She looked down at the quilt’s bits of mismatched fabric, sewn into a tapestry of hope and enduring love. It was easier to accept now: that a part of her had come to live with Vivian and stayed on at the Dream Whip, when she’d been offered better jobs over the years for more money, because she’d hoped Brad would one day be right where he was.
He hadn’t returned to town for her. She hadn’t really wanted him to—not if he could leave her all over again, which he still might. But tonight she needed to feel cared for, comforted, and loved as fiercely as she had in Brad’s arms at the restaurant. Tonight she needed her dreams of him back, no matter the risks.
She stood and began unbuttoning the soft pink flannel at her neck, continuing all the way down until there was nothing left to undo. Watching him watch her, want her, his gaze consuming her, she let her gown fall away. Swallowing, she felt a little like this was her first time, though she’d had several relationships since her teenage crush on Brad. She eased back onto the priceless quilt, baring her body and heart to him.
“Are you sure?” He stepped closer. “Be sure about this, Dru.”
“All these years you’ve been coming back and leaving, seeing your grandmother, seeing Travis, avoiding me. And I’ve told myself that’s what I wanted. I was never going to chase you again. I wasn’t going to give myself another chance to be wrong. But watching you go this time, without this”—she shivered when he moved to the edge of her bed—“without knowing if you could be as good for me as you have been for the Whip and Vivian, I . . .”
He leaned over the bed, over her body, braced on his elbows, eye to eye. His hips pressed hers to the mattress, his legs holding her still for him.
“I could be very good for you, Dru Hampton. I’ve been waiting seven long years to prove that to you.”
She nodded.
She ran her insteps up his calves. Lifting her knees, she applied heavenly pressure along his thighs, filling up and wanting, his hard, muscled body a perfect fit against her softer one. The roughness of his jeans and T-shirt felt divine against her skin.
“Don’t run this time.” He kissed away the emotion trickling from her eyes. “You’re so beautiful. So incredible. Let me make this better than your dreams. Let yourself want me tonight.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his lips to hers. He took control of the kiss, hungry and greedy, chuckling wickedly, his tongue sweeping in. It was reckless abandon, hearing him want her, feeling his body tense and release, craving her, as she rolled them over until she was on top and working the fastening of his belt.
“Dru?” He held her still until she made eye contact.
She kissed his lips, nipped his neck, his ear, homed in on his mouth again. She wasn’t talking about love or leaving. She wasn’t answering questions. Not tonight. Not about their feelings for each other or Vivian or what happened next. It was all too confusing, like fraying snippets of fabric that only needed to come together to make something breathtakingly beautiful. But she couldn’t see clearly enough what they were meant to become.
She knew only one thing for certain.
“There’s nowhere else I want to be tonight,” she said. “I’m not a child. I realize this isn’t about forever. Trust me, Brad. I’m not expecting a fairy-tale ending this time. I want you here with me, in my bed. I want you, even if it’s only until morning.”
He hesitated—doubting her, worrying for her, something that she couldn’t read taking him away from her. She lifted the hem of his T-shirt over his belly and chest and shoulders, kissing new terrain. Relenting, he lifted his upper body, muscles rippling, and tossed the shirt to the floor. He shucked off his jeans and eased her back to the mattress, not gentle, not careful, needing her in a thrilling, hungry way.
“God, Dru,” he whispered. Rough hands cupped her breasts. His lips found her nipple. “I want you, too.”
Chapter Ten
“Brad?” Dru said, unable to move and in no rush to escape her predicament.
“Mmph?”
She nudged his ribs with her elbow.
He retaliated with a snuggle that turned into a squeeze that turned into her being hauled on top of him, discovering at least one part of him that was ready to greet the day. She wiggled in just the right way. A single eye popped open above his sexy morning stubble, accusing her of taking advantage.
“Witch,” he teased, tempting her back into the fragile closeness of their near sleepless night.
He nuzzled her neck, palming her bottom until she wiggled again. She nipped his earlobe, her teeth sinking in. He hummed, their bodies melting and coming alive.
She should be exhausted, they both should be, but she pecked butterfly kisses all around his mouth, her lips eventually landing on their target, dabbling and teasing. She dove beneath the covers, intent on driving them both crazy. Her hand found him.
“That was Mother’s,” he said, stalling her fingers where she’d been exploring just how awake he was. “Did you know that?”
“Um . . . ?” She let go.
He chuckled and snagged her, spooning her back against him.
“The quilt, Dru. Vivian told me it came from my mother’s hope chest. I was obsessed with it as a kid.”
“And then your grandmother gave it to me.”
Dru brushed the uneven stitching on the handmade spread. She held on tighter, overwhelmed by too much at once. Was it possible Vivian had foreseen this moment all these years, knowing how perfectly imperfect Dru and Brad could be together?
“The woman’s diabolical,” she said.
“She’s a smart lady.” A sliver of reality had crept into Brad’s voice. He pushed up to his elbow, his gaze tender. He tucked the quilt around Dru. “I want to—”
A cell phone chirped, the outside world refusing to stay outside. Brad’s arms came around her so naturally, she didn’t know how she’d let him go.
“It’s yours,” she said over the next ring.
“Whoever it is can wait. We need to talk about—”
“What if it’s Vivian?” Dru eased away. She could face only one impossible reality at a time. “She seemed so weak last night.”
The next ring had Brad reaching over the side of the bed for his jeans. He dug out his phone. He stared at the display as it rang again.
“It was Horace,” Brad finally said. “He rolled to voice mail.”
They stared at each other, wondering. Knowing.
Dru’s pulse was beating all over her body. The person in Chandlerville she was closest to besides Joe and Marsha was gone. The woman who’d raised Brad had said her good-byes last night. No tears, except for Dru’s, nothing drawn out or sad. Just one more challenge from her to them, to fight as tenaciously for what they wanted as Vivian always had.
Dru’s phone rang in her backpack. She shook her head, her eyes blurring. She pulled the quilt around her and walked to the chair she’d dropped her things onto when she’d come home from Harmony Grove. She pulled out her phone and swiped the call open.
“Horace?” she asked.
“Dru . . .” The lawyer’s voice was quiet, a man who commanded an entire courtroom’s attention when he litigated. “I tried to reach Brad first. I’m sorry, honey. I have some difficult news . . .”
When Brad had returned Horace’s call, the lawyer said half the town was already in the waiting room at the hospital.
Friends had been arriving a few at a time as the word spread that Vivian had been transported to Chandler Memorial at dawn, and pronounced dead shortly afterward. When Brad and Dru arrived just after seven, more people who’d known and respected and would fondly remember Vivian and Butler Douglas were heading inside from the parking lot.
After Dru had excused herself to the hall bathroom to dress—code for crying quietly, alone, as if she couldn’t have handled Brad comforting her—he’d called her foster parents. When Brad had pulled into the Chandler Memorial lot with Dru in the passenger seat of his Jeep, M
arsha and Joe had turned in behind them.
Dru, who’d said she hadn’t wanted to bother her family so early in the morning, ran into her mother’s embrace. The two women walked inside arm in arm. Brad shook Joe’s hand and accepted a hug.
“Your grandmother meant a lot to a lot of people,” Joe said. They followed the women together. “Dru, especially. Vivian gave her—”
“The chance to have a real home here,” Brad finished.
A home Dru had never expected to be hers. She still didn’t. He’d seen it in her eyes when she’d taken Horace’s call. More than sadness and loss. There’d been panic, too. Loneliness.
The beautiful woman who’d been his with abandon all night had needed to be alone again this morning, to handle what they were about to face. Alone was what he’d been seeing in Dru’s eyes since they were kids. Raised by a remarkable foster family, loved by the town she’d come to mean so much to, a part of Dru had never really expected that the belonging she’d worked so hard for was already hers, just because, no matter what.
I realize this isn’t about forever . . . I want you, even if it’s only until morning.
“Dru was family to Vivian,” Brad said to her foster father.
And if Dru still couldn’t accept how much Vi had cared about her, would she ever be ready to trust him?
He thought back to his grandmother’s total reliance on Horace at the end. She’d let herself need Horace, to help deal with Brad and Dru and the will, to help ease them all into her passing. And Vi had never let herself need anyone, once her husband was gone.
Brad wanted to feel that necessary, he realized. He wanted to be what Dru couldn’t live without: lost in each other in the night; facing the morning together, no matter how difficult; fighting about work, and then working it out together. He wanted to be Dru’s Superman. Without Vivian keeping them from drifting apart, he wanted to be Dru’s home.
“Vi may have been difficult to deal with,” he said to Joe as they turned the corner toward the first-floor waiting room. “But she knew how to love, how to believe in people.” No matter the mistakes he’d made, his grandmother had always believed in him. “She saw how special your daughter was and took Dru in when she barely knew her.”
“Because you asked her to.” Joe clapped Brad on the back. “The both of you kept our girl close, so Dru could finish figuring out her life.”
Our girl.
Brad nodded, whatever he’d have said next logjammed in his throat. They joined Dru and Marsha in the waiting room, Joe’s hand falling on Brad’s shoulder like an understanding father’s.
Friends and neighbors were greeting the two women with smiles and tears, a tribute to Vivian’s lifelong impact on everyone. Dru was hugged and consoled. She even laughed a time or two at stories of Vivian’s more outlandish moments. Brad hung back and watched her struggle, encircled by support that seemed to make her feel more out of place by the moment.
She’d been a big part of his grandmother’s final years, while he’d needed to be somewhere else. It was a lock, Dru and this town. Why couldn’t she see that, even now?
He’d tried to talk about it with her earlier, while he’d still held her close. He’d wanted to tell her that he’d believe in her, in them, for as long as it took for her to believe, too. He’d wanted her to know that he was betting on them to make it, even if she couldn’t yet. He’d keep working to make sure she had what she needed, the same as he had for Vivian.
“Keep her close,” Joe said. “She’s going to want to be alone. She always does when she’s scared. Vi might have gotten you this far. Finishing this right, whatever that turns out to be, is on the two of you now.”
Horace finally noticed Brad, from the lawyer’s place in the center of the room beside Dru and Marsha. The lawyer walked over, his hand out to shake. He pulled Brad into a hug. Joe left to join his family. Others stepped to Brad’s side.
“She was thrilled to have you back,” Horace said.
“She’s been so proud of you all these years.” Walter Davis shook Brad’s hand next. “Your joining the force in Savannah was all she’d talk about for days after each of your visits. And the last few weeks, she’s crowed about how successful you and Dru have been, improving things at the Dream Whip.”
“Did you know she had a memory book?” Dan Beaumont asked. “All your Savannah PD citations and awards, articles about your radKIDS programs there. No one had ever seen it. She showed it off when people visited her at Harmony Grove, though. She wanted people to finally know you better.”
Sam Perry wiped at the corner of her eyes. She hugged Brad. She let her husband, Brian, tuck her protectively against his side. “When my Cade was having a hard time a few years back, she made a point of writing a letter to me, talking about how proud she was of you, even though you’d had rough patches growing up. She’d lost her husband and her daughter, she said, and she understood a little bit about my past and why Cade’s struggles were so hard for me. She reassured me that I had a fine boy on my hands, just like she did, and look how wonderful you had turned out . . .”
The stories went on, from more and more people Brad had gotten to know a little, because Vivian had asked him to. Thanks to her, her Chandlerville family was accepting him, missing Vivian with him, making sure he knew he wasn’t alone in his grief. And it would have been a perfect moment, despite his grandmother’s passing, if he hadn’t seen Dru slipping away from her parents and out of the waiting room, walking off by herself.
Dru brushed her fingers across Vivian’s memory book. She’d found it in the bureau beside her friend’s bed at Harmony Grove. She couldn’t believe she’d never seen it before. When Sally’s father mentioned it earlier, from the look on Brad’s face, neither had he. His picture was on the cover, dressed in his Savannah PD uniform, smiling and shining bright with his new beginning far away.
For a woman who’d shied away from outward expressions of affection, Vi had gone all out making a careful record of how much she’d cared.
You’re as much family to me now as my grandson.
Dru had already flipped through the pictures and news clipping–filled pages. Vivian had been so proud of Brad . . . and of Dru. Both of their accomplishments had been privately celebrated—Dru’s in Chandlerville and Brad’s in Savannah.
“Horace told me,” Brad said from the doorway to Vivian’s hospice room.
Dru looked up, staying put on the carpeted floor beside Vi’s Christmas tree, loaded with the vintage ornaments Vivian had loved so much. Each treasure had been carefully stored away each January, wrapped in tissue and sorted by size and color. Vivian had had a blast a few weeks ago, bossing around Dru and Brad and anyone else who’d play along, telling them where to hang each ornament on the tree. And then having them reposition things over and over, until she’d been satisfied. It had taken days. She’d only been up for a few minutes of it at a time. But she’d loved every moment of it, remembering out loud to anyone who’d listen how each ornament had come to her.
Brad knelt in front of Dru. He covered her hand where it lay over his photo. “Horace said there are as many pictures and stories about you in here as there are of me.”
Dru nodded, and she loved Brad for understanding, for knowing where to find her. She loved him, period. There was no way around it, no matter what she’d said last night about not wanting forever.
“I guess I never really believed I was that important to her.” She opened Vivian’s memories, flipping to news articles about both of their radKIDS programs. “I never realized . . .”
He sat beside her and eased the book closer. The two halves of it rested on their side-by-side thighs. “It’s easier not to look too closely sometimes. But it’s clear how much she loved you. Throwing us together and leaving you the house wasn’t just about matchmaking to her, or business or one last run at making mischief. Vi was proud of you, and she wanted you to know it. She wanted you to be happy.”
Dru sighed. “I’v
e had weeks to get ready for this, but I think that makes it harder somehow.”
“For us,” he agreed. “Not for Vivian. She finished everything she’d started in this world, mostly thanks to you. You got me home. You’re why I stayed. She knew I would. Giving her what you did by agreeing to her crazy scheme for us was an incredible gift. She may have manipulated us into it, but she died knowing she’d given us a second chance.”
Dru leaned her head against his shoulder.
But a second chance for what?
“Did you really stay away from Chandlerville,” she asked, “because you thought it would make things better for me?”
“At first.” He started flipping pages, studying each one the way Dru just had. “Then it got to be better for me not to see you doing so well, and not caring that I wasn’t a part of it.”
“I cared.” Why else would she have worked so hard to be everywhere he wasn’t, each time he came home? “So did Vivian.”
“So it would seem.” He flipped the book closed and set it under the tree. “What about now, Dru? We know we can do this together, the work part anyway. Does that make things easier for you, or harder? You didn’t let me hold you this morning, when Horace called about Vivian. You left the hospital without me. Did we get it right, keeping our distance so things wouldn’t be this difficult for you?”
“Not being friends was easier for a long time,” Dru said. “But now . . .”
She kissed him. She’d always want to when he was this close. She smoothed her hand down the stubble he hadn’t shaved away before driving to the hospital.
“You belong in this town, Brad. You’re good for it, just like Vivian and your grandfather were. I’m so sorry I’m the reason you gave it up.”
“I’m not.” He kissed her back. She could taste his tears, mingling with hers. He rested his forehead against hers. “It gave us time to grow up and figure out what comes next.”
Here in My Heart: A Novella (Echoes of the Heart) Page 11