Kiss Me That Way: A Cottonbloom Novel (35 page)

Three days gone and he missed his brother and sister desperately. Even worse, Monroe stalked his every thought, waking and sleeping. He’d never gone in for gooey, lovesick thoughts, but he finally understood what it felt like to have part of his soul ripped away. It hurt like hell.

“I love Monroe Kirby.”

“She’s the woman from your past? The one I shipped your tuxedo down for?” At Cade’s curt nod, Richard continued. “Easy enough. Ask her to move up here. Your condo is luxurious. Wine and dine her. Show her how the other half lives. She’ll never want to leave.”

“She wouldn’t care about any of that. She doesn’t belong up here. Neither do I. Not anymore. I miss her. I miss my family. I can’t quite believe it myself, but I even miss Cottonbloom. I don’t want to disband the company, but I can’t live here anymore.” Cade blew out a slow breath. The feelings had been weighing on him since before he stepped off the airplane in Seattle.

Richard looked down and fingered the edges of the papers before tossing them on the desk. Contracts. Cade almost laughed. Richard always could anticipate the twists and turns of a negotiation.

“It’s like you read my mind,” Cade murmured as he flipped through the top document.

“That’s my job.” Richard’s smile cut through the chains binding Cade in Seattle. “We’ll scale down to a simple business office here, which I’ll man. You can set up shop in Louisiana like you want.”

He took what felt like his first deep breath in days. “What about bringing Sawyer on board?”

“Is that wise?”

“My instincts are better, but his technical grasp is unparalleled. We worked together some on the Wallamaker design. I described the concept, and he suggested the nuts and bolts to make it happen.”

“I don’t doubt he’s as smart as you are. I’m thinking more of the family dynamic. Can you work together and get along?”

“A hundred percent of the time? Not a chance. But we’ll work it out even if we have to take it to the toolshed. Our blood is thick.”

Richard pointed to the stack. “Second set of contracts is a job offer for your brother. If things go well, we’ll offer him a partner position in a year.”

“Sounds more than fair.” Cade stood up, the malaise of the past days gone. His body thrummed with the same energy as before a jump off a cliff or out of an airplane. This might be the biggest, boldest leap of his life.

Richard had aged over their conversation. The skin of his cheeks sagged with his frown, and his shoulders slumped.

Cade slowly regained his seat. “When we met, I aspired to be like you in every way, Richard. My father was a good man, happy with his life from what I can remember. I would never have achieved a hundredth of this without you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment more than you can imagine, but don’t emulate me. I gave up my family to succeed, and I’m not sure what I’ve gained is worth it.” The regret in Richard’s voice highlighted one possible path in front of Cade. The one he wasn’t choosing.

“You’ll always have a home in Cottonbloom; I hope you know that.”

A sliver of a smile quirked Richard’s lips. “I’ll come visit. Just not in summer.”

“Fair enough.” Cade laughed and pushed up again. If he hustled, he could sort things out by lunch and then head home. He paused. Home. Not his sterile high-rise condo, but Sawyer’s old farmhouse. Or maybe Monroe’s little house, if she would let him in. Strike that; he would camp out on her doorstep until she did. Prove to her that he was back to stay.

Richard meandered to the door as if Cade had stolen all his energy. Before he made it into the hallway, Cade took three steps and pulled him in for a hug. Not a manly bump of chest and shoulder tap but an honest-to-God father-son hug.

Richard broke away, but not before Cade noticed his teary eyes. Neither of them mentioned it as Richard walked away and turned the corner, out of sight. Cade looked over his shoulder and into his office, already feeling like an interloper.

Everything was changing. He would miss Richard, but without a doubt Cottonbloom was where he belonged, and thoughts of his future with Monroe stamped out any lingering melancholy.

*   *   *

Three days he’d been gone. A lifetime. Monroe stared into her refrigerator, knowing she needed to eat but seeing nothing that invoked a semblance of an appetite. Very briefly she considered pulling the bottle of muscadine wine out and killing it. On an empty stomach it would get her drunk, and fast. But she didn’t. She was stronger than her mother.

Anyway, Monroe didn’t want to drink away her memories of Cade. They were all she had left. Tears stung. She should be dehydrated considering the amount of crying she’d done over the last three days. Lying on the couch, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander into her recent memories—the press of his body over hers, the pleasure they’d shared, the intensity of feeling that bound them.

Exhaustion swamped her. Sleep had been elusive, and when she’d managed to find it her dreams had been populated by Cade as a boy, as a man, as a protector, as her lover. Her heart was scattered around her in pieces without instructions on how to reassemble it.

The buzz of her phone shot her straight up, her heart knocking. Not Cade, but her mother. She gritted her teeth and answered.

“Monroe. Sweetheart.” Her mother’s words were slurry.

“Are you drunk?” The background noise confirmed Monroe’s fears. Her mother was out somewhere. “Do you need me to come pick you up?”

“No. I mean, maybe I’m a little buzzed, but … that’s not why I’m calling.”

Monroe pushed off the couch; the freedom of chucking it all and running off to Seattle to wallow around in Cade’s bed was looking like the smarter choice. “Where are you?”

“The Tavern. Sam is here, and he’s hitting on one of your girls fierce.”

“My girls?” Accelerant shot through her body. She grabbed her keys and ran out the door.

“The pretty one with long, dark hair. Looks young.” Her mother’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “She’s been drinking.”

Monroe’s stomach bottomed out. Had Kayla learned nothing from her last visit to the Tavern? “Why are you calling me?” she asked even as she fumbled the key in the ignition. “Is he doing something besides acting a fool?”

“He
is
a fool.” Bitterness laced her words. “I don’t trust him.”

Had she guessed something? No time to dwell on the past now. “That girl’s name is Kayla. Don’t let her leave with him. Do you hear me, Mama?”

After getting her mother’s vague assent, Monroe disconnected and tore through town and over the bridge. Gravel sprayed on her turn into the parking lot. She ran up to the front door as her mother pushed through, a wild look in her eyes.

“Are they inside?”

“I turned my back to order another drink and they were gone. Poof. Disappeared.”

Monroe spun around and searched the parking lot for movement. Nothing. She took her mother’s hand and pulled her back to the door of the bar. Butch, the same bouncer who had been there last time, held up a hand as they approached. “I’ll need to see—”

“No you don’t.” No matter the man was a foot taller than her, Monroe got in his face. His eyes flared, but he retreated without another word.

Monroe quick-stepped through the room, her gaze pinging from clusters of people to the lonely individuals at the bar. It was a weeknight and not too crowded. No sign of either Kayla or Sam.

Her mother had stayed on her heels, and Monroe led the way to the kitchens. If Sam had already driven off with Kayla, there was no telling where they went.

“Have you seen—”

“They went out the back.” The cook chucked his head and flipped hamburger patties on the grill.

With dread topping off her worry, Monroe busted out of the alley door. Two people grappled a few feet away against the rough, grungy brick wall. The relief of seeing Kayla’s dark hair was short-lived. Sam had his hand up her skirt while she tried to push him away, a litany of “nos,” “stops,” and “pleases” falling on top of one another.

Monroe ran over and hit Sam’s shoulder. He didn’t release Kayla, only glanced behind him, his mouth slack and his eyes bloodshot.

“Get the hell away from her, Sam.” Monroe grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked. This time Sam stepped away and faced her. Hatred burned from his eyes, along with something else she recognized from her dreams. A determination to hurt her.

It wasn’t fear but cold, calculated fury that spurred her. Kayla didn’t stand a chance against someone like Sam. Physically or emotionally. If she pressed charges, he would humiliate and destroy her in the court of public opinion. Monroe wasn’t weak, and she wasn’t scared of him. Not anymore. Cade had left her that at least.

“You like them young, don’t you, old man.” She stepped closer but didn’t touch him. Not yet.

“She’s at least sixteen. Nothing illegal about messing around.”

“She’s also drunk, and doesn’t much look or sound like she was wanting to mess around.” She spit in his face.

“You little bitch.”

She sidled within arm’s reach of him. “How about you finally come clean with my mother? How about you tell her why you broke things off and moved out?”

Her mother was pressed against the bricks as if she were single-handedly holding the wall upright or vice versa.

“Because she was getting too clingy and boring.” Sam didn’t take his eyes off Monroe.

She returned his stare with an equal amount of hate. “One night while you were passed out, Mother, Sam came into my room to try to mess around with me.”

Sam’s face flushed and he jabbed a finger in her face. “That is a goddamn lie.”

“No, it’s not. I remember everything. If I hadn’t run, you would have sexually abused me. Maybe raped me.”

“Please. You wanted it. You were asking for it.”

“You’re delusional if you think a thirteen-year-old girl wanted to mess around with a nasty, old middle-aged man.” She baited her words with as much scorn as she could muster.

The intent flashed in his eyes an instant before his fist made contact with her cheek. She did nothing to block him. The hit dazed her, the intensity of the pain surprising. Her legs wobbled and gave out. She landed on her butt, rocks biting into her palms. Her face throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

She marked the passage of time by her gasping breaths. No one moved. Her mother’s mouth was slack, her face pale. Kayla stared at her, eyes huge and dark and filled with a fear Monroe recognized intimately. She turned her focus back to Sam. His face was mottled, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Strength surged through her body, propelling her to her feet and forward. She spun with a roundhouse kick, putting everything she had into it. Her heel made solid contact with some part of his face, and he went down.

Had there been other girls? Guilt and responsibility weighed her down. “If onlys” scrolled like ticker tape. She couldn’t undo the past, but she could do something about it now. She stood over him as he rolled on the ground, his hand covering his mouth.

She kicked him in the ribs twice, hard. Something to remember her by. He curled in like a worm trying to protect itself. If she’d been a better person, she wouldn’t have gotten such satisfaction in the beating. But seeing him writhe in pain was very satisfying indeed.

She stepped back and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. The screen had shattered. Her mother was still huddled against the brick wall with Kayla. “I need your phone.”

“Sweetheart … did he touch you?” Her mother raised trembling fingers to brush along Monroe’s jaw. She wasn’t asking about the punch but about another night.

“He would have.”

“I should have protected you, but I was useless, wasn’t I?” She paused. “I’m an alcoholic.”

It was the first time her mother had admitted it. Monroe wasn’t sure whether it was the relief of reaching a turning point with her mother or the pain in her face making tears rush to her eyes.

“Yes,” she said on an exhale.

Her mother nodded, looked away, and handed her phone over.

Monroe dialed the police and with as few words as possible explained the situation. “Send Wayne, would you, Gloria?”

Only minutes passed before the sirens cut through the night. Sam pushed to sitting, the sound triggering an inherent flight impulse. Monroe moved into his field of vision, and she was gratified to see fear mask his face.

“Don’t move unless you’d like your balls busted, too.” She stood straddling his thigh, her foot close to the threatened target. He froze.

The jangling of a utility belt drew her gaze up. Wayne and one of his deputies jogged toward them. “What in heaven’s name happened?” Wayne’s voice echoed off the bricks.

He came straight to her, took her forearms, and guided her to lean against the wall next to her mother. Now that help was there, the pain in her face crescendoed and an insistent hammering took up in her temples. Her stomach crawled up her throat, and she had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up.

The deputy was on his haunches talking to Sam. He would lie. She had to talk. Slowly, haltingly, she got the story out. At some point, Kayla had come to her and held one hand while her mother clasped the other, and she gained strength from both women. They corroborated her story with slicing interjections.

“You want to press charges?” Wayne asked.

She didn’t spare Sam a glance. “Hell yes. Whatever you can hit him with.”

She was sure she didn’t imagine the resolute satisfaction in Wayne’s eyes. “You got it.” Over his shoulder, he hollered, “Cuff Mr. Landry and get him loaded in the back of the squad car. Read him his rights.” Turning back, he said, “I’m calling an ambulance for you.”

“I’m fine.” She pushed off the wall, but a wave of vertigo had her listing into Kayla.

“Your face is already starting to bruise and you might have a concussion. Anyway…” He grimaced and looked down. “We need photo evidence. Irrefutable. Landry will hire the best lawyer around. Probably Tarwater Senior, and he’s a mean cuss in the courtroom.”

“Of course. Evidence.”

Her mother and Kayla led her to the parking lot in a turnaround of her last night at the Tavern.

“Thank you, Monroe.” Kayla’s whisper barely registered through the throbbing pain.