Page 4 of Late Nights & Love Lines
Beck’s jaw twitches, displaying his hesitancy.
“I’ve known Alexei since I was in diapers. If anything were to happen to me, he’ll be my children’s guardian, so when I say I trust him with my life, believe it.”
Something similar to respect sparks in Beck’s eyes.
“Understood,” he says.
The rumble of a sputtering engine cuts the silence, and we all watch as dust kicks up behind a beat-up light blue Jeep blasting music my daughter would love.
“She does like to make an entrance.” Elijah chuckles.
“Who?” I ask.
The Jeep lurches to a stop, and a plume of smoke billows from the hood.
I don’t move as the driver’s door opens and tiny pink Chuck Taylors hit the ground followed by long, tanned legs that disappear into denim cutoff shorts as she bends over, out of view, and my body pitches forward as if her actions are tied directly to my reactions.
When she stands up to scan her surroundings, familiarity knocks the air from my lungs. A sudden surge of sweat trickles down my forehead, while my chest expands and falls as though I’ve lost the ability to take a full breath at the sight of dirty blond hair whipping in the wind.
Then she smiles with a shrug and a wave in my general direction, and it drowns me in her orbit.
Peach.
My life just went from messy as hell to fucking imploding in the span of a smile.
2
BLOWING UP THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT
ROWAN
Istep onto the gravel lot as Junebug sighs a cloud of thick black smoke. The engine chokes out a spluttering garbled noise, as though it’s her last breath, and a pang in my chest has me rubbing my knuckles over my sternum.
My blood pressure spikes as I take it all in.
I kick the tires, but not out of frustration. No, what’s happening is fear—forced change tends to bring it out in me, and I’m not in the habit of lying to myself about what my gut has to tell me, but I’m not ready to lose Junebug yet either.
“You’ve got one more fix in you, Junebug, you have to. Knock on wood.” I knock against her tire twice because it’s the closest thing to me. Wood, rubber, it’s all the same.
A deep, rumbling chuckle floats through the fresh air, and I mutter a curse only loud enough for me to hear. Just my luck, I had an audience for that little outburst. Petting Junebug’s tire one more time, I give her a silent apology, then lift a shining bright smile toward the laughter.
Four men stand at the bottom of the steps, staring in my direction. I recognize Lottie’s brother, Elijah, but it’s the manstanding next to him that sends goosebumps scattering across my body.
Even with the distance separating us, the intensity of his stare licks at my skin, but it’s the way he scratches behind his ear, so familiar, that has my lungs drop-kicking my ribs. It’s as though he’s reaching through space and time to hold me hostage with the determined expression that forms a little crease in the center of his forehead.
Is that…? No, Jesus, Rowan. One phone call with Pappy and the secret fantasies that got me through my scariest days keep filtering into my reality.
Good grief. Pappy would have a field day if he knew the only memory I have of the day my world collapsed that isn’t covered in thorns is of his own freaking grandson.
The wind shoves my hair in my face, obscuring my vision for a moment. When I tuck it behind my ear and peer back at the men, the one causing all the uncomfortable skin sizzling has turned away and is walking into the woods.
Well, now we know that shot of—whatever that was—was one-sided. Walk away, big guy, walk away. Instinct tells me he’s a complication I definitely don’t need in my life. Now, or ever.
Elijah says something to the other two men, so I take my time approaching them, happy it’s gravel beneath my feet so I don’t have to constantly keep an eye out for cracks—the childish superstition about breaking mother’s back always singsongs like a scary clown in the back of my mind.
The rich scent of the trees and the delicious heat of the sun remind me of the good times I had in my childhood. The weeks at summer camp before everything changed.
A shiver works down my spine, so I tilt my gaze to the treetops and decide it’s the pollen making it hard to breathe, not the memories, and march my uneasy not-at-all emotional ass right up to them.
