Chapter 31
" B ut otherwise, things are good?"
It doesn't matter that my father can't hear me over the phone. I nod, then roll my eyes at myself and answer aloud. "Yeah. Pretty good."
Great , actually, but I can't say that. It would open up way too many cans of worms. As far as my father knows, I'm staying up here on this mountain out of a sense of duty, selflessly using the remaining month or so of my sabbatical to finalize my grandmother's affairs and her get house ready to be put up for sale. I'm alone out here.
Basically, my father doesn't know anything.
A couple of weeks have passed since my first, epic orgy with my guys, and since then, we've settled into a routine.
I help Deandre in the workshop most mornings, then head to my grandmother's house for the afternoon.
I wake up in one man's bed and go to sleep in another's.
While we haven't gotten quite so adventurous as that first experiment with group sex again, I've taken them in pairs, and even a trio once, and each time has somehow been better than the last. I feel like a queen, constantly being pleasured and cared for by my harem of attendants.
And yes, my doubts still linger. Surely, jealousy has to rear its head at some point.
Surely I can't go on like this forever. I'm going to have to return to my job in another state. I need to make a living, stand on my own. I can't just keep getting passed around from guy to guy, earning my keep with my body.
After Richard discarded me, I can't bring myself to trust that anyone's really going to want to have me hanging around long-term.
It's a nice fantasy, though. And I'm going to enjoy it now, before it crumbles to the ground.
There's no way my father can know where my thoughts have strayed, but he chooses that moment to clear his throat. "Have you run into the boys who took over the old Tucker place at all?"
Right. He seemed reluctant as hell, but he did remind me before he left that Cayden was someone I could always turn to if I needed help.
Shit. I don't want to lie. But I'm conflicted enough about my new, intensely sexual relationship with the five mountain men of Lonely Peak. No way my straight-laced father would understand. If he knew how I revel in letting them have their ways with me, he'd be ashamed. Humiliated.
"Um, yeah, actually." I dig my nails into my palm to help keep my voice even and not give too much away. I search around for a half-truth that might satisfy him without forcing me to lie. "The power went out a while ago. Cayden came by and helped me out."
Lord, that is the most misleading truth I've ever told.
Strained, my father says, "Oh. That was nice of him."
"Yeah, it really was."
"Well, just be careful. They're a wild bunch up there."
"Believe me, I know." Shit, that was too telling.
"Oh?"
"I mean." I stutter, fumbling about. "You hear the stories."
And I have. Adam and I went down the mountain for some supplies just the other day. I overheard the clerks at the grocery store gossiping about those boys at the old Tucker place, how they looked positively wild.
If they only knew.
My body pulses with heat, but there'll be time to remind myself exactly how wild they can be later.
Fortunately, my dad redirects the conversation onto safer topics. I mumble "uh-huh" at all the right intervals as we discuss a couple more issues related to settling my grandmother's estate.
For all that it was just the two of us for so much of my life, my father and I have never been close. That's painfully clear as we steer around difficult topics and stick to polite chatter over logistics.
When we ultimately run out of things to talk about, we say our goodbyes. I hang up and toss my phone aside, then drop my head into my hands.
I'm sitting on the guest bed that's nominally mine, for all that I have yet to sleep in it since my first night. It's nice to have a space of my own for moments like this.
When I'm talking to the one human being on this earth that I can legitimately call family, and that conversation only leaves me feeling lonelier than I was when I started.
I give myself a moment.
But the moment doesn't last. I drag myself up and finish what I nominally came in here to do—get dressed and ready for the day.
Life on the mountain is pretty casual, and I spend a lot of my day doing real work, so making myself presentable doesn't exactly take me long.
When I emerge, it's in leggings and a T-shirt, with a long, stolen flannel draped over it all.
My hair is up in a messy bun, and my face is naked except for a swipe of lipgloss and concealer.
The guys still greet me as if I'm the most gorgeous thing they've ever seen.
I trade Adam a kiss for a plate of pancakes and Sergio a grope of my ass for coffee.
I sit down to Cayden and Jax each placing a hand on one of my knees, while Deandre sits opposite me, his long leg extended so that his foot touches mine.
And it's so easy to sink into this life I'm sharing with these men.
I can almost forget the way talking to my dad made me feel.
Almost.
Putting on a brighter smile than I really, feel, I dig into my breakfast. "So," I say to Deandre, "think we can get that order finished up this morning?"
We've been making good progress, so it seems doable.
But he gives me a funny look. "Didn't I tell you? Me and Cayden finished it up last night. Nothing left to do except let these lugs"—he jerks his thumb at Jax and Sergio—"get it crated up and sent off."
"Oh." A mysterious unease settles in my abdomen.
"We made quick work of it. I got you and Cayden to thank for that. Couldn't have done it without you."
Cayden rolls his eyes. "We're a team, man. Of course I help out."
I nod along, but the comment didn't quite seem meant for me. I'm here, and I'm helping. But part of the team? I'm not so sure.
"Sooo…" I trail off, waiting for him to let me know what they'll need me to do next.
"So nothing," Deandre says. "Workshop's closed for a couple of days. We earned it."
"Really?" Why does that make my throat feel tight?
"I worked out the schedule," Adam confirms. "Rejected a couple of requests and negotiated longer lead times on the rest. You guys deserve a little time off. I won't let you get so crunched again—not if I can help it."
"So you don't need me today?"
Deandre shines a wide, loping grin at me. "Always need you, baby girl. But nah, the workshop can get by without you for a while."
That should fill me with relief. Helping out in the shop for half my days has seriously delayed my work on my grandmother's house. I should be happy to get back over there.
Especially since work isn't the only thing I've been doing over there.
I let my mind wander for a moment to the other project that's been eating into my time.
Ever since I accepted that I loved—and was happy to be loved by —all these men, the creative urge has been prickling at the back of my mind. A couple of days after our group sex adventure, I gave up and dug through my old stuff, tucked away in a corner of Grandma's attic.
The paints hadn't been the newest or the highest quality, but they'd been there. A quick online order filled out my supply. I've cleared out a corner of an old parlor and turned it into my studio.
For days now, I've been painting up a storm.
It's been ages since I've been so inspired.
The works are somewhat abstracted—attempts to capture a feeling more than a scene.
But these men all feature in the images—prominently.
Hints of musculature and chiseled jaws, dark eyes and high cheekbones. Rugged beards and corded forearms.
None of the paintings are probably worth much. But getting back to my passion, back to my art, has been exhilarating. Having more time to concentrate on it will be good for my soul .
Only losing my time in the workshop feels like losing something way more important than that. A niggling, disappointed twinge fires off in my heart.
I don't have long to dwell on it, though.
Deandre announces that he's using his day off to see to some other work around the property.
Soon enough, Cayden, Jax and Sergio head off to start putting chairs in crates.
I work alongside Adam for a minute, helping to clear the table and clean up, but before long, he shoos me.
"Go. You need some time at your grandmother's house. I got this"
"But I want to help." Jeez, I am way too close to pouting.
"I know you do." He kisses my forehead and strokes my shoulder. "But let me do this for you. You go focus on the things you need to do."
He's trying to be kind. I should be grateful. But it feels like Cayden's comment about being a team—like I'm something external to the cohesiveness of their unit, tending to my own affairs.
He won't be cajoled into letting me wash the dishes, though, so I'm left either wringing my hands and watching him or getting going.
Choosing the ladder, I gather my stuff and head out. The cool air is bracing, but the truck I'm driving heats up fast enough.
Everything at my grandmother's house is exactly as I left it.
The stillness of the place haunts me nearly as much as Grandma's ghost. Suddenly I'm achingly reminded of why I let Cayden and Jax drag me back to their house in the first place—and it had very, very little to do with either the power outage or the storm.
In the end, I don't even bother to pretend I'm going to get any real work done right away. Instead, I head for my makeshift studio, where I pull out a brand new canvas. Its blankness stares at me. I feel as empty as it looks, like I, too, am made up of miles of nothing but flat, harsh white.
At least it's full of potential, though—unlike me. I grab my brush, loading it up with thick black pigment, then I pause.
The content of my internal monologue catches up with me, and I nearly drop the brush.
I finally put a word to the feeling gnawing at my chest.
Useless .
That's how I feel.
Like right now, here on this mountain, I have no real use at all.