Page 62 of Second Chance

The heat in his eyes is too much, and I look away. His fingers inch precariously close to my center, and while our conversation remains serious, my thoughts wander in other directions. Thick fingers dig into my denim-clad leg.

“It all makes sense now,” he says, turning away from me and for a moment I think he’s referring to us, but then he adds: “I think Calvin was my father. That’s why Kip hated me.”

It doesn’t make any sense. I can’t imagine Caroline cheating on Kip. She’d be too frightened. Then again, if she did have an affair, it could have been a reason for how he treated her. Not an excuse, though. Affair or not, there’s no excuse. Nothing can forgive Kip’s behavior toward his son, and eventually his wife. But still, his own brother?

“Denton,” I whisper, covering his hand on my thigh, curling my fingers into his. The touch startles him, and his eyes drift downward to where our hands envelop one another. It’s as if he didn’t realize we’d been touching all this time.

“Mati.” He leans toward me, a hand lifting for my hair, his lips seeking mine. I’m pressed backward until my hands touch his chest.

“Stop.”

Denton stills, and we balance in this awkward position a moment. I can’t kiss him like this.

“Make me forget, Mati.” Lust fills his eyes. Sloppy, drunk lust. “Pretend with me.”

As a child, he’d curl on my bed—me wrapped around him—and I’d hold him, hoping to make him forget for a little bit the horrors of his home. As if he could pretend he was part of mine. As adults, I have an idea he means more than a cuddle, but I can’t go that far. Not tonight, not like this.

Using our enclosed hands, he drags mine to his zipper. There’s no mistake in identifying the hard length, straining under the denim. Thick. Long. Bursting at the seams.

“That’s right,” he murmurs at me, his eyes closed, shutting out who I am as he flattens my palm against him. “Rub me off.” He moans, but there’s something in his tone that freezes me.

“Rub you off?”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Take me deep, so I disappear.”

Disconnect. That’s what I hear. It isn’t me he wants but a release. A distraction. And I can’t be it for him. Irritation intertwines with my sympathy. For thirty seconds I see the rockstar in him. The man who got what he wanted but shut out the world to get it.

“Fuck you, Denton,” I say softly, turning my head as I press at the firmness in his jeans, forcing him to release my hand. Balancing at a partially reclined angle, I feel like I’ll fall at any moment. Fall into love with his pain. Fall into hate with his behavior. His eyes snap open, glassy and red, as he peers at me.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” His voice is hardly more than a whisper. “I want to fuck you, too, sweetheart. One day soon. I’m going to fuck you so hard I’ll be imprinted inside your soul like you’re in mine, and you’ll never forget me, never want to forget me.”

“I never wanted to forget you,” I snap, ignoring the anatomy of him still straining against his zipper.

“Chris wanted you to.” I feel myself lowering to the couch as Denton shifts his body. He shrugs, struggling with his jacket. Draping the heavy material over both of us, he curls behind me, molding me into his body.

“What does Chris have to do with anything?” Irritation turns to anger as Chris is brought into this conversation and we lay in such a comforting position. His voice turns drowsy and drifts off as he speaks into the nape of my neck.

“Chris has everything to do with us.”