Unsteady (The Torqued Trilogy Book 1) (42 page)

Some people are dark. They’re just bad people and do bad things. That’s not Red.

Red waits for me to speak, react to his words, and knowing he is waiting for it drives me back into the bubbling emotions sitting in my chest.

After ten minutes, finally, I have the courage. “Red—”

“Wait. Just let me get this out, okay?” He interrupts, touching my face with his left palm.

I nod, watching as his eyes shift back to the road. “Okay.”

“I was a total fuckin’ dick last week. And I’m truly sorry for that.” He sounds sad, and I know what he’s going to say next. The realization that it’s coming makes my throat tight.

I give him a nod when we pull up to the house and he parks beside my car, letting him know he can continue. He shuts off the engine and then looks over at me, twisting slightly. “When you first came into that shop, part of me knew exactly what you were looking for. I knew deep down you were looking for an escape. I was ready to be that for you. I wasn’t lying when I said I would be anything you wanted.” His voice softens as he shakes his head. “And you know, the more I think about it, I was actually upset that you came back after that first day.”

“Why?” I keep my voice low, afraid I might wake Nova in the backseat.

“Because I didn’t want you to be anything to me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Red.” But in reality, it does and I get where he’s coming from.

“Listen to what I said.” He pauses, my eyes drifting to his. “I told you that I would be anything you
wanted
. Not anything
I
wanted.”

Realization slowly feeds its way into my system. He’s right. I didn’t want Red to mean anything to me either. I wasn’t looking for someone to fill the gaps when I came to Lebanon. I was only looking for a job.

“I didn’t want
you
to be anything to
me
.”

“After one time, I meant something?” I know exactly how that could be; how even the simplest touch between the two of us gave me such a rush I knew there was more to us.

Red nods, his eyes on mine. I don’t reply, and he doesn’t wait for one.

He’s quiet for a moment, just staring at me, before he finally speaks. “Will you come inside?”

I frown. Thoughts of the night in the shop run wild through my mind. It’s not that I don’t want to because I do, but I want more than sex. I want him. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

An audible sigh leaves his lips. The breath he was holding awaiting my response is enough of a reaction to calm both our nerves. “I’m not expecting anything. I’m just really hungry.”

I raise an eyebrow.

He smiles as if he’s funny. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue and I watch with rapt attention as he glides it over his lower lip. And then he winks at me. “For that spaghetti. I mean, you did cook for me.” His eyes brighten. “Oh, wait, Rawley mentioned something else… maybe—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” I slap my hand over his mouth. “There’s a child back there.”

He puts his hand over mine on his mouth and kisses my palm. “Come inside with me, please? Besides, I don’t want you driving home by yourself.”

He’s convincing, isn’t he?

He gives me a long stare, searching for my denial. When he doesn’t see that, a grin appears. “Please?”

All thought is lost and I follow what my body is telling me. I nod. “Ugh, I can’t deny you when you say please.”

“That’s good to know.” He chuckles, opening his door.

He’s quiet as he walks ahead of me carrying a sleeping Nova in his arms.

I stare at the ring on his keys, the one attached to his key rings that’s clearly a wedding band.

“How can you still live here?” I whisper, my voice unable to reach normal volumes. Not only does it scare me going inside, but I also don’t want to wake Nova.

He squints at me as if deciphering the words while his right hand turns the lock and the door cracks open. “It’s my house. It’s not like I have the money to just buy a new one.”

“I know, I just mean with all the memories.”

That stops him and it seems he’s considering that, until he’s not. He shakes his head before he nods inside for me to go in as he adjusts the sleeping child in his arms. “It’s the one place Nova knows. I couldn’t take that away from her too. Sometimes we make sacrifices for others.”

My heart aches at his words. Just fucking aches so badly.

I step inside and peek around the living room we enter into. His house is small and there’s not a lot of decoration but what there is, it’s clear a child lives with him. Her toys are scattered near the television. White paper with artwork is pinned up on a framed corkboard display with white trim. It’s cute, probably something someone made for him, and Nova’s bright soul is all over it. She’s a beautiful drawer and seems to love to draw pictures of her daddy and her.

As Red slips down the hall to place Nova in bed, I take a closer look at the drawing. I can see that just past the living room is the kitchen but it’s tucked around the corner without a clear view from the front room.

I focus on the drawing in the center. It’s one of Red and her, I assume, and then I notice the sky she’s drawn and the purple clouds. Above them is an angel. It nearly brings tears to my eyes that she doesn’t have her mother around. I don’t remember anything about my mother other than a photograph I once saw that a social worker had in my file. I look nothing like her, but that’s all I remembered.

“How old was Nova when she died?” I ask when Red comes down the hall.

His breath blows over my ear, a heavy sigh and I can’t tell whether I made him mad or not. Twisting my head, I look back at him. “Sorry…I shouldn’t have asked that…”

He shakes his head and gives a nod to the kitchen, like he’s going in there and I should follow him. “It’s okay. She had just turned three in March. Nevaeh died two years ago in May.”

Standing in front of the fridge, he reaches in and takes out the spaghetti, placing it in the microwave after stirring it.

Turning back to the fridge, he lifts up a beer in his hand. “Would you like one?”

I nod. “I’m sorry I brought up your wife.”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.” I can tell by the tone of his voice he doesn’t want to talk about her. Only he brings up what I don’t want to talk about. Ben.

“How long were you married?”

I draw in a heavy breath and take the beer he hands me. The microwave dings and he turns toward it reaching for a plate.

“Do you want some?”

I shake my head and rub my stomach. “No thanks, those nachos are sticking with me.”

He chuckles, stirring it. “Okay.”

Taking a slow drink of my beer, I contemplate his question and if I should divulge information about Ben. I really don’t want to bring him into this, but then again, if I came here, I’ve already brought him into it. “I was married to him for a year. Stupidest decision I ever made.”

He thinks about what I said, his head turning slightly but his body remains twisted to the counter as he takes a spoon out of the drawer beside him and scoops a heaping serving of the spaghetti on the plate. When he’s seated next to me at the table—his own beer in hand as well—our eyes meet. “I married Nevaeh because she was pregnant,” he admits, as if he’s trying to make me feel better.

“You loved her though, right?”

“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes dropping. “I loved her very much. But I didn’t marry her because I loved her. Seems dumb now to think about it, but loving her never crossed my mind when I proposed to her. Doing right by her did,” he tells me this as if it’s a confession, one he’s never admitted to anyone.

I breathe in deeply after taking a drink of my beer. “You’re a great man, Red.”

The smallest of smiles grace his lips as though he wants to believe that, and he’s not sure he can. “I found her in this kitchen, over there.” He points behind him near the dishwasher.

Oh, God… he’s opening up to me. What do I do?

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can think to say in that moment.

“I didn’t tell you that for your apology,” he adds, twirling noodles around his fork. He’s nearly finished with the plate of food, devouring it completely. “Fuck, this is good.”

I cringe. “Raven gave me the recipe. I think it was…” I can’t bear to say her name in front of him. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m afraid of hurting him.

There’s a pained expression that contorts his face and his eyes tear up just the slightest bit. “Nevaeh’s.”

“I’m sorry. She knew it was one you liked.”

“I do.” There’s a silence between us when he finishes the spaghetti, the two of us drinking our beer in silence. And then he asks, “So this guy, Ben… do you love him?”

“No.” My answer is immediate because I don’t think I ever did love Ben. Not in the ways that were healthy at least. “I’m not sure I even know what love is.” It’s something I’ve only admitted to him. “I grew up in foster care… pushed from one family to the next, leaving a piece of myself with each one. Not because I wanted to, but because they took them from me. I was a paycheck and property of the state. And then I met Ben and I just sorta fell into giving all my pieces away.”

He doesn’t say anything to me, for a couple minutes at least as he finishes the spaghetti.

Leaning forward so our faces are close, his breath hits my face, and I’m afraid of what he might say to me. “Dance with me?”

What? Really?

It was certainly asked in the form of a question; he’s not demanding anything from me. “What?”

“You said no one has ever
asked
you anything.
I’m
asking
you
to dance.”

“Here?” I look around the kitchen, laughing lightly. “Now?”

He stands. “Why not?”

I stand, too, slipping my hand inside of his. “Okay, but there’s no music playing.”

Once we’re in the living room, he takes a remote in his hand and points it toward the stereo under the television mounted on the wall. “Now there is.”

I smile at the song, because I know it. It’s “Syrup & Honey” by Duffy and I absolutely love this song because of the slow Aretha Franklin vibe to it.

As soon as he touches me, I’m done. My hands are trembling at the simplest of gestures he’s so good at: opening doors, dancing.

He leans down to my ear, his warm breath on my skin. “Is this okay?”

The living room is dim, with only the light from the hall filtering into the room. His fingers trace my cheekbone and I know what he’s going to ask me. It’s in his eyes before his lips let the words pass through.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me with this dancing in your living room.”

“Is it working?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I sigh almost pathetically as I sink into him. “Yes.”

“Then yeah, I am.” He stops moving and cups my cheeks with both hands. It sends a jolt of nerves through me as his body presses into mine.

His hands move to my waist, my arms around his neck. Every hard line is against me, giving me his heat. My skin breaks into a fire, a familiar need surfacing. We begin to sway, his hands on my hips, guiding my body to the beat of the music. I’m completely stiff at first, but when the hard plains of his body press to mine, I give in, nearly sagging against him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice is low as we sway slowly to the gentle sounds, his eyes darting from mine and then to my lips like he wants to kiss me, but he doesn’t. He’s watching me. Waiting for me to say something. My face burns a brighter shade of red at those words and he notices.

Drawing back, he runs his fingers gently over my cheeks, then stops to cup my cheek again. Naturally, I lean into his warm touch. “I know it’s wrong because fuck, we’re both in some shitty circumstances but… I can’t stop myself.” He stares at me, pleading with me to trust him, without asking me to. Without a shadow of a doubt, I do.

“I feel the same way,” I say, just before pressing my lips to his. I can’t take it anymore.

Breathing uneven breaths, his body reacts, responds, and wants me in all the ways he had before. He groans softly, his lips and tongue searching for more, but then pulls back.

He drags his parted lips down my neck and then over my collarbone and to my shoulder. Growling lightly, he bites at my shoulder. He continues kissing up and down my neck, sending shivers through my entire body, goose bumps form on my shoulders, my nipples hardening against his chest. That kiss was nothing like I’ve ever experienced in my life. The way his mouth moves against mine, his calloused hands, his breathing, all of it. It’s slow and it’s meant to be as he kisses over my sun-kissed skin, heating it to degrees the sun could never reach.

His mouth trails up my neck to my lips, giving me what I need as his mouth moves over mine, what he wants but knows he shouldn’t have. It’s tentative at first, gently parted lips and a slow, gradual build before his tongue sweeps over the seam of my lips.

And then he kisses me deeper, humming when our tongues meet from open-mouth kisses. When that’s too much that we can’t breathe without heavy, gasping breaths, his mouth moves to my neck. I release a needy sigh because they’re the most desperate sound with each pass of his mouth over my skin, like it’s not enough for him. Like it will never be enough. I’m right there with him.