and roll, driving her into grass and mud, mindlessly fucking and rutting like a pig. Until I become frustrated with chasing her across slick ground. I slide one hand down her thigh and hook my hand under her knee, dragging her leg up, thrusting deeper inside of her.
She reaches between us. I shiver, not from the rain, but from the thought of the last time I saw her sharp-tipped nails split her pussy lips wide so she could touch herself. All I want is to deny her. I stop thrusting and grind into her as she tightens around me, her body convulsing as she comes, her screams lost in the storm.
I follow her over the edge, my release spiraling through me, exploding inside of her.
And then she runs her fingers through my hair tenderly before rotating her ghostly little wrist, drawing the back of her fingers down the stubble on my cheek. I push up abruptly to my knees and survey the damage. She gasps, greedily taking the full breath my weight denied her. Her neck and chest are covered in angry red patches. I've left teeth marks on her.
Bite and suck marks Sal is going to see. I don't think of my dead wife once as nausea fills my gut.
This will push Sal permanently out of my life. Fuck. What have I done? She didn't know. She's done nothing to deserve this. The sight of her lying on the ground, her red, bitten-up chest still heaving, with her thighs spattered in grass and mud, breaks me.
I pull up my sodden pants. "Haze," she entreats, pleading. "Don't leave me here. Not like this." She reaches out for me.
But I can't touch her. I'm cursed. I destroy everything good that touches me. I'm the Midas of rot.
I turn and leave her naked on the ground in a puddle of torn clothing and walk away.