Barreled Over

by Jenna Sutton

  “I don’t mind keeping Chicken if you want to stay in Nashville longer,” Ren offered.

  Beck cupped his hands around his glass. “Ava Grace wants me to, but I’m worried about being away from work.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Gabe warned. “A few more days in Nashville won’t make a difference to Trinity, but they will to Ava Grace. If she wants you to stay, you should stay. Try not to screw up the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

  More than a little defensive, Beck replied, “I’m trying not to screw it up.”

  “Ava Grace is good for you,” Ren chimed in.

  “I know.”

  *****

  Only two point six miles to Ava Grace’s house. That was what the navigation system in Beck’s rental SUV said.

  His hands were sweaty on the steering wheel, and he took a moment to wipe them on his denim-covered thighs. He couldn’t remember ever being this nervous, especially over a woman. But Jesus, he was nervous now—nervous enough that if he were standing, his knees would be shaking.

  It wasn’t just that he was finally going to see and touch Ava Grace after weeks apart. Last night, after he’d talked with Gabe and Ren, Beck had finally accepted what his heart had told him for weeks—he was in love with her.

  He’d pretended his feelings for her were simple, uncomplicated lust. He’d ignored his heart and listened to his head.

  But finally, his heart and his head agreed. They both told him that Ava Grace needed to be a permanent part of his life. He just had to figure out a way to make that happen.

  The navigation system directed him to turn left at the stop sign. As he made the turn, the pavement switched from blacktop to gravel. Pebbles thumped against the bottom of the SUV as he rolled slowly down the road.

  His destination was on the right. He braked as he approached a large estate gate sandwiched between two stone pillars. A black gooseneck post with an intercom and keypad rose from the ground.

  After turning into the short driveway, he stopped in front of the keypad and entered the code Ava Grace had texted him several days ago. The gate swung open smoothly, and he drove through.

  He followed a gravel driveway through a large pasture glistening with morning dew. As Gabe had predicted, Beck was up and ready to go before sunrise.

  Traffic had been light, and he’d made it to Ava Grace’s house in less than three hours. It was just a little after eight o’clock, but he didn’t think she’d mind that he was a few hours early. And if she was crabby this morning, he’d just have to kiss her out of her bad mood. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it.

  As he rounded the curved driveway, he spotted a sprawling white farmhouse. With its dark green shutters, wraparound porch, and colorful flower boxes below the windows, the house looked cheerful and welcoming.

  A bright red Camaro sat in front of the house, along with a silver extended-cab truck. He knew Ava Grace had splurged on the car when “I’m Not Your Anything” hit number one, but she hadn’t mentioned a huge-ass truck. It must belong to Kyle.

  Beck parked next to the truck and switched off the ignition. His pulse pounded in his ears, and he took several deep breaths, trying to calm the furious beat. After a moment, he exited the SUV and headed up the stone walkway.

  As he shoved the keys into his front pocket, the screen door opened, and a tall man stepped out onto the porch. The glare from the morning sun made it difficult to see his face, but Beck assumed it was Kyle.

  Beck reached the bottom of the stairs, and the man walked to the edge of the porch. Maybe it was the angle, but he looked massive. His legs were like tree trunks under his plaid pajama pants, and big biceps bulged from the sleeves of his heather gray T-shirt.

  “You must be Beck. I’m Kyle Hood.”

  “Ava Grace never mentioned you were a fucking giant.”

  A smile flashed across Kyle’s face. “Yeah, well, she never mentioned you were a mere mortal either. From the way she talks about you, I expected you to descend from the sky on a winged horse.”

  Laughing, Beck bounded up the stairs. He and Kyle were about the same height, but the other man was built like a tank. His forearms were tattooed with USMC, a rifle, and the words One Shot, One Kill.

  Kyle shifted his coffee mug from his right hand and extended it to Beck. He shook it vigorously, predisposed to like the man who’d protected Ava Grace for years before stepping in to take care of her father.

  “It’s great to meet you, chief. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like I know you.”

  “Likewise,” Kyle replied. “You’re early. Ava Grace didn’t expect you to get here ‘til noon.”

  Beck smiled ruefully. “I missed her.” He glanced toward the screen door. “Where is she?”

  “Still asleep. So is Chuck.” Kyle’s mouth tightened. “He was agitated last night, and it took a while for him to calm down. We didn’t go to bed until two o’clock.”

  When Ava Grace had told Beck about her father’s “outbursts,” he was horrified by the situation and concerned about her safety. “Did things get physical?”

  “No, thank God. The minute Chuck started to get upset, Ava Grace went upstairs.”

  Beck met Kyle’s deep green eyes, and a silent conversation passed between them. They both knew things couldn’t continue as they were.

  Kyle tipped his head toward the door. “If you’re that eager to see her, you could play Prince Charming and wake her with a kiss.”

  As tempting as that sounded, Beck wasn’t going to deprive Ava Grace of much-needed sleep. “I can wait.”

  “Good call. She wakes up with horns and a forked tail.”

  Beck couldn’t help laughing. Now he understood why Ava Grace and Kyle were so close. They had very similar personalities.

  “I need to get back inside,” Kyle said. “I don’t want Chuck to wake up alone.”

  Just then, a commotion came from inside the farmhouse—a man’s raised voice, followed by the sound of something breaking, and then a woman’s frightened scream.

  “Shit!” Kyle cursed, dropping his coffee mug to the ground.

  Beck lunged toward the screen door and flung it open. It hit the white clapboard siding with a bang.

  With Kyle on his heels, Beck burst into the house. Abruptly realizing he had absolutely no idea where he was going, since he didn’t know the layout, he flattened himself against the wall in the foyer and let the other man pass him.

  Beck chased after Kyle, his work boots pounding on the hardwood floor. A staircase flashed in Beck’s peripheral vision as he ran down the corridor.

  Reaching a spacious living area, he frantically scanned the room for Ava Grace. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and nausea crowded the back of his throat.

  Kyle was already across the room, standing in front of a massive stone fireplace that stretched to the ceiling. He’d grabbed an older man—Chuck—in a bear hug from behind and forced his arms to his sides. Chuck struggled against Kyle’s hold, yelling curses at the top of his lungs.

  “She’s over here!” Kyle shouted.

  Darting around the sofa, Beck spotted Ava Grace sprawled on the rug. Fear paralyzed him for a moment before another wave of adrenaline flooded his veins.

  He hurdled the cocktail table and fell to his knees beside her. Blood trickled from a gash high on her forehead, near her hairline, and the delicate skin around her right eye was already showing signs of bruising.

  Unable to tell if she was breathing, he grabbed her wrist and searched for a pulse. Please, he prayed. Please let her be okay.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Hospital food really was as bad as everyone joked. Ava Grace’s nausea had subsided enough to try a bite of her breakfast, but after tasting the rubbery crustless quiche, the queasiness returned even stronger than before.

  The woman who’d delivered the breakfast tray hovered beside Ava Grace’s hospital bed. Why hadn’t she left?

  Pointing to a piece of paper next to the apple juice, the woman s
aid, “Miss Landy, you need to sign for your breakfast.”

  Ava Grace squinted at the paper. Her right eye was swollen shut, and the sight in her other eye was a little blurry, a symptom of her concussion.

  When she’d arrived at the emergency room yesterday morning, the doctor classified her concussion as grade three because she lost consciousness for a few minutes. As a precaution, he’d elected to admit her to the hospital for observation. Thankfully, the CT of her brain hadn’t shown any swelling or blood clots.

  The food service worker handed a pen to Ava Grace, and she scrawled her signature at the bottom of the paper. Without a word, the woman snatched the paper from the tray and scurried out the door, closing it behind her.

  A rude snort drifted from the corner of the room where Mercy sat in a chair. “You’re in the hospital with a severe concussion, a fractured orbital bone, and twenty-two stiches in your forehead, and that bitch just tricked you into giving her your autograph.”

  Oh. Is that what just happened?

  “I’m going to report her and make sure her ass is fired,” Mercy vowed.

  Ava Grace tossed the pen onto the tray and massaged the space between her eyebrows where all the pain seemed to be centered. “Please. Just leave it alone.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mercy replied contritely. “I’m making things worse, aren’t I?”

  Ava Grace didn’t respond, letting the silence speak for her. She appreciated that Mercy had come to the hospital to check on her and drop off a change of clothes, but she didn’t want any company except Beck.

  He’d driven Ava Grace to the hospital and hadn’t left her side until Mercy arrived ten minutes ago. He’d claimed he was starving and needed to grab some food from the cafeteria on the first floor, but Ava Grace knew he just wanted to give her some time alone with her friend.

  Beck had been kneeling beside Ava Grace when she regained consciousness. He was the one who rolled her onto her side when she started to vomit, and he was the one who pressed a damp washcloth against her bleeding forehead.

  He’d wanted to call an ambulance, but she’d begged him not to. She’d been teetering on the edge of hysteria, and he’d hastily agreed to take her to the hospital himself.

  Poor guy. He probably would’ve agreed to anything right then just so she’d calm down.

  If she’d been thinking clearly, she would’ve realized arriving at the hospital in an ambulance would’ve been much better than Beck rolling her into the emergency room in a wheelchair. People in the waiting room had recognized her, and of course they pulled out their phones to snap pictures.

  Undoubtedly, her bloody, bruised face was plastered all over celebrity gossip websites and entertainment news TV. She was probably trending on social media too.

  “What happened at the farmhouse yesterday morning?” Mercy asked.

  Ava Grace lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t remember much. I’d just woken up, and I was desperate for some coffee. I went downstairs, and I was walking toward the kitchen when I heard a noise come from the living room. I went to check it out, and the last thing I remember is Chuck charging me like I was a matador waving a red flag at a bull.”

  She lightly touched the swollen ridge of her right cheekbone. “I don’t remember how this happened, but I’m assuming Chuck punched me in the face, and I hit my head on the cocktail table when I fell.”

  According to the doctor, she had a zygomatic orbital rim fracture, which involved the lower edge of the eye rim. Fortunately, the fracture wasn’t severe, so she wouldn’t require surgery.

  “You’re lucky he didn’t hurt you even worse,” Mercy said.

  Ava Grace took a sip of apple juice before saying, “He didn’t do it on purpose. It’s a symptom of his Alzheimer’s.”

  “I understand that. But the end result is the same.”

  The door opened, and Ava Grace slowly turned her head to see who’d entered the room. If she moved too quickly, the pain almost blinded her.

  A man wearing a white doctor’s coat stopped at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but his short hair was a reddish-brown shade similar to bourbon. She peered at the name embroidered above his breast pocket in dark blue thread, but couldn’t read it.

  “I’m Dr. Lipscomb,” he announced.

  “Hello.”

  “You probably don’t remember me, but I treated you in the ER.”

  Recognizing his voice, she said, “Thank you for taking care of me, Dr. Lipscomb.”

  “You’re welcome.” He glanced toward Mercy. “I’d like to talk to Miss Landy in private.”

  Mercy immediately rose. Leaning down, she kissed Ava Grace’s uninjured cheek. “I’ll see you later, lindeza.”

  Ava Grace smiled wryly at the Portuguese endearment, which translated to “prettiness.” With her black eye, swollen face, and stitched forehead, she certainly wasn’t lindeza today.

  As Mercy left the room, Dr. Lipscomb moved to the side of the bed. Staring down at her, he said, “The nursing supervisor is working on your release paperwork. You should be out of here in less than an hour.”

  He pulled a penlight from his pocket and shined it in her left eye. “Are you still experiencing blurry vision?”

  “Yes. But it’s getting better.”

  “Any nausea?”

  “Some.”

  He clicked off the penlight. “And how’s the headache?”

  “Still pretty bad.”

  “You’ll probably have one for a few days.” He sat down in the chair Mercy had vacated. “When you came into the ER, I asked you what happened, and you said you didn’t know.” He scooted the chair closer to the bed. “The man who brought you into the ER … you called him Jonah, I think…”

  She started to nod, but stopped just in time. “Yes. Jonah Beck.”

  “As in Jonah Beck Distillery?”

  “Yes,” she answered, not bothering to explain that Beck wasn’t involved with the distillery his ancestor had founded.

  Dr. Lipscomb was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “Your injuries are consistent with domestic assault. Is Mr. Beck responsible for them?”

  His question was so shocking, she couldn’t help gasping. “No! Of course not!”

  “Miss Landy, I’ve been an ER doctor for fifteen years. I know what abuse looks like.” He lightly touched her forearm, which was exposed by the short-sleeved hospital gown. “It’s not going to stop until you make it stop. I encourage you to talk with a domestic abuse counselor.”

  “Dr. Lipscomb—”

  The door opened, and Beck walked in carrying a to-go coffee cup. He’d worn the same clothes for more than twenty-four hours now—a long-sleeved black shirt with the Trinity logo screened on the front in gold and faded jeans.

  Beck’s eyes bounced back and forth between her and Dr. Lipscomb. “Should I wait outside?”

  “No.” She looked at the physician and pointed to her face. “This was an accident. My—”

  Dr. Lipscomb shot to his feet. “Please, Miss Landy. Please. Just think about what I said.”

  Before she could respond … before she could explain … he brushed past Beck without looking at him and hurried to the door. She thought about stopping the physician, but decided to let him go. It didn’t really matter what he thought anyway. Plus, she wanted to limit the number of people who knew about Chuck’s violent outbursts, even healthcare providers.

  Beck stared after Dr. Lipscomb for a moment before bringing his attention back to her. “Everything okay?”

  Suddenly, she felt like crying. She tried to swallow her tears, but they overflowed. Through her blurry vision, she saw Beck move.

  Feeling the mattress compress under his weight, she scooted over to make room for him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against his chest.

  Decades of emotional pain from her father’s abandonment collided with the physical pain he’d inflicted yesterday. It was like an avalanche inside her, the weight crushing everything in its pa
th.

  As she sobbed into Beck’s T-shirt, soaking the cotton, he pressed kisses on her head. In the middle of her breakdown, she silently thanked the aide who helped wash her blood-encrusted hair this morning.

  “Shh,” Beck crooned. “Don’t cry, sugar. It’s goin’ to be okay.”

  She’d noticed his accent got a lot stronger when he was upset. It must have been quite a shock for him to arrive at her farmhouse just in time to deal with the aftermath of Chuck’s physical attack.

  Finally, her sobs diminished into the occasional hiccup. Beck passed a handful of tissues to her, and she gingerly patted her eyes before wiping her snotty nose.

  “Didn’t I tell you that you wouldn’t be bored if you visited me?” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Under her cheek, his chest heaved with silent laughter. “Yeah, you did. And you were right.”

  “I also promised you’d have a good time when you visited.” She sighed. “I guess I broke that promise.”

  He lightly squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going to be here for a few days, sugar. Things can only get better.”

  *****

  Stroking her hands over the smooth, sweat-dampened skin of Beck’s lower back, Ava Grace said, “I missed being with you like this. I missed having you inside me.”

  This was the first time they’d done anything more than kiss since she was released from the hospital four days ago. Even though she still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent, she hadn’t been able to wait any longer.

  He slowly pulled out of her until just the tip of his erection remained inside and gently pumped forward a tiny bit. He repeated the motion, driving deeper with each forward slide, but not rushing the tempo.

  “I missed you too,” he rasped. “So much I ached with it.”

  She adjusted her legs over his hips, opening herself more fully, and he slid deeper. Dropping her hands to his butt, she shimmied against him and rubbed her clit over the base of his shaft. She closed her eyes, lights sparking behind her eyelids.

  “Your pussy feels so good around my cock, so hot and tight. I can’t get deep enough.”

  Gasping, she arched against him. “More, Jonah,” she moaned. “More.”