Then There Was You (Twist of Fate) Read online

  Dad pats my back. “I hope so.” He wraps his arms around me, and we sit there for a while. Me absorbing the strength that comes from a father’s hug and him coming to terms with the fact that not everyone will abandon him because of his secret. After a while he pulls away. “Come help me make some koeksisters. It’ll be a welcome surprise for when she comes home, ne?”

  He stands from the couch and offers his hand to help me up. I gladly accept and follow him back into the kitchen ready to make my mom’s favourite dessert.

  * * *

  “You think she’ll come around?” Nate asks, his fingers lazily caressing up and down my exposed arm as we lay tangled up on the couch watching Sons of Anarchy.

  “I hope so,” I sigh, drawing imaginary pictures on his chest. “I always thought my parents were the image of what the perfect couple looked like. They met in college and got married before graduation. One year later they had me. They’ve been through almost everything. I can’t imagine them not coming back from this.”

  “Lying is a pretty big deal, but I get it.” Nate shifts slightly, tucking a hand behind his head. “Cape Town isn’t the most progressive of cities. North America may have made it legal for gays to marry, and the rest of the world may slowly become more accepting of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s accepted by everyone. Hell, it wasn’t even thirty years ago that we were still under apartheid.”

  “That’s true. I guess I just don’t see what the big deal is. Love is love is love. Why should it matter if that love is between a man and a woman, or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman?”

  “Because it doesn’t fit in with their ideal picture of what the Bible tells them a relationship is supposed to look like. To them, it’s one of the ultimate sins,” Nate says.

  I snort. “Being gay is not worse than committing murder.”

  “No, but to them it’s still a sin.”

  “Well, they’re a bunch of hypocrites. Jesus said those without sin should cast the first stone, and I’m pretty sure no one is without sin.” I feel my body begin to stiffen in preparation for a fight, but Nate just pulls me closer.

  “I agree with you. Jesus also said, love thy neighbour. But that doesn’t change what the rest of the population have been told to believe their whole lives.”

  I blow out a relieved breath and relax against him again. “I just… I would hate to be told that I wasn’t allowed to fall in love because the person was another woman.”

  Nate hums and when I glance up at him there’s a dreamy look on his face. I can only image what he must be thinking.

  “Shut up,” I laugh, playfully backhanding him on the chest.

  Nate catches my wrist and pulls. Planting my knees on either side of his hips, I sit up and straddle him. His jean-covered cock is hard, trapped between his belly and my heated core. Nate groans, lifting his hips and causing his cock to slide against me. I moan and drop down to kiss him. Nate’s hands stray to my hips, guiding me back and forth over his hard length.

  “Wait, stop. Stop,” I breathe out.

  Nate blows out a frustrated breath and drops his head back against the couch. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

  I rest my forehead against his. “I should be the one who’s sorry.”

  He cups the sides of my face. “I’ll wait… for you.”

  A sappy smile spreads across my face and I kiss him again. I don’t stop kissing him until Nate groans against my lips.

  “Sorry. Sorry,” I grin and move to take a seat on the couch beside him.

  Chapter 10

  Dean

  “This isn’t working, Dean,” Rebekah says, her eyes are downcast as she sits at the table where we just ate dinner. The corners of her lips turn down and her chin wobbles slightly.

  “Rebekah don’t do this,” I plead, looking at the woman who’s been my heart for the last thirty years.

  “I’ve tried, Dean. I’ve tried looking past it. I’ve told myself that I can forgive you for your lie, and maybe I really have but I can’t sit here and pretend that everything is okay again when I know… I know you’re still in love with him. That you always have been.” Her breath hitches and I rush to her side. Dropping to my knees beside her, I take her hands in mine.

  “I love you. You’re my wife,” I say.

  “Am I just… Was I just… a substitute for him?” Her eyes begin to water when she looks down at me. And that’s when I know that I can’t lie to this woman anymore. I can’t keep doing this to both of us.

  “You were never a substitute,” I whisper, glancing away. Grey clouds have begun rolling in, in preparation for the storm we’re expecting tonight. Appropriate. “But you’re right. I’ve always loved him. I’ve always been in love with him.”

  She gasps, ripping her hands out of mine and pushing to stand. I have to stand too or topple over in her rush to put as much distance between us as possible. Rebekah backs up towards the wall separating the dining room from the guest room and folds her arms across her middle, curling into herself. Her pain palpable in the cool evening air.

  “But I’ve always loved you too,” I add because it’s the truth. I grew to love Rebekah so much over the years we’ve been together, and I can’t even fathom not having her in my life at all.

  “Is that why you were so excited when I suggested we try moving to America?”

  I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans and nod. “It wasn’t right that I felt these things for my best friend. We were both married and weren’t teenagers anymore. I thought if there was more distance between us that the feelings would just go away. It’s one thing to experiment in college. It’s another when we had lives, careers, and a family. I’m so sorry, Becca. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Why couldn’t you just have told me all this before we got married?”

  I look over at her then. Really look at her. The last few months have aged her. There’s more grey around her temples and the top of her head, the wrinkles on her forehead are more pronounced, and the smile lines that used to be around her eyes are… well, it doesn’t look like she’s truly laughed in a long time. And it’s all my fault. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. If I had just been man enough to come clean maybe I could’ve saved us both the heartache, but I can’t bring myself to wish we had never gotten married because then we wouldn’t have Annika. And she’s my world.

  “Would you have still agreed to marry me if I had?”

  Her mouth opens and closes, opens and closes like she’s trying to find the words but can’t exactly grasp onto them. Finally, her shoulders fall and she drops her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I really am sorry, Becca, but I won’t feel guilty about our relationship because it gave us a beautiful family. I only wish that I had come clean to you sooner.”

  She nods, and when she does finally lift her head and her eyes meet mine, I feel another punch to my gut. Her beautiful brown eyes are red from the tears streaming down her face.

  “I want a divorce.”

  The four words are like an explosion in the quiet room.

  “Please, Dean. You owe me this.” Her eyes bore into mine as she pleads for me to give her the only thing she’s ever asked of me.

  I do the only thing I can think of and nod. I owe her this, and she deserves to be happy with someone who can be their full selves with her. I won’t fight her on the divorce if this is what she truly wants.

  “I’ll, uh… I’ll stay at a hotel,” I say, walking by her to gather some of my things, yet when a sob rips free from her throat, I can’t help but wrap my arms around her. I breathe out a sigh when she wraps hers around me and sobs into my chest. I really do love this woman, and I wish I could be everything she deserves, but I’d be lying to myself and others again if I say the prospect of being with Dave didn’t send a thrill down my spine.

  “We have to tell Annika,” she says between broken breaths.

  “I know.”

  * * *

  Annika

  “I�
�m ready,” I rasp against his neck. It’s been a month of pure agony falling asleep beside Nate on nights when he’s stayed over late and been too tired to drive home. But that changes now.

  Nate stops, dropping the knife and half cut pepper on the cutting board before giving me his full attention. “You sure? I can wait.”

  I grin at how he knew exactly what I was referring to without me having to spell it out for him. I shake my head and step closer. “No. No more waiting. I want you.”

  He takes a minute to move over the knife and cutting board he’s been using to cut up vegetables for the pasta salad. Nate grips my hips and lifts me until I’m sitting on the counter with my legs dangling off the edge. The corners of his lips tip up into a half smile before they descend on mine, warm and seeking. His tongue traces the seam of my lips demanding entry and I willingly give it to him. His hands tighten around my hips, pulling me closer to him, then glide over the globes of my ass. His fingers dig into my skin as he drags me closer still.

  Nate groans, stepping in further until I feel the solid outline of his cock against the material of the denim between my legs.

  “Need this off.” I manage to say between kisses, pulling at his shirt in an attempt to rid him of the offensive material. I need to feel his skin against mine.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He grins but reaches back and drags the shirt over his head.

  I groan as my palms skim over the hard ridges of his abdomen, tight pecs, and over his shoulders. I gulp down a harsh breath at the realization that this is the first time I’m allowing myself to really touch him knowing that I won’t be pulling back before it has a chance to go too far. I need this. Need him.

  Nate grabs a fistful of my hair and forces my head back, exposing my neck to his roaming lips and tongue. With his hand still secured in my locks, he hurriedly undoes the button to his jeans.

  “I want to see your lips wrapped around me,” he demands, tugging my earlobe between his teeth, but it’s not forceful.

  He lets go of his hold around my hair allowing me to slide off the counter and drop to my knees in front of him. I look up at him from under hooded eyes and watch him shimmy the waistband down enough for his cock to spring free, standing up straight against his belly. A slight pressure at the back of my head forces me forward until my lips graze the underside of his cock.

  Nate curses, dropping his head back between his shoulder blades when I lick up his shaft, running the tip of my tongue along his slit. When he increases the pressure on the back of my head I wrap my lips around him and take him to the back of my throat. Nate’s hips buck and while he fucks my mouth, I slip a hand down the front of my pants and under the waistband of my underwear. I’m already wet for him.

  “Enough,” he grits out between clenched teeth, yanking me up by my hair.

  I whimper when Nate lets go of me and takes a step back. Not because of the hold he had around my hair, but because of the sudden coldness I feel without his body pressing against mine.

  “Strip,” he orders, and before I can think too much of it, I obey and quickly shuck my shirt and unclasp my bra. My pants and underwear follow soon after as well as my flip-flops.

  Then suddenly I’m being pushed up against the wall. Nate’s hand slides over my body to curl around my ass and then he’s lifting me. My legs automatically wrap around his waist.

  “You like it a bit rough?”

  My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I nod.

  “Christ. This first time is going to hard and fast, baby, but then I’ll give you the sweet loving after.”

  I groan, dropping my head back against the wall with a thud. My nails scraping over his shoulder blades. Nate grunts, curling a hand around my throat. His hips snap forward and then he’s sliding into my wet heat. “Fuck.”

  My eyes roll back with every thrust of his hips. His cock pushing deeper with each forward motion. My nails find purchase in his shoulders, causing him to curse and I have little doubt that I managed to draw blood. My heels dig into the cheeks of his ass to keep him close.

  He’s here.

  He’s here and he’s alive, and he’s mine. And even though I have him in my arms and between my legs now, the weight pressing down on my chest tells me that he won’t be for long.

  As Nate ruts into me, I tighten my legs around his waist, bury my face in the crook of his neck, and sob at the same time my orgasm crashes over me.

  Please, God, don’t take him away from me. Not another one. I’ve just learned how to love again.

  Chapter 11

  “Dude, you stole my éclair.” I turn narrow eyes to where Nate’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a grin on his face as he licks whipped cream off his fingers. I swallow back a whimper remembering the way he looked not even an hour ago when he fucked me with those same fingers and then sucked my wetness from them.

  “I can see why you love those,” he says pointing to the now empty Tupperware container that used to hold my mom’s baking. “They were so good.”

  “Bastard,” I mumble under my breath and pout when he draws me into his arms and kisses my forehead. The knock on the front door has us reluctantly pulling apart. “Let’s pretend we’re not home.”

  Nate chuckles, running his thumb over my bottom lip that’s stuck out in a pout. “That’s pretty hard to do with both vehicles in the driveaway.” He leans down to lick along the shell of my ear causing me to shiver. “And we left the music playing in the carport.”

  I groan in frustration and pull away from him. “Fine, but if it’s your sisters then I’m sending them packing.”

  His deep laugh follows me to the front door. “Deal.”

  I pull open the door, the smile I’m wearing because of Nate slowly recedes when I get a good look at the person on the other side. It’s definitely not Nate’s sisters. My heart races, my breaths come faster… too fast. Oh God, I can’t breathe. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. Memories of his funeral come flooding back.

  * * *

  Every funeral I’ve ever seen on TV or in the movies, always have the weather match the somber mood. Overcast skies, light rain or in some cases heavy rain depending on the impact the death of the character had. The abundance of black umbrellas making their own Rorschach test from up above.

  Not Jack’s though.

  On the day of his funeral, the sun beats down with such an intensity it almost feels wrong. There’s not a cloud in the sky and the birds continue singing their happy songs. St. Andrew’s Church offers a cool escape from the unending heat. I move somberly towards the front pews and take a seat on the left side, beside my parents and Xander. The front rows are empty except for the three of us. His own parents refused to come to San Diego for his funeral and somewhere deep down the atrocity of that registers, but all my energy is focused on the dark wood of the casket covered by the flag sitting in front of the church. Jack’s military buddies, including Caleb, take up the two rows behinds us.

  Father John begins the service but I’m not paying attention. My eyes roam over the crucifix high on the wall behind him, then to the organ in the corner, and over to the stained-glass windows at the end of our pew. For an instant, I feel guilty for not being more in the moment, so I try to force a tear, but when nothing happens I go back to gazing around the old church. My mom gently slips her hand over mine in what I’m sure is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but I don’t feel it, and if I wasn’t looking down at her hand clasped over mine, I would’ve never known that it was there. Is it normal to feel so detached at a funeral for a loved one? I am not sure it is, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t make myself feel anything appropriate.

  When my eyes land on the picture of Jack set in a black frame atop the dark mahogany casket, I don’t recognize him anymore. The man we are burying today is so far removed from the man in that picture. I fell in love with the man in the picture. With his weirdly coloured sea-foam green eyes, his bright smile, and infectious laughter. The man who could make anyone feel like he really saw th
em when he interacted with them. I could no longer reconcile that man with the one I shared the last few years of my life. Every time he came home from a mission he had changed somehow. He became more distant, harder. Some would say he simply grew up and became a man. I didn’t buy it though. War changed him and then it killed him.

  I shake my head and the memories clear just as Father John asks if any of us would like to say a few words about Jack. I glance back down at my mom’s hand over mine and feel her gently nudge my shoulder, but I can’t look up. I can’t make eye contact. There’s nothing I want to say. Nothing I can say. I shake my head again and keep my eyes averted, feeling the crushing weight of the silence begin to settle over my heart.

  Disappointment soon follows like a heavy rain follows a storm cloud. Disappointment in myself that I can’t muster up two words to say about Jack. But mostly disappointment that our relationship had hit such a bottom that there is nothing I want to say about him. Nothing I could say would bring him back. We started out as two people in love but by the time his most recent deployment came around, we were simply just… roommates. Jack hadn’t touched me in months before he was sent away, we hadn’t talked beyond the superficial how are you? Or anything you want on the grocery list?

  I stand when I feel my mom’s gentle touch on my shoulder and see they’re both already on their feet. I dart a quick glance to the priest and offer a clipped nod in thanks before scurrying out of the pew, down the aisle, and into the blazing heat of the Californian sun. I don’t wait for my parents or Xander to catch up before bolting towards the back of the church and to the parking lot. I feel like I am suffocating under all these conflicting emotions. This would all be so much fucking easier if someone just told me what the hell I am supposed to feel. If someone just told me that it is okay to feel relieved, that it is okay to still mourn and grieve the distant husband.

  “Annika, honey,” my mom’s voice sounds behind me as I stand in the middle of the parking lot with my arms hugging the folded flag and my head tilted back feeling the sun warm my face. “We’re going to get some food. Are you hungry?”