She smiled while trying to position the wooden corner braces on her portrait to prepare it for shipping. “You’re welcome. Instead of a bed and breakfast, Hancock House has turned into a table and lunch.”
He shuffled farther into the room, looking around with obvious curiosity. “Need some help?”
“I would love some help. I’m not tall enough to get these on.”
Hunter took the triangle-shaped brace from her and worked it over the top right corner with ease. He chucked his chin toward the portrait. “Who’s the dude?”
Lilliana affected a fake upper-crust accent with Bostonian overtones. “Edwin Perryville Culpepper the third. He’s a big-shot banker in New York.”
“Have you met him before?” Hunter’s lips twitched as he worked the top-left corner piece on.
“We didn’t exactly run in the same social circles. I might have served him a drink at the restaurant I bartended at. Who knows?” Lilliana checked the security of all four pieces.
“I thought you were a painter?”
“You’ve heard of ‘starving artists’?” Hunter nodded. “Well, I like to eat. Portrait work is like hitting a very small lottery once or twice a year. But what kept me in Ramen noodles was drawing caricatures in the park.”
“Central Park? I’ve seen it on TV. The horse and carriages and stuff.”
“It’s amazing actually. Right in the middle of this huge city, surrounded by skyscrapers, are acres of green. Whenever I got homesick I would find myself there.”
“Did you live close by?”
“I lived in a walkup tenement with two other girls many, many blocks away.”
“Could you see the Empire State Building?”
“I could see the grungy brick building across the street and the homeless man who slept next to our stoop. But you can walk about anywhere in New York City with the right shoes. You want me to draw you?”
“Me?” Hunter took a step back and picked at the eyebrow over his swollen eye.
“Sit over here.” She positioned him on the loveseat against a wall and pulled up a small easel and stool. She flipped her box of pencils open.
“You don’t use that kind of paint?” Hunter pointed toward the portrait.
“Caricatures are fast and dirty. Paint takes too long to dry and detail work is long and tedious. These are artist pencils, not the number two variety you get at the Walmart. How about a football theme? What’s your number?”
“Seven.”
“Lucky number seven. Like Alec.” Lilliana got down to work. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed the immediacy of pencil sketches. She drew Hunter with one arm pulled back, the ball ready to rocket down the field, his other hand in another player’s face, giving him a stiff-arm. His head was huge as was his grin, his legs like spindles. She didn’t include the swollen eye.
Not fifteen minutes later, she pulled the sheet off and flipped it around. Hunter’s good eye grew round, and he pulled his full bottom lip between his teeth. His voice full of surprised amazement, he said, “That’s me.”
She laughed so hard tears stung her eyes. “Did you want me to make you look like The Rock or something?”
“It’s so cool.” He moved closer, bending lower but not touching the paper.
“Go on and take it. It’s yours.”
“How much do I owe you?”
“Not a thing. It was good practice.” She waved the paper toward him.
He pinched the edges like he was holding a precious ancient parchment from biblical times. “You should do one of Coach Grayson.”
A flash of a nude Alec laid out for her sketching pleasure made heat burn up her cheeks. Before she could stumble out an answer, the doorbell pealed, echoing down the hallway. Her heart jumped. Was Alec back from his meeting?
Without checking out the curtain, she smiled and swung the door open. Will Galloway stood on her porch, leaning against a pillar. She had a passing acquaintance with Ms. Galloway and remembered Will as a skinny preteen. He was the same height as Hunter, but broader, denser. She couldn’t tell how much was muscle and how much was pure mass.
The smile she’d intended for Alec got stuck on her face. “Will Galloway. It’s been a month of Sundays since I’ve seen you or your mother.”
“I remember you. You came to our church sometimes.”
As a teenager, Lilliana had often gone to the traditionally black churches in an idealistic campaign to integrate Falcon’s religious divide. Seeing her aunt’s lemony expression had fed her need to rebel. Her father hadn’t seemed to care whether she went to church at all.
“You were a kid last time I was there.”
“I’m all grown-up now, and you’ve turned into a dime piece.” His gaze was invasive as it slowly drifted down her body, his half smile flirty.
Hunter came up beside her. “She’s off-limits, Will.”
Remnants of the previous night’s animosity pulsed between the brothers. “Ma wants you home, pronto. Let’s go.”
She didn’t exist. Each brother vied for power even though no one moved. No matter how grown and mature they imagined themselves, they were both kids. Not even eighteen. And, somewhere along the way, she had become as protective of Hunter as Alec was.
She stepped in front of Hunter, her chin up and her jaw tight, forcing Will to notice her. “Hunter has work to finish. I’ll drive him home later. Anyway, I want to have a little talk with your mother. Why are you fighting with family, Will?”
“He knows why.” Will tipped his chin toward Hunter but kept his gaze on her. A threat of another demonstration of brotherly love was in his voice.
“Miss Lilliana,” Hunter whispered and tried to step from behind her. Will pushed off the column, his casual stance replaced by a bull-like readiness.
She threw up her arm like a bar, stopping Hunter. Anger grew the lump in her stomach. Words that she’d probably regret clawed up her throat. “Do you understand that Hunter has a way out of Mill Town? Do you get that he wants something better than gangbanging and dealing drugs? His way out is football and you’d best not screw that up.”
She stepped closer and poked Will’s shoulder. It was like a side of beef. She and Will stared into each other’s eyes.
“You can’t take him away from me, he’s my twin brother.” A hint of deeper, primal feelings colored his voice.
“But you’re not the same person. You can’t pull him down with you because you’re lonely and need him.”
“I’m not trash.” Will bit out the words so vehemently, Lilliana wondered how often he’d been told exactly that.
“Of course, you’re not trash.” Pity worked to squash some of her anger. “But you’re dangerous, Will. To yourself, to your mom, and to Hunter.”
“Maybe to you too, lady.” Will’s face was hard, his bloodshot eyes menacing.
Real fear tumbled through her stomach, and her breathing turned shallow. This time when Hunter stepped forward, she didn’t stop him.
“Shut up, Will. You touch her and—”
A white truck turned down the street. Relief shot through her.
Alec parked behind Will’s jacked-up sedan on the half-circle drive. She wanted to run down the front steps and throw herself in his arms like some Southern belle greeting her man returning from war. He didn’t seem in a hurry, but a coiled energy emanated from him, his gaze fixed on Will. “What’s going on?”
“Will was just leaving. Weren’t you?” Now that Alec was here, her fear diminished and she seriously considered kicking Will in the shin.
Will stamped down the steps. “Come on, Hunter.”
Hunter shuffled forward as if following his brother’s commands was automatic, but he stopped at the top of the porch. His voice was rough and an octave lower than usual. “I’ve got work to finish.”
Will froze with his hand on the driver’s door handle. With his face in profile, he said, “Fuck you, Hunter.”
15
Alec stood in the driveway until Will squealed around the
corner and off Lilliana’s street. His heart pumped liked he’d sprinted to Hancock House from town. He’d been tempted to tackle Will Galloway to the ground for daring to come to Hancock House, but the kid was a minor, no matter what kind of grown-up trouble he was courting.
As soon as the pumping bass from the car faded into birdsong, Alec took the front steps two at a time and wrapped his hands around Lilliana’s upper arms. He wanted to press her close against his chest, feel the thump of her heart and the heat of her skin. Hunter stared down the street even though Will was probably halfway to Mill Town by now.
Neither appeared hurt, but the question popped out anyway. “Did he touch either of you?”
“No. He came by wanting Hunter to head home with him.” Lilliana sent a glance Hunter’s way.
“Naw. He wanted me to ride along while he made a deal.” Hunter’s voice was thin and didn’t carry far.
“That’s not what he said,” she said.
Hunter’s eye roll was full of teenage exasperation. “You seriously think my bro is hanging with our mama on a Saturday? Biggest party night in Falcon.”
“Wow, my life has gotten really boring.” The mood lightened with her teasing quip.
Alec forced his attention away from the woman who had stolen his thoughts all day to Hunter. Will Galloway was a bomb that would eventually explode, and Alec didn’t want Hunter or Lilliana to become collateral damage. Was it time to call the police? “What do you want to do, Hunter?”
“I finished my homework for Monday. Thought maybe we could work on the bathroom.” Hunter stubbed the toe of his shoe against the edge of a column.
Alec hesitated. Had Hunter gone with Will on his deals in the past? Probably. Could he be implicated in some form along with Will? Maybe. Alec didn’t know the laws and wasn’t willing to risk involving the police.
The playoffs loomed with the best team Falcon had fielded in decades. Even a one-game suspension for Hunter would probably screw the team’s chances at a state title but more importantly, Hunter’s future would be shot to hell. Alec ran a hand over his jaw, suppressing a torrent of curses.
“Let’s get to work then.” Frustration with the situation bit his words short.
Alec’s anger and helplessness faded as they worked side by side, laying tile in neat, organized, logical rows. Their conversation didn’t touch on Will, staying safely in the realm of football and school and girls. After a couple of hours of work, Hunter pulled out his phone and stared at the screen, a crack zigging over an incoming text. Black duct-tape wrapped the back.
“I gotta go, Coach. Ma needs me.”
“Dammit, I don’t like you there. It’s not safe.”
“It’s home.” Hunter shrugged. White flecks of grout peppered his close-cropped hair, and his light brown gaze dropped to the floor. His body language screamed exhaustion and inevitability. He grabbed his backpack and headed out the bedroom door. Alec followed a few steps behind.
Lilliana shut the door on a delivery boy, the smell of hot pizza filling the entryway. She turned with the box propped on her hip, her gaze darting between Hunter and Alec. “What’s going on?”
“Ma’s picking me up.”
Lilliana shoved the pizza at Alec. She got in front of Hunter and tugged the sides of Hunter’s hoodie jacket together. “You call if you need anything. You got me?”
A flash of white was as close to a smile as he gave them, and tension seemed to evaporate from his body. “Will do, Miss Lilliana. Thanks for everything. I’m going to hang my picture in my room tonight.”
Hunter’s mom didn’t pull into Lilliana’s drive but idled on the street. He skipped down the front porch steps and stopped by the open window of the driver’s side.
Lilliana pushed Alec in the small of his back. “Go offer them the pizza and make sure his mom is okay.”
Alec jogged toward the car, and Hunter straightened and looked over his shoulder, effectively hiding his mother from view. “Did I forget something, Coach?”
“The pizza.” Alec held it out, but Hunter made no move to take the box. Alec stumbled over an explanation. “Lilliana’s worried about . . . her hips. You know, the calories. You’d be doing her a favor.”
Alec tried on a jovial smile, but had a feeling he looked like a creep luring a kid into a van with candy. He craned his neck to see around Hunter. “Hello, Ms. Galloway. How are you this evening?”
Ms. Galloway pushed Hunter aside with a hand on his hip. “Lovely. Thank Mr. Grayson for the pizza and get in, Hunter.”
Hunter hesitated but took the box. Keeping his head down, he slouched around the front and slid into the passenger seat. Alec set his hands on the open window and leaned closer. No obvious injuries marred her dark, smooth skin or caramel-colored eyes so similar to Hunter’s.
Pride had her chin up and meeting his eyes, but he recognized the ruse. She’d taken the pizza readily enough when Hunter would have denied it. At some point, pride became too costly.
“Hunter could have his pick of colleges, Ms. Galloway.”
She hummed, her lips pressed together. “Not everyone is meant for college, Coach Grayson.”
Hunter stared at the top of the pizza box, his fingers crumpling the sides of the stiff cardboard. Never had Alec considered Hunter’s mother as an obstacle. Dropping any pretense of charm, Alec’s voice turned grim. “Do you want Hunter to live in Mill Town and work at the factory?”
“It’s been a good life.”
“Has it?”
Ms. Galloway’s face flashed with an anger reminiscent of Will. “Keep to the football field and out of my family’s life, Coach Grayson.” The window rolled up, forcing Alec to pull his hands back. She drove off with a squeal of tires.
Lilliana waited at the top of the stairs, her hands on her hips, a corner of her mouth drawn back. “What in the world did you say?”
He threw his hands in the air. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Your heartfelt offers sometimes come off a little . . . cold.”
He stared into her eyes, trudging up the stairs, his steps loud in the quiet evening. She didn’t look away, only tilted her face to maintain contact. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried his best to look like he didn’t care, yet her words slipped straight into his chest like shards of glass.
His youth lived in his memories like a nostalgic movie. He’d been outgoing and popular in high school. His teammates had been his friends, and they’d laughed and had fun. He’d done a few stupid things like most teenage boys, but nothing on the wrong side of the law. Football had been something that had brought him happiness, but happiness had been out of reach for a long time now.
Now he saw that kind of happiness in the woman who stood in front of him. Close enough to touch.
“I’m an asshole,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
The depths of her eyes swallowed him. “You’re not an asshole, but you do a pretty job making people think you are sometimes. Come in and have dinner.” She pivoted, her hair swinging out to skim his forearms, goose bumps breaking out.
“You gave away our pizza,” he said.
“Technically, you did. How about ham-and-cheese omelets?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but pulled everything out of the fridge and set a pan on the stove eye. She flipped on the radio, and a slow country song filled the blank space.
He leaned against the granite bar top. Swaying to the music, she turned in the middle of cracking an egg, a smile on her face. The simple domesticity of the moment made his stomach cramp. How long had it been since he’d shared meals and troubles with someone? He was torn between contentment and fear. Losing her might be more devastating than even his knee injury.
Her smile turned questioning. “You okay there, Mr. Football?”
He swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t look as shell shocked as he felt. “Fine.”
He devoured his omelet, hungry but also wanting to keep conversation to a minimum, not sure how he could keep her from wiggling further into his l
ife or if he even wanted to put up a fight. But, he’d spent so many years alone and lonely for a reason. Betrayal.
“Lilliana, you’re sure we never met at Alabama?” He speared his last bite and looked up.
She dropped her fork, and it clanged against the plate. Her hands disappeared under the table. Her smile wiped away and with a crinkle between her eyes. “Not that I recall. Why are you asking?”
She wiped her mouth with a napkin but held his gaze. He either believed her or he didn’t. He relaxed in the chair, his heart choosing for him. “No reason.”
Half of her omelet was left when she pushed the plate forward and crossed her arms on the table.
“I’m sending Edwin off tomorrow. Mama needs a new pair of shoes,” she said in a Mae West accent, but then turned thoughtful, her tone modulating. “Actually, Hunter needs a new pair of shoes. Have you seen his sneakers? Worn smooth on the bottom.”
How long had Hunter been coming to practice hungry, worried, scared? All Alec had done was drill him harder. “How loud would he squawk if I took him shoe shopping?”
“Loud enough to bring the police running, I imagine.” She propped her chin on a hand, her head tilting as she considered him. “You could leave them on his porch like a good fairy. I might have an old tutu from my failed ballerina days you could borrow.”
Her gift was making him laugh, and after being without laughter for so long, he recognized how precious it was. Still chuckling, he ran a hand through his hair. Grit coated the top strands. Probably he should head home for the night. He didn’t want to get in the habit of sleeping over every night. It screamed commitment. “I need to head home for a shower.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it tight, nodding. “Would you mind helping me move my shipping crate downstairs first?”
He was positive she’d been planning to say something else, but didn’t press her.
Bulky but not particularly heavy, he maneuvered the crate down the stairs, leaning it next to the front door. She ran her fingers over the rough wood. “It’s silly, but I’ll kind of miss him. I shared some deep thoughts with Old Edwin.”
Melting into You Page 16