by Frankie Love
My cheeks are warm, and I catch Cal’s eye across the room, He is in a conversation with another woman who I recognize as being one of the ladies who volunteered with Grandma. She’s unabashedly wrapping her arm around Cal’s bicep.
“I want to stay here for a bit.”
“And then?” the woman presses.
I shake my head, not knowing. But knowing I will be alongside Cal no matter where I end up.
Later, Dad finds me in Grandma’s room where I am looking through her old photo albums.
“You doing okay, Jules?”
I shrug, frowning slightly. “Even though I knew it was going to happen eventually... it’s hard to believe she’s really gone.”
Dad sits next to me on the bed. “She left a letter for you. Well, her hands had been flaring up for a few days before the clot, and she couldn’t write anymore, her fingers were too tight, but she told me what to write.”
“A letter?” My eyes furrow. “Where?”
Dad pulls the letter from his pocket. “I’ll let you read it alone.”
I nod, taking the slim envelope from him.
“You know,” he starts, standing and headed to the doorway. “Cal came out to the barn to have a talk with me.”
My eyes raise. “Yeah?”
“He’s a good one. I know the papers are saying crazy things about that club he was running—and I don’t know anything about that stuff, you know me, I’m a simple guy. But there have only been a few things in my life that matter. The women in my life and this farm.”
I can see that Dad is struggling to keep himself composed. “And I guess what I’m trying to say is, it seems like Cal feels the same way as me.”
“He cares about this farm?”
“He went to the bank and paid off our mortgage. That tells me he cares an awful lot.”
“That’s too generous,” I say, shaking my head. “We can’t accept it.”
“I’d have said the same thing a year ago. Hell, six months ago even. But right now, with the farm paid off, that means my daughter isn’t going to be tied to this place anymore. You can be free to go live the life you want.”
I bite my bottom lip. Hating how it always circles back to this. “Can’t this be enough?”
In the doorway of Grandma’s room, Dad slaps his hand to the hardwood. “Read the letter, then tell me what you think.”
I open it, spreading the white stationary in my lap. Reading it, in my dad’s handwriting, I try to imagine my Grandma dictating the words for him. But as I read it, I mostly only cry.
Dear Jules,
Growing up is hard, no matter your age.
Here I am, lying on my deathbed, yet I am faced with the same questions as you. What next? What do I regret? Is this life I am choosing to live enough?
I don’t have all those answers. What I do know is this:
Yes.
Choose yes.
Saying no, resisting, pulling back, living in fear—those are the easy choices in life.
But they are also the ones that will make you small.
And Jules, you are more than that.
We all are.
For years I’ve told you to leave this farm, to take a chance. A leap.
You’re still scared. You want to come back to the land you know.
You’re scared of missing out on the things that matter most if you choose something other than this farm.
I’m going to tell you something: you won’t miss anything if you know who you are.
And you’ve already figured that out.
It wasn’t easy—there were awkward years and uncomfortable times where you were learning how to be comfortable in your own skin, but you are your mother’s daughter and your daddy’s girl and you carry that with you wherever you go.
You are loved, and that has allowed you to look within, not out, for validation.
Life gives you opportunities when you least expect it, in places you never imagined.
Follow them.
And remember that your family will always be where your heart is.
Now go take a chance and see what might happen next.
I love you, always,
Grandma
31
When Jules finds me sitting on a tractor, her eyes are gleaming, and I know she’s been crying again.
I want to tell her the tears will stop soon, but I can’t guarantee that.
Seeing her in pain this past week has told me everything I need to know about the woman I love.
She is soft in all the right ways. She knows who she is, where she comes from, and she knows what it means to stick by the sides of those you love.
And I also know I need her to be my wife.
“Cal,” she says, pulling herself up onto the tractor, sitting beside me. “What on God’s green earth are you doing out here?”
“Trying to think why people stopped being farmers. It’s fucking gorgeous here.”
“I’m guessing people stopped being farmers because the work is hard as hell,” she tells me, laughing. “But you’re right, it is gorgeous.”
She leans back in the seat beside me, and my hand slips through hers. Not meeting my eyes, she says, “Dad says you paid off the farm.”
“Are you mad?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head. “No. But it was more than you needed to—”
I cut her off. “Jules, it’s the least I could do. I brought his daughter into a fucking sex scandal. I owe your dad. Especially considering the question I asked him.”
Jules raises a brow. “What did you ask him.”
“A big question. The big one.”
Her eyebrows raise, and she bites back a smile.
“Look, Jules,” I say, pulling her toward me, squaring our shoulders so we face one another. The cornfields are before us, and it’s like a sea of possibility and it is fucking beautiful, this place and this life and this possibility—especially in light of the last few months. Losing so damn much—but still, we found one another.
I clear my throat and start again, “Look, I don’t want to offend you, but I want to say something.”
She nods telling me to go ahead.
“It took awhile to understand what kept bringing you back to this land, but now I think I know. You haven’t found your thing. And coming back to what you know is easier than stepping out and finding something new.”
Instead of pushing back, like she did before when her dad tried to talk with her about this she just smirks and hands me a letter. “Seems like everyone who loves me, figured out the same thing.” When I narrow my eyes in confusion she hands me an envelope and says, “Read this.”
I unfold the paper and read a handwritten letter.
I feel myself welling up with emotion as I read her Grandma’s last words to her. It was dated the day before she died.
“That’s beautiful,” I tell her.
She nods. “I never thought of it like that, I just thought, I love it here. This is home. Where I belong. And when I got to LA, I so quickly knew that was not where I belong. But the truth is, I’ve never been anywhere else. Seen anything else. And maybe there is more. And maybe there isn’t, but if I don’t try again, if I run back home after the first fall, what sort of woman will I be?”
“The truth is, Jules, I haven’t stepped out either. I’ve lived a safe life just like you. Just had more money while I lived it. But since the day my parents died, I started hiding. Let my world get smaller until it was a cocoon that nearly killed me. A cocoon that did kill Sawyer. I need more. We need more.”
“You better not be breaking up with me.”
I shake my head. “I’m too much of a romantic for that.”
“You know that the idea that the man who ran a fuck club considers himself a romantic is pretty messed up?”
“See,” I say, grinning. “That’s what I mean. We need to go to Paris. Tuscany. We need to expand our romantic horizons.”
“Leaving my dad seems scary. He’s the only family I have left.”
I run my hand over my jaw, wanting to be her family too. Maybe she isn’t ready for this, for a leap with me.
“But,” she continues, “I think that me giving him space to live his life might be a good thing. He’s not even fifty, has never had a house without another woman living in it. Moving in with him might cramp his style. I mean, maybe he wants to get married again.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Could you handle that?”
“I think so,” she says slowly. “Honestly, after reading Grandma’s letter I feel freer than I have in a long time. Maybe forever.”
“Then I guess there’s no time like the present.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my mother’s diamond engagement ring. “I love you, Jules. And I want to take a chance and see what might happen next. I want to be your partner. Your best friend. You lover. Your protector. I want to be your husband.”
She covers her mouth. “This was the big question?”
I nod.
“And paying for the farm, was it like a modern day dowry?”
I shake my head. “I think dowries go the other way. And this wasn’t that. This was a way to give us all that we want.” I take her hand in mine, kissing her knuckles, her fingers, her wrist. “Marry me, Jules. Be my wife.”
And then she says yes.
She wraps her arms around me. Pulling herself onto my lap. She covers my face in kisses and grinds against me, instantly revving me up.
“Yes, Levi Callahan Mallone. I will marry you.”
I grin, starting to slip the ring on her finger, but she pulls back.
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve still never taken me on a proper, pick me up at eight, bring flowers, make reservations, date.”
“Is there a restaurant we can make reservations at in Resting Hollow?”
She shakes her head. “In Paris. The Eiffel Tower.”
I smile at the woman I love, who has changed my sorry life for the better, knowing I no longer need a fuck club—all I need is her.
“Damn, you’re ready to take a leap, all right.”
“With you? Yes, Cal, I am.”
Epilogue
One year later...
The sun is hot as fuck, but luckily, there’s a hell of a lot of spiked lemonade to keep everyone cool. Also, everything feels a little hotter when you have a woman as gorgeous as Jules walking down the aisle, headed straight to you.
The farm is beautiful, I’ve helped Jules’ father by investing in new farming equipment, a crew, and updated technology, which has allowed him to have his most profitable year in two decades. And this place looks fucking top-notch—as it should for my bride’s wedding day.
There is nowhere either of us could imagine getting married besides this farm—and that’s saying a hell of a lot after a year long whirlwind, around-the-world adventure. We started in Paris, and then found ourselves in wine country, stayed for a month long course on wine. And had lots of sex.
After that, we were ready to focus on something besides one another. In Asia, we fell in love with China, and we spent the fall volunteering at an orphanage. It was hard work, but I helped build a playground and Jules worked in a nursery, holding babies and helping with laundry and meals.
We went south for the winter, found a non-profit animal rescue farm that needed help in Papua New Guinea. We helped muck stalls, loaded bales of hay, and fed the animals—something Jules did with pride, saying her childhood at her family farm was being put to good use.
But besides being do-gooders, we also had plenty of fuck club inspired fun… My baby blew me in Belarus, and we role-played in Rome. We tried butt-plugs in Bolivia and cracked out the handcuffs in Hungary.
Then we spent a month in LA, visiting our friends. Jordan has gotten the new club up and running—a premiere Oceanside oasis for the rich and famous. But it is everything the Fuck Club wasn’t. White and gold and bright. No walls anywhere but the bathrooms.
He says there are still lots of hookups.
And Jules tells me his favorite hookup is with Collette. And Gretchen.
Apparently, they are the hottest ménage in LA.
I was surprised as fuck; I had never known Jordan’s type—but if it is two hot as hell supermodels, I guess he ain’t doing too bad.
But that wasn’t the biggest shock this year.
Not by a long shot.
I smile down the aisle, Jules is in white, her body a piece of art in this gown—the one her own mother wore on her wedding day.
She beams back at me, her father walking her down the aisle. A cellist serenades us, and I watch as Jules takes in the people standing, watching her walk toward me.
Gretchen, Collette, and Jordan are here. Along with Sophia and Henry, Sawyer’s parents. They sit next to Sadie, who we first met when she was the bartender at Dusty’s, but now has her newborn daughter in her arms.
My best man leans over. “Who would’ve fucking thought? The two of us, in a cornfield.”
I grin. “Married, no less.”
Sawyer nods. “She’s lucky to have you, Cal.”
Sawyer was the surprise I never saw coming.
I look at my bride. “Not nearly as lucky as I am.”
“You’re such a fucking sap.”
I look at Jules, a vision in white, and don’t care who thinks of me as a sappy romantic.
I hope I always am.
Johnny gives me his daughter, and hand in hand, Jules and I make our vows.
To have and to hold.
To death do us part.
Our eyes both flick to Sawyer at that word.
Because death can be a tricky thing.
A painful thing.
Jules’ mother and grandma, both of my parents, they were all buried and never came back.
But that’s not true for everyone.
Life is like that, there are very few guarantees.
As the priest tells me to kiss my bride though, I lift the veil, looking into Jules’ eyes, and now there is one thing I can always count on.
The love we share.
And if you can find love at a place like the A-List Fuck Club, it’s the real fucking deal.
That is a goddamn guarantee.
DEAR READER, YEP, YOU READ THAT RIGHT.
SAWYER IS ALIVE!!!
LEARN HOW THIS MISUNDERSTOOD HERO COMES BACK FROM THE DEAD IN
SMALL TOWN FUCK CLUB!!
The Prologue is on the next page….!
Small Town F*ck Club
Small-Town F*ck Club Prologue
When I decided to fake my own death, I knew it was a drastic choice.
But sometimes drastic situations call for exactly that.
Drastic, irreversible measures.
For a long-ass time, my life hasn’t been mine. And after the scandal broke out at the Fuck Club, I knew that the person I allowed myself to become was no longer the person I wanted to be.
Maybe it makes me sound like a selfish bastard. Maybe I should have drawn hard lines in the sand that I could abide by.
But I know my strengths. I also know my fucking weakness.
I’ve always been a sucker for attention, a sucker for accolades from people who mean nothing to me.
And I had let those very people dictate my life. The only solace here is, I’ll never have to take shit from them again. I’m dead, after all.
My hand’s on the wheel of the car I bought with cash. The windows are down in this classic Chevrolet, and there’s nothing in front of me besides wide-open land.
I just keep driving east. Because if I drove west, I’d be in the Pacific Ocean. Which is the very place my family and friends think I am. Dead on arrival.
But I don’t really care what my family thinks right now.
My parents have as much to do with this—my death—as anyone else.
And I can’t let anyone know that—ever. Ever. The only way I could face their truth is by killing myself. They knew it and I knew it.
&n
bsp; No one else ever needs to.
I exhale, trying to get rid of the feelings of regret that have been tearing me up inside. Maybe I’m a selfish motherfucker. What kind of man allows his friends to believe he’s dead when he’s not?
A man who’s desperate, that’s what kind.
My family has put Cal through enough shit.... Being friends with me is only going to cause him more pain.
I pull in to a gas station, needing to refuel so I can keep driving through the night. As I step out of the car and stretch my legs, I run my hands over my beard. What was scruff a week ago is now the beginnings of a full beard and has helped with my disguise.
I reach into the passenger seat for my trucker cap and pull it on low. With my jeans and plain white T-shirt, no one is going to identify me as the Hollywood celebrity, Sawyer Bennett. Especially now that everyone on Earth thinks I’m dead.
With my fake ID, a trunk full of cash and an offshore bank account, I don’t need anyone or anything.
That gives me a hell of a lot of freedom.... The only problem? I don’t know where the fuck I want to go.
In the gas station, I pay for a Red Bull and shitty food that’s warmed by heat lamps. Before I go, I see a copy of the latest issue of Exposé.
Motherfucker.
My face is on the front of it.
Despite the fact that it is everything I hate, I find myself reaching for the magazine, lowering my eyes as I do, and handing the cashier a five-dollar bill.
I drive all night, sleep the morning away at a rest stop, and then keep driving. I’m in the fucking middle of nowhere, and if I was trying to leave the past behind, I’d say I goddamn have.
My eyes keeps shifting to the damn magazine beside me, and I tell myself I won’t cave in and read it, even though I want to know what has been said about me.
Is this sick? A fucking twisted game? I don’t know.
But my best friend, Cal, has already been through the wringer. He watched his parents die because of the fucked-up town we were raised in. I can’t let the same thing happen to me.
And I knew I was spinning out of control.