by Lesley Jones
He gives me a genuine smile.
“Baby, you have no idea.” Oh, fuck me. My toes become double jointed and tie themselves in knots, my pelvic floor spasms, and I’m genuinely concerned he might have just got me pregnant with his words and that sexy-as-fuck smile.
And, oh wait, did he just call me ‘baby’? Why yes, yes he did. If I had a dick, it’d be so fucking hard right now. But I don’t, nor have I ever wanted one—of my own I mean. Of course, I’ve wanted dick, just not a dick that’s attached to me physically—
“You gonna tell me how you made your fortune, or you just gonna keep eye-fucking me?”
I open my mouth to protest, but it’d be pointless.
“You go first.” My mouth is so dry I’m barely able to rasp the words out.
His head is resting on the back of the sofa, but his face is turned in my direction, his eyes dancing over my features. I position my head the same and watch him watching me.
“You’ll need another drink for this one, Essex.”
“Top me up then, Cowboy.”
“Oh, I plan to.” I lick my lips at the prospect, only too aware that boundaries are being pushed.
He scoops the last of the remaining ice out of the glass that’s been sitting on the coffee table and drops it into mine. My eyes are locked onto the way his fingers curl around what’s left of each cube, the way he straightens them, allowing them to fall into my glass. I hold my breath as he lifts each finger to his mouth, slides it in, and sucks it dry. I have to make a conscious effort to keep my toes nice and straight inside my UGGs as I observe all of this.
He tops up both of our glasses with bourbon, which, I note, in the firelight is almost the exact same colour as his eyes.
I release my held breath slowly as he hands me my glass, but I don’t make eye contact with him. My toes aren’t in fact, double jointed, and I’m afraid I might snap my bones if they react the way I fear they might if I look into those amber pools of his.
“Kai was born the night before my nineteenth birthday.” He starts talking while settling himself back on the sofa. “The instant I held him in my arms for the first time I knew that no matter whether I was eighteen, nineteen, or ninety-nine, I’d lay down my life for him.”
He gets up and places another couple of logs on the fire. Once he’s seated again, he continues. “Things between Danielle and me, they weren’t the best. We had no clue what we were doing, I worked long hours during the week and was out playing in the band most Friday and Saturday nights, so she was on her own a lot. I felt bad for that, but we needed the money.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Not to her. She seemed to be under the impression that I liked being away from home so much, which couldn’t be further from the truth. All I wanted was to be at home with my son, but that wasn’t an option. We needed the money, so I kept working.
“When I was at home, all we did was argue. It wasn’t just arguing, either. Danielle has a mean temper, and when she doesn’t get her way, she likes to lash out, not just verbally, physically, too. It had me worried.”
He licks his lips and sips his drink as I watch, totally mesmerised.
“When she tried to raise her hand, or even her fist, at me, I was strong enough to stop her. My son wasn’t. What if his crying got on her nerves? What if he pissed her off one day?”
I’m barely moving as I listen to him talk. My heart gallops in my chest, my blood rushes through my ears as I wait for him to go on.
“Told her straight, she didn’t put an end to that shit, I was leaving. Warned her, I’d take my boy and go live with my mom in Montana. It’s not what I wanted, not for one minute. I was doing well in my dad’s company, and the band was going great. We were playing covers as well as writing our own stuff and were filling bigger and bigger venues, but most of all, I wanted my boy to grow up with both his mom and dad around.”
He pauses, and a thousand and one thoughts are rushing through my head. How could you leave your child at home all day with someone you couldn’t trust to keep them safe being the one that’s screaming loudest at me. But how do I ask him that without sounding judgmental?
“She seemed to listen, to take it on board. Things settled down. No more fighting and arguing. Then, when Kai was five months old, she told me she was pregnant again. I was so pissed. Once, yeah, I could accept it as accidental, but twice? Both times right after I told her I was leaving? I knew she’d done it on purpose.”
He draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his hair moving with the force as it escapes from between his lips.
“I all but stopped coming home. On the weekends the band wasn’t playing, I’d collect Kai, and we’d go spend time with my mom and Bill. During the week, I’d either eat at a diner or at Mo’s, the bar in town.
Mutual friends of ours used to tell me about how they would see her out at bars here in Addison as well as in Aspen whenever I wasn’t around. It didn’t matter that she was pregnant. She would leave Kai with a sitter and go out drinking. So, in the end, I took Kai to my mom’s, and I never brought him back.”
He sips his drink and then gives a small laugh, “Course, she and her daddy got the lawyers involved, and she got him back. Meanwhile, as I was dealing with the cluster fuck that was my personal life, things started to really take off for the band. Someone from a big record label had been out to hear us play, liked what they heard, and offered us a recording deal.”
He sits forward, elbows resting on his knees, glass held loosely in his right hand as it hangs between his legs.
“The studio was in Nashville. When I told them it was my son’s birthday, they offered up the private jet to bring me home so I could spend it with him.”
He turns and looks at me, his eyes haemorrhaging emotion. My skin prickles and my scalp feels tight. Fear crawls up my spine at what might come next.
“She was six months pregnant by that stage and had told me we were having a little girl. When I got off the plane in Denver, the police were waiting for me. Danielle had wrapped her car around a tree.”
My blood felt as if it had tiny shards of ice floating in it. They froze my veins as they were pumped around my body, making my skin feel itchy.
“I was taken straight to the hospital. Kai was in a medically-induced coma. He’d been asleep in the back seat. He hadn’t been in his car seat, she hadn’t even put a fucking seatbelt around him. He had a broken arm and a severe concussion, which had caused swelling in his brain. They hadn’t thought it was life-threatening, but said they wouldn’t know what the long-term implications would be until the swelling went down and they brought him around.”
He drains the contents of his glass and without even thinking I lean forward and top him up.
“Thank you,” he says so quietly I almost miss it.
“Danielle had broken her right leg, her left wrist, collarbone, and a few ribs. Our little girl was delivered by emergency caesarean, but she didn’t make it.”
A noise escapes my throat, and I cover my mouth with my right hand to try to contain it. Pain shoots from my fingertips, up my arm, and straight to my heart.
“Her blood alcohol was almost four times above the legal limit. She’d been out to a bar, Gracie. She was six months pregnant and had taken Kai out with her to a bar the next town over, hoping no one would recognise her. She left my son sleeping in the back seat of her car while it was parked outside a fucking bar—”
“Koa. I don’t...I’m so—”
“Would you do that, Gracie? You’re not even a mother yet, but would you do that? Leave a child outside a bar, alone in a car day or night? Any child, let alone your own? A child you’re supposed to love and be ready to lay down your life for. Would you?”
I shake my head. “No,” I choke out.
His story, the bourbon, what’s happened to me the past few days—fuck, the past few months and years—starts to collide. Each thing individually has gotten to me but combined, tonight, watching the anguish on this man’s
face, it’s all too much, and I let out a sob.
I cry while watching silent tears track from Koa’s eyes, disappearing into his beard. I’m at a loss as to what to do. How to act or react. What’s appropriate?
I move on instinct.
My arms wrap around his neck, and I pull his head down to rest on my chest.
“I should’ve fought harder for custody. I should’ve spent money on a lawyer like she did. I fucked up, Gracie, I fucked up.”
“He was with his mum, Koa. He should’ve been safe. What happened is all on her. Her and that rich fucker of an old man, who spoiled her all her life and gave her everything she ever wanted, instead of what she needed.”
“Wasn’t just, Kai. My baby girl, Kalia, she didn’t die in the crash. They carried out the emergency caesarean, and she was breathing, but there were problems. Danielle had been drinking hard liquor throughout her pregnancy. The baby was so small, too small. She had heart and lung problems. She just wasn’t strong enough.”
I don’t even attempt to say anymore. There are no words to help ease the heartbreak Koa must still be feeling to this day.
I hold him close and let him cry his silent tears.
GRACIE
I T TAKES ME A FEW attempts to open my eyes and at least thirty seconds to work out where I am.
I’m on the sofa in Koa’s front room and have a faux fur blanket tucked around me. The telly’s off, but the fire has been stacked with logs and is burning fiercely.
The cabin is quiet, but I can hear a faint noise coming from outside. I shift to my back and let last night’s events roll through my mind.
Intense doesn’t even cover it.
I’m not clear on what happened once he’d told his story, and we’d both cried. I think we must’ve both passed out. I know that I definitely did. Too much bourbon and too much emotion left me mentally drained.
I sit up slowly and stand to head upstairs to take a shower and dress, all the while I replay Koa’s story in my head.
Checking my phone, which I’d completely forgotten I’d left up here on charge the night before, I see that I have missed calls and texts from Kod, Rod, and Reggie.
Kod and Rod’s texts are just to check in and let me know that everything is fine at the office, so I scroll to Reggie’s.
Reggie: The fuck, Grace? Where are you? Call me? I’m worried.
I check my world clock on my phone and work out that it’s around four in the afternoon in London, so I text him back.
Me: Hey, Reggie, I told you in my note not to worry. I’m safe and enjoying my travels. I’ll call once I’ve decided when I’m coming home, which will be in about six months. If you want to move my stuff out of the master bedroom and move yours back in, I’m fine with that. Just put everything in the spare room, and I’ll get Kimmie or Ryan to come around to collect it. Hope you’re well. Take care. Gracie.
I hit send. Reggie really needs to get his head around the fact that we’re over. Yeah it hurts, we’d invested a lot of years into our relationship, but now I’ve had time to reflect, I know it’s for the best. We want different things. Truthfully, even if there had been a chance of us working our shit out, that ended when he stopped coming home weekends and after I found his makeup-covered shirt soaking in the sink. I don’t hate him for it. I just respect myself more than that.
I scroll through my Spotify playlists until I find one of my own labelled “EdEle” containing a mix of Ed Sheeran and Adele songs. I want music I can sing my heart out to, and that is guaranteed with these two.
I turn on my speaker and just start making my way to my bathroom with it in my hand when “Turning Tables” is interrupted by an incoming call. I step back to where my phone is still on charge and check the screen, despite the fact I know exactly who it is calling.
Reggie.
If I don’t answer, I’m confident that he’ll just keep calling, and then I won’t be able to listen to my tunes while I shower. So, I listen to my inner bitch and block both his mobile and work numbers before heading to the bathroom.
A half hour later, still wrapped in a towel, I take a peek out of my bedroom window. The strange scraping noise I’d heard earlier has been replaced by the sound of an engine running.
It actually isn’t snowing today, the sky is a beautiful pale blue, and the sun is shining brightly. Out on the drive is one of those huge, American style—which makes total sense because I am in America—pickup trucks. Attached to the front of it is one of those blade type things that you’d see on the front of a snowplough. The truck is moving back and forth in such a way that it’s pushing all the snow from the drive and onto what I assume is grass.
I can’t see who’s behind the wheel, as the windows are tinted black, but I hazard a guess that it’s Koa. I struggle with my one good hand to dress in jeans, a thermal top, a jumper, and my snow jacket, gloves, beanie, and sunglasses but get there in the end. I then head downstairs to investigate.
When I step outside onto the evil veranda of death, I instinctively hold on to my right arm. Memories of how it had tried to take me out just a few days ago still manage to leave me feeling a tad traumatised.
Even though the whole area has been cleared of snow and salt has been spread out, I still give it a death look as I slowly make my way down the stairs to the walkway, which has been cleared all the way to the drive.
I lean against the fence that runs around the edge of the EVoD—Evil Veranda of Death—and watch the truck until it disappears around a bend in the drive. I angle my face up to the sky and breathe in the cold, crisp air. My nose tingles, and I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the temperature. Zero. A big fat nought degree Celsius. Despite feeling warm and toasty in my highly fashionable, yet practical and perfectly coordinated winter get up, I shiver.
A few seconds later, the truck reappears and makes its approach slowly towards the cabin, stopping right in front of me.
Moments pass before Koa climbs out of the driver’s side. While I was showering, I thought about how this would go. I wondered if he would be embarrassed about breaking down the way he did last night, or if he would pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe we’d just carry on as we were before, him giving me whiplash as he switched from sweet and gentle to almost aggressive.
“Anything I can do to help?” I call out.
“About done now, Essex. Could have used your help about two hours ago, but you were still snoring on my couch. Even if you weren’t, not sure that you’d be a lot of use to me with just one hand.”
He moves around the front of the vehicle and out of sight. I make my way tentatively down the steps—not forgetting that they, too, attempted to assassinate my arse, literally—and move towards him.
He’s focused on removing the snowplough extension thing from the truck, and when it’s finally detached, he allows it to fall safely to the ground.
“You’d be amazed at what I can achieve with one hand, Cowboy.”
He’s wearing mirrored aviators, and when he turns his head to look at me, he uses one finger to slide them down his nose, his brown eyes land on mine as they peer over the top.
“Is that right, Essex?”
“Truth,” I tell him, feeling brazen.
He licks his perfectly plump bottom lip and then drags his teeth over it before pushing his glasses back up his nose and straightening.
He’s wearing jeans, a khaki green North Face jacket, and the kind of chunky, square-toed boots you’d expect to see Jax Teller wearing on Sons of Anarchy. They’re so fucking hot that I have to swallow down the heat that’s rising in my belly.
The slouchy beanie covering his head is the sexiest I’ve ever seen on a man and does nothing to douse the flames of desire licking at my insides.
“I’m gonna head into town and stock up on supplies, you wanna come with?”
“I...erm, yeah, sure. If you don’t mind?”
“Wouldn’t be inviting you if it were a problem, now would I?”
His tone is a little abrupt, no
t playful or teasing the way it was last night, so I decide to dish it back.
“I don’t know, Koa, would you?”
He tilts his head to the side, and I assume he looks at me. I can’t actually be sure of this, though, because his sunglasses are hiding his eyes, and I hate it.
“No, Essex, I wouldn’t.”
“Fair enough, let me just grab my purse, and I’ll be with you.”
As soon as I’m safely back inside, I quickly run back to my room, grab what I need, and head back.
Koa’s in the truck with the engine running when I return. I open the passenger door and then come to a halt.
“What’s your problem?”
“It’s a long way up.”
“There’s a handle, hold on and—”
I hold my right hand up to him. “It’s a bit awkward with my left,” I explain.
He stares at me—I assume—for a few seconds and then hisses, “Shit,” quietly through his teeth. It’s his only comment as he unbuckles his seatbelt and comes around to the passenger side to help me.
At least I thought he was gonna help me, lend me a hand for leverage or something. Instead, he takes over and lifts me by my waist so I can climb into his truck.
“Nice ass,” he says from behind me.
“Yeah, you’re all right I s’pose,” I deadpan as I turn to face him in my seat. Loving the fact that the banter is back and there’s hopefully gonna be no more awkwardness between us.
“Wow, your comedic talents are endless. I thought you went to grab your purse?”
“I did, it’s here.” I hold up my favourite Michael Kors wristlet.
“That’s your purse?”
“Yep. When you travel as much as I do, you learn to do it lightly, and I can comfortably fit everything I need inside my Michael Kors.”
“Michael Kors?”
“Yep.”
“I’m trying to work out what that might rhyme with.”
“It’s the name of the designer,” I explain.
“Oh, so not like Hank Marvin or Scooby Doo then?”
“Scooby. Just Scooby. And yes, nothing like that at all.”