Page 173 of Wanting What's Wrong

See, Mom wasn’t too fond of him trying to bring some order to her chaos. The boy she made a pact with in seventh grade, that if they weren’t married by their thirties, they would marry each other.

I don’t think he had any intention of keeping that pact, but when they had a serendipitous meeting in Vegas, it took a night of tequila and my mom laying out the sad state of her life for a man with a white knight complex to ride in and save her.

I knew he was released last week. I knew I should have answered the letters he wrote while he was away. But my behavior while he lived with us was less than polite. In fact, if you take the word brat and multiply it by infinity, you’d be half way there.

“Fine.” I feign irritation. “Let’s go. Can’t be worse than here.”

An hour later with my eyes still burning from the final goodbyes with Renae and Morgan, I trudge up the long dirt path to Cal’s family’s ranch house, my boobs drenching the inside of my bra.

I did a quick pump before we left, but it barely took the edge off. Now I’m one breath away from leaking through the triple pads and announcing to the man that was my step-father that his virgin step-daughter is a lactating princess.

I didn’t even bother to say goodbye to my mom, whose bedroom door was closed and had in so many words blamed me for Roger’s fist meeting my face. My heart felt compressed in my chest, my boobs were leaking, the baby that had been my only bright spot for months was leaving, along with my sister who was my best friend and safe place in this world. I didn’t have the emotional capacity to take on my mom’s shit too.

I take one long look at the outside of the house beforelugging my suitcases up the stairs, my backpack full of my pumping gear and a few of my favorite Manga books tugging my shoulders back as I take the three wooden stairs up to the home where he grew up.

He told me stories about it while he lived with us for those few months, but this is better than I’d pictured.

It’s not quite Yellowstone, but it’s somewhere between a log home and a farmhouse. It’s sturdy and warm, with thick pine pillars that support a weathered wood second story porch that runs the length of the low-slung two-story ranch. There’s what looks like two additions added after the main house, with metal roofs and white siding. It’s an odd contrast, but it’s homey in a quirky way, and the fact that it’s not perfect makes me love it even more.

Before I raise my hand to knock, the door swings open and the impossible happens.

He’s even better looking than before.

And bigger.

So, freakin’ huge.

Six months in prison has created a new hardness around his green eyes. His wide brimmed straw cowboy hat sitting perfectly on top of his dark hair. The off-limits dad vibes he had before have multiplied in the thicker musculature that covers his body, the lines deepening in his forehead as he lets out a low growl.

The invisible fire tickling around my toes shoots up like the Space Shuttle into my belly, exploding around my hips, before settling down between my legs in a panty-soaking finale that nearly takes my feet out from under me.

Cal.

The air leaves my lungs in one big whoosh.

He fills the doorway like it was carved for him alone. He’s six foot seven, wide as a damn barn, wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans. His massive mitt of a hand tips then removes hiscowboy hat as I note his beard is thicker than it used to be, jaw locked tight.

His spring grass-green eyes settle on mine, softening before they drop to my cheek.

And every part of him turns hard. All the parts I can see at least. My imagination does a damn good job of filling in the rest.

"Your mom’s boyfriend do that?"

I nod as he grits curse words between his perfectly white teeth.

His mouth flattens to a hard line. "This all your stuff?"

I shrug my backpack, and nod and he steps outside to grab my suitcase, replacing his hat on the tousle of dark waves, lifting it like it weighs nothing. That familiar, grounding strength centers me. I follow him inside, legs shaking.

The house is cool and clean, bright with summer afternoon light. Smells clean with just a hint of that nostalgic scent that only old houses have.

"Granny wants to meet my stepdaughter," he says, jerking his chin toward the back door. "Truck’s out back. We’re going to the shop."

My heart stumbles. "The shop? Now?"

He glances back, jaw ticking. "She’s been running it while I was away. It’s getting to be too much. And she asked specifically to meet my step-daughter. I don’t say no to Granny."

The air between us crackles. He doesn’t say ex-step-daughter. Doesn’t act like I’m not still part of his family somehow. I knew Cal would never disappear from my life, no matter what happened between him and Mom and no matter how hard I tried to make him go away.

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