Chapter 36 #2
“Come on, baby,” I breathe, eyes closing as she begins to rise—agonizingly slow—then lowers herself again in the same torturous rhythm. I reach for her, thread my fingers into her hair, and pull her down for a kiss.
It’s all teeth and tongue and heat—desperate and deep. Her hips grind down against me, and when her breasts brush against my chest, it sends a jolt through me that I feel all the way in my spine.
Her rhythm quickens. I can feel her starting to lose herself in it, in us.
Sweat beads at my brow, my heart hammering like it’s trying to break out of my chest.
“Let go, Lay,” I whisper, voice shaking as my hips meet hers, thrust for thrust.
She closes her eyes, fingers digging into my shoulders, and lets herself fall into it—head tipping back, lips parted.
“Oh God, yes,” she breathes.
My hands slide up to her breasts, kneading them gently, thumbs brushing over her nipples with every movement. Her moans grow louder, more ragged, and I know she’s close.
“Right there,” she whispers, and I give her everything I have—until she flies.
The meaningful tingling sensation slides down my spine and I have to concentrate not to come.
I go faster and deeper, over and over, until suddenly her whole body tenses, her fingers dig into my shoulders, and her mouth falls open.
As her orgasm rips through her, her inner muscles contract around my hard cock.
I thrust twice more and cum while she’s still convulsing around me.
“Shit, Layne,“ I manage. “So good.”
Layne sags against my chest and I wrap my arms around her. “I love you,” I whisper.
And then I hear it. Her soft voice against my chest: “I love you too, Ky.”
“Let me take them to school,” Layne says as she prepares Rebel’s lunch box in the kitchen of my apartment.
I think about it for a moment. “Is that a good idea?”
“He said we’re safe. We have to start somewhere, and this is…”
“This is soon,” I say.
“This is close. Have someone follow me if necessary. In the worst-case scenario, ask Pax.” She looks up at me with a pleading expression.
A grin spreads across my lips before I sip my coffee. I peer at her over the rim of the cup. When I’ve swallowed, I say, “Worst-case scenario?”
Layne puts the box in Rebel’s backpack and shrugs. “Everyone knows Pax hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” I say, getting up from my chair. Facing her, I encircle her waist and pull her into my embrace. “He’s being protective over me. That’s different.”
“Ew, no kissing! I cannot handle that,” Rebel calls out from the living room, her voice full of dramatic disgust. She strolls in with her long braid slung over one shoulder and sticks her tongue out at me like a kid catching her parents making out.
Norah giggles from the table, and I can’t help but join her before leaning in to press a soft kiss to Layne’s lips.
“EWWWWW,” the little monster exclaims. “You guys are so gross.”
“I’ll remind you when you’re sixteen,” I mutter, then turn my attention back to Layne. “Okay, fine. I’ll ask Colt to go with you. And if he can’t, Pax will be my last resort.” I wink and grab my phone from the kitchen island.
A reply comes quickly.
Colt: Cool. Be right there.
“Colt’s coming,” I tell Layne. ”He’s on his way.”
Rebel puts her bowl on the counter. “Are we leaving?” she asks as she puts on her shoes.
By the time the three of us come downstairs, Colt’s already waiting. Beside him, Brooks’s hopping on the balls of his feet, cigarette dangling from his lips. I kiss Layne on the forehead and nod to Colt, then turn my attention to the kid next to him.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmur, crouching down so I’m eye level with Brandon. “Be careful at school today, okay? And if anything—anything—feels off, you call us. Right away.”
He barely blinks. “Norah already told me that,” he replies flatly, stepping back like he’s pulling away from more than just my words.
“We mean it.” I rub a hand over my beard, frowning. “This is serious.”
He rolls his eyes like it’s all one big overreaction. “I know,” he mutters, already turning away from me. Before I can say anything else, he moves straight to Rebel and slips his hand into hers. “Come on. Let’s go,” he says, his voice quieter now, but more certain.
I catch the way Rebel squeezes his hand gently, grounding him. And I’m relieved they’ve formed this bond—really—but there’s a weight to it too. A kind of intensity I can’t ignore, not at their age. I sigh, the heaviness of it all pressing into my chest, and shift my gaze to Brooks.
“Hey, man. You good?” I walk over and stop beside him, glancing at the gate. The driver’s due in thirty minutes, give or take, but Brooks looks like he’s been standing here for hours—tense, bracing.
“Fine,” he grits out without looking at me, jaw tight.
Everyone else has drifted off, leaving just the two of us. The silence between us is thick, familiar.
“Remember that night she walked up to us in that shitty bar?” I ask, a slow grin tugging at my lips.
His eyes flick to mine, uncertain but drawn in. “Jen?” he says. “You mean the night you were a total Debbie Downer?”
I scoff and shove his face with the heel of my hand. “Debbie Downer my ass. If I hadn’t been in that godawful mood, we wouldn’t have gone to that club, and you never would’ve met her.”
He laughs, the sound strained but real, and gives me a shove back. “So what, now you’re claiming you orchestrated our love story?”
I shrug and lift my chin. “Damn right, I did.”
Brooks shakes his head, a real smile tugging at his mouth now. “Man, with the way you were sulking that night, it’s a miracle she came near us. Good thing I was charming enough to balance you out.”
His gaze drifts, soft and faraway. “The dress she was wearing that night…” He groans, biting his knuckles like the memory still burns. “Those legs… fuck.”
Then something shifts. Just like that, the light in his face dies. The laughter fades, swallowed by something darker. Grief. Regret.
“It would’ve been better if she’d stayed away,” he says quietly, like he’s confessing something he hates himself for even thinking.
“No.” I shake my head, hard, voice low but firm. “That’s not true, Brooks. Don’t do that.”
Because we both know what she meant to him.
And even pain that deep means she mattered.
He turns toward me abruptly and pushes a finger against my chest. “She’d still be alive.”
There is a moment of silence between us. We’re back to harsh reality, and the sound of a car approaching in the distance doesn’t help. My heart feels like it’s in a vice, slowly squeezing the life out of it.
A black Mercedes-Benz reverses slowly toward the entrance of the compound. It comes to a halt right in front of the gate.
I wipe my hands over my jean-clad thighs, and swallow hard.
Brooks walks over to the back of the car, which opens automatically.
I take a few deep breaths.
In the back is a box. Not a coffin, It’s too broad and lacks the typical features of a coffin, though it is a wooden box.
Brooks wraps his fingers around the wood and starts pulling. His shoulders jerk as he tries his best to get the thing moving.
Without saying a word, I grab the other side and pull with him.
When the coffin teeters at the edge, we pick it up, and carry it through the gates with shaking hands.
We set it down gently, like somehow that makes any of this easier, less cruel.
Brooks stares at the car as its tailgate slowly swings shut. His fists are clenched tight at his sides, white-knuckled and trembling. It’s a fucking miracle the driver pulls away when he does, because I don’t think Brooks could’ve held back a second longer.
And then it’s just us.
And the box.
The finality of it sitting there like a punch to the chest.
We both stare at the lid. I don’t want to open it. Because once we do, this stops being something someone told us—and becomes something we see.
Something we’ll never be able to unsee.
Brooks steps forward first. He slips his fingers under the lid—and lifts.
And there she is.
Jen.
Laid out like trash in a wooden frame. Her head’s turned to the side, a gaping hole where life was ripped from her. Her eyes are still open.
Still open.
Her limbs twisted like no one even bothered to place her gently. Like she was just dumped there. Forgotten.
A broken, guttural sob tears from Brooks’s chest before he crashes to his knees in the sand beside the coffin. His forehead drops to the edge, and I see his shoulders start to shake. Tears hit the earth like they’re burning through it.
I drop down beside him and pull him into me, holding him as tight as I can, even though it’ll never be enough.
There’s nothing I can say. No words that matter. So I don’t speak. I just hold on and let his grief fill the silence. Because sometimes silence is the only thing honest enough for this kind of pain.