Second Chance Hero (35 page)

            The sound of papers and something heavy
scatter across the floor and my back hits something cold and smooth. I open my
eyes to see I’m lying on the desk in Deacon’s home office and he’s got his hand
in his boxers. I love watching him touch himself. I sit up on my elbows, and
tug his boxers down with my feet, licking my lips when I see him spring free. I
reach out to touch him, but he grabs my wrists, presses a kiss to the palm of
my hand and uses it to push me back on the desk. My legs are dangling off the
edge, my feet barely touching the floor, and Deacon is nestled between my legs,
stroking himself along the seam of my entrance.

            “Turn around.” I scramble to sit up, and
slide off the table, “Bend over.”

            I take a deep breath, beyond aroused and
bend over, supporting my weight with my hands on the desk. Deac presses himself
into me, rubbing the length of him hot and hard against me and he leans over,
his chest pressed into my back. With both hands on mine, he lowers me so I’m
resting on my forearms and my fingers are curled over the other edge of the
desk. He tells me not to let go, but the sound is lost to me as he stands back,
grips my waist and eases me forward. My hips dig in to the desk, but the
sensation is lost as Deacon caresses my hips, spreading his hands to squeeze my
behind.

            “Tell me you’re mine.” He commands and
everything south of me tightens.

            “I’m yours.” I reply, aching and needy.

            “Tell me like you mean it.”

            “I’m yours!” I scream as he grabs my
hips, pulls me back and fills me instantly and I drop my head to the table, the
feel of him inside me consuming me.

I fight for air as my breath catches in my throat
with every thrust. I fight to breathe as I feel Deacon hit depths I never knew
existed.

            “Fuck,” He growls and squeezes my hip
harder, the other hand moving to the bottom of my back to hold me in place. I’m
trapped between Deacon and the desk, unable to move as he gives me everything.
My emotions are building with my body and I’m lost to sensation, climbing,
flying.

            “Oh god.”

            Deacon doesn’t ask if I’m okay – he
knows how my body works better than I do, and I cry out again as he grabs my
hair and pulls it hard. He pounds into me over and over, using his hands to
keep me still on the table and I cry, because I’ve never felt anything so
consuming in my whole life; I want to push back, want to grab him, kiss him,
watch him; but he’s taken it all and I’ve never trusted him like this before.
It’s incredible, and somewhere in the fog of being fucked to within an inch of
my life, I realise if I hadn’t given myself completely to this man before,
there would be no denying it now.

            “I need to see you.” I whimper and
Deacon slips out of me, for just enough time to turn me on my back, before he’s
consuming me again, leaning over and supporting himself with his hands either
side of my head.

            “I love you.” Se breathes, lifting my
hand to his mouth as we watch each other come apart.

            “I love you.” I cry, losing control of
my body again, “I love you so much.”

            Deacon falls, taking me with him,
pulling my body up to meet his as I tighten around him and he explodes into me,
growling my name and telling me he loves me. We’re sheeted in sweat, out of
breath and trembling as our bodies recover from something so physical but
incredibly spiritual. I’m not sure even marriage could bind me to Deacon more
than I am now. I close my eyes, snuggling into Deacon’s chest and committing
his scent to memory, and then I remember this scent is mine, for the rest of my
life.

            “Don't fall asleep, baby.” I open my
eyes with all the strength I have, “I’m not finished with you.”

            I smile through my exhaustion, before
Deacon picks me up and carries me up the stairs, grabbing his jeans from the
kitchen on the way.

            “I can't believe that’s what I’ve been
missing.” I confess, laying my head on Deacon’s chest and listening to his
heart slow.

            I pass it off as a tease, but I didn’t
know sex could be so strong, so powerful, so raw. I’ve had sex, and I’ve had
good sex. But with Deacon it feels like so much more than body’s touching.
Every time we’re together, it feels like my heart is on show and my body gets
to take all the physical rewards. I’m not complaining, I just can't understand
where that sex came from.

            “We’ll make up for lost time.” I can
hear his smile, as he strokes his fingers up and down my arm.

            “Where did you learn to do that?” I ask,
and then regret it, unsure if I want to hear the answer.         “I didn’t
learn it.” I frown and look up at him. He’s sleepy and smiling, his hair in a
tangle of pulled mess and he looks adorable. I’d say fuckable, but I’ll let him
have a break, “Anyone can fuck, Jen.”

            “It can't be the norm to be
that
good.”

            “Wondering where you went wrong in your
search?” His eyes are closed now, and I expect to see his smug smile, but he’s
serious, locking his fingers with mine, “It’s you.”

            I smile, and my lip trembles, and I want
to smack him for being so cheesy. But I believe him; I believe we have such a
physical connection because we were made for each other – mind, body and soul.

            “Tell me how you know Grandma would be
happy?” I ask, noticing the sparkle of the ring in the sunlight as Deacon
caresses my fingers.

            “I can show you.” He attempts to move,
but I hold him in place.

            “No more shows.” I giggle, “And we’re
talking about your grandma.”

            Deacon laughs his low, throaty laugh,
“As much as I would love to show you what else I know about making you feel
good, I wasn’t talking about that.” He me on the shoulder and I sit up, “In the
pocket of my shorts.”

            I lie across him, noticing the sharp
intake of breath and the wince, but grab the jean shorts quickly, realising he
doesn’t attempt to hurry me.

            “Did that hurt?” I ask, handing him his
shorts and watching him rummage in the pocket.

            “Yep.” He rolls his neck and pulls out a
folded envelope, “Not as much.”

            I smile, finally satisfied that he is
better. He’s back to his old self; something I thought would be a long process
considering how he was when he first came home. I know he has flashbacks of the
crash and I know they scare him. He’s said things about it in his sleep before.
We’ll get to that one day; but for now I trust him to be okay and to tell me
when he isn’t

            “It’s a letter.” Deac says handing me
the recently folded envelope, “It was in the box from my dad. The ring was
inside. It will tell you everything.”

My youngest son Deacon,

If you are reading this letter then I am sorry I’m
not there for you, son. I hope this letter is enough.

One day you will have children of your own and you
will know the love and pride that I am bursting with every day for you and
Bradley. There is nothing stronger than a parent’s love, and it was a gift to
raise you boys as my sons, as my friends.

People always told me you were my mini-me, and for
that I am grateful. I am grateful that you are strong-willed and passionate and
loving and protective. But, I know those characteristics can be hard to keep
controlled. It is why I have written this letter to you, in case I am not there
when you become a man.

You’re a smart boy; intelligent and perceptive. I
have no doubts that you will do right by your education and your career. We are
driven son, driven to succeed.

But you will struggle with your feelings and how to
express them to those who really matter.

Your mother moved down from the North and came into
my life like a hurricane. Suddenly life before her didn’t make sense; food had
never tasted as good as it did on our first date to the local chippy. The sea
had never sparkled as much as the blue of her eyes. The sun had never shined so
bright, and nothing could ever outshine your mother. We never had money as
kids, didn’t have much besides family, and I began counting down the days;
first until I was a teenager, then until I was an adult. But then I met your
mother. I stopped counting down the days, and started making every day count.
Because of her. You have to seize the day – you never know if it will be your
last.

If you are reading this letter, sitting on your
beanbag and wondering if this is supposed to make sense, put it back in the box
and try again in a few years. When you are ready to understand it, everything
will make sense.

And when it does, I want you to take the ring that
accompanies this letter and give it to the girl you can't bear to live without.
Don't waste another minute, no matter where your lives have taken you. Tell her
you love her, because it’s always been her. And then ask her to marry you with
the ring that kept Grandma and Gramps married for seventy years; Grandma said
she’s the only other woman who has the right to wear it. And when she says yes,
spend the rest of your life showing her she made the right choice.

She’s been the one for you since she was born. When
she cried you cried, when she laughed you laughed, and when she needed
comforting without even knowing it, you were there. I don't need to say her
name, you know who I’m talking about. She’s always getting you in trouble, she
packs a mean punch and she keeps you in place. Sometimes we need someone to
remind us that life is good. Everyone needs a hero, and you’ve always been
hers. Do you remember the first day we spoke about her?

‘She smells like strawberries and has a doll called
Peaches. Her hands smell like lemon because her mum has hand wipes in her
pocket. And her coat is green like apples. She reminds me of a packet of Opal
Fruits. She punched me because I dropped her lollipop.’

That was the first time I saw true love in your
eyes. You were seven.

She’s your past, present and future and there are
not enough people who can say that about the one they love. She knows you for
everything you’ve been, everything you are, and everything you will be, and she
loves you unconditionally.

She’ll keep you on your toes, challenge you every
day, and she’ll be a pain in the arse. But believe me, it will all be worth it.
You will be the happiest man in the world. You look at her the way I look at
your mother and there will never be another who you look at like that.

I wish we could have spoke about this over a couple
of beers and a fishing rod, but everything happens for a reason, don't ever
forget that. And take care of your mother. She’s the love of my life and of the
7 billion people in the world, I found the other half of myself. So did you,
don't let her slip away.

I’m proud of you, I always will be.

I love you, son. I always will.

Dad

Deacon

A single tear falls from Jenna’s eye and plops onto
the paper shaking in her hands. I take her face in my hands and wipe away her
tears. It did the same thing to me when I read it yesterday morning. There are
other letters in the box, but I was drawn to the one with the weight in the
bottom, and the rest is history. I knew my dad was talking about Jenna, and I
remembered talking to him the afternoon after I got back from Jenna’s seventh
birthday party. It was a hazy memory, but I could smell her hair and lemon
hand-wipes while sitting at my desk. It was exactly what I needed, to confirm
the thoughts that had been going through my head since I started sending Jenna
out. Every time she left, I missed her and wondered if she would come back. I
decided I had to make her my wife. Apparently my dad knew she would say yes.

“Don't cry, baby.” I continue to wipe away the
stream of tears as she cries silently sitting cross-legged on our bed. Our bed.

“She wanted me to have this.” Jenna looks down at
the ring sparkling on her finger, “I asked the old bat for years to just try it
on.”

She laughs through her tears, and I wonder if
Grandma had any inkling Jenna would have to wait ten years before she got to
try it on. Of course, it fits her perfectly. Like it was made for her. I
remember the last few years of Grandma’s life, her weight loss so rapid she had
to take her rings off and wear them around her neck. I had always thought she’d
been buried with them.

“So has the letter answered your question?”

“I think so.” She nods, “But you do realise you’ve
been playing the superhero this whole time, and your dad already knew.”

“All that effort wasted.” I smirk, throwing my hands
in the air.

“No.” My smile drops at her tone, “Because if I
thought I loved you before, you becoming Superman only made me love you even
more.”

“I’m not complaining,” I slide lower in the bed and
Jenna snuggles into my side, where she belongs, “I’ve got my very own Lois
Lane.”

“Forever.”

It’s the middle of the day, the sun is bright and
it’s a Saturday. We should be out with friends, or visiting the family. But
we’re snuggled in the bed sheets, silently listening to the other’s breathing,
and somewhere between the overwhelming comfort I feel having her by my side, I
fall asleep.

I realise, as I descend into slumber, that I’ve
never been happy before. Not this happy. I’ve laughed at the pub with my mates,
I’ve joked around with guys on sites. I’ve liked spending time with my mum and
my brother when he’s not being a douche bag. I’ve enjoyed spending time with
women, while waiting for the right one to come crashing back into my life. No,
not the right one, the only one. But what I’ve never been is happy. Happy to
the point of needing to make someone smile just because I love to watch their
face light up. Never happy to the point where I know I would sacrifice myself
over and over so she can have anything on this Earth she wants. And then I
realise, happy to me isn’t smiling and feeling giddy. Happy isn’t music, or
art, or literature. Happy to me is making someone else happy. And not just
anyone, Jenna. The only thing that has made me happy after twenty-six years of
mediocre amusement, is the thought of Jenna’s happiness. It’s such a simple
revelation, a promise I made to myself as a kid. I really have loved her my
entire life.

I open my eyes and realise Jenna has managed to prop
me up with some pillows behind my back. I don't know how she did that. And when
I look to the foot of the bed, there's a post-it stuck to the metal frame, ‘I
love you’ scrolled across the middle in Jenna’s handwriting. I sit up, peel the
paper off the bed and tuck it into the drawer next to the bed. I swing my legs
out, curling my toes on the rug and hear Jenna cluttering round in the kitchen.
God, the woman makes so much noise when she cooks. And the mess; Jesus, the
mess. She’s lucky she clears up after herself and I love her enough to not
care.

“What you making?” I ask, wrapping my arms around
her waist and breathing her in, pretending I’m smelling whatever she’s got on
the hob.

“Tacos.” She looks up and I bend down for a kiss.

“Hmm,” I nuzzle her neck, biting gently on the soft
flesh, “you fancy some spice?”

“I’d love a little spice.” She whispers, trying, and
failing to sound indifferent.

“You sure you want tacos?”

I’m desperate to get her back upstairs. Or back on
the counter. Or the table. Or my desk. Fuck, I’ve got it so bad.

“You have to eat before you take your next lot of
tablets.”

“I don't need them,” I trail my lips across her bare
shoulder.

“Yes you do.” She turns swiftly and I’m hard, from
the thought of her so close, “No arguments.”

“The kids will be terrified of you.” I swat her
behind as she turns back to the hob and continues cooking.

I don't miss her body stiffen, before she recovers
and continues stirring, “I hope not.”

Jenna makes me eat the food, and once I’ve inhaled
six tacos, I realise I was really hungry. The damn pills make me hungry all the
time, and I already had a big appetite.

“If I keep eating without working out, things will
get ugly,”

“Hmm.” She twists her lips and then licks them, “I
could give you a workout.”

“Oh, yeah?” I cock an eyebrow, already liking where
this is heading.

“Yeah.” She blinks slowly and bites her bottom lip,
“But you’ll have to find me first.”

She shoots out of her chair like a bullet and I hear
her running up the stairs before I’m even to my feet. When I get to the bottom
of the staircase, I notice she’s turned all the lights out upstairs.

I wake up in the morning, smothered by Jenna. We
managed to make it to bed once I’d found her on the balcony of the spare room
and she sucked me off, as I felt her moans vibrating against me, and listened
to the sounds of the crashing waves raging as my body built to release. And
then I fucked her against the tiles in the bathroom. And then when we stumbled
to the bedroom unable to keep our hands off each other, Jenna made love to me,
as her tears of overwhelming love dripped onto my chest. We finally fell asleep
with Jenna cradled in my arms.

And that’s how I’ve woken up; with one of her legs
thrown over me, her smooth skin caressing mine like silk. I’m looking forward
to waking up like this for the rest of my life. I look over at the clock,
noticing we’ve overslept, but I can't bear to wake her. I watch her sleeping
peacefully for the first time in weeks as her chest rises and falls, every
brush of her naked skin on my ribs sending tingles through my body; her lips
parted, her long dark hair fanning around the pillow, and her eyelashes casting
shadows on her rosy cheeks.

“How long are you going to watch me for?” She asks
sleepily. Her morning voice is sexy as hell. It’s husky from sleep and worn
from her screams last night.

“Can't a man bask in his fiancé’s beauty first thing
in the morning?”

“Well when you put it like that,” she croaks,
rolling to straddle me, “I think I might bask in yours.”

Her hair falls across my neck as she kisses my
chest, and as she works her way down my body, I couldn't care less that we’re
running late.

Watching Jenna get dressed is as much of a turn on
as tearing her clothes off her and revealing her incredible body. I sit on the
bed fresh from the shower, with my towel wrapped around my waist and watch as
Jenna slides her underwear over her smooth legs, and they settle on her shapely
hips. Then I catch a glimpse of her full breasts and pink nipples as she slips
the matching bra up her arms and clasps it at the back. I’m done for when she
shimmies into her little yellow summer dress and it glides up the curve of her
back and her tight stomach.

“I’ll zip you up,” I jump off the bed, not caring
that my towel drops. I twist her damp hair around my hand and cast it over her
shoulder, do the zip up slowly and kiss her softly behind her ear. Yellow is my
favourite colour on Jenna; it makes her skin glow, brings out the soft brown of
her eyes, and the honey coloured streaks in her hair.

“Thanks Superman.” she calls as I walk off into the wardrobe
and everything inside me tightens.

We have to get out of here before we miss family
day.

Jenna

I feel nervous sliding in behind the wheel of
Deacon’s BMW. We attempted to go in my car, but city cars don't have much leg
room, and when I noticed Deac’s wince as he squeezed himself into the passenger
seat, I refused to drive the twenty-something miles to the club in my little
red car.

“We should get a cab.” I insisted, refusing to drive
him anywhere if it hurts him.

“Drive mine.” He said, rummaging around in his
pocket and the urge to replace his hands with my own was so strong, I had to
climb out, forgetting I was going to argue against driving the jeep. Deacon has
single-handedly turned me into a machine. Nothing feels as good as when his
body is pressed to mine, his sweat mixed with mine, his body moving at a pace
that ignites a connection designed solely for us.

“Hello?”

“What?” I ask, snapping back to reality.

“We’re going to be late.” He reaches over and skims
his hand up the inside of my bare leg, “If you get that look on your face while
we’re still on the drive, we won't be going anywhere.”

I push my nerves aside. Deacon didn’t tell me to
drive his jeep; he wanted me to drive the sleek white BMW – his pride and joy.
Well, I think the pick-up trumped the sports car, but it was written off in the
crash. The crash. This is Deacon’s first car ride since it happened. He got a
cab home from the hospital with Emma, but the Deacon who stepped through the
door that afternoon is not the Deacon sitting next to me now, tracing patterns
on my thigh, After a few deep breaths, I put the key in the ignition.

“Baby,” he rasps, his hand still driving me so wild
I can feel my brain turning to mush, “you’re going to have to get accustomed to
Isabel pretty quickly. We’re late.”

“Isabel?” I ask, turning the engine on and snuggle
into the seat as she thrums beneath me. Deacon takes his hand away and pulls
his sunglasses over his eyes.

“Yes. Her name is Isabel.” He folds his arms and
pouts, but I see the smile fighting to come out.

“Sounds sexy,” I throw my arm behind his seat,
stroking the hair at the back of his head as I reverse out of the spot and
switch gears.

“Not as sexy as my fiancé.”

My heart skips a beat or two every time he calls me
that, and I almost stall the car as I pull off the drive.

“So what happens if I get ‘the look’ once we’re off
the driveway?” I ask, willing my eyes to stay on the road, but glancing every
few seconds to where Deacon’s hands rest on his legs. I know I shouldn’t do it,
but I can feel him slipping away from me. I know he’s remembering the crash; he
remembers so much more than he lets on. I don't condone it, and I’m normally
pushing him to stop it. But if distracting Deacon with sex or sexual ideas puts
some colour back in his face and brings him back to me, it’s worth it.

“Then I’ll find somewhere private to fuck it off
you.”

Holy shit.

I can't say anything else, and the rest of the
journey is silent, although Deac’s cheeks turn their usual sun-kissed colour,
and we might not be talking, but I know he’s thinking about how he’ll get the
look off of my face.

I’m quivering with nerves as we walk through the
foyer of the country club, and out into the garden where the family has pushed
a few tables together to make room for everyone. Everyone’s here; even Phillipa
and Steve, who usually has some sort of excuse to avoid these gatherings. I
used to be on his side there; but I was trying to run away from everything I
wanted. It feels different, walking next to Deacon as he uses his crutches to
keep his mother’s wrath at bay. I see her inspecting him, making sure he’s
walking the way the doctor told him, and checking to see any other weaknesses.
I think she’d flip her nut if she knew all the ways I let Deacon use his
supposedly weak body on me last night. I feel my cheeks heat, remembering the
most incredible sexual experience of my life, partnered with the best emotional
night of my life. It was, hands down, the best night of my life.

“You’ve got the look.” Deacon growls and I chuckle,
knowing he won't do anything here. He wouldn’t, would he?

He smirks, as if hearing my silent question, and I
know for a fact he would.

Everyone stands to greet us, and it feels so good to
hug my family, in a much better frame of mind than the last time they hugged
me. I was praying for Deacon’s life and the hugs were something to make me feel
even worse. I didn’t deserve their comfort.