If i had you, p.1

If I Had You, page 1


If I Had You

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If I Had You

  If I Had You

  by Violet Haze

  Stoked Publishing House



  What Is









  What Might’ve Been









  What Will Be












  About the Author

  More Books by Violet Haze

  If I Had You ©2016 by Violet Haze

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review or article, without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Designs by Dana

  Stoked Publishing House

  eBook Edition

  First Edition: October 2016



  She made an irreversible decision that tore them apart. He’s never forgotten the girl who changed his entire world. Will their future include a second chance at love?

  When Darcy catches sight of what she believes is her high-school sweetheart Zachary, the one whose heart and trust she broke a decade ago, she follows him despite knowing he’ll make her pay for that betrayal the moment he gets ahold of her. One stolen moment later and her world will never be the same again.

  Zachary hasn’t forgiven or forgotten the girl whose decision impacted both their lives and resulted in him being sent away by his parents. The instant she steps in his path again, he doesn’t resist the urge to get his hands on her in whatever way he can, and the result is an explosive confrontation that quickly reignites a passion he’s ignored for too long.

  Complicated lives mixed with past history leaves both of them reeling from their reconnection and faltering in what they’ve always wanted. Only nothing is simple and neither are prepared for what the future holds.

  Part I

  What Is



  When I first spot him in the bookstore, I’m not sure it’s him.

  I know that even if the guy I see is him, I shouldn’t bother to make sure, and I definitely shouldn’t approach him. Turning around and walking away, perhaps even leaving the store, is better than him seeing me.

  Ten years since we’ve laid eyes on one another.

  Since what might’ve been never came to be.

  Since he told me how much his seventeen-year-old self hated me and the decision I made.

  Little did he know I hated myself and the pain I caused him.

  I never wanted to make him hurt, or make the decisions I did but hadn’t felt as if I’d had a real choice.

  But he hadn’t cared, and he disappeared.

  Ten years, though.

  What are the chances he’d live in the same city I do now, thousands of miles from where we last were in the same place?

  I have to look.

  My feet start moving at the thought.

  The man stands in one of the aisles, his stare intense where it's focused on the back of the book in his hand, and I’m suddenly short of breath as I take in his profile.

  His dirty blond hair, which used to be to his chin and irritated the shit out of his father, is now cropped short and spiky. He might be another inch or two taller than what he was at seventeen, but he’s definitely more broad-shouldered and built. It’s been so long I can’t be sure if it’s really him, not without staring him straight in the face, but when he starts to turn toward me, I dart into the next aisle.

  After a few moments he strides past, and I follow him as quietly as I can.

  From behind him at a safe distance, I wonder how I’ll be able to tell if it’s him or not. Maybe he’ll stop and talk to someone, and I can see from another side or something.

  I just want to know and then I’ll walk away. Well, that’s what I tell myself at least.

  Because it means he’s alive and well, I have wondered about him through the years. More in the years following his departure, but less as the years have passed. You know, since at some point, you have to let go.

  Or so my therapist has told me repeatedly.

  Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize I’ve lost him until I turn a corner, and he’s not there.


  Looking around, perhaps more frantically than is appropriate, I’m ready to give up until I see the restrooms straight ahead. Figuring that’s where he went, I head toward them, and right as I’m about to open the women’s door, a hand covers my mouth from behind.

  I’m propelled forward through the door, and released once inside as the door shuts and locks, an all too familiar voice barking, “Why the fuck are you following me?”

  Frozen in shock as memories and recognition flow through me, I’m not able to turn around, and I quickly realize he doesn’t know who I am.

  “Is Erica having you follow me to get dirt?” After I don’t answer, all while wondering who the hell Erica is, he growls, “Turn around and fucking look at me. Or do you only engage in shady shit?”

  Now that I know it’s him, I don’t want him to see who I am. Refusing to turn around, I stare at the ugly yellow tiled wall as I say, “I—I don’t know anyone named Erica.”

  “No? Why the hell are you following me then?”

  I blatantly lie in hopes the fact he doesn’t seem to recognize my voice will work to my advantage. “I wasn’t.”

  “I hate people who lie to me. I know you were following me, so out with it, before I have the store call security.”

  Taking a deep breath, my eyes slam shut as I say, “I thought you were somebody I knew. You’re not. I’m sorry. Please just go.”

  “I will when you turn around.” After a moment, I shiver as he steps closer to me, his warmth heating my back. “Right now.”

  Compressing my lips to quell the sob wanting to burst forth, I give him what he wants because he won’t go away until I do, slowly turning around and lifting my teary gaze until it meets his annoyed one.

  I know I look different from how I did at sixteen — my dark red hair is now shoulder-length, my glasses have been replaced with contacts, and my freckles are lighter — but it doesn’t take long for his beautiful blue gaze to turn irate.

  “Darcy fucking Bechel,” he snarls, taking a quick step back as his gaze swipes me from head to toe. “Of all the people in the world, fucking really?”

  “Hello Zachary,” I whisper, my green eyes dropping away from his to stare at the floor, and my hands clasping in front of me. “I…I…”

  “Don’t speak.” His command is harsh, his words harsh as his right hand touches my chin and he forces me to look at him. “Nothing except lies came out of your mouth then, and it doesn’t appear as if that’s changed any.”

  I grit my teeth at that, and flat out ignore him, frowning as I ask, “Who is Erica and why would someone follow you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” he replies as he steps closer until I’m backed against a wall. “But Erica is my wife, and she a
lways thinks I’m cheating on her.”

  At the mention of him being married, I stiffen and move to flatten my palms on the wall to steady myself as I ask the obvious while his eyes sear into mine. “Are you?”

  “Not yet.”

  Something in his answer causes my heart to race, and I slam my eyes shut. “You should let me go.”

  “Yeah?” When I manage to nod, he chuckles, its wicked intensity matching the heat of his form as he traps me completely and brings his mouth close to mine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, if I just let you go. But I’m not going to.”

  One of his hands cups my cheek, the other sliding to grope my ass as he grinds his lower body into me, and a whimper slips through my barely parted lips at his touch.

  “What we’re going to do,” he murmurs after pressing a soft kiss on my mouth, “is leave this room, quietly exit the store, and get into my car. Then, you’re going to give me directions to your place, and once there, we’re going to have an overdue chat. Got it?”

  Anxious words fall from my tingling lips even as I keep my eyes closed. “I’m sorry I followed you. Walk away, pretend you never saw me and I’ll pretend I never saw you. Please.”

  “I can’t.” He sounds tortured, his words hoarse as the hand on my ass falls to my side, and he grips my hand in his. “Let’s go.”

  It’s wrong, even as he steps away, unlocking the door and opening it, tugging me along behind him as we leave the bathroom, and through the store.

  I know I should run as his clasp on my hand tightens while we head across the parking lot, and as we reach a sleek black car.

  He opens the passenger door, and I get in.

  Wrong. So wrong.

  I give him my address like he asks as he gets in on his side and starts up the car.

  Nothing is said between us as he drives to my place.

  And once we’re there, a confrontation ten years in the making smashes open old wounds I never thought I’d need to deal with again.



  “Nice place,” Zachary says, walking around the apartment as if he owns it, and gives a low whistle of appreciation. “You sure do enjoy the finer things in life, don’t you?”

  We’ve only been here a few moments, but I’m already dreading the conversation his statement will lead to. I’m not sure what I can say that won’t make him angrier, so I stay silent, standing by the entryway with my arms crossed over my chest.

  He stops in front of the windows, looking out at the lake which graces the view, and spreads his arms wide until one palm lays on either side of the frame.

  All I’m able to think as I look at him is how magnificent he is.

  And hard.

  It is evident life hasn’t been kind to him over the years, something I’m sure started with me and our relationship.

  He’s angry, and he has every right to be. I won’t deny what we both know.

  I’m just not sure what he wants with me, why he won’t just pretend we hadn’t seen each other, and simply walk away.

  He stands there, silent and guarded, making me more anxious as time passes.

  I look down at my watch and see it’s only three hours before my fiancé gets home. I don’t want to explain Zachary; I’ve never had to, and I don’t plan to start now.

  I’m about to take a step forward when he turns to face me and speaks.

  “You destroyed my life.” The words have some fire in them, but not his face, which is only tired as he stares at me with disgust. “I warned you what would happen if I did anything my parents didn’t like before I turned eighteen. I had six months to go when they found out, and they would never have let me shirk my responsibilities toward you, but you just couldn’t give me the chance to take care of us, could you?”

  “I was sixteen,” I say as gently as possible, hating the pain radiating from his voice and his stance. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You took the easy way out,” he shouts, swiping an angry hand through the air to make it clear he doesn’t want to hear my excuses or reasons. “You got an abortion, you took away my choices, and you know what they did? They fucking sent me away to military school. And once I was there, I had to stay there because unlike you, I had no money. No family to hang onto. No anything. They wouldn’t let me come back home even after I graduated. You fucked me over.”

  There’s no point in me yelling back. I merely shake my head as I say, “It wasn’t easy for me.”

  He goes on as if I hadn’t even spoken. “I would’ve done anything to take care of you and our child. But you just couldn’t deal, could you? They threatened to cut you off, to leave you as poor as I was, and the idea alone sent you running to do as they told you to. I was good enough to fuck for the lying little rich girl, but not good enough to have a family with. That’s what I learned.” He waves a hand in the air to indicate the room around him, his sudden laughter not filled with humor at all, but derisive sarcasm. “Was this all worth it?”

  “It’s not mine.” When he quirks a brow and smirks, I clarify. “I…this is where I live with my fiancé. I…my parents cut me off anyway when I hit eighteen.”

  “Good,” he spits out, not even blinking at the mention of my fiancé as he stalks forward until I’m backed against a door, grabbing my arms and locking them above my head as he repeats himself. “Was it worth it?”

  I can’t even meet his eyes, staring at his chest which is heaving with his angry breathing, and I shake my head at how much crap I’ve dealt with over the last ten years. “No. No, it wasn’t. If I had known—”

  The rest of my words are cut off as his free hand comes up to my chin and forces me to look up at him, followed a second later by his mouth descending on mine. With a little pressure, he shoves his tongue into my mouth, making me whimper at the instant pleasure it sends throughout my body. His hand drops to my side, gliding down as he continues to assault my mouth, and my brain starts screaming the moment his fingertips reach the edge of my skirt.

  Wrong as his hand makes quick work of lifting my skirt all around until I’m bared to the surrounding air.

  More wrong as the same hand lifts my legs so they are around his hips, before he slips it between my legs and beneath my panties to touch me.

  As he slides one finger, then another inside my pussy, he groans into my mouth, and I reciprocate with a moan of my own.

  I hate myself for not pulling my mouth away and telling him to stop, which I am easily able to do. I hate myself as he curls his fingers into my g-spot and I buck into his hand, wanting him to do it faster, harder.

  He manipulates me with his touch, the fingers on the inside working their magic as his thumb plays with my clit, and I loathe him even more when his expertise has me coming so hard and fast I scream into his mouth.

  My mind is blank, my body shuddering with the power of my orgasm. I vaguely register him freeing his cock from his pants, and it’s only when he’s poised to enter me that he rips his mouth away and says against my lips, “You got exactly what you deserved when they cut you off. I hope you suffered as much as I did. I loved you, and you threw it in my face. I don’t love you anymore, but I do want to fuck you, just one last time. I’m going to use you and throw you away just like you did to me. Maybe then it won’t fucking hurt anymore.”

  Tears slip from my eyes as he releases my wrists, commanding harshly, “Keep them right fucking there. I don’t want you touching me.”

  Gripping my ass in his hands, he thrusts up and into me so hard my back slams against the door, and I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. He pulls to the edge and plunges back in, over and over, relentless as he rubs against me just right, making me orgasm again.

  “Fuck yes,” he says on a groan as my body trembles around him, his face dropping to my shoulder where he bites me, sinking his teeth in enough to make it sting and no doubt leave a mark.

  My arms tire to the point I can’t hold them up anymore, and as he drives into me again my hands drop to his sho
ulders. He freezes and tenses up, still deep inside me, his breathing rough and guttural.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, apologizing for touching him and everything else, the tears coming faster now. “I’m so sorry.”

  He moves, pulling to the edge before thrusting hard enough my back slams against the door as he says, “I bet you never think about what our lives might’ve been like, but I do.”

  I want to tell him he’s wrong because he is, but I know he doesn’t care what I have to say or what I think. This is about him, not about me, even as he plays my body as if he remembers every inch of it. Even if for all he's rough, his hold is still gentle, an underlying tenderness beneath his words giving away the fact he cares way more than he wants to.

  Way more than I ever thought he would after my decision.

  He pumps hard and fast, and my nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt as tears stream down my cheeks. Just when I’m about to yell stop because I can’t take it anymore, he pauses with a low groan for just an instant before pulling out. I feel his cum splash hot between my legs as he pins me hard to the wall, saying roughly, “Don’t want to give you a reason to do what you did before.”

  His insult is the last straw.

  Before he can move away, I lift a hand and slap him across the face, a red mark instantly bursting to life on his cheek as I hiss at him. “Fuck you.”

  He drops me as he steps away. I hit the floor, yelping from the sudden contact while he shoves his dick back into his pants and snarls, “No, Darcy. Fuck you. Because no matter what might’ve happened between us if you had kept the baby, anything — fucking anything — would’ve been better than this.”

  Staring up at him from the floor, I hear the crack in his voice, but before I can react, he steps forward and hauls me off the floor. Then, without another word or glance at me, he turns to the side, sets me on my feet, and storms out the door, slamming it behind him.

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