23. Tilly

Chapter twenty-three

Tilly

M iranda's only been gone a few minutes, and I'm already regretting my choice. Tommy's pacing the living room like a caged animal, and the sight of it is a heavy weight on my heart. His distress, so raw, quietly eats away at my determination.

"What if we just go to the police? Just tell them what you know, Til."

Before he even finishes the thought, I'm shaking my head. "I've never been involved; I don't know how things work. I probably know less than the feds at this point. It won't do any good."

"We can't just do nothing!" he shouts. His mother is on her feet, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Tommy, we all just need to calm—"

He cuts her off by wrenching his arm free of her grip. "No! I'm not just going to sit here and wait for them to hurt her!" He's screaming at his mother, and the sight makes my chest tighten. I've never seen him so upset. Not my Tommy. He's always the one that's calm.

But then again, when it comes to me, he does have a protective streak. A few years ago, when Sam was in trouble, he blamed it on Greg and lost his cool, hitting the former FBI agent in a rage about Sam being taken away from me. God, I remember that short fight. How Greg never hit back or how I rubbed Tommy's shoulders to get him to relax. Looking back, I'm a little embarrassed that I didn't see what was right in front of me. Tommy has truly loved me for a long time.

The warmth spreading through me at the thought soothes my heart. I know that I'll do anything to get my happy-go-lucky Tommy back. Anything. But really, I don't have the slightest clue as to how to make that happen.

He starts pacing again, and I've seen enough. "Come on, Tommy," I urge, pulling him toward the bedroom.

He wrenches his arm away from me. "No! We have to figure this out."

But Henrietta is on her feet. "Baby, go. Talk to her. Mack is here; we'll be fine."

He huffs out something that sounds like an angry "fine," and I follow his stomps down the hall.

Once inside our bedroom from the night before, I lock the door, seeking a moment of privacy, of sanity. He sits on the mattress, the same one we made love on not twelve hours ago. "I'm only going to ask this once." I take a deep breath, closing my eyes to steady myself. "Can you handle all this?"

"We'll get through this—"

His protest is cut short by my insistence. "Tommy! Just answer me. Is this too much? Because I can leave right now. We can cherish the memory of that one night and let it be."

"What? No, Tilly, I'm fine," he asserts, but even as he does, he rubs both palms over his face. Bloodshot eyes meet mine. Ha! Fine? Tommy might not be a woman, but in this moment, fine means, ‘standing on the edge about to jump off into lava.'

"You're not fine. You were seconds away from punching something. I had to pull you away before your flailing gave your mom a black eye."

He grumbles about something, and I slide onto the mattress behind him. With nimble fingers, I start massaging his shoulders. Just like back at the surf shack. And just like then, he relaxes the moment I touch him. "It's nice that you want to fix things," I start, not liking where I'm going with my little speech. "But it was one night. We can still walk away from this."

He crosses his arms, a barrier against the vulnerability of our conversation. As I knead into his tight muscles on his back, his posture softens, a sigh releasing some of the tension he carries. "Don't ask me to forget, Tilly. That's not fair."

I can't help but smile. "I didn't say forget anything. I meant stop trying to be together if that's even what you wanted. We haven't really talked about it, have we?"

That makes his lips curve into that smug grin, seeing how flustered I am talking about our relationship status. "You did promise to visit me in Costa Rica." His voice, teasing and light, makes it impossible not to let my worries fade, even just a little.

"Did I?" I play along, though part of me knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Yes, and now that I've had you, I find myself daydreaming about you being at all my tournaments, warding off the fangirls, cheering for me and only me from the stands. Do you know how often I've wished for you to be there on the beach, shouting my name?" He chuckles and turns before pulling me into his lap. I don't fight it. Instead, resting my head against his chest, I feel his arms tighten around my hips. "And I fantasize about other things, too."

"Like what?" My curiosity piqued, I look up at him.

"Like naked night surfing," he admits with a laugh, clearly enjoying the shock on my face.

I slap his chest as my mouth drops open. "Tommy! That's incredibly dangerous!"

"Maybe, but you only live once, babe," he says, guiding my head back down to his chest with a gentle hand. "But yeah, Matilda, I've definitely imagined us together. Honestly, I can't imagine it any other way. From the moment you kissed me, I was all in, I told you that, and I meant it. I'm yours, sweetheart. Your bae, boo, man, boyfriend, boy toy, fiancé, husband, slave. Take your pick, the label won't change how I feel or act."

Whoa. So much goes through my mind at that proclamation. We slept together once. One damn time, and this man is saying he already knows I'm it for him. He dropped the dreaded ‘H word.' Husband. My throat instantly dries. I know he's partly joking, but hearing those words, my panic soars. It's everything I want, yet so far out of reach I'd need a rocket ship to get there. One of those fancy ones that the rich guy builds. You know, the one that looks kind of like a silver penis?

"And you're sure?" I ask, hating how insecure I sound. Knowing the depth of his feelings only magnifies the guilt I carry. The thought that I'm dragging him into my chaotic world before we've even had the chance to truly begin hurts. I rub at the spot on my chest where that pain seems to be radiating to. My heart. People think love is all in the head, but I swear to every God imaginable, that's where I feel it. A tightness right over the blood pumper that is so intense, my stomach churns.

His smile, genuine and warm, pierces through the gloom. "Oh, yes. You think I didn't catch that little comment earlier? You already said I was your boyfriend. And I'm not letting you take that back."

In an instant, the feeling dissipates, even as I try to hide the depth of my feelings, my gaze drifting down. But he closes the gap between us, his touch gentle as he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "We belong together, Tilly. Maybe that scares you, but I've never been surer of anything. I'm yours now."

The affirmation sends a surge of warmth through me. "Okay, then. I suppose I can resist other men for a while. You know, see how this plays out."

"You better," he warns, his voice going to that gravelly octave I love.

I laugh right as he presses his lips to mine. The kiss feels like an almost poetic end to our little fight.

But it's short-lived as Henrietta yells from the living room right as a loud bang sounds from somewhere else in the house.

"Stay here!" Tommy demands as he rips open the bedroom door. But as soon as he does, I smell it, the acrid scent of smoke slicing through the air.

At first, it's faint, like a whispered warning, but as I rush after him down the hall, it grows stronger, more insistent. My heart races as my eyes scan the room, meeting Tommy's wide, alarmed gaze when we reach the living room. The smell of burning—sharp, toxic—is pouring in from somewhere, infiltrating every breath with a heavy, suffocating presence. Smoke coats my tongue and throat, a bitter reminder of how real the threat my family made is.

The sound of Henrietta's voice, sharp with fear, cuts through the thickening air. "It's coming from the garage!" she yells.

Mack rushes past us, an extinguisher in hand. "Call the fire department," he demands. I spin in a circle, not even remotely sure where my phone ended up after the tense confrontation with Miranda.

Tommy is already in motion, his body tensed. He grabs a phone off the couch and dials. With that taken care of, I follow Mack closely, my mind racing, dread coiling in my stomach.

As we hurry to the garage door, the air grows dense, a fog of smoke weaving its way through the house, casting everything in a haze of gray. The light seems to dim, swallowed by the blackness that curls and twists around us. My eyes sting, tears blurring my vision as I try to follow Mack.

As soon as he opens the door, we see yellow flames licking greedily at the walls. The fire, though not yet as big as I thought, has already begun its destructive dance, blackening everything and sending plumes billowing into the house. Mack's movements are swift and sure as he pulls the pin on the fire extinguisher and pulls the trigger, attacking the flames with ferocity.

It won't be enough. I run back into the house and straight out the front door. There has to be a hose somewhere. I'm sprinting around the outside until I see it. I silently pray that the pipes aren't frozen in this cold weather. When I turn the spigot, I almost shout in relief when I see the first spurt of water burst from the end. There's a side door on the garage, and I use my shirt to protect my hand as I turn the knob.

Smoke pours out, but I'm already spraying, even though I can see nothing through the black haze.

I hear sirens on the street but don't stop spraying until I feel a hand on my shoulder. A fireman, with his own hose, gestures for me to step aside, and I do. Within seconds, the fire is out.

But it has left its mark. The garage is charred and smoldering. Even the exterior of the house is blackened. I can only imagine what the inside of Henrietta's beautiful home looks like. There was so much smoke, it had to have done incredible damage.

Another fireman is at my side, draping a blanket over my shoulders. I barely respond as he leads me to the curb and helps me sit. Now that the immediate danger has passed, and the adrenaline has started to ebb, the truth comes crashing down on me. My cousin Keaton. This is his doing. A deliberate act of malice aimed not just at me, but at those I have come to love, those I had hoped to protect from the very violence that defined my family.

The guilt is overwhelming, a heavy shroud that threatens to suffocate me as surely as the smoke has. The realization that my family's vendetta has nearly cost Henrietta everything is a sharp, jagged thing within me. It cuts deeper than the smoke, than the fear. It's personal and is leaving a wound that I fear might never heal. Henrietta was right. Family doesn't do this to each other. If I hadn't already felt like the black sheep, I certainly do now.

***

Two hours later, I'm still sitting on the curb. Tommy insisted I wait while the fire department made sure everything was safe enough inside. I didn't argue. One look at his face and I knew it would be pointless. He was as enraged and scared as I am.

The firetruck pulls away from the curb, just as Tommy returns to my side. "You okay, Til?"

I can only shake my head. I warned them. I fucking told them this would happen. Tommy is pulling me to my feet. "They say the house is fine. Let's get cleaned up," he says.

Without arguing, I let him lead me back inside. But even as he does, I know what I have to do.

Being with Tommy, attending his tournaments, sharing in his life—it all feels like a childish dream that is slipping through my fingers. The only future I can see with Tommy is filled with pain for him. The risk is too great. In this moment, with my heart heavy and my resolve crystallizing, I know leaving him is the only right path in front of us. The where doesn't matter, a question mark that has no answers yet, only the certainty that Tommy can't be part of my life. Ever.

Hiding from my family is the only option until they are no longer a threat. Emotions swell, threatening to break free, as I fight against the tears stinging my eyes. Tommy has a wet washcloth, and he's dabbing at my skin marked with dark soot with such care that the tears finally break free.

"I love you, Tommy," I manage to choke out, my voice hoarse from the smoke and the turmoil inside me.

"I love you too, Til. We'll figure this out, okay?" His optimism, so like him, makes my heart ache even more. I nod, but he isn't satisfied. He gently lifts my face to meet his eyes. "I mean it. I love you, Tilly. This changes nothing, okay?"

The tears are tracing a path down my cheek, but he is there to catch them, his thumb gently wiping some away before his lips meet mine in a tender kiss. The warmth of his touch ignites something fierce within me. Faced with the reality that this could be our last embrace, I yearn for one more moment of connection, to feel the intensity of our night together once again.

I fling my arms around his neck, pressing myself closer, my lips parting to deepen our kiss. I savor the taste of him, the feel of him against me, allowing the passion to wash over us, pushing away the torment of our situation.

For now, nothing else matters but the depth of my feelings for Tommy and the heartbreaking realization of what I am about to lose. He pulls back, breathless from our frenzied kissing. "Tilly, maybe we should—"

I can't bear to let him finish, to entertain thoughts of stopping now. My lips find his again, his arms enveloping me in a desperate embrace, all hesitations dissolving as we lose ourselves in each other once more.

I moan, and his body responds, tensing every muscle against me. I let go of him and push back. He lays back as I tear out of my clothes as quickly as possible. Once he realizes what's happening, he's doing the same, as desperate as I am. Once we're both naked, we rush at each other. We collide together, and he lifts me off the mattress, only to spin me around and drop me back down.

After bouncing a few times, I settle with my legs apart, and he crawls over me. His arms go to either side of my body, but his face leans down. Our mouths meet, but I keep my eyes open. I want—no, need—to immortalize every line of his face, to commit each moan and touch to memory.

He lets his hips grind against me, groaning as he does, and my head tilts back.

"Tommy, that's so good." His cock is pressing against the perfect spot, making me pulse with pleasure.

"Babe, let me feel you," he says.

His hand brushes the sensitive skin on the inside of my thigh, and my soul aches even more.

"Yes, Tommy. Please." His fingers graze against my pussy before diving inside me. He's moving his hand in and out, swirling his fingers deep within me as he does. The feeling is pure electricity, like a new fire, a beautiful safe one, has been lit within my stomach and is spreading up and out through all my limbs.

My hand moves into his hair, grabbing on and pulling at the loose strands. But it isn't enough. "More, Tommy," I beg.

He grabs onto his own cock and stares at me. "Tilly, I want to feel you, all of you."

I know he has to get physicals before every tournament. But more than that, he would never endanger me. I trust Tommy implicitly, and I had gotten tested a few months ago when I refilled my birth control prescription.

So I nod. He doesn't hesitate to shove his dick inside me bare, all the way to his base. I gasp at the force of it, but it only takes a moment for my body to adjust. As soon as I'm stretched around him, he starts moving in and out.

While he does, he's staring into my eyes with such a tender expression, I almost want to look away. Instead, I cup his cheek. He lowers his head until it is resting against her ear.

"I love you, Matilda Cardenas." He says it just as he thrusts into me again, his whole body shivering with the movement or the admission, I'm not exactly sure. But the use of my real last name, an acceptance of me, all of me—including my ridiculous family—is too much. Tears sting at my eyes, but I blink rapidly to clear them away. Crying during sex would be a mistake. The moment is too beautiful for that.

"I love you too, Tommy." I say with all the emotion I can give. Tommy's hand goes down my arm, his fingers first caressing my palm before I tangle them with mine. Intertwining them together like our bodies already are. I want every part of him to take with me when I leave.

With every drive of his dick, I feel the orgasm build, starting in my stomach and blooming outwards until my entire body is convulsing with each powerful thrust. "Harder, Tommy," I moan.

He draws his hips back and snaps them forward again, pounding into me. His grunts are growing closer together. "Come for me, Tilly," he says.

I love the powerful words, the demand that I do what he wants. The loss of control is exactly what I need. No decisions about family, no worries about leaving him, just Tommy telling me what to do. Tingles spread through me, my heart rate spiking to a fevered rate, and my body finally bursts into what feels like a rainbow of light around him. Nothing else matters. No one else matters. It's just me and Tommy doing what we were always meant to.

He's pumping against me faster, his cock pulsing inside me. "Tilly…" he pants out quietly. I can only manage to gasp, trying to contain the scream in my throat, high on my own climax as he releases into me.

He growls through his orgasm until finally he grows still. For a moment, neither of us moves. But eventually, he collapses on top of me, his sweat covered body completely limp. We both take a few minutes to catch our breath. Eventually, he props himself up and kisses me deeply. My hands massage into the soft locks on top of his head. The gorgeous blonde hair that feels so silky smooth under my palm. My fingers twist into a fist, as if they know we won't get to feel any of this again.

His forehead touches mine, before he gets off me. When his dick pops free from me, a hollowness replaces what felt so glorious a moment before. Empty, alone, scared. All words that are boring into me now that we're done.

"Tilly, we'll figure this out. Okay?" he asks, brushing hair off my sweat covered forehead. I nod even though the tears are already brimming. Sam had once asked me if I'd ever made love as opposed to just having sex. At the time, I thought she was being a love-sick idiot, but I can now honestly say that I understand.

Love.

It is the perfect way to say goodbye.