Chapter 40 #2
Like he’d lost something he never thought he could lose.
His eyes flicked from me to Dane to Peter to the table to Carrie, taking in the laughter, the food, the light, the easy joy.
And something inside him snapped.
He charged.
Dane was up instantly.
Peter too.
Two solid walls of muscle between him and me.
“Back up,” Dane warned, voice low, deadly calm. “Breathe. Your daughter lays mere feet from you, Blake. Feet. And you’re here screaming at her mother. Think about what she sees from heaven right now.”
Blake’s face twisted with venom.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he spit. “Like you’re some hero. You think you can walk into my home, my family, my wife—” He jabbed a shaking finger at Dane. “You? The son of a whore and a dead-beat father? Don’t think I don’t know where you crawled out from.”
Peter’s hand shot to Dane’s arm, fast, instinctive trying to tether him before he slipped into the place he went when pushed too far.
But Dane shook him off.
His voice, when he spoke, was steady. Too steady. A blade drawn slowly.
“Yes,” he said, stepping forward. “She was. And he was. But you know what, Blake?” A humourless smile tugged his mouth. “I became something far greater than the blood I came from.” He leaned in just enough for Blake to feel it.
“What have you done? You were handed everything.”
Blake’s breath hitched, chest rising in sharp, shallow pulls.
I stood.
Slowly.
Wiped my mouth with my napkin.
Stepped from behind the table.
Walked right up until I was two feet from him.
And I looked him dead in the eyes.
“Blake,” I said, voice low, lethal, unwavering, “isn’t karma a bitch?”
Carrie choked so hard on her drink she almost died. “HOLY Penn!” she gasped, laughing like a feral hyena.
Blake staggered back, breath ragged, fists clenching and unclenching like he didn’t know who to swing at first.
Peter stepped toward me, touching the side of my face with a soft, fatherly gesture. “I’ll take Carrie home,” he said gently. He turned to Dane. “Take her inside. Shield her. Hold space with her.”
Carrie grabbed her bag, heels wobbling in the fresh-cut grass as she walked towards me. Her lips found my ear she pulled me in for a hug. “Tomorrow morning. Article on my desk by nine.” She paused, smirking. “But tonight? Get under or on top of that man. Blow off every cobweb you have.”
“Carrie!” I hissed, face burning.
She just wiggled her brows and walked towards Peter's car, and the door he held open for her. As soon as they pulled away, silence fell, heavy, thick, weighted with everything unsaid.
Blake dropped to his knees at Gracie’s grave. Flowers slipping from his hands. Sobs ripping through him raw, broken, ugly.
He stayed there until he couldn’t anymore.
Until he staggered away into the twilight, shoulders shaking.
I didn’t go after him.
Not anymore.
Dane touched my back lightly. “Come inside.”
We slipped into the house, and I closed the French doors. Bolted them. Pulled the teal curtains across so Blake couldn’t see in even if he came back.
The air inside felt thick. Charged. Like the storm had passed and left only heat behind.
Dane didn’t speak first.
I did.
I reached for his hand.
Pulled him with me.
Down the hall.
Into my bedroom.
Straight into the ensuite.
The shower steamed as soon as I turned it on.
He shut the door behind us.
I stepped backward until the water hit my back.
He followed.
Slow.
Eyes dark.
Hungry.
Tender.
I lifted his shirt first.
He lifted mine.
Clothes pooled around our feet like soft confessions.
The water poured over us as his hands slid down my sides, gripping, exploring, learning. His mouth found mine deep, consuming, devouring. Heat spiralled low in my belly, curling through me as I pressed myself against him.
He kissed my neck.
My shoulder.
My collarbone.
My mouth again.
I bit his lower lip.
He growled.
And everything inside me snapped.
He pinned me gently but firmly against the warm tiles, lifting me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist like they’d been waiting for this exact moment.
And when he pushed into me
Every nerve lit up.
Every inch of me opened.
Every part of me that had been starved came alive.
He moved like he knew every hidden place inside me.
Like he’d been memorising my body for years.
Like he wanted to rewrite every touch I’d ever known.
My fingers dug into his shoulders.
His teeth grazed my throat.
My moan echoed against the glass.
Water ran down our bodies as he thrust deeper, harder, slower, faster each movement stealing my breath, giving it back, taking it again.
It was wild.
Devastating.
Perfect.
Freeing.
Fireworks behind my eyes.
Heat spiralling up my spine.
Pressure curling low and exploding into pure pleasure that left me trembling, clinging, shaking in his arms.
He came undone a moment later head buried against my neck, grip tightening around my hips, breath broken and raw and beautiful.
We stayed tangled together as the water washed over our skin, steam curling around us like smoke.
His forehead rested against mine.
My lips brushed his.
And for the first time in a long, long time.
I felt alive.