Called Up (20 page)

The tears came back with a vengeance. Fitz had been so angry for so long, and had wasted so many years keeping so much inside that it had crippled her. She knew parts of her were broken. She just didn’t know if she’d ever be able to fix them. And she hated that because of those jagged pieces, she hadn’t had even an ounce of the amount of faith in her parents that the people who should have hated them the most did.

Now it was Mama Gin’s turn to reach out. Scooting closer, she said, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. And don’t get me wrong, a good four or five years of that time was full of piss and brimstone. But the last conversation he and I ever had was about him having some things to deal with and if he ever did, I’d welcome him back with open arms no matter what else stood between us.” She smiled. “I’ve come to choose to believe he maybe decided to take me up on that.”

“But...” Oh, God, there were so many things running through Fitz’s head and her heart. “Nate and Jules and Ella...” Fitz had no idea how they would have handled even the idea of that.

From the grim and stubborn look on Mama Gin’s face, it was clear any discussions that may have been had hadn’t gone over well. “What matters most to me,” Mama Gin said in her my-word-is-law voice, “is that you know you belong to us.” Then she leaned forward and took Fitz’s hand again. “From the moment I saw you, I knew you were a piece of me—of my family—I didn’t even know had been missing.”

It was nearly too much to process. Fitz didn’t even know what she would have asked if she were capable of speaking. It was as if Mama Gin had said every single word Fitz had ever hoped to hear but Fitz was too overwhelmed to take any of it in.

Mr. Deacon read Fitz’s silence as disbelief, it seemed. “Never seen anyone fight for something as hard as Gin fought for you.”

And, well, maybe she hadn’t believed it entirely. Her head swung over and she met Mr. Deacon’s gaze. “What?”

“Tooth and nail,” he said. “There were people who thought it was madness. But she used whatever it took to get those doors open and then wouldn’t let them close until she’d gotten you.”

Mama Gin didn’t deny it. She smiled at Fitz’s shock. “The Iowa Dream made us a lot of friends. I wasn’t above asking for help.” Then she let go of Fitz’s hand and patted her knee. “I think maybe this was enough for one night.” Then she gave Fitz a quick hug, releasing her almost immediately as if she were fully aware too much would put Fitz over the edge. “But this conversation is only beginning. Okay?” she said gently, smiling when Fitz nodded. Then Mama Gin briskly stood up. “Buy me a drink, Hank?”

Taking his cue, Mr. Deacon stood up as well. After a lingering look at Deke, Mr. Deacon gave a nod as well. Then they were both gone.

“Well...” Deke said, as the door closed behind them.

Yes, Fitz thought. Well.

Leaning back against him, she closed her eyes. “Did you have something to do with that conversation?”

He was quiet for a minute before saying, “That depends on how angry you’d be at me if I had.”

Furious
was what her answer should have been. But the only thing running through her head was that maybe they could figure out a way to make things work. Maybe she could find a way to keep coming back to him after she moved out of Inspiration. But right now she was too drained to think about it. So instead she burrowed her head into the crook between his arm and chest. “Can you just hold me for a little while?” she asked, too tired out to care about any mixed messages she happened to be sending.

He didn’t seem to mind. Tucking her up against him, he settled back in his seat. “For as long as you need.”

Since right now she was thinking she could maybe make do with forever, she thought it was wise to keep her mouth shut. But, yes. Forever would do.

Chapter Twenty-One

He’d wanted to take her home with him that night. Keep watch over her to make sure she was okay; hold her in case she wasn’t. But she’d insisted she was fine and wouldn’t even let him drive her back to Lola’s. And even if it was his bar he couldn’t exactly take off when he wanted to. So he’d had to let her go. Then she’d made herself scarce for the next few days, and Deke was pretty sure if one more person had said to him that they wished they could have a job like his and just shoot the shit all day, he might have hauled off and hit them.

For as much as her episodes of avoiding him had been pissing him off, however, he sensed there was something different about it this time. Or maybe he was coming to understand that maintaining some space was as necessary for her as taking in air. Since she let him get a little closer each time she came back to him, he was starting to think maybe it wasn’t the worst thing. But he also realized he had a major problem on his hands: he missed her. He thought about her constantly. It wasn’t just that he had absolutely no interest in seeking anyone else out—he actually wanted her more with every passing moment despite any indication from her that she felt the same way. Tonight was going to be flat-out torture since it was poker night and they’d be surrounded by the people who knew them best in the world.

With a frustrated growl, Deke forced himself to think about something else. He was hosting tonight and would soon have some hungry folks on hand, so he’d better get his act together and start cooking. Plus, him thinking about it all so much seemed to be the definition of making it “complicated,” which he had specifically told her it wasn’t necessary to do.

An hour later he had chili on the stove, nachos ready to go into the oven, and had baked an apple pie. He was taking it out of the oven when the bell for the garage sounded.

With a quick look at the camera he saw it was Dorie’s car, with Fitz right behind her, so he buzzed them in, feeling the rattle as the garage door slid open. A few minutes later he heard footsteps on the stairs, and he called out that his door was unlocked once they reached his landing. When the door swung open, however, it was only Dorie who came in. With a quick wave, Fitz continued her way up the stairs to Jason’s.

Trying not to show his irritation, Deke turned back to the stove in order to stir the chili. Dorie came up behind him, depositing a cardboard box on his counter. He would have helped her with it, as she well knew, but she was a big stickler on carrying her own things and he wasn’t in the mood to argue with her.

Deke glanced down to see what she’d brought tonight. He got the sense she missed cooking for her brothers no matter how much she complained, so she was always happy to feed people and he was always happy to be one of the fed. She made a mean meatball, out of this world tomato sauce—gravy, as she called it—and biscotti that were better, even, than Jules’s.

With that said, although Fitz didn’t usually cook, she did usually help out when she got there early. That she’d gone to Jason’s was telling.

He wasn’t about to let on that it was also beyond frustrating. “Hey,” he said to Dorie.

“Hi.” She started lifting things out of the box: freshly baked cornbread, homemade salsa and guac, and a container full of cookies.

“We’re going to be rolling them out of here tonight,” Deke said, not unhappily.

“That’s what Fitz said,” Dorie answered.

When Deke’s response was a mere nod as he turned back to the stove, she added pointedly and as if he hadn’t already been aware, “Fitz went upstairs to talk to Jason. Something about the financials.”

“Okay,” Deke said, proud to have kept his voice neutral.

It was a good enough excuse, especially since Fitz had explained her general absence for the week as something having to do with the foundation and Whitfield’s visit. It was pretty clear there was something big going on, but they hadn’t said anything to anyone else, which made it clear they weren’t ready to. And, honestly, Deke was a bartender. He’d been told more than his share of secrets. He had no interest in trying to figure out something someone didn’t want to tell him until they were ready to share. The fact it bothered him that it was yet another thing Fitz was keeping from him was something he preferred to ignore.

After all, Jason was the money guy. Hell, it was thanks to Jason and his crazy brain that Deke was a fairly wealthy man. When the Iowa Dream money started coming in, it had been Deke’s idea that they invest it in the town. But Jason was the one who said they’d be able to keep investing if they did something beyond just putting the money in the bank. And although he now worked as a math teacher at the high school and was, in fact, head of the math department, he, like Deke, Wash and Cal, could easily have gone without ever working a day in his life. None of them had anything close to what Nate had, of course, but it was enough for Wash to have bought up the land surrounding the farm and make it his, and for Deke and Jason to buy the old Haverson mill and turn it into their lofts. So Fitz chatting Jason up about the money made sense.

But Deke knew Dorie was looking for more. He turned to her. “And?”

She narrowed her eyes, giving him that all-knowing librarian look she had down pat, and, damn, if it didn’t make him want to confess
something
. But he wasn’t about to. He’d had more than his share of perfecting his look of innocence. He could easily wait her out.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You think I don’t know?”

Damn it, he wanted desperately to know if Fitz had said anything to her, and if so, what. But the second he gave in to that, he’d be turning down a road he didn’t want to be on. So he played up the innocence a little bit more.

A smile came over her face, one of those I-know-exactly-what-you’re-doing smiles. “I have six older brothers, you know. Don’t think you can hide it from me.”

Oh, yeah, she was good. But he was, too. “And I have the nosiest older sister in the world. You think I don’t know fishing when I see it?”

For a second she seemed flustered, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with that. And then she threw her head back and laughed. Taking a cookie out of the container, she popped it into her mouth. “I do love you, Deke.”

Smiling, he grabbed a cookie himself. Dorie had always been a bit of a puzzle to him—or, rather, the fact that he’d never even been attracted to her despite a long list of reasons why he should have been. It had actually scared him a little. Sex was his thing. Not relationships, not the long-term, this-is-leading-to-something connection people shared. Just the purely physical, let’s-have-a-great-time-and-then-shelve-the-memory-for-a-rainy-day sex.

That he’d stopped feeling even halfway interested in the women he knew was something he’d pinned on boredom. When Dorie came to town and there hadn’t even been a spark between them, it had highlighted how little interest he had in
any
one, which had been more than a little unsettling. Even more so when he’d realized it had been months since a woman had caught his eye, since he’d managed anything beyond the flirting he considered part of his job. He’d been afraid he might never want to have sex again.

Until Fitz.

By the time she and Jason came downstairs twenty minutes later, he’d talked himself into believing he’d be fine. That he wouldn’t react to her in any way whatsoever. But he felt it the second she walked in the door, even though his back was to her. And when he turned, when their gazes locked and she seemed as affected as he was, it took everything he had not to go to her right there in front of everyone. With extreme effort, he looked away.

He spent the evening attempting not to look in her direction while also attempting not to make it obvious he was doing that very thing. By the time the night came to an end, he was entirely strung out and in no mood to deal with the teasing about how badly he’d played.

“Earth to Deke.”

Deke looked up when Wash spoke, only to see everyone staring at him. “What? Sorry.”

“Last hand. You in?”

“Uh, no. I think I’m done.” He stood up and left the table.

He’d already packed all the food up by the time they finished and was beginning to wash the dishes. He felt Fitz come up behind him and was just turning when she said, “Want some help?”

Looking down at her, his focus went immediately to her lips. Brilliant. Forcing himself to raise his eyes, he shook his head and turned back to the sink. “I’m good.”

But rather than let it go at that, she looked up at him and then away, mumbling, “We, um... We should talk.”

Ya think?

Wiping his hands off on the dishtowel, Deke gave her a look before walking the others to the door. He said his good-byes, which included giving Dorie the most innocent, blankest of stares as she raised her eyebrows and smiled, before closing the door behind them. Then he turned and leaned back against it.

His loft took up the entire floor of the building, and a large part of it was open, so there were no walls between the front door and the kitchen area, no walls closing off the living or dining areas. His bedroom had a door, as did the two bathrooms, of course. He was actually grateful for that at the moment, since both a bed and a bathtub were reminders he didn’t need, especially not until he knew what she was planning to say.

But first he had to ask, “Are you okay?”

Yes, he understood she needed her space. But the fact that she hadn’t been around in days highlighted the fact that, no matter what his intentions may have been, their friendship had been affected. And he hated it. She’d needed him. She’d needed
someone
to talk to after that night with Mama Gin and his dad, and Deke was sure as hell she wouldn’t have gone to Nate or Dorie. But because of everything else going on between them, she hadn’t sought him out.

He tried to dial back his frustration. She was clearly aware he was unhappy about it, though. With a nervous glance at him, she busily got to work washing dishes. Well, fuck it. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.

She shut off the water and planted her hands on the edge of the sink for a minute before turning to him. “I needed time to think.”

Pushing off the door, he detoured to the table where he picked up the rest of the dishes and bottles. They’d done this a thousand times, and yet there was something different about it tonight. Something that felt right in a way that Deke didn’t want to focus on too much, especially given how she was acting so far. Bringing everything over to where she stood, he placed them on the counter, careful to stay out of reach. “Did you come to any conclusions?”

“I did.” Her eyes avoided his, drifting instead to his mouth, then his chest, then lower, before traveling back up. “Deke...”

She sounded breathless. A little dazed. Or maybe that was just the way he felt.

Then she reached out her hand—ran the tip of her finger down from his shoulder to his waist, watching its path as though she were compelled by some force completely outside of herself and had no idea what it was going to do next.

Deke had no idea either. It could be her way of avoiding saying what she’d come here to say, or an invitation to the next phase of whatever this was.

No
fucking
idea.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice guttural and raw as he grabbed her wrist. “Tell me what you want.”

Her teeth went to her bottom lip and she pulled it in, still obviously on the fence. It took every ounce of strength he had to stay still as she came to a decision. By the time her tongue darted out to sooth the reddened skin, he was so hard it actually hurt. But it wasn’t until she finally whispered, “I need you inside me again,” that he muttered, “Thank fucking God,” and closed the distance between them.

Shoving the dishes aside, he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her to the counter. She’d already pulled her shirt off and was grabbing at his, her hands all over his skin. His head fell down to hers as he ran his hands up and over the lace of her bra. She’d given up on his shirt and was now fumbling with the button of his jeans.

Jesus
Christ
, he liked it when she fumbled.

He reached back behind him for his shirt and tugged it off, needing to feel her skin against his. And then he unhooked her bra, pretty much tore it from her body, before bending down and curling his tongue around her nipple, something he’d been dreaming about for a week.

With a moan she arched up into him, her hands closing around his waistband, the backs of her fingers nestling into the hollow of his hips, which had him surging up and into her, straining against the clothes that kept them apart. Since that wasn’t nearly enough, he dropped his hands to the curve of her ass, second in perfection only to her breasts, and he pulled her up against him.

Sweet
Jesus
that was good.

He reached down for her jeans; no fumbling involved. Caressing, yes. Teasing, definitely, which led to quite a bit of squirming around on her part and a smile on his. “I like making you move,” he said.

Though color rose to her cheeks, she had no problem giving him a coy smile as she looked up at him from under those lashes. She reached down into his jeans, cupped him over his boxer briefs, and he almost went off like a shotgun.

“That’s good,” she murmured into his neck, nipping a little at the skin. “Because I really like when you do it.”

He took a minute to let the sensations roll through him—her hand on his cock, her mouth on his throat, her slick heat at his fingertips. He let it settle over him, let it sink in that, yeah, it was as perfect as he’d remembered for almost every hour of every day since the last time he’d had her. He let the tremor take hold at the base of his spine, savoring it, keeping it there until the moment he could let it fully erupt.

Then he pulled her hand up and grasped it; leaned down to kiss her. He was trying not to think about how much he’d missed her particular taste. How much he’d wanted the feel of her lips against his, of the heat of her mouth.

Breaking the kiss, he pulled at her jeans, stripping them off but leaving her panties on, crouching as he brought them down over those beautiful legs and taking his time as he kissed his way back up. Her hips pitched forward and she groaned in anticipation as he worked his way up. He nudged her knees wider with his shoulders, getting himself in there all the way, his hands closing around her thighs.