CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The words came out of my mouth. I slept with Vicki. I can’t quite believe it. After all these years, Sutton made me crack. My worst secret is out. There’s no relief. There’s no feeling that a burden’s been lifted. None of that bullshit.
It’s like going to confession, only there’s no priest to give me penance and absolve me of my sins. There’s only Sutton. I glance at her as I open the front door to my house and wait for her to pass. She’s still with me. She didn’t leave like I thought she would. Annie was right—Sutton is a ride or die woman.
Every time I think she’ll bolt, she stays. When I failed my diet, she gave me a second chance. When I told her about Dr. Lorraine, she opened up to me about her past. Tonight’s confession was no different. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
Her eyes catch mine for a second. I wonder what she’s thinking. She’s probably wondering the same about me, but she’s been in my head enough tonight. Still, there are questions swirling in her blue eyes. Questions I’m not ready to answer. Questions I don’t ever want to answer.
She knows enough. She can figure out the rest. If she wants to know the impact this had on my life, why I am the way I am, then she can draw her own conclusions. I have no desire to delve into more touchy-feely psychobabble. I didn’t do it with Dr. Lorraine, and I’m not about to start now.
I’m not one of those stories you see in the news about a female teacher having sex with her underage student. This isn’t a funny sitcom sketch about a cougar or a talk show about familial abuse. I am not that.
Vicki was the beginning.
The beginning of who I became.
She was the first.
The first in a line of women.
But that’s over now. Sutton is the last. The last woman. The line ends with her.
Nothing else matters. There’s nothing else to discuss.
What about the shame? What about the guilt? I close my eyes tightly, pushing out the questioning echoes from my heart. I need to shut this shit down.
Sutton slips her hand into mine as we walk upstairs to my bedroom. I feel her eyes on me but don’t look at her. It’s been quiet since my confession at the storage unit. She’s tried to talk, but I’m very good at shutting people down when I need to. I did it to Annie for years.
I never understood why Annie felt responsible for that night, her guilt. She blamed herself for what happened, but it was Vicki pulling the strings, just like in Annie’s painting. And now Annie’s dead. Because of her. I want Vicki to pay for what she did to Annie, for giving her drugs, for using her. But how can I do that without hurting Tawny? Too many people have already been hurt by all this. I never wanted that to happen, especially to Sutton.
“I’m sorry I lied to you about the vasectomy,” I say, closing and locking my bedroom door.
“With everything else, I’ve practically forgotten about that.” She laughs a little. “So you did it because . . .”
“You have to understand, I begged God, the universe, for Vicki not to be pregnant with my child. I made all kinds of promises after that night. I swore I’d never drink or do drugs again. I swore I’d always protect myself. That I’d never let myself be in that position again.”
She places her hand over mine, and I see it in her eyes. She’s not looking at me the same way anymore. Whoever said honesty is the best policy was a fucking fool. Lie till you die is better. “I don’t want to talk,” I say.
“I have some things to say,” Sutton says, her eyes holding mine while she slowly undresses, until she’s standing in her black bra and panties at the edge of my bed. She’s speaking my language. I step toward her, and she lowers herself to my bed. Shedding my clothes, I lean over her, one finger drawing a path between her tits, down her stomach, to her panties. I begin to slide them down her long smooth legs.
I really don’t deserve this woman.
Yet she’s still here.
Selfishly, I bury myself inside her. Her hands on my ass, she pulls me deeper, encouraging me to fuck her hard and deep, knowing that’s exactly what I need. Each thrust harder than the last. Each groan louder than before.
She takes it—all the pain, all the anger. She takes every ounce of it.
I’m supposed to be making love to her, but this feels more like hate-fucking. More like what I did with all those other women—screwing so hard you don’t have time to feel a damn thing. That was the point. I didn’t out-run my feelings—I out-fucked them.
I won’t do that to Sutton.
Slowing down, I roll my hips into hers. My eyes roam her body—her perfect curves like a map leading me where I need to go.
Here’s the thing about loving someone. It’s a complete loss of control, like falling. Sometimes it hurts. And sometimes you land exactly where you’re supposed to.
Her body becomes my guide, grounding me. Shrouded in darkness, the years of silence are over as the story of that night fills the space between us—the guilt, the shame so thick I feel like I’m going to choke on them.
Sensing my struggle, she takes my face in her hands. “Fall. Fall into me.”