by Sara Cate
“Can I help?”
She nods her head immediately and passes me paper and scissors. It’s just the kind of mindless work that keeps me busy while I wait for news about Hazel’s funeral. Of course, while I’m cutting and coloring, my mind keeps replaying the moments of last night with Murph.
Being with Murph was nothing like being with Hugo. Murph was passionate, attentive. He seemed to read my expressions and small movements, adjusting his motion, his position, his touch to exactly where I wanted it.
Not to mention, Murph turns me on more than any man ever has. His sharp eyes, thick beard, intoxicating presence. His touch on my body made me feel sexier than ever. No, it was more than that. It made me alive.
The last ten months have been all about going through the motions. I clean. I eat. I talk. Repeat. It felt like a blessing after living so long in a prison of fear and hatred, but I never realized how much life I was truly missing. My pulse hasn’t beat as fast as it did last night since the day I escaped Hugo. And just replaying the way it felt to move in his arms had it picking up speed again.
I really need to think about something else. Murph’s naked body is playing on the projection screen in my mind, and it feels like a total violation sitting so close to a five-year-old.
Just then, he walks into the room. He takes one look at me and Lucy and pauses. I can’t react. Not that it’s much of a secret, I don’t quite know how to behave around others now. As he continues toward the coffee maker, I look away, keeping our little rendezvous a secret.
“What are you doing?” he asks blankly.
“Making flowers,” I answer with a small smile.
I know he’s about to walk away. Under any other circumstances, Murph might be great with children. The flirtatious tattoo shop owner I met on the first day might actually be the kind of guy to entertain a little girl with his company, but this tortured, grieving man couldn’t be more out of place.
“Here you go,” Lucy says, and my eyes follow her tiny arm as she lifts up the blue flower she just made toward Murph.
He pauses, and I watch cautiously, hoping he’ll put the animosity between him and Ryder behind him so he can at least be kind to the child.
After a moment, he reaches out and takes the flower. “This is for me?”
“It’s a blue rose,” Lucy says, still watching his face. “Like the one on your arm.”
The air leaves my lungs. Murph looks down, his gaze falling on the gray and blue flower on his forearm.
“It’s a morning glory. Not a rose.” He takes the flower and sets his coffee cup down on the table next to mine.
“Oh,” Lucy replies softly. “Why do you have it?”
“It was Hazel’s favorite flower. I used to buy them for her on her birthday.”
My eyes refuse to leave his face, this rugged man speaking about flowers and his foster mother to a child. It was almost too hard to watch, such a contradiction to the fierce man I made love to last night, and this morning.
“That’s my middle name.” Lucy turns back to her paper and continues drawing flowers and rose petals like she didn’t just freeze the air in the room. It’s clear that Murph didn’t know this because he watches her carefully.
“Can I help?” he asks, taking a small crayon in his big, tattooed hand.
“Yep.”
Then his eyes lift up to reach mine, and I’m helpless against the smile that creeps across my face. The corner of his lips turns up, which is a pretty big smile for Murph.
Ryder walks into the room a moment later, and even he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Lucy’s company around the table.
“Good morning,” I greet him, but Murph doesn’t even look in his direction.
Ruby walks in a moment later. “I just got off the phone with the funeral home.” The entire dynamic of the room changes as we all watch her carefully. “Services are set for Saturday.”
“What do you need us to do?” I ask.
“I think I got everything under control. It keeps me busy, distracted.” She walks back to the sink and proceeds to wash another glass, even though the dishwasher is perfectly capable of doing it.
The silence kills me. I need to fill it with something. So I stand and approach her, resting my hand on her shoulder.
“I can go to the funeral home with you. We can pick out the casket and flowers.”
Her breath hitches. I can see it in the stuttering movement of her back. She can’t do this stuff alone. “That would be nice, Savannah. Thank you.”
Putting an arm around her shoulders, I pull her in for a tight hug. When I turn back around, Murph’s eyes are on me, slightly hooded and heavy. He’s thinking something, and if his expression is any indication, his thoughts are about as appropriate as mine were just a few minutes ago.
This human, gentle side of Savannah does things to me. She’s sexy as fuck, sure. But I find myself getting dangerously close to seeing her as something more. As mine.
The last thing I need to do right now is get in a serious relationship. My mind is all sorts of fucked up, and maybe it always has been. Maybe I’ll never be healed enough to be right for someone, to be the best choice for her. I thought I could live with that. I always have, but now seeing Savannah lean against the kitchen counter, sticking her ass up in the air like that like she’s inviting me to do something about it, has me second-guessing everything.
When I excuse myself from the kitchen table and walk down the hall toward the garage, I feel her following me. Only a few steps behind, as soon as I’m through the doorway and we’re alone, I pull her against my body. She lets out a gasp that sets me on fire.
Her arms cling to my neck as I push her against the wall, feeling her soft, warm body against mine. Everything between us is electricity, too powerful to touch, too bright to ignore.
My hands slide under the elastic band of her leggings, and suddenly I’m overcome. My mouth leaves hers as I drop to my knees and yank her pants to her knees, burying my lips between her legs. She lets out a gasp followed by my name, desperate, pleading.
“Say it again,” I moan against her.
“Murph,” she breaths, her hands digging into my hair.
Somewhere in the periphery of my mind is that nagging reminder of every reason we should not be doing this. Of every fucked up thing that’s happened this week. This year. My entire life.
But once again I shove it away as my tongue dives between her folds, finding that one spot that makes her legs tense and her grip tighten.
“Murph, oh god,” she cries.
Maybe I’m going too fast. It feels rushed, but it takes the edge off, and I’m not even the one getting off. I just want her to feel half as wound as I do. And I do not let up.
I press my mouth against her harder. Kiss her faster. Tease her more. My teeth nip at her, sending shock waves through her that have her quivering. I just want her to come undone.
Scream for me, Savannah.
It’s like she hears me because in the next moment, she curls her body over me, hiding her scream in whispers, her body seizing and shuddering in the way that drives me fucking wild.
Even as I pull my face away she holds me close, panting in my ear. Her legs shake and collapse as I stand, holding her up against my body. Then, she finds my lips with hers and kisses me, softer than before. Tasting herself on my lips, her eyes are still closed like she’s lost in a dream.
I watch her, my eyes open as she kisses my lips.
How long have I known this girl? A week? Already her face, her smell, her touch is too familiar. Like I knew her long before I met her. Like I was meant to know her.
But that’s fucking crazy and I can’t let myself think shit like that.
Savannah goes back inside to help Ruby with the funeral planning, but I stay in the garage. Even when she tries to talk me into returning to the others, I refuse. I need to be alone.
Ironically enough, the sound of two hogs coming up the drive interrupts my quiet. I’m sure Rafe heard abou
t Hazel, and Logan’s been wondering when I’m coming back to the shop. It feels a little like I’ve been on a foreign planet this past week, so when I open the garage door to welcome them, it all feels wrong. Like I’m all fucked up and don’t know how to be myself.
“Hey, man,” Rafe says as he cuts the engine on his bike.
They came alone, which I’m glad for. Rafe is single, and I really do love Sierra, but these two are about as much as I can handle right now.
“Heard about what happened,” Rafe continues.
“Yeah, sorry, man.” Logan leans against his bike and shoves his hands in his pockets. It might seem like too little to anyone else, but to me, this is perfect. No fuss. No feelings. Just a quick sorry and that’s enough.
“You want a beer?” I ask as I walk over the garage fridge and pull out two bottles and a water for Logan. Since he went clean, he’s given up everything. I’m not going to be the fucker that ruins that for him.
The three of us stand around and talk about bullshit. The drama at the police station where Rafe works. He’s gotten himself in a real fit over these big cartel-like drug dealers who’ve been dealing in Wicked. He got Logan off the charges over the spring, but he’s still hot on the case, trying to find the head of this supply trail. Sometimes I wish the guy’d take a break, find a girl, chill out for a while.
But I get it. Relationships are work. And they cost a lot more than money.
“Business has been good this week,” Logan says as fiddles with the tools on the workbench. “Sierra’s been helping me around the shop, and that’s been nice.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I answer gruffly.
“No rush, Murph.”
“I need the distraction.”
“Everyone in town is talking about this, Murph. She was a pillar of the community, and the media will want a statement soon,” Rafe says, gently. He knows me better than anyone. Better than Logan, even though I was always closer with Logan’s older brother, Theo.
“I’ll let the lawyers take care of that,” I say, raising my hand. “Or Savannah.”
Logan perks up. “Savannah’s here?”
I nearly forgot that he met Savannah at the shop. Nevermind that I can still taste her on my lips, I don’t need these guys getting involved. It becomes too serious once the brothers start getting involved.
“She was closer to Hazel than I was,” I answer.
“So you have a distraction already, then,” Logan laughs. He was a bit of a player before he met his girlfriend, Sierra. So he thinks this shit is real fucking funny. I send him a grimace which makes him chill out, a little.
“Plan on making a statement today,” Rafe says. He lays a hand on my shoulder. “If they don’t get official word, then they come looking for information, and trust me, that’s worse. And if you need me for anything, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks, man.” I pat him back on the arm, and it’s as close to a hug as we get.
He takes one last pull on his beer, emptying it before tossing it in the garbage can and getting back on his bike. He’s the worst cop I know. He doesn’t give a shit about rules. For him, it’s all about control.
Before they can get out of the garage, the door behind me opens and I silently pray it’s anyone other than Savannah. My prayers are answered when I turn and see Lucy standing in the doorway looking wide-eyed at the motorcycles just as they fire up, filling the garage with deafening roars.
She clamps her hands over her ears and looks at me with a look of terror. I do what instinct says to do. Quickly, I scoop her up and cover her ears with my hand and shoulder.
When I look back at the guys, they both have curious smirks on their faces.
“She’s Ryder’s kid,” I answer before they can start thinking anything crazy.
Logan waves at her with a sly smile. Sierra’s really softened him up a lot these past few months. Lucy waves back, but clings to my shoulder for dear life.
Rafe sends me a head nod as he turns his hog around and rides away, stealing one last glance over his shoulder.
“Who was that?” Lucy asks.
“My brothers,” I answer from habit.
“Like my dad,” she says. I give her a tight-lipped expression and a nod.
“Yeah, kinda like that.”
“She would have hated all of these,” Ruby sneers at the fourteenth sample we’ve seen.
“Probably,” I agree, then smile at the man showing us the samples. They were nice enough to bring some samples to us here at the house, just another one of those perks for being ridiculously wealthy.
Murph and Ryder have spent the last hour sitting silently in the back of the room, not making any suggestions or giving any input, but in their defense, this really isn’t their style. I highly doubt they’ve been to a real funeral, let alone helped design one.
“I think we’ll go with this one,” I say, pointing to the pine sample. It’s a neutral choice, but it was the closest thing to not hating it.
“Yeah, fuck it,” Ruby spit. My eyes went side and behind me, I heard the boys laughing under their breath. The man from the funeral home tried to maintain his composure as he set the sample down with the others.
“We should bury her at sea, like a goddamn Viking,” Ryder added from the back.
“That would be more appropriate,” Ruby replied.
“So, let’s say fuck the funeral and throw her a howler.” Murph’s voice from behind me made me smile.
“Instead of hors d'oeuvres, we could serve gin and skinny cigarettes,” I add. Everyone chuckles.
“We can play her favorite music and all get royally tanked.”
“You should wear that dress,” Ruby added, looking at me with tears in her eyes. “The one you wore to the gala.”
“Okay,” I answer with tears brewing behind my lids.
“What about her remains?” the man asks, pulling our attention back to the task at hand. “She has a plot at her family’s cemetery.”
“Give her the pine casket,” Ruby says with a straight face. “And after we bury her, we’ll host the party here.”
“Perfect,” I say, taking her hand in mine.
After the man leaves, Ruby gets busy planning the funeral-turned-party. She’s decided it should be the fanciest, roaring 20’s style party, just like Hazel would have liked. No black, no crying. Only drinking and laughing, like she lived.
She’s in the office on the computer while the rest of us are huddled around the fireplace we don't need because it’s June, but it’s comforting anyway.
Ryder handles the lawyers who keep trying to come over, but we’ve managed to stave them off. But just before the day comes to an end, he walks in with his cell phone in his hand.
“I just got off the phone with the lawyers,” he says. “We scheduled the will reading for one month from today.”
My head snaps up. “A month? Why so long?” I ask before I can stop myself. All eyes in the room fall on my face, but it’s mostly Murph’s gaze that I feel like daggers in my skin. I didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but I admit I don’t know how these things work. I thought they would settle it faster, and this news only means that I have longer to sit on this secret piece of information that keeps me up at night.
I consider telling him about the note I found. If I prepare him for it, we can devise a plan. Maybe I could even come clean about Hugo and convince him to buy the shop from me, giving me enough money to leave Wickett behind.
If he lets me leave.
“You in a hurry?” Murph asks, staring at me from the spot near the fireplace.
“No, I just… I didn’t know how long these things took. Ryder, will you be around that long?” I ask.
Murph lets out a scoff. “I doubt he would miss it.”
“Fuck off,” he snaps at Murph. Then he directs his attention to me. “Yes. Lucy and I will be here through the summer.”
“Good,” I smile.
“What about you?” Murph asks me, his face blank
and his voice cold.
I shrug. “Where am I gonna go?”
He doesn’t reply, but he keeps his blank expression on my face. We’ve kept our distance outside the bedroom, but suddenly I want him to sit next to me on the couch, put his arm around me, hold me close, treat me like something more than a quick fuck.
Which is a very stupid thing to be thinking.
“The month will go by fast. Then we can all make our plan for the future,” Ryder says, mostly to me, and it does ease my nerves. So I send him a cautious smile.
“I have to go back to work tomorrow,” Murph says. I swallow down the pit of anxiety that causes in my stomach. For some reason, the idea of him going back to his normal life feels a lot like he’s leaving me behind.
“I’ll stay at the house, though. Just to help Ruby out and plan the party.”
It only makes me feel slightly better. The party is only a week away. What happens after that?
Lucy lets out a long yawn and snuggles closer to my side. A moment later, Ryder walks over and picks her up to take her to bed. Before she leaves, she waves goodbye to everyone, but I notice that she waves a second longer at Murph. I can see the way she’s trying to crack his armor too. Chances are she’ll have better luck than me.
After they’re gone, it’s just the two of us. I’m still curled up on the couch, and Murph stands by the fire with his whiskey on the rocks in his hand. The moments that we’re alone feel loaded like even the air around us doesn’t quite know how to define this relationship.
Finally, his gaze drifts over to my face without meeting my eyes. It seems like he surrenders to something when he finally walks over and sits next to me. He doesn’t touch me, but he’s close.
Why do I feel like desperate need for him to make contact? Show me attention?
For the past year, I’ve pulled myself back from the dead, kept my own priorities first, built a new life, kept myself alive. It wasn’t easy, but it also demanded decisions based on logic instead of emotion.
Now, being alone with him, I feel the pull to make drastic choices. Like telling him everything. Risking my own future and safety for one small chance at a life with him. A moment of his love. A lifetime of it.