About Yesterday, page 3
Alpine roof, white siding with black trim, and cedar green shutters and doors. The place was cheerful and updated. The shrubs and trees around the house still held their leaves, which would change when temperatures began to drop over the coming weeks.
The garage door eased open, and they pulled slowly in, stopping just shy of a tarp loosely covering a pile of what looked like lumber and tools. Fuck, he hoped Jeremy hadn’t tried to take on another project. In front of Ellen’s little SUV, there was a stack of weights and rolled up mats, colorful and shiny and new.
As they came to a stop, Jeremy looked over at him, grinned, and shook his head. “It’s going to take me a while to grasp that you’re really home.”
“Me too,” Cole said, his throat clenching as it began to sink in. Within a few steps, his ankle was already screaming at him despite the boot. While Jeremy dashed ahead to get the door, Cole paused, breathing in the wind as it rushed through the woods. There it was, the scent of Foothills. Cedar, sunset, and the neighbor’s barbecue.
The side of his mouth hooked in a curious smile. What in the hell had he gotten himself into? Since when had peace and quiet lured him in like a siren song?
As he walked inside, quiet was absolutely not what greeted him.
Celine Dion belting a high note, oven timer chiming, and from the chaos of the kitchen, Ellen squealed and leaped across the dining room toward him, her ballet flats tapping the tile as she shortened her steps so she didn’t knock him over. Laughing out loud, she threw her arms around him and said a million things at once.
His shoulder throbbed at the impact, but he didn’t fucking care and lifted her from the ground with his good arm. Her wildly curly, strawberry blond hair covered his face until he couldn’t see anything. Quickly masking his laugh, he didn’t comment that she still smelled of cookies.
“I’ve been fixing up your bedroom and getting everything ready. Jeremy texted ahead to let me know you didn’t bring anything with you, so I ran into town to get you some basics, but…” Ellen pulled back and held his cheeks in her hands, easing her thumb off the taped wound when she realized she’d pushed on it. Smiling, weepy and so damn sweet, she squeaked again and said, “I don’t know how it will fit. You’ve filled out and thinned out and you look exhausted.”
The last decade melted away, a tension behind his eyes that hadn’t relented in too long began to ease. He nodded, his face still trapped in her hands. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything. Can I grab a shower and change before dinner?”
“Of course. You know you don’t need to ask,” Ellen said, patting him on the cheeks again. “New clothes are in your dresser. Nothing fancy, as I didn’t know what you’d like, and I wanted to get home to get dinner started.”
Fuck. Searing hot wet stuff thickened behind his eyes, and he thought he might actually lose it this time. Not that he was afraid of blubbering, but he looked a wreck enough. “Thank you,” he said again.
Ellen wiped the pad of her thumb under his eye, and the blur over his vision worsened. “Go freshen up,” she murmured, smiling and oozing with sympathy.
He hobbled across the house, feeling two sets of eyes following. The place had been updated, and, knowing Ellen, rearranged more than a few times since he’d last been here. The ceilings were high, and the living room looked out over the back patio and the ravine that gave them a bigger chunk of land than most of the houses in the neighborhood. Plush white sofas had replaced the durable sink-into plaid from when he was younger, the area rug no longer dark red, but now a simple patterned beige.
He climbed the stairs, turning at the landing and all the way up to the peace of the isolated top floor. Every joint in his body screamed at him, but he was within grasp of a decent night’s sleep, and a week of spacing out. Maybe a month. Then dip into his savings, get his own place, and walk the mountains every damn day for the rest of his life.
The open area upstairs had been updated and was a far cry from the invincible setup that not even a bunch of teenagers could destroy. Now, there was a buttery leather wrap-around sofa and a natural wood and iron coffee table in front of a TV that rivaled a movie theater.
His bedroom was exactly as she’d said. Refreshed today with a bouquet of flowers on the dresser, a homemade quilt on the bed, and the window open, the breeze filling the room with the scent of sunbaked cedar.
He opened the top drawer and wasn’t the least bit surprised by the unopened packages of tighty whities. Thick, white crew socks. The next drawer had a stack of simple pocket t-shirts in a range of sizes and colors, and the next had two pair of jeans and two pair of joggers. A few sweatshirts. Simple, but exactly what he needed.
He grabbed a change of clothes and hobbled his way toward the bathroom. Afternoon sunlight flooded the room so he had to shield his eyes, but he wouldn’t close the blinds for anything.
When he stripped off the walking boot, the odor of sweaty foot knocked him back, and he dreaded putting the thing back on again. Better than a cast, he supposed, sprain rather than fracture.
Chest filled with a whimper that rose in his throat, Cole unraveled the shoulder immobilizer. Each movement triggered a renewed burst of pain.
Could have been worse. Could have been his neck that had dislocated in the escape. Luck had gotten him out of there more than skill.
He flicked on the shower and let the water rush over his skin, salt and sweat quickly dissolving. Travel was brutal, but nothing fought jetlag like a shower and a big glass of water. Normally, he’d say a run, or at least a vigorous walk, but he was a long way off from that.
Using the fragrant lavender bars that were set out in a row on the tiled alcove shelf, he sudsed his hair with the first bar, conditioned with the next, and scrubbed the last decade off his body with the third. Laughing under his breath, he realized his desperation was that bad. A therapist would probably be more effective than soap.
The scent of peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips wafted up the stairs and set his stomach rumbling in pursuit of imminent satisfaction. He toweled off quickly to get to the cookies before they cooled past that perfect moment of gooey goodness. Stiff, sore as hell and moving slower than an old man, he slid his new jeans off the counter, dreading the next few moments of the splintering pain of getting dressed.
As he bent forward, teetering on his good leg while he braced his bad shoulder at his side, the door swung open and clocked him in the head.
“Fuck,” he growled, dropping the jeans and grabbing at his head, concussion raging at the insult.
As quickly as he dared, he lifted his gaze to see his attacker.
“Sorry. Sorry. Shit. Sorry. Didn’t know you were… um. Hi.” Trace Perry. Cheeks flushed with a fiery blush, lips curled in a delighted laugh, she looked amused and humiliated.
“Trace,” he murmured as he rose to stand, keeping all his weight on the good leg, his toes splaying on the cool tile floor to keep him balanced.
Forcing air in and out, knowing the clock probably still ticked, the world probably still turned, he couldn’t have spoken a word or even thought a thought. Pretty as a sunset, Trace unfolded her arms from across her chest and smiled sweet as hell at him. Sight for sore eyes.
If he’d had a clue she had only improved since his last visit, he would have stayed the hell away. A redhead like her mom, but more a darker fire and a sleekness with waves instead of curl. More freckles than stars in the sky. Lush pink lips and dreamy blue eyes, her expressions always saying more than her words, but only to those who were paying attention.
He swallowed his own tongue as he took her in, knowing he looked like a clueless moron, naked and standing on one foot. She must have just gotten home from work, wearing pastel pants with a sweater, but her bare toes wiggled with sparkly blue nail polish. Hell, he’d missed her. And spent way too fucking much time thinking about her the last ten years. And this was absolutely not going how he imagined this would go.
She teased her fingertips in her hair and laughed brilliantly. “Damn, Cole. You know how to make an entrance.”
“Me?” he answered, laughing as he stood tall, not bothering with the humiliating dance of someone caught naked. “You walked in on me.”
Eyes rolling, she plucked his jeans up off the floor and reached to hand them over, her eyes strained upward and notably away from his lolling cock. “My sincerest apologies. Now put some pants on so I can hug you.”
Slowly, letting it all sink in fully, the corners of his lips curled into a subtle smile, one side lifting higher than the other as he relented to a full grin. Chest flooding with warmth as he anticipated her response, he nodded a dare and said, “You can hug me now.”
“Oh, wow. You…” She tipped her head back and blushed again, handing the jeans more determinedly.
Laugh still vibrating through him, he took the jeans and leaned against the counter, contorting his body to get the job done. Messing with Trace had always been fun, but messing with Trace while naked was new.
She seemed to realize the extent of the challenge that the simple act of getting dressed would be for him and dropped to her knees in front of him.
His breath rushed from his lungs and he quickly looked up at the ceiling. Fuck. Not helpful. He focused every effort on not imagining where this could go and grabbed the vanity counter to steady himself.
“Don’t you have anything looser in the ankle? This is going to hurt,” she said, voice filled with pity as she hesitated.
Trying to keep it light, he swallowed the lusty gravel from his throat before speaking. “It’s this, or joggers that are so wide in the waist they won’t stay up or so narrow in the ankle they won’t fit over the grapefruit that used to be my foot.” Unable to resist, he finally looked down. “Or I could just walk around naked.”
Trace snorted a light laugh and he could see the blush rise from her neck to her forehead. “Smartass.” Fingers lightly brushing over his swollen ankle, she quickly changed her tune and crooned, “What happened? You look awful.”
“Um. Long story,” he said, hissing as denim rounded his heel. Her touch was delicate, but nothing was going to make this easy.
She glanced up, then quickly laughed and grimaced and looked back down. “Wow. Penis. Right there. In my face. Okay. Let’s get you dressed.”
“I can—“
“But I’m here now, and you’re going to fall and get even more hurt at the rate you’re going,” she said as she stood, leaning back as she did to avoid that face-to-penis thing again.
One pantleg on, and he glanced around, realizing this wasn’t getting any more glamorous. Great. Just fucking great. The entire fucking flight over, he’d thought about this exact moment, seeing her again, maybe there was a slim chance she’d be single, and she’d fawn over him and realize they were made for each other and all that romantic bullshit.
Instead, he dropped the lid to the toilet seat down and slid his good leg into the other side of the pants. “I got it,” he said softly.
“Clearly.” She bit her lips together and folded her arms over her chest, going absolutely nowhere. “So. You’re the mysterious dinner guest,” she said, not looking away as he pushed up to his feet again and secured his jeans.
“They didn’t tell you I was coming?” he asked, pushing his long hair back with his good arm.
“No,” she said, studying him curiously, as if figuring out some big puzzle.
As he reached for his shirt, she crossed to him, no pause. Smooth as silk, she folded her arms around him, keeping one arm low on his waist to protect his injured arm. Thoughtful, but her hands on his back, on his bare skin, and he couldn’t help but imagine that maybe there was a small chance that she had missed him the same way he’d missed her. Idiot that he was, he breathed her in, his eyes closing while he indulged.
Whispering, so close, she said, “Hug me back or I’m going to think you didn’t miss me, too.”
Hell. He wrapped his arm around her, tighter than he should, not nearly as tight as he wanted, keeping it friendly, as always. “Are you kidding?” he said, filling his voice with lightness for her as he finally pulled back. “Your voice has been in my head for the last decade, demanding I save the last cookie for you.”
Not a hint of shyness, not holding back, Trace held tight to him, careful of his injuries. “Did my parents convince you to come back while you recover, from whatever stupidity you’ve done to yourself this time?” She pulled away and looked up at him, pouty and sweetly melty as her blue eyes searched his.
Voice hitched in his throat, he tried to remember how to talk. He closed his eyes, a headache threatening to coat his skull, and he took a breath before trying again. “I quit my job. I’m here… for good.”
Dinner stuck to safe subjects, thank fucking christ. Cole tucked his hair behind his ear, the overgrown mess officially now long enough to tie back, but his right arm didn’t lift that high yet, so he endured. Ellen and Jeremy’s responses to him coming home had been remarkably and reassuringly predictable, their welcome a gushingly warm boon. As evening closed in, they had moved inside for dessert, no one letting him even carry in his own dish, promising he’d be able to help when he didn’t look like he’d been run through a meat grinder.
Trace had of course been… Trace. Refreshing and welcoming, sarcastic but still sweet as the apple pie Ellen had cooling through dinner, timed perfectly so the vanilla ice cream melted on impact but no one burned their tongue. Naturally, he indulged, but the cookies had done him in. Leaned back in the dining chair, ancient oak that had been handed down a few generations, he tipped down the last of his beer.
He twisted the glass in his hand. Every noise in the house demanded his attention, each car outside, each creaking branch. No sound escaped. Yeah. He’d fucked himself up enough that he couldn’t actually relax in the safest place he’d ever known.
Trace tipped her head back and laughed richly, pink lips curled up in a delighted grin as she regaled them all with another story of the goofy anecdotes of teaching high school French, and she started a poetry elective this year so she could work a full schedule, and without her saying, he knew her students adored her, as she clearly did them.
He chewed the edge of his tongue and pulled away before he got caught staring. The few seconds that he’d let his guard down, and she’d smacked him upside the head and laughed at his dick. Yup. Good to be home.
“No. She didn’t,” Ellen said, laughing so hard she covered her mouth and forced a swallow of her apple pie before it came out her nose. The woman laughed like no one else.
“She did. And I’ve never worked so hard to keep a straight face,” Trace said as she laughed, lifting her beer to her lips. As she had so many times through dinner, her gaze drifted in his direction, curious, not letting on what was on her mind, but he knew she was holding something back.
Jeremy took the unopened growler and poured a heady, amber brew into each of their glasses. He sparkled a wink at Cole and lifted his glass. “I’m saying it again. Welcome home.”
At least the last few years had taught him a few things. Cole raised his glass as well and said in flawless French, “Je ne pourrais jamais assez vous remercier. C’est bon d’être à la maison.”
Trace tilted a curious look, smiling subtly as she watched him. She nibbled the corner of her bottom lip and raised her glass. “Impressive. When you left, your French was fantastic, considering you got a late start, but, wow. Your accent is flawless. I know you didn’t learn it from old Mrs. Leblanc and her odd cadence that I’ve never heard from anyone but her. Where did you work?”
“I worked in a lot of places,” he answered, knowing she wouldn’t leave it at that. “She must have finally retired? She must be, like a hundred and forty now?”
“Hundred and two. Don’t be bombastic.” Trace nibbled the corner of her tongue as she joked with him.
When she didn’t look away immediately, he stilled with his drink halfway to his mouth, trying to remember if he’d just finished a sip or was about to take one.
Without looking away, she reached into the middle of the table and plucked up a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie and took a hunk in her teeth. Chewing slowly, she sized him up with her look, a few hundred questions boiling under the surface. “They made her retire before she croaked over in the middle of class.”
Jeremy and Ellen watched him, but knew not to push. They’d get all of their questions answered, most anyway, in time. It wasn’t until he’d learned the art of interrogation that he realized their strategy. Silence was more effective than any method of asking directly.
Half asleep at the table, he pushed to stand and took his dessert plate, ready to come back for more dishes, but it was going to take him more than a few trips.
Trace stood and reached across the table, slipping the plate from his hand. “Stop. I promise you can even do my laundry and wash my car once you can lift more than one thing at a time,” she said, tilting a teasing, wide-eyed snarky grin at him. “You’re dead on your feet. Go to bed,” she ordered like the toughest of sergeants.
Another day, and he’d consider arguing, but he needed to get off his ankle, the swelling progressing to unbearable. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, releasing the plate to her.
Using furniture as he went, hopping where there was none, he made it to the stairs and slowly climbed. Every step throbbed even in the boot, but he didn’t fucking care anymore. Bed, a decent night’s sleep, and who the hell knew what tomorrow would bring.
In the bathroom, he made good use of the toothbrush and pile of goodies Ellen had picked up for him, and he cleaned up for the night. His bedroom was like no place else on the planet.
The sun had set, the sky a darkening blue. His view hadn’t changed, still nothing but trees and filtered sky framed by the dormer window.
He slipped out of the shirt, easing it off the bad shoulder, and knew he’d have to find an orthopedist and a physical therapist within a few days. He stripped to the skin and slid between the smooth cotton sheets, slightly rough so he knew they had been picked up and washed this morning, never been used before him tonight.
