Page 16
Story: Debt of My Soul
Chapter 16
Fleur
“ S o you and Adam are …” River asks, placing several oranges in her reusable bag. We move away, on to the next booth ripe for the picking.
I’d seen signs for the Ruin Farmer’s Market for a month or two since I moved here and always wanted to go. Finally, a Saturday arrived when Adam wasn’t working at the house, and I committed to going. Unfortunately, he had something else to do today.
But it was the perfect opportunity to have River over to the farmhouse to look at the progress before she drove us to the farmer’s market.
It’s everything I imagine a small-town market to be, and I have to bury the feeling of wanting to capture this in a photo.
Held in the library’s parking lot, local farmers, vendors, artists, and more have tents set up here. People roam freely over the array of homemade items. Even the local coffee shop has a table, the aroma of freshly ground beans overpowering many of the smells.
Piles of heirloom tomatoes, plump fruits, and crisp heads of lettuce are all plucked from their stands by a large number of community people, and it’s almost like a race to see who can get the most before noon. I swear the whole town must be here.
River picks up a woven basket next to the table of handcrafted soaps I’m currently sniffing. She eyeballs me, not forgetting I haven’t answered her almost question.
“Adam and I what?” I ask, stalling to answer.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, come on, Fleur. Are y’all together or what?”
Together. I hate that word. I was together with Chris for nine years.
Being together didn’t stop him.
I pause with the lavender and thyme soap to my nose and immediately place it back on the table. I don’t do lavender. “We haven’t exactly had that conversation. Right now, I’m enjoying getting to know him. But I just got out of a long relationship that ended badly. I’d have to have someone sweep me off my feet in order to move on so soon.”
“I see,” she says, paying an older lady for the basket.
Glimpsing her expression, lips tucked into a thin line and eyes darting around like she can’t decide where to look, I ask, “Do you know him well?”
“Adam?”
“Yeah.”
“Not really. Not anymore. My brother does, though. They used to hang out a lot together. But where my brother stepped into the Jackpot world, Adam steered clear. Don’t think Liam would let him if he tried.”
She smiles, rubbing her arms as a rumble rolls past the road lined with the tents, and several motorcycles pull into the parking lot. I glance around. Everyone’s fixed on the group of five men, each on their bike. One by one, they return back to their work as if this is something they’re used to. River, however, keeps her attention locked on them.
Her eyes are somber and her lashes wet with tears. She stares and stares, blinking only once.
The men get off their bikes and load up a few pre-purchased crates. Crates of fresh produce mostly. In awe, I watch as these large burly men gather food and strap it to their bikes as if they were tricycles with pink baskets carrying their precious dolls or stuffed animals.
A person whips by me, and before I have time to realize River has moved, she’s halfway across the parking lot, determined. With each step, she emphasizes her march, her long legs stomping toward the men.
One of the brawny men—cause aren’t they all—spots her and turns in her direction. He taps his hand over the arm of another man, and he too looks at River charging at them. They both laugh while scouring her body.
Slinging my reusable bags full of my own farmer’s market finds, I jolt into a brisk walk to follow, catching up to her as she asks, “Where is he? Is he here?”
She hasn’t asked anyone in particular, and she scans the tents and crowds where a few of the men have walked off. The two men who saw her coming step into her, towering over her.
River is tall. Well, taller than me, and I’m about average. For them to stare down at her like she’s a bug under their obnoxiously large boots … well, I’m not sure it matters. She meets them stare for stare.
“River. Finally decide to give me a shot?” a tall younger guy with a dark goatee and greasy face says.
She glares at him, while townspeople pass by, ignoring the conversation.
“Bug off, Tilt.” But her eyes soften after her snap back. They flick down to the parking lot gravel, and she kicks at some pebbles before eyeing them again. “I just want to know …”
“River.” A loud voice booms from several feet away.
I gravitate to that voice, motivated to find it. Seek it out. My legs suddenly feel off balance when my gaze lands on him. I find myself holding my breath as he strides over.
Thundering legs take massive steps in my—our—direction, erasing the distance. With each step, the hairs rise on my arms and around to the nape of my neck.
Liam’s black boots and black jeans are standard, but his dark red flannel catches me by surprise and my eyes widen when it blows open, exposing a gray V-neck. All of his long hair is down today, the wind blowing a few strands in his face, which he promptly pushes away. Two rings and a leather bracelet wrap his wrist on the hand he moves to the back of his neck.
I can’t move. Can’t focus.
Why does someone like him have to be so attractive?
Liam stops in front of River, with me slightly to the side. His focus is wholly on her, like I’m not even here. He’s rugged and intense, but that doesn’t stop his sharp expression from lessening when he sees her.
“He’s not here,” he says.
She sniffles, and I move a hand to her shoulder. The movement snags his notice and when his gaze drifts over to me, he bristles.
What the …
He shifts on his boots, the deep treads leaving marks the size of a bear paw in the pea-sized gravel.
“Fleur.” He grumbles my name in a short tone, his posture going more rigid when he says it. If that’s even possible.
“Liam. Tell me, please, how is he?” River brings his attention back to her. She’s folded both of her hands around her mouth and nose as if she’s whispering a prayer to them. I can’t help but notice her trembling hands, and I glare at these assholes, who have her brother so wrapped up in addiction he won’t leave their side. Won’t get help in order to have a better relationship with his sister.
“He’s okay, River. I’m watching out for him,” Liam says.
The snort that comes out of my mouth actually burns the back of my throat, and a wave of heat rushes through me at his words. Watching out for him? In what universe did he think he was watching out for anyone?
He returns the sentiment with a sluggish grunt of his own. It’s unnerving and my breath hitches when his glare pins me in place.
“Thanks, Liam,” River says. She tilts her head to the rows of tents we have yet to look at. “Let’s go, Fleur. I see Mrs. Nell, and I need to tell her about the antique set we just got at the shop.”
She marches back off the way she came, her hands swiping under her eyes.
Liam holds my stare for a beat before I turn, ready to dart behind her and finish my shopping.
Deft fingers wrap around my wrist with a tingle that seers along my skin, and I shiver. I search for the source, down to where a large hand circles my arm.
Liam’s teeth grit together. Clenched so hard I can hear them grinding among the market’s chatter. I pull hard, but he doesn’t let go.
“What …” I rasp, my mouth suddenly dry and unable to form words.
“You need to stop.” Liam growls at me. Growls.
“Stop what?” My cheeks are red. I just know it by the way my face feels like it’s burning.
His fingers move briefly over the two rubber bands nestled on my wrist. His gaze goes from them to me, and his jaw twitches. “Just stop. You know nothing about us. Comments and snide remarks will get you killed.”
I flinch at his words because he’s right. I’m not being smart. My heart picks up speed and I swallow, and he tracks the gulp.
I can’t stand it, though. The look of longing in River’s eyes as she talks about her lost brother. Except that’s the thing. He isn’t lost. He lives here. He’s alive. Choosing to live a life buried in Jackpot and working for a man seemingly untouchable. It’s not fair, and it makes me angry.
I pull at my wrist again, whimpering when he still doesn’t release me. Quick, shallow breaths make it feel like I can’t breathe. Are my toes numb?
“Okay,” I say, tugging once again, and he finally lets me go. I take a few steps back as soon as I’m released, my eyes glued to his. I rub at my wrist where his fingers set fire to my skin. The pads of my fingers trail over the rubber bands there, and I twirl them between the tips.
Liam lowers his head to one side, studying me. Feeling the summer Mississippi heat, I reach back and flick my hair over my shoulder, letting the cool breeze caress my neck where drips of sweat make their way down my back.
“Where’s Adam?”
My lips part, taken aback by his question. Although, I made no move to leave when he let me go. Maybe he thought I wanted to talk, which I don’t.
“Working,” I snap, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “What are you doing here? I didn’t realize motorcycle gangs frequented farmer’s markets.”
“We aren’t—” He pauses, suppressing another growl. “Picking up supplies for home.”
“And where’s that exactly?”
He gives me a look like he can’t believe I’d asked that question. Because … well, because he most definitely wasn’t going to tell me. I flash him a smirk in return, but it fades just as fast when I remember what he told me about snide comments. I’m guessing annoyed facial expressions count?
“Hey, Fleur.” River runs up to me, panting. “Mrs. Nell is going to come look at the bedroom set at the shop. Do you want to come? Or if you’re not finished, I can swing back by and take you home.”
“Oh, um, yeah, swing back by. I still have a few more tents to check out. Take your time. I’ll be fine.” I offer her a sweet smile and she turns to Liam, her gaze volleying between us before turning on her heel.
Liam steps backward, eyes lingering on what appears to be my nose, then he takes another step back. And another. Each one with his concentration still on me. I squirm under his stare, my heart stammering. But I raise my chin, turning to the several rows of tents I didn’t get to check out yet.
Walk away, Fleur. Do it.
I have to give myself a pep talk. I’m not sure why I want to linger. To observe him in this awkward element. My body resists leaving even though my head is complaining that I move.
At first, it’s a shuffle, but then, as my feet get farther away, it practically becomes a run. I sprint to the tent I left off at and don’t look back.
River dropped me back off at home about an hour ago, and I managed to shove the excessive amount of produce I bought into my fridge before pulling out a frozen burrito. I know—the irony isn’t lost on me. Honestly, though, I was drained. Not only from the beating sun that could cook chicken wings on the sidewalk but emotionally.
To go from a solid feel-good morning with a friend, to unease prickling my senses and churning my gut with my interaction with Liam. Unfortunately, that still didn’t stop me from getting mouthy.
What is it about him? He makes my skin crawl, but I’m not sure it’s in the icky wrong way. I shake my head, intent on running a bath and enjoying the basket of fresh oranges I bought.
My jaw falls open.
Crap.
I turn the bath water off and rush into the kitchen, my braid whipping me in the back as I slide to a stop.
Damn it. I left my basket of oranges on the ground at the farmer’s market. I told myself I was going to set them down to give my aching arms a rest while I waited for River to come back, but I must have forgotten to grab them.
After digging around for an apple instead, I pad back to my bathroom, stripping off the jean shorts and white tank top I wore today. White wasn’t the best idea as I purchased and sampled berries. Dark red and blue juice is splattered across the shirt, and I toss it into the ever-growing pile of laundry I haven’t tackled. It’s the one area of the house that hasn’t been finished yet, so I’ve been slacking on it lately.
I wash up and take ten minutes to relax before climbing out, slide on a pair of overalls, and redo my braid. Long hair during renovations has been a pain, so I’ve been keeping it tied up most of the time.
A knock sounds at the door, and my pulse skips at the sudden noise—I’m not expecting anyone. I toss the ChapStick I was applying into the top drawer and dart past the box in the hallway from Michigan I have yet to open.
The front door is original to the house and there’s no peephole, so I throw open the door to find Adam.
His dark hair is combed back, not the typical tousled look he sports when he’s working and running his hands through it. A light green V-neck hugs his lean build and in his hand is?—
What?
He’s holding my crate of oranges. The ones I’d left at the market.
“Hey! These were just sitting at your front door. Did you leave them outside?”
Did I leave them outside?
No. “I didn’t. I left them at the market by accident.”
“Oh, well, River must have dropped them off for you,” Adam says, moving past me with the crate and into the kitchen to set it down on the island.
More tingling blazes up my spine, and I shiver despite the unbearable heat. I peer both ways down the dirt road, over the hayfields that ebb and flow across the flat country terrain. But it’s then I hear it. Over the clinking of ice into a glass from behind me. Over the wind hitting the new chime I purchased last week. Over the rustling oak leaves in the front yard.
Faint and in the distance.
The rumble of a motorcycle.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16 (Reading here)
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54