Mine

22. Pepper

TWENTY-TWO

PEPPER

My mother’s headstone gleamed in rays of morning light, her name engraved into the marble. A weight sat on my chest as I knelt down, placing a bouquet of white lilies there, tears stinging my eyes.

It was always hard. Even knowing how much she hurt me, how much she tried to stop me from becoming who I was, I still loved her.

It’d been fifteen years since she died.

Because of her, I was raised in a world where women were only meant to serve. They only knelt for god or their husband.

A woman was of value so long as she was obedient, virginal, pure.

How could I love a god who thought I was worth so little?

Even as a child, I’d always questioned the narrative they taught me. It wasn’t until I was much older that I was able to look back that I realized just how twisted my childhood was.

Raised in a small Tennessee town by a church that was grooming me to have children and share the gospel. While I didn’t have the bright blue eyes and blonde hair they preferred, I was still good enough.

Good enough to be taught that sex was a sin. Every movement I made was to be considerate of the men around me. If they touched me, it was because I tempted them. If I was doing better than the boys, I was showing off. If I showed a shoulder, I was punished. If I did anything they didn’t see as part of their god’s plan, I was destined to burn in hell.

Education, science, and confidence were all weapons of satan.

I left the cult when I was nineteen.

Since then, I’d been fighting the demons they’d let in. The demon who told me sex was a sin, the demon who told me I wasn’t worthy, the demon who told me I should have settled down and had Jeff’s children. Paisleigh should have been my daughter, right? I should have tried harder to be a good wife.

I was a selfish, horrid woman who deserved to suffer for wanting more .

At least I had my music. Maybe that was something they did right. Singing and playing piano was what made me dream of leaving. Much like the artists I signed onto my label, it was that dream that spurred me to get away from the life I was living and try for something more.

I knew my mother was rolling in her grave. When I took off to Nashville with a shred of hope and no money, she’d tried to bring me back.

I’d never forget her showing up on my apartment doorstep. I lived in an apartment I shared with Tommy, after meeting him at a bus stop—a questionable choice we still laughed about, given that it worked out. When my mom found out I was living with a man, she screamed that I turned to a life of sin.

When I told her he was gay? That only made everything a thousand times worse.

And that was the last time I saw her alive.

There was no greater hate than her love.

I still brought flowers to her grave every year.

Maybe they were flowers for who she could have been, if she’d been given the chance to grow.

I always said today was her death date, but really it was the date she had come to my door.

Numbness and resentment sat in the hollow cavern of my chest, next to a heart that was barely beating.

They buried her outside of Nashville, near where my grandparents were buried. My father’s choice. Her funeral was probably the last time I’d ever see him.

Drawing in a sharp breath, I tore my gaze from the headstone and looked up.

I froze. My brows knit together as I spotted a looming figure in the distance.

“ Salt?” I whispered in disbelief.

I stood as still as the graves that surrounded me. Watching him. Salt stood facing a headstone, his expression colder than the icy morning.

I was intruding, wasn’t I? I continued to watch him though, my attention drawn from my own emptiness to the pain that radiated from him.

The memory of last Tuesday came roaring back. Then the moment in the elevator, where Jeff had humiliated me.

There wasn’t a force strong enough in the universe that could keep me from going to him now. My feet moved, carrying me across the frost-laden graveyard to where he stood alone.

Was he stalking me? That would be absurd, right?

I studied him as I got closer. No, he wasn't watching me. I didn't even think he was aware that I was here. My steps slowed as I approached, the ground crunching underfoot.

“Salt,” I whispered.

He jumped, clearly startled. His dark gaze met mine. Aftera moment of surprise, I saw a flash of anger cross his face.

“What are you doing here?” he bit out.

“I was visiting my mother's grave and saw you,” I said quickly, gesturing toward her headstone. “I’m not stalking you or anything. I was just surprised to see you here.”

Without fail, he always made my heart feel like a bird attempting to escape a cage. My entire body was constantly under his spell. The roses around his neck danced in the sunlight, enchanting me with their inky darkness.

He stared at me with amber eyes, luminescent and unnerving, then turned his attention back to the headstone.

Did I stay? Did I go?

I decided to stay. Slowly stepping up beside him, I looked down at it, reading the engraved letters.

It was newer, I realized. At least not nearly as old as my mother's. A bottle of vodka sat beneath the name John Salt .

Solemn silence settled over us. I swallowed hard, wondering who this person was to him. Salt was his last name—so was this his parent? A grandparent? Someone else? I didn't ask. Instead, I just stood with him, my thoughts racing a million miles a minute.

Today, I didn’t have the strength to be perfect.

Without saying a word, his fingertips brushed mine. Cold and hunting for warmth. Our hands slid together.

I gripped him.

He gripped me back. Squeezing.

“Tell me about your mother.”

I blew out a breath, my entire body deflating. “It's not a good story. It’s pretty typical.”

He tsked softly. “Nothing about you or your life is typical. But I do want to know why she named you Pepper.”

An abrupt laugh bubbled up, echoing through the cemetery loud enough that I glanced around. No one else was here, only us and the dead.

It was such a stupid story, but I told him anyway. “Naming me after a condiment was a choice, but certainly not the worst she ever made. The story I was told was that she saw it on a cooking magazine, which was the first thing she’d ever been allowed to read outside of the Bible.”

Another gentle squeeze. “She wasn’t allowed to read anything else?”

“No. She wasn’t supposed to, anyway. Her purpose wasn’t to be intelligent, it was to serve her husband and the church.”

“I see.”

“She died when I was twenty-one,” I whispered. “And I don’t miss her most of the time.”

“But you still bring her flowers.”

I nodded and glanced back over my shoulder at the white lilies I’d left. “I do every year. Cut flowers make me sad, because they just die anyway. But, lilies were her favorites. On the few occasions she got flowers, that’s what she got. So yes, I bring them to her grave.”

I looked back at him. Salt swallowed hard, looking down at the dirt. “I understand.”

I believed him. I didn’t press for him to tell me anything. I didn’t really need him to.

I just knew that he understood the pain of hating the one who was supposed to love you and support you, while still bringing fresh flowers to their grave.

A gentle breeze rustled the trees, sweeping my hair back.

“My father hated flowers.” Salt’s grip on my hand tightened until it almost hurt, his words full of bitterness. “So I bring him a bottle of vodka. It was the only thing he ever did like. It was also the thing that killed him.”

“Oh.” I remembered the night at Beaumont’s, and how he’d refused Tommy’s offer for a round. “Is that why you don’t drink?”

He nodded. “I hate what alcohol did to him. Part of me blames it for who he was. Abusive, mean, drunk all the fucking time. He used to hit me every single night when he got home from work. It was even worse on my birthday.” He paused, his breath shaking. I realized he was trembling. I turned to face him, but he wouldn’t look at me, his gaze locked on the grave. “The worst one was when I was sixteen. As I got older, the abuse became more intense, so I expected his attack. I stayed out all night. I slept on a park bench and it was snowing that year. Cold. It was really cold.”

Fuck. The idea of him as a teenager sleeping in the snow, scared of his father—it broke me. Tears burned in my eyes as he continued.

“I went home the next morning to change for school. I’d been wearing the same clothes for a few days, so I had to. I shouldn’t have, though. I walked through the front door and he hit me with a bat. He’d been waiting for me.”

My breath whooshed out of my lungs.

“He beat the shit out of me. Over and over. He broke my ribs. He broke my arm. But, I got up. And I hit him back for the first time. It was like I’d kicked a puppy. He broke down crying, telling me that I was the reason my mother was dead. That I was a curse. That I should have died, not her. He hated me, he hated everything about me, and I shouldn’t have been alive. I was bleeding and broken and wasn’t supposed to be alive. The next year was easier, but he still tried to hurt me. But here I am now, still bringing him fucking vodka.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I leaned my head against his shoulder, holding his hand.

“I hate my birthday,” he whispered.

“Is today your birthday?” I asked softly.

He squeezed my hand. “Yeah. I’m twenty-six now. Maybe you can worry a little less about what people would think about us if we actually took a chance on each other.”

My heart ached for him. We stood in silence for a few minutes, both staring at the bottle of vodka that sat alone in the dirt, the clear liquid gleaming.

“Happy birthday, Simon,” I whispered.

I’d never said his first name before. It felt intimate and forbidden.

He exhaled slowly, tipping his head back. I looked up at him, watching the shadows his long lashes cast down his sculpted cheeks. Dark circles marred the skin under his eyes, his hair messy. I wasn’t any better off.

“It’s some sort of fate that alcohol killed him, right?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Is it fate that not believing in modern medicine is what killed my mother? She thought god would save her. She had pneumonia and it made her sicker until sepsis got into her blood and she died.”

“Well. Maybe she should have prayed harder.”

An unwelcome laugh escaped me and I covered my mouth, my cheeks flaring. He covered his mouth too, both of us staring in shock.

“Pepper, that was wrong of me, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly.

“No,” I snorted, shaking my head. “I needed that. And you’re right. Maybe she should have prayed harder. Maybe he should have drank more.”

Salt barked out a laugh, some of the tension melting. “Maybe he should have.”

Everything felt a little better now.

He cupped my cheek and pushed my chin up. “They tried to smother us, but they failed. And now they’re gone.”

I nodded as he thumbed away my tears. “They tried,” I whispered. “I still love her. Why do I still love her?”

“I still love him.” His eyes teared up and he closed them as one escaped. I reached up, wiping it away as gently as he’d wiped away mine. “I fucking hate him. But I still love him.”

“I think we love what we wanted them to be,” I whispered. “We love ghosts.”

He pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m tired of loving ghosts.”

“Me too.”

I slid my arms around him and hugged him tight, laying my head against his chest. He rested his chin on top of my head, his heart thumping wildly. I didn’t think about Rosethorn. I didn’t think about how inappropriate this was given that I’d approved Tommy’s proposal.

I existed where he existed, and that made the misery easier.

“What are the odds of you being here today, huh? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “I nearly texted you a hundred times over the last week. Every morning I woke up thinking about you.”

Surprise made me swallow hard. I’d done a really good job of convincing myself he’d forgotten all about me. “Why didn’t you?”

“Pepper,” he rasped. He gripped my hair, giving me a tug. “What are you doing? I thought I’d scared you off. Does this mean I’m not with Rosethorn?”

I shook my head. “I approved Tommy’s proposal. I dragged my feet on it, and for that, I’m sorry.”

“Then what…”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I saw you here. And when you’re around, I can’t resist you. No matter how hard I try. Maybe I’m just losing my mind. I’m never good around this time of the year. It’s always a few days of hell. I’ll be more normal later this week.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured. He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it.

“What?” I asked, raising a brow.

He studied me, but then continued. “The sex club is open tonight. It’s a Sunday, so a… different kind of church, you know.”

My eyes widened. “The place you told me about, right? The Garden?” I’d spent some time looking at their website earlier this week.

He nodded.

Don’t do it. Don’t.

“I’ll take you, if you want.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes. Do you want to?”

More than anything else. The temptation was too great, but I still tried to resist. For a second. “Do you ?”

The corner of his mouth tugged. “Yes. It’s a bad idea. But yes, I want to take you there.”

I took a deep breath. I wanted to go. I wanted to experience something new. I was tired of fitting into the cage I’d built for myself. I wanted to be free.

I wanted to be with him.

“I want to forget about everything else,” I whispered.

“Me too.”

My cheeks flamed. “Are you sure? Last Tuesday was?—”

“I still stand by what I said then,” he quipped, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t chase, Pepper.”

“I’m not running. At least for tonight.”

His hand slid behind my neck, massaging my tendons. “For tonight. And tomorrow...”

“Tomorrow, Tommy opens his email. He reaches out to you to set up another meeting. It’ll probably take place later next week, and it’ll be with everyone important.”

“So a meeting with you.”

“Yes,” I murmured.

“And your ex-husband, who I almost punched when you left us in the elevator.”

“You what ?” I hissed. “Did he say something?—”

“He made some comments,” Salt said. “I don’t like him. At all. I don’t think he likes me too much either.”

“What did you say to him?”

Now, he smirked. “He mentioned you were trying to keep him from inviting his wife to an awards show.”

I threw up my hands. “For fuck’s sake.”

Salt chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, I asked him how long he’d been married. Then how long he’d been divorced. He didn’t like that question.”

“ Oh . I bet he didn’t like that.”

“He didn’t.”

Perhaps it was a little petty, but the idea of Salt making him feel like shit brought me an immense amount of joy. “Thanks for that.” But then, I frowned. “Salt… Did you fire your bass player?”

Salt shrugged his shoulders. “Yes. He wasn’t a good fit.”

“Did you do it because of me? Tommy heard a rumor and approached me about it.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I lied to him,” I said. “Well, I didn’t exactly lie. I just didn’t tell him the truth.”

“And what is the truth, Pepper?”

“We’re not right for each other. You’re too young, I’m too old. If they knew about us, they would judge us. They would think I’ve lost my mind.”

“They’d think you were taking advantage of me,” he said. “That’s what Jack suggested. Which is why I fired him, because that’s the furthest thing from the truth. And the thing is, people are always going to talk. They’re always going to judge. I’ve been dealing with it my entire life.” He tilted his head slightly as he held my gaze. “You can’t let other people dictate how you live your life. You can’t let fear stop you from having what you want. Otherwise, you’re just killing yourself for them.”

“I started this company years ago,” I said. “It’s all I have.”

“Would us being open change that? You’re the CEO. The company is yours.”

I’d been thinking about this nonstop since Tommy and I talked. I looked away as I considered what would happen if we told the board we were together.

“It would be a lot of pressure,” I said. “It would put us in a completely different position. And if things ended badly between us, it would hurt both of our careers. There’s a lot at stake.”

“We don’t need to decide right now,” he murmured gently. “But I want you to know that I want you. I want to be with you.”

“I want you too.”

My admission was soft. Vulnerable.

He tugged me close to him and kissed the top of my head. “That’s all I needed to know. Everything else can wait.”

I leaned into him fully and closed my eyes. All of my emotions were on the surface today, but his presence was calming them.

“I make bad decisions when I’m with you,” I whispered.

“Well, I think there’s room for worse.”

I snorted and craned my head back. “When that meeting happens, you have to promise me you’ll behave.”

A dark chuckle followed. “Mmmm, we’ll see. No promises.”

“I’m the boss, remember?” I asked.

His smile broadened. “At some point, I want to set up a scene with you where you can be a little brat and I can punish you for it.”

“I’d like that. A lot.”

“We’ll see what else you like tonight,” he said. “How about I come home with you? If anyone asks, you can say you picked up a stray.”

I rolled my eyes, but then leaned up on my tip-toes and kissed him quickly on the lips. His fingers knotted in my hair and before I could pull away, and he kissed me harder, our lips parting as it deepened.He swept me against him, the taste of him warm and sweet.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathless.

“Did you drive here?” I asked.

He nodded. “How about I meet you at your apartment in two hours?”

My stomach did a slow flip. “That sounds good. What… what should I wear?”

He raised a brow. “Do you want me to tell you what to wear?”

Even though I’d gone home hating myself for it, I’d also realized I loved wearing exactly what he told me to wear. There was something about the obedience and slight humiliation of it that had left me wanting more.

“Yes,” I said. “I want you to tell me what to wear.”

“Wear one of your work outfits,” he said. “A skirt. A modest blouse. Your favorite heels.”

I frowned. “That’s it. That’s what you want?”

“That’s exactly what I want.”