Melting into You

by Trentham, Laura

  He was silent, and nerves made her keep stuttering out words. “Trust me, I’m not looking to get pregnant now, but having you around was . . . nice. I got used to that too. I figured if I wasn’t pregnant, you’d stop wanting to hang out with me.”

  He wrapped her in his arms. “If you’re so lonely, maybe you should consider a boyfriend.”

  His heart was loud in her ear and faster than normal. “You got anyone in mind?”

  “I thought I already applied for the job. Twice.”

  “You’re overqualified, but application accepted.”

  “I hope I’ve proven I want to be with you whether you’re knocked up or not.”

  She kissed the curve of black over his pectoral and smiled. “I might need another demonstration of your good faith in the morning.”

  “Does this mean you want me to sleep over?”

  She didn’t answer with words, but squeezed him tight. No way was she letting him out of her bed. She fell asleep with her face squished against his chest, wondering at Fate’s sense of humor.

  13

  Vague kitchen sounds and smells—water running, the clank of dishes, bacon—pulled Alec from his dreams. He would have preferred to have woken with Lilliana’s naked body against him, but his rumbling stomach deemed bacon a near second.

  Multiple voices echoed into the entry. He thanked heaven he’d gotten fully dressed. Miss Esmerelda sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee while Lilliana flipped sizzling bacon wearing tight jeans and a man-style T-shirt, probably in extra-large, knotted at her waist.

  “Hello, young man.” Miss Esmerelda’s lips were pursed, and she examined him from head to toe. He wasn’t sure if it was with curiosity or judgment, but he was highly aware of his bare feet and untucked shirt.

  “Miss Esmerelda.” He shot a save-me glance toward Lilliana, but all he got was an eye roll.

  “Pour some coffee and join me, Mr. Grayson.”

  Feeling like a schoolboy getting ready for a butt-chewing, he did as she asked and slid into the seat across from her. “Call me Alec, please.”

  “Since you and my favorite niece have gotten to know each other rather well, I believe I will.” Taking a sip, she stared over the rim of her coffee cup with eerily similar, mysterious dark eyes as Lilliana’s.

  Lilliana slid a plate piled with bacon, eggs, and two biscuits in front of him. She and her aunt had mini-versions. His throat was so dry, he worried the biscuit might choke him on the way down.

  “How’s Miss Jane feeling?” Lilliana asked, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Better. She’s back at work. Getting old isn’t for the faint of heart.”

  Alec’s appetite slowly returned as the two women kept up a steady stream of library gossip. Miss Esmerelda caught his eye. “I’m setting aside Mr. Grisham’s latest for you, Alec. You can come in later to check it out.”

  He felt the relief of passing a test. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  The old lady pushed up. “Duty calls. I expect to see both of you at church tomorrow.”

  Lilliana groaned. “I’m not parading Alec like a prize bull through the aisles of the First Baptist Church.”

  Miss Esmerelda’s harrumph made it clear no arguments to the contrary would be accepted. She patted the orangey halo of her hair and glided out the door, the snick echoing in the entry. Lilliana’s attention centered on pushing her eggs around the plate. “You don’t have to come.”

  Even after the intimacies they’d shared last night, he wasn’t sure if she was genuinely giving him an out or if she really wanted him to come. “I don’t mind. I’ll come if it will keep your family happy.”

  She stopped tormenting her eggs to glance up at him with a smile. The tension across his shoulders dissipated. He’d chosen wisely. She cleared the plates, and another awkward silence descended. He typically spent his Saturdays catching up on work and had an appointment with one of his contractors at noon.

  “Should I expect Hunter today?”

  He ran a hand down his jaw. He’d managed to put Hunter out of his mind last night, but in the light of day worry niggled. “Last night after the game, his mother picked him up. He said he’d be here this morning, but I don’t know.”

  She chewed on a fingernail, her nose crinkled. “What about Will?”

  “Still around as far as I know. I have no idea what having his mother home will mean. My guess is Will’s too far gone for anyone to swoop in to save him.”

  “It’s sad to think of a seventeen-year-old as too far gone,” she said on a sigh. “And, no matter what, she’ll try.”

  “I worry Hunter’s going to get caught in the middle.” The eggs turned in his stomach, his appetite gone. “I’m going to be worthless until I check on him. And I’ve got an appointment to keep with a flooring installer. I hate to eat and run, but…”

  “You go on. I’ve got a date with Edwin anyway.”

  Alec grabbed the rest of his stuff and stopped by the kitchen. Lilliana loaded plates into the dishwasher. It had been a long time since Alec had anything resembling a normal relationship. Had he ever? Football had been the towering relationship in his life, overshadowing everything.

  He tried to keep his voice casual, his gaze focused on the fruit-covered wallpaper behind her. “I’ll see you later then?”

  She walked over, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “Good luck with Hunter.”

  “Thanks. I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

  She took a step closer and tilted her face. A sense of expectation tensed him, and he dropped a perfunctory kiss on her lips. Her smile was one of challenge.

  “That’s your best play, Mr. Football?” She grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands and yanked him down. She took his bottom lip between hers and sucked gently. A sensual haze descended. Too soon, she pulled back, smoothed his shirt out, and patted his chest. “Have a good day, Alec.”

  He’d stood like an ice statue during the entire kiss even though his blood superheated his skin. Lilliana was a force of nature, and he wasn’t sure if he could survive her. Without another word, he backed out of the kitchen and headed out the front door.

  Juggling her purse and a box of donuts, Jessica Wilde climbed out of her car. When she saw him, her eyes flared before a knowing smile lit her face. She tucked a piece of auburn hair behind her ear and cocked out a hip. “Methinks my mission of commiserating donuts isn’t needed anymore.”

  “Nope.” A cocky grin threatened to break out. He fought it, but his lips curled up anyway.

  She passed by him, turning to walk backward. “I’m glad you two worked things out. I know you haven’t exactly had the most traditional courtship between college and now. By the way, great game last night.”

  “Thanks.” His smile held but a vague worry shaded his happiness. Jessica bounded up the stairs as if she were wearing sneakers instead of four-inch heels and disappeared into Hancock House without knocking. He shook his head and focused on how to help Hunter.

  Daylight banished the ominous undertones that had surrounded Hunter’s house at night. The street was full of birdsong and the whisper of the wind through the trees. The green pines and autumn-hued hardwoods beyond the Dead End sign were a welcoming oasis. No wonder Hunter took refuge there.

  Ms. Galloway’s car was parked in the grassy spot next to the house. No sign of Will’s jacked-up car. Alec climbed up the buckling steps to the sagging porch. The screen door was minus the screen, the rusty metal framing the green-flaked inner door. He rapped.

  Nothing. It was ten in the morning. Maybe it was too early for teenagers. Unease prickled Alec’s neck. An unfamiliar car drove by too fast on a side street, out of sight in seconds.

  He rapped again. This time the clang of a chain lock sounded on the other side. The door opened. The smell of fried food wafted out, but the interior was too dim to make out more than Hunter’s outline.

  “’Sup.” Hunter chucked his chin in greeting but kept his face in profile.

  “Checking on
you. Wondering if you need a ride to Lilliana’s.”

  “Nah. Thought I’d skip today if it’s all the same to you.” With his shoulders hunched, Hunter picked at an eyebrow and tried to push the door closed.

  Alec stiff-armed the door with enough force to propel Hunter backward. He opened the defunct screen door and stepped inside without being invited. Closer and with his eyes becoming accustomed to the shadows, he caught a glimpse of Hunter’s face. His left eye was nearly swollen shut. Alec never should have let Hunter go last night.

  “What the fuck happened?” The anger in the question was directed solely at himself, but Hunter’s one good eye narrowed and his mouth tightened.

  “Nothing.”

  “Where’s your mom? She okay?”

  He nodded. “Asleep.”

  “She know about this?”

  Hunter’s silence answered the question. The need to go on a tear through the house to confront his mother made his hands tremble. He stuffed them into his front pockets. If he wasn’t careful, he’d alienate Hunter. “Lilliana is counting on you. You can’t skip out. Grab your stuff and let’s hit it.”

  Alec retreated to the porch, slamming the screen door shut with his heel. Probably not how Lilliana would have handled the situation. She probably would have doled out hugs and cookies and “there, theres.” Hunter slouched out with a stained red backpack thrown over one shoulder.

  “I’m only coming because I owe you money for my car,” he said on the way to the truck.

  Hunter had no one to protect him. No matter how big he was, he was still a kid, and his mother couldn’t handle the job. Alec had been alone long enough to recognize the defensiveness, the insistence he could handle everything on his own, the resistance to trust.

  Once behind the wheel, Alec started the truck, but didn’t shift into drive. He stared through the windshield. “I’m not pissed at you, dude. I’m pissed because I let you go last night. I should have protected you.”

  “You’re not my dad,” Hunter said with typical teenage angst.

  “Damn, I’m not that old.” Alec’s attempt at a joke fell flat. “I’m not your dad or your brother, but I am your coach.”

  “You care about winning state. Don’t worry, the swelling will go down and I’ll be able to see come Friday’s game.” Hunter slumped on the seat, his arms folded over his chest, the skin taut and shiny around his eye.

  Alec clutched the steering wheel tighter. “Sure, I want to win state. So do you. I wouldn’t have made it to the NFL, and you wouldn’t be SEC quarterback material if we didn’t have that drive to win, but winning isn’t everything. I care about what happens to you. I care about . . . you.”

  Alec side-eyed Hunter, but the boy had turned to look out the passenger window toward his house. He sighed and got them moving. Tension filtered through the silence as he made the turn down the oak-lined street leading up to Hancock House. He threw the car in park. Hunter hopped out of the truck and was up the porch stairs before Alec made it to the bottom.

  Lilliana opened the front door before Hunter had a chance to ring the bell. Alec took the steps two at a time, ready to explain.

  Lilliana gasped and took Hunter by the arm, petting him like a child. “You poor thing. Get your booty into the kitchen and let me see to that eye.”

  None of the questions he could see flashing over her face popped out. Instead, she tutted, pushed Hunter into a chair, and gave him a quick hug around the shoulders. Alec shifted on his feet in the kitchen doorway and checked his watch. “I’ll cancel my appointment.”

  Lilliana looked over from where she was riffling through her medicine cabinet. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll be fine.”

  Alec backed away. A cowardly urge to let Lilliana deal with the mess sent him back to his truck. He didn’t know what to say or do for Hunter, and a feeling he was failing the boy nipped at his conscience.

  14

  Lilliana studied Hunter from under her lashes. Teenage defensiveness and angst surrounded the boy like a force field. First Jessica last fall, then Ghost and her kittens, and now Alec and Hunter. Maybe she should rename Hancock House Lilliana’s Home for Wayward Souls.

  She plopped a bottle of ibuprofen, peroxide, cotton balls, and SpongeBob Band-Aids on the table. “Let me get you fixed up.”

  She wet a cotton ball with peroxide and dabbed at the dried blood. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about what happened.”

  “You’ll tell Coach Grayson.”

  She pulled back to look straight into his good eye. “Probably. He’s your coach and sort of my boyfriend. He wants to help you.”

  Consternation flashed over his face before he covered it with teenage indifference. “I kind of ran into a door.”

  “O-kay.” She infused the word with as much sarcasm as possible and went back to work on his swollen eye. She pulled a first-aid cold pack out of her freezer and pressed it against his face. “Hold that over your eye for a bit.”

  She fixed two iced teas, grabbed a bag of store-bought cookies, and joined him at the table. Half his tea was gone in one huge swig, and he stuffed two cookies in his mouth.

  “How can Coach ‘sort of’ be your boyfriend?” His voice had lost a bit of its edge, and he went in for another handful of cookies. It was hard to maintain a tough-guy front when you were spewing crumbs like the Cookie Monster.

  “How can you ‘kind of’ run into a door?” She shot back, raising her eyebrows.

  He chuffed something resembling a laugh. Encouraged, Lilliana continued. “I’m going to have to guess what really happened. Let’s see . . . a roving gang of Girl Scouts came selling Thin Mints, and when you refused, they beat you up.”

  He tried to keep his lips together, but a laughter-accompanied smile lit his face. “Naw. I totally would have bought the Thin Mints. They’re my favorite.”

  “So, no Girl Scouts.” She tapped her lips. “Maybe elves snuck in—but not the cookie-bearing variety—and punched you while you were sleeping?”

  More laughter snuck out of him. She took the ice pack away and dried the area with a towel. He tilted his head back and shut his good eye while she worked as gently as possible. “All I’ve got are SpongeBob Band-Aids. Do you mind?”

  “’S all right,” he murmured. “I like the starfish dude.”

  “Did you and Will get in a tussle?”

  He didn’t open his eyes but turned as static and hard as concrete. She took her time smoothing the Band-Aid over the cut at the edge of his eyebrow. His Adam’s apple worked in his throat, and his voice came out creaky and boyish. “It was an accident.”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  “He was messed up.”

  “Drunk?”

  Hunter shrugged, opening his eyes, the sheen of tears obvious in his good one. The white of his hurt eye was pink with blood. “Bone-man came sniffing around throwing down apologizes and presents for Mama. Will welcomed him with open arms. I don’t even know how it happened but all of a sudden we were fighting, Mama was yelling, Bone-man tried to pull us apart.”

  Equal amount of anger and frustration and hurt feelings wove Hunter’s tale together. She handed him another cookie. “What happened afterward?”

  “Bone-man got Will out of there. If he hadn’t been so messed up, he never would’ve touched me.”

  “What’d your mama do?”

  “Cried. Locked herself in her room. She’d never seen Will like that. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid they’d come back. Dozed on the couch until Coach woke me up.”

  “You can always come here if you’re in trouble. I hope you know that.”

  He took a bite, crumbs falling on his shirt, and kept his eyes down. “Why would you help me? Because you and Coach are ‘sort of’ dating?”

  Suspicion, less jaded than Alec’s, but too similar, masked Hunter’s young face. When was the last time someone worried about him? Not Hunter the Falcon star quarterback, but Hunter the kid trying to hold his family together.

  “No mat
ter what happens with Alec, you can come here if you need help. Sometimes you have to trust people want to help you because you need help and for no other reason.”

  He popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth, ran his hands down his pants, and nodded. She had the feeling he was humoring her with his half-hearted agreement. Lilliana pushed off the table with her palms. “Do you have homework to do for Monday?”

  “Integrals worksheet for Coach Dalton. He’s a tough teacher.”

  She grimaced. “I’d like to say I’ll help you, but you’re on your own. I’m going to head up to my studio to work. Come on up when you’re done, and we’ll check out the bathroom.”

  Bright morning light had diffused into soft afternoon rays by the time Lilliana put the final touches on the commissioned portrait. She checked the clock—two in the afternoon. Lost in the concentration needed for the detailed work, she’d blocked out everything. Stretching, she listened. The tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway, the music of the wind chimes outside, the squawk of a blue jay. No teenage boy noises.

  Leaving her brushes to soak, she jogged down the steps and poked her head into the kitchen. Hunter’s head was on the table, his arms curled around his calculus book, each breath a soft snuffle. She crept closer, and her heart constricted. He looked young with his mouth soft and a little drool in the crease of the textbook.

  He should be worrying about girls and games and homework. Not where to sleep or how to avoid getting pulled into his brother’s life or how to protect his mother. His jeans had ridden up to reveal saggy white socks. His athletic shoes had seen better days too, the tread shallow ridges or gone entirely.

  She put together a ham sandwich, grabbed a bag of chips, and poured some tea. She set it all down close to his head. Grabbing a granola bar and a yogurt, she retreated to her studio to finish cleaning her brushes.

  A half hour later, smelling faintly of sour cream and onion chips, Hunter knocked on the doorjamb and shifted on his feet. “Thanks for the food, Miss Lilliana.”