by Jen Doyle
Then the implication of what she’d just said hit him.
He was the reason she had gone out to the shed? That she’d had to actually fight off three guys no matter how fucking stupid and useless they were? That she’d been made to feel so humiliated she’d kept it inside for all of these yea—
“Don’t you dare,” she said, pulling away from him. “I don’t want you to feel guilty or that there was something you could’ve done. I don’t need that from you. I don’t want that from you. If I did I would have told you in the first place.”
Shit.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. No wonder she’d kept that from him all this time. Fuck. If it were him, he probably wouldn’t have kept him around. “Well, I’m not sure why you didn’t hand me my walking papers. Because...”
Except then she got angry. “Don’t you get it?” She jabbed him in the chest. “You make me happy, Deke,” she said, sounding anything but. “You and your happy-go-lucky self.”
“Fitz...”
“No,” she snapped. “That’s all I want from you. That’s all I need from you. And what happened at the creek was... Perfect. It was perfect. And I’d really like to put this whole thing to bed.” Her cheeks turned bright red. “I mean, um, stop talking about it. As in, never again.”
“Wait...” Which part—him and his happy-go-lucky self or the sex part? Because they were two very different things. Plus... “How did we get to the ‘where do we go from here’ talk?”
Deke was still firmly in the WTF part of the conversation, truth be told.
“I can’t lose you, Deke,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t survive that. You mean too much to me. I love you too much.”
Okay. Hold the fuck on for a minute. “So you’re saying you don’t want us to sleep together again no matter how amazing it was?” Which, honestly, was usually his line but he’d never gotten the chance to get there. Obviously. And anyway, it had never been that amazing before so it had never been a consideration.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she answered, “it’s that I can’t.”
“Because you love me too much.” He repeated, just to be clear.
“Exactly.”
Well...huh. “That’s fucked up.”
She didn’t deny it. But she also didn’t say anything like, Just kidding, Deke. I so totally want to do it again. Like maybe right now. Instead she pulled herself away again, retreating into herself. “So, well, we had the talk. By your logic, that means it isn’t going to be awkward, right?” she asked.
He turned to look at her. “If I say yes, does that mean you’ll sleep with me again?”
She gave a little giggle. Which was beyond cute, but also not at all the reaction he was looking for. He was kind of serious. Then she jumped out of the car. “I do love you, Deke.”
She surged forward, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then got herself out of his reach and headed up the path to the front door.
Well, fuck.
I’ve got nothing, the devil said.
The angel just shook his head.
And Jeremy Renner was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Fifteen
Late Saturday morning, with Lola at work and Little League season over, Fitz brought the boys over to Mr. and Mrs. Deacon’s house. She wasn’t sure if Deke would be there. Wasn’t sure she wanted him to be.
“Angelica!” Mr. Deacon called over the rose bushes.
She smiled as she turned to him. He was one of the few people in town she’d never felt...less...around. Like she needed to make some kind of amends. “You can call me Fitz, Mr. Deacon.”
“And you can call me Hank.” He laughed.
It was one of their things. He did call her by her nickname occasionally, usually when they were at the bar and there were tons of other people around. But, yes, he was one of the few, maybe the only, who regularly called her by her given name.
She loved him for it.
“Are you here to pick up Deke?” he asked, wiping the dirt off his hands and coming over to help her unbuckle the boys from their seats.
There was something in his voice that made her look up sharply. He was even smiling in a funny way. “Um, no,” she said. “Is he here?” And then, because that might have sounded a little too eager, she added, “Did he need a ride somewhere?”
“I thought he said something about meeting up with you today,” Mr. Deacon said as he lifted James up onto his shoulders. “Must have gotten that wrong.”
“Must have,” Fitz murmured, watching as he took Luke’s hand while Emmet ran up the front walk to the house. “Have fun, boys!”
“We will,” Mr. Deacon answered with the Deacon trademark grin.
Since Fitz’s car wasn’t big enough for all three car seats, she had to exchange Lola’s car for her own before heading out for her weekly trip to the cemetery, which left her far too much time to think about Deke.
Things with him had been both normal and strange since Wednesday. Or rather, so normal it had been completely strange. Also, to be honest, a little disconcerting. Yes, she’d been worried it would be awkward. And, yes, she’d been the one to officially put it to rest, so she didn’t expect him to fall at her feet. But at the same time, she’d never dreamed sex could be like that. She’d had sex only a few times before, and it had been messy and uncomfortable and not nearly as much fun as she could have had on her own. Not once had any walls been shattered. But Deke had pretty much rocked her world, and now she was wishing for something to make it feel real, even if awkwardly so.
She’d even begun to think maybe it had been a dream. She’d had dinner in the bar that very night and he’d smiled and had her Diet Coke ready for her, exactly like he always did. Lunch the next day had been the same. Trivia night on Thursday, lunch on Friday, and early pre-rush dinner with Lola and the kids—same, same, same. The only thing grounding her in the reality of it all was that he’d glance her way occasionally with a look in his eyes that incinerated her. And the trivia questions he’d done the other night had been so bad Wash had to come up with some right on the spot and Deke hadn’t even cared. Oh, and that, unlike the usual Deke-mode, he’d barely even smiled at any of the women in the bar. He most certainly wasn’t flirting with them.
It wasn’t like Fitz wanted him to flirt. Not by any means. It was just all kind of Twilight Zone.
As she drove out Highway 210, she tried to think about something else. Anything else. She failed miserably. It wasn’t just the sex. It was all the other things. How caring he was, how tenacious. Even his protective streak.
Well, no. That she could do without.
She settled into the drive, forcing herself to think about the meeting Doug was setting up with Sam in San Francisco during All-Star weekend. Everything was all very hush hush, and Doug was warning her not to get her hopes up because Sam had made clear they weren’t officially at the interview stage. Which was absolutely fine with Fitz. She knew everyone would be supportive, but she also knew they would be a little...sad. She couldn’t even imagine what Deke would say now that they’d, well, gotten closer than before. But given how unhappy he’d been about something out of her past, she had absolutely no interest in having him dissect her future, too. Plus, she didn’t know if anything would come of it. She’d never even had a job interview before. Maybe she’d blow it entirely.
Okay. She was pretty sure that wasn’t the case. And she hoped she wouldn’t, because the idea of finally being free of this feeling of everyone always watching just wasn’t going away. But thinking about it too much made her stomach turn over.
It’s called avoidance, she could hear one of her old therapists say. Self-sabotage.
It was also called survival as far as Fitz was concerned.
Half an hour later, the gates of the cemetery came into view. So maybe i
t was a little strange that she spent Saturday afternoons sitting in a folding chair at a cemetery talking to her dead parents. Maybe it was stranger still to bring along her knitting, a thermos of lemonade and snacks, or that she’d never mentioned to a living soul that she even came out here. Still, she was dealing with it, right? Acknowledging that although there was still some anger and bitterness involved, she loved her parents—both of them—and they’d come to an understanding of sorts.
See, Mr. Therapist? There had been so many she couldn’t remember this one’s name. Not avoiding. Talking to my dead parents about mutual post-mortem understandings, but not avoiding. Not even a little bit.
She was so involved in the conversation in her head she’d actually driven past the truck on the side of the road and was turning into the gates before realizing it had the Deacon’s logo on the side. She slammed on her brakes, staring into the rearview mirror as she watched Deke get out and walk up to her car.
She turned to him and...
Nope. She was literally speechless.
He crouched down next to her open window. “You need me to leave?”
Uh... What?
Shaking her head, she managed, “No.”
A smile broke over his face and he gently squeezed her shoulder. Then he came around the front of her car and climbed in.
Driving down the narrow lanes, she took a few moments to process what had just happened. He couldn’t have followed her, because he’d already been parked at the gates before she was within sight. With every intention of having a coherent conversation once she came to a stop, all she managed was, “What...? How...?”
It didn’t help that unlike the cab of his truck or even his Jeep, her car was small enough that her arm brushed up against his on the center console. She yanked it away as he turned to her.
He didn’t say anything right away. He just sat there, looking at her for a minute before looking out the window. “I don’t like that you’ve had to do this alone all this time.”
She supposed it shouldn’t have surprised her. One of the things she’d come to realize recently about Deke was, when it came to things that mattered to him he didn’t hold back. And, yes, she’d known for years she was one of those things.
Entirely unexpected tears sprang to her eyes. Blinking them away, she answered, “Maybe I like doing this alone.” Which wasn’t necessarily true, but it had never occurred to her to do anything different. Her parents were a sore subject for too many of the people she cared about.
“Okay, Angel,” he said, that soft, low voice working its way into her consciousness. “If you truly want to be alone right now, all you need to do is tell me.”
She wanted to be okay with being alone. Wished it with all her might. But to have him sitting there with her...it made her heart feel like it was bursting in a way she didn’t totally understand. She couldn’t look him in the eye—couldn’t let him see that side of her—but she shook her head. “No.” After a few moments of silence, she asked, “How did you know where to find me?”
“I asked Mama Gin.”
Her head whipped around. “What?”
Mama Gin knew Fitz was here?
He cocked his head and, looking at her like she was crazy, repeated himself. “I asked Mama Gin. Why?”
Why? Was he serious? “Because this is my parents’ grave. You know, the guy who cheated on her and left her with three kids to raise on her own—and the woman he did it with.”
After a beat of silence, Deke said, “And?”
For heaven’s sake. “And it’s a total insult to ask her about them.” The man had to realize that.
But he didn’t, clearly. In fact, he just outright laughed. “It’s not an insult. They’re your parents. You loved them. And she loves you. Plus, she’s an adult and you’re her kid. Of course she doesn’t mind.”
Now it was Fitz’s turn to stare. Then she leaned forward, almost close enough to touch him. Close enough for sure to jab him in the arm. “It is not okay to talk to Mama Gin about my parents.” She wasn’t even going to touch on the part about her only being Mama Gin’s “kid” because the woman was too good of a person to let her ex-husband’s bastard child stay in the foster system.
Not that Fitz had any issues surrounding that.
“Right,” he said, still chuckling as she pulled back. Except then he got serious; his face may even have gone a little pale. “Please tell me you haven’t gone your whole life without talking to Mama Gin about your dad.”
Well, of course when he put it like that it sounded ridiculous. But it wasn’t that simple. “He left them. He left her. Abandoned them for me. That was a horrible thing. I can’t just say, ‘Oh, can we have a quick chat about him? Maybe over tea?’”
In some kind of shock mode, he just stared at her for a second. Then said, “Of course you can. He’s your father.”
“No, I can’t.”
Deke leaned forward. “Fitz, your dad did whatever he did for whatever reasons he did it. No one expects you to answer for him. They certainly don’t expect you to atone for him.”
Had he not learned anything? “Of course they do. You lived it, too. You know the whole sordid story.” She wasn’t about to remind him Peggy had made her life a living hell precisely because of who Fitz’s dad was and what he’d done to Nate, Jules and Ella. Deke couldn’t be that obtuse. He seriously couldn’t be.
Obviously knowing what she was thinking, he glared at her. “Yeah. In high school.” He looked out at the gravestones as if expecting them to talk before scrubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus, Fitz. We also did drag races up Highway 69 with tractors. We were idiots. But people grow up.”
If he’d left it at that, it would have been one thing. Then his face changed, and as he looked at her, she could see the sadness come into his eyes even before he said, “That’s part of all this, isn’t it? Why you keep so much inside.”
Maybe they’d become closer lately with the recent heart-to-hearts. Maybe he’d seen a side of her no one else had. He was obviously one of very few men to have seen her naked. But, no, she was not having this conversation with him. He was not allowed to psychoanalyze her, look into all of the pieces of her past that had already been analyzed and fretted over and discussed by about a billion “specialists” for years on end. Not that she was going to say any of that to Deke, by any means. She’d dealt with the issues she was capable of dealing with. Case closed.
She flung open the door of her car and jumped out. Without even a glance back, she strode down the row of graves, dropped to the ground, then began pulling the dandelions from the base of her mother’s headstone.
It took a few minutes for her to calm down, but by the time she did, she realized she’d left both her hat and her thermos in the car. Although it was cooler than usual for June, the temperature was already pretty damn uncomfortable. Already well on her way to becoming overheated, she didn’t hear Deke come up behind her so much as realize he was there when her core body temperature rocketed from merely “hot” to “surface of the sun,” complete with flares shooting up in the most inappropriate of places, especially considering she was kneeling at her parents’ graves.
“I’m fine,” she said as calmly as she could manage, especially considering it was something he couldn’t seem to get through his head. “I’m not some sad little girl anymore.”
“Trust me,” he said, his low drawl pure liquid heat. “I am well aware you are one hundred percent woman.”
Trying to ignore the tingles running up and down her spine, all she managed in response was, “Hmph.”
He brought his arms across that amazing chest of his, six feet worth of solidly muscled sin standing over her and looking down. “I’m sorry. Was that awkward?”
It took everything she had to keep her response a cool, “I’m weeding my mother’s grave, Deke. What do you
think?”
He crouched down, giving her a close-up and personal view of denim-clad thighs and a hint of what lay between them. Damn him. And then, with a grin that indicated he’d seen exactly where her eyes had wandered, he said, “I think you’ve spent half your life keeping all this shit bottled up inside, and you don’t like me calling you on it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, straightening up to her knees. “Exactly what ‘shit’ do I have bottled up inside?”
“You really want to go there?” He held his hand up and started counting things off on his fingers. “One, your issues with Peggy—”
“To protect you.”
“Two, the entirely understandable fact that you still love your parents—”
“Because I’d get tarred and feathered if I brought up their names within county lines!”
“Three, the fact that you spend every Saturday afternoon visiting their graves.”
“Well... I...” she sputtered. And then, although it was the absolutely least mature thing in the world to do, she reached out and gave him a not-so-gentle shove and sent him sprawling onto his back. Then she made damn sure to turn her attention back to the dandelions so she wouldn’t give in to the temptation to crawl right up between his legs until her body was perfectly aligned with his.
Out of pure self-preservation, she didn’t look at him when she heard him move. Instead, she turned away a little more so she wouldn’t think too hard about the play of his muscles as he sat up, the way he’d felt beneath her when he’d done that very move in order to take her breast in his mouth.
“We’re not in county lines right now.”
Fitz jerked her head up. “What?”
With his elbows resting on his knees and him twisting a dandelion around his fingers, he looked up at her. “What were they like?”
Her mouth dropped open. She’d lived in Inspiration for seventeen years. It had been a minimum of ten since someone had asked her about her parents.
Then, as if he were entirely unaware he’d just shocked the living daylights out of her, he stretched out on his back, put his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles, looking up at the sky like he was daydreaming in some picture-perfect field full of flowers. “I never met your mom, of course. And I was young when your dad left town, but he and Mama Gin were really close with my parents, so I remember a little bit about him.” Then he closed his eyes and smiled. “Mostly that he liked practical jokes.”
