by KJ Bell
“I promise.” His fingers skate along my jaw as his thumb removes a tear from my cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”
“I beg to differ, cowboy.” I shove him onto his back, straddling him.
“What are you up to, sweetheart?”
I can’t resist teasing him. He groans loudly when I rock my hips against him. I grab his hands and pin them above his head as I brush our noses together. “We deserve a happy ending,” I whisper. “I’ve missed you.”
His hooded eyes gaze up at me before I’m flipped on my back. My breath catches as his fingers trail lightly over the exposed skin between my shirt and jeans. He growls next to my ear, his erection pressing into my hip. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“How should we make up for lost time?” I say as a challenge.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as he unbuttons my jeans with one hand. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m gonna make love to you for the first time.”
I smother a moan, lifting my hips, as his hand dives under my panties. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
How can we make love for the first time? I doubt sex with Battle could feel any different than it always has, because it’s always amazing.
Battle takes his time undressing me. He kisses me starting at my toes, working his way slowly up my legs, across my belly, and up to my breasts, where he stops and pays close attention to each of them, before trailing kisses up my neck. Only after he’s kissed every inch of my skin, does he ease into me.
My body immediately accepts him. He smiles, a smile I’ve grown to love beyond reason. The one he only shares with me. The one that makes my heart race, my skin burn, and butterflies dance in my tummy.
“I think I loved you from the moment I first saw you,” he whispers. “I’m yours Faye, for as long as you’ll have me. No more runnin’.”
With each slow, sensuous movement, pushing me to the brink of satisfied bliss, I understand this is the first time we’ve ever made love…And it’s perfection.
I’ll have him forever.
I spend the remainder of the weekend with Battle and our rodeo family, who are all thrilled Battle and I are back together. He’s crowned Rodeo Champion, marking his first win since we separated.
Austin gives me shit about coming back. I tease him about how he better get to practicing, because I’ll be sticking around.
Sunday afternoon, we leave Nebraska and Battle drives my Mustang back to Kansas. We stop at my house so I can change out of the t-shirt and jeans I’ve been in for two days, and pack a bag.
While I’m in my room changing, I hear the doorbell and then I hear Wyatt. “What are you doin’ here? Where’s Faye?”
I’ve ignored his phone calls all weekend. I’m not surprised he’s showing up in person to talk.
I quickly clasp my bra, throw on a clean shirt and go to the door. The two men stand toe to toe, appraising each other. Before a fight breaks out, I step between them, placing a hand on Battle’s chest. “Can you give us a minute please?”
“Nope,” he says, his eyes never leaving Wyatt’s.
“Please?”
His posture relaxes as he steps back. I take Wyatt outside. Battle knows what happened with Wyatt, including me almost kissing him. His agreeing didn’t come easy for him and I need to make sure I’m clear with Wyatt.
“Why is he here after what he did to you?” Wyatt asks.
I snap, “Why are you here after what you did to me?”
His palm presses into his forehead and through his hair once. “To apologize.” He pauses and I wait. “I was with Madeline while we were together. She’s an attorney I worked with, and the night I asked you for a break, I did propose to her. She turned me down, because she was taking a job in New York with a big firm, and she knew I’d never leave Kansas. I was heartbroken, and I thought if I could get you back, I would feel better. I drove to your house and asked you to marry me.”
Hearing the truth confirmed hurts a great deal. I don’t want to hear anymore. “Why are you tellin’ me this?”
“Because I know what a douche I was. I shouldn’t have treated you how I did, and I never should’ve proposed with a ring meant for someone else. I’m disgusted with who I used to be, but I’ve honestly changed.”
I glance away, unsure of what to say, but I need him to now there’s no chance for us. “I believe you, but I’m in love with Battle.”
“I know you are, and I realized the other night that I’m in love with Madeline, but I still care about you. And I don’t think Battle deserves you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I hope I am,” he smiles. “I mean that.”
“I’m happy for you,” I tell him, opening the door to go inside.
He glances over my shoulder to Battle and says, “Treat her right, McCoy.”
Battle smirks, ignoring Wyatt, and closes the door.
His hands make their way to my neck and he holds my head still. “He’s right—I don’t deserve you, but now that I have you back, I’m never lettin’ you go. I love you,” he says before his mouth covers mine and he kisses me breathless.
Erinn leaps over the couch and runs to hug me. I don’t want to let her go, but before long she releases me. “Finally,” she says, and Battle laughs.
Roy is equally as excited to see me. He herds me into a corner, his tail creating wind as he wags it with love.
While we’re out to dinner, Erinn tells me all about her school and her best friend, Hannah. The delight in her eyes warms me. I wish Evelyn was here to see her grow up, but I know she’s smiling from above.
After we get ice cream, we go back to Battle’s. Erinn fights going to bed, and I’m impressed at how much he’s grown into his role as her caretaker. His patience lasts longer and he effortlessly turns the tables and controls the situation. She isn’t happy about going to bed, but she accepts it, and even kisses Battle goodnight.
He takes my hand, guiding me through his room and into the bathroom, where he fills the tub. “Take a bath with me.”
“Another first for us, McCoy.” I grin, sashaying out of my jeans.
I sink into the warm water, relaxing against his chest. “Shall I get the dice?” I ask.
“What do you want to know,” he asks, massaging my shoulders.
“Tell me why you dislike your father so much.”
His fingers stop rubbing my skin. “Dislike is too polite a word to describe how I feel about my father.”
“Why?”
He moves to my back, his fingers working along my spine.
“I don’t like talkin’ about him.”
I should have brought the dice. I know from James his family has dark secrets, one of which concerns Battle. If I had the dice, he would tell me. Without them, getting the truth out of him will be much harder.
“I don’t like talkin’ about my grammy dyin’, but sometimes it helps.”
“You first then,” he laughs softy, dropping kisses on my shoulder.
I share with him how close Gram and I were, and how devastated my family is that we’ll never have closure. How I have a void in my heart without her, but I know she’s still with me. He laughs when I say how independent and feisty she was, and how he’s made me realize I’m a lot like her.
Battle explains that his relationship with his father all but ended with his parents’ divorce. He took his mother’s side and his father wrote him off. His granddaddy took him under his wing. His voice breaks when he tells me about his grandfather dying, and his father not bothering to come to the funeral. I didn’t get to what actually put a wedge between father and son, but I’m getting closer. Gerald McCoy sounds like a selfish, heartless man. Thankfully Battle is nothing like him.
All of Battle’s traits are a gift from Evelyn.
The next few months fly by in a whirlwind as I coordinate the balancing act of my new life—Battle, Erinn, work, family, and friends. I moved in with Battle last month and put my house on the market. Any traces of doubt he ever had about love and comm
itment have vanished. I love that I can help him with Erinn, and ease his worries about leaving her to follow the tour.
Battle wins two more rodeos. He’s being hounded by the national tour to join them. I convince him to hear them out, and he has an appointment next week to discuss it.
I hosted a baby shower last month for Katie which was wonderful, but my party planning days are far from behind me. I’ll be planning a bachelorette party and bridal shower soon. JT proposed to Ginger last month, and this morning, Marty and I take her shopping for a wedding dress.
She exits the fitting room in a floor length white gown that was made for her.
“Oh, Ging, you look beautiful,” I say, tearing up.
“No, tears,” she says. “Pretty soon, it will be you and Marty wearing a white dress.”
“Not me,” Marty laughs. “I’m wearing red.”
We laugh, but I have no doubt Marty will wear red, and Austin will love her choice. As for me wearing a wedding gown; maybe someday. Battle and I have never discussed marriage. I don’t bring it up as I know how painful his parents’ divorce was for him. His heart is scarred by the sacrament. I imagine he feels like a license doesn’t make you anymore married than going to church on Sundays makes you a good Christian.
I don’t need the piece of paper when I have his heart.
I arrive at my mother’s house at nine in the morning to help her go through Grammy’s things. They’ve been locked away in the attic, and ignored, but my parents putting the house on the market to downsize means going through them, and getting rid of anything that isn’t sentimental.
We start with a box of pictures, of which I can’t let a single one go, and agree to keep, along with a box of her sashes and crowns from her beauty queen days.
My mother tears up when she gives me her wedding ring. I shake my head frantically, pushing her hand away. “No, Mom. I can’t.”
“Nonsense,” she says, placing the ring in my hand and folding my fingers closed around the cold metal band. “She’d want you to have it.”
I sniffle and return it to the ring box before putting it with the rest of the things I want to keep.
My mother can’t open the next box. I have trouble looking through it as well. It’s the box containing the police investigation from the accident that took my gram. I never looked at the documents before.
I read the report from Mrs. Vernon’s eye-witness account. She describes a tall man, with dark hair and blue eyes.
A police sketch of the suspect and of the vehicle Mrs. Vernon saw freezes me in place. The drawings shake in my hand as I struggle to wrap my brain around what I’m seeing. It can’t be, but the slicing pain in my heart refuses to let me deny what I saw.
“Are you okay, honey?” my mother asks.
“Yes,” I say, but I’m not okay. I’m hysterical on the inside and I need to get away. “Can we finish this later? I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Oh, um…of course.”
I take the report and the drawings in my arms. Without another word, I race to my car, and drop the papers on the passenger seat. I program Mrs. Vernon’s address into the GPS on my phone, and pray she still lives there. Or pray that she doesn’t. If she can’t confirm my suspicions then maybe my life won’t be ruined.
I’m trapped in a haze of confusion as I follow the directions to a small subdivision at the edge of town. I pull up in front of a white house with black shingles. Mums line the front porch. The cheerful shade of yellow clashes with the darkness of my agonizing suspicions.
With a deep breath for courage, I knock softly on Mrs. Vernon’s door. She greets me with a confused expression, her wrinkles deep around her eyes.
“Do you remember me?” I ask.
“Of course. Come inside, dear.”
I step into her house, and she closes the door.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Oh, no thank you.” I breathe through the pressure threatening to collapse my lungs. “I wanted to ask you about what you saw the night my grandmother was killed.”
“Well, okay, but I already told the police everything I know.”
“I read in the police report that you would know the driver if you saw him again.”
“Oh, yes. That drunken-fool looked directly at me before he speed off. I’ll never forget his face.”
My hands shake as I hand her my phone with a picture of Battle. “Is this the man you saw?
Her horrified expression answers before she does, “Oh yes. That’s him all right.”
I feel the walls caving around me, and I have to ask again, “Are you absolutely positive this is him?”
“A hundred percent. It’s the eyes. They might be pretty, but this man is the devil inside.”
“Thank you,” I say on the verge of tears.
“How’d ya find him?”
“It’s a long story. Thank you for your time,” I choke out the words, rushing to the door to escape. My heart feels like it’s been ripped in two, and I don’t want to breakdown in front of her. I swing the door open and walk outside with her right behind me.
“I’m so glad you found him. You let me know if you need anything else. I’m willing to testify."
“Thank you,” I say.
She watches me until I’m in my car.
My hands shake wildly. I barely get the car started, but somehow, I manage. Emotions overcome me, and I cry uncontrollably. How can the man I’m in love with be the same man that killed my gram and walked away, pretending it never happened? How can a man with such a huge heart be capable of murder? I don’t understand. I think I know him, but he’s fooled me somehow.
Love tricked me, blinded me from seeing who he is. From seeing the truth that was always right in front of me. The car he refuses to drive, the crime his father covered up that my father told me about, the dark secret I heard about from James, and his anger whenever I inched closer to uncovering his crime. The man I love is a monster.
I slam the car door in his driveway and charge to the front door. A look of shock sweeps over his face when he opens the door.
“Faye. What’s wrong?” I don’t answer. “Is it Wyatt? Did that son of a bitch hurt you again?”
“No … No, Wyatt didn’t hurt me.”
“Then what?” He studies me. I’m trembling. “You’re scaring me.”
I close the gap between us. “I want to know about the Camaro and don’t fuckin’ lie to me.”
“What is this all about?”
“Did you ever consider the people you’d hurt? Did you ever think about anything besides protecting yourself?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tears fall as my hands fly wildly in the air, shaking the police report in his face. I feel completely out of control.
“You kept the car like a souvenir, you sick bastard! You cried for my loss when I told you.” I shove the police report into his chest and shove past him into the foyer. “I know what you did!”
Roy whimpers, nudging his snout into my side. I snap, yelling at him to go lie down.
Battle doesn’t look at the papers, letting them fall to the ground. Unable to look at him, I pace the foyer until his hand grabs my arm. “What did I do? Just tell me.”
“You killed her.” I slam my fists into his chest repeatedly. “You killed my grandmother, and then you hid your precious car so you wouldn’t get caught, but I know. I know what you did. I know who you are.”
He grabs my arms, giving me a gentle shake. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
I jerk madly, trying to free myself, but he won’t let go of me. “There was a witness. Read the police report. You looked right at her, and fled the scene anyway. You left my grammy to die in the street. I hate you. I fuckin’ hate you!”
My throat closes up as I punch him again and again, until my fists feel like they’re bleeding. He lets me assault him, absorbing each blow as punishment.
“No. No. Look at me goddammit!” He shoves me back, but
keeps his grip on my arms. “You know me. Do you honestly believe I could live with myself if I’d killed someone?”
I refuse to look at him. I can’t do it. I’m afraid I’ll see the cold, hard eyes of a killer, a man caught, without remorse. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I don’t want to believe it, but Mrs. Vernon swears it was you.”
He frowns as he releases me. I collapse to the floor, hugging my knees. My body is assaulted by tremors. The more I picture Battle killing my gram, the more violently I shake.
His shadow disappears into the other room. He returns seconds later with dice and kneels beside me, holding them out.
“Roll.” I refuse to take them. “I said roll goddamn it!” I flinch at his words, but I take the dice and roll them on the tile in front of me. They land on twelve. “You win,” he says. “Now ask me!” I shake my head, scooting away. “Please. If you ever loved me, ask me.”
His desperate and remorseful plea, convinces me. My mind races. Maybe he was so wasted he doesn’t remember hitting a person. I have to be extremely careful about how I word the question.
“Did you get drunk and crash that Camaro?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you drive it?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” I lift my head to look him in the eyes as I tell him, “I can’t be with you. I can’t look at you. She saw you…”
He crawls over to me and tries to pull me into his arms. I shove against him—deny him—fight the urge to hate him. I want to hate him. He stole my gram, my hope, and my heart.
“Has that Camaro ever been in a crash?” I’m grasping at straws, but I have to try.
“No,” he answers, curling his hand behind my neck. “Tell me you believe me.”
“You tell me about the car.”
He averts his eyes to the wall. “I have to know you believe me first. I have to know love can win.”
He knows something. I have no idea how he can explain this, but I don’t believe my Battle did this. He couldn’t. He’s experienced too much loss, been hurt too badly, has too big of a heart and too large of a conscience.
