Page 45

“We can surely ask, right?” I smile, not sure if this is too late for ice cream, or if Clara June has a bedtime routine that specifically excludes sugar. It would make sense, but I just don’t know, and I am not gonna be the guy who promises shit to a kid that he can’t deliver on.

Archie nods, fiddling with my hat on his head. “We should get mama to have some. To cheer her up.”

The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I reach back and rub my skin, trying to get rid of the sudden uncomfortable feeling.

I don’t want to learn anything about Clara June from Archie—it feels like reading her diary, tapping into a vein of information that I’m not meant to have.

It feels like cheating, but as Archie kicks his feet against the seat, his boots leaving little dark marks against the worn fabric, I can’t help myself.

I just can’t. My mind has been reeling all night. So I cheat a little.

“Why does your mom need cheering up?” I turn down the heater to reduce the noise, so I can hear whatever answer he gives me with the utmost clarity. My stomach folds in on itself as he turns in the seat, looking up at my profile.

“She had a phone call that made her feel sad,” he tells me, driving his pointer finger up his nostril, down to the knuckle. I lift one ass cheek from the seat and tug my hankie out, passing it to him.

“Here, use this.” I look out the windshield and notice the moon is full and round, dripping a gorgeous glow onto the tops of the houses, shining on blades of grass. It’s a beautiful night, and it was a damn good game, but the world around me is quiet and colorless as I consider Archie’s response.

A bad phone call?

Rawley already got accepted to the apprenticeship program at Wrench Kings.

Archie seems just fine. Tanner had a great game, and before the game, was cleared by West to play.

I have no idea what it could be, and the fact that there is still so much about Clara June and her life that I don’t know about doesn’t sit well with me.

I want to know her so well that I can read her every expression.

I want to know her so well that when she has a bad day, I already know exactly why, and only I can make her better.

But I don’t know yet.I have to be okay with that, because assuming she doesn’t break it off with me tonight, we’ve agreed to move slowly. And I have to respect that, for her and her boys sake.

Archie and I talk about the football game, and he asks questions about how a football is made, and if pigs know they lend their skin to the sport.

We chat about ice cream and pajamas, how his new peach tree is doing, and then when I pull in the driveway and put my truck in park, he blurts, “It was a real mean voice. A man.”

My brows furrow. “What was?”

Archie pops open the door and slides out, his boots clicking on the cement. “Who my mom was talking to on the phone.” Then he’s gone, leaving the truck door wide open as he runs up the steps and inside the house.

Clara June’s been quiet since we’ve been back. She said yes to ice cream, but only after Archie took a bath. So while she helped him bathe and pick out pajamas, I rolled the garbage cans up to the garage, loaded the dishwasher, and set my hat on the table before taking a seat.

When they re-emerge from the hall, Archie is in cowboy pajamas, his hair wet. Clara June is wearing the same leggings but without her hoodie. She looks so perfect in an off the shoulder gray t-shirt, part of it damp in dark spots from the tub, her hair in a loose bun on top of her head.

I get the ice cream out, and dish Archie up a bowl after Clara June shakes her head no. With him poised in front of the television set, an old rerun of some nineties sitcom keeping him captivated, Clara June and I sit down on the couch.

I can’t help myself—I pull her into my lap, not straddling me but across my legs.

She loops her arms around my neck, drops her head to my shoulder, and lets out a heavy sigh that feels like it weighs more than I do.

Would she let me hold her this way—and hold me back—if she were going to break it off?

I don’t know. I don’t know, because just like Clara June, it’s been years since I’ve done this. Dated. Shown affection.

There hasn’t been a reason to date until her, and it’s why I’m gonna do everything I can to keep her.

“Mama,” I whisper, stroking the tips of my fingers down the back of her neck, kneading her shoulders. “You okay?”

She shakes her head against me. I pull back, and she does the same. Our eyes lock together in the near dark of the quiet living room, metal hitting glass as Archie shovels ice cream.

“Who called you, honey? Arch told me you got an upsetting phone call. I want to know who or what is upsetting you, please, Clara June.” I want to ask her to let me in, but I don’t verbalize that pressure.

I’ll earn my way in, and I won’t make her feel like she needs to give me access any sooner than she’s comfortable.

She sits up a little, letting her hands break, bringing them to my chest. She touches the three buttons on my polo, traces the Bruisers logo embroidered into the corner, and adjusts my collar.

I let her play with my shirt and touch me, my mind racing, my heart going wild, giving her time to be ready. Time to feel okay sharing .

Finally, her eyes meet mine, and sadness colors her expression. My stomach twists.

“Troy called me today.” She swallows, and her eyes become glassy in an instant. “He saw the article in the Bluebell Leader, and called…” She looks at her hands, busy playing with the strands of chest hair that peek up through the open buttons of my shirt.

I want to ask if this is the sole reason why she’s upset, but that would be selfish. We will get to it all, I just need to take my time. “Did he have your number or somehow get it?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t have the same number as I did when we were together, but… I don’t know. I didn’t even think to ask that.”

I stroke my hand up and down her spine, and take a peek at Archie to make sure he’s still entranced. He is, and so I set my focus back on Clara June. “How did that conversation go?”

Her shoulders collapse, and she catches her falling face with her hands, and a quiet sob tears free.

The sound of Clara June’s pain does something to me, something I’ve never experienced, and the urge to find this man and hold him by his throat until he promises to do a magic trick and fucking vanish?

Strong. Almost as strong as my urge to hold her to my chest, kiss her forehead and promise her I’ll make it all better. I’ll make everything okay.

“He said he’s coming back to Bluebell for good, that he wants to take a hand in Tanner’s burgeoning career.

” Her eyes meet mine. “He didn’t even mention Rawley or Archie.

He just kept saying, Tanner’s football career, and scholarships and scouts and,” she shakes her head, tears spilling onto her velvety cheeks, streaking a painful path down her face as she blinks up at me with gorgeous, pained eyes.

“Why? Why is he doing this? Why is he trying to weasel his way in after all this time?”

I shake my head, knowing exactly why. He views Tanner as a bank account that is about to be filled to the goddamn brim.

I hold my tongue, because it’s not going to make Clara June feel better, and it will not bring her any levity at this moment.

I continue stroking up and down her back, and softly say, “What did you tell him?”

She reaches up, curling her finger around one of the longer locks at the back of my neck as she lets her gaze sink into mine.

“I told him I don’t want him to come around here, I don’t want him coming back, and I don’t want him talking to the boys.

” She lets out a shaky breath, but manages a tiny smile.

“You make me feel calm, Dean. Just being with you makes me feel like… I don’t know, maybe all of this will be okay. ”

It feels like I’ve been paid the greatest compliment in the world to know that I bring peace to a woman as strong and mighty as Clara June.

She continues her story. “He saw the article in the Leader.” Concern curtains her face for a moment. “He’s coming back, and I told him not to, and he hung up.”

I look over at Archie, whose ice cream bowl is empty, resting between his elbows which he’s propped up on. The TV continues on, but I slide Clara June off my lap, onto the couch, and get to my feet.

“Archie, you ready to turn in?”

He peers over his shoulder at me. “You gonna put me to bed? Mama, can Coach Dean tuck me in tonight?”

She smiles, and motions for him. He sinks into her chest as she smooths fingers through his hair, then kisses his face at least ten times. When I tuck him in, he doesn’t ask for a story or a song, but instead fist bumps me. “Thanks for making Mama feel better.”

I smile at him as I twist the lamp off behind his bed. “I don’t know if I’ve done that yet, but I’m gonna try.”

He rolls over, facing the wood paneled wall behind him, his back to me as he presses his chin to his shoulder. “You will, I just know it. You’re good at fixing stuff.”

I close the door behind me, his words rattling around in my chest, clutching at my heart. The fact that I make her feel better, just like she said—and I don’t even mean sexually—it’s a damned honor.

Sinking into the couch, I pull her over me and position us until I’m stretched out on my back and she’s on top of me as if the couch is lava.

She’s so tiny on top of me, I hardly feel a thing, except my cock is wholly aware of everything.

The warmth between her thighs, the soft press of her tits against my chest, her sweet breath dusting my lips as she sighs.

I stroke my hands up and down her back as she looks down at me, her little pleased moan bringing me a sliver of peace. I was worried that asshole ex of hers was going to ruin her night, or more.