Page 55

I hang up. I tap around until this new number is also blocked, and I return my phone to my nightstand, and plug it in.

Everything is going so well, if I choose to ignore the phone call, then I take away Troy’s power. I fix my face into a smile, and join my guys out back.

Dinner was excellent, and Archie’s pie was incredible. Rawley and Jo Jo went out for a late movie, Tanner’s asleep—exhausted from the game, and Archie is sleeping too, overwhelmed from his sugar crash.

Dean and I smoosh together in my frayed, worn hammock, the breeze moving through our bare toes. He showered in my shower after dinner, and came out in his cotton sleep pants and plain white t-shirt, looking like orgasm material in the flesh. I love smelling my soap on him.

While enjoying the butterscotch sky, I twist in his arms to peer up at him. “Dean, before I came out here earlier, when I was just out of the shower, Troy called me.”

He sits up in the hammock as much as he can.

“It was less than a minute long, but I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t tell you until now, because I don’t really want the boys to know.” I chew at the same sore spot inside my cheek. “I don’t want them stressing over it.”

“Would you be alright with me speaking to him the next time he calls?”

In my years of single motherhood, never once have I wanted to be rescued, saved or bailed out. Help with diapers and dishes would’ve been nice, but I never expected someone to do the hard stuff for me, or save me from it.

Dean is here, offering to field the only phone call I don’t want to take, and for the first time ever, I take the bail out.

“I feel bad saying this but…yes. If you want to speak with him if he calls again, yes, I’ll let you.

” I run a hand over my head. “It just makes me anxious even hearing his voice.”

He nudges my chin so our mouths align, and kisses me slowly and deeply while a blue jay sings from Mrs. Salinger’s yard.

Dean slips a hand down my pants, and strokes my clit with his pointer finger.

“I know, that’s why I want to take care of you.

You want me to take care of you don’t you? ” he asks, his speed increasing .

I don’t know if we’re talking about Troy or life or my pussy or all three, but I nod. “Let me take care of you right now,” he whispers as the sun makes its final descent into the horizon, bathing us in an orange glow. “Let that pretty pussy feel good, mama.”

Sinking toward his hand, I grip his shoulders as a breeze rattles the new peach tree leaves, and off in the distance, a truck backfires.

“Let me feel you unravel, Clara June, I need it. Please,” he says, and his begging unspools my desires, and I come in crushing intervals as he strokes my clit through it.

“Now,” he says, pushing hair off my face as Mrs. Salinger’s back porch light flickers on. “Let’s get you to bed. Something tells me you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Some hot cowboy rolled me onto my shoulders and?—”

He gently claps his palm to my mouth, preventing the rest of that sentence from making its way out. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, or I’m liable to do it again.”

I wiggle my brows. “Not much of a threat if you’re threatening me with the very thing that I want.

” I lick my lips to tease him but he only shakes his head as he climbs out of the hammock.

He helps me out, to my feet, and I love the way he looks in my yard.

Like he belongs. Bare feet, barbecue sauce on the tail of his shirt from Archie’s mouth, fatigue hiding under his eyes from making me come all night, the scent of my soap on his skin.

I love him, I know I do, but instead of telling him, I rock to my toes and plant a kiss on his lips, and let him walk me to my bed. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and smooths his fingers over where his lips were.

“I thought you’d wanna go home for a few days and take a break from us, you know, after we’ve been spending so much time together.

And even the weekend away. When we were in the store, shopping for food, the boys were concerned with me making sure we purchased things that you like, too.

” I watch his face, study his reaction, look for any warning signs.

Any signs that my boys falling for him and caring for him is too serious too soon.

He says he adores them and I have no doubt he does, but adoring three boys and coming to discover they adore you back and want some level of permanence in their life from you are much different.

Dean’s a wonderful man, yet I wouldn’t blame him if it was too fast, or if it gave him a moment’s pause.

“They didn’t expect you to go home today, and now I’m not so sure they ever do.

Or what they will do when you do go, you know, back to your place.

” I’m not sure where this is coming from.

It’s been such a good weekend, and now I’m pushing him to tell me what?

That he’ll help break the news to my sons when he eventually does move back?

I don’t know what I’m doing other than suddenly spinning out a little.

I don’t want him to leave.

He sits on the edge of the bed, concern in his eyes. “What’s going on up there?” he says, softly and gently moving my waves to the side as he taps my temple.

My bottom lip erupts in an unexpected tremble. Why am I so emotional? “I’m scared that you’ll leave, and it will break them. And me.”

We had unprotected sex—even if he couldn’t fit all the way in—which is something he’s never done before. Something he told me he did with me because of the future he sees with me.

He’s made it clear he’s going nowhere.

But being left in the middle of the night by a man whose last name I took? That fear rooted itself, bone deep. Unfortunately it surfaces in times of stress, too.

“I know, I know, it’s unfair to say that because you’ve assured me so much. I hate that I even think about it, but… I do. I worry that because I was left before, I’ll be the one that is always left,” I admit, unzipping my soul and laying all of my trauma out to bear.

His features are gentle as he studies me for a moment, then asks, “Is it the couch? Because I was doing that to let the boys warm up to me being here.” He’s not losing his patience, not sighing loudly, not getting frustrated or snippy.

Dean holds my face, then showers me in kisses—my lips, my cheeks, my forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere. And I understand where your anxiety is rooted.

But, I promise you, mama, I’m gonna work everyday to plant new seeds and grow new roots; ones that make you realize how special you are, and just how much you deserve. ”

Tears slip down my cheeks and I feel so silly for this, so out of control of my emotions. I want him so bad in ways I thought I may never want a man again.

I want him to give me his last name, to slide a ring on my finger, to fill me with his babies, to love me and my boys until we’re weathered and gray.

“I do want you to stay in here,” I admit, swiping at my cheeks.

He stands from the bed. “Let me just go shut off the lights.”

When he returns, he closes the door quietly, and slips into my bed, tugging me into himself.

He lets out a sigh. “Clara June,” he says, his voice a ripple in the quiet night.

“I’m not going anywhere, not unless you ask me to go.

Okay? I’m here for you, I’m here for those boys, indefinitely.

I’m falling for you, and them, and I am not the kind of man who turns his back on the people he loves. Not ever.”

Dean kisses my head, and we fall asleep, and morning comes seemingly in an instant .

Archie bursts in, climbing on top of Dean, taking his face in his palms.

“Coach Dean, hey, are you still sleepin’ Coach Dean?” he whispers, his little lips way too close to Dean’s face.

“Archie–” I start, but Dean yawns, wrapping his arms around Archie in a long morning hug. Archie hugs him back.

“I’m up. What’s going on Arch? You sleep good last night?”

Archie nods. “Our tree has a new peach but I can’t reach it and Rawley’s gruntin’ in his room and Tanner’s a grouch.” He licks his lips, likely already dreaming of the juicy peach he’s going to eat. “I need your help.”

Dean nods, turns and kisses me, and gets out of bed. “Let’s go get our peach.”