Have Me Forever by Ally Blythe

5

Noah

I hear Angel slamming the kitchen cabinets from all the way down the hall. The house is icy, and it’s been that way since Eli ran out, devastation clear in his hazel eyes. I want to see him, to apologize, but I don’t know if he would appreciate that. To him, I’m only the father of the girl who broke his heart. He wouldn’t care to hear from me. Plus, after what happened, everything I saw, even if it was a matter of seconds, I should be thankful I won’t see him again.

I sigh, listening to pots and pans clanging as the cabinets ricochet. I have no fucking clue how to deal with that. One stupid remark, that’s all it took to make our house a war zone. She’s an adult, she can be with who she wants, but she should have ended things with Eli first. Something similar may have fallen out of my mouth as Tom hovered at the top of the stairs that day. She didn’t like that, so she left with him.

I hate being angry at her, but I can’t help the simmering disappointment when I think about what she’s done. I don’t know what to say, so I’ve stayed silent, hoping I’ll find the right words. All I can see is Angel going further and further down the same path her mother carved out in her twenties, and it scares me beyond belief.

The little asswipe she slept with doesn’t help matters either. He reminds me of the guys I used to fight back in high school. The ones who Debbie would flirt with to rile me up. When I saw him strut down those stairs, happy, arrogant, it didn’t sit well.

A particularly loud slam makes me jerk in my seat. “Dad…” Angel yells.

I walk to the kitchen, expecting to see some pots or pans, or food—some artifice to show she wasn’t slamming the doors just to get my attention.

“Angel, take it easy on the hinges, please.” She huffs, crossing her arms, and I know I’ve already fucked up. Wrong thing to say. I try again. “Can I help you with something?”

She bites her lip and bats her lashes, angling for something. “I have to go to work soon. After I get off, Tom is coming over. He’s going to stay for a while.”

That kid is a dick, but I can’t just say no. This is her house too. “Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “He was staying with Vi, but Eli had to fuck things up for them, and now he’s got nowhere to stay.”

“Seriously?” She can’t actually believe that, can she?

She vibrates where she stands, her back going ramrod straight. “Are you seriously taking his side? You’re my father.” She emphasizes the word my, making me flinch.

“I’m not taking sides. Come on, you know Eli isn’t the one at fault here.”

“You don’t even know what it was like, Dad. You have no idea how suffocating he was. He never wanted to do anything fun.”

“It’s not going to happen. He can’t stay here.”

She storms off, and I hear the click of the front door swinging open. She shouts one last time, “Fuck you. This is my house too, and he’s staying here.”

I inhale and exhale a few times. I open my mouth, needing to say something, but stop. This conversation isn’t productive, and won’t lead anywhere, and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret later.

“Oh,” she calls out loudly, “might I also remind you, by keeping Tom out of the house, you’re consigning your poor, precious Eli to living with him. I wonder how that will go.” The door slams behind her, not giving me the chance to say anything. I drop my head into my hands, resting them against the counter. That was a clusterfuck. What am I supposed to do? The kid’s trouble, acts the same way in class, but Angel’s an adult. She has the right to make her own decisions, but this is also my house, and I’m not comfortable having him here.

Digging the palms of my hands into my eyes, I replay the whole exchange, looking for the right answer. I know I could have handled that better, but I think I made the right call. Tom is a user, and I will not give him unfettered access to my daughter.

The doorbell chimes minutes later, as my thoughts swirl. I pray it’s not Tom because I haven’t calmed down enough to have that conversation. I glance through the peephole and see unruly black curls, a hard jaw, and stubble.

What is Eli doing here? Should I pretend I’m not in the house? My car’s in the driveway, so he knows I’m home. I can ignore it. That’s what I should do. My hand turns the knob before the rest of my brain is on board. He straightens, locking eyes with me, and the image of his sorrow lingers in his hazel eyes. I feel the need to banish that look. I analyze every feature, searching for the happy person from a few weeks ago, when I notice a light bruise stretching the length of his cheekbone. It’s nearly black, but partially hidden by the scruff.

“What the fuck happened to you?” I pull him inside, not thinking straight. Under the hall light, it looks darker—swollen and angry looking. I trace my fingers over it without thought, currents of electricity stinging my fingers. Static shock. That’s what the electric feeling is.

“It’s not important.” He clears his throat, pulling his face away from my grasp. I drop my hand and it lands on his bicep, not ready to let him go. Still feeling the urge to protect him. He doesn’t pull away from me either, a low, simmering something roiling through my stomach at the realization. “I’m sorry to drop in like this, Mr. Baker. I, uh, I probably shouldn’t have. I knew Angel would be at work, and I had a few things I needed to get from here. I’m not ready to see her yet.”

Of course he’s here to pick up his stuff. Why else would he be here? Certainly not so I can act like a caveman, staring at and touching his bruises. I might have gone postal for a moment, my younger years of brawling, fighting for stupid reasons, rearing their ugly head. Thank you for that one, Debbie.

“Yeah, that’s not a problem. Go on up and I’ll grab some ice for that.” I take a reluctant step back, releasing his arms. He absentmindedly brushes the bruise, his fingers tracing the same path mine traveled. He looks at me again, turbulent emotion causing him to tense, before he nods and races up the stairs.

I need to get control of myself. What the hell am I doing touching him, grabbing him? It’s not appropriate. I put ice in a bag and wrap a towel around it and after a few minutes he joins me in the kitchen. He’s holding a few items, looking uncertain, awkward. He rubs the back of his neck, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s nervous. When I don’t speak, he fills the silence. “I”—he clears his throat—“I’m okay, Mr. Baker. I should go.”

“No.” Well, I’ve lost my filter today. If Angel knew he was here and I didn’t rush him off, she would be livid. As is, if she notices his missing things, she’s going to go nuclear. “Please, sit. I actually wanted to apologize.”

He hesitates, eyeing me, but doesn’t argue. Perching on a stool, he places his things on the island. I get a sense of déjà vu—Elias sitting there, as I take care of him. I circle the counter, eating up the distance between us to place the ice on his cheek. His lashes lower, hiding his thoughts from me. “And, please, call me Noah. We’ve known each other long enough, and you’re not…” Shit, probably not a good idea to remind him he isn’t my daughter’s boyfriend anymore.

He inhales sharply and I can’t tell if it’s my words or the fact I’m still holding ice against his cheek. “It’s okay. You can say it. She isn’t my girlfriend anymore.” He grabs the pack, his hand over mine, as if he’s trying to comfort me. I don’t let go and he tightens his grip.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, analyzing every inhale of breath, every twitch of skin as I watch his face. This tugging sensation starts, telling me to get closer to him, protect him.

“You don’t need to apologize. You didn’t do this… Noah.” His words sound ragged as they tumble from his mouth. I turn my gaze to those lips as a shiver runs down my spine. I lean closer, tipping his chin up with our clasped hands so he has to look at me. It feels different, his skin, covered in a light dusting of hair.

I can’t remember the last time I stood this close to someone and felt this comfortable intimacy. “Still, I want to apologize.”

He swallows, and I track the motion. Somehow, without my notice, his other hand found its way around my bicep, clinging to the arm caressing his jaw. Wait, when did I start that?

Squeezing my arm, he mumbles something under his breath.

“What?”

His voice stays quiet, intimate. “I said, is that all you want?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My mouth goes dry, my heart picking up speed.

The hesitation from moments ago is gone. He lets go of my arm, placing his palm against my chest before closing my shirt in his fist. “You saw me that day.”

Every part of me goes taut, trying to deny his words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“In the pool.” He looks up at me then, his hazel eyes dark, pupils blown.

I shake my head, but fail to deny it with words. “For a second. I swear I walked away when I saw…”

“I was thinking about you. I knew it was wrong, but you can’t help what you fantasize about. Right?”

Fucking hell. I know I couldn’t. My hand clenches around his jaw, controlled by a mind of its own.

He lunges off the stool, his lips clashing against mine, short circuiting my brain. I… Do I like this? I don’t know why I fucking ask. Of course I do, just as much as I did when I caught him naked, outside, in my pool. And that makes me… I don’t know what. Nothing good.

He pulls away when I don’t move, color draining from his face, interpreting my hesitation as repulsion. Without thought, I pull him back to me, leaning into the kiss, running my tongue along his lower lip, teasing a small gasp from him. I use the opening to mold my tongue against his, coaxing it to follow mine. I drag my fingers against his jaw, leaving an abrasive, tickling sensation behind. It shouldn’t feel this good, but it’s never felt so right, so perfect.

His chest molds against mine, long fingers tangling through my hair, tugging at the ends. I moan, which only seems to embolden him. Every hard, toned inch of his body melting against me, his hard length grinding against my own. My hips thrust forward, a grunt falling from his mouth. I move my hand to his lower back, trying to get him closer, and I feel his cock twitch in response.

I’m losing my mind to the sensations rioting through me, but… I should stop. Right? There’s a reason this isn’t okay, and I’ve never been attracted to a man. I’m thirty-fucking-five, I feel like I would have noticed something like that before. I fall back, chest heaving, wondering what the fuck I just did.

He jolts back, his large, firm body heaving like mine. His erection strains to break free, twitching under my gaze. My body heats as he adjusts himself, making me picture what he would look like without clothes. His hand rubbing the sensitive head and… I can’t. Fucking. Take. My. Eyes. Off. It. Apparently, thirty-five years means fuck all, because I’m so hard I don’t want to stop.