by Cathryn Fox
She wags her fingers. “The boy has nothing to be guilty about.”
I turn back to her and lean against the dresser. “I think he wished he could have made his dad proud of him.”
Gram’s head rears back, and she steeples her fingers in front of her chest. “There isn’t a father in this whole state more proud of his son than Carl was of Sean. He was proud of all his boys.”
“Really?” My heart fills with warmth, so happy to hear that.
She looks down, emotions playing on her face. “When we get home I need to show you something.”
I nod, curious about what it is she wants to show me, as Gram pushes herself out of the rocking chair and turns her attention to some old china plates. She shuffles around a bit, taking it all in, then asks to go to the next antique shop, in the next town. We hit a few more stores, and after a long day, I pull into Gram’s driveway. She invites me in for tea, and I agree because I’m anxious to see what it is she wants to show me.
Now here it is, hours later and I’m feeling a little off, a little emotional as I walk around the quiet cottage and draw all the curtains. I haven’t seen much of Sean today, and tonight—the night before the funeral—I insisted he stay with his family. But now the place seems so empty, a little bit eerie without him. Sure I have Scout, but she’s still a pup, and while her bark might sound scary, the sweet little lab wouldn’t hurt a fly.
As I stifle a yawn, I walk through the cottage and head to the kitchen to fill the kettle with water. After antiquing all day, and grabbing a few inexpensive art pieces for the cottage, I’m rather tired. But before I go to bed and face a hard day with Sean tomorrow, there is a call I have to make.
I drop down onto the sofa, and Scout jumps up and curls in to me. I rub her fur, and grab my cell phone, to check my contacts, glad I hadn’t tossed it now. When I come across Sue Jennings number, I reach for the landline. I registered the phone under Jenna Garridy, not Summer Wheeler, so I’m praying to God my ex can’t track it. I have no doubt he’s keeping a close eye on my cell, even though I’ve not used it since I fled home a few weeks ago.
I punch in her number, it rings four times, and just as I’m about to hang up, Sue comes on. Before I left, I had my secretary cancel all my appointments indefinitely, and I fully expect Sue to be curious about that.
She answers, and is surprised to hear me on the other line.
“Is everything okay?” she asks cautiously.
“Everything is fine,” I say, and inject a lightness into my voice.
“Caller display says your calling from a 203 area code. Where are you?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. When I arranged for the phone, I asked for “private” to display, not my damn number. I make a mental note to call the phone company in the morning.
“Just a family thing I had to take care of.” Over our coffee chats, I didn’t delve too deeply in to my personal life. She knows I’d been dating Jack, but has no idea that outside of the Owenses I have no family. Wait, what? The Owenses aren’t my family. I’m just living vicariously through Sean while here in Blue Bay. “I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Sure,” she says.
I spend the next few minutes asking her how to get around the red tape at city hall, and how a friend’s business is getting held up on permits.
“Let me call my sister and I’ll get back to you.”
I freeze for a second. Is her calling me back a good idea? What if Jack has her phone tapped, or is listening in to the conversation. Then again, I’d never mentioned Susie to Jack so he has no idea were friends. Unless, of course, he’d been watching me.
“How about I call you back in a half an hour,” I say.
A moment of silence and then, “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Perfectly fine, just wanting to help a friend out.”
She hesitates, then says, “Okay, half hour.”
I hang up and pace, and pray to freaking God, I’m not making a mistake. I count down the minutes and when I finally call her back, the only suggestions her sister was able to give was to find a way to get the officer off my friend’s back, or pay off town hall, because maybe that’s the way things are done in small towns. Since I have no idea how to convince Walker to back down, and have no money to pay off town hall, I hang up, no further ahead than when I started. Feeling a little lost, I make my tea, and head to the bedroom to watch reruns of Gilmore Girls on my old laptop.
I fall asleep during the show, and a loud bang wakes me up before dawn. Beside me on the bed, Scout growls. With my heart running a marathon, I pull her to me, and tuck her under the blankets, praying to God it’s nothing but another raccoon. Sean would want me to call him, but he had enough to deal with yesterday, and today, well, burying his father is going to be hell on him—on them all. I steal a glance at the bag in the corner, the proof that Sean’s dad was proud of him. I’ll have to tell him eventually, show him the evidence, but when, how? He’s going through so much already.
Sleep doesn’t come easily after the crash outside my cottage, and after a restless night, I grope my way to the coffeemaker. This morning I don’t much care if the coffee tastes like dishwater, I’m desperate for a cup or two. I open the front door, let Scout out on the lawn to do her morning business, and breathe in the fresh air. I leave the door open behind me, and step outside to glance up and down the quiet street, so peaceful this time of day. I walk around the corner and find my trash bins tipped over again, and feel a measure of relief that it was just another raccoon. After sniffing around for a good fifteen minutes, Scout finally comes running back to me.
I fill her bowls with food and water, and grin when I see her tail wagging so hard she’s ready to fall over.
“Let me have a quick shower and I’ll take you out for a longer walk.”
I hurry to the shower, and the coffeepot is full and waiting by the time I finish. With nothing but a towel around my body, I pour a cup, but a strange sensation moves over me. I spin around, the hot java spilling over the side of my cup. Shit. I set it on the counter and wipe my hand as my gaze dart to every corner, only to find them empty—no boogeyman, no ex ready to “apply pressure to get the ledger once and for all.” Still, the tingling doesn’t stop, so I inch open the back curtain and peer out. It’s still early, and other than a few sun worshipers lying flat out on the sand, no one is around. Must just be my imagination getting the better of me.
I try to shake off the uneasy feeling and throw on a pair of shorts and T-shirt. “Come on, girl,” I say to Scout. I leash her and we head to the water for a nice long walk along the beach. Sand squishes between my toes and Scout barks and nips at the waves. She’s such a silly girl. I’m already crazy about her. How I’ll ever leave her when I go back home is beyond me. I’d love to take her but my place in the city has no room for a big dog.
After a long walk, we go back home. I don’t care what Sean says about locking the doors. I’ve kept mine locked since I arrived. Well, except for the first day when Sean let himself in. But today, having the sense that someone is watching me, I lock them and double-check them. It’s nearing noon by the time I head to my bedroom to pick out something appropriate for the funeral. I tug on a black blouse, black dress pants, and my low-heeled shoes.
The funeral starts at one, but I decide to go to the church early, in case the family needs me for anything. I tuck Scout into her bed, and jump into Dad’s truck. The traffic is a lot busier now, and I realize it’s because every vehicle in town is headed to the church Sean’s dad must have been very well liked in this community—with the exception of Officer Walker, of course.
I park and slip from the truck, recognizing so many familiar faces as I make my way inside the church. I keep my head down, hair forward, hoping no one recognizes me in return. Once inside I see Sean and his family in the main foyer, greeting all those who’ve come to pay respect. Sean’s eyes are downcast, his expression pained. I’ve never seen him so intense, yet so wide open and vulnerable.
As if sensing me, his head lifts when I enter, and our gazes collide. He attempts a smile but I can tell it’s forced. My heart clenches. I want nothing more than to go to him, hug him, and tell him everything will be okay. I follow the long line and make my way to Sean. All the boys are dressed in suits and ties, looking so put together and handsome, I can hardly believe it’s the same motley crew who own the back table at Winchesters. Sean pulls me to him, holds me far too long, and when he lets go, he keeps his hands on my shoulder.
He puts him mouth next to my ear, his warm breath washing over me, as he whispers, “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” I say.
He straightens to his full height and his eyes go narrow as they move over my face. “Are you okay?”
I nod. Isn’t that just like Sean? He’s going through hell and is worried about me. Warmth and admiration seep into my soul. “It’s a sad day,” I say, not about to tell him I’ve been spooked since I got out of bed this morning. “I’ll go get a seat.”
“Take the second row. It’s reserved for family.”
“Sean I’m not—”
“Take the second row, child,” Gram says, and I just nod.
I slide into the second row, and organ music plays as the church fills up. There are so many people they had to bring in extra chairs, and even the lobby is full of those who couldn’t fit inside. Sean and his family take their seats, and Sean sits in front of me. I put my hand on his shoulder, give a little squeeze, then sit back in my seat for the service.
By the time the minister finishes there isn’t a dry eye in the house. I never really knew Sean’s dad, but after listening to stories, I feel like I’ve known him my whole life.
We all leave the church to head to the cemetery, and Sean catches up to me in the parking lot. “Drive with me,” he says, sounding a bit breathless, like he’s been running.
I take one look at him, see the haunted look in his eyes and nod. We climb into his truck. “What about Gram?”
“She’s traveling with the minister and Dad’s ashes.”
I nod and Sean slides his hand across the seat. He holds on to my hand so tightly, I’m sure he’s going to break my fingers, but I don’t say a word. His movements are slow, almost robotic when we slide from the truck and make our way to the burial site where his mom had been buried many years before.
“They’re going to be together again,” I say to Sean, wanting him to see something bright in this day.
“Yeah,” is all he says in return as he hauls me into the shelter of his big body. He holds me like that during the burial process, then everyone heads back to Gram’s homestead for the reception and to honor Carl’s life.
The house is alive and noisy when we get there, everyone snacking and sharing memories of Carl. Sean greets everyone, speaks to his brothers, cousins and Gram, then comes to find me.
“Let’s go.”
“Sean—”
“I need air,” he says.
Understanding his need to escape, we step outside and I climb on the back of his bike. We drive aimlessly and then end up back at my cottage. Sean uses his key to let us in, then plunks himself down on my sofa. He stares out the window, like he’s escaped into himself, waging some internal war. My throat tightens to the point of pain. I’ve never seen him so lost and broken before.
“I’ll make coffee,” I say. I hurry to the kitchen as Scout jumps on Sean’s lap. I hear him playing with her, and when I come back with the coffee, he’s running his hand along the bulging wall.
“All that’s left is to fix this wall,” he says, his voice so distant I wonder what’s really going through his mind.
“Sean,” I say. He spins and I take in the tightness in his jaw and he looks past me, like he’s not really seeing me at all. “Are you okay?”
A strange sound crawls out of his throat and he fists his hands and presses them to his eyes, but not before I see the torment on his face. “No, I’m not fucking okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and set the cups down. I step into his arms and he grips my hair as he drags me into a tight embrace. Today was so hard on him. The guilt he’s feeling is eating him up. I think about that, and while I’m not sure now is the right time, I don’t know when it ever will be.
“I need to show you something,” I say, my tears staining his suit jacket. I inch back and wipe my nose. “Why don’t you get out of your suit? Get comfortable. You have some clothes here. I’ll get them for you.”
He tears at his tie as I turn and hurry to my room. I take a huge breath, praying to God I’m doing the right thing as I grab the bag Gram gave me. I reach into the laundry basket and pull out a pair of jeans and T-shirt that he’d left here.
I step back into the room and find him in nothing but his nicely fitting boxers. I hand him the clothes but he doesn’t bother putting them on. Instead he drops into the sofa, sinking into the cushions.
“Sean,” I begin and drop to the floor in front of him. He opens his legs and I shimmy in close, my hands on his thighs, the position so natural for us. “Your father was very proud of you. You left because he was hard on you, and in some ways he drove you away. He was just being a dad, and you were just being his son. None of that means you guys didn’t love each other.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t—”
“Please, just hear me out.”
Lacking his calm steadiness, he exhales, and runs a shaky hand through is hair. “Okay,” he says, his voice sounding worn and tired as he regards me warily.
I reach into the bag, and pull out a DVD. I pop it from the plastic case and slide it into the DVD player. Sean remains silent as he watches, but his brow furrows like he has no idea what’s going on. And why would he know? None of this was ever shared with him before.
The sound of his souped-up two stroke roars through the quiet room, and Sean leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees as he stares at the TV.
“What is this?” he asks when he sees himself on the screen, one of his old races playing out on the television. He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. Where did you get this?”
I take the bag and empty it on the floor, showcasing the dozens of DVDs. “From Gram.”
“How did Gram get these?”
“From your father.”
He sits there, perplexed for a moment, then when understanding dawns, he sinks back into the sofa and covers his face with his hands. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he breaths through the shock. The sight of him sitting there so still, brings tears to my eyes.
I step back up to him, settle myself on the floor between his legs. “He was so proud of you, Sean. Gram told me he taped and watched and rewatched all your races. Some of these DVDs look like they’ve been played hundreds of times.”
A muffled noise comes from behind his hands. Body tight, eyes watery, he says, “I . . . I didn’t know.”
My throat clogs and my insides turn to mush. “You said your one regret was never making him proud. He was always proud of you, Sean. Even when you were working construction with him and felt you couldn’t do anything right in his eyes. He might have been a hard-ass, but is that such a bad things. Look at the man you are today.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re not an asshole, a jerk, a man who cares only about himself. You’ve always been there for me. Right from that first night you saved me from the drunk guy at Dick’s Driving Inn and Diner to the night you stayed with me here at the cottage when I was spooked.” For as long as I can remember, Sean was there for me—all lean muscle, strong and protective, ready to rescue me. “You’re there for your gram, your brothers, your community. You’re the best man I know, Sean.”
His fists fall from his face, and I take in the red in his eyes. One hand slides around my head and he pulls me to him, for a deep, yet tender kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth, tangles gently, softly, and then he stands, scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom. I rest my head against his chest, my emotions on a roller-coaster ride
as I feel his strong heartbeat.
I am so lost in this man.
He might be intense and troubled but I trust him. Maybe I should tell him what’s going on in my life. He deserves that much from me. But what if I drag him and his family in to my troubles and one of them got hurt? I could never live with myself if that happened.
He dips his head. “I need to be inside you,” he says quietly, a new calmness about him, a tenderness I’ve never seen before. I can almost feel the last shards of ice and coldness inside him thaw. “Tell me you need that, too.” His voice wavers, softens, and a surge of love rushes to my heart.
“I need that, too,” I say. I meet his glance, his eyes are so full of want and need, it generates a warmth and desire inside me. His mouth takes possession of mine and I palm his hard muscles, taking pleasure in his sculpted biceps and shoulders.
With need buzzing through my body, he sets me on my feet and I press my mouth to his bare chest. His body softens, relaxes as I breathe in the familiar scent of his skin. I kiss a path downward, my mouth trailing all over his flesh until I’m on my knees before him. A quick tug, and I have his boxers around his thighs, his hard cock jutting out at me. I acknowledge the flare of desire in me as I take him into my mouth. His sounds of pleasure curl around me, filling my heart with love. Need whispers through my blood as I pleasure him, and I want to give him more . . . everything . . . every last part of me.
He rocks his hips into me, his hands in my hair controlling the motions. I cup his balls, massage lightly, and he growls. I’ll never tire of those sounds he makes when he’s lost in pleasure. His veins fill with blood and I track one with my tongue.
“Come here,” he whispers. I stand, and his fingers close over mine, warm and strong. His face softens and his body relaxes as we just hold each other. “I want you so much,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Then take me,” I say. His big fingers go to the buttons on my blouse. He takes his time to pop them. My glance moves over his handsome features, as he pushes the material from my shoulders. He sucks in a breath as I stand before him in my pants and bra. His eyes are filled with such tenderness, heat and need explode inside me.