Hope for Him (Hope Series Book #2) Read online

  "You're not still mad at me?"

  "No." I felt nothing for her. I was mad at myself.

  "How's Carrington ...and little Jackson?"

  "Tiff, my flight’s boarding. I'll talk to you when I get home."

  "Oh, okay," she said, her voice low and throaty.

  "I'll call you when I get back to campus."

  I shut the phone off and headed to my gate.

  I know. I'm a dick.

  The empty gate added to my irritation. It gave me the opportunity to think, and I didn't want to think. I took a seat facing the window and watched as the plane pulled up. I enjoyed flying, but this flight made me nauseous.

  I didn't want to get on the plane. I wanted to run out of the terminal, jump in a cab, find Carrington, and take her back to bed. I wanted to rewind our lives. Back before Josh and the attack. I wanted another chance to ask her out the day we met in the library.

  I wanted Carrington.

  I stood up when the attendant called for the passengers to board. I hesitated for a minute, looking for any excuse not to get on the plane, but nothing came to me. I willed myself to take one step, and then another, until I made it down the walkway and onto the plane. I found my seat and settled in. I turned my phone back on; maybe Carrington left me a message. When my phone beeped, my heart rate increased. I unlocked the phone and stifled a groan of disappointment. Tiffany had sent me a naked photo of the side of her ass. It paled in comparison to Carrington's epic ass. I deleted it.

  I needed to break up with this girl.

  #

  I saw her yellow VW bug parked in my space as soon as I turned the corner on my street. When I had returned to school after summer break, I had moved out of the fraternity house into my own apartment. I didn't feel right at the house. I avoided the place as much as I could. The brothers understood—they knew what Josh meant to me. They ended up turning Josh's old room into a gym.

  "Fuck." I didn't want to deal with this. I had an exam in three hours and needed to catch up on some sleep. I felt bad about last night. I never claimed Tiffany as my girlfriend, but I knew her assumptions were based on my behavior.

  I sat in my car for a minute, but I caught her peeking through the window near the door, and it was too late for me to run away.

  I had to go in. The longer I stayed in the car, the more hassle I had to endure. I suddenly regretted giving her a key.

  I had made it as far as the porch before I had to stop and take a breath. I counted to three, exhaled ... inhaled and exhaled again. I lowered my head and walked in the door.

  My eyes trailed up her body. No, let me correct myself, my eyes traveled up her naked body.

  Tiffany sat on the stairs inside my apartment—legs spread, turning a football over in her hands. She cocked her head and smiled as if posing for a photo shoot for Playboy, the babes of college edition. As she passed the football back and forth between her hands, I caught glimpses of her creamy white skin, her beautiful tits, and other parts of her I wanted to get close to. She had an amazing body, classic features. The girl was hot.

  I hated myself, but I couldn't help it. I wanted her.

  She sat up straight with confidence, so sure of herself. She tossed me the ball, and I caught it and dropped it and the rest of my stuff, attacking her on the stairs.

  She tried to speak, but I shut her up with my lips.

  If she spoke, if she said one thing wrong, it would turn me off, and I needed to screw away some stress. Relieve the tension.

  I finished quicker than expected, but from the satisfied look on her face, she got off, too.

  I pushed myself off of her and ignored the rug burns on my knee. I pulled up my pants, grabbed my discarded shirt and the rest of my stuff, and walked over her to get to the second floor of my apartment.

  She followed me into my bedroom.

  "How was your flight?" she asked as she pulled one of my t-shirts out of my drawer and put it on. I wanted to tell her not to wear my clothes, but it would have hurt her feelings, and I had just used her for meaningless sex in the stairwell. I could sacrifice a t-shirt.

  "It was fine." I put my stuff away. I placed my computer on my desk and turned it on, hoping she would get the hint. I needed to study. I also needed a shower. I smelled like the lilac perfume she doused herself in.

  "Did little Jack like his present?"

  "Yeah." I smiled. Jack adored his singing Seminole Indian.

  Tiffany walked up to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. I wished I had put my shirt back on. I felt her tits beneath the thin shirt rub up against me and lusty thoughts flooded my head again.

  "I missed you."

  "Me, too."

  I relented and hugged her. Rubbed my hands down her back and squeezed her ass.

  She giggled like a little girl.

  "Tiff, I really need to study."

  "Okay." She rested her chin on my shoulder, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me.

  Tiffany stood six foot tall. Her height was the first thing I noticed about her.

  She transferred to FSU from Tennessee at the beginning of spring semester. We met at a party, and she pursued me. We slept together the first night, and I figured that was it, but a week later, we had dinner and sex. A few days later, we ran into each other in the Student Union and had lunch. By April, we spent most nights together.

  But now I wanted her to gather her stuff and get the fuck out of my place.

  Every time I tried to bring it up, her sexy ass seduced me and I forgot why the hell I didn't want her around in the first place.

  "Tiffany," I raised my voice, "I need to look over this stuff." I removed her arms from around my neck and stepped a safe distance away from her and her perky tits.

  "Okay, but can I say one thing?"

  "What?"

  "I am sorry about the way I acted when you left. You have every right to be mad. I was an immature little bitch."

  I sighed and sat down at my desk.

  "Tiffany—"

  "No, please let me finish." She sat on my knee, and I suppressed the urge to push her off.

  "I realize how important Carrington and Jack are to you. I don't understand it, but it's not for me to understand. You taking on the responsibility of being Jack's godfather and considering what happened to his father, I think it's a beautiful gesture. I was acting like a jealous witch, and I know I have no reason to be jealous."

  She kissed me on my cheek; her hand lingered on my leg. I squeezed my eyes shut and when I opened them, she raised herself off of my lap. She gathered the rest of her clothes and headed into the bathroom.

  Before she closed the door, she turned.

  "I like what we have, and I don't want anything to come between us."

  "I know," I said.

  She bit her bottom lip and rubbed her eyes before closing the bathroom door behind her.

  I attempted to ignore the tightening in my chest as I unlocked the computer screen. Jack's toothy grin greeted me as his picture appeared on the screen. In the photo, he wore an FSU jersey with my number, and he reached out toward the camera. I pictured Carrington behind the lens, making him smile for a photo. She was so good with him.

  The shower came on, and I felt guilty for thinking of Carrington when I had a gorgeous, hot girl, naked in my shower wanting to cater to whatever I needed.

  Tiffany’s beauty and self-assured nature made her attractive. Her family had money. She was the perfect girl for me. So, why didn't I want her?

  Because I am in love with someone else.

  I closed my computer and put it back in my backpack. I grabbed a t-shirt from my drawer, my gym bag, and headed back outside. I needed to get out of here. I needed to think.

  Chapter Four

  Carrington Olivia Butler

  After dropping Jackson off, I made it back home before Jack woke up. I crawled into bed but couldn't sleep. The bed felt warm, and I buried my head under the covers, but I felt alone. I concentrated on remembering the way I felt with
Jackson's arms around me, holding me tight. I loved falling asleep in his arms and waking up next to him. For the first time in a year, I felt safe and secure.

  I wanted to talk to Jackson. Wanted to tell him what I thought and felt about our night. Last night proved how perfect we were for each other. Every touch and kiss and sound we made felt organic and real. We made love with the sole purpose of making each other feel good. No ego, no competition, no controlling or manipulation, it was him and me being together and then ... he got on a plane.

  I had a chance to tell him how I felt. I had plenty of chances, but so did he. I knew my excuse—fear and thinking maybe, he felt the same way. It felt like no matter our good intentions, maybe the universe didn't want us together.

  The connection we had last night was real. The desperation in the way he kissed me this morning seemed real.

  The tension from both of us not saying what we wanted to say, all too real.

  Jack stirred; he lifted his head, whimpered, and sighed. He dropped his head and went back to sleep.

  The Seminole stuffed animal stood watching over him in the corner of his crib. We had to take the battery out and tell Jack he lost his voice and wouldn't sing until tomorrow.

  He accepted the explanation with no question.

  I wished I could live in ignorant bliss.

  I wished I could do what I wanted, when I wanted.

  I wished Jackson and I could be together.

  Why couldn't we be together?

  I picked up my phone and texted Jackson the same question, but I deleted it before hitting send.

  I didn't want to have an awkward back and forth text exchange.

  If Jackson and I were going to try and make this work, we couldn't do it a thousand miles apart. I wouldn't want to.

  I flipped through my contacts, and I landed on the new number I programmed in a few hours ago. The idea popped in my head and before I came down from fantasyland and talked myself out of it, I tapped the number.

  "Hello."

  "Hi." I pinched myself to stay focused. "Mr. Griffin?"

  "Yes."

  "This is Carrington."

  "Yes, dear, I know."

  "How are you?"

  He chuckled and grunted.

  "I don't know if this makes this easier for you, but believe me, if anyone has a right to ask me for a favor, it's you."

  "How did you know I was going to ask a favor?"

  "It’s a sixth sense I've acquired over the years. Comes with being wealthy. You'll acquire it, too, in time. Now, what can I do for you?"

  "I was thinking of returning to FSU in the fall."

  Two and a half years ago, when I told my father I got into FSU, his indifference hurt me. If he'd reacted the way Mr. Griffin did a minute ago, I would have thought he'd gone crazy.

  "Dear, you have no idea how happy I am that you and Jack will be coming back to Florida."

  "Mr. Griffin?"

  "I can take little Jack to games and come and see him all the time."

  "Mr. Griffin?"

  "I think it will be good for us to get to know each other, too, and I know the girls are going to be thrilled. My grandson at F—"

  "Mr. Griffin," I yelled and slapped my hand over my mouth. Jack's face scrunched up and turned pink, but he relaxed and fell right back to sleep.

  "Yes."

  "I want to do this, but I have a few ground rules."

  "Anything you need."

  "I don't need anything from you." I balled my fist.

  "Carrington, I'm not trying to control you."

  "I have to be sure of it."

  "Okay, how?"

  "The money in the account, I want to put it in my own account."

  "Okay."

  "I don't want to be in charge of Jack's trust, but I don't want you in charge of it, either."

  "Okay." Not as enthusiastic as before.

  "A friend of my brother’s, he's a lawyer in Orlando. When Jack was born, he helped me understand our options."

  "Did he advise you to turn me down?"

  "Oh, no. He thought I was crazy. In fact, everyone thought I was crazy."

  "I thought you were crazy, too." Mr. Griffin laughed a deep heartfelt chuckle. It vibrated through the phone. I was sure it would wake up Jack. I checked on him one more time and went into the kitchen to finish the conversation.

  "Maybe I was."

  "I understand. I know what I was before. I was not a good person, but I'm trying to make up for it now. With Jack and with you, if you will let me."

  "But you don't owe me anything."

  "Carrington, I owe you so much. When I saw you in that hospital—"

  I interrupted him. "I don't want to talk to you about that."

  "I know. I'm sorry. I have no right to bring it up. I ... I'm sorry."

  "I know." I bit my lip to avoid crying. I hated crying over what happened to me last year.

  We sat on the phone in silence for a long minute. I appreciated his desire to make things right. Maybe he needed to do this to get closure on the whole thing. I needed it, too, but I wasn't sure how to go about it.

  I had a therapist, whom I stopped seeing about six months ago. She had me talk about what happened. I talked about my relationship with Josh. The volatile nature of our connection and the reason we needed each other, even though we had nothing in common. I described the attack in detail, what I remembered of it anyway. I rehashed every sordid detail over and over again. After six months, I didn't cry anymore. The nightmares went away—well, until recently, but I chalked that up to finding Mr. Griffin on my doorstep.

  It was because of my son that I survived this last year and didn't take the easy way out like Josh. I had nothing but love and affection for my son. I figured I was cured.

  These moments made me think I stopped therapy too soon. I had a sadistic need to know certain facts about those few days before Jack was born.

  Now, I had access, a direct source. All I had to do was ask the questions.

  "Mr. Griffin, what happen? When Josh came down to Orlando for dinner?"

  "Carrington."

  "What did you say to him?"

  "We don't need to get into the details..."

  "Was it because I'm black?"

  "Confirming I was a racist bastard that will make you feel better?"

  "I don't know. Maybe." Tears formed in my eyes. "If that was all it was, it seems kind of stupid now, doesn't it?"

  "Carrington, I'm not proud of who I was, and I'm not sure I deserve your forgiveness."

  I sigh and let the tears fall.

  "Who said I forgive you?"

  #

  Jackson Latre Mitchell

  With exams done, I headed back to my apartment when my phone rang. I stared at the caller ID for a moment.

  The last time Carrington and I spoke was eight days ago. I knew it was eight days because I counted. I wanted to call her every day but didn't trust myself to say the right thing.

  I felt guilty, but I’m not sure if I felt guilty for cheating on Tiffany with her or cheating on her with Tiffany. Regardless of the reason, the weight in the pit of my stomach felt the same and grew to a ten ton wrecking ball when I thought about it.

  "Hey, Corn Cob," I said. I resorted to childish teasing and avoided stepping up and being a mature adult about the whole thing.

  "Hey, Jackson Latre."

  Her smile traveled through the phone line and a grin spread across my face. How did this girl make me feel so good with the sound of her voice?

  It's because you’re in love with her, you idiot.

  "What's going on? How's Jack?"

  "Jack is fine. He carries that singing Seminole you gave him everywhere he goes."

  "Thanks for the video. Him doing the war chant is hilarious."

  "I know, right?"

  "How are you?"

  "I'm good. I've been speaking with Mr. Griffin and his lawyers and my lawyer. We're getting it all worked out."

  "Carrington, that's great. You�
��re doing the right thing."

  "Yeah, so I was calling to let you know I'm coming to Orlando next week. Will you be around?"

  And the weight on my chest returned.

  "Why are you coming to Orlando?"

  "I'm meeting with my lawyer. I need to sign some papers. Jack and I could use a little mommy/son trip."

  "You taking him to Disney?"

  "I think he's too young to really enjoy it, yet. I want to take him to the beach, though. I can't wait to see his face. The kid’s fearless; he'll probably take off and run right in."

  "Yeah, he takes after his mother."

  "Hardly."

  I could hear the nervousness in her laugh.

  "So, you're going to be around?"

  I rubbed the back of my neck and stalled for time. I wanted to spend time with her, show her around, and take Jack to the beach.

  I felt bad and thought about changing my plans.

  "I wish I were, but I am heading out to California to train with some guys out there. They work with NFL prospects. When I thought I was coming out early, I set it up. Figured, I could get some work in before New Orleans and before I have to report for summer workouts."

  "Wow, you've got a busy summer."

  "Yeah, but maybe I can get out to see you and Jack before I come back to school."

  "Well, don't worry about it. You guys play your first game in Dallas, so we'll see each other soon. I think Jack sort of understands, and he is so excited to go to his first football game."

  "Oh yeah, that’ll be cool."

  "Yeah."

  The conversation stopped, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. One of us had to say something about last week.

  "Are you okay? You know about what happened between us?" I asked. I didn't think I could have come up with a more non-committal, neutral question to ask about something that had me on an emotional spiral for eight days.

  "How do you feel about it?"

  My first thought was to say, "I asked you first," but thought better of resorting to childish retorts.

  I can start acting like a man any minute.

  "I don't know. It's weird. You know how you want something for so long and you finally have it and it's kind of a letdown."

  "Okay..."

  "Well, it was nothing like that."