by S. E. Hall
“I’m sorry, all I heard was ‘I’m having a really bad day, gorgeous man of mine, so please ignore everything I say until I’m back to your sweet Lizzie.’ Which, the answer’s ‘yes, Siren, I can do that.’” He lifts our joined hands and kisses mine, treating me to a wink. “My brave, justifiably grumpy girl, you keep me in awe. So many others would run, give up, and curl into a helpless ball. But not my girl, she keeps fighting. This morning,” he winks, “it just happens to be with me.”
Oh for…I roll my eyes then gain the leverage, using our hands to pull him to me. “Even if you survive me, Mr. Blackwell, I’m still not sure I’ll survive you. Maybe not in that way, but…” I peter out, petrified to speak such alarmingly liberating words out loud to him.
“One in for me,” he inhales with me, “and out for you. Now tell me.”
All right. With a few tweaks to the script, I can do this…with my eyes pinched tightly closed, of course. “I love who you are. I love how you find the exact words to reach inside and drag the real me out, kicking and screaming. I love when you touch me and the storm passes. Most of all, I love how you give me hope, hope that someone like you could sincerely see potential in me. In for you,” I suck in a lungful, letting it roll through my chest, over my raw, exposed nerves, then let it, “out for me.” I open my eyes timidly; meeting kind, rich brown ones smiling back at me.
“My precious Siren, say it again, without words.”
One jump and he catches me, holding me close as I wrap my legs around his waist and dig my trembling hands through his silky hair. I kiss him like I do in every dream I’ve ever had about us—untamed, hungry, and confident—tangling our tongues in a battle of want vs. fear, need vs. brave enough to try. His forceful, capable hands grip my face and angle the way he wants, allowing him further depths into my mouth. He breathes in and out for both of us, his air my own, and I whimper, squirming my body against his, desperate to get closer.
“Gonna get it all fixed,” he grumbles into my mouth, then pulls back after one last, chaste kiss. “And then, you’re mine, all mine, for real and forever. Hear me, Lizzie?”
The grin that consumes my face unstoppable, I nod, squealing internally in anticipatory delight. “Okay, let’s go fix shit.”
***
“Finally Cannon is home!” Conner yells as we walk in the bus. “I am starving for us to cook breakfast. Hear that?” He comes over to stand in front of us, poofing out his stomach.
“I don’t hear—”
“Shhh,” he cuts me off. “My stomach’s ‘bout to growl.”
Cannon and I both laugh, the former springing into action. “My bad, Con. Come on, let’s get busy before you waste away.”
I force my attention to the rest of the bus, both Foster boys watching me with loving smiles in place. When I meet eyes with Rhett, he crooks his finger and, without any hesitation, I rush straight into his arms. These two arms, always strong and manly, will forever make me feel safe and remind me of a time when only Rhett could reach my darkest depths, when he was the one who understood me best. But, they’re not the arms I now seek out first, and that thought sends a little twinge of sad ache through my chest.
“Always be my girl,” he whispers in my ear, “and now his woman. Looks good on you.” My sob leaps from me, loud and blatantly pained, but he shushes me and kisses my temples. “He can’t replace us, any more than I could replace him; it’s totally different. Lots of different kinds of love, Liz. And I’m more than okay with our kind, and damn happy to see you find another one. Feel me?” He leans back slightly to look at me and amid bittersweet tears, I offer him a shaky smile. “Now, get cleaned up and let’s figure out a plan. I’ll wake Bruce and get us on the road.”
“Already done,” Jarrett interjects. “He’s getting up now. Lincoln, here we come! Morning, lady.” He holds open his arms for me, which again, I fall into wholeheartedly. “Just a rough patch, don’t worry. We’ll get it all fixed.” He kisses my forehead and releases me, flicking my ear.
“I love you both so much.” I glance between them. “I couldn’t do it without you. I don’t say it near enough, but thank you.”
“Oh my God, Whistle Britches, you’ve turned our girl soft!” Rhett teases Cannon, who turns, a grin in his eyes, but a mask of determination over his face.
“My girl.” He winks, focusing on me but a moment before turning back to breakfast.
“Did ya’ll—”
“You’re a shit whisperer, Jarrett, and mind your own fucking business.” Cannon shuts him down, never looking away from the food.
“Andddd I think I’ll go shower now,” I announce dramatically. “Have fun, boys.”
Chapter 18
The trip is eight hours and the show’s in twelve, so of course we stop for a leg stretch; to hell with being early for once. I’m not gonna bitch though, ‘cause honestly, Jarrett’s been on the phone with Vanessa the entire last three hours and I’m ready to stab out my own eardrums. Twice.
All four boys head for the door the second we stop, shoving and pushing jovially—Conner winning, tossing them out of his way like rag dolls. #teambro
Thinking it’ll be nice to join them, a little fresh air a bonus, because one of them is hella gaseous today and not fessing up, I go hunt for some shoes.
I know no one will ever believe me, that’d be way too convenient, but I swear my mistake is innocent, at least at first. Digging under and around the bunks, then table, a phone dings and my heart leaps in my chest, my only thought that it’s Will getting back to me.
ONLY. CONNER. Which is why it doesn’t instantly occur to me that Will never texts, or that I’d grabbed Cannon’s phone—until it’s too late. From the second my eyes catch the name on the text, setting the phone down and backing away, minding my own business and his privacy is no longer an option.
Ruthie: I see your phone is active again, about time my love. I’m sorry for our fight, not telling you, kicking you out. Cannon, I was angry and wrong. Please come home.
Cannon: I’m sorry too, that things didn’t work out and things got ugly. I’d like to remain cordial.
Ruthie: Cordial?! Cannon, we’re getting married.
Cannon: On what planet? You got a tubal without even talking to me. I want kids, a family. You don’t and you think it’s okay to decide that for me. You left me stranded in the middle of nowhere! How do you even have the nerve to contact me?
Ruthie: I’m sorry, okay? We can work everything out when you get home. I’m afraid for you, sweetheart. The band of misfits you somehow found are dangerous. I mean, look at them.
Cannon: You have no idea what you’re talking about. Ruthie, please move on and leave me alone. I’ll be by to get my stuff when we get near there, and I hope that transaction can be done with at least the semblance of two people who once cared about each other.
Ruthie: Is this about sex? Are you fucking that dykey lead singer? I forgive you, and I’m sorry I was cold the last few months, but I had to make sure there were no accidents before the procedure. It’ll be hotter now.
Cannon: Quit calling. I’m not going to answer. I don’t care that you hadn’t touched me in MONTHS. I don’t care that you’re jealous. I’m done. Leave me alone.
Ruthie: THIS IS WHO YOU’RE GALAVANTING WITH. People wind up retarded or dead when they know that girl. I refuse to let her hurt you.
And then she sent a picture of one of the many news articles, which basically outlined everything I’d already told him with a few minute details I hadn’t thought to mention.
Tunnel. Rock. Again.
It never fails.
“Elizabeth, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Shit, totally overlooked the fact that my uncle was still on the bus.
I’m not sure why I’m crying. My fucking face just leaks these days. She didn’t tell him anything I hadn’t, but it’s still embarrassing and shameful. Is this how it’ll always be—friends and family he’s know far longer than me, opinions he’s had more time to value, reminding hi
m what a disgraceful, risky choice I am? Eventually, he’ll have to listen, fed up with the onslaught. Can I really saddle him with my bullshit?
“Nothing, just cramps.” I turn around with an overdone smile and discreetly hide the phone behind my back all in one motion.
“Oh, um,” he starts backing up, hands up in front of him, “well, do you need, or…” He looks at the door anxiously, his escape so close yet so far away. “Maybe I’ll give you some privacy.”
“That’d be great, thanks.” Never fails—say period, tampon, or cramps and men run like you asked them to take a look at things down there. Except for Jarrett, who’s oddly fascinated by periods, which we’ve discussed way too many times.
The good news is, dealing with my uncle gave me enough time to calm down and manage to mix some rational in with my crazy. Alone again, and since I’ve already snooped well beyond deniability, I sit down and read the whole conversation again.
With a second swipe at it, through saner eyes, I’m actually feeling better. Cannon said nothing “wrong.” In fact, he reinforced every single thing he’s ever told me—even when I wasn’t looking—I can trust him, and pretty much already there before, it’s infinitely solidified now.
I trust him, I want him, us.
I love him, I think. What I feel for him is definitely different than anything I’ve ever felt before—it’s not what I feel for my brother, or for Jarrett, or even Rhett, who I’ve actually slept with. Is this really insta-love? Is this the Pretty Woman thing? What did he say it was for us? Pretty Instinct?
I love him. I’m sure of it. This is it. He’s it. The man I miss most when he’s gone the least amount of time. The first one I want to see in the morning and last at night. If I think it’s funny, he either said it, or will laugh with me. And sad, hurt, scared, unsure…that’s when I long for him most.
And let them talk, drag my name through the mud, I believe in Cannon, he’s more than man enough to tell them to fuck right off, he knows the truth.
Differently, of course, but as strong and unfailing, I love him as much as I love any other—a whopping four—person in the world.
I almost wanna run and scream it into his mouth right this minute, but…baby steps. No sense becoming a completely unrecognizable, romanticizing, gushing, cheesy idiot all at once.
I’m grinning like a fool when my phone sounds off, knowing things will somehow be all right. Optimism—unfamiliar yet welcomed excitedly.
“Hey, Will,” I answer. “What’d you figure out?”
“Wellllll.” His nervous cringing is tangible through the phone. “Liz, you have to let Conner go with him. If you refuse, your father could have you found in contempt, and that may carry jail time, or worse, a reversal of your primary custody over Conner. And because you’re somewhat…well, because your father was concerned you might try something, he’s already filed to have the two weeks start immediately and yours and Conner’s names and passports flagged. You won’t get a flight, Liz. I’m afraid you have no choice but to cooperate.”
It’s important that I stay calm, no inflection in my voice, no red flags waving, deep breath. “I understand. Give me a little while to think and talk to Conner and see how soon I can get back to Ohio. I’ll call you back in a few hours.”
“Liz, please,” he pleads. “I know, okay? I understand. But if you go vigilante on this one, you will make things so much worse than merely a two week trip. I’m speaking as a longtime family friend here. I’m begging you to think your next moves through very carefully.”
“Thank you, Will, I appreciate it. I’ll talk to you in a bit, not long, I promise.” I hang up, needing that fresh air worse than ever.
I’m going to take a cue from the best—I’m gonna take a walk and make a list, pros and cons, acceptable and not, counter-offers and compromises. Peeking out the door, I survey the situation, all of them preoccupied, either playing football or…rolling around on the ground together in a heap of man love. Bruce is filming them with his phone, back to me, so I hurry around the front end of the bus and take off. Stealthy as a giant flashing arrow with bells and whistles, I make it along the side of the bus, ready to make a mad dash behind the line of trees ahead, when I’m viciously denied by a large, sweaty, shirtless Adonis sporting an angry scowl.
“A lil’ witchy, a tad bitchy, and five feet of beautiful Siren, you are. Sneaky, not so much. Where ya headed, hot stuff?” He widens his stance, effectively blocking my getaway, and smirks down at me smugly. “Oh, P.S., I’d ask how your cramps are, because I care, but great news, you’re still eleven days out on your period.”
What the hell is with the guys in my life and periods? NOT. NORMAL.
“How do you possibly know that, Creepy McWeirdasfuck? You need to stay away from Jarrett.”
He leans in to me, his sweat an intoxicating, virile fragrance just as I suspected, and says huskily in my ear, “Fun fact, when you leave your birth control pills open on the communal bathroom counter and throw in some simple math, we all know when to prepare ourselves for LMS.”
“Lizzie Menstrual Syndrome?” I take a wild guess and he nods. “Clever. Anyway, I needed some time to think, sort some stuff out, so I was taking a walk.”
“Want some company?”
I give him the nicest declining smile I have. “I kinda wanted to be alone.”
“No problem,” he agrees easily. “Don’t get too far though, okay? I’ve got my Lizzie tracking skills honed to an intricate science, but,” he glances around, “I don’t know where we are. We need to get back on the road soon, too.”
“Understood.” I make to the left, instantly floating backwards mid-air, my feet off the ground, one arm around my waist pinning my back against his front.
“Kiss me,” he murmurs along my neck, moving my hair out of his way. “As soon as I make it up to your mouth.” He begins to kiss, suck, and lick, with a few teasing nips, his way up my neck, using one hand to turn my head when he’s reached my mouth. “Now, kiss me.”
I do, squirming and twisting around, knowing he won’t drop me until I’m facing him. “I love your mouth,” I moan, nibbling his bottom lip, pulling it out then running my tongue along the inside of it. His body shudders against mine as a deep, feral growl rumbles from his chest, his hands sliding down along my sides to find and firmly squeeze my ass.
“You sure you don’t want company?” he pants, pressing his hardness into my stomach.
“I said I needed to clear my head. The exact opposite of that happens when you’re near me. But,” I take my turn tasting along his neck, ending the trail with a gentle bite to his earlobe, “I will take a rain check.”
“Uhh,” he half groans, half pouts, setting me on my feet after one more hard, quick squeeze to my butt. “Okay, be safe and hurry up.”
I salute and head off quickly, before he can distract me again. I can feel him still standing in the exact spot I left him, watching my retreat like a horny hawk. Sure enough, I toss a flirty glance back over my shoulder, and there he is, covering his crotch modestly with both hands, grinning at me.
***
I don’t go far, I know what has to be done. Bottom line, I don’t want to go to jail, delivering Conner straight into my father’s hands. And I don’t want to lose custody, which would yield the same result. Nor do I own a private jet or airport, so I can’t get far enough away, fast enough, so that he wouldn’t intercept us, thus revisiting the jail drawback.
So, first, I’m gonna talk to Conner, see what he wants, and then, I taste vomit just thinking it, I’m gonna talk to my father, mano y dickhead.
“I’m back.” I climb on board, a little sweaty and winded. “We ready?”
“As ever, take a seat and I’ll get us moving,” Bruce says and heads to the wheel.
I go straight to the source, purposely avoiding the three sets of curious eyes cued in on me. “Hey, Bubs,” I slide in beside him on the bench, “can I help you with your puzzle?”
“You gotta do the hard work too, Sist
er, not only corners,” he warns, his tongue poking out in concentration.
“Yes, sir.” I snicker, giving him a quick hug. “Con, I’m gonna talk to you about some stuff, and you just answer whatever you feel first, okay? You don’t even have to stop doing your puzzle.”
Radio silence.
“Conner, okay?”
“Okayyy,” he does his inconvenienced drawl, “that’s what I was doing what you said. My puzzle.”
Ahh, my adorable little smartass. And all three spectators are doing a terrible job of hiding their laughter.
“Conner, Dad wants you to go stay with him.”
“Okay.”
“He wants it to be for a while, Bubs. Fourteen days. That will be the longest you’ve ever stayed.”
“Nu-uh. I used to stay there my whole life, with you too.”
“Not as kids, Conner, Mom was there then. He wants you to stay that long right now. But not in the house, he wants to take you on a vacation, to Hawaii.”
His head pops right up at that, eyes bright, glowing even, as he starts clapping loudly. “I vote yes! Will you watch my fish?”
I’m not even sure if he knows what Hawaii is or if he understands how long two weeks is, but I guess my goal shouldn’t be to talk him out of it. “Yes, I will watch your fish. And I’ll call you every single day, Bubs, but I won’t be right back to get you. You’ll have a ride on a plane two times, then I’ll come get you.”
“You will miss me very much, Bethy.”
“Yes.” That comes out a garbled, choked back sob, so I stop and try again, about the time I feel the support of his hand on my shoulder, which I reach up and cover with my own. “Conner, there’s something else. Dad is gonna have a new wife. And she has kids. They’ll all be there too.”
“Laura,” he says, looking at his puzzle. “Her kids are little though, little as you.”‘
