Train Me Daddy by Mia Ford (26)

“Fine, Drew then, as you may or may not know, the reason you've been sent to me is because I'm a specialist on post-traumatic stress disorder in combat veterans. But we've run into a bit of a problem, and to be rather blunt with you, I fear it might affect our professional relationship. My colleague – Dr. Frank – doesn't have my level of experience with veterans, but I'm sure he'd be more than happy to –”

“Are you transferring me?” he asked.

He stared at me wide-eyed and slack-jawed – looking almost offended by the suggestion I was going to make.

“I believe it would be in your best interest, Drew. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I can help you. Not with our – history.”

It pained me to admit that. I'd only been practicing for three years, but never in my life had I admitted I couldn't help someone. I'd never turn a client away who needed my expertise. It was something of an unwritten rule of mine. But I was torn and caught in a no-win situation. I was, as the old cliché went, caught between a rock and hard place.

A delicious and sexy hard place, I thought to myself – and then immediately mentally kicked myself for it.

“What if I refuse?” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What if I want to stay with the expert and refuse to see your partner?”

“Well, there are other experts in my field I could –”

“No, you're not answering my question, Dr. Emerson,” he said. “What if I want to see you? What if I think you're the best fit for me and I refuse to see anyone else?”

“And why would you do that, Drew?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs at the ankles.

“Because I like you, Dr. Emerson. I like you already,” he replied. “I can already tell you've got my best interests at heart and can help me.”

I opened my mouth to ask if this had anything to do with what happened last night, but I closed it, not wanting to bring that up. I feared that by opening those particular flood gates, by admitting that something had happened between us, it would make things even more difficult. Not to mention, the risk to my career – a career I'd worked really hard for – if this ever came to light, would be far too great.

But he was there. Asking for my help. I could see in his eyes that he needed help – needed somebody with my level of experience. Dr. Frank was a good man and a good therapist, but I wasn't sure he'd be able to crack open a tough nut like Drew. I knew my own chances of success with him were small, but they were probably still better than Dr. Frank's.

“Very well,” I said, feeling no small amount of trepidation. “We'll give it a shot, if you insist. But if things don't work out –”

Drew's lips pulled back into a cocky smile as he finished my sentence for me. “Then, and only then, will I allow you to break things off.”

“Well, I wasn't going to put it that way, but okay,” I said. “Then yes, I will continue to see you then.”

My cheeks were burning, and I knew they were bright red. In my mind's eye, I kept seeing him on top of me, plunging his cock into me. My body reacted, recalling the way he'd felt inside of me. The way it had felt when I'd had him in my mouth. I felt a fire ignite between my thighs and felt myself getting wet despite my best efforts to avoid those thoughts in the first place.

I had to continue to act like a professional, however. I had a job to do – a job I took very seriously and very personally. I was good at what I did and enjoyed it to boot. I wouldn't jeopardize it. So, I remained in my chair, was sure to sit up straight with my ankles crossed, and my arms crossed in front of my chest. Drew smiled at me, and in that smile, I could tell that his inner thoughts weren't exactly clean – he was likely recalling everything that had just flashed through my mind. As if acting of their own accord, my eyes drifted down to his crotch and I could see the outline of his thick, hard cock straining against his pants. That only made the fire between my thighs burn hotter and more intensely

As difficult as it was, I pushed away the lascivious thoughts running through my mind. He was obviously thinking about last night. As was I. Of course, It was hard not to, especially considering how amazing it was. But whatever happened, it happened in the past.

And it could not, would not, happen again.

No way, no how.

* * *

DREW

“Can you at least tell me your name?” I asked.

“I have. It's Dr. Emerson,” she responded nonchalantly.

“No, I mean your first name,” I said. “I hate that I didn't ask last night –”

“You don't need to know that, Drew,” she said, smiling in a friendly way that came off as insincere, but polite. “Let's keep things professional, okay? And we need to set up a ground rule here right at the outset – last night never happened. It's not to be brought up in this office again. You got me?”

I smirked, but could tell that she was serious. “Aye aye, Captain.”

“I'm serious, Drew,” she said.

“I got you. But you already know my name,” I said, biting my lip. “It's not fair –”

“Who said anything about being fair,” she said. “This is about helping you, not conforming to what your definition of fair is, Drew.”

Damn. She was whip smart and on it with the replies today. Not like the woman last night who seemed taken in by my every word. Today she was shooting me down left and right. She didn't seem impressed with me or anything I had to say. And I had to admit, it stung a bit.

She was a beautiful woman – and if possible, even more beautiful today than she had been in the club last night.

“You know, I have a thing for smart women,” I said. “Maybe we should –”

“Maybe we should talk about your panic attacks, since that's what your insurance is paying for,” she said, shutting me down again. “When was the last time you had one?”

“When I woke up this morning and saw that you'd left me without even saying goodbye,” I said.

That was a lie, but it was smooth. I was pretty proud of myself for coming up with that one. Not that I ever imagined I'd be hitting on my therapist, but given that I was already traveling down that road, it seemed like the perfect line.

Except, of course, Dr. Emerson didn't look at all amused by my antics. In fact, she was rubbing her temples and looking downright annoyed at me.

“Drew, if we can't keep things professional, I'm not doing you any good,” she said. “And if I'm not going to be able to help you, I will have no choice but to –”

This time, I cut her off. “Fine,” I said, looking down at my hands. I picked at the skin around my thumb as I tried to think of something to say that wouldn't be taken as a flirt or a joke. “I'm sorry. I'm just not comfortable talking about my feelings and shit, you know? It's a hell of a lot simpler – not to mention more fun – to flirt with you.”

“Is it worse because of our history together?” she asked.

“History?” I laughed. There wasn't much history, but I let it slide and answered her question truthfully. “Not really. I just don't like talking about myself.”

“I figured that much,” she said, her eyes softening as she looked at me. “Most of the men who come in to see me don't like talking about their feelings, it feels foreign or wrong to them. Because they weren't raised that way. Most of them have been taught to stuff all of your emotions down into a box. It's not manly to talk about your feelings. It makes you feel weak. Inferior. Perhaps even like a sissy. And of course, the military doesn't do you any favors with the macho –”

“Hey now,” I said, stopping her right there. “The military has done me a lot of favors. The military has been really good to me.”

“Yes, of course. I didn't mean it like that and I sincerely apologize,” she said. “I just meant that you're not really encouraged to talk about your feelings, even when you witness so much death and destruction. Keeping all of that in and never finding a way to express it does you more harm than good, Drew. It eats away at your mind and your soul. It's just not healthy.”

I shrugged.

“I'm right about that, aren't I?” she asked.

“I guess so.”

There was a silence in the room – a heavy silence as if she expected me to say more. But I knew what she was trying to do, and it didn't work. The silence didn't scare me; I was used to it. I came to expect it now that I was home. And I wasn't the type who talked just to fill empty spaces in the conversation. I wasn't one of those who got scared by a gap in the conversation and needed to fill it with whatever inane bullshit popped into my head.

“You guess so?” she asked, trying to nudge me into speaking. “I'm guessing this started at a young age. Why don't you tell me about your parents, Drew?”

My parents. As soon as she mentioned them, my entire body tensed up. My fists were balled up in my lap and I had to look away. Had to look at anything but her.

“I see that struck a nerve, and I'm sorry. There's just no notes in your file about your parents –”

“Because they're dead,” I said, letting out a deep breath. “They died a few years back. It was a car accident.”

Dr. Emerson's eyes grew wide. “I'm sorry, Drew. I had no idea.”

And I could tell by the expression on her face that she meant it. She was sorry. She was sincere, didn't try to patronize or placate me. She came across as genuine, sincere, and compassionate – and I liked her a little more because of it.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to smile, but failed. “It's okay. You didn't know, and I'm not here to be coddled, now am I?”

“No, you're not here for the coddling,” she said. “But I also don't want to make things worse for you. If I had known, I would have brought it up in a gentler way.”

“Gentle? With me?” I snorted. “No one has ever felt the need to be gentle about anything with me. I mean, look at me – do I look like the type of man who needs you to be gentle?”

Dr. Emerson smiled, a soft smile that felt warm and genuine. “No, but as I know from experience, looks can often be deceiving, Drew. Sometimes the biggest, most manly men are the ones who need the most help emotionally. They're the ones least likely to talk about what's really bothering them. The least likely to seek out help even though their soul is rotting from the inside out.”

I shook my head, trying hard not to laugh. This all sounded like new age, touchy feely bullshit to me, and I really didn't want anyone – including a woman I fucked the night before – to feel the need to be gentle around me. I wasn't some weak ass bitch and I didn't need to be treated with kid gloves.

“I'm a Navy SEAL,” I said. “I've seen men and women die, right in front of me, and in some really outlandishly terrible ways. I'm just fine.”

“Oh really?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “If that's the case, then why are you here?”

ooo000ooo

She had me there. As I left her office, I was as confused as ever as to why I was seeing a shrink. My dear old dad would be so fucking ashamed of me right now. Talking about my feelings and shit with a therapist – it just wasn't our way. Wasn't how we doing things. We sucked it up, dealt with our shit, and carried on. Dr. Emerson had been right about that. I wasn't raised to be open about my feelings, because I was a boy. A man. And I had a job to do – serve in the military, protect our country and eventually, one day, provide for a family. None of that would be easy and I never expected it to be.

I stopped in the hallway and turned around. Walking back to her office, I opened the door and peeked inside.

“So, you still won't tell me your first name?” I asked.

“No.” She didn't even look up from her notes as she answered.

“Then at least answer one question, please,” I said. “Why were you there last night? At the bar? And why did you go home with me?”

She stopped writing, but still didn't look up, her eyes fixed on the notepad in front of her.

“Why does that matter, Drew?” she asked.

“Because, well, I wasn't looking for this – whatever it is this is. I was just lonely and looking for someone to spend my birthday with. And then I found you. That's what I was looking for. And I just got to wondering what it was you were looking for?”

She turned and looked at me, finally, and there was sadness in her eyes. “Maybe I was looking for the same thing, Drew.”

It made sense, but it also didn't. Why was she lonely? It was no mystery why I was lonely. But she was a beautiful, successful young woman who could have anyone she wanted – I was sure of that. She had to have family and friends and co-workers – all things I'd lost and hadn't been able to find again.

But it was obvious by the way she sat there staring at me, that there was no way she was talking about it. She wasn't going to open up to me the way she demanded I opened up to her. Not now, at least.

“Well hopefully you found what you needed,” I said. “I promise to not bring it up again.”

“I appreciate it,” she said, turning back to her work briefly before looking back up at me. “Oh, and happy belated birthday.”

“Thanks,” I muttered to myself as I continued walking toward the waiting room.

* * *

AMELIA

I listened to his footsteps fading away as he made his way out of my office and down the hallway. As soon as I heard the door at the end of the hall close – which meant he was back in the waiting room, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My body relaxed into the chair as a powerful wave of relief washed over me.

I'd see him again in a week, but at least I had a week to mentally prepare myself for it. I'd been completely blindsided when I opened the door and saw him standing there. But I'd do a better job of keeping an even keel next time. I made that vow to myself.

He'd promised to not mention sleeping together again, but I wasn't sure it would be that easy. It was on his mind – as it was mine, truth be told – and it would always be the elephant in the room, no matter what we were talking about. It was the one reason I wasn't sure this arrangement was going to work out.

I had second thoughts about keeping him on as a client. Then third, fourth, and fifth thoughts. Reaching for the phone, I came so close to calling Dr. Frank and requesting he see Drew Hunter from now on. But the man had requested to stay with me. Maybe he was hoping he could sleep with me again, or perhaps he actually needed me. It was a crapshoot at that point.

But I was an expert in what he was going through and knew that if anybody could help him, it would be me. It was just impossible to know if I was doing the right thing or not.

I held off on calling Dr. Frank and put the phone back in place. I wouldn't refer Drew out. For now, at least.

My cell phone buzzed, pulling me back to the here and now. It couldn't be Drew, he didn't have my cell phone number, but my pulse raced nonetheless.

Can I see you? Please, Amelia, the message read.

My heart sank.

It was Charlie.

My finger hovered over the Delete Message option, but my hand shook violently as I stared at the words on the screen. I moved to delete it again, but couldn't bring myself to do it.

It buzzed again.

I screwed up, I know it now. I miss you so much.

Tears welled up in my eyes. As much as I hated to admit it, I missed him too. Or at least the man I'd always thought him to be. The last few months though, I'd seen somebody entirely different, somebody I hadn't even recognized. And I didn't like it. Not one bit.

I silenced my phone. No need to deal with that at work. Not now. Not ever, honestly.

ooo000ooo

The train ride home was uneventful. Some nights, Charlie joined me on my ride home, coming to my house to spend the night. Other nights, we went to his place. We didn't spend every night together, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to live a double life so easily. But we'd spent enough nights together for this solo train ride to feel extra lonely and depressing.

Charlie tried to call while I was on my way home. A few times actually. I never even bothered to listen to the voice mails. Hearing his voice might break me, might convince me to cave in and see him, and once that happened, I would lose it. I would give in and go back to him. I knew myself well enough to know that.

I was sad, of course, but there was anger seething underneath the surface as well. A deep, abiding, and justifiable anger. We'd been through so much together, how could he do that to me? Did I really matter so little to him that some other woman could take my place so easily?

If you listened to his frantic text messages, you'd think that wasn't the case – that he thought me irreplaceable. But I saw what he'd said to her. I'd read his texts to her. I knew he said the same things to her that he'd said me.

And what he'd told her – as well as what he'd told me – were utter and complete bullshit.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to block out the visions of him with her. I tried to think of anything else, anything at all. And that's when I thought about the night before with Drew. A smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the way he'd touched me, the way he'd kissed me and how good it felt to be with him.

Drew had made me feel desired and sexy – something Charlie hadn't done in a while. Over time, the sex had slowed down between us, but I'd just assumed it was normal. That's what happened when couples were together awhile, right? But eventually it stopped altogether, and I no longer felt that he wanted me in that way. He was always content to keep his distance, and he never looked at me as a sexual being again.

Little did I know at the time, that he was seeing other women in that way.

But Drew – just the way his gaze moved over my body was enough to make me stop doubting my attractiveness. He made me feel beautiful again. Sexy. Desired.

Earlier, when he'd asked me what I needed from our encounter, I'd told the truth. Yes, I wanted to escape the never-ending loneliness that had become a part of my life. And being with someone, even for just one night, was a cure for that. At least temporarily. But it was more than that. I needed a man to make me feel sexy again, to desire me in a way Charlie hadn't in a very long time.

And I'd found that with Drew. He'd given me exactly what I needed. And for that, I was grateful. Eternally grateful. And I always would be for that gift.

Because, while the loneliness was there to stay with me for a while like an unwanted roommate, I could cling to our time together and remind myself that Charlie wasn't the only man in the world. There were others out there who would find me desirable and sexy. And that the loneliness and pain I was feeling so keenly in that moment, wasn't going to last forever.

* * *

DREW

“So what happened to you while you were over there?” Dr. Emerson asked. “The notes don't go into too much detail about what you went through, but they mention somebody in your unit named Mason Shoemaker –”

I flinched when she spoke and it was almost as if she'd slapped me. Honestly, I would have preferred it if she had. I probably would have preferred a million other things other than her bringing up Mason. I sat on the couch across from her, doing everything within my power to avoid turning the conversation toward her. The temptation to crack a joke or talk about anything other than Mason or my time overseas was strong. And it was apparently my most common avoidance tactic.

I leaned back on the couch and actually felt myself drawing inward beneath her scrutiny. I wasn't one who could ever be considered a wilting flower. I didn't back down from anybody and always confronted things head on. But for some reason, when it came to Dr. Emerson – specifically, Dr. Emerson prying into my past – I just clammed up. Intimidated wasn't the right word, but it was probably close. That uncertainty was a new, strange feeling – and one I didn't care for, truth be told.

And she knew that cracking jokes or diverting the conversation was my way of getting out of talking about myself, and especially about what happened over there – and called me out on it regularly.

“Who was he, Drew? This – Mason?”

I remained quiet for a moment and tried to sink into the couch cushions. I didn't want to talk about Mason. There were things I didn't want to talk about. Things she wouldn't understand. Things nobody who didn't serve, didn't have to do what we had to do, would understand. There were also things I couldn't talk about – aspects of our missions that were still classified. Aspects that helped shape and define my relationship with Mason. It was a fine line and one that I had to tread carefully. A line I didn't know that I even wanted to approach, let alone cross.

“Drew?” she asked softly.

“Mason was my – best friend,” I finally said in a voice barely more than a whisper.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Her eyes grew wide, her expression one of sympathy. “I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah, that's what everybody says,” I muttered to myself, avoiding the look in her eyes. “No offense, but it doesn't particularly help. I mean, it's not like you knew him or anything... ”

“No, but I can see that his passing had a profound effect on you. And I'm sorry for that. It's a pain nobody should have to endure.”

I nodded. “I appreciate that. It's just – I don't know,” I said, shaking my head. “I don't know what I mean.”

“Well, what would you prefer I say, Drew?”

I shrugged. “There's really nothing you can say,” I said. “That's not a knock on you, it's just that there's nothing anyone can say to make it better. I watched as my best friend was blown to pieces right in front of me. My uniform was coated in his blood. And the real bitch of it is, that it's all my fault.”

“It's not –”

“Yes, it is. You don't know what you're talking about. You weren't there,” I snapped.

She lowered her eyes and looked abashed. “No, I wasn't there. But from what I know of you –”

I snorted derisively. “No offense, but you don't know anything about me,” I said, my voice rising. “The only thing you really know about me is that I'm really good in the sack.”

Her cheeks colored, but when she raised her eyes and looked straight at me, I could see the defiance in them. I'd crossed a line and had pissed her off. But to her credit, she remained composed and didn't let my outburst rattle her.

“We're getting a little off topic, Drew,” she said. “I know you're angry – and we certainly can talk about the reasons for your anger. I'm sure they're justifiable. But I'm not the enemy here, so let's just take a breath and try to calm down a bit.”

I sighed and slumped back in my seat. She was right. I wasn't pissed at her. She just happened to be there and was an easy target. I felt bad for cracking back on her like I had.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It's okay,” she replied. “Please, go on.”

I cleared my throat and looked up, but still couldn't force myself to meet her eyes. “It is my fault because what everyone seems to forget – what isn't in the official reports – is that I was supposed to run point on that mission. Me. But I sent Mason out ahead of me instead. I hung back a bit and screwed around because I thought it was going to be boring as shit. It was just a standard recon. We hadn't had any enemy contact in a few days and everything was quiet. It was supposed to be mellow. But guess what? He walked right over an IED that I failed to detect because I figured we were safe and didn't have my head on straight. I sent him out there ahead of me and he got blown to shit because of it. Because I didn't do my goddamn job. That should have been me. Not him.”

My heart felt like it was breaking all over again and my eyes welled with tears, but I fought them off. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut tight, cursing myself for giving in and crying. Again. And more than that, for crying, right in front of a woman I'd fucked a little more than a week ago. Yeah, I was sure my little display of weakness in her office was getting her all hot and wet for me again.

“Listen, I'm not comfortable –” I said, standing up and heading toward the door. “I have to leave. I can't do this anymore –”

She moved so smoothly and quickly I hadn't even heard her stand up. The next thing I knew though, she was beside me and grabbed my arm. Her grip was tight – she was stronger than she looked.

“You can't keep running away, Drew,” she said. “You have to confront this and do something with it otherwise it's going to keep eating away at your soul. It is going to rot you from the inside out. You're going to change – become a shell of yourself. Is that what you want? Is that what Mason would have wanted for you?

Pulling my arm free, I snapped back, “OH yeah? You're one to talk about running away. You seem really well versed in that,” I roared. “And you don't know shit about Mason, so keep your fuckin' mouth shut about things you don't have the first goddamn clue about.”

She didn't try to stop me again. Instead, she just stared up at me, an expression of hurt upon her face. Her mouth was open as if she wanted to say something. To fight back. I thought she was going to for a moment, but then that moment passed and she didn't say anything. She simply closed her mouth and lowered her eyes once more. With a small sense of triumph – one I knew would fade and leave me feeling like shit later – I walked out the door and slammed it as I left. I strode down the hall, my boot steps echoing off the walls, anger coursing through my veins. I didn't even bother looking back as I walked through the waiting room and out of the building.

I wasn't going back. There was no purpose in it other than to rip the scabs off old wounds rather than letting them heal.

But then, I wasn't sure these were wounds that really would ever heal.

ooo000ooo

That night, I was afraid to fall asleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. I saw Mason staring back at me, that goofy ass grin he got whenever we were cutting up – which was most of the time. He got me in a way nobody had ever gotten me before – or ever since.

We were like brothers – and it wasn't just that brotherhood bond that formed during SEAL training or close quarter combat situations. We had a bond that went even deeper than that. He was more than just my best friend and I loved him. Not a day went by that I didn't think about him. That my heart didn't hurt for not having him in my life anymore.

Back in the day, we'd talk about what our lives were going to be like after the service. We made plans to chase chicks together when we were finally home – being a SEAL had some definite perks. We talked about opening a business together – a food truck or some shit like that. We joked about growing old and fat together.

If there was one thing we were serious about though, it was that we were going to be a part of each other's worlds for the rest of our days. It was a bond that was deep and unbreakable. And because of that, a piece of my soul had gone with him when he died.

I lay in bed, the cobwebs of sleep starting to envelop me. As I drifted off, I not only saw Mason, I heard him too. Heard his voice. And he was laughing.

“I think I'm going to ask her to marry me,” he said. “When I get home, that is.”

We were barrelling down a lonely stretch of road in some Afghani shithole town with a few other guys in our unit. It was a small mission – just a quick arrest of a suspected bomber. I recognized the road and the conversation. It was one of the last missions we'd run together before he'd died.

I looked at him sitting in the seat beside me and wanted to tell him not to take point on that upcoming mission. Wanted to tell him to make me do it instead. Even though I was dimly aware that this was just a dream, there was some small part of my mind that hoped I'd somehow travelled in time and could save him. It should have been me – not him – that got hit by that IED.

But I couldn't change anything. I couldn't affect shit. All I could do was sit there and watch the scene play out.

“Fuck, man. That's pretty serious,” I replied. “What made you decide that?”

He looked up at me, and even though he was there with me, in my dream, he really wasn't there. Even at that moment in time, he was thinking about her. He was always thinking about her. I didn't blame him for it. Carrie was great and I thought she was good for him. She kept him up on Cloud Nine, but also firmly rooted to the ground. She was a unique woman and I was happy that they'd found each other.

“I dunno. We were talking last night, and I just realized I can't imagine my life without her,” he said. “Not to sound like a sentimental little bitch, but Carrie is my everything. We've been together since high school. We've gone through so much, and as we talked about the future, I realized maybe this is it. She's my soul mate. She's the one I'm supposed to grow old with.”

I laughed. “You're supposed to grow old with me, fuckface.”

Mason grinned. “I would, but you can't give a blowjob worth a shit.”

We laughed and drew a grin from the guys in the front of the Humvee. That was typical Mason – always quick with the comeback. It's how he'd earned his call sign – Joker. A little cheesy and cliché, but a well-earned nickname.

“You believe in that shit?” I asked him. “About soul mates and shit?”

“Yeah? Maybe? Hell, I don't know,” he said, looking away from me as if he was almost embarrassed that he'd say some new aged, corny and campy shit like that. “I don't know, man. I guess being out here has changed me. Seeing the things, we've seen and doing the things we've done – it's done a number on me. I remember that when I passed through SEAL training, I came out ready to kill and drink the blood of our enemies.”

I laughed. “Yeah, training has a way of doing that,” I said. “They know how to fire you up, but good.”

He nodded. “They do,” he replied. “But I'm not that guy anymore. If anything, being around so much death and destruction has made me realize how precious life is. And how much I actually have to lose. In a weird way, all this killing and death has made me a little more human – it's definitely made me more sentimental and crap.”

“I'd say,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You sound like a fuckin' Hallmark commercial mashed up with a motivational speaker. In other words, you sound like a first-class little bitch.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Mason laughed. “I'm serious though. Everything we've gone through over here has made me really realize how much I love and appreciate Carrie.”

I was giving him a ration of shit, but on the inside, I couldn't have been happier for him. He deserved to be happy. To feel loved and appreciated. Mason was one of the good ones and deserved nothing but the best.

“I know you're serious, brother,” I said. “And I really am happy for you. Carrie's a good girl. You two make a great couple.”

We normally didn't talk about shit like that. We kept it to video games, hot women, sports – you name it. We didn't get sentimental. That wasn't our way and it hurt too damn much. Especially since my girlfriend and I had broken up before I'd shipped out. She was somebody I really cared about, but she wanted someone who was going to be there for her, all the time, at her beck and call. She was upset when I told her that I was leaving and I couldn't be that for her. I had responsibilities and she couldn't understand that.

I'd asked her to wait for me. Told her we'd be able to keep in touch all the time. I promised that when my tour was up, that I'd be there for her twenty-four/seven. I would never leave her side if she didn't want me to. But she wasn't willing to wait for me. Wouldn't even consider it.

To say that it hurt, would be an understatement. I remembered feeling like I'd been kicked in the nuts by a mule.

“You'll find someone someday, Drew,” he said quietly. “No doubt about it. And she'll be somebody worthy of you. Somebody who can put up with your stupid ass.”

“I already have, Mason,” I said. “I've found that woman. And my God, is she fuckin' amazing in the sack.”

“Oh yeah?” Mason raised his eyebrow, curious.

“Yeah. It's your mom. She is an absolute mattress stallion and we couldn't be happier together,” I said, turning the conversation back to the same inane shit we always joked about. “Which means that you're going to need to start calling me Dad.”

Mason shook his head and smiled, “Whatever makes you happy, Drew. Whatever makes you happy,” he said. “Although I know you're full of shit because my mom has a little taste – which automatically rules your tacky ass out.”

I woke up drenched in sweat, Mason's face still emblazoned in my mind. That's the way to remember him, they told me. I remembered him happy. And he was never as happy as he was when he talked about Carrie and the future he planned to have with her. A future that would never materialize now. All thanks to me.

I saw Carrie at his funeral – but she didn't know the full details of what happened. There were elements of our missions we couldn't talk about. And it killed me to know that she didn't have the full story. But then, if I had told her the full story, she'd have killed me herself, I had no doubt. She'd know it was my fault that Mason was dead every bit as much as I did.

During the service, she was overcome by grief and fell to her knees, sobbing as f her entire world had fallen apart. And in a way, it had. All because of me.

All because I sent Mason ahead of me when I was supposed to be the one on point. All because I didn't think to check the area before I'd sent him on ahead.

And Dr. Emerson wanted me to believe it wasn't my fault?

Bullshit.

But as I stared at my ceiling, feeling lost and confused, I yearned to talk to her about everything I was thinking and feeling in that moment. I wasn't sure why, and perhaps my reasons were more personal than for therapeutic, but I just wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to hear what she had to say.

Because I hated living like this. Every single day was hell, and perhaps my Captain and everyone else was right about me needing help. And if anyone could help me, I thought that it would be her. There was something about her was just – special. I couldn't put my finger on it. But she made me feel comfortable. She made me feel like I could open up and that it would be okay. She made me feel like she'd listen to me without judging and that she genuinely had my best interest at hear. She was good at what she did.

And I didn't mean just the sex either.

* * *

AMELIA

“Hi Drew, it's Dr. Emerson. Just calling to make sure you're okay after yesterday's session. I'm here all afternoon if you want to talk,” I said.

It was the second time I'd tried calling him, and so far, nothing. I couldn't force him to come in for anymore sessions, but God knew, he needed it. Maybe I was wrong to have kept him on as a patient. Maybe the complexity of his case along with our night together screwed it all up. Had made me lose perspective.

I hung up, feeling bad for how it had all gone down yesterday. I wondered if maybe I'd pushed him too hard. Though, it wasn't like he was the first person to rush out of a session like that, only to come back later and admit they weren't ready. But our situation was unique, and I wasn't sure if I should be doing things differently because of what happened. Or if he really did just need some time. Or hell, maybe I was worried about him. A little too worried, if I were being honest with myself.

For the first time in my professional career, I was feeling uncertain. Unsure of myself. And it was a feeling I didn't like. Not one bit.

Biting my nail, I stared down at my phone, willing it to ring. I gave him my direct office line, so he could call and get me straight away.

I was concentrating on my office phone so intently, that when my cell phone buzzed, it made me nearly jump out of my skin. But like the time it had happened before, I knew it couldn't be Drew.

It was Charlie.

I didn't know what got into me, but I was tired of the bullshit. I answered it, and Charlie sounded surprised.

“Amelia? Is that you?”

“You called my phone. Who else would it be, Charlie,” I sighed. “What do you want?”

“I just want to talk,” he said.

“There's nothing to talk about,” I said, my tone colder than ice. “We're over.”

“I don't believe that, Amelia. We love each other, we had something special –”

“No, we didn't. If that were true, you wouldn't have felt the need to have a woman on the side,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You're a narcissist, Charlie. Considering what I do for a living, I should have seen it from a mile away, but you're good at hiding who you really are. You're really good.”

“Don't analyse me or throw around psychological terms, sweetheart –”

“Don't call me sweetheart, and don't patronize me. I'm not just throwing around terms –”

“Can we please talk in person?”

“No,” I grumbled.

My office phone rang and my heart skipped a bit. It was a local number and I thought it might be Drew.

“Listen, I have to go back to work. Please, stop calling me, Charlie. It's over. Nothing you can say will change that, so goodbye.”

I hung up on Charlie and answered my office phone a little too eagerly.

“Hello, this is Dr. Emerson speaking,” I said.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number,” an older woman's voice said on the other end of the phone.

Damn.

ooo000ooo

I waited all day, checking my voicemail between each patient – and nothing. No call from Drew. If I didn't hear back from him soon, I'd have to report that he was no longer in my care. I hated doing that and didn't want to, since it could mean he'd have trouble getting the help he needed. But filing accurate records and status reports were a part of my job and something I couldn't escape – even if I wanted to.

If he didn't call, what else could I do?

I walked out of the office at the end of the day, pulling my coat around me a little tighter as a cool wind picked up, and walked toward my BART stop. I was lost in thought and on auto-pilot for most of my walk, but as I neared the platform, I saw a familiar face. And it sent a bolt of adrenaline through me and got my heart racing.

“Crap,” I said, turning around and walking back toward the office.

But it was too late, he'd already seen me. And I heard his footsteps slapping against the pavement as he hurried to catch up.

“Amelia, wait!”

“No, Charlie, leave me alone,” I called over my shoulder as I continued walking quickly.

He could walk much faster than I could, however, and it wasn't long before he caught up to me. He reached out and grabbed my arm, turning me toward him. I pulled away from him, but he held on tight, refusing to let me go. I struggled, but couldn't loosen his grip on my arm.

It was the look in his eyes that scared me the most. They just seemed – crazed. There was a look on his face that I found frightening. It was as if I was staring into the face of a man who felt he had nothing left to lose and was going to take me down with him. It was the face I imagined was on many of the men who committed murder-suicides – a thought that chilled me to the very core.

“Listen, Amelia,” he said, his voice stern, but desperate, “you wouldn't meet with me when all I wanted to do was talk. What choice did you leave me? I needed to talk to you and you need to listen to me.”

“I don't need to do anything, Charlie,” I spat. “I don't owe you shit. You're the one who was fucking somebody else. Not me. So, get your goddamn hand off of me right this minute!”

My voice was rising and people were starting to stare. Good. Because in that moment, I didn't trust that Charlie wouldn't do something stupid. The look in his eyes scared me, it was one I'd only seen from him a handful of times – and each time, it made me fear he could turn that rage on me. He never had, not until today. But as he stared down at me, I could see the hatred in his eyes.

This wasn't about him still loving me. He never had really loved me because Charlie couldn't love anyone but himself. As much as it terrified me to see that look in his eye, it was what finally made me let go – for good. And I knew there was no going back, never. Because if I did, I'd be nothing but a prized possession. I'd never be a treasured girlfriend or a wife or someone he loved. I'd be his – thing. His conquest. His trophy. And he was pissed because I was no longer his and would never be any of those things. That would be it.

I struggled to pull my arm away, but he gripped it tighter, causing me to yell out in pain. “You're hurting me!” I said.

I watched as people tried not to stare, and I begged and pleaded for someone to step in and help me. But no one did. Because it's human nature to look the other way, and that's what the passers-by were doing. I was pretty certain that Charlie could pull out a knife and start stabbing me on the sidewalk right then and there and a whole lot of people would find more interesting things to look at and would pay us no attention at all.

“Let's just go back to my place and talk,” Charlie said, pulling me toward his car that was parked on the street nearby.

That's when I felt hope surge in my chest when somebody behind me spoke. Somebody was finally going to help me.

“She's not going anywhere with you.”

A familiar voice. A strong voice. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw Drew and my heart flared with gratitude.

“Who the fuck is you?” Charlie asked, casting his baleful glare at Drew.

I watched as Charlie looked the other man up and down, and I watched as the realization hit me that there was no way he could win in a fight against Drew. After all, Charlie was a scrawny excuse for a man compared to the Navy SEAL who was standing there behind us.

“Doesn't matter who I am, asshole,” Drew snapped. “She obviously doesn't want to go anywhere with you and you're hurting her. I'm here to tell you to let her go.”

“Or what?” Charlie asked, a cocky, but stupid grin on his face. “You're going to beat the shit out of me here on a public street?”

Drew shrugged, “If I have to, yeah. Why wouldn't I? And what do I have to lose?”

“Don't, Drew –” I started to say.

“Oh, so she knows you, huh?” Charlie yanked me closer to him and away from Drew, which seemed to be the last straw.

Drew stepped toward Charlie and before I could see what happened, he had pulled back his fist and launched it. Drew's fist connected with Charlie's jaw with a slap of flesh and a sickening crunching sound. Charlie let me go as he grabbed at his face, howling in pain as I fell to the ground at Drew's feet.

Drew reached down with one hand and helped me up, holding me a little too close for comfort – given that he was my patient and all that – but I let it be. This wasn't business as usual and in that moment, I felt safe there with his arm wrapped around my shoulder.

“Now I'd encourage you to get the fuck out of here,” Drew said. “Because she obviously doesn't want to see you.”

The rest of it was a blur, as my eyes filled with tears, relieved that Charlie hadn't gotten me into his car and thankful that Drew had showed up when he did.

After watching Charlie leave, speeding away in his car, Drew turned to me, lifting my chin up to make me look him in the eyes. It was so hard looking at his face because the thoughts I had about him were definitely not clean. And they most definitely were not the types of thoughts I should have been having about a client.

“I tried calling your office on my way over,” he said. “But I guess you'd already stepped out.”

I nodded, unable to speak, mainly because I was afraid of what I might say. I couldn't be trusted, not in that moment, not being so close to him. Not with his hands touching me. The safer course of action was to play the rattled woman and say nothing. Not until my heart had healed over sufficiently.

“You shouldn't have done that –” I said after a few seconds of silence. “With Charlie.”

“Yeah, who the fuck was he anyway?”

“It doesn't matter, you shouldn't have gotten involved,” I said.

I pulled myself together and cleared my throat as I stepped away from him, removing his hands from my shoulders where they rested so comfortably. It took everything in me to pull away from him, but I had to. I had to step away and leave or else things could take an entirely different turn.

“I have to go, Drew,” I said. “Call the office receptionist and make an appointment with Dr. Frank, please. I think it would be better for both of us if you started seeing him instead of me.”

I walked toward the BART stop, hurrying off and not looking back to see if Drew was following me.

It wasn't until later that I realized I hadn't even thanked him for saving me from Charlie.

* * *

DREW

I sat all alone out on the back patio at Frisco's, enjoying a beer and a basket of fries. The cool breeze coming off the bay was too cold for most folks this time of year, but I loved it. It reminded me I was home, that I was thousands of miles away from that hellhole in the desert.

For better or worse, I was home.

I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I stared through the windows and into the bar. There were single, gorgeous women inside – which wasn't unusual for a Saturday night. What was unusual though, was that none of them appealed to me. The low cut, tit revealing tops and short skirts just weren't firing me up as much as they normally did.

At one time, a one-night stand with one of those chicks would have done the trick. It would have snapped me out of my shit and for at least a night, it would have helped me forget my problems and made me feel a bit better about things.

But now, for whatever reason, looking at all of those scantily clad women only reminded me of my pitiful existence and how I had no one who wanted to get close to me for more than a few hours.

It made me think back to my earlier dream – the one about Mason telling me he was going to marry his girl. I didn't want to admit it – not eve to myself – but I longed for that sort of connection with a woman. There was a part of me that really wished I had somebody to call my own – and to have somebody call me the same.

I longed to be with somebody, to know that they were the one – or as Mason would have put it – to call them my soul mate and not feel like a little bitch for saying it. But I wanted that suburban kind of life my friends had. I gave them shit for it, but only because deep down, I yearned for it. The idea of coming home to somebody every day, to know that they loved me unconditionally – it was something I wanted. I wanted it more than I cared to admit – even to myself, most of the time. It was just easier to talk shit because I didn't believe I could ever have something like that.

I'd decided that Dr. Emerson was no longer going to be my doctor. I'd see some other specialist, someone she trusted and would refer me to. I'd probably never see her again though, because like many others in my life, I'd scared her away too. I was too damaged, too broken, and let things go too far.

Not even my therapist could put up with me. How pathetic was that? Talk about a sad commentary on the state of one's life and being. It was like getting turned down by a hooker – equally as humiliating.

I took a long pull from my beer and turned toward the street, watching all of the people strolling by, blissful in their own existence. Happy people and happier couples walking by hand in hand, content in their lives. As I watched them, my mood turned dark and I wondered how many of them had to watch as their best friend was killed right in front of them? How many of them were responsible for the death of a loved one? How many of them had ever experienced the horrors of being in a combat zone? How many had to dodge bullets and walked away feeling like they'd cheated death many times over?

Yeah, not many, I was more than sure.

I was caught up in making up stories for the yuppies and hipsters out on the street – the man with the handlebar moustache worked a boring job in accounting and was secretly in love with his girlfriend's brother, but too stubborn to admit it. His girlfriend – a pretty blonde – was too busy thinking about how ugly his moustache was to even notice he wasn't looking at her, but was instead, looking past her at the handsome man walking alone on the street, wishing he could go home with him.

Yeah, I was making their lives sound as shitty as mine. That had to be healthy, right?

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked from behind me.

There was a time when nobody could sneak up on me. When letting, somebody get behind you like that meant certain death. As a result, I was hyper-vigilant and completely aware of my surroundings – including who was in it. Or at least, I was. Now that I was home, a lot of things had changed.

But I was so caught up making up all those stories in my head and making people seem as miserable as I was, I hadn't heard her come out to the patio – much less walk up behind me. I turned and stared into the large, green eyes of Dr. Emerson – dressed very much like she had been the last time we'd met at this bar. Her auburn hair fell in waves over her shoulders, there were no glasses to hide those beautiful eyes. She wasn't in a short skirt this time though. No, this time she was in black skinny jeans and a pink lacy top that flowed around her tiny waist, drawing attention to the curvature of her hips.

She was as gorgeous as ever, but I had to tear my eyes away from her. Nothing good could come from me ogling all of those delicious curves to her body.

“Uhh no,” I said, sitting up straight and trying not to stare too much. “Not at all.”

“Good,” she said, sitting down beside me. “You looked lonely out here, so I thought I'd come out, say hi, and introduce myself – so hi, I'm Amelia.”

Amelia. Amelia Emerson.

“What a beautiful name,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I'm Drew, obviously.”

“It's nice to meet you, Drew,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand. “I figured we could start fresh and try this again, you know? Start out on the right foot this time maybe.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “But I actually thought I'd never see you again, honestly.”

She shrugged. “Because I transferred you, you mean? I did that for your own good, Drew. I hope you understand that. I want you to get the help you need and I didn't think I was up to the job. I was letting my feelings interfere with your treatment. And you deserve better than that.”

“Is that really the only reason?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink as she looked down at her hands in her lap. She smiled, a shy smile, and then looked up at me again.

“No, of course not,” she said. “I mean, I'm here, aren't I?”

“I'm thankful that you are, to be honest with you. It gives me a chance to properly apologize,” I said. “I know I screwed up, yelling at you like that. You didn't deserve that. Not by any stretch of the imagination. It's just hard dealing with all this crap in my head and having no one – and I mean no one – who wants to get close to me. I feel like I'm completely broken. Toxic. And that maybe people can see that and avoid me like the plague because of it.”

“I want to get close to you, Drew,” she said, reaching out to touch my hand. “That's why I requested the transfer. I knew I couldn't keep seeing you as only a client. Because my interest in you is far from professional.”

I gave her a small smile I hoped didn't look as sad as it felt. “I'd like that – Amelia,” I said. “I really would. I mean, obviously, my interest in you is intensely personal. And maybe I was only fooling myself that we could have both.”

“Well, I can't promise anything,” she said, reaching out to touch my hand. “but I'd like to start from square one with you. I'd like to get to know you better. The real you and not the facade you put up for people. I want to see what's behind that mask, Drew.”

“You don't have to promise me anything,” I said softly, staring at where her hand touched mine. “I just appreciate the company. And as far as seeing behind the mask – I think you've already seen behind it. And it's a pretty fucked up space.”

She gave me a gentle smile. “It's not all that bad, Drew. I see the good man you are. I can see your good heart. You take great pains to hide it – to hide the real you – but I can see it. And it's what draws me to you.”

I took a drink of my beer and set the glass back down on the table, staring into the deep amber liquid. I wasn't sure what to say. I feared that Amelia felt this way now, but once she started to really get to know me, to really see behind that mask, as she put it, she would end up like everybody else – running for the high ground as fast as she could. That's just what people did with me – they eventually put as much distance between me and them as possible. It was something I'd had to get used to.

“To be honest with you,” she said. “I've been pretty lonely myself lately. Since breaking up with Charlie.”

“So that douche was your ex,” I said, shaking my head. “I kinda figured, but was hoping I was wrong about that. He was just so – douchey.”

She laughed. “Yeah, that he is. But he managed to hide it from me for a long time He's apparently a good actor, what can I say?”

Our eyes met, and in that moment, I couldn't breathe. All I could do was stare into those emerald green eyes and revel in her beauty. She was stunning and yet, didn't seem to understand or even believe that she was. Amelia seemed completely unaware that she was absolutely gorgeous.

“Well, I guess at least with me, you know what you're getting into,” I said softly.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you already know going in the door that I'm fucked up in the head.”

She cringed and pulled her hand back, and for a moment, I thought maybe it was because I'd scared her away. But she surprised me by looking into my eyes and giving me a gentle smile.

“You're not fucked up in the head, Drew. If anyone knows that, it's me,” she said. “You've been through a lot. More than most people can even imagine. And some really heavy, traumatic stuff. What happened over there has affected you, but it doesn't have to define you.”

“So it doesn't scare you away?”

“Not at all. I'm here, aren't I?”

* * *

AMELIA

“You know, you don't have to come home with me if you don't want to,” he said, looking down at me with a serious look in his eyes. “I don't want you to feel pressured into doing something you're not comfortable with or just don't want to do. It's okay to say so, you know.”

“Hush,” I said, leaning forward and kissing those soft lips of his for the first time since our night together – and they were every bit as delicious now as they had been then. “I wouldn't be coming home with you if I didn't want to. I'm not the type of girl who lets herself get talked into doing things I don't want to do. I make my own decisions, thank you very much.”

The Uber drive pulled to a stop outside of Drew's house, and that's when it clicked. The large house wasn't because he was married or had a family. It was the exact opposite, in fact. He'd lost his family and the only thing he had left was his home. Large and beautiful, but heart-breaking at the same time. Especially since it was just him and his demons.

That was probably why there was a lack of anything sentimental or personal in there. That's why it seemed so sterile and barren. The memories were just too overwhelming for him in that moment. It was sad and really highlighted just how alone in the world he was. It made my heart go out to him.

“You know,” I said with a laugh, “I was so worried you were married or had kids that first night. I thought you were a cheater and I was just your side piece for the night.”

“Nah,” he said, smiling as we walked in together hand-in-hand. “No wife. Never had the time for a relationship before. Not while I was overseas. I never understood how the other guys could manage it, it just seemed too painful to be apart from somebody you cared about for so long.”

“I can imagine,” I said softly. “Being so far away, hardly getting to talk, let alone –”

“And dying,” he added. There was a distant look in his eyes for a moment, then he turned to me and gave me a soft smile before he elaborated. “Mason was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him when he got home. She made him so happy – he practically glowed whenever he mentioned her name. But that obviously, never happened.”

I had no words that could express how terribly sad that was, so instead, I just said, “I'm sorry, Drew.”

He sighed as he opened his front door. “It is what it is,” he said. “Carrie eventually moved on. Last I heard, she was engaged to a banker or a lawyer or something. Somebody who wasn't getting deployed to shithole countries where they get shot at day in and day out – guys who probably had a really minimal risk of dying in an IED explosion.”

We stepped inside and Drew took my coat, placing it on the rack beside the door. We walked down the hallway – the same hallway I'd used to sneak out of his house a week or so before – and sat in the living room, on the very couch we'd had sex on. I couldn't help but blush at the memories as they came rushing to the surface. And I could tell Drew was feeling somewhat awkward about it all too. Neither of us said much. We sat there staring at each other for a long moment. And eventually, the awkwardness faded and the silence became – companionable.

Drew pushed a strand of my hair behind my ear and smiled. “If I'm being honest, I always wanted what Mason had,” he said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“With Carrie. I always wanted that. That sort of deep, abiding love and stability. I wanted it even though I mocked him for it relentlessly. The truth of the matter was that I wasn't sure anyone would have me the way Carrie and Mason had each other.”

Reaching out, I stroked his cheek and he closed his eyes as he leaned into my touch. “I don't know why you'd think something silly like that. You're gorgeous.”

“And fuck –”

“You're not fucked up in the head!” I said, cutting him off before he could finish that thought. “Stop that.”

“Sorry, hard to break the thought process, I guess,” he said. “It was a process that started long before I enlisted.”

“I figured as much,” I said. “But we're going to work on that, okay?”

“You're not my therapist anymore,” he teased. “Makes it kinda hard to work on it with you.”

“I don't have to be your personal therapist,” I said. “I can still help you become a better person.”

He looked at me for a long moment and then gave me a warm, genuine smile – the first I'd ever seen cross his face.

“I'd like that, Amelia,” he said. “I'd like that a lot.”

The way he said my name, as if it was some sort of delicate flower, was nice to hear. After hearing him call me nothing but Dr. Emerson for days, it was refreshing to hear my first name on his lips. Which speaking of lips – Drew leaned forward and kissed me, his soft, full lips pressed to mine as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. I felt his hand in my hair, gently pulling on it as I kissed him back, relishing in the sensation of his lips against mine.

“Not here,” he said, pulling back.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my desire growing by the second.

I wanted him, and I wanted him right then and there. But if not there, then where?

“Let's go to the bedroom,” he said. “I mean, if you want to.”

This Drew was a different animal than the one I'd met that first night. He was actually somewhat sweet – now that we were looking at something different, something potentially more than just a one-night stand. I could get used to seeing that side of him.

“Yes, please,” I said.

We moved to the bedroom, where Drew laid me down on my back, planting a line of soft kisses all the way down my neck as he undressed me. He moved slowly this time, was more deliberate knowing that there was no reason to rush. No reason to hurry. I wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he.

Drew moved between my legs, placing his mouth on my most intimate parts. My body moved upward as his tongue circled my clit. He took his time and savored my body, kissing and licking and sucking before fucking me with his tongue. When he finally slid his tongue inside of me, I thought I was going to come. My body shuddered and my eyes rolled back in my head. Needless to say, it felt amazing.

The way he used his mouth was magical, sending me to the brink of orgasm within a matter of minutes. The first orgasm hit me hard and fast, and I held onto Drew's head, pushing his tongue deeper inside of me as my body writhed on the bed underneath him.

Just as my orgasm subsided and my heartrate came down to somewhere below somebody who'd just run a marathon, Drew looked up at me, my juices on his lips and smiled. God, I wanted him inside of me. Need it. And in that moment, that's the only thing I wanted, so I pulled him up until he was on top of me, his cock pressing against my opening.

This time, I managed to say, “Wear a condom, please,” before he plunged into my depths.

Drew reached over to his nightstand, pulled out a rubber and slipped it over his cock, which already had pre-cum brimming at the top. He reached back in the drawer and pulled out some lube – for which I was grateful – and stroked it down the length of his shaft until it was glistening.

It was going to be a whole different experience with this bit of preparation – but I knew it was going to be just as amazing. Of that, I had no doubts.

Once he was wrapped up, I reached out and took him into my hand, stroking him before placing him against my opening once more. He pushed himself inside of me, stretching my pussy as it swallowed up his big, thick cock. My entire body shuddered as he entered me and I let out a low groan. I raised myself up to meet his thrust, our bodies becoming one as the pleasure took hold of me.

He stared down into my eyes as he gently moved in and out of my warm, wet pussy, taking time to get used to one another and enjoying every second of it. He was raised above me, his strong arms holding him up, his body already covered in sweat from fucking me. I leaned upward, kissing him as I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on for dear life.

Together, we found a rhythm that worked perfectly for us. He thrust inside of me as I moved up to meet his body, as we groaned with pleasure in unison.

“Drew, oh Drew...” I said, my head thrashing from side to side.

It felt so nice to say his name – to know his name – before having him inside of me again. If I'd thought what we shared before was amazing, this time was ten times better. The intimacy, the connection between us was deeper, stronger – and that always made the sex way better.

And that's how I came a second time, with him on top of me, staring down into my eyes like I was a Goddess – and in that moment, I truly felt like one too. When I was with him, I felt like there was no other woman but me for him. I never caught him sneaking a peek at the tight ass of some sweet, young waitress, or some chick on the street with a top cut so low, her tits were hanging out. When he was with me, I felt like the only woman in the world for him.

As he pumped his cock into me again and again, I let out a scream and he held onto me. My orgasm subsided soon after, but he continued moving in and out of me with an expert pace. I writhed underneath him and scratched at his back as he fucked me, unable to control myself as I called out his name over and over again.

“Yes, Amelia... Oh God, yes,” he said, his body beginning to tremble.

The way he said my name – with such a depth of feeling – and the way he looked at me. It was perfect.

Drew groaned, his eyes closing as his breath grew ragged and shallow. I knew he was fighting the need to explode inside of me. He was trying so hard to keep going, to extend our pleasure. And as much as I wanted the pleasure to never end, I also loved knowing I drove him this crazy enough that he couldn't control himself.

I clenched my vaginal muscles around his cock, squeezing him tight as he pounded himself deep into me. His body shook violently and his eyes flew open as he stared down at me, a look of near panic on his face as he completely lost all control.

“Oh God...” he moaned, his words becoming nothing but animalistic grunts and groans as he thrust that big, beautiful cock deep inside of me one last time.

Seeing the look on his face as he thrust himself deep into me made me come again. Hard. We came together as one, our bodies thrashing wildly as we lost all control, letting the pleasure take hold of the both of us. And we stared into each other's eyes, revelling in the look on his face, as we experienced one of the best orgasms of my entire life.

Drew collapsed beside me, letting out a deep breath. “Wow,” he said.

“Wow indeed,” I replied. “Though it seems like a vast understatement.”

We both stared off into space for a moment, revelling in that post-sex glow. But then he turned and kissed me. Deeply. Passionately. There was a lot behind that kiss – a lot more than just sex. It was a kiss with real feeling. And real meaning.

“Thank you, Amelia,” he said.

“For what?” I laughed. “I should be the one thanking you.”

“Not for the sex – although I should, it was pretty amazing,” he said and laughed. “But for coming back. For not running away from me.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to say in that moment – as ridiculous as it sounded.

I really had no words to say to that. I was happy that I came back too. This wasn't just for him; it was for me as well. I was getting chilly, so I pulled the covers up and nestled myself down deep into them. His bed was so cozy, so soft, and so wonderfully warm. I could probably die right then and there – after mind-blowing sex and in the most comfortable bed I'd ever been in – and have been perfectly happy.

“Promise me one thing, please?”

“What's that?”

“Promise me you won't sneak out in the middle of the night again,” he said. “Because I'd really like to make you breakfast this time.”

“That sounds nice,” I said. “Really nice.”

And Drew pulled me close, my head resting on his bare chest, and I thought to myself – I could really get used to this.

* * *

“Belle!”

My head snapped up and I saw my roommate and best friend, Alexa, bounding across the kitchen. She grinned at me as she dumped a handful of pasta into a pot full of boiling water on the stove.

“Hey,” I said with a grin. Setting my backpack down on a chair, I did a lazy twirl across the hardwood floor. It felt good to be home – especially considering today had been my last week of classes before finals. I’d worked my ass off this week, and I really needed a break.

“I’m making dinner,” Alexa said dryly. She grabbed a jar of marinara sauce and started unscrewing the lid. “This looks good, right?”

I snickered. “You’re not supposed to put that in until the pasta’s done,” I said as kindly as I could. Alexa had never really been prone to making good meals. In the two-and-a-half years that we’d been living together, I’d done the vast majority of the cooking. But I didn’t mind – that was one of the things that made me and Alexa work so well as roommates. Sure, we were good friends. But we also knew our strengths: I was a better cook, and Alexa wasn’t bad at cleaning…and gossip.

“Thanks, sous chef,” Alexa teased. She set the sauce down on the counter and sighed dramatically. Her big blue eyes widened as she slapped her hand against her forehead. “I had the worst day,” she added.

I frowned, knowing a story was coming. “Oh, yeah? Tell me about it,” I replied. Moving my bag from the chair to the floor, I slid down in the chair, making sure to keep one eye on the stove. Alexa’s dramatics were nothing new, and I knew from experience that it was a good idea to keep track of time. Knowing my best friend as well as I did, I knew her story could take hours.

“Well, I ran into Jared,” Alexa said. She paused for dramatic effect.

“And?” I rolled my eyes. “What happened?”

“Only the worst thing ever.” Alexa pranced from one end of the kitchen to the other, swinging her graceful arms through the air like she was practicing dance.

I giggled. “He ignored you?”

Alexa’s nostrils flared. “Worse,” she complained. “He made this huge thing about how we hadn’t talked in forever! And he tried to hug me!”

I snickered. “Heaven forfend, a man try to touch you.”

Alexa smirked. “Well, I could tell he missed me.” Irritation spread over her features and she flopped down into another kitchen chair. “But that’s not the point.”

I stood up and walked over to the stove, poking at the pasta with a wooden spoon. It was still a touch too stiff for my liking, so I set a lid down on the pot and watched the cloudy water swirling around. Cooking had always been soothing for me, even though I hadn’t done much of it growing up. We’d always had a maid, and a cook, and usually a sommelier…although my stepdad, Mitchell, had been talking for years about how he wanted to learn more about wine himself.

Even though it sounds like I grew up really rich, the truth is a little more complicated than that. When I was twelve, my mother Anne married Mitchell Rhodes – real estate mogul and consulting pro. He’d made billions from New York City real estate over the past few decades, and he lived like a king. Before Mom met Mitchell, our life was pretty boring. We’d lived in Buffalo, in a little apartment with bad insulation and no heat in the long winters. Mom had fallen for Mitchell when she’d met him in New York, on a trip with her girlfriends. He’d swept her off her feet, and they’d married within the year.

Mom had teased me when I was younger. I could still see her happy face now as she stroked my hair and pulled me into a tight hug. “I named you Belle because you were my little princess,” Mom had said. “But now you’re really going to be a princess!”

In reality, things had been a little murkier than that. Mitchell had always been kind to me, but it was clear that he didn’t have much interest in being a stepfather. And his son, Jackson, my stepbrother, was an asshole. There weren’t any other words I could use to describe him. He was a perfect, smug, gorgeous asshole.

Just thinking about him made me want to shudder. I hadn’t spoken to him in years – Jackson is nine years my senior, and thankfully he left Mitchell’s house as soon as he turned eighteen so we never even lived under the same roof. The last time I’d seen him, when I was sixteen, he’d spent the whole afternoon flirting with me. I’d been so taken by his charms that I hadn’t even noticed that my period had started. But Jackson had, and he tricked me into exposing my bloodstained butt to a roomful of people…. everyone waiting to wish Mitchell a happy fiftieth birthday.

It had been the most embarrassing moment of my whole life.

“Belle?” Alexa snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Hello? What happened? You just like, totally faded on me!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, blushing hotly. “I was just thinking about…well, never mind.”

Alexa crinkled up her nose and giggled. I guessed she was used to it – I’d always been kind of spacey, after all.

“I was thinking about my family,” I confessed. “I really miss Mom, you know? I haven’t heard from her in weeks.”

Alexa nodded, but I could tell she didn’t understand. Unlike me, she’d never been close with her mother. Alexa had come from money, too, but she’d never been the outsider of the family like I had. To look at me now, you wouldn’t have been able to tell where I’d lived as a teenager. Most of my clothes came from Target, and I never wore makeup. I’d never been a real “girly girl” – Mom had told me that I’d probably grow into it, but I never had.

“Yeah, I bet,” Alexa replied. She grabbed the boiling pasta from the stove and gestured for me to help her. As I held the plastic strainer over the sink, I braced myself against the hot steam. Still, it felt good – winter in Alfred, New York, was almost as bad as winters in Buffalo had been as a kid. And even though Alexa and I lived in the nicest building of student housing, it was still student housing…right down to the painted concrete blocks of the walls.

“So,” I said casually. “You gonna date him again? Or not?”

Alexa bit her lip. She set the empty pan back down on the stove. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I mean, he’s super-hot.” She raised her eyebrows. “Hey, why don’t I get Jared to ask his roommate Steve if he’ll come out with us? Steve’s really hot, too,” she added kindly. “I bet he’d totally wanna date you.”

I swallowed. Just the mention of a date was enough to make my heart flutter.

“I don’t know,” I said shakily. “I don’t think he’d like me.”

Alexa put her hands on her slender hips and stared at me. “Belle, come on,” she said. “You know you’re gorgeous!”

I shook my head. “I’m not,” I protested. I glanced down at my body and sighed.

Alexa grabbed my hand and shook my arm through the air. “Yes, you are,” she insisted. “You just don’t see that about yourself for some reason.”

I sighed, knowing there was no use in arguing with Alexa. She’d always been like – bossy, insistent, and usually, one hundred percent correct. But this time, I knew she was wrong. There was no way I, Belle Harrington, was anything even close to beautiful. I had boring brown eyes, even more boring brown hair, and pale skin that would have been pretty on anyone else but somehow just made me look more washed out. When I was younger, Mom always told me that my eyes were “hazel” and my hair was “chestnut,” but I knew she was just trying to make my looks seem less boring than they really were.

I’d never enjoyed working out (or eating healthy), and as a result, I had a figure that most would call “curvy.” I didn’t mind – I actually kind of liked the fact that I wasn’t a stick figure. But men had never really paid attention to me, and the few times they did, I always thought they were messing with me. I mean, who would want to ask me out? Especially when I was standing next to a knockout like Alexa.

“I’m not beautiful,” I said flatly. “I know that I’m not.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. She dropped my hand and it fell limply to my thigh. “Well, you’d better say yes. I know Steve would really like you.”

“I can’t,” I said. I shook my head. “Are you totally forgetting about finals? I have to study, Lex!”

Alexa blew a hank of hair off her face in frustration. “Belle, come on. You know you’re getting a four point this semester! And at this rate, you’re gonna be a virgin for the rest of your life!”

My cheeks flushed hotly. I hated the fact that I was a virgin, that I’d never really had any kind of experience with the opposite sex. It was totally embarrassing, especially as a girl who was more than three quarters of the way through her college experience. But there wasn’t much I could do about it – I wasn’t like Alexa. It wasn’t as though I could walk into a room and come out with five phone numbers, the way she always did.

“Shut up,” I mumbled. “I am not. I just…. haven’t found the right guy yet.”

Alexa snickered. Reaching forward, I grabbed the wooden spoon from the counter and smacked her on the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alexa said. “And pigs can fly, what else don’t I know?”

I slumped down into a kitchen chair and crossed my arms over my chest. It wasn’t fair. I felt like a normal girl, but it was almost like there was something wrong with me. I obviously wasn’t normal. I’d never been kissed, much less had an actual date with a guy. But I still had needs. I still had crazy fantasies and dreams that made me wake up blushing.

Why wasn’t anyone able to see through me and realize how badly I wanted a boyfriend?

Just as I was about to ask Alexa what Steve looked like, the doorbell rang. Alexa’s head snapped up and she grinned. Turning to me, she pinched her cheeks and hurriedly tidied her hair in a knot.

“Expecting someone?” I raised an eyebrow. “Like, maybe Jared?”

Alexa licked her lips and shook her head. “Definitely not,” she said. “At least, I don’t think he’d try showing up without calling.” She rolled her eyes. “He knows that’s a bad idea.”

I bit my lip. I couldn’t think of who would be at the door – especially without calling. It wasn’t like I had a ton of friends.

I knew it must be someone for Alexa.

“Can you get it?” Alexa asked. “I have to run to the bathroom.” Without waiting for my reply, Alexa darted off, grabbing her cosmetics case from the kitchen island before disappearing down the hall.

With a sigh, I plodded towards the door and yanked it open. “Belle?”

The sound of my mom’s weak voice was enough to break my heart. I gasped when I saw her standing there. She was shivering against the cold, and wearing a black jacket that I didn’t recognize. When I looked over her face, I felt my heart plummet. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks were bloodless, pale. Her normally full mouth looked thin and saggy, like she’d aged ten years overnight.

I knew she wouldn’t just show up for no reason at all. There had to be something wrong – something really, really wrong.

“Mom?” I said tentatively. “What are you doing here?”

Mom was shivering uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body and hugged herself.

“Come in,” I said quickly, wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders and pulling her inside the apartment. “How long have you been outside?”

Mom looked at me with mournful eyes.

“Mitchell’s dead,” Mom whispered. “He was in a car accident.”

And with that, she collapsed against me.

“Alexa!” I screamed loudly. “I need your help!”

Fifteen minutes later, Mom, Alexa, and I were sitting together in the kitchen. The pasta had long been forgotten and I’d made tea for all three of us. Mom was clutching her mug with both hands, like it was some kind of magical, life-saving device.

“I can’t believe it,” Mom said hoarsely. “One minute, we were talking about plans for dinner.” She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. I was close to crying myself. My chest ached and my heart was pounding, but somehow, the tears wouldn’t come. It was like I couldn’t be sad about Mitchell when I had Mom to take care of. She was, and always would be, my first priority.

“I’m so sorry,” Alexa said. She leaned in close and put an arm around my mother. “I wish there was something I could do, Mrs. Rhodes.”

My mom shook her head sadly. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. When I looked at her, I realized that she looked like a scared little girl. “Belle, what do I do? What happens now? Who’s going to take care of us?”

“We will, Mom,” I said softly. I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. As I squeezed Mom’s fingers, her hand felt limp and cold in my grip. “Mom, everything will be okay. I promise – we’ve always survived, and that’s not going to change now.”

Mom stared at me like she wasn’t even hearing my words.

“Belle, I’d like you to come home for a few days,” Mom said in a strangled voice. “Just until everything’s taken care of. You can do that for me honey, can’t you?”

I nodded, thinking of my finals and how much harder I was going to have to work now that I would be missing the last of my classes.

“Of course I can come home,” I said. I squeezed Mom’s hand again. “I can stay for however long you need.”

Mom nodded. “That would be great, sweetie.” She nodded slowly, like I was still talking. Just looking at her was enough to punch me in the gut – she looked like a shell of her former self, a husk of the confident woman I’d always known.

I could tell she was still in shock.

“Come on, Mom,” I said gently, pulling her away from the table and leading her over to the living room. “Why don’t you lie down for a little while? We can make some plans when you wake up.”

Mom nodded. “That’s a good idea, Belle,” she said dreamily. “You’ve always been the best daughter.”

As I watched my mom drift off into an uneasy sleep, I felt conflicted. Angry. Scared. I knew that everything was about to change.

If only I’d known how much things would change, maybe I could have done a better job preparing myself for what was going to come next.

But there was no way of knowing, and now I was coasting off into the void like a missile off course.

* * *

The next couple of days were a blur. Between emailing my professors and packing a big bag, I barely had time to eat. Mom had gone home the morning after driving up to Alfred to give me the news, and even though I’d tried distracting myself, nothing had worked. I couldn’t even focus on studying – I was too worried about Mom, and what would happen to her now that Mitchell was gone.

Even though I’d lived with Mitchell and Mom as a teenager, I never really got to know my stepfather all that well. He was nice enough – Mom really loved him – but he never made too much of an interest in my life. I could count the number of dinners we’d had as a family on one hand…most of the time, Mom was too obsessed with spending as much time with her husband as possible.

It probably sounds like I was a little neglected. Some people would likely say that, but I’m not sure I could agree with them. After all, I didn’t mind. I’ve always been an introvert, and the idea of spending family dinners with a man I barely knew always made me want to break out into hives. So, while Mom and Mitchell flirted over fancy wine and Italian cuisine, I normally read books in my room and snuck down to the kitchen for late-night snacks after everyone else was in bed. I’d always thought of it as doing Mom a favor, like giving her the time with her husband that she seemed to need so desperately.

I never imagined that I’d have to be the one who supported my mother through something like this. Mitchell had been so full of life, so energetic. The fact that he was dead didn’t even resonate with me.

Friday morning, Alexa drove me to the train station. We hugged for a long time before I left.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Alexa squinted at me against the early morning sun. “I know you haven’t been doing so well lately.”

I sighed. “I don’t know,” I said. “I just have to go be there for Mom.” And I have to manage not to break down at the sight of Jackson, I added silently in my head.

As much as I wanted to tell Alexa all about how nervous I was at the thought of seeing Jackson, I knew I couldn’t let her in on my little secret. After all, I didn’t think she’d exactly understand. Alexa could have men eating out of the palm of her hand in a matter of minutes. I knew that she wouldn’t believe me when I told her what a jackass he really was…she’d probably lie, and say something like “Oh, I’m sure you just haven’t gotten to know him yet.”

“Okay, well, I’ve got to run,” I said, smiling tightly. “I’ll see you next week.”

Alexa nodded. “I’ll miss you, bestie,” she said. She air-kissed my cheeks and then I climbed out of her car into the blistering cold.

Alfred, New York was beautiful in the summer months but the winters were cold, snowy, and dreadful. I hated the cold. In another life, I was probably a beach bum – tan and bronzed and worshipping the sun all day long. But in this life, I’m a pale little mouse, I thought as I glanced down at my phone to check the time. And that’s not going to change any time soon.

The train from Alfred to New York City took almost three hours. I couldn’t relax the whole time – I kept thinking about Mom, and how much she must be hurting. I wished that I’d stayed with her the whole time, that I hadn’t let her leave. She must be so alone, and so sad, I thought nervously as I rubbed my hands together for warmth. I need to work hard on being a better daughter to her.

When I got into Grand Central Terminal, I grabbed my bags and walked quickly towards the entrance. Mom had said she’d be waiting for me, but after a few minutes went by and I didn’t see her, I pulled out my phone.

Mom didn’t answer until the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Mom, it’s me,” I said. “Um, I just got into the city. Are you here? Are you coming to pick me up?”

“Oh, Belle, it’s so good to hear your voice,” Mom said. She sniffled. “I sent a car, well, actually, Jackson heard you were coming and sent a car for you. I told him that was okay – are you going to be meeting up with us at the church?”

I frowned. I hadn’t spoken to Jackson in years – why the hell was he reaching out now?

“Are you sure?” I wrinkled my nose. “That doesn’t sound like something Jackson would do, Mom.”

“Belle, be easy on him,” Mom warned. “He’s just lost his father. Don’t you remember what that feels like?”

A weird mix of guilt and embarrassment seeped into my chest. She was right – I should understand exactly how Jackson was feeling. My own dad had died when I was a little kid, but I didn’t really remember him. Mostly what I remembered before Mom married Mitchell was how it felt for the two of us to be out there on our own. I remembered the little nights in our cramped kitchen, the way Mom would make macaroni and cheese for dinner. We’d spent the whole evening camped out in front of the television, watching all of our old favorites.

“I know,” I said. I sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just kind of a surprise, that’s all.”

Mom made a funny little noise with her mouth. “Well, maybe now the two of you will finally be close,” she said after a pause. “You’re both older now. Maybe that’s finally going to happen.”

Fat chance, I thought, thinking of Jackson’s sneer after he’d tricked me into embarrassing myself at Mitchell’s party, years before. But to Mom, I said: “I’m sure. Okay, Mom. See you soon.”

After we hung up, I dragged my suitcase out of the terminal and onto the street. It was bitterly cold. I hadn’t expected much of a change from Alfred, but this was astonishingly brutal. Wind whipped across my face, stinging my eyes and making them tear up. My lips were so chapped they ached, and my fingers gripped numbly at the handles of my suitcase.

When I looked up, I saw a black Town Car parked right in front of me. There was a man standing in front, holding a sign that read: “Belle Harrington.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, Jackson would do something like this – it was ostentatious, loud, and completely unnecessary…. just like him.

“Miss Harrington?” The driver stepped forward when he saw me glance over the car. “Is that you?”

I nodded. As he tried to grab my suitcase from my hands, I held tightly onto it.

“Miss, let me take your bag,” the man said. “Please.”

I glared at him. “I can manage on my own,” I sniffed. “I didn’t hire you, after all.”

The man’s expression soured, then darkened. “I see,” he said stiffly. “Very well.”

As I dragged my suitcase towards the backseat of the car, I felt a hot anger wash over me. I hated Jackson, for making a scene like this! It was like he’d known everything about his plan was going to make me supremely uncomfortable…and yet, he’d done it anyway.

Climbing into the back of the warm car was a relief. My boots were caked with snow and ice and my toes were still numb, but at least the exposed parts of me were beginning to warm up. The heat was blasting full-force from hidden vents all around the back of the car, and I shivered inside of my down jacket.

The driver didn’t speak to me again. He guided the car expertly through New York City traffic. As we drove past Central Park, I couldn’t help but look out over the wintery expanse and sigh. Just when I thought I was done with the city, there was always something magical that pulled me in when I least expected it.

I’d expected the car to take me somewhere, anywhere, to change. Instead, the driver parked in front of St. Paul’s Chapel. I gasped as I realized that Mitchell’s funeral was inside. The chapel was grander than any church I’d ever seen before, and I felt awkward as I lugged my suitcase away from the sleek car and through the front doors.

Mom was waiting for me, in a severe black dress that made her look twenty years older. Her eyes were still rimmed with red, but she looked a hell of a lot more composed than she had when I’d last seen her. She pulled me into an awkward hug. I didn’t want to release the grip on my suitcase, but Mom didn’t seem to notice I was carrying luggage and for a moment, we stood there uncomfortably with our arms wrapped around each other.

“Belle, I’m so glad you’re here,” Mom whispered into my neck. She was wearing so much perfume that it almost choked me. “I didn’t know…I didn’t know what to do without you.”

The sound of her voice stung me. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I told her. We pulled away but Mom kept a firm grip on my hands, clutching and squeezing my fingers painfully hard. “I know this is really hard for you.”

Mom nodded. “It is,” she said softly. “But I know you’ll help me through it, Belle.”

I swallowed nervously. “Am I late?”

Mom shook her head. She glanced around – there were tons of people, all clad in black, shuffling from one end of the vestibule to the other.

“Mitchell was so loved,” Mom said. A tear dripped down her cheek and she wiped it hastily away. “He was just such a wonderful man.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, feeling lame. As the sound of music began to play, Mom linked her arm with mine and we walked down the aisle of the church together. People were staring – for a moment, I thought it was because I was still carrying a suitcase – but Mom kept her head up and her chin lifted as she walked resolutely towards the front pews.

And that’s when I saw him.

Jackson Rhodes, my stepbrother.

He was seated at the front of the chapel, in a dark Calvin Klein suit. His blonde hair was a little longer than I remembered – he’d pushed it back from his forehead in a glossy pompadour – but his grey eyes were just as chilly. When he saw Mom, he smirked.

“Hello, Anne,” Jackson said in a slow drawl. “So pleased you could make it.”

Mom’s cheeks pinked but she didn’t say anything. Just as I was about to snarl something back at Jackson, Mom grabbed my elbow.

“Belle, behave yourself,” Mom hissed into my ear. “This is a place of God!”

Jackson kept his eyes glued to my body. “Hey, Sis,” he said smugly. “How’re you?”

I fought the urge to smack his smug, gorgeous face. “I’m fine,” I said curtly. “I’m sorry about your father, Jackson.”

For a moment, the icy look in Jackson’s eyes wavered. But seconds later, his cruel smirk was back on his face.

I wondered if he ever smiled.

Just as Jackson opened his mouth, the priest stepped up to the pulpit. I glared at Jackson and smirked, as if to say: “I see you can’t exactly sass me back now!”

Jackson glared right back.

Mom squeezed my hand and tugged me down into the pew. As the priest began to speak of Mitchell’s life, Mom began to sob. I knew at that moment that I had to forget about Jackson – I was there for Mom, and she was my priority.

--

After the funeral, Mom and I took a cab to the reception. It was being held at a restaurant a few blocks away. I didn’t think I was hungry, but at the mention of food, my stomach started cramping and twisting. By the time the cab pulled up, I was starving.

A group of Mitchell’s female friends spotted Mom and pulled her into a tight hug. Before I could say anything, they’d tugged her away to the side of the room and encircled her with sympathy. I stood there, feeling awkward. He was only my stepfather, I wanted to say each time that someone wished me sympathy. And I barely knew him.

A black car pulled up in front of the restaurant and Jackson climbed out of the backseat. He wasn’t smirking anymore – his eyes were narrowed into tiny slits and his mouth was set in a thin line. I watched him brush past the crowds of women and disappear inside.

This is my chance, I thought. I hated the idea of apologizing to him, but I knew it was what Mom would want. And I had to admit, I felt terrible for Jackson. His father had just died – I knew it must be a horrible feeling.

“Jackson,” I called loudly, following him down a narrow hall. “Jackson, I wanna talk to you for a minute.”

Jackson turned around. His handsome features were twisted with grief and his blonde hair was hanging over his forehead.

“What?” Jackson hissed. “What the fuck do you want, Belle?”

I licked my lips and swallowed. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about Mitchell,” I said softly. “I know we haven’t always gotten along before, but I think we should make more of an effort now.”

Jackson crossed his muscular arms over his bulging chest. Even in his tailored suit, I could tell that he was ripped. I blushed as I thought about what he looked like without that suit on. Stop it, Belle, this is a funeral for God’s sake! I thought as the blood rushed to my cheeks. You can’t be ogling him. He’s your stepbrother!

“Oh yeah?” Jackson raised his eyebrows. “And why would we get along now, Belle?” He stepped closer and a wave of musky, masculine cologne washed over my face. “Has something changed between us?”

My heart was in my throat as Jackson stepped nearer again, closing the distance between our bodies.

“Um,” I said softly. “I just thought…” I trailed off, my mouth dry and achy. “I just thought that…”

“You thought what?” Jackson’s eyes flashed cruelly. He flicked his glance over my body, down my sides and over the curve of my bust line. “You thought that my dad dying would somehow make everything okay?”

“Jackson, I’m just really sorry,” I said in a rush. “I’m really sorry about Mitchell. He was a good guy. I know it must be really hard.”

Jackson’s lips curled into a cruel sneer.

“Fuck off,” he snarled. “I don’t need your sympathy, Belle. You don’t understand me at all.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.

As I watched Jackson walk away, anger and resentment filled my body. Fuck you, I thought. I tried being nice and you just threw it back in my face.

At that moment, I made a vow to never say anything kind to Jackson Rhodes for the rest of my life.

* * *

I couldn’t wait to get back to school. The tension was too much to bear. Even though I didn’t see Jackson again after the funeral, I felt him everywhere I went. Mom was too upset and distracted to notice – she spent most of her days crying and staying in bed – and I’d done nothing but pretend to study while actually watching bad reruns of Teen Mom on MTV.

As soon as I got home, Alexa hugged me and handed me a glass of wine.

I laughed. “It’s ten in the morning, babe,” I said, staring down at the glass of cabernet in my right hand. “You sure about this?”

Alexa raised her eyebrows. “It’s finals week,” she said smugly. “That means we can drink all day if we don’t have a final.”

I groaned. “Aren’t you forgetting about studying?”

Alexa shrugged and gave me a guilty look. “I thought you’d like it,” she said. “Don’t you want to tell me about your trip?”

I sighed. Leaving my suitcase by the door, I kicked off my ice-crusted boots and hung my jacket up in the foyer. I’d always been one of those people who liked to unpack immediately, but the smell of the wine in my hand was too tempting to resist.

Walking into the kitchen, I sat down at one of the wooden chairs. “It was okay,” I told Alexa. “I mean, it was really horrible. Mom is so devastated. I don’t know what she’s going to do. And God, that asshole Jackson! He practically ruined the whole reception! He drank a whole handle of whiskey and passed out on the floor.”

“He’s probably hurting,” Alexa said.

I glared at her. “He ruined everything,” I said sharply. “He’s a cocky asshole who can’t stand one second not being about him, and he ruined everything.”

“Belle, Jackson’s going through a lot.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah, well so am I,” I said hotly. “And I don’t treat everyone like crap!”

“How’s your mom doing?”

“Terrible,” I said flatly. “She’s crushed. I’ve never seen her this devastated about anything before. I don’t know what to do – it’s impossible to take care of her right now.”

Alexa nodded and sipped at her wine. “Well, I’m sure Mitchell made plans to take care of her,” she said wisely. “A guy with that much money wouldn’t exactly leave his widow bereft.”

I nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“About what?” I leaned back and took another long drink of wine.

“About the will,” Alexa said impatiently. “Do you know what your mom is going to do now?”

“Alexa, he just died like, a week ago,” I said incredulously. “God, you make my mom sound heartless.”

Alexa shook her head and blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said guiltily. “I just meant that, you know…she’s going to have to figure it out soon. She doesn’t work, does she?”

I shook my head. “Mitchell made her quit when they got married. He said it wasn’t seemly for her to continue working when he made so much money.”

Alexa frowned. “That’s…. not good,” she said after a moment.

I blinked at her. “Why?”

Before Alexa could respond, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out, frowning when I saw that it was Mom.

“I must have left something behind in New York,” I said slowly before answering. “There’s no way she’d be calling so soon otherwise.” Inside, I was plagued with guilt. I knew that I shouldn’t be at school – I should be with Mom, taking care of her and making sure that she ate and slept.

“Hi, Mom,” I said warily. “Is everything okay?”

“Belle, honey, do you have a few minutes?”

The sound of her voice made my stomach plummet to the floor. There was something about it that sounded strange, alien – almost removed from grief.

“Sure,” I said uneasily. “What’s up?”

Mom cleared her throat. “I have some bad news, honey.”

“What is it?” My heart was beating like a jackhammer against my ribs and I couldn’t stand the thought of hearing more bad news. What was she going to say? Had she been in a car accident?

Mom didn’t reply.

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked frantically. “Tell me what’s going on, please!” The suspense was making it hard to breathe.

“I’m fine, honey,” Mom said softly. “But I don’t know how much longer I can say that.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you hurt? Were you in some kind of accident? Mom, what happened? Are you— “

“I heard from Mitchell’s estate lawyer,” Mom said heavily. “About the will.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My chest ached tightly and my lungs pleaded for air but I couldn’t make them work.

“What happened?”

“He’s left all the money to Jackson, Belle. He didn’t leave me anything. Not a cent.”

A cold, numb chill spread through my limbs. I felt like I’d fallen into a frozen lake and now I was trapped beneath the ice, searching desperately for warmth and oxygen.

“Why?” I asked slowly. “Why would Mitchell do a thing like that?”

Mom’s sobs broke the silence and I felt tears well up in my eyes.

“I don’t know, honey,” Mom said. “But you’ve got to help me.”

“Mom, I don’t know what I can do— “

“Belle, you have to talk to Jackson,” Mom said heavily. “I don’t know why Mitchell did this. He knew I didn’t have anything saved, that I wouldn’t be able to live on my own.”

“That has to be a mistake,” I said. “There’s no way he would’ve left you out of his will, Mom!”

“Well, he did,” Mom said heavily. “And now I need your help, honey. Please,” she added, in a pathetic tone of voice that made me want to cry. “Please, Belle. Please try to help me. Do you think you can do that?”

I sighed softly. “What do you want me to do?” I raked a hand through my hair. “I haven’t graduated yet, Mom. I can’t get a job – at least, not a job that will pay any kind of money. And I don’t have any savings – and I have all those loans from school!”

The sobs on the other line of the phone were the hardest things I’d ever had to hear.

“Just please talk to Jackson, Belle,” Mom said. “He won’t take my calls, but I don’t know if he’s heard the news. Please, tell him. Please ask him if he’d be willing to help me.” She paused and made a soft sound like she was being strangled. “Please, Belle. This is my only hope.”

Talking to Jackson was the last thing I wanted to do in the world, but I knew I didn’t have any other choice. This was coming down to the wire, and I was going to have to help my mother if my life depended on it. Rapidly, my mind kicked into gear and started spinning. I tried thinking about things I could sell – what little jewellery I had, my laptop, maybe some of my old clothes and shoes. Sure, there wouldn’t be much, but it had to be enough to help.

“Belle? Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” I said. “Mom, I don’t know. What about if you move out here, and live with me and Alexa?”

“Honey, please, just talk to Jackson,” Mom said heavily. “He’s our only chance.”

After I got off the phone with Mom, I sprang into action. I torpedoed through my room, looking for anything of monetary value that might fetch a sum. In the end, I didn’t have much. There was a pair of half-carat diamond earrings that Mitchell and Mom had given me when I’d graduated from high school, as well as an amethyst pendant in the shape of a heart. I didn’t think that either would sell for much, but I pocketed both anyway.

At the bottom of my jewellery box, there was two hundred and fifty bucks in cash. I’d started saving up when I’d first gotten to college, and I knew that it didn’t look like much, but I hadn’t ever thought about having to support my mother. I’d started putting away cash for stuff like emergency pizza runs, or maybe even renting a car for a weekend trip.

This was a whole new ballgame.

I barely heard Alexa as she walked into my room and flopped down on the bed.

“Belle, what’s going on?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said softly. “Something…something really horrible happened, Lex.”

Alexa pursed her lips. “You can always talk to me,” she said softly.

I winced. I knew that she must have overheard my part of the conversation, but the cuts were too fresh. I didn’t want to go into what was bothering me so much – I knew that Alexa could probably tell, but still.

“I don’t know. It’s just everything.” I threw my arms up in the air. “I feel so helpless, Lex. I don’t know what to do.”

Alexa crawled off the bed and scooted closer. She put an arm around me and pulled me into a hug. For a moment, we were frozen together like that. But then something inside of me snapped, and I started to cry.

“There, there,” Alexa said. She stroked my hair and held me close. “It’s gonna be okay, Belle. I promise.”

“It’s not,” I said tearfully. “Mitchell left everything to Jackson, my asshole stepbrother. My mom didn’t get a cent, and now she wants me to go beg money out of Jackson!”

Alexa hugged me tighter. “It’ll be okay,” she said in a soothing voice. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I pulled away from her in shock. “Are you kidding?” My jaw dropped. “He’s…he’s spent his entire life trying to ruin mine!”

“Belle, come on,” Alexa said softly. “He just lost his father. He’s going through a lot of grief right now.”

I stared at her. “I tried to give him my best at the funeral, and he told me to fuck off. Literally,” I added in a dry voice. “He doesn’t give a shit about me, or my mom. Why the hell would he help us out? He probably thinks Mom is nothing but a gold-digger!”

Alexa sighed softly. “Belle, I know this is hard. But can’t you accept that maybe he’s just been fronting this whole time?”

“He’s always been nothing less than a complete jerk to me,” I said softly. “The first time I met him, he was charming for about ten seconds. Since then, I’ve never seen that side of him. He’s just an arrogant prick!”

Alexa patted my shoulder. “I know,” she said. “But you’ve gotta help your mom, right?”

I nodded grimly. “I do,” I agreed. “I know I do.”

--

The next morning, I hopped on a bus to New York City. It felt weird to be going back so soon after leaving, but I hoped that I wouldn’t be staying for long. I was absolutely dreading meeting with Jackson, but I didn’t know what else to do. After all – he hated my guts. There was no way he’d want to drag this process out any longer than it already had to be.

I checked into a cheap bed and breakfast on the outskirts of Brooklyn and immediately tried to call Jackson at work. He had his own consulting firm – it was called First Perfect – and he’d been working there since his early twenties. Mom always talked about how rich Jackson was, but I didn’t even need to hear it to know. All I had to do was look at him. In addition to the rack of expensive suits, he always had a fresh haircut, perfect skin, and immaculate shoes.

“First Perfect Consulting, the first time you work with us, it’s always perfect!” A receptionist chirped into the phone.

I stifled the urge to groan. “I need to speak with Jackson Rhodes,” I said. “Immediately.”

The woman on the other end of the phone snickered and I felt annoyance wash over me.

“May I ask who’s calling? Mr. Rhodes is typically not available,” she said snidely. I imagined her rolling her eyes at the idiot calling and asking to speak to the CEO.

I blushed. “He’s…he’s my stepbrother,” I said after a pause. “And I think he’d like to speak with me, if he knew that I was waiting.”

“Dear, he’s the CEO,” the woman said in a snippy voice. “He can’t just take random calls from strangers.”

Under my skin, my blood began to boil. “I’m not a stranger,” I growled. “I told you. I’m his stepsister! I’m family!”

“Hold please.” The woman set the phone down with a click before I could respond. I balled my hands into fists and clenched my fingers so tightly that my nails dug into my palms.

After what felt like an eternity, she picked the phone back up.

“Miss? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I said impatiently. “Can I speak to Jackson now?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rhodes isn’t available. Please try calling back later.”

“The fuck he’s not,” I growled. “I know you’re lying!”

Click.

I stared at the grubby receiver in my hand. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I wailed out loud, my voice echoing off the hotel room walls. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

I flopped down on the bed and buried my face in my hands. Now what the hell was I going to do, turn around and go back to Alfred and tell Mom that I’d failed?

Just thinking about it was enough to make me sick. I knew I couldn’t do that – I couldn’t admit my shortcomings to her. I had to try harder. I was her only daughter, her only hope. If I didn’t fight for her, no one would.

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed my bag and hailed a cab into Manhattan. Jackson may have been able to hide behind his posh secretary once, but he wasn’t going to get away with it.

Not when I had my mother to take care of.

I have to admit that when the cab dropped me off in front of an elegant glass skyscraper, I was a little shocked. Sure, I knew that Jackson had made a bundle of money working at First Perfect. But I’d never imagined that his building would be one of the wealthiest in New York. I didn’t even know how much it would cost to rent a floor, but I guessed it was probably more than I’d ever had in my entire life put together.

Inside, the lobby was stark, almost Spartan. It was the cleanest lobby I’d ever seen, with pure white sunlight filtering through the elegant glass walls. A gorgeous blonde was perched behind a chrome desk, her nose glued to her computer screen. She didn’t look up as I walked closer, and I felt my heart sink. This isn’t going to work, I realized. She’s just going to tell me to leave, and I won’t be any closer to Jackson than I was on the phone.

“Yes?” The blonde looked up when I coughed. “May I help you?”

I smiled as charmingly as I could. “Hello there,” I said warmly. “I’m Belle Harrington – Jackson Rhodes’ stepsister. I’d really like to speak with him,” I added, pausing and flashing my brightest grin. “We have some family issues right now, and well…it’s very important.”

The blonde pursed her lips. Her wide blue eyes stared at me dully, and I wondered whether or not she was the same bitch I’d spoken to on the phone. So far, she gave no hint of having anything even resembling a personality.

Finally, she smiled slightly. “I’m sorry, miss, you’ll have to make an appointment. Mr. Rhodes is very busy,” she added in a patronizing tone.

I groaned and threw my hands in the air. “I know you don’t believe me,” I said sharply. “But I really need to speak with him! It’s important.”

“I can’t do that,” the blonde said. She looked nervous. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”