Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

34

It’saround noon when Savannah’s phone rings.

We’ve spent the morning—me, her, Brynn, Red, and Sharon—lounging on the deck. It was tense at first. It still is. But it’s getting better. The production has three more scenes to shoot before they head to Portofino. If everything goes as planned, they’ll be gone by the end of the week.

I don’t know where the time has gone.

I curse myself for dragging my fucking feet in the beginning. For avoiding the inevitable. I should have kissed her in that café. I should have been with her every day since the day her flight landed in North Carolina. Instead, I was a coward, just like she said.

“What’s up?” Savannah says into the receiver. Her eyes widen and she whips her attention to the clock on the wall. “Oh shit. I forgot.”

She laughs as the person on the other end says something.

“Yeah, well, I had a near-death experience yesterday, so I think I’m allowed.” She pauses. "Chill. I’m fine. I'll explain later.” Another pause. An eyeroll. “No, it wasn’t anything like that.” She quiets again, listening to the person on the other end, and then she smiles. “Sounds good. See you soon.”

She hangs up and passes over Red and Sharon before setting her eyes on Brynn and me.

“What are you guys doing tonight? I have a little surprise for Boss.”

Sharon parks my truck two blocks from the riverwalk, and Brynn can’t stop bouncing. I have to remind her three times not to run as we walk to the downtown concert series stage.

According to the fliers, tonight is supposed to be an eighties tribute band, but I know Savannah has done something. I’m nervous as hell. Excited for Brynn, but terrified. I’ve checked the internet every fifteen minutes since Sav left my house this afternoon, but it’s nothing new. Same speculations about Savannah’s relationship with Paul fucking Northwood, but nothing else. Not even a headline about Savannah’s mishap with the rapids or her late-night ER visit.

My back stings at the memory. The nausea and dizziness are gone, but the scrapes on my back still burn, and my head still hurts as soon as the meds start wearing off. It’s been a little over twenty-four hours, but I’m fucking over it.

“Do you think she’s playing?” Brynn says with another bounce. “Oh my god, I hope she is. That would be phenomenal. Iconic!”

“Prodigious?” I ask and she grins.

“Prodigious!”

When we get to the small stage set up on the riverwalk, I spot Red and Ziggy immediately. No Savannah. He waves us over and we follow him to a spot roped off next to the stage.

The hairs on the back of my neck raise. My muscles go rigid.

“What did she do?” I say to Red, and he shrugs.

“She does what she wants,” he says pointedly.

Fuck.

My eyes dart around the space, but no one seems to be expecting anything other than an eighties tribute band. The signage is still advertising the scheduled show. Nothing mentions The Hometown Heartless at all. But I know. Even before the familiar guitarist, Jonah, steps on stage, I know, but that’s when the crowd start to murmur.

“Oh my god,” Brynn whispers. “Oh my god oh my god, Dad. Dad. Dad. Can I have your phone? Please? Please? Please!”

I take my phone out of my pocket and hand it to Brynn just as Torren fucking King steps on to the stage and picks up his bass.

“OH MY GOD,” Brynn squeals, and I watch as she pulls up the camera app and points the phone at the stage. “Oh my GOD, Cameron is going to die.”

The crowd around us gets louder. Is that Torren King? The Torren King? When Mabel Rossi takes a seat behind the drum set, everyone goes nuts. I hear The Hometown Heartless shouted, whispered, chanted all around me. Brynn is practically vibrating, and I hold my breath as I wait for Savannah.

She loves a dramatic entrance. She waits until the crowd starts yelling her name before she finally steps foot on stage, her signature white electric guitar in her hand and my old bike lock around her neck. She looks straight at Brynn and winks before speaking into the mic.

“Hey, Wilmington, how you doin’ tonight?”

The crowd roars and shoves to get closer to the stage. The whole time, Red stands facing them, his back to us, like he’s our personal security. And the dog? She lounges at Brynn’s feet, like she’s used to the chaos. Living with Sav, I’m sure she is.

“I know you were expecting to hear some eighties jams tonight, and you still will, but the band has been kind enough to let us open for them. I hope that’s okay.”

More screams and shouts. More applause, and Savannah laughs into the mic.

“It’s settled, then. Wilmington, let’s rock.”

Briefly, I wonder if being in this noise is smart, considering I still have a concussion, but the moment Sav launches into a song I recognize, the worry disappears. The song is another angry alt rock track that dominated the charts when it first released.

Her voice, still raspy and sexy in a way that sets my gut on fire, becomes something even more powerful when she’s on that stage. Her energy is electric. The most beautiful, controlled chaos. Her emotion is palpable with every syllable, every note. The pain is just as raw as when she penned the song. Everyone in the audience feels it, too, because you can hear it as they sing along.

Oh baby, place the blame on my name,

I know you’re dyin’ to do it.

You know you want to shame me, tell ‘em all I’m crazy.

You know they will believe you.

Make me the only bad guy, no one ever asks why,

Drag me through the fucking dirt.

You know I deserve it, baby, I do too.

C’mon, make it fucking hurt.

I haven’t been in this position, watching in awe from the audience, in years. Not since they played that show outside of D.C. and debuted the song that would launch their career into rock and roll stardom. Julianna was seven months pregnant, and I was still enrolled at UNC, but I’d make the drive home every weekend to be with her.

Every weekend, except the one when Sav’s band played in D.C.

I watched from the back of the venue and left immediately after, but it gutted me. Seeing her up there, loving her from a distance, hearing how she’d forgotten me. Listening to the heartbreaking lyrics of “Just One More.”

I wrote this one for a guy I thought I loved.

I was angry and jealous and proud all at once.

As I listen to her now, I know she’s in her element. She’s a born performer and a natural artist. She belongs on that stage. I’ve always known it. I used to hate it. But now? Now, I just want to be part of it, watching from the sidelines and supporting her as best I can.

I want to be in the eye of her storm instead of thrashing about with everyone else.

I don’t know how. I know it’s dangerous. I know it’s risky. But I lost her once. I can’t let her go again.

“She’s brilliant, isn’t she?”

The admiration in Sharon’s voice is audible, but it’s the tears in her eyes that make my chest tight. I take her hand in mine and give it a squeeze in response.

She is brilliant. She’s so brilliant it fucking hurts.

The Hometown Heartless play five songs. During one, Torren King joins Savannah on the mic and the crowd loses their fucking minds. Everyone still thinks they’re engaged.

“Thank you so much for having us tonight, Wilmington, and huge thanks to Biff McFly for letting us open for them tonight. We haven’t been openers in a while, and we really enjoyed it.”

Mabel pounds something on the drums and Savannah laughs.

“Now, this might be goodnight,” Sav says with a grin.

“It’s not goodbye,” Brynn and the rest of the crowd shouts back.

“But just in case, so you don’t forget us, we’ve got Mabel on drums, Jonah on guitar, Torren on bass, you can call me Sav, and we are The Hometown Heartless. We had a blast with you tonight, Wilmington. Have a great night!”

Red and Ziggy disappeared the moment Sav started her goodnight speech, and when Jonah, Torren, Mabel and Sav exit the stage, the eighties tribute band, Biff McFly takes their place.

“Never thought we’d get to say that the Sav Loveless and The Hometown Heartless opened for us,” the lead singer jokes.

The audience claps, and Brynn nudges my side.

“Dad, your phone. You got a message.”

I grab it from her and open it up.

Savannah

Meet us at my rental.

All of us?

The text bubbles pop up, then disappear, then pop up again.

If Sharon wants to come, she can.

Okay

“Let’s head to the truck,” I shout over the music to Brynn and Sharon.

They nod and turn to follow me.

When we reach Sav’s rental a few blocks from downtown, Red is already waiting at the gate. He lets us in and gestures for us to park in the garage. Sharon is nervous and fidgeting with her hands, but when I ask her if she’d rather leave, she shakes her head no.

It’s two hours passed Brynn’s bedtime, but you couldn’t tell it from how energized she is. She’s going to crash hard, though. I already know it.

“Hey guys,” Sav says as we follow Red into the house. Brynn, then Sharon, then me.

Sav’s leaning on the kitchen island, a notebook sitting open next to her, and Jonah, Mabel, and Torren are all hanging out around her. She looks happy. They all do, except for Jonah. He looks...blank. Tired.

Brynn takes a few steps toward Savannah and then—bam!—tackled by Ziggy. Savannah lets out a groan-like laugh as Brynn starts giggling. That dog is a menace.

“Good god, Ziggy,” Mabel says. “Sav, you need to put that mutt back in obedience school.”

“She got kicked out the first time,” Torren says. “She’ll just get kicked out again.”

Sav shrugs.

“She does what she wants anyway.” She looks at Red and winks. “Like her momma.”

“Trouble,” Red says and Sav laughs.

“Fun sucker.”

Jonah bends down and shoves Ziggy off Brynn, then grabs both her hands and pulls her to her feet. Brynn’s mouth is dropped wide open, her eyes the size of fucking dinner plates. She’s starstruck.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Jonah smiles with a nod, then throws himself down on the couch without a word. When I look at Savannah, she’s staring at him with a furrowed brow. Then she looks at Torren, and he shrugs. She’s worried about Jonah. From the look of Mabel and Torren, they are, too.

“Is that the notebook,” Brynn says, breaking the tense silence. “The lyric notebook?”

Sav laughs, then slides it behind her back on the counter.

“Sure is. No, you can’t see it, so don’t even ask.”

Brynn’s lips purse and Mabel gives her shoulder a nudge.

“She won’t even let us see it, kid. Don’t feel bad.”

“Oh shit! I forgot to introduce you guys,” Sav says suddenly. “Guys, you might remember Levi, but this is Boss, and, um, that’s...That’s Sharon. My, um, mom.”

Savannah flinches on the word, but wipes it away quickly, and I can feel Sharon’s discomfort radiating off her. She waves awkwardly. Luckily, Red breaks in and takes the attention off her with a question directed at Brynn.

“What’s the word today, Boss?”

Brynn grins immediately.

“Gamut. Noun. A range or series of related things.”

Jonah’s voice rings out from the couch.

“The Hometown Heartless have run the gamut of tabloid headlines from praise to contempt.”

“A plus plus, Jonah. Great job!”

Brynn is beaming at the guitarist, and he throws a thumbs up her way without looking up from the coffee table book he’s flipping through. This isn’t the Jonah I remember from Miami, and I can’t help but wonder what bullshit he’s been through since making it big. Whatever it is, it’s changed him, and it doesn’t look like for the better.

“Welp, I was thinking we could hang out on the roof,” Sav says pulling my attention back to her “We can jam on the acoustics. Maybe let Boss show you guys what she’s learned so far.”

“I can play ‘i wanna be there’ almost. G, C, D, G.”

“I hear you’re doing great,” Torren chimes in, and Brynn grins up at him.

I clear my throat with my eyes on him, and when he looks at me, I make sure my face conveys the threat. Don’t mess with what’s mine.

When everyone heads to Savannah’s roof, I hang back, positioning myself in front of Torren so he has to stay with me. For a minute, we just stare at each other, and when he opens his mouth to speak, I put my hand up, stopping him. When I speak, I keep my voice low and steady.

“Whatever is going on with you and Savannah—this publicity stunt of an engagement and the touching and any unrequited feelings you might have—let’s get one thing straight. She’s not yours. She was never yours. Get rid of the fantasies. Stop looking at her like she’s your forever. She’s not. She never will be.”

He glares at me, eyes hard on mine. I watch his jaw pop with the way he must be grinding his teeth.

“I suppose you think she’s yours?”

“I know it. So do you. But if you want to fuck around and find out, be my guest.” I smirk. “I think I’d like seeing you humiliated, and it’s been a while since I’ve busted my knuckles on your face. I kind of miss the feeling.”

Torren scoffs and shakes his head.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into with her.”

My shoulders tighten, and I grit my teeth. It’s not an insult or a threat. It’s said reverently, and that makes it worse. He honestly thinks he’s in love with her. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

I step closer and cock my head to the side as I scan his face.

“You’ve had almost a decade with her, yet she’s still mine. That ring she wears? Might as well be scrap metal. Know why? Because I know exactly what I’m getting into with her. I’m the only one who’s ever known.”

I take a step back and my face softens.

“You think you love her. Fine. I get it. But this is the only time I’m going to say it. Get over it. I won’t say it twice.”

I turn without another word and head up to the roof. Savannah raises an eyebrow when she sees me, and I wink, then sit in a patio chair next to Brynnlee. Ten minutes later, Torren appears, and I don’t miss the way he keeps a distance between himself and Savannah. Good.

After Red lights a fire in the small firepit, they bring out two acoustic guitars and play some songs. It’s even better than before. Even Jonah perks up, seems almost revived. He sings along when Brynn plays. He claps. He even plays a few songs on his own. By the time Brynn falls asleep in the lounge chair, it’s two in the morning and the atmosphere feels charged with promise. Something positive. Even I’m excited, and I don’t even know what for.

Sav tries to convince her bandmates to stay the night, but they insist on going back to their hotel because they fly back to LA in a few hours. Sharon tells me she’s going to take Brynn back to her place. She doesn’t even ask if I want to stay with Sav. She just assumes, and though I probably should, I don’t correct her. Red carries Brynn to the truck and buckles her in, then disappears into his room with Ziggy after making sure the gate and the windows are locked up tight.

Then it’s just me and Savannah in the kitchen. Alone. She nudges my foot with hers.

“Hi,” she says with a grin.

“Hi.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Alright.”

“How’s the head?”

“It’s been worse.”

“Hmmm.”

She bounces her eyes between mine, a soft smile playing on her lips. She nudges my foot once again with hers.

“It’s a nice night. Want to come back on the roof with me?”

I look her over, head to toe. She’s in sweats and a tank top now, but she looks just as tempting—just as fame-worthy—as she did on that stage tonight. She exudes sex appeal and danger. It’s a heady combination, and I am at the end of my rope trying to deny it.

“I don’t want to go to the roof with you, Savannah.”

Her face falls, and I take a step toward her, boxing her in against the kitchen counter. I wrap my hand around the side of her neck and use my thumb to pull her lower lip down. Her breath hitches and her lips part, then she turns her head slightly and takes my thumb into her mouth. She sucks on it, swirls her tongue around it, and I groan. My dick hardens and my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.

“I’m done denying myself. I’m done keeping my distance. I’ve been shit at it anyway, and it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

I inch closer and take her hand off the counter where she’s bracing herself, then put it on my cock. She squeezes me through my jeans, and I thrust into her palm.

“I need to fuck you. Now. Are you okay with that?”

She gasps and nods quickly, before halting and furrowing her brow.

“What about your head?”

“Not concerned with the one on my shoulders.” I smirk and she smiles back. “Take me to your room. Unless you want me to fuck you right here.”

I slide my hand into the front of her sweats and to her pussy. I press on her clit, and she whimpers. I move lower and rub my fingers through the wetness dripping from her, soaking her panties.

“Fuck, you do want that, don’t you? I can bend you over this counter. Or do you want me to carry you to the couch?”

I press two fingers into her and watch as her eyes flutter shut. Her hips jerk against me when I push on her clit with my palm, and she gasps. I move my lips to the shell of her ear, my voice a rasp, and she shivers.

“I can throw your legs onto my shoulder and hit you deep with my cock, Savannah. I can fuck you like the brat you are.”

I thrust in and out of her slowly, and her breathing kicks up to a pant. She squeezes my dick through my jeans, and I groan into her ear.

“I want to spank that pussy the way I’ve been dreaming about.”

I thrust faster, then move my fingers to her clit and rub roughly.

“I want to sink my cock into you. Rub on your clit. Fuck your ass with my fingers until you’re ready for my cock. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” she breathes out.

I move my mouth to her neck and kiss it.

“Say it louder.”

“Yes.”

I rub her with my fingers, then move my fingers back into her when I know she’s close. I thrust faster, as deep as possible, massaging her. Making her clench around me.

“Say it again. Louder, Savannah”

“Yes, all of it. I want all of it,” she cries out, then comes around my fingers, and I move back to her clit and rub, letting her ride out the shocks of her orgasm.

She shudders, then gasps out a low moan when I suck hard on the sensitive skin of her neck. Hard enough she’ll need to cover it with makeup for a week on set. Hard enough that Paul Northwood and Torren King and everyone else around will know she’s taken.

I smile.

“Good girl. Now take me where you want me.”

She shoves at my chest, making me take a step back, then grabs my hand and pulls me up the stairs. We bypass her bedroom and head straight for the stairs leading to the roof. Logic, caution, self-preservation. It’s all gone as we step onto the rooftop terrace, and she whirls on me, unzipping my jeans and dropping to her knees.

“Fuck,” I groan, grabbing hold of her hair as she takes me in her mouth and straight down her throat.

No warm-up. No licking or toying with my dick. I have to brace a hand on the brick wall behind me from the way the pleasure makes me sway on my feet.

“Oh, fuck, yes.”

I tug on her hair and thrust into her, making her gag around me before pulling her back up to her feet. She tries to protest, but I cover her mouth with a possessive kiss, hand still fisted in her silver hair. She claws at me and palms my hard cock, now slick with her saliva.

“I’m not coming down your throat right now,” I grind out. “I’m not coming in your hand either.”

I walk her backward until her legs are against the patio chair. She tears off my shirt, then I follow suit with hers, dropping them on the ground beside us. I tug her sweats and underwear down her legs, and she kicks them off her feet. I palm her pussy, growling into her mouth when I feel just how soaked I’ve made her. Just how wet she is from the last orgasm I coaxed from her.

She pushes my jeans down over my ass and I do the same with my boxer briefs, and then we’re both standing naked under the night sky. I kiss her. Tweak her peaked, hardened nipples as she drags her long, black-painted fingernails down my chest. They don’t break skin but I want them to.

I bite her nipple, she gasps, then I spin her around, so my dick is pressed against her ass. I tug her head back by her hair and kiss her lips as I thrust between her ass cheeks, and she arches into me.

She’s so willing. So eager.

I want to claim her. To fucking own her. I want to ruin her for everyone else.

I’ve only ever felt this possessive over Savannah. No other woman. She’s the only one who belongs with me.

She moans against me, and I use my feet to kick her legs apart, so she’s standing with them spread wide. I use my free hand to swipe my dick between her legs, once, twice, until she’s pushing back onto me, her body begging for the head of my dick to push into her wet, swollen pussy.

“Knees on the couch. Keep your legs wide.”

My command is ragged and rough, and I see goosebumps prickle the naked skin on her back.

She scrambles to do as she’s told, and I rub my hand up her spine before pressing lightly between her shoulder blades, so she’s bent over, forearms braced on the back of the couch. Her back is rising and falling almost violently with her sharp breaths.

“Press your ass into me, Savannah. That’s right. Just like that. Push it hard against my dick.”

She does it, and I grab onto her hips, clenching my teeth to keep from rushing this. To keep from taking her hard and fast.

“Fuck, Sav. Who knew you could be so obedient?”

She huffs. “I’m not a damn dog.”

I give her ass a smack then thrust against her, watching my cock slide up and down between her ass cheeks. It’s fucking erotic, commanding her like this. Possessing her body like it’s mine.

“I think I can tame this brat. I think I can fuck the brat right out of you.”

She growls but pushes harder into me.

“Stop talking and give it a try, then.”

The anger and impatience in her voice light me on fucking fire, and I smack her ass again. Her groan is guttural, and I know her wetness is dripping from her.

“No condom,” I say.

It’s a question as much as a warning.

“I don’t care. Fuck me bare. Skin on skin.”

I don’t wait for her to say more. I slam into her pussy, until her ass is pressed hard onto my pelvis.

“Oh fuck,” she chokes out.

I pull back and slam in again just to hear that moan once more. She doesn’t disappoint.

“Oh, yes. Oh my god.”

I pull out slowly, watching with rapt attention as my dick slides out of her pussy glistening with her arousal until just my tip is inside her, then I slam in again.

“Faster.” She groans. “Go faster.”

I smack her ass again.

“I’m not rushing this,” I tell her as I pull out slowly once more, then reach around her and press on her clit before slamming into her a third time.

The cry that falls from her lips is rapturous, and my groan matches.

“I want you red and swollen and unable to fucking walk when I’m done with you. You want to be a rockstar? I’m going to fuck you like one.”