Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  “You look like shit.” It was good to be confronted with Mack’s unvarnished, undiplomatic assessment.

  “Thanks.”

  “Thought tonight was the big night. Did you let Ford scare you away?” Mack adjusted his gloves as if just the mention of Ford made him want to punch something.

  His brothers were the most self-contained men Wyatt knew. Would Mack understand Wyatt’s predicament? “In a total cliché move, I accidently told Sutton Mize that I loved her right after we had sex.”

  “Whoa.” Mack was silent for a long moment. “But you meant it? Do you love her?”

  Wyatt had been prepared for laughter or teasing, not the gentle understanding in his brother’s voice. It spiraled him back to his childhood, when his big brother could fix anything. “Yeah. I meant it.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Said she needed time. That she wasn’t ready to get serious. I knew going into this I would never be more than her rebound.”

  “I’m not an expert—in fact, I’ve screwed up more relationships than I care to admit—but if you feel like that about her, you shouldn’t be sitting here with me.”

  “But she wants time to think.” Why did Sutton make him feel so uncertain?

  “I’d be careful that she doesn’t think herself out of being with you.”

  His brother’s words shot a pulse of adrenaline through his body, making his toes tap. “What would you suggest?”

  “Crash the gala, plead your case, and if she blows you off again, then it’s her loss.”

  Wyatt doubted he would be so mellow about a final rejection, but Mack was right. He had to try. “I don’t have a tuxedo.”

  Mack cracked a smile. “I’m not your damn fairy godmother. Wear the suit you bought for Pop’s funeral. She won’t care.”

  She might not, but everyone else would. Good thing he didn’t give a crap what everyone else thought. He stood up, but before he could take a step toward the stairs, Mack grabbed his wrist and gave a squeeze. “Remember that there’s more to life than this garage.”

  The words were as surprising as they were unexpected. Mack was more complicated than his single-minded focus would lead everyone to believe.

  Wyatt nodded and retreated to clean up and change clothes. Straightening his gray-striped tie, he gave himself a pep talk in the mirror. Whatever happened, Mack and Jackson and even Aunt Hyacinth and Aunt Hazel would be there to help pick up the pieces, because that’s what people who loved you did.

  The drive over the bridge and the river signaled a marked increase in his nerves and his hand slipped on the gear shift the closer he got to the country club. He drove to the front and idled at a valet parking sign. Allowing a total stranger to drive his car didn’t seem like a good omen.

  A lanky man wearing a red-and-white striped vest that put a barber-shop quartet in mind approached, his mouth agape. The closer he got the younger he appeared, constellations of acne on his cheeks. “This is a seriously cool car, dude.”

  Wyatt muttered a few choice words under his breath before handing the keys over with a strained smile. “Sixty-three thousand, two hundred, and eight.”

  At the boy’s befuddlement, Wyatt said, “That’s how many miles are on the odometer. Don’t park it too close to another car.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy slid into the seat and ran both hands over the steering wheel. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  When he heard the feminine pronoun, a measure of tension eased. His car was in decent—if not expert—hands. His issues with Sutton eclipsed any worry about his car as he mounted the stairs to the double doors. Music from a live band and conversation drifted out.

  Sentinels in black dresses flanked the door, but when the right one turned, he wondered if luck might be turning in his direction. Ms. Eckert greeted him with a smile and firm handshake.

  “This is the young man I was telling you about, Vera.”

  The other woman smiled, her demeanor resonating with a subtle power. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Abbott.”

  He recognized the woman Sutton had been discussing flowers with after church. Vera Carson was part of an old Cottonbloom family dating back to before the Civil War. But then again, so was he. He squared his shoulders. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

  “I have a car sitting in my garage. An Oldsmobile. Dottie thinks I should bring it down to your garage.” She nodded toward Ms. Eckert, her sharp blue eyes in contrast to her soft, pale cheeks and fluffy white hair. No doubt she was assessing his worth.

  “Do you know what year?”

  She hummed and looked thoughtful. “1970, I think. My husband bought it right after our fifth wedding anniversary.”

  “Two or four door?”

  “Definitely two. I told him it was impractical, but he was in love.”

  A feeling like an electric shock ran through him. It might be an Olds 442. The thought of getting his hands on such a car made him light-headed. “I would love to take a look. It might not be worth your money to fix up depending on the make and condition, but you can count on Abbott Brothers Garage and Restoration to give you an honest assessment.”

  “In that case, I’ll call on Monday for an appointment, shall I?” She offered her hand again, this time to presumably seal the deal.

  “Are you here for Sutton?” Ms. Eckert asked with a bluntness that was a welcome part of her personality.

  “I am. Have you seen her?”

  The room was more crowded than he anticipated. A dance floor took up at least a third, with tables covered in items for the silent auction ringing the room.

  “On the dance floor last I caught a gander.”

  Wyatt thanked her and moved along the edges of the crowd, a yawning pit opening in his stomach. She could be dancing with anyone, even her father, but somehow he wasn’t surprised to see her swaying in Tarwater’s arms. His only consolation was that she wasn’t locked close to his body.

  Her red dress was off the shoulder with a demure front but scooped back. He could tell by the perfect fit it was one of her designs. Lace-covered and striking, her dress stood out like a flower in full bloom amongst weeds.

  Andrew wore his classic tuxedo like a blond James Bond, debonair and charming. Wyatt shifted in his off-the-rack mall suit, smoothing the tie. Andrew and Sutton looked perfectly matched.

  He tortured himself until the song was over. Many of the couples pulled apart to clap, including Sutton and Tarwater. As if somehow sensing his intense focus, she glanced over her shoulder and locked gazes with him. His nerve deserted him. He wasn’t sure he’d survive if she had gotten back with Tarwater with her scent still lingering in his sheets.

  He took a step back and then another one, only turning when he bumped into an older man holding a whiskey. The doors along the back veranda were thrown open to the cooling night, and he slipped into the darkness, planning to circle around front, find his way home, and get drunk.

  * * *

  Sutton pushed through the crowd, smiling and nodding but wanting to scream at everyone to get the hell out of her way. She kept Wyatt’s dark head in view as long as she could. He disappeared out the back door and onto the wide veranda overlooking the pool and ninth hole. A few older men chatted and smoked cigars at the stone rail, but there was no sign of Wyatt.

  “Where are you?” she muttered. Screw the gala, it would survive without her. She would get her car from the valet and chase him over the river.

  “You could have texted me the news.” His voice came from the shadows behind her, and she whirled. He had his shoulder propped against a pillar, his hands in his pockets, one foot crossed over the other. His relaxed stance was in juxtaposition to the expression on his face—anger, frustration, and a touch of devastation.

  “What news?”

  “That you and Tarwater are back on.”

  She took a step toward him and touched his arm. His biceps felt ready to burst the seams of his jacket. “We’re not back on. Not even close.”

&nbs
p; “Why were you dancing with him then? Aren’t you still upset about him cheating on you and what everyone is saying?”

  A strange thing had happened over the last few weeks with Wyatt. She’d stopped worrying about what people were whispering behind her back and couldn’t remember why she’d been so upset.

  “Did you mean it?” she asked softly.

  “Mean what?”

  “That you love Bono, the Edge, and U2?”

  The flash of his smile was like a lightning bug, and she was encouraged enough to give chase. “I was going to call you tomorrow,” she said.

  “Sure.” Obvious disbelief dripped from the word.

  “You took me by surprise. I panicked and acted immature and ran. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I believed you.”

  “You think I make a habit of telling women I love them?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. You’re more experienced than me and after Andrew—”

  “Do not compare me to him.” He shifted and pointed a finger at her. “I’m nothing like that liar.”

  “I know you aren’t. It’s me I don’t trust. It’s hard to forget and forgive how naïve I was.” She took his hand in both of hers and was grateful when he didn’t pull away. “I don’t know exactly how I feel.” He tugged, but she only tightened her hold. “But I do know I’ve never felt like this before. And I know I don’t want things to end. Especially not like this.”

  “What about Tarwater and Bree and—”

  “This has nothing to do with them. Not anymore. Can we forget about what brought us together and see what happens? Please?”

  He stared for so long without speaking and with no change in expression, her entire body began trembling. Finally, he cupped her neck, his thumb running along the sensitive skin behind her ear. Soul-deep relief weakened her knees as if he’d given her a reprieve from the hangman’s noose.

  He pulled in a deep breath, but before he could say anything, he tensed and looked over her shoulder like a hunting dog catching a scent.

  “What in tarnation…” His whisper had her spinning around to see a manila envelope being passed from Andrew to Ford Abbott.

  The two men were inside the pool area with Ella Boudreaux. Striking if not exactly beautiful, she was the kind of woman that drew the eye even though you couldn’t decide why. Her hair was dark and her curves dangerous. Restlessness showed itself in her hand movements and the constant shift of her body as if her energy would build to explosive levels if left unchecked.

  The divorcée had stirred talk when she’d bought an expensive house in the best part of Cottonbloom, Mississippi, a year earlier. Word was that her sudden rise in fortunes had been financed by an advantageous settlement from her older ex-husband. Sutton had only met her once and been thoroughly intimidated by her air of sophistication and experience even though she couldn’t be much older than Sutton.

  Wyatt pulled away and stalked toward the side gate of the pool. She followed, her heels and fitted dress hampering her progress. Ford’s laughter echoed, and he matched Ella’s level of animation. If Andrew hadn’t been with them, she might wonder if the overtones were sexual.

  “What’s going on?” Wyatt had rounded the corner and was out of sight between two bushes flanking the gate, but his voice projected and echoed off the glassy surface of the blue pool water.

  When she caught up with him, he had faced off with his brother. Sutton and Andrew crossed glances, but his gaze skated to the horizon, where there was nothing but the shadowy tree line beyond the green of the golf course. The tension was palpable, and Sutton didn’t attempt to diffuse the situation by injecting social niceties.

  “None of your business, little brother.” While Ford’s goal may have been to put Wyatt in his place, his voice reflected a sense of being caught smoking under the bleachers.

  “Well now, that’s not quite true, Ford.” Ella’s voice was a combination of a mature confidence mixed with playfulness. Sutton recognized the dress she wore from her trade catalogues. It was from a high end New York designer and cost several thousand dollars. “Your brother should know.”

  “Know what?” Wyatt’s voice remained calm but held a threat.

  Ford glanced over his shoulder and caught her eye. “Does Sutton know what kind of games you’ve been playing?”

  “Shut up, Ford.”

  “So she doesn’t realize you’re using her for her daddy’s connections?” He directed his next comment directly to her. “We discussed it as a family. My brother likes to take on pity projects. He does it with cars and women.”

  They’d strategized about her. Her head disassociated itself from her body. Pity project. She was nothing more than a hunk of rusted metal with four bald tires. Her fears from the past weeks reared up and took on monstrous proportions in her head.

  Wyatt turned so he could see her and Ford as if not sure from which corner to expect an attack. “That’s not exactly true, Sutton.”

  His qualifier ripped her heart into a few more pieces. “Don’t lie. You see me as some pathetic loser that you can save with your magical penis.”

  Ella gasped and covered her mouth, watching them like a tennis match.

  “You were never a pathetic loser.”

  “But you did feel sorry for me. Or was it the promise of business for the garage?”

  Wyatt held his hands up. “Where we started has no bearing on where we ended up. You said so yourself. You know how I feel about you.”

  She wanted to believe him. She did. But how could a relationship based on lies grow into one about truth and love? And how could she trust herself to know the difference when she’d been so blind before?

  “I can’t do this again. Maybe it’s best if we make a clean break like we’d planned.” She took a step backward, but it was hard. Like her heart was irrevocably tethered to his.

  “Sutton, please.” The desperation in his voice was more than she could bear, and she ran—again.

  Ella’s hollers stopped her on the veranda, and she glanced over her shoulder. Wyatt and Ford were fighting, the noise bringing a crowd outside to gawk. Andrew’s attempts to break them apart resulted in an elbow to his face. He staggered out of range, both hands cupped over his nose.

  Ford took two loping steps toward the gate, but Wyatt brought him down like a lion on a gazelle, and they grappled on the concrete. This wasn’t like any boxing match she’d ever seen. There was nothing civilized about what was happening between Ford and Wyatt. She turned to the people pointing and talking in low voices.

  “Get down there and break up the fight,” she shrieked, grabbing the arm of the man next to her and shoving him forward.

  Her command galvanized a half dozen men. Before they made it to the gate, Ford and Wyatt rolled over the edge of the pool and splashed into the deep end, still locked together. The dark blob of their bodies sank under the water, their continuing struggles highlighted by the underwater lights.

  She dug her fingernails into the rail, her knees wobbly. Would stubbornness kill them both? The men who’d gone to help stood around the edge of pool, as helpless as the rest of the crowd.

  They surfaced two feet apart, treading water and breathing hard. Everyone seemed to breathe in unison and the chatter around her picked up in volume.

  A scant five seconds of peace passed. Wyatt launched himself at Ford, their flailing arms splashing and causing waves throughout the entire pool.

  “Out of the way, people.” A deep voice used to commanding parted the crowd like Moses. The Cottonbloom, Mississippi, Chief of Police Thaddeus Preston, dressed in a dark suit, strode to the pool. A pretty woman with red streaks in her hair was on his heels. The men who hadn’t done squat to diffuse the situation stepped aside. “Alright, boys, out of the pool unless you want me to haul you down to the station.”

  Sutton wasn’t sure whether it was the threat or the way the chief’s voice reverberated against the concrete that finally ended the fight. Ford and Wyatt separated themselves and swam to the edge, each of them
getting in a few more juvenile splashes along the way.

  Wyatt hauled himself out and shook his head like a dog. From this distance, she couldn’t see how much damage Ford had managed to inflict on Wyatt, but Ford limped over to the chief, his tuxedo ripped at the shoulder and showing a slash of white shirt.

  The three of them hashed things out in voices pitched too low to hear, and in the end they disappeared around the side of the main building instead of running the gauntlet of people on the veranda and in the main room.

  She was frantic to make sure he was okay both mentally and physically, but that wasn’t her place. She pressed her fingertips against her cheekbones to calm her out-of-control emotions. There would be time enough for tears later.

  “I heard the Abbott boys got in a tussle.” Her father’s voice was like a rescue line. Without being able to stop herself, she tossed herself against him and buried her face in his collar. The familiar scent of Old Spice and the tang of a recently smoked cigar clung to him.

  “What’s this all about? Is Wyatt hurt?” With an awkwardness born of the unusual, he patted her shoulder and led her to a more secluded corner of the veranda. Now that the excitement had died, most people had returned to the main room to pass on what they’d seen.

  “I don’t know. Not bad enough he couldn’t walk out of here.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  She took a breath, but let it out on a long sigh. What had the fight been about? Her? Them? The garage? Or maybe all those things had stacked the tower of resentment so high it had finally toppled. The strange dynamics between the brothers made her thankful for her own normally dysfunctional family.

  “All I know for sure is that it’s over between me and Wyatt.”

  Her father looked taken aback. “I’m surprised.”

  “Why? It’s not like we got the most auspicious start.”

  Her father chuckled. “That’s true, but I thought you liked him. And I could sure enough tell that he was smitten with you.”

  “Smitten?”

  “Doesn’t take his eyes off you when you’re together. Even your mother commented on it. She thought he was awfully sweet that Sunday morning she stopped by your place.”