Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

19

My hands gripthe steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white.

She looks good. Really good.

I’ve seen her picture in magazines and on the television, but there’s something different about seeing her in person. Before, I could pretend she was just another celebrity. The silver hair made it easier. I could separate the lead singer of The Hometown Heartless from the wild brunette girl with laughing eyes in my memories. But in the coffee shop today, with her long hair pulled back and hidden beneath a ball cap, she was Savannah, the girl I still consider mine.

Who I’ve always considered mine.

Her voice is a little deeper, a little raspier. It’s sexy in a way that shoots right through me. I can’t stop thinking of what it would sound like now compared to then. Telling me secrets in the dark, or ribbing me with a mischievous grin, or coaxing me into doing something we both know I shouldn’t. Moaning my name.

Would she still own me the way she did? Still rule my heart and my head completely?

I already know the answer.

I squeeze the steering wheel harder and flick my eyes to the rearview mirror.

Brynn’s got her arms crossed and is frowning out the window. She hasn’t spoken a word, and I feel like an asshole. But in my defense, I wasn’t prepared for her to meet Savannah today. I sure as shit wasn’t prepared for the paparazzi mob. I’ll need to scour the internet tonight to make sure Brynn and I didn’t make it into any of those fucking photos.

“Want to have a sleep over with Ms. Sharon tonight?”

Brynn shrugs. She usually loves sleepovers with Sharon, which shows just how pissed she is. Ms. Sharon has even started decorating the guest room the way Brynn likes. She’s become something like an adopted grandmother to Brynn, and I’ve been grateful to her for the last two years despite the guilt.

It used to eat me up, seeing them interact. Seeing Brynn grow closer to her. When I hired Sharon as office manager, it never occurred to me that she and Brynn would spark up a relationship. I wanted to shut it down—even had a talk with Sharon about it—but then I realized Brynn deserves more people in her life who love her, and Sharon definitely loves her.

“I can take you to the house and let you pack up a bag and your tablet? I bet Ms. Sharon would order pizza and let you have a movie night.”

I watch Brynn’s nose scrunch as she shrugs again, so I sigh loudly.

“Alright, you can stay home with me, then.”

She sits up straighter and whips her eyes to mine in the mirror. Her brow is furrowed, and her lips are twitching. I can practically see the struggle going on inside her head. She’s determined to give me the silent treatment, but she really loves movie nights with Ms. Sharon.

“What do you say, Boss?”

She purses her lips, shrugs once more, then groans loudly. “Okay, fine.”

I grin and nod. Brynn doesn’t say another word for the rest of the drive, but she’s not frowning anymore, either.

When I pull up to our house, she jumps out and sprints inside, so I give Sharon a call.

She’s excited for Brynn to stay over, just like I knew she would be, and tells me she’ll bring her to the office tomorrow. Sharon gives me a quick rundown of the job progress on our sites, then we hang up with the plan to drop Brynn off in an hour. When I walk up the stairs and into the house, Brynn is waiting for me with her magazine in her hand.

“I didn’t get her to sign it,” she says, and my stomach sinks. Her eyes are misted and she’s trying hard not to cry. “I wanted to get her to sign it.”

I step up and pull her into my side.

“I’ll get it signed, Boss.”

“Are you sure?” She sniffles into my shirt, so I tighten my hug.

“I’ll take the magazine with me on Monday and have her sign it,” I promise.

Fuck. I was hoping not to have to interact with Savannah again. Maybe I can pawn the job off on one of my guys.

“Thank you!” Brynn shrieks, then turns and runs back up the stairs, shouting at me as she goes. “I’m almost done packing!”

Then I hear her door shut, followed quickly by loud music. Through the door and the floor, the music is muffled, but I can still tell what it is.

The Hometown fucking Heartless.

I literally cannot escape Savannah Shaw.

“Thanks for doin’ this, Sharon.”

I shut my truck door and walk up to the porch where Sharon is standing. Brynn’s already barreled her way into the small house. I kick at the step, making sure my repair job from last summer is holding up, then give the stair railing a shake, testing its sturdiness.

“It’s no problem at all,” Sharon says. “You know I love having her here.”

I glance at the shutters and window trim. The house could use a clean now that the worst of the spring pollen is gone.

“I’m going to have Lucas come by this weekend with the power washer and get—”

“You will not, Levi Cooper. I can take care of this stuff myself.”

I raise a brow at her.

“Then why isn’t it done?”

“Because my hardass boss has had me working overtime while he tries to single-handedly repair every last bit of destruction from the hurricane, that’s why.”

I flick my eyes past her toward the house and call for Brynn. She comes running back out of the door, jumps off the porch and throws her arms around my waist in a hug. I can’t get over how much taller she’s gotten in the last few months. She was barely four feet at her school physical last August. I run my hands over the back of her head, smoothing down her wild brown curls, and return the hug.

“Be good for Ms. Sharon,” I tell her, and she laughs as she drops her arms and steps back.

“Duh, Dad.”

I smirk and then look to Sharon. “Call if you need me.”

“We’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

“Have fun, Boss.”

I give Brynn’s hair one last ruffle before walking to my truck. The moment I’m in it, I send a text to Lucas telling him to power wash Sharon’s house on Monday. Sharon might be stubborn, but so am I.

I back out of the drive and head to one of my favorite bars on the harbor, SandBar. It’s right on the water, the kitchen is open late, and they have live music on the patio most Saturday nights in the summer. No one big—just local musicians and bands—but it’s always a good time. After the day I’ve had, I could use a cold beer, a sea breeze, and music that isn’t Savannah related.

It’s about as busy as you’d expect it to be on a Friday. Some of my guys are at the pool tables in back and they spot me walk in. They call my name and I give them a nod of acknowledgement, but I don’t walk toward them. Instead, I lean into the bar.

“Hey there, stranger,” Molly says after a minute, already sliding me an open bottle. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

I take the beer and grunt out my thanks.

“Works been busy,” I say, after taking a drink from the bottle.

She leans her forearms onto the bar top, pressing her tits up so her cleavage is damn near falling out of her low-cut tank top. I let my gaze run across her collarbone and over the swell of her breasts before I bring them back to her face. I didn’t come here for this, but now that I’m here...

“I suppose being a saint and a savior is hard work,” she says.

I take another long pull from my beer, bouncing my eyes between hers, and she brings her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I don’t see Brynn,” she says after a moment. “Are you flying solo tonight?”

I nod once and she smiles softly, her pink lips curving flirtatiously upward in a way I know intimately. Usually, I don’t hook up with women from my small town. If I want someone for a night, or a week, I do it outside the county. But Molly and I have an agreement. She knows the deal, and she keeps it quiet. Just sex, no strings. She doesn’t come around the house when Brynn is home. We don’t call or text each other unless it’s to confirm a meet up. We don’t stay the night. We don’t cuddle. We don’t pillow talk.

Just sex. No strings.

“I’m off at eleven tonight.”

I let my mouth turn upward on the side, a half-smile that tints her exposed collarbone pink and quickens her breathing. I set my bottle on the bar and lean forward, bringing my lips to the shell of her ear.

“Eleven-oh-five.”

I pull back and she winks at me, then goes to tend to the other customers. I take my beer and head out to the patio seating to snag a stool at the outdoor bar. Just as I’m sitting down, another beer bottle is set onto the bar top, and I look up to find Chet, another bartender.

“You’re getting low there,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“On your tab?” he asks, and I lift my beer bottle in confirmation, then turn my attention to the waterway.

This town is right at the mouth of river before it connects to the Atlantic, so the water is salty and at night you can still hear the waves crashing on the distant shore.

Boats are docked up for the night, and I watch their silhouettes sway with the gentle movement of the current. There’s classic rock playing on the jukebox inside and the music streams on the patio through the speakers. On nights when there’s live music, the jukebox is turned off, but tonight it’s on and free to use.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, consciously relaxing my shoulders and jaw, then imagine exhaling all of my tension. It’s something the support group social worker used to have us do, and I’ve continued doing it even after I stopped attending support group. I still take Brynn to her sessions with her counselor, but after the hurricane, I stopped making the time for mine.

I’ve got more important things to do, and I usually left the support group feeling worse, not better.

I finish my first beer and swap it out with the new one Chet dropped off, then lean back on the bar and refocus my attention on the dark horizon. I try to lose myself in the sound of the water, but I just keep coming back to Savannah.

Seeing her was like a punch to the chest.

Seeing her with Brynn? Unbearable.

She smells like vanilla and peaches, which is fitting for a name like Savannah, but it’s a shocking contrast with her appearance. Vanilla and peaches suggest southern sweetness, but nothing is sweet about Savannah. With her long silver hair, chunky black boots, and bright red lips, Savannah looks like she’d smell like cloves or cardamom. Cinnamon and ginger. Cigars and whiskey. Something spicy. Something tempting. Something dangerous.

I flex my hands at my sides. The feel of her biceps is still stuck to my palms, the memory relentless and refusing to fade. Her skin was hot. Savannah was always warm to the touch. I remember from the nights she’d sleep in my bed. She was like a personal furnace. Everything felt colder after she’d leave.

I’m hot blooded, she told me once. That’s why I have a such a temper.

I believed it then. Even now, I think I believe it still.

It’s weird to think that even after everything that’s changed, something has stayed the same.

I finish my second beer and flag Chet down for a third. Despite myself, I’m smiling when I bring it to my lips. The way she smiled and saluted me in the courtyard. Her saccharine tone of voice. The bratty way she cocked her head and sized me up.

Any other requests before I kick your pompous, patronizing ass out of my courtyard?

It took everything in me not to laugh outright.

I was a dick to her. I had to be. But the way she fired right back at me? Fuck, if I didn’t want to grab her and kiss her.

Whatever you say, Sir.

I chuckle at the memory. Her voice is playing on a loop in my head. That sexy, raspy voice. Whatever you say, Sir. I swallow a groan when the visual of wrapping her silver hair around my fist flashes through my mind. Her, on her knees.

Whatever you say, Sir.

Fucking Savannah Shaw.

Molly appears in front of me at the perfect time. Her smile is seductive, her eyes hooded and playful. I check my watch.

“Eleven-oh-five,” I say.

On the dot. Molly is never late.

I widen my legs, and she steps between them, running her hands up my thighs. The sensation hints at the alcohol in my blood stream, everything is surface-level and muted.

“Want to get out of here?” Molly asks, using her head to gesture to the side door that leads to the staff parking lot. I mentally count the beers I’ve had and blink a few times at one of the bar signs on the wall.

“I can’t drive,” I tell her honestly, and she giggles.

“It’s fine.” She takes my hand then steps back. I stand and follow her out the side door.

The music from the bar is just as loud in the parking lot, and she starts to dance a little, swaying and shaking her ass, flashing me flirty grins over her shoulder as we walk toward her car. She spins herself out, then back into my chest and presses her ass into me. I’m still half hard from imagining Savannah on her knees calling me Sir, so I groan at the contact, my hips jerking forward on impulse.

“Jesus, Levi,” Molly whispers, reaching back and palming me. “Were you ready for me?”

I don’t say anything.

What could I say?

Actually, my dick got hard thinking about the girl who broke my heart?

Nope.

I keep my mouth shut and let her stroke me over my pants, my dick growing with each press of her hand. I drop my head into her hair and inhale, but she smells like hairspray and lavender. I grab her hips and spin her around so she’s facing me, and she throws her hands around my neck. When she kisses me, I kiss her back, and she tastes exactly how she usually does. Her tongue tangles with mine the way it usually does. She whimpers into my mouth the way she usually does.

But nothing feels the way it usually does.

I run my hands down her back and squeeze her ass cheeks before picking her up and setting her on the hood of a car. It’s not hers. It might be Chet’s. She wraps her legs around me as I kiss her jaw, her neck, the swell of her breasts.

“Levi,” she gasps, and I flinch.

Not low and raspy. High and soft.

Not Savannah. Molly.

I growl in frustration and bring my lips back to her mouth, then move my hands to her chest and pinch her nipples through her thin shirt. She moans again and threads her fingers through my hair.

“My place or yours,” she pants out, and I open my mouth to answer, but the words die on my tongue the moment the opening chords filter into the parking lot, lyrics following quickly behind.

Just one more, baby.

Just one more.

Whiskey and orange.

What are we waiting for?

“What the fuck?” I groan, stepping away from Molly and raking a hand down my face.

“What’s wrong?” I can feel her concerned eyes on me, but I can’t focus on anything except the sexy as fuck voice crooning through the speakers right now.

I’m the one who said we were done,

but you’re the one who left.

Which one of us is hurting more now?

C’mon let’s place our bets.

Just one more, baby.

Just one more...

“The Hometown fucking Heartless,” I say, as if that explains everything.

“Oh yeah, I love this song,” Molly says, her voice quickly changing to excited. “I heard Sav Loveless was spotted in Port Town Beanery today. There are pictures all over online. The kid who works behind the counter was even interviewed about her coffee order.”

“What?” My eyes fly open, and I immediately reach for my phone.

“Yeah. A regular latte and a caramel frozen coffee. And six muffins. Weird right? I mean, the latte seems right. But a caramel frozen coffee? For some reason that just doesn’t scream Sav Loveless, badass rockstar, ya know?”

“No,” I shake my head, typing into my phone browser, “you said they were online?”

She says something else, but I don’t hear her. I’m too busy flipping through the tons of paparazzi photos of Savannah from today. There are hundreds of them, most of which look exactly the same with just slight differences in her facial expression or body position. There are several zoomed in on that fucking flashy ass ring on her hand.

Molly starts singing along to the song, and I grit my teeth, trying to force the lyrics and melody out of my head so I can focus on the pictures.

There are a few shots where you can kind of see me in the background, but I’m grainy and out of focus. I wasn’t the target. The moment I realize Brynn isn’t in any shots, my shoulders relax briefly, only to tense up again as the song’s bridge starts to play.

“Molly, I’m sorry,” I say on a sigh. “I’m just going to walk home.”

“Oh... Okay, then. Are you feeling alright? Do you need some ibuprofen or something?”

I’m relieved that I don’t hear hurt in her voice. Disappointment, yeah, but I didn’t hurt her feelings.

“I’m fine,” I say with a shake of my head. “Just tired.”

“Do you just want me to drive you?”

“No. I need the walk.”

I step back up to her and press a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Have a good night,” I tell her, then I turn and walk away with the bridge playing over and over in my head.

Did you ever pray for me?

Every day. Every day.

Did you ever pray for me?

Every fucking day.