Endless Bonds Copyright © 2016 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

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onya's loud and satisfied sigh vibrates through my body.

That's my cue to leave. Pressing a soft kiss against the nape of her neck, I unmold myself from on top of her and roll onto my back.

Her hand reaches out and rests against my thumping heart. I don't have the energy to remove it. Tonight, she's really managed to fuck me hard and blind. I feel like she sucked the life force out of me with the way she ground and snapped her hips on my dick.

"What are you doing this weekend?" she breathes against my shoulder, before kissing it.

I'm limp and relaxed and don't want to overanalyze her words. I knew this was going to happen the minute I entered her place. She's going to need some kind of reassurance, but I'm not looking for commitment and she damn well knows that. Been there, done that.

Tonya knows the score. She knows that when we text, it's only to hookup.

Then why does she always insist on doing the whole post-coital cuddling thing? Why does she seek closeness and hugs and kisses from me when she knows I'm not capable of giving them to her? I hate being the bad guy and she preys on my weakness. I'm only good for one thing now.

Eight months ago, she made it abundantly clear she wanted to fuck me. Now she wants more. Problem is, I can't give her more.

My gaze flickers to her ceiling as my chest continues to heave up and down. I beg the man upstairs for a miracle against this chick. "I'm busy, Ton."

Her dark strands brush my chest as she props herself on an elbow. She pouts at me and I think she thinks it looks cute, but really, she looks like a blowfish. Tonya's an attractive girl, but not when she tries hard.

My eyes, however, are more focused on her perky tits. My mouth waters. Apparently, my body and mind are two different things. I know trying anything with her now will mean that I've got myself a date with her this weekend. My body though – more specifically my dick – is begging for a round two.

The big man upstairs grants me my wish and my miracle is literally my ringtone. I'm saved by the bell. The sound blares loudly in her room and I send her an apologetic smirk while sending the b0ob I was reaching out for a remorseful look.

Tara's face illuminates my screen and whatever is left of my boner deflates. In no way can I beg Tonya to ride me while I try to carry a half-assed conversation on the phone. This is Tara we're talking about, someone who I consider family. Can't have sex while talking on the phone with someone who's basically like my sister. Even I have morals and limits.

"Sorry, Ton. I need to take this."

Tonya rolls her eyes and gives an exasperated sigh, removing the hand that was trickling down my stomach muscles to wrap around my cock.

I get out of her bed reluctantly and pluck my phone from her nightstand. "Hello?"

"You have some damn nerves, Trenton Reynolds."

I press my phone between my ear and shoulder as I stab my legs through my jeans. "Hey, babe. I'm doing good and yourself? Fine weather we have going on today, eh?"

"Don't sass me, Trent. That's my job, you hoe. Think it's okay to ignore me because you're too busy getting laid?"

My jersey is somewhere on Tonya's floor, but once I find it, I'm throwing it on in record time. "Get to the point already, Tara."

I salute Tonya with two fingers as I step into my shoes. I wince and try to ignore the glower she shoots me as I shuffle outside her dorm room. To be an even bigger asshole, I blow her a kiss. She laughs under her breath, despite the glare.

"The point is-" her angry tone rushes out in a flurry, "-last night you took things too far and destroyed a good night out amongst friends."

The hallway in front of Tonya's room is empty, so I find myself leaning against the wall, catching up with everything that occurred in the last twenty-four hours. Snapping at Cher. Going to classes today in a foul mood. Coming home. Going over to Tonya's. Tara exploding on me. Now I'm trying to catch my breath after great sxx and a vibe killer – the latter being Tara.

My eyebrows hike quickly when I register her words. "I ruined it?"

"Yeah. You took things way too far with Cher. Look, I get it. She's hurt you and you don't like her anymore. She's back and dismissed you once again. You're angry. You're bitter. You're sulking."

"You know," I say, feeling miffed over Tara figuring me out. "I have a report to write and you're taking up my time, Tar. I really don't feel like listening to you rant."

"Trenton, stop."

And so I do. Zipping my mouth of any more smart comebacks. Because if Tara Simmons tells you to stop, you damn well do. Girl is fucking nuts.

"Babe, she's made mistakes. She hurt you. Hell, she hurt some of us, too. But you're no one to judge her. She had reasons for leaving and you don't have to hear them if you don't want too. But telling her that she needs to see a particular tombstone was a $hitty blow and you and I both know it."

I grit my teeth, because I know it's true. I know it was a horrible thing to say. I wanted to stop it from escaping my mouth, but I couldn't. Then the feeling of gratification roared in my chest and split in half when she cried.

"You can act like some nonchalant asshole who never gets affected by anything, but the people around you know the truth. You don't fool them and you certainly don't fool me."

"Tara..."

"I know you better than anyone, Trent. I'm not just your friend. I'm your family – Family always knows you more than you know yourself." She croons softly and I hate to hear the truth. "I'm telling you that you crossed a line last night by hurting a girl that once meant a lot to you."

I exhale roughly and press my free palm to my forehead, at the sudden throbbing headache forming in my mind. I feel weight on my shoulders and I feel my throat clog up with emotions. It's difficult to speak. "I hated...putting tears in her eyes. I hated myself for it, Tara."

"You made her cry?" There's a hint of incredulity.

I nod a little bit miserably, but remind myself that Tara can't see that simple gesture. "She had tears in her eyes when I brought up Quentin... In the parking lot, when she followed me out, she mentioned her guilt over his death and I threw it in her face. Just...Just because I wanted her to feel hurt about something."

"You used our dead best friend as leverage to evoke self-loathing within your ex-best friend?"

Fvck, I'm even more miserable when she puts it like that. "I'm a piece of shit, Tara." I finally acknowledge the words that everyone is thinking lately out loud. Tara. Jared. Oliver. Mom. Tonya. Cher...Quentin's probably rolling in his grave.

"I can't even deny it." Her sad sigh says it all. "But I know you aren't, Trent. However, you do need to fix this mess with her. I'm not saying to extend an olive branch her way, but I'm saying to make an effort to, I don't know, hate her less. Even try to be around each other and not kill one another, whether it be verbally or physically."

What if I can't? What if I don't know how? "What if I don't want too?"

"Then looks like you might want to apologize to a certain tombstone as well. For using his death to make someone else feel like crap."

I needed to hear that.

"Thanks, Tara. For what you were trying to tell me. I appreciate it."

I can hear her grin despite the heavy topic of our conversation. "Nothing to thank me for. The fact that you didn't like putting tears in her eyes, well, Trenton, that speaks volumes on its own. So you're very welcome."

I'm speechless once again. Tara fvcking Simmons is something else.

"Besides, between you and I, honey, we know I would have made the better girlfriend, eh?"

I laugh through the lump in my throat. "No doubt there, babe."

"Plus, I suck dick waaay better than Rose probably could aspire too. I'm the queen of sixty-nine."

Yeah, I didn't want to think of Tara's oral skills. It gives me goosebumps and churns my stomach. "OK. Enough of this. Goodnight, babe."

"Bye, hon. Don't forget to bring more condoms home. I'm off the pill and we finished the stash last night-"

I hang up on her as she pretends to act like my crazy psycho girlfriend.

But I take her advice.

With my keys and beanie in hand, I head towards my car with one destination in mind.

Quentin.

* * *

The cemetery is eerily quiet as always, but there's a warmth in the early September night breeze.

It doesn't take me long to spot her.

I don't know how she's found his grave, but she sits on the wooden bench in front of the marker, her slender shoulder hunched in defeat.

The sight kicks me swiftly, especially since I was the one who pushed her towards facing her demons when she probably wasn't ready.

Her smooth bronze hair cascades down her back and her signature black beret sits stylishly on her head. Cher's wearing a backless short navy number that outlines her sharp curves and long legs. She's in a cemetery, yet she's got the pair of the highest boots I've ever seen on any woman.

As if she senses me coming, her back tenses. Her little moment is intruded and I see her hand waving in her face as if she's trying to wipe her tears. She doesn't know it's me. Just that she's no longer alone.

I wait for her to turn around and see me.

She doesn't.

Mustering whatever courage remains within me, I walk the short distance and sit down on the bench beside her.

She still doesn't turn around to look at me.

My hands twitch as they ball up and rest on my parted knees,

There's too much tension pulsing between our bodies. There's no way that she has no idea that it's me

Cher's smarter than that.

My eyes focus on her profile and I'm not kidding when I say Cher's gotten more stunning over the years. She's always been pretty, but she's something else now.

There's a soft edge to her that wasn't there before. She's more mature. Her features have sharpened, her cheekbones more pronounced, her lips poutier, her curves more on the slim side.

And while I'm noticing all these details about her, her chin tips stubbornly, the way it always used to when she was nervous or too aware of something.

I can't help the half-smirk threatening to spread over my lips.

She knows it's me sitting two feet away from her.

I force myself to relax and stretch my legs further, draping my arms over the back of the wooden bench.

"You always wear such little skirts, Cherrycakes?"

Her back stiffens when I casually throw out her cringe-worthy childhood nickname. She sucks in a breath and I have the odd urge to laugh at her reaction.

Her eyes rivet to mine and I find myself surprised by how much I like the fire in them.

"Had no idea you'd taken an interest in little skirts over the past two years, Treasure Chest. You looking for some? I've got a variety of styles and cuts in my wardrobe. I don't mind helping a brother out."

Treasure Chest...I haven't head that cheesy as fvck nickname since I was twelve. It's my turn to wince, but I hide my surprise over her calling me by it by playing cool.

"Mm. Totally. I think I'd be a medium in size. Preferably blue. It'll look great with my eyes."

"Can't disagree. Tell me, what else have you taken interest in in the last two years?"

"Apparently being an asshole and hurting those close to me."

Cher's neck jerks my way so fast, it's a wonder she hasn't gotten whiplash. There's shock and confusion on her face, and her mouth forms a little "O" as understanding dawns upon her. I keep my eyes trained on her because I need her to understand what I'm trying to say. What's too difficult for me to say.

And I'm struck with the realization that sitting mere breaths... our faces turned towards each other, our gazes locked together ...this is the most intimate moment I've shared with anyone in a long fucking time.

Our eyes do the talking.

Her throat works with a swallow and I'm drawn to the smooth expanse of tan skin there. I know the exact split second she accepts my pathetic peace offering.

"Mhm," she says, as though thoughtfully, but I hear the shakiness in her voice. "That's a nice beanie you got there. It suits you."

I have a hard time looking at anywhere but her blue eyes. "Thanks." My voice is raspy. "I like the beret. It suits you, too. Picked that up in Paris, eh?"

She nods carefully as if holding herself together. She's on the verge of crying again, I can see it.

"What else did you do in France? What else have you taken interest in besides little skirts in the last two years?"

She sniffs, but a tear spills down her cheek anyway. "A few bad habits. Including ignoring my best friend and abandoning those who needed me."

Something in my chest crumbles at the same time as something on her face gives out, allowing a few more tears to leak down the slopes of her cheek.

I've had enough.

No more hurting each other. No more ignoring one another.

"Come here," I growl.

There's a pattern lingering. An old habit that looms over us. One that never really left despite the distance between Cher and I. She gets my two simple words and that's all we need. She scoots as soon as I do, and we're closing the distance for the first time as she loops her arms around my neck and I clench her waist in return.

Her damp face buries in the crook of my neck and my cheek rests against her forehead.

I'm holding Cheryl Anderson in my arms after two years and nothing has felt so right.

We're quiet for a moment, as if relishing our hug, wondering why we took so long to do this.

"I missed you so much," she presses in a soft voice that's husky with the barely contained tears.

"Impossible. I missed you so much more, Cher," I whisper my razor-sharp words into her hair.

The splinter in my chest is slowly being mended.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted, Trent," she sobs and the sound hits me in the guts like a sucker punch. "So, so sorry."

"Shh," I coo softly to her. "Later. We'll talk later. Know that I'm more sorry than you can imagine."

She nods in my neck and holds onto me tighter until the only thing separating us is our conflicted thoughts.

"The weekend that Quentin died...I...I didn't exactly have my phone on me."

Her admittance resonates deeply through me. We pull away and I stare at her in bewilderment.

I'm waiting for her explanation, sensing that she needs to do this alone.

She wipes under her eyes for the millionth time tonight. If she's trying to save her makeup, I don't tell her that it's long past ruined. I don't have the heart to do so. Her sarcastic chuckle entails disappointment.

"I'm never without my phone. Everyone knows this about me. I'm always glued to it, but the Thursday night that he passed away, I was going over too –" she catches herself as if she was about to say something she didn't want too. "-a friend's estate. I was coaxed into turning off my phone like the rest of my friends to enjoy a free relaxing weekend. We all shut off our phones, so it couldn't have been a big deal. What was a big deal, however-" she hiccups this time,"- was the nagging sensation inside of me, telling me that I was missing something. I squashed it down through our entire trip and blamed it on my anxiety. Four days later when I came back home and turned my phone on, I was flooded with messages. I find out Quentin's dead, I missed his funeral, and that he's asked about me in his final breaths. It felt like everything flipped over in a moment and I barely had the time to blink. I was destroyed."

Hearing her words, I'm hit with a wave of pain. For Quentin, who longed to see her face one last time like the rest of us, before he closed his eyes forever. For Cher, who's lived with a tortured memory for over more than a year.

"It's not your fault," I tell her with a gravelly voice, because I finally understand and get it. "Cher, you had no idea."

Her eyes hauntingly drift to Quentin's tombstone, and a fleeting wry smile curls her mouth. "But I don't forgive myself."

I realize that anything I say won't get to her. Cher needs time to find it within herself.

Eventually, I clear my throat. Quentin's going to be proud of me. "Life's short, Cher. There's no use living with past regrets. Quentin...he made it clear he wanted us all to live our life to the fullest. Without regrets."

She rolls her lips in her mouth, as if trying to hold her quivering frame together.

So I give her something that I think she wants to hear. Something that I truly mean. Something that may lessen the pain for now. I can't contain it any longer. "It's great to see you again, Cherrycakes."

Cher's softening gaze snaps my way. "Hey, Trent?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

A billion-watt smile grazes her mouth. "I missed you so much."

I chuckle, before looking at Quentin's grave, not being able to rip the smile off my face. I wonder if he's smiling at us. I wonder if he's happy. "Impossible, Cher. I missed you so much more."

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Look at that, they've finally made up! What did you think of Cher actually taking Trent's advice and going to the cemetery? Trent and Cher talking it out and hugging?

Don't forget to vote! You can connect with me below! x