SSFCollection1 Ebook, page 72
“She’s dying,” I blurt, insensitive in my own right.
“Mom,” Jordan huffs before chuckling. He shakes his head in humor, but the weight of Jax’s eyes press on me, so I turn to him.
“Spit it out,” I snap because Jax has something to say and we might as well get this over. Without recognizing it before, I see so much of Denton in him it almost frightens me.
“I don’t approve.”
“Jaxson,” Hollilyn whispers under her breath.
“And what exactly do you disapprove of?” I hold my breath, knowing his answer before he speaks. My fingers clench and unclench as I lean on the table.
“Of him.”
“What about him?”
“Dating you.” The stab going to my gut, I sit up straighter.
“Do I need your approval?” I’ve done nothing wrong, I tell myself, as Denton has said. Give yourself permission, Billy’s voice filters in my head for support.
“No, you don’t,” Jordan interjects, aiming a glare at his brother. His hand comes out to cover mine, and he gives it a quick squeeze.
“I’m out of here,” Jax says, slamming down his empty beer mug. He’s halfway out of his seat with Hollilyn’s hand on his forearm, and her unacknowledged attempts to soothe him tick me off.
“Sit down.” I pause only a beat. “I loved your father—”
“Mom, we know this. You don’t need to say anything,” Jordan offers, ever the attorney trying to smooth ruffled feathers, but my mother hen feathers are cocked up, and I’m not letting my second twin pluck my fury. After a warning glare to his brother, I place a hand on Jordan’s wrist as Jax’s body returns to his seat.
“But he’s gone,” I continue as if Jordan hasn’t spoken. “He was a good man, a great father, and adoring husband. And he died…without me.”
Jordan hisses, and Jax lowers his head.
“And he asked me to carry on.”
Jax’s head lifts and Jordan turns to me.
“He left me a letter, spelling it all out, reminding me of promises we made to one another inside our marriage that is no one’s business, not even either of yours.” Jordan nods once, agreeing with me as he reaches for Maggie’s hand. A sorrowful look crosses Hollilyn’s eyes at the tenderness between a husband and wife. Jax does nothing to comfort her.
“If you don’t want me to smile or laugh or enjoy myself…” I swallow the lump building in my throat. “Then I respect your wishes and understand you won’t be coming around as much. Because I’m not dead, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m walking through water instead of enjoying the waves.”
Jax has the decency to look away, his eyes closing at my words.
“I respect your feelings as my son, but I’d like you to respect mine, not only as your mother but also as a woman with years of life ahead of her—” I pause a second, taking a deep breath. “—alone, if I don’t change, if I don’t open up.”
I might be treading a little too far into deep waters, exposing myself and my needs to my children, but Hollilyn’s hand finds mine on the table and gives a squeeze of sisterhood. I glance at Maggie who nods, encouraging me as a tear slips from her eye. I draw strength from my daughter-in-law and Jax’s girlfriend who should be my daughter-in-law, and it pushes me into drowning territory.
“And before you want to judge me, Jaxson, and anything looking like a relationship, I suggest you take a hard look at yourself and how you treat this girl.”
“Mom,” Jordan whisper-hisses. Hollilyn gasps and Jax stands, snarling, “I don’t need this.”
I stand as well. “I don’t either. Sit down and enjoy your dinner. I’m going home. Alone.”
Grabbing my purse, I step around my children and head for the door.
23
Broken Hearts and Doors
[Denton]
What a shitshow. First, the bee sting on Cora’s back turned out to be nothing more than something poking her. Mother’s nurse checked it out. Dramatic much, Cora? After the diagnosis, I decided to jump in the shower and rinse off the sweat and leaves stuck to my body. It seems Mati and Cora would be staying a while and I wanted to clean up. As I stood in the clawfoot tub, the curtain pulled around me, a knock raps to the door and hope spikes as did another part of me that Mati has followed me. The fantasy plays out where she removes her clothes and joins me without announcing herself, soaps me up, bringing me to the brink, and when I can’t control myself any longer, I spin her around to bend her over, balance on the lip of the tub, and…
“Denton, I just want to put the antiseptic back in the medicine cabinet. Nurse Vivian says it goes in here.”
The fantasy disappears when Cora calls out my name instead. I freeze, holding my dick in my hand. I feel like I’ve gotten caught with my fingers in the cookie jar which would be less embarrassing. A strangled tone escapes as I question, “Couldn’t it wait?”
Cora chuckles and admits, “I guess it could have.” Yet, the medicine cabinet mirror swings open, the creaking noise added to the running shower. I laugh nervously, nearly choking with the sexual energy of my hand on my hard-on while a woman stands on the other side of the thin curtain. The wrong woman.
Then another knock taps at the door.
“Cora?” Mati’s sweet, hesitant voice forces me to release my dick, feeling the weight strain as it sticks out stiff and achy.
“Was that Mati?” I hush-whisper and panic strikes. This. Cannot. Be. Happening. The situation with Cora in the bathroom has all kinds of wrong written on it, so I call out, “Don’t come in.”
My fingers grip the curtain, and I stick my head out to see Cora’s wide eyes shooting from me to the door.
“Oh, my heavens.” A well-manicured hand comes to her pink lips, and a tense giggle escapes.
“What happened?” Did Mati walk in and notice Cora—or worse yet—see the outline of my body through the thin fabric giving away my hard-on?
“I think she ran away.”
“What?” I reach for the faucet, turning off the taps, and spin for the curtain. Forgetting about Cora, I tug back the barrier. Cora stares at me, her eyes widening even more than moments before.
“Cora,” I snap, leaning forward for the towel on the edge of the sink. I ignore her admiring gaze and gaping mouth to wrap myself in the threadbare towel. Stepping out of the tub, I slip on the loose rug and almost do the splits, landing the family jewels on the rim of the raised claw-foot. Righting myself, I press Cora out of my way as I race for the front bedroom—the one without a boarded-up window— overlooking the front lawn.
“Mothertrucker,” I mutter, watching Mati run for her truck. I spin for the door, take the stairs two at a time, holding onto the towel at my waist, and reach the front screen door too late. Mati peels out of the gravel drive and takes off in the opposite direction of town. My palm slaps at the open front door to my side and the wood cracks. A loud snap reverberates around me and the ancient door splinters in the middle. A few ants scramble through the hole I’ve made, and I step back.
Curse words curse more words.
The stream of ants through the severed wood seems endless, covering the chipped paint along with the large splinters I’ve made. My shoulders fall as I realize I can’t chase Mati.
“This house needs a wrecking ball,” I mutter.
“This house needs some love,” Cora counters behind me. I spin to face her, holding my towel while losing my pride after facing her naked, shampoo still dripping from my hair, and a semi-wood pitching the terrycloth at my waist.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I grumble, feeling no love for the house or my situation. I’ve been cooped up again, waiting, waiting, waiting, although I don’t know if what I’m waiting for is my mother’s passing or Mati’s attention. Maybe it’s both entwined together. Each day I sing softly to my mama while I also pine away, wondering when Mati will realize we did nothing wrong. We kissed. That’s not a crime. And if it were, I’d steal more from her.
The sin lies in how much I liked it, how much I wanted more from a woman clearly not ready to go further. And if kissing were all I got from her while I stayed here, I’d take each lick, each suck, each nip, and store it in the memory bank along with the first one.
But for now, I have a front door to repair as I can’t leave a house of women exposed out here. I really should move to the farmhouse, but I didn’t want to leave Conrad Lodge yet. The resort room gives me respite from things I still try to ignore—my mother dying and my feelings for Mati.
After a call to Duncan Hardware—and a second shower—a new front door is delivered. Breaking the door with so much force reminds me of conversations I had with Mati as a teen. Staring after the busted door as Kent Duncan removes it, my stomach twists.
“You’ll never be like him.” She exhaled as if astonished I thought such a thing.
“But what if I am? What if I have a child and I get angry because he didn’t pick up his shoes? Will I hurt him?” The genuine concern filled my head.
“You’ll be a great dad one day, and you’ll never hurt a child because of what Kip did to you.”
I never had kids, though.
The current owner of the hardware store and somehow a cousin finishes the door install complete with a new handle and lock as the latch on the original door didn’t work with the modern one. A big burly guy glances around the front entry and the parlor off each side of the extra wide hallway and whistles low.
“Good bones here but needs some TLC.”
While the house has a solid foundation, many of the original elements are going to be lost if we start fixing things. I hang my head at hearing this comment for the second time in a few hours.
“I think I need a contractor.” The list of repairs is long. Roof. Porch. Stairwell. Kent offers up two names and their numbers.
“I might be biased toward Duncan Construction, though. My brother Griffin owns it.”
After thanking him for the recommendations, I retrieve Cora who has been waiting on the ride I promised to give her, since she owns the Lodge where I’m staying, and Mati ditched her. She’s been busy talking with Magnolia and then sitting with Mother a bit so Dolores can rest. The weight of watching someone die is heaviest on my sister. When I look at Mother, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. I don’t know the woman with shallow breaths and hollow eyes lying in a bed. Then again, I remember the blankness in her stare as my father took his temper out on me.
“Kip, you’re hurting him.”
“Dear,” he said through clenched teeth, “shut your mouth or you’re next.”
I’d swallow the beating to keep it from her until I could no longer take it and fought back.
An ache in my brain forces me to rub at my forehead. Dolores and I need to discuss the house and our grandmother before too much longer.
We could sell. That would be the easiest solution. Sell as is.
We could renovate and then sell, upping the investment and gaining a better return. My neighbor in California is an investor and might know someone who handles property like Magnolia’s.
Either way, Magnolia cannot stay here alone. Dolores runs the diner which is another issue. It needs some upkeep as well. I’m overwhelmed with all the things crumbling around me.
Thinking of Garrett, I’m reminded of home. I want to go home—LA home—then I recall the side yard.
We were having a good time—throwing leaves at one another like kids—and the way Mati looked at me like she wanted to trace my abs with her tongue. A smile curls my lips with the thought. I’d let her have her way with me as long as she sees it’s me. Not because of lust. Not because I was a rockstar. Not because I was in magazines. But just because she could—and Mati did. Her eyes roamed my skin in appreciation, and her gaze sent shockwaves to other places, places ready to oblige her in all ways.
Then Cora had to bring things to a screeching halt, and I do mean screeching. I don’t fault her directly, but her theatrics popped the mood and stole Mati’s laughter. I haven’t heard her laugh in so long and I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. Her laugh was loud and strong like she really thought something was humorous or pleasant, and when she got going with the giggles, it could make you laugh as well without even knowing what was so funny to her. I miss that—that kind of laughter—and I’d forgotten it. Of all the things I remember about Mati, her laughter is something I shouldn’t have forgotten.
I also realize Mati needs more care from me. Grabbing her tit like a bumbling teen wasn’t exactly the way to win her into feeling not guilty.
Do I want to win her?
Is she a contest?
If I were still a hungry teen, I might respond with a yes. I remember the little things irking Chris about our continued friendship. The late night drives. The love of dance. The constant pranking. But Chris being Chris, took those things in stride. Maybe he also did it because he had Mati by his side.
However, Mati isn’t a competition. I’m going home as soon as I settle things here. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not rushing my mother’s death. Surprisingly, she seems to be hanging on as the two weeks projected by the doctors passes. Still, I need to start thinking ahead. The house. Magnolia. The diner. But what about Mati? Do I just want sex with her or do I want all in? I’m not even certain it’s a me question, but more of a Mati one. She needs to find herself, give in to herself. She’s still young. She told me she doesn’t date. She told me she doesn’t touch herself. She’s not a nun, though. She’s too vibrant to be celibate, and I know just the man to help her with everything.
24
Open Doors
[Mati]
As I pull into my driveway, I see a light on in the front hall of my home. The etched glass in the front door gives nothing away other than the yellowish beams streaming through the design. Did I leave the light on? As I near the door, I stop, placing my forehead against the cold glass. It’s so difficult to enter alone some nights. My palm flattens on the cool pane, and I take a deep breath. I’m startled when a palm matches mine on the other side of the glass, outlined by the light, and I smile a little, thinking it’s one of the boys.
When Jax and Jordan were little, and Chris would return home late from his office, the boys would press their little hands to the glass waiting for their father. Chris would come to the door and rest his larger hand against the other side. The boys would squeal with delight, trying to reach for their dad through the solid panel. Assuming it’s one of the boys, I turn the knob and enter the hall.
Then my voice freezes in my throat.
“Mati.”
“Denton?” His hands slip inside his jean pockets, his head lowering sheepishly. “How did you get in here?” I ask, looking around the front hall as if I’ll discover the answer.
“It’s a small town, Mati. We all had a secret hiding spot with an extra key.” So much for the false bottom on the underside of the flower box.
“What are you doing here?” An awkward silence falls between us. I don’t invite him farther into the house. We just stand before each other in my narrow front hallway.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I nod as if I understand when I don’t. I take a step back, finding the wall for support. It’s almost like we’re in high school again. Me against the lockers. Him talking to me from less than a foot away. My knees feel shaky as does my stomach.
“So.” I swallow. “Where’s Cora?” I hate that I asked. I hate how I sound jealous.
“Mati,” Denton exhales, stepping forward. “Nothing happened.” His fingers reach for my cheeks, hesitate a moment, and then return to his side. Still, his presence fills my space, his chest delicately pressing near mine. So close, I breathe.
“Sounds familiar,” I say, my voice snappy. Next, he’s going to renege his statement and tell me it didn’t mean anything. It’s Kristy all over again.
“Don’t be like this.” His voice lowers as his hands lift for my face, giving in to whatever held him back moments ago. My eyes shift toward his feet.
“I don’t know how to be.” I’m quiet as I speak. “I don’t know how to feel.”
“Just feel,” he says, his voice sultry, deep, rustic, but I misunderstand his meaning.
“I mean, I understand Cora’s beautiful and flirty and—”
“Mati.” His breath caresses my lips as he exhales my name again. He’s close enough I hear him swallow, but I continue, the roll building inside me.
“The other night. And then that kiss, Denton. That…kiss.” I look up at him, my eyes filling with traitorous tears at the ache in my chest. Did he kiss Cora? “You pulled away and—”
His mouth crashes against mine, swallowing any other words and stealing my thoughts. Eager, energetic, all-consuming, his lips take mine, sucking and tugging, drawing me into him. I melt against his body as he pushes forward, pressing me against the wall at my back.
“How can you think I don’t want you?” His words stutter between kisses.
“You couldn’t even look at me after the other night after what happened on the floor, and—”
“Spice.” He chuckles, pulling back and pressing his forehead against mine. “I couldn’t look at you because your boob was hanging out, pointing at me.” His eyes lower, taking in the offensive breast. “Wanting me to take it in my mouth.” His voice dips. “Begging me to suck it. Love it.” A finger draws a line from my cheek to my neck. His hand momentarily circles my throat. Then his index finger slides downward, dragging the neckline of my overlarge sweater with it as it heads for the swell of one breast before resting at the tip of a ripened nipple, peaked and protruding through my bra. My breath catches.
“How can you think I don’t want you, Mati?” His voice roughens, and a hesitant finger lowers to swipe at the seam of my shorts. My core pulses at the tease. “This is all I think about since I’ve been back.”
Then he cups me, a full palm pressing against my covered sex and I gasp at the abruptness. He stills.
