Chapter 39
Bryn
“What in God’s name is going on?”
The screech rudely interrupts the wonderful dream I was having of a shirtless Wyatt splayed out on his stomach, me straddling his ass, my hands moving all over his thick, strong muscles, working the knots free to give him release.
A different kind of release than he’d had prior to the massage from using all those muscles to hold himself above me while he made me come. Multiple times.
“Wake up! How dare you—”
A set of feet race across the floor, then a hushed, angry voice, “Let them sleep, Lillian. It was a late night.”
“I’m sure it was! And what were they doing? Screwing on your couch? How are you not livid, Ruby?”
A hand presses against my abdomen, a thumb caressing my bare skin. Wyatt murmurs for only me to hear, “Don’t move.”
Then I feel it. Pressed against my ass is his cock. Rock hard and standing at full attention. Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I don’t know how, but I manage to keep my “Ohs!” to myself, biting my tongue while I crack open an eye.
My mother is standing over us, glaring with a storm raging in brown eyes. I groan, forcing myself not to stretch so I don’t make things worse for Wyatt, and close my eyes again. This is not how I expected to be woken up.
“If you’re not careful, the line in your forehead will become a wrinkle to match the ones around your mouth,” I tell her, then immediately jerk my head back in surprise at my words.
The abrupt movement has me colliding with Wyatt’s face.
He yells in sudden pain, one hand flying up from under the covers to grab his face, the other, still under my head, pulling out from beneath me.
It sends me, tangled in the blanket, toppling to the ground, though he tries to grab me at the last second, only to miss as I land in a heap on the floor.
In good news, they can see he’s fully clothed.
In bad news, his hard-on is on full display.
“Oh my god, Brynleigh, what have you done? What is this? Who is this—is that—is that—does he have an erection?” my mom cries out, each word shriller than the last. Then she screams for my dad, “Grant!”
“Give it a rest, Lillian,” Gran says, and I can hear the eyeroll in her tone. “Haven’t you ever seen a boner before?”
From the amount of pain Wyatt is in when I finally disentangle myself and pop up on the couch, I think the erection problem is solved. He’s groaning, his hands clutching his nose which thankfully doesn’t appear to be bleeding.
Ignoring my mom, I grab his face, watching him wince. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” he grunts, eyes watering. “But just so you know, that was the opposite of don’t move.”
It’s not funny. Really, it’s not. But I can’t help a laugh that borders on hysteria.
“Who is this?” my mom shrieks. “What is he doing here? Why are you on the couch with him? Sleeping with him! You’re hopeless! Brynleigh, look at me!”
I do, but only so I can glower at her, not allowing the words to mean anything. Not giving them any power over me. “Shut up! Get out. When we’ve had a fucking second to wake up, we’ll see you in the kitchen.”
“What’s going on in here?” my dad says, coming in from the kitchen.
At the same time, Gran grabs my mom’s arm, “Lillian, let’s get a cup of coffee.”
But my mom doesn’t look away from me. Her lips are parted in a snarl I’ve only seen a handful of times in my life.
It makes her look vicious, like some kind of depraved animal ready to claw me.
There’s only been one other time in my life that I’ve fought back, and it ended with me coming to live here.
“What did you just say to me?” my mom seethes.
Pushing up from the floor, I stand tall and take Wyatt’s hand, my eyes narrowing on my mother.
“Did I stutter?” I ask, free hand clenched at my side. “I said shut up and get out.”
Mouth gaping, eyes bulging, she looks ready to tear my hair out. “How dare you!”
“Okay, Lillian, that’s enough. In the kitchen, before I ask Wyatt to remove you completely,” Gran says. When my mother turns her scowl on Gran, the latter shrugs. “He’s got muscle, he’s under my employ, and I love my granddaughter a lot more than you.”
“Mom,” my dad sputters.
Gran holds up a hand to stop him. “Enough. I’ve watched both of you do enough damage over her lifetime; I won’t watch another second. Either get in the kitchen or get out of my house.”
My mom’s eyes drift away from Gran, moving towards me, but then they catch on Wyatt. The moment it clicks in her mind, her mouth falls open and she jerks back, ripping her arm from Gran’s hand.
“You!” The accusation is in the word. Like he’s done her something vile. “From the hospital.”
Now Wyatt gets to his feet, lifting a hand in greeting. “Hello, ma’am. Fine day to be less savage, isn’t it?”
It takes all my willpower not to turn and look at him like he’s got three freaking heads. Was now really a good time to bring that up?
Outraged disbelief is the best way to describe my mother as she gawks at the man in front of her before turning back to me. In a hushed, angry yell that I’m sure she thinks he can’t hear, but clearly can, she says, “He’s blue collar.”
Letting go of his hand, I point to the crest on his chest for the fire department. “And a firefighter.”
“You’re shacking up with a firefighter?” The screeching is back, shrill enough that I cringe.
“He’s also my handyman,” Gran pipes up, and when I meet her eyes for a brief moment, I see a hint of mischief there. She knows damn well that’ll rile my mom up further.
I’ve never seen my mother turn so red she looks purple. It should be concerning, but I’m fascinated by the color. Besides, if she were to keel over, there’s a firefighter in her presence who can show her firsthand how great they are to have around.
Bringing my hand up to my face, I tap my chin in contemplation as I eye Gran. “Should we tell her that you bid on Wyatt at the auction last night and won a date with him?”
Gran matches my sass with her own. “Heaven’s, what would the neighbors think? The old woman going out on a date with a twenty-something-year-old man, who then comes home and sleeps on the couch with her granddaughter?”
“Scandalous!”
“A little scandal never hurt anyone,” Gran says, dusting her nails off on her red silk robe. “I’ve seen a boner, after all.”
Wyatt chokes on air.
Dad shouts his disbelief.
Mom looks like she just got hit by a freight train and run over by a semi.
I grin at Gran, who winks at me.
My mom touches a hand to her hair, then one to her stomach like she might be sick. “I need some air.”
A moment later, she’s gone, my dad following her out, Gran a few steps behind. She stops before she disappears into the breakfast nook that’ll lead her into the kitchen. “You two take your time. I’ll keep them busy.”
“I am so sorry.” I turn to Wyatt to inspect his nose again. “For all of that.”
He takes my wrists gently in his hands, lowering them between us. “You have nothing to apologize for. Are you okay?”
Meeting his eyes instead of examining his swollen nose, I huff out a breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hate you had to witness that.”
“B, it’s okay,” he reiterates, shaking his head. Letting go of me, he brings his hands to my face. “She called you…”
He trails off, but I know what he’s referring to. Hopeless. Wyatt’s witnessed me come apart because of it before, but I pull my shoulders back and lift my chin in a way that would make my old pageant coach proud, though she’d tell me otherwise.
“I know. But some guy keeps telling me the opposite, and maybe it’s starting to stick.”
I don’t see Wyatt surprised very often, but the way his mouth parts and he blinks a few times at me has a soft, quick giggle slipping past my lips. It reminds me of an adorable puppy who tilts his head to the side when he experiences something new.
A grin slowly starts to spread across his face when he recovers, and he nods his head. “Okay. I like it.”
Glancing over his shoulder into the breakfast nook, I let my smile fall. “I should go deal with that.”
“You did nothing wrong here,” he says, pulling my eyes back to him. “There was nothing wrong with us sleeping on the couch together.”
“Oh, I know. Even if we’d done more than that, she’s not the boss of me.” I straighten my back further and hold myself like a Queen who has just won her title. “And I’m about to make sure she knows that.”
I find her outside, stewing on the couch in the backyard, staring at the broken fountain.
She’s kicked back, looking relaxed in the cushions, one arm spread across the back, a leg crossed over the other.
Like some middle-aged model who should have a drink in one hand, and a biscuit in the other for afternoon tea.
Except it’s eleven in the morning, and knowing my mother, she’d rather be sipping a mimosa.
She doesn’t look at me when I approach, but I gesture towards the loveseat anyway. “Can I sit?”
“May I,” she corrects.
Starting off on the right foot, then. “No, Mom. I’m going to say it the way I want to say it.”
Now her eyes dart to me, narrowing. “I didn’t pay for all those lessons so you could become some unpolished barnacle.”
Interesting choice, but I keep the thought to myself. “Lessons I didn’t want or ask for.”
“It gave you an excellent education on how to be proper. How to become a lady. How to win pageants, crowns, hearts, a life that would have given you everything.”
“The life you talk about isn’t one I’ve ever wanted,” I tell her, clasping my hands in front of me rather than smoothing them over my stomach. Over a t-shirt that’s probably making new gray hair sprout beneath her dyed brown ones because it’s too long and too baggy for her liking.
She uncrosses her legs and leans in my direction. “All I ever wanted was what’s best for you. Is that truly so wrong?”
I’m glad I didn’t sit. The way she has to crane her neck to peer at me while I stand there, all five feet, one inch of me, makes me feel confident and powerful in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever felt around my mom.