by Bijou Hunter
One big step for Soso is taking me out to eat in Hickory Creek rather than hiding in White Horse. People notice us. I catch them staring. Their existence means nothing to me, and I can’t tell if they mean anything to her. Soso pretends not to notice. Able to read her body language, I’m not fooled by Soso’s cool demeanor. She hates feeling on display.
Her gaze is always searching for trouble, meaning Griff. She gets tense when Harleys ride by. Her safe hometown is no longer so serene.
Conroe doesn’t sound like it’s running smoothly either. Mom calls a dozen times a day. Butch eventually texts too. Nothing about Sissy or our fight. He just asks when I’m returning. Butch wouldn’t contact me if he weren’t agitated.
I finally break down and call Mom on Sunday when she claims my uncle Cooper is out to get her.
“Hey, Mom. How are you?” I ask while Soso works in the backyard on her garden.
“Thank the Lord, my boy is safe,” she says, faking a vulnerability I’m not buying. “Where are you, baby?”
“In America.”
“Did I not love you enough?” she demands, dropping on a dime her soft mommy persona. “Is that why you’re fucking with me?”
“You loved me the exact right amount.”
“Then why are you pulling this game with me?” Mom asks, sounding brokenhearted now. “Why can’t I know where you are?”
I’m certain Audrey has told her pop where I am, meaning Cooper hasn’t shared this information with my mom. Typical Johansson sibling rivalry crap.
“If you know where I am, you might show up and lecture me.”
“Ah, that means you’re close enough for me to show up,” Mom mutters before hissing the words, “If you’re hiding in Conroe, I’m kicking your ass.”
Laughing, I can’t deny missing her bitchiness. “I’m not in Kentucky.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Soon.”
“Your brother is very sorry he hurt your heart.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure he used those exact words too.”
“He’s been seduced by the Mullen hussy.”
“Sissy doesn’t know how to seduce anyone,” I say, feeling like my time with Butch’s girl was a million years ago.
“Don’t be naïve.”
“You aren’t mean to Sissy, are you?”
“Of course not. I’m a fucking saint.”
“Good. Butch needs someone who can put up with his shit.”
“He’s a saint too.”
Before I can push the subject, Soso asks if she can turn on her New Age music. Mom’s mommy-senses kick into gear.
“Who’s your hussy?”
“A goddess.”
“A woman from Conroe?”
“I’m not in Conroe, remember?”
“Maybe you had a whore here and you two ran off.”
“But I was dating Sissy before I left.”
“Well, maybe you’re a whore too. So many fucking whores,” Mom grumbles.
“She’s someone I met here.”
“Where?”
“In the place I am.”
“Where?”
“That’s not going to work.”
“I miss you, honey,” Mom says tenderly.
“That’s not going to work either.”
“Who’s the hussy?”
“I’ll tell you when I get back to town.”
“And when will that be?”
“Soon.”
“Is this whore keeping you captive? Signal me if you need saving.”
“How would you save me if you don’t know where I am?”
“I’ll find you, Nikolas Davies. My uterus will locate you and draw me to your location.”
Despite knowing Mom isn’t kidding, her words still make me laugh. “I wanted you to know I’m safe, and I’ll be home soon.”
“I want you home now.”
“I need a little more time.”
“Why? Butch is sorry. He told me this morning,” she says and adds, “While he was crying.”
“Yeah, you didn’t really sell that lie.”
“He just isn’t a crier,” she says, sighing. “Buzz cried, though. He misses you so much.”
“That I believe.”
“We all miss you.”
“I’ll be home soon.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Ugh, you’re all whores. It’s this family. Pop and Mom were great, but then it all went to shit with your uncles. I’m not a huge fan of your aunt right now either. She’s trying to make me fat.”
“I love you.”
Mom sighs again, and I feel her anger deflate. “Come home, baby. Even if you have to bring a skank with you. I just miss my boy.”
“Soon. I promise.”
Hanging up with Mom, I’m torn. Conroe needs me back, but I can’t take Soso from her home yet. She isn’t ready to willingly leave with me, and forcing her to go isn’t an option. Not while her family still thinks I’m a fling.
There’s too much hanging in the air, but something will have to give soon.
THE BOHEMIAN
Every morning, I wake up terrified today is when Bubba will leave Hickory Creek. Then I roll over to find him watching me—the guy runs on so little sleep—and he smiles in a way that makes the fear bearable.
Right this very second, we’re happy. Nothing else matters. Tomorrow might suck. The next day might break my heart, but for this minute—hour, day, week—we’re happy.
Sharing a space with Bubba is so different from how life was with Griff. My ex never stayed over for more than a night, but we were always on each other’s nerves. Griff seemed restless, bored maybe, but when I tried to pull away and give him space, he’d hold me tighter. He was at his most adoring when I had one foot out the door.
With Bubba, I see how relaxed life should be. Not that we don’t get on each other’s nerves, of course. It’s all so new. The house is small. And there’s no privacy. But when we snap at each other, the tension quickly shifts into either sex or laughter. His angry face cracks me up, and my pissed expression makes him super horny.
Best of all, when the tension is over, it’s just gone. Nothing hangs in the air. The oppressive, unspoken strain that clung to Griff and me doesn’t exist in my relationship with Bubba.
But my ex-boyfriend isn’t gone from my life. Dad talked to him man-to-man. He also threatened to show the surveillance video to the rest of the club to embarrass him. Griff agreed to stay away from me.
Yet I’m not particularly surprised to spot him climbing out of a truck parked in front of my house. Out of habit, I freeze at the sight of him. The fear of running into him often lingers in the back of my mind. Now he’s back at my house.
Behind me, Bubba warms a TV dinner to hold off starvation until dinner. We spent the afternoon working in the backyard, followed by garden sex, and then the most awkward shower foreplay imaginable—my bathtub is NOT built for two—and finally a quickie in bed to finish off what we started under the water.
Hearing the truck park outside, Bubba glances up, but I don’t react to his silent question. Instead, I peek out from the curtains to find Griff carrying something behind him as he walks to the porch.
“My mom texted to say worrying over me has given her malaria,” Bubba says, snickering. “I’ll send her ‘get well’ flowers.”
I don’t know what to do. Do I sic Bubba on Griff? Or not answer the door he’s about to knock on? Perhaps open it while pointing my gun?
Then before I can decide, I hear the distinctive song of my girls.
Heart pounding, I look back outside and spot a small birdcage behind Griff’s back. I take a deep breath and demand I remain calm.
I can’t go off half-cocked and get my birds killed. No ego right now. I need to keep my cool. Griff isn’t a stranger. I know how to talk to him. My anger can stuff it until I get my birds to safety.
Reaching for Bubba, I force him to look me in the eyes. “Remember when I told you to bac
k away from Grinch, and you obeyed me without asking a million questions?”
“Sure,” he mutters, narrowing his gaze and focusing on the knock on the door.
“This is the same situation, Nikolas Davies. You must trust me. Obey me too. Mainly stay the fuck in here while I deal with Griff.”
“No—”
I snap my fingers at Bubba and point at the ground. “Stay.”
“I’m not your fucking dog.”
“Prove you’re smarter than Freki who refuses to stay when I tell him.”
Bubba grits his teeth and shakes his head and maybe stomps his feet. Ignoring his momentary irritation, I focus on my long-term goal. Finally, I open the door just enough to slide through without revealing who else is inside.
Two days ago, Bubba moved his Harley to the backyard after I got paranoid about someone fucking with it. I’d guess that’s why Griff feels it’s safe to stop by. He believes I’m alone. I want him to keep thinking that.
Griff holds the birdcage behind him as he stands straighter at the sight of me.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying not to sound too friendly or particularly bitchy.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
My gaze remains on his still bruised face rather than focusing on the birdcage. I know it’s there. He knows I know. Yet we dance around the obvious.
“About what?” I ask.
“I know I fucked up things between us. I should have listened more. Been a better man for you. I didn’t show you how much you mean to me. How much I love you.”
A worried lump sits at the back of my throat. I’m so sick of talking about us. If he didn’t have my birds, I’d flip him off and run back inside.
But he does have them.
Bjork and Ula chatter to each other in the cage. The sound is like magic. I’d accepted they were dead, gone forever. Now I have them within reach, but Griff is the kind of man who’d bring them here only to turn around and kill them as revenge.
Icy calm, I say, “We both made mistakes.”
Griff almost smiles at my answer. He’s convinced if I just listen that he can talk me into loving him again. During our time together, I did a lot of stuff I didn’t want to do because he kept talking, nagging, bitching, whining, whatever it took to wear me down.
Now, he sees an opening to do it again.
“I was never going to hurt Freki.”
“I think I knew that,” I say and then add since I sound too soft to be believable, “But you scared me that day.”
“I know. I got jealous. Wouldn’t you be jealous if I was with someone else?”
Without a doubt, Griff has fucked plenty of women since we broke up. I always assumed he had a few on the side when we were dating too. No way was I enough for him.
But I only nod because I want my birds back. That’s how Griff always won. Wanting to sleep, I’d agree to sex to shut him up. If I wanted to go somewhere, I relented to whatever stupid thing he wanted. I backed down over and over. Until one day, I just didn’t. I’m sure for Griff—whose world revolves around himself—that my change in behavior must have come as quite a shock. In his mind, I was irrational. He probably convinced plenty of the club guys and their old ladies of the same thing. I didn’t know what I was missing. He just needed another chance. I was too young to know what I gave up. Blah, blah, blah.
Now I stand in front of him, backing down to his will again. The tension around his jaw and shoulders ease. He even smiles.
“I wanted to do something for you to show I was sorry.”
I swallow hard, begging Bubba not to come outside just yet. I can feel him watching us from behind the curtains, or maybe he’s spying on the security camera. I catch Griff looking at the window more than once. Please, Bubba, behave...
“I asked around to see if anyone had found any birds a few months back. See, I thought that since they were domesticated that someone might have found them and taken them in as pets.”
“That makes sense,” I lie, wondering where the fuck my birds have been.
“This lady got back to me about two birds she found in her yard.”
I could tear apart his stupid-ass story so quickly, but my ego is on sleep mode. I just want my girls back safe and sound. They’re gurgling and chirping behind him. They’re within reach.
“Those are my birds?” I ask like an idiot. “I mean, Bjork and Ula? I thought maybe you brought me new ones, but those are my actual girls?”
Griff sees my reaction and smiles in that way I used to find endearing. He can be so handsome and likable when he wants. Right now, he really, really hopes to charm the hell out of me. That way, I’ll dump Kentucky and fuck him again. In his mind, my pussy is within reach.
“Can I see them?” I ask in a tender voice I’m not faking. The reality of my girls being alive hits me hard, and tears well up in my eyes.
Griff’s loving my reaction. He probably enjoyed the tears I shed when they went missing too. The guy’s a dick, but right now, I will kiss his whiny ass to get my birds safely into the house.
Gesturing for me to come closer to them, Griff basks in my tears and smiles. When I say hello to the girls, and they hear their names, they dance around. I instantly descend into laughing sobs. I dreamed they were alive and would show up at the back porch. I couldn’t understand why they’d leave. That’s why I had to accept they were dead.
And now they’re singing to me!
“The lady took good care of them,” Griff says, stroking my head as I kneel down. “They look healthy, don’t they?”
“They’re beautiful.”
My problem is how do I get them into the house without him freaking out? Birds can’t handle stress, and I have no idea where they’ve been. While they’re singing now, Griff could easily fuck up their cage before I have a chance to protect them.
Remaining calm, I stand up and stare into his blue eyes. I pretend I’m basking in the beauty of my hunky puppy. My heartbeat calms, and I wear a relaxed smile.
“You can’t know how much this means to me,” I whisper, wiping my wet cheeks. “There are no words.”
Griff reaches for my face, but I pretend to notice something behind him. “Is that a hawk?”
“What?” he asks, frowning in the direction I pretend to see the threat.
“There’s a nest around here. Let me stick the birds inside to be safe,” I say, brushing my hand against his.
Griff is so accustomed to getting his way with women that he doesn’t even consider that I’m playing him. I’m sure Bubba suffers from the same blindness. Gorgeous men—especially dangerous ones—lose sight of other people.
I don’t even look into the house when I shuffle the birds to safety. Watching Griff, I pretend I can’t take my eyes off him. It works, and I shut the door behind me.
Now what?
“You did a good thing today, Griff,” I say as his hand again reaches for me.
“I just need another chance to make you happy.”
“Let’s get together for coffee tomorrow and talk,” I say, needing him to leave.
His jaw clenches while his fingers dig into my loose hair. “Why can’t we have coffee now?”
I realize this situation is about to get messy since there’s no way I can invite Griff into the house, and there’s no way Bubba will let me leave with the douchebag.
Before I can panic, the door opens, and Griff steps back, ready for a fight.
“Cool move with the birds, dude,” Bubba says, walking onto the porch.
I notice two things. One, there’s a pistol shoved into the front of Bubba’s jeans, opening up the possibility of a mishap that’ll cause him to lose a testicle. Two, he took off his shirt before exiting the house.
Griff’s gaze is so locked on his competition that he takes a minute to realize he’s lost his bargaining chip now that the birds are inside. Once he accepts that he’s been duped, I see his expression shift from anger to something uglier.
“Thank you for finding them, Griff,” I s
ay with as much heartfelt emotion as I can fake. “It means so much.”
“Sure, it does, bitch.”
Hearing that word directed at me, Bubba makes a move for Griff. I step between them and whisper to my hunky puppy, “Let’s go inside.”
My current man glares over my head at my former man. Both want a third matchup while my goal is to keep everyone in one piece. Bubba’s poor face has been battered enough.
“I’ll be sure to let my dad know how you found the girls,” I tell Griff despite him being well past buying my bullshit.
“You deserve each other,” he hisses and storms off to his truck.
Bubba wraps his arms around me and sighs. “He isn’t wrong. My mom always told me I was a superstar and look at who I ended up with.”
“You and your fucking mom,” I grumble, pushing him into the house where he can stop showing off.
I close the door, lock it, and exhale unsteadily. Freki sits next to the cage, smelling the birds who talk to each other. I’m still so afraid something bad will happen that I can barely catch my breath.
Then seeing Bubba standing there, I burst into laughter. “You took off your fucking shirt? What’s wrong with you?”
“If you’ve got it, flaunt it, babe,” he says, lifting his arms and proudly spinning around.
“Did your mom tell you that?”
“I know you worry she won’t like you but don’t stress, Soso,” he says, kissing my head. “She doesn’t like any women I bang.”
Poking him in the ribs, I ignore his laughter. “I fucked nineteen men.”
Bubba’s amusement ends immediately. “I’ll need their names and addresses.”
“For what?” I ask, kneeling down to check my birds.
“I’m making a list. Griff’s on the top, but those other guys are on it too.”
“Might have been closer to thirty, now that I think about it.”
“Why are you trying to make me cry?” he asks, sitting down next to the cage and looking at my birds.
Smiling, I stroke his jaw. “It might have been less than nineteen.”
“Better.”
“How many women were you with again? I forget the number.”
“Only the one before you. I think she taught me well, but I don’t remember her name.”
