I’m pulling into the driveway of her tiny house. Everything here is miniature and cute, like a little fairytale. It’s funny how small everything is here compared to her large personality. I think that’s what drew me to her in the first place. She is an absolutely gorgeous woman, no doubt about it, and I’m always hard around her, always. But it’s her presence that knocks me down every time I talk to her; every time I breathe the same air as her.
It was naive of me to assume that I would come out of this unscathed. I told her myself that time at the cabin was all we could have, and she agreed to it. I thought I’d just move on, but I couldn’t. That’s why I’m here, back in this town where I promised myself I’d never come. Alex is married now and moving on with his life—I can’t drag him back to the painful past we both share. If he could find the power to forget and move on, so be it. I can’t do anything about that. I’m not judging, but I don’t think I can forget what happened on that mission that easily. Or ever. In the end, we came back alive while they didn’t.
There’s a light in one window. She’s not sleeping. Obviously. I didn’t come here right away after the diner—I couldn’t. I was sitting at the fuckin’ bridge we met at the first time and remembering her face when she got out of her car and walked up to me—a stranger on the road. Did I have thoughts when I was looking at the water? Fuck, I have constant thoughts; they never leave my brain. But I’d be damned if I ever admitted that to anyone. I don’t need the judgy looks. I’ve had enough of those in my life.
I watched the half-frozen river and cold, deep waters, and all I saw was her face. What would she think? Would she feel anything? Would she miss me? It’s fucking petty, I know, but I have to be honest with myself at the very least and accept that I’m fucked up. They say it’s the first step to getting help. All right, I accept it, but where would I move? There is literally no one out there who will miss me. No one. She told me that there is always one person out there whose life I irrevocably changed. I changed a few lives, all right. I changed them by killing their sons, husbands, brothers, cousins. I changed those lives for sure, and they won’t miss me. I’m sure they’d be happy to see me rotting in hell. That’s what I deserve.
The light turns off—I’ve been sitting here too long, so I get out of the car and walk toward her door, leaving footsteps in the fresh snow.
And then I notice other footprints. Clearly male. Heavy feet. I follow them. They go to the door, and the person stands there for a few moments, moving around a bit, and then walks back to the street, where the footsteps disappear into a big vehicle. Judging by the tires and the spread of the wheels—a newer truck. Delivery? It’s not unknown to have a delivery, even in Middle of Nowhere, Maine. So, I shove the footprints to the back of my mind and walk back to her door—having someone drop some boxes by the house is less concerning than having someone watching her in the woods in the middle of nowhere.
She opens on the second knock. Her eyes are puffy and red. Her nose swollen and pink. Her big, gray eyes are shinier than usual.
“Hey,” I say softly, trying not to scare her off.
“Hey.” She wipes her nose with the oversized sleeve of her gray sweater and steps aside, opening the door wider.
I walk past her and take my shoes off. She closes the door and walks to the kitchen.
“I was drinking tea. Do you want some?”
“In the dark?”
She glances at me but doesn’t say anything.
“Sure, I’ll have some,” I say, trying to suppress a smile at how cute she looks right now.
Her small feet pat toward the kitchen, and I can’t help but notice her adorable fuzzy socks. I look around. The place looks like her. Mostly neutral, with unexpected bursts of color here and there.
She puts the kettle on—she was already drinking tea, sure—pulls two mugs out of the cabinet and busies herself fidgeting with the teabags.
“Are you okay?” I finally ask when I can’t stand it anymore.
“Yeah,” she answers with a sniffle.
“He didn’t mean that.”
She whips toward me, eyes blazing fire. “Stop.”
“It’s true. He didn’t.”
“Stop, please.” She raises her hand in the air. “You know what the worst part is?” She looks at the ceiling and laughs. “He made me so jealous.” Her eyes dart to me. “And I feel like shit. On the one side, I freaking hate him for that. But on the other side, I understand it.”
“What do you understand?” I hope she can shed some light because I’m definitely lost.
“Because he loves you, and he thinks now he can’t be your friend anymore since you fucked his sister. And on the other side—or all sides, I’m not sure yet—” her brows draw together, “he hates me for the same reason. So, see, my brother’s choosing you over me twice. No matter how you look at it.”
Oh shit. I didn’t think that she might see it this way. I don’t think Alex meant it that way either, but I can see some logic in her words.
“Leila,” I sigh, “he didn’t—”
“No,” she raises her hand again, “you can’t change my mind. I’ve tried to be his sister for so long, I really did, but I should know by now that I can’t move that wall. Not when it doesn’t want to be moved.”
Her eyes turn misty, and she sniffles again. She angrily wipes her cheeks with her sleeve, looking at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry, Leila. I didn’t want to get you hurt.”
“You?” Her eyes turn to slits. “Do you think you were the one hurting me?”
I nod because that’s what I do. I hurt people around me all the time, and they either end up dead or irrevocably changed for the worse.
“Idiot.” She rolls her eyes. “Stop blaming everything on yourself, Stephan. It’s not your fault. A lot of things you think are, actually aren’t. This is on Alex and his inability to move forward. The whole family has been trying for years, but he’s so angry with our dad that he’s stuck on the bad. My mom broke her back trying to show him that she loves him just as much as she does me or Kenneth or Aiden, but he doesn’t see it. And today I saw his opinion of me and everything I stand for. So, it’s not your fault if that’s what you think.”
The kettle beeps, and she pours the boiling water into cups.
“If I didn’t show up there today, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“It would. Eventually, it would. Some other old offenses would surface, and he would flip. Doesn’t matter. His words don’t change the fact that he is my brother, and I love him, but after today, I’ll just stop trying to prove that to him. He eventually needs to grow on his own.” She shakes her head and moves the mug toward me. “Anyway, water under the bridge.”
I look at her again. I mean really look at her. She’s twenty-four years old, yet she has more calmness, logic, and understanding than I ever did. A woman like that comes once in a blue moon, if ever, and I had the honor of spending a few unforgettable days with her.
My heart squeezes with the understanding that I won’t have that time with her ever again, and I feel empty, the feeling of loss taking over me. It’s even worse than when I lost my unit. Way worse, and I didn’t know that was possible.
“He loves you, Leila,” I try again. “He warned me off of you when he saw my interest. He knows me too well and didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Yeah,” she says dismissively. “Why are you here, Stephan?”
I never told her, but I like when she calls me by my real name.
“I wanted to make sure you’re okay before I leave.”
“No, why are you in Little Hope today?”
She’s watching me, expecting my answer. I could come up with some random reason for why I’m here, but I never want to lie to her, so I go with the truth.
“I wanted to see you.”
She takes a careful sip of her hot tea—a long sip—clearly using it to think of what to say next.
“I missed you too.”
I smile—it’s such a Leila thing to say—an arrow right straight to the heart.
“It doesn’t change anything, though,” I reply sadly.
“I know.” She places the cup back on the table. “Where are you going after this?”
“Back to Boston.”
“Are you coming back?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head ‘no.’
She looks down at her feet. “I like you, Stephan, a lot. I didn’t think I would get attached to you so much for such a short period of time, but I did. You make it so easy.”
“Easy?” I ask, confused.
“Yes,” she shrugs with a subtle smile on her face, “easy. I mean, look at you.”
“Too handsome?” I laugh.
“And cocky.” She smiles. “But you’re so much more than you think you are. I got so addicted to you—”
“To me or my dick?” I chuckle, unable to resist a little teasing.
She punches my chest and rolls her eyes. “Your dick is not that special.”
“Really?” I narrow my eyes at the challenge. “Not so special?”
I take that step separating us, and now our bodies are flush against each other. She lifts her head up to see my face but doesn’t touch me. Nor do I touch her. She’ll feel my touch soon enough.
“No.” Her face turns defiant.
I lean into her and take a deep breath, inhaling her sweet smell. “If I dip my finger between your legs right now, I won’t find you soaked for me?”
“No.” Her neck moves in a swallow.
I push my nose into her cheek, still not touching her with my hands.
“And your heart isn’t beating like crazy for me?”
“No,” she breathes out and licks her lips.
My nostrils flare because it’s hard to control myself when I’m trying to seduce her. My body refuses to listen to me and starts acting on its own accord.
“And your hands don’t itch to touch me?” I move my nose along her jawline. “Touch my cock like you did at the cabin?”
“No,” she nearly squeaks.
I press myself to her so she can feel how hard I am thinking about our time in the cabin together.
“And your tongue doesn’t itch to tell me what I should do with my hands?”
She just shakes her head, unable to utter a word. I press myself to her harder, and she squares her shoulders again, trying not to back down.
“And if I d—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she hisses, grabbing my face with her hands, landing her lips on mine.
I don’t waste time because I don’t know how much I will have here, so I grab her ass and lift her up. Placing her on the counter, I settle between her spread legs.
She pulls on my sweater, attempting to get rid of it as if she has some personal vendetta against the piece of clothing. She lets out a little growl when she can’t manage it, and I chuckle into her mouth. She gives me a jab to my ribs, and I laugh.
“Oh, you be quiet,” she hisses, and I help her pull my sweater off.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I take a few steps backward and stand in front of her in only jeans. I let her eyes roam my torso. She’s watching me like she’s never seen me naked. I like her hungry eyes on me, and the way she licks her lips as if she can’t wait to taste me. My nipples ache for her touch—she found the perfect way to pull on the rings to make them hurt just enough. I like how her hands land on her thighs, and she starts kneading her skin as if imagining my hands instead of hers.
I’ve never felt more desired than I do right now. It’s total bullshit that men just want to fuck anything that moves. Well, not exactly. We do love sex; that part is true. But we also want to feel needed. We want to be desired like the very last breath. And she makes me feel like that—like I’m the last breath she is willing to take. Not with her touch, but with her eyes. They don’t lie.
“Are you done?” I ask coarsely as my dick presses against my zipper, and I can’t take it anymore.
“Not even close.” Her voice is low. Her eyes keep roaming my body. “Did I tell you how much I love your tattoos?” She finds my eyes. “They’re so fucking sexy. I love how they move on your skin. Like they’re alive.” She bites her lower lip. “Like they’re a journal of the events that made you who you are.”
She got it. She got what I wanted to do. I ink myself to remember certain moments of my life, and she understands it.
Then she looks at the skin above my left nipple. The space is empty, and it looks ridiculous on my fully inked torso.
“What are you saving this for?” She points at the spot.
I look down. “I don’t know. I just haven’t found the right one for here yet,” I say honestly, pressing my palm against the spot, feeling my heart start beating faster. An idea forms in my head, and my heart responds to it, liking what I’m planning.
She nods and stretches toward me, inviting me to come closer. I take her hand, and she pulls me in.
“I lied,” she whispers.
“About what?”
“I’m actually wet.” Her lips stretch in an unholy smile, and I laugh in return.
I stand between her legs and take her face in my hands. “I want to fuck you so bad, Leila. So fuckin’ bad,” I rasp.
She puts her hands on top of mine. “What are you waiting for?”
I sigh. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”
“That this is something more?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“It’s a goodbye fuck, right?”
I nod.
“Okay.” Her voice is barely audible. “I understand.”
“Do you, Leila?” I hold her face in my hands and look into her eyes, praying she’ll understand me. “If I could ever be with a woman forever, it would be you. You’re not just a fuck to me. Do you understand?”
She nods.
“But I can’t be with anyone. I’m not built that way, and I respect you too much to drag you down with me.”
She watches me, unblinking.
“And I don’t need saving. I don’t deserve it. Nor do I seek it. Do you understand?”
She nods again.
“I won’t make the first move, Lei. I can’t. I can’t live with that, knowing I dragged you down with me.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I get it.”
And I know she really does. She doesn’t say it just to say it, but she does. And it breaks my heart that I’m losing the only woman I’m capable of loving. I’m losing her before I even had her. I don’t give a fuck about what Alex thinks. Or anyone else, for that matter. She’s more than them. She is more than anything. She is everything.
And that is precisely why I can’t be with her.
“Can I make the first move then?”
I nod, expecting to burn in hell for it.
She gently presses her lips to mine—it’s not sexual, but soft. They start moving along mine gently.
She turns her face a bit so her lips find the perfect angle to mold with mine, and I open my mouth, inviting her in. I wasn’t joking when I said I can’t make the first move.
Her tongue carefully probes my lips, a little shy, and I take it as the first move, so I let myself go.
I let my arms wrap around her and pull her tighter into me while I snake my tongue into her mouth. Her hands drop from my face and move to my shoulders. I know she loves them since every time we fuck, she holds onto them, digging her fingers into my flesh. I love it. She loves it. Perfection.
The kiss is slow. We’re molding into each other, remembering the feel of us together, knowing it can never happen again. Her hands move to my back as she traces my muscles with her gentle fingers. They jerk under her touch, excited.
I pull away for a moment, annoyed at her sweater standing between us, preventing me from feeling her completely. I tug on it, showing her that I want it off. She lets me help her out of it and then out of her bra. And now she’s in front of me in all her glory. Her pale skin and pink, puckered nipples make my mouth water, and I swallow roughly.
“Pants off,” I rasp out, and she slowly starts kicking her jeans off her legs.
When one leg is bare, she stretches the other one toward me, and I grab the material and slowly pull it off, leaving her in nothing but her gorgeous hair and red, lacy panties. She always wears sexy underwear, and I honestly want to keep these whole but can’t. When I see her wearing these sexy pieces, I want to rip them off her body. So, I do just that—I step closer, grab her panties, and pull them aside, snapping them in half.
She lets out a chuckle and pulls one leg up, placing her foot on the counter, showing me just how happy she is to see me.
A lot. She is really happy to see me.
She points at my jeans, and I obey her silent command. Pulling them off, I stand in front of her with my twitching, hard dick pointing up.
She smiles and crooks her finger, inviting me in.
I step back and land my lips on her neck. Knowing I’ll never have the pleasure of doing so again, I mark her skin as hard as I fuckin’ can. Sucking and biting, leaving a bruise of ownership, hoping it will last forever.
It will not.
She takes as good as she gives.
Her mouth bites and sucks just as mine does. Her hands roam around my body and then drop between us as she grabs my twitching dick in her hand, spreading the precum over the head. Then she aligns it with her pussy and starts rubbing the head over it. It’s so wet and so hot.
I nearly come on the spot, so I pull her to the very edge of the table and replace her hand with mine, trying to save myself from embarrassment.
I press into her, and we both stop breathing.
I push deeper, and she grabs me harder.
I retract and push all the way in, and she digs her nails into my back. I start moving. She wraps her legs around my torso and meets my every move with one of her own. We’re in such a perfect balance, it’s painful.
“Harder,” she whispers into my ear, and I oblige.
I start pumping harder and squeezing her tighter. She bites deeper, and her nails scratch harsher.
Her shuddering breaths in my ear make me nearly lose my footing. “Harder.”
I shudder and increase the tempo. Judging by her moans every time I go in, she loves it.
I’m close. She’s close too—her thighs are tight around me, her breathing is quick as her inner walls pulse around me.
And then she does something I don’t anticipate.
“I love you, Stephan,” she whispers into my ear.
And I come like a fuckin’ fountain. Unable to wait for her. Pump after pump, nonstop. And she follows me right after.
Riding wave after wave, I come back down to earth. To the truth of her words. To the fuckin’ scare of my life.
I pull away and start feverishly collecting my clothes scattered on the floor.
Leila quietly gets off the table and pulls her sweater and jeans back on. By the time she’s done, I’m halfway to the door.
Before I open it, I hear her voice behind me. It’s not judgmental. It’s not accusing. It’s firm but gentle.
“I can’t be your crutch, Stephan. I don’t think anyone can. But I will be if you need me to. Every time your mind gets clouded with thoughts I don’t appreciate, I want you to remember what I just said. I mean it, and I stand by it.”
I want so badly to turn around, but I can’t. My hand is on the doorknob, my heart is bleeding, and she keeps talking.
“I’ll always be here if you need me. I’m that person whose life you’ve changed. Irrevocably for good.”
My eyes itch, my nose tingles. I squeeze the doorknob, angry that it’ll separate me from her forever.
“Just remember that,” she adds quieter. “Just remember me.”
I open the door and run outside like all the demons of hell are chasing me. I get in the car and let myself go. Hitting the fucking wheel over and over again with my fist, I squeeze my eyes closed so they won’t fuckin’ leak. I want to go back. I want to open this door and run back inside her house, to the warmth of her presence. I’m a short breath away from doing so.
My phone rings, and I grab it to turn it off, but I accidentally press the ‘accept’ button before fumbling it, dropping to my feet. My mother’s cold voice rings through the Rover like thunder.
“Is that you, Stephan?”
Fuck. I duck to the floor, trying to find the phone in order to shut her voice up, but it fell under the seat, so I can’t reach it.
“Well, it’s your mother, Stephan. I have a charity event, and I need you present. Quite frankly, I have no idea why people want to see you here, but they do. Saying you’re a hero.” An evil laugh follows.
Fuckin’ shut up.
“After you being dishonorably discharged,” she says offensively. “I prefer not to tell anyone that you’re my child, but people remember. Unfortunately.” Her cackle grades on my nerves. “Anyway, I haven’t heard from you in years. I hope you didn’t find some poor American girl to get pregnant. God knows the earth can’t handle another one of you. You’ve done enough damage to your family and those poor soldiers that served with you.”
I find my phone but don’t press the button. I don’t know why, but I keep listening to her.
“Anyway, I expect you to be here on the twenty-ninth. Make sure you look presentable and cover those god-awful things you call art.”
And she hangs up. It’s like that with her every time. I pick up for some unknown reason, and she spreads her poison.
But she also just reminded me why I can’t go back to Leila. I love her too much to ruin her life with my presence, so I put my emotions on hold, start the car, and drive away without looking back.
