Page 55 of Boards & Betrayal

“Thomas,” she gasped, her voice a blend of desperation and ecstasy.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. With one final thrust, we both shattered together, a wave of pleasure crashing over us that seemed to last an eternity. Her body convulsed beneath me, and I buried my face in the crook of her neck, muffling my own groan of release. Our climaxes intertwined, binding us in a moment that felt almost sacred.

As the tremors subsided, I held her close, both of us catching our breath. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and the faint sizzle of forgotten bacon still smoking on the stove.

I pulled back slightly to look at her. Her face was flushed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she gazed up at me with those expressive eyes. A laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I couldn’t help but let it out.

“Well,” I said, trying to catch my breath, “that wasn’t exactly the breakfast I had in mind.”

She laughed too, a soft sound that warmed me from the inside out. “I think it turned out better than expected,” she teased back.

We disentangled ourselves slowly, still chuckling at our ruined breakfast and impromptu kitchen escapade. I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of contentment wash over me. This morning had been chaotic and imperfect but also incredibly real and grounding.

Standing there with Ally in my arms, laughing about burnt bacon and scrambled eggs that had turned into something much more intimate, I realized something unsettling. I could get used to this—waking up next to her, sharing these small moments of joy and connection.

The thought scared me more than I wanted to admit. But for now, I pushed that fear aside and focused on the here and now. There would be time for worries later; right now, it was just us.

“Let’s go make some actual coffee,” Ally suggested with a grin.

“Agreed,” I replied, feeling lighter than I had in years as we moved towards the coffee maker together.

Chapter 17

Ally

Icouldn’t believe how angry I was. Janet's words buzzed in my head, a relentless swarm. The nerve of her, confronting me face to face. I walked to the bus stop, my fists clenched in my pockets, trying not to make it obvious how upset I was. Drawing attention wasn’t on my agenda.

I pulled out my phone and texted Nick:

We need to talk.

His reply came almost immediately:

Come to my place. We can talk now.

A frown creased my forehead.

I'd prefer it be somewhere public.

I have practice soon. You don't have to stay long.

I clenched my teeth, knowing Nick was taking advantage of the situation. He always had a way of manipulating things in his favor. The bus pulled up with a screech, and I shoved my phone back into my pocket, pushing aside the irritation that threatened to consume me.

As I boarded the bus, I focused on the hum of the engine, trying to calm myself. But Janet's words echoed in my mind, intertwining with the unresolved feelings for Thomas and the ever-present shadow of grief. My thoughts swirled like leaves caught in a gust of wind.

I found an empty seat by the window and stared out at the passing scenery. The town blurred by, buildings and people melding into one continuous stream. My heart pounded against my ribcage, each beat a reminder of how everything seemed to be spiraling out of control.

Janet’s confrontation had been a sucker punch. She knew exactly where to hit me to make it hurt most. It wasn't just about money; it was about power, control, and dragging me back into a past I was desperate to escape.

It was about bringing up my biggest failure as a woman just to make sure I knew that she knew. And the worst part was, she had been through it herself. She knew what that was like and still fired her words at me like bullets, not caring how cruel she was being.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. Meeting Nick at his place wasn't ideal, but if it meant getting some answers or at least some closure, then I'd do it. I needed to confront these ghosts if I ever hoped to move forward.

The bus ride felt endless, each stop adding another layer of anxiety. By the time we reached my neighborhood, I felt like a tightly wound spring ready to snap. Stepping off the bus, I squared my shoulders and made my way towards my apartment building.

This conversation needed to happen—whatever came of it—because avoiding these confrontations had only led me here: stuck between past hurts and an uncertain future.

I walked to my house and grabbed my keys from the small wooden bowl on the console table. My fingers brushed against a few coins and an old receipt, but I ignored them, focusing on the task at hand. The air felt heavier today, each breath carrying the weight of the confrontation to come.

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