“Nice to meet you too,” I say to the closing door. Turning, I weave my way around another man telling a story to a group of more large men. Guns are involved in the narrative, and if I wasn’t sure before, I am now. These are Mercer’s work friends.
When I finally get to the kitchen, I hear my name. Or rather, I hear someone behind me say, “You must be Clover from down south.”
I spin on my heel. I’m face to face with a rogue looking man. Not unattractive, but also not fiery handsome at first glance. “What gave you that idea?” I return, idly wondering how long it took to grow a face so full of hair.
“I’m Rexy,” he says instead, holding out a massive hand.
Shaking it, I reply, “I am Clover. Clover Wellsley.” I release his grip. “Where is Mercer?” I ask, clearing my throat. “We had plans tonight.” I grab a dishtowel off the counter and dab my dress and chest while cursing under my breath. I’ll have to find a dry cleaner sooner than anticipated.
Rexy glances around the party and fixes me with a smile. “We surprised him with a welcome home slash farewell gathering. We’ve been waiting for him to get back to Cape Cod for a while now. Seems he got a bit held up down in Alabama. Something about a woman with a weed for a name. Some pretty bird that bewitched him.” His lips twitch. “To answer your question, he’s probably taking shots in the upstairs office with the boys.”
I smile for the first time since I walked into the house. “Bewitched, huh? His word or yours?”
He tilts his head to the side to examine me further. “I have a lot of words, but who’s counting? Your accent is thicker than Mercer’s is.”
Self-consciously, I run a hand through my soft hair. “That’s what you get in Alabama, I’m afraid. Born and raised. Mercer is just better at hiding his accent,” I remark. “Also, I’ll have you know that clover isn’t a weed.”
“I spray it with herbicide at my house,” Rexy replies. “Fucks with my lawn.”
I nod. “Fair enough. I’m going to find Mercer.”
Tossing the towel back on the counter, I readjust the bag on my shoulder and walk past him. He clears his throat loudly. “It was the dress,” Rexy calls to my back.
I narrow my eyes at him over my shoulder. “What?”
“The lace gave you away, Clover. No one wears stuff like that here. How can I explain it in a way you’d understand?” Rexy gestures with his hands and then holds up one finger. “I’ve got it,” he exclaims, smirking. “You’re like a fish out of water.”
“I’m not stupid, you don’t have to talk to me like that. Moreover, it’s not polite.”
Rexy motions to someone across the room and my eyes trail the movement. Another man is now looking at me like I’m the mortal enemy.
“Pardon me for being rude,” Rexy says, stepping toward me. “I’m going to have to say you are a bit daft if you don’t leave Mercer and go back to the pit whence you came.” He swallows hard, and my heart slams against my ribcage. “He might be bewitched, but I assure you all he needs is a little exorcism to cure that ailment.”
The threat looms in the air between us, eviscerating the last strings of excitement I had for this night alone with Mercer. Without another word, I hit the stairs at a quick clip. There are only four doors at the top and they’re all open, so I peek in the first and see an empty bedroom, the next is the bathroom and the other side of the hall is where the noise is coming from. Peering around the frame from an angle I can’t be seen, I survey the room. Mercer is sitting in a beat-up desk chair that’s been pulled over to the window. His feet are propped up. There are four other guys in here, two sitting on the desk, and two others rifling through a cabinet pulling out bottles of alcohol. Two women are sitting on a futon against the wall, hands gesturing wildly as they speak to each other.
I hear a man call over to them, asking what they want to drink. Sierra and Luella are their names and like Rexy said, they don’t look anything like me. They are sleek and modern to my frilly lace. They are cool and refined, and I look like a show poodle trying to lose her virginity to a man way out of her league. Love be damned, right? People have to match. They have to go together. They have to fit. I didn’t fit in Greenton, but oh my goodness, I don’t fit in here either. I recall Goldie’s comments about buying black and getting rid of my dresses and I think she was downplaying to save my feelings. Big time.
Rexy booms from behind me. “Look who I found wandering around downstairs.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and guides me into the room. Farm truck.
Mercer’s eyes light up when he sees me. Thank God for small miracles. “Clover.” He rushes out of his seat and crosses to me. “How long have you been here? I thought you would call.” I should have called, I think. “The guys who were still in town threw this surprise party. I had no idea. I should have called you when they showed up.” He repeats his first question, a cautious thoughtfulness in his eyes.
“Just a bit. I haven’t been here long,” I reply, smoothing my hands down the side of this awful choice of a dress. “Got a beer spilled on me, and met your friend here,” I say, making the word friend sound like a question. “Guess I’m a bit late to the party.”
One of the girls on the futon pipes up. “Rexy, my dear brother is down on manners. I’m Luella,” she says while standing. “And this is Sierra. Sierra is with Grange over there. The one with the naked lady on the back of his shirt,” she adds, nodding in the direction of the guy, “And I’m a free agent,” Luella finishes, smiling widely, eyes flicking to Mercer.
My stomach flips as I try to find the confidence that usually comes to me so easily. “I’m Clover Wellsley, and I’ve known Mercer…all of our lives.” We shake hands and her grip is weak. I don’t miss it as she casts a calculated glare in Rexy’s direction, and then nods pleasantly at me.
“Clover is my girlfriend,” Mercer announces and I’m not sure he’s done me any favors. “She’s moved here from Alabama. Maybe you girls can help her out while I’m gone. Give her the lay of the land. Entertain her like good hosts?”
I’d like to shake Mercer silly, because he’s saying things that would be passable in Greenton, but they won’t fly here, and he should know it. The women are looking at me like I’m an invader of the worst kind, and honestly, I can’t blame them.
“Yeah, I will,” Sierra says, and I don’t detect any hostility in her tone.
Luella snaps her gaze to her friend. “Sure, we will, Mercer. Anything you’d like. Where are you living, Clover?” Everyone’s eyes are on me. Not with the awestruck likes of jealousy, more like I’m a caged animal in the zoo they’re trying to categorize into species and genus.
“My place is just across the street. My cousin Goldie owns it and a salon. Maybe you’ve heard of Blunt? I’ll be doing hair there, too.” When the women react positively to the name of the salon, I talk about that more, distancing myself from the awkward stares and honing in on my cousin and everything hair related.
“You’ll have to come see me,” I offer when I feel confidence return, letting my eyes appraise their hair for the first time.
Grange walks over and hangs a heavy arm over Sierra’s shoulder. He introduces himself and his mild-mannered attitude immediately draws me to him. We talk a bit more about my move and Alabama and Sierra asks a few questions about my life before this, and what Mercer was like as a teenager. I don’t give anything away I don’t think he’d want me to. Luella’s voice cuts through the air, “Let’s take a selfie,” she coos, butting into my conversation and edging Grange out of the way. She pulls us together, holds out her hand, we smile, and she snaps several photos. After she’s satisfied with an image she proclaims, “Don’t worry, Clover, I’ll filter it up and make you look perfect.” I grit my teeth and keep my comments to myself. “What’s your Instagram handle? I’ll tag you.”
“I’m private,” I say. I locked down all of my social media accounts a while ago. Between the women’s shelter and my dad’s career, I never wanted anyone drawing conclusions about who I a
m and what that means about my family. There isn’t anything scandalous, by any means, and I am starting a new life, so I make a rash decision. “But it’s @misscloverw. I’ll add you when I see your request.” I need to be friends with these people. I need friends in general. This is what friends do. New life, I remind myself again. Sierra and Luella are filtering and posting on their phones, so I pull mine out of my tote, side-eyeing Mercer as I do. He smiles on, like he’s happy I’m not tearing them to shreds with a verbal, Southern assault.
Mercer hands me a full shot glass. “There aren’t any letters missing on this one, but I think you’ll appreciate what’s inside.”
I look at the shot glass with narrowed eyes. I whisper under my breath. “So, about tonight. Or what was supposed to happen tonight. You’ve been drinking a bit?” I lean away from him to watch his face. It answers the question for me. “Mercer,” I whine. “We had big plans.”
He clears his throat, and excuses us into the hallway, and then into his bedroom a few steps away. When we’re stowed away from everyone else, he closes the door and spins to face me. “I’m sorry. I really am. You have to know I’d rather it be just you and me and this bed for a full twenty-four hours, but,” he says, sentence cutting off completely. “I love you, Clover.”
“This is the part where you say but one more time. Except I end up spittin’ mad this go, isn’t it?” Taking in a breath, I shudder. “Or cry. Or call Tannie and tell her she was right? Tell my parents they were right. Tell the whole world they saw what I couldn’t.”
Mercer bites his bottom lip. “I’m redeploying tomorrow, darlin’.”
My stomach drops to the floor and I honest to God feel light-headed. I rush out, “All the more reason to clear this dadgum house of all these people and get this started, Mercer. Oh, my God. Just like that? That’s how it works?” I fan my face with my hands where I’ve broken out in a sheen of sweat. “I can’t believe this. We just got here; we have like a week left. We have plans. So many plans. You were going to take my virginity, patch a hole in my wall, give me the grand tour of Cape Cod and the Harbour Point Base.” Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I knew this would happen. I didn’t anticipate my reaction to it. “I’m sorry.” When I open my eyes, Mercer is standing in front of me, arms folded across his chest, a sly smile playing on his lips. The moment takes on an ethereal quality. He’s going to leave, and I’ll be left here wondering what was real.
“The sooner I get back at it, the sooner I come home to you.” He tips my chin up so our gazes lock. “And mercy me, there’s nothing I look forward to more.” Mercer swallows hard. “I’ve never had someone to come home to. Never had a woman who made leaving harder than going. This,” he says, motioning between our bodies, “is real. It’s going to stay real while I’m gone and for the rest of time. You have to hang on.”He leans his forehead down to meet mine.
“Hang on to what, Mercer? This is the time to be specific. It all feels like a rush. I fell in love with you in a rush. Made important decisions in a rush. You’re leaving in a rush. You get why this doesn’t seem real, right?”
“Hang on to what you’re feeling right now.”
“Terror?” I nearly shriek. “Or panic, self-loathing, trepidation, confusion? Any of those sound like things I should hang on to? I’m feeling all of them.” My pulse is still ricocheting in my ears. I repeat my death sentence. “Tomorrow?”
Mercer pulls away and puts his lips against mine. I melt into his arms and the kiss, captured by the intense passion he gives and the control I relinquish immediately.
Someone raps a fist against the bedroom door. “Tomorrow,” Mercer repeats.
“And tonight, we have to go back out there and make nice with everyone,” I deadpan.
He nods. “Unfortunately.” He tucks my hair behind my ears and rests his hands on the sides of my face. “We’re done rushing things for now anyway.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
“Tomorrow morning. I want to take you somewhere. Morning is mine?” He releases my face and takes a step backward.
“Of course, Mercer Ballentine.” More than tomorrow morning, though. The man has me hook, line, and sinker for the rest of time.
Chapter Fourteen
___________________________________
Clover
I WOKE WRAPPED in Mercer’s arms before the sun rose. A surprising fact when you know that the party waned in the wee hours of the morning. By the time the house emptied, we crashed in his bed face first. I didn’t drink, too wrapped up with my thoughts and worries for the future. I slipped out of his warm embrace as he snored lightly and retreated to my house. Before I knew what I was doing, I had on a pair of workout shorts and sneakers and I was staring down the empty, sleepy road. Then, I just ran.
I ran away from everything and nothing. Each step guiding me somewhere new, somewhere I’m not familiar with. In that Forrest Gump sort of way, and also in that brand new me way. Studying the quaint houses with their manicured lawns gave me a peace of mind—like playing pretend for just a second. Picturing what the families inside were like, and how I may be similar to them. Carving out a new path, in a new place completely foreign to me was always going to be a challenge, but Mercer gave me something I didn’t realize I was relying on. A safety net. A reassuring presence that looks, feels, and even smells like home. The soft comfortable blanket when I’m sick. Everything I was told not to grasp onto from a young age. They told me to rely on myself, and in the same breath spoke of marrying me off.
The soles of my shoes made a soft crunch each time I landed on the sandy sidewalk. While my mind wandered, time passed. The sun rose in the distance, coloring the sleepy town with a more promising hue. Spinning on my heel, I caught my breath before taking off in the direction I came from, passing the same houses that no longer were silent and dormant. Lights were on, and bodies moving inside houses where the curtains were no longer closed, a sweeping movement of life.
Mercer was waiting for me outside my house when I rounded the bend, dripping sweat, and heaving carbon dioxide. He proceeded to give me a tongue lashing about not waking him up to tell him where I was going.
I mop my brow with the hem of my t-shirt, concealing my face. “I couldn’t sleep. No sense giving you a dose of that. That’s just plain rude.” I’m still catching my breath in between words. “I needed to clear my head and get a feel for the neighborhood. I’ll be doing it on my own. It’s not like I’ll be telling you every time I leave the house from here on out.” I let the words I didn’t say hang between us. Because you won’t be here.
“It scared me,” he says, sighing. Mercer looks down at his watch and when his eyes meet mine, I see the finality of the moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight.” Shaking his head, he swallows hard. Worry lines crease his forehead as he glances to his house. His big bag, that horrible big bag, and all it signifies is waiting behind his truck. The bulging sides taunting me—proving that I’m not worth staying for. I’m surprised by my train of thought, and I set the negativity aside.
“I have a ride coming in two hours. I want to take you somewhere. It’s my favorite spot.”
Smoothing my tongue over my teeth, I nod. “Okay. Let me rinse off really quick.”
Mercer tells me he needs to go inside to grab something and we’ll meet back at my car in ten. It’s not until after I get out of the shower that I see Mercer patched the hole in my wall. It’s smoothed over with white, but still needs a coat of paint. I get a lump in my throat as I realize how thoughtful the gesture is. I can’t drown out the voices screaming obscenities about my life situation right now. I rush the door with my purse in hand. Mercer is waiting on the passenger side of the car. His eyes flick over my body once and he smiles a half-grin.
“I have a favor to ask,” he says as we get into the car. I start it up, and he tells me where to go. When I set down the road, he adds, “Can you keep an eye on my house? You can stay there if you want. I’ll leave you keys and stuff.”
&
nbsp; “Sure. How hard can house sitting be? I can see it from my living room.” My reply is clipped. It’s unintentional, but Mercer picks up on my mood and tries to lighten it with his carefree charm and jokes. I smile as I head toward the coast, the road narrowing when we get closer to our destination.
“Park there,” he commands, motioning to a corner spot next to a walkway leading to a rocky beach that looks nothing like Alabama beaches. “It’s small, but there’s never many people here, if any at all. I always have it to myself when I come down here. It’s my almost place,” he explains, tipping his head down to gaze at me. “There are a million other things we could be doing right now, but Clover, I want to be with you, and I need you to know that what I feel for you is real.” Mercer looks away, off into the distance. I wonder if sunrise will look the same where he’ll be. I wonder if I’ll be the same person when he comes back. And if I’m not, what does that mean for us? Is wasting heartbreak on saying goodbye worth it?
“What’s an almost place?” I ask.
Mercer takes my hand and walks slowly, holding the wooden rail. “You know? It’s almost a beach, right?”
I nod, describing how it’s different than our favorite beach in Alabama. “As simple as that then? It’s almost a beach,” I prod. He breaks away from me, kicks his flip flops off to the side and walks to stand closer to the water. In that place where most of the waves can’t reach, but the brave few can tackle if they gather enough power. The sand is wet and hard-packed where he’s standing, and my feet sink into the craggy sand that has a mixture of broken shells and dried seaweed.
Mercer’s body shifts, he pops one knee out and in, his shoulder tilts to the side, his posture is slack and restless. He turns his head to the side so I can see his profile. “No. It’s not as simple as that,” he deadpans. “I come here when I want to recharge. When I want to fill up and recharge. It’s almost a beach, in a place that is almost home, where I’m almost happy.” His eyes lock with mine as he turns to face me. I take a few steps to close the distance between us.
Almost Had You Page 16
