Home > Letting Go(52)

Letting Go(52)
Author: L.A. Fiore

   His eyes were bright. “I’m so sorry, Cedar.”

   “Me too, but I don’t blame you. I could never blame you.” I studied him, his beloved face that haunted my dreams. “Trouble is coming.”

   “Maybe.” His voice went hard. “But it won’t touch you.”

   I touched his jacket. “Are they family?”

   “As close as I’ll ever have.”

   I nodded and lowered my head, because it wasn’t fair that he had to settle, that he had to, once again, take the scraps instead of finding happiness, finding love. He touched my chin and lifted my gaze. “Are you happy?”

   “A part of me never will be knowing that you’re out there, surviving but not living. That your hand was forced, your fate decided by that fuck of a father.”

   He smiled. “Nice language.”

   I laughed because what a ludicrous thing to say. “I’ve changed, too.”

   He studied me. “All for the better from where I’m standing, though your wardrobe is kind of tamed.”

   It hurt, the happy with the pain. “I’m working on it.”

   His jaw clenched before he asked, “Does he make you happy?”

   It was so hard because I wouldn’t lie to him, but I knew my answer was going to hurt, because it hurt saying. “He does.”

   He nodded.

   “I didn’t see him coming. For fifteen years, I was in limbo, waiting for you to come back. I had to let you go. I had to let you go to survive.”

   “I know.” He ran his hand down my cheek. “I know.” He pressed a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingered before he whispered, “Goodbye, Slick,”

   Then he was gone, walking away in long strides. My heart broke all over again. My voice so soft when I whispered, “Goodbye, Brock.”

 

 

      Chapter Twenty-Four

 

   Brock

   I needed the ride, the wind in my face; it was the only time I felt peace these days. I knew it was going to be hard, but I hadn’t expected it to be that hard. After everything I’d done and I’d done too fucking much, a part of me wanted to erase the slate, wanted a second chance. I wanted her. I always had.

   “Fuck,” I roared, the word getting lost in the wind. She was mine. She had always been mine, but I had let her go, and I’d come back too late. I wanted to hate the fucker who benefited from our tragedy, a part of me did, but he was everything I couldn’t be for her. I’d kept tabs on her over the years. I knew how she’d struggled, saw how she lost herself, became unrecognizable, someone who blended into a crowd when she had always been the one to stand out. I hated seeing her lose her way, but she was right. She was coming back to herself, and part of that was because of him. He was a smart fucker, I had to give him that. He knew what he had, and he wasn’t letting her go.

   I pulled into the place we were staying, tucked in the back of the woods. Entering, Moby saw me first. He said nothing, a man of few words, but he studied me, knew what I needed and tossed me a bottle of Jack.

   I walked to my room, slammed the door and took a long drink. Seeing the pain behind Cedar’s eyes, I’d fucking kill my father all over again. Greedy son of a bitch had more money than God, but it wasn’t enough. No, he needed to get into bed with the mob. And by making that alliance, he damned us all. I knew I should have stayed away from Cedar, kept her at distance, protected her. I turned and hurled the bottle across the room, watched as it shattered.

   Dax had offered me an out. In hindsight, I could have stayed, fought the murder charges, but, in all likelihood, Cedar and I both would have been taken out when the twenty million went missing. Dax had saved my life. He’d saved Cedar’s life. When he offered me a place in the club, I took it. After we lost him in the shoot-out two years ago, and the brothers voted me their new president, I took that, too, because they were my family now.

   My family had a thorn in its side. It was time to remove it. I was missing a piece, and until I figured it out, I was staying close to Cedar because she was the link to me. My dad had said I’d pulled her into my hell, and fuck, if he hadn’t been right.

 

 

      Chapter Twenty-Five

 

   killian

   As soon as Killian saw Cedar, he knew Brock had been by. It was unavoidable, but fuck. That sadness was back and not just behind her eyes, it weighed her down. Her light was dim. He didn’t fucking like it. She was on the sofa, staring out the window, but not really seeing. She didn’t turn to him like she always did, lost in thought. She seemed almost surprised when he settled on the sofa next to her, her eyes moving to him, lifting slowly to reach his face.

   “Hey, Sexy,” she whispered.

   “You okay?”

   “I saw him. He looks so different. Life hasn’t been good to him.”

   He’d been dealt a bad hand, no question about that, but he hadn’t helped himself either.

   “In my head, I saw him as the Brock I knew, that funny, sexy kid who had hope for the future, but he’s going through the motions just like I did.” She turned to him. “I realized something,” she whispered, studying him with softness in her expression. It wasn’t just a burning in his blood but an ache in his chest too. She touched his cheek, ran her thumb across his mouth. “He always pushed me away. Whenever things got difficult, his instinct was to push me away to protect me. But not you.” A little smile touched her mouth. “Your instinct is to pull me closer, to ride it out together.” Her eyes grew wet, a tear streaked down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. “I lost my parents, I lost Brock. My life crashed and burned, but if it hadn’t, I’d never have found you. And I know, down to my bones, that this is where I belong. Right here…with you.”

   He had no words, no fucking words. He cupped the back of her head, brought her mouth to his, taking the sweet she’d just given him. Her hands framed his face, she moved closer, her tongue sliding over his, a moan drifting from her mouth into his. He curled an arm around her waist, pulled her close then lifted her in his arms and walked to his bedroom. He dropped her on her feet, slowly removed her clothes. No rush, no haste, unwrapping her like the only present on Christmas morning. His hands moved over her, then his mouth. The soft sounds coming from her, stirred his blood. He stripped, she watched, pulled her lip between her teeth, her gaze hot. Hooking an arm around her, he climbed on the bed, bringing her with him.

   He dropped her back on the mattress; she exhaled on a laugh, but the smile shifted when he held himself over her, looking his fill, before he kissed her, his tongue pushing past her lips. Her hips moved against him, her hands seeking and exploring, causing his muscles to flex at her touch. He reached between their bodies. She was wet. He fisted his cock, centered it, and entered her slowly. Her breath caught, her hips lifted, her eyes closed on a moan. He loved her slowly and deliberately, tasting, touching, giving as much pleasure as he got. Watched as she came, the coloring of her cheeks, the labored breath, and the softness in her eyes that he knew was love. He didn’t say the word, but he showed her with his body. And only after she was sated, did he find his own release.

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