You’re Still The One by Erika Kelly

Chapter Eighteen

Anxious,Griffin parked his truck in the garage.

He’d stayed longer than he’d wanted tonight because he kept waiting to hear from her. But she’d never even looked at the text message he’d sent asking if she needed a ride.

Climbing the steps to the house, he entered and tossed his keys on the counter. He headed straight for the back door, peering into the night. The carriage house was dark.

That’s good. It meant the reunion had gone well.

He could relax. She wouldn’t still be out if things had gone badly.

He’d grab a beer. Watch some TV.

But he was full, and he didn’t really watch much TV.

That’s fine. I’ll read.

He checked his phone again. Nothing from Austin or Stella.

Griffin: How’s it going?

Austin: Fine.

Griffin cracked a smile. Hard to get pissed when Griffin gave the same kind of responses. He needed to be more specific.

Griffin: What room of the house are you in?

Austin sent a photo of his legs, feet tenting the cream and beige comforter.

Griffin: In bed already?

Austin: Don’t be late picking me up.

Griffin: Am I ever late?

When Austin didn’t respond, Griffin felt bad. The boy needed his assurance. Right then, he likely felt lonely, isolated, and judged.

Griffin: I missed you today. I won’t be late.

Austin: k

He should go upstairs, get ready for bed. That way, he could be a creeper and look out the window to see if there was a light on somewhere in the carriage house.

She’s not there. She’s with her family.

He could picture her sitting on the couch, surrounded by her parents and sisters and brothers-in-law, having a great time, laughing. Stella did everything with her whole heart—including laugh. It came from her belly, and she didn’t care what it sounded like. It was contagious. No matter your mood, if Stella was cracking up, you couldn’t help but smile with her.

But what if she was sitting there, feeling like an outsider?

Hecouldn’t stand that idea. He pulled his phone out. She still hadn’t read his message.

Dammit, where are you, Stella?

Opening the back door, he stepped out into the frigid air and jogged across the short stretch of lawn. He knocked at the same time he turned the knob and let himself in. He didn’t see her, and yet his body went on alert because he felt a presence.

Her presence.

Who was he kidding? He caught her scent in the air, felt her sorrow in his heart. Shutting the door, he rushed forward, heading for the bedroom.

Clothes rustled on the couch. “Griffin?” Sitting up. she sounded groggy.

“I woke you.” He headed to her, wishing he could turn on a light to see her.

“No, I’m up.”

He sat beside her—almost on top of her because he needed to be close, to make it all better—and wrapped an arm across her shoulders. She fell against him. For long moments, he stroked his fingers through her silky hair, keeping his mouth shut.

Because he had questions. Like who the hell hurt her?

But he waited. Because he knew it would come. Stella kept nothing inside. That was one of her best qualities. She got it out, which meant you always knew where you stood with her, what she was feeling, and what she needed.

“You smell like a frat party.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “After dinner, we went back for another game of flag football.”

“Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah, it was great.” Except for the parts when I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wondering how it was going and how Lulu treated you.

“Was it awful, lying to them?” she asked.

“Yeah, but I changed the subject pretty quickly.”

“And your mom let that happen? She didn’t try to talk about wedding dates and venues and food?”

“I shut it down before it got there, told them it was new, and we needed time.” He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know. “How’d it go with Lulu?”

“Not so great.” She played with the fringe on the throw pillow. “It was going well, until she congratulated me on my engagement. And it’s that sister thing, you know? She could tell I was lying, and I think knowing I was playing her just killed everything. She shut down the conversation and left to pick up Xander.”

“I can understand that.” Because it had sucked to lie to his family. “We can call it off if you want, end the engagement.”

“I don’t think we should do that, not so close to the holidays. We agreed to wait until you get the letter of guardianship.”

“Right, but not if it’s causing problems with your family.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Then why do you sound so sad?”

“Because you’ll get that letter soon, and then we won’t be together. I know it sounds stupid. I know it’s all fake. But…I’d rather be fake engaged than not have you in my life.”

“I’m in your life, Stella.” Sliding a hand under her ass, he shifted her onto his lap, pushed the hair off her shoulders, and kissed her. He poured his damn heart into that kiss.

Her fingers sifted through his hair, and nothing in the world felt better than this. His woman pressed to him, their mouths joined, tongues swirling in a sweet, slow dance that was as romantic as it was erotic.

When she squirmed, signaling she wanted more, he tipped her gently onto her back, deepening the kiss and letting his hand slip under her shirt to caress the warm, soft skin of her belly. He glided up until he reached her breast, full, bouncy, and bare.

Every nerve-ending in his body lit up, and he scooped her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom. Tonight, he’d make her feel like the goddess she was.

Setting her gently down, he flicked on the lamp. When she blinked, quickly turning away from the light, he said, “I want to see you.” He pulled down her leggings, bringing the panties with them, and she sat up long enough to yank the sweatshirt over her head, leaving her gloriously naked.

He’d never seen anything more beautiful, that lavishly feminine figure, the blonde hair tousled and fanned out on the pillow, and that overlarge mouth, so pink and lush.

“I love the way you look at me.” She got on her knees and crawled over to him, all seduction and hunger. “You make me feel like I could have horns and a mustache, and you’d still adore me because you’re not seeing my flesh and bone. You’re seeing me.”

He swallowed back the tide of emotion that threatened to crash over him, let her pull off his shirt, and unbutton his jeans. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he untied his boots and kicked them off. Then, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her, his hand taking a slow glide down her back, tracing each bump of her vertebrae and pausing on the curve of her ass.

Lifting her, he set her head on the pillow, and then he left a trail of kisses from the corner of her mouth, down to her jaw, and along the column of her neck. He’d show her how right she was about the way he saw her.

With her hands in his hair, her hips shifting restlessly on her unmade bed, he knew she understood.

He pressed a necklace of kisses along her collarbone, his hand cupping her breast, loving the weight and suppleness, his thumb flicking the nipple. As he made his way down her beautiful body, he reached between her legs and found her hot, slick, and ready for him.

With a hand under each thigh, he lifted her, opened her, and kissed her feminine core with all the passion pounding in his blood, all the desperation making his heart beat so fast he thought he might die.

This. This connection, this perfect fucking intimacy—it was like plugging into a life force, an energy source. His world narrowed to the scent and heat of her, the cries, moans, and gasps…love, desire, want. It all swallowed him whole until his very essence melded with hers.

He needed to be inside her right the fuck now.

Fingers gripping the blanket, she arched off the mattress. His hands clamped her ass, holding her in place, as he brought her to a climax that had her crying out his name over and over.

And then he set her down, surged over her, gripped his cock, and drove home. Sensation tore across his skin, a flash fire that engulfed him, and he captured her mouth, kissing her, devouring her, as he thrust into her. He wanted it to last, couldn’t bear losing this feeling of intimacy.

Jesus, he wanted to hold onto this blissful realm of tension right before a climax, when his body was strung tight, as it drove closer and closer to the euphoria it sought. But he couldn’t hold off. He was going to come.

Not yet. He needed more.

He pulled out and sat back on his heels. Smacking her ass, he said, “Roll over.”

She got up on her knees, her hair spilling forward, pooling on the pillow, and he yanked her hips back, easing himself back inside. Yes, this. So fucking good. When he plunged in deep, she rocked back on him, and the sound of their skin slapping drove him wild. He stroked a hand up her back and around to her breast, cupping, kneading, squeezing her. Her hips rammed back and ground against him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It was too much. Noise roared in his head, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t stop this tsunami of emotion from crashing over him, pummeling him, leveling him.

Clutching her hips, he slammed into her, held her tightly, and came so hard his vision went white. He pumped in hard, short bursts, releasing again and again and again.

And when he settled, he felt wrung out. Shaky.

He felt like he’d burned his house down to the foundation.

And now, he could finally let go of the past and build something fresh, new.

Exhausted, he fell to his side. She curled up next to him, her hands on his face, stroking. She pressed kisses to his cheek, her body shaking.

He held her close. He had no words. Emotion still had control of him. No rational thought.

Except one.

Now that he had her, how could he ever go back to a life without her?

Friday morning, Griffin and Stella headed up the walkway to the Pilson’s modest ranch house on a cul-de-sac near town.

“Is it weird that I can’t wait to see him?” she asked quietly in the early morning stillness. “He hasn’t even been gone forty-eight hours.”

“No.” Griffin was eager, too. He’d texted Austin this morning, letting him know they were on their way but hadn’t heard back. “I’m just glad we’re getting him today and not Sunday.” They climbed the porch steps.

“Same,” she whispered. “How much damage can they do in a day and a half?”

It took a couple of knocks, but when the judge answered the door—dressed in slacks, loafers, and a cashmere sweater—he looked stern.

“Happy Thanksgiving.” Stella beamed at him, the heat of her smile capable of melting a polar ice cap.

But not this man. He stepped out onto the porch, not inviting them in. “We don’t appreciate you cutting short our time with him. He’s our grandson, and we’ve made plans for the weekend that include him.”

“I understand that,” Griffin said. “He only recently decided to audition for the show. But, given that he’s new to school and hasn’t found it easy to make friends, we felt it was a step in the right direction for him to become involved. And then, when Gigi offered to perform with him, it became an opportunity we couldn’t pass up.”

“He can come back after he practices with her.”

Austin pushed past his grandfather, bristling with anger. He skimmed around them and raced to the truck.

Griffin swung around. “Austin?”

The boy didn’t answer. But there was no hair hanging out of the wool cap that covered his head.

Two things struck him at once. First, Austin didn’t wear hats. He rarely bothered with a coat.

Secondly, if he were to wear a hat, his shoulder-length hair would surely be visible.

Stella tugged on his arm. “We should go.”

But rage burned in his body, and smoke curled from hidden recesses. What the fuck did they do to my boy? He turned back to the judge, fire and accusation in his eyes.

But the older man met his gaze with a challenge. “Let us know when he’ll be back.” And then he stepped back into the house, ready to shut the door.

Griffin’s boot kicked out, jamming it open. “What did you do?” When the older man looked at him with no remorse, he said, “What the fuck did you do?”

“If you wondered why he received a suspension for something he didn’t do, if you couldn’t figure out why nobody questioned him before issuing a punishment, it was because he looks like a delinquent.”

“He looks exactly how he wants to look.” Griffin leaned into the house. “You fucked up your own kid. I’m not letting you do it to Austin.” And then he turned and walked away.

Stella’s hand slid down to his, forcing him to thread their fingers together. “What did you just do?”

“They’re not getting away with this shit.”

“But you can’t start a war with them. Not until you get that letter.”

“Too late.” He hurried to the truck and got in. Griffin sat there for a moment, his pulse racing. The tension in the car was thick. Looking in the rearview mirror, he found Austin staring out the window, the same mask he’d worn when he’d first shown up in Calamity.

Fuck. In three weeks, Stella had managed to get this boy to open up, and not even two days with the Pilsons had wiped out all her progress.

“What happened?” His tone was too harsh. This isn’t Austin’s fault. “What’d they do?”

When Austin didn’t answer, Griffin twisted around.

“Can we just go?” Austin asked.

Griffin hesitated.

“Just go, okay?”

It was the plea in Austin’s voice that got him moving. “Fine.” Griffin started the truck and slowly backed out, checking carefully behind him. Once on 191, he said, “Now, tell me what happened.”

“They cut my hair.”

“Who did?” He needed clarification, or he’d go ballistic.

“Their friend.”

“They invited a barber to Thanksgiving?” Griffin cut Stella a look. They planned this.

“No, one of the ladies cut my hair.”

“How did it happen?” Stella asked softly.

“My grandmother was telling everyone about the show, and this lady said I should get a haircut if I’m going to stand in front of the whole school.”

“And you agreed?” Why?

“No. I said I was fine. And then, after dinner, the lady asked if she could just trim it a little. She said I looked like a sheepdog with all the hair in my eyes.” He gave Stella a look that asked, Did I?

She shook her head. “You have gorgeous hair. It’s shiny and healthy and thick.”

Austin looked utterly crestfallen.

“And it will grow back,” she quickly added.

“So, what happened?” Griffin asked the boy. “You went along with it?”

“They were watching football, and she said I could watch the game while she trimmed.”

“You don’t watch sports.”

“But that’s what they were doing. I wasn’t paying attention because she promised she wouldn’t take much off.”

“And then?”

“And I saw this piece of hair drop to the carpet.” He sounded choked up. His features turned red.

“They had no right to do that,” Griffin said.

“Did you tell them to stop?” Stella asked.

“No. There’s nothing to say. It’s done.”

Griffin had reached his limit. Slowing the truck, he wheeled it around.

“Where are you going?” Austin sounded anxious.

“Back to see your grandparents. They don’t get to cut your hair against your will.” Taking away his guitar was bad enough. Backing the car over it was sick.

But cutting his hair? They’d stolen his identity.

“No, don’t.” Austin sounded scared.

“They stepped way the hell over the line, and we need to get some things straight.”

Gripping the back of Griffin’s seat, he sat forward. “Stop it. You’re just going to make it worse. I want to go home.”

“They can’t keep getting away with this, Austin.” he said. “We have to talk to them.”

“If you talk to them, they’ll twist everything around and make it sound like you’re a bad person. Because they want me to live with them. And if you give them a reason, they’ll take it.”

Right. He knew that. He was just surprised that Austin understood it so clearly.

And he supposed the only thing he could do was help Austin deal with them. Agitated, he pulled to the side of the road. He let himself sit there for a minute, trying to calm down. “I’ll take you home, but I need you to know that you’re perfect just how you are.”

Stella’s attention jerked to him, but he kept connected with Austin through the rearview mirror. “Do you understand me? They took away your guitar because they didn’t want you to turn out like your dad. But your dad’s a good man. You might not like moving from one Army base to another, and you might hate his deployments, but you should know that every choice he makes comes from wanting to be the best father he can be.”

He had Austin’s attention, and it mattered. He needed the boy to understand.

“This time, they cut your hair because somehow they think the length determines what kind of man you become. They don’t get to make those decisions. You do. Only you. If you don’t want to spend time with them anymore, you don’t have to. Okay?”

Austin nodded.

And maybe—it was hard to tell with this kid—he saw a little relief in his eyes.

Good. Because Griffin had meant every word of it.