These have been the longest two weeks of my life. I thought eight months away from Becka was torture, but knowing I was so close to almost fixing things before I got pulled away again eats at me in a way touring didn’t.
Tristan and I have been going nonstop since we landed in Texas to help our Aunt Jenny with Uncle Ted. Fortunately, his heart attack wasn’t fatal. He’s going to have to cut back big time on the bacon and other fatty foods he’s grown used to being able to eat over the years, but he’ll live. Since our small hometown of Bishop Ridge doesn’t have a big hospital, we helped get him the best care in Austin and then stayed long enough to make sure that he was back on his feet, or at least in a position that wouldn’t be a burden to our aunt. She’s been hovering over him like a helicopter parent, and it’s clear this rattled her foundation. My aunt and uncle have been together since they were teens and got married young. She’s spent more of her life with him than without him. But this is the first time either of them has had a serious health issue, and it clearly hit her hard knowing how close she came to losing him.
It rattled Tris and me too. Our aunt and uncle are the only family we have left and have been more like parents to us than our real ones. I always found it fascinating that even though my mom and my aunt grew up in the same household, you couldn’t find two people more different. While my aunt was always focused on school and getting good grades, my mom fell into the drug crowd.
My mom was twelve when she smoked her first joint. By fifteen, she was partying hard and experimenting with harder drugs. Then she met my dad when she was eighteen and started partying even harder. She apparently stopped doing drugs when she found out she was pregnant with me—at least that’s what Aunt Jenny says. Since I didn’t come out addicted to coke, I’m inclined to believe her. At least my mom did one thing right. She stayed sober until after Tristan was born. By then my parents had been together for a few years and were constantly fighting. My dad left, and that drove my mom to start drinking more. Then she found out that he overdosed and she spiraled. When cocaine didn’t give her the high she wanted, she went deeper and tried heroin, and from there it was just a ticking time clock on her life. She lasted longer than we thought she would, but we spent several bouts living with our aunt and uncle while she claimed she was trying to get her life together again. I was eleven, Tristan nine, when my aunt and uncle finally got permanent custody, something they’d spent a long time fighting for. Our mom died two years later from an overdose.
When I got older, I begged my uncle to tell me the truth about my mom and what happened. I had been so young in the early years when my dad was around. When he told me my dad leaving was what finally broke her, all I could think was that she must’ve really loved him to throw her whole life away for a man who left her. To throw away her kids. I’ll never forget that she chose drugs over us. I’ve worked hard to forgive her, and I have—mostly. But I’ll never forget.
Being back here in Texas, it’s not my mom I can’t stop thinking about. It’s all the memories that came after. My uncle seeing how listless Tristan and I were. Him teaching us how to play guitar and piano. The first time I wrote my feelings down as a song and Tristan and I wrote music for it. Playing with Will and Becka in the neighborhood, riding bikes, playing flag football on the muddy grass after a big storm, meeting Kasen and Miles in my first band class in high school, forming the band, my first kiss—with Becka no less.
All those memories pummel me the entire time I’m here. It’s been a long time since we’ve spent this much time in Texas, and even though I love getting to spend time with my aunt and uncle, I’m more than ready to get back to LA by the time they drop us off at the airport.
When the plane lands at LAX, I turn to Tristan. “I’m getting a separate ride from you. I’m going to Becka’s.”
The corner of his lips lift in response and he just nods. He doesn’t fight me on it or tell me I’m insane to still be chasing this woman after she’s basically blown me off for eight months.
But I can’t give her up. Not until she tells me to my face that she doesn’t want me.
I’m tired of her pushing me away, and I can’t stand the distance between us anymore. I miss her, and I need her as much as I need my next breath.
This time I’m going to fight for what I really want.
I should’ve known she wouldn’t be home when I showed up. I pace in front of her door for a minute thinking about what my next step should be when her car pulls up and parks. She gets out of the car and rubs her eyes before locking it and starting to make her way to her front door. And a horrible thought runs through my head. Did she not sleep here last night?
Am I too late?
My heart drops to my stomach faster than a brick in water, but I hold myself together because this feels like my last shot, and even if I’m too late, at least she’ll know where I stand.
Her foot hits the sidewalk before she looks up and sees me standing at her front door. She stops immediately, and her lips part slightly before her entire posture changes and becomes more guarded. Her shoulders are stiffer and higher than when she’s relaxed, her arms crossed in front of her.
Her body language screams closed off, but her eyes say something else. There’s a look there that I can feel in my own gaze—longing. Like the thing you want most in the world is standing right in front of you.
It’s been so long since I last laid eyes on her, and I feel every minute that’s kept us apart like it’s a visceral thing. Fuck, I’ve missed her.
Her expression goes neutral and then she’s walking toward me, and I can barely breathe with how badly I want to kiss her. She walks past me and sticks the key in the door, and for a minute I think she’s actually going to walk into her condo and leave me out here without saying a word to me.
I hear the lock turn and then she grabs the handle, but she doesn’t open the door, nor does she turn around. “What are you doing here?”
There’s no anger in her voice, but she’s not exactly welcoming me either.
“I thought we needed to talk.”
She opens the door and walks in, then turns around and stands there with the door wide open for me to follow her through. I don’t hesitate. I walk into her apartment and am immediately thrown back to that night.
To the taste of her on my tongue, her cries of pleasure, the feel of her pussy squeezing me so tight.
I close my eyes and soak in the memories until I can feel her standing behind my back clearly waiting for me to say whatever I came here to say. I can see I’m going to have to initiate.
But she surprises me. “That night,” she starts, and I turn around, my gaze intently focused on her. “…it wasn’t a mistake to me.”
Those words are fucking music to my ears, but it’s also a painful reminder that in my attempt to be noble and not fuck up our friendship, I actually ruined what could’ve been an amazing relationship this whole damn time. Because standing here staring at her now after an eight-month tour, I’m surer than I’ve ever been about anything in my life that Becka is it for me.
She’s everything. My friend. My lover. My whole fucking world.
She looks at me, indignation on her face like she’s ready for me to fight her on whatever she’s about to say. “I can’t be friends with you, Trent.”
I step toward her and don’t hesitate to grab her behind the neck and bring her mouth up to mine until our lips are only a breath apart. She inhales sharply, and her hands grab my biceps to brace herself.
“Good, because I don’t want to be your fucking friend.”
And then I kiss her.
I kiss her with eight months’ worth of pent-up need, desire, heartache. I put it all in my kiss, and with every touch of our lips, our tongues, I feel her give it all back to me. She moans low in her throat and then slides her hands around my waist while my hand buries itself deep in her hair. I hold her to me, my tongue sliding across hers and making love to her mouth the way I want to make love to her body.
Desire blooms fierce in my belly and with a growl, I move my hands to grip under her ass and lift her up. Her legs automatically go around my hips, and I continue to kiss her as I carry her through her condo to her bedroom. I place her next to the bed but still can’t force myself to break away from our kiss.
Fuck, her mouth is heaven.
I feel her long, delicate fingers reach for my belt buckle and quickly strip it off me. She pulls away and when I open my eyes, hers are liquid fire. Her lips are red and swollen from our kiss, and she’s panting as much as I am. Then her lips quirk up in a seductive grin at the same time that she unzips my pants and grips my cock over my boxer briefs.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back, fighting back a groan. God, it’s been so long since she’s touched me—since anyone has. My hand and memories of my one night with Becka have been the only company I had all tour, and I’m feeling it now as my balls tighten, my cock thickens, and my breath catches in my chest.
I don’t know if I’m going to last long.
“Becka…” Her name is a prayer from my lips. I’m torn between wanting her to stop so I can come inside her and wanting her to never stop because just having her touch me again feels like the greatest fucking gift I’ve ever been given.
“I’ve imagined this so many times,” she says so softly I almost don’t hear her.
I look down in time to see her push my pants and underwear off and then without any hesitation, she drops to her knees, swipes her tongue across the tip of my cock, and I’m lost to her. She licks me like she’s been on a diet and she’s finally getting to have some ice cream. Any attempts to fight my body’s response disappear and I groan loudly, but I can no longer look away. It’s a struggle to keep my eyes open because it feels so fucking good, but I also want to memorize every movement, every swipe of her tongue, how her cheeks hollow when she sucks on me, how her gorgeous lips part wide when she attempts to take me in farther.
When I hit the back of her throat, I come undone. I slide my fingers through her hair and guide her head as she bobs up and down on my cock. Her eyes heat and she lets out a moan that tells me she likes what I’m doing, so I don’t stop.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
I watch mesmerized as her eyes light up and the edges of her mouth tip up slightly in what I know would be a smile if her mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. Determination fills her gaze and then she goes down on me with so much gusto I’m left breathless. I hit the back of her throat again, but this time instead of immediately bobbing back up, she holds me there and swallows.
And I come so hard I see stars.
My eyes close on their own accord, the bliss too much as I release down her throat, and I swear nothing has ever been sexier than when she pulls off and gives my tip another lick and wipes her mouth.
I shudder from her touch, my tip overly sensitive after my much-needed release, and then collapse on the bed.
“Come here,” I say, my breath still coming out in hard pants.
She lies down next to me, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close until she’s resting her head on my shoulder and her body is snuggled up next to mine.
“Give me five minutes and then I’ll be ready for round two.”
She rubs her hand along my stomach, and as it turns out, I don’t need five minutes after all.