Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection Read online

  “I’m not all right. Just keep Ethan occupied. I told him we would look into one of those surfing competition things; maybe you can find out what we need to do.” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear her. I heard enough that a wide smile cracks across my face, knowing Ethan has taken up the love of surfing. I vaguely remember now seeing him carrying a board earlier today. My mind was too preoccupied with the fact I was seeing her and finding out about him at the time to pay attention to anything else.

  “Of course. And for the record, I’m glad you finally caved about letting him. It was starting to get ridiculous talking behind your back about it.” I believe her comment about talking behind her back was meant as a joke, except no one is laughing. Her friend reaches up to cup Cora’s face. Tenderly.

  “Go. Sit on the beach and talk. You have so much to tell him.” Her eyes are pleading, searching Cora out.

  “We can talk right here. Just please keep Ethan occupied. He can’t see me like this.”

  “I will. I love you.” Vivian grips hold of her hand. Anyone can see that the bond these two have is impenetrable. I can read it in the tension that leaves Cora’s body; I can see it in the way Vivian’s face shows the signs of a kinship unlike any I’ve seen before.

  I don’t watch her go once she seems to be satisfied; my eyes are glued to the back of Cora’s head. Her hair is in knots from the wind. I’d give anything to run my fingers down those shiny strands, smooth them out, and gather it all in my hand, yank her head back and fuck her mouth with my tongue. I will soon, though; every enticing part of her seductive body will be under me or on top of me while I make her mine once again. If she isn’t involved with someone else.

  A moment later, Vivian disappears. Cora’s feet are deeply rooted to the deck, and her body is enhanced by the lights turning on, letting us know it will soon be dark under the floorboards. She’s stunning.

  “Do you live next door? Was that you earlier today, the man watching me?” she blurts out of the blue. An angelic sound so sweet to my ears I could cry.

  “I do, and yes, it was,” I reply truthfully. I knew she didn’t recognize me today. Her words confirm it. Christ, I hope she likes what she sees. I saw her checking me out when they walked past, pretending she wasn’t, her heated stare hidden behind her sunglasses just like mine. Even then I wanted to run to her, tell her it was me, but my feet couldn’t move and my fucked-up mind kept telling me to wait, make sure it was really her and not some mirage or fantasy of her like I would have while out in the excruciating heat of the desert.

  “Were you hurt?” She pauses. My brows are burrowing in confusion from her sudden switch of questioning. I want to tell her fuck, yes, I was more than hurt. I was gutted to my bones. Flesh numb until earlier today when I realized she was alive. Existing but not living. I realize that’s not what she means, though, when what she says next tumbles out of her mouth in a way that hits my chest and begins to fill those holes. Obviously, she’s done some research on me like I did on her. A sense of pride combined with anger shoots through my veins, wondering if she just now found out about me or if she’s known for some time. Based on her talk with Vivian a few minutes ago on the beach, I quickly tap that anger down. The two of them are close; even a blind man can sense it. Vivian wouldn’t have asked her the questions she did if she had known I was alive all this time. “I mean, when you were at war. Did you get hurt over there? Shot? Wounded?” Fuck, I want to look at her beautiful face when we talk. She needs time. Me on the other hand, I need to see her so damn bad my heart won’t heal until I do.

  “No. I came close a few times. I existed over there, Cora. Did my job to defend our country. Always kept a photo of you in my pocket believing your spirit would keep me safe,” I admit.

  “Keep you safe from the enemy, me, or my brother?” she replies. It’s the craziest thing to be talking to her about at all, especially with this being her first line of questioning.

  To this day, she’s still fucking frightened of her brother, too. The way she asked Vivian to promise her I wasn’t him. How in the hell do I tell her the things he said to me, the things he did to make sure I thought she was dead?

  I close my eyes, because the last thing I want to do is hurt her more than she’s already been hurt. Cora doesn’t deserve the shit her brother has done to her. Fuck, neither do I; but it has to be said. We need to be free of the man who separated us in the first place. At least for now; until I formulate a plan to kill that lying piece of shit. I’ve never lied to her. I’m not about to start now. Not with years’ worth of making up to do and a child that bonds us together.

  I don’t believe she’s afraid of me; it’s this entire situation she knows nothing about that has her standing like an aged stone statue, cracking and shaking, ready to crumble to the ground.

  “Never you, sure as hell not him. The enemy,” I say, then continue on with words that need to be said. “Christ, Angel. Jesse told me you were dead. He said you were murdered like your parents. He supposedly cremated you, buried your remains in your mom’s flower garden right next to them. I’ve gone all these years thinking you were—”

  “No,” she cuts my free-flowing words off. Her harsh tone and slow, guarded movements cause me to stumble backward as her profile comes into view. Jesus Christ, she is so fucking beautiful. So damned perfect that I can’t hold back the tears falling down my face.

  “Riddick,” her voice whispers softly.

  “Cora. My God, I…” I’m at a loss for words. Not in my wildest dreams did I imagine this. Her. Inches away from me. Her eyes are bright with tears, her face still looks like an angel’s. Pure. Exquisite. Velvet lashes blink, a small gasp escapes her sensual mouth. I take the final step that separates me from her. Both shaky hands are lifting to cup her face. Smooth as silk skin lies underneath the tips as I gently rub back and forth across her heavenly face.

  “When I lost you, I sealed my life in revenge. The only ones I allowed in were less than a handful of my buddies from the Army. Christ, this is so goddamn surreal I still can’t believe it. We have so much to talk about, but for the first time since I saw you last, that door is now magically opened, Angel. It’s really you. You’re alive.” Her perfection pacifies my fraying nerves, sends my world into a stupefied mass of want.

  “So are you,” she says soothingly. Her hands are attentively touching, circling the tattoos on my arms, slowly moving up until she reaches my face. Fingers are running through my short scruffy beard, eyes traveling from my hair to my eyes. Studying. Remembering and analyzing each other’s features is what we’re doing. I see my young woman; she sees her young man. We see one another. More dreams and possibilities.

  “I have no idea if you have someone else in your life right now. I don’t care if you do. Or maybe it’s hope. Hell, I don’t know what to think. All I know is no one is going to stop us this time. Or ever again. I’ll kill anyone who tries to come between us. I swear to fucking God, I will.”

  Judging by the way she swipes a finger across my bottom lip in a sensual way that has my cock wishing it was him she was worshipping, I would say she feels the same way.

  Fuck the talking for one damn minute. I need to taste those perfect fucking lips. Sliding my hands to the back of her neck, I firmly tug her forward, our bodies now touching, hearts pounding, minds racing, and years to make up for. I dip down and kiss the loud exhale that escapes her honey-sweet mouth. Tentative at first until her tongue meets mine. Then I turn wild, passion ignites, nerves hit more than the day I took her virginity. My mouth explores hers as Cora drinks in mine. Our tongues collide. The ocean soars. And I breathe my angel into my lungs, my soul, and every other part of my body. Desperate to have her as close to me as she can get, I crush her delicious frame to mine, hard. Breathless, aching moans escape her lips that if I have anything to say about will be swollen and puffy for days.

  My heart races, sweaty palms cradle her head. I’m a goner, a man on a mission to indulge the one thing I’ve craved. Her.

 
7

  CORA

  Some people believe in chance, others in fate, fortune, or just plain luck when they find their soul mate. It’s a mysterious, idealistic, real life emotion to fall deeply in love with one person and hold on to that love strongly for the rest of your life.

  I never thought I would see him again. This man, who I thought I would recognize if I saw him anywhere, is my neighbor. Never in all of my life did I think he would be the man from earlier today. Riddick has changed so much. His face is hard. Every visible part of him is covered in intricate colors of tattoos. Most of all, he’s alive, a walking real life man. Not dead, not hurt, he’s here. With me.

  And sweet baby Jesus, he’s kissing me as if it’s our first time, as if our souls haven’t been destroyed, as if our hearts haven’t been turned upside down in our chests. That we haven’t flatlined from the destructible things done to us by a person who schemed up the grandest plan to tear us apart and rip us to shreds, is a miracle.

  “Riddick,” I say, pulling my mouth from his. I have so much to say to him. I don’t know where to start or when the right time is. He has to know that Ethan is his son. That all this time I’ve had a part of him with me.

  “I know, Angel. Trust me, I do. We don’t know each other anymore. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re married or you have someone in your life, then let me just hold you for a minute longer, please?” he begs. His eyes are pleading, and tears are spilling down his ruggedly handsome face.

  I smile. “I’ve aged, Riddick, not changed. I’m still the same woman I was before. There’s no one else in my life either,” I declare.

  “I’m glad to hear that. All of it,” he verbalizes. I want to ask him the same thing, except my mind is bogged down with the verity that my Riddick has me in his arms, his hands leaving the nape of my neck to wander up and down my back in a soothing, loving way. For the first time in twelve years I truly feel safe. No always having to look over my shoulder to see if Jesse or Cutter are there, waiting to steal my son or shoot me dead. I can’t remember the last time I felt safety so strong, so honest that in the few minutes since I realized it was really him, it’s as if my past is dead and buried. Where it should be.

  I sigh and wrap my arms around his waist, leaning my forehead against his massive chest. Every part of him is hard to my soft. This man I love is the same guy who could carry me away with his sweet, divine words or phrases of a poet. He’s changed though, too. His persona looks rough with all these designs on his masculine body. A strong, brutal, and fierce man on the outside, yet still the same tender, loving Riddick Murdock on the inside. And he’s in my arms. God, a thin t-shirt is all that’s separating me from feeling every inch of his warm flesh. He is alive.

  “I love your tattoos,” I say into his chest, which starts to rumble from his low, silent laugh. I should tell him that our son will love them, too, but the words are stuck in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’m glad to hear that, because they’re permanently inked into my skin. Like you.” His words snare and heat up every inch of me. Entrapping me in his attempt to re-seal the love we had. The love I still have for him.

  “I take it you’re not in the Army anymore?” I lift my head to see he’s staring down, beholding and feasting his eyes upon me.

  He shakes his head. “I served four years. Most of them in Afghanistan. I couldn’t do it anymore, so my two buddies and I finished our tour, came back here, and went to the Police Academy at Santa Barbara State. I’m a narcotics officer,” he states proudly, while my subconscious mind surfaces to the front of my brain, envisioning the things he must have seen, the danger that roused his everyday life.

  Regardless of how I feel about him putting his life on the line every day for all of these years, I tell him what every man or woman who has served should hear. “Thank you for serving. For still serving. You should be proud of yourself, Riddick. I bet your dad is incredibly proud of you.” He winces and draws his upper body back; his pained demeanor sends a devastating chill through my body.

  “He was proud of me,” he says sadly.

  Was? “Oh, Riddick, I’m so sorry.” I know by the agony that crosses his face that his dad passed away. It hurts me even more for him. The two of them were close.

  “It’s okay. He was a good man. The best father I could have asked for. Every day I wish he were here. He’s not, but he loved me. He was able to see me buy this house, fix it up, and live our dream on this beach.”

  Our? I think to myself. Is he trying to say he moved here for me, the same way I did for him and Ethan? I have no idea how much money he makes, nor do I care. Like me, there is no way he could afford a home well into the tens of millions of dollars on the ocean on a cop’s salary. I also know Robert Murdock worshiped his son, made him work hard for the things he wanted. He didn’t hand over loads of cash or fancy cars to Riddick. He taught him how to be a man. How to take care of himself and do right by others. That’s what matters to me. Money never did; it never will. What matters is the steady beat of his heart. The tender way he’s gazing at me, and the love I feel pouring into the atmosphere that surrounds me. Him.

  God, I could fall to his feet right now and tell him everything; but before we get to the horrible, nightmarish turn of events that changed our lives, he needs to know the one terrific, most beautiful person that came out of it.

  Filing his comment away in my brain, I pull away from him and move to the brown wicker deck couch my mom insisted we have. She fell in love with it when she connived Vivian and me to go shopping. The three of us women were out all day buying everything we needed for this house. It’s comfy. Matches the tan siding of the house perfectly and the two matching chairs with mint green cushions that set off the earth tones in the cornered fireplace.

  “It could take days for us to discuss everything. But what I have to tell you has to be first. It’s something I found out before I was forced to leave. That day I left…”—I swallow, keep my eyes trained on the floor— “That day started out being the happiest day of my life. I wanted to tell you in person instead of over the phone. I’ve beaten myself up many times over the years over not calling you that day, asking for you to come over. If I had, none of this would have happened. But I can’t change the past. No one can. What I can do is be honest with you and tell you that we have an eleven-year-old son. His name is Ethan. He’s a good kid, Riddick. He…he loves the beach, surfs a lot, gets good grades. And…” I place my hands on my thighs, rubbing them back and forth for comfort. “He knows all about you; except like I did up until today when I finally strummed up the nerve to look you up, to see if Jesse really killed you like he said he was going to, he thinks you’re dead.” I wait for him to become angry, to yell, call me names or ask what took me so long to search for him. He does none of that. Instead, he kneels down in front of me and places his hands on the top of mine, squeezing gently.

  “You need to look at me, Angel, when you talk to me about our son.” My head snaps up. His plea is demanding my attention. There’s no way anyone would not be able to see the resemblance between those two. Even though a part of me knew he had to have known Ethan was his, it feels good to finally tell this man I’ve loved for a long time that he has a son.

  “I figured it out when I saw you today. I could tell how healthy he is, how much he loves you with one assessment of the two of you together. You’ve done well with him,” he confirms. “I’m shocked, excited, and mostly scared out of my fucking mind to meet him. One thing I’m not is angry, not with you; never with you, Cora. Please don’t ever see me and think of anger. See me for the man I was, for the man I am today. That’s a man who will do right by you and him.” He rises, sits next to me, places an arm around my shoulders, and hauls me right on top of his lap.

  “Thank you,” I say, graciously accepting his compliment. My arms are automatically sliding around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. I never want to let him go.

  “There was an explanation behind the real reason why
you left in what you just confessed to me. One that we will discuss in great detail tomorrow. It’s getting late, and God help me, I don’t want to leave you, even if you’re right next door. But I have to. I’ve been up for over twenty-four hours. I need to clear my head, and I think you do, too. Tomorrow is a new day, a clean slate, and before anything else, I want to meet my son. I can’t begin to imagine how hard it was for you to tell him about me. Now you need to tell him I’m alive. It’s your call; you tell me what time, and I’ll be right here.” He’s sincere, noble, and right about how hard it was to tell Ethan.

  I sigh and splay a hand across his chest, feeling his steady heart beat under the tips of my fingers. Thanking God he’s truly alive.

  “You’re right. I should go to bed myself,” I tell him without saying anything more. I need to call my parents, talk to Vivian, and make arrangements for them to be here when I tell Ethan. The necessity at this point is crucial for them to acknowledge in what will assuredly change my son’s life forever. Knowing my son, he’ll have millions of questions for Riddick. He’ll be overly excited to have a man in his life who will never leave him. Riddick is one of those more-than-meets-the-eye kind of man. He has no hidden agenda; at least I don’t believe he does. Not with me, anyway.

  “Here.” He places me on my feet and stands to give me a view of an ass made of steel. A naughty angel snarls at me, daring me to bite it just to see if it’s as hard as it looks.

  I quickly glance up at him when he starts to turn around to face me and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to produce a navy-colored business card.

  “It has my number on it. Also the number of the station I work at. Program them into your phone, then text me so I have your number.” He’s casual when he talks, not seeming to be flustered or brain dead like I am because we’re talking and kissing and sitting on my deck at my house, by the ocean, after twelve years.