Chapter Eighteen

Cali

We spent the weekend in a mostly naked blur. Interrupted only by the announcements that food was delivered or cooked. So I would throw on my shorts and Brooks's t-shirt, and we would stumble out to fill up before falling back into bed with each other.

It wasn't that we forgot about the contents of the safety deposit box, or whatever was on that flash drive, but we both silently decided that it could wait.

Of course I wanted to know what my brother had been into, what may have ultimately led to his untimely death.

But I'd convinced myself that being with Brooks was part of that mission of mine to live every single day, to do things that brought me joy.

And, fuck, did Brooks bring me joy.

I felt like I floated through the weekend, and was surprisingly forlorn as Brooks drove me home at the crack of dawn on Monday morning, so I could get dressed and head to work.

I genuinely liked my job.

But when I showed up, I was grouchy and annoyed that it was keeping me from more time with Brooks. Whose schedule seemed perpetually pretty open.

"No sleep last night?" Sage asked, brows scrunched as she watched me growl at a stack of paperwork that fell over on my desk.

"No," I admitted. "Well… a little."

I don't know if my tone was suggestive, or if Sage just had a really impressive sex-radar, but her lips curved into a smile.

"You got laid!" she announced in an excited whisper.

"I did," I agreed, unable to stop the smile from breaking across my face.

"No way! Who was it? Was it good? Like good enough to be chapped, sore, and dehydrated?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, and yes," I agreed.

"You didn't answer the first question."

"It's… Brooks," I told her.

I may as well have told her that I banged some unattainable movie star with how her eyes bulged.

"No way!"

"Yes way," I said, nodding. "Many, many times, actually."

"Shut up. Was it everything you've been dreaming about for years?"

"Better. Way, way better. I never could have fantasized that the very reserved Brooks would have a filthy mouth."

"Oh, you lucky duck. Quiet guys like that always surprise you with their mouths, I swear. It's like unassuming skinny guys having giant cocks. Such fun surprises. I'm so happy for you! Are you just banging, or…"

"Or. I think or," I said, realizing we hadn't really had any kind of official talk. But we did talk about seeing each other later. I even invited him to my plans for the following weekend which were going to take me into the city to see a Broadway show and stay at a luxury hotel where I planned to order tons of room service and hang in bed in nothing but the fluffy bath robes they provide.

"That's so awesome. I know how you've always had a thing for him…"

"Yeah," I agreed. Even if ‘a thing' was putting it mildly.

"How did you two reconnect again?"

"Just some, you know, official stuff about Clay's estate," I told her.

"It's almost like your brother kind of… pushed you two together from the other side," Sage said.

Honestly, it almost felt like that to me too.

Because, well, I think Brooks was right. That the note he left for him wasn't about just looking after me. It was about whatever this situation is. He knew that Brooks would step up, would take charge, would be there with me when I did shit like come across a load of cash and a gun.

Clay would never have wanted me to handle that kind of thing. But with Brooks there? That was a different story.

"Are you seeing him tonight?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Where are you taking him?"

"What?" I asked.

"Well, you know, you're always… doing things."

"Actually, he made plans," I admitted.

"Oh, fun. I love when guys take initiative. Where is he bringing you?"

"I have no idea," I admitted. "He's keeping it a secret. He told me to dress casually, though. He was specific about sneakers."

"Okay. I'm going to need a text as soon as you're done. I gotta know what kinds of places men are taking women on dates these days. I'm so over Let's go get drinks, y'know?"

"Yeah, totally. Brooks isn't a really Let's go get drinks kind of guy."

"I'm not at all jealous or anything," she said, scrunching her face up at me before turning to beam a smile at someone who came in through the doors.

The rest of the day was a blur, and the big hand was barely on five before I had my bag on my shoulder, and was rushing out of the door.

I got dressed in a blur, throwing on biker shorts, a tee, and canvas sneakers before driving over to the clubhouse, not even caring that being there so early felt borderline desperate of me.

What can I say?

I was desperate.

After wanting someone for so long, I felt it was okay to be a little obsessed with them when you finally got them.

Like he'd been waiting, the door opened as soon as I slammed my car door, and I did a little twirl for Brooks.

"How's the ‘fit?" I asked. "I didn't have a lot to work with."

"It's perfect," he told me, reaching to pull me close, and sealing his lips to mine. Long and deep enough to get the stirrings of desire, but he pulled back before I got to the point where I wanted to say ‘fuck our plans' and take him to bed. "You want to take the bike or your car?" he asked.

"Is that really a question?" I asked.

I loved the bike.

I was actually considering signing up for a basic rider course and then getting my own license and bike.

But for the time being, I was loving riding with Brooks.

"Then let's head out," he said, fingers digging into my hip as he walked me to his bike.

"How far are we going?"

"Just twenty minutes," he told me as I climbed on behind him, scooting in close, my arms wrapping him up tight.

At that moment, I didn't really care where we were going.

It wasn't until we were standing in the lot of a long, low, unassuming stucco building that I felt anticipation sizzle through my system.

The sign out front said simply Fury.

"What is this?" I asked, brows pinched.

To that, Brooks shot me a small smile.

"It's a rage room," he told me.

"No way," I said, smile starting to spread.

I mean, I knew what rage rooms were, of course. I'd watched many videos of people all decked out in safety suits swinging bats at TVs like everyone else who'd ever been on social media. And I'd always thought that it would be fun. But I'd never thought to actually add it to my list.

"Excited?" he asked.

"Hell yeah. This is such a fun idea."

With that, he led me inside, where he stopped at the desk to order the ‘Pissed off' Package. Which, apparently, allowed for two TVs, thirty pieces of glass, two small appliances, various liquor bottles, and other ‘small' items.

From there, we were led back, each given white safety suits that covered us head-to-toe, a helmet, and some safety glasses, then given very strict instructions to never remove any part of our suits, especially the glasses, until we left the room.

"Do you want the rage music on too?" the guy asked.

Brooks looked to me.

"I mean, you kind of have to, right?" I asked.

He gave me a nod, then led us into the large, windowless room where all our breakables were set up. Some items were set on tables. Others were on the floor. Others still were hanging from ropes to really be able to get a good swing going.

"Ladies first," Brooks said, handing me a bat as the music came thumping through the speakers, metallic and screaming.

I took a deep breath, looking around, feeling suddenly a little insecure about this for reasons I didn't quite understand.

But I fought past that, gripping the bat, and taking a tentative swing at one of the flatscreens sitting against the wall.

One swing turned into two, then three, four.

It wasn't long before I really got into the swing of it.

Maybe the music was helping, the anger seeping in through my soles and moving up through my feet to spread throughout my body, reaching something deep within me that I didn't really even know existed.

I was so in the moment that I didn't even realize that Brooks had never even picked up his own bat, let alone started to swing at things.

This, it seemed, was all for me.

And, as the glass shattered and the plates crashed and the appliances crunched, the need for more more more built inside of me, making me strike harder, until each swing had my whole weight behind it, straining muscles I didn't even know existed.

The anger, along with the song that was playing at the time, reached a fever pitch, leaving me swinging harder and faster, something else bubbling up under the thrill and rage.

Something, maybe, that had been hiding for a long time now.

Something stronger and harder to accept. Harder still to express.

Sometime between smashing each of the bottles and the plate and a small printer exploding plastic pieces around me, it finally rose up from the well buried deep inside.

The intensity knocked me to my knees as a wail escaped me, nearly getting swallowed up by the music, but not quite.

Here it was.

At long last.

The grief so strong it shook along my bones like fault lines.

The tears that had been absent since the moment the voice in my ear told me that he was gone, that I would never see him again.

I curled down toward my thighs as the sobs racked my system, a sound so loud and endless that it scared me that now that I started, I might never be able to stop.

Suddenly, Brooks appeared in front of me, lowering down to his knees as well, reaching for me, and holding me tightly against his chest as the tears poured, as the grief purged.

Brooks said nothing.

I wasn't sure if I would have heard him even if he did.

But he held me.

His hands ran up and down my spine.

And he just let me grieve.

Like he somehow knew this was exactly what I'd been needing all along.

It was not a pretty cry, either.

It was snotty and raw.

But slowly over time, the ragged sobs became weak wails, and then, soft sniffles as I finally drained the long pent-up grief out of me.

Once I was done, Brooks silently pulled me back up to my feet and led me to the door.

Once outside, he reached to remove my teary goggles, wiping my cheeks with his fingers.

"Better?" he asked, voice soft.

"You knew," I said, still sniffling hard, knowing I probably looked a wreck, but there was also nothing to be done about it right that second anyway.

"Yeah, baby," he agreed, tucking my hair behind my ears. "You needed to let it out. I had a feeling this might be what finally brought it up."

He wasn't wrong.

A lot of those videos I'd watched online about rage rooms had people screaming, then breaking off into loud sobs as well.

Like something about the expression of rage finally allowed them to process what was buried underneath.

"There's a bathroom right there," he said, turning me, and pointing toward the door, allowing me to go and try to put myself somewhat back together before we walked past the front desk.

I mean, I was sure I wasn't the first person to break down in this place. And since there were cameras in all the rooms, I imagined they'd seen it all, and had long-since become immune to it.

So I blew my nose and splashed some cold water on my face before making my way back out, and letting Brooks lead me to the bike.

"You okay?" he asked, rubbing my lower back.

"Yes. And… no. I don't know. I feel like I should feel… lighter or something."

"Maybe you just need to talk about it," he suggested.

"Maybe," I agreed, falling into step with him as he started in the direction of a small park across the street, the playground equipment abandoned at this time of day.

"You used to fucking swing on these endlessly," Brooks said as he stopped at the swings. "I remember Clay would keep giving you five-minute warnings, but never had the heart to force you to get off."

"Yeah," I agreed, getting teary-eyed again as I sat down, and pushed off, pumping my legs as Brooks took the swing beside me, but stayed still. "He was always probably a little too soft with me," I said.

"He was trying to be both parents," Brooks said, shrugging. "Can't be easy to be the heavy and the soft at the same time."

"Yeah. Especially when he was barely a grown-up himself."

"He never minded," Brooks said. "He loved the fuck out of you."

"It was a mutual feeling," I agreed, sniffling as I pumped my legs harder, feeling the whoosh of my stomach as the swing pulled backward. "Sometimes, I don't know what's worse: the shock of what happened, or the pain of what never will.

"I mean, what is Christmas going to be like, y'know? Will I still see things and want to buy them for him? And who will I go looking at Christmas lights with? And watch movies with? And bake for? Who is going to be with me on Christmas Day? Or Thanksgiving? New Years? My birthday?

"And, just, other things. Like… I'll never have a niece or nephew. I'll never get to see Clay as a husband or a dad. I won't get to laugh at him gagging while changing a dirty diaper. Or get pissy with me when I buy his kids the loudest, most obnoxious toys on their birthdays. I won't get to see what he looks like as he gets old. I won't… there's just so many won'ts and can'ts and nevers."

"Yeah," Brooks agreed, sighing hard. "I'll never fucking forgive myself for not reaching out again until it was too late."

"He knew you loved him," I told Brooks. "I think he always thought what you did. That you'd cross paths again, and it would all be like it used to. There were never any hard feelings. Adulthood just… it's so much more complicated. I don't think I ever truly appreciated that when he was taking care of me.

"And, in a way, it's even worse now. Because I don't have him to turn to. He always had the answers when I didn't know what to do."

"You got me," Brooks offered. "And if I don't have the answers, someone at the club will. You're not alone, Cal. I know that there's no replacing Clay. Trust me, I get that. But you have people."

I wanted to believe him more than anything.

But things were so new.

I was afraid of getting too attached, getting my hopes too high.

"Hey," Brooks said, suddenly grabbing the chains of my swing, pulling me to a stop, his gaze intense. "Seeing some doubt there," he told me. "And I just want to be really fucking clear here. You have me. You will always have me. Whether you want me this way we got going on right now or not, you have me."

"I don't think it's possible for me to not want you… this way," I told him. "I've been wanting you this way for as long as I can remember."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, but there was a mischievous light in his eyes that suggested he had a clue about this before.

The thing was, when we first reconnected, there'd been none of that knowledge in his eyes. So, that just left me with one conclusion to make.

"Sage."

"If she asks, make sure you tell her that I didn't tell," he said. "Can't imagine I got a shot with you if I can't stay in your girl's good graces."

I liked that more than I probably should have. That he wanted to be on Sage's good side. That he understood that her feelings and opinions had weight in my life.

"She loves you," I told him. "And she is the worst secret keeper in the whole wide world, so she had no place to talk even if you did spill the beans."

"Did you really write our names in hearts?"

"Names in hearts, my first name with your last name. The whole thing."

"Did you plan our wedding?" he teased.

"Down to the music. But I have a feeling that the old, cheesy pop songs I originally wrote down likely haven't stood the test of time."

"I gotta hear this list," he said, smiling.

"I also don't think the empire-waisted dress of my dreams would work on my grown-up body type."

"You'd look perfect in anything."

"You're just saying that because you want to get lucky tonight," I said, even if his words were doing that gooey thing to my chest again.

"Feeling lucky just being here with you like this," he said, and it was just this side of being cheesy. Which, of course, only intensified the warm and gushy.

"So, you don't want me to come back to the clubhouse and show you all my favorite parts of your body?"

His eyes flashed.

"I'm a good man, not a monk," he said, using the chains of my swing to pull me up, holding me aloft for long enough to seal his lips to mine. It was just hard and needy enough to have a moan escaping me.

"You better get me out of here before we move that getting arrested thing up on my bucket list," I said, feeling him smile against my lips.

We barely made it inside his room before our hands were all over each other.

I tugged off his cut, then his shirt, stretching the neck out in the process, but he didn't seem to notice as he peeled my shorts and panties off, then started to tease his finger up my cleft as I struggled with his button and zipper.

A throaty moan escaped me as he pressed his thumb against my clit as two fingers slipped inside me.

"So fucking wet for me," he murmured as I finally got his pants off his hips, then reached to slide his boxers down as well, before taking him in my hand.

"You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your mouth?" he groaned as I started stroking him.

"Yes," I gasped as his fingers worked me harder, faster.

He was backing me up then until the bed stopped me.

I lost his fingers with a pathetically needy whimper.

"You know I'll take real good care of your pussy, baby," he said, his voice a caress that brought out shivers as he fisted his cock, then placed a hand at the back of my neck, prompting, but not pushing.

Not that he needed to.

I was desperate to make him feel even half as good as he always had me feeling.

I ducked my head, sucking him in deep, then swallowing, taking him to the back of my throat.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, his fingers crushing the back of my skull.

I worked him quickly then, up and down, twisting, my mouth filling with the proof of his own desire, tears pricking my eyes then overflowing as I gagged on him over and over when he started to thrust into my throat as I went down on him.

"You're so fucking good with my cock in your mouth," he groaned, his voice getting tighter. "I could come down your pretty throat right now," he said, fingers sinking into my hair, and yanking hard enough to force my head back. "But I'm not going to," he told me as my lips lost him.

His finger traced across my lower lip, something molten in his eyes as his eyes cut to mine.

"Spread your legs real wide for me," he demanded.

I didn't waste even a second, just moved flat and spread for him.

His gaze moved between my legs, his lids getting heavy.

I should have felt strange, embarrassed, even, at the intensity of his stare. But all I felt was another rush of desire.

"So wet for me," he murmured, his fingers teasing up one of my lips. "You want me to clean you up?" he asked even as he was lowering down onto his knees.

I loved him in all ways when we were close.

Under me.

Over me.

But there was something especially hot about him on his knees for me.

All thoughts flew out of my mind a moment later, though, as his lips and tongue were on me, stoking the fire that threatened to turn me to ashes.

I couldn't even prepare for the orgasm before it was crashing through me, leaving me riding his face as the pleasure kept pulling me over again and again.

I was still trying to slow my frantic breath when I saw him rise up, reaching to slip on protection, then moving in toward me, his cock pressing down against my cleft, thick and heavy, promising an end to that hollowness inside that I became more and more aware of with each passing second.

"Brooks, please," I whimpered as he gently rocked against me.

"Please what?" he asked, rocking the head of his cock against my clit in short little movements.

"Please fuck me," I begged, watching the flame lick in his eyes just a second before he slammed inside of me.

Hard.

Deep.

Making me cry out at the delicious fullness.

"Such a perfect little pussy," he groaned as my walls tightened around him. "Always so wet and ready for my cock," he added as his hand went between my thighs, his thumb working my clit as he started to fuck me.

It wasn't hard.

Just fast.

An almost frantic pace that had me writhing and whimpering and begging.

Please please please.

"Are you going to be a good girl and come all over my cock?" he asked, voice tight with his own need for release.

"Yes," I whimpered, working my hips in little circles as he kept fucking me, driving me right to that edge.

"Fuck yeah you are," he groaned as the orgasm slammed into me, making me choke on my moan as the pleasure bloomed. "Fuck, yeah, squeeze my cock," he hissed as he suddenly slammed deep and came with me.

"One of these days," he said after crashing down beside me, his hand rubbing across my stomach, "I am actually going to take my time with you."

"I'll take you any way I can get you," I told him, giving him a tired smile.

"I should probably feed you, huh?" he asked.

"You better. I need some strength to be able to drive home."

"You could stay," he said, tone just shy of sounding truly vulnerable.

"I want to," I admitted. "But the morning rush isn't my favorite thing," I told him. "I like to have lazy mornings. You could come over," I invited.

To that, he sighed.

"I have church tonight."

"Church," I repeated, shooting him a bemused smile. "Have I corrupted you so much that you need to go confess your sins on a Monday night?"

"Yes," he answered immediately, letting out a little chuckle at my bubble of laughter. "But in this context, church is a mandatory club meeting."

"That's okay," I said, shrugging.

Did I want him beside me literally every second of the day that I could have him? Sure. But we were grown ups with lives. There were going to be times when we had to be apart. It was silly to be too upset about it.

"Maybe tomorrow night then," I said.

"Would love that," he agreed.

Neither of us had a clue at the time, though, that things were about to wildly change.

Or as he kissed me goodbye in the club lot, that I would be back just twenty or so minutes later.

Fucking hysterical.