Page 81 of Wilder Love

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“Maybe that’s part of it. But he had a hard time finding a job after he got out of prison.”

My stomach sank. My remarks about his job had been so insensitive. It was ironic, really. I’d once accused Shane of treating me like white trash, for looking down his nose at me. He never had. My accusation had been unjustified. And yet, what had I done to him? Made him feel like shit for doing a job he felt lucky to get. I hadn’t stopped to consider how difficult it was for an ex-con to get a job. And it didn’t help that John Hart owned half of Costa del Rey. He had a lot of power and influence in this town.

“The surfboard he made me is beautiful.”

Jimmy smiled as he flipped the steaks—four thick T-bones. The fat sizzled and flames leapt up. “It is. He looked happy when he was making that board for you.”

That gave me hope and brought a smile to my face. I lifted my hair off the back of my sweaty neck and twisted into a topknot, securing it with an elastic.

By the time Shane came home, I was feeling better about everything and had forgotten that I was an uninvited guest. Jimmy and I were chilling out, drinking ice cold Coronas with lime wedges and tripping down memory lane. I loved hearing his stories about Shane’s mom and about Shane’s childhood. Up until Shane started school, he and his mom used to travel with Jimmy on tour. The world’s best beaches had been Shane’s playground since before he could even walk, let alone surf.

Shane stopped short when he rounded the side of the house and saw me and Jimmy talking and laughing. He planted his hands on his hips and glared at me. “What are you doing here?”

Just like that, my good mood vanished and so did all my lofty plans to be patient with him. I was tempted to punch him in the face, but I gave him a sweet smile instead. “Joining you for dinner. Is that okay with you?”

He didn’t answer the question. I wasn’t asking for permission anyway. Seven years apart had rendered him mute. Was it my imagination that we used to talk about everything and anything? His eyes darted to the salad and the steaks, and the three glasses of water with lemon slices on the table set for three. “I need a quick shower.”

With that, he left his dusty work boots by the door and strode into the house, leaving me to stew over his personality transplant. I pressed the cold beer bottle, slick with condensation, against my sweaty forehead, and peeled my loose tank top off my body, trying to cool off. He was getting me all hot and bothered. I wanted to scream and shout, tell him what an asshole he was being, and just get it all out there. All the pent-up anger and resentment and frustration that he was bottling up instead of dealing with.

“I’m just what he needs,” I told Jimmy sarcastically.

“I didn’t say it would be easy, but you’ll get there eventually.”

Jimmy sounded so confident, like he truly believed that. “How can you be so sure?”

“I know Shane. I know how he acts when he’s hurting.”

“Like an ass?”

“Pretty much.”

Shane was back five minutes later, freshly showered and barefoot in a faded T-shirt and shorts, bringing with him the scent of summertime and citrus. His blond-brown hair was damp and finger-combed. Messy and disheveled, the way I loved it. And even though I wanted to be mad at him, I couldn’t stay mad because Shane disarmed me with a smile and a gentle squeeze of my thigh under the table. A nonverbal apology for his rude behavior. Heat spread through my body just from that simple touch and he smirked as if he knew the effect he had on me.

Shane ate enough to feed an army and even Jimmy ate most of his steak, so I considered the dinner a success, even though I hated the way Shane was making me feel.

At nine o’clock, Jimmy said he was tired and excused himself. I wasn’t sure if he was making excuses, trying to give us time alone or if he really was tired. Shane watched him go before he turned his attention to me, not bothering to conceal his worry. He looked so tired, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The patio lights illuminated the dark shadows under his eyes that I’d missed earlier.

I stood up from the table and came around to stand behind his chair, placing my hands on his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

I didn’t answer. My fingers kneaded the knots of tension in his rigid shoulders, and eventually, I felt him relax under my touch, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’m putty in your hands,” he said, with a little laugh and then a groan when I continued my shoulder, neck and head massage. His eyes closed as I massaged his scalp and the base of his skull, working my way down his neck and returning to his broad swimmers’ shoulders.

“I wish I could make it better,” I said. I didn’t even know what I wanted to make better. Him. Us. Jimmy. But none of it was within my control.

“I know, Firefly. Me too.” His hand wrapped around my wrist and he pulled me around the chair, so I was standing between his legs. Clasping both of my hands in his, his thumbs rubbed the sensitive skin on the insides of my wrists and now I was putty in his hands.

He lifted his eyes to mine and I wanted to kiss away all the pain and the heartache. Fix everything that was broken. Give him back the six years of his life that he lost. Put the smile back on his face. But I didn’t have the power to do any of that.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said quietly.

My heart cracked wide open for him and then broke into a dozen pieces. “I’ll be here for you if you let me.”

His hands gripped my waist and he pulled me closer, pressing his forehead against my stomach. My body curled around him, my hands sliding through his thick hair and I held the back of his head. His hands slid down to the backs of my thighs, and I closed my eyes and cradled his head, feeling his soft breath through the thin fabric of my tank top.

We stayed like that for a few long moments, the crickets chirping in cadence and the moths beating their wings against the domed lights while I tried to hold his broken pieces together. Then Shane lifted his head and pushed his chair back to give himself space before he stood up and cracked his neck, those moments of intimacy vanishing into the night air like they’d never happened at all. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

My heart deflated, but I masked my disappointment. It was obvious that he didn’t want me here and the whole “walking me to my car” offer was a joke. Shane strode briskly like he couldn’t wait to get rid of me, ten paces ahead while I trailed behind, being made to feel like a second-class citizen. If I wanted to catch up, I’d have to jog. He’d always been so good at walking beside me, making sure I didn’t feel like I was being left behind. Not anymore.