Reprise (10 page)

She swallowed as his mouth crashed to hers, brutal and rough. His hand clasped her ass so roughly it lifted her hips, and she wished she could get her legs open to rub against him, but they were still trapped together between his thighs. So she let the kiss work through her again, the edge of arousal sharper now that she’d had his erection in her hands and her mouth. Jesus, she was going to lose her mind if he didn’t do something—

A hand brushed over her bra, the roughness of his skin taking some of the delicate fabric with it. Then he squeezed, thumb brushing over her tortured and peaked nipple.

Now she whimpered, and he moved so fast she couldn’t miss the heat of his skin. He yanked her up by her shirt, then pulled it up off her arms, unclasping the back of her bra as well before letting her drop back to the bed. His eyes were on her breasts as she did so, and her thrill at having him so focused on her was complete.

He lowered his head to her chest, tongue sweeping over a nipple as his hand toyed with the other.  Her legs trapped were another level of torture, and her hips writhed as he rained the best kind of attention on her chest.

“Harlon,” she gasped, hands pulling at his hair. “Harlon, please. Christ. Touch me.”

His hands were all over her, but he knew what she wanted. He repositioned his body, pushing a leg between hers. As his fingers pushed between her legs over the panties she purred, his attention on her clit light enough to keep her from finishing but firm enough to feel ever so fucking good. Then he returned his mouth to a breast, and within minutes she was mewing and crying out, nails digging into his hard, bunched bicep. Her other hand was flung over her head, pulling at the bedding.

As she came down his weight left the mattress, and she tried to stop shaking. When she opened her eyes it was to see him crawling back up over her body, jeans gone, cock hard and wrapped. He yanked her panties off, tossing them over his shoulder, then grabbed one of her knees, pressed it up to her chest and plunged deep.

They both grunted out “Fuck!” in near-perfect unison, then she had no words left. All she could do was dig in her nails and enjoy the ride.

-oOo-

Mallory pressed a hand to her chest, closing her eyes as she stepped away from the closed door of her father’s room. That was it, she knew it shortly after and she knew it now. That was the night that got her knocked up.

As she flopped back into the recliner her father stirred, blinking and sitting up, slightly startled to find himself not alone. “Oh heavens.”

“Dad,” she said softly, smiling. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, not at all. It’s good to see you, Ana.”

Mallory’s smile faltered, just a little. But then she recovered. “Shall I open the blinds?”

“Please.”

She did so, then pushed the table closer to his bedside. “I brought you croissants, Dad.”

“Oh, how kind. Thank you, love. Now, we should really discuss this whole mess.”

Mallory felt weary. Truly worn out, all in the span of one flashback and her father mistaking her for her mother. “Sure. What should we talk about?”

“Mallory, of course.”

She closed her eyes and sat, head resting back. “Of course.”

“She can’t keep the baby here. I can’t abide that. She has to go live with your sister until the baby’s born. Then place the child up for adoption. That’s the only option.”

Mallory nodded. “Of course,” she agreed numbly. “That’s an excellent plan.”

“I shall tell her, dear. Don’t worry. I don’t want her upsetting you.” And with that her father selected a croissant, and placed a napkin on his frightfully thin chest before biting into it.

-oOo-

After a stilted and strange visit with her father, Mallory turned right leaving his room instead of left. She knew where Mrs. Gray’s room was, had even dropped in a couple of times, shocked that the woman had recognized her for a minute or two.

That’s where she went now. Her phone buzzed as she went, and she dug it out of her shirt pocket to check the screen. Text message from Hal.
Gail got us 4 gigs week after next in CA. Two weeks of work.

It was a group text, sent out to the whole band and their sound tech that had, on occasion, travelled with them.  She ignored it for the time being, and as she came to the entryway on room number twenty-seven she was just bringing her head back up from putting the phone away as she was suddenly stopped. No force field or bad feeling; she was stopped because she ran into a brick wall.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” A big hand, decked out with a few large, silver—but definitely masculine—rings came out to take her elbow and steady her, and as she looked up her mouth went dry.

It had been right there, on the tip of her tongue, to say, “No problem” or “I need to watch where I’m going.” But instead she got a mouthful of dry wall mud.

Harlon Gray had reared back from her as well. Her heart stopped, sounds became muted and distant, like she was lapsing into shock. Which was stupid. She’d seen him before, she knew he was likely around. His father just died, for Pete’s sake. Like he wouldn’t come visit his mom?

“Harlon,” she eventually breathed. Not brilliant, but at least she spoke first.

“Mal,” he grumbled back, and her toes curled up. Literally contracted like the tendons in her feet had cramped. He had a voice that sounded like it rumbled up right from his gut. Thrilling when he was flirting, enchanting when he was amused.

Terrifying when he was pissed off.

“I’m...so sorry.”

He looked down at his feet, then back at her. “No damage done. I’m tough.”

She frowned, no idea what she’d said. Had she asked? Oh. He was misunderstanding
her.
“No, not that,” she sputtered, fighting the urge to smile. “Your dad. I’m so sorry.”

His face got another level of
shut down
to it. “Yeah. It’s...it’s a shit situation.”

A throat cleared behind him, and they both seemed to realize that Harlon was standing right in the doorway, blocking the room. Without looking back Harlon stepped to the side and she realized how close he’d been the whole time. His arm brushed the front of her shirt, and she moved back two steps, ignoring the flutter in her chest.

“Well, hey,” another voice chimed in, sounding beyond amused and curious.

Mallory brought her eyes up to the face of a younger man, at least ten years her junior if she was being generous to herself. His ice-gray eyes were twinkling as he took her in, eyes running down to her chest. Before she could get outraged or indignant she had to take in his black jeans, combat boots, black leather jacket over a charcoal T-shirt, and the ink. Jesus, he was nearly covered. There were tats on the back of his hands, cartoon bones marking the backs of his fingers, a snake running up one side of his neck, the head sitting on the shaved side of his head. The top was long and greased back. He hand rings in his eyebrow, one in his lip. Lots of silver on his fingers that didn’t look ornamental. His beard was impressive; one of those things that ran well past the end of chin like a statue of a medieval knight. There was a spacer in one ear, smaller than a quarter but just. That was one thing she didn’t get, but everything else had a bad boy edge that she had to recognize and appreciate.

“You like something you see, red?”

And
she was staring for too long. His smirk was bemused and interested, which got her back up a bit.

Fucking kid was flirting with her?

“Just wondering if there’s a pin the tail on the ass game inked on your back.”

His grin broadened bright white. “I’d have to take my shirt off to check.”

Little. Shit.

“Knuck, fuck off,” Harlon snapped, and they both looked to him, surprised.

Mal never would have believed the look that was angled at this leathered lothario if she wasn’t seeing it for herself. It was a warning of violence, like there was still some kind of possessiveness in there.

“I’m Mallory Beck,” she said to her new friend, offering a hand.

“Knuckles,” the kid said, all the smarmy charm wiped off his face.

Hmm. Very interesting.

“How’s your dad doing?”

Now she turned to Harlon, even more surprised. “He’s in and out. He just mistook me for Mom, so that was weird. Had a conversation about how corrupted I’ve become. Kind of like being a fly on the wall, I guess.”

Harlon’s jaw set hard.  “Fuck. I’m sorry. That’s rough. You still visit, though?”

No one believed she could do that, actually. That she still, at least three times a week, went to the home and sat with the man who’d thrown her out of his house when she’d needed him most: twenty, pregnant, and scared shitless. Gave her enough time to pack one bag of clothes and literally removed her from her childhood home.

No one understood how sad she was for him now. Without her mom around he was a shell. In the years that followed some of her darkest days he’d apologized profusely for all of it and she’d forgiven him; she honestly had. It didn’t mean she didn’t hurt when she remembered.

“I visit. We’ve...made up since then, I guess. When mom died it was especially important to him that I knew how sorry he was.”

Harlon nodded, and the silence got uncomfortable. Focused on the wall beside his left elbow her mind wandered back, but it was painful and she didn’t want to go there.

“So...
Mallory
.” The voice was sardonic. She studied Harlon’s little friend, made all the more curious by the glint in his eye. “It’s kinda early, but we didn’t have lunch so we were thinking of grabbing some dinner. You should join us.”

“I don’t know—”

“She’s probably busy—”

Knuckles cut them off by holding up his hands. “Old friends should sit down and catch up when they meet by accident. I truly believe in that.”

Mal was uncomfortable. She wasn’t prepared to talk too much. This was way deeper than small talk, to be sure, but where she and Harlon Gray were concerned the depth of conversation could end up with them speaking Mandarin.

“She’s likely busy, Knuck,” Harlon finally said when the group had grown quiet again.

“Yeah. I have to go home and make dinner.”

Knuckles frowned at her. “No you don’t. You’re just going to eat dinner with us. C’mon. What’s good around here?”

Harlon sighed and Mallory bit back on a laugh. Okay, so the little shit was getting to her. “I don’t want to intrude—”

“I’m inviting you and I’m the out of town guest. It’s really fucking rude to turn me down, actually.”

Did she hear that right? “What?”

Harlon moved in front of her, turning to his friend, who was grinning up at him like a maniac. “Ease up or I’ll leave you in Cleary.”

“Mallory’s in Cleary, I’d be fine with that,” Knuckles returning, chin up to meet the big guy’s glare. “I like her. She’s shiny.” His eyes widened and Mallory realized the shit disturber knew exactly what he was winding up when he talked to the mountain of angry bear in front of him.

Well, wasn’t this confusing?

“You’ll want to tread light with that.”

“You care that much?”

Something happened in that stare down. She had no idea what had passed from the younger man to the older one but when Harlon turned back to her he looked...defeated.

“Yeah, you should come out with us. We can,” he cleared his throat, “you know. Catch up.”

Chapter Nine

He mostly managed to keep his eyes off her ass as he followed her and Knuckles out of the home.

He never understood why people said women aged like fine wine. That was ridiculous. Wine was a happy accident of shit rotting and festering. Made no fucking sense. The longer it sat in a bottle, unused, the better it was? Unused being the operative word. As long as nothing disturbed its rest, it was more desirable.

Stupid fucking metaphor.

But a woman like Mallory...shit. Time had shined her up like a gemstone. She was her. She was what she had always been, just
more
. The ache in the middle of his rib cage got worse. Fuck leaving her on a shelf to “age better.” He should have been here, taking the tumble of life right along with her.

She laughed at something Knuckles said and as much as his cock apparently loved the sound, his hands tightened to fists. His brother put one hand on her and he ran the risk of his dick being pulled off while he slept.

They stopped next to a truck Harlon recognized instantly: it was Matthew Beck’s old truck. Mallory rested one hand on the handle, talking to Knuckles, pointing towards Main Street while they talked. He couldn’t hear anything; his blood was pounding in his ears like he was having a panic attack.

“Well, Harlon knows where it is.” She turned to him, still smiling from whatever Knuckles had said just now. “You remember the diner?”

All he could do was nod, then when Knuckles frowned at him he decided
talking
might improve the situation. “Yeah. Jim still running it?”

“No, he retired to Arizona. But you remember Jeremy? His son? He was three years ahead of me in school—”

“Jughead?”

She grinned wider, nodding. “Yeah. Jughead runs it. Changed the name to Jughead’s.”

Harlon had to chuckle. “He came by that nickname honestly.” For Knuckles’ benefit Tiny added, “Guy was rail thin, ate like a trash compactor. Just like the Archie comic.”

“He’s
still
scrawny,” Mallory added, shaking her head. “I’d kill for a metabolism like that.”

“You don’t need to worry. You’re perfect.”

It flew out of his mouth so fast the other two’s heads made a swish sound as they spun to stare at him. Knuckles looked far too fucking amused, and Mallory was...he didn’t know. Surprised, sure.

“Let’s go. Knuckles gets cranky when he doesn’t eat.”

“Whatever
Dad.
”

He should have told the guy to ride with his new best friend but he also didn’t like Knuckles putting all that charm on her. Women liked it, even though her smile told Harlon that she found it amusing more than effective.

He still didn’t like it.

In the cab of the truck he put the transmission in reverse but waited for Mallory to back out first. As he watched out the rearview it started.

“Okay, Tiny. What. The. Fuck?”

“What are you talking about?”

There was a pause. “Um, well. How should I put this? Who’s Mrs. Robinson there and why are you all tongue-tied and shy all of a sudden?”

He scoffed at that, backing out of their diagonal spot. “
Who’s
fucking shy?”

“Who is she? Who
was
she to you? There’s a whole lot of hot and heavy there, man. You gotta spill before we get there.”

“No.”

“All right. At least tell me she’s a hot lay. She may be old but, shit, those tits man. And that ass. I don’t know what I’d want to get my hands on first—”

He only stopped after Tiny slammed the truck back in park and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer across the consol. “You don’t fucking talk about her like that.”

Knuckles was grinning, and Tiny knew he’d fallen right into the asshole’s trap, but it didn’t mean he was having a heart-to-heart on the two minute drive down the street. He didn’t want to be that raw when they walked in and he had to be around her again.

“Calm that roll man, and give me
something
.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Who is she?”

“Shut up.”

Knuckles lost his smile. “Who the fuck is she and why does she have you so scared?”

It was the tone of voice. Knuckles was done fucking around, and if Tiny didn’t give him the gist he was bringing it up in front of Mal. And that...that would be a disaster.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“I was with her. A long time ago. She got pregnant. I fell in love with her. We had a kid. The kid died. I blamed her and left town. All right?”

As he’d spouted off each fact Knuckles’ eyes got wider and wider, and at the end of that sad little haiku he was even pale.

Tiny released his shirt and turned back to the wheel, slamming the shifter in drive and taking off again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

“I’m not. And you bring that up, you do
anything
to upset her, I will bust your fucking thick head wide open.”

“You asked if she still visited her dad.”

Shit. Just once he wished the guy didn’t remember fucking
everything
. “Yeah.”

“Were her parents disappointed?”

Tiny had to laugh. “That’s a nice way to say it. They threw her out. I’d known her four months and she shows up at my door, hysterical and in tears. They’d told her to get out when she told them she was knocked up.”

“Shit, man.”

“I had to tell my parents about it, obviously.” Shit, it was like momentum on a hill. One push and suddenly he was off at sixty miles per hour. “They let her move in with them.”

“Fuck. You’re kidding?”

“Nah. My mom was so fucking happy. Excited about a grandbaby. My dad thought she was hot but he wasn’t an asshole so he tried to be the father figure in the whole fucked up situation. And I was sacred shitless the entire time.”

“Man. I like your mom even more now.”

Knuckles and his mom got on like a house on fire. Even in a bedroom in an old folks’ home she was ever the hostess, offering them tea, cookies, and delightful small talk. She had no idea who they were, but when she started telling jokes Tiny had to wipe a few tears from his eyes. Not because they were funny, but because she was very much still his mom. She just didn’t know it.

He had to end the visit when Knuckles told a joke that had Mom blushing and giggling, though. Fucking asshole telling his mom a dirty joke. What was wrong with that fucking guy?

Yeah she laughed, but—

“Anyway. I guess we did it backwards. She got knocked up and...I got attached. Even as scared as I was I got attached. Did all the baby stuff; visits to the doctor, birthing classes. Bought us a house.”

Knuckles raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Told you. I...” he paused when his voice cracked. “I was in love with her.”

Luckily Knuckles respected it when his urge to share died off.

The diner he knew was indeed now called Jughead’s, with a retro-style sign out front that absolutely brought the comics to mind. Inside it was still styled like a fifties’ diner, and even though the Formica-topped tables were badly scared and faded it was like going back in time.

Mallory was just sliding into a booth, no need to wave them over. He saw her. He’d notice her anywhere.

Knuckles sat opposite from her, and Tiny gave him a glare. No way he was sitting next to the guy which meant he had to slide in beside Mallory.

Jesus. So close to her.  He imagined he could smell her skin from where he sat.

Their waitress was quick to approach, and as she went to get them their round of beers Knuckles snagged a laminated sheet from behind the condiment holder against the wall. “So, what’s good here?”

“The burgers are probably their signature,” Mallory said, polite and cordial. “They make the patties here. They’re huge, but they’re really good.”

“There’s an entire burger menu. This place is awesome.”

Tiny had to chuckle as Knuckles ran his eyes down the list. “I imagine the bacon double cheese is still available?” he said, turning his head her way.

She did the same and smiled. “Of course. Chocolate milk shake?”

“Maybe for dessert,” he replied, knowing his voice had gotten softer.

Those aquamarine eyes flared a little, and he knew she was remembering the same thing he was: loading her into his old pick up at late night hours, driving her here for a bacon double cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake because she was pregnant with his kid and if that’s what she wanted at midnight he was fucking making sure she got it.

They’d always shared the milk shake.

When he dropped his eyes and faced forward again Knuckles was staring at him, but not curious anymore. He was smiling knowingly, eyes going from Tiny to Mallory and back again. Like he was doing math or coming up with a theory.

Tiny didn’t have the ability to punch him in the face at the moment, which was too bad.

The beers—a root variety for Knuckles—were delivered and a round of burgers and fries ordered. Tiny was happy to hear it as Mallory ordered the Sloppy Cheese Burger. She was like him; loved eating, loved her food. And when she wanted to eat she fucking
ate
. No cutesy salad order, no dressing, or asking for the burger “without sauce.” He hated that shit.

“So Miss Mallory. What do you do with your days?”

She smiled at Knuckles, but Tiny recognized it as her amused smile. Not the smile
he
used to get when the flirting or charm was working its magic. “I’m kinda working two gigs. I’m in the house band at the hotel bar.”

“
In
the band?” Tiny cut in. “You’re the band leader. You’re the lead singer.”

Her eyes were wide as she regarded him. “How’d you know that?”

Shit. “Dad mentioned it the last time I was here.”

They stared at each other. Fuck, he wanted to tell her he’d seen her and how good she’d been. But that would also mean admitting he’d run out of there before actually running the risk of seeing her face to face.

“You’re a singer? Really?”

“Well, in a house band at a hotel in Cleary, Colorado. Yeah. I guess I’m a singer.”

“You were always a great singer. Great voice.” Again with her wide-eyed surprise. He should really shut up. He was making an ass of himself.

“You said you had two gigs. What else?”

“Oh, um,” her attention went back to Knuckles but Tiny knew she was slightly frazzled. “For extra cash I work at the bakery under my apartment. Just the afternoons. They close at five, I’m done in time to play, and I get to sleep in.”

“Have you always lived in Cleary?”

Tiny reevaluated his frustration with Knuckles. The guy was leading conversation to things he wanted to know himself. As opposed to just staring at her and wanting to apologize and fall on his knees to beg her forgiveness.

“I moved around. I tried the rock star thing with a couple of bands but...I like having my roots, you know? I was in Nashville for a while, got hired to sing back-up on a few albums. That was cool. But I couldn’t afford to live there. There are a lot of aspiring stars there, and I was...I don’t know. Getting too old.”

Knuckles made a dismissive sound. “Like that would matter. You’re hot, look at you.”

Tiny’s hands curled up again, even as Mallory laughed. “Jesus. Do you have an off switch?”

“He does. But it’s the kind you have to punch,” Tiny growled. He was back to wishing the fucker stayed home.

“Easy, big guy,” Mallory murmured, and her hand rested on his forearm. His flannel was rolled up, so it was her skin on his. Enough to stop him from breathing; the warmth that she transferred to him exactly like coming home used to be. The anger dissolved. “It’s not working anyway.” It took him a second to realize she meant Knuckles’ flirting.

“Not trying to get in those jeans, Mallory. Just saying age shouldn’t stop you from doing anything.”

Mallory dropped her hands to her lap, eyes on her twisting fingers. Okay, so somehow that hit too close. He glared at Knuckles, who honestly seemed at a loss as to what he’d said. He shrugged and took a swig of beer.

-oOo-

“I’m pregnant.”

Half asleep after coming home from a fifteen-hour trip, Harlon was trying to wake up as he stood in his apartment doorway. It was late afternoon, he knew that much. And in front of him Mallory Beck was weeping, tears running down her face, sobs shaking her body.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant. I’m knocked up.”

There was no sinking despair. Maybe if he’d been more awake he could find the energy to flip out, but at the moment he was...stunned, for sure. But otherwise numb.

“Shit. I knocked you up?”

She nodded, hiccupping. Fuck, she was almost manic with the crying. Pregnancy was scary but...something else was going on. He was sure of it, even with his brain as foggy as it was.