Chapter 26
Chastity
I wakeup uneasy and uncertain what I’m supposed to say or how I’m supposed to act. Nevaeh texted me an hour ago saying she is on her way home, so it’s important to get Hank out of the house now. He grumbles a little and kisses me a lot, but he drags his clothes on, rakes his fingers through his hair, and stuffs his feet into his shoes while he yawns.
Impatient and afraid Josiah will get home while he’s still here, I offer Hank a sip of coffee from my mug, then immediately take it back. “I’m sorry. You have to go.”
“I’m going.” He just stands there, smiling at me.
“What?”
“You’re so cute.”
I open the front door. “Oh, my word. Go home. I’ll talk to you later.”
We easily have twenty minutes, but it’s safe to say I’m freaking out. It’s a delayed reaction. The incredible sex, the phantom condom, the curse. The fact that what was supposed to be a lesson in oral sex turned into a full night of nakedness. It wasn’t even supposed to be that. Hank was supposed to teach me how to cook, not teach me how to sit on his face. It’s amazing, a full shift in everything I’ve ever thought about my future. I need to shower and sit at the kitchen table with my coffee and regroup before my son and roommate get home.
It becomes obvious Hank isn’t going to rush out the door unless I encourage him. I step outside. “Where’s your car?” It isn’t in my driveway.
To my relief, he follows me. “Across the street. I didn’t want to block anyone in if Nevaeh hadn’t left yet.”
My neighbor, Mrs. McDonnell, is at her mailbox. She’s pretending not to notice us, but she’s also lingering for a long time just to pull out those bulk store flyers.
“Hey, Chastity?” he says.
“Yes?”
“I hate to break it to you, but this is real.” Hank tucks my hair behind my ear and fixes the scarf around my neck. He leans forward and kisses me softly. “I like you. You like me. We’re in love. And nothing bad is going to happen. If you’re pregnant, we’ll have a baby. If you’re not, we’ll have a baby later.”
He’s right. I’m being anxious for no reason. Everything is different now. I’m totally and completely in love with him. There’s no other explanation for this bubbly sensation in my chest. He said he loves me, and I believe him, because Hank may be a charmer, but he’s not a bullshitter. He means it.
He loves me. That’s incredible.
Yet, in spite of all his reassurances, I can’t shake the feeling that something will go wrong. I’ll be alone again, taking care of myself, because no one else ever has. Not even when I was a child. No one takes care of my emotional needs, and I don’t know how to let him do that.
He takes a step backward, toward the street, not breaking eye contact with me.
“But…” I’m torn between wanting to swoon and having a panic attack.
I’m not sure what any of this means beyond that I’ve just had the most amazing night of my life and I’m in love with Hank Young.
“But nothing,” he says. He takes another step back, over the curb, and into the street. He gives me a wink and a grin. “Face it, Chastity DuBois. I’m your boyfriend.”
My boyfriend.
There is no time to process that. I see it before Hank does. A car comes around the corner right as he steps smack dab into the middle of the lane. “Hank!” I call out, taking a step forward. “Watch out!”
He turns, puzzled.
The car hits him.
Just bam. Contact. And he goes flying.
I scream. And scream. And keep screaming. At the top of my lungs.
It seems like my best course of action. The only thing I can possibly do.
For a split second, none of my trauma training kicks into gear. Not a single ounce of it. Not when I see Hank Young, my boyfriend, thrown through the air and land a few feet in front of the reckless Honda, where I can’t see him.
I don’t want to look. I can’t look. Every muscle in my body is frozen except for my vocal cords, which have found a volume I didn’t even know they were capable of.
Then I surge forward, desperate to get to him. I need him to be okay. If Hank is dead because of me, I don’t even know what I’ll do. People rush into the street from all directions, which prevents me from getting to him, and a woman slips her arm around me, murmuring something I can”t process.
“Move!” I demand, trying to shove past a man wearing a cowboy hat, which isn’t helping my visibility.
“Can someone please tell her I’m okay?” Hank says, clear as day.
“He’s okay, he’s okay!” someone yells.
I shake off who I now see is Mrs. McDonnell and surge forward, running with zero grace and full hysterical relief. Hank is on the asphalt, looking like he’s all in one piece. I fall down next to him and start checking him for injuries.
The driver appears, running his hands through his hair. He’s probably sixteen, lanky, with a face covered in acne. “Holy shit, man, I didn’t even see you. You okay?”
“You were probably on your phone,” Mrs. McDonnell says with an icy tone of condemnation. “Looking at some silly video.”
The teen’s face is full of guilt.
All I care is that Hank isn’t bleeding or crushed or twisted beyond recognition. “Does anything hurt?” I ask him.
“Just my pride. But feel free to keep groping me. I’m enjoying it.”
The inappropriate comment reassures me that he really isn’t hurt badly. “Are you sure?”
“That you should keep groping me? Yes.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” I hold up two fingers.
“Two.”
That reassures me.
Hank starts to sit up and winces. “Uh, my shoulder might be a touch messed up.”
His face drains of color instantly from the motion of going vertical.
I immediately see his shoulder is drooping, dislocated. “Let’s get you out of the street, and then I’ll put your shoulder back in place.”
“Do you have to? I think I can just live with it like this.”
“Yes, I have to.” I glance around. “Someone help me get him up.”
“She’s a nurse,” Mrs. McDonnell tells everyone with a pride that, under normal circumstances, I would find sweet.
Right now, I’m just focused on getting my stomach out of my throat.
A beefy biker guy I recognize as living a few houses down hauls Hank to his feet.
“Thanks,” Hank tells him. “I’m fine, everyone. Seriously. Thank you for your help.” He gives the teen a reassuring clap on the shoulder with his uninjured arm. “It’s okay, don’t feel bad. Just lousy timing. Though I imagine we could both stand to pay a little more attention, right? That could have been a lot worse.”
The thought that it could have been so much worse makes me feel like I’m going to faint. I see little stars in front of my eyes, and a darkness descends like a summer storm cloud. Fortunately, it’s brief and recedes almost immediately, but it rattles me.
The teen nods vigorously. “I swear I will pay more attention.”
“Excellent. Have a good day, y’all.”
“Thank you,” I say to everyone. “I appreciate your help.”
“Lord, you can scream,” Mrs. McDonnell says. “You must really love this man.”
“I do.” There’s no question about that.
I reach for Hank, feeling a little weak in the knees, but then I realize I’m actually hanging on him more than I’m helping him. Taking a deep breath, I put my hand on his lower back and guide him toward the house. He’s limping, but I don’t readily see the cause. His clothes are covered in dirt and gravel. I can see he has road rash all over his injured arm and his temple. He’s lucky he didn’t land on his head.
The thought makes me shudder.
Once we reach the porch, he actually sits down heavily in one of the plastic chairs. “Let’s do this thing,” he says. “What do I do with my arm? Hold it, lift it, what?”
Attempting to be detached, I speak to him the way I would any patient. “I’m just going to take your wrist and pull your arm outward. It will guide the ball of your bone back to the arm socket. It will still be sore, but it should feel better than it does right now.”
“I don’t think it can feel much worse.” He gives me a smile, but it’s a pained one.
I take his wrist and get a firm grip on it. “You ready?”
“Absolutely.”
I lift and tug until I hear his shoulder pop back into place. “There. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He gives a tentative lift of his arm. “It does feel better.”
“Don’t move it. We need to put it in a sling and get you some ibuprofen. Why were you limping?”
With his left hand, he lifts the bottom of his jeans. “I think my ankle might be fucked up.”
It doesn’t take a professional to see his ankle is massively swollen. “Oh no. We need to take you for an X-ray. What did you land on when you got thrown through the air?”
“That’s a little dramatic,” he protests. “It was more like a tap and a stumble.”
My nerves say otherwise. I can’t shake the feeling that I might throw up at any given moment. “No, it wasn’t. I saw you go flying.”
He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “I landed on my side and mostly my shoulder because I turned to brace myself at impact and to protect my head. I’m a little beat up, but I’m fine. This isn’t because of any curse. Don’t do that to yourself. I can see the little worry wheels turning in your head.”
“It’s exactly because of a curse. I refuse to talk about this right now though. We need to get you to the ER. I need to know you’re okay.” I sound clipped and unpleasant.
I’m not handling this well at all. I should be reassuring him. I should be loving and gentle and smoothing his hair back. Yet I’m tense from trying to hold it together because all I can think about is that he could have died, and it would be my fault.
The tears are threatening, but I can’t do that right now. I can’t cry when Hank needs medical care.
I take a shuddering breath as he shoves himself out of the chair with his good hand.
“Normally I wouldn’t even bother going to the ER, but I think you need me to,” he says.
“Yes, I do,” I say firmly.
Once he’s in my car, I go back into the house, grab my purse, and lock the front door. The sickening feeling in my gut hasn’t gone away.
Hank has his eyes closed and he’s leaning on the passenger window.
He’s obviously in more pain than he’s willing to admit.
He immediately opens his eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” I ask as I start the car.
“Pull away from me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I know exactly what he’s talking about. I can’t help it. I can’t stop it. My heart feels frozen with fear.
Throwing my car in reverse, I hit the gas too hard and cut the wheel too soon. The tire is on the grass, and I almost take out my mailbox.
“Slow down there, Nascar. Saving two minutes won’t matter.”
His voice isn’t censorious at all. He sounds amused.
But I burst into tears.
“Woah, woah. I’m kidding,” he says, instantly sitting up straighter. “Chastity, come on, don’t do that, sweetheart. Please?”
He’s pleading with me to stop crying, but nothing can stem the flow of tears I’ve been holding back. The tears don’t stop until I pull into the parking lot of the ER and whip into a spot faster than I should or intend to. We jerk forward when I brake. Hank has stayed silent and let me cry, though he looks like he would prefer to be under a tire again rather than have to listen to me.
“I’m going to go get someone to take you in,” I tell him, opening my car door.
“I can walk.”
His stubbornness makes me lose it entirely. “Will you just let me take care of you?” I ask, shrilly. “You don”t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything. I grew up with six siblings, sweetheart. The entire Young philosophy was to shake it off. Give it a shake, take some time, and then see where you’re at. I’m not trying to reject your help, I swear. It’s just not that big of a deal.”
“It’s a big fucking deal! I could be pregnant! You could have died!”
“But I didn’t. And you’re probably not.”
His nonchalance is making me insane. I climb out of the car. “Walk or don’t walk. Do whatever you want.” I slam my door shut with a fury borne out of fear and loop my purse over my head so I don’t have to carry it.
I stomp off to check him in and get some help moving him, but by the time I have explained at the front desk what happened to him, Hank is standing beside him. He limped his dumb ass all the way into the waiting area.
My lip is trembling. My palms are sweating.
I ignore him and text Nevaeh to let her know what’s going on, then I sit on a hard plastic chair and try not to freak out more than I already have.
“Do you need some water?” I ask Hank.
He starts to shake his head, but then he says, “That would be great. Thank you.”
I leap up and head for the vending machine, marveling that this is how our morning after sex is going.
Granny is laughing her ass off at me somewhere.
Hank
It’s pretty damn obvious I’ve messed up. I was worried Chastity was going to see this accident as a sign she’s cursed, and she did. But in trying to reassure her that it’s not, I’ve made her think I don’t care that she cares. That I’m insensitive to her fear and concern.
Which is the last thing in the world I want to do.
I don’t need or want water, but Chastity needs to give it to me, so I say yes. Her love is clearly expressed through taking care of people, so I need to just appreciate and accept her help, even if I don’t exactly require it.
When she returns with the water and hands it to me with a glare, I stare at the cap. My shoulder hurts like hell, and I can’t imagine twisting my wrist and how that will feel. “Okay, so I can’t actually open this. I need your help.”
“Of course.” She takes it back and untwists the cap.
She actually lifts it to my mouth, which I don’t think I’ve had anyone do in my entire life. Not past my first birthday. It’s actually kind of horrible and results in me choking, but I am not going to complain. “Listen, sweetheart. Seriously. This isn’t about a curse.” I take her hand in mine and give her a soft squeeze. “This is about you being afraid to lose me. It’s about you being alone and pregnant. Again. But Chastity, you are not alone, and you are not going to lose me. I have your back, always. I promise you that. Do you trust me?”
“Hank Young,” a bored voice says loudly.
I ignore the voice. “Chastity.”
“We have to go,” she says, jumping up and letting her hand slip out of mine. “That’s you.”
As if I don’t know my own name. But I just stand up and follow her, determined not to blow this relationship. Because that’s what it is. A relationship.
It’s a future, it’s forever.
Once we’re in a room behind a curtain, I don’t even wait. I’m sitting on the bed, but sideways. “Come here.” I hold my hand out to her.
She haltingly stands up and steps toward me, taking my hand. She stands between my knees.
“You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’re selfless and caring and you’ve created a beautiful life for yourself and your son, with no help whatsoever except for from Neveah and Miss Loretta. I find you extraordinary, and I don’t actually deserve you. But if you let me be with you, I will love you with everything I’ve got. You will never be alone ever again, Chastity. I swear you’re it for me.”
“Are you sure this is what you want? A serious relationship, a child in your life that isn’t yours. You just got hit by a car because of me.”
“I got hit by a car because that kid was texting and driving, and I didn’t look where I was walking. It’s not the heavens trying to strike me dead because I got inside you.”
The curtain yanks open, and the nurse looks startled as she hears the last bit I say.
“Knock, knock,” she says cheerfully. She’s in her fifties, and she looks like a less-nutty version of my mother. The same haircut and demeanor. “How are we doing in here?”
Chastity goes into medical talk. I tune it all out and impatiently wait for Nurse Brenda, as she introduces herself, to leave again.
X-rays, blah, blah, blah. I don’t fucking care. My shoulder and ankle will heal.
The second she leaves, I pick up where we left off.
“I’ve never been married, engaged, or even lived with a woman, that’s true. But I’ve never done those things because I’ve never been in love with a woman. I’m in love with you.” I caress her hand. “So when I tell you I want this, I want you, you can trust me, because I don’t say anything I don’t mean and you know that.”
Chastity blows out a deep, agonized sigh. “How do you know this is the right thing? I mean, we’ve had all these years and never got together.”
I tilt my head.
She shakes her head. “You know what I mean. We’ve never tried to be together.”
I had told myself I wouldn’t talk her into anything, that I would let her date and come to her conclusions. But I can’t do that. I can’t watch her decide that we can’t be together because she’s afraid she’ll lose me.
“You know how you’re always saying that Josiah was meant to be yours? That you don’t know why he had to come to you the way he did, but he was always meant to belong to you? Did you ever stop and think that I’m the same way? I’m meant to be yours too, Chastity. It’s not a curse. It’s the universe telling us to get our butts in gear and listen to the damn signs. I keep ending up in your path, and you’re supposed to accept it, not push me away. I’m yours, and I belong to you, heart and soul, whether you like it or not. So you might as well like it. I’ll spend every minute of every day reassuring you that I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you need, baby. This isn’t an impulse. This is just the world righting itself.”
Her gaze softens. “That sounds very lovely when you put it like that.”
“I’m a romantic son of a bitch.”
She laughs softly, clearly giving in. “You’re something, that’s for sure.”
I pull her closer in between my legs. “Kiss me and make me all better.”
Her body relaxes, she melts into my embrace. “You scared me today.”
“That was nothing. Just a scratch.” I grip her ass with both hands. Funny how I can’t open a water bottle, but I can feel up her ass. “I’m your first and last boyfriend. I have to say, I find that very hot. I wouldn’t have thought I would, but I do. Or maybe I just find you hot.”
“I find you hot, too.” She presses her lips to mine, gently at first, then hungrily. “I love you. I want you.”
“You have me.”
A man’s booming voice says, “I think this one is going to live.”
Chastity laughs and pulls back, her cheeks pink, eyes bright with tears and love.
“So who do we have here?” the doctor asks, looking at the paperwork in his hand.
“Hank Williams Young,” Chastity says. “The Williams is silent.” She smiles at me.
“Oh, hey, you’re Cash’s brother. I heard you moved back to town. What happened?” He starts to examine me.
“I walked into a car.”
“Were you on your phone?”
“No, I was staring at my girlfriend,” I tell him. “Look at her. I have a hard time taking my eyes off of her.”
“Oh my word,” Chastity says, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Doctor, Hank is a chef. How long is this shoulder going to be an issue?”
“Just a day or two. We’ll slap a boot on that ankle after we X-ray it, but I don’t think it’s broken. You’ll be right as rain in no time. But maybe take a couple of days off of all strenuous activities, including sex, you two.”
Fat fucking chance. I didn’t have open-heart surgery. I twisted my damn ankle.
I give Chastity a look that conveys exactly what I think about this overreaching medical advice.
When the doctor exits, she leans over and whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you a blowie later.”
Hell, yeah. “Sold.”