by Kim Law
Cal averted his eyes, but he kept pouring out bottles. He couldn’t sit around and do nothing any longer.
“Look at yourself, Rodney.”
His uncle paused, head still bent in the sink, and looked up at him. Confusion was clear on his face. “What?”
“You’re a drunk. And you’re finished living this life. I won’t stand by and do nothing anymore.”
“What are you talking about? I’m fine.” Rodney scooped another spoonful-sized amount from the sink.
“You’re not fine. Not even close. And you haven’t been for years.”
When Rodney started to argue once more, Cal leaned down to him. “You’re licking the sink to save a drop of beer,” he gritted out, and that finally seemed to get through to his uncle.
Rodney eyed the stainless-steel bowl of the sink, a drop of foam clinging to his lips, and Cal watched as the man’s shoulders drooped.
“You’re out of control.” Cal spoke more gently. “And you know it. You can’t do this to her anymore. She can’t lose a second son.” Or a third, Cal thought. “She’s your mother, Rodney, and she deserves better. You deserve better.
“There’s a rehab place on the way to see Granny,” Cal continued. He’d passed it multiple times a week for years, and it had never occurred to him that Rodney should go there. “You can check yourself into it, or I’m out. I won’t pick you up at the bars anymore. I won’t cover for you. I won’t keep you from killing yourself out on the roads.” He shook his head. “I won’t be a part of it at all.”
“So you’re giving me an ultimatum now.”
What Rodney didn’t say was Just like your father.
But he didn’t have to say the words for Cal to hear them, and Cal nodded. He was giving his uncle an ultimatum. Just as his father had done to him. “Always knew I was more like the old man than I wanted to be,” Cal said.
“You hate him for doing that to you.”
“I hate him for being an uncaring asshole. I hate him for not giving a shit that he knocked up my mother—and then caring even less when she died in childbirth. And if you really want to know how I feel, I even hate myself a little for not taking him up on his ultimatum.”
It had been simple. Go to the college of his father’s choosing, or get nothing from Neil Reynolds.
“I could have done better for myself,” Cal finished. He’d have hated himself, though. His father would have insisted he leave the area. Leave his grandmother. But he could have had options.
“So now you hate my company, too?”
He would have laughed at the question if the thought hadn’t been so sad. “No, Rodney. And it’s my company now, remember? I took it over because you were more concerned with drinking than running it. Of course I don’t hate it. I’m good at it. I’m proud to carry on the business that you started. But I shut down my options simply because my father gave me an either-or choice.”
How childish had that been? Kind of like making the decision to walk out on Jill the second she’d said it was her and Hollywood—or it was him and nothing.
As was his norm, he’d taken nothing.
“I also didn’t want to leave you,” he told his uncle. “I stayed for you, too.” He’d calmed down since coming into the house, and he didn’t want to leave Rodney thinking he hated him. “I couldn’t go off and leave Granny, and if I hadn’t been here for you . . . you might have killed yourself by now.”
He expected his uncle to argue the point, but the other man stayed quiet, and Cal could suddenly see the loneliness rooted inside Rodney. As if he had no one left in the world. Cal supposed three divorces, losing a company, and drinking a hell of a lot of beer would do that to a man.
“She misses you,” he told his uncle. Rodney hadn’t been to see his mother in months, because he couldn’t stay sober long enough.
“And I miss her.” Rodney suddenly broke. He collapsed to his knees, holding his head in his hands. “I want to do better,” he moaned out. “I’ve wanted to for years. I’ll try to quit again. Just help me.”
“I am helping you. I’m going to drive you to the rehab center.”
“But—”
“Haven’t you tried on your own enough?” Cal shook his head, and Rodney peered up at him. “No more trying. This time you do it. And you do it by us getting you the help you need.”
Rodney suddenly looked far older than his years. His cheeks were sunken in, his eyes held no warmth. And the man now crumpled on the floor in front of Cal seemed too frail to stand on his own. “But that kind of help takes money,” Rodney told him.
Cal nodded in understanding. “And you’ve drunk all of yours?”
At Rodney’s silence, Cal thought of his uncle’s other vice, and the full extent of the problem became clear.
“What you haven’t drunk, you’ve gambled away?”
“I gamble to try to win some of it back.”
“So you can drink more,” Cal accused.
Shame reeked from his uncle as strongly as the smell of beer. “I need help,” Rodney whispered brokenly.
He most certainly did.
“And I’m going to give it to you. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you before. Not in the right way. I’ll cover the cost of the rehab. For as long as you need.” Cal broke off and took in the kitchen before looking down the hall. He hated the thought of selling his granny’s home, but he suspected she would be okay with it. Rodney’s life was more important than sentimentality. “And if we need more money,” he told Rodney, “then we sell this house. You’re the priority now.”
Cal had the ranch. He’d move Rodney out there if he had to.
Tears streamed down the older man’s face.
“Do you want to go tonight or tomorrow morning?” Cal asked, his words gentle but blunt. He wouldn’t be swayed by the pain displayed before him.
“I think . . . maybe tonight.”
Cal was struck by the fear on his uncle’s face. He nodded. “I do, too. Go pack a bag. I’ll wait for you here.”
As his uncle disappeared up the stairs, Cal dropped into a chair at the table. Exhaustion weighed him down as he flattened a hand to the surface of the table and slid his palm over the twenty-four-year-old fir wood. He and his grandfather had made this table together when Cal had been seven.
“Sorry, Papaw,” he whispered. “I messed up.”
Noises sounded overhead. Rodney walking around, a TV on that Cal hadn’t been aware of before now, and Cal thought about the woman at the Cadillac House who spent all her time in the upstairs room. She’d been waiting in that house for years, unable to move on. Just as he’d been waiting here for his uncle to get his shit together.
Or as he’d been waiting for Jill to come home.
But then, Jill had been home for five years, and he’d done nothing about that, either.
Lily strolled into the room, tail held high, and meowed as if to let him know she wasn’t pleased with the noise Rodney was making in her space. Lily considered the entire house her space. She hopped onto the table and sat on her haunches in front of him, and he nodded.
“I know. I’ve done nothing right.”
Lily chimed in again, this time making more of an eye-twitching yowl than a typical meow.
“I know that, too.” He scratched the back of the cat’s neck. “I’ve done nothing right with her, either.” He looked his cat in the eye. “I’m a fuckup, Lily. Time to face facts. But then, we already knew that, didn’t we?”
She agreed with another yowl, and he pulled her against his chest.
“I’m trying,” he whispered. “Don’t give up on me yet.”
Chapter Fifteen
“A man who knocks on your door late at night likely needs one of two things: (1) your help, or (2) you. Whatever his needs are, you’re the one in charge.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #79
The knock was more of a weak tap than a sturdy let-me-in, but Cal couldn’t muster the energy to put anything else behind it. It must have done the jo
b, though, because a few seconds later footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, then a light flickered to life. It cast a soft glow through the six panes of glass at the top of the wooden door, and unsure eyes met his through the lower row of windows. Cal didn’t so much as offer a smile.
The dead bolt snapped open, and Jill stood before him in black leggings and a navy tank.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked.
She shook her head, but he didn’t miss the questions in her eyes. It was after eleven. Most people didn’t knock on others’ doors this late in the evening without an invite, and he probably looked as if he couldn’t stand upright for another minute. But he knew he’d chosen correctly in showing up there.
“How’s Rodney?” she asked.
“Rodney’s a drunk.” He’d never said that out loud before today, but this made the third time in the last few hours. “I just dropped him off at a rehab center over in San Marcos.”
Just looking at her made him feel better.
“He’ll be there at least two months,” he continued. “My guess is longer.”
“I’m sorry.” Her soft voice was laced with sincerity. “I know that had to be hard on you.” She shifted on her feet before taking a half step back. “Did you want to come in and talk about it?”
“No. I don’t want to talk about my uncle.” He eyed the room behind her. “I want to talk about you.”
“Okay. Then talk.”
He brought his gaze back to hers. “You were going to kiss me today.”
She nodded. “I was.”
“You also told Patrick that you aren’t angry anymore.”
“I did that, too.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Are you asking if we can have sex?”
Her directness comforted him. He didn’t say another word, just nodded in reply, and she stepped back and opened the door wider.
Neither of them spoke. She closed the door behind him, he tugged her tank top over her head, and they came together in each other’s arms. A groan ripped from him as his arms closed around her, his hands flattening against the heat of her back. It had been far too long since he’d had this. Since he’d had her.
His mouth sought out hers, desperation driving him to move too fast, but she seemed to suffer from the same affliction. Her movements were jerky, the noises coming from her anguished as she tugged at his shirt, the material not freeing from his jeans fast enough to suit her. But when the task was finally accomplished, she shoved the shirt up just enough so that she could fit her bare torso to his. And then it was her turn to moan.
Cal palmed her butt, lifting her to her toes, and she clamped her legs around his waist.
“Down the hall,” she ordered.
He turned without another thought.
He soon found the bed, and once he had her on it, he had a demand of his own.
“Light.” He had to see her.
She pointed to the reading lamp clipped onto the headboard, and as he reached for the switch, she found the snap of his jeans. Jeans and boxers circled his knees before he realized he’d quit moving to absorb the feeling of Jill’s hands sliding over him. The pads of her fingers had a slight roughness to them. A testament to her career. But they caressed with a gentleness that could undo a man.
He finally forced himself to move. He kicked off his shoes, then he rolled to his back and ripped his shirt over his head, while Jill tugged at his jeans. Two seconds later he lay bared before her, erection pointing toward the ceiling, while she straddled his thighs. Her chest heaved with her breaths, the navy bra covering only the bottom halves of her breasts, and his erection neared painful. She was a goddess. Black hair fell over her shoulders, reaching to just inside the cups of her bra, and teasing at what lay underneath. Her lips were lush and parted. And her gaze remained glued to his most active part.
“I’ve missed this,” he confided. “So much.”
She was the most glorious thing Cal had ever seen.
She dragged her eyes up to his. “You’re not going to miss it for much longer.”
The words came out hoarse, and Cal reached for her, unable to keep his hands from her a second longer.
The bra was first. One twist of his wrist, and he had the straps to her elbows.
Pert breasts met his torso, her nipples scraping along the hairs of his chest, and the air left his body.
“Jill,” he begged. He buried his mouth against her neck and held her tight.
He wanted this to last forever. Only, there was no way he could wait.
When he eased them apart, intending to rid her of the remainder of her clothing, she stole the lead. She flipped to her back, making quick work of her leggings and the tiny scrap of material underneath, so he dove for the condom in his jeans. When he rolled back to her, Jill rose above him before he could stop her, then she pinned him in place, her toned thighs straddling his once again. With her back straight, her breasts high and proud, and her eyes burning hot in the small room, he once again thought, Goddess. She was strength and heat, and so much passion. There’d never been another like her.
“I was going to be the one in charge,” he panted out. He couldn’t catch his breath.
He couldn’t believe he’d knocked on her door only two minutes before.
“Then you should have moved faster.”
But he caught her off guard when she made the critical error in dropping her gaze to his dick once more, flipping her so that she was now the one on the bottom. And he didn’t intend for that to change again. Not until he wanted it to.
She was spread beneath him, naked and spectacular, and though he wanted to take his time, to drink his fill, feasting was more important. This was Jill. This was what he’d been waiting years for.
Pink nipples pouted up at him, so he started there, and Jill called out in pleasure at the first touch. Her back arched as his lips raked over her, and he swore he grew another two inches.
“Cal.” She breathed out his name. Her fingers buried in his butt cheeks as he continued to work her breasts, and when he squeezed her, sucking a nipple deep into his mouth, she shouted out again. She sounded close already, and he’d just gotten started.
He focused, working her with lips and tongue and teeth, and well before he switched to her other breast, she began to thrust. As her heat ground into his balls, it was all he could do not to bite down too hard on her sensitive flesh.
“Please,” she sobbed out a plea. Her eyes were closed tight. “I need . . .”
He needed, too.
But he remained on top of her, not parting her legs and not diving inside, although everything inside him demanded he do nothing else. Instead, he thought about Jill. He wanted to please her. He wanted to make sure she thought of him. Always.
And he wanted her screaming his name as she came.
“I . . .” She gasped. “Can’t . . .”
Her chest arched up off the bed, and Cal released her, his mouth retreating only until she lowered and sucked in a breath, then she once again ground herself against him. He gave up the fight. His Jill was ready to blow.
With breaths coming in short bursts and her head rocking back and forth, Cal inched his hand lower.
She gasped again, as if anticipating what was to come, and he kept his eyes locked on her. He wanted to watch her fall apart at his touch.
“Cal,” she whispered, the word coming out with a whimper.
“I’ve got you,” he promised.
He parted her with his middle finger then, and her movements stopped. Her mouth opened slightly, as if to speak, but nothing came out. So he pushed in a second finger.
Her body began to vibrate.
He didn’t let up. He circled his thumb over her. Once. Twice. Just barely grazing her flesh. Then with one final move, he pressed where she needed it most, and she broke. And she screamed out his name.
Cal held on as Jill shook in his arms, and he fought not to follow her over the cliff. Not yet. There would be time
for that later. And only when she finally began to calm did he slide up her sweat-slicked body, and he fused his mouth to hers.
Jill fell to the bed sometime later, face-first and ass up, and couldn’t bring herself to move another inch. Good. Lord.
The low chuckle that sounded just inches from her ear was both irritating and sexy as hell. The man had improved over the years, and he knew it. But then, she hadn’t exactly been a hard nut to crack tonight, either. Pretty much one touch, and . . . poof.
She giggled at the thought and managed to roll to her side. She remained curled in a fetal position, but she could now see Cal. And he looked just as blown away as she felt. After he’d gotten her off the first time, she’d tried to take over, but he’d refused. His theory had been that if he could do that to her that fast and that explosively, then he should be able to do it again. Maybe even faster the next time.
So he had.
But then she’d caught him in a weakened state—likely trying not to come after she’d bellowed out his name, yet again—and she’d pushed him to his back. It had all been over at that point.
She slid a palm over his chest, winding a finger through the narrow patch of hair. “What a way to be greeted at the door.”
He made a little grunt of a sound beside her, and she wiggled her way up the sheets so that she lay with her head on her pillow. He turned his face to hers, and she couldn’t hold back a goofy smile.
“You don’t even know how long it’s been since I’ve done that.”
“My guess would be not nearly long enough,” Cal grumbled. He scowled, but rolled to his side so he lay facing her. “I still can’t believe you went out with Little Red last weekend.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “Really? We’re lying here naked and sweaty, and you want to talk about me and another man?”
“I’m just saying that I can’t believe that’s who you’d choose to go out with. Little Red.” He harrumphed.
“Doug is a very good guy.” She refused to call the younger man by what he considered to be a derogatory name while in bed with someone who wanted to be derogatory to him. “Plus, it was your idea for me to go out with him to begin with.”
