Title: The Prettiest Mistake We Ever Made
Summary: Brooke and Nathan have a passionate one night stand that will change their life forever. But a secret kept from Nathan changes everything.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. I just think Brooke and Nathan are the prettiest so I like to play with them :P
Rating: M- therefore if you don't wanna read teh smut, you might not want to read. This story will only have very few sexual scenes but those that are are. There will be cussing, sadness, and angst. Stop reading if any of that will offend you.
A/N I have a bad habit of starting a story and stopping. I need a lot of encouragement aka. reviews to keep going. So when you're done, find that little button.Click it. Make my day.
They had a fight. Nathan and Haley Scott, super couple. Except not so much anymore. The fighting had become more and more of an every day thing. And somehow, sometime, Nathan had fallen out of love with his wife. It wasn't something he'd meant to do. Now he sat at the end of the bar at Blue Post, letting Vodka and loud music drown out his thoughts. He wasn't drunk, not yet, just comfortably numb. Ever since the accident, the night that stole their baby from them nothing had been the same. He's pouring his next shot when he feels her there. He doesn't have to see her to know who it is. She smells like musky vanilla and strawberries, its a scent so intoxicating he puts the bottle of liquor down and slams his eyes shut. A second later he feels her eyes on him and he looks, turning his head to his right. Sure enough, she is there, green eyes unfocused, but not glazed over, not yet. She smiles easily, crossing her legs and turning on the bar stool. It seems like there are miles of exposed tan legs coming out from under her tiny denim skirt. He shakes his head and tries to focus his thoughts.
"Nathan Scott. Where's the ball and chain?" He shrugs, not sure that he can talk yet. He hadn't been alone with her in what seemed like an eternity. Back before Haley, before Peyton even. It had been inevitable. She, the daughter of Tree Hill's richest family, and him, the son of Tree Hill's proudest. They'd gone to the same country club, the same shitty Christmas Parties. In fact Nathan couldn't remember ever not knowing Brooke Davis. But she was different, so much so it was almost unbelievable. She'd been broken, by the two people she loved most, and she was not the same. But here tonight, she was so like the old Brooke. She had that spark in her bright green eyes, the one that told him she had something up her sleeve. He took a breath and found his voice.
"What does it matter?" She shrugs, running her finger around the rim of her shot glass. Its full of something... he thinks its Jose Cuervo. She takes a breath and downs it before holding out her hand.
"You need to learn how to have fun again Scott. Come on." He slowly takes her hand and she jumps off her seat, leading him ionto the crowded dance floor. There's a new song playing, it has an odd beat and it takes them a second to find their rhythm. She laces her hands behind his neck and he holds her hips lightly. She feels like heaven under his fingers, all tight muscle and softness. She refuses to meet his eyes, dipping her head low, and swinging her hips seductively.
Lyrics to the song drift in and out of his head but all he can focus on is the brunette in his arms as she starts grinding her hips into his. Her hands roam down his chest and back up, her chest pressing into his. He leaves one hand on her hips, uses the other to tilt her head up. He's surprised to see the tears in her eyes, surprised at the wave of protectiveness that sweeps over him. She shaked her head once as he starts to open his mouth, stopping him. Then his hands are everywhere, tangled in her hair, her stomach, her shoulders, back at her hips as she grinds faster, moving with the beat. Before he knows what's happening their lips are crushed together and he isn't sure if it was her or him that did it, and he doesn't care. She bites lightly at his lower lip and his tongue sweeps out, tangling with hers, and its the most passionate thing he's ever been involved in. She trembles a little in his arms as his fingers dig into her hips. Theres a breathy little moan that escapes her lips and he feels everything else slipping away.
Suddenly they are at his car, he doesn't even know how it happened. She is sitting on the edge of the back seat, her legs dangling out the open door, skirt hitched up around her waist. He scrambles the little scrap of black lace down her legs, never breaking the kiss, afraid that if he does, one of them will come to their senses. And that would be bad. He drops a hand down to her thigh, running so torturously slowly up her leg she moans into his neck, where she's pressing the softest of kisses. When his fingers finally find her she is hot and wet, and the fact that she wants him is so clear he has to take a calming breath. He slips one, then two, fingers inside of her. She's arching into him, her lips parted just slightly. When he brushes his thumb against her clit she jumps, her hips lifting completely off the seat for a moment. Then he's curling his fingers inside of her and she's falling apart in his arms. A moment later her hands have made quick work of his jeans, undoing the button and sliding down the zipper. He's so hard he feels like he will suffocate unless he is inside of her. She strokes him a few times and then looks up at him, his lips crashing into her as he positions himself. She's dripping for it and he doesn't think about anything else before he plunges inside of her.
"God, Brooke." Her name is the one syllable he is capable of forming and she wraps her legs around his waist, digging her heels in pulling him closer. Her head is tossed back, her long hair hanging down her back and he's never been so turned on by anything in his life. He feels himself on the edge and reaches a hand between them, helping her along. They come together, Brooke in a flurry of nonsensical syllables and moans, him with her name on his lips. They stay that way for a long moment, staring into each others eyes. He finally drops his lips to her forehead, kissing her softly as he pulls away.
He calls her the next day, or to be correct he calls Rachel. It's the morning of their high school graduation. His least favorite redhead picks up. She's gone. Packed during the night and left. Rachel has no clue where. Nathan always knew she was useless.
Brooke Davis hates the stale air of the hospital. It almost makes her nauseous. She takes a big breath and looks down at the bundle in her arms. The baby tucked in the crook of her arm is the only piece of the place she left nine months before. She hadn't run for any reason you would find in a romance novel. Her night of drunked passion with Nathan Scott did not make her fall in love with him, though she knew if she'd stayed around she could have. She left because she couldn't stand to be the person who ruined a marriage. She had no idea that she would have his child. But she did.
No part of Brooke Davis is maternal. She had never wanted kids, had never really thought about it actually. None of it had ever sounded appealing. Gaining the pregnancy weight, the sleepless nights, the endless diapers and doctor visits. Babies to her were just an inconvenience. That is, until she held her own baby girl in her arms. She was tiny and perfect. She looked like both of her parents. Her hair was almost raven-black, like her daddy's, and it curled around Brooke's finger. She had the startling green eyes of her mother, already gone the slate blue that most newborns have. Brooke ran a finger over the soft curve of the child's chubby cheeks, touching each dimple lightly. She was the most perfect thing Brooke had ever seen. She pressed kiss after kiss to her face, her cheeks, her forehead, her tiny feet, each of her fingers. And she refused to think about the next day. When she would leave the hospital without her daughter.
It was already done. The paperwork had been drawn up, a couple found, and with one signature she would be able to leave and forget this. Except not. She would never forget. She couldn't do it. She held her to her and watched her nurse and she knew there was no way, no possible way she could walk out of this hospital without her child. It would kill her. With a sudden resoluteness she knows she would not be giving her daughter up. But in that same moment she realized she has no where else to take her. Her mother had made it clear that she would not walk through the front door with a baby. And in L.A. rent wasn't cheap. Brooke leaned down and breathed in her daughter's sweet scent.
"It's just you and me little one, and this is a big place." She wants to make promises but she knows she can't keep them. Can't promise to keep her innocent, to keep her from hurt. But she can promise to love her without fail. And that she does.
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