Chapter 61 Kit
Kit
This man, the one who’s been brooding on the porch stairs for the last twenty minutes, is not the same man who woke me up with desperate kisses in the middle of the night. Cannot possibly be.
He walked out a little while ago, freshly showered in a loose t-shirt and joggers, pressed a mug of coffee and a strawberry Pop-Tart in my hands.
Then, he gave my dad a hug, which included the hard back pats men love to do.
My dad told Bowen he was looking good, and Bowen asked about Fiona.
They talked wire harnesses and spark plugs for a few minutes.
Then Bowen basically shoulder-checked me in his haste to hurry up and glare. From all the way over there.
I guess I didn't consider having a conversation about what we would tell our families. It all happened so fast. Was it really just yesterday morning that I woke up alone in the cabin?
“I've got a friend willing to tow it closer to home. It should be good as new in a few days,” Dad says, wiping his dirty hands on an old rag he pulls out of his toolbox.
I hope he doesn't take offense to the weak smile I offer up. It's about all I can manage. I didn't expect this today. To see him, to have to figure out what the hell I'm doing. Bowen and I haven't had the chance to talk about any of it.
And now he's being a dick.
I threw on one of his hoodies when my dad called earlier, and the sleeves are much too long. I bunch the extra fabric in my fists and turn towards Bowen when my dad starts walking that way.
“Your Mom will be so happy, Kit. You've got no idea. It will be the best birthday gift for her today to finally have you home.” He ruffles my hair, and I force another pained grin. Dad continues up the steps, telling us he'll be right back.
“What's wrong?” I ask, and add, “Boe?” When he doesn't look up at me. His arms are resting on his knees, and he's twisting one of his rings around and around. Every second he's silent is a second closer to my dad coming back out and ending our chances at a conversation.
Just say something!
“Bowen,” I snap, harsh but quiet. Finally, fucking finally, he looks up at me. No softness there. Just the same icy blue eyes I got used to from the moment I woke up on the dock that first day, to him standing above me.
We hear the crunching tires in the drive at the same time because we both turn our attention to the black car driving down like it's done it a hundred times before.
My stomach drops down to hell when it stops, the driver's door opens, and none other than fucking Delaney Von climbs out.
Bowen doesn't look surprised to see her. He doesn't look anything.
“Good morning, boys,” she sing-songs, then holds up a white box. “I brought pastries.”
The cabin door opens at that moment, Dad walking back out on the porch. Delaney walking up from behind. Any hope of talking dies a swift, sharp death. Not that Bowen seems too keen on talking anyway.
I'm getting whiplash.
I got out of bed and felt like I was floating this morning.
My body is so sore from being used, bordering on painful if I'm honest, but it reminded me that this was real.
That I really had been with Bowen. Now? Pain or not, I'm thinking I must have hallucinated all of it.
Every thrust. Every shared breath and moaned kiss. Every tender look, every truth spilled.
“Bowen,” I say again, despite the two other people standing here with us.
I beg him with a look, but he just stands and moves down the steps. I'm forced to watch him pull Delaney into a familiar hug. She whispers something with a grin, and he rumbles something back.
He does talk, apparently, just not to me.
I'm going to fucking cry. Or vomit up Pop-Tarts and caffeine.
“Gonna take a quick shower, that cool?” I don't wait around for my dad to answer. He's too busy walking towards Delaney with a big smile and open arms. Not sure what that is, but what the fuck ever.
I'm weak because I bypass the hallway bathroom for Bowen's. I'll pretend it's because the water pressure is better, but it's really so I can hyperventilate in my hands while surrounded by his scent. I want the shower door to slide open and Bowen to step inside with me.
I want him to frame my face with his big hands and tell me he doesn't want me to leave.
I want him to kiss me until the sick feeling swarming my insides and taking over goes away.
I just want him. I want to be able to get dressed, go outside, and have the right to slide right up against him.
I want him to press a kiss to my head, like he did in front of the Bennets.
I swipe my hand through the condensation on the mirror.
I almost laugh. My body is flushed from the shower, but I wouldn't be surprised if some of it wasn't still from yesterday.
From what happened right here, in front of this mirror.
There is a hickey on my throat. Front and center.
A few smaller ones are scattered on my chest.
I press on each one, wishing it would ache like I do inside. No way my dad and Delaney will miss the dark red mark. I absolutely should not get a thrill about that. Well, maybe not my dad…
I dress in clean clothes but slip Bowen's hoodie back over my head. I don't care if it's hot. Maybe his hoodie will protect me from the man himself.
When I open the cabin door, all talk quiets. Delaney takes a big bite out of a chocolate croissant, leaning against the banister. Dad takes a sip of coffee from one of the rocking chairs. Bowen thunks his head back against the rocker he's in.
“I was just telling them about how excited your mom will be,” Dad finally says after a moment. His smile is careful but genuine.
I forgot. For a moment. I'm the worst kid, honestly, because I forgot that this is his first time seeing me since the day he handed me the keys to the finished Fiona, and I climbed inside the driver's seat. I've been nothing but dodged calls, the occasional text, and pictures ever since.
He's looking at me the same way I've got Bowen looking. Like I'm nothing but a ghost, and if they blink, I'll be gone.
Even if Bowen asks me to stay, I owe it to my parents to finish what I started. To go back home. To spend time with them.
Bowen's curls are wild around his shoulders. I want to run my fingers through them. I want to crawl on his lap and bury them in the strands right now, right before kissing his stoic mouth and promising him I'll be back.
What would he do if I did it? Would he push me off? Not kiss me back? Just stare at me like I'm a moron who can't see that what happened yesterday was a one off?
‘Cause how could he want me? Me?
After everything.
He made you look him in the eye and tell him you were his. Twice.
I rub my chest and shake my head when Delaney gestures to the box of pastries.
“Did he call you to chase me off?” I ask, not missing the hard thread in my voice. The question was supposed to hold humor, but it falls flat on the porch between us.
Delaney takes the last bite of her food and considers me while she chews. “No, but I would have if he did.”
Bowen finally looks over at me, brows pulled down low on his forehead. He looks confused.
You and me both, buddy.
I have the irrational fear that my feet will grow their own consciousness and run me either straight to his lap or off the porch and around to the small cabin. At least there, it's glaringly obvious that he thinks of me. That he cares.
Bowen is a man who’s been hiding behind fear and heartbreak for years. He doesn't deal well with expressing his feelings. I've never been one to push, but fuck, I want to push right now.
Bowen unfolds himself from the rocking chair, and it's then that I see the bag when he bends over to grasp the handles. My duffel.
While I was trying not to fall apart over him in the shower, he was busy packing my bag. Red the Dragon’s face is popping out of the top. Bowen stops in front of me, sets the bag down at my feet.
I hear Delaney say “so” to my dad, but I don't hear anything else when Bowen reaches out with one hand, wrapping it around the back of my neck, and pulls me to his chest.
I go. Of course I go. I let my forehead rest against him and focus on the feel of his thumb rubbing the sensitive skin under my ear.
There's no kiss. No declarations or promises. But I swear I can feel his threads fraying with every exhale against my hair. His body is tense, and his heart is pounding the same rhythm as my own.
“Go see your mom, kitten. Spend time with your parents.”
“What about you?”
Bowen shrugs, dropping his hand and stepping back. “This is my home, Kit. If you ever find your way back around, I'll be here.”
If I ever find my way back around.
I think about it with every mile home. I try to listen to my dad's conversation, but it's hard when my whole body is rejecting the distance.
I almost beg him to turn around multiple times. So I can go back to that damn cabin and pull Bowen down for a kiss. So I can poke my finger into his chest and demand he drop the tough guy act. So I can drop down to my knees at his feet and beg him to care enough to ask me to come back.
I don't want him to talk like me leaving is a given. I want him to demand my time. My apologies. My heart.
I want to actually get to wake up next to him.
I want to live a whole day knowing what it's like to have Bowen Briggs smile at me with the first rays of sun bathing his bronzed face, still soft with sleep.
I want to make love to him in the small cabin, burning new memories into his mind.
I want to kiss him in the hammock and run with him through the trees.
I want to figure out what the hell I want to do in life with his steady support by my side.
I don't want to know more days without him.
It takes until we're pulling in the driveway for me to realize, I didn't worry a single time about leaving him there with Delaney.