21
I open my eyes at the rumble of thunder. Early morning sunlight nudges against the windowpanes. I’m lying with my head on Ford’s chest and his arms wrapped around me. I look up at him. He’s so beautiful. The angles of his face. His lush lips. That head of dark golden hair.
I’ve been given everything I have ever wanted in my life. Diamonds. Drugs. Designer clothing. But nothing I needed. Last night, Ford telling me I was safe, that I wasn’t alone, that he had me, was everything.
I wish we could stay like this forever, but we can’t. I’ve been in this bed long enough.
Slowly, I wiggle myself out of the safe cocoon of his body and sit up. My bare feet on the cool hardwood floor is a delicious sensation.
The bed shifts.
“Hey.” Ford sits up. His hand goes to my cheek, turning my gaze to his. “You okay?” I’ve never seen someone look at me the way he is now. Like I’m fragile. Like he’s just now deciphering the code.
“I’m okay.”
He’s in jeans, no shirt. We’ve had sex numerous times over, and yet, him seeing me this way feels more intimate. I can’t decide if I’m embarrassed or happy. I’m too exhausted to care. I’m relieved that it was him. That I had someone. For so long, I felt like if I told anyone, I’d just infect them with my own sadness.
That’s when I get a whiff of body odor. I wrinkle my nose. “I smell bad.”
“I work in a barn,” he says, grinning. “You wouldn’t believe the smells I’ve smelled.”
I smile softly, grateful he doesn’t mention my greasy hair or baggy sweatsuit. He’s just here.
It feels like some kind of magic.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
When I stand, a wave of dizziness hits me. No surprise, really. I haven’t eaten in three days. I always feel so weak after the black hole gets me. I tuned out the world and now I have to fight my way back.
But Ford is already out of bed and picking me up in his arms. He carries me to the bathroom and sets me on my feet.
While I pee, I hear the sound of running water. When I return, Ford has the bathtub going. “What are you doing?”
“Running you a bath.” His voice drops an octave. “I don’t want you standing in the shower. Not until you eat something.”
He helps me undress, tossing my dirty clothes into a pile in the corner. His eyes briefly graze my naked body before testing the water and shutting off the faucet.
I step forward, waving off the hand he offers me. “I can do it—” A fresh wave of dizziness hits me, and I press my palm against his hard chest to steady myself.
He looks down at me with amusement, but also with patience. “I think you need to shut that pretty little mouth of yours and let me take care of you.”
I’m too shocked to argue when Ford strips off his jeans and climbs into the tub. All I do is stare at him.
He gives me a grin, holding out his hand. “Get in the tub, Reese.”
This time, I take his hand. He helps me in and settles me in his lap, both of us submerged beneath the water. I feel his hardness pressing against me, but it’s par for the course. “Turned on, Country Boy?”
He kisses my brow. “Still a brat,” he murmurs, and we both laugh.
Ford dips a washcloth in the water. Runs it over my throat, the curve of my shoulder.
“Lie back.”
“What?”
There’s a smile in his voice. “I’m going to wash your hair, Birdie.”
My eyes widen and then I comply. Once my hair is wet, I rest my head on his chest, reveling in the connection.
I hear the crack of the shampoo lid. Then, gently, Ford lathers the shampoo over my scalp. His hands are warm and soft and strong. I whimper at the sensation. It feels so damned good.
He runs his thumbs down my spine. “Feel good?”
I tip my head back. “Mm-hmm.”
It’s overwhelming. How incredibly cared for I feel right now. Ford doesn’t have to do this, but he stayed all night. For me.
His lips touch my temple. I relax even further, absorbing his touch, our connection.
The string arches between us, tugging in my stomach. A funny feeling I ache to forget. Wish it to disappear. Because it means too much. And it can’t mean a damn thing.
I stare at the bangles on my wrists, glittering gold beneath the water. At times, they feel like shackles. But not now. Not today.
In this bath with Ford, I’m free. I’m not Reese Austin, country superstar sensation who shakes her ass on stage. I’m Reese, a girl from Georgia who used to live on a peach farm. The real me. Even if it’s raw and ugly.
Maybe that’s why I ran. To show myself to someone who sees me.
Someone who is safe.
His breath hitches as his hands weave in and out of my hair. Taking his time, he massages my scalp, and I close my eyes, reveling in the intimate way his fingers explore. The sensation is wondrous. Better than sex.
Ford shifts me against him. His heartbeat matches mine. A steady beat of happiness.
When he’s finished with the shampoo, he rinses my hair, then adds conditioner.
His palm pressing me up, I curl forward. Cool air hardens my nipples. Water cascades down my back as Ford rinses my hair. Just when I think we’re done, he pulls me back down against his solid chest.
When I realize what he’s doing, my breath hitches.
He’s braiding my hair.
Those big, calloused fingers skillfully twist my damp hair into two thick braids.
“Who taught you how to braid?” I ask, delighted. I twist around to watch him, curling tighter in his arms.
“I did.” His look is bashful, then hesitant as he says, “When I was ten, I was diagnosed with dyslexia. Words and letters were like soup in my brain. Every test I took, I failed. The only thing I was good at was sports. I didn’t beat myself up, but I damn sure wasn’t going to fail.”
Guilt burns in my throat. Ford’s shared so much with me, and I’m still holding back.
His face pinches with pain, with memory.
“Every afternoon I took my books and went to the barn. It was a quiet space to learn and let me get away from my asshole little brothers. I was fucking determined to beat it. I sat there and studied, and I braided the horse’s hair.” A deep chuckle vibrates both our bodies. “Every damn one of them. They all came out looking like they were in a beauty salon.”
I laugh.
He exhales a ragged breath. “That’s why I love baseball. It built up my confidence when I thought I had lost it. I may have been shit at everything else in life, but baseball was mine.”
“It still is.” I twist into him. My hands glide up his slippery chest. “You talk like you don’t deserve it. Why?”
He leans forward, nipping at my collarbone. His big hand finds my thigh under the water, and he squeezes. “Let’s get you out. You’re cold.”
He scoops me up and steps out of the tub. A fresh, fluffy towel is wrapped around me.
While I find clean clothes, Ford heads to the kitchen. I pull on a long slip dress and when I head to the main room, Ford’s setting a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a plate next to a bag of Combos.
“You’re spoiling me.”
He grunts. “You eat like shit, but you gotta eat what you like.”
Dropping into a chair, I reach for the Combos, suddenly ravenous. With clear eyes, I evaluate the chalet. Every window and door is thrown open, allowing the morning breeze to chase away the stagnant air. The sunrise is a bloom of colors.
I inhale, exhale.
A new day. A new slate. Peace.
Across from me, Ford leans forward, rubbing his long fingers over his jaw. “So, what happened, Birdie?” His worried eyes search mine. My heart melts.
I swallow a bite of sandwich. Ford’s showing me I can trust him. But do I want to? Trust means feelings and feelings mean complications. If I tell him the truth and this goes south, and I lose his friendship…it’s too important. I can’t do that.
“I don’t know.” I stick my hands between my knees. Try for honesty the best I can. “After Gavin and the horse, it all felt heavy.”
He nods like he understands. “Like cement?”
“Yeah. Like cement.” I hesitate. I already know he won’t like it. “And then…I got a text from Gavin.”
He goes still, eyes hard. “Show me,” he orders.
“Ford—”
“Baby, if this asshole is fucking with you, I need to know.”
Sighing, I hand him my phone.
A muscle works in his jaw as he reads. “What is this shit?”
“Plans for when I go back.” I rub my eyes. It was the over-the-edge demand of a new tour the second I return to LA. The Reese Austin Comeback Tour. Just like Elvis , he said.
I’m already exhausted. I feel like I’ll never escape this endless life Gavin’s created for me.
Ford sits back in his chair. “This doesn’t make you happy, does it?”
“No. It doesn’t.” Finally, I’m honest.
“When’s the last time you were happy?”
The memory comes automatically. “Playing my guitar like no one was watching.”
Ford stands and retreats to the corner of the room. He lifts my guitar off the bench and returns to me. “Play it, baby.”
I blink. I haven’t touched the guitar since I arrived.
Stunned, I take it from him and nod gratefully. Then, like magic, my hands move over the strings. I tune, I pluck. The rhythm invades my bones and stays there. Electricity hums in my body. My soul.
As I begin to sing an old Johnny Cash song, Ford settles onto a chair, boot kicked up on his knee. His shoulders relax and his expression appears somewhat dazed as he listens. He keeps those amber eyes on me the entire time.
He makes me want to sing again.
Live again.
The thought is so pure, so sweet, a tear slips down my cheek.
My voice trembles as I switch over to Patsy Cline’s, “Sweet Dreams.” I sing higher and louder. The black hole shrinks. My heart lifts—free.
Ford’s jaw works. “Reese.”
He’s looking at me like I’m a dream. Like I exist and he’s the only one who has me.
Trying to ignore my heart pounding in my chest, I stop playing, reach out my hand. He does the same, braiding our fingers together.
Home .
This is what home feels like.