Ren and Della: Boxed Set (Ribbon Duet Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  And I sat and watched the clock strike nine then ten then eleven and still Della didn’t come home.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2016

  A FEW WEEKS later, Della asked me the dreaded question.

  The one I’d been expecting ever since I’d seen her happiness hanging with the group of kids from school on our birthday.

  “Ren?”

  I looked up from where I was trying to yank a splinter from my thumb. The bastard had gone in deep, and I’d left it for too long, ensuring a red infection and minor swelling. It was a fence’s fault, catching me as I’d corralled the cows into the yard for milking. “Yeah?” I asked, distracted with a needle and tweezers.

  Her bare feet appeared beneath my vision where I sat hunched at the dinged-up kitchen table. “It can wait. Do you need help?”

  I smiled at her tangled hair from a long day and the pyjamas with a repeating decal of Cupid’s arrows and hearts all over her arms and legs. Having her stand there ready for bed and eyes hooded with tiredness, I could almost forget she was slipping further from my reach.

  Strange how you could miss someone when they were apart of everything you did.

  Before I could reply, she stole the needle, pulled up the only other chair, and yanked my hand toward her.

  “Careful,” I warned as she prodded me with the sharp tip.

  “I have to break a few layers of skin. You left it too long. It’s grown over.”

  I groaned. “Great.”

  “Hold still.” She bent over me, her hair obscuring her face and tickling the tops of my jean-covered thighs. I hadn’t had a shower from work, and the dust and filth from working cows all day dirtied her cleanliness.

  Not that she cared as she bent closer and diligently dug into my thumb.

  I flinched occasionally, but somehow, she managed not to hurt me even though a bead of blood kept welling, causing her to wipe it away with her own finger, continuing her splinter hunt.

  She needed a napkin or something to prevent my blood from staining her fingers, but I daren’t stop her. I might not let her resume stabbing me otherwise.

  The scent of vanilla rose from her hair, hinting she’d bought a different shampoo than her usual. She still smelled of the girl I’d known for sixteen years, but there was a new smell, too.

  Something that made my heart chug harder the longer she huddled close.

  She was so real, so fragile, so beautiful.

  My fingers begged to be allowed to run through her hair, to bring her close, to hold her because I missed her so goddamn much.

  As she tended to my wound, a yearning gathered that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.

  I missed being touched.

  I missed being kissed.

  I missed affection that didn’t come with a price of losing my soul.

  By the time she finally dislodged the splinter, I struggled to breathe, and my thoughts were full of killing rabbits and tractor mechanics—anything to keep my body in check and appropriate boundaries in place.

  I told myself it was because I hadn’t been close to anyone in so long, all the while truth danced behind my lies.

  I was waking up; seeing things I didn’t want to see. Feeling things I definitely didn’t want to feel.

  She blew curls from her eyes as she planted the tweezers on the table with an accomplished flourish. “There you are. It’s out.” Scooting up, she darted down the small corridor to the bathroom and came back with some antiseptic cream from the chipped-glass medicine cabinet.

  She stole my hand again, and with soft, capable fingers, spread some of the cream over the puncture she’d caused, then wrapped my thumb in a Band Aid.

  She patted my knuckles like a good nurse and smiled. “Well, you’ll survive. That’s the good news. The bad news is you might lose the thumb.”

  “Ha-ha.” I chuckled. “Hope I don’t. Can’t afford to lose another finger.”

  Her gaze fell to my missing pinkie, and some of her playfulness faded.

  Standing quickly, I did my best not to scatter pieces of silage and grain from feeding the cows onto the floor.

  I’d only recently saved up enough to buy a cheap motorbike that ensured I got to work for four a.m. without having to rely on shitty public transport. I didn’t have a license to ride it—seeing as I had no proof of who I was—and even having the convenience of wheels meant I still had to get up well before dawn. “It’s late. You should go to bed, and I need a shower.”

  She looked away but not before her eyes skittered down my body, lingered on my crotch, then dropped to the floor. Inhaling quick, tension rippled over her then was gone. She nodded quickly. “Yes. Bed. Shower. Good plan.”

  Twisting on the spot, her hair spun out like a gold carousel as she headed toward her bedroom. A second later, she spun back, biting her bottom lip, her cheeks pinker than before. “Eh, Ren?”

  Something in her tone froze me to the floor. “What?”

  She studied me with painful blue eyes, her decision not entirely formed. “Umm…”

  “Umm what?” I struggled to convert air into oxygen. The way she stared hinted she knew whatever she’d ask would wedge yet another problem between us. “Tell me.”

  “What I meant to ask you before…. Do you think…I…” She dragged a hand through her long hair, revealing her ribbon was tied around her wrist today. “Would you mind if I—”

  “Spit it out, Della.” My heart rushed to know, but at the same time, warned I wouldn’t like what she was about to say.

  She exhaled in a rush. “Can I go on a date with Tom?”

  I stopped breathing. “What?”

  “Tom…um, you met him? At the diner? The tall guy with brown hair like yours and um…” Her gaze landed on mine before bouncing away just as fast. Deep in their blue depths other things lurked. Things she didn’t want me to see.

  I stepped toward her, but she tripped backward. “So…eh, can I?”

  Air was still hard to come by. Everything inside bellowed to deny her request. I wanted to lock her in the apartment and never let her out. She was still too young for this. Too delicate and special and perfect to let unworthy boys touch her.

  I didn’t want anyone touching her.

  Period.

  But it wasn’t my place to prevent her from growing up.

  I should say yes.

  I meant to say yes even though it slayed me.

  But somehow, what I meant to say transformed on my tongue into an unarguable, “No.”

  Her lips thinned, and the nervousness at asking me quickly switched to resentment. “Why not?”

  Just because I had to dig the knife a little deeper into my heart, I repeated her question. “Why won’t I let you go on a date with him?”

  She nodded.

  “Because.”

  “Because?” She planted hands on her hips. “That’s not a reason.”

  “I don’t like him.” I’d backed myself into this corner and had no way out. Why the hell didn’t I say yes? I’d meant to, for God’s sake. Now we slipped into yet another fight, and I was tired of fighting. Tired of miscommunication and walking on eggshells.

  I wanted her close and caring like she’d just done with my splinter. I wanted to know where she was at all times, so I knew she was safe.

  “You don’t even know him.” She growled.

  “I don’t have to know him to know what he wants.”

  “Oh, really?” She flicked her head to the side, her nose wrinkled with familiar temper. “Just like I know what Cassie wanted with you all those long summer nights?”

  I stabbed my finger in the air. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”

  “Just like what Tom and I might do is none of yours.”

  “Oh, see that’s where you’re wrong, Della.” I moved toward her until our chests almost touched. “Everything you do is my business. You’re mine to keep safe, and I have no doubt he doesn’t
have any intention of doing that.”

  “He won’t hurt me.” She backed up. “He’s nice.”

  “Nice doesn’t exist when hormones are out of control.”

  “Hormones?” She laughed condescendingly. “What do you think I am, Ren, some animal who just wants to get laid?”

  I flinched.

  Words landed on my tongue, but I discarded them.

  She wasn’t an animal, but she was getting close to wanting sex. I could see it in her eyes, taste it in her voice. She wouldn’t be content with just me much longer and that knowledge kept me up at night.

  Before I could choose an appropriate response, she added, “Just because you were fucking at my age doesn’t mean—”

  “Language.”

  “Oh, please. You use worse all the time.”

  “Not intentionally, I don’t.”

  “What’s the difference?” She curled her lip. “You swear but don’t let me swear. You slept with Cassie, yet you won’t let me—”

  My temper snapped. “You’re not permitted to sleep with anyone. Ever. Do you hear me?”

  “You can’t stop me, Ren.” She crossed her arms, trembling just as much as me.

  We both trembled when fighting. I didn’t know how it happened or how to stop it, but with every fight, my limbs turned shaky with frustration and helplessness because I knew I could never win.

  She would do whatever she wanted.

  I had no power, even if I liked to think I did.

  The only way to stop her from doing things I didn’t approve of was to cart her back into the forest and keep her tied to a tree. And as much as that idea appealed to me, she had school to finish, a life to grow into, and I had a duty to ensure I made that as easy as I could for her.

  No matter how much it destroys me.

  Lowering my voice but unable to lower my temper, I seethed, “I was nineteen when I lost my virginity. You have another three years to go.”

  She sucked in a breath as if shocked I’d shared something so personal.

  Walking past her, I grunted, “You can go out with him in a group. You must be home when you say you will, and if you leave me hanging here like you did a few weeks ago, I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a month and then I’ll ground you for the rest of your life.”

  Her silence shot bullets into my back as I stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  As the stained, chipped mirror reflected my dirty face, I whispered, “Give me a few more years, Della Ribbon. Just a few more before you leave me.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2016

  SCHOOL FINISHED FOR the holidays, and Della, ever the resourceful, refused to relax like she deserved after studying so hard. Instead, she wanted to contribute to our bills by getting a job.

  I was too busy with the milking to argue.

  After scoring the job with Nick March, I’d not only been made the head milk harvester but also the overseer for the rest of the staff on his dairy farm.

  From figuring out how much protein and fibre to feed versus income per milk quart, to paddock rotation and herd streamlining, my time was booked from the moment I arrived to the second I left.

  I loved being in charge and making a difference. I enjoyed working with the seven hundred head of cattle and ensuring happy stock, which in turn, made for ease of milking twice a day.

  What I didn’t enjoy were the long hours I had to put in and the time apart from Della.

  I often fell asleep earlier due to the brutal wake-ups, and she’d stay up later texting who knew what and watching romantic programs that probably filled her head with ideas of sex and marriage and things I couldn’t protect her from.

  I’d wanted her to recharge during the school holidays, but in a way, I was glad she job hunted. It meant she had things to fill her days with, and no idle hands to date boys she shouldn’t be dating.

  And because she was intelligent and extremely capable, she landed a job within a few days, helping a local florist make bouquets and other gifts, spending her hours playing with flowers, plaiting ribbon, and turning nature into stunning works of art.

  Whenever I’d come home, she’d have some sort of daisy, tulip, or rose waiting for me, tied with a snippet of ribbon on the kitchen table.

  I never told her how much I adored the fact that she thought of me while at work. That she still cared enough that I was the one she kissed on the cheek and helped cook dinner with. That I still held enough importance in her life to spend time with, even if it was doing something boring like watching a movie with microwave popcorn and overly sweet cola.

  Those nights were my favourite.

  I could even pretend we were alone in our tent surrounded by trees instead of buildings if we pulled our curtains tight and huddled together on the couch.

  Normally, I was so exhausted, I ended up dozing beside her watching some comedy or drama while she twirled and tangled ribbon, making rosettes and ribbon-flowers for basket decorations at the florist.

  It reminded me of the Christmas present Patricia Wilson had given her that first year. Della had loved the colourful ribbon collection. She’d set it safely in our bedroom and never touched them because she didn’t want the colours to get marked with grease and grime like her blue one had.

  After a while, the ribbons were just there, seen but unseen in our bedroom until I carved her that wooden horse which then slept on the ribbons for the rest of its existence.

  I supposed both gifts the Wilsons had either kept or thrown out when we left. Della hadn’t taken them when she ran away, and I’d had nothing to pack them into.

  It helped recalling memories when Della was still young and easily impressed. These days, she smirked rather than smiled, and sometimes I wished I could trade her with the cute little girl I’d raised instead of live another day with a beautiful brutal teen.

  Some days, we were perfectly in tune—our communication effortless and easy. Others, we spoke the same language, but the message was all scrambled. I’d get on edge, and she’d get snappy, and neither of us could stop the secrets slowly driving us apart.

  * * * * *

  Halloween.

  Just like we’d never celebrated Christmas until the Wilsons, we hadn’t celebrated Halloween.

  In the town where the Wilsons lived, it wasn’t a huge thing, and Della wasn’t interested in dressing up and door knocking on strangers. Mostly because I practically hyperventilated at the thought of her putting herself in such danger.

  Humans were never to be trusted even on nights when it was acceptable to dress up like ghouls and witches and ask for candy.

  This year, she wasn’t a little kid with a plastic pumpkin bucket ready for sugar. This year, she was sixteen and had used her own income earned from the florist to hire a Victorian outfit with a dress that ballooned with skirts and lace, taking up the entire floor in our lounge.

  The pearl-beaded corset was tight and pushed up her breasts, barely covering her nipples and revealing acres of white, perfect flesh. She’d coiled her blonde hair until the messy curls turned into corkscrews, piled on top of her head and tumbling down around her face.

  Her navy satin gloves reflected the light from above as she waved an oriental-painted fan, and the baby blue material of her gown coupled with the cream bodice and Victorian lace made her eyes pop in a way that looked almost ethereal.

  I might love Della unconditionally with no impropriety of lust or denial.

  But that night, I struggled to see her as out of bounds. It didn’t matter my body prickled or my heart pounded. I battled to remind myself that the stunning creature in finery wasn’t some woman I desperately wanted to kiss, but a girl I would forever protect.

  Even if it meant protecting her from myself.

  “What do you think?” She spun in place, knocking over an empty water glass from the coffee table onto the threadbare carpet. It didn’t break, but my stiff rules threatened to. />
  She was far too lovely, and everything inside begged to mess her up so other men didn’t see how incredible she was.

  I swallowed to lubricate my throat. “It’s nice.”

  “Nice?” She blew away a curl that’d gotten caught on a fake eyelash—thick black frames around the most incredible eyes. “Just nice?” Her shoulders slouched a little. “I was hoping for more than nice. It was my entire week’s salary. I should’ve rented a cheap stripper outfit for ten bucks.”

  My belly turned to a rock at the mention of a stripper.

  No way in hell would that ever happen.

  She looked at the ceiling with a huff. “Now I just feel like an idiot for spending so much when I should’ve given it to you to pay the elec—”

  “Stop it.” I stood from where I was sprawled on the couch. My hands tingled as I dared place them on her bare, glitter-dusted shoulders. “It’s a hundred times better than nice.” I squeezed her gently, ignoring the kick in my gut. “Believe me. You’ll kill every boy there with a single stare.”

  Her charcoal-shadowed eyes studied mine, her lips parted as if searching to see if she’d killed me just like I’d promised.

  And she had. She definitely had.

  But I refused to let her see it.

  It was better that way…for both of us.

  Squeezing her again, I dropped my hands with a forced chuckle. “You’re far too beautiful to go out.”

  She sighed as if aggravated at something I’d done but then covered it up with a giggle. “Well, I am going out. You can’t ground me. Not tonight.”

  “In that case, I’m going to hog the couch and watch something gory. I’m looking forward to the peace and quiet.” I stretched, reaching for the ceiling and working out the kinks in my spine. My grey t-shirt rode up my belly, drawing her gaze to my naked skin just above my belt.

  She licked her lips, and my heart switched from nervous thrumming to out of control pounding.

  The entire lounge filled with wildfire. The air crackled with lightning bolts just waiting to strike. My body hardened in ways it never should around Della. But I couldn’t stop it. Every inch of me turned into a tuning fork, humming for something, begging for anything.