Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  Monroe pushed off the couch; the freedom of chucking it all and running off to Seattle to wallow around in Cade’s bed was looking like the smarter choice. “Where are you?”

  “The Tavern. Sam is here, and he’s hitting on one of your girls fierce.”

  “My girls?” Accelerant shot through her body. She grabbed her keys and ran out the door.

  “The pretty one with long, dark hair. Looks young.” Her mother’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “She’s been drinking.”

  Monroe’s stomach bottomed out. Had Kayla learned nothing from her last visit to the Tavern? “Why are you calling me?” she asked even as she fumbled the key in the ignition. “Is he doing something besides acting a fool?”

  “He is a fool.” Bitterness laced her words. “I don’t trust him.”

  Had she guessed something? No time to dwell on the past now. “That girl’s name is Kayla. Don’t let her leave with him. Do you hear me, Mama?”

  After getting her mother’s vague assent, Monroe disconnected and tore through town and over the bridge. Gravel sprayed on her turn into the parking lot. She ran up to the front door as her mother pushed through, a wild look in her eyes.

  “Are they inside?”

  “I turned my back to order another drink and they were gone. Poof. Disappeared.”

  Monroe spun around and searched the parking lot for movement. Nothing. She took her mother’s hand and pulled her back to the door of the bar. Butch, the same bouncer who had been there last time, held up a hand as they approached. “I’ll need to see—”

  “No you don’t.” No matter the man was a foot taller than her, Monroe got in his face. His eyes flared, but he retreated without another word.

  Monroe quick-stepped through the room, her gaze pinging from clusters of people to the lonely individuals at the bar. It was a weeknight and not too crowded. No sign of either Kayla or Sam.

  Her mother had stayed on her heels, and Monroe led the way to the kitchens. If Sam had already driven off with Kayla, there was no telling where they went.

  “Have you seen—”

  “They went out the back.” The cook chucked his head and flipped hamburger patties on the grill.

  With dread topping off her worry, Monroe busted out of the alley door. Two people grappled a few feet away against the rough, grungy brick wall. The relief of seeing Kayla’s dark hair was short-lived. Sam had his hand up her skirt while she tried to push him away, a litany of “nos,” “stops,” and “pleases” falling on top of one another.

  Monroe ran over and hit Sam’s shoulder. He didn’t release Kayla, only glanced behind him, his mouth slack and his eyes bloodshot.

  “Get the hell away from her, Sam.” Monroe grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked. This time Sam stepped away and faced her. Hatred burned from his eyes, along with something else she recognized from her dreams. A determination to hurt her.

  It wasn’t fear but cold, calculated fury that spurred her. Kayla didn’t stand a chance against someone like Sam. Physically or emotionally. If she pressed charges, he would humiliate and destroy her in the court of public opinion. Monroe wasn’t weak, and she wasn’t scared of him. Not anymore. Cade had left her that at least.

  “You like them young, don’t you, old man.” She stepped closer but didn’t touch him. Not yet.

  “She’s at least sixteen. Nothing illegal about messing around.”

  “She’s also drunk, and doesn’t much look or sound like she was wanting to mess around.” She spit in his face.

  “You little bitch.”

  She sidled within arm’s reach of him. “How about you finally come clean with my mother? How about you tell her why you broke things off and moved out?”

  Her mother was pressed against the bricks as if she were single-handedly holding the wall upright or vice versa.

  “Because she was getting too clingy and boring.” Sam didn’t take his eyes off Monroe.

  She returned his stare with an equal amount of hate. “One night while you were passed out, Mother, Sam came into my room to try to mess around with me.”

  Sam’s face flushed and he jabbed a finger in her face. “That is a goddamn lie.”

  “No, it’s not. I remember everything. If I hadn’t run, you would have sexually abused me. Maybe raped me.”

  “Please. You wanted it. You were asking for it.”

  “You’re delusional if you think a thirteen-year-old girl wanted to mess around with a nasty, old middle-aged man.” She baited her words with as much scorn as she could muster.

  The intent flashed in his eyes an instant before his fist made contact with her cheek. She did nothing to block him. The hit dazed her, the intensity of the pain surprising. Her legs wobbled and gave out. She landed on her butt, rocks biting into her palms. Her face throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

  She marked the passage of time by her gasping breaths. No one moved. Her mother’s mouth was slack, her face pale. Kayla stared at her, eyes huge and dark and filled with a fear Monroe recognized intimately. She turned her focus back to Sam. His face was mottled, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  Strength surged through her body, propelling her to her feet and forward. She spun with a roundhouse kick, putting everything she had into it. Her heel made solid contact with some part of his face, and he went down.

  Had there been other girls? Guilt and responsibility weighed her down. “If onlys” scrolled like ticker tape. She couldn’t undo the past, but she could do something about it now. She stood over him as he rolled on the ground, his hand covering his mouth.

  She kicked him in the ribs twice, hard. Something to remember her by. He curled in like a worm trying to protect itself. If she’d been a better person, she wouldn’t have gotten such satisfaction in the beating. But seeing him writhe in pain was very satisfying indeed.

  She stepped back and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. The screen had shattered. Her mother was still huddled against the brick wall with Kayla. “I need your phone.”

  “Sweetheart … did he touch you?” Her mother raised trembling fingers to brush along Monroe’s jaw. She wasn’t asking about the punch but about another night.

  “He would have.”

  “I should have protected you, but I was useless, wasn’t I?” She paused. “I’m an alcoholic.”

  It was the first time her mother had admitted it. Monroe wasn’t sure whether it was the relief of reaching a turning point with her mother or the pain in her face making tears rush to her eyes.

  “Yes,” she said on an exhale.

  Her mother nodded, looked away, and handed her phone over.

  Monroe dialed the police and with as few words as possible explained the situation. “Send Wayne, would you, Gloria?”

  Only minutes passed before the sirens cut through the night. Sam pushed to sitting, the sound triggering an inherent flight impulse. Monroe moved into his field of vision, and she was gratified to see fear mask his face.

  “Don’t move unless you’d like your balls busted, too.” She stood straddling his thigh, her foot close to the threatened target. He froze.

  The jangling of a utility belt drew her gaze up. Wayne and one of his deputies jogged toward them. “What in heaven’s name happened?” Wayne’s voice echoed off the bricks.

  He came straight to her, took her forearms, and guided her to lean against the wall next to her mother. Now that help was there, the pain in her face crescendoed and an insistent hammering took up in her temples. Her stomach crawled up her throat, and she had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up.

  The deputy was on his haunches talking to Sam. He would lie. She had to talk. Slowly, haltingly, she got the story out. At some point, Kayla had come to her and held one hand while her mother clasped the other, and she gained strength from both women. They corroborated her story with slicing interjections.

  “You want to press charges?” Wayne asked.

  She didn’t spare Sam a glance. “Hell yes. Whatever you can hit hi
m with.”

  She was sure she didn’t imagine the resolute satisfaction in Wayne’s eyes. “You got it.” Over his shoulder, he hollered, “Cuff Mr. Landry and get him loaded in the back of the squad car. Read him his rights.” Turning back, he said, “I’m calling an ambulance for you.”

  “I’m fine.” She pushed off the wall, but a wave of vertigo had her listing into Kayla.

  “Your face is already starting to bruise and you might have a concussion. Anyway…” He grimaced and looked down. “We need photo evidence. Irrefutable. Landry will hire the best lawyer around. Probably Tarwater Senior, and he’s a mean cuss in the courtroom.”

  “Of course. Evidence.”

  Her mother and Kayla led her to the parking lot in a turnaround of her last night at the Tavern.

  “Thank you, Monroe.” Kayla’s whisper barely registered through the throbbing pain.

  She didn’t want Kayla to blame herself. She didn’t want this incident to define Kayla’s life. The pain made it impossible to get the words out, and when the ambulance pulled up she submitted gratefully to the EMTs’ care, letting Wayne, Kayla, and her mother speak for her.

  Her mother rode in the back and held one of her hands in both of hers. Sleepy, she was so sleepy. Before she drifted off, she whispered one word. “Cade.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Cade steered the rented Mercedes over the Cottonbloom Parish line. He’d decided to come home in style. A last day of luxury before he traded it in for his daddy’s truck for good. His anxiety grew with every mile. Monroe hadn’t answered any of his calls. Either she was away from her phone or she was ignoring him. He didn’t want to entertain any other possibility. His phone buzzed and he tensed, before Sawyer’s name popped up.

  He answered the call through the state-of-the-art dash. “You’re not going to believe—”

  “You need to come home. Now.” Sawyer’s tone dried Cade’s mouth and had him clenching the wheel. Visions of the police standing at the door and imparting the news of his parents’ accident flashed.

  “What’s wrong?” his voice croaked in the small space.

  “Monroe and Sam Landry got into a set-to at the Rivershack Tavern. He punched her. She’s in the hospital getting X-rays for a possible fractured cheekbone and under observation for a concussion.”

  A fury like Cade had never experienced built during the short pause.

  “She asked for you.”

  He mashed the accelerator to the floor. “I’m going to rip Sam’s arms off and shove them down his throat.”

  Sawyer’s chuckle was full of dark humor. “No need. Monroe already handed his ass to him. He’s being treated for a broken jaw and several cracked ribs. Then, he’s going to jail. Monroe was adamant about pressing charges.”

  If he hadn’t left, she wouldn’t be in the hospital right now. Whatever had happened he would have been by her side so she didn’t have to face it alone. Tears stung the backs of his eyes, and he had to blow out a deep breath. “I’m on my way.”

  He disconnected and utilized the full capacity of the Mercedes’s engine and handling. He pulled into the hospital parking lot in a time that would have made Mario Andretti proud. Desperate to lay eyes on Monroe, he ran to the entrance, the leisurely opening of the automatic doors ticking his impatience higher.

  A knot of people in one corner drew his gaze. Sawyer had an arm around Tally. Regan Lovell paced in front of them. Kayla and two other girls from Monroe’s class sat in red vinyl-covered chairs.

  “Where is she? I need to see her.” His voice cut through the heavy silence of the room and everyone swiveled toward him.

  Sawyer shook his head as if clearing his vision. “Did you teleport?”

  “I’ll explain everything later.” He pulled Sawyer and Tally into a group hug. “Can you get me in?”

  Sawyer shook his head. “They’re only letting family back. Her mama’s in there now.”

  “I’ll get you in.” Regan marched to the nurse behind the desk. He followed and listened as she performed a Jedi mind trick on the nurse. Any argument the nurse tried was futile, and within three minutes Cade was pushing the security doors open.

  Wayne Pearson and Police Chief Thomason stood outside Monroe’s door drinking steaming cups of coffee and talking quietly. Unease from his previous run-ins with Chief Thomason slowed Cade’s steps.

  Wayne spotted him first. “Cade Fournette. Well, I’ll be. Thought you’d left us for good.”

  Probably what Monroe had thought and Thomason had hoped. “Nope. Just tidying up matters. I’m moving home. I need to see her.”

  Chief Thomason’s brows rose, but he didn’t comment. Wayne pointed toward the door. Cade hesitated and turned back. “I’ve got an investigator digging into Sam Landry’s life in Georgia. I’ll make sure you both get a copy of the report.”

  Wayne and Thomason exchanged telling looks, and Thomason said, “That’d be a big help. He’s already retained Tarwater as counsel.” As Cade turned away, the chief said, “Hey, Fournette.”

  Cade glanced over his shoulder, his hand on the door.

  “Your mama sure would be proud of you.”

  Cade nodded, another piece of his past settled where it belonged, and turned back to the door. It was time to think about the future. Monroe’s mother stood and shifted on her feet, but he didn’t spare her more than a glance.

  The beep of a heart monitor set a steady, comforting rhythm. A purpling bruise on Monroe’s cheek was stark on her pale face. Her blond hair was fanned out on the pillow, the sheet pulled up under her arms. An IV was taped to the inside of her left arm, so he approached from the right and took her pliant hand in his. She felt cold.

  “X-rays came back negative.” Her mother’s whisper sounded unnaturally loud and grating. “All she’s got is a heck of a bruise and a slight concussion. I’ll give you some privacy.”

  He heard the door open and close. Without letting go of her hand, he pulled up a chair. Pressing his lips against the soft skin on the back, he mouthed a brief prayer even though he’d given up on religion the day he’d buried his parents.

  “Cade?” Her voice was raspy and disbelieving. “Dear Lord, how long have I been out?”

  His laughing sigh expelled a good portion of his worry. She sounded like his Monroe. “Not long. I was already on my way when Sawyer called me. Had already crossed the parish line heading home to you.”

  “Home to me?” Her blue eyes swallowed him in warmth. He wanted to reach out for her and never let go.

  “I’ve been a fool.”

  “A dummy?” Her mouth twitched.

  “No, don’t let me off the hook. You deserve to hear this.” He swallowed. Besides his pathetic, fumbling try earlier, he’d never told a woman he loved her. Had never loved a woman. Not in the bone-deep, primal way he loved Monroe, but he lacked the vocabulary to express himself. He tried anyway. “Nothing is more important than you. Nothing. Not money, not my company, not jumping off cliffs, not some ghost life I was living.”

  His reconnection to the town, to his family, but mostly with Monroe had made him recognize the void inside of him couldn’t be filled with material things or thrills. It could only be filled with love—selfless and powerful.

  “I love you, Monroe. Can you forgive me?” He pressed his lips against her hand again, needing to feel her warm skin against him in any way possible. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  She didn’t respond immediately yet didn’t pull her hand away, either. He would count his victories, no matter how small.

  “You’ve only been gone three days, Cade.”

  “Three days and fourteen hours. I’ve been miserable. Told Richard I was moving back. Told him we could disband the company or we could keep it going with me in Cottonbloom.”

  “What did he say?”

  An ironic huff popped out. “Already had the contracts drawn up moving the R and D to Cottonbloom while keeping the business office open in Seattle. He’s not keen on our summers or the wildlife ap
parently.”

  She pulled her smile up short and touched her cheek.

  A protective fury and a feeling he’d failed her battled for dominance. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I threatened to beat the crap out of him, but I heard you already did. I’d do anything to take that hit away from you.”

  Now she did tug her hand free, but only to grab his wrist and pull him closer. He rose and braced his hands on either side of her shoulders, careful not to jostle her. As he brushed a kiss over her forehead, she whispered, “I wasn’t scared of him, Cade. In fact … I wanted him to hit me.”

  * * *

  Cade pulled back and looked at her as if she’d spoken gibberish.

  “I goaded him into a punch. Called him a nasty old man. Spit in his face.” A frantic sort of laughter threatened, but she tamped it down. Cade might call in the doctor. Or a psychiatrist.

  “Why in God’s name did you want him to hit you?”

  “Because Kayla’s not strong enough to go through a trial with him. It would break her. Define her life. I needed him to hit me, so I could be the one to file charges.” Cade’s green eyes were full of questions, and she turned her face to the side to escape having to answer. Yet she couldn’t escape the truth.

  “I needed to take him on by myself, or he would have continued to define my life. Can you understand that?”

  “Like my parents’ deaths defined mine?”

  She turned back to face him. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “I’ve let the past go to come home. Or maybe I’ve embraced the best of my past to come home.” A strong ribbon of emotion threaded his philosophical words. “I can’t live without you, Monroe Kirby. Do you still love me?”

  From any other man the declaration might veer toward melodrama. Coming from Cade and with her understanding the bond they shared, his admission made perfect sense. His face reflected the same despair she’d felt at their separation.

  “I’ve loved you since I was thirteen. Three days won’t change that. Nothing will.” She ran her hands up his biceps, curled them around his neck, and pulled him down. His lips brushed hers, but she could feel his resistance.