Page 5 of Fracture

“Sweetheart, listen to me-”

“Food delivery!” A cheerful voice rings across the garage, and a young woman stands at the door with two paper bags in her hands. “How y’all doing tonight?”

The three of us must be looking at her with enough rage and tension to make her very uncomfortable, because the smile wavers and she eyes us nervously.

“I have the right house, don’t I? It said 1247, just let me-” She anxiously looks down at the bag, and I quickly paste a smile on my face and hurry across the room.

“Yes of course you do, this is the house, thank you so much.” I fish the fifty dollar bill out of my pocket and hand it over, taking the bags from her. “You have a good night. Be safe!”

The poor woman hurries down the drive, away from the house, and I turn back to face the two men in my garage. The two men I was so happy to see this morning, and who I now don’t even recognize. It all just changed in an instant.

“I got us dinner.” I swallow hard, biting back tears.

Dylan takes a few steps towards me, but before he reaches me, I drop the bags and spin on my heel, hurrying back into the house alone.

CHAPTER 2

DYLAN

I have a thing for nails,and hands. When a woman has real pretty hands, and her nails are all done, it just fucking does something to me. The thought of those nails scratching down my back, leaving behind long, red marks in my skin…

That, and I haven’t seen a woman all done up and looking good in years, especially not one as beautiful as Stella Langford. And right now, Stella is tapping her pretty white-tipped nails against her wooden countertops, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

God fuckingdammit, she looks good.

She gathers her honey-colored hair up in a hand, twirling it and tossing it over her shoulder, turning slightly so I can see her profile. Her white tank top barely covers her stomach, and I can’t think too much about the fact she’s not wearing a bra, because her breasts are fucking perfect.

Her tiny pink and white striped shorts barely cover her ass, sitting low on her hips. She’s definitely not a girl anymore. When I left her, she was still a teenager, but now she’s a woman with a figure to fucking die for.

Shit.

I made a promise to myself when her offer came to us via our lawyer, when Stella said that we could stay with her when we got out - I wouldn’t make any assumptions. I wouldn’t be possessive and weird about it all, because we couldn’t just pick up where we’d left off. For all I knew she was married, or at least had a boyfriend. The thought kept me up at night, but I didn’t have a right to her, not anymore. I had to leave all of that behind, because I didn’t know a thing about the woman she was now.

But as I watch her from the shadows, pacing her kitchen because she can’t sleep, I know I was an idiot. There’s never been anyone else for me. She’s so beautiful it fucking hurts to look at her, just the same as the first time I ever saw her.

She bends down to put some glasses in the dishwasher, her tiny shorts riding up to reveal the curve of her round ass, and I have to stifle a breath. But my hand flexes on the door frame, and she hears the whisper of my fingers against the wood. She jerks upright and snaps her head over her shoulder to find me standing there, watching her. Like a fucking creep.

“Can’t sleep?” Her tone is cold, and after what happened in the garage a few hours ago, I can’t blame her. I should have defended her, I should have sent Levi packing for how he spoke to her. But that throws up a whole new complicated layer of emotion, my chest tensing, and I have to push that away and focus on Stella instead.

I step into the kitchen, illuminated only by the light over the range and a candle Stella lit by the window.

“Nah, the bed’s too comfortable.”

“You can always throw a blanket on the floor.” She gives me a flash of a cynical smile, before her face drops back into the classic Langford Mask, tossing her hair again and turning her back to me. “Dogs like sleeping on the floor, right?”

I can’t help but laugh a little. “I guess I deserve that.”

“To be called a dog? Yeah, you do.” She fills a glass with water and gulps it down, turning back to me with narrowed eyes. “You think the same as Levi, huh? That I’m a sell-out?”

I shake my head emphatically, raising my hands. “It’s not like that, I-”

“Because if it’s offensive to you both that I am what I am, you can leave.” She lifts an eyebrow, looking me up and down. “I was just trying to be nice. But nice has never gotten me very far. You know where the door is if you need it.”

I try to close the distance between us, but she takes a step back, arms crossed over her chest.

“Baby, that’s not-”

“Donotcall me baby, Dylan. Or sweetheart, or anything else. Those days are long gone.” She notices the dip in my gaze, and presses her tits together even more firmly. “Listen, I know you just got out of jail, and I know they’re amazing, but you can keep your eyes fuckingup.”

---