Текст книги "Last Second Chance"

Автор книги: Caisey Quinn

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“For what?” His flabbergasted expression would’ve made her laugh in any other situation.

“For giving me life. And for showing me what real love looks like.”

Leaving him staggered in the driveway, Stella Jo got into her vehicle and pointed it towards Dallas. Towards her future.

Chapter Thirty-Two

It was the middle of the night, but pulling up at the Second Chance Ranch felt a lot more like going home than actually going home had.

Stella’s feelings had run the gamut on her drive home. Angry, betrayed, hurt, pissed, sad, shocked. Her music preferences had provided the soundtrack to her emotional journey. Heavy metal, alternative rock, country. She wasn’t a genre-specific girl. She liked all kinds of music, the movement of it, the various beat and the passion behind it, but it was always the words that got to her. The lyrics. If a song had even one line that touched her in a place she’d thought was hidden, a place she’d once believed only she possessed, it stayed on.

She finally plugged her phone into the auxiliary outlet and just listened to the Hostage for Ransom album she’d downloaded. His voice comforted her, sang her the rest of the way home.

When the tear-filled drive from her parents’ house to Dallas ended, her heart landed in limbo. Wrecked and ravaged, it remained listlessly between a state of perpetual sadness for the mother she never knew—the one who’d ultimately lost her life because she’d felt she had nowhere to go—and hopefulness. Because she’d decided to ask her parents not to sell the ranch. She had plans for it.

As much as the unveiled truths had stung in sensitive spots she’d never known existed, they had also shown her something she would’ve struggled to believe otherwise.

Van loved her. And she loved him. What they had was more than lust and more than sexual gratification. It was deeper and sturdier than she’d realized, and at the moment, he was all she could think about.

She practically flew on two legs to his door, unable to wait for him to do the wonderfully exhilarating things he did to her. She had pain and anguish and heartbreak to work out, and she wanted to work it out with him inside her, giving her immeasurable pleasure. Giving her him.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Van glared at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was a few minutes shy of four o’clock in the morning. So why in the actual fuck was someone knocking on his door?

Judging from what Jesse Ramirez had said, it was likely they were there to toss his ass out.

He stumbled to the door, pulling it open and preparing to bitch out whoever had woken him.

Stella stood on his doorstep, looking both beautiful and exhausted.

“What’d the doctor say?” The question burst from his lips instead of a greeting. Wasn’t really all that surprising since it had been beating his brain to death since the moment he’d heard she’d gone to see one.

She smirked. “He said lay off the rough sex for a while before we break me.”

It was obvious from her demeanor that she’d meant it in jest. She was joking. But the truth was that he’d already figured out the same thing. He would inevitably hurt her, like Jesse had so helpfully pointed out. He only had a few weeks left here. Then he’d return to his life. Meanwhile she wouldn’t have much of one to return to if they kept this up.

“She’s risking a hell of a lot being with you.”

The veterinarian’s words rang in his ears. No shit. And he already knew he wasn’t worth the risk. What was he going to do? Pop back into rehab every time he needed a rough fuck? Drag her off into the world of groupies and drugs and his insanity?

“I’m kidding,” she said, eyeing him warily. “Well, mostly. But I missed you. And I was hoping we could—”

“Hoping we could what, cowgirl? Fuck really quick on my floor a few more times before I check out?”

She recoiled, flinching back with a mask of wounded shock on her beautiful face. The hurt in her eyes shot him like daggers to the chest.

“Yeah, Van. I’m big on risking everything for quick fucks on floors. Congratulations. It was your turn to take a shot. Guess I’ll move on to the next contestant.”

He nodded, forcing himself to pretend to agree. “Good idea. I’ll do the same. I’m pretty sure there’s a blonde around here somewhere who’s been waiting in the wings behind you.”

A shudder jerked her shoulders visibly forward. The sharp intake of breath to replace the one he’d obviously stolen was audible. His words had caused her physical pain. He hadn’t meant to take it that far. There had to be a better way to end it than this. She’d just caught him unprepared in the middle of the night.

“Dammit. Wait.” He reached for her arm but she backed out of reach, glaring at him as if she’d finally realized what a horrific son of a bitch he actually was.

“No, you’re right.” Her eyes lifted to the night sky and she shook her head as if she expected it to fall down around her. “I don’t know what I was thinking. God, I’m so stupid. I mistook this for something completely different.” She stared at him like he was a stranger, making what looked like a valiant effort not to cry. He watched her wounds turn rancid, transforming pain to anger. “Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. Hope you enjoyed your vacation from your demanding life as a poor, pitiful rock star.”

Now it was his turn to wince. That shit hurt. She knew why he was here, what had led him to this.

“Oh, I did. Very much, thank you.” He leaned on his doorframe for support as she ran from him, dragging his beaten, bloody heart behind her.

He wanted to chase after her. But it was better this way. For her at least.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Miranda had given her two armfuls of work to keep her busy. And made her promise to come out for drinks soon. She knew she looked like hell.

She hadn’t slept or eaten much at all. She just kept replaying his words, the dead stare in his eyes, the brutality in his voice. Her brain was stuck in an endless loop, replaying her last interaction with Van Ransom.

She settled in at her desk, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand—transcribing documentation for more recorded therapy sessions. She had to listen to the first few seconds of each recording to find out the patient’s name, date, and session number so she could place it in the right spot on the digital record. It was pretty tedious, but needed to be done. After over an hour of organizing the recorded sessions, she was starting to fade. Until Miranda’s monotone voice on the recording said his name.

“Session number thirteen for client Vander Ames Ransom. Client Alias: John Walker.”

As Miranda read the date, Stella’s heart faltered then sped in her chest until she felt like it had relocated itself to her temples.

Okay, Stella. That’s all you needed to hear. Tag the file and save it to the list. Then move on.

But she waited, listened to Miranda greet him and ask him how he was feeling. She asked all the same questions on the checklist. She wondered how many times a day he got asked those questions. No wonder he’d found alternate ways to answer them for her.

His deep voice was low. Haunted. It filled her headphones, but it might as well have been filling the room. It raked over her, dragging her down into the memories of his warmth and weight pressing onto her, into her. Her arms ached to wrap around him, to hold him as he released the heavy burdens he carried inside her.

“Mr. Walker, as we discussed in our previous session, you hear things. Hear the sounds from your childhood and of that day coming back to you. Can you expand on that for me a bit?”

“I’m not sure what there is to expand on. My sister was abused. I couldn’t protect her. She killed herself.”

Killed herself? Stella clamped a hand over her mouth at his admission. She didn’t want it to be true. It hurt so badly, especially after what she’d said. She’d known his sister was dead, but this was agony, hearing his sweet strained voice reliving the details. She listened as he continued his solemn story.

“When I’m sober, certain things trigger the memory of her body being pulled from the river. Sometimes a roadie will drop a piece of equipment and I’ll remember the way the chains sounded clanking together as they lowered them into the water. Gears grind backstage, and I see them pulling her out. Or the silence gets too loud, like it did as soon as I saw her bruised, bloated body lying in the grass.”

Stella’s hands itched to rip the headphones out of her ears, but his voice was magnetic, pulling her in. He detailed more memories of trying to save his sister, the many ways he’d tried to find her after they were separated, and Stella folded into herself. He hadn’t told her she’d committed suicide—or that he’d had to watch them pull her body out of the water.

“So when the music doesn’t drown it out, I get drunk. Or high. Or whatever works. But it got out of control. When I’d start to come down, the noises would be worse, the visions clearer. So I’d do more, more of whatever the hell I was doing at the time. Long story short, I nearly OD’d a time or two. So now I’m here.”

Once the recording ended, she tore the headphones from her ears and held her head with both hands. She was disgusted with herself. A sob wrenched itself from the depths of her stomach, from her soul it seemed.

“Hope you enjoyed your vacation from your demanding life as a poor, pitiful rock star.”

How could she have said that to him? She’d been raw and vulnerable. Weak and wounded from the encounter with her parents. She was a damaged human being. There was no doubt about that. But that was no excuse. She’d known enough to know that this wasn’t a vacation for him. Known details of the visceral pain and brutal past that had led him here. To her.

Miranda had told her. He was fighting a much bloodier battle than anyone else here.

Maybe he didn’t feel for her the way she felt about him. She’d obviously mistaken lust for love. But she was a grown woman. That was her fault and not something she should’ve taken out on him. Even if he had already moved on to fucking her least favorite nurse.

Stella rubbed her side, her ribcage still sore and stinging from what she’d done the night before.

For whatever reason, their paths had been meant to cross, meant to intersect. And even though the way he’d ended it had been a crushing blow to her only recently discovered soul, it was worth it. She wouldn’t erase the memories of every single second they’d shared for anything.

She had no idea how she would’ve handled the life-altering confession from her parents without the strength he’d given her to hold on to. She might’ve offed herself just to end the internal chaos and confusion, to keep from dealing with the truths that didn’t fit in her previously compartmentalized life.

That was a terrifying thought, much like standing over a gaping abyss.

The woman she’d been before him might not have been strong enough to even process it. So she owed him an apology for the awful things she’d said to him. And a thank you for giving her something she would cherish for the rest of her life. The ability to open herself up to her emotions—to feeling and loving, to hurting and healing.

She stood and exited her office. Heading to Van’s residence, she prayed that if he had moved on to his next conquest, she wouldn’t walk in on the middle of it.

Chapter Thirty-Five

He recognized her knock. The damn woman had come knocking enough times that he’d memorized it. Fuck.

The urge to get loaded and screw someone else had taunted him all night. He was fucking famous. It would take one phone call to get him out of here. But he’d stayed. Because leaving her even a second before he had to felt like a death sentence. The next time he got high would probably be the last.

“You really do enjoy pain and punishment, don’t you, sweetheart?” He forced a sneer onto his face as he opened the door.

“More than you know, Mr. Walker.” Her eyes held a challenge his dick rose to meet. Christ.

“That what you’re here for? Or did we skip an answer on my survey again?”

“No,” she began, stepping around him. “I’m here because I was at home last weekend, listening to my sordid life story being told to me by complete strangers. And the only person I wanted to be there was you.” She paused as if waiting for her words to sink in. “And because I wanted to thank you. For showing me how to feel.”

Her words, so much like his after his first ‘breakthrough,’ as Dr. McLendon called it, hit him directly in the heart. She’d needed him. For more than just screwing her senseless. Wanted him to be a part of her real life.

“You’re welcome,” was all he could manage to get out.

She sighed, meeting his eyes with remorse in hers. “And I’m sorry for what I said. I know you’re not here on vacation.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was angry and I lashed out. I thought what we had was…more than it actually was. It h-hurt to find out that I was wrong—that it wasn’t the same for you. But that’s no excuse. And I hope you can forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” He’d pummeled her heart to hell and back on purpose and she was here to apologize to him? Her eyes were filling with tears that somehow had a direct effect on his ability to swallow. He couldn’t seem to locate the part of him that had been certain letting her go was the best plan.

“For saying something so hurtful. I never should’ve—” She sniffled, turning from him. He moved without meaning to, blocking her exit.

“I see. And what we had, what did you think it was, exactly?” He couldn’t help himself, the need to hear the words in her mouth—even if it ruined them both—was overpowering.

Her body—the body that he’d seen bare and on display for him—went rigid. Her eyes narrowed. “I was wrong, whatever I thought. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he admitted.

Stella’s glistening green eyes met his. “You lied about the blonde.”

Van schooled his face to remain emotionless. “Did I?”

“I can tell by the way you’re looking at me. You don’t really want her. You never looked at her like you’re still looking at me.”

He forced a shrug. “So I lied. People are talking. Jesse told me his dad asked him to keep an eye on us.”

Stella’s eyes widened, but they still held the same determined stare. “So let them talk. If they’d caught us, I would’ve left. I needed you more than I needed this job.”

“No. Don’t. I don’t want that. I don’t want this.”

She winced. Lying to her tied him in knots and pulled them tight enough to snap. His resolve was already fraying at the edges.

“You’re afraid,” she whispered. “I see it now.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

She reached out and touched his face. His plan to push her away disintegrated at her touch. “Of caring. Of hurting. Of causing me pain.”

“Actually I thoroughly enjoy that last part.”

“It won’t work.” Her hands drifted down his body, sparks of desire flaring beneath his flesh everywhere she touched. The way she watched him—as if she were seeing him for the first time—stripped him bare.

“What won’t work?”

“Trying to keep me out. I’m in, Van. I’m all in. You’re it for me.”

“Don’t say that.” He yanked out of her grasp. “You can do so much better. Christ. Go find yourself a doctor or lawyer or some shit. That white knight’s out there somewhere, cowgirl. Hop on your horse and go get him.”

She shook her head, his words seemingly bouncing off her. “People lie, Van. They let you down, they disappear, and when fate decides to be exceptionally cruel, they die. But it’s the truths we hide when we’re alive that hurt us both the most. Don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor by pushing me away. You’re not.”

She reached for him again and he couldn’t make himself deny her. His head dipped to rest on hers.

“For so long, I’ve been so afraid. Maybe for my entire life. I’ve been afraid to feel—afraid to let people in where they can hurt me. But I can’t keep you out. You’re in, Van. And you can break, wreck, and ruin me. I’ll only beg for more.”

“I don’t want that,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you like that. Jesus. I just want to—”

“Protect me?” Her imploring gaze met his once more. “Take care of me? Do what’s best for me? Even if it nearly destroys you in the process?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”

Her face broke into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. On anyone. “That’s more than enough for me.” She threaded her fingers behind his neck.

“Dammit, woman.” He tried to back up, but her hands gripped him tightly. He wanted to grab her and shake her. His brand of love was not good enough for her. He couldn’t begin to imagine why she thought it was.

“Stop resisting me, Mr. Ransom. I’m not going anywhere.”

She fastened her mouth hotly to his, stealing his breath, imprinting her words onto his heart.

He felt it the moment it happened. A piece of her bright, shiny soul slipped away from her, lodging itself onto his black one. Purity among filth. Brilliant blinding light flared behind his eyes.

It was too much, too powerful.

He’d let go of some of his darkness to be worthy, but it would never be enough.

“I’m trying, Stella Jo. Swear to God, I’m trying to be better,” he whispered, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Her fingers grazed through his hair. “I know you are.” She dropped to her knees, meeting him. He knew she meant to console him, but it was as if he were already dragging her down with him. Literally.

“I can’t give you happily ever after. I don’t have that in me.” He was giving her an out, giving letting her go one more shot. But when she pulled his face to hers and kissed him eagerly—flicking her tongue against his lips like an addict needing a taste, he couldn’t even muster enough guilt to stop himself from kissing her back.

“You’re the first, Van. The first person who’s ever truly made me feel wanted. Needed. Whole. I want to show you something.”

She stood and he watched, awe-struck as she lifted her shirt over her head. Turning to the side, she revealed to him the words that left him speechless.

The poem, the one he’d recited to her in a moment of intimacy, was inked in beautiful script across her skin. It began beneath her right breast and covered most of her ribcage.

“It reminds me to be strong, like you,” she whispered.

His entire body vibrated with the steadfast determination of his heartbeat.

“I-I’m not strong. I’m weak. God, woman. You make me so damn weak.”

She smiled wickedly as she pulled him to his feet. “Well then, I guess I’ll have to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Any chance you’ll get my name on your ass now? Since you’ve already taken your ink virginity and all.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Perhaps. Soon as you get ‘Stella’s’ tattooed on yours.”

He stood and stared down at her. Her beautiful eyes pleaded up at him. The sensual mouth he loved more than words parted, opening for him, needing him. He might as well get it stamped on his fucking forehead. This woman owned him.

“Make love to me, Van. Tonight. All night. Please.”

“No need to beg, cowgirl. I’ve learned telling you no is a feat more challenging than I’m capable of.”

“No safe word,” Stella whispered. “No stopping.”

Lifting her, he carried her to his bed. Where they remained. The sun set at some point. And then it rose again.

They didn’t notice.

Chapter Thirty-Six

After having heard his confession, the tattoo on his back seemed to be calling to her. It was beautiful. But it was also regret, guilt, and the shame he carried with him everywhere.

His angel of darkness.

She didn’t know how to tell him or how he was going to feel about it, but after he’d ravaged her entire body—every inch, every opening—all night long, hiding things from him seemed impossible.

Her parents had caged her in with the cold bars of secrecy. She wouldn’t do that with Van.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispered in his ear. Pressing her naked body against his, she rocked her hips gently until he stirred.

“You’re like a machine,” he groaned, rolling over to face her.

“You love it.”

He grinned, peeking out from underneath a heavily inked arm to look at her. “Yeah I do. So fucking much.”

She kissed him, gently at first. Then more firmly as she rolled him over and climbed onto him.

“Well good morning to you too, cowgirl. Must be bad news, I take it.”

She frowned down at him. “What makes you say that?”

Van moved the curtain of her hair to the side so that he could see her face. “Anything you have to tell me naked while riding my dick is probably not great. But I’ll live. And probably come before I have time to process.”

She bit her lip. “I want us to make a rule.”

“Oh hell.”

“Shush. It’s a good one. I think.”

“Does it include fucking every morning? ’Cause that’s a rule I could learn to live with.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No. It’s an ‘always be honest with each other’ rule. Even if it hurts. Even if it makes the other person break-shit mad.”

“Break-shit mad, huh?”

She nodded.

“You got something to tell me, Stella Jo? I gotta warn you. If it’s that you slept with cowboy Ramirez after I pissed you off the other night, I am probably going to far surpass break-shit mad.”

“Jesse?” Stella’s eyes went wide. “Pretty sure he’s gay, Van.”

Van sat up so they were face to face. The movement rubbed her clit enough to make her moan.

“Nut Huggers is not gay. He might be an off kind of dude, but I can tell you, he’s as straight as I am. And if you went looking, he’d have shown you just how straight he was.”

“Well I didn’t. Go looking, that is.”

“Good girl. So what’s the news?”

Stella sucked in a breath. “There’s so much, Van. So much I want to tell you.”

His eyes searched hers. “You can tell me anything, baby. Anything at all.”

She nodded. “It’s just… My parents kept so many things from me. Growing up I felt so…unwanted.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Turns out I was so wanted that my parents went to some seriously bizarre extremes to have me. When I came to you the other night, I had learned some shocking and painful truths.”

“And I turned you away because I am a fucking worthless—”

“Shh.” She placed a finger against his lips. “That’s not why I brought it up. But I saw what lies and omissions of truth can do to a relationship. To a child. To a family. I won’t do that to us. Not when we’re just getting started. No, not ever.”

He watched her intently, fitting the curves of her backside perfectly into the palms of his hands. “Okay. Well, I’ve been honest. I mean, there’s a lot more I can tell you about the past if you really want to know. But being here has taught me to look forward—to where I want to be instead of where I’ve been.”

“Where do you want to be, Van?”

He squeezed her ass tightly and began to lift her. His eyes drank in every exposed inch of her skin as he moved his cock between them. “Right about—”

“Wait. I have to tell you something first.” Stella leaned back.

Van’s eyebrows shot up. “Say it quick.”

“I heard you. Heard your session with Dr. McLendon. The one about Val and the river. God, Van. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His body tensed beneath her. She gripped his broad shoulders with both hands. “Van. Look at me, please.”

Violent flares of anger flashed in his eyes like lightning.

She was tossed roughly aside as he moved out from underneath her. Her knees knocked together as he abandoned her on the bed.

“So much for this place having a privacy policy.” His words weren’t particularly harsh but there was plenty of venom in them.

Stella scrambled to the edge of the bed and reached for him. But she was a fraction of a second too late. He moved out of her grasp and turned to glare at her.

“Anything else you want to tell me? Did you run a background check too while you were at it?”

She pushed back her rising panic and shook her head no. “Van, I didn’t mean to. I just…l—”

“You didn’t mean to?” His voice rose to a roar. “The recording of my session was forced into your ears somehow?”

Pulling in a trembling breath, Stella search for her old self, for her shield of armor that protected her from feeling. The one he’d stripped away. Because what she was feeling in that moment was afraid—afraid of angering him and afraid of losing him—but mostly afraid of seeing a side of him she wasn’t prepared to handle.

Wrapping her arms around her bare chest, she looked up at him. “No. It wasn’t forced into my ears. But I did hear the beginning by accident and then I couldn’t just cut it off. Just like I can’t just cut this—whatever we are—off. So yes, I listened to something I didn’t have permission to hear. And I’m sorry for that. But I just wanted to—”

The sound of a kitchen chair hitting the wall kept the rest of her words locked in her throat. She didn’t even have time to finish flinching before he let his rage loose.

“You wanted to hear it? You want to know what it’s like to see someone you love be destroyed right in front of you? See the light in their eyes go out as they succumb to the voices and the memories and the darkness?”

She felt like that was precisely what she was seeing at that very moment.

“Van, please—”

“She was a fucking kid, Stella. A fucking kid. And they…and I… Then she was gone. You don’t want this. You don’t want this mess, my mess, my messed up shit.”

She felt his pain as if it were being inflicted upon her in that moment. The ache of loss and guilt settled into her bones as her heart took the brunt of his brutal memories.

Miranda’s words came back to her. If she was going to stand in his corner, there would likely be some bystander injuries. She was relieved to discover she didn’t care. Unless he flung another kitchen chair and it knocked her unconscious, she was going to do whatever it took to soothe him. Just like she knew addiction didn’t have a cure, she knew pain like this couldn’t be loved or fucked away. But maybe it could be eased. Embraced with acceptance and understanding.

“I want you, Van. And everything that comes with you. I told you that. I said I wanted all of you and I meant it.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying, cowgirl. No fucking idea.”

“Show me then. Show me your worst, Van. I won’t run. I can take it.”

His anger seemingly subsiding, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her.

“I don’t want you near me when I lose control, Stella Jo. You deserve better than that.”

“You let me worry about what I deserve.” She draped a leg over his lap and resumed her previous straddling position atop him.

His eyes still held remorse, guilt, and something deeper, something she wasn’t sure was identifiable. A self-inflicted penitence he couldn’t seem to escape. She kissed his lips softly before he pulled back.

“So last night was a pity fuck then?”

“No,” Stella said evenly as she lifted her hips just enough to place his hardening length at her entrance. “Last night was because I love you. Because I’m in love with you. Bone-deep, soul-crushing, change-your-genetic-makeup love.”

His eyes widened at her confession. He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished.

“This is a pity fuck. And for the record, you’re pretty hot when you’re break-shit mad.”

He growled when she came down hard on him. Her walls accepted the thick intrusion readily, greedily pulling him inward and pulsating in response to the fullness. She arched backward, angling him onto the neediest place inside her.

His mouth sucked each of her breasts in turn, making her moan as she worked him in and out of her.

“I’ve had a rough life. I’m sure I’ll think of some more sad shit soon,” he promised as she rode him harder. “How much pity does it take for you to ride my face?”

Stella stilled momentarily before rising up and standing on the bed above him. She felt his eyes clinging to her throbbing sex.

“I belong to you, remember? Whatever you want, it’s yours.”