Chapter 26
There’sno good way to start a conversation like this.
That’s why I’d planned on never having this conversation.
But Steven was wrong about what went down with Chris.
Maybe he’s wrong about this, too, though I have no idea how I’ll ever find out for certain. Closed adoptions are private things, and I can’t imagine my mother would have done anything but a closed adoption. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know that she was dumping yet another unwanted kid on her way to her shiny new life.
And Weaver could always just lie, the way he did the first time.
I spin to face him across Elaina’s large open living room, but he’s already closing the distance between us and dragging me into his arms.
His mouth covers mine, crushing my lips with a kiss that steals my breath. And even as I tell myself to push him away, I find my good arm twining around his neck, clinging to him as he grips my ass tight and our tongues stroke and spar.
The chemistry between us is just too intense, and I’ve been craving his touch since the last time he laid his hands on me.
And a part of me knows this might be the last time. Once we talk, we might never be able to touch again. There are things not even I can forgive, breeches of trust that there are no coming back from.
But the weak thing that I am, I need him. At least one more time.
His fingers drive into my hair, sending my ponytail holder flying as he makes a fist there. Then his lips are at my neck, his teeth dragging over the sensitive skin as he whispers, “You’re mine. This is where you belong. With me. Always.”
I shiver, knowing it’s true, but knowing it might also be impossible.
But that doesn’t stop me from dropping my sling to the floor and helping him ease off my sweater and the camisole beneath. And then he’s guiding me to the floor, and his mouth is on my nipples, and I’m begging him never to stop touching me, never to leave me.
“Never,” he promises, ripping my sweatpants down my legs with one hand as he continues to torture my electrified skin with his mouth.
“That’s my girl,” he says, groaning as he slides his hand down the front of my panties. “So wet for me. I love feeling you soaked and ready for me to fuck you, baby. I love it so fucking much.”
I whimper, lifting my hips to welcome the invasion of his thick fingers driving inside me. He hasn’t even touched my clit yet, but I’m already so close it feels like I’m being swept up in a tornado, carried higher and higher into a churning funnel cloud of desire.
And just like with an actual tornado, there’s a serious chance I won’t survive giving myself to this man again.
He’s a danger to my family and possibly the most gifted liar I’ve ever met.
“I love you, Sully,” he says, shoving his own pants and boxer briefs down far enough to bare his erection. I feel his cock feverish against my thigh and fresh heat rushes between my legs. “I’m always going to love you.”
Except that.
Thatisn’t a lie.
That’s the truth, I can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his hand trembles as it smooths down the back of my thigh.
Before I can respond, he shoves my knee up toward my ribs and then he’s inside me, hot and bare, making me gasp as he fills me. I moan at the hint of pain that swiftly transforms to pleasure as he rides me hard, staking his claim in a way he never has before.
This man has spanked me and restrained me and whispered filthy, forbidden things into my ear, but he’s never taken me like this.
Like he can’t get close enough…
Like he’s terrified that this will be the last time, too.
“Mine, you’re mine,” he rasps as he captures my uninjured wrist, pinning it to the hard floor above my head. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Can’t you feel it? This is right, this is what we should be fighting for.”
I arch my back, straining against his hold as much as my injured shoulder will allow, knowing he won’t let me escape. He’ll bruise me first, because he knows this is how I like it. Using every bit of my strength to fight him as he fucks me turns me on like nothing I had the guts to even imagine before Weaver.
He’s changed me, ruined me, liberated me.
He’s an anchor dragging me down to the bottom of the sea and the port in the storm I’ve been aching for my entire life.
He’s my devil and my savior and when he releases my wrist long enough to slap the side of my ass hard enough to send a shock wave through my nervous system, I come like the shameless creature I am.
I come screaming his name and crying out for mercy, but I should know better.
Mercy is in short supply these days.
And Weaver isn’t a man known for sparing anyone—his enemies, his friends, or anything in between.
He proves that by burying himself deep before he comes, pumping me full of that baby-making material he was so damned determined to keep to himself just a few days ago. He pins my hips to the ground, even when I try to wiggle away, forcing me to take every bit of his release, muttering, “Mine, you’re fucking mine,” as his cock continues to jerk deep inside me.
And once again, I’m flooded with shame.
Because I like it, love it. I want him to pin me down and make me take everything he has to give over and over again because he’s that deep under my skin.
So deep I’m doubting everything I’ve ever known and lying in a sobbing heap beneath the man who ruined so many lives.
“Don’t,” he says, brushing my tears tenderly from my face. “Don’t cry, baby. Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean?—”
“Is this what you did to my mother?” I ask, the words out before I can stop them.
His brows shoot up. “What?”
Tears coming faster, I force out, “Did you get her pregnant on purpose? Or was it an accident?”
His face pales as he pulls out and rolls onto his side next to me on the hard floor. “What are you talking about?”
I drag the back of my arm across my face, wincing as I feel his come slipping from between my legs. “Steven heard Aunt Cathy talking to my mom when we were kids. Not long after Mom left town. She was pregnant, and asked Cathy if she knew anyone who might want to adopt a baby. Someone out of town, obviously, since she didn’t want any of the other Sullivans to know. She said she couldn’t leave the baby with Dad because…it wasn’t his. It was yours.”
He scowls and shakes his head. “Jesus. She’s fucking insane.”
I move my arm, peering up at him. His shock looks genuine, but how can I know for sure? My mother was pregnant by someone, and she and my father hadn’t shared a bedroom in a long time at that point. Dad started sleeping on the couch when I was in first grade.
“So, you’re saying she was stepping out on my father with someone other than you?”
“I have no idea,” he says, indignation creeping in to banish the shock on his features. “I barely knew your mother, and I certainly didn’t get her pregnant, Sully. I told you the truth. We kissed a few times, that’s it. It was nothing, especially compared to this.” He curls his hand around my thigh, his fingers digging into my skin. “Like I said, we shouldn’t be fighting each other, we should be fighting for each other.”
I swallow past the knot in my throat. “How can I believe you?” I sit up, looking for my camisole, then decide to forget it and go straight to pulling on my sweater before reaching for my panties and sweatpants.
He huffs as he stands, hitching up his own pants. “How can you not? I’ve never lied to you. Your family are the ones who lie. Your mother and your cousin, Chris, and God knows who else.”
“Chris and I aren’t close, and I know he’s not the best person,” I say as I stand beside him, feeling the need to make that clear. “But Steven, the person who told me all this, is a good guy. And the baby isn’t the only secret he overheard when he was eavesdropping as a kid.”
Weaver crosses his arms, his Ice Prince glare in full effect as he says, “Please, tell me what’s next. I can’t wait to defend myself from more insane gossip spread by a bored old woman and a child.”
“He said…” I pause, not wanting to say the next part aloud. If it’s true, he’s not the person I thought he was. “He said there was a rumor going around town that not long after you beat up my dad, you almost killed a man in New York. With your bare hands. For no reason.”
“There was a reason,” he says, making my stomach twist with dread. “He put his hand up my friend’s skirt.”
I blink, that’s bad, but not self-defense. Or a reason to do what I heard he did. “Okay, but…they said he ended up in the hospital afterward, Weaver. That you beat him so badly that he almost died and your dad had to pay off a bunch of people to keep you from going to prison. They said the guy almost lost an eye and had to drop out of college afterward because he couldn’t play sports anymore.”
As soon as the words are out, I know it’s true.
It’s written right there, in the shame on Weaver’s face.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my hand coming to grip my throat as I shake my head back and forth. “Oh my God, Weaver.”
“I told you there was an incident when I went back to the city.”
“Not an incident where you almost killed someone,” I say, shoving my feet back into my boots. “And not where your father had to bribe people to keep you out of prison. What about all your big talk about consequences? Are those just for other people? But when you destroy someone’s life, it’s okay?”
“I told you. He assaulted my friend. It’s no excuse for what I did, but?—”
“You’re right, it’s not.” I move toward my sling, but Weaver is already there, snatching it off the floor.
“Please,” he says, his eyes pleading with mine. “Let me explain, Sully.”
“Give me my sling.”
“Please, I?—”
“There’s nothing to explain. There’s nothing you can say to make this better. Nothing.”
His throat works. “Then, this is it? It’s over?”
“My sling,” I say, fighting to keep from falling apart. “Please.”
I hold out my hand and he presses the fabric slowly, gently into my palm, practically wrenching my heart from my chest as he says, “All right, but please…get out of this town. For your own sake. And if you ever need anything—money, a reference, an introduction to my gallery owner friend in the city—just ask. I’ll do whatever I can to help. No strings attached.”
Eyes filling with tears, I rasp, “Please, just go.”
“I’m going,” he says, tears in his eyes, too. “I love you, Gertrude Sullivan. And I always will.”
And then he’s gone and I’m dropping back to the floor to sob my heart out.
I cry and cry, open-mouthed, nearly silent sobs that sap what little strength I have left in my body after a restless, painful night of sleep. Then I pull myself together as best I can and clean up the mess Weaver and I made on my friend’s floor. But once I’m done, I can’t seem to move.
I’m still sitting on the hardwood, a pile of used paper towels and a spray cleaner bottle beside me when Elaina appears half an hour later.
I peer up at her, my puffy, aching eyes narrowing in my face. “What are you doing here? Who’s watching the café?”
“No one,” she says. “After Weaver left with tears in his eyes, I kicked everyone out and closed up for the day.”
My jaw drops. “But Sunday is one of your biggest days.”
“I don’t care.”
“There are still a few tourists out. I saw them on my way in.”
“Still, don’t care,” she says, settling beside me and wrapping her arm around my back. “You need some TLC, bestie. So, I’m going to run you a bath, get you some pajamas to borrow, and then we’ll snuggle in my bed and watch Anne of Green Gables and eat chocolate until the pain gets better.”
Tears spring to my eyes again. “I can’t. I have to get back to the hospital to visit Gramps.”
“You’ll call Gramps and tell him you that feel like shit and need to rest, he’ll understand,” she says. “If he could see you right now, he’d insist I take care of you, just like he did when we were kids. We can order pizza too, like at our old sleepovers.”
“I loved sleepovers,” I sob, tears flowing down my face again. “Things were so much easier then. Still hard, but so much easier.”
“I know, honey,” Elaina says, hugging me tighter. “But we’ll make them easy again, just for tonight. Just you and me. I’ve got your back, girl. Forever and ever. Boys will come and go, but I’m yours for life.”
She means it, I know she does. And she’s so precious to me. I’d die for Elaina in a heartbeat, but is our friendship and the love I have for Maya and Sydney and my family enough to live for anymore? Or have I been ruined by the complicated, damaged, dangerous man who just walked out of my life with the sweetest final words any man ever gave a woman?
“I can’t understand it, Elaina,” I say. “How can he make me feel so safe and wonderful and have nearly taken someone’s life with his bare hands, too? I don’t get it. Make it make sense.”
She sighs. “Oh man. Sounds like we need to talk. But first, your bath. I’ll start it now and grab you a coconut water from the fridge. You need to hydrate. You look like you’ve cried out half your soul.”
“Probably more than half,” I mumble, rubbing at my scratchy eyes.
“Come on,” she says, helping me to my feet. “Come on, my battered little squirrel. A soak will help. Then we’ll get you fed and hydrated and when you’re ready, we’ll talk about sexy sad Weaver.”
“He was really sad,” I agree, fighting another wave of tears. “I think he really loved me.”
“No doubt,” Elaina says. “He’s a very smart man and you’re very, very loveable. But shush. No more boy talk until after you get cleaned up and rest a little. A nap would also be good. I love a mid-morning nap. We can turn on my sound machine and snuggle with stuffed animals like when we were kids. I still have a huge stuffy stash in my closet.”
And so, we do. I soak in the bath until my stomach starts to settle, drinking the coconut water while Elaina bustles around outside, getting the room ready for our healing day. Afterward, I put on a pair of her pajamas that fit just fine aside from being way too short, and we nap and eat and watch television and stay in bed until she pops downstairs to feed the kitties their afternoon snack and clean up the litter boxes.
Then, we go right back to sloth mode and she’s right, it is healing.
But at this rate, I’ll need approximately ten thousand days in bed to mend the gaping misery hole inside me.
“More pizza?” Elaina asks as we finish the last episode of Anne of Green Gables. “Or should I be a good girl and make us a veggie stir fry for supper?”
“Pizza,” I say, and she grins.
“I like it when you facilitate my naughtiness. And really, it’s best if we eat the leftovers now. They won’t be as good tomorrow.”
So, we do, but hours later, when the lights are off and my best friend is snoring softly beside me, I can’t sleep. I tell myself it’s all the cheese, but I know it’s not that.
It’s Weaver’s last words ringing in my ears, and the horrible feeling that I’m never going to find a man like him again, that he was my one in a million and now he’s gone and I will be alone and untouched forever.
I don’t want anyone to touch me but him.
And memories won’t be enough to keep me warm or even sane, not even close. Cursing stupid past me for thinking they would be, I roll over and squeeze my eyes shut, willing my body not to shake as I cry.