34. Penelope

34

PENELOPE

ONE YEAR AGO

I stare into the reflection of a metal baseball trophy on Colt’s dresser, hating the reflection. Hating everything.

He died.

He’s gone forever, and it’s all my fault.

The last week has been a haze, but they recovered his body fairly quickly. It was determined that he was intoxicated and fell off a boat, hitting his head on the way down. No one knew he wasn’t on the boat anymore for far too long, and by the time the strangers he was partying with realized he was gone, it was too late.

The sound of Nora’s wails in the night and the vision of her rushing toward the boat and being stopped by several police officers will haunt me for the rest of my life.

“He hated playing baseball. I had to talk him into it.” My eyes move to the doorway of Colt’s bedroom to Linc, standing there with several days’ growth on his face and anger so hot it burns me from there. I can smell the alcohol on him and see his eyes are red as he approaches. “And still, the motherfucker ended up being the best on the team.”

My finger slides over his name engraved in the trophy before my body turns toward Linc and my eyes lift to meet his. “You’re late. The funeral starts in thirty minutes. We should already be there.”

“Where’s everyone else?” His head dips, his nose brushing over my ear. We’re standing way too close.

“They left. I told your mom I’d wait for you.”

His finger lifts to swipe over my collar bone, and then he lifts the heart charm attached to the gold necklace Colt bought me for my sixteenth birthday. “Wasn’t that nice of you?”

“You’re drunk. You’re late.” My teeth clench tightly as I struggle to look at him. “For your brother’s funeral.”

“Do you really think he’s going to care?” His face dips closer to mine, his lips pouty and full, his eyes flickering with rage and sorrow. “He’s dead.”

“I know that. You should still show more respect for him. You couldn’t even wear a suit and tie?”

He’s dressed far too casually, and his mom is going to hate it. I feel his hand drag along the bare skin of my arm. “I’ve done far worse.”

I hate him and this persona he’s worked on for years. The whole doesn’t-care-about-a-damn-thing look is wearing thin. Not even his brother being dead. But I see him. I see how shattered he is.

“We should go.”

A simple shake of his head tells me we’re going to be late. And the smolder in his eyes tells me we are about to make another huge mistake.

Because what the hell else do we have to lose?

My fingers grip the back of his head, tugging on his hair and pulling his mouth to mine. His lips are ready for mine as we attack each other, both of us trying to get lost in the moment.

Both of us trying to feel anything besides the agonizing pain deep in our hearts.

I lift his shirt off and over his head as he presses my body against the wall, my hand still in his hair, pulling tightly, knowing it has to hurt. But he doesn’t say a word. He just bites my lip as I reach under the skirt of my black dress, push my panties down, and raise my leg to slip it over one of my black heels.

I kick the panties off as our bodies move toward the bed, my body melting into the dark blue comforter as his covers me fully, resting between my legs. My head falls back when his lips meet the crevice of my neck, nipping and sucking lightly. His tongue trails up over my jaw, and his mouth finds mine.

I know exactly how fucking wrong this is, and I do not care.

He undoes his jeans, and both of my hands push them and his briefs over his ass before his hands grip my wrists, holding my hands captive over my head as he thrusts inside me. My hips jerk forward, meeting every single plunge with starving need.

He pushes inside of me with animalistic urgency over and over as he holds my arms above my head. His head rests against my shoulder as my body writhes with pleasure, his cock hitting the exact spot I need. My legs are spread for him, and my hips move in perfect rhythm with him, not missing one beat as we climb toward the release we both so desperately want.

I feel the tingly feeling low in my belly, and my thighs start to shake with unbound pleasure, my teeth sinking into his shoulder. I hear him groan into my neck, “Fuck.”

And his cock somehow grows harder, jerking inside me as we both come. My hands beg to be free to scratch or hold on to anything, but he holds my wrists tightly, still moving inside me as my pussy coaxes every last bit of cum from him.

And then, when he lays on of top my body, still inside me, his face in my neck, that’s when the sobs come.

Soft. Barely existent. But they’re there.

And they aren’t coming from me.

We will never be the same.