by Kate, Jiffy
Yeah, that’s right.
My girl.
Avery is mine.
We might be taking it slow, but eventually, I want her to be mine in every sense of the word. Some people would want to take their time, date for a few months, see how things go. But I don’t have time for that. Even though she might be a spring chicken, I’m not, and I’ve got a lot of living to make up for.
“She used to work at the bar?” Devon asks, obviously taking a second look at her and making my hackles go up. “I just assumed girls didn’t work at the bar.” He chuckles, going about his business.
“Well, that one did,” Paulie answers, “and she worked circles around any guy we’ve ever hired.” There’s pride in his tone and it makes my chest swell. She was a damn good worker and I can’t say I wouldn’t like her back, but I think it’s better for her to work at The Crescent Moon. Having her at the bar every night would just put me on edge. I’d want to deck every mother fucker who even looked at her wrong, let alone the ones who wanted to comment on her tits...or insinuate what they’d like to do to her.
Avery can definitely hold her own, but I don’t want her to have to.
And that’s not me being a chauvinistic pig. I just want the best for her...in everything.
“She’s seriously hot.”
Clearing my throat, I stand up to my full height and turn on him, but Paulie beats me to the punch, not literally, but verbally. “You might want to rethink that,” he says with a little more vigor than usual. Cutting his eyes at me, I see Devon do the same and his normally tan skin blanches.
“Oh...shit,” he mutters, obviously putting the pieces of the puzzle together. “Boss...”
“No worries,” I tell him, cocking my head to Avery, “but she’s off limits...to you and everyone else.”
“Got it.” He puts his head down and pours himself into the task at hand, making wiping down a table look like the most interesting thing on the face of the planet.
Paulie and I exchange a look over the top of his head. When he shakes his head and gives me a smirk, I can’t help but return it.
That’s right, mother fucker...and tell all your friends.
At least I’m not still in my Santa suit, because that would’ve been awkward.
Later, after the food is stored away and the gifts have been distributed—every resident receiving new socks and underwear and blankets—I’m driving Avery back to her apartment. As much as I’d love to take her home with me, I’m trying to show some restraint. She’s slept at my house a couple nights now, after watching movies late and falling asleep. But for some reason, I know tonight would be different. My possessiveness from the interaction with Devon is still flowing through my veins.
“Spend Christmas with me,” I tell her, turning into the drive of the Walker’s home and cutting the lights so I don’t disturb them. “Sarah and I are going to Baton Rouge to Shane and Amy’s. I know they’d all love to see you again...and I’d love you to be there.”
She smiles softly at me, the pale light making her blonde hair look like a beacon in the night. “I wish I could,” she whispers, like she’s afraid to disturb the blanket of peace surrounding us. “But I’m going home. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but we’ve just been having such a great time...it never came up. I leave tomorrow afternoon.”
My heart drops at that.
Home?
It dawns on me that I’ve kind of forgotten that Avery isn’t from here. She has a home and people who love her...and...“What about Brant?” I ask, feeling rage boil under the surface at just the mention of his name. I don’t want him anywhere near Avery.
“I can handle Brant,” she says with confidence. “I couldn’t...the last time. I wasn’t ready,” she sighs, her hand finding mine and squeezing it. “But I am now. I know who I am and I know what I want...and I’m not afraid of him.”
“But he’s...” I drift off, think all the things I want to say—an asshole, an abuser, a fucking dead man if I ever see him again.
“Not important,” she finishes. “He’s a bully, but he won’t get the chance to have the upper hand on me ever again.” She winces at the unintentional irony in her words, but I also see the strength. She needs this. She needs to face her giant. We’ve all got them and if other people take them out for us, we never get to be the hero in our own story.
Mine was grief.
Hers is Brant Wilson.
“But you’re coming back?” I ask, allowing myself to be vulnerable and speak out my fears. Pulling her hand up to my mouth, I place a kiss, breathing her in as I wait on her answer with my heart thumping in my chest.
“Of course,” she says with a small, sad smile. “Of course, I’ll be back. Honey Springs will always be home, but New Orleans is now too. My roots are there, but my future is here.”
I can’t help the ridiculous smile that takes over my face, hiding it for a second behind her hand until she pulls it away and climbs over the middle of the seat, into my lap.
Her lips capture mine, holding them hostage, as my hands roam her body, settling on her fantastic ass. The windows are starting to fog up as we make out like horny teenagers, until the bright light at the side of the house suddenly comes on, causing us both to look up.
When we see Ben peeking through the blinds of the kitchen window that faces the drive, Avery lets out one of the best belly laughs I’ve ever heard. “Guess that’s my cue,” she mutters, shaking her head, “cock blocked again.”
Pulling her back to me, I make sure she feels how much I want her. I know it’s been torture, for both of us, but I also know, we’re doing something right, because my feelings for her grow every day. I want to be with her forever. “Soon” I groan, grabbing a handful of her ass and squeezing, “I promise.”
“That’s what I want for Christmas,” Avery murmurs against my lips, sounding a bit drunk on the lust that’s permeating the cab of my Jeep.
Chapter 31
Avery
“Livin’ on Tulsa Time” always plays through my mind every time I arrive at the Tulsa airport. I chuckle to myself as I recite the lyrics in my head. Since I’m only here for a few days, all I have is a backpack, so there’s no luggage to collect.
As I make my way down the corridor, I pull my phone out and call my daddy’s number.
“Almost there,” he grumbles without any other greeting, except for a colorful expletive.
“I’ll meet you at the curb,” I tell him with a chuckle.
Damn, I’ve missed him. Mama and I talk all the time and occasionally, he’s in the background, putting in his two cents’ worth, but I haven’t had a real conversation with him in a while. He’s always busy—bailing hay, feeding cattle, mending fences. Running a farm is no joke.
A few minutes later, as the Oklahoma sun begins to set in the early evening sky, giving me the gorgeous blue to orange sunset I’ve been missing, my dad pulls up to the curb in his dirty Chevy pick-up truck. Smiling, I practically run to the cab. He jumps out, meeting me halfway, a smile of his own plastered on his ruggedly handsome face.
“Hey, Daddy,” I sigh, falling into his warm embrace.
“Hey, Baby.” He squeezes me. “So good to see you.”
“You too.”
His hug is fierce, but he eventually lets go and takes my backpack from me, looking over my shoulder. “Is this all you got?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, running my hands down the legs of my jeans, wishing I’d layered up a little more. It’s way colder here than it was when I left New Orleans.
Thinking of New Orleans has me thinking of who I left behind and I have to catch myself to keep the sad frown from my face. Shaw dropped me off at the airport earlier. And walked me inside. Even though I told him it wasn’t necessary. He stood by while I checked in and then we had a coffee right outside of security until it was past time for me to go. When I went to leave, after we’d already kissed, he pulled me back for one more. It was soul-claiming, searing...actually, I can still feel it. We haven’t
said the words I love you much since the night of our big talk, but he doesn’t have to. He shows me every single day.
“Your mama is gonna be so happy to see you,” he says, opening the passenger door and helping me inside before taking a few long strides to his side of the truck. Taking it out of park, we begin to roll away from the curb. “We gotta stop and get some eggs and flour at the store on our way home. She’s got lots of baking planned for the two of you tomorrow...all sorts of plans.”
Turning to look at me, he smiles and shakes his head a little.
“What?” I ask, pulling the seat belt over my shoulder.
“Just good to see you,” he muses. “You look good, Avery. Real good.” He barks out a laugh as he turns to merge with traffic and we begin our hour and a half trek home. “Your mama will be happy about that. She had herself convinced you never eat or sleep.”
“Well, I do work a lot, but I also manage to eat and sleep...some,” I tell him, twisting my lips in a reluctant smile. “Probably not as much as she’d like, but I do my best.”
“It’s all we can do,” he replies quietly. “You sure you’re doin’ good?”
“Yeah,” I say confidently, feeling completely honest in that answer. A few months ago, it would’ve been a lie, but I’m better than I’ve been in years...maybe ever. I feel like I’m figuring out who I am and what I want and I’m happy. Really, really happy.
“You’ve got enough money? Payin’ all your bills?”
“Yes,” I tell him with a small smile. “I’ve got a job and it pays the bills. I’ve made some good friends...it’s starting to feel like home.” The last statement is met with silence and I’m worried I’ve hit a nerve with the home comment, but eventually, my dad responds.
“That’s good...real good,” he says, eyes on the road. “That’s all I want for you.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” Warmth floods my chest along with a fraction of relief. I won’t really feel complete relief until I have a talk with my mama, but hearing him say that makes me breathe a little easier.
The local country music station that’s always tuned into my daddy’s radio plays on in the background as we drive along, enjoying the comfortable silence that often finds us. We’ve had hundreds of trips a lot like this—just me and my daddy in this old truck. It feels nice. I’m lost in thought, taking in the rolling hills and barren trees as the last of the winter evening slips into night he asks, “So, what happened with Brant?”
Not a stitch of accusation or meddling can be found in the question, only genuine concern so, I answer him truthfully.
“We got in a fight,” I begin, taking in a deep breath and letting it out, my warm air fogging up the window. “A bad one. He’d been out late and I waited up for him. When he got home, I asked him where he’d been and he got angry and hit me. I woke up early the next morning, packed my bags, and left.”
He clears his throat and shifts in the old, worn leather seat, causing me to look over at him. In his profile, I see the anger rolling off of his normally calm features. “He hit you?” he bites out, his eyes squinting in disbelief.
I nod, but realize he probably can’t see me because the sun has completely set behind us and his eyes are trained on the open road. “Yeah,” I reply, feeling no need to lie or cover for Brant. I’m done with that.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” This time, his words hold so much pain and resentment and I crumble a little inside. I should’ve. If I was in his place and I had a daughter and something bad happened to her, I’d want to know.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“You should’ve told me,” he scolds. “I would’ve...”
He would’ve. I know. He would’ve moved heaven and earth to make it right, but I couldn’t let him do that. I needed time and distance from what happened. Because now, on the other side, I can honestly tell him, “it’s okay...I’m okay.”
Glancing briefly at me, taking one hand off the wheel, he grabs for mine and pulls it to him, placing a rough kiss on my knuckles. “You’re my baby...always will be. If he ever even looks at you wrong again, I’ll handle it.”
That’s what scares me, because my daddy’s way of handling things is old school. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
“Please don’t worry about it,” I plead softly. “I’m okay and he’s been put in his place once.”
“By who?” he asks, our hands dropping to the seat, but he continues to hold mine in a tight grip.
“Shaw.” His name feels like a breath of fresh air on my tongue.
“The bar owner?”
I smile and nod, closing my eyes as my free hand comes up to my lips, remembering. “Yeah, the bar owner,” I finally say, my thoughts going back to that night. “Brant came to get my car. He was awful...said awful things to me and tried to make me go with him, but Shaw stopped him from taking me and got a nice right hook in.” I laugh a little at the memory of Brant’s nose dripping blood. It’s a bit sardonic, I admit, but it gives me a little vengeance.
“I’d like to meet this Shaw,” my daddy says quietly.
“I’d like that too.”
I think they’d get along great, just picturing it puts a smile on my face. Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I send Shaw a text to let him know I made it safely. His response is immediate.
Shaw: I miss you already.
Me: I miss you. So much.
The rest of the trip home is spent in alternating silence and small talk. My dad catches me up on everything I’ve missed at the farm. We had twenty new calves, two of them died. This was a good hay season and he and my grandpa, who’s pushing eighty-freaking-years-old, kept what they needed for the winter and sold the rest. My mama and nana are getting a new paddle boat out of the deal. Apparently, they want one to use in the pond.
I love that my parents and grandparents are so passionate about farm life. And I love that they’re okay that I’m not.
When we get to town, we make a quick stop at the grocery store for flour and eggs.
I see seven people I know on my quick trip to the back of the store. Every person wants to stop and ask me about Brant.
“How is Brant?”
“Are y’all plannin’ on gettin’ married anytime soon?”
“I hear he’s been very successful in Houston.”
“We’re so proud of him.”
“Are y’all home for Christmas?”
“We missed y’all at the tree lightin’ ceremony.”
“So, you think you’re gettin’ a ring?” Judy the cashier asks and it’s the straw that breaks this camel’s back.
“No, Judy,” I say with mock regret and a heavy sigh. “The only thing I want from Brant Wilson is for him to fall off the face of the earth.” With a sweet, surgery smile, I swipe my debit card and enjoy her dismay—blinking eyes and a mouth open so wide it could catch flies.
“Are you two not together?” she asks slowly, as my answer begins to sink in.
“Let’s just put it this way,” I say, leaning over to grab my brown paper sack and staring her right in the eyes, so there will be no confusion on where I stand with Brant. “I wouldn’t piss on his leg if he was on fire.”
She hands me my receipt with a look of shock plastered on her face, probably thinking how crazy I am, because even after all these years, everyone in this pea-picking town still thinks Brant Wilson hung the damn moon.
Walking out the glass door, I make it a point to turn back and smile at Judy who’s still standing there, staring at me like I’ve grown two heads. I just smile and wave, calling back over my shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Judy.”
When we turn off the main dirt road onto the long gravel drive, I see the front door open and my mama steps out onto the porch. Before my daddy barely has the truck in park, I’m opening the door and jumping out, making my way across the crunchy grass and into my mama’s waiting arms.
“Welcome home, Baby.” She sighs and I hear the emotion in her voice. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks, Mama,” I reply, returning her tight hug. “Gosh, I missed you.”
“Oh, I missed you too.” She sniffles lightly, but pulls me back to get a good look at my face. “You look great,” she says, her face beaming. “Look at you, you’re practically glowing.”
“I’m just happy to see you,” I tell her, feeling my cheeks heat under her scrutiny. “You act like you haven’t seen me in years.”
“It feels like it,” she teases, but her eyes are still taking inventory and critiquing every feature. “But you definitely look different.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I thought you might like it,” I say, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. “Purple is your favorite color.”
“It looks good on you,” she smiles, lifting her brows and reaching out to brush a strand away from my face. “But it’s more than the hair.”
Standing there for a few more seconds, her analyzing me and me doing the same in return, storing her up for a rainy day. My daddy finally makes his way onto the porch with my backpack and the grocery sack in tow, breaking up our reunion. “How about we take this inside where it’s warm,” he suggests, leaning in to give my mama a kiss on her cheek.
I’ve always loved the way she closes her eyes when he kisses her.
Once inside, we all head straight to the kitchen for a late dinner. My grandparents amble in the back door a few minutes later and the gang’s all here.
After hugs and kisses and a spanking from my nana for standing them up at Thanksgiving, we all sit down at the table.
Looking around at everyone, I smile, but for the first time ever, I feel like something is missing.
Someone.
I suddenly want to stop dinner and tell them everything. I need my family to know about Shaw and how much I love him. But instead, I bow my head and wait for my grandfather to say grace, remembering the last time I was at a family table and saying grace.
Thanksgiving feels like so long ago. So much has happened since then. And again, I want to tell them everything—things that just wouldn’t have felt right being shared over the phone, hundreds of miles away.
