Chapter 13
13
Conrad Strauss
“ I t’s chilly today.”
Hand gripping the wheel, I turn my head and glance at my nana as she reaches for the heat, cranking it to full blast. “Well, what did you expect? Did you forget how cold Copper Lake gets in the winter?”
“I suppose I did,” she murmurs, eyes taking in the sights outside the passenger side window. “It doesn’t get this cold back home.”
“Well, yeah, you live in Greece. Of course, it’s not as cold as it is here.”
She clucks her tongue at me. “It’s too damn cold.” Glancing over at me, her blue eyes pale and piercing, she asks, “Where’s my sweet, handsome Whit?”
“He’s at home.”
“Why didn’t he come with you?”
“He had a few errands to run.” Very vague errands. He’s probably going to see his boyfriend. It shouldn’t bother me.
The last couple of days have been tense. I expected as much, especially since it’s been so long since Whit and I have lived under the same roof. Surprisingly, we haven’t seen each other a whole lot. He’s worked every day except today, and he’s come home late in the evening both days, be it on purpose to avoid me or he was genuinely busy at work, I’m not sure.
I saw him this morning before I left for the airport. He was getting ready for his errands . Dark, wet strands were hanging over his forehead as he poured himself a cup of coffee, and it hit me right in the chest how good it felt seeing him barefoot in my kitchen again.
“I forgot how chatty you are, Connie boy,” Nana teases.
Glancing over at her, a smile curves my lips. “How was your flight?”
That does the trick, getting the conversation off me and Whit, as she dives into the lovely flight attendants and the chatty woman who sat beside her. By the time we pull up in front of the barn, I’m surprised to see Whit’s truck. I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s here. Part of me worried he would back out at the last minute. He can be flighty when something makes him anxious, and I know he’s not thrilled to be here. Not that I can blame him.
Climbing out of the truck, I grab Nana’s bags out of the back. It’s then I notice Whit standing on the porch, shoulder resting against the wood post, arms crossed over his chest, and a lazy smile on his face as he takes in the woman walking toward him. I can’t help but stop and watch them for a moment, my chest squeezing.
“Whittaker Strauss, is that you?” Bounding up the steps, Nana cups Whit’s face, the smile tugged on his lips wide and genuine, only faltering for a moment at the sound of his married name. There are very few people in this world who are allowed to touch Whit like that, and she’s one of them. “I’ve missed this handsome face. Look at you, it looks like you haven’t aged a day. My gosh, boy, I haven’t seen you in too damn long. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”
“Look who’s talking,” he quips, pulling her in for a long hug. “Stunning and never looking a day over thirty-five. And you know I could never avoid you.”
They pull apart, and Nana looks over her shoulder at me. I already know what’s coming before she even opens her mouth. “See, this is why he’s my favorite.”
My chest rumbles with a chuckle as my eyes lift, meeting Whit’s gaze for a moment. He’s still smiling brightly, and it takes my breath away.
“Come on, Connie boy,” she barks. She and Whit are the only people to ever call me that. “Bring my bags into my room, please. I’d like to take a nap before dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Connie, can you please bring me another glass of wine?” Glancing across the table at Whit, she asks, “Another for you, dear?”
“Uh…” His eyes flit from her, up to me, then back to her. “Sure, thank you.”
Downing the rest of what’s left in his glass, Whit hands it to me as I pass by, our fingers brushing when I take it. An electric current flows between us, and based on the way his gaze darts up to mine, I know he felt it too. Standing hurriedly, he rounds the table toward the hutch in the corner of the room as I disappear into the kitchen.
“I’ll set up the game,” I hear him murmur as I grab the nearly empty bottle of red wine and refill the two glasses.
We finished eating dinner about thirty minutes ago, and after I did the dishes and wiped down the kitchen, my nana informed me that we were all going to play a game or two of Scrabble. My family has always been a board game family. Memories of sitting around the dining room table and trying to beat one another at these silly games go back to my teenage years. Whit and I have played them more times than I can count, and Scrabble was always his favorite.
Taking a seat at the table, I place the wine down in front of both of them as Whit finishes getting everything set up. “Thank you.” The words are softly spoken, and he flits his gaze up to meet mine for half a second at most before returning to his task.
“Hope you boys are ready to have your asses handed to you by an old lady,” Nana chirps before taking a sip of her wine. She’s always been the most competitive one out of all of us. Aside from Whit. His fierce, competitive nature took me by surprise the first time I witnessed it.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Whit chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re first, Conrad.”
“Well, hang on,” I grumble. “I haven’t even had a chance to organize my squares yet.”
“Maybe if you spent less time ogling your husband and more time paying attention, you’d be more prepared,” Nana murmurs, causing me to choke on my own spit. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest.
“I was not.”
Without even looking up, I already know Whit is red as a tomato.
“Sure, you were,” she goes on. “Now, go. It’s your turn.”
My eyes give a quick scan to my squares, laying down H-O-M-E. “There.”
Doing the math quickly, Whit jots down the score on the pad of paper beside him. “Nine points. Big scorer starting us out,” he deadpans. Nana laughs.
“I’m sorry, was that sarcasm I hear?” I ask, dumbfounded.
Lifting one of his shoulders into a shrug, he doesn’t bother looking up. “Maybe it was.”
“My turn,” Nana announces, swiftly laying down her squares. “Mega, double word. Fourteen points.” Clasping her hands in front of her on the table, she grins, very pleased with herself as Whit jots down the score.
“Good job,” he offers.
“Oh, she gets a ‘good job’ and all I get is sarcasm?”
“Correct.” Throwing me a pleased-with-himself grin, he lays down his word on the board. “Zappy. Triple word score, making it sixty-three points.”
“Zappy?” I drawl before taking a swig off my beer. “I don’t think that’s a real word.”
Whit’s eyes narrow as they slice over to me. “Yes, it is. A sixty-three-point word, to be exact.”
Sitting forward in my chair, I level him with a look. “Prove it.”
He holds my gaze, jaw flexing as he bites down on his molars. It’s a real word; I know it is, but I’ve always secretly loved seeing how worked up he gets when playing these kinds of games. His need to be right, to win, shines bright, bringing out a whole new side of him.
Glowering at me from across the table, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. My gaze glides over to my nana, where she’s watching the exchange with an amused look on her face. Her eyes glint as they meet mine.
“Zappy describes someone or something that is energetic, lively, or fast moving.” Whit flips the phone around to show me the screen. “Per dictionary dot com.”
Scrubbing a hand over my mouth to hide the smile trying to break loose, I hold Whit’s gaze. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
With a sneer, Whit locks his phone, pocketing it as we continue the game. Each of us taking our turn, it goes in similar fashion. Whit and Nana end up ganging up on me and my poor-scoring words while the two of them battle it out for the winner. In the end, Whit takes the win using the word cake, and he practically vibrates in his seat with so much excitement you’d think there was cash on the line.
Nana swipes her empty wineglass off the table as she stands, pointing a finger toward Whit. “I’m getting you next time, boy.”
He chuckles, and the sound washes over me like warm bath water. “We’ll see about that, ya old bat.”
She scoffs. “Who the hell do you think you’re calling old?”
“You,” he teases, affection in his tone. “Maybe if you had your glasses on, you could’ve seen the board better and could’ve chosen better words.”
I chuckle to myself as I pick up all the pieces, neatly putting them away in the box before tucking it in the hutch again. After I grab my empty beer bottle and Whit’s empty glass off the table, I take the one out of my nana’s hand, bringing them all into the kitchen. Once I toss the bottle and finish cleaning the glasses, I place them on the drying rack before slipping on my boots and heading out to do one final check on everything.
This is normally something I do much earlier than this, but I got swept up in the game. Typically, I’m in bed by now, fast asleep. When I was younger, I remember I used to give my dad shit all the time for going to bed so damn early. He was a creature of habit. Up with the sun, in bed before nine. But as I got older, I realized why he was like that. All ranchers are.
It’s a lot easier to stay up late and get up at the ass crack of dawn when you’re in your early twenties, but now, at nearly forty-eight, I need the full eight hours. The older I get, the more I relate to my father. It’s funny how that works. Couldn’t even pinpoint when exactly I became a creature of habit. Hell, maybe I always have been; it’s just gotten more noticeable.
By the time I’m kicking off my boots at the backdoor, it’s half-past nine, and I know I need to get into bed now or I’ll be paying for it in the morning. Five a.m. comes too damn fast. The house is quiet as I go through and turn off all the lights. Walking down the hall, nerves jump in my gut the closer I get to my bedroom. To where Whit’s at.
It’s our first night sleeping in the same bed together. Well, the first time since he moved out four years ago. It feels wrong admitting how much I’m looking forward to it. Prior to Whit, the idea of sharing a bed with anybody sounded awful. Then he came into my life, and it was like the soft, steady sound of the breaths leaving his lips and the weight of him beside me was everything I had been looking for but didn’t know I needed up until then.
When he moved out, it took months before I was able to get a full night’s rest.
As quietly as I can, I twist the brass knob, easing the bedroom door open. The light in the en-suite is on, the door cracked, but otherwise, the room is blanketed in darkness. Crossing the space, I come to a stop in front of the bed. It looks like Whit is already asleep, and a pang hits my chest when I notice he’s on the side he used to sleep on. Granted, he’s on the very edge of that side, but there’s something so familiar and comforting about seeing him in my bed on his side again. It feels right.
I strip down like I do every night before bed, but it’s not until I’m in nothing more than my boxers that I stop for a moment and reconsider. Maybe sleeping in only my underwear isn’t the right move. Glancing at Whit again, I note that, while he’s got the blankets pulled up pretty high, I can still tell he’s wearing a shirt.
Maybe I should too.
Heaving a sigh, I quietly pad across the floor toward my dresser, pulling open the top drawer, and I grab a plain white t-shirt out of there. After I slip it on, I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a piss before turning off the light and sliding into bed. Now that I’m here, in bed beside my ex-husband, my heart hammers against my ribs. It’s beating so hard that I’m positive Whit would be able to hear if he were still awake. The urge to reach over and drag Whit into my arms is strong… Almost like it’s muscle memory.
It almost pains me knowing that he’s so close, yet I can’t touch him.
I bring the covers up to my chest, and it’s not until right now that I realize Whit stuffed a pillow under the covers in between us. Part of me wonders if he did that so I won’t touch him, but the other part wonders if it’s so he doesn’t roll over and drift toward me in the middle of the night.
Either way, it has my mind turning over and over, unable to settle down enough to sleep. I don’t know how long I lie here listening to the soft sound of Whit’s breathing, but it’s long enough that I know I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow.