by T. K. Leigh
“Make no mistake, Grady,” I snarl. “If you come near her or the rest of my family, I won’t hesitate to destroy you.”
“Are you threatening me?” he guffaws, a few of his friends from back in the day assembling around him. I didn’t like them then. And I don’t like them now. But I’m no longer the scrawny, awkward teenager he remembers me to be. I’m a man with enough resources at my disposal to make their lives extremely difficult. And enough physical strength to easily overpower them if circumstances require.
“Not a threat.” I adjust my posture, holding my head high, an air of authority about me. “A promise. And when I make a promise, I keep it. So if I were you, I’d keep your distance. You may still be the same inconsiderate prick. And maybe that’s the one thing we have in common. That our personalities haven’t changed much since the last time we saw each other. Because I assure you. I will still do whatever it takes to protect those I love.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“Whatever it takes,” I repeat, my voice infinitely more threatening. I level a stare on him, then turn, extending my hand to Londyn.
She looks at it, hesitating, but to my relief, she eventually takes it. I need her skin against mine right now. It’s the only thing that seems to calm me, rage still bubbling in my veins.
We silently make our way from the fair and toward the car, no longer in the mood for carnival games and greasy food. Even Imogene remains unusually quiet, a feat for the little girl who tends to talk from the second she wakes up in the morning to the instant she falls asleep.
As we approach Julia’s SUV, Imogene breaks the silence. “Mama, what was that word the mean man called Uncle Wes?”
We all stop walking as Julia crouches down to her level so she can look into her eyes. I don’t envy my sister right now. How do you teach a six-year-old about hate when their entire existence is based on love?
“That’s an awful word, one we never say. You laugh when Mama says shit, ass, and the occasional fuck, but under no circumstances is what that man said allowed to be spoken in our house. Ever,” she emphasizes.
Imogene nods, eyes wide, the tone of Julia’s voice carrying the importance of what she’s saying.
“It’s a cruel word,” she continues, then softens her voice. “One used only by people whose hearts are filled with hate. And your heart isn’t filled with hate, is it?”
Imogene shakes her head, her eyes brimming with innocence. “No. Like you tell me, it’s pure and filled with love.”
“That’s right, baby.” Julia brings her hand up to Imogene’s smooth cheek, caressing her skin.
“Then why is his heart filled with hate? Do you think maybe he just needs a hug?”
I look from Imogene to Londyn at my side. Releasing her hand, I drape my arm around her shoulders, pulling her toward me. I half expect her to push out of my embrace, the gesture too forward for…whatever we are. But she doesn’t. She nuzzles into me, lifting her gaze to mine and smiling sweetly.
“I don’t know,” Julia replies. “Sometimes that happens. Some people are scared of things that are different. Of people who are different.”
Realization washes over Imogene’s expression as she looks at Londyn. “He didn’t like Miss Londyn because her skin’s different than ours?”
“Yeah, baby. He saw something different and got scared. But Miss Londyn doesn’t scare you, does she?”
“No. I like having her around.” A grin crawls on her lips as she leans close to Julia. “And I think Uncle Wes really likes having her around,” she attempts to whisper, but she hasn’t exactly mastered that skill quite yet.
I peer down at Londyn, her eyes shining, and offer her a slight shrug, silently telling her my niece isn’t far off. That I do enjoy having her around. Normally, I might be embarrassed, but not right now. Not when Londyn settles even further into my embrace.
“I think so, too,” Julia continues. “That’s because we all have love in our hearts, even if someone doesn’t look like we do. What’s on the outside isn’t nearly as important as what’s on the inside.” She moves her hand to cover Imogene’s chest. “Isn’t nearly as important as what’s in here. I don’t want you to ever forget that, okay?”
“Okay, Mama.” She smiles, then pinches her lips together, her expression serious, as if about to ask a question of the utmost importance. “Can we get ice cream on the way home?”
The tension immediately evaporates, all of us breaking into laughter.
Julia stands, placing her hands on Imogene’s shoulders and leading her toward the car. “Of course, baby.”
Chapter Fifteen
Londyn
“Want a beer to take the edge off?” Wes turns to me as we stand in front of Gampy and Meemaw’s house after watching Julia and Imogene drive off on their way back to the city.
“It’s been a long day.” I smile, but it’s obviously forced.
We’ve worked much later before, and I’ve had no qualms about staying for a beer and some burgers before heading home. But things feel…different. I can’t quite put my finger on it. I should feel grateful Wes stood up for me like he did. But I hate he had to do that.
“I should head back. Get a good night’s sleep.”
“You can crash here if you want. You can take the bed in the master. I’ve got an extra sleeping bag I can use.”
Once I learned Wes had been staying here on the weekends, I focused my attention on getting one of the bedrooms into a somewhat useable state. It still needs paint and other details, and the bed is just a simple frame for the time being, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor.
“I didn’t take you for the roughing-it type,” I joke in an effort to cut through the solemn atmosphere that even ice cream couldn’t fix.
“There’s still a lot about me that I think will surprise you.”
“I think so, too,” I murmur.
“But I also have an air mattress.” He beams.
I laugh, which feels good, especially after tonight. “Of course you do.”
“Come on, Lo,” he pleads, becoming serious once more. “One beer. At the very least you can hold a beer and sit with me so I don’t feel like I’m drinking alone. After tonight, I could really use a beer. And a friend.”
As much as I’d love to go home, curl up in my bed, and forget about tonight, I can’t ignore the pull I feel toward him, so powerful and all-consuming. He’s the one person in recent history I struggle to deny, although all reason tells me I should.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Wes places his hand on my lower back, leading me up to the front porch.
After unlocking the door, he allows me to walk in ahead of him. Neither of us says a word as we head to the barren kitchen. He opens the mini fridge he brought here a few weeks ago and grabs two beers, popping the top off both. Handing me one, we walk out to the back porch I plan to transform into an outdoor entertaining space, complete with dining area and built-in grill. Right now, though, it’s still a rundown old porch. But that doesn’t matter. After a long day of working on the house, this has become one of my favorite things. Sitting on the top step, drinking a beer, Wes at my side.
Assuming our normal spots, we sit in relative silence, apart from the typical sounds of a country evening. Frogs croaking. Insects buzzing. Owls hooting. Despite the symphony of nature surrounding us, it’s remarkably peaceful.
“Are you okay?” Wes asks after a while. “With what happened earlier?”
I look away from a few lightning bugs dancing in the distance, my eyes locking with his. “It’s not the first time I’ve been called something like that. And it won’t be the last.”
His shoulders fall as he shakes his head. “It’s so fucked up. The Stowes have always been like that, though.”
“What? The town assholes?”
“Yeah. Definitely.” He leans his forearms on his thighs, taking a long sip of beer. “Although, technically, his family lives the next town over. At least they did when
we were kids. People called their neighborhood Stoweville because half the residents of the trailer park were all Stowes. When they weren’t locked up for their latest robbery or car theft, that is.”
“That would explain why he didn’t sound like he was a big fan of your gampy.”
He barks out a laugh. “Understatement of the year. The Stowes always hated Gampy. He’d been the prosecutor, then judge on a few of the cases where they were the defendants.”
I nod, not surprised. I’m normally not one to judge someone based on their appearance, having been the victim of that my whole life, but Grady had a rough look about him, one you only get after doing hard time.
“What happened to your grandparents?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he keeps his gaze focused straight ahead.
“I’m sorry, Wes. I didn’t mean to pry. After what Miss Clara said, I—”
“It was almost fifteen years ago now,” he interrupts. “I was up in Boston for college, so I wasn’t around.” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and I can tell the memory is difficult for him.
So just like he offered me comfort when I spoke of my mother, I do the same, covering his hand with mine, squeezing. The instant I do, raw need courses through me from the simple act of my skin touching his.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re not exactly accustomed to winter weather all that much down in these parts.”
“Certainly not,” I laugh under my breath.
“Right. Well, as you may recall, Meemaw volunteered as a cuddler at the hospital, which is about twenty minutes from here.”
“I remember.”
“She was working one of her shifts when what was just supposed to be a rainstorm turned to ice, then snow. She called Gampy to tell him she would stay at the hospital until the roads were better, but he insisted on picking her up since it was a special day.” He forces a smile. “Their fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
“Oh god.” My hand flies to my mouth, my stomach churning over what I fear he’s about to tell me.
“You know that bridge you cross on the way into town? The Hammond Bridge?”
I nod.
“Their last name was Hammond.”
A lump forms in my throat. I’ve never met Wes’ grandparents, but I feel like I have. Hell, these days, I feel closer to the ghosts of his past than I do my own.
“Gampy lost control of the car on a patch of black ice and they went over the side of the bridge. Cause of death was drowning.”
“Oh, Wes…”
Tears brim behind my eyelids. I’m not sure why I’m crying. Because of what happened to them? Or because I never got the chance to meet the two people who had such a profound impact on this man I’ve become rather fond of over the past few months?
I inch closer to him, wishing there were something I could do or say to make it hurt less. But I know better than anyone that’s not the case. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed. Some deaths you’re not meant to get over. Some are meant to stay with you, remind you of the importance of carrying on.
So, instead of filling the silence with meaningless condolences, I rest my head on Wes’ shoulder, making sure he knows he’s not alone. That was all I wanted when my mother died. To feel like I wasn’t alone.
“I like this,” he murmurs, moving his arm and draping it around my shoulders.
“Me, too,” I admit, stretching my legs in front of me, melting into him. I close my eyes, inhaling the sweet country air, serenity washing over me, something I didn’t think possible after the incident at the fair. But that seems to be the effect Wes has on me. He makes me forget everything for a minute.
“Londyn…,” Wes says after several moments of listening to nature rustling around us.
The uneasiness in his tone gives me pause, and I look at him. I’m on the verge of asking what’s wrong when I feel something brush over my ankles.
“Don’t. Move,” he warns, his intense gaze focused on whatever it is.
I slowly turn my head, my lungs desperate for air when I see a snake slithering up the bottom step and across my outstretched legs.
“Is that…,” I begin with a quiver, my muscles tightening, a chill enveloping me.
“Shh,” Wes hushes me so as to not draw the snake’s attention.
But it doesn’t work.
The trembles overtaking me alert the snake to the fact that I’m a possible threat and not an inanimate source of warmth. Its body coils, everything about it making me confident it’s about to strike.
When it hisses, I jump up with what feels like superhero-like speed. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to watch as it clamps its mouth onto my leg. But that never happens, the sound of metal thumping into wood cutting through the air.
I still, peeking through a slightly open eyelid to find Wes standing over the now decapitated snake, a shovel in his hand.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I exhale as I hop from foot to foot, shaking my hands, my flesh crawling.
Wes leaps up the steps and toward me, eyes awash with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I hate snakes,” I cry out. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, desperately trying to get my feet off the ground for fear the headless snake will mutate and grow back multiple heads, like the hydra Hercules battled. “I fucking hate them.”
“I don’t think they’re on most people’s list of favorite things.”
I pull back, shaking my head. “No. I mean, I am absolutely fucking petrified of those damn things. It’s completely irrational, because most of them aren’t dangerous—”
“Well, that one was,” Wes interrupts, nodding toward the snake carcass to the left of the stairs. “Copperhead. With all the overgrown brush, I guess they made a home out here. We’ll need to get a landscaper out here soon so Imogene doesn’t have a run-in with one.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”
Wes pulls me closer, a hand splayed on my back, kissing the top of my head in a pacifying way I’ve seen him do to Imogene countless times.
“It’s okay,” he soothes, running his fingers up and down my spine. “You’re okay. I got you.”
“I hate them. I hate them. I hate them,” I repeat, clutching onto his t-shirt with my fists as I remain in his embrace, doing my best to get my emotions under control.
Wes doesn’t react, just continues to hold me, keeping me safe in his arms. And that’s the thing. I actually feel safe. I do every time I’m with him.
“Better?” Wes asks when I stop trembling, my breaths slowing.
I nod against his chest, inhaling deeply, his familiar woodsy scent wrapping around me. “Better.”
“Good.” He pulls back slightly, but doesn’t drop his hold on me, keeping me in his arms.
My pulse kicks up when he pushes a few curls away from my face, his thumb skating across my skin. A shiver trickles through me, and not from the breeze wrapping around us or my lingering fear. From the way he peers at me. So much heat. So much want. So much hunger. It has my stomach doing backflips.
“Londyn…” His voice is deep, husky, guttural.
“Yes…”
“Londyn…,” he repeats, clutching my cheeks in his strong hands.
“Yes.” My eyes flutter closed as he pulls my lips toward his.
But he doesn’t kiss me. Just stays in this magical place where dreams are made and hope lives. This place where two souls are about to feel each other for the first time. This place that’s home to so much anticipation and promise.
When I don’t retreat or push him away, he moves a hand to the small of my back, yanking me against him. And then it happens. What I’ve fantasized about more times than I care to admit. He erases the last bit of space between us, his lips soft and sweet as he tests the waters. Relishing in this first touch, a tingle spreads over me, heating me from the inside out.
Does he understand the magnitude of this moment, too? Is that why he’s tak
ing his time, not rushing through this to get to the good stuff? Because in my mind, it’s all good stuff with him, even this barely-there meeting of our mouths.
His self-control doesn’t last too long, though. Before I have a chance to catch a breath, he deepens the exchange, his kiss bruising and greedy, leaving me thoughtless. Mindless. Defenseless. But in the best way possible.
Digging his fingers into my scalp, his other hand guides me backward, tightening when my back comes into contact with the wall. He circles his hips, the feel of his erection against me causing my craving to ratchet up another level. I hook a leg around his waist, desire pooling between my thighs at the feel of him. God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt like this, so needy and free.
He briefly pulls back, eyes locking with mine. “God, you taste better than I imagined. And I’ve certainly imagined.”
Before I can speak, he dives in for another impassioned kiss, this one even more hungry. I curve into him, succumbing to him. It’s been years since I’ve allowed a man to kiss me like this, hating how vulnerable a kiss could make me. How many lies can be masked in one gesture. But I don’t feel any of that with Wes. All I feel is his respect. His admiration. His undeniable passion for me. Passion I’ve denied for weeks. Passion I don’t want to deny any longer. Passion I deserve.
I run my hands down his back, lifting his shirt and digging my nails into his flesh. As I continue my exploration of his body, my touch confirms what I’d imagined the countless times I mentally undressed him. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Chiseled abs.
He breaks away from my lips, both of us panting. Then he buries his head in the crook of my neck.
When he scrapes his teeth against my flesh, I throw my head back on a moan, my veins on fire from his scintillating touch. My chest heaves. My heart races. My soul sings. All from this unassuming man’s touch.
He pushes one of the thin straps of my sundress off my shoulder, kissing the exposed skin. “Is this okay?” He floats his gaze to mine.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He smiles slyly before pushing the top of my dress farther down, exposing more of my cleavage. He trails kisses from my shoulder, along my collarbone, and down the crest of my breast. Drawing a line with his tongue, he stops just shy of my bra. Then he flicks his eyes back to mine, a hint of mischief within.
