by J. B. Havens
Hours later, Drew and I stumble back to the motel. Wisely, he agreed to leave his truck at the bar, both of us too far gone to drive. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this drunk. High school maybe? The question is too hard for me to think about right now.
Giggling like crazy, I clutch at Drew, wrapping an arm around his waist and his arm falls across my shoulders. We lean against each other, fighting to stay upright in a world that seems to tilt and twirl around us both. I smack my free hand against his stomach, feeling the bumps and ridges under his shirt with my fingers.
“Fuck, Drew, how ripped are you?”
Laughing, he grabs my hand and shoves it up under his shirt. Smooth, hot skin nearly sears my palm, and I sigh in pleasure at what I feel under my hand. I trace circles all around on his stomach, reaching higher up to his chest and down as low as his pants will allow. “Oh . . . so nice,” I murmur, keeping my hand at his waistband.
“I do a lot of sit-ups.” He hiccups and I feel it under my hand. I’m unreasonably fascinated with how smooth his skin is.
Scratching my fingernails across his abs, I delight in the shiver I cause. I can feel the goosebumps popping up all over his skin. “Mmm . . .” You’re playing with fire, here Meg. I’m drunk, but I’m not that drunk.”
His hand tightens on my shoulder and I look up at him, stumbling to a stop. I gulp, seeing the intent on his face. Retrieving my hand from under his shirt, I flatten it against his chest. He grins, confident and sure, before lowering his face to mine. My eyes drift closed, and my heart is pounding in my chest. His lips touch my cheek softly, leaving a delicate kiss there.
“Not yet,” he states simply, returning his arm to around my shoulder and guiding us back to our walk.
We reach the motel a few minutes later, and Drew walks me to my door. I let go of him long enough to fish my room key from my pocket. I try to insert it into the lock, and after missing for the third time, Drew takes it from me and unlocks the door. He pushes it open from behind me and I turn around and look up at him. The shadows cover his face; only his glasses and beard are recognizable.
“Wait! I need to apologize for the way I acted last night . . .” I trail off, embarrassed he’d heard me screaming from my nightmare and I’d been so rude when he was only concerned for the welfare of a stranger.
“I’m sor—” I begin, but he cuts me off by placing his fingers against my mouth.
“Don’t be sorry. I know . . .” he pauses, “. . . I know what it’s like to wake up, soaked in sweat, screaming from nightmares. Don’t ever be sorry.”
I stare up at him, meeting his eyes. I place both my hands on his chest, running my palms up to his shoulders. I fist his T-shirt and jerk him down to me, smashing my mouth against his.
He groans against my lips, his big hands grabbing me by my waist and hauling me tight against his chest. I release his shirt and replace it with his hair. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, moaning in pleasure at his taste—whiskey and something underneath that’s all him. Keeping one hand on my waist, he grabs a fistful of my hair with the other, pulling my head back. I gasp and moan as his mouth leaves mine to kiss along my jaw and nip at my neck. Using my hair as a handle, he pulls my mouth back to his, demanding my complete surrender.
“Drew.” I gasp between kisses. He growls and crouches down, gripping my thighs and picking me up. A split second later, I’m pinned flat against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist, his mouth back on mine. I scratch at his back, trying to pull him even closer to me. I rub against his arousal like a bitch in heat, which I suppose I am. Jerking on his shirt, I’m desperate to feel his skin again. All of it, every inch.
“Meg. Wait.” Drew sets me down, stepping back a little. At least one of us has regained some control. He buries his hands in my hair again, staring down at me.
“Drew.” I try to pull him closer, reaching upward to kiss him again. He lets my lips touch his, brushing his mouth against mine, but doesn’t let me deepen the kiss like I want to.
“We’re drunk, Meg,” he says simply, retreating even further back.
“Yeah. I know.” I sigh, I know what’s coming. I hate it, but I know he’s right.
“I want you. So fucking much.” He takes a deep breath. “But not like this. When, and I do mean when, not if, I have you, you’re going to be sober and you’re going to remember every single second of it.”
I rest my head against his chest, breathing in his scent. “Maybe I don’t want to remember; all I want is to forget.”
He steps back, giving me space to get around him to step further into my room. I don’t take the opportunity. Instead, unable to help myself, I touch his face and trail my fingertips through his beard and along his jaw. “Thank you.” I know I don’t have to explain what I am thanking him for. He’s a good man; he understands.
Gripping my palm, he places a kiss there, right in the center. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dropping my hand, he steps out of the room and waits until I close and lock the door.
Leaning back against it, I touch my swollen lips. I can still taste him on my tongue and feel his heat. Kicking off my shoes and dropping my clothes into a messy pile on the floor, I fall into bed still dressed in my underwear. I know the guilt will eat me alive tomorrow, but for tonight, I keep it at bay. Tonight I won’t dream of blood and screams, I’ll dream of eyes the color of the sea, eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
Chapter 9
Drew
Shit! Drew lay in bed, his body tense with frustration. He felt an alcohol-induced headache coming on as he reflected on the night’s events. He had no idea why he’d been compelled to go to the Jailhouse, nor why he’d ordered that first beer, since he and alcohol were a toxic mix. Ever since his initial run-in with Meg, he’d felt on edge and was tempted to slip back into bad habits, like heading for a bar and finding the first person that could make him forget about the life he’d been destined for, which he’d lost in an instant.
Usually when something triggered memories of the past, he was haunted by visions of his beautiful Abby—blonde, blue eyed, and cheerful, and just out of reach. But ever since last night, he couldn’t get a certain brash, rude, and dark haired raven out of his head. Despite her tough exterior, he sensed a vulnerability and a need to be protected. From what, though? That woman was full of secrets, but he knew one thing for sure—she was running and was ready to get back on the road to destruction. He wondered how long he could get Nolan to stall the repairs on her Jeep.
After the accident that had claimed the life of his girlfriend and derailed the path to glory he’d been all set to embark on, Drew had been hell-bent on forging his own trail of destruction. When his parents had abandoned him, realizing their dreams of glory had been extinguished with his, Nana had taken him in. She’d given him this room and the one beside it, a budget, and the time to renovate it how he’d seen fit. The hard, physical labor provided a constructive way to work through his anger. Around the same time, Nolan had come to Nana and told her about the fight ring. He remembered feeling so betrayed but knew now his friend had just been trying to help. He’d run into Drew too many times hung over, with blood from the previous night’s fight still on his knuckles. One day, Nolan had taken one look at his eye, which was swollen shut and the swelling on his jaw and had dragged his ass back to Nana.
She’d fussed over him, slapped a bag of frozen peas against his face, and had laid into him with the fiercest scolding of his life. Just thinking about it now colored his cheeks with shame.
When he’d first stumbled upon the bare knuckle boxing matches, he’d watched with a mixture of disgust and fascination. The next time, he found himself standing shirtless on the sawdust covered floor of the cage. It had felt so good to unleash his rage. He’d relished the pain of the hits, thinking he deserved the punishment. And he didn’t need two good legs to beat the hell out of someone with his fists.
He’d always blame himself for Abby’s
death, on some level. After their celebration that night, they’d gone parking up on Romance Hill, the first time for them both. She’d lost her virginity and her life in the same night. Unable to stop the flood of memories, he found himself back in that car, his prized Mustang. His heart had still been hammering from what had just occurred between the two of them. It had been perfect, like a fairy tale. He’d looked over at her, brushed a piece of hair off her face, and she’d smiled. Abby had been so happy she’d glowed with it. He’d had been struck dumb by her, by his love for her. He’d seen their future spread out in front of them both. College, marriage, kids, everything. Neither of them had remembered to buckle up, assured, in the way that all teenagers are, they were too young, and life was too good, for them to be hurt in any way.
He hadn’t noticed the oncoming truck that had crossed the center line, barreling down on them and into his lane, until it was too late. He’d swerved, overcorrecting, and the Mustang had flipped like a coin, over and over again. Abby had been thrown out, killed on impact when her head hit the road. He’d fallen sideways, his left leg stuck out of the window. His leg was still out on the second roll, the roll that had crushed it to a pulp. He remembered the crunching sound the bones made. He could still hear the breaking glass and screeching metal.
He’d blacked out and when he came to he was looking at the floorboards above him. In the quiet aftermath, he’d heard a ticking from the engine and, oddly enough, the radio had still been playing “Here Without You” by 3 Doors Down. A cruel joke from the universe had put that fucking song on the radio in the moments after the crash, and to this day, he couldn’t listen to it.
Flopping onto his stomach, he was determined to banish the memories. This was a rabbit hole he refused to go down again. The only thing down there lay a bottle, blood, and despair.
Chapter 10
Meg
I wake up with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I was sleeping flat on my back, my mouth wide open, and I’m sure I was snoring like a bear. Sitting up and coughing, I stand and stumble my way into the bathroom. Not bothering with a glass, I turn on the sink and stick my mouth under the stream. Drinking greedily, I grip the sink edge tightly with both hands, fighting dizziness. Straightening, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and grab my toothbrush. I attack my teeth as my thoughts immediately drift back to last night. The drinks, oh my God, the drinks, the walk home. The kissing. Oh, yes, the kissing. After spitting in the sink, I rinse my brush and stare at myself in the mirror. My eyeliner is smudged, giving me a very attractive raccoon look and my hair is snarled into a ball. One side is completely flat, the other poofs out like a bad clown wig.
“Ugh,” I say to my reflection. As I reach over to switch on the shower, I remember it isn’t working. Nana’s grandson is supposed to be coming to fix it this morning.
“Shit.” I settle for a washcloth to get rid of my ruined makeup and a tie to tame the hot mess that is my hair. Just as I finish scowling at the results a knock sounds at the door. Seeing that my bra and panties are the only things I have on, I quickly slip on a night shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Hold your horses!”
I jerk open the door, expecting to find a young kid that spends his free time helping his Nana; instead I find Drew. He’s wearing a tool belt, an old T-shirt, and shorts. A faded ball cap, turned backward, completes his look. I look up at him, not missing his grin. My eyes flicker down to the shiny metal of his prosthetic limb. I suspected he was missing his left leg, but having it confirmed now throws me.
“It’s too hot for long pants,” he says simply, although I can tell he’s nervous and trying to pretend otherwise.
“So it is. I assume you’re here to fix my shower?” I cross my arms and lean against the door jamb.
“Yup.” He smiles and my heart skips a beat. “May I come in? I can’t do much for your shower standing out here.”
“Of course. So you’re the grandson Nana mentioned to me?” I snap out of my stupor and move out of his way. The room suddenly seems too small, and the bed dominates the space. I try to school my features to hide the thoughts raised by seeing him standing next to it.
“Sure am. One of many, but I’m the one that lives here and helps her take care of the place.”
“That’s sweet of you. She’s a really nice lady.”
“That she is, but man, don’t cross her. She’s got a temper.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” I don’t find it too hard to believe the sweet little old woman has a spine of steel. She’s southern, isn’t that part of the DNA?
I sit on the bed, watching him in the bathroom. He glances at the towels and clothes scattered around on the floor, raising an eyebrow at me in question.
“What?” I ask, knowing exactly what he’s thinking.
“You’re a slob.” He turns on the water and frowns at the pathetic trickle that spurts out of the shower head.
“Yeah, I suppose so.” I refuse to apologize for it. I’ve been messy my whole life; it isn’t going to change now.
I watch as he shuts off the faucet and wraps a towel around the shower head to twist it off. “You can ask,” he says, not looking back at me.
“How did you lose your leg?” I pause for a moment, considering something else. “And how did you manage to hold me up against the wall without falling?”
He chuckles, dropping the shower head into the sink. “I’m strong and I’ve had the prosthesis so long, there isn’t much I can’t do.”
He pauses, then answers my other question.
“It’s a long story. One I don’t like to talk about, but I’ll tell you. Over dinner tonight.”
“Are you asking me out?” I smile at the dark look in his eyes. I have a feeling he wants to do much more than eat dinner.
He turns fully, bracing both hands on the door frame over his head. The movement causes his shirt to ride up slightly, exposing a few inches of golden skin. Skin that I’d had my hands all over last night. “Meg, will you go to dinner with me tonight?”
“Yes.” I feel a little breathless. Fear and anticipation knot in my gut. Guilt too, lots of that. I frown, suddenly uncertain.
“Meg, are you sure? You don’t have to.”
“No, Drew. I want to. I just . . .” I swallow, thinking of Brandon. His name pops into my head. I normally refuse to even think his name, as it brings back too many memories. “I have my own story to tell. I’m not ready to tell it yet and I don’t know if I ever will be. You need to know that.”
“I can live with that.”
“Good.” I nod. “So you gonna fix my shower or are you just going to stand there looking yummy all day?” I force the humor into my voice, desperate to break the tension that has formed between us.
“You think I look yummy?” He beams, looking at me over the top of his glasses.
“Didn’t you get that impression last night? If not, I guess I’ll just have to try harder next time.” I lie on my side on bed, propping my head up with one hand, fully aware of how the movement makes my nightgown ride up nearly to my hips.
“I have to go get you a new shower head from storage. I’ll be right back.” With a lingering look at my exposed thighs, he practically runs out of my room, closing the door firmly behind him.
I laugh to myself, having enjoyed the back and forth banter and flirting. It makes me feel more like myself than I have in six months. The reminder is an unwelcome one. What would Brandon say? What would he think about me seeing someone? Guilt roars back up within me. I’d taken this trip to grieve, to come to terms with the loss that was eating me alive back home. Home—what does that mean anyway? If it’s just four walls and a roof, then I’m home now. If home is where people who love you live, then I’m homeless. Everyone I’ve ever loved and who loved me in return is dead. My husband. My baby. The thought brings awareness to the emptiness inside me that will never be filled.
Drew knocks and comes back in; I haven’t moved from my position on the bed. �
�Hey, Drew?” I ask, my previous good mood gone.
“Yeah?” He pulls the new shower head out of its box and works on getting it attached.
“How’s my Jeep coming?”
He pauses for a moment before answering me. “The fuel pump was bad. It’s gonna take a few days to hunt down a new one. Your Jeep is old; the parts are hard to find.”
I nod, my emotions conflicted. I’m disappointed it’s going to take longer than I thought to repair; but at the same time, I’m excited I have a good excuse to stick around town for a little longer.
“Meg?” Drew’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Drew,” I respond, smiling.
“Why don’t you just buy a new car? Your Jeep is in bad shape. Nolan said your clutch is goin’ and you need a good tune up, brakes, rotors, and tires. It’s gonna start nickel and dimin’ you.” He turns the shower on and off, showing me the strong pressure. I can’t wait to get under there.
“That Jeep will never leave my possession. Even when it won’t start anymore and it’s falling apart, I won’t get rid of it. It’s all I have left. Tell Nolan to fix everything on it he can.”
Drew’s eyes meet mine and I know in that moment that he’s figured out the Jeep means far more to me than four wheels and an engine. “It’s gonna be expensive . . .”
“I don’t care what it costs. I can cover it.”
“I meant to say somethin’ to you about that; why did you pay my tab last night?” He wipes his hands on a rag and gathers his tools. Tools I notice he didn’t need to use.
“Because I can; because I wanted to. It’s just money.” I shrug, climbing off the bed to stand in front of him.
“I’m pickin’ you up at seven, and leave your wallet at home,” he orders, the command in his voice doing crazy things to my heart.
“Yes, sir.” I wink and grin.
“I’m leavin’ now before you get me in trouble with Nana.”
