“It won’t, handsome.” Slender fingers, warm to the touch, tangled with mine, keeping me grounded. Silky thighs cuddled mine in a smooth embrace as a warm, wet pussy swallowed the length of my rigid cock, each inch more decadent than the one before. I shuddered against the flame igniting my blood, stealing my breath and pulling me under, into a blissful world where only she and I existed.
“Zena?” I whispered, opening my eyes to catch glimpses of bronze skin mated perfectly by eyes the color of sparkling emeralds and lips the shape of seduction itself. I reached out a hand. Nothing but emptiness met my touch, the hazy image of her face slowly drawing away. “No!” I vaulted upright, my fingers fighting, grasping, clinging empty air to keep her there. “Zena!” I yelled. The silence around me held my heart in vice grip.
As if in a diabolical taunt, my surroundings morphed into view, gradually each image crept out of the darkness and showed itself until my gaze slanted to the thin stream of light peeking through the thick curtains that kept me hidden from a world I no longer wanted to see. Reality barreled in at a steady pace no matter how hard I fought to forget, I remembered.
I remembered that last call with Zena. Those words I’d tried to use to bring her back to me, knowing they were words that had once made her smile through the tears. Tears I’d caused by being a bastard and forgetting our anniversary, a day that meant the world to her.
Then I remembered the call I got. The one that froze my blood, hurtled my heart to the pit of my stomach and cut the air to my lungs.
“Rayden?” I recognized the despair in Deepak’s voice and dread was already winging its way down my spine before Zena’s father whispered, “she had an accident.”
The ‘what’ lodged in my throat, burning a quick path down body, freezing every nerve I needed to keep upright. It took every ounce of willpower to ask the one question, I didn’t want answered. “Is...is she—” I couldn’t.
“She didn’t...” his voice broke and he didn’t have to finish the sentence.
I dropped to my knees, not caring that the asphalt driveway beneath my feet, carved dents into my skin. I felt nothing. No. I felt something. I felt the plunging void that became my insides.
I remembered the call like it was yesterday, not three weeks ago. And finally, I remembered that those last words hadn’t made her smile through her tears once. No. it had taken that smile away from me forever.
Clutching my head, I fell back to the pillow and stared at the ceiling, wondering how cruel the universe was. While taking Zena from me wasn’t forgivable, taking her before I had a chance to say ‘I’m sorry’ cut so deep, I wanted nothing more than to stay in the darkened chasm that become my room since.
“Rayden,” my father’s low voice snaked through my thoughts.
Turning on my side, I wrapped my arms tightly around a pillow, blocking out his tall frame in my periphery. “Go away, dad.”
“Look at me, son,” his voice was stern but there was no impatience. I pushed up to sit and rubbed my face before glancing at him. He’d moved to the side I slept on. Hands in his pants pockets, he pulled in a long deep breath. “I know it’s hard to accept, Rayden but it’s been three weeks. You’ve hardly eaten, and you’re holed up in this room. That,” he pointed to several empty whiskey glasses on my nightstand, “is not you. It’s not what Zena would’ve wanted.”
Immediate tears stung my lids. “What would she want, dad?” I swallowed the lump that had lodge in my throat since the phone call. “Please tell me, because I have no fucking clue how not to hurt.” My heart bleeding against my chest, I let the tears fall.
Wordlessly, he lowered his tall frame to the edge of the bed and before I could protest, he pulled me into his warm embrace. I resisted for just a second more, then caved. Balling my fists around his neck, I cried into his shoulder, not caring that my weakness had once more, taken hold over my emotions. That every layer of motivation, thrill-seeking and will had become numb with each day, each breath.
“It’s okay, son.” He caressed the back of my head, his grip tightening around my back.
“I’m tired,” my muffled voice blended into his black shirt now wet with my tears. “I don’t know how to control this tempest in my stomach every time I think of her or this hurricane bludgeoning my pulse rate when I think of that last phone call,” I sobbed. “I don’t know how not to feel anymore,” my words trailed into a whisper. Still, my father held on, his arms a warm comfort, his soft breathing an encouragement to let it out. That I wasn’t a pussy if I cried. When my tears finally receded to nothing but dry heaves, I leaned back against the headboard, massaging my pounding head. “I don’t fucking know how to stop crying.”
“And you shouldn’t.” He stared at me, tenderness etched into the lines of his brow. “These tears,” he slowly swiped the pad of his thumb under my eye, “speak for your heart when your lips don’t know how to. I can’t tell you what to feel, son. No one can. But these tears, they tell us what you’re feeling. So, never stop crying just because you’re a man. You have a heart, let it feel for however long you need.” He stood. “This, though,” he waved his hand around the room, “is not going to help you heal. Bottling your emotions makes the detonation that much more aggressive when the time comes. Talking about it helps—”
“I don’t want to see a fucking psychologist,” I grumbled.
“And I didn’t say you should.”
I was surprised he didn’t reproach me for swearing or my hard tone. Respecting elders was a big deal in my home but my father was exactly that, a father. Caring, consoling, loving unlike his father who’d probably be on my case the second he saw me shed a tear.
My shoulders sagged on a deflated sigh I couldn’t stop. “Then what are you saying, dad?”
“Withdrawing from your friends, isn’t ideal. Austin’s been here every day waiting for you to acknowledge his friendship. Will you talk to him at least?”
He glanced toward the door and I followed his gaze. With his hands in his pockets, a sheepish grin on his face, Austin leaned against the doorjamb.
“What’s up fucker?” His grin widened. I ignored him. He sauntered into the room as my father walked out. “Jesus, Ray.” He jumped on the bed, landing stomach down with his chin propped on his open palms. “You know I can’t do this whole emotional shit, right?” I cocked a brow. “Don’t shut me out, man. I’m really fucking trying here.” He sat up, crossed his legs, Indian style and stared at me. “I’ll do any fucking thing I can to bring her back, Ray, if I could,” this time his words were a regret-filled whisper. It meant a lot coming from me, since they never got on. “And I’m not leaving when you need me most. There’ll be other opportunities.”
I frowned. Through my father’s contact, Austin had secured himself an apprenticeship with one of the leading diamond mines in Africa. Unlike me, he didn’t have a rich father or a powerful name to fall back on. He’s mother and grandmother had worked hard to get him into the private school I’d attended. So I knew how much the trip to Africa meant to him. Not only was it a dream come true, not going meant giving up a fat paycheck. He might be a real douche to some but beneath that tough exterior, he was all heart, and I knew making his mother and grandmother proud of him had become a priority.
“Christ, fucker, would you say something,” he snorted, yanking me out of my reflections. Then as if he had a lightbulb moment, he scooted closer. “Let me take you out tonight. None of the usual shit. Just you and me. We can drink a ton of booze, smoke some weed, shoot some pool. Fuck someone up. Anything. You name it. Fuck, I’ll even fucking drink wine for you.”
That made the corner of my lips curl up slightly. Austin hated wine. He couldn’t get how people loved something that was made by people stomping on it barefooted as part of the traditional process. The notion turned his stomach.
“Please, man.” He reached out a hand and squeezed my arm.
