Page 41 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)

Blake

M y phone dings from the kitchen island, and I reach forward to set my mug on the coffee table, excusing myself to go check it. “Need anything while I’m up?”

I’m dumbstruck when his eyes roam over me in a hungry and fervent way.

Although Marshall hasn’t made any moves on me since we’ve cuddled up on the couch to watch a show, I can’t tell if I’m surprised or relieved that it doesn’t heat me the way it would have just months ago.

Now, it just feels more overbearing. Oppressive, even.

Carrying a weight that feels intrusive, as though expecting submission rather than my reciprocation.

Currently, I’m in an overly large T-shirt and basketball shorts.

Something I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in front of Marshall when we were dating.

He often was only impressed by the silky little things he’d buy me.

But this is my home, and he’s the one who showed up unannounced.

He’s embarrassed me enough; the last thing he deserves is to see any more skin than this outfit allows. He shakes his head, "All good."

I nod and walk toward the kitchen, ignoring the way I feel his gaze burning a hole into my backside.

Viv:

Did you see this?

*Attachment: 1 Photo*

What a douchebag!

You have no idea.

My phone continues to blow up, Viv hounding me with questions, but I ignore them.

Letting my eyes jump from the photo Vivienne sent to the man on the couch, who’s now watching the TV with rapt fascination.

The rage seeping into my vision is blinding.

How dare he come here and beg for my forgiveness after what he put me through?

Only to turn around and throw it right back in my face?

I do the only thing any woman would do. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and count.

One.

Two.

Three.

When my eyes flutter, I pull up the local taxi app on my phone and order him a ride to the airport.

Then I turn onto my heels and into the bedroom.

The very room where I let him whisper sweet nothings into my ear.

Where I let him apologize. Where I let him kneel before me and promise me something he could never give me.

I grab his suitcase, swing it over my shoulder, and make a show of stomping to rip open the front door.

I waste no time in throwing my entire body weight into flinging the over-packed luggage over my shoulder and off my porch.

I revel in the way it smacks against the dirt road, coating the white suitcase in dust.

I hear the distinct sound of tires rolling up the road the same instant I turn around to find Marshall gaping at me. Perfect. Fucking. Timing.

“What are you doing?” He has the audacity to look confused.

“Get out.” I snap.

“Blake, darling. You can’t be serious.” The endearment grates against my ears, sending my temper into the clouds.

“Get the fuck off my porch, Marshall.” I brush past where he stands in the doorway. Evading his hand when it reaches for my arm.

“Where is this-"

“Don’t!” I whirl, lightly shoving him. Just enough to get him closer to my porch steps and far away from me. “Don’t act like an idiot when you damn well know what this is about!”

“Blake –"

“When were you going to tell me? When were you going to tell me that you proposed to her ?” If the picture wasn’t confirmation enough, the way he blanches tells me everything I need to know. “After you try to worm into my bed? After you told me you loved me?”

I startle, my walls cracking for a fraction of a second as a heavy foot slams onto the first porch step. The realization hits me – the car I thought was Marshall’s ride wasn’t his after all. “Not now.” I bite out at the same time Marshall looks the newcomer over with pure disdain. “Who are you?”

"Could ask you the same thing.”Wesley's eyes narrow, and his voice is sharp enough to cut through steel.

Marshall stands a little taller as if sizing Wesley up.

Clearly not liking the former’s tone. I don’t let my eyes wander to my childhood best friend, too hell bent on getting this sorry excuse for a man out of my town.

The reminder of why I left the city is a smack in the face, but the realization that this town is s till my safe harbor bites harder than I could ever imagine.

I scoff at the incredulous look on Marshall’s face and turn to head back inside. “It’s time for you to go.”

“I’m not leaving. I never would have given the ring to her if you hadn’t run off-" He rushes forward mid-sentence, reaching to grab for my arm, but I sense his motive before he gets the chance to touch me, and doge from his grip.

His lips peel back in a snarl as his eyes bounce between Wesley and me.

“Is this what you’ve been doing? Dressing like that and fucking the first low life who gets you to spread your legs? "

A growl rips from Wesley’s throat, his rage a reflection of my own. But I’m faster. I whip around, fist already drawn back, and strike. Marshall crumples to the ground in a pathetic heap, blood spattering across his shirt and the dirt beneath him. “Bitch! I think you broke my nose!”

Wesley’s shock lasts for all of a second before he turns to face me. “Is this Marshall?” I don’t look at him, don’t respond, but I suppose my discomfort is answer enough, because he’s barreling down the steps and lifting him effortlessly by the back of his shirt.

“You’re lucky she got her hands on you first. Now get your shit and go back to your fancy fucking city before I let her call you an ambulance instead.

” Then he leans down and whispers something into Marshall’s ear.

Too quiet for me to hear, but by the scarlet shade his face turns, I know damn well I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of Wesley’s wrath.

I don’t spare them another glance, not even as Marshall finally gets loaded into his cab and peels out of my driveway.

I plop into the rocking chair on my front porch and drop my head into my hands.

Only then, when I finally inhale a breath that feels a little less angry and a lot sadder, do I feel the pain shooting through my knuckles.

I reel back to peek at them, cursing when I see I’ve split them open.

“Are you hurt?” Wesley drops into a crouch before me, the smell of mint and pine overriding my senses.

I shake my head, “I’m fine.”

“Let me see.” He rolls his eyes, peeling my hand from where I cradle it against my chest, inspecting the damage. His touch is so gentle, so at odds with so many of the men in my life who have done nothing but take, take, and take.

“Come on.” He mutters, reaching forward to scoop me up into his arms.

“Where are we going?” My words have little bite, and I don’t fight the urge to cuddle further into where I already press against his hard chest. The beating of his heart is like a harmony to my own.

It’s easier to breathe, and the fact that we fought just earlier today means nothing in this moment.

The only thing that matters is that he’s here .

“My place.” And while I know that’s a bad idea, I don’t have the energy to argue with him.

***

“That was one hell of a punch.” Wesley’s tone takes on a teasing edge as he slips my shoes from my feet.

I grunt in reply. Safe to say, I’m my father’s daughter.

After cleaning my knuckles, he insisted that I take a bath and lay in bed.

When my second shoe falls to the floor, his hands fall to wrap around the back of my knees. “Look at me, Blake.”

I shake my head, but a gentle tug on my chin has me relenting.

I had avoided his gaze for as long as possible, scared of what I might find in them.

Rage, sorrow, even a glimpse of pain in those blue eyes.

But no pity. That alone causes me to crack under his stare.

A shattered sob rips through my lips, and I let it consume me.

Letting sob after sob rack my already shaking body.

It was so easy to be consumed with rage before, but now?

With Wesley’s gentle hands and soft heart, it was far easier to break under the weight of everything.

I feel the bed dip beside me, and broad arms pull me into his lap, letting his hand fall to the back of my head as he tucks me into him.

I don’t know how much time passes, but only when my sobs slow does he stand to set me back on the bed.

I scrub my hands over my face as I hear the faint sound of footsteps and then water running.

He returns, setting a fresh towel down next to me, dropping a kiss to the top of my forehead.

We both still. My eyes flicker to his, and they widen as if he didn’t mean to do it.

As if it was so natural, it wasn’t even a thought.

He clears his throat, straightening to his full height.

“I’ll come back to check on you in a few. ”

He doesn’t wait for my response; only the sound of the door clicking signals his departure. I realize now that I’m in his room. His bedroom. Alone.

It feels wrong to be given free access to something that has the power to tell one’s entire personality.

The king-size bed is adorned with a dark grey duvet.

The grey walls were only a few shades lighter.

Everything is so neat with a quick sweep of my eyes, but the clutter on his nightstand is undeniably Wesley’s.

A small smile breaks through my dried tears at the picture of him and his dad after a baseball game.

Ben looks so proud standing next to his son, and Wesley looks so happy.

Beaming from ear to ear, one of his front teeth missing.

Nothing like the hardened man I’ve come back home to.

I make my way to the bathroom, and nearly collapse from the warmth wafting from the full tub.

The ache in my shoulders and hand from earlier comes to a full crescendo at the idea of sinking into the warm, bubbly liquid and easing my sore muscles.

It’s a huge claw tub. Big enough to fit two people, maybe even three.

I try, and fail, not to imagine why Wesley, who lives alone and is single, would need such a big tub.

When he returns, I see he’s changed into shorts, and a mug of warm, hot liquid is in his large hands.

I’m already undressed and fully submerged in the water.

Nothing is visible beneath the white bubbles, only my collarbone peeks out over the soap.

Something flares in his eyes at the sight of me, but it’s gone in an instant.

When he sees I haven’t made a move to grab the soap lining the side of the tub, he sets the mug down and reaches behind him to pull off his shirt.

Then, he shocks me to my core when he gets behind me.

I’m too dumbstruck by the sight of him shirtless to do anything but scoot farther down the tub, giving him more room to settle in behind me. He nudges me, telling me to dip my head back just enough to wet it. Then he’s reaching around me for the shampoo. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I suck in a breath as he begins working soap into my hair.

A moan nearly slips from my lips at the sensation of his hands massaging my scalp.

His touch is in no way sexual, but it's intimate in a way I’ve never experienced.

For a few moments, I’m utterly silent. Debating on if I do want to talk about it.

If talking about it makes me weak, or if it’ll help this ever-growing hole in my chest. I decide he, of all people, deserves a piece of me, no matter how small the piece is that I can offer.

My lip trembles as I close my eyes. “I’m sick and tired of men just taking and taking.”

His fingers still in my hair for a heartbeat before he’s back to it. “Do you love him?

I bite my lip, but the answer isn’t a hard one. “I-I think I loved the idea of him more.”

He doesn’t respond, but I feel the movement of him nodding his head.

He cups some of the water, bringing it over my head to rinse the soapy residue from my strands.

Once he deems his work worthy, his fingers glide over the back of my neck, sending goosebumps over my exposed flesh.

He stiffens but only wrings out my hair and sets it over my shoulder.

He clears his throat and stands from where he’s nestled behind me.

Despite the warmth of the tub, I feel much colder with his body no longer pressed against mine.

“I’ll let you finish up, get you some clothes, and you can take the bed for tonight. ”

I reach out, snagging his hand. A bolt of electricity runs up my wrist at the same time he settles his gaze onto our intertwined fingers. “Thank you.”

He dips his head, shutting the bathroom door on his way out. I sink further beneath the water, trying to sort out how the hell I got here.

***

Once I’m dried off, my hair is brushed, and I’m dressed in the clothes Wesley gave me, I finally make my way out of the bathroom. I find him tossing back the large comforter and rearranging the pillows. He nods towards the living room. “I’ll be just out there if you need anything.”

He turns toward the door without another word, and I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline of today or from the way he took care of me in the tub, but I call out for him. “Will you stay?”

He looks from me to the door, hesitation written on his features, but nods.

I scooch over as he comes to crawl into the bed with me.

Once he’s settled, I lay my head on his chest, focusing on his deep breaths.

I know we should talk about today’s fight.

And he deserves the full story on Marshall’s appearance after everything that’s happened today.

But I am so, so tired, and the idea of even using my last bit of energy to apologize to him sounds excruciating.

Wesley’s hand rubs soothing circles on my back, and I swear I hear him whisper "Always” as I drift off to sleep.