Page 56
The sound of quick, heavy footsteps grabs my attention. My heart instantly patters in time to the familiar tread.
Auguste’s curls peek from the bottom of the glass balustrade as he jogs up the stairs to the pool area.
Showing up when I need him. Again .
Auguste drops down onto the lounger beside me, a pint of my favorite oat milk ice cream in one hand and in the other a couple cans of Frutee cream soda, his favorite.
He presses a kiss to my temple. Just one. Warm and steadying. Right before he takes off his oversized hoodie and wraps it around me along with his muscular arm.
“Mmm… you smell good, Princess.” Auguste kisses the top of my head before pulling the hood over it.
“I smell like chlorine.”
“Exactly, better than the dingy smell of the community rink changing rooms.” With a tired sigh he adds, “I always forget how exhausting skating with the kids is. They eat up every single second we’re there like it’s the best part of their lives.”
“A lot of those kids probably don’t have a lot going for them…”
“It’s my favorite extracurricular. Well, my second now,” he chuckles, canting his face in front of mine with a waggle of his brows.
Auguste offers me the ice cream carton, and when I take it, he produces two disposable wooden spoons from the pocket of the hoodie.
My thumbs pop off the lid, and I blink down at the creamy swirls. “Chocolate almond butter?”
“Your favorite.”
“This is dangerously close to love, you know?” I tease, choking on my choice of words.
The corner of his mouth lifts with his wordless reply. And for a moment, the quiet is soft and perfect. Exactly what I needed since my mother’s call earlier.
We eat spoonfuls of dessert, fighting over the chocolate fudge and salted caramel swirls sweetening the oat cream and almond butter. It’s the perfect marriage of flavors along with the cream soda. The dinner I needed.
“Sooo…” he starts.
“Oh no. Please don’t. That word is triggering me so bad right now.”
“Jayden said you were upset when you left the facility earlier.” Auguste scoops up a large puddle of chocolate, caramel, and almond butter and after sucking half of it off the spoon he offers me the other half. “Wanna talk about it?”
I’m about to say no when the urge to pangs in my chest.
“My mom called me this afternoon.”
“She did?” Hope brackets his full lips. “How did it go? ”
“Aside from her asking me to sign my half of our house over to her… poorly.”
“What?” Auguste drops his spoon back in the cartoon, next to mine.
I don’t know what to say. How to word the conversation because there’s no way to make it sound nicer. No way to make it hit lighter. Especially knowing how wonderful his family is.
Behind us my phone trills to life. The same ringtone from earlier. Specifically assigned to my mother.
Auguste peers over our shoulders, brows pinching together when he sees who it is.
“You don’t have to answer it,” he tells me when I grab for it.
I know I don’t. Most of me knows I shouldn’t.
But… that bitch hope reigns eternal.
So I do.
That small, hopeful part of me wishes that maybe this call is different. What if she apologizes? Or acknowledges that it wasn’t fair to keep my dad from me?
Maybe she won’t make me the villain for once?
I swipe and bring the phone to my ear. at the same time as Auguste’s arm wraps around me, drawing me into him in silent support.
“Hello?”
“Courtney.”
I freeze.
Auguste’s hold tightens and his lips press to the top of my head. It’s not a kiss. Just the hit of confidence I need to breathe through the dread and the anger whipping around in my stomach.
“Martin.”
“Don’t you Martin me, missy. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You’d rather see your mother miserable than let her move on.”
My stomach clenches. I sit up straighter.
“She’s distraught. After everything we have done for you. After all the sacrifices she’s made for you… every damn time she tries to move forward, you drag her down. You’re a selfish, ignorant little?—”
“I want to talk to her,” I cut in, voice trembling.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you. She finally sees you for what you are. Trouble. A waste of time.”
“Give her the phone.”
“Oh, please, you don’t call the shots with me, you?—”
The phone disappears from my hand.
Gone .
Just gone like Auguste from my side.
He’s already standing, towering, lit from beneath by the pale pool lights that throw shadows across his jaw like they were painted there for intimidation.
When he speaks, his voice is a fresh razor.
“Listen up… Martin , here’s how this conversation is going to go. You’re going to shut up and pass the phone. Period.”
Martin snaps something but Auguste simply spins on the spot. His stare narrows on me.
“I’m a man. A son and a brother who knows you don’t get to come between a daughter and her mother. It’s not part of your privilege.” His tone lowers. “Talking down to Courtney, also not part of your privilege or any man’s. Remember that next time you open your mouth in her direction.”
Martin’s raucous laugh echoes when Auguste comes closer. “Or what?”
“I know where you live, Martin. I know where you work. I know where you drink and hang with your buddies. Do the math, Martin.”
Click.
Auguste’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding as he holds the phone out to me.
“I…” he starts with fuck-me-look on his face. “Court?—”
I don’t let him finish. Pushing up to my feet, I kiss him hard.
Desperately fierce. Attempting to convey how grateful I am for him. For his presence. For his… affection. And with all the things I can’t say, I just need him to know that I see him.
Every part of him. Perfect and mine.
I’ve never wanted anything before like I want to keep him now. Never needed like I need him. The rough and the smooth. The rash and brood. Each beautiful part of him.
Auguste’s hand finds my waist. The other cradles my jaw, grounding me.
When I finally pull back, panting, I keep my forehead pressed to his. I could breathe him in for the rest of my life.
“Court—”
“No. Don’t you dare apologize.” Auguste stills. “You didn’t do anything wrong, baby.”
He exhales, still holding me, brushing a kiss to the tip of my nose.
I love it.
All of it .
All of him.
Because Auguste’s control doesn’t feel like a cage. It feels like a shield. A line nobody can cross to get to me.
“No one’s ever done that for me before,” I whisper. “Not with Martin.”
He swallows. His eyes close for a beat.
And God , I want to tell him everything. That I’m falling. That I don’t know how to leave him behind. That New Orleans might be my future, but he’s the part of it I’m not sure I can live without.
But the words get stuck.
So I let them sit in my chest and press my hand to his. Hoping that somehow my touch can convey the words I can’t vocalize.
When he folds himself around me, for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of being held.
I’m afraid of letting go.
Table of Contents
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- Page 56 (Reading here)
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