Chapter 23
“Well, that was something,” Ava says over her shoulder as she walks through her front door, her sights already set on the sofa calling her name.
“That’s one way to put it.” Dean flops down beside her and kicks his feet up on the ottoman.
He looks defeated and more than a little disgruntled. They looked at five properties today and it was like a live-action HGTV style horror movie. Each house got progressively worse until they headed back to her place at the end of the evening, in silent agreement to regroup.
“The one with the deck wasn’t bad. Kinda cute,” she offers, side-eyeing him while scrolling through TV show options, settling on a reality show about people who date for ninety days before having to get married.
He eyes her right back. “The landlord was drunk the entire time he showed it to us. Could smell it. He found the bottom of a bottle way before we got there.”
He has a point. The house may have been nice, rambling, and old with enough character around every turn to surprise them, but having to deal with a landlord that should be in a twelve-step program probably isn’t the best option.
“What about the bungalow? The yellow one,” he tries.
She scrunches her nose. “It smelled like death. Like something crawled into the ductwork, invited its friends and they all curled up and died right there.”
Dean shrugs like the hideous smell is no big deal. “Can figure that out. Rent is cheap. Ain’t nothin’ pest control and some bleach can’t fix.”
She is utterly horrified. He can’t be serious.
He seems to realize his mistake a moment later and leans his head back against the pillows, one hand reaching out to give her thigh a light squeeze. “Alright, alright. Not that one.”
She scoots in closer, one elbow up on the cushion behind her as she faces him, one leg curled underneath her body. “The cottage with the pond? It wasn’t as bad as you think and there was a pond. You could have ducks. It might even have fish in it.”
“Fuck no. It was haunted.”
Ava snickers, remembering the rows of tiny porcelain dolls that greeted them, all lined up on the furniture like a welcoming committee. The landlord assured them that the dolls weren’t staying, that the current tenant was just a little eccentric, but she saw how Dean balked in the front hall, looking for all the world like he was about to call a priest or light some sage. She half expected him to motion the mark of the cross across his chest before they continued.
“It isn’t haunted. You’re overreacting because you were creeped out by the dolls,” she says, getting an over-exaggerated shiver from him in reply.
“Was creeped out because they’re creepy. Don’t matter if the current tenant takes them with her, those things linger. One of ‘em has those eyes that follow you around the room. I can still feel it.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to pass up that perfectly cute house just because it may or may not be haunted by spirits of the undead.”
“You’ll thank me when we ain’t gotta call up an exorcist after moving in.”
He pauses, only realizing what he said after he said it. She’s certain she might be holding her breath, but it’s too soon to think about any of that. Living together is something people do after they’ve been in a relationship longer than a hot minute and she and Dean are still brand new. His subconscious has clearly thought about it though, betraying him and letting it slip out at an opportune moment.
She can’t deny that she didn’t look at every one of those houses through a warped lens, picturing the two of them there together, living out their lives in the same space, happy and settled. Of course she did.
She saw the claw-foot tub in the farmhouse, big enough for two, and pictured them on a lazy Friday night soaking up the heat of the water and each other.
She imagined the get-togethers they might have on the massive deck in the craftsman. How they’d grill burgers and string up lights and drink beer while the sun goes down.
Thought of the dogs they might adopt to live with them at the farmhouse, and of all the space they could fill with a little garden to grow vegetables and catnip for Panda.
Yes, she’d spent quite a few moments entertaining those fantasies, but logic won out in the end, telling her not yet. Maybe someday, maybe soon, but she’s steps ahead of where they actually are. Then he goes and blurts out something like this and makes her rethink dismissing the idea. She doesn’t call him on it though, lets it slide past them until the moment to talk about it expires and other topics seem more appropriate.
She brushes a few soft strands of hair off his face. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you something that’s not haunted, doesn’t have a drunk landlord, and isn’t an animal graveyard. The right place is out there.”
He leans into her touch, rolling his head along the cushion to face her. “Hope so. Gonna steal some of your positive vibes.”
“I don’t mind sharing,” she says, leaning closer with every syllable.
When she kisses him it feels like the first time all over again. Her breath hitches and lips part, feeling his tongue tentatively slip inside with a sweeping caress. It’s only been a few days since they’d been together, but it feels like forever right now and all she wants is him. She has been wet all through a series of pointless house showings, aroused at the expectation of what they might do when they got back here.
He’s as ready as she is, one hand sliding up the back of her shirt and another reaching for the hem of her jeans, going for both options instead of making a choice.
Ava helps him out, lifting her shirt over her head in one smooth move and the instant her skin is bare he’s lowering his head to suckle at it, soft lips mouthing kisses down the side of her neck and into the dip of her collarbone, his tongue lashing out to lick the hollow he seems so fond of.
He nudges her backward, one strong arm curling around her waist to keep her decent slow until her back rests against the cushions. Her legs part automatically, encouraging him to rest between them.
Dean is hot to the touch, overexcited and worked up, a slight tremble in his fingers as he pulls down the cup of her bra, letting her breast spill over the edges. They’re both far too eager to bother unhooking it from behind just yet.
Her soothing hand runs down the back of his neck, while she arches herself up into his mouth that wraps warm around her nipple, his tongue swirling in slow circles. When she glances down, she finds him looking up at her, heat blazing in his eyes, lips firmly in their place. That naked desire clear across his face, so earnest and awed, is the hottest thing she’s ever seen.
She can’t hold his gaze for too long without feeling the burn of it, so she closes her eyes and kicks off her shoes before she can put any thought into the action. Her only goal is to get her pants off her legs before she combusts from raw need. He gets the hint when she shifts, reaching down to unbutton her jeans and push them down her hips, looking up from his spot between the valley of her breasts to give her a wicked smile.
There’s a thud somewhere in the corner of the room soon after, when he tosses her pants haphazardly. They lock eyes while the clink of his belt buckle echoes their intentions off the walls.
Ava’s on her back with her legs bent but closed, watching him with a sly smile as he sheds his cumbersome pants. A rush of arousal floods her at the sight of him, clad only in a sleeveless shirt and a pair of boxers that tent impressively.
There are so many clothes. Too many, and Dean abandons his task of getting naked in favor of leaning down to cover her again, pressing her into the sofa cushions, and capturing her lips in a searing kiss. He thrusts weakly between her legs, seeking her out when there are still too many barriers preventing what they both need.
She briefly considers pulling her panties to the side and tugging him out of his boxers, letting him push into her like that, with half their clothes still on rather than wait another minute.
The heels of her feet push his underwear down over his ass and then he does what she imagined only a second ago; pulls the fabric covering her an inch to the left, allowing the thick length of him to find her heat, one firm hand hiking her leg higher on his waist while he enters her.
Suddenly she freezes, her muscles tense and coil in a way that makes her flail, sucking in short gasps of air and shoving her hands flat against his chest.
A minute ago she was fine, more than fine, but now all she can see is another man above her. All she can feel is him pushing himself down on her, suffocating her with his weight, and clawing hard at her thighs until his raking nails make her bleed.
The remote control presses into her spine like it did that day, hard and bruising, triggering a memory that she thought she left behind.
“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,” she begs, her voice small and far away like a wounded animal.
Dean springs back so quickly that the roughness of him pulling out of her stings and she curls in on herself, expecting the strike of a palm across her face that never comes.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” His fingers twitch on his thighs like he wants to reach for her or reach for his cock that bobs obscenely in the cool air, afraid to commit to either action.
“I’m sorry.” Those two words are an ingrained habit and it turns out that flicking them off isn’t as easy as she hoped.
Guilt weighs heavy on her for pushing him away and frustration at herself forms right next to it. She’s angry, so damn angry that this is happening even after they’d already been together. She’d assumed each time going forward would only get easier, that she was past the most challenging parts.
“Ain’t gotta be sorry,” he says softly. “I do something you don’t like?”
She pulls herself up, leaning back into the arm of the sofa, her legs up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her middle, the space between them like a canyon instead of a cushion.
“No, it’s me, it’s always me.” She runs a hand through her hair, trying and failing to calm her nerves and quiet her trembles. “I saw him instead of you and I panicked. It’s crazy, right? He’s dead, I know he’s dead. I know he isn’t here.”
It takes Dean a moment to reply, and she’s about to babble on in horrific detail about the flashback she relived in an effort to explain herself, but then his expression goes soft and one slow hand reaches out to land over her knee. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”
Her eyes flicker to his crotch. “But it’s not fair to you, and I still want to, I just…”
She has been so conditioned, for so many years, to think only of his interests, to worry only about his pleasure, his emotions, his reactions. She may be fully aware that the man across from her is not John, but that doesn’t mean she’s any fucking good at retraining herself into behaving like it, not in moments like this when it’s so simple to fall back on old habits and fear that she hasn’t tended to his needs.
How long will it take before she can ignore the instinct to apologize and cower? How does she become someone else? How does she grapple with the knowledge that despite her progress she is not someone else just yet…
“Any time I’m with you I’m lucky. That’s all there is to it.” He pauses. “Don’t get stuck on what’s fair, we’re not keeping score.”
He’s willing to do whatever she needs, whether that’s leaving her alone or holding her close and her heart breaks a little bit. Despite her mind being completely fucked up, her body still wants him and she can still feel her arousal mixed with fresh adrenaline thumping steadily in her groin, reminding her how badly she needed him only a minute ago. It’s more than a little confusing, but she doesn’t trust herself to act on it anymore. Even if she can get past this moment, the mood is already different and her reaction has put a significant damper on his own willingness. He is already softening.
He grabs his boxers while she ponders the question, pulling them on.
She doesn’t want him to go. The thought of him walking out the door right now and leaving her to overthink this alone makes her shiver.
“Stay,” she whispers, her forehead creased with worry and her mouth a thin line.
He lets out a relieved breath, moving to sit beside her again and opening his arms for her to join him.
She doesn’t hesitate before crawling over and pressing herself along his body, one of her legs over his, her chest snug along his ribs, and her nose fitting into the curve of his neck.
“I didn’t think it would happen again because I’ve been fine the last couple of times. I’ll get better. Won’t be like this forever.” There’s a part of her that’s terrified he might get sick of this one day, and she’s only too ready to reassure him that she won’t always be such a hassle.
He deserves better than her doubt, but the demons in her mind tell her awful lies, reminding her that everyone’s patience has a limit and she needs to be careful how far she pushes him. They prompt all her apologies even when she’s fully aware they aren’t required.
Dean tightens his hold on her as he begins a story she knows won’t have a happy ending.
“When I was a kid, thirteen maybe fourteen, Boone had just left for the army. Left me alone with our old man in that shitty trailer. For a while, it was okay. I thought maybe…maybe this time he’s just gonna get too wasted every damn day to remember he’s got another kid. That he’d leave me be now that I was getting bigger.” He sighs, continuing a long stroke from her tailbone to her shoulders and back down again. “Then we ran outta food, and I asked him for money to get milk and eggs or whatever the fuck else. He flew outta that chair so fast, like he was just waiting on me to say something. Anything. Grabbed me by the back of the neck and threw me into the wall, drug me down to the floor, and pinned me there while he stripped my shirt off, yelling about how I was just a leach eating his money.”
She’s known he earned his scars in horrific ways but to hear an actual account of how is something she wasn’t prepared for and hot tears pool in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill.
“…and then it started stormin’. Real loud, big claps of thunder. Shook the whole house, and it felt like he was hittin’ me with that belt every time it boomed outside. Every time it rains now when I hear that thunder, my back aches again. Can feel it under my skin like them scars were put there yesterday. It’s been decades, but the right combo of shit happens and I’m on that floor again with my old man hurtin’ me. Right back there.”
She wants to say that she’s sorry for what happened to him. That he didn’t deserve it and she can’t understand how anyone, let alone a parent, could hurt their child, but she can’t find the words and they die on her tongue. She nuzzles further into his arms instead, stroking an open hand over his chest and pressing a teary kiss to his skin with her lips.
“Not the same thing as what you went through, I know it’s not, but I know how it is to think you got past something and then it’s back again. Nothing wrong with you ‘cause of that. Not a damn thing. Some days it rains and others it doesn’t.”
This man is an anomaly. Denied affection, beaten and scarred, yet he’s retained a kindness that even his father couldn’t torture out of him. She may not have had a good marriage, but she had parents that loved her. She had friends who did too and Charlotte who taught her how to love in a whole new way.
As far as she knows, Dean hasn’t experienced even the smallest glimmer of love on a regular basis, except for a brother who likely cares but is shit at showing it, and a mother Ava hasn’t asked about. She could have been worse than his father, better, or somewhere in between, but something tells her the odds aren’t good. That’s a story for another day, not something she wants to dredge up now when he’s only showing her his wounds to help hers heal.
“It rained for me tonight.” She sniffs, feeling his lips press to her forehead.
“I know.”
They rest there for a few long, drawn-out moments, his hand never stopping its soothing rhythm against her back until his voice changes from whisper soft to something almost teasing, in an attempt to lighten her mood that hits the mark.
“Hey, we got that showing tomorrow, the house with the red roof. If that one’s a bust too it’ll be a toss-up between the bad-smell house and the haunted mansion. Wanna flip a coin?”
She snorts, smiling in spite of herself, grateful for a change in subject to something far less heavy. “Stop. You aren’t living in either of those places. Red roof house will be the one, I can feel it. No weird smells, no possessed dolls, no coin flipping required.”
“We’ll see about that.” He turns up the volume on the TV, settling in with her while they watch a late-night talk show, curled up on the sofa together, soaking up all the comfort they can get until they both drift off.