by S. L. Scott
“I got Legos. And paint. Grandma even let me paint the walls.”
“What? Really?” Clara and I share matching confused looks when I set him down. “You sure?” He starts to pull me, but I stop him, and kneel down. “Can you show me?”
“In the house. She let me paint my walls cuz it’s my room now.”
My mom? “Grandma Cristley?”
He nods. “Come.”
This time the look I send Clara is one of unadulterated happiness. My mother has not only accepted Clara into the family, but treats the son I’ve petitioned to adopt as her own. Most of the Cristleys have come a long way. Some like Fredrick are too far gone.
We swing Toby between us as we walk in the side entrance to the property. Paige comes running toward us, flailing her arms. “Catch him.”
Twenty feet in front of her, a baby papillon is running right for us. Clara squeals and now I hear where Toby gets his deafening pitch from. She immediately sits on the ground and the puppy runs right to her lap. She’s beautiful dressed in yellow with the sunshine on her face. While she’s being covered in puppy kisses, she looks up at me, and asks, “Did you do this?”
“Might have had a hand in it.”
“He’s the most adorable dog I’ve ever seen.”
“The timing couldn’t have been better. He’s from a rescued mom and needed a good home. I got the call when we were in France. Paige helped getting him here.”
Paige breathes a loud sigh of relief and flops down next to Clara. They hug and start chatting about the dog. They’re two peas in a pod these days. Paige also got rid of her boyfriend. Her whole aura has lightened these days. So she tells me.
Although the party is inside, it seems everyone wants to greet us where I stand, my family sitting in the tall grass that surrounds us.
Toby is thrilled to have a dog and has already named him Spot despite Clara’s insistence on Jacque. I’ll let them battle that out.
When I look toward the house, I see the familiar figure of the woman who raised me, and beside her, the woman who loved me enough to gift me to her. That’s what my mom called it the first time she met Christine. She thanked her for the gift of me. Me? The guy who never felt loved was loved enough by two amazing women. Looking down, my dove, my love, smiles up at me. “Thank you.”
I think she’s thanking me for the French breed dog, but it feels like so much more.
We eventually make our way to the house where Toby’s birthday party is being hosted, the celebration was moved outside to appreciate the beautiful day. I can’t help but notice there seem to be more blue-sky days since I met Clara.
A waiter wanders through the party with a tray full of donuts, but when Clara and I see them, we pass. She wraps her arms around me and says, “I don’t need a donut when it comes to us.”
The same goes for me. We have trust, love, and open communication to get us by.
Alex comes over and hands me a beer. After doing the handshake we invented when we were fifteen, the bottles are tapped, and he says, “She’s an amazing woman. Toby’s a great kid. Congrats, Cruise. You deserve this.”
“I’ve been wondering if I should start going by John.”
“Why?”
“I’m not really living up to the coasting through life thing anymore. You gave up King. Maybe it’s time for me to try on John again.”
“I’ll call you whatever you want, John.”
There’s a pause as we take it in before we start laughing. “Nah. John is boring as fuck.”
“Cruise was always a lot more interesting.”
“I prefer badass.”
He chuckles again. “Whatever gets you off.”
I find Clara in the crowd. It just so happens I know what that is. Or who. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to tend to.”
Right before I beeline her way, he says, “Will I see you at the penthouse on Monday?”
“Only for work.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Clara and I dance a little, drink a lot, and enjoy the company of our closest friends and family. I even let my mom invite Fredrick, though we’ve kept a wide distance between us. I’m sure the gap will close when we’re ready to deal with our real issues. As for now, we’re both good at keeping up appearances.
The final surprise isn’t a gift for my beloved, but something for my mom. Or should I say, someone. Clara’s in on the plan and is almost shaking from giddiness when our special guest arrives. Walking up the terrace steps, he stops when his eyes find my mom in the crowd. And although the music still plays, it fades away.
My mom turns, laughing from something Clara’s mom must have said. My mom continues to surprise me. Once, I blindly considered her an elitist, only concerned with how she was received. How we were perceived. Yet, she’s taken Clara, her mom, and Toby into her home with open arms, welcoming them into her home, heart, and into our family. The two women have become great friends. I think they feel less . . . alone.
“She sees him,” Clara whispers.
She does. Her smile vanishes and then slowly rebuilds as recognition sets in. Clara and I walk over, not making it a big deal outside of the two people this reunion includes. The widower wasn’t hard to track down. Adam Blum never moved far from where he grew up. My mom joins us, and I make the reintroduction, “Mom, I think you might remember, Mr. Blum.”
“I remember. I remember him well.” Her voice is soft, tears filling her eyes. If I’m not mistaken, she might be blushing.
He holds out a bouquet of daisies, and smiles. “And I could never forget you, my wildflower.”
I excuse us and take my wife for a walk through the garden. Just at the edge of the pond, I steal a kiss, and then reminisce. “Remember how you threw yourself at me when I saw you at the pub?”
I’m whacked on the arm as I burst out laughing. She rolls her eyes. “You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
Grabbing her quickly by the hand, she spins away from me and I spin her right back in. Holding her tightly to me, I say, “No, you’ve got it wrong. I was the right guy in the right place at the right time.”
This time she kisses me. When she leans back and looks up at the stars, she smiles. It’s the love that sparkles in her eyes when she looks at me that almost brings me to my knees. Sacred.
“You look good in a suit, and white suits your mood better these days.”
I cup her face, leaning in to kiss her because I’m the luckiest guy in the world to call this woman my wife. She whispers, “What was that for?”
“For every day that we’ve ever spent together, and every second that remains, I have you to thank for giving me a reason to live, to returning my faith, and handing me hope when you gave me your hand in marriage.”
“Cruise?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Our legs are tackled by a two-armed little monster who can’t stop giggling. I pick Toby up and toss him in the air. I don’t need to go looking for trouble anymore. I don’t need to search for answers to questions that don’t hold the same weight these days. I’ve everything I need. A life full of yellow. This family right here—my family—is all that matters.
Epic Romance
If you loved SACRED, make sure to meet all the key players in this series:
The Kingwood Duet (SAVAGE & SAVIOR) has been called the most epic romance of the year and heralded as a modern day Romeo & Juliet, features Alex and Sara Jane.
CLICK HERE to start their journey
Although you don’t meet Jason in SACRED, his presence is made known. He puts the Bad in bad boy. You can get a sneak peek into his book, SOLACE, by flipping the page.
Or jump into this Second Chance Romance Standalone right here: CLICK NOW
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SOLACE
Prologue
It’s pouring rain, but I don’t care. I can’t look away from my past.
God, she’s beautiful.
We shared so many shameless kisses. Our bodies covered in the slick love we’d made. Carefree hair blowing in the wind. A sunset captured on the back of a fishing boat.
Yeah, we were wild and in love back then with no cares in the world. But something I’ve learned is all good things must come to an end, whether by choice or circumstance. Nothing good can last.
And it didn’t.
A love so pure, so innocent in its faith—like ours—could never survive.
Didn’t survive.
We were young.
We were naïve.
We were so damn in love.
And then apparently, we weren’t.
The motorcycle’s too loud to be considered stealth. A bike like this, even custom and almost costing as much as a small house, will never impress her.
How do I know that? Because I never impressed her.
Guess that’s why she left me.
Or did I leave her?
I know the truth, but sometimes I pretend the facts are fuzzy. Hazy facts or not, four years is a lot of time to pass without living with your other half—your better half.
She’d called us soul mates at one time. Maybe she was right, and it’s half my soul I’ve been living without all this time. I’m back in the same town I once hated, sitting in front of the same house I once visited regularly, not thinking clearly, much like a night I’d like to forget.
This time she’s standing on that front porch.
I don’t know what I was thinking coming back here. I don’t know what to think at all.
Maybe . . .
No. She’s not an option—she’s married. She’s off limits.
It didn’t stop him back then, but it should stop me now. But then wild memories fill my brain—holding her in my arms and making her promises I intended to keep.
So young.
So naïve.
So damn in love.
Rumor is he hits her.
Rumor is she visits my mom on occasion to reminisce.
Rumor is she misses me.
Fuck.
Rumors. Fucking rumors.
Looking at her on that front porch now, she’s still so damn beautiful. I see that same look in her eyes I remember from back then. It’s the one that brought me to my knees the first time I ever laid eyes on her.
I scrub my hands through my soaked hair and question everything I’m about to do. What am I doing here?
Her smile, her small wave . . . two things I’ve craved. Missed.
My choice is made.
I swing my leg off the bike and cut the engine to the black Harley to find out. I shove my hands into the pockets of my wet leather jacket and start walking across the lawn I’ve walked a million times.
I grab the railing that wobbles and is covered in chipped paint, prop one foot up on the bottom step, and stare at her.
Life brings many things that catch us, distract us, keep us. I’m not one easily caught, though. But the one thing I never seemed to be able to get uncaught in is Delilah Noelle.
It’s been too long since I’ve laid eyes on the beauty standing before me. “Hi.”
Her shoulders drop, the tension falling away as if she’s been waiting for this day, and it’s finally come. “What took you so long?”
Keep reading for Chapter 1, or CLICK NOW
Chapter 1
Jason Koster
New York is always an option. I hate Manhattan, but I could live in a borough. I could blend into city life and disappear among all the other ghosts donning black clothes that inhabit the area. I pass the exit, the city no longer a choice, and keep driving south.
I never felt like I belonged there anyway.
I’ve traveled this country from Maine to Los Angeles, Alaska to Key West. I stayed a few days in a motel outside of Atlanta. Swam in the gulf along the Mississippi coast. Drank whiskey in the freedom of Joshua Tree, and slept under a blanket of stars in Texas.
I lived.
I survived.
Yet, all roads seem to lead me here.
My jersey number still graces the beat-up old sign along the highway. The billboard is just before the exit that leads you to a one-traffic-light town with a pharmacy that still serves ice cream at the counter and Wilbur Macy still sits in a rocking chair at the corner of Main and First Street.
It’s the kind of place where you’ll find the whole town at the stadium on Friday night and then in church on Sunday morning, not leaving much time to sin. Although we always managed to squeeze a little in.
I laugh when I spot the sign I use to shoot my BB gun at while driving by: This is God’s country. Don’t drive through it like hell.
This time I actually slow down. Might be the first time. I don’t want the attention, much less Jeffrey Whaley, the town deputy, pulling me over. I’ve managed to avoid the law for some time now, so there’s no need to cause trouble in my hometown, especially when I’ve earned a few new scars and inked my skin. I know he’ll have a problem with a tattoo. He’ll judge me from that alone, but I also have a backpack full of memorabilia. I don’t want to explain, much less talk about where I’ve been the last three years.
Unfortunately, I have to cruise down Main to get home.
Home.
My home was never a place, but a person. It’s funny how time changes things. I don’t think about Delilah as much anymore. I’m really good at pocketing those disconcerting feelings away, but damn if being here doesn’t drag them all back to the surface.
As familiar as this place feels, it doesn’t feel like home.
Glancing down First when I pass under the green light, I’m tempted to cruise by her house. I wave to Wilbur instead—glad to see he’s alive and still rocking on that corner—and keep driving. I should really say hi to my mom, but my throat is dry, so I pull into a parking spot a few down from Red River—the main bar here. Don’t want to see anybody I know, but I will, so I might as well get it over with.
I pull open the door and walk inside. It’s dark and my eyes aren’t adjusted, but I know this place by heart so I keep walking until everything comes into view.
Front door. Top half glass.
Back door through the small kitchen in the left corner. One large window.
One window in the men’s and two smaller windows in the women’s restroom.
Five booths.
Six people.
Ten barstools.
Five taken.
Nodding to the bartender standing by the far end near the three beer taps, I take the one vacant place at the end of a row of occupied barstools. Looking down, four guys stare back at me.
“Daryl and Billy. Should have guessed you’d be taking up space here.”
The bartender, McGilley, swings his towel over his shoulder and rests two hands on the bar top in front of me. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it’s not Mr. Eight himself, Jason Koster. What do we owe the pleasure, your high and mighty-ness?”
“I haven’t been that number or guy in a long time. How about a Heineken?” That entertains the guys, and they start laughing, mocking me. “Never mind. How about a Budweiser?”
McGilley asks, “You sure about that? That’s a working man’s beer. Might be hard on your stomach.”
“Serve the fu—” I catch myself. I can’t talk like that around here. I’ll end up in a fight and spending the night in jail. “I think I can handle it.” I put a ten on the counter. “Keep the change.”
“Big spender. So where’ve you been that you decided to come home and spend money like it doesn’t matter?” Daryl asks.
Daryl Satters—grew up down the road from me. One year ahead of me in school. Got a job at the plant out of high school. All-around asshole. I’m not surprised to see him here. I figure his ass is parked on a barstool at Red R
iver by five each night, drinking his sorrows away just like his dad. Once dreamed of being a pro-baseball player, but that took a dedication he never had for the game. Ironic how he’s worked at the same industrial plant for eight years. That takes dedication.
My beer is set down, the money swiped from the bar. I take a long pull before answering. “All over.”
Billy lines up and fires his question next, “What have you been doing for work?”
I always liked Billy Langston. A tick older than me, we were in the same grade. At one time, I called him one of my best friends. He always had my back.
“It’s good to see you, Billy.”
“You too, Koster. Rumors have been flying for years about what happened to you. Did you return to put ’em to rest?”
“Nah. Let them gossip.” I down my beer and set the empty down when I stand up. Not looking to entertain an interrogation, I’m ready to go. This might be a record. Ten minutes and I’ve already had my fill of this town. Or maybe it’s these two in front of me. They look the same, talk the same, give shit the same. But I know I’m not that same guy they used to know. The darkness I carry hangs heavy over my head. My carefree football days are long gone. I don’t need to be here any longer. “I’m heading out.”
McGilley asks, “Going to see your ma?”
“Heading there now.” I tap the bar top and head for the door. “See you around, gentlemen.”
The sun is setting when I head down Main Street and take the curve out to the house where I grew up. It’s dark when I pull up the dirt drive and cut the engine. I’m surprised the sound of the Harley didn’t drag my mom to the window. The lights are on inside, a few of the shades still open. The TV is muffled but heard through the thin walls of the old house. It needs some care. If I stay more than a day or two, I can help her around the house, make sure things are in good working order.
I think about walking in the back door like I always have, but decide against it. She hasn’t heard from me in a few months, much less seen me for years, so I head to the front and knock.
