I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing. I didn’t fear him; instead I felt a deep, guttural pain. I moved my hand to cup his scruffy jaw and held it there, my thumb moving over the day-old stubble, and waited for more confessions. They came.
“The courts demanded that I be locked in juvie until I showed some sort of remorse because at the time I didn’t have not one fuckin’ ounce of it. That sorry sack of useless shit had beaten his wife to within a hair of her life; and me countless other times. That night I followed him to that bar, and was gonna jump on him when he finally stumbled his drunken ass out.” He gave a low, sarcastic laugh. “But one of his buddies dragged me in off the sidewalk, threw me at my foster father. My foster father was a big guy and a mean ass drunk, and he shoved me, started beatin’ the holy shit out of me, and his friends just let him. No one bothered to stop him. Then he cracked that lager bottle across the bar, just like on a fuckin’ movie, and took two swipes at me.” He laughed again. “Fuckin’ took me off guard, seein’ how wasted he was. After two swipes, with my face and throat bleeding all to hell and back, I kicked him in his goddamn nuts, he dropped the bottle, and I picked it up.” A long, pent up exhale blew across my forehead. “He took a swing at me with his bare fist. I ducked, and took one just like it, only with the bottle. I’ll never forget his face that night as he realized what’d just happened. Got his jugular and the bastard bled out right there in the bar. Right in front of me as I watched.” He turned his head and looked at me. “Does that repulse you?”
I stared at his face, my fingers still on his jaw, and was not that surprised by my answer. “Not at all.”
A sigh of relief, maybe, escaped Brax’s lungs, and he pulled me closer. “I wasn’t sentenced for that, but I had a lot of goddamn rage that I couldn’t control. Started fights—with everybody. Other kids. Cops. I stayed locked up in juvie until the Jenkins adopted me when I was almost seventeen. They’re decent people. Let me play baseball, encouraged my studies. To this day I can’t believe they risked it.” His laugh resonated with self loathing. “Risked a crazy f**k like me.”
Once more I found words to be hollow and senseless. I let my fingers lower to his chest, then raked them over his arms, knuckles. “Your tattoos,” I began. “What do they mean?” I’d noticed the script was in a foreign language and as intricately detailed as the art work.
“Here, sit up,” Brax said, and pushed us both to sitting. Reaching over his head, he pulled off his tee shirt. My eyes had adjusted to the dark well enough that I could see arms, chest, abs chiseled straight out of a block of stone. First, he held out his fists, indicating the letters inked into the knuckles. “I did these myself, and as you can see they’re a little sketchy. I was twelve and had just started fighting.” He laughed. “Man, I thought I was one bad ass little fuck.”
“What about this one?” I touched my fingertip to his ribs, where an inscription lay scrawled in black.
He looked at me. “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam. It’s Latin. It means I shall either find a way or make one.”
I was stunned by Brax’s fluid shift in language. I moved to another one where a mystical black creature with a bird’s head and skeleton wings twisted around his shoulder and down his arm, and melded into more script. I grazed it lightly. “This one?”
“A phoenix. Luctor et emergo. I struggle and I emerge.”
I moved to his other arm, where another mystical creature with an eagle’s head, wings, and a lion’s body entwined his forearm. “Here?”
Brax held his arm up. “That’s the gryphon, merging into a cross. And here,” he lifted his arm higher and pointed to the underside of his bicep. “Temet nosce.” He looked at me. “Know thyself.” He cocked his head to the side and touched the inked words trailing away from the jagged scar at his throat. “Vincit qui se vincit. He conquers who conquers himself.”
I nodded, understanding each one of his marks. Then, Brax twisted, turning his bare back to face me. Another Celtic cross was inked between his shoulder blades, and within the lines, more script.
“Non ducor duco. I am not led, I lead.”
My fingers traced the cross, and in the dark encountered multiple raised slashes embedded in Brax’s skin. “What are these?” I asked quietly. I knew the answer before he said it, and my stomach turned. Brax had just yanked open old wounds. I’d kept hidden my most horrible one.
“Memories of foster parents past,” he said with a harsh laugh. He turned back to face me, and ducked his head, looking me in the eye. “I drag a lot of shit around with me, Sunshine. Lucky you, you’re the only one who really knows I’m a derelict delinquent with a juvie record and no f**king clue who my parents are. And if you can’t stomach being with me, knowing all that? Then I need to know. Now. Because I don’t know if I can take any more f**king heartache—”
Emotions burst within me, and I grasped Brax’s face in my hands and sealed my mouth over his, hushing his words before he could finish them. A low groan escaped his throat and resonated against my lips as he kissed me, and I’m not sure if I pulled him down to the ground or if Brax took me there; maybe it was both. I laid on my back, with Brax’s upper body pressing into me, one arm cradling my head, the other resting on my stomach. He took over the kiss and his mouth devoured mine, hungry, surprised, and somehow I felt his pain ease out of him with each sweep of his tongue, each taste, each playful nip. His hand explored my ribs, my hip, and he deepened the kiss, causing a searing, needy turmoil inside me. I kissed him back with just as much hunger, my fingers twisting in his hair, then moving over the flexed muscles and raised scars of his back with light caresses, pinning him to me.
Never wanting to let go.
Brax’s mouth moved over my jaw, throat, and across my collar bone, and my head dropped back to offer more. But he didn’t take it; his lips returned to mine, controlled, and then he stopped, mouth to mouth, breath to breath. One heavily muscled thigh held mine down, and I felt the evidence of his desire pushing erotically against me. Surprise at my lack of fear gripped my insides. I desired Brax, and I wasn’t afraid. My heart beat so hard then, and my breath came fast. Then, he kissed me once more, slowly, tasting each corner, scraping his tongue against mine. He pressed our foreheads together, intimate and close.
“I f**king want you so bad it hurts,” he said, out of breath and in a husky whisper. “But not here. Not like this. And not now.”
My heart exploded then; my arms encircled Brax’s body, and I nestled my head into the crook of his neck. I knew then that I loved him. That I was in love with him. Knew it with every fiber within me. That scared me more than offering my false virginity to him. For now, I’d keep the sentiment safe, locked away inside of me. A new secret, because it was way too soon to confess it otherwise.
We laid together for a while longer, wrapped in each others arms and staring at the mass blanket of stars above us. Finally, after we’d both drifted off to sleep more than once, Brax lifted me up, pulled on his shirt, and we drove back to my truck. With my arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, my thoughts ran crazy wild and replayed every moment, every breath, every kiss. I couldn’t get enough.
As he always did, Brax followed me to my dorm where he gathered me in his arms and kissed me breathless at the door. He pulled back, studying my face.
“You know enough about me now to realize I don’t have the strength to keep that promise I made you.” His stare was profound, sincere, protective and frightening all at once. “Whatever Evans did or did not do to you was wrong.” He lifted my chin with his knuckle and ducked his head closer. “But what his father did, and condoned? Bailing his loser son out like that? Threatening your brothers for defending you? And what Evans continues to do to you now, here?” He shook his head, and anger lit his eyes. “It’s f**king unforgivable. Evans claims he didn’t graffiti your truck, and trust me, I pressed the issue. I’m still not sure I believe him. He doesn’t scare me and neither does his prick father.” His lips caressed mine once more. “Just so you know.” He swiped my key card and gave me a light shove inside, and the door closed behind me. From inside our gazes held tight through the glass, and he just started backing up, his stare matching mine, and I wondered if he was in as much awe as I was. Under the street lamp I saw his beautiful mouth curve into a smile, then he turned, straddled his bike, and I stood there in the common room of Oliver Hall and watched as Brax disappeared into the night. I knew then if Kelsy screwed up, nothing would stop Brax. God, if Brax found out the rest of the story? About what happened beyond the drinking that night at the pond? Neither me, Kelsy’s father, nor the authorities would stop him. It was simply an unsettling yet bald-faced fact.
As I crept into bed I marveled at the absolute contentment, mixed with limitless fear that filled me. Was it truly real? Was Brax? I prayed to Jesus and begged him to make it so. It’d been fate on that first day at Winston, when Brax Jenkins had slammed into me on the front lawn. What else could it have possibly been? As I replayed every conversation, every shocking admission and every sensual kiss we’d shared, I drifted off into a deep, satisfied slumber. And for the first time in a long, long time, my heart was full.
17. Almost Perfect
“I gotta admit, Liv. He’s not what I thought he was. Well. Minus the short fuse and cocky attitude. Both of those traits he definitely possesses.”
Through my shades I peered at my roommate, seated beside me in the bleachers as we watched Brax pitch the long-anticipated late afternoon fall home game. Tessa wore her long straight hair in a high ponytail, her eyes rimmed by large framed Hollywood-style tortoise shell sunglasses that went fashionably perfect with her skinny jeans, snug red top and pumps. I raised one brow. “So what changed your mind?”
Tessa shrugged, and a smile crept across her tanned face. “I’ve noticed several things during my weeks of in-depth scrutiny of Winston’s reputable man slut, which he was, by the way. That famous magical p**n radar wiener wasn’t an urban legend. He’s just … changed now. But the one thing in particular is the way he looks at you. Not just sometimes, but every single time. He’s so into you, Liv. It’s like,” she inhaled, exhaled in a Tessa-drama fashion. “I don’t know. Like there’s no one else in the universe except you. Those freaky eyes soften and fill with absolute wonder, every single solitary time you appear anywhere within his range of sight. You’re all he sees.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “Like Tarzan sees Jane. Sheer bewilderment.” She sighed against me. “You’re so damn lucky.” Her head popped up and she smacked my thigh. “Shit! Brax is up to bat!”
A contented smile fell across my mouth as I tore my gaze across the bleachers to home plate. Brax dropped the bat over one shoulder and glanced my way, and his mouth broke into a bright wide grin.
“See what I mean?” Tessa said in a whispery voice.
“Yeah,” I answered back. A shimmer of excitement coursed through me. “I sure do.”
Everything since the night of confessions, things had been almost perfect. Almost in that we had large chunks of time during the day that we couldn’t be together. I had work; he had baseball. I had astronomy. He had fraternity. We saw each other every day, though, and I still couldn’t believe I’d met someone like him. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. I kept secretly expecting it to end; for something to happen. Anything. But it hadn’t. I hadn’t told my family about Brax yet, but I would. Maybe he’d want to come home with me for Thanksgiving?
I settled my gaze on the game. Two men on base, two outs, and Brax crowded the home plate as he owned his stance, thighs spread wide and knees bent, fists gripping the wood and bat held high above his right shoulder. The pitcher threw a fast ball, and Brax swung and missed. He jerked, spit, and slammed the bat against home plate.
“Oops, he’s pissed now,” Tessa said.
He settled into his stance once more, the pitch fired across the plate and this time when Brax swung he nailed it. The bat cracked against the ball, firing it like a cannon down the left field line. Two runners crossed the plate, but my gaze remained on Brax’s powerful body as he rounded each base at top speed, finally stopping at third. Tessa and I leaped to our feet, clapping and hollering with the rest of the crowd. The third base coach slapped Brax on the shoulder, then Brax turned, found me, and held his arms out wide in his famous look what I just did gesture. I laughed.
“What a freaking hot dog,” Tessa claimed. “Oh! Oh shit!” She linked her arm through mine and yanked me back and forth. “Cory’s up!”
I laughed again. Tessa had it bad for Cory, and had been pretty bold about letting him know it, too. But after the break-up he’d endured, he wasn’t biting the bait Tessa kept chunking at him. It didn’t seem to deter her one little bit. We watched as Cory belted it into corner right field. Brax crossed home plate and Cory made it to second. Winston was ahead seven to two. Tessa’s brother Cole strolled to home plate.
“Holy fuck, he’s so full of himself,” Tessa griped. “Look at that strut!” Then she cupped her hands to her mouth and hollered. “Batter, batter swing, big brother!”
Three strikes later and Cole slung the bat to the ground, and the inning was over.
“Oh, hells bells, he’ll be in a mood tonight,” Tessa said.
My eyes followed Brax as he jogged out onto the pitchers mound in that easy, arrogant swagger that screamed confidence and sex appeal. The last three innings flew by as Brax struck each batter out. His long, powerful pitches used every ounce of energy from his body as he wound up and threw. It was an amazing sight to watch. One I didn’t think I’d ever grow tired of. As the last pitch fired into the catcher’s mitt, before the umpire called the strike, Brax leaped into the air. Tessa and I did the same, clapping and yelling. Game over. Silverbacks had won.
“The courts demanded that I be locked in juvie until I showed some sort of remorse because at the time I didn’t have not one fuckin’ ounce of it. That sorry sack of useless shit had beaten his wife to within a hair of her life; and me countless other times. That night I followed him to that bar, and was gonna jump on him when he finally stumbled his drunken ass out.” He gave a low, sarcastic laugh. “But one of his buddies dragged me in off the sidewalk, threw me at my foster father. My foster father was a big guy and a mean ass drunk, and he shoved me, started beatin’ the holy shit out of me, and his friends just let him. No one bothered to stop him. Then he cracked that lager bottle across the bar, just like on a fuckin’ movie, and took two swipes at me.” He laughed again. “Fuckin’ took me off guard, seein’ how wasted he was. After two swipes, with my face and throat bleeding all to hell and back, I kicked him in his goddamn nuts, he dropped the bottle, and I picked it up.” A long, pent up exhale blew across my forehead. “He took a swing at me with his bare fist. I ducked, and took one just like it, only with the bottle. I’ll never forget his face that night as he realized what’d just happened. Got his jugular and the bastard bled out right there in the bar. Right in front of me as I watched.” He turned his head and looked at me. “Does that repulse you?”
I stared at his face, my fingers still on his jaw, and was not that surprised by my answer. “Not at all.”
A sigh of relief, maybe, escaped Brax’s lungs, and he pulled me closer. “I wasn’t sentenced for that, but I had a lot of goddamn rage that I couldn’t control. Started fights—with everybody. Other kids. Cops. I stayed locked up in juvie until the Jenkins adopted me when I was almost seventeen. They’re decent people. Let me play baseball, encouraged my studies. To this day I can’t believe they risked it.” His laugh resonated with self loathing. “Risked a crazy f**k like me.”
Once more I found words to be hollow and senseless. I let my fingers lower to his chest, then raked them over his arms, knuckles. “Your tattoos,” I began. “What do they mean?” I’d noticed the script was in a foreign language and as intricately detailed as the art work.
“Here, sit up,” Brax said, and pushed us both to sitting. Reaching over his head, he pulled off his tee shirt. My eyes had adjusted to the dark well enough that I could see arms, chest, abs chiseled straight out of a block of stone. First, he held out his fists, indicating the letters inked into the knuckles. “I did these myself, and as you can see they’re a little sketchy. I was twelve and had just started fighting.” He laughed. “Man, I thought I was one bad ass little fuck.”
“What about this one?” I touched my fingertip to his ribs, where an inscription lay scrawled in black.
He looked at me. “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam. It’s Latin. It means I shall either find a way or make one.”
I was stunned by Brax’s fluid shift in language. I moved to another one where a mystical black creature with a bird’s head and skeleton wings twisted around his shoulder and down his arm, and melded into more script. I grazed it lightly. “This one?”
“A phoenix. Luctor et emergo. I struggle and I emerge.”
I moved to his other arm, where another mystical creature with an eagle’s head, wings, and a lion’s body entwined his forearm. “Here?”
Brax held his arm up. “That’s the gryphon, merging into a cross. And here,” he lifted his arm higher and pointed to the underside of his bicep. “Temet nosce.” He looked at me. “Know thyself.” He cocked his head to the side and touched the inked words trailing away from the jagged scar at his throat. “Vincit qui se vincit. He conquers who conquers himself.”
I nodded, understanding each one of his marks. Then, Brax twisted, turning his bare back to face me. Another Celtic cross was inked between his shoulder blades, and within the lines, more script.
“Non ducor duco. I am not led, I lead.”
My fingers traced the cross, and in the dark encountered multiple raised slashes embedded in Brax’s skin. “What are these?” I asked quietly. I knew the answer before he said it, and my stomach turned. Brax had just yanked open old wounds. I’d kept hidden my most horrible one.
“Memories of foster parents past,” he said with a harsh laugh. He turned back to face me, and ducked his head, looking me in the eye. “I drag a lot of shit around with me, Sunshine. Lucky you, you’re the only one who really knows I’m a derelict delinquent with a juvie record and no f**king clue who my parents are. And if you can’t stomach being with me, knowing all that? Then I need to know. Now. Because I don’t know if I can take any more f**king heartache—”
Emotions burst within me, and I grasped Brax’s face in my hands and sealed my mouth over his, hushing his words before he could finish them. A low groan escaped his throat and resonated against my lips as he kissed me, and I’m not sure if I pulled him down to the ground or if Brax took me there; maybe it was both. I laid on my back, with Brax’s upper body pressing into me, one arm cradling my head, the other resting on my stomach. He took over the kiss and his mouth devoured mine, hungry, surprised, and somehow I felt his pain ease out of him with each sweep of his tongue, each taste, each playful nip. His hand explored my ribs, my hip, and he deepened the kiss, causing a searing, needy turmoil inside me. I kissed him back with just as much hunger, my fingers twisting in his hair, then moving over the flexed muscles and raised scars of his back with light caresses, pinning him to me.
Never wanting to let go.
Brax’s mouth moved over my jaw, throat, and across my collar bone, and my head dropped back to offer more. But he didn’t take it; his lips returned to mine, controlled, and then he stopped, mouth to mouth, breath to breath. One heavily muscled thigh held mine down, and I felt the evidence of his desire pushing erotically against me. Surprise at my lack of fear gripped my insides. I desired Brax, and I wasn’t afraid. My heart beat so hard then, and my breath came fast. Then, he kissed me once more, slowly, tasting each corner, scraping his tongue against mine. He pressed our foreheads together, intimate and close.
“I f**king want you so bad it hurts,” he said, out of breath and in a husky whisper. “But not here. Not like this. And not now.”
My heart exploded then; my arms encircled Brax’s body, and I nestled my head into the crook of his neck. I knew then that I loved him. That I was in love with him. Knew it with every fiber within me. That scared me more than offering my false virginity to him. For now, I’d keep the sentiment safe, locked away inside of me. A new secret, because it was way too soon to confess it otherwise.
We laid together for a while longer, wrapped in each others arms and staring at the mass blanket of stars above us. Finally, after we’d both drifted off to sleep more than once, Brax lifted me up, pulled on his shirt, and we drove back to my truck. With my arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, my thoughts ran crazy wild and replayed every moment, every breath, every kiss. I couldn’t get enough.
As he always did, Brax followed me to my dorm where he gathered me in his arms and kissed me breathless at the door. He pulled back, studying my face.
“You know enough about me now to realize I don’t have the strength to keep that promise I made you.” His stare was profound, sincere, protective and frightening all at once. “Whatever Evans did or did not do to you was wrong.” He lifted my chin with his knuckle and ducked his head closer. “But what his father did, and condoned? Bailing his loser son out like that? Threatening your brothers for defending you? And what Evans continues to do to you now, here?” He shook his head, and anger lit his eyes. “It’s f**king unforgivable. Evans claims he didn’t graffiti your truck, and trust me, I pressed the issue. I’m still not sure I believe him. He doesn’t scare me and neither does his prick father.” His lips caressed mine once more. “Just so you know.” He swiped my key card and gave me a light shove inside, and the door closed behind me. From inside our gazes held tight through the glass, and he just started backing up, his stare matching mine, and I wondered if he was in as much awe as I was. Under the street lamp I saw his beautiful mouth curve into a smile, then he turned, straddled his bike, and I stood there in the common room of Oliver Hall and watched as Brax disappeared into the night. I knew then if Kelsy screwed up, nothing would stop Brax. God, if Brax found out the rest of the story? About what happened beyond the drinking that night at the pond? Neither me, Kelsy’s father, nor the authorities would stop him. It was simply an unsettling yet bald-faced fact.
As I crept into bed I marveled at the absolute contentment, mixed with limitless fear that filled me. Was it truly real? Was Brax? I prayed to Jesus and begged him to make it so. It’d been fate on that first day at Winston, when Brax Jenkins had slammed into me on the front lawn. What else could it have possibly been? As I replayed every conversation, every shocking admission and every sensual kiss we’d shared, I drifted off into a deep, satisfied slumber. And for the first time in a long, long time, my heart was full.
17. Almost Perfect
“I gotta admit, Liv. He’s not what I thought he was. Well. Minus the short fuse and cocky attitude. Both of those traits he definitely possesses.”
Through my shades I peered at my roommate, seated beside me in the bleachers as we watched Brax pitch the long-anticipated late afternoon fall home game. Tessa wore her long straight hair in a high ponytail, her eyes rimmed by large framed Hollywood-style tortoise shell sunglasses that went fashionably perfect with her skinny jeans, snug red top and pumps. I raised one brow. “So what changed your mind?”
Tessa shrugged, and a smile crept across her tanned face. “I’ve noticed several things during my weeks of in-depth scrutiny of Winston’s reputable man slut, which he was, by the way. That famous magical p**n radar wiener wasn’t an urban legend. He’s just … changed now. But the one thing in particular is the way he looks at you. Not just sometimes, but every single time. He’s so into you, Liv. It’s like,” she inhaled, exhaled in a Tessa-drama fashion. “I don’t know. Like there’s no one else in the universe except you. Those freaky eyes soften and fill with absolute wonder, every single solitary time you appear anywhere within his range of sight. You’re all he sees.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “Like Tarzan sees Jane. Sheer bewilderment.” She sighed against me. “You’re so damn lucky.” Her head popped up and she smacked my thigh. “Shit! Brax is up to bat!”
A contented smile fell across my mouth as I tore my gaze across the bleachers to home plate. Brax dropped the bat over one shoulder and glanced my way, and his mouth broke into a bright wide grin.
“See what I mean?” Tessa said in a whispery voice.
“Yeah,” I answered back. A shimmer of excitement coursed through me. “I sure do.”
Everything since the night of confessions, things had been almost perfect. Almost in that we had large chunks of time during the day that we couldn’t be together. I had work; he had baseball. I had astronomy. He had fraternity. We saw each other every day, though, and I still couldn’t believe I’d met someone like him. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. I kept secretly expecting it to end; for something to happen. Anything. But it hadn’t. I hadn’t told my family about Brax yet, but I would. Maybe he’d want to come home with me for Thanksgiving?
I settled my gaze on the game. Two men on base, two outs, and Brax crowded the home plate as he owned his stance, thighs spread wide and knees bent, fists gripping the wood and bat held high above his right shoulder. The pitcher threw a fast ball, and Brax swung and missed. He jerked, spit, and slammed the bat against home plate.
“Oops, he’s pissed now,” Tessa said.
He settled into his stance once more, the pitch fired across the plate and this time when Brax swung he nailed it. The bat cracked against the ball, firing it like a cannon down the left field line. Two runners crossed the plate, but my gaze remained on Brax’s powerful body as he rounded each base at top speed, finally stopping at third. Tessa and I leaped to our feet, clapping and hollering with the rest of the crowd. The third base coach slapped Brax on the shoulder, then Brax turned, found me, and held his arms out wide in his famous look what I just did gesture. I laughed.
“What a freaking hot dog,” Tessa claimed. “Oh! Oh shit!” She linked her arm through mine and yanked me back and forth. “Cory’s up!”
I laughed again. Tessa had it bad for Cory, and had been pretty bold about letting him know it, too. But after the break-up he’d endured, he wasn’t biting the bait Tessa kept chunking at him. It didn’t seem to deter her one little bit. We watched as Cory belted it into corner right field. Brax crossed home plate and Cory made it to second. Winston was ahead seven to two. Tessa’s brother Cole strolled to home plate.
“Holy fuck, he’s so full of himself,” Tessa griped. “Look at that strut!” Then she cupped her hands to her mouth and hollered. “Batter, batter swing, big brother!”
Three strikes later and Cole slung the bat to the ground, and the inning was over.
“Oh, hells bells, he’ll be in a mood tonight,” Tessa said.
My eyes followed Brax as he jogged out onto the pitchers mound in that easy, arrogant swagger that screamed confidence and sex appeal. The last three innings flew by as Brax struck each batter out. His long, powerful pitches used every ounce of energy from his body as he wound up and threw. It was an amazing sight to watch. One I didn’t think I’d ever grow tired of. As the last pitch fired into the catcher’s mitt, before the umpire called the strike, Brax leaped into the air. Tessa and I did the same, clapping and yelling. Game over. Silverbacks had won.
