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It’s her.
She must sense what I’m feeling, because a slow smile spreads across her lips. “I know,” she whispers. But she doesn’t. She has no fucking clue. She can’t possibly.
I press my lips to hers, trying, hoping, that it’s enough, that somehow, through a single kiss she’ll be able to feel it: how much she means to me. How much I appreciate her. How much I love that she didn’t just want me. She wanted us. All three of us.
Her fingers tighten in my hair and she presses firmer, rocking her hips into me. We break the kiss just long enough for me to remove her top, and when her hand covers my heart and she breathes out my name, I know what’ll happen next… I know we’ll give each other a piece of ourselves. Not just physically, but in every way possible. And when I flip us over; her lying on her back with me on top of her and I push into her for the first time, watching her eyes roll back and feeling her fingers dig into my back—I know it.
I feel it.
She’s disintegrated my armor with her existence, and now she has all of me.
Every single part.
I let her see me.
I let her love me.
And I let myself believe, just for a moment, I understood why.
19
-Becca-
“Wow.” I clutch the covers to my chest and try to catch my breath.
“Sorry,” he murmurs kissing my shoulder. I face him just as he smiles against my skin.
Turning to my side, I run my finger across his forehead to move the hair caught in the sweat across his brow. “Why are you sorry?”
“About the first time.”
A giggle bubbles out of me. “You made up for it the second and third.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his cheeks darkening with his blush. “I hope so.”
“You did. Trust me.”
He moans from deep in his throat and places his hand on my waist, drawing me closer to him until our bare chests meet. His mouth connects with my neck and moves down to my collarbone. “This is going to sound so weird,” he mumbles, lifting his gaze a little. “I really wish I had people around to show you off to.”
“Like a prize?”
He nods through a laugh and holds me tighter. “Exactly like a prize.”
“What would you say?”
“I don’t know.” He moves back slightly and rests his head on my pillow. “I’d probably just shout that this really hot girl let me have sex with her.”
I shake my head. “You’re such a dork.”
“I’m kidding.” He rolls over onto his back and holds his arm out, indicating for me to rest my head on it—which I do. “You know there’s never been a time since my parents disowned me that I’d ever wished it were different. I never wanted them to change their minds or to come knocking on my door begging for forgiveness. But right now, I wish it were different.”
I lace my fingers with his and kiss his hand. “Why?”
“Because I’d want them to meet you. I’d want them to know that even though I’ve made mistakes in the past, that I’m still loveable. That if you can find a way to care about me—then they should be able to, too.” His voice cracks and after clearing his throat he adds, “It’s not just that, though. I think they’d really like you, Becca.”
“Yeah?” I ask, unable to control my smile. “You don’t talk about them often.”
“I don’t really have anything to say.”
“But you have to be mad at them, or at least like—”
“I was,” he admits. “I used to be really angry and bitter and when that faded, I was just confused. It’s not like I came from a bad family. They were both active in my life. They supported my skating, encouraged it even. I don’t know… it’s like out of all the things I could do to fuck up; getting a girl pregnant was where they drew the line. The point of no return, you know? Yeah, they went to church and it was against their beliefs, but really? To not even try? It doesn’t make sense. And it’s not like they sat down and tried to talk to me about it, they just shut me out completely. The worst part is I still see her—my mom. I see her around town and at the store or whatever and she looks at me like I’m some kind of disease. I mean, I get that she’s disappointed and hates me… but her own grandson? She won’t even look at him. I doubt she’d even know his name, and if she does, she didn’t hear it from me. She won’t look at Tommy. Won’t even acknowledge his existence. Who does that, Becca? Who the hell can turn away their own grandchild?”
The same ones who turn away their own children, I want to tell him. But I don’t. Instead I say, “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs, but his mind’s elsewhere.
“What’s your dad like?”
“He’s… proud, I guess.”
“Of you?”
“No. Of himself and his life. He was a good dad, don’t get me wrong, but he’s always been stubborn and hated being wrong. Like, my uncle Robby and he are stepbrothers. My grandma remarried and treated Robby like her own. Robby’s dad was successful and came from a line of wealth. That’s where Robby got the funding to start his business. But my dad? He won’t take a cent of it. Even when dad went to college and it was all set up and paid for, he worked to pay it back as soon as possible. He’d never pay for anyone to come to the house to fix things—he’d always spend hours on weekends trying to do it himself. Even though there was trust fund money for dad, he wouldn’t touch it… as if it was dirty money or something.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s just stubborn and stupid.”
