Page 72 of I Hear You

He kisses me, first on my lips, then my neck and breast. It’s like he's trying to taste every part of me and can’t get enough. I find what I was chasing after and tighten my legs around him even more, holding him as deep as he’ll go in me. He grunts and I can feel his cock pulsing inside me as we finish together.

The best part though–when our orgasms have faded, and he’s disposed of the condom, he comes back to the bed and turns me on to my side. Sliding in behind me, he wraps me up in his arms, giving me soft gentle kisses on my back and shoulders. We lay there, our legs tangled together, and talk for hours.

We talk about how amazing the sex has been, of course, but we talk about serious things too. We talk about my mom and my dad, we talk about his dad, and he tells me all about being on probation. We talk about our friends, school, work–everything. We lay there, exposed and vulnerable, in more ways than one. I’m an ‘everything happens for a reason’ girl, but I’m struggling to find the reason why I wasn’t brave enough to let myself have this sooner. I’m just glad I have it now, and I promise myself to do everything I can to keep it.

Chapter thirty-four

Henderson

Madsissittingonthe sidelines with Emmett at football practice. He’s not practicing because he’s been bitching about his knee hurting. I have this sinking feeling he’s lying. It’s another thing to add to his string of weird behaviors over the past few months.

Madison charmed the pants off the coach and convinced him to let her sit right on the sidelines for practices. Coach Davis, a six foot five and over two fifty pounds of muscle man–has been swindled by a girl. I have a feeling he’s going to regret the decision. She’s become a football fanatic. I’d complain, but she always gets really worked up after she watches me play, in the best way. Then, when we’re done having sex, she wants to talk about strategy and what I could improve on the field, it’s hilarious and adorable.

It’s a stark contrast of support from the way my father supported me. Madison makes me feel proud of what I can do on the field. She never makes me feel like I’m not good enough.

It’s been three weeks since we got back from our impromptu trip to California. Fall classes start Monday. Our first regular season football game is next weekend, against our biggest rival. It’s a home game and Madison has already worked out her strategy on how to get front row fifty yard line seats. I hope I can keep my head in the game and not be distracted by how cute she is when she gets excited, or even better, when she gets mad.

In the three weeks since we’ve been together, I’ve probably had more sex than I have in my entire life. Madison and I can’t seem to keep our hands off each other. I thought I’d live at home for the next four years of school, but I’m really re-considering it right now. The freedom of not having to wait until Taylor’s not in their dorm room or my mom’s at work–would be incredible.

My mom and Madison got to meet again last week. I asked Mads for permission first, then told my mom the whole saga. Everything from meeting Mads online at thirteen to me being a total douche and lying to her when I discovered who she was. I left out almost every detail of our trip to California, though. She did not disappoint and lectured me for ten minutes about talking to strangers on the internet. There were several,Henderson, you did not’sand some pearl clutching. Of course, when it came down to it, she welcomed Madison with open arms. They’ve even taken to ganging up against me, which I did not see coming. If I had, I wouldn’t have ever told my mom about Mads.

They’re pushing me to change my major. They got to talking about my writing and think it’s something I should pursue. Or even getting into the world of writing by working for a publisher or something like that. I haven’t agreed yet but I haven’t said no either. The problem is, I’m still working to evict all the garbage my dad filled my head with. He hammered into me for so long what a real man should be, it’s not easy to dismiss all of that in just a year.

My mom said one night when we were eating dinner, if I didn’t love football anymore, I should quit. I thought long and hard about her offer. I almost took her up on it. In the end though, I do love football when I’m playing for me, or now, playing for Mads. She’s made it fun again. Too bad I can’t convince her to wear a short little cheerleading skirt when she’s standing on the sidelines. She actually gagged at my even suggesting it. She’s right though, it’s not her style. And I love her style.

Shit, I love everything about that woman.

Madison says her mom hasn’t called or texted once since we saw her. We talked about it though, and Madison says she’s going to look into different rehab programs and send her the information. She’s going to include a letter, telling her mom how she feels about everything that’s happened over the past few years. Telling her she’s forgiven her for lying to her about her dad. But she can’t have a relationship with her again until she’s clean and has been clean for a time. I am so proud of her.

She’s been working to find out more about her biological dad. She hasn’t liked much of what she’s found, but she found someone online she thinks is her aunt. The decision on whether to reach out to her has been weighing on her. If I could protect her from everything the discovery of her dads has brought, I would in a heartbeat. I’m learning, not everything is within my control. Some things Madison has to do on her own. All I can do is be there to support her.

We talk a lot about how we both used writing to cope with our problems over the years and how our writing brought us together. I’ve been writing more fantasy stories to help me deal with my feelings about my dad. Madison always reads them as soon as I’m finished, so does Mom. They both usually end up in tears even though I don’t always mean to write sad stories. It’s felt good to enjoy writing again, and not have to do it in secret. To be able to release some of the shame surrounding it.

I think back to what my life was almost a year ago and I wish my mom never had to go through what she did, but I’m grateful for where we all are today. And, I’m grateful I walked in on them when I did because who knows how long she would have hid what was happening trying to protect me. It’s not something I enjoy thinking about and my therapist says dwelling on it isn’t productive.

Madison starts therapy next week. The school offers free counseling and when I told her how much therapy has helped me to deal with everything; she said she would try it. She doesn’t have high hopes yet, but I think she’ll find it rewarding. Just being able to have someone on the outside to remind her she is worthy of love and she didn’t cause any of the trauma she’s experienced. I want more than anything for Madison to believe what I know. That she’s strong, beautiful and talented.

I glance over at Madison on the sidelines, her and Emmett are talking and laughing. Emmett’s pointing to different players on the field. I wonder if he’s just shit talking them to her, or actually explaining things to her. She looks like she doesn’t like something Emmett is saying. Suddenly, she gets up and goes stomping off toward the coaches. Oh no.

I jog over to her before things get out of hand. I can’t control everything, but I can stop her from pissing off the coach. He won’t take it out on her because he’s too charmed. I know Coach Davis has a soft side even if he doesn’t show it in practice. He took me aside at the beginning of the summer and told me he wouldn’t let my past stop me from being great. He believes in me, and that means something. He won’t, however, hesitate to make us run drills for the next hour if Madison puts him in a bad mood.

Chapter thirty-five

Madison

“Heycoach.”

“Yes, Ms. Cartwright?” he says, not looking up from his clipboard.

“Did you know you have your fastest player on the team on defense?” I ask him, my arms folded across my chest.

Ender is standing behind me now, his hands on my shoulders. I don’t know why he thinks he needs to be over here. This conversation has nothing to do with him. Ender is nearly perfection on the field.

“Is that so, Ms. Cartwright?”

Is the coach even paying attention to me? He hasn’t looked up from his clipboard once.

“You know, you might intimidate the boys on the field, but you don’t scare me,” I tell him, my arms crossed in front of my chest. I stand as tall as I can.

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