by Eden Connor
I didn’t know what he meant. Dale was the orphan, not me. The hot water set my ass on fire. Caine’s intent gaze pushed some force right through my tummy. Where the two sensations collided, a fuse lit.
He picked up the body wash, squirting some into his palm, then pressed the bottle into my hands. Starting at my shoulders, he slid his hands down my arms, then went on one knee. He seemed in no hurry, stroking each finger the way I’d grasp a cock, spending extra time rubbing the tiny web of skin in between. The small dips seemed unduly sensitive. Each stroke between my fingers echoed inside my nipples.
I had that crazy notion again that I was his engine. This man had built me, piece by piece, tuning me to his will. I’d never run as well as I did in his hands.
“I know most folks would say this ain’t right,” he began. I stiffened when he touched my labia. He smoothed the cool gel over the sensitive tissue with the same confident touch he’d used on my arms and hands.
“That it’s supposed to be one man and one woman,” he continued. “But, why? That’s just another speed limit sign and those don’t apply to us. It makes me crazy to watch the pleasure you get when another man fucks you. That way, I can really focus on it, because I’m not fighting not to come, the way I am when I fuck you. When I fuck you, what I feel for you heats my body. When I see another man fuck you, and you really get into it, that heats my heart. To know I gave you that courage to take your own pleasure—it’s a good kind of crazy. My own brand of adrenaline.”
Only a Hannah would dare bottle his own brand of adrenaline.
The most powerful emotion I’d ever felt seized my heart. All I could do was grip the bottle of soap and fight back tears. He looked up. His eyes bore into me, making my breath catch in my throat.
“And when I watch you and Caroline together, it’s just a shot of nitrous that lets me fly. Do you have any idea how beautiful you two are in each other’s arms?”
Finishing by sliding the edge of his hand through my center, he held out his palm, making me his accomplice in my own destruction. I added another pearly dollop, watching silently while he rubbed his hands together, then bracketed one thigh. Slowly working his way down my leg, he fell silent.
There was nothing to say, so I said nothing.
“Just promise me that you’ll stop thinkin’ there’s somethin’ wrong with you, because I made you crave that shit, too.” He gave my ankle a final caress and moved to the opposite leg. Stroking his palms up my calf, he stared up at me. The fire in his eyes—wasn’t water supposed to put out a fire?
Sweeping his hands over my hips, he made tingling circles across my tummy, but stayed clear of my navel. Leaning forward, he swirled his tongue into the dip. His hands skated to my breasts. Sandpaper thumbs swiped lather across my nipples, keeping time with the lazy circles he painted inside my bellybutton.
Those soft strokes summoned a dark void inside my channel. The emptiness grew with every slow swipe, swelling like the notes of a church organ, until I could barely stand.
I drove my fingers into his hair, trying to tug him away, but he slid his hands around to my buttocks. His hard squeeze of skin still tingling from is earlier abuse sent a shower of sparks to meet his probing tongue. The internal combustion of every sensation he drove into me sent a rush of moisture to put out the flames, but I only burned hotter.
I cried out. “Caine. Please.”
Internal heat licked my clit like a hungry flame. My heartbeat thumped inside the small nub, beating a primitive, insistent message. He let go of my ass, pushing me a step back. Water pounded my shoulders. Rivulets ran across my breasts. He thrust a hand between my legs, rinsing my folds. Inside my head, I smiled. He detailed me with the same thorough attention he gave his truck.
Caine got to his feet. My heart stopped when he hoisted me into his arms. I pinned my knees to his hips and wrapped my arms around his neck, struggling to breathe in the hot steam. The head of his cock touched my swollen folds, summoning a jolt of electricity that bowed my spine.
Turning, he pinned my back to the tile. I buried my hands in his hair and pulled with all my might. I needed. Needed him to fill me, to fuck me, to polish away the aching void.
He rested his forehead against mine, pulling me open with those huge hands. I took hitching breaths while he slid into me, only to retreat, then rock his hips forward, moving ever deeper. At last, his slow strokes picked up speed, driving ever deeper until I’d swear the spongy head of his cock nudged my heart aside to make a place for him.
Up close, a million stars swirled in the midnight skyscape of his eyes. Each thrust he made into me swept those bright pinpoints into new patterns, hypnotizing me until the growing pools in the centers sucked me into their darkness. I saw nothing, heard nothing; felt only the strong force pistoning inside me until I flew apart, tumbling over and over without tether, and yet, I floated safe and sound in Caine’s strong arms.
“I love you. Always will,” he whispered as his cock stilled. “And I’m gonna let you go for the same reason.” He lowered me until my feet touched the floor. “If I’m anything at all, I’m my father’s son.” His face twisted. “It only makes me love you more because you won’t hurt him.”
He grabbed the towel, thrusting it into my hands. “You know, sometimes I get restless. Can’t sleep, so I leave the house. That first year you were gone away to college, I used to walk out on the deck and catch Dad and Macy out there, making out like teenagers. Sometimes, they’d climb into the bed of his truck, just starin’ up at the stars.
I didn’t know whether water or a tear raced down his cheek. “That’s what’s not fair. I can’t take that away from them, Shelby, any more than you can, but don’t you ever doubt how much I love you. I’m just gonna believe that one day, some way, somehow, I’ll get the chance to show you.”
He yanked the shower curtain open. “We got about an hour before we have to leave. Come see what Jonny did to the back porch. I think you’ll like it.”
He stepped out, snagging a towel from the closet on his way out of the fogged room. I put the towel he’d given me to my face to block my view of him walking away. Collapsing against the tiles, I gasped through the pain. Don’t cry here. Don’t cry here.
Toweling off as fast as I could, I tiptoed to the front room. My clothes lay where my stepbrothers had tossed them. Our earlier laughter rang inside my head, but the sound twisted, until it became me, laughing at me. While I wriggled into my jeans, I darted desperate glances around the room for purse. Every heartbeat whispered, get out of here.
I didn’t know what else Caine meant to say, but I’d heard all my heart could hold. Jerking the sweatshirt over my head set off an ache in my collarbone. I relished the pain, but it didn’t outstrip the pain in my chest. I didn’t see how more talk would fix that, and I couldn’t bear to make idle chit chat, like strangers do. I scooped my purse off the couch and felt inside for my keys.
My breath fogged as soon as I stepped onto the porch, but my breath was all I could see. Damn, it’s dark out here in the country. No houses were visible, no street lights pushed back the night. I eased toward the steps, swiping my wet cheeks with my sleeve.
Duh. Use your phone, stupid.
Once I powered the device up, I discovered that Mom had left three voice mails, and Francine one. I played Francine’s.
“Shelby, Ernie’s had a heart attack. They don’t think he’ll make it through the night. We’re at Regional, in the ICU. Fifth floor.”
No! No, please, don’t take him. I rushed toward the car, stumbling over unfamiliar ground.
“Runnin’ again?” Colt materialized out of the black night. He leaned against my car door. I grabbed a double fistful of his shirt, trying to yank him out of the way.
“Ernie’s dying, Colt. I gotta get to the hospital. Where the fuck am I?” I shrieked, striking his chest with my fist. “Where the fuck am I?”
He jerked my car door open. “Two right turns, Shelby. That’ll put you on Highway 176. Then pick up I-8
5 about four miles past De Marco’s Garage.”
I jerked the car door open, but he grabbed my arm and spun me. “One minute. I gotta say this while I still have the guts.”
Oh, God, does it always have to be about you?
And the real question rushed in. When does it get to be about me?
The dome light inside the car painted Colt’s face. Wet trails streaked his cheeks, making me ashamed of my selfish thought.
“I’m sorry I ever touched you.” He dragged a finger down the side of my cheek. The crisp air intensified the scent of sex clinging to his skin. “I love Caroline, but it hurts me to look at her sometimes.” He lowered his lashes, shutting me off from his eyes. “The shade that folks throw on her has dimmed her inside. I got enough guilt to tote around. I can’t stand up under no more. If I see people doin’ you that way, because of me, it’ll kill me. Go on, run. This time, stay gone long enough for me to get over you. That’s gonna take a while.”
Chapter Twelve
“He had two more heart attacks after they got him in the ambulance. Francine and I both thought he was getting better over the last three weeks, but after that second big attack two days ago, he never woke again. I just came from the viewing at the funeral home. I can’t believe he’s gone, Dale.”
“Honey, I’m so sorry.” Sober blue eyes peered from the screen. “When’s the burial?”
I sighed, turning into the quiet lane that ran along the back side of campus.
“Tomorrow. Francine thought about holding it over till Monday, so you could come, but their friends mostly work during the week.”
“I hate that, but I understand. While I have you on the phone, sugar, I got a call from the attorney yesterday. Can you drive up to Concord on Monday, May 18th? We’ll be runnin’ in Charlotte then, two weeks back to back. He said if you could make it, he can squeeze us in to see the judge at eleven. When we walk out, you’ll be Shelby Anne Hannah. No hyphen.” He tapped the spot over his heart. “My daughter, by God and by law. Do you think you’d have time to get the name changed on your diploma?”
Sniffing, I grabbed another tissue from my purse. “I’ll raise hell till they do. I’ll be there. See you then.” I disconnected and wheeled into the student parking lot.
I rolled down three rows of parked cars before I spied an open space. Spinning the wheel, I slammed on the brakes. Outrage swirled in my chest. Heat flooded my cheeks—the first time I’d been warm on this unseasonably cold April day.
The passenger-side tires on a Mercedes two-seater sat at least a foot over the yellow line, rendering the lone open space useless. I shoved my hand into my handbag, thinking I might call campus security. My fingers brushed something cool. Grasping the item with a grim smile, I drew out the new tube of MAC lip color my roommate had given me because the shade was wrong for her complexion.
Security will take forever. Why not just leave a message? I slammed the Audi into park and slung the door open.
Rolling the tip of the lipstick up, I skirted the side of the convertible. The outline of adhesive where the sticker had been still marred the glass. A thick layer of pollen topped road grime. And someone needed to spend some serious elbow grease to get the brake dust and mud off those whitewalls.
“God, who buys a black car if they’re too damn lazy to wash it?”
Leaning over the windshield, I outlined a foot-high ‘C’ in reverse and added a ‘U’. It took a minute to fill in the letters with slashing lines, and doing so used the entire tube. I found two more half-used lipsticks and a tube of peach gloss in the bottom of my bag. Smiling grimly, I moved to the passenger side.
Drawing a reversed ‘N’ took some concentration, but the ‘T’ was easy enough. It was too bad the colors I had to use to fill in the last two letters didn’t match the first two, but I sauntered to the rear of the Mercedes. Bending to peer through the back windshield, I smiled, satisfied that my message read correctly from inside the car.
“Bet you take your lazy ass to a car wash now.”
I looked around at the beep of a horn. Robert lowered his window. Stalking over, I leaned down.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He jerked a thumb toward the back seat. His golf bag filled the space. “I was going up to Spring Valley to knock a few balls around.” Extending his hand, he waggled his fingers. “But, goddammit, I miss you. Wanna go to the Nu-Way and watch the race? Isn’t your brother driving today?”
The offer was so out of character for Robert that I was actually tempted. The longing in his eyes made me cautious. “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
He smiled. “You could just ride with me.”
I swept a hand toward the line of cars behind me. “Can’t find a fucking parking space anyway.”
He followed behind on the short trip to Kennedy Street. We parked in a lot a few doors down the street. The Hannahs would approve of the iconic dive bar, from the black-painted brick to the glossy red door and shutters. I wondered if Robert saw any irony in the Pabst Blue Ribbon sign out front, but he opened the door without comment.
The narrow bar had a decent crowd for three o’clock, but neither Robert’s madras shorts, nor my dress and heels, got a second glance from the crowd. My professors lunched here. The college crowd rubbed elbows with blue-collar workers on nights the place boasted live music. Judging from all the baseball caps with big numbers emblazoned, NASCAR Nation was in attendance today. We took a spot at the bar.
“Been craving a Redneck Cheeseburger,” Robert confessed, waving away the bar’s self-deprecating menu that was part and parcel of the attitude this place exuded. “I’m gonna miss this place.”
The bartender was about my age, and female. “What’ll it be?”
“Um, I’ll have the White Trash Burger.” I eyed the labels on the beer taps. “And PBR on draft.”
“Ouch,” Robert muttered, meeting my cold gaze with apologetic eyes. “Which car’s your brother driving?”
“The thirty-three car.” On the screen to the left, I spied Colt’s vehicle, running in the middle of a tightly-packed group. I glanced to the man seated on my right. “How’s Colt Hannah running?”
The man, roughly Dale’s age, swiped his napkin across his mouth. Studying me from underneath the brim of a hat boasting the twenty-two car legend, his brown eyes went flat. “Eighth place. You look a lot like Colt Hannah’s sister.”
“Yes.” I turned away to peer at the television screen. The race positions crawled across the bottom of the screen. “Hey, Marley’s running in first place.”
“Who’s Marley?” Robert asked.
“That won’t last,” the older man offered. “Ain’t neither of ‘em gonna finish. You mark my words.” I turned again to meet narrowed eyes. “They got you to thank for that.”
“Me?” I straightened. “What’re you talking about?” His eyes weren’t glassy, despite the beer on his breath.
“You’re the one’s got that site on You Tube where you posted up that drag race footage?” He wadded his napkin and hurled it onto the bar. “Jeanie, let me settle up. The air in this place just went foul.”
The bartender sat my draft and Robert’s bottle of Corona on the bar. “What’s got your britches in a bunch, Mike?”
Turning my way again, the man’s lips curled in disgust. “I looked you up. You ain’t never run a damn race that I could find. Ain’t registered with the National Hot Rod Association, neither. And, now, here you are, lookin’ just like the little college gal everybody said you was. What Dale done lost him my respect, for sure, and I been a Ridenhour fan for two decades. No NASCAR crew chief worth his salt sets out to humiliate his best driver. That shit just ain’t right. Enjoy your burger.”
He threw thirty dollars on the bar. “On second thought, just keep the change.” Before I could think of a response he barked again, raking me with cold eyes. “Yeah, like I believe you can handle a NASCAR engine? You look like you couldn’t handle a Volkswagen Beetle. Hannah cheated. Now that I seen you, I’m sure of it.” The man stalked
down the aisle and out the front door.
“Crazy-ass redneck,” Robert muttered. “You want to stay or go somewhere else?”
My cheeks stung from heat. It felt as though every eyeball that peered from under the brim of a NASCAR cap was on me. Hostile eyes heated the close air inside the bar. “Are you kidding? I’ve been craving a White Trash burger for weeks.”
The burger sat cold and hard in my stomach when car nineteen slammed Colt into the wall. The camera cut to the pits. Dale hurled his hat and ear protectors.
The tow truck racing toward the mangled thirty-three car said Colt’s day was done. I took out my phone and looked up the driver of the nineteen car. He drove for Carson Racing. The same team Kolby’s brother Kasey drove for.
Three laps after the caution ended, Rowdy Collins took Marley out with a gut-wrenching spin. Seven, eight—no, nine—cars plowed into her while my heart jammed into my throat. White smoke popped, obscuring the wreck until the tangle of bent metal and screeching tires spun into the infield grass and broke apart.
Marley climbed out of her window. Ripping off her helmet, she spiked it into the grass.
“Maybe you should take the race video off the internet,” Robert suggested while we watched the wreckers clean up the mess.
“Uh, hello?” I snapped. “That only makes it look like we have something to hide.” I glared. “And we do not.”
“So, Mikey’s wrong?” the bartender asked. “You’re a racer?”
Did racing on a lonely back road count? “Amateur stuff. Give me a dark country road and a Hemi engine and I’m down for anything.”
She raised a thin, penciled brow. “Well, gee, I can say that myself. So, if it’s true that Hannah dropped Kolby’s engine into your car, tell me then, how’s an eight-second race supposed to convince Barnes that the engine can win a five-hundred-lap grind?” She grabbed a rag and swiped down the spot at my side. “No, that story don’t add up. Y’all cheated somehow. I’m bettin’ it was nitrous.”
