7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Remington James
T he urge to chase after Wilder, is only beat by the fact Grady’s hands know just where to touch me. “He’s only acting like he has a secret now, because of me… right?” If I could guarantee that they wouldn’t go after Cal or Charlie, I’d tell them. Would I blame them for their increased suspicion? Not at all. The distance I’ve put between us is making me analyze everything. Possibly finding fault with little things that mean nothing. Charlie is being his understanding self, thinking my problems with Uncle Skip have me upset. Cal is acting slightly frantic. Which one is being disingenuous? In my very soul I want to believe neither of them are.
Pulling Grady behind me, the mugginess of the cabin is causing sweat to bead on my upper lip, a swipe of my tongue over the salty spritz is taken by him as teasing. So be it. “Go for a swim with me?” Not once have I seen him go near the lake, much like Cal and Charlie he seems to pretend like it doesn’t exist. Wilder has no problem being on his dock, or for that matter, tossing things that don’t belong to him into the lake.
He slows behind me bringing us to a stop. “Ehh, Rem…”
These superstitious hang-ups have to be overcome. What does he think will happen to him taking a dip in the lake in broad daylight with me by his side? “I’ll protect you.”
His smile cocks to the side. “Protect me, huh?”
Without warning he scoops me up taking long strides towards the dock in front of his cabin. Not slowing as he picks up speed until we sail off the end of the dock into the sun glistening ripples of the lake. The cool water feels refreshing as we’re submerged. His strong arms tug me back towards the surface, where coughing, we drag the hair out of our faces.
On tippy toes, I hold my head above the water, a laugh bubbling out of me. “I think we scared the person fishing away.” The boat moves further north past a cluster of rocks sticking out of a weedy section of lake, moving out of sight the putter of his motor grows distant.
Grady’s smile lights my insides up. “If that didn’t do it, this would’ve.” Encircling my waist, he pulls me tight, lavishing a kiss on me that steals my breath away.
Moving a couple feet closer to the shore where I can stand flat footed, Grady still holding me tight, we’re submerged to midchest level. He goes in for another kiss, his breath labored. “There is absolutely no one else that could’ve compelled me to get in this lake again.” I run my hand down his jaw, staring into his brilliant blue eyes. My thumb toying with his lower lip, I lean in to gently kiss it.
“I dare you to make love to me right here… right now. In the big, bad, scary lake.” We’re essentially out in the open, but the cabins that are currently rented are quiet. He’s been stringing me along since I came to his cabin. We’d make out until I was writhing, then he’d get occupied writing his music. I’m taking this chance; I need this release.
I need my songbird.
I slide a hand into his underwear, instead of stopping me, he does the same, cupping my ass. The action causes me to grind against him. Fevered words pass between us that melt into mere noises. Wrapping my legs around his waist, my pussy rubs the length of him. “Mmmm, I need to feel you inside me. Don’t keep making me wait.” We don’t have protection, but I don’t want to go get any. Could be a bad call, but I’m too worked up.
Our kisses don’t break, as I tug down his underwear freeing his dick. Working him inside me, gasping against his mouth, our movements small and jerky. “Oh... oh, tha-that’s it… that’s it…,” my voice is higher pitched as I cling to him.
He whispers in my ear, “Remi, I’m drowning in you. Completely drowning.”
Maybe he doesn’t realize it yet, but I already drowned in his depths weeks ago. Wherever life takes me beyond this summer, whatever I spend my days doing-he will be a part of it.
Under the midday sun, standing in the dark waters of Lake Hollow, I realize the extent my heart has dived fully into the burgeoning love I have for Grady Marlow, trusting that I’m safe there.
Carlotta Marlow’s little blue bungalow sits on a corner in the northside of Lake Hollow. Blocks from St. James Cathedral, perched at the top of the hill overlooking the lake. Her flower beds and gardens appear well cared for like the home is currently being lived in. I can’t help but admire the lawn sculptures of birds done in a mosaic of shimmery tiles gracing the bed of her hydrangeas.
Looking over at Grady, who has stopped short of her ornate wood door, I inquire again, “Are you okay?” I’ve asked him variations of that all the way here in the Prius, whose steering wheel pulls to the left. Like it’s not enough his borrowed car rattles like it’ll blow, now it’s got a mind of its own. I tried to convince him to walk, but between the heat and the boxes he’s grabbing, my argument didn’t stand up.
The news that Carlotta left her home to Mitchell Gibson stunned me. Then I reminded myself that she suspected Grady of horrible things. Maybe her choices would’ve been different, had she known the truth. “I haven’t been here in years.” He sighs looking over the yard once more, before pulling the set of spare keys he had from his shorts pocket. “Last time I was here, I’d helped her plant those.” He nods his head at the line of white lilac bushes next to the cobblestone driveway.
We make our way into the warm space, her little touches everywhere. Nothing opulent in the cozy rooms, but all of it tasteful. Splashes of deep color mixed in with cherry-stained wood, her framed photographs of Lake Hollow, and carvings of animals. “He said the boxes are on the back porch.” Mitchell spent several minutes trying to spit out the reason he called Grady before he had gotten to the point. Carlotta had boxes with his name on them.
The hallway walls are adorned with pictures that I scan over on the walk to the backside of the house. My eyes catch sight of one taken at the Funpark. In it, Carlotta looks younger, surrounded by a group of boys’ and girls’ middle school aged. I recognize Cal and Charlie immediately; their smiles haven’t changed. They’re standing on the dock that surrounds the bumper boat pond next to a telescope that looks just like the one in the gazebo at Lakeside Park.
“This telescope isn’t there anymore.” I tap the picture. “I wonder when it was removed and why?”
The brass plate base and big bolts remain on the dock. I had thought it was a utility cover, often griping to myself when I’ve stubbed a toe on it, or others have tripped over it. It’s a hazard really, making the absence of the telescope even more bizarre.
Grady leans in to look at the photo. “I never spent time there, I wouldn’t know,” he says, sadness saturating his tone.
The way his dad’s grudges colored his adolescence makes my heart break for him. It put a wedge between his beloved aunt and him, it kept him from his classmates, and from enjoying the activities other kids his age were involved in.
Two cardboard boxes are sitting on a white shag rug near the doorway. A weathered black hard leather guitar case leans against them. Grady crouchs next to it, his hand on the case, with his head bent. His voice is strangled by tears when he says, “I used to lie to myself all the time. Tell myself that I would’ve loved music regardless of her influence on me. That her getting close to Mitch and Charlie didn’t sting.” His eyes are red, cheeks wet when he looks at me. “She made me who I am. Everything I am. But she preferred them.”