Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
G annon
“Hello?”
I recheck my mirrors. “Hey, Nick. It’s Gannon Brewer.”
“Hey, Gannon,” he says. “What can I do for you?”
“Kent Johnson. Daughter named Carys. He lives in Nashville now. Wife’s name is Aurora.”
“Okay.” A keyboard clatters in the background. “What do you need?”
“I want to know everything about him.”
“There are levels of everything .”
My teeth grind together. “I want to know what color his shit was this morning, Nick.”
“Got it. Timeline?”
“Yesterday.”
“I’ll call you back.”
I end the call and sigh. She should’ve been home by now .
My mind launches into a hundred what-if scenarios, ranging from a simple change in plans to a situation where that fucking car stops in the middle of the road, and someone plows into her from behind and hurts her.
I’m going to lose my mind .
I climb out of my SUV, clutching my phone in case she calls, and then pace the length of her porch. Time crawls. The sound of every car makes me jump. But the squeal of the Gremlin is like no other, and my heart races when I hear it before it comes around the corner.
Thank you, God.
My breath stalls until her eyes lift to mine.
She flings open the door and runs across her lawn, throwing herself into my arms. I pull her against me, hoping the contact will stop my heart from cracking down the center from the sound of her cries.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, kissing the top of her head.
“Why are you here?”
I chuckle in disbelief, holding her even tighter. “Because you need me.”
“But your meeting with the attorneys …”
“What about it?”
She leans back, looking up at me through wet lashes. I brush her tears off her face.
“Aren’t you supposed to be there?” she asks.
I press a gentle kiss to her lips. “ You need me . So I’m supposed to be here.”
She buries her face in my chest again, fisting my shirt in her hands.
“Let’s go inside before the neighbors start asking questions,” I whisper, not wanting to let her go.
She hands me her keys and I unlock the door, and as we step inside, I finally get a good look at her.
My sweet girl.
Her cheeks are stained with mascara, and her beautiful eyes are puffy. I don’t know what her father said to her, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. Later . Right now, that’s going to have to take a back seat.
She’s the priority. My priority. The only priority.
“What do you need?” I ask her, searching her face.
Her bottom lip quivers, so I kiss it to make it stop.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispers.
“Where did you think I’d be? You answered the phone crying, for fuck’s sake.”
“I’m sorry for scaring you.”
I lift her chin, tilting her head back and peering into her eyes. “Never be sorry for needing me. Got it?”
A slow smile slips across her face.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask, not sure what to do in these uncharted waters. This isn’t a situation I have much experience in, and I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing. “Do you want a drink? A shower?”
Her shoulders fall. “A shower would be great. Crying makes me feel sticky.”
“Then let’s go.”
I take her hand and lead her down the hallway to her bathroom. I turn on the shower to warm it up, and then shift my attention to Carys. She’s watching me hesitantly, like she’s waiting for a bubble to burst. Has anyone ever treated her right? I don’t think so. The thought kills me, but I’m happy to be the one to show her what that looks like.
It’s a fucking privilege.
“Lift your arms,” I say.
She holds her hands over her head, and I remove her shirt. I unfasten her bra while she steps out of her shoes and pants, then I work quickly to rid myself of my clothes, too. She peels a cotton ball and bandage off her arm from her blood work and tosses it in the trash, and I place my watch on the vanity.
Her eyes sparkle as I step into the shower, taking her hand and pulling her in with me.
I want to fix her, to erase whatever hurt her tonight. I need her to know that she’s not alone in it. I’m here in whatever way she needs.
“Is that too hot?” I ask.
“It’s perfect.” She traces a line down my sternum as I brush her hair off her face. “You make things better. Do you know that?”
“I’m glad.”
She takes a long, shaky breath as tears gather in the corners of her eyes again. “He was really awful to me tonight.”
I grab a bottle of shampoo and squirt a bit in my hand. I focus on spreading it over her hair in an even layer to keep myself calm.
“Did anyone stick up for you?” I ask, massaging the shampoo into her scalp with my fingertips.
“Aurora told him to stop a few times, but it didn’t matter.”
“Do you want to tell me what he said?”
She takes another breath, letting her eyes close.
“He basically said that he didn’t want anything to do with me, and that I won’t leave him alone. That I’m just hanging around long enough to get something from him when he dies.”
I fight the urge to laugh. If only that fucker knew that as soon as I can work up the courage to ask her to marry me, she’ll have more zeros at the end of her name than he can even fathom.
“None of it really made sense,” she says, tracing the line of my shoulders with her fingers. “I’ve never asked him for anything, and I don’t bother him unless Aurora asks me to come over. It’s not like I’m begging him for attention … or affection.”
“Hurt men hurt women,” I say, working the suds in small circles. “I know it doesn’t help for me to say this, but his behavior has nothing to do with you.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“I know.” I kiss her pout. “And it doesn’t justify it, and I’m not making excuses for him. I’d use the shovel first.”
She grins, running her hands up my chest.
Her body is softer now, less rigid than when she arrived home. The lines around her eyes have lessened and her tears have eased for a few sentences. Progress.
“Here,” I say, tipping her head back. “Let’s rinse you.”
I guide the water over her head, shielding her face with my hand. I take my time removing the shampoo from her hair, hoping it makes her feel loved. Because although I’m not man enough to tell her yet—I haven’t had the right opportunity—I want her to feel it anyway.
“Do you want to use conditioner?” I ask.
She raises her head, squeezing the remaining water from her strands. “I’ll use a leave-in one when we get out.”
“Okay.”
Her arms dangle over my shoulders and she gazes up at me. Something is on the tip of her tongue—I can see her working it out in her head, so I stroke her back, holding her close, until she figures out what to say.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“What are you thanking me for?”
“I’m going to sound like a total … never mind.”
“Oh, no,” I say, laughing. “You better start talking.”
“I’m good.”
I lift a brow.
She plays with the back of my hair, swaying back and forth in my arms. “If I tell you, you can’t laugh at me.”
“I’d never laugh at you.”
“You laugh at me all the time.”
“I laugh with you. I can’t help that you don’t always join in.”
She smacks my chest, rolling her eyes. “Asshole.”
“We’ve already established that I am, in fact, an asshole. So what else do you have to tell me?”
“I told my father that I deserve better,” she says. “That I deserve respect and love.”
My chest rises and falls against her palm laying over my heart. I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but I don’t want to get my hopes too high. I don’t want to scare her … or myself.
“That’s good,” I say. “Because you’re exactly right.”
“I told him I just learned this from someone who made me feel safe and happy.”
I clear my throat. “You did?”
She nods, grinning nervously. “Maybe not in those exact words, but that was the sentiment.”
“Well, I’m very happy someone makes you feel that way.”
“Me, too. He’s certainly set the bar for how a man is supposed to treat a woman.”
I swallow a wave of emotion. “Come here.”
She falls into my arms, and I capture her mouth with mine. Instead of being fueled by lust, our kisses are fueled by something else. Something greater. A different four-letter word that we’re both afraid to say.
Her lips mold to mine, parting to give me space to explore her with my tongue. We stand under the water and speak without words. But sometimes words aren’t necessary.
I hold her cheeks, brushing my thumbs across her smooth skin, and give her one long, lingering, final kiss. Then I turn the shower off and grab us towels.
“What do you say we dry off and go home,” I say, wrapping her up in a giant pink towel.
“I need to pack a bag first. I don’t have anything clean left at your house.”
This is ridiculous—the going back and forth between our residences. But I can’t broach that subject yet either. One thing at a time. It will all happen when the time is right.
I twist a towel around my waist and toss another one her way for her hair.
“Want me to grab some things for you?” I ask.
“Sure. My bag is in my bedroom on my bed. Just some T-shirts and jeans. Socks. A few lingerie sets.”
I grin. “No problem.”
She squeezes the water out of her hair and watches me curiously.
I leave her in the bathroom and move around the corner into her bedroom. Her bag is on her bed, but instead of grabbing it, I open her closet and pull out a suitcase.
“Can you put a pair of sneakers in there, too? The gray and white ones,” she yells.
“Sure.”
I smirk as I empty the contents of her lingerie drawer into the suitcase, and then add in two drawers of T-shirts and all the jeans stacked on a shelf. I toss in some socks and the shoes she requested before I start zipping it closed.
“Gannon, what the heck are you doing?”
I stop mid-zip and look up. She’s watching me from the doorway, amused.
“That’s not my bag.”
“Nope. It’s your suitcase.” I drag it off the bed. It hits the floor with a thud. “It’s heavy. I’ll carry it out for you.”
“Gannon …”
I shrug. “I can’t sleep without you.”
“And you think that warrants taking everything I own to your house?”
“No. You still have some stuff here.”
Slowly, she smiles. “You’re a menace.”
“No. I just know what I want. And if I didn’t think it’s what you also wanted, I wouldn’t do it.” I take her hand and lace our fingers together. “All you have to do is say no. It won’t change anything. And, for the love of God , don’t bring up Tate.”
She giggles. “You have to do one thing first.”
“Name it.”
Her towel falls slowly to the floor, revealing her naked body inch by beautiful inch.
My cock presses against the towel at my waist, creating a tent between my legs.
She goes to her bed and crawls across the mattress. Lying on her back with her knees bent, she motions for me to follow.
The look in her eyes is different than I’ve ever seen it—more vulnerable and less guarded. Maybe I’ve gotten through to her. Perhaps she understands what I’ve been trying to show her.
If not, I’ll keep trying. I’ll never give up.
I drop my towel and climb onto the bed, moving so I’m hovering over her.
Her eyes sparkle as she strokes my jawline. “Gentle, please.”
I should stop and get a condom. I should use my fucking head. But her request is my demand. I’ll never tell her no. I’ll never make her wait.
My cock sinks into her nice and slow, growing harder as her soft moans dance between us.
This feels a whole lot like making love.
And it feels exactly right.