Always (Carter Kids #1.5) (2 page)

Hope

Age 15

"That's completely unfair, Dad!"

I glared across the table at my father. Dad met my glare head on, with a look of anger of his own.

He was always my greatest opponent. Mom was soft – she caved easily – and the boys were stupid, but Dad: he was a warrior. This argument could go either way.

I hoped it went my way.

"Best friend's sleep over at each other's houses," I said in a level tone. "Do you want me to be friendless? Is that how you want to treat your only daughter?" I opened my eyes as wide as I could. "Your
favorite
child?"

"Eighteen-year-old boys don't sleep in fifteen-year-old girl's bedrooms," Dad countered quickly. His blue eyes were narrowed and focused on my face. "It's not happening, Hope. Get it out of your head."

"We're just friends, Dad," I growled, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep my tongue in check. "And think very carefully about this," I added with a smirk, "I may be the only child you have who's prepared to care for you in your old age."

"I have four kids," Dad chuckled. "I figure I'll live with the youngest, and make the older three suffer."

"You'd prefer to live with Logan than me?" I asked in an appalled tone of voice.

"Logan doesn’t threaten old age pensioners, Hope," Dad shot back with a grin.

"Let him stay, Kyle," Mom crooned, as she drifted into the kitchen, armed with a bucket full of cleaning detergents.

Mom had her dark hair pulled back off her face, and I had to hold in the gasp that tried to burst of me. As beautiful as my mother was - and she was gorgeous - the horrible scar she bore on her face still frightened me. She was scarred on every spare inch of her skin, but the one on her face was, by far, the worst one. It was so deep and distracting, but my dad never seemed to take any notice of it. He looked beyond Mom's scars.

I think I loved him a little more for that.

"He can sleep in one of the boy's rooms if you're worried, but he's a good boy. You know this."

I loved Mom even more for opening her mouth and sticking up for Jordan. Dad was a marshmallow when it came to my mother. The big, hotshot businessman in him fell to pieces when my petite mother came up against him.

"This is the last year, Hope," Dad grumbled, as he pushed his chair back and stood. "You're getting too old for this shit. It stops."

"Watch your mouth, Kyle," Mom warned.

"You like my mouth, Princess," Dad said with a smirk, as he prowled towards her.

And that's where I checked out.

Ugh.

****

Jordan

Age 18

She was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. I knew that sounded contrived, but never in all my eighteen years had I looked at someone so beautiful - so full of life.

I fed off Hope Carter's positivity, and I lived for her smiles. Being with Hope took the pain away; numbed the voices in my head; made me feel like I had a life worth living because I had her.

"You're staring again," Hope announced, stirring me from my reverie. 

We were sitting at her parent's kitchen table. Hope was writing in her journal, and she was right. I was staring at her. Shaking my head, I buried the smile that was threatening to creep across my face and said, "Sorry."

"Don’t apologize," she told me, flashing me one of those amazing smiles I craved. Brushing a dark curl back from her face, she rested her cheek in her hand and grinned. "I stare at you too."

My heart slammed against my ribcage. It felt like it was trying to force its way out of my chest and into hers.

And then
his
voice penetrated my mind, and I remembered exactly why I didn’t deserve the girl sitting opposite me.

"Say you like it, you little shit."

"I like it," I cried out, digging my fingernails into my flesh, piercing my skin, and wanting to burst into flames and disintegrate from this planet...

I was weak.

I couldn’t defend my own mother.

I couldn’t defend myself.

I didn’t deserve shit …

The feeling of suffocation built inside me at a rapid pace, causing my heart to palpitate and my palms to sweat.

"What's wrong?" Hope asked me, ever perceptive. Reaching across the table, she covered my large hand with her small one. "Talk to me, Jordan," she urged, entwining her fingers with mine.

My throat felt like sandpaper, and I couldn’t get my words out, but I clung to her hand, savored the feel of her skin on mine like it was the last time I would ever get the chance. Hope was too young and pure to ever understand my life. But that's exactly what I loved most about her. She was untouched by the shitty things in the world – she was innocent and
good.

Kyle Carter had made sure of that – her father had protected her from the bad things in the world. Like my father should have done for me – like he should have done for my mother …

"Did he do it again?" she asked me then, and I felt like dying.

"Do what?" I replied, desperately trying to hide my secrets and protect her from my truth. "What are you talking about?"

"Paul," she hissed, and her eyes flared with anger. Slamming her pen on the table, Hope roughly shoved her chair back and moved towards me.

I sat, with my heart in my mouth, watching as she dropped to her knees in front of me. Gently, Hope reached forward and raised my T-shirt.

"This," she whispered, with tears in her eyes. Her other hand snaked out; her fingers traced the yellow bruising on my side. "This," she repeated. A heartbreaking sound tore from her throat, and I couldn’t take any more.

Dropping my hand to hers, I moved her hand aside and covered my stomach. "It's not as bad as it used to be," I choked out, desperately trying to reassure her. "I promise; it's not. I'm taller than him now. He can’t get the better of me so easily …"

Shaking her head, Hope let out a harsh cry and lunged forward, burying her face in my lap. "I can't bear it," she sobbed. "I hate him."

"Me too," I admitted, as I stroked her hair, blinking back the tears. "Me too, Keychain."

****

Hope

Age 16

I was in love.

I was head over heels in love with the boy sitting on my bed and the best part of it was I think he loved me too. I couldn’t be sure of course –well, I was sure he loved me as a friend, but did he love me as a girl? I wasn’t so sure.

Jordan had always been careful around me, made sure we kept our relationship clean. He had realized long before I had that people would talk if we were too close.

I thought that was bullshit.

Jordan Porter was mine. He always had been, but I knew what my sixteen years to his nineteen looked like to the outside world.

It looked weird.

They wouldn’t see that we had been together from infancy, that he was the boy who had spent his life taking care of me, plastering my cut knees when I fell out of our tree house or lost my balance on the monkey bars.

Jordan was the one who had helped me climb back up, and taught me to ride my bike. He was the one who had stuck up for me against my brothers and punched Billy Hobbs in the stomach for pushing me on the soccer pitch – he hadn’t needed to do that since I rearranged Billy's testicles later that day – but the outside world wouldn’t see the kindness in Jordan's heart, or the respectful way he held only my hand when we were alone. I mean he hadn’t even kissed me, but all they would see – all my father would see – was a young man and a teenage girl. 

Our age gap assured it.

"What do I mean to you?" I blurted out, never one to mince words. My cheeks reddened, I could feel them burn, but I kept my eyes on his face.

"Everything," Jordan replied immediately, never taking his eyes off the pad he was sketching on.

His fingers moved so fast across the paper – so skillfully. I stared at him, drinking him in. He looked good: too good for the twin bed in my room he was sitting on. Too good not to touch.

And I was itching to touch him.

His hair was a mess - a sexy mess of curls - and his whole body was entirely too tempting. God, hormones had officially found me. This was only day three of summer vacation. We had at least another month together.

How the heck was I going to cope?

"Everything." I tested the word around, and decided that was a great answer. "You really mean that?"

"Of course," he added, with a chuckle. "You're my little Keychain."

I crawled over to where he was sitting, and climbed onto his lap, wrapping my arms around him. His whole frame tensed, and I felt pretty bad because I knew I'd just squashed whatever it was he was sketching.

"Hope?" Jordan said softly. Pushing me back gently, he glanced at my face. He must have seen something in my eyes, nerves or something, because he lifted me off his lap and sat forward. Now he was the one who looked wary. "What are you doing?"

"Do you have feelings for me, Jordan?" I asked. "Like the way a guy feels for his girlfriend feelings?" Inhaling a deep breath, I decided to bite the bullet. "I hope you do, because I'm kind of in love with you."

There. It was out there. Now came the waiting part. "Actually, I'm a lot …" I added, "I'm a lot in love with you."

"Hope … I … I should go," Jordan choked, as he jerked off my bed and moved towards the door. "You're too young. I shouldn’t … Your dad's right. I'm too old to be hanging out with you."

"You're nineteen," I shot back. "Not ninety. Age is just a number, Jordan."

"You're a kid," he said in a weary tone. "I'm sorry, Hope, but it's wrong."

My heart broke. Yeah, I was only sixteen, but I was pretty sure if someone took an x-ray of my chest at this moment they would see the split and the splintered pieces swimming around in my ribcage.

"Do you have a girlfriend in Idaho or something?" I asked calmly, following him out of my bedroom and down the hall.

He stopped outside the door of the upstairs bathroom, but I didn’t.

Marching towards him, I backed him up against the door and pressed myself against him. He was a good foot taller than me, but I didn’t care about that. I was sick and tired of threading over this conversation. I needed to know where I stood.

"Is that it? Do you want someone else?"

"What?" He looked appalled. "No, I don’t have a girlfriend, Hope, what are you talking about?"

Shaking his head, he murmured, "I only want …" He stopped abruptly, and then let out a heavy sigh. "I've only ever wanted you."

I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else and ruin the moment. Instead, I grabbed him by the shirt and dragged his mouth down to mine. "Say it," I demanded. "Claim me."

"I love you," Jordan whispered, as he tucked a curl behind my ear and pressed a kiss to my nose. "I claim you. You remind me of what I need in my life."

"So what do you need in your life?"

"Hope." He smiled. "I need you."

****

Jordan

Age 19

"Do you have a girlfriend in Idaho or something?" Hope demanded, as she stalked down the hallway after me. Pressing her slim body to mine, she looked into my eyes and asked, "Is that it? Do you want someone else?"

"What?" I shook my head, stunned by her question and bluntness. "No, I don’t have a girlfriend, what are you talking about?" How could she even think that? "I only want …"

I stopped and contemplated lying to her.

I didn’t deserve her.

I knew I didn’t.

I couldn’t protect her like a real man could, but I couldn’t lie to her either.

"I've only ever wanted you," I admitted in a torn voice, full of self-loathing.

What Hope did next caused an electric current so strong to ricochet through my body, turning me into a puddle of mush at her feet.

Grabbing my shirt she dragged my mouth down to hers and said, "Say it. Claim me."

"I love you," I admitted. With shaking hands, I tucked a curl behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her cute button nose. "I claim you."

****

Hope

Age 17

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" I asked, holding my breath, fearing his answer, hoping he would lie and tell me he was fine because that look in his eyes was petrifying me. I had hoped things would be different this year – better – but the sadness in Jordan's eyes proved me wrong.

He was hurting.

I could feel it in the way his hands trembled. I could see it in his eyes.

Something was wrong.

"Jordan," I whispered, when he didn’t answer.

He didn’t look at me.

Instead, he stared downwards. God, I knew this conversation was going to end badly, and if I was my best friend, Ash, I'd know a number of different tricks to take his mind off his problems, but he wouldn’t let me touch him.

God knows I'd tried…

"Hope, I don't …"

He broke off and rubbed his face with his hand. "Just sit with me," he choked out.

Edging closer, Jordan bowed his head, rested his knee against mine and shuddered violently.

"This is all I can manage," he admitted. "Please don't ask me why."

"I won't," I told him, forcing myself not to throw my arms around him. I never asked and I never touched. He would freak out if I did, and I needed him close to me. I needed the smell of him in my nostrils, the weight of his knee against mine.

Besides, I had a pretty good idea of why Jordan didn’t like being touched, and it had everything to do with his bastard stepfather using him as a punching bag.

"I love you, Jordan," I whispered, hoping to God and every angel, star, and whatever the hell was up in the sky that he would open up to me – that today would be the day he would tell me his troubles – the full extent of what had been happening.

"I'm never going to be the right guy for you, Hope," he husked, twisting his head to look at me.

His green eyes penetrated me, burned me.

"You'll figure that out soon enough, but it would be a hell of a lot easier if you would let me go now. Your dad's right about me."

"Don't," I warned. I was so sick of this conversation. I wasn’t giving him up, not for Dad, not for Uncle Derek, not for anyone. He was mine and that was that. No one was going to take him away from me.
He
wasn’t going to take
him
away from me. Jordan had this screwed up notion that he wasn’t good enough for me. It was a bullshit notion and I wasn’t letting him bring it up again …

"Hope, I'm a train wreck," Jordan hissed. Leaning forward, he shook his head and sighed heavily. "I can't have a normal relationship with you. I can't be a normal fucking boyfriend to you. You deserve normal. Can't you see we're going nowhere fast?"

"You
are
a normal boyfriend," I assured him quietly. "You're just respectful. There's nothing wrong with that."

"You really think that?" he asked me in a desperate tone. "You have no doubts about me, no questions about my behavior?"

Loads …

"I'm sure about you, Jordy," I whispered. The only parts of our bodies that were touching were our fingertips; they were the only parts Jordan would allow to touch.
Nothing new there…

His eyes were so laden down with pain that my heart squeezed in my chest. His shoulders were shaking, so I carefully placed my hands on them to stop his trembling, and hoping he could feel what I felt. I edged closer to him until our faces were only a hair’s breath from each other. "I love you," I told him again. "Always."

He closed his eyes and inhaled a ragged breath. "I love you, too." He was breathing hard and fast. His hot breath fanned my face, and I slowly closed the gap, pressing my lips to his softly. I curled my arms around his neck and climbed onto his lap.

He didn’t touch me, didn’t make a move or reciprocate my touch, but his lips kissed me back. He kissed me desperately, deeply, his tongue dueling with mine, setting alight every nerve in my body.

I moaned and wiggled in his lap, desperate to ease the aching inside of me – the aching only he roused. I may have been a virgin, but I wasn't naive and knew the pulsing in my clit was aimed, directed, and caused by the gorgeous man whose lap I was filling, and whose body I was feeling.

His heart was hammering furiously against his ribcage, and I couldn’t stop myself from sliding my hand up his shirt to feel his hot, tight, muscled skin.

Mine …

I was so thankful for him – to his mother – for creating this creature who seemed to have been put on this earth for the sole purpose of being my mate. My other half. I knew it was true. There would never be anyone else for me. This man was
the
man.

My man …

"Touch me," I begged between kisses, as I sucked on his lower lip, pulling it into my mouth, sinking my teeth gently into his full, lush lip. "I want you to," I added, grinding myself on his lap, feeling his hardness. Knowing I was turning him on only egged me on further. "I want you – to be with you – properly …"

"Not until you're eighteen," he said quickly, as he drew his hand up and cupped my face. Disappointment flared inside me when he placed his other hand on my shoulder and pushed me back. "I won't touch you until then."

"I want this," I growled.

"You're not ready," he shot back, in an eerily calm tone of voice.

"Jordan," I said with a scowl. "I want to have sex with you. It's really not a big deal."

He glared at me. "See, you saying those words right there prove that you're not ready, Hope."

He let out a sigh and captured my hand in his.

Bringing my hand to his mouth, he placed a soft kiss on each one of my knuckles. "When you're eighteen," he whispered. "Not until then."

"Promise me," I demanded and Jordan froze.

I knew I had him then – he never broke his promises – so I pushed on.

"Promise me you'll be my first." I stretched back and studied his reddened face. "Promise me I'll be
your
first?"

I knew this was a pretty ballsy thing to ask a nineteen-year-old man, but I didn’t care. I demanded faithfulness. I deserved fidelity. I had offered Jordan my body – he had refused – so he could just wait for me.

Jordan's eyes burned with sincerity when he said, "I promise you the only firsts I'll ever take will be yours." He pressed a kiss to my forehead and sighed.

"And yeah, Hope," he rasped, "whatever I have – whatever you want to take from me – it's yours."

****