Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
FALLON
Coming Home
Elizabeth has been quiet for most of the drive, and as much as I want to know what she’s thinking, I don’t ask.
Feigning scrolling on my phone, I surreptitiously watch her absentmindedly fiddle with the heart locket on her necklace as she stares out the passenger-side window.
Backcountry scenery flies by in a monotonous blur of green as the SUV navigates the road that will take us to her house.
Wanting extra acreage, she and Ry built their forever home on the outskirts of Fallen Brook, not far from the Fields. It’s an area that’s more rural than suburban, with little development. I’ve made sure it has stayed that way. I own all the land that surrounds their property.
Elizabeth checks her phone when it vibrates.
“Just Charlotte letting me know they’re home from the beach.” Elizabeth taps her phone on her knee as her gaze returns to the view outside her window. “It feels weird being back.”
Shifting in my seat, I turn toward her, giving her my full attention. Then again, my attention has always been solely focused on her, even when she’s not there. The damn woman invades my dreams every night and occupies my thoughts every day. It’s a beautiful torture.
“How so?”
Shrugging a slender shoulder, she gives me that fucking smile that makes me stupid.
“Can’t explain it. It just feels different somehow,” she replies.
The SUV slows and makes a right turn onto a private drive, and her effulgent expression displays her happiness when her house comes into view.
The two-story modern farmhouse sits nestled amid a sprawling green lawn dotted with majestic Southern magnolias in bloom, their large white flowers in stark contrast to the dark, glossy green leaves.
Painted a pristine white, the house’s clean lines and symmetrical design are accented by pops of deep blue from the shutters and matching front door.
A wraparound veranda circles the outside, and I smile when I see the large porch swing and rockers.
Very Elizabeth. So are the white picket fence, hedgerows of gardenia bushes, and flower beds filled with a rainbow of colors.
This is a home . One built with love and filled with the memories of Ry and Elizabeth’s life together. A life I was never meant to be a part of, and one I don’t have the right to intrude upon.
Practically bouncing in her seat, Elizabeth asks, “Will you stay for dinner?”
I know her kids have missed her, and I’ll just be in the way if I stick around.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Xander eases the vehicle to a stop and parks behind a black Hellcat on the wide driveway. Not Ry’s old one that he would race. This one is newer.
Elizabeth doesn’t wait for Xander or me to help her out of the vehicle.
“Get out of the car, Fallon.”
She sends me a challenging look before she shuts the car door behind her, then sashays her pert ass around to the back.
Most men are terrified to challenge me because of my reputation. Cross me and bad stuff happens. Not only to you, but to everyone you care about. But Elizabeth has never had a problem standing up to me or putting me in my place.
“I really like her,” Xander says, his brown eyes grinning at me from the rearview mirror.
He chuckles at my severe glower.
Xander has been my bodyguard-slash-friend for over ten years. Where I go, he goes. A bit of a necessity considering some of the places I’ve been. He mostly stays out of sight, and you’d never know that he was there.
“You don’t have to stick around. Take a few days off.”
He twists his bulk around in the seat to look back at me. “You sure?”
I nod and open the passenger-side door to get out. He rolls down the window.
“I’ll drop your stuff off at the house.”
“Appreciate that. I’ll be in touch.”
We bump fists.
I walk to the back of the SUV to help Elizabeth retrieve her luggage from the trunk, but she’s already done it.
Slipping the strap of her messenger bag off her shoulder and onto mine, I grab the handles of her two small suitcases.
“I can carry my luggage.”
“I know you can,” I reply.
I press the button that closes the power liftgate and rap the glass with my knuckles. As soon as we’re clear, Xander slowly backs out of the driveway.
Elizabeth shields her eyes from the intense late afternoon sun and waves. “He was more than welcome to stay and eat.”
“As much as he would’ve appreciated the offer, he has a good woman and an even better bottle of scotch waiting for him.”
The sweltering breeze does little to relieve the stifling air of summer, and beads of sweat begin to pop under my shirt. One thing I don’t miss when I’m away is the humidity.
“I’ll have to invite him and his wife over for dinner one night.”
“He’s not married.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Not exactly.”
Elizabeth tips her face, giving me those stunning green eyes. “Then what would you call her?”
A married woman, but I’m not going to tell her that. In Xander’s defense, the woman in question is his ex-wife. They hook up whenever he’s in town. None of my business.
The front door bursts open.
“Mama!”
A blur of blonde hair bounds down the porch steps, and Elizabeth barely has time to brace before Charlotte slams into her. Clinging fiercely to one another, Elizabeth gently sways Charlotte side to side, her hand cradling the back of her daughter’s head, their cheeks pressed tightly together.
“Missed you so much, sweet girl.”
“Missed you more,” Charlotte replies, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.
Seeing the two of them together slams into my chest with the subtlety of a two-ton boulder.
The resemblance is uncanny—Charlotte is the living, breathing visage of a younger Elizabeth.
It’s remarkable to see. Pictures only show so much, but my memory of the first time I saw Elizabeth at the Fields with Ry remains forever burned into my psyche.
Charlotte peeks over her mother’s shoulder, her moss-green gaze locking onto mine. A flicker of curiosity flashes in her expression, quickly followed by recognition.
“Uncle Fallon?” Her voice rises in disbelief, but there’s no hesitation when she steps away from Elizabeth and launches herself at me.
Taken completely off-guard, I barely register the moniker before she flings her arms around me, holding tight as if I’m someone she’s always known. My hands hover awkwardly for a moment before settling on her back. How does she even know who I am?
I glance at Elizabeth, slightly panicked because I’m at a loss on what to do or what to say. She folds her lips under to hide her amused smile, but her tear-glossed eyes betray how deeply this moment affects her.
Charlotte pulls back, her face beaming with the biggest smile. She snatches my arm before I can form a coherent response and tugs me toward the house, leaving me no choice but to follow.
“That’s all the welcome back love I get?” Elizabeth grabs the handles of her suitcases and follows us up the walkway. “Where are Marcus and Christopher?”
“Backyard,” Charlotte calls over her shoulder as we cross the threshold.
Cool air hits us as soon as we step into the foyer. A well-worn mud bench sits against one wall, a row of mismatched sandals and sneakers beneath it. I set Elizabeth’s messenger bag down on the bench and try to slip off my shoes, not wanting to track dirt in, but Charlotte has other plans.
“Mom doesn’t care. Come on. My brothers are going to flip that you’re here,” Charlotte enthuses.
I get my first, albeit brief, look at the interior of Elizabeth’s home as I’m swiftly ushered through it.
It’s a blend of country charm and modern simplicity with an open-concept design and high ceilings.
Wide-plank hardwood floors gleam in the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass window above the door, and the scent of magnolia blossoms floating in a glass bowl on the side table welcomes you as soon as you step inside.
We pass by the living room, and I crane my neck to get a glimpse.
The walls are painted a muted slate-gray, and an oversized sectional sits in the middle, facing a stone fireplace that dominates one wall, its mantle adorned with framed photos.
Adjacent to a large picture window are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books and a scattering of knickknacks, and my mouth curves in a pleased smile when I glimpse the upright piano tucked against the back wall.
“Daddy said that you’d find Mom in Italy,” Charlotte whispers excitedly, and I’m caught by surprise for a second time in as many minutes.
“What?”
I try to dig in my heels, but it’s no use. Her grip is unrelenting.
After checking behind her to make sure Elizabeth isn’t within earshot, she lowers her voice. “In the letter. Don’t tell Mom.”
Ry, I swear to fucking god. If you were here right now, I’d punch you.
Charlotte hurriedly corrals me through the kitchen and out a set of French doors that takes us onto the back veranda.
The backyard is more like an open expanse of land dotted by trees in the distance.
A three-bay garage the size of a small house sits off to the left, a large vegetable garden next to it.
Wildflowers bend in the breeze among the tall grass beyond.
The middle of the three garage bays is open.
Marcus is hunched over the engine of a car, Christopher behind the wheel in the driver’s seat, their shouted conversation drowned out by the music blasting from overhead speakers.
I recognize the song playing. “Alive” by P.O.D.
Ryder would have it on repeat when he drove.
I force my feet forward and step inside the garage that I helped Ry design.
“The Cutton boys and their cars. Welcome to the chaos,” Charlotte says with a smile.
For a moment, I can only stand there, my heart caught between past and present. The loss of Ry hits me hard as I look at them and see my dear friend in his two sons—one a man, the other straddling the cusp of adulthood.
“Marcus!” Charlotte shouts.
He straightens from under the hood and turns around. A wide grin splits his face. Fucking hell. I would swear it was Ryder standing there, not his eldest son.
“ Holy shit, ” Marcus says, eyes wide with disbelief.
“I know!” Charlotte replies, hopping on her toes.
He crosses the space in a few quick strides and extends a grease-smudged hand.
“Shit, sorry.” He offers me the shop towel tucked into the back waistband of his shorts.
“No worries.”
Charlotte grabs a remote from a nearby stool and turns the volume down on the music. “Chris, get your butt out of the car. Uncle Fallon is here.”
Uncle Fallon. Hearing her say it again twists the pain lodged in my chest.
Unlike Marcus’s open demeanor, Christopher’s is more cautious.
He slowly slides out of the driver’s seat and straightens to his full height, which is a couple of inches taller than his older brother.
He has more of Elizabeth in him. Same eyes and facial features, but his coloring and build are all Ry.
“Hey,” he says, his tone clipped. He doesn’t offer a hand, just folds his arms across his chest.
I’m not offended by his wariness. I was just like that at his age. Mistrusting of the world and of people’s motives.
“You must be Christopher.”
“Chris,” he flatly corrects me. “Where’s Mom?”
Charlotte leans way over to the side and peers out of the garage bay. “She was right behind us…I thought.”
“I’ll go check on her.” Chris brushes past me but stops. “Don’t break her heart. She’s been through enough.”
Charlotte smacks his shoulder. “Why do you always have to be such a dick? You had no problem with her going to Italy. In fact, you told her?—”
“ Shut up , Charlie.”
“No, you shut up,” she says, chasing after him, their bickering intensifying.
Marcus glances at me apologetically. “You’ll have to excuse them. They live to get on each other’s nerves. And Chris…well, he’s very protective of Mom. It’s been hard since—” He shrugs without finishing.
“I get it.”
Chris’s words repeat in my head, a reminder of the fragile ground I stand on. I feel the weight of Ryder’s absence pressing on me—not as a loss, but as a responsibility.
Marcus’s stare follows me as I saunter over to the car and check out the engine he was working on. Under the hood is a monstrous 6.2-liter supercharged HEMI V8. This beast is built for speed.
“Yours?” I ask.
“A friend’s. Mine is the one out front.”
Marcus sidles up beside me and grabs a torque wrench from a tray propped precariously on top of the front quarter panel.
I can’t count how many days I spent with Ry at his dad’s garage when we were younger, hanging out and helping him fix up cars. Or the nights we’d sneak out and steal them for that guy I used to work for.
Ry would be so proud that his children are following in his footsteps.
Marcus has done a great job running the garage, while Knox handles the motocross team.
Chris plans to get his MBA and join Marcus, and Elijah has mentioned more than once that Charlotte races at the Fields alongside her brothers.
“Want some help?” I offer.
“Do you know how to replace a belt?”
I bunch up my shirt sleeves. “Put me to work, boss.”