40. Nessa
40
NESSA
W e barely made it back to the house before Remi started fussing in her crib. I’d planned my workout perfectly, placing a monitor next to the speaker so I could check on her while I wailed on the bag.
It’d been a hell of a workout and far more than I’d anticipated when I first went out there. My body still hummed so much with what we did back in the shed that I hadn’t objected when Jensen had slipped his hand in mine or right now when he’d placed a kiss on my temple and told me to go take a shower while he got the baby settled.
It was…surreal…in the best possible way.
The most terrifying way.
Because this feeling couldn’t last, could it?
I’d made running a habit, but the things that normally pushed guys away had Jensen doubling down. The normally buttoned-up Sheriff wasn’t just pressed uniforms and helping little old ladies cross the street.
He was unhinged and commanding and still somehow sweet. Every stroke and caress had owned me from the inside out. He’d known what I needed and given it to me and then some.
But he’d also given me the control in every word—every movement he made—forcing me into the moment and letting me decide when it was all too much.
Or not enough.
My thoughts are an endless loop as I pad gingerly to the bathroom, my body aching and sore and absolutely exhausted in the best possible way.
Taking my aggression out on Jensen had been far superior to going rounds with the bag. It had always been my go-to but now it would never be enough.
The man was ruining me.
And I didn’t hate it.
Turning the water on, I let my eyelids fall shut and let the sound of the spray drown the noise in my head. It would be so easy to see myself here, in this house, with Jensen and Remi.
It was a dream I never hoped could be mine and realistically it still couldn’t—not now—at least not with Jensen.
But would I want anyone else?
The resounding no has a sad smile playing on my lips, as I strip out of my clothes before climbing into the spray.
I’m not sure what the answer is, and there are too many emotions tonight to think any of these musings could be something real and lasting and mine.
Still, I take my time, washing my hair and body before climbing out and wrapping myself in a fluffy gray towel.
I’m so tired, I barely remember lying down on the bed, promising myself it would just be a minute and then I’d get up and put on pajamas. Vaguely, I remember the mattress dipping behind me, Jensen’s corded forearm pulling me back against his chest and tucking us in.
It feels like a dream, but it’s not until sunlight is pouring through the curtains that I realize it wasn’t a dream at all. My towel is wrapped awkwardly around my hips, my breasts exposed to the cool air, my nipples perked up but not quite ready to cut glass.
Stretching, I see a note on the nightstand and smile even before I see the words.
Nessa,
Coaching, holidays, book clubs—there’s nothing you can’t do. Enjoy today and don’t worry about rushing home. I’ll grab takeout for dinner and we can eat it naked in bed.
Sheriff
Sighing dreamily, I clutch the paper to my chest and roll my head to the side where the bed is empty, the sheets cold, though the faint smell of his cologne still lingers. My brows furrow as I sit up.
Am I giddy?
No, that can’t be right.
My jaded heart had long since been broken, the pieces never quite fitting back together the way they had before the accident. I’d lived years without ever having to face the reality of my past, the one that had so pragmatically shaped my future.
It had been easier.
But now there’s nothing easy about lying in Jensen’s bed, the one where he fucked and made love to me in equal measure. The one I fell asleep in his arms in night after night and couldn’t imagine leaving.
Angry at the spiral my thoughts have taken, the way I allowed myself to be so easily swept up into the fantasy of a life here, I throw back the blankets and relish in the feel of the cool wood floor against my feet.
Heaving out a breath, I stand naked in the center of the room, trying desperately to calm my racing heart as I mentally shove all my wayward emotions back into their box.
The box that seems to be overflowing these days.
I’ve almost managed it when my phone dings with a text from my agent.
AGENT: CHECK YOUR EMAIL
Hands shaking, I swipe the screen and stare at the subject line:
Hot New Contract—You Need To See This!
Skimming the details, my heart sinks instead of soars. It’s everything I wanted and more.
Fuck.
“Is everything all right?” Dottie asks as she takes her coat off and hangs it on the hook by the door. Even hours later, I haven’t been able to shake the mood the email had put me in. And even though she barely knows me, Jensen’s mother can tell I’m not myself. I briefly wonder if all mothers can do that, but I couldn’t remember a time my mother had ever looked beyond the surface.
I open my mouth and close it, thinking over my words before speaking. I don’t want to lie to her, but I’m not ready to delve into everything either.
“Being in Blackstone Falls has been unexpected. I’ve seen bits and parts of small-town charm over the years, traveling and spending time with friends. But”—I swallow hard as I meet her gaze, her eyes seeming to understand exactly what I’m feeling—“there’s something special here, and it’s been hard to reconcile this with my life in Nashville.”
Her smile is kind as she takes a seat at the island. “The year my daughter, Indie, turned nine, I came down with one of those colds that hits you outta nowhere and lands you right on your rear. Do you know the kind I mean?”
“I do,” I hedge, not sure where this is going.
“Everyone, Indie included, told me that we could postpone her day until I was feelin’ better. Wayne was workin’ but knew I was upset and said he could pick something up on his way home.” She chuckles as I lean my hip against the counter. “But Jensen wasn’t having it. He wrapped the rest of her presents and found a cookbook for a cake recipe. He wouldn’t even look at a box cake mix. Sawyer ran him to the store and then he made a mess of my kitchen, measuring and stirring until he’d made this lopsided chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. He dyed the frosting pink because it was her favorite.”
“How did it taste?”
“Delicious even though it looked like it’d been patched together after bouncing around in a cake box.” She chuckles. “But it was a great reminder and something I think of often even now.”
“What’s that?”
“Life doesn’t always fit into a box as neatly as we want it to. That year, Indie had done a lot of growing up, finding her way and all that with friends and school. It was an important birthday and I’d wanted something elaborate for her, something special, and I couldn’t make it happen.”
“You were sick. That couldn’t be helped.”
Dottie nods. “Jensen had seen Indie’s disappointment and mine, and even though he’d never baked a cake, he tried his damndest. And it’s one of the most memorable celebrations we’ve ever had.”
“I don’t understand; why are you telling me this?”
“Sometimes in life we think we can shoulder all the burdens ourselves. We focus so much on the big ones that we often forget about the little ones, the ones that seem insignificant on their own but together can come toppling down when you least expect it.”
“Dottie…”
Holding up her hands, she says, “No one ever said I wasn’t long-winded, but I do have a point.” Smiling, I wait for her to continue. “I could have let myself wallow over ruinin’ my daughter’s birthday. I could have let that memory be something that hurt my heart instead of the beautiful celebration it turned out to be. Indie was thrilled, and Wayne and Sawyer took her to get a new dress while Jensen cleaned up and set the table. We redefined what success meant to us.”
“Lopsided cakes and time spent together.”
“And not just that year but many years after.” She pauses, a wry grin on her lips. “Jensen’s decorating never quite improved but it was always delicious.” Reaching over, she places her hand on mine. “You’re allowed to redefine what success means to you. And to give yourself permission to celebrate the things that bring you joy.”
She made it sound so easy, like changing the trajectory of my life wouldn’t waste nearly two decades of blood, sweat, and tears for a game that still owned a huge piece of my heart.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I say quietly, her words and the image of a young Jensen covered in flour and icing playing out like a movie in my head.
“Of course, darlin’.” Pausing, she adds, “I don’t want to overstep, but it looks like you could use a hug.”
And like everything else that Blackstone Falls has changed for me, I nod. “That would be really nice.”
The Nessa that lived in Nashville and lived in the public eye didn’t need hugs or pep talks about cakes and underlying happiness. But that woman wasn’t the same one standing in this kitchen wrapped in Dottie Kade’s arms.
And I’m starting to like this one better.