Made in America (18 page)

It helps that the sex is good, too.

Unbelievably good.

Finishing up our lunches, we make our way out of the restaurant with the promise to return. The humidity hits all four of us as Grant and I both put on our sunglasses. All around are bald cypress tress dripping with Spanish moss, and a few palm trees—which I’d never seen before. I stare up at one, thinking how amazing my life has become in just a few weeks. I take Grant’s hand in mine and smile whimsically to myself, catching Tito’s eye as he gives me a wink.

He’s happy, too. Since arriving, he and Frankie are already getting along better, seemingly content with leaving the wedding stuff alone for now. They take each other’s hands and walk ahead of us, and I nudge Grant playfully. He grins, the both of us looking at the two men who will spend the rest of their lives together.

Marriage. I wonder how Grant feels about that?

“Beach access is just down the road,” he calls ahead. “I’m going to take Raven for a walk, if that’s all right with you guys.”

Tito turns and says, “Not a problem. We’re going to head back to the house for a little R and R. Between the plane ride, the car ride, and having a stomach full of food, I’m bushed. It’s time for a nap.”

“I’ll bet it is,” I tease.

He wiggles his eyebrows, slapping Frankie on the butt before their pace quickens, leaving Grant and me to turn down a little side road that soon gives way to a sandy beach. The Atlantic Ocean, stretching for as far as the eye can see, is calm. Waves saunter aimlessly up to the shore, dribbling over the sand. There aren’t a lot of people around, which is nice. It makes it feel like we have the whole beach to ourselves.

I take off my sandals and dip my toe in the water. “Cold,” I giggle.

“It takes some getting used to,” Grant says, removing his boat shoes. He drops them to the sand, takes mine, and does the same. Then he takes my hand and we start walking away down the shoreline.

“Won’t someone take our shoes?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nope. That’s the best thing about this place. It’s not a tourist dump. Locals know better. Tourists? Not so much.”

‘Is that why you have property here?”

“Mostly. No paparazzi, either. I have those houses purchased through a dummy corporation, so they can’t be tied back to me which means no one knows they’re here. It helps that it’s gorgeous, too.”

“It really is,” I sigh, placing my head on his arm as we walk.

We walk for a while, enjoying one another’s company. The silence between us is comforting, without a trace of awkwardness, and the more I think about it the more I believe it impossible to feel that way in his presence. Grant makes me feel special, treating me the way a man should treat a woman: with respect, politeness, and a filthy mouth that knows how to turn me on. Just the way I like it.

A bird up ahead on the sand calls out, making one of the most amusing sounds I’ve ever heard. Laughing, I ask, “What is that?”

Grant grins. “It’s known as a laughing gull. They’re pretty common around here. You can always find them on the beaches scavenging for fish that swim too close to the surface of the water.”

“Knock knock,” I chuckle.

“What?”

“Knock knock. C’mon, it’s a joke.”

“Who’s there?”

“Little old lady.”

“Little old lady who?”

“I didn’t know you could yodel.”

On cue, the gull starts its laughing call, making me sound like the funniest person in the world. I crack up, unable to contain how delighted I am by such a creature. “I should do stand-up comedy,” I cry out, releasing Grant’s hand to clutch my stomach. He looks on, a fancy grin on his face as he watches me lose it. I drop to one knee and the bird takes flight, startled by my sudden movements. I keep laughing. Howling, actually, and when I look at Grant and see the way he’s looking at me—with his eyebrow raised and a boyish smirk plastered on his face—it makes me laugh until tears are spilling down my cheeks and it feels like I might upchuck my lunch.

“Oh God,” I heave. “I haven’t done that in a while.”

Grant crouches down, brushing stray stands of hair from my face. His efforts are futile, as a nice breeze has kicked up from the ocean, blowing it back over my eyes as he looks on, smile fading, eyes turning serene.

“What?” I blush, feeling humbled by the way he admires me.

“I love you,” he says, his words being carried past my ears and away on the wind.

I blink. My head isn’t sure what I just heard, but my heart knows, and its pace quickens causing my lungs to inflate with a sharp breath of ocean air as goosebumps break out all over my body.

The way he looks at me—the way his gaze is focused yet content—I know he’s serious. It’s crazy, but he’s serious, and I have no idea how to respond because in my entire life no words have ever held such meaning before. It’s not the first time someone’s told me that, but it is the first time I’m allowing myself to really hear it, and before I can get all choked up I rise to my knees and wrap my arms around his neck.

“Knock knock?”

“Who’s there?”

“Al,” I grin, tilting my head and bringing my lips closer to his.

“Al who?”

“Al give you a kiss if you open the door.”

Grant draws me in, his breath crashing over me like the ocean waves we’re silhouetted against. He trembles beneath my touch, visibly nervous yet relieved that I was so receptive to his confession. As his lips brush against mine I pull him closer still, holding him tight before resting my chin on his shoulder in an embrace that says what I hope it will say, because I can’t bring myself to utter the words.

Not yet.

- 19 -

Grant

Life is all about risks. I didn’t get where I am today without taking a few, but telling Raven I love her was the biggest risk of all.

It felt like the right thing to do, in that moment, with her hair laying whimsically across her face, the ocean breeze blowing all around us. It felt…perfect, and though she didn’t say it back to me, I can tell by the way her heart beats fast against my chest she’s feeling something, and for now I’m good with that.

“C’mon,” I say, “let’s go grab our shoes and head back. Maybe
we
can sneak in a nap, because I have a feeling we’re going to be up all night.”

“You know they’re not really napping, right?” she says, referring to Tito and Frankie, who by now are probably naked in my beach house.

“I know,” I wink. “But I am kinda tired, and you know what would be nice? Falling asleep next to you. Just the two of us, cuddling.”

“That would be nice,” she beams.

I guide Raven to her feet and we walk hand in hand down the beach. The laughing gull is back, swooping down to pick a small bluefish out of the water. It flies into the air, gobbling down its catch, as I savor the feeling of the sand between my toes. I’ve been working so hard lately I sometimes forget what it’s like to just stop and catch up with the rest of the world. Thankfully Raven’s helping a lot with my perspective on things, and I find myself taking a deep, soothing breath while a couple of guys in swim trunks pass us by.

“Nice tits,” one of them quips to Raven.

My steps falter as my mood instantly shifts. I go from being completely content with the world and everything in it, to seeing things through a red film that’s been draped over my eyes.

Noting the dark cloud passing over my face, Raven squeezes my hand tighter, whispering, “Let it go,” under her breath.

But I can’t let it go. I can’t let someone get away with disrespecting her like that. Not now. Not ever.

“Hey,” I shout, turning around.

The guy who made the remark stops, and both he and his buddy spin to face me. There’s a sly
what are you gonna do about it
smirk on his face as he holds out his arms, begging me forward for a fight.

I approach nonchalantly, arms hanging loose at my side, though my eyes are blazing with the intent to protect the woman I love.

“What?” he says the closer I come. He’s wearing swim trunks that look to be about two sizes too small for his ‘roided up frame, but I’m not intimidated in the least.

I may not be as big as he is, but that’s to my advantage.

“Grant, c’mon,” Raven pleads.

“Yeah, Grant,” he scoffs. “Do what the lady with the nice titties sa—”

I haul off and hit him in the face unexpectedly. I move fast, snapping my arm and clenching my fist all in one motion. The blow connects with his eye socket, sending him sprawling back to trip over his own feet and go crashing to the sand.

“Grant!” Raven yells, but it’s too late.

I hop on top of him and begin reigning down blows to his face, his neck, his collarbone. My fists are on fire and from behind I can feel his friend grab me by the shoulder, but I violently shrug him off and turn around to smack him as well.

One punch to the jaw knocks him out cold.

And then I’m on the other guy again. His nose is bleeding, his eye is swollen shut, and from behind me I can hear Raven screaming and shouting for me to stop but no one—not anybody—looks at my girl the way this guy did and gets away with it.

“Motherfucker,” I scream. “You don’t say anything about her ever again.”

Smack!

“You don’t look at her!”

Punch!

“You don’t talk to her!”

Crack!

“You don’t even think about her!”

I feel another hand on my shoulder and thinking it’s the other guy coming to his senses, I instinctively turn to shove him away, and find myself shoving Raven as hard as I can. She falls, wincing as she hits the ground. She looks up at me with a horrified expression and immediately the air is sucked from my lungs. I step forward, my legs Frankenstein-like as I stumble, falling to my knees. She scrambles back like a crab as I reach out for her, and for the first time I notice the blood on my knuckles.

“Raven,” I whisper, feeling a dull ache pound at my temples as the surge of adrenaline begins to subside.

“No,” she says, shaking her head and scrambling to her feet.

She runs from me, snatching her shoes before taking off in the direction of the beach house.

She runs.

From me.

I look regretfully back over my shoulder at the man I pummeled to honor her, and the next time I lash out, it’s at the sand rather than his face.

“Raven?” I call out, bursting through the door of the beach house. “Raven?”

I search high and low for her presence. She’s nowhere to be found. Not in the kitchen, the living room, or any of the upstairs bedrooms. Sweat pours off me the harder I run through the house, realizing that of course she’s not here. Why would she be?

I scramble out the door and head across the lot to the other house. Banging on the door for a minute, Tito eventually answers it dressed in nothing but a towel. He looks me up and down, his eyes wide from seeing the disheveled state I’m in and the blood and sand drying on my knuckles.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. “Where’s Raven?”

“She’s not here?”

He shakes his head and I see Frankie emerge from the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

I brush past Tito, feeling frantic as the memory of what I did plays over and over in my mind. Shoving Raven, seeing the look of terror on her face. God, I put that there. I have to make it right.

“There was a fight,” I say, relaying what happened to her two best friends. I don’t sugarcoat it. I tell them what I did, and how it’s tearing me apart inside.

Tito whistles. “Damn, man. All that because a guy complimented her breasts?”

“He didn’t compliment her breasts,” I complain, running a hand through my hair. “He insulted her.”

“Well,” he chides, “whatever happened, you gotta find her and make this shit right. After what happened to her, she doesn’t do violence, man.”

“What do you mean?” I pause, catching my breath and staring him dead in the eyes. “What happened to her?”

“Not my place,” Tito says, holding up his hands.

“Please,” I beg, searching for an answer as to how to right my wrong.

“I can’t,” he says, shaking his head.

I hurry out the door and take the steps two at a time. She couldn’t have gotten far. She doesn’t know the island at all, so it makes sense she’d stick close to something familiar.

“Where are you?” I muse, looking around.

And then I see her. She’s been sitting on the end of the dock to our beach house this whole time.

Sighing, I take a calming breath and make my way down the wooden path. I can’t imagine how she’s feeling—what she’s thinking—after what I did. She probably thinks I’m a monster, but I’m not. I’m just…protective.

Her feet dangle over the edge of the dock, drifting back and forth in the calm waters. Her hands are folded solemnly in her lap, and she has her head bowed. I don’t even know if she notices me standing behind her, hands in my pockets, feeling absolutely gutted as I stare at the back of her head.

“Raven?” I question.

A small sniffle causes my heart to crack open, so I remove my shoes, roll up my khakis, and sit down beside her, placing a delicate arm around her shoulder. She’s fucking crying, and it’s the most painful sound in the world. I try and think of something—anything—to make it better, but whatever words my brain manages to find, they don’t seem to do the situation justice. I worry about making things worse, so I just sit there saying nothing, holding her, because it’s all I know how to do.

Wiping her nose, Raven takes a deep breath. She trembles under my touch, her shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Clearing her throat, she says, “I remember watching
Postman Pat
the first time I saw my father hit my mom. The funny thing is he was a postman himself, but not near as nice as Pat, who had this black and white cat named Jessie, and they’d get up to all sorts mischief together. I remember he had too many parcels to deliver, or something, when my father came home, drunk out of his head.”

She bites her lip, and I squeeze her close, staying silent.