Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NOW
H ours later, just as the early morning light begins to bleed in through the bedroom window, I watch Wells sleep. My eyes trace the dips and curves of his body, memorizing every angle and soft expanse of skin. His squared jaw and the stubble that runs across his cheek. His unkempt hair, tousled from my fingers. His broad chest as it rises and falls with his deep breathing.
We were up for most of the night, lost in each other. After he made slow and delicate work of cleaning me up in the living room, he gave me a change of clothes so I could get out of my ruined dress. But his focus snared on seeing me in his T-shirt and sweatpants, and it wasn’t long before he was hurtling us both toward new waves of pleasure.
Every careful and tender touch tore me apart, limb by limb, until I was simply a bag of bones beneath him. And then he put me back together in the light of the moonlit window, warm traces of him everywhere inside of me, becoming all that I am and will ever want to be.
I loved every glorious second of it.
He finally fell asleep about an hour ago. Even in his unconsciousness, his need took hold: body tensing, flexing beneath warm skin, reaching. Wanting. He kept an arm and a leg wrapped firmly around me, tethering me to him. And I never felt more content.
Until the quiet corners of my mind began to wake, the groaning, yawning monsters of grief and destruction fighting to take hold.
I carefully shift my hips from beneath his wide thigh, turning onto my side and nuzzling deeper into the mattress as I try to shake off what I know is an impending emotional storm. Not here , I think, willing my mind to blank. Not now .
The last thing I want is for Wells to register a single ounce of panic in me, knowing damn well he’ll take it as a sign of regret or discomfort about this whole situation—and that’s not how I feel. He’s too good, too intent on doing the right thing when it comes to this and us, and I know seeing me falter would send him into a self-sabotaging spiral.
It’s just . . . trying to reconcile how much my life has changed in the last few weeks isn’t an easy feat. It’s an emotional clusterfuck, and in quiet moments like this, the ramifications of it all pierce into me.
I will myself to fall asleep, but thoughts of Jason flood my mind. I wonder if, wherever he might be, he somehow knows what’s happened between Wells and me. What’s been slowly blooming between us since I came home and found him at the bar that night. I wonder if Jason knows how deeply the entire trajectory of my life has changed because of him—because of his accident. Because of Emma.
A soft wave of humiliation flares at the memory of my vomit on her shoes. Of the moment I learned the man I loved could hurt me like that.
I wonder if he’d be sorry. If it would be genuine.
And then I wonder if it would change anything.
If he were still here, would I forgive him? Would Wells and I still have this . . . thing between us? This thing that feels a lot like hope ?
A tear slides down the side of my face, dropping off my cheek and into the soft pillow. The truth is, I don’t regret a single moment that led me here, wrapped up in Wells’s arms. But I also don’t know what to do from here.
What I said earlier, about making a mess of this . . . I think I need to take it back.
My eyes squeeze shut as another tear falls. Is that what I’ve done? Have I made a mess of this?
If we do this, it’s going to mean something to me.
I feel him shift behind me, a warm hand flexing around my ribs as his mouth nestles on my nape. “You’re up?” he softly murmurs against my skin, sending a riot of goosebumps over my shoulder and scalp.
I quickly wipe my face before I turn to face him. He’s sleepy and swollen and my heart nearly bursts at the sight. He cracks a single eye open, barely a sliver, and his lips curve into a smile that punches right into me. “Yeah,” I say back, cheeks pulled wide. And I feel the heavy haze of grief begin to dissipate.
He pulls me into his chest. “Did you get any sleep?”
I shake my head. “Not really,” I admit.
He hums, his fingertips featherlight as they stroke down my bare back. “I have to leave soon,” he says. “Kasey and I are taking a couple horses out to Williamson County.”
“Are they being adopted?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Maybe.” He smiles. He presses his thumb into my bottom lip, dragging it down and watching in fascination. “I can’t bear to leave you like this.”
“Then don’t,” I try, reaching to pull his shoulders into me.
He relents, letting me move his large frame over my body until he’s caging me into the bed. Heat pools in his eyes. “Trust me, sunshine,” he murmurs. “If I could lock you in this room and keep you here for months, I would.”
“Why do you call me ‘sunshine’?” I ask, my gaze fastened to his face. I’ve asked so many times over the years—I finally want to know.
He looks down at me with so much tenderness I almost can’t stand it, his eyes bright and honest as he asks, “Isn’t it obvious?”
I shake my head, and his smile grows wistful.
“I’ve always lived in the shadows . . . the shadows of my brothers, of Jason. I never felt as exposed as you made me feel the second you showed up in our lives. I knew you were Jason’s girl, but . . . you saw me, too. You looked at me and found me hiding in my obscurity. Your light pulls me out of it, Layla. It shines over me in a way I’ve never known before.”
Tears burn my eyes as he adjusts his weight over me, his hand winding into my hair. “Having you like this . . . it’s like touching the sunrise. You might pull me in so deep that I burn to ashes, but I don’t care. It’s already worth it.”
He kisses away my tears as they fall until we’re both breathless. Until our fingers turn frantic and our mouths hot. Sliding a hand down my body, he curls his fingers into my slick skin and groans, circling around me and making me come in mere minutes. It’s obvious he’s taken care and interest in learning the ways I like to be touched, and now he wields that power over me until I’m panting and writhing beneath him.
When I reach to touch him, to grab him beneath the sheets, he shudders and shakes his head, pulling away. “I can’t,” he breathes. “Or I won’t leave this bed, and someone will come knocking.”
I laugh, my skin electric as I come down from the high of him. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll get dressed.”
“Stay,” he insists. “I want to know you’re here, warm in my bed. It’ll be a few hours—go to sleep, get some rest, and I’ll bring you home when I’m done.” He presses a tender kiss to my temple. “Okay?”
I nod, pressing another kiss to his mouth. “Okay,” I say. It’s probably better anyway—I already didn’t go home last night, and sneaking in at dawn feels more scandalous than walking in later.
My mother will be upset regardless.
He smiles, pleased. And it shatters my heart.
Wells drops me off late in the afternoon, after insisting on feeding me one of Mrs. Bennett’s egg salad sandwiches at the cabin with sweet tea he pulled out from his fridge. It’d felt so ordinary, so normal to share lunch with him, that I couldn’t deny the deep contentment that washed over me as we sat together at the tiny kitchen table.
The few hours of deep sleep after a night of incredible sex didn’t hurt, either.
My dress, now soiled, lies in a hamper in Wells’s closet. He brings me home in the black T-shirt and sweatpants he lent me last night, and as we both look out the window, it’s obvious he’s nervous for me to walk through the front door.
“You’ll call me?” he asks. “If you need anything?”
I’m usually just as anxious to face my mom, but right now I feel like nothing could burst the bubble Wells and I have created around ourselves. I turn to give him an assured smile—I don’t want him to worry. “Of course.” I nod. “But I’ll be okay, Wells. I promise.”
He looks at me like he can’t stand to let me go, and it makes my heart flip. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks. “Take you to dinner?”
My smile grows. “Yeah.” I lean to kiss him on the cheek, feeling the bite of his stubble on my lips, and then turn to push out of the truck. Wells waits for me to get inside the house before he drives away.
“Layla Lynette Hayes,” says my mother, her voice cold. It startles me, my limbs tensing as I find her in the entryway. Her eyes are sharp and narrow as she looks down, taking in the clothes I’m wearing. Realizing they’re not mine. “What in god’s name is going on with you and that boy?” she asks, her gaze horrified.
I straighten my posture. “Mom, please drop it.”
She scoffs. “You didn’t come home last night, didn’t answer any of my calls or texts, and then you saunter in here in a man’s clothes and ask me to drop it ?”
I sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, I?— ”
“You are still my daughter,” she states firmly, her tone taking on that regal southerness I’ve always been afraid of.
But not today.
“It’s not your business.”
“Oh yes it is. You might enjoy the freedom that being in New York affords you, but in this house, you are my daughter and how you conduct yourself is my business.”
“No,” I clarify. “It’s mine. You don’t get to control my life anymore, Mom. I’m not your doll or your plaything.”
“Do not disrespect me.” Her fists are clenched at the sides of her house dress—I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her so angry. “You’re supposed to be mourning the death of the man who was to be your future husband! Not gallivanting around with trash, walking into this house in his clothes like some whore .”
The word feels like a slap in the face, and my own anger burns bright.
“I need you to tell me how deep this goes,” she continues. “Tell me what is going on between you and that boy.”
“That boy is Wells Bennett, and he treats me better than Jason ever did.”
“That’s preposterous,” she counters. “Jason Moore had the means to give you the life you deserve. He took care of you, Layla. He was working hard to create a future that would have kept you safe.”
“He was cheating on me!” I shout. “He was building a future for himself , not me. He wanted me to mold my life around him, to be someone I’m not, while he was taking what he wanted without any regard for me or my feelings. He was selfish, Mom. And Wells?—”
“Do not say his name in this house again,” she spits. “He will ruin you, Layla. He and his family of criminals who don’t give a shit about anyone else. He will use you to get what he wants and then he will drop you like you never existed—I’ve seen those boys do it to too many young girls. If you have any hope of a good man wanting to marry you, you need to come to your senses and distance yourself from the Bennetts.”
I shake my head, my body vibrating with exasperation. “I don’t need to be taken care of, don’t you see that?” I yell. “I don’t need a man to give me the life that I deserve—I will create the life that I want on my own.” I take a step forward, chest heaving. “And I’ll surround myself with good people who care about me, about who I am . Not about what I can give to them, or what I’m willing to sacrifice.”
She closes her eyes, and I almost feel sorry for her. For this archaic and flawed belief system she holds so tightly to, where a woman can’t be successful without attaching herself to a man. So I press on, hopeful my words might make a difference. “Annie is almost fourteen,” I say, keeping my tone level. “She’ll be in high school next year. You have a chance to build her up in a way you never did with me. You can teach her that she can flourish in her life on her own. That she can strive for more than a nice house and children to raise. And Mom,” I say, bracing myself. “I hope to god you do. For her sake.”
I don’t give her a chance to reply. Instead, I turn to walk up the stairs, eager to get to my room and into my bed where I can lie in the quiet and really process the last twenty-four hours, and what it all means.