“About what?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “That I was a virgin? Or that I’m not a prostitute?”
His jaw clenched. “Both.”
She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing reply but ended up just shaking her head, tears brimming in her eyes. Any words she’d been about to sling at him were lost in the storm of emotions blowing around inside her. “I don’t know,” she whispered finally, the tears escaping down her cheeks. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t say anything. Just pulled her into his arms.
And held her.
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly, holding her head to his chest.
Despite what had just happened between them, being held by him felt so good. So safe. He was warm and strong and alive. Everything her ma wasn’t. And would never be again. For better or worse, right now, Clyde was all Mae had. The only thing standing between her and the unknown.
“My ma died,” she said, her cheek hot against his chest, her eyes wide. The statement sent a wave of fear through her. “Two days ago.”
He was quiet for a long moment and then let out a stunned breath. “Fuck … Mae, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I miss her so much,” she whispered, the reality of it sinking inside her like a stone.
He kissed her hair. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
Her throat was so tight with sorrow, she found it difficult to breathe. “She’s gone.”
“I know,” was all he said.
Curling her fingers into his T-shirt, she squeezed shut her hot, salty eyes and let out a soundless sob. “She’s gone,” she repeated, her heart aching. “I loved her, and she’s gone.”
“You’re not alone,” he said quietly.
It was three words she so desperately needed to hear. To believe. They were strangers. She knew that. What they’d just done had been … impulsive. It wasn’t love. Or even friendship. They’d both needed something from each other and they’d taken it. It had been messy and clumsy and most likely a mistake, but it had happened. And he was here. Now.
How long they stood there, she didn’t know, but eventually her tears dried and her sobs turned into hiccups. And though her gratefulness remained, her awkwardness returned, and she finally pulled away, wiping her damp cheeks with her thumbs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
He looked as though he was reluctant to let her go. “It’s okay.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze. “The blood … it was—”
He interrupted her. “I know.”
Wishing she had something to pin it up with, she lifted her hair off the back of her sweaty neck and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry if I did it wrong.”
He raised his eyebrows, then said, “Trust me, you didn’t do it wrong.” He shook his head, looking away with a quiet laugh. “For fuck’s sake, woman.”
She glanced at him, studying the rugged line of his jaw while twisting her hair into a knot and holding it in place for momentary relief. “The way you acted after, I thought I’d ruined it.”
He cut her a look. “The hard dick and the fact that I came faster than a teenage boy didn’t convince you otherwise?”
She blushed and couldn’t help but laugh. “My experience with both is limited.”
His mouth curved, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet. Distant. “You shouldn’t have picked me for your first.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he added, “You could’ve done so much better.”
She glanced at him and realized he meant it. “I don’t know,” she said, gazing in the direction of the road, where his rig waited. “You did ride in on a pretty big white horse to save me. If that doesn’t earn you some bonus points, I don’t know what does.”
He met her gaze and, though amusement lingered in his eyes, his tone remained serious. “Doesn’t make me worthy.”
“My hymen, my choice.”
This drew a laugh from him. A genuine, hearty laugh that blessedly lightened the mood. He shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”
She smiled. He looked good when he laughed. Not as hard. “I may not be a hooker, but I’m not a saint, either.”
His grin faded a little. “I’m sorry for what I said. Back there.” He gestured toward the creek with his chin. “I was an asshole.”
Her own smile grew sad, and she gazed into the trees. “It’s okay. Made sense. I would’ve thought the same thing.” She sighed, finally letting her hair down, giving her aching arms a rest. “I don’t know why I reacted like I did. It’s been … a hard couple of days.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
Mae nodded, her dry, cried-out eyes burning. She forced the sorrow down and laughed quietly, remembering her ma. The way she’d been before the disease and the drugs. “Now she was a hooker. A good one, too.”
Clyde arched an eyebrow, his mouth quirking. “No shit?”
“No shit,” Mae confirmed, feeling a little lighter as she started for the truck once more. “Nobody could turn a trick like Desiree ‘Angel Eyes’ Harrison.”
He followed, weeds swatting his jeans as they walked. “Bet you had one hell of a childhood.”
She smirked. “You have no idea.”
When they reached the rig, he helped her over the guardrail and then hesitated, readjusting his hat. “About what happened—”
“It’s okay,” she said, raising her hand to cut him off. “You don’t have to say anything. You were right. It was a mistake.”
What they’d done had been careless. And dangerous. So, so good but dangerous. And despite his argument to the contrary, she’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d pulled away from her after. He’d regretted it. And maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe her performance hadn’t been a turnoff for him—he had, after all, responded as a man should—but her virginity clearly was. And she couldn’t blame him. He’d done a good deed by coming to her rescue last night, but that didn’t mean he was looking to tie himself down with a needy, love-struck virgin. Not that she was needy or love-struck, but she could see how a man might anticipate that outcome. And she refused to be his biggest regret, no matter how hard he made her heart pound. Besides, she was on the lam, practically penniless, and had no plans. She didn’t need a man.
Even if she couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d felt inside her.
When he said nothing, she gazed at him, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. He stared at her with a stiff jaw, his expression unreadable beneath the bill of his hat.
She forced a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to cry.” She recalled her tear-filled breakdown just moments before and added, “Again.”
He stared at her as if trying to find the right words. “Mae, I—”
She sighed. “Let me make it easy for you. It wasn’t a big deal. It was … fun.”
He arched one slow, dark brow and repeated, “Fun.”
Fun didn’t begin to describe what it had been. Exhilarating. Thrilling. Terrifying. Mind-blowing. Life-changing. But she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she avoided his gaze and said, “It was just sex. Doesn’t need to be anything more. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”
He stared at her for a long time and then nodded. “Okay.”
Though she’d been the one to say it first, she was inexplicably hurt that he’d so readily agreed. But she swallowed it and gave him a plastic smile. “See, no drama. Can we go?”
His jaw clenched as if he wanted to say more, but he only dug his keys out of his pocket. “Let’s hit the road.”
She exhaled and turned, opening the passenger’s door and climbing inside. He stood on the roadside a moment with a frown, then came around to the driver’s. As he climbed in and started the rig, she busied herself with Ken, who was both annoyed at being left alone for so long and ecstatic about her return. “Hey, Kenny,” she said with a quiet laugh, stroking his back as he rubbed his face on every part of her he could manag
e, his tail vibrating. “Did you miss me?”
The Freightliner’s engine roared to life, reverberating up through her seat, and she was grateful for it. Silence would’ve been unbearable. The aftermath of their awkward conversation was bad enough even with background noise.
As Clyde pulled onto the road, checking his mirrors, he asked, “So, who names a cat Ken, anyway?”
She laughed, letting Ken’s tail slide through her fingers as he hopped back into the sleeper to investigate stuff he’d probably already investigated. She was relieved that he’d adjusted well. He was a go-with-the-flow kind of cat in general, but even the most tolerant of felines had their limits. Thankfully, being smuggled into a big rig in the middle of the night wasn’t one of Ken’s. “He fell out of a Kenworth when he was a kitten,” she said, watching Ken sniff Clyde’s dirty laundry. “Seemed right.”
Clyde grunted and called back to Ken, “Couldn’t have picked a Freightliner?”
Mae laughed and rummaged through her bag for the wipes, beyond grateful she hadn’t used them all during her last shift. Though the creek had been clean as far as creeks went, she was feeling less than pristine at the moment. As she set about giving herself a whore’s bath, as her ma had so often put it, she said, “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.”
He shifted gears, his mouth curving ever so slightly. “Clearly.”
She cleaned her arms and face as best she could, then her thighs, heat creeping up her neck as she did. Clearing her throat, she stashed the dirtied wipe in her bag and asked, “So, you know how old I am. What about you?”
He glanced at her. “How old do you think I am?”
She faced him, squinting as if pondering. His stubbled jaw had no silver, but he had a weathered look about him that said he’d been around and seen a few hard years. “Thirty,” she guessed.
He raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. “Close. Twenty-nine.”
She smiled, digging around in her satchel for a spare hair tie. Her old one, along with her virginity, would remain back at the creek forever. When she found one and was finally able to pull up her drying but tangled hair, she closed her eyes in pure bliss. “I just realized I don’t even know your last name,” she said, glancing at him. “I should probably be ashamed of that.”
Although, at this point, losing her virginity to a man whose last name she didn’t know was the least of her worries. The words STD and pregnancy flitted through her bruised mind like mosquitoes, ready to suck the last of her sanity. She could almost hear her ma turning over in her grave. Despite the woman’s profession—or maybe because of it—Desiree had pounded the risks of bareback into Mae’s head since she was old enough to say penis. And Mae had been on birth control from the age of thirteen. Or, at least, she had been up until about a year ago when she’d allowed the script to lapse due to Desiree’s mounting medical expenses. But Mae couldn’t think of that now. Her worries were already legion. Any more and she’d fly apart like a dandelion in a stiff breeze.
“I don’t know yours, either,” he countered, downshifting as they approached a curve.
She laughed quietly. “True. It’s Harrison. Just like my ma.”
“Honeycutt,” he said, winking at her. “There. We’re officially introduced.”
“I think we’re long past introductions.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, still grinning as he turned back to the road.
She, too, gazed out at the passing scenery, which consisted of trees and more trees. Soon, she knew they’d see houses as they neared Cincinnati, and later, the city itself. She felt a strange combination of fear and exhilaration at the thought. Fear because it was entirely possible she was wanted for murder, and exhilaration because it would be the farthest from Crownville she’d ever traveled. She smiled a little, thinking of her ma. Despite the messiness of it all, Desiree would be biting her gaudily painted nails with excitement right about now. This is for you, Ma, Mae thought sadly, tracing a heart on the glass with her fingertip.
“Do you have family?” she asked Clyde, looking over at him. “Kids?”
His amusement vanished. “Family yes. Kids no.”
She frowned at his sudden change in demeanor. “You’re not close with your family, I take it?”
“You could say that,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on the road. “I haven’t talked to my folks since I was sixteen.”
Mae’s eyes widened as she counted in her head. “That’s … thirteen years.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
When he didn’t elaborate, she asked. “What about brothers and sisters?”
Again, he hesitated, and she could tell he was trying to decide how to answer. “A sister. Rose.”
She thought about the tattoo on his back of a wilting rose and murmured, “Your tattoo.”
He frowned as if surprised by her guess and glanced at her. “You’re observant.”
She shrugged, smiling faintly. Growing up on the lot had forced her to see and hear everything. The moment you stopped paying attention was the moment you got robbed or run over. “Habit.”
Looking back at the road, he said, “Got it a long time ago.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said and meant it. Haunting and morbid with its decaying petals and blackened stem, but beautiful. It made her wonder about the girl it represented. She asked quietly, “Why is it dying?”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he was quiet for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally, he said in a flat voice, “Rose is in a nursing home. Has been since she was four years old. She’s twenty-two.”
Mae looked at him in surprise. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he said, “When I was ten, she fell off a roof. I was supposed to have been watching her.” He worked the gearshift harder than necessary as they came to a stop sign. “She was asleep, and I left her alone to go fishing.” Shaking his head, he pulled through the stop, the rig lurching. “Of all the damn things.”
“The fall paralyzed her?” Mae asked gently.
He nodded, sighing. It was a tired sigh. One that said he’d been carrying the guilt around for a long, long time. “And caused severe brain injury. She’s been bedridden ever since.”
Mae’s heart sank. All these years. Not only had Rose’s life been ruined, but Clyde had felt responsible. “You were just a kid,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault. You have to know that.”
She could almost see the words bounce off the wall of guilt surrounding him.
“Tell that to my folks,” he said with a humorless laugh.
Mae’s mouth parted. “They blame you?”
“Tooth and nail,” he confirmed, his voice devoid of emotion. “Never forgave me. Said I’d same as murdered her. I left when I turned sixteen and never looked back.”
“Clyde,” Mae said helplessly, unable to fathom what it must have felt like to be blamed for something so horrific at such a young age. Something that, while tragic, had been the result of a mistake made by a child. What kind of parents laid that blame on their son?
“Wasn’t me they fucked over,” he said, shaking his head. “They could barely stand to look at her after. Stuck her in a home not six months later and moved on. Stopped visiting her altogether about six or seven years ago last I heard.”
“That’s … shitty,” Mae said, realizing it was possible to hate someone you’d never met.
“Agreed.”
Mae considered her own ma. Wayward woman that she was. For all Desiree’s faults, she’d always made Mae feel loved. Cherished. Mae had known, without a doubt, that there was nothing she could say or do that would cause Desiree to turn from her. Mae’s heart ached for Clyde. And for Rose.
“Do you see her often?” Mae asked, gazing at his grim profile. God, he was handsome. Maybe even more so now that she knew. Those stern brows. That hard mouth. That unshaven jaw. All shadowed beneath the bill of a hat that had seen better days. It was a raw kind of handsome. The kind
that called to your inner damsel. The kind that made you want to stand behind him and let him protect you even though you knew damn good and well you could protect yourself.
“Often as I can,” he said and then cleared his throat. “Actually, I was planning on it after I drop this load of freight.”
He said it as though he expected the idea to offend her.
“Okay,” she said simply.
He looked over at her. “You don’t have to go in. I won’t be long.”
“It’s okay. I want to meet her,” she said. “If you want me to.”
“Yeah.” He studied her a moment before turning back to the road. “That would be good.”
She gazed out the window. He stared ahead, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. And so they went, lost in their own tumultuous thoughts as they rolled toward the city one mile at a time, with only the roar of tires over pavement and the crackle of CB chatter to break the drifting silence.
Two broken hearts. One long stretch of highway.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Willow Brook Convalescence Facility
Amelia, Ohio
Six hours later, Clyde pulled into Willow Brook Convalescence Facility. There’d been a delay at the warehouse, and they’d sat in receiving for the better part of the morning. After signing off on the paperwork, it had taken the crew another two hours to unload the trailer. Another half hour to discreetly distribute six gallons of ’shine to various thirsty factorymen. As soon as money had changed hands, Clyde had hit the road. It had been a long damn day, and Mae had been quiet.
So had he.
Not only was his head twisted ten ways to Sunday over what had happened at the creek, but having her in his rig, long legs and kissable mouth within reaching distance, was the worst kind of torture. His dick had gotten hard more times than he was proud of throughout the day just thinking about how it had felt fucking her. And knowing he was the only man who’d ever been inside her was like mental masturbation. He’d taken her first. Filthy bastard that he was. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was damn satisfying. Too satisfying.
And that she’d same as said wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am wasn’t helping.
Mother Trucker (Crownville Truckers Book 1) Page 7
