Just One Moment (Just One Song #4) Read online

We've had a blast. Some nights at her place, some nights at mine. One night in the bathroom of a bar when we'd gotten together with Kennedy and Grayson to celebrate Kennedy's new job.

  But now I'm wishing I wouldn't have put Sunday nights out of the playing field. I have a feeling by the time I get back from Glen Ellyn later, I could use her small curves in my large hands to distract the hell out of me.

  "Seriously, Lynx. If you're too fucked up to go today, Ma will understand. At the very least, Dad will tell her to stop worrying so much."

  I love that he cares enough about me to repeat this. I know she would.

  I also know I won't make the woman who loves us more than life itself worry about me any more than she's already been doing for the last ten years.

  I swallow back the rest of my coffee and set it on the counter. "I'll be good. Swear it."

  Landon examines me for a moment. He doesn't have to even ask if I'm lying—we both know I am.

  He reaches for his own coffee mug, making himself at home in my loft, even though he doesn't fucking live here.

  "Good," he says and pours a cup. "Go shower, then. We're already late, and I'm fucking starving."

  I roll my eyes but listen to him anyway.

  Not because he's my older brother—

  My mom's cooking is the shit.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LYNX

  I GET OUT of Landon's Jeep Wrangler as soon as he pulls it into our parents’ driveway.

  The garage door is open and I can see the hood to my dad's 1967 Camaro popped open, signaling he's hiding from our mom already.

  "Hey, Pops!" I say as I enter the garage. I head straight toward the fridge and reach for a beer, popping the top before I see my dad sitting in an older metal folding chair¸ inches from his television. "What's wrong with the car today?"

  "Not a damn thing," he mutters, his lips twitching while he says it. "Good to see you."

  I clink my beer against his and pull out another folding chair. "You, too. How's Ma?"

  "Losing her damn mind is what she is."

  I laugh and take a drink from my beer. "So she's cooking, huh?"

  He chuckles and shakes his head before giving me a look that says it all. Then we both turn our attention to the Cubs game on television and drink our beers.

  By the time I was ten, I had learned that whenever Mom went gonzo cleaning the house for company, Dad would sneak off to the garage to work on his own shit, thus giving my mom plenty of room to mutter to herself while rushing through the house with a dust cloth in one hand and a scrub brush in the other.

  I also learned that when Dad said he had to work in the garage, it really meant he'd pop the top to whatever car he was currently restoring, occasionally bang some tools around to make it sound like he was working, and then he'd flip on his television, find whatever game was on that day, and crack a beer from his small fridge and relax.

  By the time I was twelve, I learned that my mom knew he pulled this shit and didn't care.

  He hated cleaning. She refused to make him help, so she didn't care that he went out and sat in the garage and did his thing while she did hers. But that year, I had asked her why she never said anything to him about lying to her. She had rolled her eyes and blown a chunk of her auburn hair off her forehead, spraying flour from the pies she was making for Christmas into her face and eyelashes.

  "Honey," she said and looked me straight in the eyes. "This works for us. Your dad is a man's man, which means he isn't going to scrub a toilet or dust a bookshelf. He also isn't going to bake a pie or set the table. If he wants to freeze himself, pretending he's hiding from me, then he can go for it. It gives me peace and quiet to work, and do what I enjoy, without having to listen to barbarians smash into each other on the television or listen to him mutter about how shit doesn't need to be cleaned when it was just done last week."

  "But shouldn't he help?"

  "Your dad helps in various ways," she had said. I had watched her eyes soften in a way that at the time I didn't understand. "Trust me, he pulls his weight. He works hard to give us everything we have, and if he wants to drink a beer in the freezing garage in the middle of a Chicago winter, he can go right on ahead."

  She had a point. I hadn't understood the appeal of sitting in the garage myself until that very day, when my mom's soft eyes softened further and she leaned forward over the counter as if she was getting ready to impart some great secret to me. "Lynx, someday you're going to find a woman. And when you find her, you're going to figure out exactly what makes her happy. And sometimes, what a woman needs to be happiest is the gift of some time alone, knowing that at the end of the day she's never actually alone."

  I had pursed my lips and nodded. Acted like I understood. I didn't understand crap back then. Only that every time my dad walked into a room, my mom smiled wide and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  I know now that they have a rare love that hasn't seemed to wane in the over thirty years they've been married.

  Hell, I know that if I were to pull my ass off the folding chair and head inside like I knew Landon had already done, she'd greet me at the door, towel in her hands, face fully done with makeup, dressed in her Sunday best. She'd press her palms to my cheeks and then pull me down to plant a kiss on my lips, just like she's done every single time I've seen her for as long as I can remember.

  The problem is that my nightmare still hasn't fully left. My pulse is still thumping too quickly. I'm hoping that spending some quiet time in my dad's garage, us barely speaking except during commercials and enjoying a fridge full of beer, will help me calm my shit before my mom sees it in my eyes.

  "How's fight training going?" my dad asks, not taking his eyes off the television set.

  A slow wave of relief rolls through me, like water washing to shore on a calm day. My dad knows me well enough to realize that if I'm outside with him, I'm avoiding Mom just like he is.

  He's also wise enough to know when I need a push and when I need the space.

  Today's a definite day for space.

  "It's good," I tell him. "Grayson's strong and ready, I think. Helps that he didn't take any licks in Vegas."

  My dad laughs. He saw the fight. He never misses one. "How's it working out for him and that woman he nabbed from the stands?"

  "Ah...good, for sure."

  My dad glances at me out of the side of his eyes and his lips press together.

  "He's been meeting with a lawyer to see what he can do about his rights as a dad, though, or some shit," I supply when my dad stays silent. He has that way about him, drawing people to speak. Today I figure it's better to stay focused on Grayson than myself.

  My dad already knows the full story that we filled him in on after we got back to Vegas and Grayson came home with us for dinner. We were all shocked to learn that the woman Grayson had spent the weekend with had at one point in time been the love of his life, whom he’d also walked away from.

  When he found out she'd had a kid and given that kid up for adoption and never told Grayson, I'd never seen him so angry.

  Or get so drunk. He usually keeps a tight watch on his alcohol intake since his dad is an alcoholic loser.

  "Poor kid," my dad finally mutters. "Hopefully he can get that shit figured out. Any kid would be lucky as hell to get Legend as a father."

  I let that statement stretch into silence, mostly because there's nothing left to say. My dad's right, and just remembering the way Grayson found out about Kennedy and their son makes my skin heat and tighten.

  Since Grayson has become close with Landon and me, my parents treat him like the triplet to our twins, despite him being younger. Delivery complications prevented my mom from being able to have more kids after Landon and me, so it wasn't a surprise when they welcomed Grayson into the fold. My mom was always picking up strays on the block.

  She was the emergency contact for more kids in the neighborhood than I even knew, but that's what happened when a woman like my mom shined her light and love onto
you. Everyone took it, and since we grew up in a poorer area of Glen Ellyn, away from the kids who drove BMWs and Audis to high school, and because all the parents on our street worked two jobs, my mom was usually the only adult around after school.

  Which meant our house was always filled with the good snacks, usually homemade ones that still smelled fresh, when ravenous teens descended into our home after school.

  Landon and I never minded.

  It still freaks Grayson out.

  I swear he spends half the time he's in our house searching for hidden cameras like he's on an episode of Punk’d.

  My dad and I turn back to the game, cringing when the Cubs get three runs scored on them in the bottom of the eighth inning while we finish our beers.

  When they're done, my dad shoves to his feet with a feigned groan and stares at the door leading into the house. "Well, suppose we should probably go see what Candace needs us to do."

  I stand and follow him, shaking my head at the way he can seem so reluctant.

  I already know he's timed our arrival to the moment when lunch will be sliding onto the table.

  He won't have to do shit to help out.

  He stops when his hand wraps around the doorknob, but doesn't turn back to me when he says, "Know the demons you battle, kid. Also want you to know even though your mom still worries about you, we're both proud as hell of you, too."

  He opens the door, walks through the doorway, and leaves me on the bottom step with a throat too tight to speak and feet too wooden to move.

  ***

  Mom presses her hands to my cheeks just like I knew she would and pulls me toward her.

  "Take care of yourself," she whispers against my cheek after she gives me a quick kiss.

  I lean closer and wrap my arms around her. My mom's a small woman in stature but large in personality. At six-foot three, I dwarf her small frame. "Thanks for today, Ma," I whisper back and squeeze her tight.

  She muffles a hiccup before she leans away from me, giving me two quick pats on my cheek.

  "Be good to yourself."

  I grin. "I always am."

  "I worry about you," she admits as her eyes go hazy.

  Fuck. I hate it when her worry for me is so blatant. That everyone in my family has been able to handle their shit so much better than I have been. Even Landon doesn't seem as fucked up by what he saw in the army as I did. I don't know if it's brotherly pride or what, but that just irks the hell out of me. We're the same in almost everything we've ever done...except becoming civilians after battle.

  "I know, but I'm good. I promise."

  Her lips twist. "You didn't eat much today."

  I laugh and shake my head. I had three sandwiches at lunch with a plate full of vegetables and then apple crisp for dessert. For dinner, we annihilated a ham, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, and then some blueberry pie. You would’ve thought it was a holiday with as much food as we consumed, but that's just what happens when three grown men get together.

  "I'm good, Ma, I swear it."

  "And you're making him feel like a pussy, so back off," Landon says, walking up and clapping me on the shoulder. He's right, too. "Besides, that's my job."

  I slam my elbow back into his gut and grin when I hear him grunt.

  Mom scowls. "Watch your language. And no fighting."

  "You've been spewing that crap since we could walk," Landon says, shoving me again. "Might as well save your breath."

  Mom rolls her eyes and sighs. "Is it too much to ask I raised kids with some darn manners?"

  "Yes." I look at my dad to see him smiling as he answers, but my grin widens when I realize we all answered at the same time.

  "Fine," she huffs playfully and waves her hand in the air, dismissing us. "Go on home then, but drive safe. It's late."

  Landon snickers, but both of us agree that we'll be good and safe and act like the nice young boys she tried to raise.

  The dredges of sunlight cast long shadows over the lawn as we walk to his Jeep.

  It doesn't matter what kind of day I've had before I come home, being home relieves at least part of the stress and the noise inside my head.

  Today, it did little to quell the lingering tension.

  I climb into Landon's Jeep and wait for him to get in.

  "You need to go beat shit?" Landon asks as he slides the Jeep into reverse. "We can go hang out at the gym for a while."

  I appreciate the gesture. Normally, punching and kicking the shit out of a bag or a sparring partner would help.

  All day long, all I've thought about is a tiny blonde with an attitude ten times larger than her size.

  A sexy-as-hell woman who sucks dick like she can't wait to wrap her mouth around a cock and take it deep.

  And I'm the dumbass who told her Sunday nights were off the table.

  I want to kick my own ass, not spend hours punching Landon in the ribs.

  I push down my frustration at myself for telling Sarah no Sundays.

  I just figured her magical pussy's charms would last longer than forty-eight hours like they did in Vegas. I'm man enough to recognize that I'm totally using her, yet there's something more to her, too.

  Like somehow she understands why I keep the distance, because she does it as well.

  Weeks of easy and mind-blowing sex with her, and I don't know anything more about her than her favorite sexual position or what drives her wild. Sometimes it actually bugs me.

  Sometimes, when she's at my house, and I'm still trying to catch my breath but she's already pulling on her clothes to head home, it actually pisses me off.

  Like I might want her to stick around, even though it's not good for either of us.

  But still, I can't call her. I can tell by the way she hesitated and by the look in her light blue, gorgeous-as-fuck eyes that agreeing to an arrangement with me was pushing her hard enough.

  We might have considered ourselves fuck buddies for the last few weeks. We might have even shared some laughs over drinks with Kennedy and Grayson, but it's still way too soon to be changing the rules.

  I can tell by the way she clearly puts the distance between us as soon as the condom is thrown away.

  I'll just have to wrap my hand around my dick when I get home, close my eyes, and pretend it's Sarah's bright pink lips sucking on my shaft.

  "Nah, man," I tell Landon. "I'm good."

  He snorts, disbelieving. Moments pass and I think he’s going to remain silent when he quietly says, “Munson was a good man, Lynx. What happened that day wasn’t your fault. Don’t take on more blame or guilt than necessary.”

  I roll my lips together, forcing myself to stay quiet.

  Eventually, when he sees I’m not going to reply, that I don’t want to talk about my shit—again—he cranks up the volume on the radio and focuses on the road in front of him.

  For the rest of the ride back into the city, I close my eyes and pretend to nap, even though I know Landon knows I'm only ignoring him.

  I don't care. Not tonight.

  I'm replaying the nights I've had with Sarah and hoping like hell the memories of her body on top of and under mine in various positions can replace the memories of twelve years ago.

  It's after Landon drops me off at my loft, after I watch television, trying to keep my mind off Sarah, and after I still can't get her out of my head that I break my cardinal rule.

  Never text a woman just to say hey.

  Before I can talk sense into myself, I find her name in my contacts and send her an inane text.

  What are you doing?

  I set my phone down to get ready for bed. I head to the bathroom and brush my teeth, use the bathroom, and then trudge back to my room before I strip out of my jeans and shirt and collapse into bed with only my boxers on.

  As I flick on the television on the far wall, my phone dings.

  Just got into bed and thought of you.

  Fuck. Yes. This is exactly what I need. Her playful response makes me grin. I might not be
able to see her tonight, but that doesn't mean she can't distract me.

  Before I can type out a text, testing her willingness to play in a different way, my phone dings again.

  I just slid my fingers beneath my panties. I'm soaked.

  Damn. This girl. My fingers fly across the keypad. Tell me what made you wet.

  It feels like forever until her response comes through.

  You. Thinking of the other night, the way you ate me.

  My cock hardens and I shove down my boxers while I try to fumble out a response with one hand. With the boxers gone, I take my cock in hand and begin stroking slowly and firmly.

  You tasted so good. So creamy. Tell me what you liked.

  My hand works faster as I jerk myself. My hips arch into my hands, craving, needing more connection than I'm currently getting.

  But it's not enough.

  I watch the gray dots at the incoming text message as I let loose a groan of pleasure, remembering the way she came in my mouth. With abandon.

  It was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen.

  I'm so close already. I liked when you played with my nipples while you ate me.

  "Yes, fuck," I groan again, arching into my hand. My dick is hard. Pre-cum drips from my tip, and I use the moisture to help my hand slide easier. My hand moves faster, focusing on my sensitive head. I almost come as soon as another text comes in.

  I'm so wet. God, Lynx...talk to me.

  I don't waste a second.

  The next time I get my hands on you, you're going to ride my face. Then I'm going to fuck you from behind. My hands will wrap around your tits while I pinch your nipples until you scream my name.

  The vision alone makes my balls rise up and my head flare. Veins pop on my dick, signaling I'm close, but even though Sarah's not here, I have to hold on until I know she's done.

  Play with your clit the way you like it. Faster, pretend it's my tongue.

  I hit send again and I get a response almost immediately after—one that makes me moan out loud, so loudly that I'm glad I told Landon not to bother crashing at my place.

  I want your dick inside me, pounding against me from behind. I want your balls to smack against me.