“Well, it bothers me now.” The words were soft, but clipped, as if he was holding back.
Did it bother him now because of who she was? If he’d known they were coming, would he have stalled them or sent her away?
She crept into the hall and veered into the kitchen, trying to keep out of sight, but his father spoke again before she reached the door.
“Because of that girl?” His voice was hushed, but it still echoed down the hall. “Leland, I don’t mean to pry, but are you being careful? She looks like a drug addict.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE SOFT GASP that floated down the hall made him turn. He caught her shattered look the moment before the kitchen door closed behind her.
“Wren—”
Lee took off at a run. He cleared the back yard in time to see her duck into the Mustang. He’d been here before — done this before — and it was the last thing he wanted.
“Don’t leave.”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Lee knew that if she left now — after hearing what she’d heard — she might never come back. Wren shut the driver’s side door as he came around the front of the car.
“Don’t leave, Wren.” He stepped up her to side of the Mustang, but she slapped down the lock before he could open it. “Look at me, Wren.”
But she wouldn’t. Lee could see that she was digging in her bag, hunting for her keys, and he knew he had only seconds to get through to her. He bent low and pressed his fingertips to her window.
“You have to stop running.”
When she flinched, he knew she could hear him loud and clear.
“Stay with me and fight for us.”
The keys appeared in her hand, and he watched her struggle to fit the right one into the ignition.
“I love you, Wren. And I know you love me, too.”
Wren stilled. She wouldn’t look at him, but it was enough to give him hope.
“What does it matter what anyone else thinks when we know what we have?”
The Mustang’s engine fired up.
“Shit, Wren, don’t do this.”
She pulled down the gearshift, putting the car into reverse, and Lee knew he had to leave them an out.
“This means nothing, Wren. You leaving now means nothing.” He thumped her window with the heel of his hand. “You’re upset, and that’s okay. But we’re okay, too.”
Her head was tilted down as he spoke, but something caught her eye, and she looked up toward his house. Lee followed to see his father and Barbara crossing the yard cautiously, confusion clear on their faces. He’d have to deal with them eventually, but now he needed them to stay back.
“Hang on, guys. Give us a minute.”
“But Leland, you’re half-naked and causing a scene,” his father said, still approaching. “Let the girl go.”
Anger, like a flash bomb, blew away the last of his restraint. “Dad, back the hell off!” he yelled, earning himself their stunned expressions.
Wren even looked up at him. But instead of finding surprise, all he saw was sadness. She rolled down her window a single inch.
“You heard the man, Lee. Let me go.” Her voice sounded completely hollow. “Step away. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She took her foot off the brake, and the car started to roll.
He locked eyes with her but pushed back from the car. “You already have.”
LEE WATCHED HER pull away and kept watching until the turquoise Mustang turned onto Cherry Street. Then he pulled out his phone and sent her a text.
Lee: This isn’t over.
He’d give her a few minutes to calm down and lick her wounds, but he wasn’t going to let her start her workday without getting them back where they needed to be. But first, he had to establish some ground rules. He turned back to his dad and Barbara.
“We need to talk.”
“I’ll say we do,” his father grumbled, his affronted expression stoking Lee’s anger. He swallowed the urge to take a swing at the man, but the intention was clear in his voice when he spoke.
“What happened this morning will never happen again.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that be—”
“Because you will treat the woman I love with care and respect, or you won’t be welcome here.” He aimed his gaze first at his father and then at Barbara. “Neither one of you.”
The look of shock on his father’s face had to be genuine. “But we’ve always treated Marcelle that way. We love her like—”
“Dad, I’m not fucking talking about Marcelle,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m in love with Wren Blanchard, the girl you just insulted — maybe beyond repair. She’s the love of my life, and, if she ever gives me the chance, I’ll marry her and thank my lucky stars until the end of time.”
Barbara’s hand settled over her heart as her mouth made a silent O, but his father’s face went slack with confusion. “What?”
Lee was about to grab the man by his throat when the sound of a buzzer cut across the yard. They all turned toward the open kitchen door.
“Is something in the oven?” Barbara asked.
Wren.
Of course something was in the oven. That was why she hadn’t been curled up in bed with him when he awoke — when he awoke to her screaming. She’d been making him breakfast. Again.
Lee ran back into the house with his parents at his heels. The kitchen smelled of sweetness and warmth and home, and Lee shut off the timer and grabbed two potholders. He pulled open the oven door to find a dozen perfectly golden blueberry muffins.
“Oh, Wren,” he whispered.
He set the muffins on the stove and gripped the counter. The morning had given him the most unwelcome sense of déjà vu. The night he’d fallen in love with Wren, she’d left his house hurt and unprotected. Today had been no different. And both times, she’d done something so incredibly sweet for him.
“She made those?” his father asked, eyeing the steaming tin with surprise. Lee nodded.
“From scratch by the looks of it,” Barbara said, appreciatively.
“Well…” his father began, frowning. “…why did she leave?”
Lee faced him with a scowl. “Because you embarrassed her, and then you insulted her, Dad. You talked about her like she didn’t matter,” he said, years of resentment pressing behind each word. “Like you’ve done with so many things that were important to me. My job. My house. My choices…”
“What do you mean? I’ve always supported—”
“Dad, when I told you I wanted to specialize in obstetrics and gynecology, you pushed me to reconsider. Why not become a heart surgeon like you? Better hours. Better pay.” He didn’t try to hide the bitterness.
His father’s face sagged, as though his son’s words betrayed him. “I thought it would be too hard on you… what with your mother’s illness…”
“Ovarian cancer, Dad. You can say it.” Barbara flinched at Lee’s tone, but he didn’t stop. “Don’t you get it? The reason I wanted to be a doctor was because of Mom. It was oncology or gynecology, and, considering how much I hate cancer, delivering babies seemed to be the best choice. And I think Mom would have approved.”
His father looked down, but he nodded with a sad smile. “Of course she would have approved.”
Lee was glad to hear this, but he wasn’t finished. “And I think she would have approved of Wren,” he said, the power of the truth filling him up. “I know she would have.”
Lee watched a distressed frown crease Thomas Hawthorne’s forehead. His mouth seemed to shrivel. Was this his dad looking… guilty? True to form, his father traded the expression for one of frustration.
“Why didn’t you tell us anything about her? How long have you been seeing her?”
Lee owned his mistake. He should have told them something about her. He sighed. “I was waiting for the right moment. She’s… not like anyone else I’ve dated—”
His dad gave a chuckle. “I’ll say.”
Barbara tsked
and shot her husband a look of warning.
“It’s only been a few weeks, but she’s scared to take a chance with me, and I didn’t want to spook her.” Lee shrugged. “You guys seemed so hung up on Marcelle I figured you needed some time, too.”
Barbara had the good grace to look chagrinned. “I bear the blame there,” she admitted, shaking her head. “When I heard the two of you broke up, I’m afraid I interfered because I was so fond of her… I owe you an apology, Lee.”
Lee startled at the sound of his name. Barbara almost always called him Leland, just like his father did.
“I — Thank you, Barbara,” he stammered.
“And I’m so sorry to upset your friend, Wren,” she added, eying her husband. “We both are.”
His father put his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet. Close enough.
“Why all the tattoos?” he asked after a minute.
Less judgment filled his tone than Lee would have expected. He pictured Wren’s amazing body, praying she’d let him see it again, and smiled when he answered. “Aren’t they beautiful?” He didn’t wait for them to agree, but he wanted them to know how he felt. “She’s an artist. Skin is her medium.”
Lee watched his father blink and take in this information. If he harbored any negative opinion about this, he kept it to himself.
“If she’d have known you were coming,” Lee said meaningfully, “she never would have let you see so much. She’d have been covered up. You would’ve had no idea what she looked like.”
Barbara bit her lip, but his father pointed to Lee’s chest. “Did she do that?”
Lee looked down at his key with pride. “Hell, yes. How do you think I got her number?”
Amusement lifted the corners of his father’s eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. Then he looked at his son, really looked at him. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I’ve never felt like this.”
“Well, son, don’t just stand there,” his father said, frowning to hide his smile. “Get some clothes on and go get her.”
LEE WAS ONLY half-surprised not to find the Mustang outside Wren’s apartment.
Lee: I’m parked outside your place, eating the best blueberry muffin in the world, and wondering where you are.
He waited for a moment, but no response came.
Lee: You might think it’s callous of me to eat at a time like this, but how could I let your sweet efforts go to waste. You love me enough to make me muffins on Sunday and fried eggs on Wednesday and invite me to Dwyer’s on Thursday. Because you love me, breakfast is now my favorite meal.
He put the last bite of muffin in his mouth and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t let himself consider that she’d leave him for good. If she did, he’d be wrecked.
Lee picked up his phone again.
Lee: You love me, and I love you, but it’s going to take forever to text all this, so I’m calling you. Maybe you’ll answer.
He tapped her number, started driving, and waited through three rings, hoping — but knowing — she wouldn’t pick up. When her voicemail answered, Lee listened to Wren’s three-second greeting.
“In the studio Thursday through Sunday. Leave a message.”
“So, my dad’s an ass… I think you knew that before this morning. He’s not really an asshole, but he is an ass. You can appreciate the difference. Being an ass means he thinks he knows everything — even when he’s clueless. He doesn’t like to be wrong, and he doesn’t like people to tell him he’s wrong. If he were an asshole, he wouldn’t care. But he does…” Lee sighed and got ready to explain. “Don’t get me wrong. Being an ass isn’t okay, and I’ve let it go on far too long. I’m old enough to know that he’s a well-meaning ass, but I’m too old to let him tread over my boundaries… so it’s my fault you—”
Beep!
Wren’s phone cut him off, and he immediately tapped her number again, picking up right where he left off.
“It’s my fault you got hurt today. I promised never to hurt you, but I still let you get hurt because I didn’t let my family know I was in love with the most amazing and perfect woman in the world and that they needed to stay the hell away from my house on Sunday mornings when I had the good fortune of having you all to myself… and I chose the easier path. For whatever ridiculous reason, my dad and Barbara had it in their heads that Marcelle was right for me. The last time I talked to my dad, I let him keep believing that just so I could get off the phone… so stupid, Wren. Marcelle’s not right for me. She’s never been right for me. If they’d ever seen you and I together, they’d know what right looks like. They’d understand why I’d never be happy with Marcelle because you’re the only one who—”
Beep!
He called back again.
“Dammit. I hate this fucking phone. You, Wren. You are the only one who gets me. The only one who makes me happy… the only one I want… and I’m pulling up to Mamaw Gigi’s, and your kickass Mustang isn’t here. Where are you, Wren?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“SHIT, WREN. YOU’RE not at Studio Ink.”
Lee’s voice came out panicked over the sounds of traffic in the distance.
“Rocky said you called in sick. Baby, you never miss work. Where the fuck are you? Just text me and let me know you’re all right.”
“Was that him again?” Cherise eyed her with a disapproving frown.
Wren nodded, slumping deeper into her best friend’s couch after listening to Lee’s fourth voicemail.
“And you’re just going to let him twist in the wind? The best guy in the whole world? The best chance at happiness that’s ever landed at your feet?”
“I don’t need a man to make me happy,” she defended, puffing up her chest. “I have my art. I have my friends. I have Agnes. I—”
Cherise tucked her chin and gave Wren a pitying look. “Have you ever been happier than you are with him?”
Wren scowled. “If you think this is helping, you’re wrong. As my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
Cherise flopped down beside her. “Sweetie, I am on your side. I’m on the side that knows that pushing this guy away could be the biggest mistake of your life. This is me trying to help you steer clear of disaster.”
Wren plucked a pill on her sweater rather than face Cherise. “You don’t get it.”
Cherise tsked. “Give me a little credit. I’ve known you for almost five years, Wren. What haven’t we shared?” When Wren didn’t answer, she pressed on. “We’ve shared everything… I know about everything that happened to you, and you know about everything that happened to me.”
Wren met her friend’s eyes and saw the conviction in them.
“My dad was a wife-beating piece of shit, and every time he tried to raise his hand to me or my little brother, my mom stepped in front of it. You want to compare baggage with me, bitch?” Cherise asked with a sneer. “Get yourself a ticket.”
“A ticket?” Wren frowned.
Cherise’s sneer vanished. A look of defeat took its place. “A baggage claim ticket. I was going for a metaphor.”
In spite of herself and her misery, Wren tilted her head back and laughed. Cherise socked her in the arm, trying to stifle her own laughter.
“My point is, I know with all our shit, it’s hard to trust somebody — even when they’re trustworthy, but this is right,” Cherise said, balling her hands into fists and settling them on her knees. “I’ve seen the way that sexy doctor looks at you, honey, and this is for real. He’s a saint, and he’s in this for the long haul.”
“Cherise, it’s only been a couple of weeks. I don’t know—”
“So find out!”
Wren shook her head. “It’s not just that… it’s everything.”
Her best friend gave her the stink-eye. “’Everything’ is a little vague.”
Wren shut her eyes on a sigh. “It’s…”
“Is it the sex? Does Dr. Dreamy have a tiny pecker?”
Wren’s eyes flew
open. “Cherise! No!”
Her best friend clutched her arm, laughing. “Oh my God, Wren. Are you ever blushing. He must be HUGE.”
Wren slapped her on the knee. “Cherise!”
“You’re not denying it,” she teased, shaking her head. Wren covered her face to hide both her blush and the smile that threatened to tell more than she wanted.
“Dr. Hawthorne has a pon-der-ous pecker,” Cherise sang.
“Have I ever told you I hate that term?” Wren scolded behind her hands.
“What? Pecker?”
“Yes, who wants to associate that with chickens?”
“What would you rather? Prick?”
“Ugh. No.”
“Member?”
Wren lowered her hands and looked at Cherise like she was crazy. “Member? Member of what? What’s wrong with you?”
“Well, what do you call it? Please don’t say penis.”
“I don’t know… cock?” Wren ventured with a shrug.
Cherise returned her crazy stare. “That doesn’t make you think of chickens?”
“Well, it didn’t until now.” Wren laughed until she had to dry her eyes.
Cherise laughed just watching her.
When she could finally breathe, she sat up a little taller against the back of the plush couch. Her laughter had dried up, but her eyes had not. She kept dabbing them on the sleeve of her sweater, but her tears still fell.
“Want some tequila?” Cherise asked.
“Hell yes.”
Cherise got up and returned with a bottle, two shot glasses, and the required lime and salt.
“Okay,” Cherise said, pouring. “We do one shot for courage, and then every time I say bullshit, you drink. Every time you say you don’t get it or the equivalent, I drink. Deal?”
“I think we’re about to get hammered.”
“Fist, please,” Cherise said, raising the salt shaker.
They licked, shot, and sucked the courage round. Courage, it seemed, did come in a bottle. Courage warmed its way down her throat.
“Okay…” Cherise winced, shaking off the shot. “Why do you think you can’t be with Lee?”
“Because I’m not good enough for him.”
“Bullshit!”
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