by Alex Grayson
“Next week, at The Gathering, I’ll be able to show you just how much I love you, little brother. I’ve waited a long time to show you.” His voice is deep and sends goosebumps over my skin.
“Release him, Trey,” Dad barks. I look up and find him and Mom standing behind Trey. “You’re getting what you wanted, but you’ll wait until next week. You know how it works. We reserve these things for The Gathering. That’s the only night that it’s not a sin.”
Trey kisses my neck before letting me go. He gets up and turns to face Dad, his eyes barely open as he looks at him angrily. Trey’s not a kid anymore. He’s nineteen, so he’s an adult and can do whatever he wants, but he still keeps quiet.
I’m grateful my dad stopped him, but it makes me sad. He only did because it wasn’t Hell Night and not because he cares.
Mom’s eyes keep flickering between all of us. She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t.
“Go on up to bed, Liam,” Dad instructs, his eyes never leaving Trey.
“Yes, sir,” I mumble and run up the stairs.
As I crawl into bed, two feelings have my body shaking.
The first is relief that I’m no longer downstairs where Trey is.
The second is fear, because I know when Hell Night gets here, I’ll be hurting more than I ever have before.
EDEN
“SO, TELL ME THREE THINGS about yourself that most people wouldn’t know,” JW says as we drive through town. He decided to take me with him today, and I couldn’t have been more pleased. It gives me the chance to get to know him more. See him while he works. Of course, in a town this size, there’s not much that goes on. But that’s okay. I’d rather him have a boring day with no crime than have him out fighting dangerous criminals on the regular.
Apparently, by his question, he’s taking advantage of our time together as well, which brings a secret smile to my face. I love that he wants to know more about me.
“Hmm… let’s see.” I tap my finger against my lips as I think. “I always eat the chocolate chips first in mint chocolate chip ice cream. And it has to be the Breyer’s brand, because they make the best.” I roll my eyes upward and try to come up with something else. “I have an addiction to coffee cups. Three of my cabinets back home are full of them, and I have four more boxes in the attic.”
“Jesus,” he chuckles and shakes his head. “Why in the hell would you need that many coffee cups? There’s no way you can use them all.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just like them, and I rotate them out, so they do all get used eventually.”
He grunts, but his lips twitch. “And number three?”
“I don’t have a favorite color.”
He lifts a brow and moves his eyes from the road long enough to send me disbelieving look. “A woman without a favorite color? Aren’t all girls supposed to have a favorite color?”
“Well, I guess I technically do. Right now, it’s baby blue, but next week it’ll be something different. My favorite color changes all the time.”
“Why?” he asks, laughing lightly.
“It changes when I see something I really like. Whatever color that is, is my new favorite color.”
He pulls up to a stop sign and looks over at me. “And what did you see that’s baby blue that made it your new favorite color for the week?”
I look away from him, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. I really don’t want to answer that question. It’ll sound silly and childish. He reaches over and laces our fingers together, putting our conjoined hands on the center console.
“Gypsy?” he calls, and I can’t help but slide my eyes his way. He already knows. I can tell by the softness in his gaze, but he wants me to say it anyway.
Clearing my throat, I confess, “It’s the color of your eyes.”
His grin starts on one side and slowly creeps across the rest of his face. He has on a pair of sunglasses, which is a shame in this moment, because I can’t see his eyes.
“Yeah, I know. Corny, right?” I ask, my already red cheeks turning a shade darker.
“Not at all.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. “This actually may be corny, but that’s one of the nicest things a woman has said to me. And I have to say, I really fuckin’ like that your favorite color is the same color as my eyes.”
My embarrassment slides right off my face, and I smile big at him.
“Now, give me those lips.”
He snatches off the sunglasses, tosses them on the dash, he tugs me across the console, and he meets me halfway. It’s not a hard kiss, but one that’s soft and sweet and sends flutters to my stomach. I let out a sigh against his lips and we lazily stroke our tongues together.
All too soon, there’s a catcall from outside the truck. We pull away but don’t lean back in our seats. We stay only centimeters apart and look at each other. The color that I just mentioned in his eyes, changes. It’s no longer the pretty baby blue, but a darker hue. More like steel, which is just as pretty, and probably my second favorite color.
There’s another jeer and JW’s eyes narrow as he turns in his seat, rolls down the window, and yells, “Fuck off, Aaron, and mind your own damn business.”
The man, who’s barely a man and has to be in his early twenties, just snickers with a couple of other guys standing with him. “Shouldn’t the sheriff know he’s not allowed to make out in public? Didn’t you just bust me and Lisa last week for doing the same thing?”
“I’ll be busting you in another way if you don’t get going the hell on your way,” JW throws back. The words are growled, but his eyes give off amusement.
“We’re goin’, we’re goin’. I just had to give you shit,” Aaron yells back.
“Time and place, and now ain’t the time nor place.”
With a chuckle, Aaron gives JW a two-finger salute as he and his crew walk off.
“Dipshits,” JW mutters, and I can’t help but giggle. He gives me a look that suggests I may be losing my mind, which only turns my giggles into laughter.
He grabs my hand again, pulls it to his lap, and eases his truck forward.
“So, what about you?” I ask.
“What about me?”
“Tell me three things about you that most people might not know.”
He’s quiet as he thinks over my question.
“I’ve never told anyone that I love them,” he says quietly, thoughtfully.
His statement shocks me for several reasons. First, he has to be in his early-to-mid-thirties. How could he have lived for so long and not said those words to anyone? It makes me incredibly sad for him. Second, why would he tell me that? It’s scary to even contemplate, but is that how he feels about me? Is he trying to say something without actually saying it? Third, I’m surprised at the violent urge I have to wrap my hands around someone’s throat and squeeze as hard as I can. There’s no doubt in my mind that it stems from his childhood. Those dirty bastards fucked with JW in more ways than one.
“Really?” I can’t keep the disbelief from my tone.
“Nope,” he answers casually, like it’s no big deal when it’s a huge one. I mean, I don’t expect him to have just thrown the words to just anyone, but surely there has been someone he loves.
“Not even to your brothers?”
He side-eyes me as one corner of his mouth quirks up. “I love them, but we’re brothers, Gypsy. Men don’t tell each other they love them.”
“Eh, I guess they don’t. Not that there would be anything wrong if they did,” I tack on. I’m not the type who thinks men are weak for talking about their feelings. “What about Mae?”
“Mae knows I love her. She doesn’t need me to say it.”
I almost say that sometimes people just need to hear those three little words, but decide to keep that to myself.
“Why? If you feel it, why don’t you say it?”
The hand that’s gripping the steering wheel turns white as he grips it harder. “Growing up, love was used as
an excuse to hurt children. I’m not real fond of using the word now.”
My throat constricts. What I wouldn’t give to have the opportunity to give his parents a piece of my mind.
His phone rings through the speakers and he lets my hand go to press the Answer icon on the screen on his dash.
“Sheriff Ward.”
“Cliff and Dorothy are at it again,” an older woman says through the speakers. “She whacked him with a broom and he fell. He busted the back of his head open. Trouble’s on his way, but I figured you’d want to be there too.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” JW grumbles. “I’m on my way. Thanks, Rita.”
He hangs up, and I grab the oh shit handle above my head as he does a U-turn in the center of town.
“What was that about?” I relax back in my seat once he straightens the truck.
“Cliff is an old grouchy bastard who keeps doing stupid shit to his neighbor. The both of them are stubborn as hell and can’t get their shit together.”
As we drive, he tells me about Cliff losing his wife six years ago and about him turning to alcohol to help with his grief. My heart aches for the old man. He said when Cliff’s drunk, he becomes unreasonable and blames his neighbor Dorothy for the leaves that fall into his yard from her tree. I barely hold back my laugh when I imagine an old man raking those leaves up in a trash can lid, only to dump them in her yard. It’s not a laughing matter, but then again, it’s so ridiculous, it kind of is. JW also explained his belief that the reason Cliff is the way he is when he’s drunk is out of guilt for caring for another woman who isn’t his wife. Minus the leaf dumping part, the whole thing is incredibly sad. I can’t imagine loving someone for so many years and then all of a sudden not be there anymore.
When we pull up to a brick house a few minutes later, Trouble’s truck is already in the driveway.
“I can wait here?” I suggest.
He doesn’t answer. Just gets out, walks around to my side to open the door, and grabs my hand.
“Cliff won’t care.”
He taps his knuckles against the door once before going inside. A strong scent of pine hits my nose.
Trouble’s at the couch with an older man lying down on his side with the back of his head facing him. Trouble’s dabbing something on Cliff’s head. An older woman is hovering over them both. She’s frowning and there’s no mistaking the worry on her face.
“How is he?”
“Bleeding like a bitch.” He casts a glance to who I assume is Dorothy. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s not bad. It’s a head wound and they always bleed profusely. Not to mention the alcohol in his system has thinned his blood.”
JW shoots Dorothy a wink before turning to Cliff as Trouble helps him sit up. “You done with this foolish behavior?”
“You hush it, boy,” he grumbles.
JW rocks back on his heels, his lips twitching. “You wanna press charges against Dorothy?”
“Are you fuckin’ stupid? I ain’t pressin’ no charges, you dummy,” Cliff growls angrily.
JW laughs. “I’m not the dumb one.”
Dorothy comes to sit beside him. She grabs his frail hand in her equally frail one. “I’m sorry, Cliff,” she says with sincerity. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have hit you with a broom.
JW snorts and Cliff shoots him a dirty look before looking at Dorothy.
“Nah. I shouldn’t have been throwing those leaves in your yard. You were only protecting your property.”
From the deepening frown, Cliff’s words don’t appease Dorothy.
“Apparently, the alcohol has worn off because he’d never admit that he was wrong.”
He casts JW another contemptuous look at his quiet words. “If you’re here to cart me off to my cell, get it over with.”
JW’s right. The man isn’t acting drunk at all. His speech is too good and his eyes are as clear as glass.
“Nope. Just came by to make sure your stubborn ass doesn’t do anything else moronic.”
I’m surprised when Cliff, a man who has to be in his seventies, pulls off an immature stunt by using his middle finger to scratch his cheek. I laugh. There’s no way I can’t not laugh at the silly behavior.
My laughter pulls his eyes to me. “Who’s the lady?”
JW tosses his arm over my shoulder. “This is Eden. She’s visiting for a while. Eden, meet Cliff and Dorothy.”
I wave. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
Cliff grunts his greeting while Dorothy smiles and offers her hand. “It’s good to meet you too.”
“Am I going to get called out here again in a few days?”
Cliff rubs the back of his head, like he’s embarrassed. I can’t be sure, but I think he mutters “asshole” before he looks back at JW.
“I’m done. I’m pouring my alcohol stash down the drain. If my yard fills with her leaves, then so be it.”
“‘Bout Goddamn time,” he mumbles. I elbow him in the ribs and he just shrugs.
“Alright, fun’s over,” Cliff announces. “Get the hell out of my house. It’s about time I feed my woman some lunch.”
“Excuse me?” Dorothy asks, her eyes darting to Cliff in surprise. She’s very pretty, and I’d bet she was a knock out back in her day.
“You heard me woman.” He stands up and grabs her by the elbow to help her up beside him. “You’ve been mine since that cheating bastard of a husband you had kicked the bucket two years ago. Before that even. I’ve just been too stupid to say it. I ain’t stupid no more. Those leaves I hate so much won’t matter any longer, because I’ve decided you’re moving into my house. You sell your house, but I’m cutting that tree down before you do.”
My brows jump up at his demand.
“Well, I never,” Dorothy sputters, her hand flying to her necklace and fingering it. “You have lost your mind Cliff Levins. You can’t demand I move in with you.”
His eyes narrow and it takes iron will to not laugh at the two old people bickering back and forth.
“The hell I can’t. I’m old and you ain’t much younger than me.”
I wince at his implication that Dorothy is old. Doesn’t he know you’re never supposed to say that about a woman? Especially to her face?
“You’re an asshole,” Dorothy throws at him in a high-pitched voice.
“Yep, sure am. But I’m an asshole who’s claiming what’s his. I ain’t wasting anymore years, because I don’t got much left. That fall made me realize somethin’.” He steps closer to Dorothy, his gaze softening. “Betty would do more than just hit me upside the head with a broom with the way I been treatin’ you. She would also want me to grab whatever happiness I had left. That’s exactly what I plan to do. Having you will make me happy. You bein’ in my house would make me happier. And don’t even try denyin’ it won’t make you happy too. We need to make the best of the time we got left.”
Okay, so the man isn’t as stupid as I thought he was. I damn near melt at his words and they weren’t even directed at me. I hold my breath and wait for Dorothy’s response, secretly hoping she’ll give in. What Cliff said sounds barbaric, but at the same time sweet. How can you fault an old man for wanting to spend the rest of his days with someone he cares for? If you have a heart, you simply can’t.
“I’m not cutting down my tree,” she persists stubbornly.
Cliff’s serious expression morphs into a playful one. “Fine, but I ain’t raking the yard. We can hire someone.”
After a moment of silence, she slowly nods. Without warning, Cliff drops his head and kisses her. It’s not a simple peck on the lips either. It’s a full-on, lips, tongue, and soft moaning kiss.
“And that’s our cue to leave folks,” JW says, already turning me toward the door. “That’s something I sure as shit don’t need to see.”
Trouble and I both laugh as we walk down the steps toward the trucks.
“I think it’s sweet,” I interject.
“What he said was sweet. What he’s doing to Dorothy is distu
rbing.”
“They’re flesh and blood, just like the rest of us.”
“Yes, but they’re old. Old people don’t do shit like that.”
With a chuckle, Trouble waves goodbye as he gets in his truck. JW opens the passenger for me to climb inside. When he gets in behind the wheel, I ask, “So, you won’t be doing that with your wife when you’re that old?”
He starts the truck but doesn’t pull away from the curb. His eyes jump merrily when he looks at me. “Oh, I’ll be fucking my wife until the day I die or until I can’t get it up anymore. And even when I can’t, I’ll still be fucking her in ways other than with my dick.”
I snort and shake my head. “You’re so crass.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Crass maybe, but no less true.”
I roll my eyes. “Just drive, you deviant.”
With a chuckle, he pulls away from the curb.
JW
“HOLY FUUUCK,” I GROAN, my eyes closing in pure bliss. “It’s like my mouth just had an orgasm or some shit.”
Eden chokes on a laugh, her eyes bugging out and her mouth falling open. She slaps my arm with the back of her hand. “JW, really?”
“I’m not kidding.” I stuff my mouth with more of the gooey orgasmic goodness, giving not one fuck that my teeth are covered in chocolate when I flash her a grin.
“That is so disgusting,” she says, wrinkling her nose.
“What in the hell are these things?” I shove another brownie looking thing in my mouth. Fuck it, I’m going to be fat because of these things, and I don’t even care.
She looks damn proud of herself when she answers. “They’re called crinkles. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
“Oh no you don’t,” I reprimand as I scoop up Piper before she can climb on the table and investigate. “I’m stingy. You can’t have any.”
Eden giggles as I set Piper back down on the floor and throw the squishy ball with a bell inside across the room. She scampers off after it.