Playing Deep

Tyler returns to his hometown, where he left his old flame, Jenna, five years before, without so much as a goodbye. He’s pretty sure she still hates him, but there are reasons he had to leave. The scars of his past run deep, and he knows a man like him can never be truly worthy of the love of a woman as sweet and pure as Jenna. Will the past keep them apart, or can they find a way to move on with their lives together?

Age Rating: 18+ (Mature Content: Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, Sexual Abuse)

Warning: this book contains material that may be considered upsetting or disturbing.

Reader discretion is advised.

Original Author: Kaz Lowe

Note: This story is the author’s original version and does not have sound.

I park the Harley, cut the engine, and remove my helmet, still straddling the bike.

My eyes wander to the front of the church and I grimace as memories bombard me. It’s been years. Too many, and not enough. The pain is still there, burning like an acid in my stomach and a cancer in my brain.

Every Sunday morning my father would drag me here, so he could spout his three Hail Mary’s and repent his sins before we returned to our xxxxxx life.

xxxxxxx hypocrite.

I run my finger under the collar of my shirt. I hate suits and it doesn’t feel right to be wearing one on the Harley. A Harley is meant for jeans and leathers.

A movement captures my gaze and there she is, walking into the church with her father. She’s the reason I’m back here…and the reason I left in the first place.

Her long, dark hair is swept up into some fancy do, exposing the delicate sweep of her neck and jaw. Her dark brown eyes and pretty lips are seared into my brain, and my xxxx springs to life as I remember those lips on mine.

Our first kiss had very nearly become our first time together, and the heat of those memories still has the power to bring me to my knees.

My eyes travel up her long legs to her exquisite xxx in the form fitting skirt suit.

Just looking at her from a distance gets me hard and I’m already imagining the things I’d like to do to her…with her. Things I should’ve done a long time ago…

She’s always had this effect on me. She just never knew it.

Until one night five years ago. And then I left – without so much as a goodbye, or even a note.

Five long years I’ve stayed away, giving her time to grow up, giving her the chance to make her own choices – even if those choices no longer include me.

Five years spent running away from my feelings. I couldn’t tell her back then – she deserved so much more than I could give her. She was too young, and I was too xxxxxx up. Maybe I still am.

But I had to be here today. The day she’s burying her mother. It won’t be easy – I’m pretty sure she hates me for leaving – but I’m back now.

Back to claim what’s mine.

The church is full of people who’ve come to pay their respects. The sheer number of mourners is a fitting testament to the woman I was proud to call ‘Mom’.

The brain hemorrhage that robbed her of life has taken her from us far too soon. But then, isn’t every loss of a loved one too soon?

Our hearts are broken, our lives changed forever, but I’m grateful that it was quick for her, that she didn’t suffer.

I glance across at Dad as he sits next to me at the front of the church, his face composed but pale. Mom’s body lies just feet away in the oak coffin with the single red rose laid upon the top that Dad gently placed there earlier.

His heart must be breaking in two. He’s lost the woman he loved. His friend. His Wife. His soulmate.

My mouth lifts in a bitter little smile. I’d once thought I could have what they had together, but that dream had died as sudden a death as my Mom when I was sixteen.

I’m lost in my grief as the priest begins the service. Words and hymns are a dull hum to my ears as tears spill down my cheeks.

I say a silent goodbye to my Mom, my best friend, and the one person in the world who understood me best.

Dad’s own tears leave silvery streaks on his face as he reaches for my hand. He’s not an overly demonstrative man so his rare display of physical contact is even more poignant.

After the service, we file outside and the coffin holding Mom’s body is lowered into the ground to rest next to my grandparents.

The priest says a few more words and I step forward, gently tossing another rose on top of her coffin to join the first.

I plaster a smile on my face as Dad and I receive the condolences of fellow mourners in a blur of hugs and handshakes before people drift away, back to their own lives. If asked later, I wouldn’t even be able to tell you who was there.

“I’ll go get the car,” Dad says, his voice subdued.

“Okay. I’ll just be a few minutes,” I reply, my gaze drawn back to the fresh earth covering the coffin at my feet.

Dad nods somberly. “Take as long as you need.”

I sink to the ground, placing my hand against the loose earth as if I’ll somehow still feel her warmth and love radiating through the ground. Grief envelops me in its cruel grip and I allow my tears free rein.

“I always hated seeing you cry.”

My head snaps up at the familiar timber of that voice. Shock and disbelief slide through my veins as my eyes focus on the man in front of me.

“Tyler?”

God, I hate how broken my voice sounds as his name escapes my lips. I’m torn between throwing myself into his arms or kneeing him in his soft and dangly parts.

He looks amazing. He’s a beast of a man now, all broad shoulders and bristling masculinity in a sharp gray suit – a far cry from the boy I first met with the black eye and a split lip.

Feeling at a disadvantage, I rise to my feet, smoothing my skirt down with shaking hands. He's even taller than I remember and towers over me despite my three-inch heels.

His dirty-blond hair is neatly styled, replacing the over-long, careless way he used to wear it. My fingers itch as I recall what it was like to run my fingers through it, how his mouth felt on mine.

A spiral of desire unfurls in my lower belly and lands between my legs as memories of the last time we were together assault me.

I clench my teeth and school my features to hide my weakness. His timing sucks, and I’m loath to admit it, but deep down, there’s a part of me that yearned for him today.

We were always there for each other, ever since I was ten and he was twelve. But then five years ago he just up and left without a word. The pain and anger his desertion wrought is still fresh as I glare at him now.

“What the xxxx are you doing here?” I demand. His unexpected appearance has knocked me off balance and I’m totally unprepared for his answer.

“I came back for you.”