Page 52 of Peaches

The group stays silent, and I feel… I don’t know how I feel, but if I had to guess I’d say I feel…fucking free.

Finally! Like, light as a fucking feather free. Sweet, carefree kind of free as I stare in the eyes of the monster that has always tried to control me and find the balls I should’ve found a long ass time ago.

I’m not an idiot, I know there will be a fall out from this. But for right now, for this moment, I feel like I can almost actually fly. And I’ve never felt that way before in my life - ever!

And it’s all due to one divine, heavenly, sent from above, peach.

Thinking of which, where the fuck is she?

I turn quickly and spot her across the way as a lone drop of water pelts my shoulder. Normally I’d look up, be curious as to why. But all I can think about right now is Grace and that damn foreign feeling I get when she stands beside me. A connection I can still feel across the patio with her back turned to me and anger obviously radiating off her criminally, law breaking, sexy, sinful body.

In four large strides I am at her side as a few more drops of rain fall from the overcast sky. A few party goers look up, but my eyes are trained on Grace. Only Grace. She’s all the grace I’ll ever need. My sweet, carefree, happier than I’ve ever felt, grace. Grabbing her arm, I turn her around to face me and see her fury still smoldering under the surface.

“We’re leaving!” I grit out in a whisper as I look over her shoulder briefly and catch the mischievous eyes of my grandmother across the way.

“Did you pick up your father’s bad habits while you were discussing topics my simple-minded brain couldn’t possibly understand?” she hisses back irritated.

“Grace?” I beg. To anyone else it would sound like a warning. But right now, all I want,all I need, is for her to understand we’re on the same side. A fact I know she’d already accept if the hatred for my father could lift off her heavy shoulders.

Fuck, how I know that feeling all too well, and I can’t say I blame her for the thick fog his sickening personality has left over her.Over us.

“You don’t tell, you ask,Brettly!”

Well, fuck! That did it! How many damn times do I have to tell this woman not to call me Brettly?

Like the caveman I feel inside, I stoop low and pick her up at the knees, hoisting her over my shoulder and not giving a damn what everyone around us thinks, I turn and intend to get my way no matter what the seductress says, and that’s obviously by carrying her off where we can both benefit from not being around my father and his prick friends.

But as she begins to protest, as I tighten my grip and give her a hard smack on the ass to shut up, I look over my shoulder and lock eyes with Marie and notice her sly smile has grown into a full out grin from ear to ear.

Just what do you have up your sleeves, Grams?

“Put me down!” Her screams assault everyone in attendance tonight as I make my way back towards the path leading to Magnolia Cottage and momentarily forget the look that my grandmother just gave me.

The few drops of rain quickly turn into a light shower as I pass my father’s colleagues, my father now nowhere in sight and most likely brooding by himself in his study, and I see them give me a look of satisfaction that I am, “Handling my woman,” as I am sure most of them would say. But hell, they’ve got this all wrong.

“Brettly Bryson Beckett!” Yes, I was named after my grandfather. And yes, I was called a freak more than once for having every initial be the fucking same. She hollers, as I take large, calculated steps down the pathway and out of ear shot of the party. “Put me down, damn it!”

Her hands swat at me as she attempts to kick her feet. The rain now starting to bellow out of the dark sky above us as I turn to look behind me and see everyone else at the party finally begin to run for cover.

“I swear, if you don’t put me down,” she continues to scream as I make it to the gravel and start my way back to the cottage, “this whole damn arrangement is off! Screw the money! Screw whatever it is you stand to gain from it, that you still won’t tell me about! We’re through! It’s over! I won’t let you…”

Well, hell, we can’t have that!

Conceding, I set her down halfway to the cottage and finally succeed in stopping her rant.

“Is that better?” I tease, feeling lighter than I have ever felt before from us both telling my father to basically take his thoughts and go to hell, but I also feel oddly weighed down by the tension still lingering in her eyes.

“No! It is not better! You just hauled me off like a piece of fucking meat…”

“Tempting, enticing, mouth-watering meat…”

“Whatever!” She stomps. Like actually stomps, as her eyes roll back in her head and she looks absolutely adorable, soaking wet in the hot Georgia rain as loud thunder sounds in the distance. “You can’t do that! You don’t get to ever do that!”

She’s takes a step forward and pokes me in the ribs, and fuck, it’s taking all my willpower to not crash my mouth against hers to stop her rambling. But honestly, I absolutely love it. Crave it. I’m oddly thrilled by it. It’s cute, sexy, and captivates my attention that’s normally all over the damn place, (damn ADHD), and makes me ache for her just a little more.

“I grew up watching everyone shit on my brother, what’s more, my father treated my mother, my brother, hell all three of us like shit!”

Poke!

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