Striking

by Lila Felix

  The first thing I saw was her hair, golden spun tresses, such a contrast in color and texture to my hands, yet they ached to be woven in them. She had it flowing over one shoulder with gold dangly earrings swinging from her lobes.

  My lips twitched at the thought of the noises that came from their effect on those very ears.

  A shudder raced through me.

  Her royal blue dress covered only one shoulder. And the girl must’ve had a personal seamstress on call in California because that dress was made for her delicate curves. The edge landed on a spot on her thighs, enough to give my eyes a taste of what they craved, but long enough to maintain the modesty I suspected Mallory expected her to keep. But even garbed in a trash bag in the middle of the rain surrounded by those God forsaken sheep, she’d be the death of me every time.

  She was Helen of Troy—civilizations were doomed to fall at her feet—they were defenseless in the presence of her beauty.

  I’d been blunted.

  Yet somehow she’d found me.

  “Close your mouth, hillbilly and let’s go,” She said through a smile.

  Henry stood, I didn’t even know he was there until he did, and shot a stern look my way, “Do we need to go over the rules, Stockton?”

  “No, Sir. Anyway, I’ll probably be more careful than your rules dictate.”

  He nodded and I reached out for her hand. I was acutely aware this was the first time we’d actually held hands in front of anyone. And the fact that she took it without a hint of hesitation—it made my newfound love throb just a little more—my heart beat a little faster.

  We were both quiet on the way to Mick’s and she fumbled with my radio, trying to find something she liked.

  “Nothing,” I asked as she flung herself back on the bench seat, frustrated.

  “Nope.”

  “Why are you so quiet?”

  “I had to go clean your pastor’s house today. And his wife asked me to have lunch with her.”

  I gasped dramatically, “How awful. I’m turning around right this second and…”

  “Shut up! Let me finish.”

  “Yes, Duchess.”

  “She told me the story about how when she was a teenager, she got married and divorced before she was nineteen. And she was crazy wild before she settled down with your pastor. She made me—I’m not the only one.”

  I took her hand again, “Of course you’re not. You’re just the only one brave enough to admit your mistakes.”

  She squeezed my hand in response. We ran into Shriver at Mick’s and he was on his game. He sat next to Cami across the booth—flirted and joked around shamelessly—until I used his shin as kicking practice.

  “Ok, Ok, damn. I get it. Come see me sometime, Stock.”

  I nodded and he left. And just when I was ready to get my girl out of there, who should saunter up but Vanessa Atkins.

  “Hey, Sugar. You lookin’ for a real date tonight?”

  Now wonder people thought people around these parts were hillbillies. Between the Hillbilly Harlot and squirrel on a leash, there was just no winning.

  “He’s with me. So you can save the small town swagger for someone else,” Cami pushed her answer in Vanessa’s direction.

  “Is that so?” Vanessa popped the gum in her mouth and cocked out her hip.

  “Yep, but I think old toothless over there is looking for a date—seems like your type.”

  My ex-girlfriend scoffed and tried not so sexily to saunter right for Eli—toothless.

  I slammed my hands on the table, “Is the Duchess ready for part two?”

  “Is this the part where I get to see you half naked?”

  “Yup.”

  And then I remembered that I’d forgotten my shorts.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cami

  I glanced over at Stockton as he navigated the curvy mountain roads in pitch black darkness. No moonlight broke through the clouds, no stars shed light through the thick canopy of trees overhead. In the quiet cab of Stockton’s Jeep it felt like we were the only two people that existed in the world.

  And I was Ok with that.

  This date with Stockton was a vibrant contrast to any date I’d ever been on. More than location, more than the people we were surrounded by, Stockton seemed to cherish each moment with me. He wanted to show me off to his friends and neighbors, but not because I was dressed in the latest Diane Von Furstenberg with vintage Chanel peep toe heels.

  He didn’t want to show case me on his arm like a trophy. That was different than any man I’d known so far.

  And he didn’t buy that greasy, cheap although surprisingly delicious dinner just to get me back to his place. He took me out because he wanted to spend time with me not just spend money on me.

  For that reason alone a delicious warmth had spread throughout my body. Tonight was simply the best night. And he was the best kind of man.

  Even with that piece of redneck desperation approaching him right in front of me, my feeling of euphoria hadn’t waned. Officially, I was in love with Stockton Wright.

  My chest hurt from the ferocity of my feelings, my body tingled with the idea of exploring that love and my heart, for the first time in my entire life, didn’t feel broken and shattered.

  It felt whole. Whole with a love for a man that deserved better than me, better than my tainted, shameful past.

  Too bad because he was so getting it anyway.

  He pulled off the main highway onto a dirt covered back road and we bounced along in the pitch black night until the moon finally broke through a clearing in the trees and lit up a slow moving river that lazily ran in a wide, winding path.

  Stockton pulled the Jeep to a stop and shut the engine off. The radio died and only our soft breathing remained. He looked at me and our gazes collided in fierce intensity. My heartbeat picked up and I felt the anticipation for his kiss more acutely than anything I’d ever felt before.

  There was barely enough light for me to make out his features, but I didn’t need light. I had been staring at his gorgeous face constantly over the past several weeks. I knew every contour and angle, the faint, lonely freckle just under his right eye. I was mesmerized often by the spearmint color to his eyes and even more how they darkened to a deep forest green just before he kissed me. I could feel the taste and softness to his lips dance in my memory and the roughness of his jaw that matched the texture of his calloused hands. He was male perfection to me. There would never be anyone else that could live up to Stockton, or take his prominent place in my heart.

  I loved him-with everything that I was. My tiny, black heart had grown into a living, beating organ capable of a feeling that felt greater than me, greater than anything I could be capable of.

  Yet here I was, in love with a man that demanded that kind of greatness from me.

  And I would willingly spend the rest of my life striving to be that kind of woman for him, to be the woman he needed, the soul-mate he searched for, the other half of his heart.

  As long as he let me.

  And then his cell phone rang.

  Hello, bad timing.

  Or maybe good timing, since I felt seconds away from declaring every last bit of feeling I held for him. Probably it was better to keep my declarations of love to myself. At least until I knew for certain how he was feeling.

  He glanced down at the lit up screen, “It’s Will. Do you mind if I answer it?”

  “Not at all,” I replied honestly. I turned away while he chatted with his sister and took the opportunity to steady my breath. It sounded like Will wanted her friend Jesse to come over and was asking Stockton’s permission before she told her friend yes. Will was such a good kid, and I knew that was a reflection of Stockton’s parenting. His parents had for sure laid the groundwork, but things could have gone bad quickly for Will if she hadn’t had Stock step in and pick up right where they left off.

  So different from the emotionally unavailable parents I had.

  And exactly the kind of pa
rent I wanted for my own kids.

  “Alright, Will. Be careful,” Stockton said as way of goodbye.

  Something struck me then. While I had been dreaming of love and lifelong commitment speeches, I had never heard Stockton say “I love you”- not even to his sister.

  “Hey, Stockton,” I asked gently. “Why do you always say ‘be careful?’”

  Charged silence met me. Even in the darkness I could feel Stockton’s body go rigid with tension and each emotion as they shut off to me. I panicked at first, hating that asking a simple question would put up such a thick barricade between us, but I didn’t regret asking the question.

  He knew every last little part of me and if I was going to allow myself to love this man with as much depth and severity as I felt, then I deserved to know him too.

  “What is it? Stockton, I didn’t know it was such a loaded question, I just haven’t heard you-“

  “The night they died,” Stockton interrupted me, his voice rough and raw with past memories. “I talked to them on the phone—just hours before. I was off at college, pursuing some stupid dream and they were home, dying. But, when I hung up the phone we said our usual goodbyes and went our separate ways. They knew I loved them, we’d told each other that every day, multiple times a day. I should have said ‘be careful.’ I should have warned them in some stupid way to be careful.” He paused for a long breath, and when it came out it was shaking and heavy. “Now we all say it. Will and I especially. It’s like we can’t let each other go without warning each other. We know the love stuff, that’s a given. But it’s the other stuff, the stuff that could take us away from each other that’s most important.”

  We sat there in silence for a few moments after that, both lost in our own thoughts. Stockton was still stuck in the pain of his memories and I was fighting through his words, trying to make sense of them.

  Finally, I couldn’t stop myself any more. I had to say what was on my mind or I would never be able to look him in the eye again. “I disagree,” I declared, with hardly any conviction or gravity. But it was true so I said it again, “I disagree.”

  “I’m sorry?” Stockton asked in complete disbelief. I felt bad because he really sounded like he did not want to hear me right.

  I cleared my throat, “I disagree with you.” This was such a douche bag move on my part. I mean, I was basically arguing with the ghost of his dead parents. But I was literally not capable of reigning myself in. I cared about Stockton, so much so that I wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” he admitted in a cranky growl.

  I let out a deep breath and then went for it, “I’m just saying that your parents didn’t need to hear that you thought they should be careful and I guarantee they didn’t want to hear it.” He opened his mouth to argue so I rushed forward with my hands raised in supplication for him to stay quiet, “What happened to your mom and dad was tragic, I’m not arguing that or trying to belittle their memory. I’m just saying that you have to know you couldn’t really stop their accident. You’re not to blame for their deaths or the fire. They died and that was horrible, but it wasn’t your fault or anybody else’s, Stock. I hate that you would think that, that you would carry around that kind of crushing guilt. You have to let that go. I care about you too much to let you go through that pain one more second. You are better than that, better than letting something so horrible run your life and dictate who you are and how you behave. Because I promise you that’s what it’s doing. Believe me. I have my own set of issues from my past and I know how they can f up the present like nothing else. I’m healing, Stock, but I wouldn’t be if I was still holding on to all my daddy issues and feelings of inadequacy my mom generously bestowed upon me.”

  He was silent for a few more moments, simmering in a mixture of anger and astonishment. Finally, in a hoarse voice he said, “I understand what you’re saying, Cami. But you don’t understand what happened. My parents needed me here, and I let my own delusions take me away from them. I might not have been able to save them from far away, but I never should’ve been gone in the first place.”

  I reached out and grabbed his hand before he could pull it away. He flinched from my touch but I didn’t let go. What I was about to say was pure honesty and desperately important. I needed him to hear me, really hear me. “Stockton, you were the child, they were the parents. It was not your responsibility to stay by their side forever. They raised you right if you left them; they did what they were supposed to. Because you were out following your dreams, pursuing a career you were so passionate about, they could die in peace. I bet they couldn’t have been prouder of you.”

  He turned to face me, something so intense and passionate just under the surface but in the dark I couldn’t tell if it was anger or sadness.

  “Stockton, take it from somebody that knows, they could have cared less if you told them to be careful. But one of the last things they heard was ‘I love you.’ I would kill for someone to tell me that-especially my parents. I don’t even know what I would do if they meant it. I’ve never heard that from my parents, let alone in every day conversation. You gave yours the greatest gift you could, and instead of being ashamed of it, you should be so proud.”

  “Cami, I-“

  But I was a sobbing hysterical mess at this point and I couldn’t stop myself from snapping, “And Willa needs to hear it too, damn it. She knows to be careful. Don’t you think she’s figured it out by now? She needs to hear that her big brother loves her, that some of the only family left in her life, love her. So you will not tell her to be careful again. Do you understand?”

  I could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

  I had to close my eyes against the torrent of emotion the tone of his voice caused. He sounded like a new man with just those few words. He was a thousand pounds lighter and something like a shroud had been lifted from his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. But only because I felt like he actually heard my words. If he would have still been angry with me, I would have in no way been sorry.

  He tugged on my hand that was still holding his and pulled me into a hug across the bench seat. “I needed to hear that.”

  “I know.”

  “I think I hate your parents.” He started rubbing slow circles on my back with his big, strong hands and I felt silly since he had to comfort me when I had started out wanting to comfort him.

  “Don’t hate them,” I sighed. “Don’t like them either. But definitely don’t hate them.”

  We stayed like that for a while, just holding each other and staying close. I could have stayed like that forever, in his safe, adoring arms. He was this complete part of me I didn’t think I’d ever fully know.

  “I thought we were going swimming, Hillbilly?” I asked-only because I was anxious to get him half naked.

  “Uh, about that,” he chuckled against my shoulder, his wide chest shaking with the movement. “I might’ve forgot my trunks.”

  I picked my head up off his chest and turned to face him. My fingers started tracing his chest of their own accord and I couldn’t stop my nose from running down his jaw line. I just needed to touch him, to be connected to him at all times.

  “I’m confused,” I stated innocently. “I thought you were the one that planned this whole thing? And now you’re telling me you forgot the proper apparel?”

  “Now, now Duchess,” he murmured. His fingers gripped at my waist, holding on to me like he was barely containing his self-control. “You got me all distracted with thoughts about your little bikini. It’s not entirely my fault.”

  I laughed at that, “Don’t try to blame it on me!” I slipped off my heels and scooted back from him a little bit, “But that’s what you get for teasing me so much last night. I probably stayed up half the night just thinking about you!”

  His whole body jerked at that confession, “You were up thinking about me all night?”

 
Instead of answering I moved all the way over to my door and grasped the hem of my dress. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to do you a favor tonight. Since you forgot your swimming suit, I’m going to do the magnanimous thing here and forget mine too….”

  Stockton jerked again, only this time it was something closer to surprise instead of excitement. “Pardon?”

  “Well, I don’t want you to feel left out,” I smiled slowly. And then with a flash of movement I wiggled my dress over my head and threw it on the floor. In another second I had my passenger side door open and I was sprinting toward the river.

  The rough rocks stabbed my feet and the gravel got imbedded in my toes, but I kept running, hoping nothing would break the skin. I squealed at the cool night air and ignored the breeze that pebbled every inch of my body. My golden hair whipped out of the loose pony I had pulled it into and floated around my face and shoulders.

  I tossed a look over my shoulder just in time to watch Stockton stumble out of the Jeep, pants around his ankles and shirt half way over his head. I laughed as he hopped around, shaking his legs out of his pants and fighting to get his shirt over his head. Soon enough he was successfully down to boxer briefs and sprinting towards me.

  I stumbled into the shallows of the bank as I took in his nearly naked form in the moonlight. Stockton was a god of a man, covered inch by inch in perfectly sculpted muscle and defined form. His right arm was almost comically bigger than the left, but each could have been hand drawn by a famous artist to come out looking so…. intricately muscled…. So… intimidating. His legs were just as guilty, pure testosterone and hard work.

  He was gorgeous. And good. And for some reason into me.

  I was still staring when his big, strong arms swooped around my waist and lifted me into the air. He wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me flush against him so that we were eye level. The slow rapids crashed lazily against his legs and I felt their cool splash against my own bare calves as the water moved on downstream. It was frigid still, in late spring, but with Stockton’s body heat and sexual presence, the freezing water was surprisingly refreshing.