Page 55 of A Fighting Chance

“I’m on birth control,” I say. “Please.”

At this, he moves in front of me and dips down slightly. He lingers at my entrance for only a moment before pushing himself inside me.

I moan, covering my mouth with my hand as best as I can manage. My fingers grip his shoulders, and I bite into his collarbone.

He rocks into me over and over again, his hand streaking the glass of the window behind us.

I hadn’t remembered it was there until now, hadn’t cared about it. Though if someone were to see us, I still wouldn’t care. I want this. I need this. He slides into me, over and over again, alternating between fast and hard and slow and soft. I feel every inch of him. He reaches down between us, caressing my clit, and my legs wobble. His strong arms keep me upright. Admittedly, he’s doing most of the work. But I don’t mind.

“Lyla?” he whispers.

“Yes?” I manage to say.

“Tell me you want me again.”

“I want you.”

“Say it again,” he pleads.

“I want you.” I repeat the words over and over again, kissing his mouth, his neck, whispering the words between each one.

We come, not exactly together, but it’s a ripple effect—starting with me.

By the time we get out of the shower, the water’s run cold. There’s no doubt in my mind that the other occupants of the house will put two and two together, but I still don’t care.

We dress and laugh; we brush our hair and teeth. I like this—getting ready together. It feels natural, seems normal.

I check my phone for the time just as we’re finishing up and it’s exactly ten minutes until Chuck the fuck is supposed to arrive. So, we hurry ourselves downstairs. Before we reach the bottom step, Gentry pulls me close for one more kiss, and then we’re off again.

Harper is in the kitchen making coffee, and she looks like a mess.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“This is my fourth cup,” she states.

I walk straight to her, taking the cup from her and setting it down. “Yeah, maybe no more coffee for you.” I grab her by the shoulders, guide her to a chair at the kitchen table, and sit her in it.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” she admits.

“It makes sense,” I reassure her. “Sure, you were together a long time, but it’s different now. He no longer feels warm or safe. He’s wounded you. Now, his presence sets you on edge.”

“Thank you for doing this. I’m not sure I could see him without crying or throwing up or both,” she says.

I take her into my arms, giving her a tight hug.

As if on cue, we all turn as we hear tires barreling up the gravel driveway.

I step back from her, rolling my eyes and nodding toward the living room, silently urging her to go sit with Nan and Paw.

She gets up and walks out of the kitchen.

Gentry cups her shoulder as she passes him, silently reassuring her he’s here for her, too.

I walk out on the porch and Gentry stays inside, lingering just on the other side of the screen door. I don’t want him out here. I hope Charles will see me as the least threatening and just take his shit and go.

He parks his car a few feet away and steps out. He’s wearing a suit, buttoning the jacket once he’s standing.

Who wears a full suit on a Saturday? And forthis?

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