Dear John (Aqua Vista #2)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Micah

Eight years ago

“Will you help me clean out the space tomorrow?”

With his parents’ help, John has just purchased a building to open a bar in town. I’m jealous that his dream is being realized while mine’s stagnating. Still, I would never deny him.

“Of course I will.” We kiss lazily. “Don’t have to ask twice.”

“Thanks, babe.” We’re lying in bed, well after midnight, neither of us able to sleep. Mr. and Mrs. McCoy retired an hour ago, and the house is quiet.

I reach for him, wanting to feel the weight of his body, his pulse throbbing against mine. Dipping my tongue past his lips, I deepen the kiss, my fingers winding in his unruly hair and holding him against my mouth. Right where I’ve always needed him.

My fingers delicately skim down his back and over his waist as he leaks across my stomach. I reach for his ass cheeks, grasping handfuls of plump, smooth skin as I split them open and my finger teases his hole.

He gasps, squirming atop me. “Want you to fuck me tonight, Mic?—”

“Yeah?” Normally, he enjoys pounding me good.

“Need to feel you inside me.” He ruts against my groin, our dicks slotting together as our gazes clash and hold. And fuck if right now I don’t need that too.

He rolls off me to reach for the lube from our bedside table. We’re married but still living in his parents’ basement until we find a place of our own. They’ve been super accommodating, and I feel more part of his family than my own.

John’s uncle Chuck, a part-time Realtor, is keeping an eye out for us, but this town is so small, with generations of families and their roots, and houses can be hard to come by. I push away that familiar, stifling feeling of being under our families’ thumbs. For me, it’s only my grandfather, and I suppose we could’ve lived with him, but his house is secluded in the foothills, and I already feel like I’m suffocating in this place.

When John lies back down, I slide behind him under the sheets, wrapping my arm around his chest, my cock prodding his crease. Feeling his warm, naked skin against me only makes my dick harder.

“You feel so damn good,” I murmur against his neck.

He hands me the lube so I can slick my fingers and coat my cock. The room is dark and quiet, and we’ve had each other so many times that I can do this part in my sleep.

Gasping, John angles his neck to find my lips as he pushes his ass against my hand.

I chuckle. “I’m getting there.” Finding his hole, I thrust one, then two fingers inside as I suck at the muscle between his shoulder and neck, a spot that makes him squirm.

“Ah hell, right there,” he says, fucking himself on my fingers, and I curve one of them to find his prostate, which makes him groan and shudder.

“God, you’re sexy like this.” As I remove my fingers, he whines his objection, but soon enough, I’m helping him shift his knee toward his chest. I grip his thigh as I press my shaft against his hole, poking inside before pulling out, allowing him time to adjust. His hand covers mine, and as he tangles our fingers together, my heart stumbles over the gesture. We hold hands all the time, but somehow now, in this moment, it makes us feel more connected.

As my cock slips back inside him, this time more deeply, I inhale sharply from the sensation of being able to take him bare, with nothing but love between us. Always do.

My pulse is throbbing against his back as I pause, overwhelmed by finally being fully seated inside his heat.

“Fuck, that’s—” John arches his back, I can feel the sweat against his nape, his fingers trembling as he clutches my hand. Our bodies are as bonded as our hearts, and in these precious moments, all my worries melt away.

Unclasping our hands, I reach for his cock and swipe at the precome to slick the way. He moans and rocks against me as small licks of tingling heat at my groin fuel my thrusts. It’s impossible at this angle to take him like I want and pound him into the mattress. But that urge is warring with the need to draw this out and feel everything with him, every breath and shiver and gasp. The need to sear this into my memory like a snapshot in time. A time when I felt the happiest.

But it proves difficult with John so goddamn tight and warm, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, even though he’s the only guy I’ve been with. Still, it’s as if he’s made for me, and I can’t help wondering if all my heartache, all my father’s abuse and bullshit decisions, have led me to this moment, where it’s only J and me, as flawlessly and perfectly in-tune as we are helplessly in love.

It’s the reason I jumped at the chance to marry him, even if it was spur-of-the-moment on our trip to Vegas over a year ago now. But the moment was perfect, and we wanted it to only be us. Our families were shocked—likely because they consider us young, which I think is a bunch of bullshit—but also bummed they weren’t part of it. I just turned twenty-one this past summer, and John is a few months older. We’re plenty mature enough to know what we want. Each other. Always. I knew the minute I laid eyes on him at Sunrise Bay High.

An overwhelming melancholy swells inside me, and I blink back the stinging of tears behind my eyes. I press my mouth to his ear. “I love you so fucking much.”

He turns and kisses me sloppily. “I love you too.”

We confess our devotion every day, but right this moment, it feels necessary. He needs to know how much he means to me. How much he always will. Even if I’m not always content in this small coastal town with its quirks and limited opportunities for someone like me.

“I need you to fuck me hard,” he pleads in a husky voice that makes heat surge in my groin.

“Then I need to see you.” He protests when I pull out, throw back the sheet, and help him adjust to his back.

“Need you, Mic…” He sighs as I lean down and take his mouth in a breathless kiss, our tongues tangling, his hands gripping my hips. He hikes his knees to his shoulders, his eyes soft, trusting, adoring. Fuck, do I love him.

I line up my cock and surge back inside, making us both gasp.

“Holy fuck,” I groan, my pace intensifying, our flesh slapping together, echoing in the room. I vaguely wonder if anyone can hear us but decide I don’t care.

His pleading turns hoarse as his fingers tighten around his cock and he strokes in earnest. I greedily watch his pink hole stretch around my shaft until he cries out, jets of come spurting across his stomach. His hole constricts almost painfully tight around my cock, and there’s no way I can hold back any longer. Light dances before my eyes, obscuring my gaze as I careen over the mountaintop as well.

Collapsing on top of him, I gasp into his neck, my cock throbbing, my body quivering. I feather kisses along his throat and ear and jaw, all while murmuring his name. John. J. Baby. Beautiful. He never felt like a Johnny to me, and he secretly likes that I call him something different from everyone else in his life.

Our limbs tangled together, we lie there all sweaty, with come drying between us, as we pant and recoup our breaths.

My cock softens, and once I pull out of him, I grip the sheet and fling it back over us. He drags me tightly against him, spooning me, and I feel cocooned again in the safety net of his arms. Our puffs of breaths seem loud against the stillness of the night, and too soon, that same melancholy returns to replace the euphoria of my release.

I wish we could stay like this, in the safe harbor of our love, and drown out any unsettling feelings I have about my future. They have nothing to do with him. It’s my burden to bear.

As if reading my thoughts, he murmurs, “I think you should do it.”

My head snaps up. “Do what?”

“Leave this town.”

A gasp escapes me, but then I puzzle over the statement.

“I am leaving, J. I signed up for that weekend theater workshop in Palo Alto, remember?”

I discovered my love for theater in high school drama club, but there are zero options to study anything further in Aqua Vista. So, I’ve found more local classes over the past three years, in and around the area, to whet my appetite. Movies kept me sane during my tumultuous childhood with my father—it was easy to turn up the volume and tune out his angry, drunk ranting—and my interest only grew by being involved in productions.

John grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’m talking about LA.”

“Depending on traffic, LA can take me seven or eight hours by car. I can’t do that in a weekend. Not easily, at least.”

“Then find an apartment and sign up for a class. Find an agent. Go to auditions.”

My gut churns, but my heart soars, making me feel dizzy and disconcerted. “What the hell are you saying?”

“It’s time. You’re slowly dying in this town.”

“No, I’m not.” I repeat the lie, but I don’t think my voice conveys it. Not to him. “Are you implying we should’ve never gotten married?”

“Marrying you was the absolute highlight of my life.” He pecks my lips. “I’m opening a bar, living my dream. Yours is in a city like LA.”

It’s one of the reasons I kept my name. Even if it was a pipe dream.

“I can’t just…” My breathing escalates. “Not unless you come with me.”

“No way I can run a bar in such an expensive town, not the way I want, and you know that. Besides, the ink on the sale has already dried. What would my parents say if I suddenly changed my mind?”

My shoulders slump even as the embers of a fire start burning inside me.

He tightens his hold on me as if I’m his anchor. But the words he utters next don’t match. “It’s time for you to live your dream. See if it’s everything you imagined.”

My stomach bottoms out. “What about you?”

“I’ll be right here whenever you come back—if you come back.”

“Of course I’ll come back!” I slam my mouth shut, unable to hold back my momentary enthusiasm.

He chuckles. “See? You want it bad, and that’s okay. I am not going to be the one to hold you back.”

“You haven’t. You’ve been amazing.” My eyes burn with unshed tears. “I don’t want?—”

“I know, but it’ll be okay.” He squeezes my hand. “I grew up in Aqua Vista, my family lives here, and my parents just helped me buy a bar. You love theater, and the only other time I saw that spark in your eye was on your grandfather’s boat.”

My saliva turns to sawdust. “Yeah, and we know how that turned out.”

After social services placed me with my grandpa in Aqua Vista, he taught me how to fish. I loved sitting on the pier with my rod or going out on his boat in the early morning hours. But I ruined all that, along with his trust in me. The truth is, I think he’s glad I left to be with John after graduation. Same way my dad was glad to be rid of me. The only one who’s wanted me—truly wanted me—is John.

So how can I leave this place without him? I grip my stomach, feeling nauseous.

“You’re my husband. What will your family think?”

“Don’t worry what anybody says about shit.” If anything, his sister, June, would sympathize, but his brother, Jack, would give us shit. I love them both, his parents too, but I feel especially close to his mom. “Every relationship is different, and it’s nobody’s business what’s happening in ours.”

I swallow thickly. “It’ll be lonely without you.”

“I know, baby. But you have to go. It’s way worse watching you wither away.”

Suppose I never considered that made it painful for John too. “You sure you won’t come with me?”

“I wouldn’t be any happier there than you are here.” He sighs. “You’ll always wonder if you don’t try, and I can’t live with that.”

“I don’t think I can live with leaving you.”

“You’re not leaving. I’m asking you to go follow your dreams.”

Fear swells inside me. “You sure you’re not just trying to get rid of me?”

“Never.” He pulls me flush against him, and when I feel him tremble, I curse myself for hurting him by even considering the request. “I’m setting you free.”

It takes me another four months to finally make the decision to leave Aqua Vista under the guise of taking a class for a semester to gauge how it goes. I even find a room to rent in East Hollywood, and John helps me pay the first month’s rent.

We say our tearful goodbyes this morning before John leaves to open his bar. I’ve helped him get the Witching Hour up and running, and I’m sure it’ll be a success. Not only because John is a hard worker, but his charm and helpful disposition make him a magnet for people in this town. The McCoys have a place here, a history in this town, which is why I know John will never leave. But I do wish he’d begged me to stay. It’s stupid, I know, but he seems so sure of our plan. That we’ll somehow make it despite the distance. That we both need to follow our dreams, or we won’t be happy together.

I pace the length of the basement, reluctance and worry taking up residence inside me. Despite us having a long goodbye and speaking ad nauseam about our plan, there’s so much more I need to say.

I pull a notepad and pen from a drawer in the kitchen, thankful I won’t have any more awkward send-offs with his parents either. I sit and embrace the stillness of the empty house before I begin to write.

Dear John,

I can’t believe I’m writing this goodbye letter. I admit I’d hoped marrying you would magically squash that voice inside me and make all my problems go away.

I love you so fucking much. You are my person. You will always be my person. From the moment we met, I was sure of you.

So sure of you that I jumped at the chance to marry you, even on a whim. So sure of you that I desperately hope this is only a blip on the radar of our lives. That we’ll still be together once I figure out what the fuck I’m doing and become a better version of myself.

You will always be my center, my steady and safe dock when I become unmoored and spin away. I want to—have to—believe we’ll always accept each other’s imperfections and mistakes. That we’ll still grow together and love each other unconditionally. Patiently. Helplessly.

That you’ll still love me on our hardest days and in our tougher years. Because I know this is not going to be easy—for either of us.

Yours forever,

Micah