Storms Over Secrets

by J. A. Derouen

  “I see our boy brought company. Anyone going to introduce me?”

  “Sarge, this is my friend, Celia,” I say evenly, unable to get a read on his mood.

  Celia stands and reaches across the table to shake Sarge’s hand, but he bends down and taps his lips to her knuckles instead, winking as his lips leave her. I have to admit, the old man’s still a charmer.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Celia smiles and tilts her head. “Tell me, why do they call you Sarge? Were you in the military?”

  “No, I’ve never had the honor.” His gravelly voice fills the room as he leans forward and places both hands on the table. “They call me Sarge ‘cause I’m a mean sonuva-bitch. Always have been.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I have a feeling, deep down, you’re a big old softie.” Celia matches Sarge’s wink with a sweet-as-sugar smile.

  “Ha! Deep down, girlie, I’m pretty sure I’m nothing but piss and vinegar. I don’t think I could find it in my black heart to be mean to you, though. You’re a pint-sized sweetie. You’d fit right in my pocket,” he says with a wheezy laugh before pointing at me. “I like this one, Tucker, she’s a keeper.”

  “Yes, sir. Who wants fettuccine?” I ask with a big smile, ignoring his slip up. Celia places her hand on my thigh and squeezes. I bow my head and meet her understanding eyes with a slight smile.

  As dinner moves along, I try to guide the conversation to safe topics:

  “Summer is heating up fast this year.”

  “This chocolate cake is amazing.”

  “How do you make garlic bread again?”

  Titillating conversation? Not at all, but I’m making a concerted effort not to date the conversation—I can’t be expected to be fascinating, too.

  “Sarge, how did you and your wife meet?”

  He waggles his eyebrows and chuckles at Celia’s question. He gazes lovingly across the table at Granny and smirks. “She couldn’t resist my masculine charm.”

  “Is that so, Malcolm? I remember things a little differently,” Granny says as she turns her attention to Celia. “I was engaged to a friend of his. Mark Comeaux.”

  “Really? Engaged?” Celia laughs.

  “Oh yes,” Granny admits with a solemn nod. “I met Malcolm at a church bazaar. We hardly spoke a word to one another, but we knew with just one look. Malcolm turned to Mark and said, ‘I need you to get that ring off my future wife’s finger or I’ll have to ask you to step outside.’ The rest is history.”

  “I’ll never tire of hearing that story,” Mom says with misty eyes.

  “She was a vision … still is. Now, that’s true love, girlie,” Sarge says with a wink in Celia’s direction. “I’ve been married to this beautiful woman for … for…”

  Sarge’s gaze shifts around the table, gathering clues, trying to make sense of it all. Confusion is etched on is face, and agitation follows close behind.

  “Tucker?” His puzzled eyes leave me and swing to my mother. “Lila Jane, where’s my boy?”

  “Malcolm, why don’t you come upstairs with me? I need you to see about changing the hallway light,” Granny says, standing and reaching out her hand to Sarge.

  “He’s gone, isn’t he? And who the hell are you?”

  Shit, that stings. I know it shouldn’t. My head tells me it’s normal, expected, for him to be confused. But my heart feels different. He glares at me with bewildered eyes.

  I turn to Celia and lean into her, needing comfort, reassurance maybe … I’m not really sure what I need, but whatever it is I want it from her. She meets me halfway and laces her fingers with mine.

  “I think it’s time to go,” I whisper.

  Her hand traces the line of my jaw, and she smiles. Her expression isn’t filled with sympathy or pity, like I would expect. Only understanding.

  We drive in silence. This is why I resisted when Mom initially invited Celia to our family dinner. With the bad days far outweighing the good ones lately, I should have known better.

  The truck approaches the pond, and I make a split second decision and slam the brakes to turn in.

  “Whoa,” Celia squeaks, clutching the “oh shit” handle.

  “Sorry, I’m not trying to kill us, but I thought we’d make a pit stop. You game?”

  She looks out the window at the pond and turns back with a huge smile. “Sure.”

  After helping her out of the truck, I grab a blanket I have stashed in the back seat. I smell the honeysuckle bush before I see it, and it reminds me of her. I walk over and snap a flower, then slide it behind her ear.

  “Perfect,” I say as her shiny blue eyes melt just a bit more. I tug her hand, pulling her with me. “Come on.”

  She peers off the wharf into the tiny boat and looks back at me with wide eyes. “You never said anything about a boat.”

  I roll my eyes and step into the boat, tossing the blanket at my feet. I outstretch my hand and give her my most charming smile. “Live a little, my beautiful fairy. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “Oh really? You’re the reason I’m afraid. No way a guy your size should be in a boat this tiny. We’ll sink for sure!” She crosses her arms with a huff and gives me a skeptical look.

  “Celia, I fish in this boat every Saturday. Trust me,” I say as I reach for her again. This time, she reluctantly takes my hand and carefully steps into the boat.

  Once I have her settled on one of the tiny benches, I start the motor and putter out to the center of the pond. The only sounds are the chirping crickets, the croaking frogs, and the water lapping the sides of the boat. After spreading the blanket out on the bottom of the boat, I settle in and tug Celia to join me. I sit her between my legs, her back to my front, and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my chest. A long, relaxed sigh releases from her lips as her head falls back onto my chest.

  “You have the best ideas, Cain,” she whispers.

  “That’s a fact.” She chuckles lightly at my response, and we both settle into the silence while we stargaze. Everything is amplified out here, away from the city. The sky is blacker, the stars are brighter, the words we whisper seem to hold more meaning.

  “He thinks I’m his son, my mom’s brother,” I say, breaking the silence.

  “What?” Celia shifts to see my face.

  “Tucker. He was my mom’s brother. He died in a car accident before I was born. It was a tough time for everyone, from what I’ve been told. Sarge took it especially hard.”

  “That’s terrible, Cain. I’m sorry your family had to go through that,” she says.

  “Yeah, me too. Anyway, I hold a small resemblance to Tucker, so he gets confused.”

  “When was he diagnosed?”

  “Gosh,” I say, blowing out a breath, thinking back to the beginning, when I wasn’t even aware of what was going on. I was just a kid. “It’s been over ten years now. We moved home because Granny started seeing signs. Missed payments, lapsed permits, things she could no longer attribute to simple forgetfulness. Mo got him in to see the best neurologist in Shreveport, and he confirmed what they already knew. Sarge was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.

  “Mom took over the books for his rental properties, and, as I got older, I’ve taken on more and more responsibility. I pretty much run everything now, with the help of my cousin, Will. He’s still in college, but we’ll run the business together.”

  I still remember the first time I saw Sarge lash out at Mom. The more she tried to explain things to him, the more agitated he got. After getting right in her face and yelling, he threw the papers in the air and stormed out of the house. I’d never in my life seen him act that way. Unfortunately, it’s become all too common as time goes on.

  “That has to be hard for your family,” Celia says as her fingers run absentmindedly through my hair.

  “The worst part of it is, I don’t recognize him anymore. He’s not the man who helped raise me. Sarge has always been a hard ass, but he was a fair man. He took on the role of father figure in
my life; he taught me what it means to be a man.” I shake my head and think of all that’s happened in the last decade. “His personality has changed so much. He’s become rigid and unwavering—cruel even. Do you know Mo can’t even be around him anymore? He tells her she’s going to hell for her ‘deviant lifestyle.’ The Sarge I know would never say things like that. He’s always loved Mo.”

  “I wonder where that’s coming from; I mean, why he all of a sudden has a problem with their relationship,” Celia mumbles, wondering aloud.

  “Mom says he had a hard time accepting the relationship in the beginning, but he loves her, and he grew to love Mo. I guess he’s pulling from old beliefs, I don’t know. He’s said some hateful things to Mom, too, but it’s been a lot less common now that Mo doesn’t come around. I guess it’s out of sight, out of mind.”

  “I know it’s hard for you to accept the man he is today. But I want you to know I saw a lot of the man who raised you tonight. I can see why you love and respect him. He’s still there, he’s just harder to see.”

  I close my eyes and let her words settle within me. I’m not sure why, but it brings me comfort. Maybe it’s nice to know parts of him, the great parts of him, are still discernable.

  “With every day that passes, he slips further away. I want to spend as much time with him as I can, and at the same time, watching his mind deteriorate is killing me. Watching someone I love slowly disappear before my eyes is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Yes,” she whispers softly. “Yes, it is.”

  Celia faces me, sitting on her knees, her hands on my cheeks. Her thumb rubs back and forth across my stubble, as her eyes stay trained on my lips.

  “I’m sorry for all of this heavy shit. I wanted tonight to be fun, but that’s not how it turned out, did it?” I squeeze her waist gently and rest my forehead to hers.

  “There were parts of tonight that were fun. But even better, tonight was real. I love being real with you, Cain.”

  Before I can answer, her fingers tighten, pressing into my skin, pulling me closer. When her lips touch mine, it feels like victory. She sucks in a ragged breath as she bites down on my bottom lip. Her teeth ignite me. Her lips taunt me. Her tongue slides against mine and awakens my ever-present hunger. Her body inches closer, and I pull her to me, pressing her into my cock. I want her to know what she does to me—how fucking hard she makes me.

  Her whimper turns into a faint giggle. “Well, that feels real. So very real,” she whispers as she pushes her hot, little body into mine.

  “See what you do to me?” I drop my head into the crook of her neck, the hint of honeysuckle surrounding me.

  The sky rumbles and drops of water splash on the back of my neck. I look up to the sky moments before it opens up, showering us with sheets of rain.

  Celia screeches and covers her head, as if her tiny hands will shield her from the torrential downpour. “Hurry, Cain, we’re getting soaked!”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “No worries. Cheap sugar doesn’t melt, darlin’.”

  Celia drops her hands and stares at me in disbelief. “Did you just call me cheap?” She hears a rumble of thunder and throws her hands back over her drenched head. “Shit, whatever, just hurry!”

  I start the boat, chuckling to myself the entire time, and drive us back to the wharf. I slowly and carefully help her out of the boat before tying it up and meeting her at the truck, where she’s squealing and doing the pee-pee dance.

  “You’re killing me, Cain Bennett! Hurry up,” she squeaks, hopping from one foot to the other.

  Once we’re both safely inside the truck, I grab her by the waist and slide her across the slippery seat until we’re face to face. I gently swipe my tongue across her mouth, licking the rain from her lips. “I don’t know what you’re fussing over. I like you wet.”

  My words shift the mood back where I want it, and we’re a tangle of tongues, teeth, and lips once again. It’s taking all of my willpower not to peel off each layer, unwrap the present that is Celia, and bury myself deep inside of her. But I don’t think Celia’s a pickup truck lay type of girl … well, at least not for the first go-round.

  Her lips leave mine, and I grunt at the loss.

  “Cain … Cain?” she whispers as she dodges my advance, much to my irritation.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Let’s go home,” she says. “I want you to take me home.”

  She gives me a knowing look. At least I think I know that look. Fuck, she means what I think she means, right? My heart beating out of my chest and my dick hard enough to sculpt concrete have my mind fuzzy.

  “Wait, do you mean ‘take you home’ like take … you … home?” I waggle my eyebrows and widen my eyes for emphasis, hoping she gets what I mean.

  “Cain?”

  “Yeah?” I ask, feeling her hand lightly graze my thigh as she moves, up, up, up and wraps her fingers around my jean-covered cock.

  “Start the truck.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Say You Love Me” by Jessie Ware

  Present Day

  I TURN OFF the truck ignition, completely clueless as to how we actually made it to her house. My foot stayed firmly jammed onto the gas pedal as she continued to stroke me through my jeans. When the engine dies, the cab is eerily quiet, other than the constant tapping of raindrops hitting the metal roof.

  Celia watches the rain through the windshield and jolts at the sound of lightning. She lays her head on my shoulder and sighs. “Grams always said thunderstorms are the heavens weeping.”

  Her voice is sad, reflective. Gone is the playful girl from just moments ago. I stroke her hair and lace my fingers through hers.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think we need a good storm every once in a while. Maybe the heavens aren’t weeping—maybe storms are the angels washing it all away.”

  She lifts up and meets my eyes. “Washing what away?”

  “The pain.” I lick her neck before nipping her softly with my teeth. I love the way her pulse dances under my tongue. “The regret.” My lips brush over her jaw, and I run my thumb over the dampened skin. “The sorrow,” I say, before pressing my lips to hers and sucking her bottom lip. She moves to deepen the kiss, and she whimpers when I deny her. I move closer, inhaling the scent of honeysuckles and raindrops.

  “Let me wash it all away, Celia.”

  I’m overcome with how right this feels. Everything before this—every kiss, date, girl, all of it—was counterfeit, a cheap imitation. I run my tongue over the ridge of her earlobe.

  “Yes.”

  I move back to meet her eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, sliding her hands underneath my rain-soaked shirt and dusting her fingertips across my stomach.

  I can’t help but grin as I turn off the ignition and steal another kiss. “Again.”

  “Yes.” She licks my upper lip. “Yes.” She whimpers as my thumb rolls over her hard nipple. “Yes, yes, yes.” She grips my cock and runs her thumb lightly over the tip.

  And with that one touch, my restraint is gone. I swing open the truck door and drag her with me into the pouring rain. The splash of the raindrops nearly drowns out her giggles as I throw her over my shoulder and spank her ass. After taking entirely too much time digging through her purse for the keys and unlocking the door, I lower her to her feet and shut the door.

  Silence hangs heavy in the air as we stare hungrily at each other. A roll of thunder rumbles above us. I want to live a lifetime in this moment—these precious seconds between anticipation and ecstasy. I watch Celia, clothes plastered to her tiny frame, her trembling hands curling around her neck, hunger mirrored in her eyes, and I know this is only the beginning.

  “C’mere,” I say, my voice raspy with need.

  She toes off her girly shoes and walks toward the hallway. She looks at me over her shoulder and smiles.

  “Maybe you should follow me.” Her words are sultry and sweet at the same time … perfectly
Celia.

  I lose my shoes and socks at the door and unbutton my shirt when I see her sweater hit the floor. I see a furball of orange shoot across the living room and under the couch. That’s a good place for Eddie to be, because shit’s about to get R-rated up in here, if I have anything to do with it. I wouldn’t want to offend her virgin kitten eyes, old soul or not.

  She turns to me when we enter her bedroom, the strap of her camisole dangling off her shoulder. Her hands curl around the bottom of her shirt, but I stop her before she pulls it over her head.

  “I want to undress you.” She releases her shirt and steps back, looking me up and down. I raise my eyebrow in question and smile. “What?”

  “I’ve never seen you without your shirt,” she says, licking her lips hungrily. “You’re bigger than I imagined … your chest, your arms.”

  “Better to hold you with, my dear,” I say with a chuckle as I slowly pull her shirt over her head. I trace the black lace trim of her bra with the pads of my fingers and watch goose bumps erupt in my path. I tear my eyes away and smile at her. “Let’s keep up that line of thinking when I lose the jeans. Okay, Tink?”

  She giggles and shakes her head at me. She traces her finger just underneath my waistband before curling her finger into my belt loop and pulling me closer. “Oh, I already know what I’m in for when you lose the jeans. Maybe I haven’t seen it, but I’ve felt it. I’m pretty sure my ass still has bruises.”

  “Yeah, it does,” I say, pulling up her skirt and grabbing possessively. With one swift pull, the skirt puddles at her feet.

  I slide the honeysuckle out from behind her ear. It’s damp with rain, the petals heavy with the weight. I run the wet petals down her neck, over the swell of her tits, down her belly button to the rim of her panties. Her eyes close and her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip. “Please,” she whispers breathlessly.

  “Up on the bed, darlin’. All the way back.”

  I stand at the foot of the bed and watch as she pushes back until her head hits the pillows. I toss the flower on the floor, unable to think of anything but her. She looks a little unsure of herself, her knees glued together and her hands fidgeting at her side.