18. Cody
Cody
I know that’s a useless answer, but because Tee is unpredictable and, even worse, or better depending on the scenario, appreciates unpredictability in others, she accepts it.
Either that or the peace offering of fried chicken does most of the legwork for me.
We sit in a Double Double Pizza & Chicken parking lot in silence for the most part, and stranger still, it’s not awkward.
Not entirely.
There’s so much I want to say, but so little I know how to verbalize.
We have a wealth of history behind us. A wealth that she’s entirely in the dark about. It’s not fair. I know that. But the idea of her hating me sours my stomach, making the fried chicken and coleslaw settle uneasily in my gut.
“When I was a kid, we used to go to Saskatoon a lot.” I eye the greasy chicken in my hand. “Mum would always end a shopping trip here. Always. This is the first time I’ve come here since she left.”
“Oh, that’s so sad,” she whispers.
I guess it is.
But the fact I brought her here is telling. If she reads between the lines.
God, I’m just trying to feed her fucking clues at this point.
“So, it wasn’t all fine dining and a hockey team of housekeepers?”
“No.” I snort. “Mum comes from a working-class background. She and Dad had entirely different methods of parenting, and neither was functional because they constantly clashed.”
“I don’t agree. Something worked.”
Though there’s a compliment in there, I don’t accept it. “Anything decent in me comes from my uncle. And Mrs. Abelman. But we can thank Mum that I’m potty trained.”
She snickers. “I, for one, am very grateful for that.”
My smile widens. “I don’t mean to give Mum shit. I...”
“She was a victim of domestic abuse,” she fills in for me. “Surviving was her priority, and keeping the focus off her children, I’d imagine?”
I drop the piece of chicken into the bucket. “Some days, he hurt her so bad she couldn’t get out of bed.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
This entire conversation is Colt’s goddamn fault. As well as his sanctuary. I mean, I get it. How couldn’t I? But our argument on the ride into Saskatoon brought to the surface a shit ton of memories that are best left forgotten.
The only reason I’m sharing it is because she’s my Calamity Jane.
“Remember I said that there’s a sanctuary on the ranch?”
“I remember. For?”
“Domestic violence survivors.”
“Ah. I guess that makes sense.”
“Colt’s savior complex at work,” I grate out.
“Hey, someone has to help. Why not a kid who knows how tough it can get?” she appeases, but it doesn’t work.
Annoyed, I wipe my greasy fingers on a paper napkin. “I don’t know how he kept it so on the down-low.”
“No.” She chews on a fry. “I’m surprised it’s such a secret. There’s not even a whisper of it in town.”
“He should have told me.”
She nods. “When you took the badge.”
“Precisely. I felt like strangling him earlier. Callan’s on red alert, not just because of Clyde and the rest, but because one of the survivors’ husbands is a nasty piece of work who’s making threats.” I crack my knuckles. “I’m going to be dealing with security from now on.”
“On behalf of Baby Cowboy, thank you for that.”
“Colt expects too much of him. He’s only eighteen.”
She clucks her tongue. “He’s a smartass. I can’t see him being willing to let go of any of his self-appointed tasks unless there was a reason for it.
“You being a soldier, as well as a cop, he’s relinquishing the task into safe hands. It makes sense. I’m not excusing Colt, you understand, because Callan is just a kid, but as someone with more brains than sense, I get why he’d prefer the burden of responsibility rather than repenting if something went wrong.”
“That’s deep,” I muse.
“It is. Some things are easier to let go of than others.”
“Like Zee’s diabetes?”
“Very astute of you. Knowing that there are three of us helping her out is a massive weight off my shoulders.”
“Problem shared is a problem halved.”
“Even better when it’s in thirds.”
Her words soothe some of my rancor. Some. Not all. Colt’s still a jerk for forgetting that our brother only just graduated from high school as well as taking so long to loop me into exactly who Zee works for. But as she eats, I decide that I can’t take any more fried chicken.
“You good to continue home?”
“Apple pie first?”
I snort. “Sure.”
Once I’ve procured the goods from the drive-thru, I get back onto the highway. No sooner am I cruising than she resumes her soft, lilting hum.
I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know she’s doing it.
How that’s possible, I’ve no idea, but maybe it’s her version of purring?
Rolling my eyes at the dumb connotation, I try to relax to the gentle susurration, but all it does is amp me up.
It is relaxing.
Soothing.
So why does it drive me crazy?
Because I want to taste her lips?
God, it’d be even better if she was choking on my dick as she hummed.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel as lust pummels me.
And it’s like nothing I’ve experienced before. This want for her, this need , it’s different. Unique. Yet that wealth of history, of secrets, between us is acting like the biggest cockblocker.
The bitch of it all? The shitty sex she’s had in her life would stop the instant she becomes mine, and that connection she craves, we could have that together.
The gates to the Seven Cs creak open at the push of a button on my dash.
“The sky’s so clear.”
“Beautiful night,” is my gruff retort.
“Do you... maybe want to go to one of the lakes?”
I grow still. “Stargazing?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you want to practice your music?”
“I-I can do that later.”
I think about that dance back at the bar.
About the truths I shared with her.
And I don’t answer, simply turn the truck toward my favorite lake.
It’s smaller than the ones my brothers prefer. There are three, in fact. Little ones. But they have great fish in there and they’re always quiet.
Ironically, they’re the ones the Rabid Wolves’ MC chose to plant a shit ton of weed close to—that’s how quiet and isolated the location is.
Her chowing on the apple pie sounds overly loud in the night’s stillness, but when she proffers it to me, I accept. Biting through the crispy pastry shell, I sample the treat. My pulse skyrockets when her finger drifts to the corner of my mouth, where a few drops of apple goo made an escape.
Her breath hitches when, at the same time, my tongue darts out to clean it up.
Both of us freeze before her hand tumbles into her lap as if I stung her.
When we finally make it to the waterhole, I’m relieved to climb out into fresh air that isn’t loaded with her perfume, the fried chicken, or the apple pie.
The night’s stillness, the sheer lack of light—they’re intoxicating.
That part of me that craves this, which made me come home, is appeased for once, and though I’m struggling to find my place in Pigeon Creek, to settle into the everyday lifestyle that regular folk subsist in, I know this is a part of why I returned.
Tension rattles from my shoulders, easing as I move around the fender and open her door for her.
“Thank you,” she murmurs as I unfasten her seatbelt and help her down.
The moment I do, she’s right in front of me.
Her heat against my heat.
The scent of cinnamon laces her breath, and I know she’d taste sweeter than that apple pie we shared.
My hands ball into fists as I stare at her, only the light from the cab illuminating us both in its stark glow.
She looks up at me, and I look down at her.
Out here, it feels like we’re the only two people left alive on this godforsaken planet.
And I see nothing wrong with that at all.
I know it’s a bad idea. Feel it. I cup her cheek anyway. I can’t stop myself from touching her.
I think about our dance at the bar…
She whimpers as I cup her chin.
That connection arcs between us, fast as a whip and stronger than lightning.
I can feel the rumble beneath my feet?—
She jumps at the same time as the sound registers.
“Jesus,” she rasps when forty or so bikes hurtle along Clemens Lane toward their damn bar.
Annoyed by the interruption, I jerk away and squint into the distance.
But the trouble they might cause tonight doesn’t distract me for long.
“Do you have a blanket?”
“A foil one.” It’s for emergencies, but it’ll do.
Ducking into the back seat, I pull it out, well aware that she’s struggling to clamber onto the truck bed.
All the while, those goddamn bikes taunt me with their rattle.
When the truck dips a little, I know she made it on board.
“You should have waited,” I chide, unfolding the blanket.
“Nah. I wanted to get the best spot first.”
Because it’s such a T thing to say, I chuckle. “Which is the best spot?”
“The side farthest from the lake.”
“Ah, so I’ll get the bug bites? I don’t know. You’re tastier than me.”
“Y-You think so?”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Instead, I lope into the box and sit beside her once I tuck the blanket over her.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Situating myself, I shake my head.
I’m the exact opposite, Calamity Jane.
“Why are you sitting up like that? It’s awkward. Lie back with me. You can’t see the stars properly that way.”
I rub my beard. Consider the odds of this going south hella fast. But I still take the dive and rock backward until I’m beside her for real this time.
The feel of her along my length has me gritting my teeth while she tortures me further by tucking the blanket around me too.
“You don’t talk a lot,” she murmurs as she fusses, and I stoically stare at the stars.
“I talk plenty.”
“You don’t.”
“Do.”
“Don’t.”
I sigh. “Used to.”
“Used to?”
I nod. “Then, I stopped.”
“Why?”
“You do what I’ve done, seen the effects of it, you…” It’s a coincidence the stars blur. “… stop .”
She grows still. “PTSD?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“If I am, the doctors didn’t diagnose it. I’m fine. Too good at compartmentalizing.”
“I can’t do that. I’m really bad at it. When I’m focused, I shut everything out—” Oh, to be at the center of that focus. “—and I know that sounds like compartmentalizing, but it isn’t. I ignore everything else.”
“I don’t see that it’s a problem.”
“It wouldn’t be if I were a mega-famous musician,” she grouches. “You’re allowed to be eccentric then.”
Because I get her point, and am well aware that money facilitates Callan’s peculiarities, I clear my throat. “You ever thought about using this time at the Seven Cs to make it happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“To get the sounds out there.”
“My music doesn’t fit what’s popular.” Her hair rasps against my shirt, letting the scent of her shampoo fill my senses. “It’s fine. I accepted it a long time ago, but it would make my life easier and stop my mom from trying to hook me up with a job as a teacher if I could break out.”
“That’s her job, you know? To make sure you’re settled.”
She sniffs. “You sound like Zee.”
Lips quirking into a smile, I murmur, “People appreciate classical music.”
“Usually, they prefer musicians who play the classics.”
“Not true. Ludovico Einaudi is mainstream?—”
“He’s a pianist,” she inserts. “My favorite instrument is an oboe. When was the last time an oboist was a household name?”
She has me there.
“You thought about movies?”
“Movies?”
“You know. Movie scores.”
“No. It’s a hard world to get into and I don’t have any contacts.”
“I could probably help out.”
“What? How?”
When she rolls onto her side to face me, it’s both heaven and hell.
More of that cinnamon scent overtakes the air between us, and I get my confirmation that being her focal point is heady shit.
“Know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy.”
“Is this because you’re a Korhonen?”
“No. It’s because I served in the RCAF.”
Her hand snaps around my forearm, nails digging in. The prospect of her dragging them down my back takes over everything for a moment until she croaks, “And?! Don’t leave me in suspense, Cody!”
“You ever heard of Rock Ferrer?”
“Of course I have! He’s bigger than Ryan Gosling.”
“His brother was a pilot too.”
She stills. “Was?”
“No, Sundance isn’t dead,” I say wryly. “It would take a lot more than a plane crash to stop him. He had to leave.”
“Why?”
“Difference of opinion with a CO.”
“He was dishonorably discharged?”
“Nah. It was all covered up nice and neat.”
“How wasn’t any of that in the press?!”
“Because his dad made sure it wasn’t. Sundance and Rock Ferrer’s father is Jerry Majors.”
“JERRY MAJORS?! The director? He’s related to Rock Ferrer? How didn’t I know that?”
“According to Sundance, Rock didn’t want to be a nepo baby. Rock and Sundance have different moms. Anyway, I could make a call.”
A breath soughs from her, and all that interest that was aimed my way drifts. The tension in her limbs sags too. “I-I…” Her hesitance is so unlike Tee that I turn to her in concern. I expected her to bite my hand off at the opportunity, but— “I don’t think I’m good enough. H-He…”
“I saved Sundance’s life on no less than four occasions. He owes me,” I say firmly. Untangling her nails from my forearm takes some work, but I make it happen so I can slot my fingers through hers. “And I’ve heard your music.” Not that I’ll tell her how. “It’s beautiful.”
I’m not lying, but what’s more beautiful is her passion.
Watching her tonight as she scrawled note after note, humming, knowing what sounded right, scratching out what didn’t, I don’t think I was more fascinated when I jumped into the cockpit for the first time. I could have warned her of my presence thirty minutes earlier. Instead, I’d watched her create.
Her hand clings to mine. “Isn’t it unfair? I-I’d be skipping the line.”
“It’s not what you know, it’s who, and in this instance, I have no problem in calling in the favor.”
“Why not?”
“Because Sundance is the reason I came home.”