Just Let Me Love You (5 page)

It is obvious both Will and Cassie are listening in on our exchange, even though their eyes remain on the just-starting movie.

With reluctance, I settle back on the sofa and sigh. “This is going to be one long night.”

And I’m right—it turns out to be one long night indeed. First, the movie feels like it lasts forever. It’s funny and all—don’t get me wrong—but I just can’t get into it. My mind is on one thing only—Will. I need to talk to him before my mother and Greg return tomorrow. I absolutely want the gun in my possession, safely out of Will’s reach. He’s far too impulsive.

Cassie seems in good spirits, I take note as the movie plays. That observation leads me to assume she’s not been bothered by her perverted stepdad since the last time he harassed her. Still, I wish Kay could get Cassie alone for a few minutes. Cassie trusts Kay and confides in her. I’m sure my girl would have more info in ten minutes than if I spent a whole day talking with my evasive brother.

But there’s no time for talking of any kind. After the movie is over, Cassie stands up, grabs her purse, and announces she has to go.

Will immediately jumps up and offers to walk her to her car.

And then they’re gone.

“Great,” I say on a long sigh.

“Maybe you can talk to Will when he comes back in,” Kay offers.

I scrub my hand down my face. “Yeah, maybe.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just tired, is all.”

“Would you rather come up to bed with me?” Kay wants to know. “You can talk with Will in the morning. What time are your mom and Greg due back in town?”

“Sometime in the afternoon,” I tell her and then, sighing, I add, “Look, I’m going to wait for Will, babe. Just go on upstairs without me.”

Kay reluctantly stands to go, but I can’t let her leave just yet.

I stand up next to her, my body towering over her tiny form. I love Kay’s smallness. I love that her body appears so fragile, but it’s actually Goddamn strong. She accepts whatever I give her, be it physically or emotionally. We’ve had our ups and downs, and not just under the covers.

But under the covers is all I can think of at the moment. I’m mostly gentle with Kay, with that delicate frame, but I can fuck her hard and she loves it.

Jesus, I’d like to fuck her hard right now, just to take out all the frustration I’m feeling.

“Hey”—she nudges my thigh with her hip—“what are you thinking about?”

Raising an eyebrow in a suggestive manner, I say, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She says my name, leaning her forehead on my chest. I feel her breathing me in. It’s just another way this woman consumes me. I place my hand under her chin, nudging lightly until she’s looking up at me. Lowering my lips to hers, I shower her in kisses—wet, raw, passionate kisses with the promise of much, much more.

When both of us are practically panting, we break apart.

“I better go upstairs,” she says in a low voice.

Wanton lust darkens her eyes, and I palm her ass with my large hand, giving her a quick squeeze. “I’ll be up in a little while,” I assure her.

Kay leaves, giving me time to simmer down. Pacing the floor helps. And then, a few minutes later, when Will returns to the family room, I am fine.

I’m kind of surprised he has returned, and I let out a cough.

“What?” he says. “Did you think you were going to have to hunt me down?”

“I kind of did think exactly that.” I admit.

He snorts, “This house ain’t that big, bro.”

He’s right about that; I’d find him no matter what.

Will and I start to sit down on the sofa at the same time, which makes him laugh. “Go ahead,” he says, smiling.

I sit and he follows. Will is still smiling, but that shit turns to a frown when I say, “Will, a gun? Really? What the fuck were you thinking?”

I expect an argument, an epic one, so I gear up accordingly. But surprisingly I get no grief. Instead, Will says resignedly, “I’ll give you the damn thing if it’ll make you quit nagging me about it.”

Before I can even reply—which would be a
hell, yes
—he jumps up and leaves the room, tossing over his shoulder before he’s out of sight, “Don’t worry. I’m coming right back.”

I’m rather stunned Will is giving up so easily. This is so not like my brother.

He returns in mere minutes, a revolver in his hand. “It’s not loaded,” he says as he hands the gun to me, butt-first.

I look over the pistol. Hmm, it appears to be an Old West collector’s revolver.

“You got this from Kyle Tanner?” I ask, suspicious.

“Yep, that’s what he sold me.”

Will glances away, and I wonder:
Is this really the right gun?
I can’t imagine drug-addled Tanner dealing in nineteenth-century weaponry. But then again, he may have stolen it from somewhere before he sold it to Will.

Whatever the case, something feels off.

Nonetheless, I say to Will, “Okay. Well, thanks for turning it over to me.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything crazy with it, anyway,” Will declares. “I bought it to keep with me for when I was with Cassie. Figured if Paul showed up, and I brandished that”—he nods to the gun—“it might scare him away for good.”

“Will,” I breathe out. “You can’t threaten people with guns.”

“I hardly think of him as a person,” Will scoffs.

“Look, Will,” I say, sighing. “Yes, Paul is an asshole, but you can’t threaten him with a deadly weapon. You’ll end up getting yourself into more trouble than he is in.”

“The police are still looking for him,” Will says, “so I hardly doubt that.”

Paul violated the restraining order against him when he stopped Cassie on the side of the road last week and almost molested her. Thank God for the passing car that made him stop. The police have been searching for Paul ever since, but to no avail. Paul’s ability to sneak around doing this shit is what makes Will crazy.

“Still,” I tell my brother, “just let the police handle things.”

“I’m going to, Chase.” Will says. “I promise.”

Yeah
, I think,
we’ll see about that
.

A
fter Will goes up to bed, I sit in the family room alone for a while. It’s just me and my thoughts, which leaves me feeling restless.

I could—and should—head upstairs and go to bed. Warm Kay is waiting up there for me. I can lose myself in her like I did before dinner.

And I will, but not yet.

I wander around the house for a bit, checking out things on the first floor. Every room is spacious and meticulously decorated. I stroll through the living room, which doesn’t look like it’s used all that often. Then I’m on to the downstairs bedrooms, including Mom and Greg’s room. Next, I walk through Greg’s study and then amble through a small library. When I’m back in the dining room, I turn this way and that, until I ultimately decide to wind my way to the kitchen. There I come upon a laundry room/mudroom combo in the far corner. The door to the garage is in there. Curious as to what kind of cars Mom and Greg are driving these days, I step into the mudroom and swing open the door leading to the massive garage area.

“Wow,” I mouth as my gaze sweeps over four spots, all occupied with very nice vehicles. There’s a Mercedes, a Porsche, a Range Rover, and a sweet Dodge Challenger, cherry red with white stripes. I assume that car is for Will for when he turns sixteen next year. He hasn’t mentioned the car, though, and you think he would. Still, if I know my mother—and I sure as hell do—this is just like her. If there’s one thing Abby excels at, it is keeping secrets. She probably bamboozled Will into thinking the Challenger is Greg’s car. But I know how she plots and plans and surprising Will with a car on his sixteenth birthday is just her style. It’s so typical of Mom to think a pricy gift might make up for all her years of neglect.

“Think again,” I snort as I step into the multi-vehicle garage.

I notice there’s a fifth parking spot, but it appears empty. Until I walk over to it.

Just as I’m passing the red Challenger I catch sight of something I never thought I’d ever see again, something I assumed was long gone.

I stare long and hard at my father’s old 1960 Indian Matchless motorcycle, muttering, “Shit, no way.”

Mom told me everything was gone. Hell, we sold off ninety-nine percent of our belongings when we went bankrupt. I remember those dark days all too well. So where has Dad’s old motorcycle been all this time? And what’s my mother doing with it parked in Greg’s garage?

Much like baby brother, it seems Mom is keeping secrets, too.

Kay

I
wait and I wait in the upstairs bedroom, but Chase doesn’t come to bed. Eventually, I nod off, but only for a short while. I can’t sleep in this unknown house, this too-quiet home. I’m used to the farmhouse back in Harmony Creek, and my apartment above Chase’s garage. There, in both places, when the windows are open you can hear the sounds of the outdoors, teeming with life. Crickets chirping, frogs singing down at the creek, and the occasional call of a nighthawk. But here in this closed-up, gated community, all I hear is the low hum of whole-house air conditioning.

Not exactly soothing for a country girl at heart.

When I can’t take another minute of artificially generated sound, I get out of bed. I took off all my clothes before lying down, in anticipation of some quality time with Chase, so I now take a minute to dig out a short, silky robe from my still-packed suitcase.

Once I find the robe and am covered, I knot the pale-pink sash around my waist.

Then, I start down the stairs.

The first level of the house is illuminated with here and there nightlights. The only room with a big light on appears to be the kitchen. Chase is not in there, but I hear noise coming from what I assume is a garage area.

Concluding that Chase must be in there, I step over a big pile of Will’s unwashed clothes, in the center of the laundry room, and swing open a door leading into what I discover is a huge, multi-car garage.

“Wow,” I mutter as I take in all the expensive cars.

On the far end of the massive garage space, I hear Chase call out, “Hey, babe, come on in. I’m over here.”

He sounds so cheerful, unlike earlier in the night. I’m glad his mood has improved; I guess things went well with Will. But what has brought Chase out to the garage? Something he sounds pleased with, that much I can tell.

I walk past all the fancy cars and stroll over to where Chase is crouched down, his hand moving appreciatively over the curve of an old motorcycle. The bike appears to be a classic of some sort—completely restored, however.

“Wow,” I say as I reach Chase, nodding to the bike. “That is really nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” he says wistfully, his hand still but remaining on the bike.

“Does it belong to Greg?”

“No, it was my dad’s.”

Whoa, no way
.

“I thought all your father’s things were gone?” I carefully inquire.

“Yeah,” Chase says on a long exhale. “I thought so, too.” And then, a little lower and more to himself than to me, he murmurs, “Shit, Dad loved this thing.”

I move closer to Chase. “Did he ever take you for a ride on it?” I ask.

“All the time, Kay.”

Chase looks up and smiles at me, and I cross my arms over my chest and smile back.

“Do you, by chance, know how to drive it?” I inquire.

“Actually, I do.” He laughs lightly. “Dad used to always tell me not to let Mom know he was taking me out to the desert all the time and letting me drive this thing.”

“That must have been fun,” I say, laughing.

“The best,” Chase agrees as his gaze returns to the bike.

He appears so happy. Discovering that this little part of his dad is still around has revived Chase; he looks less worried, less stressed. Chase has always been intense, but when I first met him he didn’t have the worries of Will weighing him down. Though he was burdened with his own struggles, Chase was more carefree. His demeanor now reminds me of those early days of getting to know him—lunches at the diner, him stealing my hair tie and me running after him, and me taking off with his last lemon-lime soda while he chased me down.

And then there was that first kiss.