Page 41 of Changing Lanes

Precum beads at my tip and I quickly roll my palm over the moisture using the natural lube to pump my swollen cock.

She releases her breath with a short, tortured whimper so I pick up the pace, not wanting to miss a thing.

Out of nowhere, she cries out, “Beckett,” and the sick satisfaction of hearing my name has me coming hard in the next second. With a grunt of my own, ropes of jizz spill all over my hand and shorts and fuck if I don’t care one bit. She said my name. Not River. Not Marc. None of the other assholes she’s brought around.

Just mine.

My name rolled off her tongue in her rawest form and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

Breathless, I drop my other fist to the door as my forehead rocks against the thin wood, wondering where that devil is when you need him. If he appeared right now, I’d fake a soul just so I could barter with him. To see what Paige looked like in that moment. To know if the images I conjured up are even close to the real thing. If so, I want round two immediately, preferably with me on the other side of the door this time.

I wait for some kind of acknowledgement—it’s pretty fucking obvious I’m here—but nothing happens. Not a damn thing.

Except for a drawer opening and closing, Paige doesn’t make a single sound.

What the fuck was that then? I just jerked off outside her locked door while she fucked herself thinking about me. If that isn’t the biggest mind fuck of all, I don’t know what is.

With a shake of my head, I leave to clean myself up in the bathroom, then pass her silent room again, heading to my own. At least I’m not going to sleep with blue balls like I have every other night since she moved in.

* * *

“Beck, buddy, good news. It’s time to go home.”

“My head hurts,” I groan loudly, worried it’s too loud. “I don’t think they checked it. They only did x-rays on my arm, Dad. Tell them to look. Please.”

My dad’s head drops to his hands and a pang of guilt hits but I shove it away. I don’t care if he thinks I’m lying. I’m not going anywhere ‘til they call her. It’s a hospital, that’s what they do. They take care of broken people and I haven’t been whole since she left. The least they can do is call the person responsible. Give my mom the chance to fix me herself.

“Son, it’s been four years. She-”

“Dad.”

His head snaps up, determined, and I flinch.

“She’s not coming back. Damn it, I wish she was. More than you think. More than I show. Trust me, I’d give anything to have her back, but it’s not happening. She made her choice and we’re not it.”

His voice cracking at the end does me in and I release the tears I’ve been holding in since the accident on my dirt bike.

There’s a tapping.

I look up from the hospital bed, searching. Is she here? I knew she’d come. As soon as I saw my bone bent the wrong way, I knew she’d have to return.

My dad is watching me through watery eyes of his own, his suit and hair still styled to perfection. How? How can he act like nothing is wrong?

That takes a lot of work. I know because I’ve been trying for four years now and I’m tired. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of hoping. Every birthday without a homemade cake found off the internet, every sleepover with those stupid boys from school that only invite me because their moms make them. Because their moms care. Because their moms are still around and mine isn’t.

“Where is she?” I wail, giving up on the whole head thing. I don’t care if he knows I lied. I just want her already.

But my dad just shakes his head, sick of this. Sick of me. Doesn’t he want her to come home? It’s been miserable without her. We’ve been miserable without her. I’ve been freaking miserable without her. She didn’t take anything while leaving me with absolutely nothing. Her clothes, her makeup, her books, everything is still sitting exactly where she left it, waiting for her just like I am. I’ve been put through absolute crap waiting around for her but here I am still, biding my time until she grows tired of her new life with her new husband. With her new family.

Snot pours out of my nose and I wipe it angrily with my hand, forgetting there’s a cast now.

Knocking starts up.

I ignore the noise, too focused on the fresh pain. Narrowing my gaze at the cast, I use it to swipe at my nose again. And again. I raise my hand a third time but my dad grabs my wrist, stopping me.

“Stop that. Goddamn it, Beck! You’re bleeding.”

Blood replaces the mucus dripping down my face.