Fake It 'Til You Break It(85)

I shake my head. “Like he’s been taking care of us, Ma? He steals from you, and keeps you so doped up you don’t even realize it.”

She looks to the wedding ring she refuses to take off. “He’s good to me, makes sure I have the medicine I need.”

“You aren’t sick!” I yell. “Not in the way he’s made you believe.” I drop beside her, grabbing her hands gently. “Ma, you lost your husband, and it broke you. You’re sad, depressed, and that’s okay. I get it, I swear. I tried to find someone to help you, remember? But you only wanted him, and he used that to control you.”

“You’re wrong. He cares. He pays our bills.”

“With your money,” I stress gently. “And now you probably just gave him control of everything.”

“It’ll all be okay, son,” she whispers, her eyes growing tired, whatever fucking cocktail he cooked up for her when he was here obviously kicking in. “He promised me.”

I glare at her, having so much more to say, but unable to let the words out.

She’s fucked up, he’s in her head, and she doesn’t want to know the truth.

What’s she gonna do when I’m gone next year?

I wasn’t sure how I’d leave before, but I really can’t get out of here if she has no place to go.

That’s got to be why he’s doing this.

Her head tilts up a little, and she smiles at me.

I swallow my sigh, moving forward to scoop her in my arms, and gently place her on the bed.

She pats my cheek, her eyes already closed. “My sweet, sweet boy, I love you so much.”

My chest grows tight.

I want to shake her, hug her, her to hug me back, instead I look down at her from the bedside.

“Love you, Ma,” I whisper, but she doesn’t hear me.

She’s already knocked out.

I turn off her light and bypass the shower, stumbling my way down the stairs, and out the back door.

Before I realize what I’m doing or where I’m going, I’m already shoving open the gate connecting Demi’s yard to mine.

I spot her instantly through the large window, little and perfect and not quite mine.

She’s in her kitchen, pulling something down from the cupboard when her head snaps my way, her eyes locking on mine through the glass.

She takes me in, still half dressed in my gear, and worry clouds her eyes.

I need you, baby.

She rushes for the sliding door, pushing it open right as I reach it.

“Neek—”

I cut her off by slamming my mouth into hers.

Her lips tighten a moment, but she gives in the very next, letting me take what I want from her.

What I need from her.

Every little bit she’ll allow and more.

Her arms wrap around me as I scoop her up and walk us backward toward the stairs, kicking my cleats off as I step.

I drop her on top of the small table near the foot of the stairs so I can kiss her better, dive deeper into her mouth, and then she tears away, dropping her head back as she gasps for air.

I let my lips fall down her jawline and to her neck, where I suck gently.

Her little hands slide up my back, her fingers spanning out against me, pulling me in.

She’s so welcoming, so ready to give—and she doesn’t even question us despite everything—that it’s overwhelming and my head falls to her shoulder.

I grip her hips, squeezing slightly.

Her hands loosen, one making a lazy path up and down my back, while the other slides past my cheek, and across my fade. She lightly brushes her fingers in repetitive, soothing movements.

I lift my head, locking eyes with her perfect green ones.

Words aren’t needed, she can see as I can, the hurt we caused each other. The unnecessary pain we didn’t have to deliver and can and will move past.

She’s mine and I’m hers and that’s what matters here.

I’m standing here with fucked emotions and a weighted mind.

I need her and no kind of fight would be changing that fact.

Demi knows and slowly raises her hands over her head.

I lick my lips, tug her to the edge and meet the skin of her waist with my fingertips.

I don’t take my eyes off her as I trail them up purposely, torturously, slow.

Her deep breaths quickly switch to short pants, her face giving the illusion of pain, when it’s need coursing through her every vein and all I’ve done is run my knuckles along her ribs.

When I get to her bra line, I lean forward, and her lips part. I lift her shirt so it’s blocking her face, stealing her sight as I blow warm air across her breastbone, smirking when goosebumps rise in response.

She loses some patience, and helps the thin cotton over her head, tossing it to the side.

Her palms land on my chest, and she drags them down, then back over my pecs before leaning in. Thick, warm lips press against my skin, and my hand shoots up to close around the back of her neck.

Her eyes pop up, the emerald within them hardly visible she’s so stirred up, and she slips her fingertips into the band of my boxers.

Her eyes fall, tracking her own movement as she pushes my practice pants to my thighs, then brings her feet up to help them the rest of the way down until they’ve fallen to my ankles. I kick them somewhere behind me.

Her greedy hands quickly slide across the front of my boxers, cupping my dick with a light squeeze causing me to flex in her grasp.