No Quarter (NOLA's Own #2) (2 page)

He watched me in complete silence, but I saw the fear in his eyes.

Getting off the bed, I put on a pair of underwear and a tank top. Then, I dropped to my knees and crawled under my bed, looking for a specific box. Finding it, I pulled it out. I didn’t know why I was doing this. I was just a sucker for embarrassment, I guessed.

Maybe he just needs to see that I never really let go, that I never forgot him or what we started.

Digging down to the bottom, I pulled out my NOLA’s Junk scrapbook and passed it to him.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Open it.”

Inside, secured behind thin sheets of stiff plastic that graced these types of albums, were pages of pictures taken at their concerts, ticket stubs, interviews clipped from magazines, and other memorabilia.

“I didn’t let you go, Phil. You took a part of me with you. I’ve followed your career like a rabid fanatic even though I’ve tried to keep it on the down low. Only three people know how stupid-obsessed I am with NOLA’s Junk—well, with
you
in particular. Check the back.”

Phil gazed into my eyes, something churning behind them that I couldn’t decipher. He looked back down and flipped through to the end where he found the envelope addressed,
A Love Letter to a Madman.
His fingers traced over the handwriting.

“Is this for me?” he asked softly, glancing at me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Can I read it?”

“It’s yours. I have to warn you though. I was eighteen when I wrote it, so I hope you can excuse the adolescent semantics. I was young and ridiculous.”

Giving me a soft smile, he assured me, “So was I.”

Reaching for and grabbing my cigarette case, I headed for my balcony, giving us both some breathing space. I heard him gently remove the letter from the envelope. I was blushing, and my heart rate picked up. I took a seat on my papasan chair, folding my legs underneath me, and lit up another spliff.

The mattress groaned and creaked as he lay back on the bed, the sound of the paper crinkling as he opened the pages.

After all these years, I still knew that damn thing by heart.

Dearest Phil,

Tonight, as Lili and I sat in the car, listening to
Adopted Son
, I heard the ending to “A Madman’s Love Letter,” and Lili swore, you’d written that about me.

It got me thinking, What if that dirty song
was
written with me in mind? You did call me baby girl. A part of me thinks that you probably call all the hot chicks who throw themselves at you that—not that I think I’m hot, but that’s not the point. Does this mean you still think about me? Could it be true that you still think back on that night?

I now wonder what I would say to you, if I ever had the opportunity to see you again.

So, here goes…

The night I met you was the most amazing night of my life. Not only was the NOLA’s Junk show fucking
awesome
, the fact that I got to meet my favorite front man of
the best
heavy metal band ever was pretty fucking epic.

But then…you touched my hand, and you stole my heart. Colors I never knew existed bloomed into full view when you looked into my eyes, and an amazing brightness filled my universe. I fell in love with you in that exact moment. I loved every second I spent listening to your voice, your laugh, and every touch you gave me. When you pulled me close to you and kissed me, you stole my soul.

And I haven’t been the same since. I feel as though I’m just going through the motions of life, not truly living one. While I can understand and appreciate happiness and laughter and see joy in others, it’s as though I can only feel it vicariously. It scares me—that I have no sense of that within me and haven’t since that night.

When we got kicked out, I knew a part of me was missing. I had left it with you, and I will never again be whole unless you truly find your way back to me.

I know this sounds so stupid, but it’s how I feel. And I’ve spent a lot of time and effort trying to convince myself that I wasn’t anything special to you, that I was just another chick you were hoping to waste some time with. I think it would benefit me greatly if I could just forget how connected to you I felt in that one moment. I constantly tell myself that it was one-sided, the desperate imaginings of my mind brought on by the unholy crush I’ve had on you for so long. But even still, it meant the world to me
. You
mean the world to me. It was the best damn birthday of my life, and I can’t think of anything else that could ever top it.

Three weeks after my birthday, I lost my mom. It’s been rough for me lately. But what has helped pull me through these times is the sound of your voice. I listen to
Adopted Son
several times a day. I won’t lie. I think I’m obsessed with it. Your voice always makes me feel strong and safe somehow. It has ever since I first saw you guys play the crap stage at the music festival. So, if for nothing else, thank you for that. You will probably never know just how much it means to me—to be able to hear the most wonderful sound that is your voice—but maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not sure a restraining order could be considered an autograph.

I’d also like to tell you that I’m so proud of you and Our Boys for working your asses off and getting as far as you have. It’s been an amazing journey, seeing NOLA’s Junk take over the metal genre. With the album and the shows, you guys will be global soon. I just know it, and I’m so happy that I have been able to witness it from almost the beginning.

In my heart, there are two hopes—or wishes—that I hold on to. One is for me—that one day you remember that you told me not to go anywhere and that you’d come back and find me once more. The second is for you and NOLA’s Junk to make it
huge
. I want you guys to take over and become the biggest heavy metal band on the planet. The world needs to hear your voice, to hear NOLA’s Junk’s music, because there really is nothing better. Of the two wishes, I would choose the latter because if your dream of making it big comes true, then I will still have your voice to keep me strong, and so will everyone else.

And I’ll always have the memory of how it felt when you stole my soul.

Love Always,

Kenna

I was so mortified that he was reading that right now. I should check my underwear for the set of balls that had sprung out of my crotch.
What was I thinking, giving him that?

The joint was dead, so I flicked it over the railing just as he stepped out onto the balcony. My balls grew bigger, and I looked up at him. A light was shining out of his eyes, and it had nothing to do with the fact that the sky was turning to dawn.

Holding out his hand to me, he said softly, “Come here.” Taking my hand, he pulled me to my feet and led me inside to sit on the bed. Sinking to his knees before me, he asked, “Can I keep it?”

“Of course.”

Wrapping an arm around my waist, he whispered, “You didn’t let me go.”

“No.”

“I’ve been angry for so long because I thought you didn’t care enough to hold on.” With the heel of his right hand, he rubbed the spot on his chest above his heart. “But you really
were
with me the whole time. I was just too pissed and hurt to realize that that’s what it was.”

“I really was.” I smiled. “Well, a big part of me anyway. The other part was here, obsessively watching your videos, clipping magazine photos, and—”

“Don’t.” He choked up. “Don’t downplay this, not
this.
”

“All right.”

He shook his head. “What you did…you
willingly
gave up bein’ with me because you wanted me to live my dream. It wasn’t like you walked away from us. You
chose
loneliness and heartache, so I could make somethin’ of myself.”

“Of course I did. I love you, Phil.”

“All this time, I blamed you,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “You made a
sacrifice.
You really felt for me what I felt for you…if not
more
so. I always believed I loved you more out of the two of us, but you…you were willin’ to give up on us, so I could be
me.
I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“It’s not. A part of me held you responsible for my pain.” He swallowed loudly. “I blamed you for my actions in the past. And tonight, when I thought that you…”

Taking his face in my hands, I told him, “It’s okay.”

“How?”

“Because I love you. Maybe I can’t express myself as well as you do, Phil. You’re the one with the poet’s soul, not me. But I love you just as much as you love me. Can you forgive me now? Can we put the past behind us? Because I really want to make new memories with you and not mourn the ones we weren’t able to have.”

“More than anythin’, I want to make some fuckin’ beautiful memories with you…for the rest of our lives.”

“Then, let’s do that.”

“I wish I had been able to do that from the get-go.”

I shrugged, feeling utterly exhausted.

I guessed he sensed this because he rose to his feet.

“Can I stay here with you?”

Like he’d go if I said no. He’d probably sleep on the floor or the balcony before he’d actually leave. Wack job.

“Yes,” I replied, pulling back the covers.

Before I was able to scoot beneath them, he grabbed my elbow and drew me to my feet.

“No clothes in bed. Nothin’ between us, okay?”

I nodded, stripped, and then crawled into bed. A few seconds later, he joined me, pulling my back to his chest and curving his body around mine.

“Phil?”

“Yeah, Baby Girl.”

“How the hell did you get into my house?”

Chest vibrating with laughter, he replied, “The balcony. I saw your light on, and the door was open. So, I climbed onto the porch roof and pulled myself up.”

Of course he did.

Oh, damn, that feels amazing.

I reached down to touch myself—it felt
that
good—only to have my fingers thread through some thick-ass hair. My eyes snapped open as I was fully awake now, and I glanced down to see one leg draped over Phil’s shoulder, his dark head between my thighs.

“Oh, fuck…” I moaned as I closed my eyes again, arching higher into his mouth.

He slipped a long finger into me and then another. I bucked against him, my hands fisting in his hair. His tongue stroked softly over my clit, and I detonated on his fingers and tongue so hard that starbursts exploded behind my eyes.

Kissing his way back up, he stopped at each breast—tonguing, sucking, and scraping his teeth over my nipples—until the fire between my legs burned hot and bright once more. After trailing soft kisses up my chest to my neck and my face, he captured my lips, his tongue pushing my own flavor into my mouth.

His arms snaked up under my back, and the bulbous head of him pressed into my slit. I needed him so badly, needed to feel him stretching and filling me. Whimpering, I lifted my hips, trying to take him into me.

Pulling me up as he sat back on his heels, in one smooth move, he impaled me completely. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, my back arching so that I could take him deeper.

“
Fuck
. Nothin’ feels as good as you do, Kenna,” he said against my throat. “Squeeze me tight—
ohhhh
, I
love
that.”

His teeth nipped at the sensitive flesh below my ear, and then he swirled his tongue over the sting. My head dropped back, and I rocked against him. He punched his hips up, hitting his spot.

Fuck…yesss.

“Does it feel good?” he growled in my ear.

“Ungh…” I groaned in reply.

His hands speared through my hair, curling into the scalp until I felt a slight sting. From collarbone to chin, he licked my throat with a sensuous long stroke of his wet tongue.

“I fuckin’ love the way you taste,” he told me. He sank his teeth into my chin, sucking gently. “Every fuckin’ inch of you…”

He slid one arm down my back as he pulled my head back further with the hand still fisted in my hair. All the while, his hips gently punched, punched, punched his cock into his spot. I bent backward, my chest offered up for him, as he curved over me and sucked my right breast into his burning mouth. Brilliantly tingles shot from the nipple to my core, and I unleashed an unholy moan. My hands inched up his neck to bury themselves in his hair. The pressure was building up in intensity, and I needed to feel more of him moving inside me.

“Harder!” I cried, wriggling in his lap.

Large hands grasped my ass. Working me up and down over his length, he continued with the steady rhythm of his thrusting hips.

“Oh,
fuck
!” I cried out. I was peaking, body and mind blown in a shower of sparkling sensations.

“Mmm…” he hummed, burying his face in my neck. “That feels so…fuckin’…
awesome
. I can feel you pulsin’ all over me. I love feelin’ you come on my dick. Fuckin’
love
it.”

My cunt spasmed at the dirty talk slipping from his mouth. It spurred another mini orgasm through my core. Maybe there was something wrong with the wiring in my brain, but I loved his filth.