Chapter 24 Celine #2
The effervescent expression from this usually stoic man made my stomach flip.
I had no idea what he was talking about, but the gleam in his eye made my core clench.
“Come on.” He opened the shed and produced a box. “A present for you.”
Rather than take it, I stared at the large package with Timberland printed on the side.
“Open.”
I lifted the lid, finding a pair of pink work boots nestled inside. Fancy ones with steel toes.
“They’re pink.”
“It’s your favorite color.”
I peered up at him, frowning. How did he know that? I’d never told him, and while I had a lot of pink stuff, I wasn’t exactly walking around looking like Barbie.
“Turns out they make them in doll sizes for your tiny feet.”
“How did you know my size?” I pulled one out and inspected it.
“I texted Ellie and she told me.”
“She has your number for emergencies,” I scolded.
He put his arm around me, pulling me in for a half hug.
It was less than half of what I needed, but it helped a little.
“Lack of proper footwear is an emergency,” he corrected. “You know how much I care about safety.”
Timberlands. A wave of self-consciousness hit me. This was an expensive gift. Was this a charity thing?
“Just because no one has ever treated you like you matter doesn’t mean you don’t,” he went on, making me really think he had direct access to my thoughts.
“You matter. To me and to a lot of other people. So put the damn boots on. You need proper footwear. Can’t be dancing around the farm in mismatched Crocs all the time. ”
With a sigh, I sat on the ground and put them on. They were a bit stiff, but Josh said they needed to be broken in, and they were warm and supportive, so I didn’t argue.
“Now follow me. You’ll need these.” He handed me a pair of protective glasses.
Behind the shed, close to one of the maple tree stands, was a clearing. And it was filled with… junk? Old buckets, crates, wooden pallets and other scraps.
The items were evenly spread out, confusing me further.
“What is this?”
“A rage room.” He held out an arm, gesturing to the random collection of things. “I know you don’t like enclosed spaces, so it’s more of a rage yard, but you get the idea.” With a step forward, he handed me a new pair of pink work gloves.
I continued perusing the area. Was that an old printer? What was this?
I looked down at the gloves in my hands and the boots on my feet, at an absolute loss.
“Sorry. I’m confused.”
He walked over to the back wall of the shed, where a few sledgehammers had been propped up.
“This one’s light and well-balanced.” He grasped it by the neck and held the handle out to me.
Tentatively, I took it in both hands, feeling the weight of it.
“You’re carrying a lot around,” he said gently. “And I wanted to help. But I can’t imagine a bubble bath is enough to do the trick, so I set this up. You can let it all out here. There’s no judgment. No pressure.”
My eyes heated and gratefulness washed over me. I opened my mouth, my instinct to minimize, to make a joke, or to say this was unnecessary kicking in, but I quickly snapped it shut again.
But maybe it was necessary. I was drowning. And he’d noticed.
And he’d tossed me a life preserver.
He didn’t ask me to explain, to tell him what had been eating at me. He didn’t expect me to package my emotions up for him to consume.
He just noticed and did something about it.
“So I just…” I looked up at him, emotion clogging my throat.
“Swing it and break shit,” he said, crossing those thick arms again.
“But I’ll make a mess.”
“I’ve got a dumpster.” He lifted one shoulder easily. “I’ll clean it up later.”
“But—”
“Get swinging, Matchstick.” He took a step back, then another. “I promise it will help.”
He was so strong and calm. I’d never say it out loud, but his presence helped soothe my anxiety. Josh couldn’t solve my problems, but when he was nearby, I felt a little tougher.
Hefting the sledgehammer, I studied it. “I don’t know if I can.”
He stepped in again and took it, holding it out at a different angle for me. “We both know you can smash the shit out of anything. Now be a good girl and break something. It’s cathartic.”
Self-conscious, I put on the safety glasses, repositioned the sledgehammer in my hold, and surveyed the clearing. The sledgehammer was heavy but not too heavy. And he’d gone to all this trouble.
So I walked tentatively toward a stack of wooden crates and swung.
Wood splintered, flying everywhere, and the loud crash made me jump.
My heart rate kicked up, but not in a bad way. Okay, this might be fun after all.
I swung again and again, cracking plastic containers, bending metal, and shattering wood. I laughed, cried, and got one hell of a workout.
My fingers stung, signaling that blisters were forming, but I didn’t slow. This was the most fun I’d had in a very long time.
Most days it felt impossible to shed the person I’d once been. The woman who had slowly unraveled. Who’d lost herself and was too dumb to even realize until every recognizable trait was gone.
It started in little ways, skipping plans with friends because he didn’t like it. Going to his mother’s when I knew she wouldn’t be kind or sitting through one dumb action movie after another, all of which I hated. At the time, it had felt like compromise. Like maturity.
I convinced myself that I was bad at laundry when he’d complained one too many times.
Maybe the turkey meatloaf I made for dinner did taste like shit and my tastebuds were just messed up.
I wasn’t perfect, and I’d grown up so alone and isolated and without my mom. So I convinced myself that maybe I actually was a shitty person.
And I loved my kids so much. Would do anything for them. So working a little harder to please their father seemed like the least I could do.
So I folded towels differently.
I took over all the holiday gift giving and sent his mom flowers on Mother’s Day.
I attended every school meeting and function alone because he was either busy working or needed to decompress by playing golf with his friends.
When I discovered that he was spending most evenings at strip clubs, getting drunk and high with his friends, I blamed myself.
I was boring. I was ugly. My world had become so small. Of course I wasn’t interesting.
But when it became clear that Julian’s mind worked differently from either of his sisters’, when I realized he wouldn’t grow out of his quirks, a deeper, stronger loyalty inside me woke up. My desire to understand him, to support him, pushed out many of my insecurities.
Only then did I begin to understand just how much power I had given away.
And I wanted it back.
All that I had given him. Donny hadn’t stolen it from me. I’d given it away. And I’d never forgive myself for that.
“Use your whole body,” Josh coached. “Not just your arms.”
I swung the sledgehammer again, driving down with my legs, and the faded bucket cracked in two. Fuck, this was addictive.
He clapped, the sound echoing off the trees. “Awesome.”
I studied him, so large and intimidating and quiet.
I’d written him off as an asshole.
But I couldn’t have been more wrong. This man saw me. The dark cracks and corners and places where I had shoddily patched myself up. And he wasn’t scared of any of it.
And he was one hell of a kisser.
“Having fun?”
I nodded, adjusting my safety goggles. “When do I get a chainsaw?”
He chuckled, his lips tipping up, his eyes shadowed by his ball cap. “We’ll work up to that.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” I worried my bottom lip. “That I’m making a mess and breaking things?”
“Giving you this moment is my absolute pleasure,” he said, and damn it, that stupid dimple popped, making his lopsided grin even sexier.
How was it that he could be so scary on the outside—his size, his attitude, his general sneer—yet put me at ease so easily? With him, I never felt the need to remain on alert or walk on eggshells. I could just be me.
My arms ached and my lungs burned, but I couldn’t stop.
I moved on, bashing an old chair, its legs and back splintering.
My hands, that had once held so many crumbling pieces together, were breaking these items into their most basic components.
Years of swallowed words poured out of me silently.
Years of fear and grief, and the bone-deep exhaustion that came with living in survival mode.
I dropped the sledgehammer to the ground scattered with splintered wood, bent metal, and the remains of things that had once been useful.
Josh stood a few feet away, leaning against the shed, his hands loose at his sides. He was there. Steady and unflinching. No judgment, no concern, and no pity.
And like before, I realized that I wasn’t bracing.
My shoulders weren’t locked up around my ears and my jaw was unclenched. I wasn’t subconsciously making an exit plan, replaying conversations or preparing to explain and defend myself.
The constant hum of vigilance that had buzzed around me for years had finally gone quiet.
And in that quiet, I saw him.
Not the gruff farmer. Not the careful landlord. Not the man who kept his distance and pretended not to pay attention. He didn’t tell me to calm down or soften my anger or placate me with empty assurances.
He’d given me space to be who I needed to be and do what I needed to do.
My next thought hit me harder than a sledgehammer.
I wanted Josh.
Not just wanted. Needed.
The pull toward him was a strong, steady kind of gravity.
I swallowed, my throat tight. “I don’t know how to say thank you.”
“You don’t have to.”
My nose stung, tears threatening. “Thank you for not trying to fix me.”
His brow furrowed, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I would never.”
With Josh, there were no conditions. No expectations. He stood near the shed, his eyes dark and locked on mine. Not moving, not initiating, but making himself available if I needed him.
“I feel safe with you.” I padded to him.
“I’ll keep it that way,” he promised, his expression solemn.
That was it. The last string holding my reservations together. I could no longer contain my desire. And I was done letting the bad stuff consume all my thoughts.
Because Josh made me brave.
I closed the distance between us, pressing my body to his. His warmth met me before his hands did. Like the other night, he was letting me take the lead. He made me feel more seen than I ever had in my life.
Only when I threw myself into his arms did he touch me, and he lifted me effortlessly as our mouths found one another in a desperate kiss, our teeth clinking ridiculously, the elation bubbling inside me making me weightless in his arms.
“Fuck.” He turned and pushed me up against the shed, taking my mouth. My knees wobbled. Nothing had every felt as good as his lips on mine or the grip of his strong hands on my thighs.
He pinned me with his bulk, his erection digging into me.
“God,” he growled, nipping at my neck. “I could fuck you like this.”
Face buried in my hair, he slowly lowered me to my feet.
“But I won’t.”
A protest clawed its way up my throat. Because at the moment, being fucked like this sounded like an excellent idea.
The wistful smile he directed at me signaled that he was under the impression that the kissing had concluded.
But I had not consented to that.
“I enjoyed the hell out of that.” His dimple was just visible beneath his thick beard. It was adorable. “But I get it. And I’m not asking for anything.”
Annoyance flashed through me. “What If I’m asking?”
“Then I’ll give you anything you want,” he said firmly.
“I want you to fuck me,” I said, a newfound courage overtaking me.
His pupils blew wide. “Celine—”
I shook my head. “I want you. I want this. The kids are with Stella. Who knows when we’ll get another chance?”
He studied me, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Good. He wanted this as badly as I did.
Then he scooped me up and took off toward his house.
Giggling, I curled into his chest and relished the security his arms gave me. And I reveled in the haze of lust that had fallen over us.
For the first time, wanting someone didn’t feel like danger.
It felt like safety.