by Sara Whitney
“You’d have improved.” Her mother lifted her hand to smooth it over her immaculate chignon. “Who knows where you’d be by now if you’d have let me help you get in after high school. Such wasted potential.”
“That’s not how I wanted to get into college,” Josie said stiffly.
“So you didn’t go to college at all?” Her mother’s chunky gold bracelet clicked against the table, and Josie knew better than to bring up the one semester she’d completed before wanderlust carried her into the workplace. Not that it mattered; Pam raised one thin eyebrow, the action radiating more disapproval than a squadron of Project Runway judges, and said, “I don’t know why you wanted to hurt me like that.”
“Believe it or not, my dropping out of college had nothing to do with you. And I’m good at my job, Mom.”
“Oh really? And they treat you well there?”
That shut her up. The buzzing got louder as she recalled the last half dozen interactions with Valerie, who never missed a chance to sneak in a dig about being “self-taught” or “operating on instinct.” Her mom and Valerie. Different women, same condescending attitude. Neither believed in her, although she’d spent years chasing their approval. And for what? She dropped her half-eaten sourdough roll to her plate, disappointed that it hadn’t magically produced any Erik vibes.
Naturally, Pam noticed her silence and pounced. “Have you considered going back to school, darling? You could make art for yourself instead of other people. Just think about it: two Ryan women at the same institution.”
For a second, Josie let herself picture it. Studying where her mother had studied, building on her photography skills. Producing work that would win the approval Pamela kept dangling just out of reach. Something in the photos Josie occasionally texted her must’ve finally hinted at a talent worth nurturing.
And then Pam overplayed her hand, leaning forward to say conspiratorially, “You’d be helping me too, darling. Sending my daughter to my alma mater might be the last thing I need to help me secure my residency.”
Josie’s runaway thoughts slammed to a halt. “Your what?”
Her mother gave a stilted chuckle and waved a hand. “Oh, just a few conversations I’ve had with the administration. They’re considering naming a new artist in residence, and I’d like it to be me. I’d be in Chicago full time then, and we could have these lunches regularly. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
No. God no. But Josie kept a polite smile on her face while her hands clenched in a death grip on her lap under the table. “What do I have to do with it?”
That fake laugh again. “Well, certainly there’s the matter of legacy and loyalty. And just imagine if you took a few seminars with me and I could turn your middling talent into something special.”
A bomb detonated in the middle of Josie’s chest. “Middling?”
Her sharp tone earned what passed for a sympathetic look from her mother. “Come now, Josephine. We both know you have some raw talent. You’ll never be a true photographer, but with my help, perhaps you could—”
“What about my wasted potential?”
“Don’t be a child.” Pam sighed the words, her patient tone in place but a tautness creeping around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. The cords in her slender neck tensed as she spoke the next words low and hard. “My overseas work opportunities are drying up, and I want to settle in one place. Chicago’s as good as anywhere else. Foolish me, I thought you’d be willing to help me look like a team player by bringing in some tuition dollars. Given your underwhelming work situation, I would’ve thought you’d be grateful for the opportunity to expand your horizons.”
She flinched at every word spilling from her mother’s mouth. It was one thing to believe something ugly about yourself and quite another to hear your mother casually voice the worst things your brain whispered to you at 3:00 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep.
Josie stood abruptly, the chair shooting backward from the force of her motion, and Pam tucked her chin to hiss, “Oh, stop making a scene. Apparently party planning’s where you belong after all. Now sit down and finish your meal.”
The buzzing was back, but this time it enveloped Josie’s whole body and made her vision go hazy at the edges. A sliver of hope had burned in the center of her chest her whole life. It was what compelled her to seek out her mother’s approval over and over, and in that moment, she felt it twist into something new, something so sharp it threatened to slice her insides to shreds.
Her body trembling in fury, she regarded her lifelong tormentor through slitted eyes. “Do you want a scene? Because I can make a scene that nobody here will ever forget.”
As Josie’s chest heaved with each painful breath, Pamela Ryan looked at her and laughed.
A scream built inside her, so big it threatened to shake this restaurant to the ground. She had to get out of there. Because the buzzing? Oh, it was still there, hotter and more destructive than ever, but she didn’t dare let it out in the middle of this restaurant.
Thankfully, she knew just where to go.
Twenty-Five
“What’s Fancy doing in the alley?”
“Hmm?” Erik braced his hand on the ceiling of the dining area as he turned the last of the screws on the security camera he’d just mounted.
Gina pivoted the laptop on the café table to face him. “Fancy. She’s fluttering around your van like a malfunctioning car-show booth babe. I saw it on the alley cam.”
That was… puzzling. He tucked the screwdriver in his back pocket and descended the ladder to join Gina at the table. Sure enough, her laptop screen showed video of a dervish pacing around the side of his van, her movements agitated.
“What the…?” He squinted as the figure bent to yank something out of a cardboard box at her feet. “Oh fuck.”
“Problem?”
“Potentially,” he said grimly. “Are we good here?”
“Yep. Your security’s up and running, and you’ll be able to monitor the feeds on all your devices.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“Yep. That’s why I’m swiping your van to get the last of my stuff from Iowa some weekend soon.”
“Sure. Pick a day I’m free, and I’ll come along to help load it up.” He looked at the screen again, where security-cam Josie was now standing with her hands on her hips, pissy defiance evident even on the grainy feed. “I need to go handle this.”
Gina grimaced. “Good luck. I think I’ll leave through the front door.”
Erik opened his mouth to tell her that wasn’t necessary, then reconsidered. “I get that.”
She smirked up at him. “You know I’m loving this, right? My no-drama llama’s got himself a class A drama queen.”
“Hilarious,” he grumbled.
“I’m just glad it’s you and not me for a change.”
She grabbed her bag and eased out the front door with a laugh, and once he was alone, he snagged a band from his wrist and yanked his hair back, feeling a little like he was preparing for battle. At the back door, he paused and pulled the screwdriver out of his back pocket, leaving the potential weapon on the counter just to be safe. Then he pushed through the door to confront the pink whirlwind.
“We talked about this, Josie,” he said as he approached her.
“And?” She didn’t bother turning around.
“And I told you I’m not comfortable with it.” The manhole-sized caricature of his face stared idiotically back at him from the side of the van, but he forced himself not to rip the fucking thing down until he figured out what was up.
“And I told you it’s part of your brand.” She slammed a hand against the metal and spun to face him. “Not putting the logo on your van is fucking stupid.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, and although her clothes and hair screamed uptown class, the fight me, motherfucker gleam in her eyes made him rock back on his heels. She reached up and yanked the demure pearl studs out of her ears, dropping them into the purse at her feet. He ha
dn’t seen that combative look on her face in ages, but here it was now, twisting her pretty features into a snarl.
Gina’d been smart to tiptoe out the front. He didn’t have that same luxury, so he stroked a hand down his jaw as he considered his approach. He could explain that he wasn’t quite ready to drive around in a van with his face plastered to the side, but he was fairly sure she was looking for a different kind of fight.
“Get in the van.”
She set her jaw. “No.”
“Get. In. The. Van.” He walked forward with each word, watching as her breathing accelerated the closer he got.
Their staring contest didn’t last long before she rolled her eyes and spat out, “Fine.”
She turned and clambered into the back, and he jumped in after her, slamming the door behind them and shutting out the street noises. Bright afternoon sunlight filtered through the windshield and fell across the back, where the delivery racks were folded flat along each wall. The air was still and hot as they eyed each other from opposite sides of the space.
“Well?” Her voice lashed across the distance between them, but he kept his response intentionally calm.
“Well,” he replied.
“What do you want?” She was shouting now, and fuck, he hoped he was playing this right. He was operating on a hunch based on the hints she’d let drop about her mother, the combative sides of her he’d seen in the past, and the whiteness of her knuckles where they curled into tight fists on her lap.
He went all in, leaning back and crossing one ankle over the other. “You’re obviously looking for a fight. So here I am.”
She flopped back against the opposite wall, hostility rolling off her in waves. “And what am I supposed to do with that?”
He laced his fingers over his stomach, projecting as much stillness as he could. “Talk to me. Yell at me. Punch the wall. Whatever you need. But I’m here for you, babe.”
“Oh, fuck you,” she snarled. “You’re not better than me because you never get mad about anything ever.”
He held his hands out to the sides. “Never said I was better than you or that I never get mad. But you’re the one having the bad day, not me. So take what you need.”
“What I need?” Her eyes glittered as she rolled her head to the side to study him with predatory interest. “And what if what I need is to fuck you until we’re both too tired to move?”
He didn’t dare let the hint of a smile slide across his face, even though that was exactly how he was hoping this would play out. That’s what he could do for his girl: aggression release through orgasm. Her burning gaze followed his hands as he unzipped his jeans, pushing them down far enough to free his dick, which was well on the way to being ready for her.
“If that’s what you need, come over here and take it.”
He was only able to stroke up and down his length once before she was on him, her fingers clawing at his hair and her mouth on his. No gentle kisses today; they met with a clash of teeth and breath and lips battling for dominance. As she yanked up her skirt, he groped behind him until he retrieved the wallet that had tumbled from his back pocket, emptying the contents until his fingers touched a condom packet. As soon as he’d rolled it on, Josie impaled herself, sinking down until he was fully seated into the tight heat he’d never get enough of. One set of her nails dug into his shoulder and the other skated along his scalp as she worked herself up and down, those wild eyes never leaving his.
“How?” she panted. “So patient. How do you put up with me?” She gasped the words as she ground herself against him, and he absorbed her meaning and her movements and the rough treatment of his hair in silence, keeping his eyes locked on hers, keeping his hands clamped on her hips, letting her know that she might be the storm, but he’d be the cliff she could crash herself into. He could absorb her fury and stay standing. When her head fell back and her movements turned jerky and uncoordinated, he slid one hand up her back to keep her steady while he pressed the heel of his other hand against her where her body met his. He let her work herself against him until she came apart with a sob, and only then did he drive himself up into her hard and fast, following her over the edge.
Afterward, she slumped forward and draped herself over him, the fight draining from her limbs. But her breathing remained ragged, and it took him a moment to realize she was crying, soft and broken. Helpless in the face of her distress, he did the only thing he could think of and cradled her against his chest.
“I’ll get your shirt all wet.” She sniffled and tried to pull away, but he held her closer, and soon enough, her heart-wrenching snuffles quieted to nothing while he gently stroked her back.
Once she’d collected herself, she rolled off his lap and reached for her purse, producing tissues for both of them. She mopped her face while he dealt with the condom as best as he could in the back of a bakery delivery van.
After they’d both cleaned up and straightened their clothes, he asked, “Ready to tell me what’s going on?”
She shifted to sit next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He reached down and twined his fingers through hers.
“Mommy issues. So pathetic.” She gave a shaky sigh. “I did warn you though.”
“Anything specific?”
“No. And yes.”
He remained still, giving her space to process whatever she was struggling with while every part of him howled with the need to do violence to anyone who’d ever tried to diminish Josie’s vibrancy. Especially her mother.
She shocked the hell out of him by not filling the silence that surrounded them, and the longer she kept her eyes turned downward on their joined hands, the more he chafed at the unnaturalness of her quiet. That was the only possible reason for him to open his mouth and tell her something he’d never shared with anyone before. Not Pops, not Gina. Nobody.
“When I was fifteen, I decided I wanted to live with my mom. Pops was working long hours, trying to get the crops in before the frost hit. We could go full days without seeing each other, and I was…” He sighed. “I was a teenager. Pissed all the time. Hated living on the farm. So I collected all my cash and got on a bus to Nashville. That was back when my mom still sent birthday cards with return addresses.”
Just like that, Josie shifted into comfort mode. “Oh, Erik. Was she not happy to see you?”
Her eyes flew up to his, and the sadness there, sadness for him, made it hard to swallow. But he forced himself to continue, to recall the look in a different set of eyes from thirteen years ago. The same blue as his own, but dull and unwelcoming.
“Definitely not. Her new boyfriend didn’t know about her teenage son, and she told me she had a big opportunity at the Grand Ole Opry that she didn’t want me to ruin.” He laughed without humor. “It was an interview to work as a barback at a restaurant nearby. For that, she put me back on a bus. Pops didn’t even know I’d been gone.”
She stretched up and pressed a kiss just under his ear, and that little movement meant more to him than an encyclopedia’s worth of words. “Are you still in touch with her?”
“I didn’t see her again until last year.”
“For your grandfather’s funeral,” Josie guessed, and he nodded. He’d been too wrung out from grief to feel anything at all when he’d encountered his mother at the graveside.
“I’ve made my peace with it mostly. I wish things were different, but when I lost Pops, I lost my true parent. After all this time, I don’t want or expect anything from her.”
Josie’s mouth hardened. “Well, fuck her very much. She doesn’t know what she’s missing with you.”
Her ferocity tugged a bark of laughter from him.
“What’s so funny?” she asked indignantly.
“You are. My warrior.” He reached out to cradle her head in his hands and kissed her softly, wondering the whole time why she’d sought him out this afternoon. Was it just to pick a fight she knew he’d give her? Or was she after something else from him, some comfort that only he
could offer her? That thought wasn’t as ludicrous as it would have been a few months ago, but then again, in his experience, fashionable, vivacious women didn’t choose him. And Josie was the most vivacious woman he’d ever known, which meant he’d never be a permanent part of her life.
But God, he wanted to try.
She shifted in his arms. “Can we go inside now? Van sex is incredibly undignified.”
He wasn’t quite ready to let go, but in the end he pulled his hands away from her sweet face. “It was hot though.”
“With us, it’s always hot.” Then she ran a thumb along his damp hairline. “It’s also literally hot in here. Let’s get inside. Avoid heat stroke. Have some dignified indoor sex.”
He couldn’t argue with that, so he popped open the door, stepped out, and extended his hand to help her down.
Twenty-Six
Josie snuggled deeper into Erik’s new couch and silently listed the things that made her feel calmer: Erik’s smile. Erik’s baking. Erik’s confidence in her. The glass of wine Erik had just handed her.
Just… Erik. Seriously, did he even drink wine? It was possible that he only had it on hand for her. The thought warmed her almost as much as the Malbec did.
He joined her on the couch, and she shifted to lean against the arm and stretched her legs across his lap. Sure enough, he was holding a beer.
He took a sip and rested his free hand on her shin. “You ready to tell me specifics?” When she hesitated, he offered her that rare, beautiful Erik smile and said, “You know you want to.”
She sighed. Sipped her wine. Considered deflecting with sarcasm. Decided to rip off the Band-Aid. “I’m middling.”
Erik said nothing, just stroked a hand down her leg, and now that she’d started talking, the words came pouring out.
“She started trying to turn me into a photographer from the time I was little, but it was super obvious from early on that I might understand the technical side of things, but I’d never be able to find the soul in my photographs.” She idly swirled the wine in her glass as she relived the dawning realization that had disappointed her and her mother both. “So that meant good ol’ Pam couldn’t show off the work of her talented daughter in her gallery shows. And then I disappointed her by having too much energy to sit still and be a quiet little shadow she could trot out for her fancy artist friends.”
