You know, because that’s exactly what I need—alcohol.
Note to self: don’t drink more than one glass every hour because you’ll be sloshed and make a fool of yourself.
When I close the cellar door and return to the kitchen, Duane has already found the ingredients to make our sandwiches. I can’t help but watch him move so easily around the kitchen, making himself at home, like he was somehow meant to be here, in this moment, with me.
There are moments, like this, when I look back at my life and realize I wasn’t really living. Before Duane, my life was—boring. I was living day-to-day; never really experiencing the good things life has to offer.
“You want mustard, Darlin’?” Duane asks while hovering over my sandwich with the yellow bottle.
“Yes, please.” I pop a chip into my mouth and admire his work.
He squirts the yellow condiment on my bread and spreads it around, being very careful to make it even.
Once he’s finished, he licks his fingers, and hands me a plate.
“Want to eat in here or do you want to hang out in the living room? We could turn on the TV.”
I offer TV because, like any red-blooded man, he’s got to love TV, right?
He takes a sip of wine. “This is great wine. And no, here is fine. I don’t watch much TV.”
“Really?” I ask, shocked. “Not even sports?”
He picks up his sandwich and takes a bite. After he swallows, he shakes his head. “Not really. I don’t have much time for TV. I mean, I guess I’ll watch if it’s on, but most days my flat screen goes to waste.”
“I’m the same way. I’d much rather read.”
He smiles. “Is that why you have so many books in your house and in the shop?”
“Yeah, I love reading. It’s been an escape since I was a teenager.” A pang of homesickness settles in my belly and I frown. I miss my home.
With his eyebrows knitted together, he quirks his head to the side and asks, “Did you have a bad childhood, Red?”
I think back to my life before my parents’ divorce. I had a pretty normal life considering the issues my family had.
“My childhood was okay, but once I turned fourteen, life got a bit stressful. My parents never talked about it, but something happened. They fought for most of my high school years. Constantly. Everything pissed my mom off. Most nights I’d sleep in the barn with my horse Skip to get away from all of the yelling. You remember me talking about him the other day?” I ask.
“Sure, you first rode him when you were three.”
“Good memory.” I pass the focus to him. “What about you?”
He sets his sandwich down, and huffs. “It wasn’t the best. I worked most of it. Living on a working ranch doesn’t give much time to be a child. So, I had to grow up. Then my parents passed away when I was a teenager. Aiden had a really hard time dealing with their passing.”
Lifting my legs, I set mine on his and Duane begins to massage my calves and upper thighs. “I can’t even begin to think about all that you went through, Cowboy.”
I imagine a younger version of Duane. Silly and full of life, like his big brother.
“He’s a really good brother. Had to grow up too quickly if you ask me, but he’s a strong kid—man, I mean. He just turned twenty-one a few months ago, so now he’s living it up.”
I smirk at him. “Fast cars and fast women?”
He laughs and looks at his empty plate. “Yeah, something like that.”
Taking my legs away from Duane’s lap, I get up and clean our plates to busy my hands. I have an overwhelming urge to ask him about our situation. We never finished our conversation in the car, and I’m sure as hell not one to keep my feelings quiet when it comes to relationships. I’m just a little out of practice.
“So, how is this going to work? Us?”
He clasps his hands together on the island, thinking. “It’s a bit tricky, but we have to make it work.”
He stands and steps up behind me. With a bit of edge in his demeanor, he grips the countertop.
“I can’t ignore how I feel anymore.”
I set the soapy sponge down and turn into his chest.
He’s yet to button those damn buttons.
I look up to his face—his damn god-like body is very distracting, not that his face is any less befuddling. Maybe I should look over his shoulder.
“And how do you feel?” I ask coyly.
“Are you fishing, Red?” He says with a smirk. His eyes sparkle a bit, letting me know he’s playing my game.
I grab his collar and bring him closer to my body. We’re millimeters from touching and the anticipation is killing me, but I have to hear what he has to say.
“Hmm, let me find the correct words.” He scrunches his forehead. “I’m spellbound.”
I crack a smile. “Spellbound? What the hell does that even mean?”
He brings his face to my neck, not touching but teasing, and I desperately want to bring my body to his. I just want to feel his skin.
Maybe if I take a step forward—.
“The moment you stepped out onto that stage,” he states as he eludes my movement and fakes me out, “I knew I had to know you.” He returns to his position, hovering inches from me. “You were incredibly captivating. Not to mention, the moment you touched me set me on fire.”
He brings his forehead to mine, and we look into each other’s eyes. The memory of our first encounter makes me blush. Should I tell him I saw him way before I walked onto that stage, and that the parking lot wasn’t the first time I touched him?
“God, this is embarrassing.”
He caresses my nose with his. “What’s that?”
I step back as far as I can against the counter and hide my face in my hands. “I probably shouldn’t tell you,” I say, muffled, laughing at myself. I’m ridiculous for even bringing it up.
Duane grasps my arms and gently coaxes them away from my face. “Just tell me.”
“I kind of saw you the moment you walked in that bar. I practically watched you all night.” I shake my head in embarrassment.
Why am I telling him this?
“I saw you were about to leave so, I decided I had to get a better look at you. You probably don’t even know it, but I touched your shoulder. I might have let it linger a bit longer than necessary, but I couldn’t help myself.”
A sly look slides onto his perfect face and he shines his megawatt smile at me. “I do remember that. I couldn’t see your face, but I think, I kind of fell for you then. You were so beautiful.”
I can see him get lost in his thoughts for a moment, but his eyes quickly focus on me again, and he grips the counter harder.
“Then that guy from the band called you up to sing. You have no idea how bad I wanted to talk to you after, Red, but everyone was crowding you. I didn’t want to just be a face in the sea, so I took my loss and left.” He pulls me close. “Good thing fate intervened.”
“So, what happens now?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He thinks for a few seconds. “Well, we obviously can’t make a huge spectacle of ourselves in front of anyone who really knows about me being on your dad’s case, but I think we should be fine.”
His tense body makes me think maybe he is a little more concerned than he’s letting on, but I let it go. He knows what he can and can’t do, and I’m not one to make any sort of judgment calls on our situation.
“Okay, good,” I agree while I cover my mouth to yawn.
“Are you tired?” Duane asks. He looks a little tired himself.
“A little,” I admit. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Me either. Maybe I’ll head to the hotel and come back.”
I involuntarily frown and open my mouth to speak. “Why don’t we take a nap here? I have a big bed and that way you don’t have to leave.”
What I really want to say is, ‘Please don’t go. You take away the shadows in my mind,’ but I keep that little tidbit to myself.
His face lights up like he’s just opened an amazing present on Christmas day. One that’s something he’s been waiting for forever. “I think I like that plan better.”
I take his hand firmly in mine and lead him to my room upstairs.
I had moved in right after Dad died. I couldn’t stay in my house, obviously, and Jason had a huge empty one just waiting to be lived in—I guess it made sense. Come to think of it, I was fine staying at a hotel. I definitely didn’t want to go back home, but also I didn’t want to burden Jase. I had issues a mile high, I couldn’t ask him to take on my problems. He wouldn’t have that excuse, though. He stole my things from the hotel room I was staying in, and forced me to move. So very…Jason of him.
There are four bedrooms on the top floor, all of which were used when we were teenagers. Our closest friends practically made this place a private resort—lots of parties, lots of fun. Jason sleeps in the master bedroom on the West end of the house, so the South side is known as Ann’s domain.
I turn to look at Duane as we make the trek to my room. He seems to be soaking in all of his surroundings. I don’t blame him. The elaborate hallway is at least twelve feet wide. We just passed the massive bathroom that has both a shower and a Jacuzzi, along with his-and-hers sinks. Topping it off, we arrive at my bedroom and there’s a vase full of flowers sitting on the marble table by my doorway—as always.
“This is me,” I say, pointing to my door.
Duane moves to my corkboard covered with pictures of Jason, our friends and I. He smiles at them, and points to the only picture I have of Brent.
“This is what he looked like before?” Duane asks.
I move to the board and remove the pin, taking the photo in my hands. Gently, I rub Brent’s smiling face. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Duane takes it from me and studies the picture. “You wouldn’t know he had anything wrong with him from the smile he has.”
I look again at the photo. He has his arm wrapped around my shoulder and Jason has his around Brent’s. I remember it was the last day of school and we were ecstatic. My purple shirt was wet from running through the sprinklers at school and the boys’ hair was soaked—dripping wet and we were laughing our faces off. Our teacher, Mrs. Gables, took the picture. She was an angel in disguise, and always looked out for Brent when everyone else knew his parents wouldn’t.
“I know. This is a perfect example of who he really was.” I point down at the image. His bright, kindhearted personality always shined through. “But, from what I figure, he wasn’t like this at home.” I break, getting flustered again. “Really though, it’s not like I would know, we were never allowed inside.”
Duane pins the picture back up carefully and turns to me. “You were never allowed to go into his home?”
I step back and sit on the bed. “Nope. He told us his parents didn’t like kids, so we always played at my house or here at Jason’s.”
Duane combs his hand through his hair and sits next to me. “It really pisses me off that people have children and don’t love them. It’s such a waste.”
“I know. Imagine where Brent would be if he didn’t have to live
that
life. It makes me depressed.”
Duane places his hand on mine and brings it to his mouth for a small kiss. “Let’s help him.”
“What do you mean?” I smile and look at him, a little confused.
“Well, for one, if his dad did kill your dad, like he says, that’ll free him.” His face looks somber, knowing if Alan did kill my dad, it will mean one of my closest friend’s dad is a murderer. “And two, if we can’t find any evidence, let’s help him find a way to leave.” He shakes his head, the melancholy radiating from his body. “This is no life for anyone. I want to help.”
Have I mentioned how amazing this man’s heart is? Because wow. Just wow. He would make Kyle proud. He makes me proud. Proud to know him, and proud to be his….girlfriend? Girlfriend in the works?
Whatever, you know what I mean.
“You are a remarkable person, Duane. You know that?”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know about that. Any person can see he’s unhappy, and I’d like to think the next person to come along would want to help him, too.”
Geeze, he’s so much like me. I want to see the good in everything, in everyone. The downside? Most times I get my heart broken. I sometimes think it’s a bad quality to have because most of the time I end up disappointed.
“You have such a big heart, Duane, but I’m scared.”
He pulls me into his embrace and asks, “Why?”
I shrug and lay my head on his chest. “What if he doesn’t want to be helped?”
Duane combs his hands through my hair, thinking about my question.
“How about we deal with that when the time comes?” He asks. “We’ll do what we can and if he wants to live his life that way, it’s his choice. We can walk away knowing we did everything we possibly could for him.”
A lone tear escapes my eye and falls on Duane’s white shirt. I sniffle a bit and wipe my eye.
“Why are you crying, Red?”
I shake my head, not wanting to talk about Kyle. “It’s nothing.”
Duane lays us down, and brings me to his chest. Putting his finger under my chin, he guides my face up to look at his. “Don’t do that, baby. Talk to me.”