Bittersweet Creek (21 page)

Romy

“A
nd you've put us both through ten years of hell because you're afraid you're some kind of genetic time bomb?”

“Only for your own good.” He turned up his Coke and chugged at least half of it. Mine sat open but untouched with condensation beading up on the can.

Rage bubbled up inside me. “For my own good? Did I miss something? Is this the nineteenth century?”

“Of course not, it's not like that.” He stood. “I think you should go now.”

“I suppose that's
for my own good,
too? Oh, hell no. I'm not going anywhere.” I stood to face him. “Do you have any idea what kind of hell I was in? Not knowing why you left me or why you weren't returning my calls? Or when your mother told me you didn't want to see me anymore? Or—”

“She did what?” To his credit, Julian looked honestly astonished.

“Did you really think I would just leave without trying to talk to you? When you wouldn't answer my calls, I walked up to your house and knocked on the door. Your mother told me you were indisposed. Then she told me you never wanted to see me again.”

“And you believed that?” he roared.

“Well, how is that any different from your arbitrarily ‘deciding' you needed to stay away from me?” I yelled back.

“I probably wasn't even conscious—”

“Well, I didn't know that at the time, and I wished I were dead!”

That ugly word hung between us, and his brow softened. “I'm sorry, Romy. I never meant to hurt you. I swear.”

“Well, you did.” And like that I was crying again.

Julian thumbed away my tears. “Please don't cry. There's nothing I hate more than seeing you cry.”

I half laughed, half hiccupped. “Good thing you weren't around to see me the semester I almost flunked out of Vandy, then, wasn't it?”

His sharp intake of breath told me he couldn't believe in a world where Romy Satterfield even came close to flunking out. “And your scholarships?”

“I lost them, every one. But then I couldn't come home, now could I?” And I ached for what I'd missed. I thought I was just mad at Julian, but he'd stolen a part of my home from me. All those wistful weekends when I should've driven home to do my laundry for free, the summers I should've come home to help Daddy with the farm, and . . . no, that wasn't fair. I could've gone home. I could've faced my fears and my pain a long time ago. I was just as much a thief as he.

“Romy, I—”

When I looked up, he was still searching for the words, no doubt adding blame for those lost scholarships. I couldn't have that. If anyone were ever born with an Atlas complex, it was Julian McElroy.

“Stop taking the blame,” I whispered as my hand traveled to his stubbly cheek. “It was my fault, too. God, how stupid was I to believe anything your mother said? I knew how much she hated me. How much she still does.” I shivered, partly at the depth of Debbie McElroy's hatred for me and partly because my wet clothes and the air-conditioning were starting to get to me.

Julian gently took my hand from his cheek, grazing my knuckles with his lip. He sighed as he let my hand go. “You need to go on home and get out of those wet clothes.”

I may have walked to the door like a good little girl, but when my hand touched the knob, I knew I didn't want to go home. Not yet. Not when things still weren't resolved between us. Instead, I turned to look at Julian. He stood up straighter, quickly erasing the anguished expression he'd allowed only because he knew I wasn't looking.

His white T-shirt reminded me of how his white skin had blinded me, and I ached all over again for all that he'd hidden from both the world and me. I thought of how he'd admitted to me that he hadn't slept with anyone since I'd left. “Julian, do you still love me?”

He weighed his words carefully, not exactly the response a girl could hope for. I could see him warring with the asinine notion he could best protect me from himself if he made me leave. Then he had to consider Richard and all the ways in which he thought he fell short, the things the world told him he needed like money and prestige.

Or was he thinking about how much he didn't like the idea of me with Richard? I couldn't help the pang of regret, but I wasn't going to let it rule me. I might have wasted time, but I wasn't going to let it waste me. Not anymore.

He still hadn't answered, so I walked back to him and repeated my question: “Tell me the truth. Do you still love me?”

“Remember that mess from
Romeo and Juliet
that you read to me back in tutoring? You would recite some shit about ancient grudges and fatal loins then laugh and call us star-crossed lovers? Well, it ain't a laughing matter. What if I do love you? It didn't end well for them, and I don't expect much better for us.”

What if I do love you?
And that question was my answer, the balm my soul needed to heal. “Do you really think I can walk away from you after you say something like that? There's nothing hotter for an English major than quoting Shakespeare.”

“Dammit, Romy! I am
not
going to turn out like Curtis. I am
not
going to ruin your life.” His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white and his chest and arms flexed.

“What about your life? What if you ruin both of our lives by
not
letting me love you?” There was that heady pull between the two of us again. It robbed me of my next breath and left me dizzy. “What if
I
love you?”

“Don't.” He almost choked on the word.

“Too late . . . husband.” I advanced on him, and he quite predictably retreated again. A flash of lightning slashed through the house. Thunder rumbled directly overhead, signaling a new storm moving in. Still, I walked down the tiny hall between kitchen and bedroom. Still, Julian backed away from me. His back met the linen closet. The lights flickered and went out with a sizzle. I stopped short, shivering again in my damp clothes. He looked to his right for an escape route. I followed his eyes to the bedroom and straight to his unmade bed.

“Tell me you don't love me, and I'll leave. Right now.”

“I don't love you,” he said, his eyes on the floor.

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him, breaking away just as he gave in to me. “Tell me you don't love me, and I'll go. I swear it.”

His breath hitched; his eyes closed. “I don't love you.”

I reached up to kiss him again, but this time he met me halfway, bending down to kiss me. One hand knotted in my hair at the nape of my neck, and the other splayed across the small of my back as he pulled me to him. I felt at least one reason he might not want me to leave. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me, then I'll go. Really, this time.”

He dragged his eyes to mine, but all he could get out was an “I—I—”

“You are one piss-poor liar,” I said before wrapping my arms around him and kissing his stuttering lips.

Julian

T
here were a million reasons I shouldn't give in to Romy, but I couldn't think of a damned one. Instead I dragged her body even closer to mine, giving up any hope of being able to tell her I didn't love her and mean it. Damned Satterfields were a pushy bunch, and the pushiest one of them all had her hand on my crotch.

Which reminded me of the upside of pushy Satterfields.

Once my spirit found its way back to my body, I kissed her in earnest. I could tell myself this was a one-time deal, couldn't I? After all, we weren't breaking any laws, nor any vows we'd made to each other or God. We might have to revisit those vows later, but for this moment, I wanted to pretend.

The most selfish part of me wanted her like I'd never needed her before. My fingers fumbled with her bra clasp, while she had lost the ability to unbutton my pants. We were more awkward than we had been as teenagers, but I tried to slow it down, to savor the moment.

“It's been ten years,” she growled before pushing me back on the bed. Our mouths met again, teeth bumping at one point. I rolled her underneath, wanting to look down into those green eyes, searching them for any excuse to stop even though I knew I wouldn't.

“Julian,” she said, her voice a plea as her fingernails dug into my arms. “For the love of God, get inside me.”

So I did.

And it felt like home.

 

Afterward, we lay side by side, no longer needing a blanket nor feeling the chill of our wet flesh. Rain softly pinged against the old tin roof, and I should've felt sleepy. But I didn't. “There goes any chance you had for an annulment,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to hold off on a grin.

She cupped my face, her thumbs rubbing against the stubble on my jawline. “Good thing I'm not interested in getting one.”

“Romy—”

She moved that finger to my lips. “Not now, Julian.”

She pulled me close, squeezing her chest against mine so she could trace each welt on my back with her fingers. I stiffened at her touch, at the memory of what I'd been hiding for so long. “Touching those scars won't make them go away, you know.”

She kissed the tip of my nose and said, “I know.” But she kept touching me anyway, and I finally started to heal.

Romy

“J
ulian?”

Debbie McElroy's voice brought me out of a deep, blissful sleep and straight into a panic. Julian, on the other hand, didn't seem to hear her at all. I had to shake him to get him to wake up.

“Your mother is in the house,” I hissed as I tried to get under the covers.

He answered with a grunt, then rolled off the bed and looked for some boxers and a T-shirt. “Just a minute.”

A similar scene from
Romeo and Juliet
came to mind, and I giggled.
Anon, nurse.
Or in this case,
extra-mean-and-nosy heifer
.

“There you are! I've been worried sick about you,” she said from the hallway. “When you didn't show up for supper—”

And that gasp had to mean she saw my bra on the floor.

“Julian Eugene McElroy!”

“My house, Mama. You should knock before you barge in.” He sounded so calm, and I could tell from the sound of his voice that he was backing her down the hall.

“It's her, isn't it? That Satterfield harlot who tricked you into marrying her. You know she's just going to leave you again.”

My heart pounded against my chest.
Who uses the word
harlot
anymore?

“That's enough. You need to go. Now.”

“No. I want to talk to her.”

Didn't see that one coming, and I was guessing from the pause that Julian didn't, either. I glanced around the room, but half my clothes were in the hallway.

“I don't think so. Now, hand me your key.” His voice was reinforced steel. He'd been waiting to speak to make sure he didn't say anything he regretted. I didn't envy him the situation because what could he say?
Yep, it was a one-day stand, but we're hoping to make something more out of it.

“I'm not leaving until that hussy comes out here so I can speak to her.”

“Yes, you are leaving. And you're handing me that key.”

“Why? So you can give it to—?”

“My wife? I just might.”

My wife.
Just the sound of it made me dizzy.

“You're not saying a word about any of this to Curtis, either.” The front door slammed, and I heard Julian's heavy, solid footfalls down the hall. He leaned in the doorway, drinking in every detail of having me in his bed as if he never wanted to forget a single thing. I reached my arm out to him, and he looked away.

“Oh, no. Don't you start that business.”

“Romy, we've always been good together like this, but that doesn't mean we should stay together.”

“This is about
him,
isn't it?”

He was quiet for too long, long enough for a lump to form in my throat. Finally, he said, “Naw, I've pretty much made my peace with that.”

“Then what is your issue?”

“What's good for me probably ain't that good for you.”

I sat up, letting the sheet drop on purpose. “Why don't you let me decide what's good for me?”

He walked to the bed but stopped, as though still considering kicking me out on my ass. Then he slid in beside me. “God knows I should say no, but you have always been a persuasive woman.”

I drew him closer, my hands wandering up his back. “That's because you always seem to be in need of persuasion, Mr. McElroy.”

“Well then, Mrs. McElroy—”

“Oh, no. I'm keeping my last name. You McElroys aren't going to win that easily.”

“Fine. Ms. Satterfield, it's a good thing I have you here to persuade me.” He kissed me hard, surprising me because I was expecting more banter instead. When I went to pull him on top, he rolled over on his back and shifted me up top instead.

“But if we're going to try this, really try this, you have to promise me one thing,” he said.

“Anything.” My voice cracked on the word, and I meant it with every bit of my heart even if I had no idea what I was promising in that moment.

“You have to promise,” he said as he guided me down on top of him and filled me up completely, “to leave me if I ever hit you even once.”

My yes came out on a gasp.

He growled as I began to move, his hand reaching up to brush the hair out of my face. “I want to forget everything but you.”

And I obliged him. Achingly slow and with every ounce of me held back over ten years, I made love to Julian while the world outside grew darker and the rain steadily pinged on the tin roof above us.