Chapter 24
The red roof house is the one, just like Ava said it would be. Not that he didn’t believe her when she seemed so confident the other night, but their track record so far hadn’t been promising.
It feels like home the moment he walks through the door, looking more like a barn than he expected from the photos, with heavy wood beams on the ceiling and steel fencing along the stair rails. Creamy white walls, imposing stone fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the acre of unmaintained land he has no use for yet.
He can see weeds creeping up the sides of the windows and the tree branches hanging low across the field, a stark contrast to how well taken care of the inside of the house is.
A foot inside the threshold and it’s like something straight out of a magazine, or that website he knows Ava likes so much. The one with pins or needles or whatever the fuck people do to share pictures of random shit with each other.
His boots land heavily on the old wood floor, eyes scanning the space that’s so much nicer than he can afford. The other houses may have had their faults, but they’d been cheap because of them and he isn’t so sure he can manage something that doesn’t come complete with a drunken landlord or a few dead raccoons in the attic.
Ava looks as surprised as he does, her mouth dropping open when she falls in step next to him as they follow the owner into each new room.
“Look.” She nudges him with her elbow, tilting her head toward the sliding doors at the back of the kitchen that leads out to a wrap-around deck. It’s bigger than the one they’d seen in a previous house, worn and old but with enough life left that a few coats of stain would make it new again.
He hums out a soft sound of approval, watching her fingers graze the granite countertops and her eyes linger on white cabinets, equipped with what the owner calls soft-close drawers.
“No worries about slamming them during a fight.” She laughs at her own joke as she turns away again, as if he and Ava actually fight.
He can’t imagine fighting with her. Someday it might happen. No two people ever agree on everything, but he’s pretty damn sure it won’t end in a screaming match or with someone trying to rip the hinges off a drawer.
“There’s a loft too. It could be good for kids. An office? Do you two have children?”
Dean balks at the question from his potential landlord, who’s gotten the wrong idea about who will be living in this space, but rather than set her straight right now and draw attention to it, he only shakes his head matter-of-factly. “We don’t. Maybe an office.”
He doesn’t miss the brief sadness that flutters over Ava’s face. A split second of mournful resignation at the fact that they’ll never be more than the two of them. It doesn’t last long though. Her smile is back and bright as ever as they make their way through the master bathroom covered in shiny subway tiles and into the bedroom with a skylight.
A fucking skylight. In the bedroom.
Who the hell does that, he wonders, but damn if it isn’t the coolest thing he’s ever seen. He can picture him and Ava lying side by side, stargazing in bed until they drift off for the night. Few things have ever sounded better.
She may not be moving in, not yet anyway, maybe not ever, but he hopes that wherever he lands next is somewhere she likes enough to spend time there too. He slipped up the night before, allowing himself to voice those thoughts in passing and feeling embarrassed the moment it happened. They hadn’t talked about it yet and it felt too soon. Still does, but for every part of him that says it’s crazy, there’s another part that would happily live with her from today on and never look back.
If she was bothered by his slip, she never said and he wonders if she’s thinking about it too. If she didn’t call him out because a part of her might be fantasizing about the life they could build together, just like he is. It’s hard to imagine that anyone would have those thoughts about him, but every day he spends with her, every time she encourages him instead of pushing him away, it’s a little easier to accept.
“So, obviously, the outside needs work. The front porch is falling apart and the siding could use a new coat of paint. The yard is…well, you saw the yard. The fencing needs to be replaced along the entire length of the acreage. I have the supplies, but no one to do the work. There may or may not be certain sections of the inside flooring with water damage. Under the kitchen sink, for example, I’m uncertain of the extent of it, only that we had a leak a while ago. The roof is new though, and the inside is well updated. The rental price reflects the condition of the house overall, and if there’s any chance you have the ability to do some of the work that could be taken off your rent. I’d be open to a rent to buy option too. You know, if you decide you like it enough.”
The owner looks back and forth between them, hopeful and eager and barely able to contain her excitement at the possibility of renting out her house. She’s an older woman, with long hair in a pretty braid and a gentle smile, someone who looks more suited to baking pies and knitting sweaters than remodeling houses and he’s curious how she got this place. If the property was handed down in her family or an investment.
None of that matters much because either way it’s the best one he’s seen by a mile.
He gives Ava a curious look, trying to judge if she likes it too, even though he knows this is his decision and he shouldn’t base a life choice like this on someone else.
Logic and emotion are fickle things though, and he uses more of his heart than his head this time. He may be here for himself, but he’d be renting it for the possibility it holds, the chance at a future they could have here together.
She doesn’t hesitate to give him a small nod, barely perceptible, but he sees it clear enough and can feel her approval spark between them.
He accepts the rental on the spot.
The owner nearly has a party right there in the living room, already reaching for the paperwork she brought along in her bag before he can take another breath. Dean has to wonder how many people drove right past this place once they saw it from the street and never ventured inside.
He signs on the dotted line, feeling like the luckiest bastard alive.
* * *
“You’re sure this is okay? If you’re uncomfortable, you can say so.”
Ava’s whispered question is concerned but light as the warm night air wraps around them on the back deck of his new house. The citronella candles she brought over flicker on the table and the smell of hot dogs wafts over from the grill, where Greg grabs himself another serving.
Dean is uncomfortable as shit. He’s wary about spending time with these people he doesn’t know, one of which is a persistent reminder of his days in prison, but when Ava brought it up as a suggestion, he didn’t have the heart to say no.
He only moved in a week ago. There are still boxes to unpack and things to settle, but the patio furniture that came with the house is comfortable and there’s a sense of security that comes with being on his own turf, so he amended his agreement with a suggestion that they all come here instead. He’s ready to charge head first into this situation and get it over with rather than wait.
It’s awkward as hell, and every time he looks at Greg, he can’t help but feel like he’s right back in prison again. The clink of steel cuffs and the bite of a broken toe flashes in his mind, but he pushes it back the best he can and to his credit, Greg hasn’t brought up the prison even once.
Dean shrugs, nudging her with his shoulder and lying through his teeth to spare her feelings. The least he can do is try, too. “Nah, it’s fine. Better than I thought it’d be.”
“More wine?” she asks him, a sympathetic pout on her lips, and he nods enthusiastically. He is absolutely up for anything to take the edge off his nervous anxiety.
Greg had only been too eager to help him set up the grill he bought the day before, figuring he and Ava would get some use out of it even past this group dinner. They haven’t said much since then though and he’s struggling to find something to prompt the conversation, unwilling to leave Ava to carry all of it herself but not experienced enough in small talk to be much help.
Lori chooses that moment to emerge from the bathroom and back out onto the deck, settling across from them where Greg is seated with a fresh hot dog piled up high with all the fixings.
“Ava says you work magic on cars. How long have you been doing that?” Lori asks over the rim of her wine glass, genuine and curious.
“Dunno if I’d call it magic, but a long time. Can’t remember not being under the hood of a car trying to put it back together again.”
Ava gives him a look he’s not sure about, something between a mixture of fondness and pride, giving his knee a squeeze before she pulls it away and back into her own lap again. “Don’t let him fool you. He worked magic on mine.”
“Ya ever work on bikes?” Greg asks.
Dean perks up. He secretly wishes he could work on more bikes but Hank’s shop rarely gets them in, leaving him saddled with broken cars more often than not. “Sure do. You ride?”
Greg shakes his head, but there’s a sly smile on his mouth that he sends Lori’s way. “No, not yet, been wantin’ to get one, though. Maybe a Harley? Or one of those electric ones?
“Ain’t nothing ever gonna beat a Harley, but if you want something different, go electric. They’re quiet as shit, get better gas mileage, fast. I think the shop in town is having a sale soon.” He finishes his reply more animated than he started, forgetting for a moment how awkward all of this is.
“Don’t encourage him,” Lori says with a laugh.
Greg huffs. “Not sayin’ I’m gonna get one tomorrow, just sayin’ maybe, that’s all.”
Dean has a feeling this conversation is an old one, but something else tells him that Lori will find a bike in their driveway soon enough. He wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall when the shit hits the fan over that.
“Got one I keep at the shop if you ever wanna give it a try. Drive it around the block some.” He probably shouldn’t offer considering his wife seems against the idea, but Dean’s desire to find acceptance is strong so he does anyway, getting a nod from Greg that makes him look like a kid in a candy store.
Lori only lets out a long-suffering sigh, elbowing her husband in the ribs and telling him not to drive the damn thing home.
“Do I get a ride too?” Ava asks with a twinkle in her eyes, and he realizes he never told her about his bike. They still have so much to learn about each other.
“Of course you do.” He dips his head, feeling the wine flush his skin and warm his veins.
He’ll take her out soon. Maybe head up to the mountains where it’s curvy and desolate, or a midnight trip along a back road, just the two of them on the back of a bike.
* * *
“Thank you for doing this. I know it wasn’t easy.”
Their guests have filed out the front door and Ava’s voice trails over to him as she closes it behind them, leaning back against the wood.
It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t exactly hard though, at least not as much as he thought it would be and once that bike conversation broke the ice, it was smooth sailing.
These people may not be half bad after all.
Dean moves closer, taking up her space so she has to tilt her head up to face him. “Was fine. They care about you and that makes ‘em okay in my book.”
One delicate hand finds the side of his neck, warm and comforting, her thumb brushing the skin there and encouraging him to lean in even further. Not that he needs much encouragement.
“I think they feel the same about you,” she says into the space between them, which is minuscule by now, her breath warm on his lips and her nose nudging the side of his.
His palms find her hips, holding there while he ghosts his mouth over hers in a whisper-soft kiss. Before he knows it, she’s got both arms wrapped around his neck and one leg curling around his thigh, her back pressing against the door and her hips tilting into his. He has to stop before he tries to take this further right here. The urge to turn her around and tug her jeans down far enough to give him better access lights a blaze in his veins.
He doesn’t want to chance it though, especially not after what happened on the sofa. Fucking her up against the door is the type of thing she needs to prompt herself.
“Can you stay tonight?” he asks, resting his forehead on hers.
When she replies, it’s teasing, like he’s only now catching up. “That’s the plan.”
“Got new sheets and a new bed. Lets try ‘em out upstairs?”
“I’m more than ready for a tour.”
They leave a trail of clothes like breadcrumbs from the door to the bedroom before collapsing onto the soft new mattress, the sheets caressing their skin like butter. When he lays back against the pillows, trying and failing to urge her over him so she can be on top, she doesn’t go easily and he balks.
He feels obscene now, with his dick jutting out and no naked woman to cover it so he sits back up, resisting the urge to cover himself and reaching for her instead, letting his mouth find the side of her neck and one large, calloused palm wrap around her waist. “You don’t like it like that?”
“It isn’t that. I just haven’t before. I was always…” Shame blushes her cheeks. “Bent over or on my back. Always. I dunno what I’m doing like this.”
“Do you want to?” If she refuses, he’ll let it go, encourage her backward and cover her with his body, make love to her in a way they’re both getting more comfortable with each time it happens.
She considers it, biting her lower lip, and offering him a nod of agreement.
He doesn’t have much experience like this either, only that one time in his truck, but his part in this is simple and he lays back against the pillows again, welcoming her onto his lap when she straddles him.
They move together in a mess of random touches and gentle kisses until he feels her warmth coating the underside of him as she rubs herself over the shaft.
He has to force himself to be still and let her set the pace. It’s difficult because all he wants right now is to feel her wrapped around him, but somehow he manages to keep his hands on her waist light and his hips unmoving.
When she grips the base of him and begins to lower herself downward agonizingly slow all the air escapes his lungs. He is mesmerized by the sight of her as she tries to adjust to this new feeling, a crease forms on her brow as she takes all of him inside and rests her weight on him.
“Fuck.” It’s all he can manage to get out while his thumbs rub circles into the dip of her hips.
She shifts carefully in a way that makes his nerves tingle, her body quivering, holding him snug and deep. “It’s…I don’t know…it’s different. It’s a lot. The pressure is intense.”
He’s about to tell her they can stop if it’s too much, but then she moves again, rolling her hips in an experimental stroke, leaning forward to rest her hands on his chest. He swears he can see her eyes roll back.
“Oh my god,” she gasps.
That’s the last thing she says, and he’s fine with that because words are overrated anyway and when she’s moving on him like this, rolling and deep, hugging the length of him in a vice grip, all he can focus on is how she feels. All he can see is the confidence growing in her with every passing second, the way she’s begun to chase her own pleasure, riding him with heightened desperation.
When she leans down far enough to kiss him, he pushes up into her, using the new angle as an advantage and doing some of the work. She groans into his mouth, grinding down on him.
“Faster,” she begs, bracing on her knees, holding herself still so he has room to thrust below her.
The sound of her words shoots right down to the tip of him buried inside of her in welcome encouragement and soon he’s pumping in and out of her, skin slapping against skin, her breasts shaking as her body moves.
When she clenches around him in harsh spasms, it’s the first time she’s gotten there without him touching her in other ways. The first time she’s rolled through the trembles with such intensity that it rips his own release from him before he consciously allows it to happen, her muscles squeezing him in fierce waves until he’s spent and still.
She collapses on top of him, her head resting over his heart and her legs still straddling his thighs. She doesn’t move him out of her and he doesn’t either, preferring to stay joined together as long as he’s allowed.
“We’ll have to christen the rest of these rooms soon, too,” she says.
He only grunts his agreement, too tired and sated to speak.
The silence that follows is comfortable and easy, allowing him to think about how different things are now compared to when he’d first met her, shackled and bleeding and shoved into the infirmary. Alone in every sense of the word.
Now, he has been given a gift. Everything that’s happened in the last six months has led him here, to this moment, with her. Offering him the option of following a new path with someone he loves.
“Was worth it,” he says into the darkness of the room, his voice cracked and raw. “The prison, the broken ribs, all of it. Would do it all again just to meet you.”
“Dean.” She props her chin up on his collarbone, the slight movement shifting him where he still rests within her, softening. “I’m sorry that’s what it took to get us here, but I’m so happy we are.”
They don’t speak more after that, choosing to fall asleep wrapped up together, boneless and relaxed.
When morning sunlight streams through the room and he wakes to the sight of her face close enough to kiss, the first thing out of his mouth is an offer to live here with him. It escapes before he can rein it back in, unpracticed and hurried, terror coursing through him at what her response might be.
“Not now, I mean, whenever you’re ready. If you’re ready. Need ya to know that I want this for us. If you do,” he stumbles in a rush, seeing the flicker of emotions play across her face.
“I want to live here with you.” She bestows him with the most tender look, full of sweetness and acceptance.
His relief is overwhelming. “Okay.”