Page 68 of Tempest

“In the way we loved each other, which wasn’t the way a married couple should. In the way that we didn’t plan to live out our lives together. ’Til death was a lie.” He runs a palm over the stubble on his jaw. He’s frustrated, but so am I.

“What am I supposed to do with that? I can’t unsee your wedding day. I can’t relive those months where it felt like I was drowning in sorrow.”

“No more than I can change the decisions I made.”

He’s right, of course. Neither of us can do anything about the past.

“What would you change, if you could?”

Gavin doesn’t answer right away, walking to the wall of windows, lights across the lake shimmering like night stars in the darkness.

“It’s hard for me to say. Because now I know what I would have missed out on in Tori’s life if we hadn’t gone through with the marriage,” he starts. “It was hard being away from her so much, but at least when I was playing at home or it was the offseason, I was going home to her every night and witnessing as many of her firsts as I could. Watching her grow into who she is now with a front row seat instead of one that was only placed out for me on off days and holidays. I don’t know if we could have made it work any other way, at first. But later, after I was signed and was making money, there were options. Ones I thought about starting from the time Tori was about six years old and started school.”

“But you didn’t explore those options,” I prompt.

“By then, it had been almost seven years. I hadn’t heard many updates about you, but I figured you were probably happy and living the life you’d dreamed of. I convinced myself that I was nothing but a mess you’d swept up and tossed out years before. I’d change that, if I could. I’d find you and see if there was some spark of love still alive. If I’d done that then, maybe I’d have saved all three of us from some hurt.”

“All three of us,” I muse quietly. Caroline is just as much a part of this dysfunction, even though I don’t think I’ve ever had a single conversation with her. I’ve never been able to convince myself that she suffered much in any of this. She got a loyal husband, a wonderful daughter, and a comfortable life, after all.

“Yes,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me. “Another thing I would change is the sex. Your accusation earlier was right, we did have sex. Sometimes, not even often. But enough that it confused the situation and cemented us into a union we never meant to be long-lasting. She should have been free to fall in love with someone else and I should have been free to continue being in love with you.”

His words fuck with my mind. I see them together in my head, their bodies entwined while he calls out my name. It’s an old fantasy, dark and twisted, it’s played out in my mind so many times. For so long, I hoped they would fall apart. I don’t know what kind of a monster that makes me, wishing a family would fracture and break. Rejection can decimate everything good inside someone, and for a while, I let it.

“Did you ever think of me?” I ask, my voice breaking while I force out the last word.

“Of course, I did,” he says, furious now. In a second, he’s standing in front of me again, crowding my space with his smell and drilling those eyes into my own. “All the time. I was in love with you. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t. I’ll never know a time when I’m not.”

Without bidding, I pull his face to mine, our mouths colliding. I’m aware how much of a sucker I am for his words. When you’ve waited so long to hear them, it’s hard to swallow down the reaction to them. Our argument hasn’t dampened the arousal I felt earlier at his protectiveness, and him saying these things now only reignites it all.

He meets me with the same unhinged intensity. It’s not enough, though, I need more to soothe the need, the nerves, the years of wanting. My hands move to his belt, then the button and zipper on his pants. I reach in, feeling him grow harder as he unbuttons my own blouse, yanking my bra down so he can weigh my breasts in his hand. Our mouths never stop.

Not when I push his pants and boxer briefs down over his hips or when his thumbs play at the waistband of my skirt. I’ve craved this moment since he left my bed last time. I’d never admit that to him, but I have. His body haunts me, his cock the star of my dreams.

He lifts me and moves me to sit on the edge of my kitchen counter. He pauses then, waiting for me to say stop, maybe. I grab the hem of my skirt and pull it up as far as I can, widening my legs…giving him access and answer.

When he reaches between my thighs, he finds me bare, and he sighs, a smile twitching at the part of his mouth that wears the tiny scar. Smiles aren’t what I’m after right now, I need release. A brutal ejection of all this residual despair I’ve held on to.

“Why didn’t you come to me as soon as Caroline left?” I ask when his fingers slide in.

“I wanted to. But I didn’t want you to think I was rebounding. It felt like fate when you ended up as Tori’s mentor.” He adds a finger, and my head falls back. “Everything came rushing back when I saw you standing right over there, and nothing else mattered. I know what I lost, Ode. I live with that every day.”

His mouth nibbles along my neck, his fingers get replaced by the tip of his cock.

“I don’t know how to forgive it all, Gavin.”

“I’m only asking you to try,” he says, thrusting. “We finally have our chance, Ode, nothing’s in our way but us.” He punctuates his statement with another thrust, and I grab on to his shoulders. His muscles bunch and stretch under my fingers. He pulls my hips into his over and over, heat racing to my chest the closer he brings me to the edge. “Stop fucking around with the other guy and give us the fair shot we didn’t have before.”

“What if I can’t?” I can have this every day if I can figure out how to trust him and the things he says. “What if I never feel like anything but your backup plan?”

“Ode, no. You’re the end game. You’re the rest of my life. You’re my eternity,” he says until I’m coming for him and him for me in a swirl of emotion. My body is elated, my mind a tornado of thoughts that I can’t focus.

Or trust.

Gavin holds me while we settle, our breaths synchronizing.

“I don’t know how…”

“I do. Let me take the lead,” he whispers at my temple. “You’re shaking again.”

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