“On a Saturday?”
Her nose scrunches. “He’s working on a major project. An impressive tool with a really complicated name that could vastly improve some farming system.”
My mother is clueless when it comes to my father’s job. I’m not much better. All the equations and calculations go straight over my head. He’s a mechanical engineer with a specialty in farm equipment. Way back when, he led the team that created several enhancements for numerous machines. Because of their developments, the time it takes for plowing fields and harvesting crops and baling hay is cut in half.
“That’s why they pay him the big bucks.” I steer my gaze forward. A few upgraded combines and tractors rest near the barn. This isn’t a fully functioning farm by any means. Our expansive property is more for recreation and leisure. But my dad loves his toys, and puts them to good use. Twenty acres of the rear fields are used for growing hay. I’m fairly certain cutting and baling isn’t a chore for him.
She nods and rises to her feet. “I’m not sure your father will ever retire. He has the best of both realities.”
“Lofty corner office by day. Sitting comfy on a John Deere at night. What more could he want?”
My mom laughs. “Precisely. I’ll never tear him away.”
“Not that you really want to.” I rest my chin on an open palm, appraising her carefree expression. They’re both living the high life. Why was I hesitant to move home? The reasons are beginning to blur.
She cups my cheek, swiping at the soft skin with her thumb. “We’re very happy to have you back, kiddo. Truly. This town lost a lot of sparkle when you left.”
I blink at the moisture clouding my vision. “Thanks, momma. I’m glad my old room was still available.”
Her tsk is loud. “Please. You’re always welcome and we’ll never change a thing.”
“Even when I’m forty?”
“Now you’re just being silly.” She walks toward the porch stairs. “I have to get started on my pies for bridge club tonight. Can I get you anything?”
“Want some help?”
My mom waves me off. “Nonsense. Enjoy your downtime.”
I glance around. “I could definitely get used to this.”
“That’s great, dear. Holler if you need something.”
“Will do, momma.” I slouch lower in my chair, soaking up the morning warmth before humidity forces me inside. This is absolutely living the right way. I savor my final sip of coffee with a soft sigh.
I’m contemplating a refill when something in my periphery distracts me. A shadowed figure breaks through the tree line. The hulking presence is a storm cloud crashing into my serenity. I know who he is without him getting closer. The sight of broad shoulders and a scruffy jaw sets my heart racing. A lump the size of Wyoming lodges in my throat. I don’t move, not sure I can. Breathing is already enough of a challenge. I’m trapped in this intense force field he’s solely responsible for creating.
A tremor wracks every part of me while the ground tilts sideways. I’ve been back in Silo Springs for less than twenty-four hours. That isn’t nearly long enough to prepare for him. But that doesn’t stop his steady approach. The warm sunlight vanishes, my ability to hear and smell and touch disappear. My senses are consumed by the man straight ahead. Grady’s presence takes up everything without him realizing the impact.
His stride is stiff, that guard he uses firmly in place. The sun glints off his dark blond hair, the length longer than I remember. I rub my fingers together, imagining the silky texture of the strands. He’s so damn sexy. There’s no use denying his appeal. The need to call out burns on my tongue. I can’t let him pass by without saying something. It’s been four lonely years since we’ve spoken. A piercing cramp attacks my stomach at that. Our silence ends now. My pulse roars as I part my lips. A pitiful squeak is all I manage to muster.
I catch the moment Grady sees me. His steps jerk to an abrupt halt. The wrench he’s holding trembles in his grip, but he remains frozen otherwise. The space around us, the handful of feet separating us, hums with energy and seems magnetized. I can practically feel the electricity zipping along my skin.
Any hints of youth have been wiped from his features. The boy I grew up with is tucked safely in my memories. The man before me is solid and vibrating with intensity. Grady’s body has filled out and gained enormous strength, that much is evident. Even with what looks like the weight of the world on his mind, he stands tall and proud. He’s the embodiment of male power. But his towering frame isn’t the reason for this stupor I’m caught up in.
His eyes steal the air from my lungs. I shiver at the haunting glimmer. Vibrant green that once flared with interest is eerily flat. The emerald hue is dull, swallowing any sign of golden flecks. There’s no mischievous gleam. Zero promise of trouble. The lack of interest couldn’t be more apparent.
Grady remains silent, disturbingly so, while continuing to stare. I’d like to hope he’s cataloging the changes to my features, the same way I did to him minutes before. But his gaze bores straight through me. It’s as if he doesn’t remember who I am. I wonder if he even notices my unwavering attention. The lash is so painful that I wince.
Those frigid depths flick over me for barely a second, as if I’m small and insignificant. His empty stare makes me feel nonexistent. I’ve been pushed around and left behind, but never with this blatant lack of care. My absence didn’t impact him the same way. As always, the bottomless longing locked in my heart was one-sided. Maybe I fell asleep and this is a nightmare. I blink in rapid succession. When I refocus, Grady is still there.
He stays on the gravel path, a foot from where the backyard begins. I’ve never been more aware of distance. He’s almost within reach. Dark purple smudges rest beneath his eyes. The skin is puffy and screams of exhaustion. Weariness appears bone-deep, but he’d never complain. The boy I knew had trouble sleeping. I wonder if this man still does.
I’ve seen Grady over the years, of course. Those quick glimpses were never long enough to snap a decent mental image. I wasn’t able to get a good sense of his well-being during my visits home. He’d appeared to be doing well. Jace provided bits and pieces that told a similar story. It was safe to accept Grady was fine. In this moment, I’m realizing how wrong those assumptions were.
The chair quakes when I scoot to the edge of my seat. The slight movement seems to jolt him out of his own trance. Those green eyes narrow on me. His expression is thunderous, ready for battle. I almost expect bolts of lightning to streak across the clear-blue sky. Angry clouds will surely sweep in and release a torrential downpour.
My mouth is bone-dry. Probably because my jaw has been hanging slack since he arrived. I attempt to draw in a decent breath and clear the grit from my throat.
“Hey, Gray.” The greeting is hardly more than a whispered croak, but he hears it.
A guttural rumble breaks from his chest. The tortured sound slams into me, causing heat to sting my eyes.
He doesn’t give me the chance to say more. In the next second, he’s turning on his heel and striding toward the barn. I consider chasing him and demand he talks to me. But my legs are certain to give out if I try to stand. Heck, my knees are wobbling without any added pressure.
I rip my gaze off his retreating form. Grady Bowen means nothing to me. But my sappy heart bleeds the truth. This man is bound to ruin me all over again. Will I let him?
4
Grady
Happy something #82: Having a shirt without holes or a tattered hem.
I turn left into the neglected trailer park and ease my truck down the dirt road. The stench of overflowing septic tanks immediately assaults my nostrils. Ignoring the odor is something I’ve unfortunately grown accustomed to. Doesn’t make this trek more pleasant. I’d roll up the windows but this old beater doesn’t have air conditioning. Roasting in this hotbox is not a fine way to spend an afternoon.
The wheels protest over the rugged terrain. This driveway probably hasn’t been grated in ove
r a decade. Groundskeeping isn’t high on the priority list around these parts. I steer my pickup into one of the designated spots and cut the engine. The sigh that escapes me is a scream of defeat. It’s not even five o’clock and my body is begging for a break. I didn’t bother going home to change after work. The paint splattering my clothes doesn’t bother these folks. Hell, I’m just happy to have shirts and jeans without holes. I glare at the neglected lawns surrounding me. Yeah, pretty sure no one will even notice.
Without further delay, I grab the groceries from the backseat. I step out and the damn grass reaches my knees. The chance that anyone has a mower is slim to none. I make a mental note to bring one by and clean up the parking lots.
Silo Springs is a thriving city in general. This corner of town is long forgotten, and should remain that way. Nothing good happens inside these withering mobile homes. The fact I have to keep stopping by this way twists my stomach. My mother has some sick attachment. Or she enjoys making me suffer. Most likely the latter.
I yank open her screen door, nearly ripping the damn thing off its rusty hinges. One more piece of trash to add on the pile of this dump. My mother isn’t just letting herself waste away. This trailer is rotting from top to bottom.
Fresh stains on the carpet welcome me, but I barely pay attention. The fact I can take a breath without dry heaving is a small blessing. Whatever is causing a rancid odor is masked thanks to the air fresheners I bought earlier this week. I recall a time when she took pride in our home. Those days are long gone. The trailer I grew up in was a palace compared to this corroding heap.
After dropping the bags off in the kitchen, I go in search of my mother. I don’t have to look far. Her limp figure is sprawled out on the saggy couch. I make my way over, being sure to avoid stepping on decaying spots in the floor. My mom doesn’t stir with the noise I make. If I had to guess, she’s been knocked out for hours. I drag over the only available chair and sit down.
“Ma?” I give her shoulder a gentle nudge.
She doesn’t move. I watch silently for a moment, catching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The ticking bomb in my stomach fizzles out seeing the slight movement. I glance at the door, contemplating an easy exit. But guilt is a fickle bitch. I can’t leave without making sure she’ll wake up. What’s left of my conscience keeps me rooted to this seat.
I shake her a bit harder. “Ma, can you hear me?”
My mother groans, the sound rough and dry. She shifts and peels her eyes open. That cloudy gleam in her detached gaze tells me everything I need to know. She won’t remember this conversation tomorrow. I’m sure she got ahold of something strong. With a crooked smile, she shows off rotting, yellowed teeth.
“Hi, boy.” Her voice rattles with effort. She makes no attempt to sit up, not that I expect her to.
Bile threatens to bubble up my throat, but I swallow the acid down. “Glad you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Her question is ludicrous. I blink at her while trying to gather a response that doesn’t resemble a bellow. Several deep breaths grant me the power to continue this shallow exchange.
“I can never be too sure,” I grind out.
A bony wrist flicks in my direction. “No need to worry yourself over me.”
Easy for her to say. I was shoved into the parent role at age fourteen. Why stop now? I scrub a palm over the stubble coating my jaw. “Yeah, well, you’re my responsibility.”
“That’s your own stupid fault.” She probably meant for those words to sting, but her tone is thinner than these weak ass walls.
“Never said it wasn’t,” I mutter.
“So, what do you need?”
I hitch a thumb behind me. “Brought you some food. Knew you were running low.”
My mother inhales too sharply and begins hacking. Her wet cough makes me flinch. She’s bound to snap a rib at this rate. Once she gets the fit under control, I release the breath trapped in my lungs. She shoots me a pathetic glare.
“Stop wasting your money on shit I don’t need. If you wanna help me out, leave cash on the table.”
I’ve given her more money than I care to admit. She immediately turns around looking for a score, shooting it up into her collapsing veins. This woman can’t stay clean to save her life—quite literally.
Insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and again, always getting the same results, but expecting something different. I’ve never considered myself a very stable man, but I know when to quit. I’m not playing this game with her.
“How about you eat something? I can make tomato soup.” That’s usually an easy sell because no chewing is required. But my mother’s bleary eyes narrow further and I already have my answer.
She gives a harsh jerk of her head. A clump of matted hair sticks to her forehead. Shiny blonde has long faded into a dull gray. “I’m not hungry.”
I hold up a hand. “Fine. Your choice.”
“Damn straight. Not sure why you’re always barging in here, trying to force shit on me.”
“I won’t apologize for trying to keep you alive,” I spit in return.
Her lazy gaze drifts to the drooping ceiling. “Well, good luck with all that. Feel free to show yourself out. You’re better off leaving me to rot.”
The burger I had for lunch curdles in my stomach. There are many days I’d agree with her. But leaving my mother to die isn’t an option I can manage, even if that’s what she’s trying to do. Her blatant dismissal leaves me with toxic thoughts and a daily dose of reality. Being in this dismal space is a black hole. Seconds and minutes get doused in molasses, sticking together without moving. It all ticks by so slowly I’d assume time is frozen.
What a fucking nightmare. Is this what I can look forward to for the foreseeable future? My current outcome is bleak as fuck.
Residential restoration jobs have me busting ass all day. The place I bought keeps me working late into the night. I get the honor of cleaning up my mother’s mess whenever she goes on a bender. Can’t leave out being wrongly accused of stupid shit on a regular basis. If I’m lucky, there’s a barstool at Howlers with my name on it. But that’s few and far between. I go home to an empty house, always alone.
What a damn fine way of living. Not that I’m really complaining. Anything beats the years when my pops was still around. I shudder at the memory. That man was pure evil. One glance at the wasting form of my mother is proof enough.
I’ve heard Camilla Soulle used to have her head screwed on straight. Many called her pretty, a real looker with several potential suitors. Then my dad moved into town, changed her last name, and ruined the woman she could’ve been. The revolving line of men following close behind certainly didn’t help.
If only there was a sliver of relief to be found. I snort at that. My greatest form of comfort just returned to town. I never admitted it to her, but Sutton has always been my happy something. The only one that matters. Growing up, I’d needed those stolen moments with her, juvenile as they were. She gave me an ounce of hope that everything wouldn’t turn out to be shit.
With her name, a rush of visions flood my mind. Time has granted her more beauty. How is it possible that’s she’s even more gorgeous? She’s grace and class and everything I’ll never have. When I saw her sitting right in front of me, it felt like the fantasy I’d conjured up. Her bee-stung lips parted with surprise. I wanted to kiss the shock away, and steal her breath along with it. Those blue eyes bored into mine, peeling away layers of pain and reaching depths only she has access to. My heart had threatened to burst. Tumble out of my chest and land in her lap. She owns the damn thing, might as well hand it over. The beating organ is useless without her.
But I couldn’t talk to her. What the fuck would I say? Sutton went off to school and made something better of herself. I’m stuck in the same shitty spot, spinning my bald tires. I meant what I’d said four years ago. She was better off forgetting about me. The uninhibited desire in her baby blues screamed the opposite. F
uck. What I wouldn’t give to make her mine. Wrap her in my arms and own her like she once begged for. But no. I won’t ruin her life. And that’s what being tied to me would mean. I’d only hold her back.
When Sutton left, any good went with her. Four fucking years in the dark changes a man. I’m almost ashamed of the guy always glaring back at me in the mirror. Seeing her after so long was a tortuous gift. My eyes suddenly sting with unwanted heat. I cough and choke down the unexpected onslaught of emotion. I’m typically referred to as a wall of stone—impenetrable and imposing. In this moment, I feel the opposite. I’m that lost boy rediscovering his one source of true luxury. I cover my face and groan. Getting upset about this is pointless.
I’ve made sure to avoid the Olsen ranch ever since catching sight of Sutton. That doesn’t stop the temptation from crawling beneath my skin. Every moment is an opportunity to test my control. It’s been a week of torture. Knowing she’s within reach and unable to do shit about it is a lethal strike. I’m not sure how much longer this can last.
A car backfires and the loud bang knocks me from my thoughts. Here I am, wallowing in a shallow puddle of pity. Again. Poor fucking Grady. I have no reason to imagine an existence with Sutton in it. I’ll just continue doing everything in my power to ignore her. Eventually the pain will return to a muted roar.
My mother rolls onto her side. A cloud of musty mildew wafts over from the couch. She startles at the sight of me. “Oh, you’re still around? Figured you’d up and left hours ago.”
I’ve only been here for thirty minutes at the most. I suck in a deep breath, agreeing that I’ve overstayed this welcome. “I should be going. Don’t want to disrupt you more than I already have.”
That earns me a loose grin. She lifts a shaky finger, pointing over my shoulder. “Be a good boy and fetch me a cigarette.”
Before I can even consider following through with the request, her eyelids droop and she’s out fucking cold. It’s as though she wasn’t actually aware of my presence. Maybe she never really was in the first place.
Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection Page 90
