Hard (11 page)

28

Holland

The party is small, intimate. Just Summer and Nelly, Pop, his nurse, Margo, and Jensen and me. As I’m embraced in back-to-back hugs, I can’t decide if smaller is actually better. In a larger group, I might have been able to fade into the crowd. That’s not happening.

I’m introduced to Pop last. He’s nothing like I envisioned in my head. I guess from the way Jensen talked about him, I expected him to be old and sickly looking. Not this slim, wiry man with dark hair, lightly dusted with gray. An older, thinner version of his son. He looks like he’s in his upper fifties. Not the eighty-year-old I had pictured. I hide my surprise and smile, holding out my hand, hoping just one of these people will let me get away with a handshake.

“Pop,” Jensen calls. “This is Holland.”

I’m still holding my hand out, starting to feel even more awkward when he doesn’t acknowledge me.

“To your left, Pop,” Summer says. “Her hand is out.”

He reaches out, feeling the air until he finds my hand. He grips it in a solid shake. My eyes shift to his, really looking at him now. Though his head is turned in my direction, his gaze is off, looking over my shoulder. He seems unfocused. Or…
blind
.

I glance at Jensen who is watching me intently and so much falls into place.

“It’s nice to meet you Holland,” Pop says.

“Nice to meet you too,” I return.

He cocks his head to the side. “She sounds cute. Is she cute?”

“Extremely,” Jensen states.

“Ah, good. Come, sit here with me.” He pats the chair beside him. My heart does a double beat, but I do as he asks, slipping in next to him.

We all take seats around the large dining table filled with the strangest grouping of foods I’ve eve seen. Apparently Margo made all of Pop’s favorites. Baked ziti, fish tacos, blueberry pancakes, bacon wrapped artichokes, watermelon, and pina coladas. I don’t even know where to begin, but alcohol seems like a safe bet.

“How did you and Jensen meet?” Margo asks, politely making conversation with me.

“At The Pub. I was working and he came in for a drink.” I sip quickly on my icy drink.

She smiles, leaning toward me conspiratorially. “He always seems so prickly. Brooding, you know? It’s good to know he isn’t always like that.”

“Oh, no, he is,” I say, glancing at Jensen across from me, and give him a smirk. He raises a brow in silent question, which I ignore, turning back to Margo. Her dark hair sweeps the top of her shoulders as she shakes her head.

“How did he get you to go out with him then?”

I press my lips together. The fact that we’ve never
gone out
, just now occurring to me.

“He’s a Payne,” Pop chimes in.

“He sure is,” Summer sings.

“So are you,” Jensen points out, giving his sister’s shoulder a little shove.

“Only by name.”

Pop overlooks her quip, continuing on. “He has natural charm and sex appeal that can’t be ignored.”

Summer rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t say sex appeal. You’re going to make my ears bleed.”

“Then we’ll have a deaf and a blind in the family,” Jensen supplies.

“And you could stop talking,” Summer fires back promptly. “Then we’d be deaf, blind, and mute. Like those little monkey statues Mom used to have.”

Jensen nods, a small smile forming on his lips as if just remembering them. “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.”

Margo points her fork at Pop. “Your dad is the one who has been speaking evil lately.”

Jensen’s head tips to the side in frustration. “Still?”

Margo nods. “The dirtiest things come out of that man’s mouth.” I notice she says this with fondness, not irritation.

Summer places her hands over her ears, humming lightly. I can’t help but laugh.

“Like father like son,” I mutter.

Pop grins, his face bright with amusement. He slaps his palm to the table, capturing everyone’s full attention. “It’s in our DNA,” he explains. “All of it. The charm, the
sex appeal
, the dirty mouths. We have good genes.”

Jensen huffs out an indignant breath. “Yeah, they’re the best.”

“They’re good enough. Now it’s my birthday,” Pop says. “Can we have a nice meal? Please? You’re both adults, stop bantering like a couple teenage girls.”

Jensen smirks, leaning back into his seat. “Sure, Pop.”

My gaze moves back and forth from Jensen to his dad. Pop’s condition seems to bother Jensen more than it bothers him. I can’t help but think of my mom and how I would feel if we had been in this situation. I would probably be angry too. It makes my chest pull tight, not only because of my mom’s memory, but because I feel for Jensen.

Watching him with his family, seeing this other side of him, of his life… I never meant to like him, but I do. A lot. More and more with each passing day.

“I would just like to point out that technically, I
am
a teenage girl,” Summer adds.

*

We all pitch in, clearing the table and washing the dishes. Once the kitchen is back in order, Summer shoves Nelly into my arms. I try to give her directly back, but Summer turns, picking up the box of candles and starts placing them on the cake. I had done a really good job of ignoring the baby all throughout dinner. Now I have no choice but to meet my apprehension head on.

I’m clutching her clumsily, holding my breath and trying to touch as little of her as possible. There’s a roaring in my eardrums. Loud and harsh. My head feels light. My heart pounding so hard I can feel it in every pulse point.

Margo laughs, coming over to take the poor girl from me. “Never been around babies before?”

I’m so grateful to her I nearly burst into tears. I choke them back and force a laugh, nodding stiffly. “That obvious, huh?”

She grins, cuddling Nelly to her chest. “It’s okay. Not everyone is cut out to be maternal.”

That hits
hard
. So hard I can’t seem to breathe. “Where’s the bathroom?” I wheeze.

“Right around the corner,” Margo directs with a tilt of her head.

It’s difficult to keep myself from running, but I manage, hurrying past Jensen as he places a stack of small plates on the counter. He grabs my arm, halting my escape.

“You all right?”

“Mm-hm. Great.” I don’t make eye contact and pull out of his grip quickly. Inside the bathroom, I turn the water on cold and let it run over my hands and wrists, not stopping until my fingers begin to numb.

I slump to the floor, letting my eyes fall shut. When will it stop hurting so badly? When will holding another baby not feel like I’m betraying Caleb? Like I’m trying to forget him? Replace him?

I don’t want to be like this anymore, but I don’t know how to be any other way.

29

Jensen

The car ride back to Holland’s place is quiet. She’s lost in her head, as usual, and I can’t get the last few minutes out of my thoughts. As we said our goodbyes, Pop had pulled Holland aside and his words have been playing on a loop inside my mind ever since.

“
My eyes may be shit, but my ears are in perfect working order. I recognize bullshit when I hear it. I also know sadness—it has a tone all it’s own. Keep that in mind next time you come back. And I do expect you to come back
.”

She hadn’t responded, not confirming nor denying his words. I’ve always known there was something broken about Holland, it’s what initially attracted me to her. But over the past month, I’ve become so beguiled by her, somehow I managed to forget. Underneath the hard beauty, the great sex, and the brains, she’s damaged.

I have no idea what bullshit Pop was calling her out on, and I should be apprehensive, but I’m not.

All I can manage to care about right now is making her whole. I want to be the person who can make her forget she’s miserable.

Fuck that. I want to be the one who takes her misery away.

I pull into the parking lot of her complex and turn off the car. I’ve never been inside her apartment before—I’d like to rectify that now. I’ll invite myself in if she doesn’t do it on her own.

“Are you coming up?” she asks, surprise coloring her tone.

“Yes.” I don’t give her an opportunity to fight me on it. I open the door and slide out, jogging around to the passenger side. She takes my proffered hand and I let her lead me up an abundant amount of stairs to a tiny attic apartment.

When I say tiny, I mean there’s room for a bed, loveseat, a refrigerator that looks like it came straight out of the 60’s—small and an odd shade of green, a sink,
half
a stove the same shade as the fridge, a small bookshelf, and a door leading into a bathroom not even large enough for a tub, housing only a shower stall, toilet and pedestal sink. I turn in a circle and I’ve seen the entire place. She doesn’t even have a TV. There is exactly one window, miniature and round. It doesn’t look like it even opens.

My first instinct is to pack her shit and drag her ass over to my place. She deserves better than this. It takes a lot of self-restraint to deny this inclination.

Holland kicks off her flimsy flip-flops and shimmies out of her jeans. Seeing her in nothing but a pair of pink cotton panties and a tank top makes the rest of the place disappear. I pluck my glasses off my face, dropping them on the bookshelf and take the few steps separating us.

As she works on unbuttoning my shirt, Holland chews on her lip. A sure sign she has a question simmering, but in her typical fashion, she doesn’t bother to ask it. I want to know what’s on her mind.

“What?” I prompt.

Her eyes flicker up to mine. “I was just thinking about your dad.”

“Ouch,” I breathe. “Bored with me already?”

She laughs, slipping my shirt off my shoulders, her mouth sliding over my pec muscle, trailing along my chest. “Has he always been blind?”

“No,” I utter. “It’s a condition.
A disease
. Retinitis Pigmentosa. The cells in his eyes are dead. It was a long, slow process, taking more and more of his vision away until there was nothing left.”

“Is it painful?”

“There were headaches at first, a little dizziness, nothing too bad. His eyes aren’t what cause him pain now,” I explain. “Vitamin A is supposed to help slow vision loss, but high quantities turn the liver to shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

I dip my head in a small nod, ready to change the subject.

“I was just thinking,” she begins softly, “about your Scopophilia. How it’s all probably connected.” She peers up at me through her thick lashes, her question clear.

“You think you have me all figured out, huh?”

“Yes,” she states genuinely. “I just can’t get a handle on the whole tying women up thing.”

I chuckle roughly, appreciating her wording choice. “You think there must be some deep rooted reason I like to bind women when I fuck them?”

Her hands have fallen to my belt, working it through the loops. I keep my attention on her face, watching her brows rise in insinuation. “Well, yeah. Is it the power? It’s obvious you’re a control freak, which I think once again returns to your dad. You have no control over the loss of his sight, so maybe you look for it in other places?”

“That’s some straight up Freud logic right there.”

“Am I right?” She tugs my zipper, slipping her fingers into my jeans, finding me hard and ready for her.

I sweep her hand off me and free myself of the remainder of my clothes. “Did you ever think I might just like to tie women up?” I push into her with my chest, backing her toward her bed. “That maybe I find women so beautiful in their softness, their smoothness. Ropes are rough, coarse.” Her legs bump into the mattress and I give her a little nudge, making her fall back. I crawl on top of her, letting my weight sink in. “And the pairing of the two, delicate and brutal… It’s intensely arousing.”

My cock presses into her folds, shoving her panties in-between her labium. I rub against her, enjoying the way her underwear dampens from my ministrations. She opens her mouth, releasing a sigh, and I take advantage, plunging inside. I grab her tongue between my teeth. Switch off, sucking, then biting as I yank her shirt up and her bra down, freeing her breasts. My fingers tweak her nipples harshly, working them into tight buds. She’s writhing beneath me, so pliable. So willing. I fucking
love
it.

Releasing her peaked nipples, I reach between us, wrench her panties until the fabric gives, ripping in half. We’re skin to skin. She’s warm, wet, and I can’t wait another second. I need to be inside of her like I need to breathe.

I thrust into her, watching her face as I bury myself to the hilt. Her head digs into the plush bed under her, mouth rounding in a perfect O. The pleasure plain in her expression makes my balls twitch in quick succession. I shift my weight to my knees and find her hands. Close her palms together, grasping them in one of my hands, and lock them above her head. One sharp pull on her bra unsnaps the clasps and I drag it upward, coiling it around her wrists. She doesn’t have a headboard, hindering me from really securing her, but when my hands drift down her body, she doesn’t make any attempt to move.

I suck on her tit. Grip the flesh on her thighs hard. Drive into her faster. My only thoughts are for her. Giving her pleasure. Making her come beneath me.

I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m losing myself in this woman and I can’t find one single fuck to give.

Holland’s entire body tightens, squeezing me from the inside, letting me know she’s close. It feels amazing, but I grit my teeth, holding back. Waiting to sync our climaxes together.

Her eyes flutter shut and she moans. Her frame shudders violently and finally I let myself go, finding ecstasy with her.