Let It Go (34 page)

“Where did you find this?” she whispers, scanning the vintage memorabilia her father gave her, the one she threw out of her Jeep after hearing of his infidelity.

“Across town. On the side of the road.” He gazes over her face, his eyes a mixture of hurt and abandonment. “You let yourself get so upset and angry over something I didn’t even do that you chucked the one thing that brought us together,” he says, reminiscing how the
Terrible Towel
was their conversation starter upon first introductions in the gym.

“I didn’t throw it out because of you.” She looks at him tenderly.

“Because of your father. What he did,” Brody reasons, shaking his head. “I’m not your father. I’m not Payton. And I’m not your ex, Savannah. I can’t…I won’t be held accountable for their actions.” He lobs his backpack around his shoulders, walking away.

Now or never, Bondurant,
she talks to herself, preparing for battle. “I know you’re not my ex. In three months’ time, you’ve managed to completely replace eight years of an existence I had with him,” she replies, still baffled by the fact. Reeling her line in, she throws it down in the sand. “And I haven’t lost faith in you. If anything, you make me believe in happily ever after. It’s all of that
man
talk,” she yells after him.

Brody stops. He does not turn around, but he stands still, listening.

“I never heard anybody explain it the way you do. That it’s a man’s job to protect the relationship, make his woman feel loved and secure. Your attentiveness and intuition. I love that we can go out to dinner and you can successfully order my meal, because you’ve actually paid enough attention to know what I like. I love that you think it’s your job to read my mood and offer up support, whether it’s advice, comic relief or strong arms to hold me.” Her voice grows ragged, projecting through leaps and bounds of her chest, her outward admission both nerve-wracking and liberating.

Savannah’s testimony causes him to turn slightly, offering up his profile. Thoroughly enjoying her divulgence, he maintains their distance, awaiting more.

“I love that you insist on driving when we’re together because you think that’s your role. And how you pay for every meal we eat out because you think you should.” Savannah grows animated, her arms flailing about, her mouth can’t help itself but smile. “It’s very kings and queens. ‘I am man, hear me roar.’” She releases a soft giggle. “I never thought I could be so attracted to traditional vices. But, then again, maybe I never met a king before.”

The regal line fully delivering, Brody finally faces her, taking in her expression, somewhere between bewilderment and reverence as if he is a rare and wonderful species. “So what are you saying, Savannah? You want to be my queen?” He flashes her an audacious moonlit smile.

“No, Brody. I want to be your mullet.” She laughs, recalling his previous explanation of the feisty fish. “I want to fight for you. For this. Us.”

He lets his backpack loose from his shoulders, the olive drab canvas falling into the sand along with his pole and bait bucket. Within ten steps he reaches her, hoisting her willful self into his arms. He sits down in the sand, positioning her in front of him, her thighs lobbed up over his, his hands supporting her back as he leans into her frame touching one do-rag forehead to another. “My Sweet Savannah,” he whispers.

“My Gym Boy.” She giggles, stroking her hands down the side of his ruggedly handsome face.

“Now, isn’t this better than all of that bickering?” He kisses her upturned, pouty mouth.

“‘Right as rain,’” she whispers his mantra.

“Move in with me,” he says, his steel blues perusing of her dark greens. She squints at him unconvinced. “You keep your place. We’ll give it six months. Get to know each other. The real stuff. The good, the bad and the ugly.” He smiles. “Then we’ll reconvene about happily ever after.”

“I could do that,” she affirms. “Sounds very
logical.”
Her chin juts out astutely, a bit of a playful poke at Brody’s methodical way of thinking, even where romance is involved. “I do like to slurp my cereal in the morning though,” she warns of the slightly annoying ritual.

“That’s okay.” Brody shrugs. “I drink out of the milk AND the juice carton. Well, pretty much anything in the fridge. If it’s liquid and comes with a cap, it’s fair game.”

Savannah smiles, unbothered by his confession, completely content with the idea of his lips on her milk jug. “You like the holidays?” She thinks about the time of year.

“Love ’em. I like the feeling they bring,” he says, rubbing his hands over her thighs, simultaneously enjoying that feeling as well. “We’ll get a tree. Do it up right. Our first Christmas together.” He tugs lightly at each side of her dirty blonde locks lying over the front of her shoulders. “So you like my
man
talk, huh, Bondurant?” He smiles triumphantly.

“Maybe.” Her eyes dance playfully beneath a challenging brow, a warning for him to refrain from gloating.

“Which part hooked you?” he pries. “The clear boundaries of knowing what I want and going after it? The old-fashioned values and chivalry?” He takes great pleasure in mirthfully tooting his own horn as he blows on his fist, rubbing it against the massive mound of flesh on his chest. He takes note of Savannah’s eyes, following his fist and meandering over his musculature. “Or was it my
man
ly stature?” Both fists rise to his pectorals, beating about them momentarily, a regular Tarzan.

Savannah throws her head back with a blissful chuckle.
“Let it go,
McAlister,” she says before seizing his comically beautiful mouth in hers, happy to finally snatch the opportunity to throw his advice back at him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Thanksgiving is well underway in downtown Savannah as the streets are lined with spirited patrons ready to welcome the holiday season. The weather, finally accommodating, delivers a cool, crisp winter inspired night. Savannahians happily sport festive coats, hats and gloves, relieved to pull them out of their closets for the rare climate change.

An immaculately decorated, full-bodied Fraser Fir tree stands gloriously in the center of the square awaiting its lighting debut, scheduled for nightfall. Christmas music laces the air courtesy of local high school and collegiate marching bands and choirs in the holiday parade.

Savannah and Vangie stand side by side along the street, Payton and Brody flanked around them. Luka and Zoey enjoy the high life perched one each atop the men’s shoulders.

“Ooh…Santa!” Zoey points excitedly at the passing float, her animation causing Brody to get a better grip on her flailing legs lobbed down over his chest.

“Santa?” Luka, the eldest of the two inquires confused. “But he just went by throwing candy. How can there be two Santas?”

“Well duh,” Zoey chirps, looking at her sister as though the answer is obvious. “He probably has a brother.”

Her reply sends Brody and Payton into a hearty laugh. “Good deduction, Zoey.” Brody offers up his hand, to which she eagerly slaps a high-five.

“That was good, baby,” Payton affirms. “How about we try it without the
‘duh’ next time.”

“Yes Sir,” Zoey replies half-heartedly, her chin dramatically falling to her chest, to which Luka releases a pleasurable smirk, holding back the urge to stick her tongue out at her
know-it-all
little sister.

“It’s just not the same without Mama,” Vangie talks discouraged to Savannah. “She started this tradition. And now she’s not even here. Since when did some date become more important than family time?”

“I think it’s good,” Savannah says encouragingly. “At least she’s finally getting out there.”

“Where did she meet this man?” Vangie crosses her arms. “And where is she going on Thanksgiving night?”

“She met him playing bridge. With Noah’s Mama…Nadine,” Savannah explains. “They’re having a big card party tonight.” Savannah nudges Vangie in the ribs. “Rumor has it our mama is quite the shark.” She giggles.

“They could have just as well come with us.” Vangie refuses to be understanding.

“Why? So you could give her date the stink eye all night long?” Savannah shakes her head with a grin, knowing Vangie will be the hardest nut for their mother’s suitor to crack as she was their father’s favorite. Although he never proclaimed such, he always had an extra soft spot for the middle child.

“It’s weird.” Vangie reflects. “Seeing her with someone besides Daddy.”

“You think it isn’t weird for her?” Savannah empathizes. “You better dig out your big girl panties,
sister love.
Don’t go discouraging Mama from moving on.”

“I know. I know,” Vangie mutters.

“When is Aunt
Jac-You-Up
coming?” Luka asks, impatiently awaiting the derby girls’ float.

“Should be pretty soon, honey,” Vangie says, running her hand along Luka’s leg and down over the side of Payton’s face as the tot rests upon his shoulders.

Payton returns Vangie’s affection with a kiss atop her red and green holiday-inspired hat. Four-year-old Zoey watches happily at the interplay between her parents, her tiny, gloved hands clapping above Brody’s head.

Six-year-old Luka rolls her eyes bashfully. “They’ve been acting like a couple of teenagers all week long,” she says.

Savannah chuckles, leaning in to Vangie, her voice at a whisper, “I take it things are going good?”

“Better than they have been in a while. Feels like old times,” Vangie says, her eyes and smile glowing.

“Who’s ready for hot chocolate?” Gavin and Noah return, their hands proffering cups full of the rich, chocolatey lava topped with whipped cream swirls.

“Me! Me!” Luka chants.

“Me too!” Zoey chimes.

“You might want to take her down off your shoulders,” Payton advises Brody, his fatherly experiences no stranger to astronomical amounts of sticky spills.

Brody stands Zoey up on the concrete, kneeling down to her, holding the oversized cup of hot cocoa in his large hands. “Blow on it first,” he coaches an eager Zoey, who watches him through a mesmerizing gaze not yet convinced that he isn’t a giant.

“Whew…whew…whew,” she blows, her bright eyes awaiting Brody’s approval.

“You think maybe I should try it first?” he asks, the steam still steadily rising from the open cup. Zoey nods, her mouth salivating at the sight of the puffy clouds of whipped cream. Brody sips from the edge, his upper lip acquiring a white frothy mustache. “Give it a go,” he affirms, one steel blue winking at the cherub-faced darling in front of him.

Zoey giggles, duly sinking her lips into the sugary topping, siphoning from it the chocolatey nectar below. “Mmh,” she hums. “Aunt Vannah.” She pulls on Savannah’s pant leg causing her to kneel aside Brody. “Have some.”

Savannah can’t help but plant a peck on Zoey’s adorable whipped cream laden mouth. “Mmh!” she affirms.

“Brody’s got a nustache, too,” Zoey confuses her
m
with an
n,
wringing her gloved hands together expectantly.

Savannah indulges Zoey and herself with a solitary kiss to Brody’s mouth, efficiently accepting from it another dose of sweetness. “Delicious,” she purrs.

“These two are acting like a couple of teenagers, too!” Zoey announces.

“Copycat,” Luka snips.

“Am not!” Zoey stomps her foot.

“Are too!” Luka stomps her foot harder.

“Cool it, you two,” Payton disciplines.

Brody watches the exchange, completely smitten. “We gotta have a couple,” he says to Savannah.

“Spend a weekend with them. You might change your mind,” Payton jousts, knowing he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“We could take them this weekend,” Savannah offers. “I know y’all are on the road,” she speaks of his college football team. “Take Vangie. You two make a get-away of it.”

Payton grins accepting. “You’ve always been my favorite sister-in-law.” He squeezes her about the shoulders as she and Brody stand.

“Yeah,” she chirps. “Bet I am.” She chuckles considering Jac’s protective and often intrusive nature.

“You think she’ll ever forgive me?” Payton inquires of the eldest Bondurant sibling.

Savannah nods. “She’ll
let it go,
eventually. As always, she just has to make her point.”

“You get along with Jac?” Payton turns to Brody.

“So far so good,” Brody replies.

“You want to make it in this family, I suggest you keep it that way.” Payton grins shaking his head.

“Here comes Aunt
Jac-You-Up!”
Vangie diverts excitedly,
The Pulverizing Peaches
float coming into view.

“Ooh Ooh!” Luka and Zoey squeal in unison, quickly hopping back upon their posts, Brody’s and Payton’s shoulders.

“I’m taller than you are,” Zoey taunts, Brody’s six-foot-four frame catapulting her to the rafters.

Luka refuses to acknowledge her goading, too enthralled with
The Pulverizing Peaches
to care. Their float is one giant Georgia peach. The women brave the cool weather in their traditional derby gear—boy shorts, form-fitting tees, leg warmers, skates and helmets—each one personalized and representative of their derby girl persona.

“
Wrecking Ball Rita!”
Luka yells, recognizing her from the locker room.

“
Lightning Rod Luka
and
Zero Tolerance Zoey!”
Rita yells back from the float, fully exaggerating their derby girl handles, waving in their direction.

“Whit-Whew!” Vangie and Savannah whistle at Jac, their hands floundering about in the air.

Gavin joins in with a few catcalls of his own, taking in his main squeeze atop the float, her cover girl form, muscularly toned and curvaceous versus the typical waifish in vogue physique, completely intoxicating. “Cousin,” he elbows Brody, “I do believe I am in love.” Blowing her a kiss, he plays off her moniker, yelling over the crowd,
“Jac-Me-Up,
please!”

Jac wings a string of specialized, derby girl Christmas beads from the float. The circular series of tiny Mrs. Clauses on skates in full derby gear lands appropriately around Gavin’s neck, symbolism that he has been lassoed, taken, claimed. The rarely enamored Jac returns his gesture, blowing him a kiss as their float cruises on by.