Solace (The Kingwood Series Book 4)

by S. L. Scott

  His silence is eerie. When I see his eyes, he’s about to burn a hole through the table. He’s still. So still I almost back away, but I’m not afraid of him. I want to soothe that anger away. Just as I reach for him, he says, “Do you know how much it kills me that you were ever touched by him? How could he hurt you like that?” It hurts to see him in so much pain . . . especially because of me.

  I squeeze his hands a little more. “You’re not to blame. I know you want to take the blame because you weren’t here, but I don’t blame you. The blame sits squarely on my shoulders. I’m still so angry with myself that I got mixed up with him in the first place.”

  “Because he twisted shit around to look like a hero. He took one fight between you and me, a fight I realize now that never should have happened, and worked it to his advantage. But if I would have fought harder for us—”

  I’m standing and hugging him, his head against my chest. The anguish he wrestles with, the guilt that seems to fill him, comes in waves of rage, and I feel it too. I understand. I’ve been there. I’m still there, if I’m honest. “We can’t go back and change those things.”

  The feet of the chair grind against the linoleum, and I’m pulled into his lap. My arms are around his neck and his hands find my lower back. “I never stopped thinking about you. I never thought I had chance of getting you back. If I’d known you weren’t living the life you wanted, I would have been here. If I’d known he hurt you, I would have killed him.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Too soon?”

  “Maybe.” I rest my head on his. “What am I going to do with you?” When his arms tighten around me, I have the same thoughts I’m sure he does. “We can’t solve our problems between the sheets.”

  Pulling back, he says, “You sure about that?”

  The smile that stirs long-buried sensations makes me smile. “I’ve not been this happy in years. We have some stuff to deal with, but I feel good around you.”

  He runs the back of his fingers along my cheekbone, and kisses the corner of my mouth. I love how much he loves touching me, looking at me like I might disappear if he’s not watching. I never felt this with Cole. I doubt I ever loved him, or him me. When I look at the adoration on Jason’s face when he looks at me, how he cherishes me as if there is no other choice but to do so, I see the difference.

  I love him.

  “What happened with the tattoo?”

  Replying, I look down, playing with the hem of his shirt. Damn shirt hiding the good stuff underneath. “After he hit me, he told me I would get it done or he’d hold me down and do it himself.” Jason’s hands aren’t tight, but I feel his fingers flex around my waist. “I had already planned to visit Shelby in Chicago the following weekend. Shelby and I were blowing off steam. I never felt better than when I was away from him. We got drunk, and that night we passed a tattoo parlor. I took his threat seriously, and I wanted to control any art that would become a permanent part of me.”

  The figure eights he was drawing on my back stops, and he says, “Eight is a long way away from twenty-two.”

  Exhaling loudly, I know how bad this sounds, but I tell it how it was. “I told them to tattoo my husband’s jersey number, but like I said I was drunk.”

  Understanding passes through him and all the tension that was straining his muscles moments before eases. “You keep saying you were drunk. Did you tell them my number on purpose or the alcohol’s to blame?”

  “I blame the alcohol?” Closing my eyes, I shake my head.

  “Are you asking me?”

  “No. I blame the booze.”

  He smiles. “You know what I think?” I don’t reply, instead wanting him to figure it out on his own. “I think the number eight may have accidentally slipped out, but you didn’t correct them. I’ve gotten tattoos. They don’t just ink you without your final go-ahead.”

  The gold centers of his brown eyes are bright with happiness. I want to kiss him, but I don’t want to hide behind a distraction, even if he’s hard to resist. Tapping the tip of his nose, I say, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

  “You’re right, but as much satisfaction I find in this, I imagine it didn’t go over so well once you got home.”

  “April fifteenth. The day most people dread because their taxes are due, but for me, I thought it was the last day I would ever see.”

  With me still on his lap, Jason stands abruptly while setting me carefully on my feet. He walks to the back door, but instead of looking out, he lowers his hands. The rise and fall of his torso matches the pace of his heavy breaths. As if something draws him outside, he walks out. But when I look out he’s pacing the yard, popping his fisted knuckles. I push the screen door open. “Jason?”

  He stops and looks back at me. “Billy said he took you to the ER once . . .”

  “Billy shouldn’t have told you about that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you can’t fix it. This anger coursing through you”—I take his hands to try to settle his anxious energy—“is fruitless. It happened. There’s nothing to be done about it now. I’m divorced. He’s out of my life.” I think back to recently finding him in my kitchen. “Hopefully for good.”

  Taking my face between his hands, he looks into my eyes. “You don’t believe the lies you tell yourself. Why would I?”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Okay, then you’re fooling yourself into believing you’re safe when you’re not.”

  He sighs, appearing to calm down. Backing up, he goes to the back steps and sits down. “What kind of vehicle does he drive?”

  His question is so far out of left field that I struggle to remember now that I’m on the spot. “Um, uh. A Ram. A black Ram truck.”

  “Shit,” he says, looking disappointed.

  “What?”

  Now a debate colors his body language and he shifts. “I don’t think it’s a big deal, but I saw a car parked in front of the farm one night. I thought it might be Cutler.”

  “Was it a BMW?”

  His stare hits me hard, and he stands. “Yes.”

  “I forgot. He has a BMW, but he rarely drives it except for work meetings. He bought it when we were together, but we couldn’t afford it so it became another source of contention.”

  “Does he drive by often?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve not seen him drive by, but I’m not really looking.”

  “The divorce has only been finalized a few months, but have you seen him since then?”

  When I hem and haw too long, he says, “Tell me, Delilah.”

  Forward. No secrets. Trust. Honesty. Security. That’s what love is. “He came by the other day. It was the first time in months.”

  Steepling his fingers together, he runs them up the bridge of his nose, struggling to contain his rage. This I can relate to. “He’s a fucking dead man already, so be honest with me. You didn’t burn the cobbler. You didn’t break your mom’s plate. That’s when he was here, wasn’t it?”

  I feel ashamed that I didn’t handle myself better. “I told him to leave. I don’t think he’ll be back.”

  “He’ll be back. He’s obsessed with you, but I also think he’ll be back because I am. He hates losing, but to me, it’s as if his whole world revolves around securing that victory.”

  “Me and holding that over you.”

  He’s nodding. “Why didn’t you tell me that night at my mom’s?”

  “I knew you’d be upset.”

  “Not with you.”

  I cross the yard and lower my voice. “I knew you’d go after him, and I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

  The laughter comes from deep within, too big to hold inside. “Trust me, baby, he can’t hurt me.”

  “He’s volatile. Angry and possessive. He’s an alcoholic who makes everyone else pay the price for his failures. He’ll start a fight with you.”

  “Let him. I can handle Cole Cutler.”

  “Things are finally starting
to settle down with him.” I pause and look away momentarily. He knows me too well and can spot when I’m lying, so I try to hide my eyes. I can’t hide forever. When I turn back, I plead, “Don’t start a fight with him. Promise me.”

  “I promise you I won’t start one, but I will finish it. This has been going on too long. It’s time to put an end to it.” Pulling me into an embrace, he hugs me and then dips me. With my head resting in his hands, and my heart on the line, he says, “And I promise you right here, Delilah Noelle, I’ll give you the ending you deserve, the one we’re owed.”

  He kisses me slowly as if we have all the time in the world. Maybe it’s possible for us to find the peace we’re both searching for. It sure feels it when we kiss like that.

  When I’m lifted upright, he adds, “There are so many things I want to make right, that I want to make you proud of me for, that I want for us in this life. Thank you for giving me the chance.”

  “Oh, sweet man. You don’t have to thank me.” It’s time I steal the title back. “I’m lucky to have you back. I feel more me with you around. Thank you.”

  His lips take mine, crashing our hearts, our love, our bodies together in a frenzy of passion. He gives all of himself in this kiss and just like the first time I kissed him, I fall madly, head over heels in love with this man. It’s easy to promise my life to his with words, but we’re deeper than that. It’s not about the words or confessions, sins or pasts.

  It’s about the kiss.

  This one right here. It’s felt deep through my body and reaches my toes. This man. This. Man. He kisses me with such desire I realize all others don’t matter. This kiss is the first kiss of our forever.

  19

  Jason

  I’m fired up, but I keep the hurricane of anger twisting inside hidden from her. I have to. Delilah deserves peace after all she’s been through. I sit back in the chair in her room, my leg bouncing from the unsettled emotions inside. I need to move, to fuck, to drink, to beat something up . . . but I’m home. I have to temper how I’ve been trained to react. I don’t want people here to see the cold mercenary I became.

  I say, “I like that one.”

  Her hands fly to her hips. “You’ve said that about the last two dresses.”

  “I like them all. You look good in all of them.”

  Coming over to me, she presses my knee down with her hand. “It’s going to be okay. I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “I worry. That’s not something I can change. It’s not something I want to change.”

  She stands up. “I’ll wear this one. Let’s go. We both need a night out.”

  It doesn’t take long to reach Red River. The ride is mostly quiet. We know we’re making a statement when we walk in there together. People will talk to our faces and behind our backs. Word will get out, but it needs to. I want this night out with my girl, but I also want to tempt the snake out of his hole. Cole Cutler needs to know I’m not going anywhere, and he better not come anywhere near Delilah.

  I help her out of the truck and hold her hand firmly in mine as we walk down the sidewalk to the busy bar. Just before we reach the doors, she pulls me to a stop. “Hey?”

  Turning back, her eyes are gloriously bright blue with the setting sun shining on them. Wisps of her strawberry-blond hair blow in the light breeze. The pink of her lips draws my gaze and I bend to kiss her. She never says anything, but between her grip on my arm and the way she snuggles into me, I hear her unspoken words. Stroking her hair down her back, I whisper the words she reassured me with earlier, “It will be okay. I’ll take care of you.”

  I kiss her temple before she pulls away and tugs me toward the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, I say, “You’re such a romantic.”

  She laughs. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else. Now come on, hot stuff, and let me show you off.”

  I take hold of the door and let her pass in front of me. “I’m more than a pretty face,” I tease, not so dumb to the fact that women find me attractive. There’s only one woman I’m drawn to, and I’m feeling fucking fantastic that I get to show her off tonight.

  “You’re right. You have a great ass too, and arms. Oh, and thank you for letting me pay homage to all eight of those ab muscles last night.”

  I slip my hand under her hair and rub the back of her neck. “I let you pay homage to more than my ab muscles. Any chance for a repeat performance?”

  “A very good chance.”

  Guess getting caught in our own world is something we do more than just out on the farm. Willie Nelson is crooning through the jukebox in the back, but other than that, the place has gone quiet. Even the pinball machine has stopped dinging. I scan the area, always aware.

  Front door. Top half glass.

  Back door through the small kitchen in the left corner. One large window.

  One window in the men’s and two smaller windows in the women’s restroom.

  Five booths.

  Twenty-one people.

  Ten barstools.

  Eight taken.

  I need to stop doing this. It’s a bad habit that needs to be broken. I’m safe. No one’s going to get me here.

  It’s easy to get caught up in the stares and dropped jaws, to walk out of here like we don’t belong or that we can stop the gossip before it begins. But I don’t want to.

  “Let them talk.” I lead her to a table in the center of the bar and pull out her chair. “They’re going to anyway.”

  She sits down with a big grin on her face. “They sure are.”

  The bar returns to life like we never walked in, conversations continuing with only a few sideways stares. McGilley calls, “Good to see, Ms. Cut—Ms. Noelle. It’s been a while.”

  “Sure has, Mr. McGilley.”

  “First drink’s on me. What are you having?”

  Looking at Delilah, she nods. “Beer?”

  “You’ll be okay?”

  “I’m fine, Jason. The bar is like five steps away.”

  She may think I’m ridiculous, but a lot can go wrong in a short span of time. I’m not willing to risk it with her. “I’ll be back.” I walk to the bar and tap it twice. McGilley knows our order before I even tell him. He sets the bottles down, and says, “She never comes in anymore.”

  “Maybe things are changing.”

  “For the better, I’d say.”

  When I turn back, Billy’s pulled a chair up and is talking to Delilah. I deliver the beers and sit. “What’s up?”

  “Night out is all.” He smiles, tapping the top of his bottle to ours. “Cheers.”

  We toast and all drink. “Good week?” I ask.

  “Got caught up in an auction for a calf midweek and everything went to shit after that. Been meaning to mention the county fair is coming up in a few weeks.”

  Delilah says, “Wow, I haven’t been in years. I want to go.” Reaching across the table, she rubs my hand. “Maybe you can win me a giant bear or something I can cuddle with.”

  “I thought I was your cuddle bear?” What the fuck did I just ask? Cuddle bear? Billy looks disgusted, and I say, “God, forget I ever said that. That is seriously chop your balls off talk.”

  “I thought it was cute,” she says, giggling. “Cuddle bear.”

  “No. No. We’re not doing that. That name is not happening.” I down my beer. I can be settled without becoming a pussy. “McGilley, another round.”

  Billy finishes his beer and then says, “It’s good to know that even the great Jason Koster has a soft side.”

  Delilah says, “He doesn’t. He’s hard all over. Trust me.”

  Billy stands up. “This conversation has gone south fast, and I don’t need to hear it,” he says, laughing. “I think there’s a lonely girl over there looking for company.”

  He walks off just as Sabrina Smith shows up with a straight face and an ax to grind. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Freeland County herself. What
brings you out, Delilah?”

  “Sabrina,” she replies.

  Delilah’s lack of real response is amusing. We both know Sabrina came over on a mission. We just have to wait until she’s bored with us. Sabrina has always been fairly harmless, but she’s bold enough to get on your nerves fast. It’s almost impressive how quick on the draw she is tonight. Looking around the bar, her scrutinizing glare lands back on me. “No hello, Jason?”

  “Hello.”

  “After all we shared too.”

  She loves to tell lies about us hooking up. It never happened, but years after high school she still holds on to them like they’ll turn into reality if she continues dragging it out. Delilah shifts, causing me to look at her. I don’t want her uncomfortable, so I reply, “Nothing ever happened between us, Sabrina. Your memory seems as foggy as ever.”

  “We did too. You’re just choosing to hide the truth—”

  “Sharing a microscope in biology our sophomore year doesn’t count as intimacy. It was an assigned partner project.”

  She taps Delilah’s shoulder with a satisfied smile on her face. “See? He remembers me. Anywho, where’s that handsome husband of yours, Delilah?”

  I’m about to stand up and shoo her away, but I know I can accomplish what I want sitting right here. Whispering, I warn her, “This town may let you pull this bullshit with them, but you won’t with us. I will let you walk away without embarrassing you in front of everyone, but this is your only warning. I want you to stay away from Delilah and me. Do you understand, Sabrina?”

  Her mouth was gawking open by “bullshit,” so I know I got her attention. “Well,” she starts, raising her chin in stubborn defiance, “a microscope is the only thing I ever intend to share with you, Jason Koster. Your meanness is noted.” She scoffs as she walks back to her booth with the poor sucker stuck with her for the night.

  I’m still shaking my head in annoyance when Delilah says, “I’ve noted a few things about you myself.”

  “And what might those be?”

  Leaning over the table, she looks to her left and then to her right before returning to me and whispering, “The impressive size of your—”