Chapter 27
Bess
“Let’s go, buddy!”
I watch as Carson tosses the ball once more for Ragnar, who is having the time of his life here.
Here being Phil’s house on the creek.
She suggested I stay for the time being and I gratefully accepted, since construction started this week at Strange Brew, and Lola has been staying in my apartment to keep an eye on everything. Also, it doesn’t feel right for me to stay at Hugo’s place while he is in the hospital.
Since Carson has been virtually glued to my side from the day his father was injured, he ended up staying here with me. His idea, not mine, and after clearing it with his father, of course.
Carson loves it, because he has a nice big TV in his bedroom and his own bathroom on the opposite side of the house from the primary suite. He’s already been out fishing with Savvy’s dad and last night went horseback riding with Tatum on the farm.
It’s the weekend, so no school for him, but we are supposed to be at the hospital at ten thirty to pick up Hugo, who is coming home today. I’m not sure what home yet, because I haven’t had a chance to discuss Phil’s generous offer to use the house for Hugo’s recovery with him.
I know he is frustrated with the slow progress, even though Dr. Sharma had warned him this kind of injury is not one you bounce back from in a day or two.
He’s already been in the hospital for four days, and was told, at best, he could return to part-time modified duties—i.e.
a desk job—in two weeks, and depending on how he does, to full duty in four to six weeks.
My man did not like hearing that, so I fully expect to be bringing a bear home, wherever we end up.
It’s amusing how everyone assumed, by some unwritten agreement, I would be looking after him. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have it any other way, but it strikes me as funny how he and I have so quickly become a foregone conclusion.
“Carson!”
This time when I call, he comes running, Ragnar on his heels.
“Want me to drive?” he asks when I lock the door behind us.
My Prius is still parked behind the coffee shop, but I’ve been driving the old Bronco, courtesy of Brant Colter, while Carson has been getting back and forth to school in his pickup, which Hugo had borrowed and parked in Phil’s garage the night we got here.
I’m not even sure where Hugo’s truck is at this point.
Maybe tomorrow we can sort out the vehicle situation; at least pick up my car at the coffee shop and return the Bronco to our neighbors up the road with some fresh muffins as a thank you.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Let me just make sure Ragnar has fresh water.”
Climbing into the passenger seat of his pickup, I’m hit with a smell so pungent, it makes my eyes water.
“I’m guessing you forgot to put your soccer gear in the garage to air out after practice last night?”
“Sorry,” he mutters, quickly pulling his duffel bag with sweaty, and very stinky, equipment from the back seat, and running it into the garage.
“Better open all the windows,” I suggest when he gets behind the wheel. “We don’t wanna gas your dad on the way home from the hospital.”
I guess it doesn’t matter where Hugo wants to recover, we’re going to have to come back here regardless to pack up the kid’s and my stuff.
The breeze is chilly as Carson navigates down the mountain, but the crosswind helps to quickly clear the offensive odor in here.
Oddly, the smell reminds me of Ken, who was notorious for leaving his sports gear lying around.
That was when we were living in Silence, before moving to Seattle, where everything started going off the rails for him.
I never wanted to leave here in the first place, but I was a child, I didn’t have much of a choice.
But I’m glad I found my way back here. Silence has always been home for me.
The drive into town is without incident, for which I’m grateful.
We’ve had altogether too much excitement this past month, although things seem to be returning to normal.
With Ken gone, the entire FBI contingency up and left as well.
The first forty-eight hours, I had one of Battaglia’s guys following me around, but when things quieted down it didn’t seem necessary anymore.
I, for one, will be glad to get back to some kind of routine. A new one, that includes Hugo and his son.
Hugo is already sitting in a wheelchair, his bag on his knees when I get to his room, something he apparently isn’t thrilled about.
“Nothing wrong with my damn legs,” he grumbles when I bend down to greet him with a kiss.
Touching him already comes so naturally, I’m no longer concerned with PDAs. What is surprising to me is how unsurprised people seem to be he and I are together now. It’s like everyone already knew, and we…or maybe I should say, I was the only one in the dark.
“Good,” I comment dryly as I start pushing his wheelchair toward the exit. “You can show me how well they work after we get you home.”
Carson has pulled up his truck outside the doors and hops down to grab his father’s gear. I let Hugo get himself up and into the passenger seat without interfering, sensing he won’t want me fussing over him, and return the chair to the lobby.
Once we’re all in the truck—I’m in the back with Hugo’s bag—I broach the subject of where to take him.
“You have two options,” I tell him, leaning in between the two front seats. “We can take you home, but then we’ll have to pick up the dog and our stuff from Phil’s house, or we can stay at her place for a bit. She offered.”
He glances over at me.
“Are you gonna stick around?”
“That was the plan.”
He nods. “Then I don’t give a flying fuck where.”
“Phil’s house!” Carson votes with enthusiasm.
That would’ve been my choice too. Not that I don’t like Hugo’s place, because I do, but I am more at home in Phil’s house. I don’t feel like I’m trying to fill the void left by Emily. I take up my own space in the roomy bungalow.
Also, at Phil’s I have a state-of-the-art kitchen I can claim as my domain.
“You’re the chauffeur,” I remind him.
I sit back and buckle up, letting my mind drift as Carson drives us home.
It’s a ten-minute drive from town, which means I’d be heading down the mountain in the wee hours of the morning.
At least I will be, once we have Strange Brew back open, but that won’t be for at least another week, according to Lola.
She’s been monitoring progress and is working on ordering to replenish equipment and supplies we’ve had to toss out.
She and Emmet have also been giving the coffee shop a fresh paint job, and are waiting for me to pick colors for the apartment upstairs so they can do the same there.
Truthfully, I don’t know what I want. As much as I loved my apartment before, I don’t see it the same way anymore.
It used to be my little oasis, my safe haven, conveniently close to the business that was my life.
My life used to be contained within the brick walls of that building, but that’s no longer the case.
I still love Strange Brew and would never give it up, but my life seems to have grown beyond those boundaries.
At least I got word from the insurance company yesterday they’d be cutting a check the beginning of next week. That will mean I’ll be able to pay Lola and Emmet without interruption and can hopefully replenish some of my spent savings.
But those are concerns for another day, for now I’m going to enjoy having Hugo home with us.
Hugo
Jesus, even just walking to the fucking bathroom has me panting like I ran a marathon uphill.
How is it possible that someone in the prime of his life and in fairly decent shape is reduced to the fitness level of an octogenarian? If this is the state of my endurance, there’s not a chance in hell I’ll be taking Bess to bed any time soon.
I’ve been dreaming about all the ways I want to fuck her. Stuff we haven’t had a chance to explore yet, and frankly, things I haven’t even fantasized about in years. Some of it would probably be above my capacity, even if I were completely healthy, but it sure would be fun to try.
And every time Bess walks in the room, bends over to pull another of her creations out of the oven, or smiles that mysterious little smile in my direction, my cock jumps to attention. Apparently, the only part of my body that did not get the memo we are temporarily out of business.
On the other hand, this past weekend here—the quiet of the mountains with just the sound of the water, breathing in the crisp mountain air—has been the most relaxed I’ve been in I don’t know how long.
Yesterday we sat outside by a small fire Bess built, watching Carson try his hand at fly fishing in the creek. Simply enjoying each other’s company.
I’ve noticed how comfortably Bess and Carson seem to interact. Nothing forced or artificial, but with an ease that shows how much each cares for the other.
They fit. We all fit in a way I didn’t think would be possible.
Carson was off to school this morning with an egg sandwich to eat on the way—because of course he stayed in bed ’til the last minute—and a wrap and freshly baked muffin Bess packed him for lunch.
I was about to tell her he knows how to make his own lunches, has done so for years, but I could see she loved doing it, and my son seemed to appreciate the gesture, so I kept my mouth shut. Why mess with something that seems to make both of them happy?
This is a new experience for me, being more of an observer than a participant in the life around me, but to my surprise I not only enjoy it, but am learning a lot. About Bess, about my son, but most of all about myself.
My whole life has been about finding a purpose, improving as well as proving myself, and in doing so I fell out of touch with what really mattered. But here, with Bess and my son, I’m discovering I don’t need to prove anything. As long as I’m here, I’m enough as I am.
Bess is sitting at the kitchen island, working on my old laptop, when I come around the doorway.
I know she’s trying to pull together a wedding for Savvy and Nate in three weeks.
No mean feat. Their nuptial plans had been put on the back burner for a while there, but now that things have quieted down, the wedding is once again front and center, and Bess wouldn’t be Bess if she didn’t jump in with both feet to help make it happen.
“I love you.”
She looks up at the sound of my voice and smiles that smile.
“And I love you.”
I walk over and sit down on the second stool, taking her hand and turning her so she faces me.
“Move in with me.”
She barks out a laugh before catching herself. Then she squints her eyes at me.
“Move in…are you serious? We’ve only been…it’s been what? A month?”
“Move in with me,” I repeat.
“Hugo, this is fast. I mean, what about Carson?”
She seems determined to come up with excuses, but none of it matters.
“Fast? Bess, I’ve known you since you were wearing knee-high socks and pigtails. As for my son; he loves you, and he obviously doesn’t have an issue with us all sharing a house, since we’re doing that now.”
I lean in so my nose is almost touching hers. “Move in with me.”
“But I have my apartment…” she stalls.
“Lola can have it—she’s already there—and you’ll have a bit of extra rental income you can use to pay down the mortgage on the building faster. Move in with me.”
“You want me to move into your house with you?”
That’s where I pick up on the hesitation. It’s not the moving in with me she’s necessarily balking at, it’s where she’s moving, and I get it. Emily and I bought that house when she was pregnant with Carson, he’s always lived there, but he’ll also be leaving for college soon.
“Move in with me…anywhere,” I amend my request.
“Really?”
I can tell from the way her face lights up I finally found the right question.
“Yeah. Hell, we can even see if there’s any way Phil would part with this place.”
She’s beaming at me now, a smile so happy I file away every little detail to memory.
“I love it here,” she whispers, adding, “with you.”
Then she slips off her stool, steps between my legs, and slides her arms around my neck, kissing me deeply. I groan in her mouth as her tongue teases mine, inviting a heat I wish I had the ability to unleash.
My cock sure is ready, which is something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Bess, who abruptly releases me.
She sinks down to her knees, her face tilted up and eyes locked on me as she pulls down the front of my sweats.
My mouth falls open as her fingers curl around my rock-hard dick and she, almost casually, licks her lips before sliding them down the tip.
“Sweet fucking hell, Twinkie,” I groan.
“Am I hurting you?” she asks, slipping my cock from her mouth.
Yes, my sweet, beautiful girl; you are hurting me, but in the best possible way.
“Don’t stop,” I plead, curving my hand around the back of her head.
My last coherent thought is, I hope Phil doesn’t decide to drop in, before I lose myself to Bess’s mouth.