Without thinking, I lift my fingers to brush her hair from her face. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Thank you, but I’m not trying to be,” she whispers, laying her hand on my chest. “You’re scaring me.”
“Don’t be scared of me.” I lean in close and press my lips to hers. It’s not a passionate kiss but a tender one as I capture her blue eyes with my emeralds. “I’m the best I’ve ever been. Don’t worry about me.”
“I…” A hint of a smirk threatens to raise her cheeks. I latch onto her arms and we fall back. She giggles and straddles over my belly. “… What are we doing?”
“I don’t know, but I fucking like it.”
“So, do I,” she professes. “Pizza is going to get cold.”
“Cold pizza is good.” I grin.
“I took tomorrow off,” she nervously says, like I would mind. “I wanted to spend the day with you.”
“With me, huh?” The back of my hand brushes over her supple skin. “You like to clean and fix shit?”
“Umm…” Her smile broadens across her face as she comes up with a solution. “You can teach me.”
“I can teach you?”
She bites her lip. “You can teach me many things.” Never one to let a simple innuendo rest on its own, Skeet adds her own stamp of witty comeback. “Then, I can call you Professor Raniero.”
“Oh, dear God…” I mutter as she swipes my hat and tosses it on her hair. “That thing is disgusting.”
“I’ll wash it.”
It’s such a simple thing…washing my fucking hat…and it means so much.
And I start crying as she finishes her sentence, “I am always going to worry about you, Sal.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Fuck you.” With tears in her eyes, she smiles as I lay my hands on her thighs. “And fuck off. Or fuck me. I am here. I am not going anywhere.”
“Shit…” I grip my hair. “You know what? I am tired of avoiding the elephant. Why are you loving me like this?”
“Because you loved me.”
I furrow my brow. “You loved me enough to go get my ass out of Georgia, took me to Nebraska, introduced me to Lady June, and on top of all that, you brought me home to my mother. This thing is so much deeper than the casual verbal foreplay we engage in on a daily basis. I will be here whether you want me or not. Through recovery and healing and relapses, I am here for you. Whatever you need to take from me, I give.”
“… Blow job?”
“Sure.” She grins, and I chuckle. “Now?”
“No,” I snicker and shake my head.
“You sure?” Her eyebrows lift with the invitation. “I swallow real pretty.”
“I bet you do.”
“I know you aren’t easy,” she reports, erratically blinking. “You like to drink too much, do some drugs, and sometimes you cheat…”
“Sometimes, I kill people too.”
“Yeah, well, you gotta overlook some things.” She shines that smile, but I don’t find hope. Hope lies. Hope sucks. Fuck hope. Hope didn’t do anything for me in the last decade but crush my heart. I see the sparks of something real. Something I can hold onto. I bought it. It’s fucking mine.
I can’t compare her to anyone else because there is no one to compare to. She has Cruz-Howser traits, but she’s completely customized to her own accord and malleable enough to be modified to mine.
“You’re something else, Skeet.”
“Pizza, beer, and bud?”
“Yes, to all three.”
“… Really?” she asks, shocked. “I’m amazed.”
“Big difference between forgetting that you are alone and being alone with someone special.”
She bites her lip and asks, “… Am I someone special? Cause that is better than the babysitting escort Dom defined me as.”
“You were never an escort,” I say. “I needed a friend.”
“I would’ve done it for free, but I am not sure I am someone special.”
“You’re someone alright,” I sarcastically mumble. “Cute cacodemon.”
Her eyes light up as we get up off the floor. “Yas—sss! You called me a chocolate demon!” Her efforts to play are adorable like a kitten unraveling a ball of yarn that could potentially knock her on her ass.
“Wrong, caco…”
“Oh!” She blinks. “Malevolent minion!”
“Lusus naturae.”
“What the fuck is that?” She quips as I laugh. “Tell me! Sally!”
“Freak of nature,” I inform, not thinking and pulling my shirt off. I turn back towards her to throw my nasty shirt in the washing machine. She is staring at me. Her mouth droops open as her eyes say it all. I’m too scarred. Too wounded. Too broken to be worth it. “Hannah…”
“Freak of nature is right.”
“Shit,” I mumble, lowering my head as her hands spin my back for her inspection. Her fingers run over the ripples of red lines from Serene, the lotus brand, and the name emblazoned on my shoulders. She circles around and spots the single tear trickling down my cheek. I can’t get a read on her pursed lips and steady gaze. Wrapping her fingers around my right wrist, she lifts my arm. “… What?”
“What does this say?” she fiercely demands, pointing. “What does this say?”
“Cruz.”
“Don’t fucking forget it!” she sasses with a wink and breaks into a smile. “If you think her name on your back is going to all of a sudden put a stop to whatever unprofessional someone special thing we’ve got going on, you should think again. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more to scare me off than some marred up skin.” She raises a brow. “And not to be cruel, but maybe that tat on your back is enough reason for Deacon to feel the way he does.”
She releases my arm and turns away, but I latch onto her elbow. “What does that mean?”
“For a man who is as quick as you are, you live in the dark a lot. If you’re bent over for my brother, all he is seeing is Iris Amarie and a Lotus. You belong to her…”
I’m a walking, talking fucking Iris billboard…just like those rhinestones on her ass.
“I’m on my back a lot,” I counter as she looks down. “You had your lashes done today.”
“I did.” She proudly grins. “Thank you for noticing.” But she is relentless—a bitch with my nads in those pretty little teeth. “I’m not asking you to change. What I want is for you to do what is best for you. We can work around everything else. Including the…” She doesn’t say her name again but rapidly twirls her finger. “Don’t sweat this, and it won’t stop me from letting you sweat on me.”
Shaking my head, I cackle, “God, sometimes, you must be the twin.”
“Nope, you’re stuck with the teenage twerp.” She randomly does her bouncing thing, captivating all my attention, until she gets distracted. Her eyes skim over the ink as her finger runs along my waist, right above the denim. “… You have more?”
“More?”
She rolls her eyes. “Ink?”
“Yes.” We stare at one another on pause. She wants to ask if she can see (*it) and I want to ask her if she wants to. “I’d show you, but I don’t believe in underwear.”
She flushes crimson as her blue eyes dance to avoid me.
“You want to see my dick, Hannah?”
“God, yes, I do,” she whispers.
I bend over and scoop her up onto my shoulder, and she screams. “I ought to pop your ass while you’re up there.”
“What did I do?”
“Stopped me with your boulder.”
“Burn me, Sal,” she encourages as I set her on the bed. “I’ll still be standing when you’re done.”
“How did you know about the fires?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time getting to know Trudy. You are the fire, and you need grounding,” she points out. “I’m sorry. I’m not to calling her Ma yet.”
Laying my hands on her knees, I crouch down. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”
At that moment,
I understand why I’m so drawn into her chaotic heart. It’s not just her deviously good fun or exuberant behavior, but her blunt honesty speckled with innocence.
I run to grab two beers and the pizza box. “What are we doing?”
“Slowing the blaze.”
52
Ma and the Tennessee Twelve
The Master
By the weekend, we return to Trudy’s because…well, I’m not sure why we’ve come back. Respect? Obligation? Responsibility? Loyalty?
We could’ve stayed at the Swamp Shack for an unlimited amount of time. And that thought scares the fuck out of me.
Trudy brought Dragon back to Texas for spring break. I’m standing with a cup of coffee in my hand watching Dragon and Skeet splash in the pool.
Damn fucking swimsuit.
It’s a tiny…so tiny…solid navy-blue bikini. All that skin and so little fabric. I park my tongue on my top lip and feel the hint of arousal in the nether region. It quickly evolves into a distinct beat as Ma asks, “Have you heard from Deacon?”
“Why would you ask me that?”
Trudy’s making a feast as the chicken fried steak hits the oil, and Skeet gets out of the water. She runs to the diving board with her shimmering skin glowing like she’s been dipped in glitter and blessed by the Goddess. Not Gods. Only a woman would bestow a figure like that on another woman.
Because it would kill a man.
She waves at me.
“Sally, in less than a half an hour, I’m going to have the entire RR table here, fess up,” she directly prods. “Nowala, dammit!” She winks.
“… Have you?”
“Yes!” she says. “He called me less than twelve hours after he left. I’m the one who suggested Colorado.”
“… Colorado?”
“He is spending some time with Dale and Merritt,” she informs. “And Raine, of course. He’s trying to figure out what he wants. You had to know he would be in contact with you.”
I did. She is right. I never doubted it.
Even when he said past tense loved, I knew we weren’t done, but that didn’t mean the trinity would or even could exist in its former glory. I was learning to accept the death of the three, but it still hurt. I wasn’t to a place of appreciative reflection, and I didn’t know when I would be.
He was more hurt than angry, but his temper was real. If he had stayed that night at the cemetery, I wouldn’t be here and neither would he. He needed a few days to simmer down, and I used the time to lick my wounds and buy makeup for a teenage girl…it was such an accident…
As Skeeter and I started innocuous enough.
“Can you take me to Austin?” she asked the day after Deacon left.
I wasn’t doing anything, but replaying the horrific scene. “Yes.”
We were friends before, but after the nuclear blow-up of truth, Skeeter started clinging to me. I was her sounding board and her confidante. She could ask me anything, and I would give her an answer. I was like Cruise Director Sal for Sugargrove and gossip.
She asked; I provided.
History of Trudy Diaz and the Delirium club. Things about Deacon and what little I knew of Diablo. My sparse interactions with her father, Saint Cruz. I was the bridge between Hannah Beth Nelson and Skeeter Cruz.
And the conversations didn’t stop at family.
She wanted to know about the mafia and how things worked. She was a quick study, and when she called me “Professor Raniero,” it wasn’t far off the mark. And all the while, she was helping to keep my ass sober and sane—a feat closely held by only one other.
How it all pieced together, I wasn’t sure. I was scared and alone, lost in the churning seas, and afraid of the storms blowing the trees.
Skeeter stabilizes all of me.
“… Sally?”
“Yes, Cruz and I are texting,” I reluctantly reply, coming back from my dark places. “We haven’t spoken yet.”
“Define—texting,” she harasses at the stove in her apron. “Are we talking one-liners or real conversation?”
I spin to face the jury. She’s only one but packs quite the punch as I let it rip. “I’ve sent a dick pic a day for the last seven. We have been sexting nightly from midnight to four. And last night, he sent me two pictures of his cum covered hand.” I polish off the coffee and walk closer. Ending my report, I snarl, “… Would you like to see it?”
“No!” she yells blinking. “… You’re back together?”
“Deacon and I were never going to be apart,” I reassure with confidence. “You know how we are. We love hard and fight harder. And we’ve been that way for almost ten years.”
A brief calm comes over but is soon replaced by fret. “Has he talked to Iris?”
“No, because Iris is being…Iris.”
She starts another pan of the meat, and the grease hisses and pops. “Distant and bitchy?”
“Yep.”
“Fuck, you’re down to one-word responses,” she assesses as the water from the potatoes boils over. “Shit! Baby boy…”
“I’m on it!” I grab the oven mitts and drain her potatoes in the sink. “Why are you attempting to make chicken fried steak for eighteen?”
“Because Oscar loves it.”
“Sato?” I query, not needing confirmation on who Oscar is. “Why are you pandering to Oscar Sato?”
“Because I love X,” she says with a smile. “And therefore, I love Oscar.”
“It’s that simple.”
“It’s that fucking simple.” She smirks. “Grab the butter, and I’ll whip them in a minute.”
I snicker. “I will whip them.”
“Oh, I thought you might have forgotten how to whip anything.”
The only thing I’m considering whipping is your daughter.
“I’m just being selective.”
“That’s a new one for you,” she alleges, filling one plate of the hot, crispy steak as I prep another plate with paper towels. “Is this a permanent change?”
“One day at a time.”
“Alright,” she says, inches from me. “Does Deacon know you’re staring at his sister with drool frothing out of your mouth and a hard-on?”
Tucking my head down, I grin. “I don’t know what Skeet and I are doing.”
“Oh, don’t you be bashful with me, boy!” she scolds, knowing me better than most. “That phrase…Skeet and I…says plenty.”
“We’re friends.”
“Nah,” she rattles, shaking her head. “That look is more than friends. That look is interest. Have you banged my daughter?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mumble, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Most of the shelves are full of beer and pudding, but I note the odd placement of olives and an enormous wedge of parmesan with the rind. I crack open the beer and hand it to her. “You have expensive cheese in your fridge.”
“I’m fucking your cousin.” She winks. “And I’ll admit it…”
“Do you love him?”
Her cheeks shoot up as an unmistakable grin rises. She pauses for a moment. “I do,” she confides. “We got a lot of flak from people because we’re forty years apart, but it isn’t about that for us. I’m enjoying his companionship, and he is enjoying mine.”
“Why was Cody Cameron’s DNA in your rape kit?”
She smiles. “A mother’s love knows no end. And if that son of a bitch was going to beat on someone, I was going to use my pistol on him.”
“You started a relationship with Cody to profile him?”
“A mother’s love,” she seriously says. “No end.”
I glance out the window. “Skeet and I are a decade…”
“So, the fuck what?” she quips. “Does that matter? You just need to have some fun. It’s great that you look at the big picture in business. Stop doing it with your relationships because it didn’t work last time. Stay in the present and wing it. Shoot from the hip,” she encourages, shaking her butt like my number one cheerleader, rallying me onto the field. “Play it
by ear. Don’t plan or you’re going to miss a lot of the great moments by trying to stay on that schedule.”
“Impromptu love junk?”
“Impromptu love junk,” she confirms, grinning. “Did you and Deacon plan? Is there an end goal? And yet, when he left you knew in your heart, he would eventually be back. No plan. Just real truths.”
I glance outside as Dragon dunks Skeeter, and she does the same. I wave my hand at their wrestling. “And this doesn’t concern you?”
“Only because Skeet might beat the fuck out of him.” We laugh. “Look, Dragon is having a good time. I’m having a good time. We don’t want to get married, but neither of us thinks this will last forever. Having fun with a gentle relationship has repaired my psyche, especially after the years with Javi’s abuse.” She smiles. “Life wasn’t fair to you or Iris, but what you need to figure out is if the worst parts made the best parts worth it.”
“Iris and I are through…”
“I know that,” she reassures. “But you need to examine that relationship under a microscope now that you are out of it, so you can figure out how to make that one,” she says, pointing her tongs to Skeet. “Better. Don’t repeat the mistakes.”
“Is that possible?” I ask. “To change and make this work?”
She pauses for a moment. “You mean if Deacon brings home…God, help me…Iris Cruz?” The words sting, but that’s not a bad thing. “My son is going to do whatever he damn well wants to. There is nothing you or I can do about that. He is headstrong. I won’t lie to you…I would prefer if neither of my boys was involved with that Cumstain.”
“Believe me when I say I know,” I snicker, knowing her opinion of Iris borderlines of a tawdry overrated prostitute. “Deacon has anchored me for years, and I don’t know how their relationship is going to change us.”
Choosing her words carefully, she says, “Iris is a challenge for him. She stirs his primal alpha male, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing.”
She glances over as I mutter, “I am insulted.”
“Don’t be,” she apologizes. “She infuriates yours. She’ll do shit just to piss you off, and you let her get under your skin and…” She snaps. “Boom! Deacon won’t budge with her pushy ways. He’ll give her freedom, but if you don’t think he is holding onto that leash tight—think again.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 43
