Page 82 of When There Was You
My head shakes, my thoughts reeling and jumbling. Adrenaline roars through my system. I scramble into the seat. My hands tremble with such force the key won’t insert, but I finally finagle it before Butch reaches my door, his pleas dulling in my ears. I back up enough to turn and floor it down the driveway, my vision tunneling. He has a daughter? Is he fuckingmarried?
My stomach sours and bucks. I’m going to throw up or pass out. Maybe a combination. I would never,neverbe with a married man. Anger swirls with confusion, my guts roiling when I reach the end of the driveway and stop.
I need air. Now. With shaky fingers, I grip the handle and roll down the window. My car idles as I inhale deep breaths. Through the side mirror, I spot Butch hurrying barefoot and mostly naked down the gravel drive, still calling my name.
He reaches me, panting. His nipples are taut from the cold, green eyes wild, dark chest hair testifying he’s every bit a man. His free hand braces the roof as he catches his breath.
I close my eyes tight.
“Jacqui—”
“Are you married?” I grit out, my hands balling into fists.
“No! Fuck.No!”
I face him now, meeting his penetrating gaze. “Is that your daughter?”
“Yes,” he confesses. Fresh goosebumps flutter across his flesh. “Look, will you come back, come inside? Please?Please, Jacqui. Give me a chance to explain.”
His clear angst gives me pause. My heartbeat slowsenough that I no longer want to hurl. And he is out here in only a towel, his feet likely torn to shreds, freezing his balls off.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He lets out a long, relieved breath and taps his fingers on the roof of my Toyota. “Do me a solid and let me catch a ride. I feel a tad, uh, vulnerable.”
My lips twitch, regardless of how fucking upset I am. “Fine,” I spit out.
He makes zero haste hustling into the passenger side and we’re both silent as I reverse back to his house. The only sound is his palms rubbing vigorously against each other. I lurch to a stop, yank up the hand brake more forcefully than is necessary, and climb out.
Emmy and the dog are nowhere to be seen, but my bags remain where I deposited them.
“What’s this?” Butch asks.
“I made soup and cookies for you and your parents…” My voice trails off. I’m such an idiot. Me and my big ideas.
His gaze latches onto mine. It’s brimming with warmth and maybe a tinge of awe. “Well, damn. You’re just full of surprises.”
“Oh…I don’t know. Think you got me beat today, Butch.”
He grimaces, then grabs one of the bags with his spare hand. I collect the other and follow him inside.
Emmy and the dog swivel their heads our direction from their post on the carpeted living room floor. They’re prone in front of a television, watching cartoons. A big fireplace is flanked by bookshelves, and a matching brown leather couch and recliner fill out the space.
“Hi again!” she says with a wave.
My cheeks burn as I return it with forced enthusiasm. I’ve acted so foolish and immaturely, and yet, this little girl seems undaunted or unaffected by whatever vanishing act I tried topull.
Butch leads me into the kitchen, and I set my bag next to his on the island counter. He stands close, his fingers grazing my arm, almost like he’s afraid to touch me. And honestly…I’m not ready for that.
“I’ll be right back. I need to get dressed. Make yourself at home, okay?”
Unable to meet his gaze, I manage a nod.
His footfalls recede, thumping upstairs, and I let another long breath loose, willing my nerves to stop behaving like live wires.Give me grace.
My thoughts attempt a hostile takeover, but that’s about as useful as me learning chemistry. I’ll stifle those urges—until I hear what Butch has to say.
Remembering the soup, I pull it from the bag and place it in the refrigerator. Colorful alphabet magnets clutter the door. The E, M, and Y peg a drawing at an angle—stick figures of a man, girl, and yellow dog with a bone.
