Pretty Instinct (21 page)

“Where was Dad’s,”
cringe
, “friend then?”

“She left, but not in her underwear anymore.”

“And what did Dad say next, Conner, about the divorce?”

“He was very, very mad. He said loud stuff. He broke your pony picture on the wall. Are you sad? I’ll get you a new one.”

What is he…? It hits me like a bolt of lightning, kinda like his memories pick and choose when to flash in his mind. At the top of our grand staircase was a landing area, a central spot shaped almost like an octagon, with several doors to the various rooms. In that landing were two mahogany sofa tables along the wall, decorated with pictures, flowers, and such. The far left one held a picture of me, about seven years old, atop my pony, Dusty, in a black frame. I can picture it now as clear as if it was right in front of me.

“Did he throw the picture at the wall, Con?”

He gestures affirmatively, but I need the words recorded, so I clarify.

“Yes, he did?”

Peering at me with troubled, pouty eyes, he answers, “Yes, sorry, Sister. I’ll get you another one.”

“It’s okay.” I reach over and pat his leg. “I’m not sad, promise.”

“Mom didn’t want him breaking your stuff. She was even gonna call the police!” His face and voice become animated. “And Dad chased her over his dead body and then Mom went to Heaven.”

Wait, now I’m confused. My mom died in her sleep, long after I returned from camp. I thought this fight happened while I was gone? I’m usually able to follow anything Conner says, but I’m lost here.

“Bethy, I’m tired. Can I have my bed now?”

“Oh, sure, sorry we’ll get out of your way.” I’d like to keep him talking, of course, but I don’t need it sounding like I’m “guiding” him on the recording. And, I’m puzzled now, no idea what to even ask next. Cannon and I rise and Conner scurries to the middle of the bed, huddling under his covers. “You want me to watch a different movie with you?” I ask him warmly, somewhat worried this had been too much.

“No, I wanna go to sleep. See you in the morning. Cannon, can we cook breakfast?”

Cannon has to clear his throat he’s been quiet so long. “Of course. Just wake me up when you’re ready.”

I quietly shut Conner’s door and turn to find Bruce, who never stays on the bus at night, sitting at the table, the usual four lines of worry on his brow grown to six. “You heard,” I state, his face telling me the answer. Taking a seat across from him, I prop my elbows on the table and let my head fall into my hands.

I hear Cannon set a cup, coffee no doubt, in front of Bruce then feel him scoot in beside me, our thighs touching.

“Thank you, Cannon,” my uncle says politely, full of respect. “Elizabeth, ah,” he holds up a hand to halt me, my head flying up to contest the use of that name. “Elizabeth Hannah Carmichael, your mama, my beautiful sister, gave you that name. All the time growing up,” his voice cracks and he ducks his head, “she always said when she had a daughter, she was gonna name her Elizabeth. Every single one of her dolls, all named Elizabeth.” He shakes his head with a chuckling smile, the reminiscing clear in his glossy eyes. “So instead of hating it because of him, try embracing it because of her.”

Well, when he puts it that way.

“And quit holding back your tears, young lady. You’re not half as hard and bitchy as you’d like to think.”

“Agreed,” Cannon throws in, squeezing my thigh under the table.

“What Conner told you, that’s a big breakthrough, on the day you needed it most.” My uncle smiles at me with a brow lifting in message. “My sister, your mama, has been at work here today.” My flesh tightens, goosebumps breaking out over every inch of me. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll stay on the bus with Conner tonight and you take my hotel room. Get a good night’s sleep and in the morning, where he can’t hear or be under foot, call your lawyer and tell him what that bastard father of yours is scheming. Let him know what Conner remembered tonight too. See what he says you should do next.”

I nod resolutely, knowing it’s the ideal plan of action. But one thing’s still niggling at me. “I’m afraid the credibility of Conner’s memory will be doubted, because something’s not quite right. It couldn’t have happened the way he said. I was home when mom died. There was no big fight, she just went to bed and didn’t wake up. My d—my father wasn’t even home when I finally went to check on her that morning and she was,” Cannon curls me tight into his chest, “she was already gone; she was cold and stiff. So,” I choke, “so cold.”

“If I may,” Cannon interrupts humbly, my uncle apparently urging him to continue as I don’t flinch from his snug hold on me, face buried in the clean smelling shirt encasing his solid chest. “As an outsider and a new set of eyes, I have some thoughts, if you can help me piece some things together. But only if you’re able to.” He kisses the top of my head. “Just say the word and we’ll wait. I can’t see you like you were earlier again.”

“How was she earlier?” Bruce barks in fury, causing me to flinch against Cannon.

“Easy,” Cannon placates him. “Lizzie was telling me a little about all this on our walk and had a pretty bad panic attack. She blacked out for…well, for too long. And I’m not gonna lie to ya, I slapped her to bring her back.” His head dips much like his voice and he runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing else was working.” He lifts his head and looks Bruce in the eyes. “I needed to apologize to you, too, ‘cause I told you I’d never hurt her.” He returns his hold around me, more constricted, brooking no chance of escape.
Furthest thing from my mind.
“But I did, and I’m sorry. It wasn’t in anger, only desperation, and I’ll take whatever you hit me with like a man. It won’t hurt half as much as having to touch her like I did.” His chest rumbles against my cheek with his prolonged exhale.

“I appreciate that, son, for telling me, and for helping her. I’ve long since figured out I have nothing to worry about with you. You’re a good man. And what I said before, well—”

“We don’t have to rehash that,” Cannon cuts him off, sparking my curiosity enough that I lift my head and eye him suspiciously.

“Rehash what?”

“Nothing.” Cannon shakes his head and shoots Bruce “a look,” attempting to pull mine back down to him.

“Nu-uh,” I protest, holding my head firmly upright. “Tell me.”

“Your uncle was concerned you might be a
rebound
for me,” he mumbles, looking away.

There it is again,
that word
.

“
Pretty Woman
,” I mutter absently and his head spins back, molten brown eyes studying mine.

“Instinct,” he whispers back, dripping with seriousness, sensuality.

“Pretty Instinct.” I sigh, thinking it’s our perfect title. Maybe I’ll write a song called precisely that.

My uncle groans and his bones pop and crack as he stands. “Let’s get you to the hotel, girl. I’ll come fetch ya in the morning after you’ve had time to make your calls.

“Um, Bruce,” Cannon shifts me gently so he too can stand, “I’ll take Lizzie, and,” he refuses to look away from my uncle’s critical scowl, but does scratch his head with an apologetic, nervous twitch to his mouth, “I’ll stay with her, get her back in the morning. Do me a favor, though? I promised Conner we’d make breakfast. So can you do that, or hold him off ‘til I get here?”

No way I’m looking up from my lap, the heat of my blush at what my uncle must be thinking fully aflame.

“Well,” Bruce drawls out, surely to prolong my agony, “She’s a twenty-three-year-old woman; done a fine job taking care of herself so far. All right, then, guess I’ll go make Conner scoot over and see you kids in the morning. Don’t be late. I don’t cook and we’re off to Lincoln next, eight hour trip with no stops, and three shows there. Big ones—Adamo’s, Jenning’s Jukebox, and The Fieldhouse. Need everyone in top form. Night,” he says as he closes Conner’s door behind him.

“He’s gone. You can look up, my shy little Siren,” Cannon whispers in a teasing voice.

“My
instinct
is telling me to kick your ass. I cannot believe you told my uncle we were gonna sleep in a hotel room together!” I pick up the nearest thing I spot, the box of Uno cards, and chuck it at his head.

He dodges stealthily and laughs, moving in fast to grasp my hand. “Come on, grab your stuff and let’s go. I want you calm, rested, and confident to handle things in the morning. Together, we’re gonna start eliminating all your burdens, worries, and issues one by one ‘til we get you sublimely happy, and all mine, of course.”

There he goes again with the “mine, happily ever after, do-da” junk. My reality isn’t the kind found in storybooks, and as badly as I want to, I can’t shut off the cynic in my head. Cannon’s wearing it down, though; I so hope he keeps up the fight.

And our current location is another contender heavy on my mind. Ohio is sneaking closer and closer; home, a break. And what state’s right before Ohio in our path? Indiana. Cannon made one grand sweep, had a good time, met some new people…but surely he’ll want dropped off at his own home, back to stable ground.

Those storybooks all end in the same way…The End.

But while he’s here, and delusional, I’m gonna eat it up with a spoon. I’d rather let go at least once and burn into my memory all I can—every word, every touch, each kiss and caress, his look, smell, sounds—to remember, to comfort me, once he’s gone.

***

“Your phone’s going nuts, it’s Rhett. Want me to grab it?” Cannon calls through the bathroom door, slicing through the serenity of my bubble bath.

“Sure, don’t want them worried and Bruce is probably asleep. My code’s 1212,” I answer, closing my eyes again and settling further down in the water, luxuriating in the satiny feel of my skin and ease in my muscles.

Luckily, it’s but minutes before he knocks again, startling me awake seconds from my sleepy head dipping under water. Guess that probably would’ve woke me up too—but a “Cannon call” is better. “Had them bring up warm towels. I’m gonna set one with your pajamas on the counter, close your eyes.”

Kudos on the nice try, but how out of it does he think I am? “Don’t you mean,
you’ll
close
your
eyes?” I giggle.

“That’s what I said.”

“Uh huh,” I cover my chest with slick hands and cross my legs, turning to my side. “Okay, come in!” I call.

The door gradually opens and his head emerges around it—eyes closed. He puts out a hand, fumbling around seeking the countertop. “Left, up, getting warmer,” I guide his blind venture through laughter. “Hotter, oh you’re red hot, got it!” I clap when he lands the pile by the sink, a triumphant grin on his face.

“Thank you, Cannon,” I purr…amply aware that clapping leaves my breasts exposed, swelling with longing from his close proximity. Even though he’s being a gentleman and not looking, I feel wanton and electrified, the boldest opposite sex dealings I’ve ever had. No, there was nothing bold with Rhett and me, merely two broken souls clumsily (and
very quickly
) consoling each other.

“My pleasure,” he hums, a raspy, tortured sound, revealing his battle with temptation as burdensome as my own. “You need help getting out?” His mouths quirks. He’s adorable, standing there trying to be all suave tempter…with his eyes closed.

All he wears is gym shorts and a smirk. He sure is pretty…so I add the instinct.
Go for it
. “Yes, that’d be awfully sweet of you.”

He jerks with his sharp inhale, igniting all my senses too. I can hear each deep, labored breath he takes as if they were my own, and the shifted, magnetic current in this small space zings along each nerve in my body. I watch his bared, hairless chest rise and fall once, twice, before he lets his eyes lazily open.

Accepting and emulating the siren he seems to think I am, I rise from the water with slow, deliberate taunting, and present myself to his now lust-filled, probing eyes. Never breaking our gaze, he licks his bottom lip and reaches back his hand to search out the towel. His greedy eyes devour every displayed inch of me, first down with long, leisurely strides of his eyes, then back up, even more intricately. “Do you want to hear the sweet thoughts or the ‘me man, you…you version’?” he asks in a growl.

“Both,” I whisper, bravely keeping my arms at my sides.

“I will never be able to pick a favorite part of you, each more flawless and beautiful than the last. You’re absolutely perfect, Lizzie. Without a doubt, the most exquisite woman in the world, inside and out.”

Dizzy, I teeter under the onslaught of those magical words. He’s instantly there, holding me up, his large, strong, caring hands burning my skin where they touch. “Easy, I got you. I’ve always got you,” he croons in assurance, wrapping the towel around me from back to front. “Hold on,” he softly warns only seconds before scooping me up in his arms and carrying me toward the bedroom.

No, no, no…I was, I was practicing foreplay, getting used to…I’m not ready for
this
yet.

“You wish.” He dips his head to me and winks. “Emotionally exhausted and worried sick isn’t really a turn on for me, babe. Just gonna set you down so you can get dressed.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I reply, but my voice is frail and pathetic, a poor attempt at denial.

“Didn’t have to.” He places me down on the bed softly and takes a step back. “But one day, you will. You’ll have to beg me to stop because your body can’t take another second of pleasure. Until then,” he bends, chastely kissing the end of my nose, “get ready for bed. I’m gonna grab our phones in case they need us. I’ll be right back to wrap my body around yours and hold you all night long.”

He starts to leave, halfway through the door when I manage up the trepid words. “What was the other version you were gonna say?”

Turning, his eyes gleam and that smirk I’ve come to adore—that’s a lie, I liked it the first time I saw it—is already in full effect. He stalks back to me and bends over me, hands caging me in at my sides and whispers smooth as silk in my ear. “I promise, I’ll tell you the minute I slide inside you for the first time.”