She repeated in a falsetto voice, “Don’t divorce Justin because of me.” Then she returned her voice to normal and continued. “Listen up, St. John, I don’t give a flying fuck about you; I’m divorcing Justin for my own reasons, and you don’t fit into the equation at all. If you ceased to exist, I’d still divorce him.” She took a step nearer to him. His scent defied her to kiss him. She ignored the challenge and drew out her statement. “Please leave, St. John, so I can get on with my life.”
He claimed her glass and tossed the contents into his mouth. Then he bent and scratched behind one of Jasper’s ears. When he looked at her again, his eyes lacked emotion. “Thanks for the fuck.” He walked out of the room and out of the house.
She stomped up the stairs and into the master bath. “Don’t divorce him because of me,” she mimicked. She stepped out of her robe and into the shower stall. She couldn’t get his scent off her skin fast enough. The water ran while she inhaled the skin on her arm. She turned off the water, got into bed, and buried her head under her pillow.
Adam St. John possessed the skill to make a woman feel like she was floating on air one minute and spiraling to her death the next.
He was an emotional train wreck.
And he’d just run her over.
Chapter 19
“A man wrapped up in himself makes a very small bundle.”
Benjamin Franklin
“Cool your jets.” St. John directed his canoe toward the sandy beach, and Sadie let him know he was moving too slowly, her tail wagging as she stood at the bow and barked at the water.
He jumped into the few inches of water and pulled the canoe onto the beach, where he’d parked his truck at five that morning. They’d spent the past three hours on the still surface of Massabesic Lake, and they both needed to stretch their legs and empty their bladders.
Sadie hopped from the boat, and ran and peed on a log. St. John did the same, only his chosen location was more secluded. With business taken care of, he collected their gear, making sure to swap the empty canteen for a full one. He clicked Sadie’s leash in place and started the four-mile hiking loop through the woods. He couldn’t ask for better weather: mid-eighties, no humidity, and his knees were cooperating. Playing football had been fun in its time, but it had taken a toll on his body, and with each bend of his knees, he paid for every tackle he’d made at a younger age. But today was great—no pain, no tightness.
Everything about the day was perfect. Too bad he couldn’t say the same about his head. He didn’t regret what he and Shannon had done—far from it. He’d be with her again if given the chance. The only thing gnawing at him was what he’d said before leaving her house. When she’d told him she was finally going through with her divorce, he’d wanted to celebrate by taking her upstairs. Instead, he’d acted like a prick.
He’d never treated any of the women he screwed like they were disposable. Sure, he never slept with them a second time, but he’d always been respectful, making sure they understood where he was coming from before the first kiss even happened. But last night, he’d gone out of his way to hurt her. He supposed he could have been worse, though telling her thanks for the fuck had been pretty goddamn bad. Obviously, Justin wasn’t the only asshole in her life.
Now what? He was going to see her at the field for practice. How the hell was he supposed to make small talk with her after the way he’d acted? And why had he even done anything with her in the first place? He’d honestly meant it when he’d told her his decision not to have sex with her. Say it and leave; that had been his plan—which he’d done, more or less. Being thrown out was close to leaving. Whatever. The reason he’d left wasn’t important; he’d gotten out the house without touching her. But, like an idiot, he’d come back. All it took was one taste of her lips, and his dick had taken over.
Before heading out that morning, he’d had several shots of bourbon and a gallon of coffee to help clear the fog from his early-morning brain and, since then, a whole canteen of water and a protein bar, but the taste of her still lingered on his tongue. And her scent. Of all the perfumes she had at her fingertips to buy, why did she have to wear Chanel?
The trail split, and St. John tugged off his backpack and sat on a wooden bench located at the signpost. It was a waste of time to continue walking. He couldn’t clear his head, and he was exhausted, which tended to happen when a person was running on only two hours’ sleep. He filled Sadie’s water pouch and had a drink himself. So far, his plan of sweating Shannon out of his pores wasn’t working. It was time to try a different tactic: he’d go back home, get cleaned up, and head to the office where he could bury his head in the stack of papers on his desk. From there, he’d head to the bar. It was his night to work. Sunday nights were nothing but a desperate scramble of people looking to get laid before the weekend ended and they had to return to their lonely lives, so he was sure to find a willing partner who’d help take the taste of Shannon out of his mouth.
“Keep telling yourself that, asshole.” He’d have to sleep with a hundred different women to clean her out of his system.
He drained the remainder of the water. Rules number one and two, firmly upheld for close to thirty years, shattered to pieces with Shannon’s smile. He stared into the trees. It wasn’t her perfume, although that hadn’t helped matters; it was the whole package. Green eyes the color of a Colombian emerald, hair the color of ink, and the feel…satin, pure satin, and her lips… He’d never get enough of her lips. He’d have liked his interest in her to end with her physical attributes, of which she had many more he could list, but his attraction to her went beyond her skin. She intrigued him like no woman ever had. Spirited, withdrawn; at times, when he looked at her, her eyes seemed to plead for safety. Other times… Those were the times when he should be the one taking guard.
St. John removed his baseball cap and ran his hands through his seat-soaked hair. If he didn’t stop himself, and soon, he’d end up breaking another rule—allowing someone close enough to hurt him, and that wasn’t something he wanted to do.
When his cell vibrated from within the holder strapped to his belt, he hesitated before removing the phone and allowed the prospect it might be Shannon to solidify in his skull. Should he act happy to hear from her? If it was her, he would be happy—no act. Maybe he should behave disinterested, as if her calling wasn’t a big deal.
His moment of elation ended when he checked the number. Now, what the fuck did she want? It was never a good thing when Denise called on a Sunday, especially this early.
“St. John, I’m at your house. Where are you?"
What was she doing at his house? The rock dropping into the pit of his gut told him the answer; she’d found out about last night.
It shocked him that Shannon had said something about what they’d done. Especially to Denise. But women talked, and now he’d have to deal with the repercussions. Well, Denise would have to wait; he was in no mood for a scolding, even if he deserved it.
He launched right into an apology. “Before you even start, I’m sorry, okay?”
“I brought over coffee and donuts, but you’re not here. What did you do now?”
She seemed uncharacteristically chipper for someone about to chew him a new asshole. “Nothing,” he said. “Did we have an appointment?”
“Since when do I need an appointment to visit you?”
He grumbled, “Since you’ve never dropped by without telling me first, I can’t really answer that question.”
“Wow. What has you in such a shit mood this morning? Where are you?”
Either she didn’t know he’d slept with Shannon, or she was dicking with him. “I’m on the moon. What can I do for you?”
“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. I’ll wait.”
“You’ll wait where? At my house?” His response came out too gruff. For a man who’d been granted a stay of execution, he didn’t sound very thrilled.
“Where are you?”
“For Christ sake, Denise,
I’m over in Auburn hiking with Sadie.”
“When will you be back? I can’t wait too long, I have to go food shopping before Jeff gets home with the kids. We’re all meeting at Shannon’s for a cookout, and I’m bringing my potato salad.”
Denise was one of the few people he knew who got right to the point; vague wasn’t even in her vocabulary. If she did know about him and Shannon, there was no way she’d hold in her anger, so what could she want to discuss that was so urgent?
“I’m sick of playing twenty questions,” he snarled. “Say what you have to say, or I’m hanging up.”
“Never mind. I’ll leave your coffee and the donuts on the back deck. Bye.”
He was behaving like an ass, just as he’d behaved last night. He was disappointed the call hadn’t been from Shannon, and he was taking it out on Denise. Not cool; she was an innocent, albeit opinionated, bystander.
“Tell you what,” he offered, returning his tone to a somewhat more easygoing sound. He picked up a long stick and tapped at the ground. “I’m in the office all day tomorrow. If you get a chance, drive up around eleven, and I’ll buy you lunch. You can tell me what’s on your mind.”
He returned his phone to the holder and tried to direct his thoughts back to sorting the rest of the day. Things would certainly get interesting if he showed up at Shannon’s during the barbecue. Real interesting.
He took the long stick with him and continued walking. His pool game with Baldos had been far from friendly. Caused by the loss of a great deal of money and consuming several bottles of beer, Justin’s mood had morphed from basic hostility to outright threatening.
‘Touch my wife again, St. John, and she’ll be sorry.’
He swung the stick, smashing it against the trunk of a nearby tree.
“Over my dead body.”
******
Shannon took Jasper and walked the length of Bebe Pond Road until she came to where the road forked. She’d decided exercise would help her sort through the complicated emotions she was feeling but had gone much further than she’d planned. From where she stood, her house was three miles away. She veered to the left and pushed onward.
They reached Mockingbird Lane, one of St. John’s developments. She stopped in front of the large, billboard-style sign. ASJ Development, the bank’s name, and Dee’s were all listed, along with a detailed map of the layout, each plot sporting a bright red ‘sold’ sticker.
“Come on, Jasper, let’s take a look.”
As with the development she lived in, one road led both in and out, and at the distal end, the street looped around a cluster of trees, dense enough to offer privacy for the houses located on either side. The foundations of all the homes were already poured. She stopped and looked around, aware of her ignorance. Each plot was surrounded by trees, and woods framed the backyards, just like in her neighborhood. Somehow St. John managed to build and keep a good deal of the natural vegetation.
“Fine, he’s a pillar among men, but he’s still a jerk.”
The acidic tone in her voice dripped easily off her tongue. She fully expected bubbling and spitting on the surface of the road where she stood.
The memory of him touching her hadn’t finished forming in her brain before her groin pulsed. She’d love to have him touch her just one more time.
“No. No. No.”
She removed a red stone from her fanny pouch, held it in her right hand, and concentrated. When she’d woken up after what could only have amounted to fifteen minutes of sleep, she’d invoked the protective crystal to keep thoughts of him at bay. And it had worked. Mostly. Sure, his face peeked under the veil of the spell now and then; and, okay, she admitted that, even though she’d showered, she could still smell him on her skin; and, fine, the press of his mouth on hers lingered… Obviously, she’d done a lousy job with the spell. And now she had to pee.
Jasper insisted on stopping in front of one of the completed but unoccupied houses and used as his toilet the dirt where a lawn would eventually grow. With a plastic bag filled with poop in hand, Shannon walked around back, looking for a dumpster. She found exactly what she needed near the tree line. She frowned at the trees and walked back to the front door. It was locked. She had to pee. She headed to the back again and tried the slider on the deck. Pay dirt.
“No one ever thinks of locking the slider,” she chuckled and walked in.
She sauntered upstairs and along the hallway until she entered the palatial master bath, complete with a sunken whirlpool tub and a triple-sized shower stall lined with tiles depicting a Tuscan hillside. Obviously, the new owners liked Italy.
There was a bidet next to the toilet and a vanity long enough to double as a landing strip if Manchester airport ever needed an additional runway.
The finishing touch was the private dressing room. She and Chad could live in there, and the new owners would never even know.
She watched to make sure the toilet tissue disappeared and then washed her hands in the middle sink. Why had she agreed to host the cook-out? She wanted to tell Justin she was leaving him after she put Chad to bed, not entertain a crowd, even if it was just Dee and Peg’s families. Justin would most certainly drink. It was hard enough to have a conversation with him when he was sober. She might have to wait until tomorrow to talk to Justin. It wasn’t that big a deal, she’d put off telling him a couple of hundred times over the past six years, what difference would another day make? It wasn’t like anyone cared.
“Stupid jerk,” she murmured when St. John’s face filled her mind. What would he say if he found out she wasn’t going through with her plan? She avoided the question and chose instead to think about what he’d asked her: why was she ready to do battle with him but with Justin she cowered?
Why indeed? Maybe it had to do with the fact that Justin had managed to oppress her for so many years she knew it was futile to argue. Her brief attempts at defiance were always trampled before the words ever finished leaving her mouth. But with St. John… What was it? What part of her said it was okay to challenge him?
Shit. Again with the throbbing groin.
She looked at her crotch and fumed, “Would you give it a rest and let me think?”
Jasper looked up at her, his ears flat against his head, the whites of his eyes giving him a sorrowful expression.
“Oh, baby, Mama’s not mad at you. Come here.”
She crouched and rubbed his ears, and it came to her. St. John threatened her. Not her exactly but her, the impostor her.
The woman who’d been raising Chad, calling herself Shannon, was a phony. A fraud. She wasn’t a cowering wimp, even though that’s the part she played as Justin’s wife.
She was strong, capable… And she was ashamed about giving Justin full control over her soul.
And St. John knew it.
Ha, wait until she told him she’d figured it out. She gave herself a mental high five and started walking but stopped and frowned when she remembered they wouldn’t be speaking.
Chapter 20
“There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom,
others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you
beat your head against the wall.”
Colette
With the canoe strapped to its trailer and Sadie snoring on the back seat, St. John sped along Wexford Street. He glanced at the LCD numbers on the dashboard. Ten o’clock. It would only take him twenty minutes, tops, to swing by Shannon’s development. Maybe she’d be outside, and they could talk. He’d be wise to stay away; if they did talk, they’d most likely end up battling again. She probably wasn’t at home anyway, more likely out shopping for her upcoming barbecue.
What were the chances she would actually walk away from her marriage? It wasn’t an easy thing to do. He’d watched his mother in a very similar situation, and all his pleading for her to leave his ass of a father had fallen on deaf ears. Not because she was weak. Far from it. Neither was Shannon. No,
just like his mother, she’d stay with Justin because the familiar, even if it was crap, was a whole lot better than stepping into the unknown.
He took a sharp right onto Cardinal Street and tapped the brakes. He pulled alongside the road and turned off the engine. She was walking with her head down, Jasper at her side. If she’d look up as he passed, she’d just see a black truck, not an uncommon sight in New Hampshire. However, the white lettering on the doors and tailgate advertising ASJ Development might tip her off as to who owned the truck.
She raised her face and slowed to a stop. Just like at Canobie, she smiled, and just like at Canobie, her smile quickly faded.
He removed his cap and ran his hand through his sweat-slicked hair, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. Here he was, almost fifty, and he had butterflies in his stomach.
Sadie, who’d been sleeping on the back seat, raised her head. She stretched and yawned and, seeming to sense something was up, stood and looked out the window. And barked.
Shannon resumed walking, and when she arrived at the front of the truck, she stood by the bumper.
“Get in, Shannon,” he muttered under his breath.
******
Sadie hung out the back window and barked at Jasper, and Shannon reached for the door handle. She couldn’t resist the power of St. John’s presence, and like a paper clip hurtling toward a magnet, she let Jasper in and then pulled herself onto the front seat of the truck.
A blend of scents filled the cab. They swirled around her, creating a dizzying effect. Or was being near him so soon after feeling his kisses causing her disorientation?
He offered the grin she’d come to know as his trademark. That and eyes the same color as the sky. Is that where the universe had found the color when it was forming him? The color of the sky, the scent of the forest, the strength of the mighty oak, and a passion forged in the eternal flames of Hades; they all combined to build the man watching her.
She held his gaze for a moment and then turned away. She didn’t have a clue what kind of assumptions he’d made by her getting in the truck. Whatever they were, he was probably correct. If asked, she would willingly open her lips, arms, and legs for him. He might not even have to ask. So much for her resolve to stay away from him.
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