Every Hidden Truth (Far From Ruined Book 2) Read online

  EVERY HIDDEN TRUTH

  COVEY PUBLISHING, LLC

  Published by Covey Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 550219, Gastonia, NC 28055-0219

  Copyright © 2020 by Nikole Knight

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2020 Covey Publishing, LLC

  Book Design by Covey Publishing, LLC, www.coveypublishing.com

  Copy Editing by Covey Publishing, LLC

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First Printing, 2020

  Acknowledgments

  To my man, because I can never write a book and not mention you in the credits—your ego would never allow it. (Just kidding!) Thank you for your continued support. My heart is yours forever.

  My Savvy Girl, thank you for the time and effort you continue to pour into me and my books. I would never have made it this far without you.

  To my seesters, thank you for your overwhelming support. Words can’t express how much it means to me. I miss you every day.

  Mom, there’s sexy stuff in this one. You have been warned.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Also by Nikole Knight

  About the Author

  Note from Publisher

  One

  It was safe to say I was not a poet. But if I was, I’d write one hell of a prose about Ben’s ass. It would rhyme, and yes, it would be eloquent as shit. If I thought it would ease my sexual frustration, I’d Robert-Frost that bitch until those diverging roads didn’t know which way they were going.

  I could waste pages explaining the paradox of his loose jeans that still managed to hug the perky swells of his ass. The words would stretch for miles, describing the peek of his boxers above his belt and how it drove me to self-combustion. And don’t get me started about his damn speedo.

  That would be the name of my poem: Speedo from Heaven. Because, damn, if Ben’s ass wasn’t angelic.

  But, alas, I was not a poet. Instead of putting my ponderings to paper, I settled for ogling Ben’s ass unabashedly as he stood by the teacher’s desk to retrieve our study guide. He wore a black belt today, and his boxers were lavender. Who knew lavender was a sexy color?

  “Silas?”

  I startled as Ben dropped into the seat beside me. He laughed at my hissed curse as my knee slammed into the underside of my desk. Gritting my teeth against the pulsing pain in my kneecap, I punched Ben’s shoulder hard enough to earn a pained oomph from him.

  “You doing okay there?” His crooked grin spread over his face, and I thanked the agony in my leg for distracting me from his adorable dimple.

  “Peachy.” I rubbed my knee and banished the embarrassed heat rising over the back of my neck.

  Ben cocked a golden eyebrow, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he slapped our study guide on the combined surface of our desks. “You sure? You were totally spacing out.”

  “I was staring at your ass,” I deadpanned.

  With a scoff, he rolled his eyes as a blush graced his cheeks. “Whatever.”

  I cackled and jabbed him right in his dimple.

  Always the mature one, he didn’t retaliate. He focused on the study guide and swiped his blond locks out of his face. His hair was longer than when we first met, bordering on shaggy, and the strands teased the line between messy waves and chaotic curls.

  Every time he flicked a chunk of hair out of his eyes, another took its place. No amount of run-throughs or sifting fingers could calm the stubborn strands. But I didn’t complain. I loved his hair, loved how it smelled like spring soap with a hint of chlorine, loved the way the ends curled as they air-dried.

  Perhaps I could write a poem about his hair. It wouldn’t be quite as passionate as Speedo from Heaven, but few things compared to the beauty of his ass. His hair ranked second place. Third if I counted his dimple.

  “Si?” He sang my name as his hand waved in front of my eyes. “You’re exceptionally spacey today. Did you not sleep well?”

  No, I never slept well, but I refused to admit it. He knew enough about my pathetic baggage and anxiety. I shouldn’t add more shit onto the pile he currently shouldered.

  “Nah, I’m good.” I focused my attention on the Sociology study guide and ignored the unsatisfied dip to his mouth.

  His fingertips brushed over my knuckles, and my gaze zeroed in on his hand as his fingers slowly, tentatively slipped between mine. “You look tired.” The vulnerable note to his tone eroded my stubbornness, and I hesitantly met his ocean blue stare.

  “I sleep how I always sleep, Ben,” I said, and his brow furrowed. “I’m fine.”

  We retained eye contact for a long moment before he sighed and squeezed my fingers. “Okay.”

  He withdrew, and my palm tingled from the heat of his hand lingering on my skin. This wasn’t the first time he touched me this way, yet every single time without fail, it sent my body into fits. My heart pounded in my ears, and my lungs struggled to inflate. Sweat slicked over my palms as my blood warmed.

  I couldn’t understand the ease with which he touched me, but I feared we’d lose our dynamic if I questioned it. Ever since our impromptu sleepover at his house almost two weeks ago, our relationship had changed. An undeniable shift took place as we lay in his bed, his limbs snaking around my body like a boa constrictor.

  At first, I slept on his couch, tossing and turning until I dozed off only to be woken by Ben’s nightmare. He called out for his mother, and the vulnerable fear shredded whatever remained of my tattered heart.

  Wanting to comfort him, I rushed to his bed and woke him—after breaking his bedside lamp, of course—and his reaction was almost as shocking as his panic attack. He clung to me, burying his face in my neck.

  Given my untrustworthy feelings, I shouldn’t have allowed it, but I didn’t fight him when he dragged me into his bed. It was the longest night of my life, lying there with the weight of his head on my chest and the softness of his skin beneath my fingertips. His hair sifted through my fingers as his breath puffed against my neck, and I held him close, loving every minute.

  Waking content and happy, tangled in his arms, I watched him sleep like a creepy stalker as I played with his loose curls. It was perfect, yet not nearly what I wanted.

  Even so, it altered our friendship. He complimented me often, touched me even more,
and there were moments I caught his eyes on me, like he enjoyed the view of my ass in skinny jeans. Sometimes, I questioned the authenticity of such moments. The desire in his eyes was merely a trick of the light. He wasn’t flirting, only teasing.

  But in secret places, I wondered and hoped. Maybe, just maybe, Ben Adams wasn’t as straight as I first assumed.

  “So,” Ben interrupted my musing. “Did you get your schedule for next semester?”

  Nerves exploded in my stomach as I nodded warily. “Um, yeah, my guidance counselor printed it out for me yesterday.”

  Beaming, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “Do you have it with you? Maybe we have another class together.”

  “In a school this big, I doubt it.” I retrieved my schedule from my phone case, his hopefulness warming my stomach.

  Anxiety tightened my gut as we splayed our schedules side-by-side on the desk. We had no classes together—no surprise there—but we did share the same lunch period. I scanned the list of his AP classes and rolled my eyes. I took a few Honors courses, but I wasn’t smart enough for AP. Why the hell did he think we would share classes?

  “You’re taking an art class?” he asked, and my earlier nerves returned.

  I shouldn’t be ashamed of the class change, but I was, to a certain extent. “Um, yeah.” I cleared my throat and lifted a hand to my ear to fidgeted with my tragus surface piercing. “My mandatory credits didn’t fill the whole day, so I had a spot for an elective. I figured, why not?”

  Stealing a peek from the corner of my eye, I flushed red under Ben’s jubilant grin. “Painting?”

  I nodded.

  “Si, that’s great.”

  With a shrug, I refolded my schedule and tucked it back into my phone case. “I guess. I mean, if it sucks then I only have to suffer through one semester.”

  His fingers cupped my elbow, and I swallowed thickly, still somehow embarrassed by my choice in elective. I could have opted for a free period and come to school an hour later, but ever since Ben’s encouragement to explore painting, I wanted to try. It was stupid since I probably lacked both the talent and the discipline for it. But, for once, I wanted to take a chance.

  “I think you’ll be great.” He squeezed my elbow.

  “I guess we’ll see.” I removed my arm from his loose grasp.

  Reading my discomfort, he changed the subject, tugging on the sleeve of his California hoodie I wore. “Am I ever gonna get this back?”

  I’d stolen the sweatshirt under the ruse of being cold and had yet to return it. “Probably not. You should keep a better eye on your shit. Not my fault if your hoodie was a convenient snatch.”

  He chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he dragged a fingertip over my wrist under the lip of the sleeve. “I don’t mind. It looks good on you.”

  Swallowing thickly, I glanced at him from under my lashes as my cheeks warmed. Our gazes locked and something filled the space between us, space that was both too much and not enough.

  “Are you saying you like me in your clothes, Adams?” I asked in hopes of making him blush again. I wasn’t disappointed.

  His cheeks pinked beautifully, but he surprised me when he held my stare. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  My naughty grin faded at his serious expression, and I kept perfectly still as he reached toward me and plucked my beanie off my head. He plopped the black fabric on his head and settled it in place where it covered the tips of his ears.

  Damn, he looked good in my beanie.

  “Now we’re even,” he said. “And you have hat-head.”

  I grunted and ran my hands through my hair, mussing the strands into a chaotic mess.

  “You’re making it worse.” He laughed and batted my hands away. “Let me.”

  His nimble fingers slipped through my hair, and I almost trembled from the affectionate, easy touch. He slid his hands through my strands longer than he should have, but I did nothing to stop him. I’d let him touch me forever.

  “There, that’s better.” He withdrew, and I instantly missed his touch.

  “You just gave me sex hair, didn’t you?” I sassed to dispel the buzzing in my veins at his proximity.

  “What? No.” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as red crept down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt to color the top of his chest. “Are we still going sledding tomorrow?”

  At the awkwardly desperate subject change, I laughed into my hand but nodded anyway. “Yeah, we’re going. I work till one, so I’ll have to meet you guys there. But I’ll be there.”

  “Cool.”

  He bounced his leg excitedly, and I bit back a chuckle at his innocent anticipation. Sledding was a normal activity here in the Midwest at wintertime, so I couldn’t grasp the appeal it held for him. But since he grew up in California where snow was limited, I could kind of understand. Winter fun wasn’t normal for him.

  Hunkering over our combined desks, he filled in our names at the top of the study guide, and his leg continued its happy dance beside mine. He was too cute.

  As I filled in the answers to our packet, Ben leaned into my shoulder under the guise of offering input. There was no reason for him to sit this close to me, but I relished the warmth of his body seeping through our layers of clothing.

  My left hand lay on the desk, millimeters from his right. Every few minutes, he fidgeted, his knuckles skimming mine. Once, twice, three times. My veins bubbled as his spearmint breath warmed my shoulder. My stomach twisted into knots as I stole glances at the minuscule distance between our hands.

  The next time his knuckles grazed my wrist, I stretched out my pinkie and captured his. I expected him to pull away, to scrutinize me in confusion or disgust, but he did neither. His pinkie curled around mine until they hooked together snugly.

  A shy, albeit satisfied, smile graced the edges of his perfect lips. Blood boiled beneath my skin, but I didn’t pull away. Neither of us spoke a word or drew attention to the affectionate hold. We worked on our study guide in relative silence as our shaking fingers held fast.

  Was I the one trembling or was it him? Did it even matter anymore?

  His ocean eyes met my slate ones, the waves of his irises crashing wildly, and my heart fluttered. Fuck me sideways. This boy was going to be the death of me, and from the smug grin spreading over his face, he fucking knew it.

  Soft lips slid against mine, hungry and desperate. I moaned into his mouth as I ran my fingers through his silky curls. He tasted delicious, fresh like spearmint, and our tongues dueled as our bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces.

  “Silas,” he murmured my name as I nibbled on the skin of his throat.

  “Ben?”

  I hummed when his fingers drifted over my hips, pulling me closer. I recaptured his mouth for another searing kiss.

  Impatient for more, I broke our caress and dropped my hands to the button of his jeans. He groaned, leaning against the wall at his back as I hurriedly unbuttoned his pants and slid his zipper down.

  “Silas, please.” His gasped plea broke my self-control, and I attacked his mouth again.

  Thankfully, I kept my wits about me and pulled away before I got lost in his petal-soft lips. I wanted to make this perfect. I wanted him to never forget this moment.

  “I’m gonna take care of you,” I promised as I lowered myself to my knees.

  His hands immediately disappeared into my hair, his fingers tightening on my chestnut locks. Irish Spring overwhelmed me as I finagled his pants down his thighs, and I groaned when my gaze latched onto his erection straining his boxers.

  “Don’t stop,” he ordered, his voice deepening.

  I pressed a kiss to his hip. “I won’t.”

  His grip in my hair strengthened harshly, and I flinched, apprehension trickling through my chest.

  “I said don’t stop!” the now-foreign voice growled, and Ben’s characteristic spring soap soured in my nose.

  I smelled musk. What the hell?

  “Ben?”

/>   “Shut up, Brigs,” the deep, rumbling tone snarled, and my arousal morphed to utter terror. “And use that mouth for something useful.”

  I looked up, expecting to see Ben with cheeks flushed and blue eyes shining, but it wasn’t Ben. Eric glowered, his dark eyes boiling with hatred, and I jerked away from him with a horrified cry.

  “No!”

  I shot up in bed, my chest chugging as sweat slicked my skin. My pajama shirt stuck to my body. I swiped my palm over my face to clear the stickiness clinging to me as a result of my nightmare. The front of my pajama pants tented from the confused erection battling for freedom as my veins rushed fear to every limb.

  I was both terrified and aroused. What the fuck?

  Closing my eyes, I took several deep breaths the way Ben taught me and let them out slowly through pursed lips. I imagined his arms around me, my palm pressed to his chest as he breathed with me. In. Blue eyes. Out. Blond curls. In. Spring soap. Out. Spearmint.

  My subconscious hated me, feeding off my deepest desires and darkest fears. Apparently, I couldn’t even have a good sex dream without Boyt showing up to ruin it.

  When my alarm trilled on my phone, I groaned and silenced the annoying jingle. I crawled out of bed and eyed my frustrating morning wood. My libido had been in a vegetative state for the past couple of months, but ever since doing a body shot off of Ben at the party, it woke with a vengeance. My lust was unquenchable, yet my body had no idea how to deal with it.

  Normally, I’d jump in the shower and rub one out, but the mere thought of touching myself made my stomach clench. I hadn’t masturbated since Boyt attacked me in the bathroom two months ago. I didn’t purposefully try to jerk off, but any subtle attempt ended before it began.