Chapter Twenty-Five Maren
Chapter Twenty-Five
Maren
I don’t believe it’s possible to make up for lost time, but Ozzy’s trying. If I look at him for longer than two seconds, it leads to sex.
By the end of our twenty-four hours together, I’ll have had sex with Ozzy more times than all other men I’ve dated—combined. (Not really, but it feels that way.)
I’m not complaining. It’s only an observation.
He smirks, buttoning his jeans after taking me from behind at the kitchen sink halfway through washing the dinner dishes Saturday evening. My pulse hasn’t returned to normal yet, and my cheeks still feel flushed as I shuffle to the bathroom with my underwear bunched in my hand and wearing only his T-shirt. Ozzy doesn’t even try to hide the satisfaction on his face. There are no shy glances. He likes to admire his work with confidence and a sexy grin.
After flushing the toilet and washing my hands, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and the permanent smile I’ve been wearing since I arrived a few hours earlier.
It’s not just the sex; it’s Ozzy and Lola. I’ve fallen in love with a single dad and his irresistible daughter. And I’m scared out of my mind of hurting them because I don’t know if I can fit into their life with its shrunken borders.
Releasing a deep breath, I convince myself it doesn’t matter this weekend. I have all day tomorrow with Ozzy, and I’m going to enjoy it, probably with his dick buried inside me.
“Is this the house you lived in with Brynn?” I ask, returning to the kitchen. Mentioning Brynn’s name buys me some extra recovery time. It’s the one subject that doesn’t lead to sex.
Ozzy keeps his focus on the dishes, slowly scrubbing a pan. “Yes. When Tia and Amos decided to retire and move here to help with Lola, I finished the basement so we could sleep down there, and they could have the main level.”
I dry the clean pan he hands to me. “Is this your first time without Lola overnight since Brynn died?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you miss her?”
Ozzy doesn’t answer for a few seconds. “Lola or Brynn?”
My stomach sinks. That was a stupid question. I’m sure he misses both of them. “Lola.” I clear my throat. “Forget I asked. Of course you miss Brynn. And I’m sure you miss Lola. I’m just making small talk and doing a terrible job.”
“Maren, you can ask me anything.”
I feel his gaze on me when he hands me another dish, but I don’t look at him.
“I saw several cardboard flats of seedlings in the garage. Are you planting a garden?” I ask.
“Yes, I was supposed to do that for Tia today. She nearly canceled their trip just to get her seedlings in the garden. But their car didn’t start, so my day veered off course. And on top of that, Lola desperately hopes I’ll paint her room and hang her colored LED strip lighting.”
“Then let’s do that. We can paint tonight. We’ll hang the LED lights tomorrow morning and plant the garden.” I set the last clean dish aside because I don’t know where anything goes.
Ozzy drains the water with a familiar smirk. “I don’t want to do any of that other stuff.”
I throw the towel at him, and he catches it. “I know what you want to do, but I think we should take longer breaks from that and get these things done so Lola will want to spend more nights with her grandma. And Tia will trust you to do what she asks and, therefore, feel good about leaving you home alone again.”
He prowls toward me, tossing the towel onto the counter.
I can’t. Not yet. He’s literally going to break my vagina. Or I’m going to die of orgasms. My voice is already a little hoarse from so much screaming.
“Thank you for coming,” he whispers, brushing his lips along my cheek to my ear while caging me in with his hands on the counter behind me.
I chuckle. “I don’t know if you’re referencing my staying here with you or the other coming. But either way, it’s my pleasure.”
“So, painting?” He teases my earlobe with his teeth.
“Yes. Let’s paint.”
“Then we get naked again.” He palms my ass, pulling me closer so I can feel his erection. “My face between your legs ...,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue along my neck. “Sucking your pussy and your fingers while you touch yourself. God, I love that.”
He’s a machine.
I blush while angling my neck to let him kiss his way down to my shoulder. I never imagined this side of Ozzy Laster. He was my tampon-fetching knight. The endearing father riding his bike with his sweet daughter. Not a dirty-talking sex fiend.
I like— I love —every side of him.
“Yes,” I say, a little breathy. “It will be your reward.”
And mine.
He stands straight, lips corkscrewed for a few seconds, politely ignoring my hard nipples. “Then let’s get to it.”
“Tell me about your family,” Ozzy says while we cut in the purple paint in Lola’s bedroom a little before nine. It’s going to be a long night. “I know you lost your brother. Do you have other siblings?”
“I have no other siblings. My parents live in Nebraska. They’re farmers. That’s how I got started in flying and crop-dusting. Brandon couldn’t wait to head west, so after he graduated, he moved to Missoula to pursue his career as a firefighter. I graduated two years after him. I worked on the farm for several years, then packed my bag to follow Brandon.”
“How have your parents been since his death?” Ozzy asks.
I dip my brush into the bucket of paint. “My mom will never be the same, the way I’m sure Tia will never be the same. But my dad keeps chugging along. It’s not that he doesn’t miss Brandon; he’s just better at suppressing his emotions. The harder he works, the less he thinks about Brandon. I was that way. After his death, all I wanted to do was get in my plane and do my job, but they forced me to take time off. So I sat at home thinking about him, and it was torture. My mom doesn’t keep as busy as my dad, so she has more time—too much time—to miss him.”
Ozzy doesn’t respond right away. But after a few minutes, he releases a deep sigh. “I couldn’t work after Brynn died. Cielo had just hired me, but I couldn’t work because Lola needed me. I can’t look at her and not see Brynn because Lola is a spitting image of her. And I can’t not think of the accident because Lola wears it on her face. So last fall, when Tia and Amos suggested they sell their ranch and come live with us so I could return to work, I felt this huge weight lift from my chest. And it didn’t matter that they had their issues with me. It didn’t matter that I knew living with them would feel like I was less of a father and a man. I just needed something that didn’t remind me of the tragedy.”
He grunts while shaking his head and pouring paint into the roller pan. “How messed up is it that I needed time away from the most important person in my life? What does that say about me?”
“Ozzy—”
“No.” He cuts me off with a painful laugh. “It was a rhetorical question. I know I deserve time alone. I know I need it. I had to have this conversation with Lola before this weekend. You get to this point where you know you can no longer swim, so you have two choices: drown or yell for help. I’m learning to yell for help because I don’t want to drown. Lola needs me, and I want to believe that I have a lot of life left to live at thirty-six.”
I hand him the roller. “Ozzy, I think you’ve been living your best life over the past five hours.”
He barks a laugh before cupping the back of my neck and kissing me. Then he releases my lips but keeps a hold of me, gazing intently into my eyes. “I needed you so fucking long before I ever met you,” he whispers. “You showed up out of nowhere, the way I bet your plane cuts through the smoke to deliver relief. I have felt so much relief since I met you.”
We’re going to finish painting this room before having sex again, but right now, I’m the one who wants to tear off our clothes and spend hours in bed with him because no man has ever made me feel this way.
So. In. Love.
Sunday morning, Ozzy brings me breakfast in bed with six dandelions and a note.
Please don’t judge. These aren’t yard weeds. Dandelions are edible and nutritious and a sign of healthy soil. They symbolize happiness, joy, resilience, and perseverance—and a bunch of other wonderful things. Hope you love them!
Ozzy x
I glance up from the note. “I think the only flower you ever need to give me is the mighty dandelion.”
Ozzy laughs.
“Where’s our breakfast?” I ask.
“Under the sheets.” He winks.
After my breakfast and his, we get to work around the house.
We install the LED strip lights in Lola’s freshly painted room; then he finishes fixing the car. After lunch, we head to the backyard to plant Tia’s seedlings.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
He chuckles, running a box cutter through the top of the compost bag while I loosen last year’s garden soil with a hoe. I’m sure Ozzy looks like sin in a suit, but I can’t get enough of him in ripped, faded jeans, stained T-shirts, and dirty boots.
“It must be something heavy,” he says. “I’ve noticed that you ask me if you can ask me something before you delve into a heavy subject. But you can ask me anything. No permission or preamble needed.”
“Where were you when the accident happened?”
He pauses for a few seconds, eyebrows pinched. Then he sets the box cutter aside and spreads the compost. “Too fucking far away.”
I work the compost into the soil with the hoe, but I don’t look at him, because I know he’s not looking at me. There are stages of confession.
Thinking it.
Saying it.
And looking someone in the eye. That’s the hardest one.
I still avert my gaze when talking about my brother. Other people’s sympathy unravels my emotions.
“I was in Las Vegas for a bachelor party. My mom called and ...” He shakes his head slowly before tossing aside the empty bag and opening another one. “I don’t remember how I made it home. My buddies somehow got me on a plane and then to the hospital. Lola was in surgery. Brynn and my dad were—”
I pause my motion. “Your dad?”
“Yeah.” He scatters the compost and takes the hoe from me, keeping busy while I try to remember if he ever told me about his dad. Ozzy clears his throat while the lines etched along his forehead deepen. “He was in the car too.”
“Was he driving?”
Ozzy shakes his head, and I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. I’m left with many new questions, but asking them would feel like forcing him to share more than he’s ready to say.
Why was it just the three of them?
Where were they going?
Why do Brynn’s parents blame Ozzy?
Was the accident her fault or that of another driver?
I start to speak. “You don’t have to—”
“He needed a ride home from the bar,” Ozzy says, stabbing a clump of dirt with the hoe. “He drank too much. He always drank too much. My mom used to pick him up, but when her vision deteriorated and she lost her license, I was the one who picked him up. But I was gone, so he should have called a cab. Instead, Brynn and Lola picked him up. At first, Lola didn’t remember what happened. But eventually, she recalled my dad vomiting. So I think that distracted Brynn, and she veered into oncoming traffic. Luckily, nobody in the car they hit was killed.”
“And Brynn’s parents blame you for being gone?” I whisper.
He rests a hand on his hip and squints against the sunlight. “I’m sure that’s part of it. They blame me for not getting help for my dad. But he didn’t want help. He served in the military, worked forty years as an electrician, and felt he’d earned the right to drink as much as he wanted.”
“It was nobody’s fault,” I say.
Ozzy tosses the hoe aside and kneels next to the garden, working one of the seedlings from its container. “It was ...” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it was nobody’s fault. Maybe everyone was a little at fault. What does it matter now? My father was a good man and an awful man. And that has left me feeling indifferent about him. But he’s dead. Brynn is dead. And that’s just the way life goes sometimes.”
I kneel next to him. “Do you miss him when you think of him? I miss Brandon, but only when I think of him. Sometimes I can go a few days without thinking about him—without missing him. But as soon as he pops into my head, I feel a little ache in my heart. And I pause to listen, as if he’s right here saying something to me. I think I’d feel this way even if someone had died on his watch. Does that make sense?”
Ozzy pauses his hands and whispers, “Yeah, I miss him. I miss the man he was before he fell in love with feeling numb.” He stares at the seedling in his hand. “But if he had lived and she still died, the hatred would have eaten me alive. His death, while tragic, was necessary. It was closure.”
I take the plant from Ozzy, and he sits back on his heels, head bowed, eyes closed. A moment later, he stands, kissing the top of my head before going inside to shower while I finish planting and watering them into the ground. When he comes upstairs in clean jeans and no shirt, running his fingers through his wet hair, I offer him a melancholy smile. His gaze slides to my bag by the front door.
“I’m going to head home before your family returns.”
“I scared you off.” His shoulders sag inward while he slides his fingers into his pockets.
“You didn’t. You should take some time to yourself for a few hours, since I’ve done such a nice job ripping open old wounds.”
“Maren, you didn’t say or do anything wrong.”
“I appreciate you saying that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I put a damper on the afternoon with my curiosity. And I’m not saying I regret asking you about the accident, but I knew when I asked that it wouldn’t be an easy subject.” I stroll toward him, resting my hands on his bare chest. “But I want to really know you, so sometimes I have to ask the hard questions.”
He cups my face, brushing the hair away from my eyes with his thumbs. “I’m going to make this work. I have no clue how I will make this work, but I will.”
I can’t help but smile before turning my head to kiss his palm.
“Do I get points for brutal honesty?” he asks.
“Oz, I’m giving you points for this weekend, but not for your brutal honesty.”
“Orgasms.” His eyes glimmer. “You’re giving me points for orgasms.”
“I was going to say your toaster waffles with peanut butter earned you the most points, but sure, the orgasms were fine.”
“Fine?” He quirks a single brow.
“Decent. Acceptable. Good enough.” I fight my grin.
His face falls flat, and just when I think I’ve won, a twinkle of mischief flashes in his eyes, and he says, “I did the best I could with what I had to work with.”
I already love him, even if there’s no way I’m saying it yet. But now he’s just toying with me. How does he know I’d rather be with a man who keeps me on my toes than sweeps me off my feet?