“Totally. Wouldn't happen.” She let out a small laugh and I clutched her hand tighter. “Also, Rose as my middle name? You think my mama named me Flower Flower?”
“Technically I think a Magnolia is a tree. So Tree Flower.”
“That sounds like a fairy name.”
“More like a dryad or nymph.” Elliot arrived with hands full of frozen lemonade in cups. He dropped a quick kiss on Maggie's cheek.
We settled on the blankets in the shade of the sprawling tree. We ate the frozen too sweet too tart treats. Joseph and Missy showed up with the kids, depositing them to stay with us while they went back to the car for more supplies. Kids required too much damn stuff. Dominic immediately scooped Sarah up and swung her high into the air eliciting delighted squeals from her, while Michael waited and watched. She was four now, sure she was grown, and in love with her uncles. Mikey was calm, always keeping an eye on his surroundings, and less interested in being tossed about. After Beau and Elliot fed them both chilled berries and let them steal sips from their sodas, the kids were content to play on their own. They climbed the low wide spread branches of the tree, and Maggie watched them with a worried expression.
Joe came back and wrangled the kids long enough to ascertain they were appropriately geared up with swimsuits, hats, sunglasses, water shoes, the whole shebang. Missy ignored us for the most part, focus divided between telling Joe what to do and checking her phone. Then they wandered off in search of a Slip'n Slide to join the festivities.
I lay back and pulled Maggie to join me. I held her hand and we looked up into the green of the tree with the sun filtering through in dancing spots. The park was alive around us, voices a continuous chorus peppered with screams of delight. I could have spent the rest of my life there with her.
My brain registered the hit of water about the same time Maggie sat up and screamed. I sat up and scanned the area for the source.
“Alyssa! What the hell?” Maggie jumped to her feet, hands out as if that could protect her, and playfully screamed at her friend.
Alyssa Hunter was a goofy flirty girl with a big mouth. She was fiercely loyal to Maggie, and for that I loved her. She had sprayed Maggie with the hefty water gun she held in her hands, a brightly colored plastic contraption with a sloshing tank. A mischievous glint in her eyes.
“You're asking me? What the hell are you doing hiding over here? And fully dressed?”
Two seconds later, Alyssa's face changed. She looked over our mass of blankets, Beau and Elliot playing a card game, and me sitting below Maggie checking out her long legs.
“Where is Dominic? Where is your freaking date? You know, Vincent, the guy you told me you were showing up with.” The accusation was clear in her voice. I suspected she was upset being out of the loop more than anything, but the severe glare she angled at me told me she was concerned about my presence as well.
“It all happened so fast.” Maggie, wringing her fingers, pleaded with her fuming friend.
“Too fast to tell me? No way.”
“Calm down, Alyssa.” I stood up and took Maggie's hand. “She broke things off with Berry last night. It was late.”
“You are holding her hand!” She sounded mad, then she looked us over, and gradually her face transformed. “You're holding her hand!”
From pissed to squealing happy in no time. Girl was giving me whiplash. Maggie blushed. I didn't let go of her.
“I am stealing her.” Alyssa grabbed Maggie and pulled her hard. I let her go, reluctantly, but kept my eyes on her.
They walked far enough away not to be overheard, but remained in my sightline. There was a range of emotions on their faces, back and forth, up and down, as they worked out how we got to this point. Several times Alyssa looked at me, sometimes with confusion, sometimes with excitement. Several times Maggie looked at me, each time with obvious happiness and disbelief. She had no idea how special she was to me, and I would spend my life showing her. I would make sure she looked at me with confidence that she was mine, and not wonderment at how I could like her.
“Alyssa is part of the package, you know.” Dominic dropped a tube of sunscreen into my lap. I'd asked him to track it down. For Maggie's porcelain white skin.
“I know.”
“Do you? I mean, have you thought about what that means?” Dom's voice dropped low, and I was irritated that he was distracting me from peeping on the girls’ conversation. “You have to share her.”
“I have thought about that, yeah.” I gave him a go to hell look. “Hard to miss the way she looks at you and touches you.”
“You jealous of me?” He laughed, then sobered. “We weren't talking about me.”
“I'm not worried about Alyssa. Are you saying I should be?”
“She doesn't think you're good for Maggie. You'll have to win her over to have her rooting for Team Cotton.”
“Team Cotton? What the hell does that even mean?” I shook my head. “Never mind, don't tell me.”
He laughed again and hopped up in a rush. I watched him stalk over to the girls, goose Maggie, then tuck her under his arm. He was doing it for my benefit. To teach me a lesson in sharing.
It was a long day. The highlight of which was Maggie stripping off her clothes and spending the remainder of the afternoon in nothing but her sexy bathing suit. The bane of which was not killing every fucker who checked out Maggie's body. I didn't piss on her, per se, but I damn sure made a show of giving her a rubdown of sunscreen, and of holding her hand at every opportunity. We talked, we joked with my stupid brothers, we ate her picnic followed by fair food from the trucks. We sat under the tree, we walked around the park and people watched, we were soaked by Alyssa and Jacob's water gun war. It was a good day.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Magnolia
I had known my mama didn't like Cotton MacKenna. She had been saying he was awful for as long as I could remember; since that first time he fought with Lucian. I hadn't known that Cotton fought with my brother in a misguided effort to protect me. An effort that became a habit for him. Even not knowing the reasons growing up, I had known that it wasn't Cotton's fault. Luke was antagonizing. He provoked people, then blamed them when they reached their limit with him. He was an excellent button pusher all the way up until the end. Blaming Luke for any of his actions was something my mama had proved incapable of doing; she said I would understand when I had my own children. Arguing on behalf of Cotton wouldn't make a dent in her residual hatred for him after devoting so much energy to the endeavor for the entirety of my brother's life.
Leaving with him, leaving my mama angry and on the verge of tears, was hard. More than hard, it hurt me. I was in tune with her moods and her needs, and I knew that she saw my leaving her - especially the who and the where - as a betrayal. I let Cotton's words roll through my head on repeat, that my mama was strong and smart and she could handle it.
He was right.
The strangling co-dependent routine we had fallen into was unhealthy. It was my fault for offering to take on her burdens and letting her needs dictate my life. It was long past time I stood up for myself. Only I hadn't. Cotton had done it. No one had ever done that for me. Not once in my whole life had anyone put me first and made a stand on my behalf. He may never understand what that meant to me, but if there was any doubt I was falling for him, it was obliterated.
I reflected on Cotton's reputation as he held my hand and secured me to the world. He was not the town Bad Boy per se. That title went to the likes of Danny Albright, who basked in being an insufferable jerk and player, or to Jason Wakefield, who was Fox River's not so secret drug connection. Cotton was seen as untouchable. Of the MacKenna kids, he was the one with the temper, the one to watch out for, and certainly the one you didn't date. I knew firsthand about his propensity to start fights. But if I filtered through the last twenty years or so, all those fights happened back when we were still in school. In fact, I couldn't remember him getting into a brawl since high school. I wasn't sure the thing
s we did during those years should be used to define who we were now. He'd told me himself he had a temper, and he worried about losing it not with me but near me. By all accounts, that should scare me. I couldn't rustle up any fear over Cotton and his rumored temper.
I was aware my intense feelings for Cotton were too soon. In the moments I managed to look at things with cool detached logic, I knew I should slow down. We needed several dates, not to mention lengthy verbal sharing, before I said I was his and all his consequences be damned. What had I even agreed to? Most of the time I drifted far off shore from logic and reason, into the land of my heart and my libido. They told me without doubt I was right to be with Cotton. He was strong, he cared about me, and I felt safe with him. More than that, I felt cherished. Physically we had wild attraction that begged to be explored and given into.
My biggest fear when it came to Cotton was that he'd leave. That he would decide it was for my own good. It was early enough in our relationship, if you could call it that yet, to walk away mostly unscathed. The idea of him turning away, changing his mind or opting to end it on grounds of protecting me from himself, plunged a spike of fear into my chest. Right at the base of my rib cage above my gut, a sharp and splintering pain took up residence. I would have to hold back with him. If I let myself fall deeper for him, I wouldn't recover when he left me. I hated that I was so sure he'd be the one to end it, that I didn't have enough faith in him to stick it out. Cotton's reputation aside, what I knew of him was the way he held himself at a distance, and the way he could so easily walk away. His only loyalties were with his family. All I could be certain of was that he saw things as black or white, and he lived his life accordingly. He either cared not at all, or too much with a fierce devotion. He either didn't notice you existed, or you became his world. His life was in extremes, where you were nothing to him, or you would become the target of all his attention. I came to the conclusion that Cotton's reputation of being a Bad Boy was unfounded. His tendency toward all or nothing was what scared me, and likely other people, and that was what garnered him as someone to avoid.
The entire day together at the park had been surreal. We had all loaded up and gone back to the MacKenna's house before heading to the bonfire. It was about an hour until sunset, and the boys all wanted showers and to pack a big cooler of beer to bring along. I sat in Cotton's bedroom while he showered down the hall, and I was in a daze. Exhausted from being outside in the sun, surrounded by people, and keeping thoughts of my mama at bay. Anxious about my ever growing feelings for Cotton that stood less and less chance of being something I could escape unscathed. Excited, if not also nervous, about going to the bonfire with this guy that kissed like a devil and wanted me all for himself. I was happy to give myself to him, to be his. The idea of it thrilled me. Every time the thought crossed my mind - which was exceptionally often - my heart bounced in my chest. I had been a freak all day, too quiet or else rambling, because the simple feel of Cotton's hand wrapped possessively around mine knocked me sideways.
I distracted myself checking out his bedroom. His private space that he so willingly invited me into and left me alone to do as I pleased. He trusted me. The knowledge was weighty, in the good way. On one wall he had dozens of ribbons hung, announcing a first, second, or third place victory at some fiddle convention or another. Some were from years ago, which wasn't surprising. Some were as recent as months ago, which I did find surprising. I knew he played banjo, obviously, as I'd watched him covetously at the local jam for many years. I knew people said he was good, but he was far out shined by Denver and his fiddling. I had no idea he did these competitions and walked away with awards. Below the ribbons sat a desk littered with photographs, handwritten lists, and random nothings like mints and rubber bands. The sidewall had a closet door and three tall bookcases lined up side by side, overflowing with books. I sat on the edge of his bed, which shared a wall with a tall chest of drawers, and looked over his book titles. The bed was covered over with a quilt, soft and worn like mine, in rich colors and a log cabin pattern. I fisted the material in my hands and breathed in the concentrated scent of him.
“I like coming in to my room and finding you on my bed.”
Cotton walked in and swiftly shut the door behind him. He wore only a thick towel wrapped around his waist and beads of water on his shoulders from his still wet hair. Before I could process the full on glorious sight of him in only a towel, his chest and stomach exposed, he was upon me. He leaned over me until I laid myself backward across his bed. His hands came down on either side of me, bracketing me in, while he hovered over me. Soap, minty toothpaste, manly warmth were all my body could sense. My eyes locked on his, sharp blue and seeing right inside me.
I lifted both my hands and placed my palms flat on his chest. His muscles were defined and firm to the touch, his skin extra warm from his shower, and I forgot how to breathe.
“Mmm.” Cotton made a soft humming sound as my hands made full contact with his skin. He lowered himself further and brought his lips to mine, soft but greedy, inviting yet demanding.
I was lost in him. Time had no meaning. His house full of brothers and our plans for the evening had flown my head. My hands slipped down to his stomach, then around his waist and to his back. My fingers scrambled to touch every inch of him. I lifted my hips without thought, to find the fullness of him right there behind only a towel.
“I would very much like to let this happen.” Cotton nipped at my jaw line and I gasped for air. “However, we have a bonfire to attend.”
He was pulling away mentally before physically, shutting down his desire for me. I watched it happen, as he reeled himself in and regained control. I let one hand slip lower, to barely graze the towel and what was behind.
“Oh, Magnolia.” Quicker than I could follow, he caught my hand and pulled it away. He took both my hands and pressed them into the mattress on either side of my head. His eyes were all heat, the center of the flame, blue at the hottest point. His lips lowered to move gently at my ear, his whisper a tickle. “Be careful what you wish for sweetheart.”
He stood so fast I wasn't prepared for it. I was still panting and struggling to contain my own rampant hunger for him. I slowly sat up and watched as he went to the chest of drawers, dropped his towel, and pulled on boxer briefs. Cotton MacKenna's bare butt was a shock, a thing of beauty, and not something I was likely to ever wipe from my memory. He threw a half smile over his shoulder at me, knowing the effect he had on me, while pulling a t-shirt from another drawer.
“Aren't you changing?” Cotton tipped his chin in my direction. I looked down at my clothes, my swimsuit still my base layer, my high waisted cut off shorts, and my now terribly wrinkled white button-down shirt tied at my waist.
“I didn't bring anything.” I shrugged. It wasn't a big deal. “And I can't ... can't go home.”
Cotton's eyes locked onto my mouth, my chin that threatened to wobble with an onslaught of emotion, then on my hands that fisted his quilt. Next time I walked through the door to my home, I had to face my mama. Between now and then I had to figure out what I would say to her. I had to find it within myself to draw a line, to make boundaries, and to do it hopefully without causing a massive breakdown of either party.
“I'll go in and get whatever you need, Mags.”
My lips found a smile and showed it to him. Mags. He was sweet and familiar, and my heart told me crazy things about love.
“No. I'm okay in this.” I gestured to myself. He nodded as his eyes roamed over my body for the thousandth time that day.
A loud knocking on his bedroom door made me jump. The door flew open before Cotton could answer it. Dominic was framed in the doorway, all red blonde hair and twinkling eyes, mischief and mayhem wrapped up in laughter and generosity. How did I get there? How had I landed firmly in the MacKenna house with devotion of one kind or another all around me?
“Oh good, you're decent.” He gave me a wink and tipped his head to his brother. “Time to go, folks.”
/>
Dom gave the doorframe a rap with his knuckles, then turned and flew down the stairs. Cotton had managed to pull on jeans and looked ready to go. His reluctance to leave his room had little to do with our destination or his state of ready, and everything to do with an obvious desire to press me into his mattress again.
I hopped up and stood in the doorway. The doorway that had looked too small to hold Dominic, then conversely made me feel small with space on each side and yawning above my head.
“Come back here with me tonight.” Cotton moved into my space and pulled me in and up, pressed chest to chest, and his hands firm at my waist. His voice was intense, and sent a shiver along my spine and right down to my fingers and toes. “Spend the night. We'll go to your mom's place in the morning so you can change for our hike.”
“I can't stay the night.” Fear warred with yearning and filtered through my voice. It sounded like a question.
“Yes. You can.” He pressed his nose into my where my neck met my shoulder and his breath over my skin was distracting. “Stay all the nights. I can't let you go.”
“I have to face my mom sometime.” If he was trying to keep me from having to go home, deal with the hurt feelings and argument that waited for me there, it wasn't possible. I couldn't run from her. He couldn't always be there to step in and stand up for me.
“You will. Tomorrow morning. I'll go with you.” His lips guided his way up to my face, where he paused and left his forehead to meet with mine. “That isn't why I want you to stay. I can't bear saying goodbye to you. Not after sharing you all day. I want to hold you in my arms tonight.”
His words were thick with emotion and my whole chest burned. I didn't think about it being too soon. I didn't think of all the reasons I should say no and go home like a good girl. I only thought of lying in his bed with his body warm and close, with his arms holding me to him, and waking up to him.
The Guilt of a Sparrow Page 20
