Free Flesh: A Romance Novel

by Daya Daniels

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  He hobbles closer to look up at me, inspecting me as though I’m the prisoner and he’s the guard. I’m used to this type of stare. “You look good.” He nudges me in the shoulder a few times with a fist. “Sturdy. Like a bull.” He laughs out loud.

  And I laugh too.

  “I remember when I was your age.” He smiles. “God, all the women were after me. I could’ve had whichever one I wanted.” He stares off into the distance as if he’s reminiscing. “But then I met one and my life ended...or it really began.” He nods a few times. “You got a woman?”

  “No, sir.”

  He stares me down. “Well, you ought to get one. You aren’t getting any younger.”

  I laugh. “I have a few other things to focus on for now.”

  “All you have is NOW. What are you talking about, boy? Soon, one day, you’ll blink and you’ll be my age, old and without children. You’ll have to pay people just so they’ll come around you and help you with simple shit, like driving you to the market.”

  My eyes narrow. “I thought—”

  “She died!” he shouts. “People die.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His face softens. “We never had kids. We had money and stuff, you know, like this place.” His eyes scan the large den. “But after she passed away, I didn’t want to marry again. I couldn’t even imagine it. And now there’s just me—an old man with lots of money.” He smiles, pulling something from his jacket pocket. He shoves a white envelope toward me. “It’s payment for the week.”

  I take it from him as he keeps his gaze on me.

  “Open it,” he instructs.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, of course, now.”

  I slit the envelope open and peer at the numbers scribbled in shaky handwriting across the check. When I meet Arthur’s strange expression, I let out a long breath. “I can’t take this, Arthur. Thank you, but—”

  “It’s what you should’ve charged me.” He holds a hand out with his cane still in his grip, pointing his index finger at me. “Besides, I know you’re trying to start that landscaping business of yours. And you have that boy to take care of.”

  My eyes narrow, wondering where he’s gotten all that information I haven’t fed him.

  “I know everything that happens on these shores, Austen Lennox.” He gives me a knowing look. “I knew your father a long time ago. God rest his soul.”

  I keep my expression impassive.

  Arthur waits for me to speak, but I have nothing to offer on the topic of my father. “You’re good with your hands, as I can see, just like he was. I think you have a future in the restoration business along with the landscaping thing you’re trying to do. Besides, I like you.”

  I nod a few times and smile. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me!” He raises his voice as he hobbles back out of the kitchen door. “Just finish this job.”

  “Yes, sir,” I whisper to myself.

  ~

  After locking up most of the doors to the place, I took a walk around outside, surveying the property. I’d taken down the dimensions and decided that against Arthur’s wishes I would not be cutting down any of the trees around the property. After talking with him on the phone, he was adamant he wanted the area “cleared.” Then, with a few grumpy words he’d told me, “Do what you want.” Then I hung up.

  Now, I stand in the middle of the kitchen, deciding I’ll eat my packed lunch that now doubles as an early dinner here before taking the drive back to Mount Pleasant. Leaning across the counter, I click on the radio. Soft music plays, relaxing me and making me realize how tired I am. I remove my tool belt and rest it on the counter with a heavy clunk.

  Digging into the paper bag Ivy gave me before I left this morning, I find a sandwich that I pray isn’t poisoned. Pulling it out, I remove it from the plastic, finding that it’s turkey. At the bottom of the bag are potato chips, a granola bar, and an apple. I really should’ve eaten three hours ago, but I’d gotten busy and ignored my hunger pangs.

  With a breath I take a bite of the sandwich then open the chips. I plop down on the stool just next to the center island and eat while looking around the place.

  The sun is dipping beneath the horizon and it’s beautiful.

  A few taps land on the screen door, causing me to flinch, and I nearly drop my sandwich. Rushing up to stand, I keep the sandwich in hand as I cross the kitchen. “Who is it?” I raise my voice. But my gait slows when I almost make it to the screen door and freeze at the sight in front of me.

  Callie

  FOLDING MY ARMS ACROSS my chest, I meet his wide eyes. He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt that hugs his muscular torso exquisitely, blue jeans, and boots. He stands on the opposite side of the door staring at me as though I’ve fallen from the sky and he can’t believe it. He edges closer to the screen with knotted brows as he looks me over. He’s holding a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. A bit of mustard is gathered at the corners of his mouth. He looks cute, boyish. He doesn’t speak, only watches me with a strange expression on his face.

  What am I doing here?

  Dropping my head to stare at my pastel flats as my feet shift along the newly-finished wooden deck, I look up at Austen. His brown eyes soften. He reaches an arm out and unlatches the door, chewing his sandwich in what seems like slow motion.

  This reaction doesn’t surprise me. I haven’t called—haven’t texted.

  I only found out Austen was even working here on Sullivan’s Island because I overheard Ivy and Greg talking about him two days ago. They still haven’t “formerly” introduced Austen to me, despite that he’s been in Mount Pleasant for weeks now. Something about the way my best friend and her husband disregard this man as though he’s a leper just bothers me.

  On top of that, it has been an awful week. After the night Trav slept in my bed, it never happened again. He was back to smashing things and yelling at me the next morning.

  I was overwhelmed with him since Helen has been coming to the house less and less. But at my desperate request, she’ll be back to her regular schedule soon. And Noah has hardly been here since he’s been spending more and more time with his girlfriend, who lives across town. I’ve spend most nights staring at Summer and Anthony across the street, admiring their lives together, which seem so different from mine.

  I’m anxious. I can’t sleep. I’m horny as fuck. I’m coming apart.

  And I have no one to talk to about it—not honestly anyways. Then I started to think about what Austen had said in his last text message to me—that I still hadn’t replied to—that maybe we could be friends. And I need a friend, especially right now.

  I’d driven here after staying behind in class for an hour grading papers. I’d planned to go straight home, but when I hopped in my truck, started the engine, and made it to the stop sign something made me go the other way. I knew where this house was. And I’d honestly prayed that when I made it here, Austen would be gone so I could turn around and do what made the most sense. But when I eased the truck down the winding sandy driveway, I’d spotted Austen’s Harley parked next to the house that looks immaculate, far different than it had when I’d last seen it two years ago.

  After twisting the key and listening to the engine die, I accepted that I didn’t want to leave.

  Now, I’m still standing outside of the door on the deck, listening to the music coming from the radio inside. Austen scans me with his eyes, then with the nudge of his chin, he invites me inside. I shuffle past him, careful not to touch him. The door shuts.

  As soon as I step inside, I inhale the clean, woodsy scent of cedar and the lingering chemical smell of varnish.

  The house looks immaculate with a newly-renovated kitchen complete with stainless steel appliances, refinished wood floors, and walls that’ve been painted a bright white.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I pad farther inside until I make it to the edge of the open-plan kitchen to stare in the direction of th
e massive fireplace in the den.

  I can feel his gaze on me even though he hasn’t said a word. I spin around only to find him standing right in front of me, without the sandwich. I jump, startled as a smirk blooms across his cheeks then steady myself.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming,” I say in a tiny voice.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and bobs his head a few times. “It’s cool.” His brown eyes rove over me and my boring teacher attire—a thin summery dress that hits the middle of my calves, which is covered up by a pale-yellow cardigan and the sensible flats I wear. I’d left my hair out, as always.

  He runs a hand over his beard a few times and keeps those eyes on me, waiting for me to say more. His casual attitude confuses me because when I’d shown up at the door a few minutes ago, he looked stunned and maybe even a little elated to see me.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where to start.

  Meeting his eyes, I silently beg him to speak, to end this awkward agony of us just standing here staring at each other like two prepubescent teenagers before they’re about to kiss.

  He laughs softly. “What brings you out here?”

  “I-I-I guess I came to see you—to talk to you. I don’t know what I’m doing here.” I drop my eyes to the floor. A grunt leaves his mouth. Forcing myself to laugh, I throw my hands up in the air. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

  He gives me a funny look with his brows pressed together as he folds his muscular arms across his chest.

  I’m acting like an unstable fool—like a woman who’s close to fucking losing it.

  And maybe I am!

  Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me” sounds from the radio on the kitchen counter.

  “I should go,” I rattle out and dart for the door, but he stops me, locking his thick fingers around my wrist and pulling me to his hard chest. When I ease against him, he wraps both of his arms around me and holds me tight. Warm. Comforting. Familiar. I swear my heavy heart sinks down to the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut, allowing myself to be held. Because I need to be held, badly.

  “I’ve missed you, Callie,” he murmurs into my hair.

  I think I’ve missed you too.

  I twist my fingers in his T-shirt and lean into him as he begins to sway to the song, singing the words. Trav and I used to dance just like this. And I try my best not to cry. When the song finishes, he lets me go. I step away from him and straighten my hair. He looks down at me as if he knows there’s something very wrong.

  He steps closer to the kitchen counter, snatches up a water bottle, unscrews the top off a little, and hands it to me.

  “Thank you.” I take it from him.

  Then with an arm extended he shepherds me back outside toward the deck. We take a seat on the stairs next to each other. Austen nudges me in the shoulder playfully, giving me a smirk.

  Darkness has fallen and the white stars up in the sky twinkle. The air is warm and a salty breeze blows around us from the ocean that’s a short distance away, quietly lapping against the shoreline. It’s calm out here. I spot the twinkling lights of a few boats that are out on the water.

  I take a deep breath and make myself more comfortable. When I look over at Austen he’s already staring at me. “Why do you look at me like that?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  I bite my bottom lip then look away from him.

  “So, what do you want to know about me?” he asks. “That they already have told you their version of.” He chuckles.

  “Why don’t you just tell me your version then?”

  He lifts a brow and scoots closer to me. I use that time to stare at his big boots.

  “Well, I haven’t been back here in years. This place isn’t technically my home. I grew up in the Gulf...Texas.”

  I nod.

  “I went to college at Texas A&M University and left with a bachelor’s degree in architecture. My mother died from pancreatic cancer before I graduated, so she didn’t get to see me finish. At the time to make her happy was the only reason I went to college. I struggled at first, but when I found something I liked it became easier.” He runs a hand over his jaw and looks straight toward the beach. “I don’t know. I never liked this place, but Greg is the only family I have left, so I had to come here. His mother hates me and my father...”

  My brows knot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t really know him.”

  “As you may know, he’s been dead for years.” Austen looks away from me. “He liked to pretend I didn’t exist. I’m the product of an affair of long ago,” he admits. “After my father impregnated my mother, he went back to his wife.” He lifts a hand and waves it around. “And pretty much tried to pretend that I didn’t exist...the same way they do...”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nah, it’s okay.”

  “If you’re from Texas, why don’t you have an accent?” I tease.

  “IIIII doooo,” he says in a dramatic Southern drawl that makes me giggle. “I assure you I do, but I moved around the state so much as a kid and as an adult that it’s somewhat tamed.” He takes a deep breath. “Funny how things come full circle, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, my father was never there for me. I was never there for my son...until now. I’m a child of an affair and I’ve been fucking around with married women.” He smirks, but I can tell the revelations annoy him. “You’re not the first married woman.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “I figured that much.”

  We meet eyes.

  Austen drops his head. “Right after I got out of college, I ended up in jail a few times until the final serious offence landed me there long term.”

  I nod.

  He shifts where he sits and stretches his legs out. “It was all a misunderstanding—a drunken bar brawl that led to a man being seriously injured. They threw the book at me for that.” He chuckles. “So, I spent a few years in there. I’m still on probation. But they let me leave the state because this is the only place I had left to go really, and Brandon is here.”

  It’s quiet for a while.

  “I don’t really talk about any of this...ever.”

  “I’ve known Greg most of my life and Ivy and they’ve never talked about you,” I tell him with my face twisted in confusion because that’s all I’ve been since I’ve heard Ivy admit that Greg has a half-brother.

  He smirks. “Yeah.”

  “I can understand why. Greg’s a good guy. He’s the only family I have left and Brandon, of course. Ivy doesn’t like me much. She always felt that I was trying to singlehandedly destroy her husband’s career and reputation. But she doesn’t realize that back then my actions had nothing to do with Greg. I was just living my own life the way I wanted, wreaking havoc wherever I went.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I get that impression.”

  “I’ve been a bad father. Honestly, I don’t know how to be a father. But I am one and I’ve been an awful one.” He inhales sharply through his nose, bobbing his head up and down a few times. “I have. I can admit that as shitty as it sounds. I haven’t been here for Brandon because I was always off doing something I shouldn’t have been doing, pissed off at the world, always feeling like Greg was somehow better than me because that’s how everyone treated him. My mother was a ‘whore’ who slept with a married man and got herself pregnant. I hated both of my parents for that in a way.” He laughs. “And I’ve paid the price for that stigma within this family all my life. As you may realize, I don’t even have my father’s last name because he never ever publicly acknowledged that I was even his kid or signed my birth certificate, but everyone knew.” He slants his head to look at me. “Please don’t tell me you’re sorry for that.” He laughs out loud and I’m grateful for the sudden break in tension. “But I’m not a bad guy, Callie. At least I like to think I’m not. I’ve done some real bad things, but I’m not a bad guy.”

  “Okay.”

  He takes my right h
and in his, staring at his as he caresses it in his big, warm one. “What happened to him?”

  I look away toward the trees for a few seconds. “An explosion.”

  Austen nods. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “A SEAL, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a feat that not many men could accomplish.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  “Where’d the explosion happen?”

  I chuckle and drag a finger along the wood I’m sitting on. I meet Austen’s eyes. “He never tells me the wheres.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Austen doesn’t ask me how long I’ve been married or any other details. I only assume it’s because he already knows.

  “And you love him, still?” he asks.

  I stare at him wide-eyed, almost offended that he’d ask such a question. “Of course.”

  He nods a few times.

  “Have you ever been in love?” I ask him.

  Admittedly, I’m curious about his relationship with Raine and what it had been. And especially after Ivy told me how much Raine was still after Austen, I found myself battling with a sinking feeling I shouldn’t have.

  He hesitates then answers quickly, “No.”

  “Oh.”

  He catches me looking toward the beach and nudges his chin in its direction. “Do you want to go for a walk?” He stands.

  “Um, I-I—”

  He yanks me up to stand and starts off down the stairs, holding on to my hand, dragging me with him. My dress flies up with the breeze as we dash across the small lot in front of the house. We make it to the entrance of the sandy dunes that lead down to the beach. We stop and take off our shoes. I shrug out of my sweater and drop it on top of my shoes.

  Austen keeps his eyes on me, still breathless, as he unlaces his boots and removes his socks. “I’ll race you to the shoreline,” he challenges.

  I set off in a sprint across the sand, my breathing heavy and my giggles loud as I near the water, making it there a split second before he does. I crane my neck and stare up at the starry sky above. When my panting settles, I look around at how still this place is and how calm the water is that laps against the shoreline. The moon above is full and dusts the ocean with silvery light in places.