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  I giggled. He was cute and the excitement in his voice did make me crazy. He was right. I was going to move heaven and earth to give him everything he wanted. Then I thought, that was kind of perfect. Wasn’t that love? Wanting to be and do and give everything you could to make the other’s wildest dreams come true?

  “What else?” I prodded.

  “Did you have a bachelorette party? Because I totally want a bachelor party. One last hurrah, you know?” He rocked into me to let me know he was only half kidding.

  “I’ll give you one last hurrah.”

  “And I think I want one of those couple’s showers where everyone comes over to one house, or we go out to a restaurant, and they all tell us how cute we are and give us presents. Can we register for stuff? I think we can. Micah and Cory didn’t do all that fun shit, but I heard them talking about it. I was like, free shit and a party? Yeah. I’m doing that.”

  I was mentally taking notes. The positivity poured from him. No more doubts. No more guilt. No more questioning if this was real.

  “And for the wedding, I think I want to do something outside.” His voice was hesitant, but then he added, “I know what you’re thinking and stop. It’ll be different than before. And absolutely, under no circumstances, ever, over my dead body will there be violins.”

  What a shame. I loved violins, but I knew what he was referring to.

  “I’ll wear a bow tie and you’ll look stunning in a paper sack.” Very funny, Mr. Moore.

  “A paper sack?”

  I couldn’t help it. My mind wandered to my last wedding dress. Fuck lace. Hell, fuck white. Who was I trying to fool?

  “Okay, you can wear a dress. Maybe we could have the wedding somewhere in the middle. Like Oregon maybe? Somewhere where we own the memories. New memories. Somewhere only ours.” He sweetly kissed my cheek.

  I liked that idea. I liked all of it. Especially the bow tie.

  “And our families and close friends will be there and we’ll say what’s in our hearts. Then we’ll sign papers and you’ll change your name to mine.”

  It sounded like a dream. I wanted everything the way he’d painted the picture in my head. The exact way he was describing. I could see it all.

  “I’ll take your name.” I turned more to face him and slid my hands around to his back.

  “You’re damn right you will. Blake Moore has always sounded good to me.”

  Me too.

  “Then we’ll dance all night and then … oh, then you’re in for it, Mrs. Moore.” My heart raced and my stomach, for the first time in days, completely relaxed. I was getting my very own fairytale in bed, and the man telling it was my Prince Charming. There was no doubt he’d make all of it come true.

  “I’m in for it, huh?” It was evil for me to pry, but I was evil.

  “I’m going to take you up to our suite, or to our cabin, or where-the-fuck-ever, and I’m going to knock you up so hard.”

  I laughed from deep inside my belly. Laughing like that hurt, but it felt so, so good too.

  He chided in a phony-as-hell serious Casey tone, “I’m serious. I’m putting babies right in you.”

  “Babies?” Plural? He is a twin.

  Wait.

  Twins are passed from the mother’s side. Right? I’d have to research that. Before the epic impregnating anyway.

  “Well, I’m going to do it all special-like. Wedding-sex style.”

  He held me close. My sides screamed, but I couldn’t care less about the pain. My heart felt heavy with joy and love. That was one first I could give him. Actually, if I was counting, that was two. Wedding-sex and babies. I’d never had either.

  “Hmm,” I purred, pretending to consider it. I’d need to think about the babies. Well, a little. We’d at least need to have a permanent address decided, but lying there in his arms I was content to live the fantasy.

  “What? What’s all this hmm-ing? Where’d I lose ya?”

  My head found the crook of his neck. He smelled so inviting. Like home.

  “You didn’t lose me.”

  “I hope I never do, honeybee.”

  We rested there that night curled up into one another and I thought—really thought—about vows. His arms wrapped around me. Both of our heads lying on one pillow. I’d be happy to be his to have and hold.

  Forever.

  Monday, June 14, 2010

  THE LUXURY OF HAVING her there to hold all night was one I wouldn’t take for granted. She was mine.

  My Betty. My honeybee. My Blake.

  I was hers. So fucking hers. I skated the thin line of being whipped. Whipped. What a joke. How many times had I given dudes shit for “being whipped?” I’d need to apologize, because whipped was the best place on earth. I bet Snapple was made in Whippedville.

  It was those types of thoughts—the happy ones, the excited ones—that diverted my otherwise livid mind.

  She was home and safe and, most importantly, with me. Those were the other facts that quelled the rage I’d been feeling. Every wince. Every time she stared off into space. Every flinch. Every fucking time she said she didn’t remember felt like a hammer to the side of my head. I saw red more in those quiet days than I ever had before. More than when she married the bastard. Even more than when she was in the hospital. Having her healthy and safe allowed my mind to wander.

  That motherfucker would pay. I wasn’t sure how, but he would. I’d told her about the fantasies I had of our future, but I didn’t tell her any of the things I’d come up with to quench my thirst for revenge. Not even my revenge. It belonged to her.

  I knew there was little I could do and that probably added to the helpless feeling of wanting justice I may never get. She claimed she couldn’t remember, but I knew there were at least some things she did. I could read her.

  It made me sick. It physically hurt thinking about that night.

  Her sleeping, tear-stained face. The blood.

  Holding in that kind of anger, for me—hell, for anyone—wasn’t healthy, but I had to think about what was best for her. Blake not talking was much different than her lying about it. I understood her reasons.

  I think everyone suspected there were details she was hiding, but she wasn’t hiding them from us. It wasn’t about us. She was shielding herself from that night until she was strong enough to sort through the details.

  Her dad, her brothers, my family, they all felt like I did. It was a crazy way to get to know people, but that’s what we had. A common interest. Her.

  Reggie and I were talking almost every day. He’d call to see how she was feeling and then the conversation would turn to what—if anything—was new in terms of him. That was another thing that changed. No one ever said his name. The reasons for that were most likely different for all of us, but for me it was one small way I could rid my life of him. I exterminated him from my vocabulary.

  That motherfucking piece of shit.

  She didn’t have to remember. I have enough memories from that nightmare of a night for everyone.

  Her lifeless limbs on the ground. Blood on the walls. Her lip busted.

  I was there. I saw her. I’d tried my damnedest not to look, but I had. And Reggie saw her too. We shared that. Not the ideal way to bond with your soon-to-be brother-in-law, but again, that’s what we had.

  The moments where I felt relaxed, over that week, were few. I was terrified she’d need me and I’d be out cold. My body knew to stay half-awake. Admittedly, it caused my delirious mind to race even more.

  However, after we talked about my plans, and I was able to clear my mind for the moment, I felt a little peace. She was asleep in front of me, her back against my chest, and there was nothing that could possibly happen to her.

  I wouldn’t let it.

  There wouldn’t be a next time she was treated like that. I’d rather die or rot in prison first.

  So, as I should, I let my mind drift off while I was still thinking about happier things. I concentrated on a perfect way to propose, and for th
e first time in over a week, I almost slept well.

  “That sounds good, man,” I said to Troy on the phone. “What time do you land?”

  “About eleven. Want me to meet you at Bay? You can show me around.”

  I watched Blake fill up our coffee cups, the original Betty and Lou mugs from our first morning together. The words had long since faded, but the sentiment never would.

  It was fairly early when Troy called. Hell, had he not reminded me, I would have forgotten he was coming into town to talk about a possible permanent position at the Seattle division of Bay Brewing I was opening. When he first seemed interested, I was slightly surprised. He had roots in San Francisco. Not deep ones, just lots of them. Bands. Other jobs. His mom was still floating around there somewhere, and for the most part, I thought it was strange he’d be willing to relocate so easily.

  Whatever his reasons, I was happy he’d offered. He already knew a lot about Bay and how we did things. He’d fit right in and I trusted him. He didn’t commit. Like ever. To anything. So having him say he was ready for something long-term struck me. He was serious.

  “Hold on a second,” I said, setting my hand over the receiver. I hadn’t left Blake since the hospital, not for a second. The thought of it made me anxious, which I knew I’d need to get over. It just seemed so soon. She’d barely been home a week.

  “Blake,” I began and she cut me off.

  “Go to work, Casey.” Her smile said more than her words. It was genuine. I didn’t know whether I liked or disliked that she wanted to get rid of me. If she wanted to be alone for a while, this would be a good start. I wasn’t willing to travel back to San Francisco yet, not without her. I might never be. Besides, Audrey was right next door.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said without resistance. If I was going to be a husband, it was a good time to take a lesson in picking my battles. I’d let her think she was winning that one. “Troy, want me to pick you up?”

  “Nah, I need to rent a car. If everything goes well, I’ll fly back in a week or so and drive my shit up. I need to look for a place to stay and get some shit lined up.” He was already thinking about moving. That was a good sign. A great sign really. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be in Seattle. It was a real possibility it would be forever. Comfort came from knowing I’d have my best friend close if I was away from most of my family. Everyone likes having a familiar face around.

  When I finished the call with Troy, I heard Blake running water for a bath. I had the sneaky suspicion she was trying to seduce me. She thought she was ready. I was skeptical. I didn’t want her doing anything that could hurt her healing body; so I needed to keep a watchful eye. When you have a girlfriend as hot as mine, watching was easy. Even banged-up and bruised, she was beautiful.

  Now I had a few options. Succumb to the ornery flirt or walk away.

  I knocked on the bathroom door. Fuck that walking-away shit. Those days were over. If I had it my way, we’d be officially living together. She was about to get a taste of what living with me would be like.

  Of course, I respected her privacy, but I knew a couple of things about this girl. She knew I was leaving and if she wanted a private bath, she would have waited. And on top of that, she liked seeing me naked just as much.

  “You can come in, Casey.”

  I was so on to her.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” I chimed, playing the part of a red-feathered angel, knowing full well I wasn’t going to give in to everything she wanted. Not yet. I wasn’t sure if she was ready, and I sure as hell wasn’t. The thought of hurting her was abhorrent to me. I could wait.

  Barely.

  I had to be sure she was all right, not just physically, but emotionally. She was good at pretending. That was a fact I’d learned a long time ago. She wasn’t going to use me as an escape. Not at first anyway. She was going to deal with whatever battle she had going on inside. I hoped she would let me help. I desperately wanted to, about as bad as I wanted to be buried inside her.

  “You’re not. If you’d like, you can get in with me. There’s room for both of us.” She used her sing-song voice, and I prepared myself for a hell of a fight with my self-control. I turned the knob slowly, taking a few calming breaths. I hadn’t ever spent so much time with her and not—well— been fucking. It would be a challenge not to take what I wanted. What I craved. Especially when she was so willing.

  Upon opening the door, I found her leaning over the side of the big tub wearing a terrycloth robe. A white terrycloth robe. Exactly like the one she’d worn the first night we’d met. She wasn’t fighting fair.

  Hello, old friend.

  “The water feels nice. Come here. I’ll help you undress,” she offered.

  I changed my mind. Maybe I wouldn’t take what I needed. Maybe I’d give. Or rather, let her take. You know what I mean. She’d gone to all this work and everything. She brought out the big guns. I’d basically just be there. Didn’t have to ravage her the way my balls were begging me to. I didn’t have to bend her over the counter and fuck her while I watched her come in front of me in the mirror. I could just be her tool. Her healing tool. A man can rationalize sex in about four seconds.

  That notion had begun to grow on me. Among other things.

  She wanted a diversion. And, hell if I couldn't sympathize with wanting to feel good. When I’d been at my lowest, her warm body, being there for mine, had never hurt. I’d just have to be careful.

  Really careful.

  “I’m going to say this quickly. Clearly you’re taking hygiene to a whole new level, and who am I to stand in the way?” I asked as I took small measured steps near her. She sat on the edge of the tub and the loosely tied robe fell open a little more. It was goddamn glorious. Her cleavage looked like a feast, and I was starving.

  I had to focus, before I lost my train of thought.

  I cleared my throat, because that’s what you do when you’re trying to jump-start words you’re only half-ass sure about saying. “I know what you’re doing.”

  Her head tipped downward, but I caught it.

  Oh, honeybee. This isn’t a rejection.

  “Hear me out. I remember how devastated I felt when my mother passed away and how you were there for me. Granted, I didn’t lure you in with soapy water and my A-game in sexual prowess, but I can’t deny that you being there—being with me when I needed that connection—helped. I want to help you. I want to make you feel better and take all of it away. I can’t though and doing this won’t make any of it disappear. But maybe in some way it’ll prove I’m here. I’m all in, honeybee.” Damn it, she had to know, but I wasn’t keen on guesswork anymore. Frankly, it was my pleasure having the opportunity to reassure her.

  She needed it; so I needed to give it to her.

  Her head fell to the side and she kissed my hand. I saw so much love in her eyes. It reduced my worry—if only for the moment—that she was still struggling.

  “I do need you,” she admitted as she stood. The robe fell away and she let it slip off her arms, never breaking eye contact. She spoke softly. “I want to feel a loving touch. I want to be swallowed whole by your goodness and tenderness. Casey, touch me so I know I’m not broken. I want this to be day one. I’m feeling better. I’m ready to start getting back to normal. Or at least start looking for our normal.”

  Those moments, where she let me see her vulnerability, seared her name on my heart. Being able to help the one you love most, makes you stronger. It never dawned on me that it wasn’t the sex—a distraction, a high—but it wasn’t. It was intimacy she was longing for.

  She leaned into me and, if I needed any more convincing, she provided it. Her warm lips briefly met mine. Her timid, yet purposeful, hands began to undress me. They slipped under my T-shirt and ran over my stomach and around to my back as she lifted it off. Her fingers disappeared under the waist of my shorts and she pushed them down. Her breathing was controlled and deep.

  I bent forward and pressed a kiss to her neck and a quiet moan fille
d the silence of the steamy bathroom as she moved to give me more of her skin. Her fingers laced with mine and she stepped into the bath. My arm around her waist insured she was steady.

  For a brief moment, I took stock of the fading bruises on her body. Yellow and green cloud-like shapes painted all over her.

  I swallowed emotion after emotion I felt.

  She wanted a good day.

  She wanted me.

  I’d give her anything I could. I’d offer my body for us to share when hers needed mending. I’d touch her in a way that left no room for doubt that I’d always put her first. I couldn’t heal her, but for the rest of my life I’d love her through sickness and health.

  Monday, June 14, 2010

  HE HEALED ME FROM the inside out. My pain turned to gentle pleasure.

  “Love me,” I begged.

  “I do.”

  “Fix me.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  He gave me everything I craved that morning. Patiently, he watched me with hungry eyes. Never taking. Never rushing. For long minutes I slowly rose and fell over him. I enjoyed the sight of him beneath me, kissing my breasts. I savored every serene second. The sensation of our connection took over me, and it washed away some of the hurt, replacing agony with adoration.

  “Make me yours.”

  “Honeybee, all of you belongs to me. Always has. These lips are mine. That bright pink nose. Your mistakes. Your smiles. This body. Your heart. Your future. All mine.” His voice was thick with desire. He spoke words into my ears cloaked in love and unashamed possession, and I fell apart listening to him affirm how beautiful I was to him. He found his release as I held onto him for dear life.

  Such simple passion, but as quiet as it was intense, it satisfied.

  “I love you,” he whispered tenderly as he stroked my back. The water had turned cold over time while I regained a little piece of myself. I was still straddling him and curled into his chest, having taken what I desired. It didn’t feel like theft though, regardless of the robbery I’d staged. He offered himself freely without the objection I expected.