Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
RAINE
“ S hit,” I seethe. “Are you okay?”
Griffin and Reeves carry a semi-conscious Everett through the cabin’s front door and set him on the couch. Reeves had the decency to call me a few minutes ago, warning me they were coming and to not freak out. However, considering the circumstances, it’s a hell of a lot easier said than done.
“Got any ice?” Griffin asks.
I rush toward the freezer and snatch a bag of peas out, handing it to him. Griffin passes it off to Everett, and he presses the frozen ice pack to the back of his head, which is saying something, considering the damage to his face.
“What happened?” I ask.
“You can thank your ex for this,” Everett divulges, confirming my suspicion.
My lips thin as I take in the bloody mess in front of me. This wasn’t a simple sucker punch. He looks like he was hit by a truck. Like he had the absolute shit kicked out of him. What if this ruins his NHL career? What if they did permanent damage, and he’ll never skate again? The thought alone makes my knees almost give out, and I grasp the edge of the kitchen island to keep from crumbling to the floor. I’d never forgive myself. I still might never forgive myself. Not for this.
Holding his side, Everett lets out a slow breath, his expression pinched, and eases a little more into the cushions as if there’s any possibility of him being able to get comfortable after the hellish ordeal he’s been through.
“Ev didn’t want me to call his parents,” Griffin tells me. “So I made up a bullshit lie about concussions on the ice and asked his dad what to look for.” He stares at his best friend, then adds, “Don’t let him sleep longer than an hour.”
An hour? I look at Everett’s best friends standing in the kitchen and shake my head. “What?”
“Ev went to Cedar Springs to pick some stuff up,” Reeves explains, setting a brown box on the kitchen table. And just like that, the pieces click into place. Everett went to Cedar Springs, and Drake saw him. I knew he’d watch Eternal’s entrance in case I came back, but I had no idea he’d do something like this.
Touching my fingers to my barely parted lips, I whisper, “I’m so sorry. Seriously, I…I don’t know what else to say.”
“It’s fine,” Everett grumbles.
“Yeah, but it isn’t.”
“You’re right.” His forehead scrunches, and he lets out a slow breath. “It isn’t, but it’s not on you.”
My bottom lip quivers before I suck it into my mouth and bite down. Hard. Praying the sting of pain will keep my guilt and tears at bay. At least until Everett’s friends leave. Because he can say what he wants, but the truth is, this is on me. If he didn’t know me, if Drake didn’t know him, this never would’ve happened. It’s all my fault. I squeeze my hands into fists, letting my nails bite into my palms as I stare at the mottled purple along Everett’s cheekbone. How can he still look handsome like this? All bruised and broken. I can only imagine what’s hidden beneath his blood-soaked T-shirt. I can tell the guys tried cleaning him up before they brought him in. There isn’t any dried blood beneath his nose, but his shirt? There was only so much they could do. It doesn’t take a genius to see the aftermath and piece together what happened and all he went through.
And it’s all. My. Fault.
“You guys can go,” Everett says without taking his eyes off me. “Thanks again for your help.”
“Sure thing, man,” Griffin says. “If you need anything else, give me a call.” He heads back to the front door, and Reeves follows behind, not saying a word.
The sound of the latch clicking into place reverberates throughout the otherwise silent house as I turn back to a bruised and broken Everett.
“Talk to me, Storm,” he rasps.
“W-what happened?”
“Drake and a few of his buddies jumped me outside the gas station.”
My expression falls even more. “Ev…”
“Said I was in their territory.” He scoffs, then winces. “What kind of fuckin’ life is this? I feel like I entered some alternate universe or some shit. Like I’m in a gang or…” He scrubs the hand not holding the bag of peas to the back of his head from his forehead to chin, wincing even more as he drops his hand to his lap. “What the fuck, Raine? I didn’t sign up for this. This isn’t… This isn’t my life.”
The words hang in the air. Heavy. Loaded. Because he’s right. This isn’t his life. But it is mine.
Regret and shame battle inside me as I take a small step backward, ignoring the swell of tears in my eyes and letting out a soft exhale. “I’m so sorry, Ev.”
“Shit.” His head hangs. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Doesn’t make it less true,” I reply. “I’m so sorry. ”
“Don’t apologize.”
“How can I not apologize?” I argue. “This is my fault. If you hadn’t gone to pick up my things, this would never have happened. You wouldn’t have had the shit kicked out of you.” I wipe my hand beneath my nose and sit on the cushion beside him. “You’re right, you know? This isn’t your life. But, apparently, it’s mine, and?—”
“Raine.” He reaches for me, but I shake my head and lean away from him. Desperate for the distance. For the fucking clarity to know what to do in this situation when I feel so damn helpless, it’s not even funny.
“Whether we want to admit it or not, whatever’s going on with Drake, he isn’t going to just let me go, and it isn’t fair this happened to you. That he hurt you.” I cover my mouth, nearly choking on a sob. “I’m so sorry, Ev.”
“Raine—”
“I am,” I push, dropping my hand back to my lap. “I’m sorry, and I wish I could take it away, but I can’t.” My voice cracks. “I can’t take it away, and I can’t make Drake go away, no matter what I do, no matter how much I try to avoid him, but it isn't your job to put up with this. To deal with shit like this.” I motion to his broken face. “I’m so sorry.”
I feel like a broken record. Like I can’t stop spewing the same rambling apology. But I don’t know what else to say. How else to fix this. How to make Drake pay for hurting someone I care about while knowing it’s my fault in the first place. “I, uh, I’m gonna need you to do something for me, all right? I need you to break my heart so we can go our separate ways because this? You and me? I can’t let you live like this. I can’t let him hurt you?—”
“Raine,” he snaps.
My bottom lip trembles, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Self-loathing swamps my every thought. It seeps through the cracks of my defenses, attacking my logic and self-esteem. In a way, it’s comical. This isn’t about me. Yet I can’t help but carry the burden of it. Because if I wasn’t in the picture, this wouldn’t have happened, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it. To take his pain.
Everett’s touch is gentle, making me feel precious as he cups the side of my face and tilts my head up, leaving me no choice but to look at him. Moisture clings to my lashes, but I open my eyes. The same hammer of guilt hits me square in the chest when my gaze connects with his baby blues.
“You’re a storm, Raine. Messy and chaotic and a shit-ton of work, but I’m in, all right? I’m all in.”
He presses his lips to mine, and I meet him halfway, careful not to hurt him or make this worse. The slight tang of blood hits my tongue as he swallows my whimper, his mouth moving with mine in a slow, cautious kiss. And I hate how I’m the one who’s a mess right now. How I’m the one being comforted when he’s the one who went through Hell and back tonight. Shame clogs my throat at the reminder that if I hadn’t told Everett I needed to pick my things up from Eternal, he wouldn’t have gone by himself. If I hadn’t dated Drake in the first place, he wouldn’t have to keep an eye out for any potential run-ins. If I hadn’t approached Reeves, I wouldn’t have met Everett, and he’d be safe. He’d be okay.
“You’re my storm,” he rasps against my swollen lips as if he can read my thoughts. As if he can feel my warring emotions. He shifts closer, kissing me harder and branding me in every way he can. As if he knows what I’m thinking. What I’m feeling. And he wants to take it away. My pain. When I’m the one who’s desperate to make him feel better. To make this right.
“Fuck.” His chuckle is low and throaty as he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine. “I just had the shit kicked out of me, and I still want you.” He opens his eyes and smiles. “Yeah, I’m not letting you go anywhere, Stormie. ”
My chest swells as I press my hand to his, letting the steady rhythm of his heart ground me as I slowly move onto my knees in front of him.
“Raine…”
“You’ve taken care of me since the moment we met, Everett.” I peek up at him and reach for the seam of his jeans. “Let me take care of you for once, will you?”
His blue eyes darken, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he wants to tell me no. My fingers graze him, but I don’t unzip his zipper. Instead, I stay still and study him. The worry lines framing his eyes. The hardness in his jaw. The bruises. The dried blood beneath his nose clinging to his five o’clock shadow. The flare of his nostrils.
“Do you not want me to take care of you?” I whisper.
He pauses, his chest expanding with a deep, forced breath. “Not used to being taken care of,” he grudgingly admits.
It doesn’t surprise me. Everett doesn’t seem like someone who allows people to take care of him. It only feeds my determination.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” I smile, reach for his button, and wait.
When he doesn’t tell me to stop. Doesn’t tell me to take this slow. Doesn’t tell me not to touch him, I continue my path. And I think we both need it. Proof I’m all in, too. Proof I’ll do anything to take his pain away, even if all I can give him is a distraction.
My fingers move deftly, the sound of the zipper ringing throughout the otherwise silent room when I tug the thick metal lower. I used to like giving blow jobs. That probably sounds weird, but it’s true. It made me feel powerful. Wanted. Desirable. Then Drake filmed me, and instead of it being the compliment Drake insisted it was, his actions made me feel used. Dirty. I didn’t like them after that .
A small part of me wonders if I still don’t like them, but it shrinks with every slow drag of the zipper, one small metal tooth unclicking after another. Anticipation mixes with the trepidation swirling through my veins, and I continue my pursuit, curious to see if it’ll stay. The anticipation. Or if it’ll be swallowed whole by my own insecurities and the past refusing to stop haunting me no matter how hard I try to bury it.
What do you taste like, Everett?
I let the question guide my movements as the zipper reaches its end, and his black boxers come into view. The ridge of his cock is outlined by them. They remind me of the ones I borrowed on my first night with him.
I rise onto my knees, blow a kiss through the damp fabric near the head of his cock, and pull him out. The mushroom head tempts me as I drag my thumb along the slit, spreading the precum around the tip as I lift my eyes to his again. I want to watch him. I want to see what I do to him. To see if I can drive him crazy like he’s done to me. Spreading my lips, I taste him, keeping my movements slow as I wrap my mouth around the head of his erection, using my hand to massage the rest of his length.
A groan rumbles from his chest. As he reaches out to hold the side of my face, I wait for fear to replace my curiosity and anticipation, but it doesn’t. No. I only want to make him needier. To steal another groan from him to see if it’s louder than the last. To take him deeper. So I do.
What do I do to you, Everett Taylor?
Running his thumb along my stretched lips, he shakes his head, looking down at me. Not in contempt, but disbelief. Like he’s in awe. Like he can’t believe I’m the one he’s with. The one sucking him off. When I’m the lucky one. The one who can’t believe I’m here. Safe. Appreciated. Cared for.
Pulling away from his cock, I swirl my tongue along the head and catch my breath while trying to keep my potential freak out at bay. I dive back in, bobbing my head up and down over his erection. His hands slip into my hair, push it away from my face, and tug softly against my roots. It spreads tingles along my scalp. They race down my spine, and I press my thighs together. Spreading my hands beneath his shirt, I explore every inch of his body I can get my fingers on, savoring the way his muscles bunch and flex as he fights for control.
“Fuck, Raine,” he pants. “Fuck, just like that.”
I swallow around him, and he drops his head back, staring up at the ceiling.
“You suck me so good, baby. So fucking good.”
I can feel his need. His unsteady breaths.
His hands twist in my hair. My core clenches at the sound of his raspy voice and how it mixes with the wet, rhythmic sound coming from my mouth.
Yup. I’m pretty sure this takes the cake as the most turned-on I’ve ever been while giving a guy a blow job. Honestly, even my aching jaw and sore knees are a turn-on at this point. Because I want it. I want him. To make him unravel. To make him fall apart and come in my mouth. I press my thighs together and cup his balls, rolling them in my hand while hollowing my cheeks.
“Gonna come, baby,” he warns, dropping his hands and threading them together behind his head to keep from holding me against him.
Sucking him deeper, I wait for the familiar spurt to hit the back of my throat. I close my eyes and welcome it. Welcome the closeness. The way he’s so close to coming apart. The tiny grunts. The whispered curses. His dick jerks against my tongue before he explodes in my mouth, and I swallow every drop. Desperate for more. More of him. More of this. This intimacy. This connection. I squeeze my eyes shut, the realization hitting me harder than I expect. I really like this man. I really like what he does to me, and what I clearly do to him.
As he softens in my mouth, I slowly slip off him, running my tongue along the sensitive head to see if I can tease anything else out of the poor guy until he pushes me away with a low chuckle.
“Tryin’ to kill me, Raine?”
I wipe the corner of my mouth with my thumb and hold his gaze. “Maybe.”
Reaching for me, he orders, “Come here.”
When I crawl up his body, he winces, and I freeze, lifting my hand from his sore ribs. “Shit.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Come here, Raine,” he repeats. His tone is gentle. Like a caress. And I’d give anything to wrap myself up in it.
Carefully, I tuck myself against his side and start to rest my head on his chest until he grabs my chin and kisses me, shoving his tongue into my mouth and tasting himself. Tasting what I did to him. If only he knew how mutual the feeling really is. And if he wasn’t jumped earlier tonight, I’d have no issue proving it.
Instead, I slow the kiss and pull away, pressing one softer, more gentle kiss to his lips. “You need to rest.”
“No, I need to get you off.”
“No,” I repeat with a laugh, pressing my hand against his chest as he tries to sit up. “You really need to rest.”
“Not gonna let you swallow my cum without giving you an orgasm, Storm.”
“Are you always this transactional with sex?”
He quirks his brow. “Most girls don’t complain.”
“Not complaining,” I clarify. “But I am going to pass. You need to rest. ”
Grudgingly, he settles back and takes a slow breath, looking down at me and pushing my hair away from my face as he studies me carefully. I wish I knew what he was thinking. If he’s falling the same way I am.
I think he is. I hope he is.
“I’m not going anywhere, Raine,” he promises, and I swear the words are a balm to my soul.
Sucking my lips between my teeth, I bite on the plump flesh and swallow around the lump in my throat. “Good…‘cause neither am I.”