—NINETEEN—
All this time, I’ve been wrong about her.
She’s not sunshine.
She’s glittering nightfall, pale moonlight, silver stars in midnight skies.
She’s that beacon of light when darkness threatens and consumes.
No, she’s not the sun…
Melody is the moon.
“Kiss me.”
She grinds herself against the front of my thigh with brazen disregard for anything else. Her skin is slick and wet beneath my fingertips as I palm her tits through gritted teeth, my cock rock-hard despite the cold water. I’m trying not to lose control because I know the moment this begins, there’s no stopping it. I’m in too fucking deep, and the only way out will hurt like hell.
But goddamn, all I want to do is wrap her legs around me and fuck her senseless in the middle of this dirty ass lake.
Melody moans again, pressing herself fully into me. “Please.”
Kiss her?
Jesus… no. I can’t do that.
I won’t.
She grips the back of my head and lifts her chin until we’re eye to eye, noses touching.
… But fuck, I kind of want to.
I want to know if that smile that has haunted me for the last few months tastes as sweet as it looks.
A growl erupts in my chest, and I tug her hair back, just as a crack of thunder pierces the silent night. Melody stares up at me, chest heaving, eyes glazed with lust. Her perfectly pink lips part, beckoning me to sample them, and her bottom lip quivers as I inch closer until I’m a hair’s breadth away from her begging mouth.
I think I’m going to—I think I’m going to kiss her right here beneath lightly falling drizzle, my shoes sinking into sludge while my body sinks into her.
But the moment shatters… just like that.
Melody’s hands dip beneath my wet t-shirt, her fingertips grazing along my hidden scars, and I don’t think she even notices because she’s too preoccupied waiting for my mouth to claim hers… but I fucking notice.
And I freeze, going ramrod still and releasing her like she’s my foe crossing over enemy lines.
Melody stumbles, hardly keeping her balance in the water, her eyes wide and wounded when she steadies herself and stares up at me. “Parker?”
“This is a fucking mistake,” I ground out, moving backwards, my shoes and soaked denim weighing me down. “Just… stay away.”
“What?”
She looks like she might burst into tears, and I’d be fucking lying if I said it didn’t do something to me. Pushing through the unfamiliar feelings, I shake my head, throwing daggers at her. “Stay the fuck away, all right?”
Melody wraps her arms around herself like a protective shield, trying to reject my venom. “What did I do?”
“What haven’t you done? You just keep poking me—you keep invading, intruding, trying to find a way in. You’re a goddamn nuisance.”
I sling my barbed wire words at her, and I think they cut us both.
But goddammit, this is for the best. It can end now, or it can end later, and it’s going to cut a hell of a lot deeper later.
Melody’s gasp of surprise mingles with the light rainfall, and she jerks her head away from my hard gaze, biting into her lip. “I don’t understand,” she says in a broken whisper.
“That’s the point. You don’t understand me. You never will, so it’s better if you just stay the fuck away.”
She shakes her head with disbelief, still avoiding my stare. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah,” I bite out, continuing my backward trek to shore. “Looks like you dodged a bullet.”
I don’t wait for her response, and I can’t stomach anymore of her bitter tears, so I spin around and stomp my way through the lake until I breach the shoreline.
Then I remember I left my goddamn truck at the support meeting.
Fuck me.
Growling my frustration, I make a mental note to avoid dramatic exits in the future when I have no means of exit, especially while drenched in piss water and seaweed, fishing undiscovered lake species out of my boxers.
It’s a miserable four-mile walk to my truck, and I’d like to say it’s for all of the above-mentioned reasons.
But it’s mostly because I can’t get that damn look in her eyes out of my head.
Two hours later, I’m finally home, showered, pissed off, and pent-up. Walden lies at my feet, his chin resting between two hairy paws as he gazes up at me slumped on the couch.
I’m just kind of staring off into space, replaying the night in my head, wondering how I got myself into this absolute shit-show.
I decide to break it down by facts.
Fact number one: I’m attracted to Melody.
As much as I want to live in my fantasy world of denial and pretend that it’s all just a giant fluke, the truth is pathetically obvious. I’m fucking attracted to her.
My dick likes what it sees, and it wants to see more.
Fact.
Fact number two: I don’t like women.
Except… I like Bree and always have, and I sure seem to like Melody, and hell, even Amelia is growing on me. And fine—Ms. Katherine isn’t so bad either, especially today when she brought in little deli trays of assorted submarine sandwiches and a fruit platter.
So, maybe that’s not a fact. I’m going to skip that one for now.
Fact number three: I like people who feed me.
Fact number four: Emotions are garbage, and I’m incapable of genuine connection. Therefore, pursuing my attraction to Melody is a catastrophic mistake.
The woman has been through enough grief and heartache to last a lifetime, and if tonight were any indication of how a possible tryst would unfold, it would be in her best interest to stay the fuck away from me. I’m only going to drag her down and drown her in my own ocean of misery.
What kind of sexual relationship could we even have, anyway? How would she feel screwing a guy who detests intimacy and refuses to take his shirt off?
It’s pointless; a dead end.
Breakdown: I want to fuck Melody, but I won’t. Some women are okay. I like food.
Final thoughts: This exercise sucked, and I’m no closer to feeling any better.
My mind continues to stew, the black cloud hovering over me growing more aggressive than the rainclouds outside my window. It’s raining—again. It’s been the summer of rain, and I can’t help but wonder if Melody is still out there, maybe perched on the sandy beach, doused in rainwater and remorse.
Fuck… she was so happy in that lake tonight, dancing and weightless, free as a bird.
And then I ruined everything.
My scars and old ghosts prevailed, snuffing out her spark and sending her right back into the darkness.
I made her cry.
I made her doubt.
I made her stop dancing.
And I hate that those thoughts are crawling beneath my skin and eating me alive. I’m not accustomed to regret or guilt. I don’t feel.
But I’m feeling right now, and it feels like shit.
Walden nudges my sock-covered foot, making a little grumpy sound as I grumble right back. We’re two peas in a pod, this old mutt and me.
When I lean forward to scratch the scruff between his ears, my phone pings to life beside me on the sofa. My skin tingles, and my stomach lurches, thinking it might be Melody—wondering if she’s telling me to fuck off, or maybe she’s sending me a sweet, sympathetic message, which would be a billion times worse.
I snatch the phone up, seeing Magnolia’s name instead. I open the message.
Magnolia: I know I promised that things wouldn’t get personal. I’m sorry… I lied. I want to see you. I want to do a video call. I need to know that you’re real, that I’m real, and that you see me. Will you do this for me?
What the fuck?
My cheeks fill with air before I blow out a hard breath, scratching at my still damp mess of hair. She wants to do a video call? Shit… no. That sounds terrible.
I like our arrangement as is. No strings attached. Magnolia is my anonymous outlet, the only one I have, and one that I’ve grown to genuinely crave.
Magnolia lets me hide.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I shoot her a response.
Me: Where is this coming from? I like what we have. I’d prefer to keep it the way it is.
Magnolia: I understand—I do. I like what we have, too, but I’m yearning for more.
Me: Why? Because of your husband’s heart? Is that the basis of this connection?
Maybe I’m being an ass, but I’m already on edge.
I’ve lost Melody—I don’t want to lose Magnolia, too.
And when her response doesn’t come through right away, I’m pretty sure I get my answer.
Me: Thanks. Got it.
Magnolia: Please don’t be that way. I thought you didn’t get offended?
I grit my teeth.
Me: Not offended. Just disappointed.
Magnolia: If you’re disappointed, maybe that means you’re yearning for more, too. You feel the same connection I do.
Me: The connection is rooted in what we have right now. I don’t want to shake that up.
Magnolia: Are you afraid you won’t like what you see?
Me: No. I’m afraid I will.
Her silence spans over a few minutes, and I curse myself for saying that shit. Maybe it’s true, though. Maybe I’m worried she’ll be everything I never knew I wanted.
And then I’ll be letting down two women I’ve come to care for.
Magnolia’s response finally pops up.
Magnolia: How about this: I don’t want to infringe on your privacy. I understand your hesitation, and I respect it. So… what if you only saw me? You can keep your camera off. Your identity will still remain a secret.
Me: I can see you, but you can’t see me?
Magnolia: Yes.
The temptation seizes me.
The curiosity.
Leaning back in my rolling chair, I fold my arms across my chest and pivot side to side, my heart thumping with indecision. This would change everything. This would upset our dynamic, and nothing would ever be the same.
But hell, why not?
Why the fuck not?
Hoping I don’t regret this, I send my reply.
Me: Okay.
Magnolia: Really?
Me: Yeah. Set it up.
A few moments later, a link pops up in the message box, causing my insides to spiral. It’s a Google Meet link. I’m pretty fucking terrible with technology, so there’s a chance I might screw this up, but I take the risk and click the link.
Moving out of frame, I tinker with the settings to make damn sure my camera’s off, then I slide back up to the keyboard and inhale a giant breath of courage.
Fuck, I’m nervous.
I don’t know why, but I guess that means I kind of care.
My foot taps against the carpeted floor as I wait for something to happen.
Something happens.
Her camera flickers on, pointing towards a rust-colored wall.
I frown, prickled with a sense of familiarity. It’s an ugly fucking color that I don’t see too often—and I’ve been in a lot of houses.
No. Impossible.
“Can you hear me?”
The sound of her voice sends more tingles of déjà vu down my spine, but there’s static, so I can’t be sure. I fiddle with the settings again, unsure if my microphone is on. It seems to be muted, so I use the chat feature to send my reply.
Me: I hear you.
My reply pops up on the screen, and Magnolia speaks again.
“Okay… great. Are you ready?”
Definitely not.
Me: I’m ready.
There’s a dramatic pause, and my pulse revs with anticipation as I wait for her to reveal her identity. I feel it in my ears, my temples, my throat. My hands are folded in my lap, fisted tightly, and my jaw aches as my teeth clench together.
Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.
The camera jiggles, and a piece of white-blonde hair floats into the frame.
My stomach sinks. My heart snares on a jagged beat.
That wall.
That voice.
Widowed and wilting.
Another beat passes, and Melody situates herself in front of the camera, timid and demure, rosy-cheeked and practically shaking.
I blink. I blink again.
No, no, no.
Fuck. No.
“Hi.”
She says it in the sweetest, softest voice, her smile as bright as the sun, while everything else crumbles around me, an avalanche of wreckage and astoundment.
Magnolia is Melody.
Melody is Magnolia.
And I should have known.
I should have fucking known.
This is supposed to be the point where I send her a hello, tell her she’s fucking beautiful, let her know she’s everything I never knew I wanted.
But I don’t do that. I don’t do that at all.
Instead, I slam my laptop shut, pick it up, and hurl it across the room with a violent growl, watching as it breaks into a million fractured pieces against my living room wall. Even my dog jumps up and shuffles over to his dog bed, rattled by my wrath.
My chest heaves, my body tremors, my mind reels with impossibility.
What are the odds? What are the goddamn odds?
Another wave of raging disbelief ripples inside me, and I manifest it into a typhoon of self-destruction. I trash my whole house, pulling things off walls, smashing dishes, clearing countertops, shouting obscenities, and then I collapse into a heap on the floor, my back flush with the kitchen wall.
Magnolia is Melody.
It makes fucking sense. There’s no way I would develop a connection with two separate women at the same time, after living my entire life despising them all.
It could only be her.
Fuck.
Not allowing my anger to abate because it’s comforting somehow, I jump back to my feet and hunt down my shoes and the keys to my truck. I’m not sure what I’m doing, I’m not sure how I’m going to handle this, I’m not sure how I’m going to look Melody in the eyes anymore—but right now her eyes are the only thing I want to see.
She needs to know.
She needs to know the truth.