“Damn it.” She squeezed his arm, hand pathetically weak, and she seemed to know it, releasing him and taking an angry lap around the locker room. “You can’t just run away like that. When things get tight, and people get ‘upset,’ you can’t bail.”
He folded his arms and leaned back against the lockers, squaring off from her. “And what would have happened if I’d stayed?”
“I would have apologized!” she exclaimed, demonstrating wildly with her arms. “And thanked you, you dumbass, for…for thinking clearly. And keeping me from – ” She glanced away and took a deep breath. “You can’t bail,” she repeated, voice suddenly quiet. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
She charged him, eyes wild, hands landing on his chest as she leaned up into his face on her quivering tiptoes. “Because I love you!” she snapped, and he felt like he’d been punched. A good punch. An amazing punch, sending sparks of sensation through his bones. “You can’t,” she went on, “come into my life, and get under my skin, and – and…look at me the way you do, and make me fall in love with you, and just leave! I won’t let you!”
His hands found her narrow waist. “You love me?”
She looked horrified by what she’d said, eyes falling to his chest. But then her lashes fluttered and he saw the fast glimmer of tears. Her fingers curled into the thin cotton of his shirt; they curled tight, her knuckles resting over his wildly-thumping heart, muscles of her throat working as she swallowed. She nodded.
Drew snatched her to him and spun, setting her back against the lockers, not trusting his legs to hold them both upright. She clung to his shirt, her thighs clamping tight around his hips; she fitted herself to him and held on for dear life, eyes liquid and dangerous. They were the kind of eyes that could drown a man, and they were looking up into his face, doing their best to pull him under. She had no more walls and no more roadblocks. She’d taken them all down, emotionally naked in front of him, and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.
He slipped his arms around her and gathered her even closer against his chest, his forehead resting against the cool steel of a locker front, his nose in her hair, the smell of it flooding his senses – what few senses he had. This was stupid; he should turn her loose and send her on her way. But he felt the fragile rise and fall of her ribcage as she breathed and held her instead.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.
“Neither should you,” she countered. “You’re killing yourself.” Her head lifted and he felt her breath against his cheek, her lips to his skin as she spoke. “Come back with me.”
He closed his eyes against how wonderful that sounded. Not Ray’s dirty looks or Eddie drinking his shakes or Sly sneaking up on people. Not the shifty work and distrust. But he thought of the sagging old mattress in the carriage house, and Cheryl’s cooking. And Lisa. Mostly of Lisa.
Something warm and wet slid against his face: her tears. “Please,” she whispered.
“Will…will you say it again?” he asked, and didn’t have to explain.
She kissed the line of his jaw. “I love you.”
He swallowed. “I love you, too.”
It was almost one when they reached the house, but the lights were still on, and the kitchen still smelled like food when they walked in the back door. Cheryl wrapped him up in a gentle, motherly hug and told him how glad she was that he was back. The sentiment – it felt so natural and true from her – hardened the lump in his throat until he wasn’t sure he could talk. She sat him down and offered a bowl of beef stew so good he almost used his hands just to shovel it in faster. Lisa sat with him, keeping up a stream of one-sided chatter that he understood didn’t need his input; she just wanted to talk. It was light, everyday stuff: the Trans Am was done, things seemed to be getting serious between her uncle Mark and his new girlfriend, Johnny had decided he wanted in on the security business too.
And then, as she was clearing his plate away, Cheryl said, “Ray’s in his office,” and Drew was aware that there’d be no reprieve tonight. Straight into the lion’s den.
Ray’s office was at the front of the house, in a room with tall, narrow windows draped in pale blue, shelves lining the walls, his desk wedged into the corner so he had a perfect view of the door. A pair of brass and marble lamps flanking his workspace shimmered a warm yellow light through the room and painted sinister triangles of shadow beneath Ray’s eyes.
The Russell patriarch lifted his head at the sound of the door latching, expression expectant and less than friendly. He linked his fingers on top of his blotter and pinned Drew with a squirm-inducing stare. Drew held his ground, though, shoulders straight. He was quivering inside with exhaustion, but he’d be damned if he showed weakness to this man.
“Did you win tonight?” Ray asked.
Drew kicked his chin up a notch. “No.”
“How fucked is your hand?”
“Pretty fucked.”
Ray’s eyes went to it, like he could see the damage to the bones beneath the skin. His gaze skipped up again, harder than before. “You went back to Bullard.” Not a question.
“Yeah.”
“After what we did for you, after we took you in, you go crawling back to that asshole?”
“Sir,” Drew said with a sigh, signing his own walking papers, “you didn’t want me around from the start, and no offense, but you know I’m right. You don’t like me. You don’t want me to be with your daughter.” Ray’s face had become unreadable, carefully blank. Drew took a deep breath and kept going. “But I care about Lisa a lot, and she was in trouble…she was the only reason I stuck around as long as I did. When I thought she didn’t want me to be here anymore…” He shrugged. “What would you have done, if you were me?”
To his utter and complete shock, Ray’s mouth curved in the slightest of smiles. “I probably woulda decked me, if I were you.”
Drew blanked his features, not sure how elaborate this trap was.
“You know,” Ray went on, “Lisa’s always had trouble with boys. She’s too opinionated for them, you know? She’s got a mind of her own and she uses it. I always figured she’d find somebody one of these days - somebody she really wanted. And I knew when that happened, I wouldn’t have a say so.”
Drew was silent.
Ray sighed, and his gaze moved up and down the length of him, a frown forming. “You look like shit, son.”
It wasn’t the insult, but “son” that reached over the desk and slapped him. Drew took a fast, startled breath before he recovered his surprise. “Yes, sir.”
“Did Cheryl feed you?”
“Yes…sir.”
“Good.” Ray nodded to himself and pulled open a desk drawer, beckoning him closer with a wave while he dug for something. “Come here.”
Still not trusting the situation, Drew complied, and an index card filled with cramped all-caps handwriting was slid across the blotter toward him. He asked first, brows lifting in question, and picked it up only once Ray had given him a nod. It was hard to see in the lamplight, but there was a name and number there, a shorthand list of days and times.
“There’s a gym down the street from the garage,” Ray said. “TKO. It’s one of those places where the yuppie boys learn how to fight so they can impress their douchebag friends. It’s newly renovated; all the equipment’s new and the manager’s a decent guy. Nothing like your Bullard.”
“Okay…”
“They’re looking for a new boxing instructor, someone who can do one-on-one client sessions six days a week. The pay’s not anything to write home about, but for you, it’d be a real step up in the financial department.”
Something else came out of the desk, something printed on letter quality paper. “Rico drew you up a resume,” Ray explained, sliding it across the desk too. “If you don’t flub the interview, the job’s yours.”
Drew’s eyes pinged from the card in his hands…to the resume…to Ray’s face, his stomach a churning ball of emotions, the lum
p in his throat threatening to choke him. “Are…are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“But…why?”
“It’s not completely selfless – I could use your help with the security gigs. A strong arm shouldn’t ever go to waste.” Something subtle shifted in Ray’s face, a tiny softening. “And because of Lisa. I want my little girl to be happy, and for some reason, she thinks she will be with you.”
Drew swallowed, struggling to find his voice. “I won’t…I won’t disappoint you,” he said, waving the card. “I swear.”
“Don’t disappoint her,” Ray said, “and you and me won’t ever have a problem.” In an undertone that hedged toward dangerous, he added, “She’s my little girl, Drew.”
He met the man’s stare. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Ever.”
Lisa didn’t ask permission and no one stopped her when she dragged her favorite pillow and comforter across the drive and up the carriage house steps. There was no one there to protest when she climbed into bed with Drew amid the shadows and they tangled together in the dark.
They lay on their sides now, molded together, his arm encircling her waist. She played with the back of his good hand, tracing the veins that wound around the curve of his wrist and across the base of his thumb. She could feel his breath stirring her hair. Could smell soap on his skin from the shower. His thighs were braced under hers, her hips cradled inside of his. She’d known she missed him, but hadn’t understood how acutely until now, while they were glued together like this.
The silence was a comforting darkness draped over them, filling up the corners of the loft space with a warm sort of blackness that defied all laws of shadow. Branches rubbing up against the wall were somehow soothing. That new-life, post-trauma perspective was in perfect focus now.
“I quit the bar,” she said, voice just a breath of sound; she didn’t want to disturb this silence of theirs.
His arm flexed, drawing her back against him another fraction. “You did?”
“Mom and I are starting up our own design business.” She huffed a laugh. “I think we’ve finally lost our minds.”
“Nah,” he said against the back of her neck. “You’ll do great. That party was a hit…up until that whole attempted murder incident.”
She started to laugh, and turned her head toward him instead, feeling his nose against the side of her face. She lifted her arm in an upward curl and found the top of his head over her shoulder, fingers massaging at his scalp through the prickles of his hair. He was so sweet. So loyal and supportive and all these things she hadn’t ever thought she’d been missing out on. “Don’t leave again,” she pleaded, voice raw and shaking in the sheltering dark.
“As long as you want me, I’ll be here.”
Epilogue
“I gotta give it to you, honey. You know your shit,” Ray said, and slipped an arm around his wife.
The backyard was awash in light, a whole great net of rounded garden party bulbs strew overhead, like a pavilion of fireflies. Autumn was fast approaching, but the lawn and gardens were still lush, the green washed gold under the lights. Cheryl had transformed the place into a fairy garden. White chairs, an arbor of roses, a linen-covered buffet heaped with Southern fare. Someone – Rico, probably – had rigged up a stereo system and as the first strains of “Sweet Home Alabama” flooded the yard, and the bride snatched up her groom’s hand and tugged him toward the patch of grass serving as makeshift dance floor, Ray smiled.
“All I did was decorate,” Cheryl said, resting her head against his shoulder. “It’s Lisa who lights it up.”
That was true. In a short, swinging white dress that showed off her cowboy boots, a wreath of laurel and white roses on the crown of her head, Lisa was glowing, her cheeks bright apples of happiness, her smile bashful and thrilled all at once.
Drew had put a little much-needed weight on. His skin had a whole new vitality to it; his brown eyes were brighter, speckled with beads of light from the bulbs overhead. He wasn’t the worse dancer: the boxing had taught him the footwork.
It was a small wedding: the guys, Mark and Ellen, Lisa’s friend Morgan, Lisa’s somewhat new friend Danielle. It was a far cry from the Ritz, and twice as beautiful. Lisa had stretched up on her tiptoes, her arm through his, and kissed his cheek right before he’d walked her down the aisle. “I love you, Dad,” she’d whispered, and her smile had eased the ache in his chest; it had told him that this was nothing like that first wedding attempt. She was in love. In love with a boy who was twice as in love with her. Walking her up to the arbor had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do…but watching her now made it worth it.
Ray and Cheryl stood at the edge of the yard, by the railing of the screened porch, and Ray caught a glance of someone walking toward them. It was Father Morris, still in the robes he’d worn while officiating.
“Father Morris,” Cheryl said, easing from beneath her husband’s arm, “can I interest you in a slice of cake?”
The clergyman smiled at her, one of those warm, all-the-way-to-his-eyes smiles. “That would be lovely.”
She gave Ray’s hand a last pat and slipped away, giving them a discreet moment of privacy.
Morris drew up beside Ray and mirrored his stance, watching the proceedings. “It’s a beautiful wedding,” he observed. “Maybe the most charming I’ve ever attended.”
Ray twitched a grin. “Tell that to my girls. They planned the whole thing.”
They were planning a lot of things these days. Their design venture was fast evolving into a self-sustaining business that didn’t need a cent of financial support from him. He was immeasurably proud of the two of them.
“I was glad to conduct the ceremony,” Father Morris said. He offered a smile. “It was the least I could do as thanks.”
“The Church hasn’t had any more problems, has it?”
“No. Our donation program is stronger than ever. I can’t tell you how appreciative I am of what you did for me. For the Church.”
Ray acknowledged him with a grunt.
After a long moment of building silence – Ray could feel the cleric wanted to say something – Father Morris said, “What you did for that boy” – his gaze was on Drew as he twirled Lisa around – “that was quite the charitable act.”
Ray snorted. “I didn’t do it for him; I did it for my daughter.”
“Either way, the motive was love.” His head turned, gaze sharp as flint and totally out of place on a man of the cloth…or, at least, that’s what Ray had always thought. He’d never put much stock in religious types. But the penetrating way Father Morris studied him was beginning to alter that opinion. “You know,” Morris continued, “our methods are different.” He smiled. “Extremely different. But our causes aren’t so different.” His look was approving and assessing all at once. “The world needs more men like you in it, Ray.”
“The world’s a scary place.”
“And only going to get scarier.”
Ray let his gaze rove across the party, across his family. “Yeah,” he agreed. “And I intend to be ready for it.”
Other Titles from Lauren Gilley
Shelter
Whatever Remains
The Walker Family Series:
Keep You
Dream of You
Better Than You
Fix You
For updates on the next Russell novel, visit her blog:
Hoofprintpress.blogspot.com
And look for God Love Her, coming soon.
About the Author
Lauren lives in Georgia, taking care of her horses and daydreaming about the lives of imaginary people. She’s the author of six contemporary novels, including the Walker Family Series four-book saga. She invites her readers to visit her blog for updates, social media connections, and bonus material: hoofprintpress.blogspot.com. She loves to hear from readers, so don’t hesitate to leave a comment and follow along.
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Lauren Gilley, Made for Breaking
Made for Breaking Page 32