Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2)

by Jiffy Kate

  I don’t care anymore if someone sees me drinking or what they might think or say. I only care about one thing: getting Deacon away from that skank.

  When I find them again, they’re still playing the same game. Lacy is trying to lure him away from the party and Deacon’s trying to placate her, not wanting to hurt her feelings. He’s too nice. He needs to tell her to back the hell off before I do it. She grabs his hand and tries to pull him toward the cottages, but he doesn’t budge. Even after being turned down, she doesn’t give up. Instead, she giggles and tries to tickle his side. She calls him “silly”, but really, she’s the silly one. If she knew anything about him, she’d know he’s only ticklish on the bottoms of his feet.

  Why do girls act like this just because of a boy? I want to scream at her to have some dignity before I remember how I’ve been sneaking cheap wine from a bathroom all night.

  Deciding enough is enough, I call out to Deacon. “Hey, Deke! Can you come over here for a second?”

  He looks over at me and his eyes go wide briefly before he notices the bottle in my hand. “Sure, Cami. Whatcha need?”

  Shit, what do I say? “You, inside me” always works in the romance novels I read, but I have a feeling Deacon would have a stroke if I said that. Against my better judgment, I say the first thing that pops into my mind.

  Okay, the second thing.

  “Can you open this bottle for me? Apparently, booze makes me weak.”

  He walks over to me, and I can tell he’s trying not to look at my boobs. He frowns when I hand him the bottle. “Have you been drinkin’ this shit all night?” he asks.

  “Yeah, pretty much. This is my second bottle. Why?”

  “I wish you would’ve told me; I’d have done a better job keeping an eye on you.”

  My temper starts to flare. “I don’t need you to keep an eye on me. You’re not my daddy or my brother.”

  Before he can respond, Lacy starts cackling. “How cute! She has a crush on you, Deacon. Be gentle when you break her heart, okay?”

  I’m mortified, but Deacon just looks confused, as if he’s just now realizing her words could be true.

  “Shut up,” he snaps. It’s not the first harsh word I’ve ever heard him speak, but it’s a first toward Lacy. I can tell she’s shocked, too. Her eyes widen and her head tilts as she tries to register what he just said. “Gosh, Deacon. I was just kidding.”

  Normally, at those words and the butt-hurt look on her face, Deacon would soften and apologize, but his eyes never leave my face as he dismisses her with his nonresponse. A second later, she stomps off in the direction of the bonfire, looking for someone else to latch onto, I’m sure.

  He takes a step toward me and twists the bottle open without taking his eyes off me. “I know I’m not your daddy . . . or your brother.”

  His words and the tone he’s using make my stomach flip. I swallow hard, searching for something to say, willing myself to be the strong, confident girl I know is inside me somewhere.

  “Is this what you wanted?” he asks.

  I can hear the double meaning in his words as he stands less than a foot away with the open bottle of Boone’s between us.

  I nod, watching his lips as he wets them with his tongue.

  My eyes go from those lips to his eyes and then back to his lips. I want to kiss them, and I want them to kiss me back. I want them to want me as much as I want them.

  A slight frown forms between Deacon’s eyes as we stand there letting the electricity between us speak for itself.

  “Can we go somewhere?” I ask quietly, mustering all of the courage I can find for those four words.

  Deacon doesn’t answer. He merely sets the bottle down on the ground by his feet and takes my hand, leading me away from the dwindling crowd.

  Away from the glow of the fire.

  Away from the house.

  We walk in silence into the dark shadows down the side of the house until we reach his truck. He opens the passenger side door and lifts me by my waist, placing me in the seat.

  I want to protest. I know he’s been drinking. I know he shouldn’t drive. But I want this, whatever it is. If it means being alone with Deacon, I want it.

  A moment later, he climbs in behind the wheel and sits there, his hand on the keys, staring at me. As if something on my face gives him the answer he’s looking for, he nods his head once and turns the key over. The engine purrs to life, and I pray to God no one notices.

  “Are you sure you should be driving?” I ask, not able to keep my mouth shut.

  “I’m fine. We’re just driving down the lane,” he says, motioning in front of us. It’s not far, close enough to walk, so I wonder why we’re driving, but I don’t ask. I listen to the quiet . . . to the crunch of the gravel under the tires and the soft rumble of the engine. I glance back to see if any new lights are on in the house or if anyone is following us. When all seems clear, I sigh in relief.

  Deacon turns the truck slowly down the lane and drives until we’re completely out of sight from the house before putting the truck in park and turning off the headlights. No one else uses this road. It’s part of the Landry property and is only used to get to the back sugarcane fields, which aren’t even being used right now. So, we’re alone.

  “Is this what you wanted?” he asks for the second time.

  I nod, and I can’t help the smile that forces its way onto my face, because this is exactly what I wanted. The lingering wine in my body makes my cheeks feel warm, and the nerves I’d normally be feeling are a mere hum, just enough to let me know I’m doing something I wouldn’t normally do, but not enough to keep me from doing it.

  His eyes are still on me, and I can tell by the way his chest is quickly moving up and down that he’s breathing heavily. I honestly can’t tell if he’s pissed or nervous or what, but I need to know before we go any farther.

  “Deke—”

  “Was she right?” he interrupts, motioning with his thumb over his shoulder.

  Confused, I tilt my head to the side and furrow my brows. “Was who right about what?”

  “Lacy. She said you have a crush on me. Was she right?”

  There’s no reason to lie or play it off like it’s no big deal. Having this conversation was my goal tonight, and I can’t chicken out now.

  “Yes,” I breathe out. It’s a simple word to say, but the power it holds is incredible. This moment will either rock my world or devastate me completely.

  After a few seconds, Deacon still hasn’t responded, so I try to lighten the moment. “I’m surprised you hadn’t figured it out sooner. I pretty much follow you around like a lost puppy dog every chance I get.”

  His intense expression softens, and he smiles. It’s small, and his eyes don’t crinkle at the edges like I like them to, but it’s enough to get me breathing again. Until his warm hand cradles my cheek, that is.

  I’m frozen in place as I watch his eyes take in every inch of my face. It reminds me of how I feel when I look at a painting for the first time. It’s like he’s seeing me for the first time and doesn’t want to forget even the tiniest detail. It also reminds me that he’s leaving tomorrow, but I don’t want to think about that right now. I can’t.

  He glances from my lips to my eyes and back, just like I did to him earlier, and he slowly leans forward. He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on me like we’re sharing the air, and that’s a good thing because I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to breathe on my own.

  Deacon leans even closer and whispers my name before placing his mouth on mine. His lips are firm but soft, and he pulls away much too soon. It can’t be over yet; I refuse to accept that. To my relief, his mouth is back where it belongs before I can protest. This time, his kiss has more force, and he takes his time sucking on my top lip, then my bottom, before sliding his tongue inside my mouth.

  I’ve been kissed before, but I’ve never been tasted—explored. It’s like he’s memorizing me again, but I don’t allow myself to think about w
hy he’d need to do that. I refuse to think about what happens tomorrow when this moment right here is what I’ve wanted for so long.

  We eventually separate, both of us gasping for air. Something comes over me, and I have to have him again. With speed and agility I didn’t know I had, I’m over the stick shift and straddling his lap within seconds. I slide my fingers through his thick hair and pull him to me. He tastes like beer and mint gum, and he smells so freaking good.

  Why didn’t this happen sooner?

  My train of thought flies out the window when I feel Deacon’s hands grab my butt and pull me closer. The movement causes a deep moan to escape, and I desperately want to hear that sound from him again. I grind my hips lower and am momentarily shocked at what I feel. I knew boys . . . men . . . became hard when aroused, but I had no idea it was like that. He’s thick, solid between my legs and he fits perfectly, hitting exactly where I need him to. He continues to move my body over his, and his grunts and heavy breaths make me feel powerful. I can’t believe I’m making him feel this way, having this effect on him, and I never want it to stop.

  But it does.

  Too soon, Deacon halts my movements and pulls his mouth away, but his eyes stay locked on mine. I can see the struggle. The fight he’s having with how he’s feeling in this moment and what he thinks we should or shouldn’t do.

  “Cami, we can’t do this.” His voice sounds pained, but it’s nothing compared to how I’m feeling right now. Not only is my heart pounding in my chest, but there’s also an intense ache between my legs. I want him so bad.

  “Why not?” I demand.

  I give him a chance to answer but, when he silently begs me with his eyes to be reasonable, I give him another command.

  “Ask me what I wished for at my sixteenth birthday party.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  He runs his hands through his hair then over his face before finally giving in.

  “What did you wish for at your sixteenth birthday party?”

  I don’t hesitate. “You.”

  His brows furrow and I hate that he’s struggling to understand. I thought I was so obvious even when I tried to hide my feelings. I guess I was better than I realized.

  “I wished for you, Deacon. I want you. Tonight. Right now.”

  His head falls back against his seat, and he closes his eyes. This is it. This is when he breaks my heart. I remind myself that I knew this was a possibility, and I refuse to cry in front of him.

  His hands move from my butt to my hips, and he squeezes. When he opens his eyes and looks at me, I see resolution. And want.

  “Fuck, Cami, I want you. I do, but—”

  “No,” I stop him. “I’m not stupid, Deacon. I know you’re leaving tomorrow, and you can’t promise me anything. I don’t want you to. I just want to be with you.”

  He slides me off his lap and opens his door. I watch as he steps out, opens the back door, grabs a blanket, and takes it to the bed of the truck. He quickly returns and slips his arms under me, picking me up, and carrying me to where he laid out the blanket. He climbs in after me and pulls the tailgate shut, blocking us from everything but the stars.

  Deacon pulls his T-shirt up and over his head and tosses it aside. I watch every movement, unable to take my eyes off of him, feeling like this has to be a dream. If it is, I don’t want to wake up, ever. When he lays down beside me and begins to kiss me again, my hands grip his bare arms, needing to touch him, feel him, anchor myself to him, so I don’t float away.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks, his breaths coming out in hot, heavy bursts.

  “You keep asking me that. Why?”

  “Because this is serious, Cami. I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

  “I told you this is what I want. I’m ready,” I promise him. And I am. I’ve never wanted anything more.

  To show him how serious I am, I slowly remove my shirt and shorts, leaving my bra and panties on, and lay back down. That must be enough for him because he doesn’t waste any more time. He settles between my legs and kisses me again. I take advantage of my position and run my hands over his chest and back, feeling the strength in his muscles, the warmth of his skin.

  Soon, we’re both completely naked, and he’s touching me, preparing me for what’s about to happen. I thought I’d be shy or embarrassed to have Deacon see me like this, to touch me, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. This is the most intense—the most intimate experience—I’ve ever had, and Deacon is the only person I want to share it with.

  He gives me one last glance, making sure I want to continue, before rolling the condom down his length. When I nod my head, he enters me, his eyes never leaving mine. He moves slowly, and I hold onto his shoulders as I feel the expected twinge of pain. I let out a deep breath as it subsides, relaxing when he reaches as far as he can.

  The rest of the evening is spent kissing, touching, loving until we’re completely exhausted. Being like this with Deacon under our sky couldn’t have been more perfect, and I’ll never regret it.

  We watch the sun begin to rise, wrapped up together in his blanket before we get dressed and he drives me home.

  Careful not to wake my dad, he drives to the dirt road that leads to my house and leaves the truck there, walking me the rest of the way to my front porch. “I’ll be home in two weeks. I’ll see you then, okay?” he asks softly, kissing the side of my head and letting his lips linger. For whatever reason, that makes my stomach drop. It’s like he’s inhaling me in, giving himself something to remember and it feels a lot like a goodbye.

  “Okay.” I give, putting on a brave face, before letting go. “Last night was perfect, Deacon.”

  He smiles the smile I love most and nods. “It was.” Slowly, he walks backward toward his truck. “Two weeks, Cami. I promise.” He holds up two fingers and gives me another smile, but I see the uncertainty on his face.

  Neither of us knows what to expect next. And the unknown is always scary, but I won’t regret my choice to be with Deacon. I’ll cherish it forever, no matter what happens.

  I watch him leave and immediately start counting the minutes until I’ll see him again.

  Camille

  Present

  HANGING UP THE PHONE WITH Annie, I exhale and stare straight ahead, watching the back of the ambulance.

  Normally, the drive to Baton Rouge seems like a hop, skip, and a jump. Today, it feels like we’re ascending Mount Everest.

  “What did she say?” Sam asks. There’s a mixture of worry and sadness and regret in his voice that matches the look on his face.

  “She’s taking Carter to Ms. Becky and heading up to the hospital.”

  “Did she tell Carter?” Sam asks as even more worry seeps in.

  “She told him that there was an accident at Pockets,” I tell him, replaying the sound of his voice from the background. “She told him everything is fine, but she has to go to check on Deke.”

  I can’t say anything else because I know I won’t be able to hide the tears. If I open my mouth to say another word, the gates will open and there won’t be any stopping the flood of emotion.

  “I’ll call Micah,” he says, reaching for his phone on the dash.

  Sam’s tone with Micah was a lot like mine, direct and to the point. I could hear Micah’s voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying, only the replies from Sam, which again were direct and to the point. I could tell he was trying to keep from saying anything that he thought would upset me, but he doesn’t have to do that. If it’s a possibility, I’ve already thought it.

  The worst-case scenario is that Deacon doesn’t make it.

  Anything else, I can handle. As long as he comes back to me.

  Camille

  Past

  DEACON DIDN’T COME HOME THE next weekend or the weekend after that. On the fourth weekend, I talked Stacey into going shopping in Baton Rouge under the guise that I needed new paint brushes. Unfortunately, there is
nowhere in French Settlement to buy brushes, but the truth of the matter is that thanks to Annie, I was stocked up for a year, at least. But Stacey didn’t need to know that.

  We shopped and I bought unneeded paint brushes and a few new tubes of paint. After shopping, I asked Stacey if she’d like to go to a restaurant Annie had suggested. I left out the part about it being where Deacon works. But when she said no, because it’s “too expensive” and “she doesn’t like seafood anyway,” I had to spill the beans.

  First of all, who doesn’t like seafood?

  Second of all, she had already caught on. I didn’t even have to say much. She said when she saw my face drop when she didn’t want to go to the restaurant, she knew it had something to do with Deacon.

  So, I told her. Not all of it, but I told her what I wanted her to know. I told her that I missed Deacon, which she already knew, and I told her that I just wanted to see if he was working, because I needed to talk to him. She was satisfied with that answer. So, we went to the restaurant. Stacey settled for mac and cheese, and I had a seafood salad. The food was not a disappointment and well worth the money I took out of my savings to pay for it. The disappointment came when there was no Deacon working that day. Our waiter said he had the day off and wanted to know if I needed him to pass on a message.

  No. No message.

  ‘I want to talk about the night we had sex’ is not a message you leave with a stranger or with anyone at all.

  This is probably why I haven’t heard from Deacon. I don’t think he’d ever call me to talk about it or write me a letter. He’s more of a face-to-face talker. I know that about him, but it doesn’t make the disappointment any less painful.

  I should be feeling relieved that this weekend is Sam and Annie Landry’s 25th wedding anniversary because it means that Deacon will be home. He’ll be forced to talk to me, but I realize there’s a chance it might not go like I hope.