“Now,” she choked out. Her hand caught my dick, gripped, squeezed, while the other slid around to my ass. Prodded me forward.
I’d just slid into the heaven of her tightness, gritting my teeth, fighting not to explode, when a loud voice cut across the field. Blinding white light flooded the truck’s bed. I fell forward over Zora, hiding her from whatever was there.
“Walker Leffersbee? Is that you out there?”
The sound of an engine reached us, followed by a door slamming.
I didn’t have time to do much more than tuck Zora under the quilt before Jackson James’s face appeared next to the flashlight he held at his ear.
He took in the sight of us in one sweeping glance, then turned with a curse.
“Jesus, Zora!”
Beneath me, she covered her eyes.
“Go away, Jackson!”
“What are y’all doing out here? You know we’re cracking down on vehicles parked out here all times of night. I thought this was Walker’s truck. Last thing I expected to see was Nick’s ass looking back at me.”
“Just go.”
“I’m going.”
Something fluttered into the bed. I snatched it up once the intrusive light was removed and peered at it in the scant light from the lanterns.
“Did you—did you just write out a ticket? For what?”
“I imagine you both have an idea.” Laughter choked Jackson’s voice. “I’ll see you later. Y’all have a good night.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nick
How was it possible to feel two extremely different emotions at the same time?
I was due at Zora’s office in ten minutes. She wouldn’t say what we were doing or where we were going, but I figured it must have been important. She’d reminded me to show up at the appointed time twice over the last two days, which wasn’t like her.
And strange, considering we saw each other every night now.
Knowing I’d soon see her and her smile quickened my step across campus.
I wasn’t entirely surprised that we’d fallen into our current rhythm so easily, but it was not at all what I’d expected prior to arriving in Green Valley.
It was far more than I’d even dared to hope for.
Being with Zora, laughing with Zora, making love to Zora—it was like stepping back into a favorite dream, or reliving a perfect memory.
It was also exciting, like discovering new terrain on a well-worn path, and realizing the opportunity for a new, divergent adventure.
My feelings for Zora were far from small or insignificant. In a very short amount of time, she’d reclaimed the reins to my heart.
I didn’t want anyone else. I’d be perfectly content to spend the rest of my days with her. Learning her. Loving her.
Knowing she felt the same about me made me feel like the luckiest man in the world.
Eighteen-year-old Nick, dejected and despondent as he boarded a plane for Michigan and the unknown, would have been thrilled with this development.
I was happy.
Happy.
I turned the word around in my mind, examined it for flaws in logic or conclusion.
It was true.
But I was also terrified. For the first time in as long as I could remember, the wolf prowling outside my door hadn’t resulted from circumstances beyond my control. This time, I was the wolf. And I’d managed to blow my last chance at telling Zora the truth several nights ago.
I had Zora back.
However, a grim premonition wound itself around that hope and threatened to choke the life out of it.
I’d decided not to tell Zora about the deal I’d offered Nellie. Now, the part of me that always waited for the other shoe to drop, for the boom to lower, worried. Eddie’s words once again ran through my mind on a constant loop. It was true; I should have told her what I’d done, but now I’d definitely waited too long.
My mind fought against the reality of my impending doom even as my feet brought me closer to her.
All I could do was hope she never found out. The deception of it didn’t sit right with me, but my intentions were pure. There was hardly anything I wouldn’t do for her.
I reached the open doorway of her office. Counseled myself to mentally reshelve the matter. I’d retrieve and re-examine the dilemma with a tactician’s perspective later, when dread wasn’t knotting my gut.
I took a moment to observe her. Her back was to me, just as it had been when I first showed up here. She sat at her newly cleared desk, chin propped up on her fist, gazing at her computer with a pained expression. A few curls had escaped the back of her ponytail and grazed the back of her neck. My groin tightened, remembering the previous night. I’d taken her from behind, one steadying hand on her hip while the fingers of my other hand plumbed the softest part of her. Then she’d looked over her shoulder at me—
Shit. It was early, but maybe there weren’t that many people around . . . I cast a hasty look up and down the halls before heading in her office and pulling the door closed behind me.
Zora wasn’t quiet, but we could probably find a way around that.
She looked up at the sound of the door closing. The hugest grin spread across her face as she turned to face me.
I heard the thud my heart made as it fell.
Fuck. I fucking loved her.
There had to be a way to make this work.
“Hey, you.” She bit her lip as her gaze ran from my feet and then back up again. I wondered if her thoughts had also taken a turn into Naughtyville. “You’re looking mighty official. Big meeting this afternoon?”
“Yeah. Focus group with the docs went well.”
“How are things going? I’m sorry I haven’t been very helpful.”
“It’s okay. We’ve got it.” I came closer, fighting against a rising tide of guilt, trying not to stare at her mouth for too long. “Everything’s fine. How’re things on your end?”
She frowned, pushing back from her desk. “Don’t ask.”
I hesitated. “Literally? Or—”
“Literally.” She stood, sexiness personified in jeans and a T-shirt that read, “Have You Hugged a Communication Major Today?” I took inventory of the stress lines between her brows, the pinched twist to her mouth. I’d get it out of her later, in bed, when she was relaxed and less likely to resist.
“No, but I’d like to.” Seeing her head shake in confusion, I pointed to the slogan on her shirt. Have You was delightfully stretched.
Jesus, Nick, get your dick under control.
Her lips curved into an expression I’d become more and more acquainted with. The Hungry Zora look.
“I’d like that, too. I can never pass up a handsome man in a sexy suit.” She stepped into my space, wound her hands past my suit coat and around my waist. I lowered my head, taking in the fruity fragrance of her hair as the strands tickled my nose. Then, without fail, my mouth slid against hers as I coaxed her to share her taste.
I walked her backward until the backs of her legs hit the desk, then lifted her to its surface.
Her mouth never left mine, even as she moaned in the way that drove me crazy.
“We’ve gotta be quiet,” I warned, my hand now full of the heft of her breast, thumb circling her nipple. When her hand wandered down to my zipper I groaned. I wondered if I could take my own advice.
I slid a hand against the skin of her stomach, impatient with the barriers of her shirt and bra. I wanted the heat of her softness spilling out of my hand. I wanted the sweetness of her flesh in my mouth.
Zora’s fingertips had just, finally, thank God, hurried up and walked past my fly when a sharp knock sounded on the door.
She reacted as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her head, pulling her mouth and hand away simultaneously.
“Can we ignore them?”
She looked as disappointed as I felt. “No.”
“No, don’t put that away,” I said, watching as she readjusted her bra. “I’ll do it. I�
��ll make them go.”
She shook her head, pushing past me to slide off the desk. “Really? You’re going to answer the door with that erection?”
The whole world was a cockblock. First Jackson James, now whoever was on the other side of that door.
I watched as she collected herself, then strode to the door where she cracked it open the barest sliver.
I didn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but her response was clear. “Oh, it’s time, isn’t it? We’ll be right down.”
She turned back to me with a sigh, running a hand over her forehead. “Nick. You are going to be the death of me.”
I willed my dick to accept defeat.
“You promise?”
“Get yourself together. We have to go.”
Ten minutes later we made our way down the hallway. She’d still refused to tell me where we were going, which raised my hackles a bit.
When we reached the conference room, I was on full alert.
The last thing I’d expected to find was a room of middle-aged women sitting around the kidney-shaped conference room. I looked to Zora and found her gaze on me, her eyes wide as she gestured for me to proceed into the conference room.
What the hell was this?
“Hi, Nick,” one of the gray-haired women said, smiling widely. I studied her, head tilted, trying to place her face, that smile. “You probably don’t remember me. That’s okay. I’ve changed a lot, too.”
My feet were stuck to the floor. “Ms. Camille?”
She whooped. “You do remember! All right!” She looked to the woman opposite her, who observed our exchange with a grin. “You see that, Maria? Maybe I haven’t gotten that old. I’m going to go home and tell Dennis how Nick recognized me right off.”
The other woman rolled her eyes. “You know Dennis. He’s going to make some crack about whether anyone recognized how much your ass spread.” Her voice had the guttural, metal on metal grind of a chain smoker. “How you’ve stayed married to that asshole all these years, I’ll never understand.”
Zora’s hand closed around my arm, but I barely felt it; I didn’t hear whatever she was saying.
I remembered.
I remembered my mother taking me into the clinic where she worked, behind the door of the waiting room to see the “girls” she worked with during the week. Looking around the table, I recognized the other three ladies more quickly, now that they were in context. I’d regaled them with my middle school exploits before I judged myself too old to accompany my mother on her visits to work friends.
The five women went around the table, introducing themselves, reminding me of who they were. Zora stood to the side, biting her lip in the way that meant she was extremely nervous.
I nodded politely through their chorus of how big I’d gotten, how I had my mother’s eyes.
Zora cleared her throat. “I know you were interested in the pictures my parents had in the kitchen, and I thought it might be helpful if you had others. So, I checked in with these ladies, your mom’s old coworkers, to see if they had their own photos. And it turns out they did.”
“And stories,” someone added. “We’ve gotta tell you some of these stories.”
I looked back at the door, contemplating an escape. What in creation was this? A memorial?
I didn’t know if I could do this.
Missing my mother, the pain of that wound . . . the only way I managed it was by not thinking about it, cramming that hurt deep, not letting it or the memories sneak up on me. Memories were the hardest for me. They had the deepest edges and sliced me open so easily.
God, I missed my mother.
Zora’s hand pressed into my back. I let her nudge me toward an unoccupied chair. I worked up a pleasant expression for the women while Zora stood behind me; her hand a comforting weight at the back of my neck.
Ms. Camille picked up a plastic sandwich bag. It was full of photos.
“I had more than a fair amount,” she said, shaking the stack into her hand, “because our old nurse manager loved any excuse to take pictures. I hated it at the time. Times like this, though, you appreciate it.”
She slid photos across the slick surface of the table toward me, one by one.
I caught the first one, then stopped. More photos slid in my direction but I couldn’t look away from what was in front of me: my mother in scrubs, arms crossed around my neck and beaming. Judging by the digitally rendered date in the corner, I’d been ten.
I traced our faces in the picture.
“Take Your Son to Work Day. Remember?” Camille grinned. “You made us promise we wouldn’t make you watch babies being born.”
The women laughed.
More photos came my way, mostly of my mother with her coworkers, at work and at get-togethers. At some point, while listening to one of the women recount the story of my mother singing a Beatles song to a laboring patient, I realized Zora had left without my noticing.
I sat back, taking in the room and my mother’s friends.
The magnitude of this, the gift Zora had given me, was staggering. So few of my Green Valley memories were positive. Seeing the past this way, not through the prism of my last days in Green Valley, changed everything, reminded me that not all of my past was shitty.
We talked for another ninety minutes, chatting and laughing, until Camille signaled a topic change. “We wanted you to have something,” she said, exchanging glances with the other women.
She rose from her seat and brought me a large plastic bag bearing the logo from a local crafts shop.
I opened it slowly, aware of five sets of eyes on me.
It was a quilt. A quilt of pictures. Of me, my mother, her coworkers. Group shots of us with the entire Leffersbee, Payton, and Winston clans.
“We all picked our favorites,” Camille said, and the other women nodded along. “And Ellie Leffersbee had so many. Zora raided her stash.”
My throat was dry. “Thank you. Thank you all so much.”
“See, I told you he would like it.” One of the women stuck her tongue out, childishly.
“I wasn’t arguing with you, Dorothy. I was just saying, he’s a man and he wouldn’t want any of that frilly shit you like.”
I laughed despite myself. I could easily imagine my mother right along with them. She’d have kept the smart-ass comments coming, raising the stakes by further instigating their mock conflict.
“One more thing,” Camille said. She was apparently the leader of the group, though I couldn’t help but wonder if it was by self-nomination.
The ladies passed another plastic bag down to me. I fished out a small box.
It was a jewelry box.
My nerves felt too raw and exposed to joke, but I gave it a try anyway. “Are one of you ladies proposing?”
“Open it.”
“Don’t act like you’re scared of it, open the gosh darn box!”
It was almost comical, seeing all of their craned necks and wide-eyed gazes trained on the box.
I eased the velvet box open.
And stopped breathing.
Camille got up and came around the table. She laid a hesitant hand on my shoulder. “You know what it is, then?”
I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
Out of the corner of my eye, another chair pushed back. I kept my gaze down, trained on the glossy wood table and away from the contents of the box, fighting for control. I fought desperately against the heat of sadness and loss in my throat.
A new hand settled on my arm.
“Lila planned on getting it for you. She was going to surprise you before you left for college. She had it pinned up on the wall and told us all about it. She was saving for it, but then she . . . left the job. We talked again, got reconnected when she was back in Michigan. We didn’t talk a great deal more, but in one of the conversations, I remember her saying she’d meant to get you this but it got lost in all the transitions. I know she’d have wanted you to finally have it.” Camille’s hand kept
patting my shoulder.
“She was going to have it engraved,” another voice said. “We’d all teased her about it back then. But we didn’t forget.”
I shook my head, sniffing past the stinging sensation in my nose. “How did you all even do this? All these years later?”
“Wasn’t that hard. High school had the ring style from that year still on file. It was nothing for the company to fire up one with the right year. Money talks—you know that.”
A finger poked in my back. “What, are you trying to kill us with the suspense? Try it on!”
I reached into the box and retrieved the class ring. It bore my graduating year of high school on either side. The school’s name was neatly printed around the perimeter of the stone.
I angled the band, and sure enough, made out an inscription inside. After tilting it to take advantage of the overhead lighting, I was almost unmanned by the engraved words.
It was from one of our favorite Dr. Seuss books. My mother read it to me a million times. Never told me she was sick of reading it, never skipped pages.
Oh, the places you’ll go.
Her voice sounded in my head, repeating the familiar words.
Oh, Mom.
I gave it up, then, lowering my face to one hand, clenching the ring in the other.
A set of arms wrapped around my neck from behind, while that same hand kept patting me on the shoulder.
I shuddered, unable to hold back the emotion. I was gratified. Full. For the first time since arriving back in Green Valley, it wasn’t my mother’s absence I felt, but her presence.
Chapter Thirty
Zora
“Zora! Right on time. Good to see you.”
“Peter.”
“Don’t just stand there. Come in, have a seat.”
I pushed off the doorway, walked into his office and pulled out a chair.
Please, I told the sick, anxious cramping that had started in my gut as soon as I’d gotten his email invite for this meeting today. Please stop, cease, go away.
Please let me have my dignity intact when I met this end. I can’t start this thing out seconds away from vomiting.
Been There Done That Page 31
