by Chloe Lane
“I’ve got to get this out of my head. I need to lie down.”
There’s a glimmer in his eye, but it’s only a flash, and then his expression is all sympathy. “My bed or Hunter’s?” I shake my head. I can’t choose, not with my throbbing head and aching throat. Jett leans forward and kisses me on the temple, just below the painful line of my hair. “Don’t worry, Grace. Don’t worry about a thing.”
But I do worry. Jett’s sheets are soft and clean, and the pillow sinks deliciously under my head the moment my cheek makes contact with it. But my dreams are ravaged by Dale in a new way. More than once, I wake up with a start, thinking he’s standing in the doorway—but it’s only Hunter, or Jett, and they quickly move to my side, running their hands over my blazing cheeks until I nod off again.
It’s late in the evening when I finally feel ready to get up. I realize now that it was the police calling—they must have arrested Dale, they must want a statement from me and probably all of us—and I don’t want to let it sit another night. I can’t. If there’s something that needs to be done, I need to do it right now. And there’s more than one thing I need to do.
I pad out into the main room, taking a detour through the bathroom so I can brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair. My outfit from the shop earlier is still presentable, so I smooth down the front of my shirt and go out. Jett and Hunter are sitting on the couch, backs straight like they’re ready to leap in response to any noise I might make.
“Let’s go down to the station,” I say, and my voice is gravelly, groggy.
Hunter stands up and crosses over to me, folding his arms around me. “We don’t have to do that right now. Tomorrow is plenty soon enough.”
“No.” I put my hands flat on his chest and push him back a little bit so I can look into his deep brown eyes. “I want to go now.”
Hunter glances at the clock in the kitchen. “They’ll be there, if that’s really what you want.”
“It really is.” I search out my purse on the side table near the door and move to the entryway to slip on my shoes. “And when that’s done, I think it’s time for me to start looking for my own place.”
29
Hunter
It’s just one little phrase, but it cuts me right to the core, the pain searing like a knife through my gut. I think it’s time for me to start looking for my own place never stops echoing in my mind. Not when we’re giving our statements at the police station, not when we come home and Grace curls up around the glow of a laptop screen, untouchable and unreachable. Not when she announces on Friday that she’s found a little apartment in Mason and is moving there in two weeks so she can start the fall semester in mid-August.
I don’t know what I can say to stop her.
I think about it all the time, every moment that my hands are deep in the innards of a car, when she’s laughing over spaghetti at the dinner table, when she walks into town from the shop to collect the mail and comes back with that same smile on her face.
“This is a good thing.” I mutter it out loud the day before she’s set to leave.
“Did the car fix itself?” Grace’s voice has a note of laughter in it, and I straighten up with a smile. I can’t bring myself to push her, can’t bring myself to scowl at her, can’t bring myself to do anything other than look at her with a grin.
“No. I worked my own magic.”
“You do have magic hands.” Her own grin turns a little wicked—she’s been getting a little bolder this last week around the shop, like it’s her last chance—and the look in her blue eyes nearly manages to wipe away the ache in my chest. She’s only going to Mason. It’s not far. We can meet up with her any time. It doesn’t even sound convincing in my head. We’ve got a nice routine at the apartment. We’ve got enough room, for now. She doesn’t have to move until she’s got more money saved up, but Grace is determined. She’s never once asked us for our opinion, asked us what we want. I can see from the set of Jett’s jaw every evening, after we’re done losing ourselves in her body, that he doesn’t like it either.
“Be careful, gorgeous girl.” I drop my voice to a conspiratorial tone even though we’re alone in the back lot. “I might have to close up the shop during business hours and remind you just how magical they are.”
She wags a finger at me. “No, no, no. This is your livelihood. I’ll see you once the last customer is out and all the jobs are done.”
You’re my livelihood, I think, and it’s such an absurd thought that I laugh out loud. “Fine…if that’s what you want.”
She blows me a kiss, laughter in her eyes, and heads back inside the shop.
That night, Grace looks deep into my eyes as she’s riding my cock, her slickness running over every last inch of my shaft. Her sky blue eyes almost appear navy in the moonlight, and every breath she takes seems like it’s a silent goodbye.
A soft moan escapes her as Jett’s hand wraps around her neck, fingers tracing a path down to her collarbone and then back up again, lifting her chin so she arches back against his chest.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
I don’t want to take my eyes off her.
Especially if this is the last time...
I shake my head, not enough that she notices, but just enough so that the thought can be brushed off like an obnoxious mosquito. This isn’t the last time. Grace mentions seeing us whenever she talks about starting college in the fall. It’s nothing like what we have now, of course—at least, it doesn’t sound like it will be—but I can’t bring myself to imagine it.
Not tonight.
I fuck Grace harder, her hips making small circles in my hands, and I feel through her walls that Jett’s fingers are working inside of her sweet ass. It’s not long before she tightens around me and then relaxes, leaning in close as he thrusts inside of her. The pressure of it is unbelievable. Together, we’re taking up every inch of her, and it draws me closer and closer to the edge, closer to release.
I slip my hand between us, feeling the heat of our bodies, and find her clit, rubbing to get her to another orgasm, even as I take a long, slow breath and let it out. I’m not going to come yet. I want this to last as long as possible.
Grace opens her eyes and sighs, a smile spreading across her lips as she shudders and shakes between us, another burst of wetness cascading down over me as Jett pounds the last few inches of his cock inside of her. Then we’re moving in tandem, moving with the rhythm that’s become so familiar over the last few weeks that I don’t know how I’ll ever live without it.
I don’t know how I’ll ever live without her.
Even only twenty minutes away. Any distance at all is like a punch in the gut. I want her narrow hips in my hands every night, every afternoon, for the rest of my life, and for the rest of Jett’s. I want to see how she looks, on the verge of coming hard on my cock, every day. She closes her eyes again, biting her lip, and I try not to do so much as blink so I can memorize that expression, the precious curves of her face, the way her hair bounces on top of her head in the messy bun that she wore to the shop today.
We’re closed tomorrow, for the first time in a long time, to take her to Mason. She’s driving her car, and we’re driving the truck, and we’re stopping to pick up a new bed for her at the furniture store on the outskirts of town. And then we’re going to come home, back to an apartment that doesn’t feel complete any longer—
Grace swivels her hips in a sexy maneuver that brings me back to the present. I grin up her and pull her down onto my cock, shoving all those thoughts deep down.
“Gorgeous girl,” I whisper, and she smiles.
30
Grace
Hunter and Jett lean down together, nudging my brand new futon into place in the center of the living room. It was marked down on ultra-clearance at the furniture store just outside of town, and that—along with a full bed that was hanging out in the very back of the sale section—is the only piece of furniture I have so far.
“I think that’s e
verything, guys!”
Hunter laughs softly at my joke, more of a soft grunt. Jett doesn’t make any sound at all, and my throat tightens for at least the hundredth time today.
“You need anything else?” Jett straightens up, green eyes piercing me right to the core. His face is carefully neutral, except for his lips, which are pressed into a thin line. I’ve spent enough time looking at him over the last six weeks to know he’s burying his feelings deep down, not letting them bubble up into so much as a smile.
Neither of them has told me that they think this is a bad idea, but I’m getting that distinct vibe right at this moment.
I straighten my back. Maybe it is a bad idea, but I’m not convinced that it is—which is exactly why I haven’t asked them.
Ever since Dale showed up at the shop and tried to force me to come back with him, I’ve had a hard time being there. It seems tainted, somehow, and I don’t want to live like that anymore. I definitely don’t want to live in the fishbowl of Baker’s Ridge while all of it is still the talk of the town. Every single customer on Saturday wanted to ask Jett and Hunter about it—quietly, out of earshot, but I saw the glances they shot my way. Just as I suspected.
This is how it’s supposed to be. They’ll be close…but you’ll be free.
The ache rises in my throat again as Hunter glances around my new apartment. It’s in a brand new building, and though it’s practically a studio—the bedroom is more of an alcove than a full-sized space—I already like how the sun streams through the big window in the living room, which overlooks a retention pond that could be a lot uglier.
The silence stretches out between us, and it gives my imagination room to run wild. There could be quite a bit of space on the futon if we folded it out. It would feel good to be together again. It’s not the last time, I remind myself sternly. It’s just the last time for now, so I can get started with school and finding a new job.
I take a big breath in and put a smile on my face, but as I open my mouth to say something dirty to Hunter, he uncrosses his arms and comes across the room, folding me into his arms.
“Have a great first week here, gorgeous girl,” he murmurs into my ear, squeezing me tighter than I think he ever has. “And if you need anything—”
My heart sinks at every word that falls from his lips, and I finally have to cut him off. “I’ll call. Of course I’ll call.” I step back and look up into his dark eyes, forcing my smile to stay in place. “You’re not getting rid of me, Hunter. I’m only twenty minutes away. If you don’t think—” The tears threaten to overwhelm me, and I clear my throat. “If you don’t think I’ll be showing up at your door every weekend, you’re mistaken.”
He nods, but he doesn’t say anything, and that’s when I know.
They don’t expect me to come back.
They expect me to show up a couple of times, then disappear into my new life, leaving what we had together firmly in the past…right along with Dale. I don’t know what’s going to happen to Dale. As far as I know, he’s still in jail in Baker’s Ridge, charged with attempted kidnapping and assault? Battery? I can’t remember the exact terms, and when I try to think about it, my mind lurches away from the subject. I imagine I’ll have to go back for something involving that—I am the victim, even if it doesn’t feel like it, standing in this new place—but once that’s over...
Jett steps up next, slipping his arms around me the moment Hunter releases me. He doesn’t hold me as long, and there’s a hitch in his breath that tells me it’s just too painful. For all his stern expressions, all his strong-silent-type attitudes, he’s got a heart that bleeds just like the rest of us.
Only he’s not just like the rest of us.
He’s not like any other man I’ve ever met.
Neither is Hunter.
Jett takes in another deep breath, and then he steps back, looking to Hunter. Hunter gives him a subtle nod, and then they’re moving for the door.
I want to scream after them that they shouldn’t leave me here. I want to frantically suggest that we get lunch, get dinner—and maybe get breakfast tomorrow. The sight of them in the doorway fills my chest with a dread I can’t put into words. Hunter pauses on the threshold, looking around the apartment one last time. “You’ve got a nice place.” He’s giving me that same grin from the first night I met him—encouraging and sexy as hell. “Enjoy the shit out of it.”
“I will,” I promise, and then I can’t tear my eyes away from him—from his muscular arms filling out a plain gray t-shirt that somehow looks like it was custom fit just to him, from his dark, dancing eyes, from the cut line of his chin. I want to look at him forever.
But I can’t. I have to start building a life for myself, even if that means I don’t get to see him every day.
Too soon, he’s pulling the door shut behind them, and I’m alone in the silence of my new life.
31
Jett
“Something’s different around here.” Mr. Porter’s voice echoes through the shop as he shuffles back up to the counter. It’s only been two weeks since he was in last time, and I’ll bet every penny in the register that there’s not really a problem with the truck he just brought in. That’s just judging by the look on his face. I can see from my spot behind the counter that he’s actually here for a chance to chat with Grace.
“Nothing’s different.” My voice is too gruff, too sharp, and Mr. Porter narrows his eyes. This shit is better left to Hunter. He’s the one who can deal with all of these people.
Now that Grace isn’t here—
I shake my head and try to put a smile on my face. It probably looks fucking ridiculous, forced as hell, because it is. “What can I do for you, Mr. Porter?”
He drops his keys onto the counter. “Your girl take a vacation?”
My girl. He has no idea how close to home his words strike me, sharper than knives cutting through my chest. “She moved over to Mason.” I scoop up the keys in my hand. “Is there something up with your truck?”
“What’s in Mason that she couldn’t get here?” His forehead wrinkles with the question. “Baker’s Ridge is far nicer. And the community—”
“She wanted to go to college, and she didn’t want to have to make the commute.” I clear my throat, tossing the keys back and forth from hand to hand. “It’s great for her. She didn’t belong behind this counter.”
Mr. Porter shrugs. “There are far worse places to be. Trust me. I fought in the war. I should know.”
“Everybody needs a chance to find out what they really want out of life.”
The old man cocks his head to the side. “A young lady like that could go far here.”
I meet his gaze, wondering if he knows. But that’s absurd.
I give him a non-committed nod and wait.
There’s a long silence.
Finally, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I thought I heard a sound. Could you take it for a spin and see if it’s just these old ears?”
“Sure.” I motion toward the chairs we keep in the front corner of the shop, next to the coffee machine. “Just give me fifteen.”
His truck, a cherry-red thing from some bygone era, is parked right out front, and I climb in and start it up. It rumbles to life, and I throw it into gear and head out onto Main Street.
Just like that, I’m back in my own truck, Grace in the passenger seat, her blonde hair whipping in the summer wind from the open windows. She never gave a shit about the breeze messing with her hair. She’d just wait until I parked and sweep it up into a bun, letting it down just in time to let the gusts toy with her hair on the way back. She liked to go pick up pizza with me.
I put a hand to the ache in my chest. This is fucking stupid, pining over a girl who stayed with us for six weeks and moved on. God knows we’ve moved on from plenty of girls between the two of us. And Grace is better off in Mason. She won’t be trapped there, like she would be in Baker’s Ridge. She’ll be able to be around people who aren’t still fucking titillate
d over what happened with her ex. My jaw clenches when I think of that unbelievable piece of shit, coming into my own shop, putting his hands on my...
Girlfriend?
What was she to me?
More than a girlfriend.
I can’t deny it, not in the deepest part of my thoughts. She was more than a girlfriend to both of us—that’s just the word that makes the most sense, since she never got a ring on her finger, and we never agreed to be anything more than that.
We didn’t agree to be less, either.
I pull back into the parking lot. Mr. Porter’s truck isn’t making a sound—although I can’t say I was listening very carefully. I just trust my instincts. If something was off, I’d have noticed it.
I go back inside and help him up from the chair. “It sounds all right to me, Mr. Porter. But if you notice anything strange, just come on back in. We’ll check it out.”
“Thanks, son.” He takes his keys and shuffles back out into the sunny afternoon.
I go back behind the counter and lean on the surface. I barely recognize it back here. Grace had a new computer set up, with a brand new system that’s supposed to make it easier to track everything that goes in or goes out, including all the money. She took us through it before we left, but the instant she walked away, I forgot everything about it. Now Hunter’s the one who enters most things into the register. The most I handle is ringing people up, and even that’s a royal pain in the ass.
It’s new. But that’s not what’s so wrong about it.
What’s wrong is the gaping absence where Grace used to be.
And not just here.
It’s in our apartment, too, in the space she used to take up on our couch every night. It’s been three weekends since she left, and she’s visited once…and it wasn’t the same.
