Chapter 21

Charlotte flung off her covers, wondering why the hell she was so damn hot .

It was morning, but the light coming in through the blinds on her window looked odd, as though it were muffled in some way. She was sweating, her flannel pajamas damp, and when she moved her ankle a bit to see how it was faring, she ran into another leg.

Not her own.

"What the hell?" she said, scooting out of bed so fast she nearly tripped on a part of the comforter that was draping onto the floor.

Brighton stirred, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.

"What's—"

"Exactly," Charlotte said. "What's going on? Why are you in my bed?"

But even as she asked, foggy memories came back to her.

The power's out .

Can I…?

Then there were absurd flashes of arms wrapped around bodies and nuzzling, but surely, surely , that wasn't Brighton.

She curled her hands into fists.

She knew it was.

Charlotte could feel the ghost of Brighton against her chest. She had always been a heavy sleeper and had never made good decisions when she was woken up mid-REM cycle.

"The power is back on," she said curtly.

"Oh," Brighton said, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Thanks for letting me…" She trailed off, waved toward the bed.

"It's fine." Charlotte grabbed her phone. "What time are we leaving?"

"I'm not sure. I think—"

"Oh, fuck," Charlotte said, staring at her phone.

"What?" Brighton pushed her share of the covers back. "What is it?"

Charlotte didn't answer, just left the room, her ankle still smarting enough to make her limp a little, and hurried to the big picture window in the living room. This window didn't have any blinds, only plaid curtains framing the glass.

Framing the snow.

"Oh, fuck ," she said again.

All she could see was snow. At least halfway up the window. It shut out the sun, the clouds, the sky. She looked back down at her phone, at the group chat someone had created yesterday. Her notifications kept dinging and dinging.

Sloane: Well…we're snowed in, friends. Hang tight

Manish: HANG TIGHT????

Elle: Are we going to starve? Manish ate all the cheese last night

Manish: HOW DARE

Wes: I'd hide if I were you, Elle

Dorian: Hallmark Horror Movie: A Cannibalistic Christmas!

Adele: You're all such idiots

Sloane: Dad said a crew is en route to dig us out

Manish: DIG US OUT????

Adele: Cool it with the all caps. It's giving me a headache

Manish: Speaking of headaches, Charlotte and Brighton are strangely silent. Are they dead? Or making out? I'm taking bets

Charlotte huffed and clicked her phone dark before tossing it onto the couch. Brighton was now standing in her own bedroom's doorway, staring down at her phone, an amused expression on her face.

"This isn't funny," Charlotte said, heading to the front door.

"It's a little funny."

"We're trapped ." She flung open the front door to find tiny mountains of snow covering the porch, even jutting up against the door like a wall. She could see over it but certainly couldn't get through it. A bit of snow toppled into the cabin, and Charlotte slammed the door closed.

"Not for long," Brighton said, heading into the kitchen. "Coffee?"

Charlotte glared at her, hating Brighton's calm, hating everything that had led them to this point. "I suppose this is what you wanted."

Brighton's hand stilled on a K-Cup. "What I wanted ?"

"Ever since we got to Winter River, you've been after me," Charlotte said. "Wanting to talk , to make it right. But you can never make it right, okay? There, I said it. What you did to me will never be okay, Brighton."

Brighton stared at her, then flung the K-Cup onto the butcher-block counter. She rounded the peninsula, looking ridiculous in her two sweaters and baggy sweatpants and hat.

"You know what?" she said, getting right in Charlotte's face. Charlotte backed up, but Brighton kept moving until Charlotte's back hit the wall. "You're right. I did want this. I do want to talk, want to make it right, because yes, god, I'm so fucking sorry. " She flung off her hat, her dark eyes filling. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I destroyed us. I'm sorry I left you. I didn't want to leave you , but I didn't know what else to do. You were so happy in New York. It was where you belonged, and I wanted you to have that. I wanted you to…I don't know. Be you ."

"You could've just talked to me," Charlotte said, her voice now a whisper, her anger snuffed out, replaced with…she wasn't even sure what it was. A tightness in her chest, a tug around her heart as Brighton's apology spilled out, tears escaping down her cheeks. "You could've just said."

"I tried . So many times, Lola."

Charlotte closed her eyes at that name. Opened them again.

"I told you that morning I was unsure about New York," Brighton said.

"Unsure doesn't mean miserable," Charlotte said. "It takes time to figure out your place in a new town, to settle in…" But even as she said all of this, the same things she'd said to herself and Brighton so many times after they'd moved to New York, she knew they were just that—words.

Because she'd known Brighton was unhappy in New York.

Fine.

There.

She could admit it now. Nothing else to do. No other excuses worked anymore.

She'd known.

And she'd ignored it. All the signs. The way Brighton went quiet when Charlotte talked about how much she loved New York. How Brighton talked to her mother more and more often as the weeks went by, sometimes multiple times a day, her voice quiet like a child's. How she seemed lost on the streets, overwhelmed and small. How she cried in the shower, thinking Charlotte didn't know.

But Charlotte had known.

Known and done nothing more than hold Brighton tighter at night, bring her flowers after a day of teaching or rehearsing. She'd convinced herself Brighton just needed time.

But time turned into six months, and then it was December, and they were heading to Michigan to get married, and still, Brighton's light had dimmed. Still, neither of them had talked about it. Neither of them had said anything explicit, the truth.

Until right now.

"I know I handled everything wrong," Brighton said. "The wrongest thing I've ever done. But you—"

"I didn't see you."

Charlotte's confession hung between them, thick and real. Brighton tilted her head, pain washing over her expression.

"But I did," Charlotte said, her own tears swelling. "I did see, Brighton. I just didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to fix it. And I…"

She closed her eyes, tears spilling over. This next part was hard to say. Hard to admit. Hard to let be true.

"I was so scared to lose you," she said, "because you were all I had. You were all I'd ever had."

"Lola," Brighton said, stepping even closer and framing Charlotte's face in her hands. "You never lost me. Never. I'm still—"

But Charlotte didn't let her finish. Couldn't. Didn't want any more words, any more explanations, not right now. She wanted Brighton, her only love, and she was so goddamn tired of pretending like she didn't. So tired of pretending at all—so many things she kept in, kept hidden and secret, scared to let anyone see her.

But Brighton had seen her.

All of her.

Always had.

Charlotte pushed through the space between them, their mouths colliding. Brighton let out a surprised gasp but opened to Charlotte, and it was like the sun breaking through a thick layer of clouds. They grabbed at each other, hands in hair, under sweaters and tops, yanking at waistbands. It was fumbling and desperate and messy. Charlotte felt like a teenager, just needing skin and friction and more. She pulled up Brighton's sweater, only to find another sweater, and they laughed when a button on the second one got caught in Brighton's hair.

"There you are," Charlotte said when Brighton was finally free. She took Brighton's face in her hands, Brighton's dark hair going everywhere, tangling between her fingers.

"Here I am," Brighton said against Charlotte's mouth, and then there were no more words, just low moans as their tongues touched, as Charlotte skimmed her hands down Brighton's neck to her chest, tracing her collarbones and lower. She cupped Brighton's breasts, thumbs swiping over her already hardened nipples.

"Fuck," Brighton gasped, tilting her head back. Then she laughed. "Boobs. They're nice."

Charlotte froze, her mouth on Brighton's neck, the memory of her drunken night coming back to her. "Oh my god. Did I—"

"Oh yeah," Brighton said. "You said it."

Charlotte laughed against Brighton's skin, then rolled one of Brighton's nipples between her thumb and forefinger. "Well. They are nice."

Brighton gasped again. "So damn nice."

"The nicest," Charlotte said, dipping down to take one in her mouth, sucking once before using her teeth.

"God," Brighton said, "I forgot how much I love your teeth."

Charlotte bit a little harder, pulling a moan from Brighton's throat, the sexiest sound in the world. Charlotte, for her part, hadn't forgotten a thing. How much she loved the taste of Brighton's skin, the sounds she made, the way she did love Charlotte's teeth, loved them on every part of her. Charlotte could do this forever, just spend hours on Brighton's perfect tits, but those sounds, they got her every time. Made her desperate for more.

She bit down again, then soothed the spot with her tongue before she stepped back long enough to pull down Brighton's sweatpants.

"You too," Brighton said, pawing at Charlotte's flannel pajama pants, as well as her top. "Why the hell is your shirt still on?"

Charlotte's only answer was to pull off every piece of clothing she had on, including her underwear. Brighton flung hers off too, then yanked Charlotte against her, wrapping a thigh around Charlotte's hip.

"Oh my god," Charlotte said, the press of skin on skin almost too much. She hadn't done this in so long—not since the day of their wedding. She'd had a kiss or two, some pawing in some stranger's apartment, but she'd never made it this far, had never wanted to. She'd told herself she was busy. She was driven. She was satisfied with the luxury sex toys she'd spent a fortune on.

She told herself so many things, but there was nothing like this. Not just skin and someone else's breath and voice and hands, but Brighton .

The only person she'd ever slept with.

The only person she'd ever wanted to sleep with.

Maybe it was immature, unworldly, naive, but she didn't care. All she cared about was Brighton right here, right now, about making her come. Then making her come again.

She flipped them around so Brighton's back was to the wall, then slotted her knee between Brighton's legs, pressing her thigh right against Brighton's center.

"Fuck," Brighton said, her head knocking against the wall. "Lola, fuck."

Charlotte slid her hands down Brighton's waist to her ass, cupped her full cheeks, and rutted against her. "Like that?"

"Yes, oh my god," Brighton said, wrapping her arms around Charlotte's neck. Charlotte could feel her, feel how wet she was, Charlotte's own wetness against Brighton's thigh. Then Brighton shifted a little, hitting Charlotte's cunt so perfectly that she cried out, nearly lost her concentration.

"Together," Brighton said, moving her hands to Charlotte's hips, pulling Charlotte up and then down, circling her hips here and there.

"Jesus," Charlotte said, moving with Brighton.

Brighton pressed her forehead to Charlotte's, her breathing intensifying, the air between them nothing but gasps, cries of yes and yeah , the smell of sex as they fucked against the wall. Their bodies were slick, their cunts sliding against thighs in a way that made Charlotte feel crazy. She grunted, pulling Brighton up on her thigh even higher, pumping her hips faster. Sweat broke out along her forehead, her chest, mixing with Brighton's own effort. It was perfect, everything.

"I want you to come," Charlotte said.

Brighton nodded, biting down on her lower lip.

Charlotte slapped her ass, just hard enough that Brighton cried out and started moving faster.

"Come for me," Charlotte said in her ear. "Come on my leg. Do it."

"Fuck, oh my god," Brighton said, her body jolting as her orgasm rushed through her. "Lola, fuck, yes, please."

Charlotte adjusted so her leg had more solid contact with Brighton's center, leaving her own needs unmet at the moment, but she didn't care. She wanted Brighton to come again, come like this, pinned against the wall, begging and perfect.

"Again," Charlotte said, loving how desperate Brighton sounded. "That's a good girl."

Brighton gasped, gripping Charlotte's shoulders. "Lola."

"That's right." Charlotte's muscles screamed at her, her ankle nearly giving way, but she found some superhuman strength watching Brighton ride her, perfect tits bouncing. God, it was the most beautiful thing Charlotte had ever seen. "Come for me. You can do it."

Brighton's nails dug into Charlotte's back, her hips grinding, her back arching to get that perfect friction. "Fuck," she said, moving faster. "Fuck, fuck."

"Good girl," Charlotte said, pulling at her hips faster too.

"Yeah, yeah," Brighton said, then broke, tossing her head back, dark hair everywhere, her chest flushed a gorgeous pink. Her movements jolted, then slowed. Charlotte dipped her head, pressing her mouth to Brighton's neck, breathing her in.

"Christ," Brighton said as Charlotte pulled her leg out from between her thighs. "That was…"

"It was," Charlotte said, still kissing Brighton, holding her close. She wasn't ready to let go. Not yet.

"You didn't come yet," Brighton said.

Charlotte smiled against her skin. "Worth it."

Brighton laughed but then pulled Charlotte's face up to look at her, hands framing Charlotte's cheeks. "You."

"Me?"

"You," Brighton said, then kissed her once before whispering against her mouth. "I think you need a shower."

Brighton's words shivered down Charlotte's neck and hips, settling between her legs, her need still desperate and pulsing. "Maybe I do."

"You definitely do."

Brighton took her hand, then led them both, still full-ass naked, to the en suite bathroom in her bedroom. The shower was large and modern, all glass and earth-toned tiles. Brighton swung open the glass door and turned the water on, not even waiting for it to get warm before she pulled Charlotte inside.

"Shit," Charlotte said, gasping as the cold water hit her heated skin, but then Brighton was kissing her, taking her breath, her thoughts, sliding hands down her ass, then drifting them to the front. The water gradually warmed, and the temperature play was…well, it was nice.

Charlotte laughed as Brighton squeezed the fronts of her thighs, whispered that she was dirty in her ear. Charlotte could only nod, then moan as Brighton's fingertip-light touch turned into nails on her skin. Charlotte was so wet, she knew she was, and had to grind her teeth to keep from moving Brighton's hands to her clit.

But Brighton was in charge now, and that was how they both liked it. They'd discovered throughout their sexual history that they each liked being the one in control sometimes…and sometimes they each liked being at the other's mercy.

There was a little tile seat in the shower, recessed into the wall, next to built-in shelves for shampoo and soap. Brighton eyed it, then sat down and pulled Charlotte onto her lap so that she faced outward. She kissed Charlotte's neck and spine, wrapped her hands around to her tits, playing with her nipples, rolling them between her thumbs and forefingers while she nipped at Charlotte's back with her teeth.

"God," Charlotte said, her pussy flooding and her legs parting instinctively.

"So impatient," Brighton said.

Charlotte laughed, spread her legs wider. "I think I've waited long enough." Her words had multiple meanings, but right now, all she wanted was for Brighton to touch her.

"I'll be the judge of that," Brighton said, trailing one hand up Charlotte's thigh while her other still played at Charlotte's nipples.

"Please," Charlotte said, a little whine to her voice. Brighton Fairbrook was the only person in the world who could make her beg, make her voice sound like that, desperate and pleading.

"Please what?" Her fingertips drifted north.

"Please touch me," Charlotte said.

"Where?" Brighton's touch rounded toward Charlotte's center.

"You know where."

"Tell me."

"My cunt," Charlotte said, a word she reserved only for sex, but god, she loved using it. "My cunt, please."

Brighton licked a stripe up Charlotte's neck, her fingers finally finding their mark, dragging gently up Charlotte's center.

Charlotte tilted her head back, cried out just from the initial contact.

"Like that?" Brighton said, even though she knew.

She knew how to touch Charlotte, where, how hard, perfectly every time after years of learning. And she hadn't forgotten. She hadn't forgotten a single thing.

"Yeah," Charlotte said, spreading her legs wider, as far as they'd go. The water cascaded down onto their thighs, the shower already humid and foggy. "More."

Brighton pressed harder, making Charlotte gasp, then slid her hand down, parting Charlotte with her fingers.

"So wet," Brighton said, and Charlotte could only nod, only beg again and again until Brighton finally showed mercy, slid two fingers inside her.

"God, yes, fuck," Charlotte said, her body locking up for a split second before softening around Brighton's fingers. Her body started moving, an instinct, a desperate need to undulate with Brighton inside of her. Brighton moved too, sliding in and out slowly, picking up speed as Charlotte grew more desperate.

"More," Charlotte said, and Brighton slid a third finger inside, making Charlotte whimper. When Brighton's palm pressed to her clit, she released a litany of swear words that made zero sense. Didn't care. It felt too good, felt too perfect. She gripped Brighton's wrist, her hips working to get as much friction as possible.

"Fuck," she said.

"That's right," Brighton said, biting down on her shoulder. "Fuck yourself on my fingers. Get what you need."

Charlotte groaned, her vision going fuzzy as Brighton did something—curled her fingers or twisted them or something, Charlotte didn't even care what, as long as Brighton never stopped.

"Please" was all she could say, one hand lifted and curled behind her, wrapping around Brighton's shoulder and pulling at her hair, the other on her own breast, tugging at her nipple. "Please."

Brighton fucked her faster, harder, palm pressing just where she needed it. Charlotte knew she was pulling at Brighton's hair harder and harder, but she didn't care, and she knew Brighton didn't care either. All that mattered was this, this shower and Brighton's fingers, Brighton herself.

Brighton.

Brighton.

Bright.

Charlotte said her name—Bright — as she came hard, so hard she nearly slipped off Brighton's lap, but Brighton held Charlotte tight, working her fingers in Charlotte's pussy until she came again, until she stopped convulsing around her, until she sagged against her, head on Brighton's shoulder, completely wiped out.

"Wow," Charlotte said, her lungs working hard for oxygen.

"I'll say," Brighton said, kissing Charlotte's neck, then sliding her fingers out and licking them clean.

"You're gonna get me started again," Charlotte said, lifting her head and turning to watch her.

Brighton just laughed. "I wouldn't complain."

Charlotte laughed too, but then the laughter faded, their smiles, as did the wild desperation they'd both felt for the last half hour. They just looked at each other, their eyes taking in features as if for the first time in years.

"Why did you get this?" Charlotte asked eventually, drifting her fingers along the tattoo on Brighton's upper arm. "I didn't know you were into tarot."

"I'm not, really. I pull a card every now and then," Brighton said, following Charlotte's fingers with her eyes. "It's the Moon card. I got it a few months after…after I moved to Nashville."

"What does it mean?" Charlotte asked softly, tracing the moon, the shaded trees around it, the little white pinpricks of stars.

Brighton sighed. "Well…it's kind of a dark card. It's about when things aren't what they seem. When you're sort of wandering in the dark forest, looking for your way, trying to find the right path, though it's hidden. But there's hope in this card too, because the sun, it always rises, doesn't it?"

Charlotte frowned, her throat suddenly aching.

"Have you found it, Bright?" she asked, lifting her eyes to meet Brighton's. "Have you found your path?"

"I…" Brighton swallowed, never looked away from Charlotte. "No. I don't think I have, Lola."

Charlotte's eyes stung, a sadness she couldn't parse spreading through her chest. Because in that moment, all her anger and resentment seemed so futile. Because she loved Brighton Fairbrook. She wanted her to be happy, no matter what. She wanted her to find her path, her sun.

"Bright," she said, and that was all she needed to say, really. Charlotte turned enough so she could kiss her. Slowly, purposefully, with her full wits about her.

"Lola," Bright said against her mouth, and they stayed like that for what felt like hours, just kissing, whispering each other's names under the warm spray of water.