Dean

Lying on a lounger, Tatum positioned comfortably between my legs, we watch the sun rise over the city I’ve called home my entire life.

This city can be beautiful, but it can also be dangerous. Especially in the hidden, dark corners where both men and women are beaten, raped, murdered right before your very eyes. And if you witness something, you either keep your mouth shut, or you join the victims. It’s brutal, blunt but true.

In both the city and county of Los Angeles, the homeless population has jumped into the double digits in the last two years. Over forty thousand people live in abandoned cars, shelters, tents, makeshift campsites; we hold the second highest homeless rate in the United States.

I should know; I used to be one of them.

I’ve witnessed a lot of things. Fortunate enough to have been young enough to walk for miles from where I slept at night to where I eventually bought a used pair of cheap drumsticks and worked the streets, picked up more talent from the local homeless people like me than I did the entire time I was in school. Love the people I met, the ones who didn’t take a dollar for granted, didn’t abuse others, steal because they were so fucking hungry they would kill to have what wasn’t theirs, but I didn’t trust them, and I learned early on to have eyes, ears, and the street-smart knowledge to watch my back at all times.

I never stole from another person living on the streets, but I sure as fuck took what they gave me. I stole food, clothes, shoes, and necessities from every store in a twenty-mile radius from where I camped out at night.

And it was the loneliest Goddamn time of my life.

I trusted only myself. Learned that early on in my life, and it took a long time for me to comprehend what that word meant.

Trust is always broken. It’s taken for granted. On the one hand, we lie to save someone from pain; on the other, we will stab them in the back, shove a pitchfork up their ass if it will make us look good. People misuse that word more than anything when it should be one of the most sacred things in their life.

For me, I busted my ass to try and keep on believing in what I wanted out of life. Listen with my ears wide open at night when the people older than me would tell their stories, learned more about history, math, and science than I ever would have learned if I had stayed in a place that was so full of mistrust I was scared to close my eyes.

I reach for my smokes, lay the pack back down, and press my mouth to the side of Tatum’s neck. As much as I crave a cigarette, I crave her more.

“You feel alright?” I ask, lean in, and nibble on her ear.

The only thing she’s said since we woke a bit ago was she needed clothes and coffee. I got her both, and fuck all if she doesn’t look good in what I gave her to put on.

“I’m sore, if that’s what you're asking.” She lifts her head from my chest, turns to face me sitting cross-legged. My cock jumps, and my eyes can’t help but divert down to her rosy nipples peeking out through the thin material of the white wife beater. I get my eyeful of as much of her skin as I can. Arms, legs, and her face. Carefree and void of makeup. Beautiful.

I travel to the sweet spot between her legs. I’ve never been inside a woman as tight as she is. Snug, warm, and all that close friction of intense heat had me wanting to pull out of her, rip off the condom, and fuck her bare. “I figured you might as well look at them, since this is why you gave it to me. How old is this thing anyway?” I smirk. The woman isn’t afraid one bit to call me out.

“What can I say, you have nice tits. That thing is about twenty-five years old. It looks like it’s ready to fall apart. I figured you’d ask after I handed the old thing to you. Just like everything else that deserves a question you don’t ask. You amaze me.” She does more than that. She blew right in and stole something I always wanted to give. My soul. I could easily fall in love with her. Spend the rest of my life doing her right.

After we fucked good and hard last night, twice, she fell asleep in my arms. I haven’t slept that well since I lost my son.

Nearly every night I fall asleep with something triggering my brain. Could be an incident from that particular day that outwardly sets it on fire, or it could stem from the root of my abusive childhood. Either way, whenever I crawl into bed and my brain wanders, it usually frays a loose thread of an old memory I rarely engage with during the busy time of day.

No matter how much I try to protest it, to wish it away, my brain latches on, and I’m right back to the moment my front door became my best friend because it was the only thing stopping me from falling to my knees when the cops told me he was dead.

On the nights it clasps hold of the abuse from my uncle, I typically wake in a cold sweat. Some nights, I climb out of bed, head to the basement, and beat my anger and frustration out on my drums. I did none of those things last night. I slept like a rock.

Until I met Tatum, I never believed in the perception that someone could soothe a person’s soul. Make them realize how valuable being happy is. But when I woke with this woman still snuggled naked against me, my memories clashed in my head until the voice of reason told me I need to fess up everything to her. Force those demons to come out of my mouth and lay all my trust in her hands. I need to tell my daughter, too. But I need to do it when we’re alone.

My gaze drifts over Tatum’s face. Such a strong woman. Full of passion. Heart as big as anyone’s I’ve met. I’m tired of trying to figure out why this connection we have is strong. It’s building into something I’ve always wanted. A trusting relationship. One that will push, pull, and drive me intoxicatingly mad with hunger. This woman in front of me with her messed-up hair, a confused look, lips parting, and a heart that I want to own has been out there waiting for the same thing.

“At least twenty-five years. Are you kidding?”

I shrug, set my coffee cup down, and tweak both her rose-colored nipples. “Yeah. I grabbed this because for one, it was the closest thing I had to seeing you naked, and for two, it reminds me of a part of my life very few people know about. I wish I could tell you I was kidding. This was the last thing I stole before I got lucky and was offered a job as a dishwasher at Snake and Jake’s. I lived behind that bar for six months before the owner finally caught me breaking into someone’s car to steal change and a pack of smokes.”

Her mouth parts, her chest rises and falls. Sadness swells behind her pupils, and as much as I’d love to get lost in her all over again, I need to tell her my darkest secrets, so we can shove this all behind us and deal with her ex.

“Dean, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” Her words are barely above a whisper. The thing is, I do want to tell her. I want her to know that the bar she saw me playing at is as much home to me as this place is.

“I know. There’s a point to all of this, one I think you’ll understand after I tell you everything. The bitch who brought me into this world left me with a drunk. Couldn’t tell you how old I was when she walked away from me because I don’t remember. My uncle was a good-for-nothing son of a bitch. He put food on the table, made me go to school, and treated me real good in front of the people in town. He turned into another person when we were alone. Fucked-up shit was, I was too afraid to leave because he let me join the middle school band, and drumming was all I ever wanted to do.”

I feel more naked in front of this woman than I did last night. Fuck, last night was all I could think about when I woke up. The way she felt in my arms, her soft little snores, her warm flesh, and her huge heart made the gloomy cloud that hung above me all night disappear.

The minute Sam walked away, I knew it was time to bare my soul; my stomach knotted the entire night.

The weirdest sensation fell over me while I sat there and listened to everyone talk. I was with people who care about me. This was my true family. And even though Sam was less than twenty feet away from us, and Leila was acting as if she wasn’t disturbed by being in the same room as a creep who made it very clear he was fucking her and Tatum with his eyes, I felt peace.

“The summer I turned fourteen, he came home drunk, the worst I had ever seen. And when he came into my room with bloodshot eyes and his belt in his hand, I knew I was in for it. Couldn’t for the life of me figure out what I did. It had been months since he took the belt to me.” I hate reliving this story. Goddamn, it pulls my skin tight. I keep circling her nipples, not to turn either one of us on, more for comfort than anything. “My blood rushed to my head, and before he lunged at me, I ducked. At the time, I told myself I was done with him treating me like a piece of shit. If he didn’t want me there, then I would leave. When I turned around shaking so badly I thought I was going to piss myself, he started mocking me for being nothing to nobody. I could probably count on one hand the times he called me by my given name. I was a loser to him who would never amount to anything. ‘A pathetic dreamer,’ he used to call me. He told me to get out and never come back. I told him fine. He stormed out of my room. I cried while packing my bag. Had no idea where I was going to go, hell if I was going to stay in his house another night. I knew I was taking my chances on him calling the cops and claiming I ran away. I didn’t trust that man at all. I had a little over a hundred bucks. I stuffed it in my pocket, went to grab my drumsticks only to discover they weren’t at the end of the bed where I sat them. Bastard took them.”

I pause to catch my breath, and my hand stills when I see tears streaming down her face faster than a raging river. I lean forward and swipe as many of them away and draw her onto my lap.

“I didn’t own a set of drums. I was saving for one. I practiced on every flat surface I could find; at home, on the bus, you name it. Always had those sticks in my hand. He busted them up and had them lying at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me. I never went back. Heard a few years ago he died.”

“God, Dean. It’s no wonder you are so against drinking. I’m so sorry you went through all that. I can’t begin to imagine.”

Her tears turn to sobs. Shaky fingers clutch my T-shirt. I hold her in silence, rocking us slowly as her tears soak my chest.

“Shhh. I’m okay. Look where I am today. I have a daughter, a family, and by some kind of crazy luck, I have you. Jake took me in. He helped me get my shit together, Tatum. He made me realize there is good in this world. That bar means more to me than all of this.” I gesture around my home, then bring my hand up to run it soothingly through her hair, a weight lifted off my chest.

“Does Leila know?”

“Yeah. In a way, I think that’s one of the reasons why she’s overly protective of me. I don’t particularly like her drinking. Like you said, though, she’s young; she has the right to have a good time. I just want her doing it responsibly. As far as Miles goes, he knows, too. We have a meeting to talk about him. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I can promise you this; there isn’t a single one of us who will let him go through it alone.”

“He’s going to hate you guys.”

I chuckle. “We know.”

She lifts her head; bloodshot eyes and all, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.

“You keep wiggling your ass like that, and I’ll take you right here.” In an instant, her features melt the sadness away, replacing it with a seductive smile.

She pulls away, lifts up the tank, causing my dick to swell. I raise a brow when she palms her breasts; all that luscious cleavage is spilling over the top of her hands.

“That’s hot as fuck.” With a slight smile, she leans down and places her soft lips on mine. One hand tugs at my hair; the other skims beneath my shorts and grabs hold of my cock.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“For what? Telling you how fucking hot you are?” I ask, grabbing her ass and drawing her back onto my lap.

“For trusting me.”

Our eyes latch. Time stands still.

I need to tell her the rest, but when she grinds herself against me, everyone, everything outside of our bubble ceases to exist.