Seventeen Days (6 page)

Before I know it, we’re pulled to the side of the road and he’s unbuckling my safety belt, grabbing me, and squeezing me tight. So tight I think I feel my ribs cracking. It’s heaven. 

“No one, and I mean
no one,
should have to ever go through that, Morgan.” Threading his fingers through my hair, he says, “That is the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard.” His hands are now rubbing up and down my back—he's comforting me so much with his touch, and he doesn't even know it. “Did you report it to anyone? Tell me you at least told a friend?” he asks. 

His hands have stopped their movement, and he's back to hugging me so tightly, I can barely catch my breath. The answer would be a big fat fucking
no
. 

“Harrison …” Trying to take another breath and failing, I manage, “I can’t breathe. Ease up a bit. Please.” 

Never let me go.

His grip eases up a teeny tiny bit. Thank god. I take the deepest breath I can. 

Inhale.
Breathe out.
Exhale.
Repeat. My breaths are choppy at best, but at least he's let up enough so that I may take them. 

“Babe, why didn’t you move in with Savannah before now? You had to have known she’d have taken care of you?” he asks in all seriousness. He’s got to be kidding me. My aunt? She didn’t make an effort to ever see me while I was growing up, only one time. One fucking time in eighteen years.

Struggling to get out of his arms, I shove him slightly, needing more air. “We’re talking about the women who
never
spent any time with me, Harrison. She doesn’t know me, never made the effort to get to know me. No birthday cards, no gifts at Christmas. Nothing. Not one word. Since I’ve been here she’s shown more affection to her dog than she has shown to me. The biggest thing she does for me is leave me half a pot of coffee every morning, and I'm not entirely sure she's leaving it for me so much as it's only her leftovers.” 

Turning away, I gaze back out the window. “To answer your other question, no, you’re the only person I’ve told. Frankly, I’m not sure why I told you. It just seemed … right. Like maybe you of all people would understand. Something about your eyes is comforting to me, maybe my instincts are wrong when it comes to you. I don’t know. It seems I have word vomit when it comes to you.”
Maybe it’s a sign?
The comfort I see in his eyes. I also like how I
felt
being held in his arms. 

He finally lets me go completely and moves back to his side of the truck. Running his hands through his hair and down his face, he lets out a huge sigh.
Did it actually hurt him to hear? Does he feel as attached to me as I feel to him?
That’s the only way I can explain this need to tell him. 

“Thank you for telling me. I know we don’t know each other well, but you can always tell me anything. I promise. I’ll protect you as much as I can. And you told me because you wanted to get it out and you trust me. At least a little. You don’t have to know me completely to trust me. It’s weird for me, too. This feeling I get being around you, it’s hard to explain. It’s like my soul
knows
you. Which sounds completely fucked up, trust me, I know. Maybe it’s why you get ‘word vomit’ around me. You feel comfortable enough to tell me your deepest darkest secrets.”

So, he feels it too. Guess there’s no ignoring it now. 

“I feel it too,” I whisper. Maybe if I don’t say it loud enough, he won’t hear me. I’m leaving in a couple weeks, and I can’t allow myself to get close to him. No matter how much I may want to. It’ll only hurt us both in the end. 

“C'mere,” he says, right before he grabs me and pulls me onto his lap.
I’m straddling his lap.
 As I’m processing, his eyes search mine, and I feel it again. Like his soul is singing to mine. I also see so many questions in his eyes and sorrow.
Is it sorrow for me and what I lost or sorrow for what he’s lost?
Before I know any of these answers his mouth comes crashing down on mine. He’s kissing me like he’s an addict and I’m his next fix. I’m drowning in the feeling of his soft lips on mine. If there's a life preserver, keep it, I don’t want to be saved. I’ve never truly been kissed like he’s kissing me, it’s like he
owns
me. He’s holding both sides of my face, and brushing aside locks of my hair the whole time his lips are on mine. He’s making me feel cherished while kissing me. This whole feeling is foreign to me. I've never felt cherished by anyone. Coming up for air, he growls, literally fucking growls—now
that
is sexy. Like he’s struggling with his need for me … his want for me. After a quick breath, I grab onto his face and kiss him again. Needing to feel his soft lips on mine at least one more time. I find myself no longer caring if we’re doomed before we start. Pressing down onto his lap, I can feel how much this kiss has affected him. Rotating my hips, I let out a soft moan, letting him know what his kisses are doing to me. 

“Red, we need to stop before I lose all control,” he says as he thrusts up to meet my hips.
Do it again.
Suddenly, I’m airborne as I’m being lifted up and placed back on my side of the truck. I miss his warmth instantly. 

After one brief encounter, he’s chipped away a piece of my armor. I’m wanting to
know
Harrison Dean Montgomery. I’m wanting to
let in
Harrison Dean Montgomery. Shit, I
want
Harrison Dean Montgomery. 

After one kiss, I find myself wanting to stay.

About an hour later, we pull into the parking lot of a small coral building with aqua-colored trim. There’s several hundred feet of docks spread out behind it. Two massive boats are attached, and a small shanty sits near the end. Instantly, it speaks to my heart.
Home.
 

From the drive in, everything I’ve seen in this town is beach-colored or themed. The building for sale next door is lilac, the parking lot is painted peach. Who paints a parking lot?
I love it.
 

The sign out front says Montgomery & Son Fishing Tours. This is definitely not what I expected; it doesn’t look like an office. It appears to be a small beach cabin, not a fishing business. Maybe an ice cream shop. A surf shop. Something beachy. Although, come to think of it, fishing tours do make sense.  

There’s not a single blade of grass to be seen for miles. Sand the color of sugar covers every square inch. Once I see the water, the place takes on an almost magical look. Mystical. Turquoise waters as far as my eyes can see.
Is this real?
This, right now, is the most magnificent thing I have seen since leaving Paris. Nothing I’ve seen can compare to this, not my dreams.

Before this morning, I didn’t know I was near an ocean. To find out the Gulf of Mexico is practically in my backyard was a surprise to say the least. I’m going to love working here and seeing it every day. Who would tire of such beauty? I never would’ve guessed I’d be semi-happy here in Alabama. It’s nowhere near New York, but today I find myself not caring. I’m not missing it in the least.
Well, maybe Starbucks.
Must be the company I’ve had all day. Harrison has brought color to my black and white world.
Literally.
 

“This is charming,” I say as he’s parking the truck. He hasn’t talked too much since kissing me. Our questions stopped and we just
were
. When he ran in the store to have a key made, I found a local station on the radio and sang along to the country songs flowing from it. The simple lyrics speaking to me. 

“It’s not much by the looks of it, but it’s enough for me. We don’t need a big fancy building to run a fishing charter. Give me access to a dock, my boats, a crew, and I’m good as gold.” Pausing, he catches my gaze, winks, and continues, “If you want to see the inside first we can do that, or I can show you the boats and maybe take you out on the water for a bit. If you want to.” 

“Hell yes, I want to. I love the water, always have. If I would’ve known I was this close to a beach, I would’ve been here every day. The waves have a calming effect on me. Wasn’t sure what I was going to study in college but always thought one day maybe I could maybe open a little place near the water.”
Before Paris.

Opening his door, he slides out of the truck. “Don’t move, I’ll come around and help you out.” Could it be he’s a Southern gentleman? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about independence, but I like this side of him. Flinging open my door, he reaches over to unbuckle my seatbelt. His arm grazing my breast, causes me to suck in a deep breath. Instantly I crave more of his touch. 

Glancing up, his gaze catches mine. We stare into each other’s eyes for at least a full minute. Green crashing against gray. The fire answering mine tells me he’s turned on as much as I am. Clearing his throat, he's the first to drop eye contact. “Come on, Red, let’s see the office. Then we can go out on the water for a bit. If I don’t give you the tour and go over your responsibilities, we’ll never get to it. And I need you to know what to do come tomorrow morning.” 

“Um. Sounds good.” Jumping down from the truck, I make my way to the front door and wait for him to close the truck up before meeting up with me. “Hurry up there, Captain. We’ve got a boat ride to take.” 

Yesterday was one of the best days I can remember having in a long time. And I owe it all to one feisty redhead. She’s more than I ever bargained for, I’m certain. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to dig under all her layers to find the women hidden within. 

When she shared with me what her bitch of a mother did to her, I was pissed off. Hell, I hurt
for
her and the innocence she lost. Not merely on that day but on every single day that’s passed since. She was forced to grow up in the worst way imaginable. It’s no wonder she turned to drugs. I know it was only the one time, but could she honestly say it wouldn’t have changed
if
she wasn’t caught? I can’t say I entirely blame her. Fuck, I probably would have turned to liquor and drugs if it wasn’t for my having Savannah around after my parents’ death. We all know my uncle wouldn’t have been able to help me through. I’ve practically shut down since my parents’ death as it is, never letting anyone close enough to truly know me. If they didn’t know me before, they surely don’t know me now. Letting them get close only leads to heartache in the end, so I choose to keep people away. Why bother? It’s easier that way. For everyone. 

Knowing Savannah is one of the most loving people I’ve ever known
brings me to question what Morgan said about her. Could it actually be true she has never had a relationship with her? I’ve heard about Morgan over the years; I always thought they had a normal aunt/niece relationship. Feeling like I should ask Savannah, but knowing I can’t break what limited trust Morgan has in me, I’ll let it rest. For now. Maybe she’ll open up and tell me more without me having to ask. She’s been forthcoming thus far. 

After she leaves, I can ask Savannah about it and not feel like I’m breaking her trust. Maybe. She all flat told me she was going to leave Alabama behind and never look back.
Does she still mean me as well?
Hating that I’m asking myself such things when I don’t want to pull her in closer, I groan in frustration. 

As soon as I got home last evening, I checked out the airfare prices for her to be able to get to New York, and went as far as to book her a flight for two weeks from today. I’ll still pay her for working, but I don’t want her to use all of her money to get back and have nothing to fall back on once she’s there. She said she has a job lined up, but who knows if that’s true or not? The inadequate amount I do end up paying her won’t be enough for her to live on for more than a month. Not in such a big city. Here? Yeah, sure, she could easily live on what I plan on paying her for three months.