All My Life

by Prescott Lane

  “I thought you were protecting me from her,” Mia says, storming past him. “Guess you’re not afraid she’s going to abduct me to Europe.”

  He calls after her, but she just ignores him. Lightly, he bangs his head against a cabinet. “I can’t win with her right now.”

  “She’s angry,” I say.

  “I don’t get why she’s so pissed at me all of a sudden.”

  “Because you’re safe,” I say. He looks up at me. “It’s easier for Mia to be mad at you because you stayed, you’re safe. She can rage at you and know you won’t leave her. She doesn’t have that with Sheena.” He reaches out for me, taking my hand. Placing the palm of my hand on his cheek, I say, “She’s really mad at Sheena for leaving. She’s just taking it out on you.”

  “Great,” he says, his finger gently stroking mine. “I’m sorry about all that this morning. I told her not to come in here again, not to bother you.”

  “Garrett, be careful. You don’t want her to figure out we’re together. You don’t want her to have anything to hold over your head with Mia.”

  “I don’t want you upset. I saw you in there. You were hurt.” He kisses my forehead. “I know this is a lot on you, too.”

  I’m happy he’s worried about me, too, but I also feel guilty that he is. “So what did you and Sheena talk about?”

  “There was a lot of silence,” he says.

  “Don’t you think at some point you’re going to have to have it out with her once and for all?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “I have no intention of co-parenting with her, so . . .”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” I say. His refusal to talk to her makes it blatantly obvious that he has a lot to say. “She didn’t just hurt Mia. She hurt you, too. I would think you’d want to tell her to go to hell or yell at her or ask why or something.”

  “Men don’t work that way.”

  “Bullshit!” I snap. “Being a man doesn’t mean you can’t hurt.”

  “Devlyn.”

  “I was there, remember?” I say.

  He steps away from me. “I don’t get you. I’d think the last thing you’d want would be for me to be around Sheena, but you seem to want me to . . .”

  “No,” I say. “I hate the idea of you with her.”

  He places his hands on my hips, pulling me close. “Then while Mia is having dinner with Sheena, will you have dinner with me?”

  Running my fingers through his hair, I know he needs a distraction, but I’m not sure it’s a great idea. I’d love nothing more, but if Mia or (worse) Sheena find out, it would only make things more complicated. No one needs that right now.

  But Garrett is a hard man to say no to. I don’t think he realizes that. I don’t think he knows his smile makes me weak in the knees, his blue eyes render me speechless, and his body strikes me stupid. God help me if the man ever figures it out. He could probably get me to do just about anything, like one of those hypnotists that make you act like a chicken. I’d be walking around Eden Valley clucking like a hen, and he’d be the cock why.

  A knock sounds at the kitchen door, and we step away from each other. Edward Hollis sticks his head in before stepping all the way in. “Sorry,” he says. “I got at least a half-dozen phone calls about Sheena showing up here.”

  Garrett briefly fills his father in on what happened and the mother-daughter dinner plans. “I don’t like it,” Garrett says. “But I know Mia needs this.”

  His dad glances at me then back to his son. “We need to talk about Sheena,” he says.

  “Not now,” Garrett says.

  “When?” his dad asks.

  Garrett shakes his head, squeezing my hand. “I kind of have my hands full right now. Plus, I’m behind on the Falls project.”

  “It’s important,” his dad says, and I get the feeling there’s something I don’t know.

  “Dad,” Garrett says, his voice sounding so tired and overwhelmed.

  “Okay,” his dad says, holding up his hands. “Can you at least tell me what you and Sheena talked about?”

  “Nothing more than dinner tonight. Frankly, I didn’t even want to agree to that,” Garrett says. “I’ve got to go. I need to work on the pavilion today to make up some ground. Do you think you can find Mia and . . .”

  “I’ve got it,” his dad says.

  Garrett turns to me and says, “I’ll see you later.”

  I’m not sure if he’s telling me or asking me. Either way, it doesn’t really matter, my answer is the same—yes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  DEVLYN

  I try not to be a judgmental person, but all bets are off in the checkout line of the grocery store. I can’t help it. I place a bottle of wine, steaks, and bubble bath down on the conveyor belt by the cashier, noticing the kindergarten teacher from the elementary school in front of me with her forty-ounce beer, bag of salty off-brand chips, and bottle of sweet tea. I’m sorry, but this is the South—we don’t buy our tea in a bottle. We brew it. That’s just sacrilege. And what’s up with the rest of her purchase? A forty-ounce and bag of chips? This woman is teaching the next generation. Don’t they teach food groups in school anymore?

  She turns to me, feeling my grocery store judgment no doubt, so I divert my eyes. The sun is out, but damn if I don’t see some black clouds in the distance. I have to make it out of here before I get soaked again.

  “Romantic dinner?” I hear a woman ask behind me. I know that voice.

  Damn her for judging my groceries—that’s my thing! Then again, Sheena is always intruding on what I consider mine. I look down on the belt, at my makings for a nice dinner with Garrett. The belt rolls forward, and I step that way. Good God, is there no escaping this woman? I guess if I’m going to be with Garrett, then I’ll have to learn to deal with Sheena.

  Before she returned, dating Garrett was a package deal: him and Mia. Looks like that package will now include one more.

  I can’t judge her purchase, either. Damn her, she’s just buying breath mints. Seriously? Sheena doesn’t wait for me to answer, saying snidely, “I was right before when I said things here are exactly the same. You’re still following Garrett around like a schoolgirl.”

  The cashier picks up the wine, scanning and bagging it in an obvious hurry. I’m not sure if it’s to save my ass or to avoid seeing a girl-on-girl beat down, but either way, I’m grateful. Reaching into my purse, I hand my credit card to the cashier.

  “Sheena, it’s been a long week. I’m going home to eat a nice dinner, have a glass of wine, and soak in the tub. Seems to me you’re the one still obsessed with Garrett.”

  “I’m here for my daughter,” she says.

  “If you say so,” I say, taking back my card and putting it away.

  “Garrett is as handsome as ever, though,” she says, flashing me a smile.

  A quick debate starts in my head. Do I agree with her? There really is no denying that Garrett is a fine piece of male specimen. He’s one of those universally handsome men, so to deny what she said seems like I’m protesting too much, but to agree with Sheena on anything makes bile rise to the back of my throat.

  I gather my bags and start to leave as she quickly hands her breath mints to the cashier and whips out come cash. Unfortunately, the cashier is too quick with Sheena, who catches up with me before my foot hits the sidewalk.

  “Devlyn,” she says, touching my arm. “Look, I was . . . I’m sorry I was a bitch to you. I see how Garrett looks at you.”

  “Then you need to have your eyes checked.”

  “I understand you don’t want me to know, but let’s forget Garrett for a second.” She takes a deep breath. “I see the way my daughter looks at you.”

  That one I don’t deny.

  “It hurts,” she says softly. “A part of me is thankful you were around for her, but another part of me is so jealous I can’t see straight.”

  Sheena, jealous of me? What universe are we in? Still, I get what she’s saying. I�
�ve just never considered it before.

  “Mia is very easy to love,” I say.

  Sheena smiles and gives me a little nod. “I’m about to have dinner with her. Just me and her. It’s all I’ve thought about for years, and now I’m scared to death. What if she hates me? What if she never wants to see me again?” Her head shakes. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem.” Her hand goes over her mouth. “I can’t believe I’m supposed to go walk into that house. That house!”

  “Garrett’s house?” I ask, my voice a little higher.

  “His grandparent’s old house,” she says. “Or at least it was when he and I used to sneak inside it.”

  Thunder booms outside, causing us both to jump. “I need to go,” I say, hurrying outside, needing to escape the storm that’s coming, needing to escape what’s brewing inside of me.

  Walking quickly, I bite my bottom lip. In all these years, it never occurred to me to think about where Sheena and Garrett conceived Mia. It was too painful to think about him even sleeping with her, much less get into the logistics of it. The backseat of a car, a field in the woods, what did it matter?

  His house? Where he still lives? That’s where? The place where he and I? Every day of his adult life he’s lived in the same place where he used to sneak away and . . . I can’t. I just can’t. I tell myself this is silly. I wouldn’t expect a man I dated to buy a new mattress in between all his girlfriends. I shouldn’t expect Garrett to buy a new house.

  Yes, I’m going to be very logical about this. I’m not going to be hurt. This isn’t about me. It’s just a house—four walls, a ceiling, and floor. That’s it. It doesn’t have to have any more meaning than that. It only has meaning if I give it meaning.

  I get into my car, starting it and blaring the air conditioner, but I don’t drive off. I lean my head back, trying to stop the onslaught of negativity in my head. Staring into the sky, the dark clouds on the horizon threaten a picture-perfect, sunny summer day. At least I made it safely to my car before the storm unleashes itself this time.

  I don’t have a lot of experience between the sheets. We aren’t talking double digits or anything, and none of the guys were virgins. None of them were man whores, either. I’m not one to be a notch on a bedpost, and I’m not delusional enough to think I can turn a man slut into a saint. I’m just crazy enough to hold a candle for the same boy since I was five!

  Regardless, I knew my past boyfriends’ histories. I never obsessed over it, but Garrett is different. Perhaps because I love him. Perhaps because I have to run into the girl who took his virginity in the grocery store checkout line.

  We had sex for the first time in the same place he had sex with Sheena for the first time. Another blast of thunder hits as a tear rolls down my cheek. I close my eyes. I must look like a mental health crisis waiting to happen, sitting alone in my car, crying.

  Did he think about her? Did she cross his mind? If even for a moment?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  GARRETT

  I see her sitting in her car in front of the grocery store all alone and pause on the sidewalk. In all the years I’ve known Devlyn, I’ve rarely seen her sad. She always offers a smile, always does for others, for me. Something about the way she’s staring makes me wonder if she’s running out of steam.

  I walk over, knocking on the car window, tilting my head, concerned about her. She rolls it down, and I lean in slightly. “Hey,” I say. “I was just walking over to your house. Sheena just picked up Mia.”

  She looks straight ahead out at the horizon, the sun doing its best to fight off the clouds. “I just ran into her in the grocery store.”

  Shit! I release a deep breath, knowing this isn’t good. “Try to remember this is temporary. She won’t be here forever.” Devlyn just nods, unable to look at me. I reach in to take her hand, but she pulls back. “Did she say something else to you?”

  “She said a lot of things,” Devlyn says with sass. Normally, I like her sassy little attitude, finding it sexy, but not today. “How she’s jealous of the way Mia looks at me. How she’s nervous to see Mia. How handsome you are.” Then she turns to me, and I see the anger in her blue eyes. “How you used to fuck her in your grandparents’ house. Well, your house.” Angry tears roll down her face. “The same place where you fucked me.”

  Don’t let anyone ever tell you that words aren’t a weapon, because she just pierced right through me.

  Fucked her?

  It’s funny how when you are in bed having fun, being playful, a woman doesn’t mind you talking dirty, using the word “fuck,” but outside of the bedroom, if they say you fucked them, it’s never good. Fucking a woman is bad, unless you are actually fucking them.

  I want to yell that I’ve never fucked her, at least in the way she means it, but I’m not going to get into a semantics debate in a parking lot. The only thing that’s important is that she feels fucked by me, and that’s not alright.

  I feel my jaw tense. This is the last thing I need, and so irrelevant. “I didn’t think about that.”

  She cries. “It’s where you conceived Mia. It represents your stolen moments with her, not me.”

  “It represents nothing,” I argue. “It’s just a house.”

  “It feels like more than that,” she sobs softly. “It feels like a little box of memories.”

  I walk around her car and get inside. “Drive to my house.”

  Her eyes dart around, and she points to her backseat. “I’ve got groceries for dinner and . . .”

  “My house,” I say.

  She puts the car in drive and heads that way. Memories are a funny thing. It’s all about the ones you let in, the ones you focus on. If I let it, all of Eden Valley could be a bad memory. My mom used to ask me every day after school how my day was. Then she’d say, “Sounds like you had more good than bad today. I’d call that a blessing.”

  I didn’t realize at the time how wise she was. Every day has good and bad. We should consider ourselves lucky for the days where the good outweighs the bad. Focus on that. Guess she instilled that in me without me even realizing it.

  This town, my house aren’t bad memories for me. I’ve had more good than bad happen here.

  Devlyn pulls in front of my house, and I get out, walking around to open her door. I start up the steps then stop. “Mia got her first scraped knee right there,” I say, pointing. “She pointed to the step and scolded it, ‘Bad step’.” Devlyn looks up at me with a small smile, and I open the front door. Closing it, I pin her to the wall, letting my lips hover close to hers. “Kissed you for the first time right here.”

  “But you also . . .”

  “Nope,” I say, placing my finger over her sweet lips. “These are my memories.” I take her hand, leading her to the kitchen. “In that very oven, you helped Mia make her first gingerbread house when she was five.”

  Her eyes start to water. “I helped you make sugar cookies to leave out for Santa, too.”

  Smiling, I nod, pointing to the faucet. “Burned your finger, and Mia got her doctor’s kit to heal you.”

  “Oh God, I forgot about that,” she says. “She had the little lab coat and everything.”

  Leading her into the den, I point to the sofa. “The only time I’ve seen my father cry was right there. After mom died.”

  “He was so solemn at her funeral,” Devlyn says.

  “You brought him dinner every night for a whole month,” I say.

  “You know about that?” she asks.

  “I know,” I whisper, pulling her close. “When I look around this house, those are the memories I think about.”

  She peers up at me. “I want to believe you.”

  “Have I given you any reason not to believe me?” I ask.

  “No,” she says softly.

  I get the feeling she wants to say more, but she doesn’t. A woman who has something to say but won’t is like a snake ready to strike. You know it’s coming, but there’s not a damn thing you can do to prepare. I’ve been d
own this road with women before, so I predict what’s coming.

  “Is this . . .” my voice cracks. Fuck, my voice hasn’t cracked since I was thirteen. “Is this too much for you?”

  She looks up at me, her eyes wide, thinking I’m giving her an out. Doesn’t she know she’s never getting rid of me? I’m in this for good.

  “I’m doing my best to keep you from getting hurt,” I say. “If there’s something more you need, then I need you to tell me. I can’t read your mind.”

  She nods and says, “I think I’ll feel better after we tell Mia, and everyone knows. At first it was fun to sneak around, but it’s not feeling very fun anymore.”

  “You know that can’t happen right now,” I say. She says she understands, but everything else about her—her eyes, her posture, her demeanor—tells me she’s hurting. “Didn’t you say you got stuff for dinner?”

  She cocks a cute little smile. “A bottle of wine, steaks, and bubble bath.”

  “We should probably go to your place in case Mia and Sheena come back here,” I say.

  She nods, saying, “Just so you know, the wine and bubble bath are mine. You can have the steaks.”

  I grab her from behind, tickling her. “You aren’t going to share?”

  “Nope, I’m going to drink all the wine.”

  “Like the time you got so buzzed you thought cutting your own hair was a good idea?” I ask.

  She cracks up laughing. “Took six months for my bangs to look normal.”

  I take hold of her, grabbing her ass. “No wine, no bath, no steaks. I’m taking you straight to bed.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me, like I’m in big trouble. Guess a man should never assume he’s getting laid, but he can always hope. I place my hand at the small of her back, leading her out to the porch. What is it about that spot on a woman? The small of her back.

  There are so many sexy spots on a woman. They are basically sexy by nature. Guess that’s by design. Devlyn is no exception. In fact, she might be the blueprint for sexy—her ass, her tits, her legs, her lips, that perfect curve of her waist. There’s so much to worship you might forget about the small of her back.