Tell Me True (7 page)

THE DAVENPORTS DIDN'T
waste a minute scheduling the funeral once Jon's body was released. I gave Ash space that morning, or I tried to.

He didn't want
space. He wanted me.

We only had an hour before we had to be at the funeral when he threw me to the bed after my shower.

I pushed at his chest. "I have to get ready."

He didn't say a word, just dipped his head to my chest and sucked on my nipple while his hands explored my body, his fingers landing between my legs.

My body responded instantly.

I turned around, raising my ass for him and he groaned,
ramming his cock into me hard, deep and fast.

There are times when we make love and it's slow and sweet and magical.

This wasn't one of those times, and that was fine by me.

I think we both needed the pleasure that bordered on pain. The urgent taking and giving, the violent coming together of raw need. When he slapped my ass I cried out his name, coming instantly, the orgasm lighting me on fire even as he continued to slam into me, never letting up. He felt huge, too big to fit inside me, but I took him gladly, thrusting my hips against his as his hand stung my ass with another slap. I bit into the pillow, the pleasure and pressure building again so intensely I felt I would explode from
within my skin.

When he came
, it sent me spiraling into another orgasm. We collapsed onto the bed, him rolling over so as not to crush me. I crawled into his arms and listened to his heartbeat slow to normal, the thumping sounds helping me block thoughts of the day ahead and focus on the moment and the feel of his fingertips brushing against my arm. I trailed my hand over his hard abs, admiring his sculpted body.

But then
my phone chirped, a warning that we had to leave. I sat up. "It's time."

He ran his hand over my leg. "I know. I just wish it wasn't."

We dressed quickly and left for the cemetery. Jon would be buried in the family plot. Ash, when hearing about his brother’s final resting place, had made it clear
he
would be cremated, not embalmed, and that he wanted nothing to do with his family plot. I hoped I'd never have to deal with his funeral arrangements—although I felt selfish wishing that, since it meant he'd have to deal with mine. Or perhaps we could simply die together as a really old couple just after orgasm. That's seemed like a good way to go.

I'd expected there to be a graveside burial and memorial in a church, but
the Davenports had opted to include everything at the graveside, which meant it was crowded. We had seats reserved in the front, as part of the family. I wondered if they'd been tempted to leave me out of that spot, and what Ash would have done, but whoever had made the arrangements had avoided that confrontation, much to my relief. Today already felt like an ordeal requiring superhuman strength.

We sunk into our seats, sweat already dripping down my back from the unforgiving summer sun. A pastor began the service talking about Jon and all he'd accomplished in his
“short life.” Once again I was surprised to discover charitable organizations he'd been active in and volunteer work I hadn't known about. From the look on Ash's face, I'd say he didn't know about some of those contributions to society, either.

When the pastor opened up the service for people to speak, Mr. Davenport stood and gave a brief and emotionally anemic farewell to his son. Mrs. Davenport tried to speak after, but her sobs drown
ed out everything she said and she eventually gave up and sat back down.

Ash got up next and held in tears that made his eyes gloss over as he took a deep breath and spoke. "Jon and I didn't always get along, especially as adults. We chose different life paths and sometimes that created conflict between us. But he was my brother, and that meant something. I wish I could have one more chance to tell him that none of it mattered. Our differences, our conflicts, our life choices… none of it matters. We're blood, he and I. It's a bond that isn't easy to toss aside, and I loved him even when he pissed me off. I'll always remember him as a towheaded little kid following me around and begging me to play ball with him. I should have said yes more often. Should have taken the ti
me to let my kid brother join me. I was too busy to be bothered and then we were grown and it was too late to go back and change things. But if I could, I would."

Ash closed his eyes. "I'll miss you, Jon. I hope you find peace on the other side."

I had tears running down my cheeks when he came to sit down. But still I stood, compelled to give some testament to the man I'd known. I cleared my throat, looking at the crowd of people who had joined together to say goodbye to Jon.

"Jon would have become my brother the day he died, if things had gone differently. I'd spent some time with him before the wedding, getting to know him better, but still there
were so many things I didn't know, things that I'm just now starting to discover about someone I consider family. One thing I will remember about Jon is how he always tried to make me laugh, no matter how bad my day was. He cared about people and was trying to make a difference in the world. And he did. Each of us here today is a testament to the impact Jon had on our lives, and so he will always live inside us."

As my eyes wandered
over the crowd, someone skulking in the back caught my attention. A hoodie covered their head and sunglasses covered their face. I couldn't even tell if it was a man or woman as they hid behind others, but something about them made me shiver.

The silence pulled me out of my fear
, and I tried to remember what I was saying. "I'll miss Jon, both the Jon I knew and the Jon I would have gotten to know were he still here."

A woman pushed her way through the friends and family, her belly bulging in pregnancy, her face streaked with mascara.
I couldn't believe she risked coming.

"None of y
ou knew Jon the way I did!" screamed Molly. "He made love to me. He gave me this child." She cupped her belly, the black spaghetti strap falling off her shoulder and exposing part of her breast.

Mr. Davenport stood, his face red and set hard in fury. "Get the hell out of here
, you little tramp! How dare you disrespect my son and family by coming here today?"

He grabbed her arm none too gently and pushed her back through the crowd and away. From the distance we could still hear him yelling at her, threatening to have her arrested. I
stood, not knowing if I should keep talking or just sit down, when the pastor saved me from the choice by standing up himself.

"Thank you all for sharing about Jon. There will be a small reception at the Davenports
’ home following this service. Those who would like to place a flower on his casket may do so now."

It was a valiant effort but nothing could distract
the crowd from the drama. Particularly not once we heard a loud smack and turned to see Mr. Davenport striking Molly in the face as she fell to her knees, crying.

MOLLY STOOD AROUND
, likely waiting for Jon. After a few minutes she said goodbye and left the club, and I sat at a table and stared at my now-cold burger as I, too, waited for Jon to return.

He came in happy, but his smile faded when he saw my face. "What's wrong?"

"I met a friend of yours today," I said.

He sat across from me and shoved a fry into his mouth. "Who?"

"Molly. Pretty girl, nice smile, pregnant with your child!"

He paled and set down his
French fry. "I can explain, Cat."

"You can explain how you got someone pregnant
at the same time you were dating my best friend?"

"It was a one night stand. It meant nothing. I slipped up. I would never do anything to hurt Bridgette. And besides, the situation's been handled. Molly will
receive enough money to provide for herself and the baby—which may not even be mine—for a long time. She won't be bothering anyone and Bridgette never has to find out."

I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. "So you're paying her off to make her
disappear and you want me to lie for you?"

Jon reached across the table and held my hands between his. "I can trust you
, can't I? With everything? I feel like I can tell you anything, Cat. I feel like we're connected in a way that's special. I promise I'll make this right."

AFTER A TENSE
and unpleasant gathering at the Davenports' house, Ash and I left as soon as we politely could and spent the evening in sweats and t-shirts, eating junk food, watching movies, and generally ignoring life as grown-ups. We drank too much, stayed up too late, laughed too loud and cried too little, because we'd both spent all the tears we had and we needed to not cry for just one night.

We both had our cell phones turned off, computers shut down and life on the outside completely blocked, and it was wonderful, but not nearly enough to rebalance us.

The next afternoon, as we crawled out of our hangover stupor, showered and ate, Ash got a call from his P.I.

He said a few words, flipped the phone shut and caressed my face, kissing my nose. "He's onto something. He should have important news soon. In the meantime, do you want to go on a ride?"

I sipped my orange juice and nibbled on toast. "Where to?"

"Away."

Away
sounded perfect. "Absolutely."

We finished our late breakfast
. I donned a leather jacket and helmet and climbed onto the back of his motorcycle, my arms wrapped around his chest, legs and body pressed against his. A thrill of excitement thrummed through my veins as the Harley vibrated under me.

The air whipped around us, cooling us d
espite the heat of the sun, as Ash wove between cars and took the fastest route to more open roads. We didn't have a destination in place. Instead, we just rode for hours, letting the sound of the engine and the feel of the world passing by fill us so full that nothing else could get through.

Mrs. Brown had packed us a picnic lunch and after a few hours we stopped at a large park and picked a spot
by a lake, under a weeping willow, to eat. My stomach grumbled at the sight of cold chicken sandwiches, potato salad, fruit, cheese and sparkling cider.

For dessert she'd packed us each a slice of her famous chocolate cake
. I sighed happily, licking the last bit of goodness from my fork and leaning against the tree with a full stomach. "She spoils us," I said of his faithful cook and housekeeper.

"She does." He kissed my forehead. "But if anyone deserves to be spoiled, it's you."
He kissed the side of my mouth. "You've got a bit of chocolate there." He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along my lower lip. We both tasted like chocolate and cider as we breathed each other, tasted each other, melted into each other.

His hands slipped under my shirt, fingers teasing my ribs as he pushed aside my bra and rubbed at my aching hard nipples. I arched back, wanting his hands everywhere.

"You feel so good, Catelyn. I can't get enough of you."

"I'm yours," I told him, praying nothing would ever get in the way of us being together again.

I pulled off his shirt, letting my hands explore the hard muscles of his chest, abs and arms.

He stood, pulling me up with him, and unbuttoned my jeans, pulling them off me along with my underwear. I stripped off my shirt and bra and stood before him naked, trembling with need and excitement
as I helped him pull his pants off and free his hard, thick cock.

I thought we'd go back to the soft grass, but he lifted me up and pushed me agains
t the tree. I wrapped my legs around him and felt his cock pushing into me as his hands cupped my ass. His muscles flexed under my hands. The tree bark scraped my back. The pain, mixed with the pleasure of his body inside me, took me to the edge quickly and I dug my nails into him hard as I came while he fucked me.

He didn't slow as my pussy clenched him in waves of orgasmic bliss. Instead, he thrust into me harder, using my body weight as leverage to go deeper into me.

I pressed myself against his chest, my breasts rubbing against his skin, and I kissed him, deeply, passionately, with all the love and need I had building inside of me, and as he came into me, I came again, falling off that edge of sanity together as we spiraled into the magic of something only we could know.

We sank to the ground
, still wrapped up in each other's bodies, as he held me and stroked my hair. "I can't wait to marry you, Catelyn. I won't wait. We won't give up trying to find out what happened to Jon, but he'd want us to be happy. I want to reschedule the wedding as soon as possible. Life is too unpredictably short to put our happiness on hold. I don't want anything getting in the way of you being my wife."

My heart broke for Jon, but I kissed my fiancé and smiled at the thought of being his wife.

***

The next day I dragged Bridge
tte out of bed and forced her to attend an art auction in Boston with me. "I need your help picking a wedding gift for Ash. Something really special," I told her.

"Didn't you already get him a watch?"

I rolled my eyes as I pulled into a parking spot. We were almost late because Bridgette hadn't been easy to coerce out of the house. Finally, best friend guilt had worked. "The watch is nice, but with so much tragedy in our lives, I wanted something extra special. I have all this money now that I don't know what to do with. When I refused to use Ash's bank account or spend his money, he created an account just for me and put so much in there I'm a little lost. The least I can do is get him something with it."

We walked into the modern building while other people in expensive suits and dress
es checked in and took their numbered paddles to the main auction room. Bridgette looked through the program they handed her as I gave my name and picked up my number. "They have some amazing pieces being auctioned today," she said. "I didn't know some of these items were even available for private purchase."

"One of Ash's favorite works of art is being auctioned today. I have to get it for him."

We sat near the back and half-listened as the auctioneer went through his rapid introduction and began with the first piece, a little-known early Monet painting.

I knew the
art I wanted wouldn't be up until the end, so I tuned out the nearly unintelligible words and turned to Bridgette. "We've set the wedding date for this weekend," I said.

Her eyes widened. "But that's so soon. What about Jon? What about his killer?"

"They haven't found the killer and we don't have all the answers, but life has to go on. We're still searching, trying to figure out what happened. Ash has his P.I. hunting for clues. We haven't given up, but we can't put our happiness on hold forever while we wait. We're going to have a small ceremony in a garden and then the reception will be later that day on the Davenport yacht."

A tear glistened in her eye but she wiped it away. "He was really amazing you know. Jon, he… there was a lot about him people didn't know, but he was kind of extraordinary."

I half-listened to the auctioneer introduce the next piece, a Van Gogh. Both Van Gogh and Monet weren't fully appreciated in their time. It wasn't until they died that their art was worth anything. I wondered how much we could really value anyone or anything until we'd lost it. Was Jon really that great and we just didn't see it? Or did he only seem that amazing because he was gone, and the bad parts faded under the weight of the grief over his loss?

My breath caught at the beauty of the next painting,
one of El Greco’s later works, but I held my hand, waiting for the painting I knew Ash would love the most. When it came up, I raised my paddle nervously, having never done an auction before. Someone on the other side of the room outbid me, and I raised again, my heart beating in my chest so hard I swore everyone could hear it. A third person raised their paddle and I scowled at their backs wondering how high I should go before I gave up. In the end, only I and a woman to the right were left. She never hesitated to outbid me and sweat trickled down my back as I thought about how much money I was offering and what I could have done with that money.

I was about to give up when the woman hesitated, her head tilted to the side
, and finally she shook her head and kept her paddle down. It took me a moment to figure out what happened.

Bridgette grinned. "You won, silly
! You got the paining. It's kind of morbid, though, isn't it?"

"It's a portrait of Saint Francis meditating."

The Davenports aren't religious," she said.

"I know, but something about the painting inspires him in some way."

She shrugged and stood. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"In a minute. I want to see what they saved for last."

She sighed and sat.

The door banged open, and Molly
burst into the room and rushed over to us, sitting in the chair next to Bridgette. I held my breath, knowing this would not end well.

"Please don't be mad," she said, out of breath. "I just had to talk to you and you wouldn't take any of my calls."

I looked at Bridgette, surprised, but Bridgette just scowled at the pregnant woman. I could see her thoughts etched on her face, angry thoughts about this woman who had crashed Jon's funeral and claimed to be carrying his baby.

"I just want to know about him. About Jon. I want to know stories I can tell our child."
She rubbed her stomach. Bridgette, eyes narrowed, hissed and slapped Molly.

The room fell silent as everyone
turned to look at us. Bridgette stood and shoved Molly out of her seat. "How
dare
you come here, you whore! Get out of my face. Get out of my
life
. That is not Jon's child, and you are a lying bitch!"

Her words stunned me. Bridgette didn't have an unkind bone in her body and I'd never heard her talk to anyone like this.
Molly held her red cheek, tears dripping down her face. "I'm not the liar here. He's the father of the baby, and you know it!"

I tried to pull Bridgette away, but I was too late. She
raised her hand and smacked Molly in the face, then looked at her hand in shock, as if she couldn't believe what she'd actually done. Frankly, neither could I.

She hadn't slapped her hard, but
Molly stumbled backwards, tripping and falling to the ground.

As if on cue, t
he police showed up and arrested Bridgette for assault.