Torn Read online

  He closes his eyes and when he reopens them, he combs his fingers through my hair then pauses to cradle my head with both hands. He sighs as his forehead meets mine. I kiss the very corner of his lips and his mouth opens to welcome me. Our tongues entwine and I close my eyes as I slide my hands down his sides. I want to mold my body against his, showing him how much I truly love him. I need to show him for him and for me.

  He tears his lips from mine as he places his hands on my shoulders and lifts me off of him slightly. “Dahlia, we should probably talk . . .”

  But I cut off his words. I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel his love. I suck on his bottom lip for a long moment and then run my tongue down his neck. Pressing my lips against his smooth skin, I wedge my knees between his legs and a small moan escapes his throat. I kneel and he spreads his legs wider. I study his long lean body that I have come to know so well and feel myself shiver in anticipation. My eyes lock on the elastic of his boxers peeking from under the waistband of his jeans. A hint of his toned abs shows from where his shirt has lifted and I want to lick what’s under that black band.

  I pull my shirt off and toss it to the ground, keeping my eyes in line with his. Biting down on my bottom lip, my fingers slide over the lace of my bra and I feel my nipples harden. He’s watching me in a way that makes me want to keep doing what I’ve started. My hands travel down my body and instead of unbuttoning my jeans, I slide my palms down the front of them. Stopping, I push against the spot at the bottom of my zipper. His lips part and his breath hitches. I bite down harder on my bottom lip and take this to the next level.

  Unbuttoning my jeans, I pull them down. Leaning back so my head rests on the sofa arm, I shimmy out of them. I lay there in my underwear and his scrutiny overcomes me. The look on his face is enough for me to see this through.

  I push my feet under his thighs and he strokes his hands up my calves. His chest rises and falls rapidly. Every one of my senses comes alive as I watch him watch me through heavily lidded eyes. When my fingers find their way inside the lace of my panties, he rises to his elbows. He surprises me when he says, “Take them off.” His voice is commanding, edged with need.

  Sliding the lace down, I pull my feet together and he grabs my panties, throwing them to the floor. I tuck my feet back under his thighs and this time move them a little further up and he groans again. Dangling my hands between my legs my fingers make contact with my slick flesh and I imagine they are his fingers touching me. A small moan escapes my lips and I throw my head back.

  Before I do what I’ve never done in front of another person, he unzips his jeans and sits up. Moving swiftly, his lean, hard body is on top of mine, his elbows on either side of my arms. A low deep growl vibrates against my lips. “That’s only for me. I’m the only one who gets to make you moan.”

  The press of our bodies together sends me into a state of desperation. My breath comes in short, harsh pants and I reach out to tangle my hands in his already-messy hair. His hips grind into mine and I can feel what I can’t wait to have. His breathing is labored and his heart beats fast with desire. He nips my lower lip and then pulls back to look at me. The flames of the fire are still glowing, making his slight smile light up. Wanting his mouth back on me, I pull his lips to mine. When he jets his tongue in and out of my mouth, I want to drink him in—savor the feel and taste of his mouth on mine to have for always.

  “I need you,” he says as he positions himself between my legs.

  “I need you, too,” I manage, rubbing myself against him.

  Gripping his hips I urge him to take me and he does. He enters me, fills me, and as he slides deeper it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. With it my confusion melts away and we both get lost in the moment. He pulls back, almost withdrawing completely, and I tremble with need all the way to my core. He pushes back inside me and as he moves faster, I clamp my legs around his and grind my hips into him. His eyes close as he maintains the fast rhythm.

  I can feel my own pleasure building and I’m craving the release. I close my eyes and rock upward. Our mouths connect hungrily as our pace quickens. My muscles begin to tighten and I know it won’t be long. I am so close.

  His tongue circles the shell of my ear. “Say you’re mine,” he breathes. The vibration of his voice and the sound of his words send a shudder through my body and I swear it makes my cheeks and lips quiver.

  “I am. You know I am,” I tell him and I roll my hips to mimic his movement.

  His breath is warm against my cheek. “Say it.”

  “I’m yours, River.”

  Within seconds his hands slide down to my hips and he takes complete control. I throw my arms over my head and clutch the sofa trying to block out everything but this, the here and now.

  “Dahlia, let go,” his voice shakes as he speaks.

  Taking a deep breath I do just that—I finally feel what I have needed to feel since we got home. A muffled sound lodges in my throat and then I call out his name as he pushes me over the edge into pure bliss. “Oh God, River!” I shout as I come hard, waves of pleasure rippling through me.

  As if that was the signal he was waiting for, River groans and thrusts deeply one final time before I feel the warmth of him filling me deep inside. He collapses on me and lays his head on my chest, whispering, “I love you. You’re . . .”

  His words trail off as he rolls against the back of the couch and tightens his hold on me. After a few minutes, he stands and takes my hand, leading me to our bedroom, where we crawl into bed and find each other immediately. I’m completely wrapped in his body, our arms and legs entangled as tight as they can be, my face buried in his chest. I’m so warm, so comfortable; it’s where I always want to be.

  “I love you. So much,” I say one last time because I hope that with those reassuring words everything will be okay. But a small amount of doubt can’t help but weigh on me, and I feel like it’s hanging over us.

  As I start to drift off to sleep I keep hearing Ben’s strained voice and seeing his distraught face. Why the hell would he pretend to be dead when he wasn’t? Why would he put us all through the grief and sorrow that irrevocably changed our lives? I know I have to see him to understand what’s going on.

  Chapter 4

  Like We Used To

  Ben’s Journal

  I never thought I’d see her again and when I finally did—my heart stopped. Mom wanted me to stay in the kitchen so she could explain everything to her. I tried to wait until she was done, but when Serena called her by name, I couldn’t wait any longer to get my Dahl back.

  When I saw her beautiful face bruised and battered, my gut instinct was that that son of a bitch sitting next to her had hit her. It wasn’t until she left and Caleb sat me down, that I knew her injuries were a direct result of my actions. Fuck me—what had I done? How can I ever make this up to her? I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I need her to give me the chance . . . because if she does I’ll spend my whole life making it right. I swear I will.

  Seeing her bruised and battered enraged me, but her reaction to seeing me—that just wrecked me. I knew she’d be shocked, even pissed, but fuck, I didn’t expect apathy. She approached me like a zombie and the jackass she brought with her wouldn’t shut the hell up. But then the sign came. The sign that she cared for me.

  She touched me. Her hand tenderly brushed my cheek. A simple reminder that we had loved each other our whole lives, that we had known each other since we were five years old, that we were always there for each other. I didn’t need the physical reminder to recall those feelings . . . but maybe she did.

  It had been so long since I felt her soft skin against mine. Sure, I’d written to her in the journal, the one I kept just for her when I thought I’d never see her again—I’d written to her about how much I missed her and tried to explain the choice I’d made. But then she was standing in front of me and I couldn’t believe it. I had dreamed of her touch so many times but never thought I’d feel it again. A simple reflex acti
on—to reach out and touch someone—and she did it, almost intuitively. I thought that meant she had missed me, but now I’m not so sure what it meant.

  Nothing up to that point had gone as I thought it would. But there she was wearing her Grammy’s pearls, and all of the times she had worn them before flashed in front of my eyes. It was more than I could take. It broke me. I tried to pull her to me, to hold her but she resisted. I saw the look of confusion on her face, that same look I’ve seen before. If I could just hold her, she’d be mine, but that pretty boy stood up and I knew I didn’t have much time. I spewed out what I could, as fast as I could, but it wasn’t enough.

  She stared at me and I knew at least she finally saw me. Relieved, I tried to tune out all the chaos surrounding us but she suddenly went apeshit on me. When he tried to take her from me, I pulled her back; I wasn’t done talking to her. How dare he threaten me, she’s my girl.

  She collapsed, but he got to her first. When the dick picked her up, he looked at my mother and said, “This is bullshit. We’re done,” and headed for the door. I’d had enough. I had to stop myself from pounding the shit out of him. I told him to put her down and get the fuck out. That fucking asshole was not taking her.

  Mom ran after them and I tried to but Serena held me back. I couldn’t let her just leave so I shrugged off my sister and went to get my girl. When I saw him putting her in his car, I yelled at him to bring my Dahl back. When the prick told me, “She’s mine. You don’t deserve her, you never did,” I let him know how it really was—that he was just a substitute, not my replacement. And I wanted to beat the shit out of him, I really did, when he said, “Then I’ve been your substitute for way longer than you’ve been dead.” But Caleb appeared out of nowhere and stopped me. He tried to calm him down. I still can’t believe Caleb even talks to that fucker. I was literally blown away to learn that he had worked for him! I only found this out because he actually fired Caleb once he heard that Josh Hart, Dahl’s attacker had been caught.

  ***

  I couldn’t free myself from Caleb to go after him, so I yelled my last plea. But I couldn’t tell whether Dahlia heard anything I shouted to her. So much for a happy reunion. What the fuck?

  I had to watch as he acted like the hero for her. But she was my girl, is my girl, not his. That should have been me trying to get her to stop crying and wiping away her tears. They drove away and his last words—I’ve been your substitute for way longer than you’ve been dead—echoed in my mind. Fuck! I don’t want to even think about it, but what did he mean?

  Chapter 5

  Torn

  I’m tangled in River’s arms and legs as I wake up and try to slide out from under him. He instinctively reaches for me without waking, as he usually does regardless of which side I sleep on. I remain still until he settles back into sleep. One look at him and everything comes rushing back. What happened yesterday wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. Ben. He’s alive. He really was at Grace’s . . .

  Yesterday I didn’t want to believe it. Today I know I have to. But what was he talking about?—he did what for me? With so many questions, I can’t even think straight. I really can’t even understand how any of this is possible.

  It’s just after four in the morning as I quietly make my way to the bathroom, then out to the living room. I slip on the same clothes I wore yesterday, grab a sweater, turn off the alarm, and leave him a note.

  River,

  I’m sorry, but I have to talk to him. I need to understand how he’s here and what he was talking about. Don’t worry about me.

  I love you. I love you more!

  I leave the house feeling lost and unsure. But I know this is something I have to do. The drive to Laguna Beach is long and quiet. I have the radio turned on, and even though I’m not really listening to what’s playing, every song brings a memory. When I exit the freeway and pass through town, the traffic is almost nonexistent. I drive down the narrow streets lined with delivery trucks, boutiques, bars and restaurants, and my mind wanders to the life I had here.

  This entire town is filled with memories of Ben. The beach where we spent endless summer days, the corner coffee shop where we would sit and read the paper together, and downtown where we hung out and people-watched. I have to open my window to catch my breath as the memories of my happy life before his death flood my mind. But when I pass the cemetery where I laid him to rest, those memories turn dark—the shooting, the funeral, the lowering of his casket, and how completely lost I felt. How alone I was.

  Then I remember it wasn’t until the day I walked down that hallway in Vegas, looked through the glass wall of the meeting room, and saw River that the veil was lifted. It was River’s unwavering love that showed me how to live again. He made me whole and I can’t help but think about how much I love everything about him.

  Images of Ben, images of River, memories of both men—it all fills my head. Ben’s back—what happens next? I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know that my intense connection with River is undeniable. The love I have for him is like nothing I’ve ever felt before; but Ben was my first love and that kind of love never leaves you—does it?

  All of these thoughts tumble through my mind and I suddenly feel sick. I have to pull over as my stomach clenches with apprehension. I park illegally, turn off the car, open the door, and hang my head between my knees. When the wave of nausea finally passes I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Oh God, what am I doing going to see him?

  I grab my purse and fumble inside for my phone. I can’t do this. I need to call River. I want to go home. He needs to come get me. I don’t think I can drive. I shouldn’t have come. I dump my purse out on the passenger seat in search of my fucking phone, but it’s not there. Shit! River has it.

  I sit back and take a few calming breaths. After finally pulling myself together, I decide it has to be now. There’s no sense in putting this off, and I know never isn’t an option. I’m almost there, so I might as well see this through. With wavering resolve, I start the ignition and head toward the beach to find out from Ben what happened.

  I drive the rest of the way in silence, afraid to turn the radio on, for fear of hearing familiar songs that might awaken even more memories. As I turn into Grace’s driveway, I once again start doubting this course of action and wonder if I should be doing this now. I mean . . . what am I even looking for? But I know the answer to that—I need some answers. Answers to two questions—why did Ben leave; and what brought him back?

  Putting the car in park, I lean my head back. I sit there for a moment staring at the house, trying to figure out what I’m going to say to him. From the outside, the house still looks like the same tranquil place it has always been, a home—Grace’s, Ben’s, mine. But I’m uncertain of what lies in wait on the inside—what if tranquility is not what I’m about to walk into? I draw deep steady breaths and turn off the engine, preparing myself to see him, all the while wondering if we would even still be together if he never “died.” I want to believe that in the end, River and I would still have found our way back to each other.

  Glancing toward the moonlit path, there stands Ben on the old weathered planks staring at my car, at me. My breath catches at the sight of him. I stay where I am, frozen in place for the longest time. I didn’t expect to see him outside. He looks mostly the same: ruggedly handsome chiseled face, tall figure, khaki cargo shorts, messy blond hair peeking through the hood of his sweatshirt. He looks thinner than he was, not as tan as he used to be, but he’s still Ben, still all surfer. He’s not a figment of my imagination and, for a moment, time stops and I’m transported back to the days when he’d stand there like that waiting for me to follow. I can’t believe it’s really him . . . my friend, my rock, he’s not really dead. What I’m afraid of I’m not even sure. But the longer I sit here, the longer he stares and I finally open the door.

  As I walk toward the bridge, my feelings are so undefined. I’m not sure how to handle this conversation. But my uncertainty quickl
y fades when the slightly cocky grin I know so well appears on his face, and the apprehension I felt earlier wells within me. I’m no longer questioning if I should be here because I know I should—I need to know what happened to him.

  When I stop a safe distance from him our eyes meet and his grin immediately disappears. He pulls his hood off and lowers his head but never once takes his gaze off me. With his hands shoved in his pockets he leans back against the unstable railing looking almost stoic. I can’t stop staring at him. My heart beats faster with every passing second and I feel like I’m sinking in quicksand. I have the urge to run and escape whatever it is pulsing through my body but I don’t. I can’t. I’m glued to this spot held captive by his gaze.

  Biting my lip, I stop and stand in front of him, motionless—we are former lovers turned strangers. Neither one of us speaks a word for the longest time. When an owl hoots in the distance, Ben lifts his head and a warm smile appears. “Dahl, Hoot is back. She must have known we’d need someone to break the silence.” Every time we used to hear an owl, he would tell me that its name was Hoot, as if there was only one.

  “Can we talk?” he asks and the sound of his voice scares the living shit out of me. It’s the voice I missed for so long and up until nine months ago would have given anything to hear.

  I nod my head. We do need to talk. That’s why I’m here. It’s just strange, odd, forced; I can’t even open my mouth to speak to him. It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in a long time and I’m just here to catch up. He was dead.

  He, however, seems at ease, comfortable, and just like always he finds the right words for the situation. Standing, he straightens and motions with his shoulder to the beach. He heads toward the water and I can’t help but notice that he walks with the same stride he always has—slow and steady. I study him as I follow behind. The muscles in his shoulders are much less pronounced and the span of his back seems narrower. I’ve never seen him this lean. He must not have been anywhere where he could surf.