The Game Series (36 page)

He sighs. “You know she’s gonna tell Lila and Maddie, and they’ll be on your case, right?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and chew on my thumbnail. “I know,” I mumble. “But I didn’t have to think. I was still reeling from Kyle and Mark. She caught me off-guard. I’m a real crappy secret girlfriend.”

“I like that.”

“That I’m a crappy secret girlfriend?” I frown at him as he pulls up outside a tidy, two-story house with perfectly pruned bushes and flowers.

“No, well, yeah.” He turns, his gray eyes light and piercing straight into mine. He smiles, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward him. “The girlfriend part.”

I blush a little as I realize it’s the first time either of us have said that word. “Oh, um …”

His lips touch mine, and he mutters against me, “Don’t. I like the thought of you being my girlfriend, even if you are secret.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet?”

“Save the literature for Gramps.” He leans back and smiles. “But, yeah, kinda. Just without the dyin’ and stuff.”

I put my hand on the door handle and smile at him over my shoulder. “I can totally go for that.”

My feet touch the ground and I realize how nervous I am. When it’s me and Aston and we’re messing around, talking, I don’t feel nervous. But now I’m standing in front his Gramps’ house, my heart is pounding and my palms are getting sweaty. I run my tongue over my lips, wetting them since they’re suddenly dry, and swallow.

Aston takes my hand, linking our fingers, and pulls me toward the house. “Don’t be scared.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

He grins, his hand on the door handle. “Nope.”

My mouth drops, and he pushes the door open, letting out the smell of cigar smoke.

“I wish you wouldn’t smoke those damn things, Gramps!” he calls.

“So you keep sayin’, boy, and I keep sayin’ I ain’t gonna stop.”

Aston grins again, and I get the feeling this is a routine for them. “Well if you’re smokin’ now, put the thing out. I brought company.”

“Better not be one of those jackass frat boys you live with,” his Gramps grumbles.

“No, it’s not one of those jackasses.” Aston chuckles slightly. “Better than that. Much better.”

“What, you bring me a stripper?”

“Uh, no. Maybe next time.”

I smile, loving the easy banter between the two.

“Well? Who is it?”

We step into the front room, and an old man is sitting quietly in an armchair at the far end of the room. He turns his head from where he was looking out the window, and I can see interest spark in his gray eyes. Gray eyes the exact same shade as Aston’s.

“This is Megan,” Aston introduces us. “Megan, this is my Gramps. Just call him Gramps.”

“Hell, she’s a pretty thing, ain’t she, boy?” Gramps says, looking at me and smiling. “Come sit down, darlin’, and don’t you mind him. His manners are a bit iffy since he started hanging around with those jackass frat boys.”

I laugh slightly and let Aston lead me over to the sofa opposite his Gramps. I sit on the cozy cushions, and Aston stops mid-sit.

“Let me guess. You want me to remember my manners and go get Megs a drink?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Off you go.”

I smile at Aston’s exaggerated sigh, and I can almost see the closeness in their relationship. It’s not just the fact Aston is so alike his Gramps, just sixty or so years younger, it’s in their easy banter and the affectionate smiles they have. His Gramps’ comments remind me so much of my Nan – she’s a crazy old thing with a penchant for “hot young things,” as she puts it, but I love her.

Gramps looks at me and winks. “Gotta keep the boy on his toes. So, Megan, are you the girlfriend?” He looks so much like Aston in that second I can’t help but smile wider.

“That’s me.”

“He never mentioned you before.”

“It’s, um … Complicated.”

“Protective older brother ready to kick some pretty-boy ass?”

I think I love this man.

“Something like that.” I grin. “Best friend.”

“Jackass frat boy?” he questions.

I nod.

“See, boy? I told you they’re all jackasses. Were in my day, still are now.”

“And you raised the biggest one,” Aston pats the old man’s shoulder, putting a tray of drinks on the table and passing me one.

“Thank you.” I look up at him, feeling a little shy now we’re in front of his gramps.

“Damn right. And he’s a pretty boy! No one can tell me I did half a job raisin’ you, kid.” Gramps grins, raises his glass of lemonade, and takes a drink before setting it back on the table. “So, Megan, do you like literature?”

Aston smirks, resting his arm on the sofa behind me, and I smile. “It’s my major.”

Gramps’ eyes light up and he sits up a little straighter. “Favorite novelist?”

“Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice, before you ask.”

“By God, boy!” he exclaims in glee and claps his hands. “We have a keeper with this one!” He turns to me again. “Second favorite?”

I chew my lip for a second. “Dickens or Louisa May Alcott. It’s tough, but Alcott might just win out. Her ability to create a whole cast of compelling, lovable characters – not just one or two – is something I’ve yet to find in another writer.”

Gramps shakes his head. “You’re telling me
Little Women
is better than
Great Expectations
?”

“Oh, no,” I say. “Not better – the stories are on par with each other, but their styles are very different. My preference runs with Alcott’s style, and I have a bit of a crush on Laurie.” I shrug a shoulder.

“How many boys in books are you dating?” Aston pokes my shoulder. “First Darcy, now Laurie …”

“The proper term is book boyfriend,” I correct him. “And there are many swoon-worthy characters in the literary world, new and old.”

“What about if I was in a book?” He grins. “Would I be your book boyfriend?”

“God help the world if someone ever wrote you into a book, boy,” Gramps grumbles. “That would be a literary disaster.”

Aston sticks his tongue out, and Gramps laughs.

“Be nice, old man, or I’ll hide the walking stick.”

“Hide the walking stick and I’ll kick your ass with it!” Gramps threatens. “It wouldn’t be the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last!”

I smile, looking at Aston and tuning the conversation out a little as they continue to banter back and forth. His body and expression are relaxed, his smile easy, and his eyes light. This is the real Aston, the one he doesn’t show. He’s happy and playful, yet there’s an underlying shadow to him.

If I ever had any doubt whether or not I was falling in love with Aston Banks, it’s been completely wiped out.

There is no doubt. Here in the place he spent the happier years of his childhood sitting across from the man who made him into the incredible person he is today, there is only certainty.

Aston’s expression darkens slightly, and I listen again.

“Gramps …”

“I just want to know if you went.”

“No. I didn’t go and I don’t plan to.”

I look between the two, trying not to appear nosey – very hard when you feel like a third wheel.

“It might do you good.”

“I’m not ready.”

“It’s been thirteen years, boy.”

“I don’t care if it’s been thirteen or thirty, Gramps. I’m not ready!” Aston stands and leaves the room, leaving his Gramps sighing.

The old man turns his face toward the window, his own shadows passing over his face. His eyes flick to me, hovering on my face for a moment. “Did he tell you? About himself?”

“Some,” I reply honestly. “He got so far and … It was too much.”

He nods his head, his gaze going back to the window. “I got him when he was six – the day they found out his mom had died. She was my baby. My only child. Losing her near killed me but he gave me something to live for. I had to protect him and give him the life she couldn’t.

“He spent two days in hospital while he was checked out. He was underweight, dirty, and completely starving. But that wasn’t the worst. There was a big gash on his palm with tiny pieces of glass in that had been left, scratches, and healing cuts across his legs, and a huge bruise on his back.” He looks at me, and I don’t try to disguise my horror.

“How could …” I trail off, putting my hand to my mouth as what he just said processes in my mind, and I shake my head.

I try to process it but I just can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine the pain Aston must have been in, both mental and physical. It makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I flatten my other hand over it like it’ll stop the churning inside.

“He blames his mom for what happened. He blames her for never protecting him – but I’m the one that should be blamed. I knew she wasn’t fit to keep him, yet I left it anyway. His gran died when he was four and I was stuck in a loop of grief.” He looks back at the window, and I follow suit, seeing Aston leaning against a tree. “I should be blamed for not protecting him.”

“You didn’t know what was happening, did you?”

“No.”

The sadness coming off of him wraps around me and hurts me as much as Aston’s does. I can see in the slump of his shoulders the guilt he’s been carrying around for all these years, and in the downturn of his lips how much he really feels he’s to blame. And it makes me mad. I hate that this innocent and loving old man feels that way because of the cruel and selfish actions of complete and utter bastards.

I sit up straighter. “Then how can you be blamed for something you knew nothing about? You took him in and brought him up to be the person he is today, and as much as he doesn’t believe it, he’s a credit to you. He doesn’t see it, but he is. You did your best to make your daughter’s wrongs right again. You could have walked away and left him to the state, but you didn’t, and I for one think that makes you an incredible person.”

His voice breaks. “You’re very wise, Megan.”

“It’s the books.” I turn my head, and we both share a small smile. “You mentioned about him going somewhere …”

“His mom’s grave. I try every year to get him to go, but he always says he’s not ready. Stubborn little ass.” He bangs his fist against the arm of his chair.

“I don’t think he’s accepted what happened to him. I don’t think he’s let himself deal with it.”

“I hope he can. I hope
you
can deal with it.” Gramps looks at me seriously, his gray eyes like granite. “It’s not easy, what he’s dealt with. What you know is only a small part of the crap my boy went through.”

“I can deal with it,” I reassure him. “And I can help him deal with it. I want to.”

“I like you,” he says suddenly. “You come across as a total romantic, but you have a kick-ass, hard edge to you. You won’t take his shit, will ya?”

“I never have taken his shit, and I don’t intend to start now.”
I smirk.

“Do me a favor?”
Gramps leans forward. “One day, get him to his mom’s grave. Even just for a minute. And for God sake, don’t let the pretty ass walk all over you. He thinks he’s Mr. Darcy.”

“Then call me Elizabeth.” I smile.

Why did he have to bring it up? Of all the things he could talk about, he brings her up. Every fucking time! I don’t want to talk about her. Not to him. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know the same person I did. His ideals are different to mine.

His memories are a thousand miles apart from mine.

I kick at the sand, pulling my jacket tighter around my body, and Megan speaks for the first time since we left Gramps’ house and drove north where no one would find us. “You okay?”

I shake my head. “No. Every time. Every fucking time he brings her up. I thought he wouldn’t in front of you, but he did.”

“He has his own pain,” she says softly. “It doesn’t excuse it, but he does. He feels guilty for what happened to you – that he couldn’t stop it.”

My mind reels, and I look down at her. “He told you that?”

She nods, letting her hand drop from my back, and stands in front of me. I stop.

“You’ve never let him tell you.” She reaches up and cups my face. “He hurts too, Aston. You both hurt. It’s not something that will go away, but you can’t let it rule your lives. If you let pain rule you you’ll get lost in it.”

“What if I’m already lost?”

“You’re not lost. You’re hiding but you’re not lost. I won’t let you get lost.”

I let my hands come up to rest on her back and pull her into me. “What if there’s no map?”

“Then I’ll get lost with you,” she whispers. “I won’t let you let them win, Aston. I won’t let you get sucked in by those demons. I care too much to let that happen.”

And she does. I can hear it in her voice.

She wraps her arms around my neck, and I hold her to me tighter, our foreheads resting against each other.

“I’ll try, Megs,” I promise. “I can’t say I won’t, but as long as you’re here, I think I’ll be okay.”

“And you’ll talk to your Gramps? Just once?”

“I’ll think about it. How about we just focus on stopping me from getting lost for a bit?”

“You just need a place to aim for, that’s all. You need a place to go to.”

“Go on then.” I smile. “Give me a place.”

“Okay.” She pauses for a second, closing her eyes and chewing her lip.

“I’m waiting …” I tease her.

Her blue eyes open, shocking me with their vitality. “Aim for the moon, because even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.”

“I don’t need to aim for the sky. The only star I’ll ever need is standing right in front of me.” I brush my lips over hers. “Maybe the place I need to aim for is nowhere other than where I am right now.”

“Maybe I’d go with you wherever you ended up.”

“Maybe I’d never ask that of you.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t need to ask. Maybe you’ll never need to ask me for anything, because I’ll always be here.” She silences my upcoming argument by pressing her lips firmly against mine, holding me prisoner in her kiss. Her fingers tangle in my hair, her body fitting against mine perfectly.

My arms tighten around her waist, one of my hands moving up her back to cup the back of her head. She stands on her tiptoes and her tongue meets mine, never relenting in the pressure of her movements.

This girl is sliding between the cracks of me and gripping hold of the mismatched pieces before tearing them apart. She’s studying them, getting to know them, to know me, and then she’s carefully lining them all back up and holding them together.

What she’ll never know is she’s the glue that holds it together.

She’s the glue that holds me together.

~

“So it’s Sunday evening and we’re on a deserted, dark beach in Northern California in the freezing cold, eating ice cream,” Megan summarizes, running her finger around the top of her cone and licking it off.

“That sounds about right.”

“And why are we eating ice cream instead of oh, having a coffee in Starbucks?” She raises an eyebrow at me.

I shrug. “I don’t think they have a Starbucks in … Wherever the fucking hell we are.”

“Wherever we are? Oh, God. Remind me never to let you drive anywhere again.”

“Let me?”

“Yes. Let you.”

I scoop my arm around her waist and pull her into me. “You didn’t let me do anything. I didn’t see you offering to drive.”

“Why would I offer to drive when you could do it for me?”

“But you just said …” I shake my head, smiling at her playful grin. “Never mind. I don’t think it’s even worth trying to fucking understand.”

“No, it’s not.” She beams, kissing me quickly and scooting away. “I’m just one of those people you’ll never understand.”

“That’s because you’re complicated.”

“I am not complicated!”

“If you were simple, I’d be able to understand you.”

She finishes the ice cream and throws the cone toward the trash as we come to edge of the beach. “You win.”

“You didn’t eat the cone?” I ask.

“I don’t like the cones.” She hops up onto the hood of the car, her legs hanging over the front.

“So why do you order ice cream cones?” I stand between her legs, and she hooks them round my waist, sliding into me.

“Because I like the ice cream,” she says with a furrow in her brow. “Why else?”

I grin, and a fat raindrop falls on the car. Another follows it, and another, and another, and she squeals as one falls on her cheek.

Her hands push at my shoulders and she releases my waist as she tries to get away. I laugh as it rains harder, the cold drops soaking us in seconds. My tee shirt clings to my skin and my eyes flick to the drops of water sliding their way down Megan’s chest, disappearing below the neck of her shirt. I take her hands from my waist and slide my fingers between hers, still laughing.

“Aston, no! Let me up! It’s raining!”

“And?” I ask. “You’re already soaking wet.” She wriggles against me, her center rubbing against my jeans and causing the blood in my body to rush downwards. She wriggles once more and pauses, looking up at me when she realizes my dick is rock hard.

“Did I, er, do that?” She batters her eyelashes.

“Mhmm,” I hum out, leaning into her.

“But the rai–”

My lips capture her mouth in a crushing kiss. My body is taut against hers as I lean forward, pushing her against the hood of the car. Our wet shirts rub together and hers rides up slightly. Our hands hit the car above her head and she gasps, my tongue meeting hers as I hold her hands still, my hips pinning hers. She moves her legs up, hooking them over my hips and clutching them around my waist. Her back arches into me so every inch of us really is touching.

Rain continues to beat down, covering us both as our tongues battle each other, sweeping and caressing. I release her hands, grip her wrists with one hand, and slide my free one down her wet body. Her shirt is slightly drier where it’s against the car, and I run my hand along the part of her back not touching the hood. My fingers tickle and tease her, my thumb running just inside the back of her jeans, feeling the strap of her thong. My hips press into hers, and in this second, all good thoughts are gone.

A wet Megan – in more ways than one – is sending my dick into overdrive, and it’s the only part of me thinking right now.

She gasps as I run my nose down her neck, breathing heavily against her slick skin.

“Megs–”

“Do you need me, or do you need what I can give you?” she asks bluntly, making my head snap back.

I get it.

“You,” I reply honestly, looking into her eyes. “I fucking need
you.
”

“And if someone catches us?”

“Do you see anyone around?” I let her up, holding her against me and cupping her ass in my hands. “You’re gonna have to open the car door, ‘cause my hands are full.”

I carry her round, my dick straining against my jeans, and she opens the door. I all but drop her in, and she sprawls on the back seat. I climb in after her, shutting the door, and lean over her. Her breathing is heavy as she gazes up at me through heavy eyelids.

I drop my head and kiss the spot beneath her ear, letting my mouth go down and down until it reaches the swell of her boobs. My tongue flicks out and runs inside her low-cut shirt and bra, reaching until it flicks against her nipple. She whimpers, clutching at my back, and I reach in and undo the buttons down the front of her body.

Her shirt falls away, revealing her body, and I keep kissing her, even as my hands fall to her jeans and begin to peel the wet material away down her thighs. I sit up, tugging it off the rest of the way, and she kicks the ceiling.

“Shit,” she hisses, dropping her head back slightly. I laugh slightly, running my hands up her legs. She grabs fistfuls of my shirt and yanks me forward. “You shut up and kiss me.”

“Fuck yes,” I answer, taking her mouth with mine. Her fingers flick down my stomach, slipping under my shirt and caressing my stomach until they finally unclip the button on my jeans. She pushes my jeans down with her feet and pushes her body against mine.

My dick jumps at the contact, and I mutter a garbled curse into her mouth, ripping my boxers down and sliding her thong to the side. My fingers slip along and inside her tightness easily, and in seconds I replace my fingers with my cock and push into her. Her legs tighten around my waist and she grabs at my lower back, taking me in one easy swoop.

Judging by the constant clench of her muscles and the wetness surrounding me, sex outside turns Megan on.

My fingers dip into her wet hair, my tongue dips into her mouth, and our hips grind together rhythmically.

In this deserted place where no-one knows her, where no-one knows me, we are as one.

And I realize it really is her I need.

~

Mommy was mad. I’d heard her shouting at him for a long time. I didn’t know what many of the words meant, but they were words Mommy said were naughty and only for grown-ups. Words I mustn’t say.

“They’re coming tomorrow!” Mommy shouted. “What am I supposed to tell them this fucking time?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! He’s five years old – he fell out of a damn tree for all I care!”

“And got a black eye? From what? A freakin’ tree root?!”

“Think of something!” he yelled at her, his feet stomping against the floor. Mommy always said not to stomp. Stomping is naughty. “They always believe you anyway!”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving this fucking shithole before you get a black eye to match your little bastard of a son’s!”

The door slammed. I jumped, rubbing Bunny’s ear against my cheek. Soft.

I didn’t like this man. I didn’t like any of the men, but he was the most horrible. He was really big and had lots of funny pictures all over his arms. I asked him what they were once and he shouted at me. I just wanted to see the pictures.

“Fuck! Fucking useless jackass!” Mommy yelled the naughty words and the door slammed after her.

I didn’t mind her going. She was going to get money for food, she said. She said she had to work, but usually a nasty man stayed with me, drinking horrible beer.

I got up and pushed my door open slightly, looking around. I was really alone and it was dark. I didn’t like the dark. The horrible men said big scary monsters were in the dark ready to eat little boys like me.

I looked toward the kitchen, shaking, my stomach hurting. I wanted to eat something. I was hungry. Mommy didn’t have any food this morning, apart from a biscuit she gave me. Just a plain biscuit. I wanted some gravy.

I hugged Bunny even closer and looked around again. Maybe if I looked I could find some food.

Someone knocked at the door and I screamed. The big scary monsters. I started to cry and ran back into my room, pushing the door shut. I took my blanket from my bed and crawled under the bed, moving right to the back corner. My blanket wrapped around me and I curled into a ball.

No one ever found me here.

I was safe from the monsters.

Darkness. Monsters.

I pat the bed beside me.
The bed. Not the floor.

I lean over, turning my bedside lamp on, and look around. My room – in the frat house. At college. In Berkeley – not my tiny room in San Francisco. No monsters, no men, no Mom. Just me, alone.

I bury my face in my shaking hands, adrenaline still running rife from my dream.

Fell from a tree. And they fucking believed it. The asshole had put his fist in my face for the first ever time, and all because I’d walked in front of the television and he’d missed a touchdown. That was all it took, five seconds, and I had another bruise, another memory, another scar to add to the collection.

And she still never did anything about it. She still covered it up. She still never checked on me.

Monsters.

It amazes me I was so fucking afraid of monsters that didn’t exist. The real monsters were the tattooed, alcohol and drug dependent dicks she brought home again and again. They were the monsters – not the things a five year old boy’s mind could conjure up.