Page 33 of Riding the Line
There’s a half-naked Duke Bennett searching through one of his drawers ahead of me, immediately halting me in my tracks. My bottom lip drops just as his head whips up, but I don’t meet his gaze, eyes already wandering down. Moonlight filters through the blinds, devastatingly illuminating every hard line and ridge of his muscled torso, while shadows only emphasise the way his waist tapers into a deep V down towards his grey sweatpants. Two of my weaknesses hitting me at once.
I’m finally enlightened to all his hidden tattoos, my eyes frantically flick between the dark illustrations of mountainous landscapes, wolves, roses, and barbed wire, like they’re desperate to soak up this image—
‘Cherry.’ Duke’s voice snaps me back.
I tear my eyes up to meet his – his are wide and bulging, while the rest of his face strains, the lines sharper in the moonlight. I struggle to muster up a response, certain my mouth has dried out, any moisture in my body having gone straight to between my legs. Exactly where Duke’s wild eyes keep glancing down to. Probably because I’m only wearing his T-shirt. I wasn’t expecting him still to be out here.
Quickly, I sputter, ‘The sweatpants were too big.’
His throat works once. ‘Right.’
‘I could always stick on some of your underwear as shorts—’
‘No.’ The word rushes out, his shoulders pitching higher. ‘No, that’s a bad idea. You’re fine as you are. I’ll get out of your way.’ He abruptly faces the drawers again, chest rising with heaved breaths while he scrambles to find a top.
Tugging at the bottom of my T-shirt, trying to cover myself as much as possible, I lean against his desk to wait before getting into bed. Attempting to cut through the awkward silence, I chuckle as I admit, ‘I forgot you wouldn’t have conditioner because you shave your head. My hair’s gonna be a knotty mess tomorrow morning, so no judging.’
Duke yanks his T-shirt over his head quickly, mumbling, ‘You never look a mess.’
For some, Duke might seem like he doesn’t say much, but tonight he’s come in, all guns blazing with the compliments. I can’t help but savour it.
I go to pull myself up to perch on the edge of his desk properly but accidentally knock his laptop in the process and the screen blares to life. Blood drains from my face when I catch sight of the email open, and the question leaves my lips before I can stop it, ‘Are you leaving Willow Ridge?’
16
Duke
I really should have fought my own will harder in the car. Seeing Cherry in my apartment feels so wrong, but alsoso goddamn right.I’d be lying if I said I haven’t dreamt of her here once or twice, wrapped up in my arms in bed, or lounging on the couch with me – even if I did berate myself for days afterwards. But the good thing is, it was always just a figment of my imagination, where no one knows what’s going on. Where I can’t hurt or upset anyone.
But now she’s here, wearing the white T-shirt I put out for her, andnothing else. She’s forgone the sweatpants, and miles of long, slender, smooth legs shoot out from beneath the top. I’m certain my brain has short-circuited and lost all memory of how to function. Even trying to pull a T-shirt over my head feels too overwhelming. And when I hear her say something about shampoo and looking a mess, I can’t stop my thoughts from spilling out, ‘You never look a mess.’
My body’s drowning in adrenaline after having to pick her up at the diner and then learning what Levi did to her. Even more after cradling her sweet body against me, knowing that, even if it was for only a minute, I could be her solace.
I can’t paint or go for a ride right now to process and push back down all the emotions swirling in my body, because I need to be here for Cherry. Which means I’m struggling to stop my thoughts from spilling out. Just like when I told her about the paintings of Mom. But that’s not how we’re raised here as men in small towns – even if I know it’s toxic, it’s hard to shrug out of that. Especially when it’s served me – I found purpose amongst the storm of grief by being there for my grandparents after Mom died, and the same again when Grandfather passed, let alone in general for the town.
Though, I can’t pretend that the way Cherry just held space for me to talk didn’t feel refreshing. That it didn’t crack a small light onto those shadows I try to keep at bay.
But worry spikes through that light again when Cherry suddenly asks, ‘Wait, are you leaving Willow Ridge?’
My head shoots through the T-shirt with a scrambled pop. ‘What? Where did you—’
‘You’re selling the bar.’ Cherry leans against my desk, eyes flicking between me and the now lit-up laptop screen. Her fingers clasp the edge of the desk so tight, like she might fall. ‘Sorry, I – it came up on your laptop. I didn’t mean to pry—’
‘Cherry.’ I wasn’t ready to get into this yet. I haven’t even said yes.
‘Duke.’
Slamming the drawers shut, I then run my hands over my head. ‘No, it’s – ah, fuck – it’s just a valuation. To see what collateral I have.’
‘Collateral?’
A heavy sigh rushes out of me, and the next thing I know, I’m walking back until my legs hit the edge of the bed and I take a seat. My head falls into my palms. ‘I … an old friend of mine, Kelly, wants to partner up and open a bar in the city. Another Duke’s, I guess. Somewhere that reminds him of home.’
‘Oh … Kelly is aguy.’ The last word comes out on a laugh.
‘Yeah.’ My brow furrows. ‘Kip Kelly, remember? From the football team?’
Cherry nods, her expression softening.
