“We’ve been so proud of you, Alec.” His mother’s voice bolstered the truth of her statement. Even though he was no longer an NFL star, they were proud. He closed the album and ran his fingers down the faux-leather spine.
He stood up and laid the album on the coffee table. “We have to go.”
Panic flashed over his mother’s face, and she pushed at her hair. “Surely not so soon. Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?”
He was already at the door, Lilliana at his side. His mother followed him, but his father stayed seated, his gaze on the floor between his feet. Alec stepped outside and took a deep breath, the scent of burning leaves thick in the air. He stubbed his toe on the planter of pansies and turned back to his mother. “I’ll be back up here early next week for a job. Maybe we can meet for lunch?”
“Yes! Yes, we can do that. That would be wonderful.” His mother’s smile was teary, yet she seemed a decade younger than when they’d arrived. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Lilliana.”
“Likewise,” Lilliana said with a smile.
Before he could react, Lilliana gave his mother a hug. His mother clasped her around the shoulders. Lilliana extricated herself and gave his mother’s arm a pat.
Alec couldn’t bring himself to hug her. Not yet. “Bye, Mom. I’ll email you to set up a time and place.”
He and Lilliana got into his truck, and he drove off. His mother stood in the doorway of the shabby townhouse, growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.
He drove too fast, the atmosphere inside the truck thick and electric like the moment before a storm broke. Staring ahead, he clenched the wheel, the skin across his knuckles taut. Lilliana leaned over the center console and touched his forearm. The muscles jumped under her light touch.
“Your parents were really happy to see you.”
“Yep.”
“The album of clippings was really sweet.”
Yep.”
“It was nice of you to invite them to lunch next week.”
He grunted.
“And, that family portrait. Your hair. Your teeth. Have you seen ‘Bad Paid-For Pictures’ on the internet? Hands down you would win top prize, bless your heart.” Her voice was too fast and little bit nervous, but the familiar tease centered him.
She made everything immeasurably easier to face. On his own, another year or more may have passed in the same limbo of indecision. Now, the jammed wheels of his life had begun to move, slowly and shedding rust, but moving nonetheless.
His body relaxed, and he captured her hand. Instead of the death grip he’d maintained for the visit, he brushed his lips across her fingertips and placed her hand on his thigh, covering it with his own. His foot eased off the accelerator.
“Are you going to give your dad work?” she asked quietly.
He shot her a glance. “Why should I?”
“Because he needs it.”
“You heard him, he’s working for Pearson.”
“His work boots were in terrible shape, and he had a hole in one of his socks. They are living in a one-bedroom townhouse in not the best area of Jasper. The furniture was decades old. Your mother didn’t say anything about her or your father having to work when you offered to meet her for lunch during the week. It could be she was happy you offered anything, but maybe neither of them is working full time.”
“Where did you see Dad’s boots?”
“By the door.”
Alec finger-combed his hair. He didn’t know if he was ready for that complication, but having someone he trusted full time in Jasper would be a boon. “We’ll see.”
“Let the idea percolate and go have lunch with them next week.” She rubbed her hand along his thigh. Meant to merely comfort and reassure, the motion was like rubbing two sticks together to start a fire. A warmth built.
He glanced between her and the road. “Thanks for coming with me.”
Her fingers coasted along the seam on his inner thigh. “No, thank you for coming with me. I would have chickened out before I made it in the door of the tattoo parlor.”
“You were back there a while. Is it as big as mine?”
She giggled. “Not hardly. My tattoo didn’t take that long. The rest of the time we talked art.” Coming off the anxiety high of seeing his parents, he relaxed into the seat until she added. “And about you.”
His back stiffened, and he squirmed. “What about me?”
“How friendly and outgoing you were in high school. Everyone’s buddy. Joe said you were even nice to him.” Her fingers continued to trek up and down the interior seam of his pants.
“Joe was intimidating as hell even back then. I was probably too scared to be an asshole to him.” He spread his legs a few more inches. “If you keep rubbing my leg like that, I might pull over and check out your tattoo right now. Especially if it involves taking off your shirt.”
“Alec Grayson.” She breathed his name like an old church biddy catching the preacher drinking the communion wine. But she didn’t remove her hand. If anything, her fingers inched closer toward the growing erection pressing at the zipper.
His foot twitched, easing them up another five miles per hour. She unclipped her seatbelt and leaned closer to kiss his neck, her hand finally reaching the target and squeezing him through his pants. He mashed the gas pedal to the floor. She nipped his earlobe and unbuckled his belt.
“Lilliana.” He said her name on a moan. “You’re going to make me wreck.”
She got his jeans unbuttoned and the zipper partway down. He covered her hand with his before it could burrow into his underwear. “Ten minutes, woman, and I’ll fuck you until your eyes cross.”
She lay kisses along his jaw. “Where? Against the front door? On the stairs? In the hallway?”
Her playfulness tapped into something that had missing from his sex life—his life in general—for too long. “I choose D, all of the above.”
“Yes,” she hissed.
He wasn’t a hundred percent certain, but his truck might have gone up on two wheels on the turn to Hancock House.
Hunter’s car was parked out front, and the boy straightened from a slump as if he’d been waiting for long time.
“Dammit,” Alec muttered.
“What? Not going to make it?” Her lips curled against his cheek, and she squeezed him again.
“Different kind of trouble, I’m afraid.” He brushed her hands away and refastened his pants.
She looked out the windshield and shimmed back in her seat, adjusting her clothes. She was out of the truck first. “What’s wrong, Hunter?”
Hunter picked at his eyebrow. “Will wasn’t at the game last night. He didn’t come home and hasn’t been around today either. I’m worried something bad has happened.”
“Do you want to go to the police?” Alec asked.
Hunter shook his head as if the word stimulated a Pavlovian response.
“Then, how about we drive around? Ask some questions.”
“You don’t go around asking questions like that in Mill Town, Coach.”
Alec tapped his fist on the side of the truck. “Come on. I’ve got another idea.”
Lilliana rubbed both her arms. “You boys be careful. Text me, Alec?”
“I will.” He was halfway in the truck when he made a decision. Sliding back out, he stepped to Lilliana, wrapped an arm around her waist, and brushed his lips over hers. “I’ll be over later. Promise.”
“I’ll leave the back door unlocked.” She pressed her lips against his in a fierce kiss before stepping back.
20
Alec joined Hunter in the truck, pointing them toward downtown Falcon. It was late Saturday afternoon and traffic was constant. A parking spot in front of Henry Wilson’s antique store opened up in a shot of luck.
“Pretty sure Will isn’t antiquing,” Hunter said with equal amounts worry and exasperation.
“Have some faith, son.” Alec meant for his words to sound jokey, but all he heard was an overserious pre
acher. Hunter rolled his eyes and climbed out of the truck.
Alec pushed the front door open, jangling the bells. Henry Wilson emerged from the back, his limp and cough becoming more pronounced each season. “Coach Grayson! And, Hunter Galloway. Well, I’ll be. Wonderful game last night. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, we were hoping to catch Jeremy,” Alec said.
“He’s out back, unloading some knickknacks.” Henry thumbed toward the double metal doors. Henry shuffled behind a high desk and riffled through some papers, but his knowing gaze stayed fixed on them until they passed out of sight. The man was wily and wise and no doubt suspected why they were there.
Jeremy was slapping the dust off his pants when they stepped outside, the setting sun casting everything in an orangey glow. “Sorry, customers aren’t—”
He cut himself off. Shaking his head and with his thin lips pulled in a frown, he stacked chairs and moved them into what appeared to be a holding area before the pieces were tagged to sell.
“Jeremy, I’m—”
“I know who you are, Coach Grayson. Know your quarterback there too. Let me guess. You’re here for information about Will. ’Cuz you think I still run in that crowd or have connections to that crowd. Whatever.” Jeremy was young—only a few years older than Hunter—but he seemed older even than Alec in that moment.
Alec couldn’t deny that was exactly why they were standing in front of him. “I’m not accusing you of anything. According to Logan, people talk and you keep an ear out. Will’s gone missing. Do you know anything? Anything at all?”
“Fuck me,” he muttered while running a hand over sleek blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail. “Heard he owes some gangbangers money. Lots of it.”
A prepubescent crack wobbled Hunter’s voice. “Is he dead?”
“I haven’t heard. And I would have heard if they’d found him. He’s probably gone underground until he can raise the cash.”
“How much does he owe?” Alec asked.
“No clue. I’m not his banker,” he said with dripping sarcasm, but the longer he stared at Hunter, the softer his mouth became. “Look, your brother has to take care of his business, and you need to take care of yours. Win state, earn a scholarship, and get the fuck out of here.”
Although Alec might have put it a little differently, there was no arguing the wisdom. Jeremy didn’t hang around, disappearing through a simple wooden side door.
Back in the truck, Alec turned to Hunter before starting the engine. “What do you want to do?”
Alec hoped Hunter would involve the police, but wasn’t surprised when he said, “I’ll go home and wait. He’ll show up tonight.”
Distrust had festered between Mill Town and the police for years. Between the poverty and racial profiling, the residents of Mill Town often felt persecuted by the same people hired to protect them. In turn, drugs and violence followed poverty like mice to the Pied Piper and made Mill Town the police department’s nightmare.
Alec and Hunter drove back to Hancock House in silence. He parked and grabbed Hunter’s arm before he could hop out. “Why don’t you stay a while? We can throw some sandwiches together, order a pizza or something.”
Hunter found his first smile of the evening. “Nah. I interrupted your date already, didn’t I? I’ll be fine.”
“You text me if—when—Will comes home, and we’ll figure something out.”
Hunter nodded but looked away. Alec watched until his car made the turn off the oak-lined street.
Lilliana met him at the door with a hug. Alec folded himself around her, wanting nothing more than to stand there in her arms the rest of the night. His stomach rumbled. She poked his belly, setting off his laughter like a tripwire.
“I have sandwich fixings and tea already out.”
“Sounds perfect.” He filled her in on what he’d learned while they ate. “Am I doing the right thing by letting sleeping dogs lie? Or should I go to the police?”
She tucked hair still damp from a shower behind an ear. “My guess is the police know about as much as your buddy Jeremy, and if you involved them, it would only hurt your relationship with Hunter. He would never trust you again.”
Alec ran a hand over his face. The irony was astounding. She was right, though. She put everything back into the fridge. Her too-big T-shirt was knotted at her hips. Skinny jeans encased her legs, and her feet were bare, the toenails painted a glittery purple. She touched her side a couple of times.
“Can I see your tattoo now?”
She nodded, and he picked her up and set her on the counter, ignoring her squeal of surprised laughter. He unknotted her shirt and lifted.
The tattoo was smaller than he’d expected and shiny with a protective gel to help it heal. Only about four inches long and two inches wide, it sat below the band of her bra on her side. It took him a moment to identify the circles and lines. “It’s a constellation.”
“Orion. The Hunter. But I had the stars done in blue and yellow as an homage to Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It was the first painting I remember seeing in a book, and later stumbling across it in a museum in real life. I wanted to step inside of it.”
The tattoo was as beautiful and unique as the woman herself.
“Do you like it?” she asked in a hesitant voice.
“I love . . . it.” Again, his heart had nearly stolen control of his tongue. The thought of putting himself out there, saying it first, made him sick to his stomach.
Afraid she’d see straight through him, he pulled away and half-turned toward the door. What was his play? And did he really need to formulate a defense? “You mind if I shower?”
Completely unaware of his inner turmoil, she hopped down, her voice casual. “’Course not. You know where everything is.”
While the water heated, he picked up a bottle of her lotion and sniffed. It smelled good, but not as good as it smelled on her soft skin.
He shed his clothes and stepped into the steamy shower. A fancy pink razor, a blue scrub, and several bottles filled the caddy. He smelled each bottle of shampoo until he hit on the sweet magnolia scent. Rinsing the suds out, he closed his eyes and let his senses take over. Jesus, he was a goner.
Treading close to disgust with himself, he turned the water off, dried with the fluffiest towel he’d ever touched, and dressed in shorts and a long-sleeve cotton T-shirt. Popping his head into the hall, he was drawn to her studio by the light shining into the hallway and her humming.
He knocked on the doorjamb. “I don’t want to interrupt if you had plans to work tonight.”
“Nope, just organizing. Although, now that you mention it, there is something I want to sketch, although I wouldn’t consider it work.”
“What’s that?”
She set a sketchbook on the easel and flipped it open. “You. I want to sketch you. Go sit on the couch.”
“Me? Like the caricature you did of Hunter?” He sat on the edge of the cushion, his back ramrod straight and his hands clutching his knees.
“Something like that.” With a pencil clamped between her teeth, she twisted her hair up and stuck the pencil through the messy bun, uncaptured tendrils trailing over her shoulders. She picked up another pencil and waved it around like a wand. “Take your shirt off.”
“Is this going to be a nude caricature?”
A smile lit her face and made her eyes shine like polished obsidian. “I was thinking you could leave your shorts on, but now that you mention it . . .” She waggled her eyebrows.
Was she serious? The thought of lounging fully naked for her viewing pleasure was unbearably arousing.
“Don’t look so shocked. I did an entire class depicting the human form, but with you, I’m more interested in your tattoos.”
“Why?”
She adjusted the easel, so he couldn’t see her work. “Because they’re a work of art in and of themselves.”
Her words ricocheted through him. He didn’t object to body art in general, it was what the tattoos had
come to symbolize for him. The pain and shame of his fall.
True, he’d been hurt by everyone’s defection and his parent’s betrayal, but a big chunk of the blame landed squarely with him. He’d bought into his own hype, surrounding himself with people who didn’t care about him, only what they could get out of him. The lesson had been tattooed on his heart, but Lilliana was leaving a new indelible mark.
He peeled off his T-shirt and settled back into the corner of the couch. The scratch of pencil replaced conversation. He studied her while she worked.
The cute crinkle between her eyes, the way she would unexpectedly smile at her drawing, the way she bit her bottom lip. Her cheeks took on a rosy blush. Even in her baggy T-shirt and jeans, she was a million times sexier than any woman he’d ever met. He surreptitiously adjusted his semi-erection.
“All done. Want to see?” She pulled the sketchbook to her chest, standing and coming closer.
He nodded, and she flipped it around. He’d expected a funny caricature, but instead, he stared at a drawing of not only his body, but something intangible he tried to keep hidden from everyone. She’d drawn him midthrow on a football field in nothing but a pair of shorts. The crowd was fuzzy and indistinct, lending a lonely quality to the drawing.
She turned the book around so the sketch was hidden once more. “Obviously, it’s not a caricature, but that’s not what I wanted to draw. You don’t like it, do you?”
“No. I mean, yes, I like it. It’s amazing.” They engaged in a brief game of tug of war with the sketchbook before she let go. He stared even closer at the simple black lines that almost magically coalesced to depict him on the page. His heart thumped too fast and hard.
This was how she saw him. Serious. Closed-off. A loner. Yet a dynamic energy pulsed in the drawing, and she’d put his tattoos front and center, emphasizing them. She’d even included the scars along his busted knee.
Melting into You Page 21
