Chasing Peace (21 page)

Our lips come apart with the skirmish. Needing him, I fist
my hands in his hair, pulling his head back to mine, devouring, tilting my head
for better access, plunging deeper as I stroke my tongue with his. I taste
spice and honey and man, his mouth as hot on mine as his hands are hot on my
ass.

“Boston,” I gasp against his lips, my hands tumbling down
his chest, ignoring everything but my destination. I find his belt and struggle
with the buckle, yanking until I work it loose. Something desperate and hungry
inside of me wants more, heedless of our location.

His left hand helps, his right still supporting my leg,
stroking and kneading from the back of my thigh to the lower curve of my butt.

Shoving his pants down and out of my way, I find exactly
what I need, fisting his cock, luxuriating in the plush scorching heat
radiating from him. My body responds with a deep wet pulse.

With pants out of the way, Boston grasps my other leg, guiding
it around his waist and pulling my hands free.

I’m off balance, bracing my arms around his shoulders for
leverage, my hands holding tight around the back of his neck. We jostle for
position and then time stands still, Boston poised at my entrance. I’m tense as
I hover, suspended between Boston and the wall. I forget to breathe, wanting to
slam down on him, but drawing out the moment, searching for his eyes in the
dark.

He slides into me, lowering me slightly while tilting his
hips. He’s thick and hard and hot and I fracture into a million pieces of
agony. “Ohhhhmmm … my God,” I moan, his mouth capturing the noise.

Boston begins pumping, his body pulsing, wanting and taking,
needing to move and picking up speed. I match his motions with a need of my
own, my hips pitching, my arms pulling against him.

The million parts of me vibrate, centering on our
connection, humming in tune to his strokes. I’m dissolving, turning to liquid
as he pounds into me, our bodies pressed together, helping and holding each
other.

Urgency builds and surrounds me, pulling, condensing all
sensation, ratcheting tight, expanding with every stroke yet holding me down,
making me heavier than gravity. I sink onto his cock and it swells within me.

“Boston.” His name explodes from my lips, half gasp and half
scream as I balance on a precarious perch.

“Come on Sterling.” He says with a snarl, his face tense,
lips pulled back baring his teeth.

And with one more stroke he goes deeper, slamming me onto
his cock, burying himself and grinding against me. He pushes me beyond
endurance, over the edge. Swept away, my body grasps with the greed of a troll
as he pulses and jerks.

His breath rasps in my ear, every part of me quivering and
throbbing in time with his ragged breathing.

I would have collapsed if not for the brick wall behind me
and the solid wall of Boston’s chest holding me against it. Unable to think, my
body hot and heavy and thick like molasses, I pull him closer. I could remain
here forever, forgetting that although hidden in a dark corner we are nearly in
the street.

Boston doesn’t forget. He pulls away with care. I can feel
him slipping from me as I drop one leg and then the other. I groan, my hips
protesting the return to earth, to supporting me after straining to hold Boston
tight.

I pull Boston toward me. We’re almost exposed on the street
and I want to taste him again.

He draws my lower lip between his before moving to my upper
lip. “Sterling. We have to go.” I’m still not quite sure what he means, but he’s
pulling away from my seeking lips, capturing my attention. “I’m sorry Sterling.
I can’t help myself, but if we stay here any longer someone’s going to catch
us.”

“Here?” I mumble, confusion clouding my voice as I press
against Boston, trying to tempt him.

He pulls away and the cold skims my heated flush. “We’re on
the street Sterling. Remember?”

Reality blasts me, chilling me as much as the cold air on my
moist skin. Boston pulls his underwear and jeans into place, buckling his belt,
while I stand mortified with my clothes in place, although I’m sure I look a
sight. I smooth my skirt and tug my shirt down, pulling my jacket closed. It’s
dark in the doorway, but I’d never guess he just had sex. I take a step toward
him, only now noticing the sticky moisture on my thighs.

“Where the hell is my underwear?” Embarrassment makes me
sharp, the thrill of only moments ago a cold and lonely memory.

He smirks, his lips barely parted. I can tell by the glimpse
of white teeth in the dark alcove. I picture the dimple in his left cheek as
one corner of his mouth turns up while the other curves down.

Kneeling, Boston tugs at my thong. It’s still around my
ankle. Unrolling the scrap of fabric, he stretches the strings, bumping my
other ankle. “Here. Step in.”

I lift my free leg and Boston works my thong over my foot.
My irritation melts. I feel a bit like Cinderella as the prince fits the glass
slipper onto her foot, except Boston’s dragging my thong up my thighs, pulling
the strings over my hips. I wriggle, slipping it into place and then I’m
wriggling and pressing against him as his hands cup the rounded curve of my
bottom.

Boston backs up, pulling his hands away and shaking a finger
at me. “Oh no you don’t.” Shaking his head he mumbles, “That’s how we got into
this situation in the first place.

I advance, oblivious again to the public street beyond the
darkness. He retreats until he’s on the sidewalk, a street light glinting in
his eyes as he smiles. “C’mon.”

“I guess dragging you back isn’t an option.” My question is
laced with hope.

“As much as I’d like to take you up on that invitation, I
can wait until we get back to your apartment.”

Turning, I head toward my car, the suddenness of my change
in direction surprising Boston. “Well, what are you waiting for?” I call over
my shoulder.

He catches up in a couple of steps, keeping pace alongside
me, but not touching me. When we reach my car, parked along the curb, I unlock
the passenger door before moving around the back to the driver’s door.

I lean down to work the key into the lock as Boston opens
his door, triggering the interior lights. Panic thrusts through me, forcing the
breath from my lungs. My keys drop from fingers numb with shock. I think to get
the keys from the ground, but when my knees buckle, all thought of finding keys
vanishes.

I crumple into the street, panicky thoughts racing through
my mind.
How can this be happening?

Why is Brock doing this to me?

“Sterling?” I don’t hear it at first. Boston is inside the
car while I’m outside. “Sterling? Where’d you go?”

The sound penetrates and thought of my missing keys returns.
“I dropped my keys,” I say, my voice the breathless tenor of alarm.

I’m resting half on the cold pavement, half against my car.
I can’t hold myself up. The cold metal of the car would be chilling my cheek,
except that I’m already frigid.

A car door slams, but it doesn’t register until Boston comes
around the back of the car. “Maybe my phone will help.”

It’s too late to pretend I’m looking for keys. I could care
less about the keys anyway. I’m trying to hold myself together with tenacity
and grit and cold air. That’s all I have right now.

“Sterling! What happened?” He’s there, one hand on my thigh,
the other on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” I don’t respond, partly rigid with
panic, partly embarrassed. He shakes me, trying to make eye contact..

“Sterling, look at me … look at me.”

My eyes move. I see concern flooding his and I struggle to
respond. “Someone … someone has been in my car.”

“What?”

“My car, someone’s been in it.”

“Okay.” He stands, peering in the windows. It looks alright.
There’s stuff in there, but it doesn’t look like there’s any damage.”

Little does he know. I’ll have to tell him now.

“C’mon Sterling. We need to get you out of the road.”

He pulls me away from the car, sliding an arm under my
knees. “I can walk.”

“Okay.” He backs away, but he’s skeptical. I struggle to my
hands and knees. “Let me help.”

Hoisting me upright with my right arm, he ducks below and I’m
on my feet, Boston’s body alongside mine takes my weight, his arm around me
holds me steady. I’m not helping at all. I feel like he’s rescued me, and I
suppose he has.

My feet are moving, and I stumble at the curb. Boston lifts
me to the sidewalk. Opening the passenger door, he deposits me, closing the
door.

He must have found the keys with no trouble because he
slides in beside me in seconds.

“Put on your belt,” he commands. I fumble with it, getting
it as far as the buckle before he takes over, threading the tab into the
receiver.

He pulls away from the curb before I can bring myself to
talk.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“I thought I’d moved beyond this.” The night in my bedroom
came to mind. “I guess not.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Someone’s tormenting me. Emma’s car seat is in the
backseat.”

I keep my eyes forward as he turns to look. “Emma’s a baby?”

“You know about Emma?”

“I guess not. I thought she was a friend, maybe someone
connected to Logan, maybe someone from high school.”

“She’s my little sister.

His hand bridged the distance between us. Warm and strong,
his fingers squeeze my forearm before sliding to my hand and lacing with my
fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“Where’d you hear about Emma? From Annie?”

“Logan. Remember, he was angry about Emma.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay Sterling?”

“Apparently not.”

“Want to talk about it?

“No.”

I huddle into myself. We are quiet the rest of the ride to
my apartment.

Boston parks and I still can’t rouse myself.

“Would you like me to move this stuff?”

He turns away from the backseat meeting my eyes.

“I suppose.”

“Can you walk?”

“Sure.” That might be a lie. I’m not at all sure.

Boston slams the driver’s door and my body jerks in response
to the sudden sound. He opens the back door, putting me in motion. I release
the seat belt latch and hand-over-hand I thread it back into place before
pulling the door handle. I get to my feet without incident and push the door
closed. I watch Boston gathering the car seat and diaper bag through the window
and then he withdraws, only to reappear above the roofline.

“You okay?”

I don’t answer, instead watching as he comes around the back
of the car with the diaper bag jammed beneath his arm, the car seat dangling
from his hand. It looks so forlorn, empty and askew as it hangs from his grasp.

He presses the keys into my hand before pulling my door
open, pushing the lock and slamming it closed again.

“C’mon.” His strength radiates into me when he wraps his
free arm around my shoulders, ushering me toward my apartment.

I manage to unlock the door. I push it open, not really
aware, but trying to stay far away from the car seat. Boston guides me in, closing
the door behind me as I stand, unable to move.

“Where should I put this?” He hefts the car seat with ease
as he pulls the diaper bag from under his arm with his now free hand.

He deserves to know. I promised myself I’d tell him. “Bedroom.”
He looks at me, question in his eyes. “Across from the bathroom,” I say, in
case he doesn’t know, but he does.

“I know. You’re okay with that?”

“If we’re going to make this work, even for a short time,
you need to know.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I listen as the door opens, but his footsteps don’t
continue. I try to imagine what he thinks, and the only thing that comes to
mind is “crazy.” I hear his footsteps sounding in the bedroom now and in a
moment he is back. I’m still frozen near the door, motionless.

“I never realized when you called her your baby sister you
meant literally.”

“I did.”

“She lived here with you?”

I hoped for a minute I could get out of this. I could put it
off, but we’d come this far.

“No.” I meet his eyes, see the questions. My mind must be
working again because I realize I said no to putting this off, not to his
question. “I’ll tell you.” I struggle with my jacket, turning the sleeves
inside out as I drag it down my arms, letting it drop to the floor.

Shuffling to the futon, I sit, curling my feet beneath me.
My motions are measured and controlled although I feel lost, out of my depth,
floundering. I’d let hope back into my life and now with my future unclear I
don’t dare to hope.

Boston pulls off his jacket and picks up mine, hanging both
on the hooks near the door. I stop watching him when he comes my way, my gaze
turning to my hands as my fingers pluck at my skirt, folding and pleating the
fabric.

He sits on the edge of the futon, turned toward me. Funny,
in this moment, I think his perch can’t be all that comfortable. He says
nothing, only watching me as my fingers fidget until he reaches out, covering
my hands with his and stilling my agitated motion.

Boston gives me time, but I don’t speak. A long time passes,
or maybe it just feels that way.

When I can’t stand it any longer, I suck in a breath
preparing to speak but Boston beats me to it.

“You raised your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Your mom?”

“In prison for felony drunk driving—her fifth.” It comes out
like a croak, squeezing past the lump in my throat.

“I see.” He shakes his head, dropping his forehead into his
hand.

“Now you know.”

“Everyone makes mistakes Sterling.”

“Yeah, and I’m giving you a second chance.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re giving me a second chance too.”

“Yeah. Tell me about Emma.”

“I wanted nothing to do with her, a squalling red-faced
reminder. I didn’t want to love her, but I couldn’t help it. She needed me. My
baby sister needed me,” I said, my voice raw and hoarse.

“You put off college to raise your little sister?”

“I thought I could do both, but only two weeks in, before
college even started, I figured out I’d never make it. I blamed her for ruining
my plans, for ruining my life. Some days I wished she’d never been born, but
she’s my sister and she found her way into my heart.”

“She died in Brock’s drunken driving crash?”

“Yeah.” I shouldn’t be surprised he put it all together. I’d
given him the details while omitting the one element that connected everything.

“Did you leave her alone with him?”

“God no.” I whipped my head in his direction no longer
studying the hand still holding mine as the answer burst from me with force, my
eyes pleading for understanding. “I left her with my mom. She just got out,
almost three years sober, and she wanted to get to know her baby.”

“How’d she end up in that car?”

“I guess my mom wanted a drink even more than she wanted to
know Emma. She brought her back while I was at work and left her with Brock. He
was drinking too.”

“How is Logan involved?”

Images of Logan coming to the lounge flash through my mind. “I
thought he didn’t care, but I guess he does.” I didn’t exactly answer the
question.

“Wait.” I watched as he tried to puzzle it out, the dawn
eventually coming as he made the connection.

“That’s right, Emma’s Logan’s baby.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, but that didn’t matter anymore. She was my baby
sister and she needed me.”

“Why do you blame yourself?”

“I went to work. I didn’t answer the phone when Brock
called.” My voice is low, a moaning wind in the dead of night.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have known better than to leave her with my
mother. I had first-hand experience. I wasn’t there when she needed me,” I add
on a quivering breath as I struggle to ignore the ache behind my eyes, the dry
scratchiness beneath the moisture pooling in my eyes.

“You feel guilty because you weren’t there when Emma needed
you?”

“I suppose.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to move on with my life.”

“Not what are you going to do for you, but what are you
going to do for Emma?”

“She doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow, in question. “What
happened to Brock?”

“He’s out on bail, but his trial begins later this month.” I
counted the days in my head. “Nine days”

“You’re going to be there.” He said it like a statement, a
forgone conclusion, as if I could do nothing less.

“I’m supposed to testify. Annie’s pushing me, but I don’t
know if I can handle it.”

“Come here.” He didn’t leave me any choice, wrapping his
arms around me and pulling me close as the tears swept over my eyelids like a
river swelling over its banks.

“Of course you can handle it. She has no better advocate
than someone who loves her. You made sacrifices for her. You provided for her.
You even did without, putting her needs first. The least you can do is speak up
for her when she can’t speak for herself.”

I feel like a failure again. “You’re right.” I dash my
fingers across the tears on my cheeks, sniffing my nose to keep the snot from
running down to my lips.

Boston holds me tight, holding me together as I’m flayed,
open and exposed with the rawness of Emma’s death as close to the surface as it’s
ever been. “I feel like I’ve let her down,” I snivel, not liking this version
of myself.

“You haven’t let her down. You can still be her
representative. You can be strong for her.”

I don’t feel strong. I’m worn down, nearly as rough now as
when she died. “I thought the worst of Emma’s death had passed. I thought I
finally had my life back together, almost as good as new, almost as good as
before she was born. Why does it have to be so hard?”

Boston strokes my arm, his fingers tracing patterns from my
elbow to shoulder as I recline against his chest, soaking up his heat. “You
know Sterling, love can be a burden.”

“You can say that again.” I grimace as I say it, shame
blooming, my cheeks heating and my head buzzing. I held my breath wondering
whether Boston would call me on my callousness.

He doesn’t. “It monopolizes your thoughts, dominates your
time, demands your attention, but it’s worth it.”

My brows furrow as I think, my lips pouting in
contemplation. “But it’s painful too. That makes it so easy to avoid.”

“True,” he agrees.

I’d already learned that with Boston. Why didn’t I think to
apply it to Emma as well? I tilt my face up to his, seeing mostly his jaw from
where I rest against his chest. He must have felt me move, because he looks
down at me, light shining in his eyes. “You had good times with Emma right?” I
nod, not trusting my voice to respond. “Think about the good times; picture
them in your mind.”

I do, I remember her bright blue eyes smiling up at me, her
loose curls running riot around her face. I remember how as a baby she kicked,
thrashing in excitement. I remember how she cried big fat tears when she fell
on her butt. I remember a day when Brock, being particularly mean, left me in
tears. Emma climbed up on my lap, patting my cheek. “No cry mama.”

“She called me mama you know.”

Boston must have been studying my face because as soon as I
realize what he meant, he said, “You wouldn’t trade those memories for anything
would you.”

“No.” I’m sniffling again, but a smile is forming, shining
through the ache behind my eyes, easing the tension building in my temples as I
try to hold back tears.

“They’re worth any burden.”

I snuggle into his arms, remembering how Emma had snuggled
into mine, a watery smile on my face.