Reprise

by C. D. Breadner

  “Twisted my ankle. It’s fine, I just need to sit.”

  Outside there was music, a radio blaring out classic rock from the open garage door. When she realized what was going on she had to stop and appreciate the scene.

  On the grass the women were lounging in Adirondack chairs. The blonde woman and her gorgeous daughter were plucking carrots from the garden, the concern for the dress gone. It was already dirty, as were the little white tights underneath.

  And the men were definitely occupied.

  Knuckles joined one of his bearded brethren at a section of fence with half the boards already ripped off. He was with the redheaded woman, Mal realized, and because of that she forced herself not to stare. Like Tiny, he’d shed his shirt and was working in just jeans. His back bore the same ink Tiny had, and some trippy design worked its way from his pectoral muscle partially up the side of his neck. On the other side of his chest was a name, and she assumed it was his wife’s. His hair was long, left to hang to his shoulders. Shit, he really reminded her of a younger Harlon. Knuckles handed the man a beer and they both took a long pull, set the bottles down, then set to tearing off the boards.

  With their hands.

  Sure it was a rickety thing, nailed together years ago...but damn, that was a sight.

  Following behind them two other men were replacing the boards with new pressure-treated ones. The father of the cute little girl had hold of a drill and was pressing a screw into place, also bare to the waist, his back and arms bunching under a layer of sweat.

  Good lordy.

  And the man standing next to a table saw shoved a pencil behind his ear as he handed over the next board, his impressive arms and chest showing the effort. That was the one with the pregnant woman, she recognized him from before as he grinned at the man he was working with.

  Another one with impressive musculature, younger than the others, came through the garage door with another drill, holding it out like a weapon. Again, no shirt, and this one had even more ink, his hair piled up at the back of his head. “Where the fuck’s my helper?” he shouted.

  She cleared her throat and looked around, realizing that behind the Gray’s house a few women were standing on the high deck off the back of the house, no qualms about blatantly staring.

  She really couldn’t blame them.

  “Right here, asshole.” Tiny rumbled behind her.

  “We’re falling behind. They’re five boards ahead of us.”

  “Are we competing?” Tiny asked, moving around her and down the steps to the grass. She kind of followed, stopping in place once she was on turf.

  “We’re always competing,” the man said with absolute sincerity.

  “Loser has to let the other team barbecue,” the large bear of a man at the table saw clued her in to what the hell they were talking about.

  “And Jayce can’t grill for shit.”

  “Fuck you,” the one with the daughter shot back.

  “Jayce!” A female voice rang through from the garden. “Little ears, remember?”

  “Shit,” he muttered quietly, then louder: “Sorry, honey.”

  “Daddy said a bad word.”

  The men in the yard made a poor show of holding in their laughter. Well, all except for Knuckles. “That’s right, Libby. Daddy says a lot of bad words. Isn’t that terrible?”

  “Very terrible,” she agreed, grinning up at him. Mal’s heart melted. Again.

  “You should kick him in the shin every time he does that.”

  “Okay.”

  “No, Libby. We don’t kick or hit people.” Trinny got hold of her daughter before she could actually hurt anyone. Then she spun and smacked Knuckles’ arm hard enough that the slap rang out. “Cut it out, Knuckles.”

  He was laughing, and she was a little bit too, as she pulled her daughter back towards the house. “Come on honey, let’s clean up these carrots.”

  “Kick me in the shin?” the one called Jayce said, making everyone cut up. Mal decided that it was time she introduced herself to the women, since she’d been standing there gawking at their men for five minutes now.

  “Hi,” she said as the three in the circle of chairs looked up at her. “I’m Mallory.”

  The redhead stood, the baby draped on her chest fast asleep. “I’m Gertie. This is my son, Davie.”

  Mal smiled at the little peaceful face. Gertie stuck her hand out, so Mal shook it as she said, “He’s gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.” Then Gertie turned to her assembly. “This is Rose, she’s Tank’s old lady.”

  “Tank?”

  “He’s the mountain of man working the table saw,” Rose filled in, fanning herself with folded paper. “Pardon me if I don’t get up.”

  Mal smiled, leaning over to shake her hand. “Been there, done that. But I doubt I looked as good as you do. When’s the big event supposed to take place?”

  “Five weeks.” Rose smiled serenely, running her free hand over her stomach. “I’m not scared yet. Is that weird?”

  Mal shook her head as Gertie answered. “Nope. You have no idea what’s coming so that’s wonderfully naive.”

  Rose laughed, and it surprised Mallory.

  “You’re a terrible bitch, Gertie.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Mallory allowed a laugh at that, and then Gertie was introducing her to another blonde woman. This woman was older than the rest of them, but not quite up at Mal’s age. She was lovely but certainly gave off a more serious vibe than the others.

  “This is Sharon. She’s with Fritter.”

  “Fritter?” What a bizarre name.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  They all turned, in time to see two men hit the grass, rolling and punching. Mal could tell this wasn’t a serious scuffle—more slapping than punching—but she still flinched.

  “Say it,” the youngest one in the crew was growling, trying to get hold of Knuckles’ hair. The thinner man was wiry though, and he almost seemed to slip out of the bigger one’s hold.

  “Fuck you.”

  In an impressive move the brawny, inked man was suddenly on top, holding Knuckles down on his stomach, head to the side, his arm twisted in a painful way out to the side, shoulder up the wrong way, looking for all the world like that arm was about to get broken.

  Mallory looked around but no one seemed too concerned. The men were laughing, then went back to their work.

  “Say it, fucker.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Say it.”

  “No.”

  Knuckles face mooshed up as it was pressed into the ground harder. “I will piss on you right now if you don’t say it.”

  There was a pause, then in a muffled voice Knuckles acquiesced. “Fritter is the king of awesome.”

  “And the rest of it.”

  “And if I liked dick I’d want him to fuck me.”

  Mallory turned back to the quiet, calm blond, who was resting her elbow on the arm of her chair, a hand at her temple as she shook her head. But she had a small smile as she watched the wrestling match.

  “That’s Fritter?” Mallory found herself muttering, then realized that might be seen as rude.

  “I know,” Gertie cut in. “Against the laws of nature. But he’s pretty much gone for our Sharon here.”

  Someone brushed past Mal’s arm, and Fritter entered the female sanctuary, dropped to his knees in front of his woman and leaned in to kiss her. “Sorry baby,” he murmured. “He was asking for it.”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  “And I don’t want to fuck him.”

  “Are you drunk?” Her tone was amused, and her hand came out to trace over his shoulder.

  “I have had a few beers.” It sounded like an apology.

  “On an empty stomach.”

  “Maybe.” He leaned in closer and said something so low it couldn’t be overheard, but the woman smiled broader and visibly grew pinker. After a moment she nodded and with a shout he was picking her up over his shoulder, standing
easily, and striding towards the deck.

  “They’re disgusting,” Gertie assured Mal, rubbing her son’s back. “As quiet as Sharon is, whenever they find a private corner...” she let it trail off.

  “I hope Adeel’s not still in there,” Rose muttered.

  “Nah, he’s reading in the garage,” a voice said right behind them.

  Mal stepped away as the man that reminded her so much of her younger Harlon leaned in to kiss Gertie’s neck from behind. “How’s my son?”

  Gertie’s eyelids fluttered from her husband’s kiss—and they were married, Mal saw the rings—before she answered. “Sleeping. Milk coma.”

  “Should I carry you into the house, too?”

  “No. The bathroom is occupied.” But Gertie was giggling as her man continued to nuzzle her neck. His hands wound around her waist and pulled her close. Jesus, they may as well just drop to the grass and make out.

  “Where’s Tiny’s mom?” Rose asked.

  “She’s napping. She won’t wake up. Fritter’s pretty damn fast,” Buck laughed.

  Then he did something that made Gertie sigh in a very private way. Mal looked for somewhere to sit and noticed the abandoned lawn chair. She made for it, suddenly uncomfortable with the lovefest going on around her.

  “This is a group that kind of lets it all hang out, in case you missed it,” Rose said, smiling with understanding. “I sometimes forget how we seem to outsiders.”

  Mal smiled, taking a breath and looking across the yard to where Harlon—Tiny—was taking a board from the man named Tank and placing it in line with the rest of the new fence. She remembered that kind of affection. It had never made her uncomfortable before.

  Chapter Twelve

  The meal was excellent, and although he’d never admit it, Fritter was more the grill master than Jayce would ever be. Tiny loved his Prez but the guy overcooked everything.

  He stuck close to his mom, who came out of her afternoon nap a little confused. Not manic, just unaware of what the day had held. That was okay. She was back in hostess mode, continuously asking if anyone needed anything. She nearly had a fit when the women were cooking and preparing dinner, but Tiny eventually reassured her that they wanted to do something nice for her. Then his mom had patted his cheek and told him she loved him.

  The way she said it told him she thought he was his dad, but he didn’t let that freak him out. He squeezed her arm and told her he loved her, too.

  With one eye on his mom, he tried to keep the other on Mallory. She was a bit unsure of this group, and he hadn’t really introduced her around. But once he’d seen Gertie make the round of introductions to the other women he assumed it was fine.

  After dinner they threw away the disposable plates and cutlery, used only because the dishes had been donated to the Salvation Army. The women cleaned up the kitchen as the guys tidied up the refuse of the fence repair. Mallory’s ankle was starting to hurt, so he made her sit on the deck and just watch the proceedings.

  The couples headed back to the hotel right away. Knuckles made noise about heading out to the bar to grab a drink, and Tiny took that to mean he was itchy to get laid. It’d been a few days which was an eternity for the guy.

  Tiny helped his mom up into his truck, then closed the door and watched Mallory head for her truck along the sidewalk in front of the house. He jogged to catch up to her, taking her hand. He couldn’t say where exactly his head was at, but he wanted to spend more time with her.

  “Hey,” he breathed as she turned, looking a bit surprised.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m taking Mom to the home. Would you...would you come along? We could...go for a drive?”

  She tilted her head, mouth dropping open to answer, but nothing came out.

  “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been...it’s been good.” Hell, it was better than good. When he thought she was going to let him kiss her in the kitchen it had been absolutely fantastic, and he had to admit that was part of his motivation here as well.

  “Umm, sure.” When she agreed he had to grin.

  “Good. Come on,” he put his arm to her back, and waited while she limped to the truck. He wanted to pick her up and carry her—she’d liked that, way back when—but he didn’t. That would have been too much.

  She settled into the seat behind his mom, who prattled on to her about flowers and the best time to plant bulbs, all the way back to the home. He left his mom with the attending nurse, his chest tightening when she looked around, confused, insisting she wanted to go home, to her house.

  That had been a mistake, bringing her to the house. Shit. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

  He must have even looked distressed because the nurse gave a sympathetic nod. “It’s okay Harlon,” she said, putting her arm around his mother’s shoulders. “We’ll get her settled. It’s probably best you leave.”

  Fuck. That hurt. But he did as told with a reluctant nod, fighting back the sting in his eyes. The cooler night air helped wrangle that in, and he inhaled deeply before climbing back behind the wheel of the truck. Mallory had moved to the front in the meantime, and her face showed her concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Mom thought she was staying at the house. It was a mistake taking her back there. Fuck.”

  Her hand on his shoulder was tentative. “She’ll calm down and forget it, Harlon.”

  At her saying his real name his heart calmed. Shit, that really took him back. “I know.”

  They sat quietly, him not looking at her, all the while her hand ran up and down his arm in reassurance. He loved that. He really fucking loved it.

  “Where should we go?” she eventually asked, sitting up straight. He missed the warmth of her hand.

  “Show me around town,” he said with a smile that likely didn’t quite reach his eyes. With the turn of his wrist the truck roared to life, and he threw it in drive. “What’s changed?”

  She laughed at that, running a hand over her hair. He wished she’d let it down. “Umm, nothing. New paint in a few places, more buildings torn down. Basic bullshit.”

  But she tour guided him around Cleary anyway, reminding him who used to live where, what used to stand on ignored and empty lots. The main drag was as dead as it had ever been, with the exception of teenagers out cruising. They shared memories, laughed a lot. He loved hearing her laugh again. She laughed with her whole body when she really meant it. Her head went back, her mouth went wide, you could see her back teeth. Her chest shook and it was loud. They didn’t talk about anything heavy, of course. It was pleasant and light, like a really good date. They’d already been through enough heavy shit today. It felt good.

  “And of course, you remember the golf course,” she said with a wave out the window.

  Sure he did. It was a nice course, but more importantly, the overflow parking lot was perfectly hidden. Plenty of time in back seats in that lot, that’s what he remembered of it. “I remember it well,” he replied, and she smiled across the cab at him.

  “Should we park?”

  He stared at her, wondering if she was nuts, at the same time hoping she was absolutely serious.

  Yeah, he wanted to fuck her. Of course he did. She was still completely fucking gorgeous, and the way she’d looked at him earlier that day had stoked a bit of that urge for him. No denying it. But was it a good idea? Shit, with everything they had behind them...

  “I think we should,” she said quietly, looking out the window again.

  Damn it, he was so easy. He pulled a U-Turn and nosed the truck through the parking lot, down the two-track road to the “overflow,” which was really just a grassy clearing. Best of all: no lights.

  He parked and leaned back, staring out the window. Shit, the memories were like a landslide. And most of the memories of Mallory he was replaying at the moment were decidedly X-rated, making his cock harden uncomfortably.

  “I haven’t missed you,” she said, staring down at her hands. The lights of the dashboard glinted off her hair, the
piece that had fallen forward obscuring her face from him. “Actually, I spent most of this time hating you. It was easier to do that when you weren’t around.”

  “I deserve it.” He answered when she didn’t say anything else. “I was an asshole.”

  “We were both too young. We weren’t ready for anything serious.”

  “I would have stayed around for the baby,” he insisted. “I know I would have.”

  “I know it, too. But you wouldn’t stay for me.” Now she looked up, and her eyes were wet. It was a punch to the gut. “I wasn’t enough.”

  He leaned over and pushed that hunk of hair behind her ear. Shit, it was as silky as he remembered. “You were younger, but I was too fucking immature. A baby would have made me grow up, but I...I was scared of you. You were...fuck. You were so much better than me. Stronger.”

  She shook her head with a laugh.

  “It’s a reason, not an excuse.”

  At that she met his gaze again, and her expression softened. “How do you still look so good?”

  It surprised him and he laughed. “Mal, have you seen yourself lately? Fuck, baby. You look even better than you did.”

  His entire body surged with heat as she scooted closer to him on the bench seat. “I look older,” she insisted.

  “Nah.” He could hold her face in both hands now, so he did. “You’re beautiful. It hurts to see how gorgeous you still are.”

  She searched his face with just her eyes, and he couldn’t blame her for thinking it was a line. It even sounded like one to him, but it was true.

  “I really want you to kiss me.”

  Interesting. In the day she’d just kiss him, but rather than point that out he nodded, then leaned in while tugging her closer. Her eyes closed, and he did the same as his lips made contact.

  Warmth, so much warmth. Her lips were soft and full, brushing over his up and down. It was a soft kiss, and it was her who opened her mouth first, her tongue slipping out to taste his bottom lip. His hands tightened on her, bringing her in closer as he took the invitation and swept his tongue into her mouth. She moaned and he commanded his body to calm down. She used to kiss like she was a bit unsure, but those days were gone. Her tongue slid and rolled with his, aggressive, even though her hands were just clutching his wrists.