Magnolia Road

by J. Lynn Bailey

  You needed more armor before you left California, Bryce. Why didn’t you prepare?

  My lips dry, I lick them, barely open them, and his name falls from my mouth, just as it did the night we spent together. “Ethan?”

  Five

  Ethan

  Move slow. Don’t stare.

  The look she’s giving me tells me she had no idea I’m the one she’s renting from.

  “Fixed your door,” I say.

  Her lips part like she’s about to say something. She’s holding back. I see it in the way her bottom lip curls under her top teeth. Like the first time I felt her from the inside. The tiny, uncontrollable moan that escaped her lips almost pushed me over the edge.

  “The door didn’t need fixing, Ethan.” Her tone is short. Impatient. “It needs a dead bolt.”

  I spent too many years in the Marines reading people. It’s a sense that I have. Like touch, taste, smell, sound, sight.

  I nod, screwdriver in my hand.

  Her yoga pants curve around every part of her lower extremities, and it reminds me of the way those long, lean legs wrapped around me as I pushed into her against the bathroom sink. The closet. Up against the wall.

  “You shouldn’t wear those pants in public.” That came out all wrong.

  I don’t want anyone looking at the shape of her ass, how toned her legs are. I don’t want anyone to get to see what I saw.

  “Fuck off, Ethan,” she says as she pushes past me to the front door. The scent that follows her is jasmine. I try not to close my eyes, to enjoy what her smell does to me.

  “Is the door done or not? How much longer are you going to be here?” She’s standing in the doorway now, arms full.

  I turn to her. “Few more minutes.”

  Bryce taps her foot and looks at everything but my face.

  My phone chirps in my pocket.

  She walks away, but stops. Turns. “Is this your rental?” She’s pissed at herself. Pissed because there are a million and one other places she could have rented, but she rented mine, probably not knowing it was mine.

  “Yeah.”

  “Figures. Well, don’t worry; I’ll find a new place tomorrow.”

  No, you won’t.

  But it’s probably a good idea that she does find somewhere else. I knew, in renting to her, it would put us in this spot. But my head told me that it might work. That maybe I might deserve her.

  “Whatever you need to do, Bryce.”

  I bend down and pick up a screw, and she slams the door in my face.

  It won’t stay shut, not until I tighten the dead bolt, so it swings open, and I see her walking away, shaking her head.

  “Seems to me the door isn’t fixed, Mr. Casey.”

  Inside, I’m smiling at the way she’s flustered and at the way her body moves when she walks. The way her hips move from side to side.

  “It didn’t need fixing, remember? Just needed a dead bolt.” I gently hand her words back to her.

  She doesn’t say a word, just proceeds to the kitchen, while I put the dead bolt in and tighten the screws. I’m slow about my work, and I pretend not to notice when she walks from the kitchen to the bathroom.

  It’s just after five as I put my tools in my truck, and my phone sounds again. I lean on my truck and read the text. It’s from my twin brother, Aaron.

  Aaron: Beer. Angler’s. 15 minutes?

  Me: Yeah.

  Aaron: You at the rental?

  Me: Yeah.

  Aaron: So, Bryce knows it’s you?

  Me: Yeah.

  I shove my phone in my pocket and look up at the house just in time to see the front curtain drop. Pretending not to notice, I walk around to the driver’s side of my truck and hop in. My phone chimes again, but I ignore it. If my brother wants to talk, he can fucking call me. Hell, I hate talking on the phone, too, but I like it far better than the texting shit.

  According to her rental agreement, Bryce will be here for a while. Heard from Alex she needed a place to stay until her father is able to deal with some lunatic who’s been making threats to the Hayes family. I knew it was her father’s assistant who booked with us. I knew it was her in the house last night when I drove by. It took everything in me not to stop. It works better from afar. I work better, staring at her from a long distance. But, now, she’s back, and I’ll just have to figure out a way around this.

  That night in Los Angeles had my head all messed up. I had to get out. Had to leave before shit got serious. I couldn’t allow myself to hurt her. Bryce didn’t deserve that. So, I had to get the hell out as quickly as possible.

  I’d come out to Los Angeles, as my counselor had recommended, to do things differently. Change things up. But what I hadn’t expected was to meet Bryce Hayes for the first time. I sure as hell hadn’t expected to sleep with her.

  Since the military, I’d been having a harder time adjusting to civilian life. Some PTSD. Loud noises. Crowds. Confined places. But something about her was calming. I focused on her eyes. But it wasn’t the color. It was what shaped her eyes. The cradle they sat in, round and wide, quizzical about life.

  That night, I lost control. I let her touch me. Run her hands through my hair. I let her kiss my lips and other places. That night, I couldn’t control myself. Couldn’t gain clarity of the situation. I just did what my body needed to.

  I watched her as she sat on top of me and rocked. I watched her eyes as they winced when she called out against me. I touched her from behind and listened to her whimper as the walls closed in on us and the sun rose. Her fiery red hair fell down her back and tickled my thighs as she screamed my name.

  James,, my shrink, had said, “Fear of emotions—that’s why you’re scared of intimacy, Ethan.”

  I was fucking pissed at James for three weeks before I went back. It’s a tough deal to have your ass handed to you in a therapy session—and from a man nonetheless. And therapy was what the military required for my discharge.

  Night terrors. Nightmares. Night sweats.

  What if I’d lost control in a rage and hurt Bryce? My needs weren’t worth it. Needs a man had. Besides, I could live without Bryce, but I couldn’t live with hurting her.

  That night we’d spent together in California, I hadn’t fallen asleep, too scared of what I’d do if my lids closed and the nightmares returned.

  You can handle this, Ethan. Just stay away from the rental.

  When she emailed Granite Harbor Property Management about the dead bolt, I was in the office with Diane, the one handling my place on Magnolia Road and told her to forward the email to me. That I’d take care of it. I knew I could add a damn dead bolt. I doubt Bryce even noticed the name change on the email thread.

  I look up again, but the curtains remain motionless. Good. It’s better this way. I put my blinker on and make my way to The Angler’s Tavern.

  Aaron knows Tuesday nights are slower at Angler’s. It’s our usual meeting spot. I’ve gotten better with crowds, but I do it in small doses. Make sure I take my own truck. Make sure I can quickly get in and out.

  Before I get out of the truck, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and throw it in the compartment just below the stereo. I don’t need another distraction.

  I took a month off of work before the winter to do some of the renovation work on the rental. Mostly cosmetic stuff. Fresh coat of paint on the exterior. I had so much overtime, and my sergeant in the warden service told me, if I didn’t use it, I’d lose it. I guess, when I came back from the war, it was easier to work. Easier to find structure, no time for my mind to wander.

  I’d served seventeen years in the military. A life with structure, being told what to do and when to do it. It was after the military, when I came home to Granite Harbor and finished the Warden Academy, that I struggled the most. I just had more time on my hands to think. I was no longer with guys who understood what it was like to be a jarhead, who had similar experiences, some experiences we’d take to the grave. Experiences I hated remembering. Actions that
I didn’t agree with but carried out orders to neutralize the threat. Even my own twin, Aaron, didn’t understand anymore. I was just different. Separated.

  I pull open the door to Angler’s. Brad and Adam, two Maine hunting guides, have their usual spots at the bar.

  “Warden Casey.” They both nod.

  “Brad. Adam,” I quickly address them.

  Aaron is with Ryan and Eli at a table by the door to my right. I order a beer from Felix before I join them.

  “There’s no way in hell I’m putting my money on the Celtics this year, man,” Aaron says.

  I grab a chair and sit.

  “Don’t say that shit out loud,” Ryan says, taking a swig of his beer. He looks to me. “What’s up, Ethan? You look like you could use a beer.”

  “How are things going on at Magnolia? Heard that’s the place that Bryce is staying at,” Eli says.

  None of the guys know about what happened between Bryce and me, except my brother, Aaron. And, from what I get from Alex, she doesn’t know anything either.

  “Changed out the dead bolt today. Start exterior paint tomorrow.”

  “I can’t believe you’re missing out on the opening of hunting season to take care of that shit.” Aaron shakes his head, setting down his beer.

  And that’s why Aaron didn’t take the house when it was gifted to he and I. Aaron suffers from FOMO—fear of missing opportunity. There are two types of game wardens: those who take time off during the deer season opener and those who don’t. The agreement of me taking on the house was, I’d do the updating before winter. We didn’t expect to get a renter so quickly. But some things just work out.

  “Boys, can I get you guys any food?” Bitty sets down another beer in front of Aaron.

  “Think we’re good for now, Bitty. Thanks,” Aaron says as she takes his empty bottle and sets it on her tray.

  “Ryan, how’s that new baby of yours?”

  Ryan pulls out his phone, and we all groan.

  “Here we go again.” Eli throws his hands in the air.

  “What?” Ryan looks around the table at all of us as he hands Bitty his phone, so she can see his pictures of his infant daughter.

  Bitty adores the photos, hands the phone back to Ryan, then walks away.

  Ryan looks at his phone. “I’ve got to run, guys. Early day tomorrow.”

  Aaron laughs. “Yeah, right. Your wife just gave you the booty-call sign.”

  Eli grimaces with a mouthful of beer. “That’s gross, Aaron. That’s my sister.”

  Ryan stands, stretches, and throws a twenty down on the table. “Later, boys.”

  Eli stands, too. “Yeah, I’ve got three girls waiting on me at home.”

  Eli married Alex some years back, and they have two girls, Emily and Noah.

  That leaves just Aaron and me at the table. SportsCenter is playing in the background, and there’s small chatter from some of the locals. It’s been different since I came back from the military. Aaron and I used to be inseparable. Things have changed.

  “You talk to Bryce?” he asks.

  “Define talk.” I take a swig of my beer.

  “You say something. She says something. Then, you say something again. I think it’s called a conversation.”

  “Then, yeah.”

  Aaron smirks. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

  “Not that easy.” I shake my head.

  “Let me guess. I wouldn’t understand?”

  This has been a bone of contention with Aaron and me since I came home from the military. We try to make things look okay on the outside with small talk and whatnot. But I know it bothers him that I don’t talk about much of anything anymore. There’s only one buddy from the military I still talk to. And nobody in hell knows I talk with James in Augusta.

  “But your buddies in the Corps would, right, Ethan?” he sighs. “You don’t talk anymore. To anyone that you used to.” He pauses. Peels his label. “I don’t care if you don’t talk to me, but talk to someone, Ethan.”

  James’s voice plays in my head. “Fear of emotions.”

  I don’t answer my brother, and this is usually how it ends.

  “I’ve got to go. You going to hang out?” He throws a twenty on the table. He stands. “Dad call you?”

  “No. Why?” I take another swig of my beer.

  “Needs some help with a bear trap.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow, after I get off.”

  I nod. “Pick me up at the Magnolia house?”

  Aaron stops. Stares. A small smile begins.

  “I’m painting.” My jaw tightens at the thought of Bryce because I know that’s what he’s thinking. “Just painting, bro.”

  “It all starts with some color. Then, it’s, Oh, the toilet doesn’t flush? I’ll take a look.”

  I shake my head. “Thought you said you were leaving, Warden?”

  Aaron laughs. “I am. Later, brother.”

  Six

  Bryce

  Ethan is still as I approach him. My stomach twists into a ball of nerves.

  Don’t stare at the way his jeans hang from his waist. Don’t stare into his eyes. Just don’t do it, Bryce. That’s when you get tongue-tied and lost. That’s when your legs want to fall open and invite him in. Don’t you dare do it, Bryce. He left you. Remember that. Now, he won’t give you the time of day.

  Why the hell is he on my porch?

  “Fixed your door,” he says.

  Are you kidding me? Like he did me a favor. I hold back what I really want to say.

  “The door didn’t need fixing, Ethan. It needed a dead bolt.”

  He nods and stares down at my yoga pants. “You shouldn’t wear those pants in public.”

  Wait. What? “Fuck off, Ethan,” I say as I push past him to the door.

  I hold my breath, so I can’t smell his Polo, the cologne he left on my sheets days after he left LA. The scent I wanted to keep on my naked body as I slept in hopes of his return.

  Get your head straight, Bryce.

  “Is the door done or not? How much longer are you going to be here?” I’m standing in the doorway now, arms crossed.

  He turns to me. His defined golden-colored biceps and triceps flex and not as if he’s showing off; it’s tension. I also see the tension in his jaw.

  “Few more minutes.”

  I’m pissed and confused, all at the same time. I’m so distracted that I don’t notice my foot tapping until now. I look everywhere but at his face.

  His phone sounds.

  Probably another woman. I walk away, but then I stop abruptly. Shit. This is his rental. Lenny dealt with the property management team. God.

  I don’t even have to ask to know, but I do. “Is this your rental?” My tone is short.

  “Yeah.”

  “Figures. Well, don’t worry; I’ll find a new place tomorrow.”

  “Whatever you need to do, Bryce.” Ethan bends down and picks up a screw.

  I slam the door in his face.

  But that damn thing falls open again. Un-fucking-believable. I walk away and say behind me, “Seems to me the door isn’t fixed, Mr. Casey.”

  “It didn’t need fixing, remember? Just needed a dead bolt.”

  Oh, he makes me angry. Gets under my skin. Fuck him. Now, I’m completely frustrated, and I don’t know why I came in here in the first place. I have to pee, so I walk to the bathroom, just off the kitchen. I’ll hide in there until he leaves.

  When I think it’s safe, I tiptoe/run to the living room and pull back the curtains to see if his truck is still outside. I watch as he stares down at his phone and then looks up.

  I drop the curtains. Come on, Bryce, you’re not a schoolgirl anymore. Stare if you need to stare.

  But I won’t dare give him the satisfaction of him even thinking I might be looking at him.

  I walk away from the window and retrieve ice cream. Screw dinner.

  I’m watching Steel Magnolias, found from the DVD stash below the televisi
on, when I get an email. Now, as I notice the sender’s email address, I realize where I went wrong. The email is a thread from a sender I’ve already been in communication with. I should have paid more attention. My head falls back to the sofa. The email I sent to the rental company about the dead bolt was forwarded to Ethan, and he’s the one who responded.

  I’ll be by tomorrow morning to start painting the outside.

  I reply.

  Don’t you have to work? You know, do warden stuff or whatever.

  He replies.

  I’m off for a while.

  Why? But I don’t dare ask that. I don’t want him to think I’m curious. I want to say something sarcastic, but I can’t bring myself to do it. In the film, Shelby has just delivered Jackson Jr., and maybe that’s why I’m softer. This part gets me every time. So, I just don’t respond at all.

  I jump awake to a pounding on the door. I mean, I think I hear the pounding. Maybe it’s just the sound of my heart. The television is dark. The house is dark. I sit up and try to gather my thoughts. Slowly, I stand and walk to the door.

  I unlock the dead bolt and slowly peer out into darkness.

  There’s nothing there, except the streetlamp that creates a yellow hue on the porch. But, down the road, I see the black sedan again.

  Quickly, I shut the door, the blood rushing through my ears. I’ve never been scared of the dark, but since our family has been under fire lately, I can’t help but think of the threats we’ve received.

  Did someone pound on the door? Or was it a figment of my imagination? Was I dreaming?

  Maybe I should mention the black sedan to my father. Maybe I’m being overly paranoid. Maybe I’m just tired.

  My heart pounds as my back rests against the front door.

  I gather my overactive imagination and my pounding heart, and I quietly walk to each door and window to make sure they’re secure and head back to the bedroom.

  Once I’m in bed, I try to distract my mind. I check my emails one last time and then set my phone on the nightstand next to the antique lamp that sits on the doily. It makes me wonder about Ethan and his decorating style. Clearly, the person who decorated and painted this house wasn’t born in this century. It makes me think of when Ethan acquired the house. Did he buy it? If so, when? Was it handed down to him from a family member? From what Alex has mentioned, the Casey twins grew up in Granite Harbor. I guess we didn’t get to that the night we met in LA.