Chapter Five
Kelsi
I lay back on the bed and stare up at the popcorn ceiling as my best friend Abby gives me a solid lecturing. I haven’t always appreciated this no nonsense part of her personality, but there are times when I need a good verbal spanking, and this is one of them.
“What do you want, Kelsi? If you like this guy, pursue it. If you don’t, go back to L.A. Maybe move your mom out there so you don’t have to go back to Rugged Mountain all the time. Though,” her voice rises, “you would be missing out on my arrival.”
“What?”
“I just rented a cabin out near Miner’s Pond. It’s a little place, but I read this article online that says if you want to meet the man of your dreams, you have to start living the life that a guy you’d want would be living, and I want a big, rugged mountain man. So… to the mountains I go.”
I smile wide and sit up from the bed. “You’re not kidding.”
“No, why would I be kidding? I’m thirty-five years old. I have to start making something happen or I’m gonna end up alone.”
“But you don’t know anyone up here.”
“I’ll know you… if you stay. And my brother’s best friend, Hank, is moving into town with some MC group that he’s a part of. They’re called the Chaos Brothers. Have you heard of them?”
“No. I’m not into that scene, but… is this the same brother’s best friend you have a thing for?”
“Shut up!” She laughs under her breath. “I don’t have a thing for him.”
“Right, so you’re moving to the same town because you… hate him?”
“No, he told me he was moving, and it made me realize how I needed a change of my own. Plus, I already know Rugged Mountain from visiting you so much. It makes sense. I’ve seen the men up there. They’re big, rugged, inked up, and they all seem super protective. I don’t know why every single woman in the world isn’t living up there.”
“Okay, okay… I agree with you on that part, but I’m also remembering a few months ago when you told me about the dream you had about Hank.” I bite back a grin. “I seem to remember a big dick slapping you in the face.”
She laughs hard and clears her throat. “And you’re so different? You dream about Brooks every night . You used to tell me you craved the way he touched you. Craved… like you’re a vampire thirsting for his life force. And now he’s sitting on your porch, desperate to take care of you, and you’re on the phone with me? Come on! Get in there and suck his blood! Drain him of all of his fluids.”
Okay, now I’m giggling. “I’d like to drain him, alright, but I think what I craved was familiarity. Besides, we haven’t stopped arguing since I got here, and my life is in California now. I’m hanging out with celebrities, going to fancy parties, and living my best life. Brooks would never like that kind of lifestyle.”
Abby drags in a deep breath as though she doesn’t believe me. “I’ve known you forever and a day. I don’t think you like that lifestyle. Sure, you’re having fun, but it’ll get old.”
“I’ve been there five years, and it’s not old yet,” I lie, my stomach churning as my mind frantically tries to radically accept the life I’ve built in California. I’m supposed to love it there. I’m living my dreams. I’m writing full time, and I’m at parties with gold plated shrimp. I eat actual gold.
So many people would kill to be me, but the truth is, I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy since I left Brooks.
“Whatever you say,” Abby groans under her breath as though she’s annoyed. This is the bonus of having a friend forever, and also the downfall. She knows me well enough that she doesn’t feel the need to sugarcoat the truth anymore, and I could use some powdery reassurance right now. A vote for the life I’ve built away from this mountain, instead of the glaringly obvious truth that I should come back and fall in love with the man I’ve been trying to avoid. “You know I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids and our mothers insisted we become besties.”
Our moms were friends in high school out in Texas. My parents moved here after they met and had me, but we visited with Abby’s family a few times a year down in Texas and vice versa. There was something so exotic about having a friend outside the range that bonded us together. She went to a different school, spoke with a weird accent, and had a ranch where she rode horses. That was wild to me, and I’m pretty sure the mountains always seemed wild to her.
“Go out there and talk to him. I just checked your weather. It’s pouring rain, Kelsi. You owe it to yourself, and don’t fight this time. Just have a real conversation.”
I know she’s right, but I’m not sure how to make the transition between the bed and the porch. So instead of overthinking it anymore, I let her go and let my legs take over.
I stand from the bed and peek out the bedroom window to see Brooks rocking on the front porch with a beer in his hand. I wonder if he still keeps the cooler in the back of his truck like he used to. He’d stock it with drinks and snacks so we’d never be without. Something tells me he’s still doing that.
I miss the little things so much.
“Okay,” I sigh. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Good! Remember, don’t be mean. You’re there to suck him dry.”
“Sure, I’ll be a vampire as long as you stop having sex dreams about your brother’s friends.”
I swear I hear her eyes roll as she hangs up the phone.
Part of me considers sitting here a while longer to contemplate the exact words I’ll use to tell him I miss him. Clearly, ‘I’ve missed you’ isn’t enough. Not after he told me he loved me and I went running for cover.
I need something more, something significant. That said, if I lay here another second, I’m going to talk myself out of going, and I can’t do that. I need to get this over with, lay everything on the line, and let the chips fall where they may.
Dragging in a deep breath, I float through the house, pull open the front door, step out onto the front porch, and stare at the man I’ve been in love with for years. The man that I’ve longed for since the day I left. The man I don’t know how to make things right with again.
My stomach aches just seeing his face. His handsome, strong face. Maybe I’m making a mistake. Maybe I should be back inside and curl myself back in bed with my memories instead of facing my deserved rejection.
Why did I let my legs move?
His expression is stoic, unreadable, flat-lined. He doesn’t want me here. He hates me. He’s taking care of my mother and I as a favor. That’s it. A favor. He told me he loved me in the truck because he does, but in a platonic way. And the thing he said about his truck seat always being mine… that’s just confusion on his part.
I need to protect myself. Why did I come out here?
“You’re gonna freeze,” I say, realizing I’m still wearing the nightgown I tossed on after my shower.
Way to look desperate, me.
“Nah, it’s a warm rain.” He rocks back in the chair and glances my way, his dark eyes drinking me in before piercing through me. “Can we talk?”
Talk? Okay. He wants to talk. Maybe this is the part where we’re real. Where I’m real. Where everything is real again, and we’re back in time doing things that make sense… like they used to.
“Yeah, I guess we could talk. I mean,” I twist a strand of wet hair around my index finger, “I like talking.”
“Okay, then I’ll start with I’m sorry.” He turns toward me in the rocker, his gaze on mine heavily. “I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.” He blows out a breath and looks away as though he’s trying to find the words in the pouring rain. “I,” he glances back, “hated you for leaving. I truly did. You were everythin’ I wanted. The way you looked, the way you acted, the way you listened. Shit, I don’t know if you know, but people don’t fuckin’ listen anymore. No one gives a shit. You did. You cared, and I felt it.” He groans as he rubs his calloused hands together. “You cared, and then you left, and I was alone, grievin’ you, knowin’ you were just a phone call away, a flight away, a text away. It was torture holdin’ on to hope that you missed me too. It was fuckin’ torture, like a wound that was beyond mend, but I still couldn’t stop lovin’ you. I couldn’t stop missin’ you. I couldn’t stop imaginin’ you with me at every turn. At the station with cookies. At the grocery store pickin’ all your favorite snacks. In the truck next to me… where you belong. Shit, I didn’t think you were comin’ back. That day, the pain was insane. The day I realized you’d most likely become someone I looked back on, never someone I looked forward to ever again. I hated you for that. I hated you, and I loved you all at once. And now you’re here, and all I want to do is pick you up, throw you in my truck, and drive away. I want to hide you from the world and make you my own. I want to kiss your lips and never let you go. I want to hold on to the only thing in my life that mattered.”
He never talks like this… ever. His words hit me like a solid wave of emotion, spilling over the top of me, filling me up, driving me toward him, desperate for his touch, desperate to close the gap between us.
“I’ve loved people before, Brooks, but not like this. Never like this. I’ve missed you.”
He stands from the rocker and his big, rough hands meet the back of my neck before he pulls me in for a long, hard, mind-numbing kiss. The kind of kiss that stops time and space. The kind that leaves you breathless and yearning. The kind that takes every worry you’ve ever had and replaces it with physical sensations that restart your brain again.
It’s perfect.
The strength of his hand on the back of my neck, his fingertips in my hair, his wet, hot mouth, his teeth tugging at my bottom lip, his nose against mine, his breath on my face. Why did I wait so long for this?
Rain falls heavy, splashing against the gravel driveway, pouring down the gutters as the sticky-cool humidity surrounds us.
I thought I’d remembered how perfect this was, but even with the best of intentions, I’d forgotten the nuances of his touch. I’d forgotten how completely safe and warm it feels to be in his arms. I’d forgotten how wanted and needed I felt when he touched me.
His free hand lands on the small of my back and he pulls me in tight until I feel the hard edge of his cock against my stomach.
I reach down and grip it through his jeans. He’s so hard and big.
God, I’ve missed this. His size. The way he manhandles me. The way he growls low in my ear as though he’s losing control. The way my panties soak as my entire body starts aching.
His lips move from my lips to my neck, and his teeth scrape against my shoulder before he bites down with a rumble in his throat. “Tell me what I need to hear, baby.”
Baby.
I sigh. I don’t hate the way he says baby. I love it.
He hooks his thumb in the strap of my nightgown and pulls it off my shoulder soft and careful, exposing a breast. I stare up at him, tall and strong, covered in ink. “What do you need to hear?”
“I need to hear you say you’re mine. Tell me you belong to me. Beg me to touch you like you used to.”
My clit throbs as I calculate the million problems that come to light if I do what my heart is screaming at me to do. I try to focus on the issues at hand, hoping my brain latches onto one long enough to talk some sense into me, but the power of his touch is too much, and soon, the sound of his voice drowns out the fear.
“Say it, baby. I need to hear it. Tell me you need me.” His massive hand palms over my pussy, and he presses forward with pressure as he kisses my nipples, suckling my breasts. He’s so big, and I want him so badly.
Massaging through my soaked panties, he rubs my clit and groans, “I’ve missed the thick lips of this pussy.”
I swallow hard, and drag in a staggered breath as he presses me against the porch railing. Drops of warm rain trickle down my back as he kisses me harder and harder, his fingertips rolling over my nipples.
“Say it, or I’ll put you in the truck and never bring you back again. You’ll be my little prisoner, all tied up and safe. I’ll know right where you are.”
Why do I like the sound of being his prisoner? Heat spreads through my body, and I feel like I’m being lit from the inside out as my eye catches a glimpse of the book I wrote four years ago sitting on the table next to the rocking chair.
I squint my eyes and look again, sure that my mind is playing tricks on me, but it’s not. The book is there and there’s a paper clip holding a page.
My heart drops and my stomach tightens as I back away from Brooks. “What’s that? Where did you get that?”
“Get what?” He turns toward me, still reaching out as though he’s seriously going to play dumb.
“The book. Where did you get that book?”
“In the pantry. It was tucked behind the flour I pulled out for dinner.”
“You don’t need to pull flour out for dinner, Brooks.” I forgot I stashed the book there shortly after I got home. I’d left a copy here that my mom put up on the shelf, and I couldn’t look at it anymore. I only had one copy printed for a reason. I hid it under my bed before I moved to California. I never thought she’d come across it. The day I was frustrated, the pantry seemed like the right place to shove it. Of course, I wasn’t expecting Brooks to be in my mother’s house making dinner. I wasn’t even expecting my mother to make dinner because I’ve been making dinner, and I’ve been making dinner just fine without flour.
“You wrote our book, Kelsi. We should talk about that.”
My face turns dark red and I’m pretty sure I’m having a stroke of my own. “It’s not our book. It’s just a book.”
“A book with my name as the main character. It’s good, really fuckin’ good, and it’s our story.”
“It’s not our story.” I look away, avoiding eye contact in favor of the knots in the pine floor. “It’s just a book.”
One hand lands on my shoulder and the other under my chin, redirecting my gaze toward his. “It’s far from ‘ just a book.’ I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to read it, but I’m so glad I saw it. You should be writing for yourself, baby. Not rewriting someone else’s work for some Hollywood script.”
I hate being reminded that I’m rewriting someone else’s script, and I don’t remember telling him directly, so I assume he’s done independent research on me, which is both invasive and annoying.
“That book was the last time I felt anything real, Brooks. I’m not that girl anymore.” Tears stream down my face in quick succession. “How the hell am I supposed to write real things when I’m not feeling anything real anymore? I’m… I’m alone. I’m so fucking lonely. I’m in rooms full of people and I’m alone. But that job, the one you keep shitting all over, is all I have! That book I wrote is trash! It won’t sell. Do you know how many books an author has to write to be relevant? Hundreds. I’m not that talented. I need to take what I can get, and what I got is pretty damn good. I’m writing a script for Johnny Nicholson. Did I mention that?”
The rough pads of his fingertips brush across my cheek, wicking away the tears as they fall. “I’m sorry it sounds like I’m shittin’ on your job. I’m tryin’ to tell you that you should want more for yourself.” There’s urgency in his voice as he says, “Stay here, baby, with me. Let me take care of you. Let me do the things we should’ve done to begin with. You’ll never be alone again.”
“Then what? I stay home and raise twelve babies while you go off to work? I don’t want that. I like having a career. I like—”
“Write. Write what you feel.” He nods toward the book on the table. “I want to hear your stories. I know you have so many of them to tell. Remember that notebook you used to keep? You carried it everywhere, and you’d jot things down that made you think of characters or book ideas. You still have that?”
I sigh and stare up into his dark brown eyes. I want to hate him. I really want to hate him. I want to hate him and run back to California. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” He holds me in place as though he owns me.
“Stop acting like this is going to work. It’s not. We’re two different people going in different directions. I wrote that book four years ago. It was therapy. A way to get over you.”
“Or a way to keep this alive.”
“If that were the case, I’d have kept writing about you. I didn’t. I wrote one book and stuffed it away in the back of a pantry because I couldn’t stand looking at it.”
He holds steady, his hand on my face. “Why are you fightin’ this? You just said you’re lonely in California. We both know you’d be happier writin’ for yourself up here in the mountains. We both know you still love me. We both know everything you want is right here, so let’s stop all the bullshit.”
He leans into my ear and whispers low and graveled, warm heat spreading down the left side of my body, “You’ve always belonged to me. Whether you were in California, or right here beside me, you were mine. I can’t be away from you again. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. If you love this job, I’ll move to California. I’ll do whatever it takes, but I’m not lettin’ you go again.”
There’s this thing that’s always happened with me. When someone asks if I want chocolate or strawberry, I can’t decide. But if someone tells me I’m taking chocolate, I’ll know right away that I want strawberry. And right now, with Brooks telling me he’d go to California, I know I belong in Rugged Mountain with this giant, writing a book of my own, about a love I know I can’t let go of.