I’ve often dreamed of telling Harley’s mom exactly what I think of her. Of giving her a mug that says Worst Mother in the World. Of calling her unfit, and spitting on her. But now that I’m here, none of those seem satisfying. Harley’s mom is irredeemable, and I’m not going to stoop to her level. Instead, I think of what Michele would tell me to do. Speak your truth.
Because words are all we have, and her mother might be unmoved by them, but this isn’t about her. This is about her daughter. The woman I love with every ounce of my heart and mind and soul.
“I’m no angel, Mrs. Coleman. I’ve done plenty of bad things in my life. But I know this much. That’s not how you treat people you love. That’s not how you treat anyone. You’re lucky—and by lucky, I mean it’s absolute luck and chance, and it has nothing to do with you—that your daughter is not on the streets, or worse. Everything she has made herself into is because of her, because of her heart, because of all the places in her that you could never ever touch,” I say, pointing a finger at her. She is implacable as she sits steely-eyed, arms crossed, staring harshly at me. “She is who she is not because of you, but in spite of you. I know this, too—she’s going to make an amazing mother to our child, and it has everything to do with her, and absolutely nothing to do with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take her home.”
Then I reach into my wallet, leave some bills on the table, and walk away, leaving her mother exactly where she belongs.
Alone.
Chapter Twenty
Trey
“I thought she would change,” Harley says, wiping a hand across her cheek.
“Some people never change,” I say, softly kissing her tears away.
“But we changed, right?” Her brown eyes are so earnest. “We both worked so hard to change. To live differently. To leave the past behind.”
“Yeah, we did, and we do. Every day. But it wasn’t and it isn’t easy, and we both wanted to change. Your mom doesn’t. But she doesn’t know how, either. She doesn’t have the skills or the tools.”
“I just hoped she’d apologize. Or have a good reason. But when she said that about my father, it was so cruel. I felt like she slammed me. Like I was seeing stars.”
“I can only imagine,” I say, and I wrap my arms around her and pull her even closer to me on the futon at my place that will soon become our place.
“Do you think it’s true? What she said?”
I shrug. “I have no clue.”
“It just seemed so mean. Like she wanted to hurt me. I don’t think she ever loved me.”
“Harley, she’s not a good person. She doesn’t know what she wants. She doesn’t know how to love.”
“It just hurts so much. I don’t think I’ve ever known love before you.”
I smooth out her hair, and kiss the top of her head. “But now you know it, and you’ll always have it. And I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
I can feel her smile, even in the darkness. There’s no music on now, just the soundtrack of New York City playing through the closed window, the faraway noises of tires on asphalt, of alarms from cars, of buses trundling down the avenue. Here, inside, we are safe in our world.
“You won’t now, will ya?”
I shake my head, and hold her tight. “You are everything to me. You are the most important person in the world, and I will do whatever it takes for you,” I say, then I lower my voice to a whisper, as my hands make their way to her belly. She’s carrying my child. It’s such a humbling thought, and such a heady one, and it still scares the hell out of me, but it also makes me love her even more. “And for our baby.”
I hear the tiniest little sob escape her throat as she leans her head back against me, her neck stretching out, long and inviting. “I’m getting fat.”
I shake my head again. “No. You’re even more beautiful. And who the fuck knew that could happen, because you were already perfect.” I inch my hands under her sweater, my palms now against her belly, skin to skin. “I think you’re even sexier, Harley.”
“Oh, stop. I’m not sexy.”
“No. You’re wrong. Because you’re insanely sexy, and you’re having my baby, and there is nothing sexier than that.”
She turns, and now her arms are looped around me. “You’re crazy. I can’t believe you’ve gone from freaking out to being all you’re so sexy. Soon, you’re gonna want me to do a Mother Earth rain dance or something.”
I laugh. “Doubtful on the rain dance, but if you wanted to do one I wouldn’t turn you away. Don’t you get it? I might have freaked out, but I’m not freaking out now. I’m here, right here, loving you.”
She presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Show me love, Trey.”
“Always,” I tell her, and then I trace her face with my fingertips, the pads of my fingers mapping her beautiful features, memorizing them, even though I know all of her by heart and still can’t get enough of her. I brush the backs of my fingers against her cheek, and she sighs as she leans into my hand. She closes her eyes, savoring my touch. I am gentle with her, because she likes it when I am, and because she deserves it, and because I want her to feel loved. Especially now, after that dinner, when she’s hurt and vulnerable, when the person who was supposed to love her most in the world has kicked her once more. But now I’m that person—the one who loves her most. “I’m your family now, Harley. You know that, right?”
She nods into my palm, her eyes still closed, but her lips curved into a sad, sweet smile. “I know that.”
“It’s not something I will ever take lightly,” I tell her, and then I end all conversation with a kiss; a slow, tender kiss that says everything. With the press of my lips against hers, I am telling her I cherish her. As I taste the soft underside of her bottom lip, I am saying always. As I cup her cheek and bring her near, I am letting her know that my love for her is boundless.
Her breath mingles with mine, and she tastes so good, so sweet, and I want so much more of her. I want to connect with her so deeply, to take away all her pain, to erase the sadness. I want her to know what love is, and that she has it, deeply and always with me.
And, judging from the way she’s wriggling and starting to moan, she wants more than kissing. A hell of a lot more. In seconds, she’s kissing me harder, and crawling up on me, straddling me as she wraps her legs around my waist. She grabs my hair and starts to rock her hips against me. Then she breaks the kiss to look at me.
“I’m so horny,” she tells me, then laughs.
I laugh too. “And presumably you like me, too?”
“I’m so fucking horny, and so fucking in love with you. Is that better?”
I nod. “Much better.”
“Make love to me now, please,” she tells me.
“Happily,” I say, and shift her from my waist so I can take off my clothes. I tug off my shirt quickly because I want to watch her undress.
I love the way she strips. There’s nothing unusual or overtly sexy about how she disrobes; she doesn’t toss me a saucy wink, or sashay her hips. She doesn’t need any tricks to get me hard. What I love most is that it’s her, taking off her clothes for me. So she can be naked with me, and me alone.
“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous it should be a crime,” I say as her jeans hit the floor, then her underwear. Here she is standing in the dark, the moonlight casting its silvery glow across her white skin. Her legs are strong, muscular from walking everywhere in the city. Her breasts are perfect, and I cup them in my hands, so full. And her belly that used to be flat is now growing round, and I place my palms on it, smoothing them against her skin, so warm.
I pull her down on the futon, so I’m flat on my bed, and she’s straddling me. “Ride me,” I whisper.
She takes my cock in her hands, rubs me against her entrance, and I curse loudly, my body humming with the need to be so deep inside her. “You’re so fucking wet, Harley. I can practically feel you dripping on me.”