by L. C. Morgan
“It’s pretty, though. Don’t get me wrong.”
Too late.
It was too late to backtrack when she finally registered the look of contempt coloring my face.
Why was it something else was always better by her standards? First Patrick, then my clothes and now the laminate. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t leave anything be, just let it lie. It was exhausting. It was as exhausting as it was infuriating. And I was both, exhausted and infuriated. I was infuriated at being exhausted. I was exhausted with being infuriated.
“The shade goes great with the taupe paint. It’s a great color,” she commented, and really should have stopped there. “I can see why you used it in every room.”
That was it.
Pushing to my feet, I was done. I was so done and so close to telling her, but the creaking sound of the front door kept me quiet.
She was just lucky.
Wide-eyed, Mona backed away, disappearing around what she must have thought was a soundproof corner.
“Today was a rough one,” I heard her say, and I plopped back down.
Yeah well, which day wasn’t?
“I don’t think she’s cleaning.”
I snorted.
Ya think?
When did I ever?
“When was the last time she showered?”
Peeking down at myself I lifted an arm to take a whiff, regretting it almost immediately. I was ripe, probably had been for days. I wasn’t sure how many had passed. I didn’t even know which one it was.
Why hadn’t Joe said something to me?
All thoughts ceased with the sound of padding feet and a slam of the front door. The scuff of his work boots resounded with a lingering echo as he started toward the kitchen. I could feel each closing step in my bones. They replaced the rhythm of my barely beating heart. It quickened with the slow, blurred reveal of his presence. I should have been thanking my lucky stars he kept showing up at all.
Glancing up, it hit me that I didn’t remember him leaving that morning. I didn’t recall seeing him in what he was wearing—a gray, grease stained thermal and dark-wash jeans. Dried specks of white paint covered the dark fabric and the tops of his hands. My heart fluttered in attempt to escape my chest and fly to him. How could I not remember? How did I not see him? I’d always noticed Joe before, what he was or wasn’t wearing.
Always.
Unable to gaze any higher than his chest, I looked away, letting searing hot tears of shame spill over my cheeks. Sucking in a snotty breath through my nose, I closed my eyes, my face crumbling when I heard him moving closer. I didn’t want to see him. Only I did. I always wanted to see him. What I really didn’t want was for him to see me, not like this, not anymore.
At first touch, I jerked away, partly from the cold that lingered in his hands, but mostly due to my own self-loathing. I didn’t want him touching me. Only I did. I always wanted him touching me.
Always.
All the time.
I had never been more thankful for his instilled male stubbornness than I was right then, quickly giving up and pushing my cheek into the palm of his hand. He was unrelenting and impossible to refuse when he bent down to kiss my lips and gather me in his arms. Wrapping mine around his neck, I let him pick me up and carry me through the house. The hardened bulges of his muscles were tender in their support. They moved smoothly against my back and under my legs, hardly jostling me with the heavy steps he took. I resisted the urge to whimper once we reached the bathroom and he set me back down on my feet, only turning away long enough to start the bath.
I watched his paint-stained hands patiently while he adjusted the knobs and checked the temperature. I had missed those hands, those fingers, damn near refusing them when they fisted into the hem of my shirt to lift it up and over my head. I didn’t want to raise my arms in front of him, but I did, swiftly pulling them down to cross them over my chest.
Sitting down on the toilet, he pulled me forward to stand between his knees. Affection smoothed his troubled face. He looked at me the way he always did, catching my blurry eyes before dropping to my lips, somehow still full of hunger for what he saw.
My breath caught when he pressed his lips to my stomach then rested his forehead against the very same spot, altogether disarming me. A fresh threat of tears burned my eyes, and my hands unfolded to cradle the back of his head, my fingers tangling into his sweaty hair. The white specks painting the ends caught on my fingernails, though he never flinched, only pressed the pads of his fingers deeper into the flesh of my thighs.
I squeezed my eyes shut at the simple gesture and the shame I felt for thinking of only myself and my pain, trying not to worry if I smelled or not when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants.
The bubbling of running water was suddenly too loud, the humidity from its heat filling up my throat and choking me with the urge to cry, run. Anywhere but here, the only place I wanted to be.
Anxiety ebbed slightly as I let him work the stretchy fabric over the swell of my hips, a familiar feeling pulsating between my legs when he lightly ran his fingers down the backs of my legs and kissed his way up my torso. Fisting the back of his shirt, he dragged it from his body as he stood to undo the buckle of his jeans.
I watched him undress, knowing he had no intention of enticing me. It was too soon. I was too sore. We'd just have to help each other forget in other ways.
Stepping into the tub, he helped me over the edge. His hands were gentle while they turned me to face away from him, ghosting down my waist and pulling me close as he sunk us both into the water.
With little encouragement, I nestled between his legs, resting my back against his chest, the contrast of his cool skin and the warm water making me shiver. It only made me cuddle closer, turn my head to nose the coarse hair on his jaw while my fingers combed through the other side.
He smelled like outdoors, crisp and earthy like the grass-covered ground after a good, long rain. My fingers twitched with the urge to fist his beard, resisting the painful measure to try and get him impossibly closer. He never seemed to be close enough.
Never.
Drops of water trickled across the rippling surface as he raised his hand to cover mine. Joining our fingers, I pulled them down, placing them on my bent knee and giggling softly when his thumb swept across the sensitive inside.
The way he touched me.
The way he knew every spot like the speckled back of his hand.
It made me feel loved.
Reaching for the bar of soap, I settled back against his chest to lather it all over his hardworking hands. His free fingers slid along the surface of my slippery skin, his mouth peppering my neck and shoulder with thankful kisses as I scrubbed and scraped both of his hands clean.
They disappeared under the water to push me forward, resurfacing to skim the bar of soap over the span of my back. I sighed sporadically as he soothed me with slick, soapy circles, lathering up and rinsing off every inch of my increasingly limp body.
I had nearly fallen asleep when he released my hair from its messy bun. The greasy strands cascaded over my shoulders. His lips attached themselves to my temple, and he squeezed my hips, lifting my bottom to scoot me further down his body and dip the back of my head under the water. I slid myself back up his torso with a push of my feet, closing my eyes while he worked his magic, those skilled fingers of his massaging shampoo into my scalp with small, concentric circles.
I never wanted him to stop. Never. Not when he dipped me back down to rinse away the crackle and pop of lavender scented bubbles. Not even after the water ran cold.
He kept me warm by draping both arms over my shoulders, allowing me to snuggle up against him until I started to shiver.
With a saddened scowl, I let him nudge me to my feet and climbed out of the tub, Joe not too far behind. When he turned me around to wrap me in a towel, I noticed the white specks of paint were still sprinkled all over his head.
“We forgot to wash y
our hair.”
Rising onto my tip toes, I reached out to finger a few strands.
Shrugging me off with one shoulder, he wrapped a towel low on his hips before bending to sweep me up into his arms again, giving me no chance to argue.
“Later,” he promised. “Right now I just want to get you into our bed.”
Smiling, I nuzzled my nose into his neck, mumbling my agreement into his warmed skin. “Okay.”
Clean and content, I felt safe in his arms, my grip slipping with each step as he carried me back through the house. By the time he laid me down and snuggled up to my side, I was out like the bedroom light.
***
I spent the majority of the next day finishing up what I had started in the family room, pleasantly surprised to find I had just enough taupe paint left to apply a much needed second coat to the walls. I was lucky the sun had decided to break stride and peek down from the sky early in the day. Its beaming bright rays made it nice enough to crack the windows, which I did, allowing the unnaturally warm wind to roam the halls with me. The warmth had disappeared over one of the many tree-covered mountains along with its source by the time I strolled back into the family room to plop down onto the couch.
The fact that Mona, or anyone else for that matter, had yet to call or show up unannounced played a big part in my mood. I felt okay, good even, more than good when a set of headlights flashed across the living room window.
Pushing myself off of the lumpy cushion, I darted outside to meet that hardworking man who I missed so much, my smile falling as soon as I realized it wasn’t him.
My brows shot up in surprise as not one but two familiar cars came barreling down the drive, the pink Cadillac pulling up right alongside the white rental I never wanted to see again.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the supporting porch beam, painting the picture of cool. Today had been a good day, and it was going to stay that way whether these two were here to try and ruin it or not.
The scene was almost comical, both climbing out of their cars and sizing each other up like we were all tangled in some kind of triangular lovers’ quarrel. So weird they showed up at the same time. The only thing weirder was the fact that they somewhat seemed to know each other.
“Are you the one that’s been calling me?” Hands on her nonexistent hips, Mona didn’t wait for an answer, turning to address me instead. “Is this Julie?”
My hesitation was all Mona needed. “So you are the one that’s been calling me.”
Slamming her door shut, Mona stomped over to where Julie stood, her tiny frame dwarfed by my old friend’s unfairly long legs. They didn’t seem to intimidate Mona at all as she tilted her head to one side and then the other, removing the silver hoops from her ears.
I felt embarrassed for the both of them. I felt embarrassment for all of us when my eyes popped open with the rustling of fabric and I literally had to scale the stairs in order to break two grown women apart.
“Hey you two, stop it,” I chastised once the bottom of my bare feet hit the cold ground below. “Think about the baby.”
My words were meant for Mona, but it was Julie who stopped pushing long enough to look at me. “How did you know?” she asked.
I pointed to Mona’s stomach, ready to ask how Julie didn’t when realization hit. So goddamn hard it stopped me in my tracks.
All the air felt like it had been knocked from my lungs. I gasped for it, my pointed finger shooting from Mona to Julie as I took a tentative step back.
A blur of headlights flashed from the trees and I took off for them, ignoring the fading pleas to come back and how the jagged rocks cut into the bottoms of my bare feet.
I didn’t so much as blink when Joe’s truck popped into view, the tires sliding to a halt mere inches from me. I was single minded and unapologetic as I rounded the front to wrench open the passenger side door. His cedar scent wrapped itself all around me as I slid up next to him. Resting my head against his shoulder, I closed my eyes while the chill of his paint-stained hand seeped into my thigh. One squeeze of his fingers and I was able to breathe again. “Just drive.”
Chapter Sixteen
The woods outside Joe’s house weren’t as dark and scary as I remembered, sitting side by side with the security light shining off the hood of the truck. It gave off a false sense of safety, as if the soft glow could save me from all the dangers lurking amongst the mossy trees. Funny how it did that, how with a flick of a switch all my worries could be chased away.
Grabbing the handle, I gave it a good tug, anxious to get out of the cramped confines. The tension was growing, setting hot on the surface of my skin. He knew something was wrong but hadn’t asked what. I doubted he would, wasn’t really sure if I wanted him to anyway.
The wind did well to cool my cheeks as it whistled through the swaying branches, whipping wickedly across all the other exposed areas of my body. But I hardly noticed the cold. All I felt was numb.
Wasting no time, Joe climbed out behind me, the click and slam of the driver’s side door resounding off the trunks of the surrounding trees. I could hear the damage each one of his steps created, the crisp crunch of leaves giving with the rise and fall of his boots. I stopped with the sudden shift of the breeze, and the leaves scattered, crinkling across the cold packed dirt below, their pointed dry ends tickling the sides and tops of my bare feet.
A squeak escaped from deep inside my throat when he scooped me up into his arms, breaking some of the tension as he carried me across the yard, up the stairs and into the house.
The smell of paint and wood chips welcomingly assaulted my senses. I breathed them in, letting all new things fill my lungs from the moment he stepped through the door. I closed my eyes with the comfort of familiar scents to open them back up to a vaulted ceiling and open floor plan.
The exposed pine planks that made up the walls had been glossed over with a light stain. It looked beautiful against the stacked stones he’d begun piling, one on top of the other, all around the fireplace I wanted.
“Furniture hasn’t come in yet.” His deep baritone vibrated through my ribs. Heat swelled in my chest and my heart fluttered. I wondered if that organ would ever get used to hearing his voice, if I’d ever grow sick of it. I hoped I never would, doubted I ever could. It would be a sad day if I ever did. Maybe even sadder than the past few days had been, but not by much.
Lightly scratching the hair on the underside of his jaw, I nuzzled him with my nose, pressing a kiss into the side of his neck.
We didn’t need furniture. All we needed was each other. And I didn’t care how naïve or stupid that sounded because it felt true. It was true whether only in that moment or not.
Keeping a good grip around my middle he lowered me to my feet, bending down to wrap both arms around me in a snug hug. Closing my eyes, I squeezed him around his neck, drawing him impossibly closer. His beard chafed my cheek, but it only made me want to nuzzle into it harder. The burn felt good, better than the alternative. It helped me forget, which was all I wanted to do—lose myself in him.
The smell of outside was potent on his skin. I took a deep breath, letting the natural scent fill my lungs and calm me. I took comfort in the fact that if it were anyone else I probably would have been turned off by the smell, how the sweat from a hard day’s work still clung to his damp clothes and rock hard body. It made it obvious it was him who comforted me, and that was comforting enough in itself.
His breath warmed me as he pressed a kiss to my shoulder, sucking out all the cold with a shiver. When he pulled back his eyes darted from side to side, quickly roaming over my features. His mouth parted like he was going to say something, then with a quiet groan he placed a smacking kiss on my lips. “Wanna show you something.”
Taking my hand, he wound our fingers to haul me through the house, my attention being pulled in every which direction only to land back on him periodically.
The barn red on the walls of the kitchen was warm and inviting. It contrasted
nicely with the shiny copper fixtures and appliances, but mostly I focused on how his stride did great things for his backside, the outline of his protruding wallet where the leather edges had stretched the aged denim fibers leaving a light permanent square in the right back pocket.
I glanced into each passing room as he led me down the hall, the bottoms of my bare feet sticking to the planks of cool wood below them. I almost sighed when we crossed the threshold into the bedroom and the plush fibers of the carpet pushed between my toes.
The walls were stained the same shade as the living room and hallway. My eyes flittered over the second fireplace before landing on a set of French doors on the far side of the room.
“Oh, wow.”
Joe let go of my hand long enough to lift the latch, opening the doors up to a balcony overlooking the tops of the pines that formed a dense path straight down to the lake.
“I love this.” Leaning against the railing, I looked out over the view. I was unable to tear my eyes away from how the reflection of the full moon rippled across the surface of the water. It was beautiful, breathtaking, so overwhelming that I almost cried. The picturesque setting pricked at my skin and awakened my senses. The fresh air flowed through me like an injection of incredibly potent truth serum.
“That was Julie back there. I don’t know if I told you about her or not.” Mostly because I had been flat out drunk at the time of my most shameful confessions. “She was my best friend. The one who slept with Mark,” I explained, surprised when I didn’t flinch at the mention of his name, almost as if it were a relief to say it out loud. “And she’s pregnant. That’s why she came here, to tell me.”
To rub it in was more like it.
Smiling, I shook my head, the reflected ripples of the moon blurring as tears formed in the corners of my eyes.