Madeline Sheehan - Unbeautifully

“Say it,” he rasped. “Fuckin’ say it, Eva, say it right the fuck now.”

“I love you,” she cried softly. “No one else, baby, not like this, not the way I’ve always loved you.”

“How much do you love me?” he asked hoarsely, cupping her breast and squeezing.

“You already know,” she whimpered. “You’re everything to me, everything, you always have been, baby…” She trailed off and peeked up at him with those damn eyes of hers. Staring straight into his rotted-out soul, supercharging him with need.

He needed to lay claim to her once and for all, to strip her of that beautiful spirit, to keep it safe, protected inside him so that no one, not one single motherfucking thing or person could ever take her away from him again.

“You’re my reason, Deuce,” she whispered through her tears. “You always have been.”

He stopped moving and stared at her.

Her reason.

Him.

The knowledge propelled him forward and he found himself pushing inside of her, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, splashing against her chest as he shuddered through the onslaught of both unwanted memories and wanting, needing to be inside of her for so long now and not being able to.

And then…

He groaned as she quivered, moaning as she stretched for him.

Fuck, she was tight and wet and his, she was all his.

“I love you,” she whimpered, her head falling backward. “I love you so, so much, Deuce.”

Fuck him.

“Eva,” he rasped, cupping the back of her head and forcing her to look at him. “Marry me, darlin’.”

A sob escaped past her beautiful lips and her eyes filled up again. He took her mouth in his and kissed her softly, slowly, making his way across her cheek to her ear, where he paused.

“One more time, babe,” he whispered. “Marry me?”

“Yes,” she breathed out.

He closed his eyes.

He was home.

It had taken him nearly half a century to get there, but he’d made it.

He was finally, finally fucking home.

“Deuce?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna have to call Christine.”

His eyes flew open and he glared down at Eva, wondering why the fuck she was talking about his ex when he was balls-deep inside her, asking her to marry him.

“Why the fuck do I gotta—”

She placed a finger over his lips and smiled. “In case you forgot, baby, you’re still married. Kinda makes it hard to marry me.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, closing his eyes again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“She’s going to want money,” Eva mused.

“Yeah.”

“A lot of money.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s—”

“Jesus Christ, woman, shut the fuck up. Here I am tryin’ to fuck you and you’re tryin’ to make me blow a fuckin’ hole in my skull.”

“Sorry.” She giggled.

Deuce glared down at her until he couldn’t continue glaring at her perfect, smiling face and ended up smiling like a damn fool himself.

“Eva?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna fuck you now.”

“Okay,” she whispered, running her index finger underneath his bottom lip. “But, Deuce?”

“Babe?”

“I want it slow.”

He grinned.

Then he gave it to her slow.

“Hello?” I said breathlessly, nearly falling out of bed trying to grab my cell phone off the nightstand.

“Eva’s tellin’ me you’re campin’ with Anabeth and her family?”

My brain stalled out.

Father.

My father was on the phone.

And I’d completely forgotten about everything other than Ripper and the past week we’d spent together.

“Yes,” I choked out, my hand over my pounding heart, trying desperately to swallow the sudden anxiety that, at the sound of my father’s voice, had lodged itself in my throat.

“Yeah, well, I’m back, so when you comin’ home?”

“Tomorrow,” I said quickly.

There was a long pause. “Like to spend some time with you, baby girl,” he said gruffly. “I know I’ve been—”

“Don’t,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut, counteracting my burgeoning tears.

“Danny girl,” he said softly. “I—”

“Please, Daddy, don’t do this now, not over the phone.”

I could absolutely not listen to his excuses and apologies right now, not while I was happy for the first time in over a year. I wasn’t going to let him ruin this for me too.

He cleared his throat. “I just wanna see my daughter, Danny, that’s all. I know I got some time to make up for.”

Between his recent parental absenteeism and his inability to salvage his relationship with the only woman on earth who’d ever truly loved him despite his many faults, he suddenly wanted to do some father/daughter bonding?

What had changed?

But no matter how much I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he didn’t deserve to spend time with me, I couldn’t. He’d taken Cage and me when our mother ran off, no questions asked, and never once complained about it. He’d always made sure we were cared for in his absence. Yes, there were a lot of absences, and yes, he could be a hard man, a brooding, miserable man, a man who was better at running and hiding than expressing his feelings.

But he was my father.

And I loved him.

“Eva’s home,” he continued when I didn’t say anything.

She was? With him? Had he found his missing heart in North Dakota?

“Are you…together?” I asked, hoping and praying they were.

I felt Ripper’s arms snake around my middle and pull me backward, feeling his thick ropey scars as his chest slid up my bare back. He pressed a kiss into my hair and a tear snuck through the corner of my closed lids. I quickly swiped it away.

“We’re together,” my father said quietly. “Asked her to marry me last night.”

All breath fled my lungs.

“What did she say?” I whispered.

“What the fuck do you think?”

I smiled. Now that sounded more like my father. “Yes?”

“Yeah, darlin’,” he said gruffly. “She said yes.”

I sucked in a deep breath. She’d said yes. She’d said yes. Things were going to finally get back to normal. I was going to have my family back. No more lonely nights spent eating dinner alone and watching bad television.

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” I said, my voice firmer.

“Good,” he said and hung up.

I pressed end and set my phone back down.

“Your old man?” Ripper asked.

“Yeah,” I whispered, turning in his arms and snuggling into his embrace. “He asked Eva to marry him.”

“No shit? Damn. Didn’t see that shit comin’.”

I scattered kisses along the largest scar on his chest. One of his hands found the small of my back and the other slid up into my hair, gripping my head. “Neither did I,” I murmured. “But you know what this means?”

“We’re gonna fuck again?”

“No,” I whispered. It meant if my father was happy again, Ripper might be able to tell him about us without worrying about flying bullets.

“Baby,” he said, studying me. “You’re thinkin’ again.”

“I’m not.”

“Nose is all scrunched up, eyes unfocused, lips parted. Yeah, you’re thinkin’ again.”

I scowled at him. “You think you know everything.”

“No,” he said softly. “I don’t know shit, never did. But, baby, for some fuckin’ reason, I know you. Crazy, yeah?”

“Ripper,” I whispered, staring up into his eyes, a deep beautiful blue, one real and one made of glass, thinking about how right it felt to be with him. “We can tell him now,” I said, feeling hopeful. “We could wait awhile but then—”

Ripper let out an exasperated sigh as he pushed me away from him. Rolling unto his back, he glared up at the ceiling.

“No, Danny, how many times I gotta tell you, no one is tellin’ him nothin’. It ain’t gonna matter if Eva and him are doin’ better, he ain’t never gonna let me be with you. I get smacked in the head just for lookin’ at you. What do you think is gonna happen if he finds out I’ve been doin’ a whole lot more than lookin’?” Shaking his head, he grimaced. “And on your prom night. Jesus, I’m a fuckin’ dirtbag.”

“Thanks for the self-esteem boost,” I muttered.

“Baby,” he said, turning to look at me. “Bein’ with you is worth winnin’ dirtbag of the year, yeah? Now, shut the fuck up about tellin’ your old man, it ain’t happenin’. Not until you’re at least thirty.”

“Fine.” I sighed, knowing after spending nearly a week with him that it was pointless to keep arguing.

“Good, glad we agree. What you need to be doin’ is gettin’ your own place.”

“Um, don’t you sort of need money to have your own place?”

“Yeah. Get a fuckin’ job.”

“Hello? I start college in the fall. I won’t have time.”

He shook his head. “Spoiled,” he muttered.

Offended, I punched him in the shoulder, earning myself a loud snort. “Ow,” he said mockingly.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Now go make breakfast. I’m fuckin’ hungry.”

“There’s no food, Mr. Bossy. We ate it all.”

“There’s tequila.”

“Tequila isn’t breakfast.”

“Says you.”

• • •

Ripper was happy.

It had been so damn long, he almost hadn’t recognized the light, airy feeling.

Almost.

But then he remembered the way it had felt his first time catching a wave and not falling off his board, or his first ollie where he’d landed upright instead of on his head, or his parents’ twentieth wedding anniversary party during which he’d gotten his first blow job.

Or the first time he’d got on a bike and put the road behind him.