Page 25 of Riding the Line (Willow Ridge #2)
Duke
‘Gram, you can’t put that word down!’ I sputter with disbelief as I watch my eighty-year-old grandmother place her Scrabble tiles to spell out dicking. Cherry chokes on the sweet tea she’s sipping.
‘Why not?’ My grandmother furrows her brow, then tuts at me. Her dark-grey curls hang in a loose bun while her gold-rimmed glasses sit perched on the end of her nose. ‘Don’t you try cheating now, Junior. Just because you’re losing, and I’ve bagged myself forty-five points with a triple word score.’
‘Yeah, Junior ,’ Cherry adds on with animated, glistening eyes now she’s recovered from almost choking to death.
I guess her using my grandmother’s nickname for me – the main way Gram was able to distinguish who out of me and my grandfather she was telling off – is payback for all the years I’ve been calling Cherry Baby Hensley . ‘Don’t be a sore loser.’
I press my tongue to my cheek as I fiddle with the cross dangling from the chain around my neck – the one my grandmother got me years ago and I always don whenever I pick her up from church.
Being ganged up on by Cherry and my grandmother was not what I had planned for today.
‘I’m just not sure that’s really an appropriate word for Scrabble. ’
‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’ My grandmother exudes too much innocence as she picks her new tiles out of the bag. A painting of Jesus sits on the faded floral wall behind her. ‘Isn’t that what you kids get up to these days? A good dicking?’
‘Gram, I swear to God.’ I wipe a hand over my face.
Cherry cowers behind her glass of sweet tea, covering her mouth as she tries to stifle her laugh.
Even if I am completely mortified at the number of times my grandmother has said the word dicking , it’s worth it to see Cherry smile so much after everything that’s happened to her in the last twenty-four hours.
Plus, the adorable little skip she did when I dropped her home to change before we came over to my grandmother’s was enough evidence that I’m keeping her mind out of the shadows for now.
Though, I’m not sure how many more skin-crawling minutes of my grandmother misusing all kinds of rude words I can take.
Gram waves me off before organising her new letters on her rack. ‘That’s what Waylon always says when the fair is town – full of damn kids having a good dicking about.’
‘Ah.’ Cherry rolls her lips, barely managing to contain her grin. ‘I think a good dicking and dicking about are slightly different things, Mary.’
And if this wasn’t torture before, hearing that from Cherry’s lips has now made it ten times worse. I pull at the neck of my T-shirt, its tightness suddenly imposing.
‘Well,’ Gram just shakes her head, ‘whatever they mean, I hope you’re doing both, Cherry. I sure did when I was your age.’ She nudges Cherry with her elbow.
‘Jesus Christ!’ I throw my head back against the armchair and groan. Here I thought this would be a calm day for Cherry, but now my grandmother’s telling her she should be sleeping around. I don’t need her being encouraged anymore to finish off that second half of her bucket list.
‘Don’t be such a prude, Junior – and mind your language. You won’t make me any grandbabies that way.’ She shoots me a look, wrinkles deepening around her frown, while I pray for the ground to swallow me up. ‘It’s your turn, Cherry.’
Cherry’s still biting her lip when she glances at me.
Hesitantly, she runs her slender fingers along her tiles, red nails clicking against them as her eyes dart around the board.
Her tongue slides along her bottom lip when she finally releases it from the grip of her teeth, and then she picks up three tiles and props them on the board.
It takes me a second to pull my attention from her and realise she’s spelled out the word cock , using the k from my grandmother’s previous word.
‘You’re a bad influence,’ I remark, raising a brow at Cherry.
She widens her eyes with feigned innocence, even going so far as to press a hand to her chest with bewilderment. ‘It’s what you call a male chicken, isn’t it? Now who’s got their head in the gutter, hey?’ Cherry jests. ‘This is a family game, Junior .’
There’s a flash of challenge in her eyes, one that makes me grateful my grandmother’s here, otherwise I’m not sure I’d be able to stop myself from trying to shut Cherry up with my mouth. Whatever happened last night left my self-control when it comes to Cherry as frayed as the rips in her jeans.
Once we’ve finished our game of Scrabble – and my grandmother inevitably wins – we help put together some lunch and eat outside on the back deck, buttery sunlight warming us the whole time.
Conversation flows easily, reminding me of all the Thanksgivings and Christmases we’ve spent with the Hensleys – how they’d always invite us as an extension of their own family.
Though, today Cherry’s on a mission when it comes to discovering everything she can about my childhood, as opposed to making polite small talk like usual.
Like she got a taste of the true me last night and needs more.
Knowing how naturally Cherry can slot into this part of my life has my heart prancing.
I have to rub a hand over my sternum to try to calm it.
I know that every day I get with her, helping with this goddamn bucket list, is just borrowed time before she leaves.
But even if it’s only a month and a half, I’ll do what I can to give her the joy and safety she had snatched away from her last night.
I’ll weather whatever storm comes her way, no matter how thunderous, if it means keeping her dry and warm. Safe .
We settle ourselves back inside on the couch with glasses of sweet tea once we’ve finished clearing up lunch.
The quiet hum of the radio filters through the room, while golden rays of sunshine cut across the space, sparkling against Cherry’s hair.
The memory of her hair, so soft and satin-like beneath my lips, has my fingers itching for another feel.
‘Oh, Junior,’ my grandmother suddenly pipes up. ‘Put that nice one on from the other day, won’t you?’
‘Care to elaborate a little more there, Gram?’ I respond, given that nice one on from the other day could easily be a song from last weekend, or five months ago.
‘That love song by that handsome boy with the good voice.’
It’s not much, but thankfully we are talking about a song I played her a couple of weeks ago, and I remember the way she gushed over how attractive he was, grabbing my cheek as she jokingly said, he could give my grandson a run for his money .
‘You mean “Heaven” by Kane Brown?’
‘That’s what I said,’ she confirms, eliciting a chuckle from Cherry.
‘Sure.’ I shake my head at Cherry, then head to the stereo to connect my phone.
Still, my thumb hesitates over the play button on my screen when it comes to it.
I’m all too aware of the weight of Cherry’s heavy stare on me, waiting.
Usually, the post-lunch ritual on a Sunday of me and Gram dancing isn’t witnessed by anyone else.
Just a slice of our own healing process, so that she can feel that little bit closer to Grandfather again, so that I make the most of my time with her too.
Tightness lingers in my chest at the thought of sharing that moment, but it doesn’t crawl any further, just hovers there …
like something is keeping it at bay. And when I turn to catch Cherry’s eyes, as soft as a whisper as she watches me, I know why.
When I think back to last night and everything I confessed to Cherry, the way she so openly listened to this side of me, reminds me that maybe it is okay to be vulnerable.
To let others see me , rather than always being the one to listen and be there for them.
Swallowing down a deep breath, I finally press play on the song and offer my hand to my grandmother.
Her eyes light up, memories already sparking to life in them.
She slips her weathered hand into mine, allowing me to help her to her feet before she lays her hand on my shoulder. We slowly sway to the soft music.
‘It’s kind of a ritual of ours on Sundays, sorry,’ I explain to Cherry over Gram’s shoulder, offering her a half-smile in apology.
Her grin gently spreads out, dark eyes never leaving me. ‘It’s a beautiful ritual.’
I swallow thickly at the way Cherry’s watching me with such tenderness, it’s – fuck – it’s scary and brilliant all at once.
I want her to look at me like that more.
I want to be completely and utterly laid bare for her, so she might see every deep, dark corner of my soul, because being the subject of her gaze is a goddamn privilege.
‘Oh dear.’ Gram halts after a while and pulls her hand from mine, resting her other on my shoulder with more pressure. ‘My darned hip is giving me grief again. Never mind, you’ll just have to take over for me, Cherry.’
‘What?’ Cherry’s lips pop open.
I sputter, ‘Um—’
‘You can’t leave Junior on the dancefloor all alone,’ my grandmother insists, already tugging Cherry up and giving her a nudge in my direction. ‘Step in for me, love. It will be like I’m watching his grandfather and I when we were younger.’
Gram flops back onto the couch, humming with comfort. She widens her eyes at us as if to say get on with it. Both my and Cherry’s jaws work when we turn to each other, and when neither of us move, my grandmother tuts. ‘Take her hand, then, Junior.’
I feel like a goddamn teenager with his crush at prom, too nervous to slow dance. And I didn’t even take a date to prom – unless you count going with Wolfman and Sawyer as a three-way date.