Chapter Thirty – Bittersweet Symphony!

July turns into August, and August disappears into September. The overpowering Texas heat slowly turned into a living temperature. 

Molly and James had been officially dating for about a month and a half. And even though Molly was pretty secretive about the whole thing, both you and Jess were pretty sure that Molly and James had done it more than once and in places that were labeled not suitable for physical encounters. Like the truck, James used for work. You usually disabled the LoJack in his truck and looked the other way. As long as he did his job promptly, he could have a good time, too. 

God knows you and Brock did. The storage room was usually where you snuck off to. The first time Brock took you in there, you were so scared to get caught that you almost stopped him. But the whole “you might get caught” feeling made the whole experience so much more intense. Brock had to cover your mouth with his hand to muffle your moans. After that, you snuck in there almost every time you had lunch together. You tried not to think about it too much when James, you, or your dad loaded boxes into the cars you used, but several of the stores in the area did receive boxes that were used for more than just storage. It was a bit embarrassing at first, but now, now you tend to laugh a bit when you think of that. 

After Brock had finally opened up to you about his sexual preferences, your intimacy had risen to New highs. Brock had this special ability to be both rough and gentle simultaneously, and you absolutely loved it. Every single second of it. Your dad still had no idea what was happening between you and his best friend. And although you and Brock had talked about telling him. You both reached the conclusion to be absolutely sure of where you two wanted to go before you told Jack about it. You suspected that Brock was unsure because of you and the fact that you still couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you love him. You did; you absolutely did love him. It was just so damn hard to say. You felt that those words would make everything real and that you would set yourself up for a major heartbreak if you told him how you felt.  

Thursday, September 6th, the date on your work laptop tells you. Your 21st birthday is only three months away. Time really does fly. You drag your hand over your face. This has just been one of those days. The alarm had woken you up from a very good dream. A dream where you had Brock’s arms around you, and you could be with him any time you wanted. You had to force yourself out of that dream if you were going to have time for breakfast. Then you realized that you didn’t have Milk or eggs left in the fridge, and then the frickin’ garage door wouldn’t open, so you had to open it manually. Right now, you just wanted one thing to go your way—just one thing. 

You could call Brock and ask if he wanted to meet up for lunch, although lunch was probably the last thing you would do if he could squeeze in some time. You knew that he had a lot to do at work these days, and even though you wanted to call him and ask, you didn’t want to steal his time. After a quick glance at the clock, you decide to go to your local Starbucks for lunch, maybe even have a word or ten with Jess if she has the time. You snatch up your car keys and put them in your purse before you lock the door to your office and walk outside. 

__________________________________________

Your talk with Jess over lunch was good; you needed that. And you got a free cup of coffee, which you also needed. It was good to be able to pour your frustration out. You lean your head against the seat and close your eyes. God, can’t this day just end? 

When you’re about to lock up your car, you spot James’ work truck strategically parked. You can’t help but smile a bit; there’s a slight movement.

– Oh, James, James, James…

You say with a little chuckle as you walk to his truck.

The truck’s windows are foggy, making it pretty obvious to you what’s going on inside. You shake your head a bit before you line up, back against the truck, and then you bang on the door as hard as you can. 

– James Barnes! You’re on the clock!

You say, trying to sound more like his boss than his friend. 

You hear a startled squeal from Molly as you turn toward the building, so you pause momentarily.

– You better get her off!

You holler over your shoulder, glancing around the parking lot to make sure nobody of importance is lurking around before you head toward the doors.

________________________________________

James lays his head back against the seat, panting. Jesus Christ, did that happen? Did he really get caught having sex by his boss? What was this girl doing to him? He’s never been one to sneak around having sex like this. Molly had just brought him lunch, and here they were in the passenger seat with the seat reclined, with her riding him.

-Oh god, I’m never going to hear the end of this.

Molly says, pushing her hair from her face.

-Is this what Brock feels like? 

He wonders out loud; Molly groans, burying her face in his neck and rolling her hips, pulling a groan from him. 

-Please don’t talk about Brock while I’m sitting on your dick. 

She says voice muffled. James chuckles, his hands rubbing her thighs gently.

-Whatever you say, Sunshine.

He breathes out as Molly places a kiss on his neck as she goes to move away. But James stops her, gripping her hips a little tighter as he thrusts up. He pulls a moan from Molly.

-What are you doing?

Molly asks, a puzzled look on her face.

– She’s my boss; I should probably do as she says.

He explains, leaning and kissing along her neck.  

– What?

Molly whispers into his damp skin as her hands slide into his hair. 

– You heard her, I better get you off.

James grunts as she grips her hips a little harder and starts to thrust up faster and harder.

___________________________

You’re sitting at your desk, smirking as you type away, glancing at the door. You can hear James and Molly outside your door. When they finally work up the nerve to enter, you raise an expectant brow at them.

– Soooo…

You say, slowly drawing out the word.

– I- I’m so sorry, YN, it was an accident.

Molly finally managed to say that she really hadn’t intended to have sex in James’ work truck. She just wanted to drop off his lunch so he’d have it on break and maybe steal a few kisses. But then he had to lean in and kiss her jaw in that spot, and he smelled so good.

– It’ll never happen again.

James adds, straightening his shirt and clearing his throat. 

You look at them both; your lips curl up in a little smile. 

– Accident? So what? You tripped and fell onto his dick?

You ask Molly, whose face slowly turns into a shade of red. 

– And James, Yes, it will; it absolutely will happen again. And I’m not even mad about that. 

You add before the laugh you have been holding in becomes too much. Molly and James join in, and Molly’s face returns to its normal color. 

When you’re finally done laughing, you turn your attention to James again. 

– For future reference. Please keep all your eating for lunchtime. Okay?

You tell him. James almost chokes on his saliva, and Molly’s face turns red. 

– I love you guys!

You say, smiling at both of them. They’re so cute together. 

– Now, get back to work.

You add, with a friendly chuckle. 

– It won’t happen again.

James says again as they leave your office. 

– Yes, it will! It will, you hear me?

You shout after them. 

A second later, your phone lights up with a message from your dad, informing you that he won’t be home until around midnight and that you can order food. Great, just great. That means you also have to go grocery shopping. That late, your dad would probably forget the eggs and the milk, and it’s Friday and another BBQ night tomorrow; you have to drop by the store on your way home. 

You have a bit of paperwork to do before you can go home. Or, well, before you can go grocery shopping. God, how do you hope for this day to end on a high note. You absolutely hate days like this. Those days when nothing goes your way. And days when you’re not with Brock. At least you’ll get to see him tomorrow. 

_____

Jack writes his name at the bottom of the paper in front of him. The paper you’ll get for your 21st birthday, the trust fund that was established when you were just a baby. It was his and Gen’s way to make sure you’d never have to worry about getting a loan to buy your own property. They both grew up with Trust funds in their name, and it was a family tradition on both sides of the family. It feels weird to see Gen’s signature. He hadn’t seen her since she moved, and he’d hardly spoken to her. Yet, he was still signing a paper with her even though she was in New York and he was in Dallas. Maybe he should talk to her. Try, at least. They had you together, and you deserved to have both parents present. 

Jack sighs when he reads over the other piece of paper Mr. Grayson hands him. The contract for the firm, the assets, and a bunch of legal stuff about how the company would switch hands from his to yours. He can’t believe that you’re a grown-up all of a sudden. If it were up to him, you’d be his baby girl forever. Young and innocent, chasing butterflies in the field by the Lakehouse or unsteadily riding your bicycle in the driveway. Oh, how he missed those moments. Then he again puts his name at the bottom, next to an open field, which would hold your signature in three months. 

He had no trouble with this. Even though he didn’t understand half of the legal jargon, he’d used Grayson & Ellis for as long as he could remember. After the Law firm, his parents used closed down, he had to find a new one at the age of 26. The choice was easy. Mr. & Mrs. Grayson lived nearby, and you went to preschool with their daughter, Jessica. Thankfully, you two and Molly grew closer and closer over the years, and it became easier and easier to use Mr. Grayson as a corporate Lawyer. Both Jessica’s parents were lawyers. Mr. Grayson had a business with a friend from Harvard, and Mrs. Grayson had her own practice as a Defense Attorney. Thankfully, Jack never had to use her Legal advice. And hopefully, he never would. 

_____________________________________________

You put the grocery bags down on the counter with an annoyed huff. What a day. You’re about to put the groceries away when you notice that the dishwasher is ready. You sigh… Perfect. More to do.

All you want right now is to be with Brock. To kiss him, feel his lips on you. Touch his skin. You’ve been going on for a little over three months now, and it was nothing to suggest any of you were toning things down. The sex just kept getting better and better and steamier and steamier. And oh my, the way he talked to you, whispering those sexy phrases in your ear. You can almost feel his lips on your neck just by thinking about it, and your whole body shivers.

It was harder to keep seeing Brock since the long delivery runs seemed to be far and few in between. You two did manage to squeeze in a steamy rendezvous here and there. When your dad worked late or when he drove to a nearby town to deliver more important orders, he didn’t want James to do other than the local deliveries. Oh, how you prayed for a large order that would take him for a long drive, maybe to Los Angeles or even New York; at this point, you’d take either. You wanted more than these little stolen moments here and there.

But Brock also has to spend time with your dad; it would be weird if he was suddenly only around when he was gone. Your dad wasn’t a nitwit; you two had to tread carefully. You never really understood the appeal of sneaking around until now; the idea of getting caught while it scared you was extremely hot.

So Friday night, BBQ at Rollin’s house continued without incident; it was tough. The biggest struggle was keeping your hands off each other, mostly on your end. Has Brock seen himself? So maybe there was some inappropriate touching and heated looks. But thankfully, Molly, Jess, and James would come over sometimes and buffed the awkward tension your dad had absolutely no idea about. After dinner, you, Jess, and Molly would steal to your room, leaving your dad with Brock and James in the garden. You were unsure if your dad knew about James and Molly. James was extremely professional around your dad, almost to the point where you didn’t recognize him. 

With a lustful sigh, lost in thoughts of warm lips, beard burn, and soft touches as you robotically unload the dishwasher, you’ve done this a million times; you could do it in your sleep. As you reach up to put a glass in the cabinet, a pair of arms slide around your waist.

 – Brock..

You whisper his name before you give him a kiss. 

 – What are you doing here?

You ask as he teasingly lets his hands glide over your behind, giving you a gentle squeeze.

 – Do I need a reason?

He answers, lifting you up. You instantly drape your arms around his neck and wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you into the living room and sits down on the couch, with you straddling him. You hum approvingly at this.

– I just missed you, missed this.

He says, giving you a deep kiss, his large hands cradling you on either side of your face.

– My dad will be gone a couple more hours; we’ve got some time. 

You say suggestively, almost out of breath from the kiss. 

– Are you trying to lure me into bed with you, YN?

He teasingly whispers in your ear as he gently bites your earlobe, and his fingers move into your hair.

 – Are you complaining?

 You ask, gliding your hands up his sides. 

 – Absolutely not!

He answers with a chuckle, leaning his head back on the couch and giving you full access to his neck and throat.

You let your lips touch his neck, and you kiss and nip at the tender flesh there, smiling when his breath hitches. His hands glide up your back to your shoulders as yours rub down his chest and abs, continuing your ministrations on his neck, and even though you’re both fully dressed, you can feel him growing hard under you, making heat pull deep inside you.

 – You want me?

You say teasingly in his ear, a dark chuckle following as you nip his lobe.

 – Mmm.. Am I that transparent?

 He murmurs into your neck.

Your lips meet again, and you roll your hips down into him. You slide your hands underneath his t-shirt, feeling his hot skin, dragging your nails down his abs as you roll your hips again, pulling a groan from him.

Someone clears their throat behind you. You don’t process it right away, so Brock is the first one to look at who it is. 

 – Jack!

Brock says, surprised. His hands let go of you as if suddenly burned. Your head snaps around, eyes widen. Oh shit! 

 – Dad!

You squeak before you realize what he just witnessed, scrambling off Brock’s lap to your feet right yourself.

 – It’s not what it looks like!

You say, wincing a little; you know how stupid that sounds. 

– He… He just came over to pick up something!

You add to make it sound at least a tiny bit better. It is not perfect by any means; not one single part of this situation is. Your dad looks from you to Brock and then back to you again. 

– From your mouth?

Jack says, raising an eyebrow. When you say nothing, his eyes shift back over to Brock, giving him that look. That look you dreaded when you were younger, that look that tells you that you just did something really, really bad. That look tells you that you won’t see your friends for a month, AND you’re on kitchen duty till the end of the fucking century.

– Jack! I can explain!

Brock says, lifting his hands up in front of him, showing he means no harm. Your heart is in your throat as you try to swallow. Your dad keeps looking at the two of you. He’s, without a doubt, furious. You can’t remember the last time you saw him act like this. 

– You can, huh?

Jack says, his tone is emotionless, taking off his jacket. You bite your lip nervously; this could get really ugly, really fast. You do a mental run-through of where exactly all the firearms are in the house; you don’t think your dad will go there….at least, you hope he won’t.

– Because I would really like an explanation!

Jack continues, taking a step toward Brock. The other man moves, too, towards the porch door. His hands are still up in surrender in front of him. 

– I love her!

Brock finally says. You know that he already said those words to you; every single time you have sex, he tells you that. But hearing him say it out loud like this, for someone else to hear. It makes you all warm inside. 

– That’s the wrong answer!

Jack snarled before launching forward, pushing Brock into the chest of drawers by the wall as he let out some form of war cry or something. It startles you; almost every single item on the chest of drawers gets knocked over, and things fall to the floor breaking. You don’t realize you’ve backed against the wall until you feel it behind you.

 – DAD! 

You scream; you feel useless because you can only watch in shock as your dad punches Brock repeatedly in the side. Brock doesn’t retaliate; he just tries to shield himself as best he can. 

– She’s my daughter! MY DAUGHTER!

Jack continues to scream at Brock as his fist repeatedly hits his side. 

 – DAAAAAAD! PLEASE!

You scream, and your voice is desperate. This isn’t real! You have to stop this; you can’t just stand here and do nothing. But you can’t; you’re numb; you don’t even register the tears streaming down your cheeks until you taste their saltness on your lips.

Brock gets a hold of Jack and pushes him across the room into the bookshelf. He fights back; there’s probably a limit to how much he’s willing to take. Again, you can’t do anything other than watch as the two men you love the most in this world beat each other to a pulp.  

– STOP IT!!! PLEASE! STOP!

You scream, begging them; your body is shaking, racked with sobs. You understand that your dad is mad; he has every right to be. But this!? He could’ve just thrown Brock out. There’s no need for this. 

You cringe as you hear every punch, skin on skin, fist meeting bone. The angry sounds were coming from them both. You almost don’t dare to watch, but you don’t dare look away. They’re fighting; they’re actually fighting.

You’ve never seen any of them fight before; sure, you’ve seen your dad angry. But not like this, never like this. And Brock. No, you’ve never seen him fight anyone.

Jack gets a hold of Brock’s head, gripping both sides; he brings his knee up, smashing the other man’s face into his knee. The sound of Brock’s face hitting your dad’s knee is defining, almost like you need to cover your ears. New York and all the memories feel really real right now. Brock falls backward, down to the floor. You watch, holding your breath; as time slows down, barely inching by as you watch, Brock hits the floor. You see a bit of blood, and something inside finally snaps; the gears unfreeze, and you see your father stocking towards Brock, who is dazed on the ground. You move between them, not realizing it until you are face to face with your father; he stops panting, looking down at you. You turn towards Brock, who has managed to pull himself up to his feet, panting as well; his nose is bleeding profusely, and he has a cut over his eye.

-That’s enough; you’ve both had enough! He gets your point.

You say, voice shaky; your heart is beating a million beats per second, and you’re sure you’re about to pass out.

Your dad looks at you, then behind you; his jaw ticks.

– Get out!

Jack growls through clenched teeth, pointing to the door. Brock takes a deep breath and looks at you. You feel like this is all your fault. How could you let this happen?

– Get out of my house!

 Jack almost screams the words to Brock. 

 – Dad?

You start carefully, your hand reaching behind you for Brock. If you keep yourself between, maybe you can spare another fistfight. You breathe in relief when you feel his body heat behind you.

– Don’t get in the middle of this, YN!

Jack warns, giving you that look as well, that look that says, “You’re grounded for a month, no phone!”. You’re not 14 anymore, and he can’t decide what you can and can’t do. 

– I AM in the middle of this!

You yell, stomping your feet to stress your point. When you turn your face to look, Brock is already halfway out in the hallway. You look back at Jack for a split second before you follow Brock. You don’t even look back to see what your dad is doing or how he reacts.

You follow Brock outside and close the door behind you. He sits down heavily in a patio chair; you sit beside him, and he props his head on his hands, which are resting on his knees. He’s staring down at the concert patio; you reach out and run your fingers through his thick, dark hair.

– Are you OK?

You ask, after a few minutes, concerned and still shaken by the fight. Brock sighs, looking up at you; his nosebleed has finally stopped; now there is just dried blood. His left eye is definitely going to bruise, and the cut above his right eye doesn’t look deep enough for stitches. You take a deep breath and let it slowly; he’s okay. You feel tears start to prickle your eyes.

– I’m fine, YN! Don’t worry about me.

He answers, frowning as he cups your face, concern written all over his battered features.

– He hit you, Brock…

 You say, sniffling.

– I probably deserved that.

He admitted, gently wiping your remaining tears away with his thumb. 

– Listen, YN. I have to go…

He says, giving you that “everything’ll be OK” look. 

– Then I’m going with you!

You answer. You’re still angry with your dad and don’t want to go back inside and face him. 

– No, YN. You’re not. You need to stay here and patch things up with Jack! He needs that; YOU need that.

He says fondly, looking into your eyes as if he wants nothing more than to get lost in them. 

– But, I want to go with you—I want to be with you!

You say, pouting, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks; Brock gently wipes them away with the pad of his thumb.

– I know, YN. I want that, too; we’re not over, Princess. Not by a long shot. I love you; I’ll always love you!

He says there is a pain in his eyes from his injuries and the thought of having to leave you here. He knows you must have been scared, and all he wants to do is wrap you up and keep you safe, but he can’t. He has to go.

– When will I see you again?

You ask, following him to his feet.

– Soon.

He answers, taking your hand and lacing his fingers with yours as you leave the yard. What does he mean by that? 

– I love you, YN

He adds in a whisper meant for your ears only as he starts to move towards his truck, holding your hand until he has to let it go. 

– I love you too…

You whisper back as your hands part, your arm falls uselessly to your side, and your bottom lip wobbles as you watch Brock climb into his truck. He gives you a pained smile before he pulls out of the drive and heads down the road.

You allow yourself a few minutes to cry because, damnit, it’s been a stressful evening; you turn towards the door, taking a deep breath, letting it slowly as you wipe your face, heading back into the house to face whatever is waiting on the other side.

__________

Jack drags his hand over his face as he looks around the living room. Picture frames and other memorabilia on the floor by the chest of drawers. What the fuck just happened? 

Jack quickly looks at his gun cabinet, clenching his right fist. Brock better hope you didn’t leave with him. Fucking two-faced piece of fuckin’ shit. After everything he and Brock have been through together, then he does something like this? What the actual fuck?

Yeah, he owes Brock a lot, even his life. But for Brock, too. For him to. For you to… Fuck. Jack can’t even get himself to finish that thought. It makes him sick to think about what Brock might have done to you. 

How long has this been going on? And how could he not have seen it? Fuck this! 

He grabs the cleaning supplies from the cabinet in the kitchen before he starts to clean up all the broken pieces from the floor. The longer you’re gone, the more he contemplates grabbing a gun to go after Brock. It’s not that he actually wants to kill him. But the thought of Brock being with you, that thought, those images, it was just too much to take.

Jack takes a relieved breath when he hears the front door opening. 

_________

Stepping into the house, you hear your dad; it sounds like the dustpan hitting the side of the trashcan, most likely the stuff broken from the fight. You slowly walk into the kitchen, and all you want to do is scream and throw things at him. But what good would that do?

He’s standing by the sink washing his hands; you dance around each other in silence for several uncomfortable minutes until he breaks the silence.

– How long has this been going on?

Jack asks. Not looking up, his voice is angry, like it was when you were 14 and missed curfew. 

– None of your business!

You bristle, still angry and scared. Angry at yourself for falling in love with your dad’s best friend, angry at yourself for betraying him, angry at him for fighting with Brock. You’re scared you fucked everything up, and nothing will ever be the same because how can it now? 

– Did he sleep with you?

Jack asks. His voice is hard and angry. He feels sick at the thought. 

– Wha…

You start to try to say something. But Jack cuts you off. 

– Did he sleep with you!?!

He repeats the question. His voice is still stern and angry but a bit higher this time. 

– I don’t have to answer that!

You reply. But you know that’s an answer in itself. You could just as well have said “yes”.

– You’re not seeing him anymore!

 Jack says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He looks up at you; his gaze is steely, and your heart jumps.

– You don’t get to make that decision for me; you can’t decide whom I’m seeing or not! 

You snap, how dare he? Yes, you’re his child, but god damnit, you’re 20 years old. You’re an adult who makes horrible life choices that led us to this conversation.

 -You’re NOT seeing him anymore!

He says again. Emphasis on the not, still looking at you with that hard look., 

– You can’t control my life!

You yell at him, your voice wavering as your lip trembles. With how you’re feeling right now, you’re unsure if you sound convincing. You head to the living room, and he follows behind you.

– As long as you live under MY roof, you will live by MY rules. And I say you’re NOT seeing him anymore!

Jack’s voice is harder now; his jaw ticks with tension. It’s not like he can actually prevent you from seeing Brock. But he could make both your lives very uncomfortable, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect you and keep you safe.

– Oh, you’re so perfect, like you never did things your parents disapproved of when you were in your ‘20s.

You scuff, rolling your eyes. Trying not to cry will only make your arguments have less kick. 

– Nothing as stupid as this!

Jack snaps back, still angry.

You gape at him, anger bubbling inside, feeling like you’re about to explode. He got a girl pregnant at 19! If that’s not stupid, you don’t know what is.

– Oh, that’s rich! Um HELLO!! Pot meet kettle!

You sassed, pointing at yourself. He didn’t want a relationship with your mother; it was just sex for him. But you have the real thing with Brock; it’s more than that; he loves you; not only does he tell you, but he shows you.

– You were not a mistake, a happy accident…

Jack says, his voice softening momentarily as he is lost in a memory.

– My biggest mistake was letting that no good, two-faced, poontanging rhino come ANYWHERE near you!

Jack snaps. 

You toss your hands up; you don’t know what else to do or say. No matter what, he won’t listen anyway; he sees Brock as a monster, a predator. And he actually used the phrase poontang, as if Brock would EVER see you like that. You want to scream at him and tell him EVERYTHING: how Brock makes you feel loved and cared for, how he’s gentle when he takes you, how you come first in and out of bed. But that will only add fuel to the flames.

– Aaaarg! I HATE YOU!

You scream, picking up one of the pictures of your dad, holding you as a baby from the side table and throwing it to the floor. The frame shatters into a million pieces. Then you turn around and storm up the stairs and into your room, slamming the door shut behind you before you lock it. Tossing yourself onto the bed, you surrender to the sobs you’ve been holding back, the racked your body as you bury your face in your pillow and scream out your frustration.