Page 36 of Starting Over with You (Beer League Belles #2)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

Kenni

I’ve been tossing and turning in my bed for the last two hours.

I know Dean wanted me to sleep in his bed, but I needed space. Now I wonder if his bed would have comforted me.

Nope. I need him .

That’s one hell of a realization.

Our afternoon was cut short when he was called in early because Wagner needed to go up to Knoxville for his mom.

It didn’t feel quite right when he was getting ready to leave.

Of course, he gave me a toe-curling kiss, demanded I sleep in his bed, and told me to text him, but it didn’t feel natural.

Not forced, but not how the morning did before the call from my lawyer.

When Dean left, it felt off. Or maybe I felt off.

I don’t know. Even with his goodnight text that had me swooning like a damned teenager, I’m more confused than a normal person with a Rubik’s Cube.

I’m still fucking married, and the rage I feel is almost too crushing. I don’t know why the hell Stratford is doing this. I mean, I do. But really? He has the audacity to try to keep me married to him when he was the one who started a whole new family?

I need Taylor Swift to write me a hate song about him.

My lawyer told me not to contact him, but I want Stratford to know that I have loads and loads of evidence against him. I know he is doing this to try to get us to the twenty-year mark, but I’ll be damned. I don’t want anyone but my boys getting that trust.

I grunt loudly, rolling over onto my back.

The guilt inside my chest is heavy and toxic.

Dean is a good guy. He is loved by this community like no other.

When he didn’t marry Missy after they found out about Skyye, his character was in question.

And while I know everyone in Thistlebrook is aware that I left my husband, can Dean’s reputation take another hit from his sleeping with a married woman?

This town is so damn old-school, all set in their ways, and I don’t want anything tarnishing Dean’s good name.

Especially my whole fucked-up self.

I never expected to come to town and find myself wanting Dean as badly as I do.

I love how he makes me feel, how he makes me laugh, and how, in two days, I feel more at home in his home than I ever did anywhere else.

It’s not fair that I’m still married. It’s not right that I might have to fight for a divorce.

Maybe I should just give Stratford the year, but I don’t want to. I want to be free of him.

To do what? Jump into another relationship?

Jesus, what am I doing? What the hell am I doing? I really had no intention of finding myself in this situation when I came back. All I wanted was to have fun with my sister and Sadie. Love on my nieces and nephew and find who I am as a mature woman.

While finding Dean may not have been the plan, I can’t say I don’t love who I am when I’m with him.

I feel happier, I feel freed, and yet, I’m also his.

I’m another man’s person, and I’m okay with that.

I crave it. But how can I ask him to be with someone who has more baggage than an airport on a holiday weekend?

I blow out a long breath, running my hands down my face.

Usually when I feel like this, I’d call Missy or Sadie, but I don’t want either of them.

Jeez, just thinking of Missy has me groaning.

How is she going to take this? I don’t feel guilty about what has happened between Dean and me, but I know I need to tell her.

Even if I don’t know what will happen in the future, I don’t want her finding out about us from anyone but me.

Then the kids. Ugh, this is all so complicated.

But even thinking that, I know deep down, he’s worth it.

I kick the blankets off me and come to the conclusion that the only way I’ll feel better is if I have Dean in my arms.

I pull on a black slip dress and some pink slides before I head out of the room to get my keys.

I probably should fix my hair, put on some perfume, but I need him more than I need to look decent.

I jump into my car and head into town to the fire station.

When I glance at the clock, I cringe. It’s past one a.m. I don’t even know if he’s awake, but I keep driving.

The firehouse is a red brick building, three stories and newly renovated with lots of forest-green accents.

Firehouse One, Thistlebrook, Tennessee, is displayed in bold silver letters above the garage that is wide open.

Thistlebrook’s only fire truck sits inside, but what has me choking back a sob is the lawn chair positioned in front of it.

Dean’s sitting in it with his head tilted up to the sky.

I pull up my car beside his and drink him in.

His legs are stretched out in front of him, his khaki cargos hugging his thighs and riding up at the bottom so that his work boots are on display.

His green firefighter shirt stretches along his shoulders and chest, his hands brushing the cement as his mouth moves.

He taps his foot, and I know he has to be listening to music.

He always is. Even when we were kids, he had a CD case that held dozens of mix CDs that he’d play all the time.

Now, though, all he does is yell at Alexa to play whatever he’s feeling.

I put the car in park and get out. When I shut the door, his head pops up, and his eyes land on me.

The grin on his face is instant as he sits up, leaning forward on his legs as his eyes make a slow perusal of my body.

Even in the dark, I can’t miss the heat that gathers in his blue depths or the way his eyes hood.

God, he leaves me breathless.

Before I can move toward him, or he comes to me, I smile when Riley Green’s voice fills the space around us. I shake my head. “Now I get it. You’re a Riley Green wannabe with that slutty stache?”

He chuckles at that before he sets me with a look that has fire flicking up my spine. “Nah, darlin’. Just a guy with a stache who listens to a guy who sings songs that remind me of you.”

My heart skips a beat since I’m a true fan of Riley Green and love his music.

His songs are beautiful, heartbreaking, and knowing I remind Dean of them makes me so glad I came here.

He pushes off the lawn chair, and his strides are long and true.

Just as he is. I step away from the car as he stops before me.

His eyes search mine, his body taut as his gaze burns into mine. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I blink. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he says, running his finger and thumb along his mustache, his tell for being nervous. I’m not sure what he is nervous about, but I hate it just the same. “I owe you an apology.”

My brows knock together. “What?”

He looks down at our feet, tucking his hands in his cargos as he sighs.

“I was selfish earlier,” he admits, his voice full of emotion.

“I was so concerned with the fact that I needed to know you were mine that I didn’t consider how confused and frustrated you must be.

” His eyes come back to mine. “I’m sorry for that.

I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to lock you down and not give you a choice in the matter. ”

“You didn’t make me feel that way. It’s just a lot,” I admit, unable to look away. “I don’t want to ruin your reputation. And we’re so intertwined. With Missy, Sadie, and the kids, I just worry that people will think less of you.”

Something shifts in his eyes, and the veins in his arms pop as if he’s squeezing his hand into a fist. “Don’t you get it? I don’t care what anyone thinks but you and Skyye.”

I press my lips together. “I just feel like it’s so fast. I’ve only been home a month, and I’m already finding myself obsessed with you.”

His lips tip up as he winks. “I like that.”

I roll my eyes. “Dean?—”

“I get it,” he says softly, cutting off my complaint. “Sadie said today that you’ve felt like what you wanted didn’t matter. It matters to me. I want you to have what you want, but damn, darlin’, if I don’t need to be that want.”

I chew the inside of my lip as I search his eyes. “I don’t want to take you down with my drama.”

“You won’t. I’ll keep you afloat.”

My lip starts to wobble. “It’s so damn messy.”

“I don’t ever want to be clean, then,” he promises, his eyes sure.

“Like, we belong on Jerry Springer messy.”

He grins and chants, “Jerry, Jerry, Jerry.”

I smack his chest, and he captures my hand, bringing the tips of my fingers to his warm lips. His eyes are trained on mine. “Just give us a chance.”

A tear slides down my cheek, and he looks physically pained by it. His eyes move from the tear to my eyes, and I ask, “Can we keep this just between us for a while?”

He shakes his head. “I will do just about anything for you, but I can’t do that.”

I thread my fingers with his as I fight off a grin. It doesn’t work, and his eyes narrow a bit. “How very Meatloaf of you.”

He glares. “I’m being serious.”

“He was too. I mean, he sang from his damn soul.”

He bites my finger, and I shriek in delight. His smirk is unstoppable, and while this moment is heavy, I love how playful and beautiful we are together. I step in closer, leaning on our hands that are clasped together at his mouth. Our noses touch, and I lock eyes with him as I ask, “Please? ”

“Kenni—” His voice cuts off when a tear runs down my cheek. I swallow hard, and he lets out a long sigh.

“I need to talk to Missy, and we need to figure out how to tell the kids. Just till I get all this divorce shit done.”

“I don’t want to hide, Kenni.”

“I don’t either,” I stress, taking my free hand to trace the emblem of the firehouse on his chest. “But even though I know I should walk away, I can’t.”

“You could walk away, Kenni. Go figure everything out. But know I’ll be right there.” My nose burns from my tears. “I won’t push you or beg for your time. I’ll be there for you. Fuck, Kenni, I’ll always be there for you.”

He threads his fingers through my hair, and I lean into his touch while our foreheads rest against each other’s. I close my eyes, breathing him in as the night sky surrounds us in such warm comfort. The insects are singing, the lightning bugs are flying, and I’m fully engrossed in this man.

“What do you want, Dean?” I whisper, almost scared to voice my question. “What does this thing between us look like to you?”

He kisses my left cheek. “You in my house.” He kisses my right cheek. “You in my bed.” He kisses my nose. “You by my side.” He kisses my top lip and then the bottom, and slowly, his lips move along mine as he says, “To make you happy every single day.”

Our eyes flit back and forth together as the heaviness of his words hits me like a ten-thousand-pound boulder.

My heart beats in tandem with his, my chest rising and falling against his before my eyes slowly drift shut.

The soft melody of “Don’t Mind if I Do” by Riley Green and Ella Langley fills the air, and without realizing it, we’re swaying.

It’s not like how we danced at the bar or how we did when we were kids. No, this feels much more raw.

He has one hand in my hair, while the other is wrapped around one of mine against his chest. I hold the belt loop of his cargos as we sway, two souls lost in the lyrics that touch every fiber of our beings.

The longing in the song, the pining… Jesus, he’s right. These songs could be our love songs .

I get lost in the greens and blues of his eyes as I sing the last chorus to him, fighting for breath when he mouths the words right back to me. As the melody ends, I tell him what my heart desires.

“I want you, Dean.”