The Best You’ve Ever Had

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Ben

Layla drives me home from the hospital, the silence in the car heavy, as if grief has filled every inch of space with sadness. There are no words. No special medications. Nothing to bring him back.

He’s gone, and now all I have left are the memories of him. Trips to the ice cream shop after school for heaping scoops of mint chocolate chip. Showing me around the old firehouse where he once worked. Rebuilding the old cherry red Ford truck in his garage. Helping me with my application into college to study fire science, just as he did.

Now the image of him lying in that hospital bed, looking frail and peaceful, is seared into my brain. It’s as if he was a wax figure in a museum, a lifelike replica that’s no longer here, even though his body remained. There were no wires hooked up to machines, no constant beeping. Just the quiet and stillness of the room, enveloping me as if it had a physical presence of its own.

When we pull into the driveway, Layla turns off the car, holding the keys in the ignition like it will fuel her will to find the right words to say.

My heart begins to race and I have no idea what’s wrong with me. All I feel is red hot panic. It comes on so suddenly that catching my breath seems like a chore, and my lungs burn like a spreading wildfire, warning of impending doom.

She unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to me, grabbing my forearm of the hand that’s clinging on for dear life to the arm rest. “Hey. Are you okay?”

I can’t even look at her. Not like this. My heart is in my throat, and my stomach feels sick with a false sense of alarm. We’re sitting in the damn driveway, but it feels like I’m free-falling from a plane.

“Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” Her voice is gentle and soothing.

My breath stutters, broken like a hiccup, as I try to follow her instructions. It feels useless as my body blares stress signals, screaming that this is it. This is the end.

I hear the click and release of my seatbelt as she rises to make herself eye level with me. Grabbing my face, her small hands gently turn my head so I have no choice but to look into her blue eyes. “Look at me. You’re okay. Just keep trying to take a slow breath in.” She inhales deeply, as if drawing in every molecule of oxygen around us, then exhales slow and controlled through soft, pursed lips.

Together we sit in the front seats, breathing in unison. Her hands cradle my face, thumbs swiping gently over my cheekbones in reassurance, grounding me like an anchor in choppy waters. Part of me is mortified she’s witnessing this, while the other half is grateful she’s here to talk me down from my mental ledge. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a panic attack. It’s the same reason I didn’t leave my house for days after finding out Mick’s diagnosis. Shame kept me bound to the safety of my home, where I could hide from reality and pretend I wasn’t falling apart at the seams.

Her eyes scan my face as my breathing begins to return back to normal. “How long has this been going on for?”

“On and off for years.” There’s no sense in lying about it. I was diagnosed with a panic disorder when I was a teen. “Can we forget this ever happened?”

“I won’t mention it. But so you know, there’s no need to be embarrassed. Everyone has their own struggle.”

“You seem like you have it all together.”

She laughs once, short. “Thanks, but I definitely do not. I’m all kinds of fucked up. But it’s okay, I’ve accepted it. And you should accept yourself, as is, too. It’s a part of you, but it doesn’t define you.”

Everything she says soothes a deep wound of embarrassment I’ve carried regarding my panic attacks ever since they first started. It’s a side of myself no one has ever seen or known about. Leave it to her to take something that has loomed over me and neatly categorize it into something more bearable.

Stepping out of my car, I walk around to her side and she extends my keys out to me.

“I better get going. I’ll have my mom pick me up,” she tells me, her breath coming out in a visible puff in the cold night air.

I grab the keys out of her hand and pull her snug against my chest, holding her as if it’s the last time, even though I know I want to do this a thousand times more. Her body tenses before relaxing, caught off guard by my embrace. After everything tonight—the party, the kiss, the hospital—a hug doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

I can’t even fathom the thought of her leaving, the thought of sleeping without her next to me. I need comfort. And I need her.

I bury my nose into her hair, breathing her in and feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine. “Stay with me, Lay.”

She’s silent, but the pounding of her heart against me is all the indication I need to know that she heard me. I let her consider it as she calculates the outcomes and risks associated.

Tucking her arms between her chest and my abdomen to warm herself, she looks up at me and finally answers. “Okay. I will.”

Wrapping my arm around her small shoulders, I lead her into the house. I flick on the light by the front door, and we’re immediately greeted by Hank, who stretches out his long limbs with a wide yawn.

Layla sits down beside him, causing him to purr like a thunderous day. I stand there, watching her take off each strappy heel as she groans with relief. “Obviously I made a horrible shoe choice tonight,” she whispers to Hank, scratching him behind the ears as he stares up at her with stars in his eyes.

I sit down beside her, dead tired, but wanting to do anything to make her feel better.

“Hand me your foot,” I tell her.

She stares at me with round blue eyes, and deadpans, “Why? You have some kind of foot fetish?”

“Nope. But I do give pretty awesome foot massages.”

“That seems awfully like something a person with a foot fetish would say.”

“Lay. Foot.” I wave my hand up, indicating to give me her damn foot already.

She tentatively puts her small foot in my hands, watching me like I’ve got a third head.

Unable to resist the urge of teasing her, I make a show out of inspecting it. “Wow, your feet are gorgeous. You sure you don’t want your toes sucked?”

“Oh my fucking god, I knew you were a weirdo.”

She begins to pull herself away, but I hold her foot in place, and dig my thumb into her arch. “I’m teasing. There will be absolutely no toe sucking from me.” Giving me a solid dose of side-eye, she releases a heavy exhale in relief. The more I massage her sore muscles, the more she relaxes and her eyes grow heavy with the need to sleep. Any trace of hesitation melts off of her like hot wax dripping from a candle.

Lifting her other foot into my hands without having to ask her, she lies down flat on her back, and pulls a waffle knit throw blanket over her torso. “I think I’m going to sleep here, but feel free to keep massaging as long as your little foot fetish heart desires.”

I smile at her jab. “C’mon, you can sleep in my bed.”

“Do you not remember what happened last time we slept in the same bed?”

“You make it sound like you didn’t have a great time, when I know you definitely did. In fact, I tasted what a fantastic time you had.”

She rolls her eyes, trying to fight back a smile. “Perv.”

Rising from the couch, I hook one arm under her knees, as the other circles round her back, lifting her into a cradle position as I stand. “Only for you.”

Wrapping her arms around my neck, she buries her face into my shoulder with a smile. “Well, this is fun.”

I look down at her, and my chest tightens. She’s fucking perfect, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the way she smiles at me. That smile—she doesn’t give it to just anyone. So seeing her grinning ear-to-ear, like I’ve just given her the best news, when all I’m doing is carrying her to my bed, makes me want to be the only one who ever gets to put that smile on her face.

We round the corner down the hallway to my room, and I gently lay her on one of the pillows. Her hair fans out as she looks up at me, exhausted, yet happy and content.

I’m a fucking puddle on the floor for this woman. Realistically, I don’t think she’d ever go for me. It breaks me, but I ignore it for tonight. I ignore it because, after the shittiest day of my life, all I want is to pretend this thing between us is permanent. Like we’re going to go the distance, and not that she’s leaving in another week.

I round the bed to climb onto the other side. She pops up, hair already a wild mess. “Can you unzip me? And hand me one of your shirts to wear?”

I nod and gulp, not entirely sure if I’m ready for the sight of her in one of my shirts. I can already feel the possessiveness rising in my chest at the thought of it, wanting to call her mine. Grabbing a Havenbrook Fire Department shirt from the drawer, I hand it over to her. She takes it and turns to face the door, moving her long hair to the side in one smooth motion so I can reach the zipper. It feels like I’m about to defuse a bomb as my hands delicately grasp the tiny clasp between her shoulder blades. I unzip it slowly, carefully, revealing inches and inches of her smooth skin as the zipper descends. The thin black straps fall off her shoulders, causing her to cup her exposed breasts.

That moment in between feels as if we both hold our breath, waiting to see what happens next. She doesn’t move, and neither do I—my hand is still glued to the clasp of the zipper at her low back, right above her ass. With the top of her lacy black thong exposed, the sight of it makes me instantly hard. My hand runs up the column of her spine, featherlight against every vertebrae. She shivers, arching against my hand, searching for more.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looks up at me with those gorgeous lips slightly parted, igniting an overwhelming need to touch her. Any hesitation is thrown out the window as my mouth crashes onto hers. We’re both hungry for the other, as if we’ve been starved for years, despite making out in a rundown parking lot only five hours ago.

Then again, I have a feeling I could never get my fill when it comes to her. If I made her laugh every day, I’d always be searching for more opportunities to hear that melodic sound. I could kiss her every single day and still crave her mouth on mine for longer. And if I only knew what it felt like to be inside of her, I’d be ruined. People like Layla only come around once in a lifetime, burning hot and bright, making you feel alive in every way.

I swiftly pull her dress off, pick her up by the waist, and place her in my lap facing me, flush against my erection. When she rubs herself along it, making that tiny desperate moan in response, I nearly explode on the spot. I try to pull myself together, because I’d rather drag my feet through broken glass than orgasm prematurely right now. I want to relish every moment of her hands in my hair, nails dragging down my back, the way her hips roll back and forth.

Reaching around her, I push the thin fabric of her thong aside, dipping my middle finger into her. As I start to withdraw it, she bears down, not wanting me to stop. So instead I add a second finger as she eagerly rides my hand.

“You want more, don’t you? You want me to make you come again?”

She nods, a quiet yes rushing from her lips, as her head falls back with pure bliss.

I can feel her tightening from within, drawing closer and closer to finishing. But I don’t want her there yet, so I withdraw my fingers as she cries out in protest of the lack of physical contact.

“ Please . I’m so close.”

Reaching for my briefs, her hand dips inside to wrap around my length. Her thumb circles the head slowly, spreading the precum that’s accumulated from my poor attempt to keep it together.

The action of her licking her lips, causes me to flex in her hand as she holds me tight.

“Can you…” her voice trails off, indecision cutting her words short.

“Can I what?”

She contemplates her next words. “Sex is going to make leaving harder.”

My hand cups her cheek, my thumb swiping over the delicate line of her cheekbone. She leans into my touch, eyes looking down as her lashes fan across her face. So open and vulnerable and unlike anything I’ve ever seen from her. Further confirmation that my suspicions were correct—Layla is a hardass on the outside, and what’s hidden underneath is everything that’s so soft it can be easily bruised. She dons the tough act to protect herself from being hurt. But I want her to know that I’d never hurt her. Despite our rocky past, I want what’s best for her.

“Look at me. If you want this thing between us to work, then I’m in. I’m all fucking in. But if you want to go back to the city and forget about this, then of course I’ll be sad, but I’ll understand and accept it. Because more than anything, all I want is to see you happy. So tell me what would make you feel good? And I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”

My heart thumps in my chest, waiting for her answer. If she doesn’t want to have sex, that’s absolutely fine. It’s her decision, and I’ll stop as soon as she says the word. But she leaves me hanging as if we’re suspended in the air, a thousand feet up, waiting for the moment her answer comes, waiting for the moment we’ll free fall. After thinking for a moment, she climbs onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her mouth finds mine, and the moment is charged, the feeling between us is soft and understanding and tinged with something different than before. It’s full of intimacy and warmth, and at the very center of it is trust. She trusts me right now.

“Are you clear?” she asks, breaking apart the kiss only long enough to get the question out. I nod in response, as she whispers back. “Good. Me too.”

And with that, she angles my dick at the entrance of her pussy, lining it up so my head slips just inside. She lowers herself onto me, one painfully slow inch at a time, until she bottoms out. We both sit there, not moving as she adjusts to my size, while I try to not instantly come inside of her.

“Fuck. You feel so good,” I rasp. My nose brushes her own to take her mouth again, kissing her slowly as she begins to move by swaying her hips along my pelvis. “Yes, Lay. Keep going, just like that.”

She doesn’t have words to respond, only small gasps and moans, as her head tilts back from the feel of me inside her. Like someone has a string attached to her sternum and is pulling her upward, arching against me as she moves.

I kiss her neck as I watch her fall apart in my arms. Grab a nipple, tweaking it to see how her mouth falls open. A handful of ass to see how it drives her wild. Each touch elicits a new side of her, a different response, another layer peeled back.

Against my mouth, she mumbles, “Ben. Oh my god.”

I drag my lips along her neck. “If you keep saying my name like that, you’re going to make me finish too soon.”

She smirks, clearly proud of herself, as she speeds up. My hands grip her hips, guiding her movements, matching the quick rhythm as we lose ourselves in this alternate universe—both taking and giving in equal measure, stealing every bit of pleasure like thieves in the night. The more we take, the more we crave, and the more we push each other to the edge. Getting closer, strung tight, electricity coursing up our bodies until we’re exploding together. As soon as I feel her tighten, and hear her cry out, with my name on her lips, I slide out of her, coming all over the bottom half of her breasts. She watches me in a daze of content curiosity. As if she’s amazed we’ve made each other feel like we’re on top of the world—a post-orgasm high of achievement.

I swing my feet over the side of the bed, to grab a wet washcloth. When I return, she extends her hand to take it from me.

I shake my head. “Let me do it. I want to, if it’s fine with you.”

“Okay.” She nods, surprise flashing on her face for a brief moment.

Being careful, I wipe up my ejaculation from the curves of her body. Swiping it away, and taking each moment to appreciate how fucking beautiful she is, and the fact she is letting me take care of her. I look up, and she’s watching me carefully, analyzing my every move.

I can’t read her. I can’t tell if she’s enjoying this or counting down every second until I’m done.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m good. More than good, actually…great.” A small smile spreads across her lips, her face blossoming like the first sun of spring.

“I’ll try not to get too cocky from you telling me that,” I reply.

“You know what, be cocky. You deserve it after that.”

“Excuse me, but was that a compliment? Am I in a dream or something?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I knew I said too much. I changed my mind. All of that was horrible, absolutely awful.”

Tossing the washcloth to the side, I grab her by the hips and drag her against my body, nibbling at her neck in the process. “That so? Is that why you came around my dick so hard?” She yelps with a laugh before snuggling straight into me. Not even hesitating to mold herself against me just right with her cheek to my chest, feet tucked under the crook of my knees, and the bass of her heart beating against my ribs. It’s like we were made for each other. Everything about her fits flawlessly.

I flick off the lights of the bedside lamp beside me, the room growing dark and quiet. But the sound of our thoughts is louder than ever. I don’t want this to end with her. And I don’t think she wants that either.

I’m fairly certain she’s fallen asleep when her breathing grows heavy and steady. My own exhaustion, mixed with the warmth of holding her in my arms, helps me set aside my grief just long enough to drift toward sleep. Before I close my eyes, I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in and savoring how incredible it feels to hold her like this.

“I don’t want this to end,” I whisper. A confession that’s easier to admit when she’s fast asleep.

Sleep comes on fast and furious, floating with dreams that are so close to reality that they feel like real life—falling asleep and waking up next to her every day. Seeing her rare smile at some ridiculous joke I’ve made purely for her amusement. And the rush in my chest when she tells me she’s falling for me too.

It’s wishful thinking.

But I’m still going to wish anyway.