“Daddy?” I look up from the hospital bed where I’d just been asleep. He stands over me in his cream-colored cable sweater and brown leather jacket, smelling of coffee and Ralph Lauren.
His eyes, pained and exhausted, scan over my body. “Look what you’ve done to yourself.”
My face scrunches up, and my eyes start to tear. “Daddy, I’m sorry.” A sob catches in my throat, and I look for him to hold me.
I need him. He’s all I have.
The emptiness. The loneliness. I’m all alone now. I have no one. My mom is gone. She won’t call me. The baby is gone. My hands instinctively go to my stomach, and I only feel a dull throb in the pit instead of love.
My eyes burn, and I look away, starting to cry in the quiet and darkened room.
This isn’t my life. It’s not how it was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to love him. I wasn’t supposed to break.
But after the abortion, everything sunk into the mud, and I couldn’t walk anymore. I couldn’t eat. The pain in my chest only grew, and I was constantly exhausted from the worry and heartache. Where was he? Was he trying to reach me? Did he think about me?
I hadn’t realized until I was torn from him how much I loved him.
My mom said it was infatuation. A crush. That I’d get over it. But every day the frustration and sorrow deepened. I was failing in school. I had no friends.
I finally snuck back to Shelburne Falls only to find Madoc had definitely moved on like my mom said. He wasn’t dwelling on me one bit. The only thing on his mind was the girl with her head between his legs. Backing away¸ I had run out of the house and jumped back in my father’s car that I had stolen. Now, here I was, three days later with lacerations on my arms and a sharp ache in my chest.
I suck in a breath and stiffen as my father rips the blanket and sheet off of me, sending them flying to the floor.
“Daddy, what are you doing?” I cry, noticing his fierce green eyes.
He yanks me from the bed, squeezing my upper arm so hard that the skin stings.
“Ow, Daddy!” I wail, limping across the floor as he drags me into the bathroom. My arm feels stretched, like any minute he’ll yank it from the socket.
What is he doing?
I watch as he plugs up the bathroom sink and begins filling it with water. The fingers of his other hand dig into the flesh of my arm, and I begin hyperventilating.
He pulls my arm hard, yanking me closer as he yells. “Who are you?”
Tears spill over, and I sob, “Your daughter.”
“Wrong answer.” And he grabs the back of my neck and forces my face into the filled sink.
No!
I gasp and suck in unwanted water as my head is forced under. I slam both hands on each side of the sink to push back against his hand, but he’s too strong. I shake my head, my slippery hands sliding out from under me as I struggle against him.
The water is in my nose, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the burn.
Suddenly, I’m yanked up out of the water.
“Daddy, stop it!” I cough and sputter, water dripping from my ratty tendrils and chin.
His voice thunders around me. “You want to die, Fallon?” He jerks my head in his anger. “That’s why you did this, right?”
“No . . .” I rush out before he slams my head back into the water, cutting off my air supply. I barely have time to think or prepare myself. My mind turns black as I wail into the shallow depth.
My father won’t kill me, I tell myself. But I’m hurting. The insides of my forearms sting, and I think my cuts are bleeding again.
He yanks me back up, and I reach behind myself and grab at his hand at the back of my head as I sob.
“Who are you?” he bellows again.
“Your daughter!” My body shakes with fear. “Daddy, stop it! I’m your daughter!”
I’m crying and shivering, the front of my nightgown dripping water down my legs.
He growls close to my ear. “You’re not my daughter. My daughter doesn’t give up. There were no skid marks on the street, Fallon. You crashed into the tree on purpose!”
I shake my head against his grasp. No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t hit it on purpose.
My mouth fills with thick saliva, and my eyes squeeze shut, remembering leaving Madoc’s house and hiding out at my father’s place near Chicago. I’d taken one of his cars and . . . no, I didn’t try to hit the tree.
My body shook, and my throat filled with pain.
I’d just let go of the wheel.
Oh, my God.
I steal air as fast as I can and whimper as I cry. What the hell has happened to me?
I stumble as my father throws my back into the wall next to the sink. Before I even have a chance to straighten myself, his hand comes across my face with a loud slap, and I wince at the sting traveling down my neck.
“Stop it!” I rage against the blur in my eyes.
He grabs me by the shoulders and pins me against the wall again and I cry out.
“Make me,” he challenges.
My fists slam against his chest, and I heave my whole body into the push. “Stop it!”
He steps back to steady himself but comes up again and grabs my head between his hands.
“Don’t you think that it gutted me when your mother took you away?” he asks, his eyes heartbroken. “I punched every wall in the goddamn house, Fallon. But I swallowed it down. Because that’s what we do. We swallow every brick of shit this world feeds us until the wall inside of us is so strong that nothing breaks it.” He lowers his labored voice, sounding stronger. “And that’s what I did. I let her take you, because I knew that cunt would make you strong.”
I clench my teeth, trying to stop my tears as I look at him. I love my father, but I can’t love him for letting my mother take me away. I guess in his head he thought it was a way of hiding me from his enemies. Did living with my mother make me strong? Of course not. Look at me, blubbering and ruined. I’m not strong.
“You don’t get to give up. You don’t get to quit!” he yells. “There will be other loves and other babies,” he growls, shaking my head between his hands and leveling me with his hard stare. “Now. Swallow. The. Pain!” he rages all around me. “Swallow it!”
His roar shatters my insides, and I stop crying, staring at him wide-eyed.
He holds my head tightly, forcing me to keep my eyes on him, and I focus, looking for something to grab on to. Anything. I concentrate on the tiniest point I can find, the center of his black pupils.
I don’t blink. I don’t budge.
The center of his eye is so dark, and I try to imagine that it feels like cruising through space at warp speed. In my world there is no one but him. The gold surrounding the black flickers, and I wonder why I didn’t inherit that in my green eyes. The white in his irises looks like lightning, and the ring of emerald, before you get to the white of the eyeballs, seems to ripple like water.
Before I know it our breathing is syncing up, and he’s setting the rhythm I follow.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Madoc’s face flashes in my mind, and I tighten my jaw. Memories of my aborted pregnancy crash into his image, and my teeth rub together. My mother’s voice enters my ears, and I suck my tongue dry, taking all of it, all of them, and swallowing the hard lump to the back of my throat, down my pipe, and I feel it all leave my brain.
It’s still inside me. Heavy.
But it’s quiet now, buried in my stomach.
My father releases my head and runs a thumb across my cheek as he holds my chin.
“Now who are you?” he implores.
“Fallon Pierce.”
“And where were you born?”
My voice is calm. “Boston, Massachusetts.”
He takes a step back, giving me room. “And what do you want to do with your life?” he asks.
I finally look at him, whispering. “I want to build things.”
He reaches to my side and picks a towel off the shelf, handing it me. I hold it to my chest, not really feeling the cold anymore. Not really feeling anything.
He leans in and kisses my forehead and then meets my eyes. “‘Nothing that happens on the surface of the sea can alter the calm of its depths.’” He quotes Andrew Harvey. “No one can take away who you are, Fallon. Don’t give anyone that power.”
I hadn’t cried since that day that’s suddenly on my mind. I’d come close, but two whole years and not one tear. My father kept me home for exactly one week to heal the injuries from the shards of glass from the windshield that had cut me up, but then he sent me back to boarding school to get on with my life.
And I had. That’s something everyone needs to learn on their own. Life goes on, smiles will come again, and time heals some wounds and soothes the ones it can’t.
I brought up my grades, made a few friends, and laughed a lot.
I simply couldn’t forgive, though. Betrayal cuts deep, and that’s what brought me back to town last June.
I just didn’t expect Madoc to still affect me.
He wanted me. I knew it. I felt it. But why? What did I really ever do to deserve him?
He’d been faithful to me when we were sixteen. Of that, I was pretty certain. I couldn’t hate him anymore for looking for a good time when he’d thought I’d willingly left him.
There are so many things I should tell him. Things that he had a right to know. And then I felt that I’d told him too much.
Madoc was better off without me. Our relationship started off in the wrong place to begin with. We had nowhere left to grow. He didn’t know me or what interested me. We talked about nothing.
Once he’d had his fill of the sex, he would leave. Not to mention the baby. If he ever found out about the baby, he’d jump ship. No doubt. Madoc wasn’t ready for anything that heavy. I wondered if he’d ever be.
I turned up “Far from Home” by Five Finger Death Punch and swallowed the guilt all the way back to Shelburne Falls as I drove home at my mother’s request. She’d texted this morning to let me know I had stuff at the house. If I didn’t come to collect what I’d left last summer, it was going in the trash.
I shook my head and ran a hand over my weary eyes.
• • •
Punching the gate code in, I inched Tate’s G8 forward as the black iron bars creaked open.
It was Saturday, late morning, and the October sky was lightly sprinkled with clouds. It was chilly out, but I hadn’t brought a jacket, opting for my black-and-gray-striped long-sleeved T-shirt and some jeans. My hair still hung loose from last night, but it’d been fluffed after my shower this morning. For some reason, though, I’d wanted Madoc’s smell to stay in my hair along with the tiny bits of grass I kept finding. My long bangs fanned around my cheekbones, and I picked my glasses off the passenger seat as I parked in front of the Caruthers’s house behind my mother’s BMW.
My glasses had been intended for reading years ago, but I took to wearing them almost all of the time. It felt safe somehow.
Walking into the house, I traipsed through the foyer and down the hall next to the stairs leading to the back of the house where I was sure to find Addie in the kitchen.
The quiet house seemed so different now. Almost hollow as if it weren’t filled with memories, stories, and a family. The bitter chill of the marble floors shot through my sneakers and up my calves, and the high ceilings didn’t magically hold in warmth anymore.
Looking out the glass patio doors, I saw Addie sweeping up around the pool that already had the cover rolled over it for the coming winter. When I looked farther out, though, I noticed that the Jacuzzi was covered as well. When I lived here, that continued to be used throughout the cold months as well as the lawn furniture and barbecue area. Madoc’s dad loved grilled food, and he and Madoc would venture out to throw steaks on the barbecue in the dead of January.
Now the entire patio seemed barren. Dead leaves blew this way and that, and it didn’t look like Addie was making any progress. It didn’t even look like she was trying to.
This house had problems, but it also had a history of laughter and memories. Now everything just looked dead.
I opened the sliding glass door and walked out across the stone tiles.
“Addie?”
She didn’t look at me, and her low, quiet voice wasn’t welcoming like last time. “Fallon.”
I took off my glasses and stuck them in my back pocket. “Addie, I’m so sorry.”
She folded her lips between her teeth. “Are you?”
I didn’t have to tell her what I was sorry about. Nothing escaped her notice in this house, and I knew she knew that the divorce mess was my fault. That Madoc being sent away was my fault.
“Yes, I am,” I assured her. “I never meant for this to happen.”
And that was the truth. I’d wanted to be the one to leave Madoc, and I’d wanted Jason and my mother to feel a pinch, but I didn’t know my mother would fight the divorce so hard or that Madoc would be caught in the middle.
Truth is, I hadn’t thought of Addie at all.
She exhaled through her nose, and her scowl stayed trained on her sweeping. “That bitch thinks she’s going to take this house,” she mumbled. “She’s going to take the house, sell off everything in it, and let it sit.”
I stepped closer. “She won’t.”
“It doesn’t matter, I guess.” Her bitter tone cut me off. “Jason is choosing to spend most of his time in the city or at Katherine’s house, and Madoc hasn’t been home in months.”
I looked away, shame burning my face.
I did this.
My eyes were starting to sting, so I closed them and swallowed. I’ll fix it. I have to. I should never have come back. Madoc was fine. They were all fine before me.
This house, once alive with laughter and parties, was empty now, and Addie’s family that she’d loved and taken care of was separated and broken. She’d been almost entirely alone these past three months. Because of me.
I backed away, knowing she wouldn’t want to hear another apology. Turning around, I started back for the patio doors.
“You still have things in your room,” Addie called out, and I turned back around. “And you have some boxes in the basement.”
What? I didn’t have anything in the basement.
“Boxes?” I asked, confused.
“Boxes,” she repeated, still not looking at me.
• • •
Boxes?
I headed into the house, but rather than go upstairs to pack up the clothes I’d left months ago, I went straight for the basement door off to the side of the kitchen.
It didn’t make sense for me to have anything down there. My mother threw away everything from my room, and I hadn’t come to live here with much to start with.
I walked down the brightly lit stairs, my feet almost silent on the carpeted staircase.
For a huge-ass house like this, it featured an equally huge basement with four rooms. One was decorated as an extra bedroom, and another was Mr. Caruthers’s liquor storage. There was also a room dedicated to tubs of holiday decorations, and then the large open area that held a gaming center with standing video games, a pool table, air hockey, foosball, a gigantic flat screen, and just about every other entertainment a teenage boy like Madoc could enjoy with his friends. The room also held a refrigerator full of refreshments and couches for relaxing.
But the only part I ever enjoyed about coming down here was when Mr. Caruthers decided that I needed my own outlet for activity in the basement.
My half-pipe.
He thought it was a way for Madoc and me to bond, and since I wasn’t making friends, it served to put me side by side with Madoc’s. While they played, so could I.
It didn’t work.
I simply stayed out of there when Madoc entertained, and I worked on my skills at other times. It wasn’t him so much but his friends. I found Jared moody and everyone else dumb.
Looking around the large area, I noticed everything was spotlessly clean. The beige carpets looked new, and the wood smelled of furniture polish. Light poured in from the set of patio doors leading outside to the sunken backyard off the side of the house. The tan walls still burst with Notre Dame paraphernalia: flags, pennants, framed photos, and souvenirs.
An entire wall was splashed with family photos, mostly of Madoc growing up. Madoc opening Christmas presents when he was eight or nine. Madoc hanging from the goal post on a soccer field at ten or eleven. Madoc and Jared under the hood of his GTO as Madoc throws a goofy gang symbol with his hands.
And then one of him and me. Right in the middle of the wall, over the piano. We were out by the pool, and Addie had wanted a picture of us. We must’ve been about fourteen or fifteen. We had our backs to each other, leaning against each other with our arms crossed over our chests. I remember Addie kept trying to get Madoc’s brotherly arm around my shoulder, but this was the only way we’d pose.
Studying the picture closely, I noticed that I was half-scowling at the camera. There was, however, a hint of a smile. I tried to look bored despite the butterflies in my stomach, I remembered. My body had started having a reaction to Madoc, and I’d hated it.
Madoc’s expression was . . .
His head was turned toward the camera but down. He had a tiny smile on his lips that looked like it was bursting to get out.
Such a little devil.
I turned around and ran my hand over the old piano that Addie said Madoc still played. Though not anymore, since he was away at school.
The lid was down, and there was sheet music scattered on the top. The music rack had Dvorˇák on it, though. Madoc had always been partial to the Eastern European and Russian composers. I can’t even remember the last time I heard him play, though. It was funny. He was such an exhibitionist when it didn’t matter and not one when it did.
And that’s when my foot brushed something. Peering down underneath the piano, I noticed the white cardboard boxes.
Kneeling down, I dragged one out only to notice that there were about ten more underneath.
Flipping the lid off, I froze so still that only my heartbeat moved my body.
Oh, my God.
My stuff?
I stared down into a box full of my Legos. All of the robots and cars with remotes and wires were thrown in here, scattered with loose pieces around the box.
I licked my dry lips and dug in, taking out a Turbo Quad I made when I was twelve and a Tracker that I’d just started on before I left.
This was my stuff from my room!
I was frantic, smiling like an idiot, ready to laugh out loud. I dove under the piano, pulling out two more boxes.
Tossing off the lids, I gasped in surprise at all of my mock engineering blueprints and another box of Legos. I shuffled through the papers, memories flooding me of the times I’d sit in my room with my sketchpad and design futuristic skyscrapers and ships.
My fingers started tingling and a shaky laugh broke out, causing me to giggle like I hadn’t in a very long time.
I couldn’t believe this! This was my stuff!
I scurried back under the piano, slamming my head into the edge in the process.
“Ouch,” I groaned, rubbing the top of my forehead and pulling another box out much slower this time.
I went through all of the boxes, finding everything I’d missed and things I didn’t even remember that I’d had. Skateboards, posters, jewelry, books . . . nearly everything from my bedroom except the clothes.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I stared at all of the stuff around me, feeling strangely disconnected from the girl I used to be yet so glad to have found her again. All of these things represented a time when I’d stopped listening to others and started listening to myself. When I’d stopped trying to be what she wanted and just started to be.
These boxes were Fallon Pierce, and they weren’t lost. I closed my eyes, clutching my sea otter stuffed animal I’d gotten from my dad at SeaWorld when I was seven.
My eyes popped open, and I saw Addie at the bottom of the stairs.
She had her arms folded across her chest and let out a long sigh.
“Madoc?” I questioned. “He did this?”
“He lost it a little when you left.” She pushed off the wall and walked toward me. “Stealing his dad’s liquor, partying, girls . . . he bounced off the walls for a few months.”
“Why?” I whispered.
She studied me and then gave a defeated half-smile before continuing. “Jason sure had his work cut out for him. Madoc and his friend Jared wreaked havoc like nobody’s business the summer after sophomore year. One night he went into your room and saw that your mom had cleaned everything out to redecorate. Only she hadn’t packed anything. She’d thrown it out.”
Yeah, I knew that. But somehow the pain in my chest wasn’t spreading. If she threw it out, then . . . I looked down, closing my eyes against the burn again.
No. Please no.
“Madoc went outside and dug everything back out of the trash.” Addie’s soft voice spilled around me and my chest started to shake. “He boxed it up and saved it for you.”
My chin started trembling, and I shook my head. No, no, no . . .
“That’s what makes Madoc a good kid, Fallon. He picks up the pieces.”
I crumbled.
The tears spilled over my lids, and I gasped as my body shook. I couldn’t open my eyes. The pain was too great.
I doubled over, clutching the sea otter, and put my head down, sobbing.
Up came the sadness and despair, and I wanted to take back everything I’d said to him. Every time I doubted him. Everything I didn’t tell him.
Madoc, who saw me.
Madoc, who remembered me.
• • •
Six hours later I was sitting in Tate’s bedroom, my leg slung over the side of her cushioned chair near her French doors, and staring out at the tree outside. All of the fall colors swayed in the breeze, and the soft glow of the day’s last light slowly disappeared from the branches, inch by inch.
I hadn’t talked much since getting there, and she’d been good about not asking questions. I knew she was worried, because she avoided the topic of Madoc so well that he was like a planet sitting in the middle of the room. I wondered if he’d been angry to find me gone this morning.
I rubbed my hand over my eyes. I couldn’t shake him.
And what’s more? I didn’t want to.
“Tate?” I called.
She peeked her head around the door of her closet, pulling out a black hoodie.
“If you . . . betrayed Jared,” I stammered. “Like not cheated, but lost his trust somehow. How would you go about getting him back?”
Her lips flattened into a line as she thought about it. “With Jared? I’d show up naked.” She nodded.
I snorted and shook my head, which was about as much of a laugh as I could summon right now.
“Or just show up,” she continued. “Or talk to him, or touch him. Hell, I could just look at him.” She shrugged, smirking, and threw on her hoodie.
I doubted I had that kind of power over Madoc. Whereas Jared seemed more animalistic, Madoc was a mind-fuck.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, slipping on her black Chucks. “Sorry,” she offered. “I know I’m not much help, but Jared has just as much power over me as I do him. We’ve been through enough. There isn’t much we wouldn’t forgive each other for.”
Half of what she said was true for Madoc and me as well, but I hadn’t earned his forgiveness. What the hell was I supposed to do?
“For Madoc, though?” She smiled, knowing exactly what I’d been getting at. “He appreciates mischief. Maybe some sexy texting would be in order.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sexting? Are you serious?”
“Hey, you asked.”
Yeah, I guess I did. And she was probably right. It sounded like something Madoc would get off on.
But phone sex? Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Totally not my thing.
I looked up, realizing Tate was still staring at me. When I didn’t say anything, she lifted her eyebrows and took a deep breath.
“Okay, well . . . my dad’s gone to the airport, just to remind you, so—”
“Yeah, Tate. I’m not having phone sex tonight. Thanks!”
She held up her hands to fend me off. “Just saying.”
I nodded to the door, giving her the hint to take a hike. “Have fun and good luck at your race.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
I gave her a half-smile. “No, I need to think right now. Don’t worry about me. Go on.”
“All right.” She gave in and stood up. “Jax is having a party next door after the race, so come over if you want.”
Nodding, I grabbed my Kindle off my lap and pretended to start reading as she left. My fingers tapped on my thigh as if I were playing a piano, and I knew I probably wasn’t going to get any reading done tonight.
I didn’t want to read. I wanted to do something. There was a tiny snowball in my stomach that was turning and turning, building to something bigger the longer I sat.
Sexting.
Madoc deserved more than that.
Okay, he deserved that and more.
“Sorry” just seemed empty. I needed to say more, tell him more, but I didn’t know how to start. How do you tell someone that you stayed away, never giving them closure, had a secret abortion and then in a post-traumatic stress blackout tried to hurt yourself, and then were responsible for them losing their home? What do you say?
What will stop him from running away from a train wreck like me?
Digging my phone out from between the cushion and the chair, I squeezed the shake out of my fingers as I typed.
I don’t know what to say.
I hit Send and immediately shut my eyes, letting out a pathetic sigh. “I don’t know what to say”? Seriously, Fallon?
Well, at least I said something, I guess. Even if it was moronic. Consider it a warm-up.
Five minutes passed and then ten. Nothing. Maybe he was in the shower. Maybe he left his phone in another room. Maybe he was already in bed. With someone. Ashtyn, maybe.
My stomach hollowed.
An hour passed. Still nothing.
I didn’t read a single line of my book. The sky was black now. No noise from next door. Everyone must still have been at the race. Or did Tate say they were getting something to eat first?
I threw my Kindle down and got out of the chair, pacing the room.
Another twenty minutes passed.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and snatched my phone.
Great. I was texting him again after not getting a response. I was like those creepy, overbearing girls that scare the shit out of men.
Please, Madoc. Say something . . .
I leaned back against Tate’s wall, bobbing my foot up and down and keeping my phone in my hand. Twenty minutes later and still nothing. I buried my face in my hands and took some deep breaths.
Swallow it down.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
And then I dropped my hands, tired tears rimming my eyes.
He wasn’t listening.
He didn’t want to talk to me.
He’d given up.
I typed in one last message before bed.
I’m a shit.
My chin shook, but I calmly set the phone down on Tate’s nightstand and switched off her lamp.
Crawling under the covers, I looked out her French doors and saw the moon’s light casting a glow on the maple outside. I knew that tree was the inspiration for Jared’s tattoo, but Tate would never really talk about their story. She said it was long and hard, but it was theirs.
I agreed. There were things I don’t think I’d share with anyone that wasn’t Madoc.
My phone chimed, and my heart skipped a beat as I shot up in bed and grabbed it off the nightstand.
I let out a relieved laugh, wiping a tear off my cheek.
I’m listening.
Every part of my body tingled, and I almost felt giddy.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just typed the first thing that came to mind.
I miss u.
Why? he shot back.
My mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert.
He wasn’t going to make this easy, I guess.
My fingers just went. Jumbled or poetic, it didn’t matter. Just tell him the truth.
I miss hating you, I typed. It felt better than loving anyone ever had.
That was the truth. My mother, my dad, any friends I’d had, no one made me feel alive like him.
After a couple of minutes he hadn’t texted back. Maybe he didn’t understand what I’d meant. Or maybe he was just trying to think of what to say.
I’m fucked-up, I told him.
Keep going, Fallon.
I remembered all of the things he’d said to me in front of the mirror that night, so I told him what was in my heart.
I miss your eyes looking down at me, I said. I miss your lips in the morning.
I’m listening, he finally texted back, urging me on.
I bit my bottom lip to stifle my smile. Maybe Tate was right about sexting after all.
I miss your hunger. I miss the way you touch me. It’s real, and I want you here.
He only took about ten seconds to respond. What would I do to you if I was there right now?
The rush of blood through my heart warmed my body instantly. God, I wanted him here!
Nothing, I responded. It’s what I would be doing to you . . .
I curled my legs in and set the phone in my lap, covering my very happy and embarrassed face with my hands. I was sure I was ten shades of red right now.
My phone chimed again, and I nearly dropped it twice trying to pick it up.
What the fuck?! Don’t stop! Madoc texted, and I couldn’t contain my laughter.
This felt good, and Madoc liked it. I can do this.
I wish you were naked in my bed right now, I taunted. I wish my head was under the sheets, tasting you, my tongue all around you.
What would you be wearing? he asked.
Madoc liked me in my pajamas. He’d said so once. I’d borrowed a fitted baseball T-shirt and short sleep shorts from Tate. Not really lingerie, but Madoc wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me either way.
You can see it if you want. I’m only an hour and fifty-eight minutes away.
His response came back within seconds.
I’ll be there in fifty-eight minutes.
I burst out laughing in the empty room. Of course, he’d risk his life speeding for any opportunity to get laid.
I shook my head, my face stretched with a smile. I’ll try not to touch myself until you get here, I texted.
Goddamn it, Fallon!
I crashed back onto the bed, laughter and happiness shooting out of every pore.
