The Spark

“What did he say when you told him that?”

I frowned. “I didn’t—not at first, anyway. I let all of my anger toward him build for a long time. About a year after everything happened, my therapist convinced me to talk to him. Unfortunately, I did that after having a little too much to drink one night, and the talk didn’t go as it probably should’ve. I was very emotional and said some horrible things, and then I refused to talk to him once I’d sobered up—not very mature, I know.”

“A person who went through what you did handles it however they need to handle it. It sounds to me like you shouldn’t even have had to have that discussion, or deal with any of it.”

“When I refused to listen to him, he went to talk to my therapist. She wouldn’t discuss anything with him, but he asked her to listen to him and talk to me on his behalf. He claimed he’d been in shock for a while, that he saw himself going through the motions with me, but was checked out mentally, sort of like watching a movie about what was going on. That’s why he wasn’t emotional or sympathetic at the time.”

“And you don’t believe that?”

“I don’t know. My therapist says a lot of the things he described to her are classic symptoms of psychological shock. But I just…” I shook my head. “I felt so alone back then, and it’s hard for me to forget. Plus, then there’s his string of marriages and the crazy stuff he’s done over the years.”

“Is he still partners with the father?”

“No, he’s not. The week after my drunken tirade, he split from his partner. He claimed he didn’t realize how much it upset me because I hadn’t said anything, and because they’d fired Braden after I went to the police.” I shook my head. “Honestly, he’s tried to make it up to me for years. He handled things wrong, but maybe he did have his reasons. I would like to forgive him and forget, but I don’t know how.”

“Do you have to do both?”

“What do you mean?”

“Forgiving and forgetting—I think they’re two different things. When you forgive, you allow yourself to stop harboring resentment so that you can be at peace with something. I’ve forgiven my mother for the shit she did when I was growing up—for disappearing for months at a time and leaving me on the streets to fend for myself. She’s not perfect, that’s for damn sure. But I needed to let go of the resentment for me more than I did for her. Now, I haven’t forgotten. Every time she calls to hit me up for cash, I remember. But I ask her how she is and talk to her anyway. Sometimes we even meet for di

He stroked my cheek. “I don’t think you can forget, and I think that’s probably a good thing, because we learn from all the shit in our past. But you can still choose to forgive, if you want.” Donovan put his hands up. “To be clear, I’m not taking your father’s side. Everything you told me makes me dislike him more than I already did. But I am on your side, and if you want to move on, you should. You can’t wait until you’re able to forgive and forget. Because you probably will never forget.”

Oh my God. Waves of emotion swept over me. For years, my therapist had been trying to talk me through moving on with my dad, and in five minutes, this man had gotten through to me. He was absolutely right. If I was waiting to have any relationship with my father until all of this was behind me, I’d be waiting forever. It felt like a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

“Would you be my date for his wedding if I went?”

Donovan smiled. “Sweetheart, if you asked me to be your date to walk you into hell, I wouldn’t say no. Of course I’ll go with you. I’d be happy to.”

I smiled back. “Okay, well, I’m not sure wedding number eight and a trip to hell are that different, so thank you.”

He winked. “No problem.”

Donovan scraped the last of his ice cream from the bottom of his bowl like he hadn’t just talked me through a monumental breakthrough in my life. The man had no clue how perfect he was. To look the way he did, have the smarts he had, and have such a deep understanding of flawed-human psychology? He was pretty special.

I reached out and pinched his arm.

He glanced down at the spot and looked up with an adorably crooked smile. “What was that for?”

“Just making sure you’re real.”

He never took his eyes off of me as he set his ice cream bowl on the table and scooped me into his lap.

I giggled as I straddled him.

Donovan dug his fingers into my hair and pulled my lips down to meet his. “Come here. Let me show you real.”

His tongue dipped inside, and he tilted my head ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. Lord, could this man do magical things with his mouth. And I remembered from our weekend that he was very generous in showing off this talent in other places. There was something so desperate when the two of us touched. It had been like that from the very start; as if once we collided, we needed each other to survive.

I felt him hardening beneath me as we kissed. With my legs wide open, the denim of his jeans pushed against my clit, and I ground down harder, desperate for friction.

Donovan groaned and gripped my hips. He started to guide me back and forth over his erection, and things built to a frenzy very fast.

Oh my God. I might come dry humping this man.

My body slowed, realizing that was exactly what was about to happen.

“Do you want me to stop?” Donovan mumbled between our sealed lips.

“No, I…I…”

He pulled back so we could see each other. I was a little embarrassed, but I didn’t want him to think he’d done anything wrong.

“I almost…you know.”

The wickedest grin spread across Donovan’s face. “You almost had an orgasm riding me fully dressed?”

“Don’t look so smug. I was the one doing all the work.”

“Oh yeah?” In one stealth move, he lifted me off his lap, and my back was suddenly against the couch. He climbed and hovered over me. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” He kissed my nose, then my chin, and lowered his head to kiss my neck before planting a kiss on top of my cleavage. His voice was lower and raspier when he spoke again. “Why should you be the only one doing the work? I think I need to help out here.” Donovan raised the hem of my T-shirt and kissed my belly button, then fingered the button of my shorts while looking up at me. His eyes were dark and hooded, but he didn’t break contact as he opened my shorts. “I want to bury my face in you and not stop until I feel you come all over my tongue. I crave you, Autumn. Want is too tame of a word. What I feel is much greedier than that.”

I swallowed.

“Tell me that’s okay. I don’t ever want to push you too fast and be a regret the next day.”

His tone made my heart hurt. He’d been so amazing and steadfast with me, and in return I’d only given him doubts. I’d avoided intimacy with Donovan because another man I’d trusted had taken something from me. Maybe it was time I forgave someone else for the things that had happened—me. Like a wise man once told me, moving on didn’t have to mean I forgot. I just needed to let go. And looking down at the beautiful man I wanted so badly felt like the first step in the right direction.

I nodded. “I want you, Donovan.”

His eyes jumped, looking for reassurance in mine.

“I won’t regret it tomorrow, and I won’t disappear.”

“You sure?”

I nodded.