45. June
JUNE
The bed dips, rousing me from sleep.
“Ford?” I rasp, my voice rusty from sleep. “Hey.”
“Hey, June Bug.”
Rolling toward him, I yawn, and snuggle closer. “It’s late.”
“I know, sorry.”
“How are your brothers?”
“They’re good.”
“That’s good.” I breathe in deep, catching a hint of beer or something clinging to his T-shirt. “Were you at a bar?”
“The Pelican,” he answers.
“Mmm.”
The bed shifts, and his warmth starts to disappear. “I should probably change—”
“Stay.” I wrap my arm around him to keep him from leaving me. And because he’s a glutton for giving in to my every whim lately, he caves almost instantly.
Settling against the mattress, he drags his fingers along my bare arm.
Slowly. Rhythmically. It feels good. He feels good.
And not just in a physical sense. It’s like his presence has some strange, calming effect on me.
Like, I can’t really settle until he’s with me.
It’s a scary thought, but one I’ve come to terms with over the last little while.
And the really crazy part? Ever since the car race, he hasn’t even hinted at wanting to keep his distance, either.
It’s like he’s also fully accepted our connection, and instead of fighting it as he had been, he’s embraced it. He’s embraced me.
“Missed you,” he murmurs.
“Mmm,” I hum.
As my eyelids start to fall, he mutters, “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Hmm?”
“What do you know about Bryan?”
Bryan? Wrinkles form along my forehead, though my eyes stay scrunched closed. Why would Ford ask me anything about Bryan, let alone in the middle of the night? Sitting up, I rub my eyes. “What?”
He shakes his head as if hoping it’ll dispel whatever’s on his mind. “Forget it.” He grabs the collar of his shirt and tugs it off. With a thump, it lands on the ground at the edge of the bed. “Come on, lie back down.”
I want to. Boy, do I want to. Especially when he’s half-naked, his eyes are hooded, and he’s lying in my bed. But watching him? The moonlight filtering in through the window and painting his Adonis-like body in light and shadows, it’s easy to see he’s…I don’t know, off?
Catching my stare, he lifts his arm, beckoning me to snuggle into him like we normally do. “Come on.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Is the house okay?” I prod.
With a gentle laugh, he murmurs, “Everything’s fine, Bug.”
“Then why do you want to know about Bryan?”
“It can wait ‘til morning—”
“I’m already up.”
His sigh is heavy. “Should’ve kept my mouth shut,” he mutters to himself.
“I like this mouth.” I grab his chin and kiss him. “Now, tell me what you want to know about Bryan.”
Another sigh escapes him. “Did he seem weird at the house?”
“The house?” I ask, scooting closer.
“After the fire,” he clarifies.
“Oh. Uh.” I hesitate. “I mean, he was pretty quiet, I guess? And awkward. Kind of nervous, but considering the last time we spoke and how I broke things off only to show up at Ford Harden’s house a little while later, I mean…I don’t blame him. I was probably acting awkward and nervous, too, so…”
“Yeah, that, uh,” he pauses, “that makes sense. Hmm.” He sighs again. “Did he ever give you any red flags or anything?”
I frown. “What kind of red flags?”
“Forget it.”
I grab his chin once more and force him to look at me. “Something’s bugging you. Talk to me.” His hesitation only feeds my persistence. “Tell me,” I push.
“Look, this is, this is…I don’t want to drag you into anything you shouldn’t be in.”
Something I shouldn’t be in? I feel like I fell asleep in my bed and woke up on a completely different timeline.
With secrets and hidden codes and alternate realities.
He doesn’t want to drag me into anything I shouldn’t be in?
What does that even mean? “Are you in it?” I ask. “Whatever this it is?”
His head dips.
“Then, so am I,” I murmur.
“June—”
“You’re not alone, Ford. I’m here. And I know that might not seem like much, but—”
“Trust me, it means more than you know.” Grasping my hand from his chin, he brings my palm to his lips and kisses it. The simple touch melts my reservations, and I sag into him a little more. “You sure you want to open Pandora’s box?” he asks.
“If it means it’ll get you to open up to me, then, yes.” I rest my back against the headboard. “Now, spill.”
The sheets rustle as he moves to get comfortable until I find us sitting side by side with our backs pressed to the headboard.
I wait with bated breath for him to speak.
To tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, whatever he’s nervous to talk to me about, it feels like a doozy.
And if I were talking to anyone else, I’d probably let them get away with their silence, preferring to stick my head in the sand.
But with Ford? I want every piece of him.
The good, the bad, and the ugly. So, if it means prying the man open a little here and there, I have no problem doing it.
“The house fire,” he finally starts. “We have reason to believe it was arson, so we asked around for some information about Lexie’s brother, and—”
I gasp.
“It wasn’t him,” he clarifies. “We thought it was, but it wasn’t.”
My brows dip. “Then, who could it be?”
Taking my hand, he places it in his lap facing palm-side up before gently tickling the inside of my wrist. It feels good.
Amazing. My skin pebbles at the contact, and I rest my temple against his shoulder, soaking up the innocent touch until he’s ready to talk.
To open up. To let me in. “That’s the thing,” he murmurs.
“We think it had something to do with Bryan.”
Confusion courses through my system, and I lift my head. “Bryan? My Bryan?”
He growls.
“Sorry,” I rush out. “I just mean…” My frown deepens. “Why would Bryan light your house on fire?”
His fingers toy with the skin along the inside of my wrist. “Excellent question.”
And kind of a ridiculous one. I shake my head. “Ford, we weren’t that close.”
“I know,” he concedes.
“Then why would Bryan light your house on fire?”
“Did Bryan ever…” He stares at my bedroom wall, lost in his own thoughts. “Did he ever, I don’t know, did he ever mention if he knew my dad or anything?”
“They met once,” I answer. “At the, uh, at the chili cook-off, and then, I think once before?” My forehead wrinkles as I try to pinpoint the specifics. “At the auction,” I answer. “I guess that makes two times that I know of. Why?”
“Did anything feel off to you?” Ford asks.
“Um, your dad was acting kind of strange, but I don’t really know him well enough to say whether or not it was anything different than normal.”
“And Bryan?”
“I think he was kind of awestruck. He didn’t grow up with a lot of money.
Even when we were dating, we’d always split the check, and I know he still pays for a lot of his mom’s bills and things like that.
I’m pretty sure he even paid for his little sister’s dental appointment when we first met, so when we ran into your dad at the cook-off, it was like he was meeting a celebrity, you know? ”
Ford’s gentle touch stutters, his rhythmic dance along my bare skin stalling. “Of course.”
The words are nothing but a breath, and I lift my head, peeking up at Ford in the dark room. “What is it?”
“Of course, my dad would throw money at it. Money fixes everything in his eyes.” He kisses my forehead. “Thank you.”
The same wrinkle hits my brow. “Not sure I helped much.”
“You helped more than you know.” He kisses my forehead once more, then scoots down on the bed, dragging me down with him. “Now, get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” I yawn. “Work is gonna be rough.”
A rumbled hum of agreement hits my ear, as slumber takes me under.