Easy Little Lick (Copperline #3) (30 page)

As much as he told me I was a total lame ass for falling so hard and so fast, he almost started being nice to me. He mostly laid off the drummer jokes and wasn’t trying to throw pussy at me every time he turned around.

More than that, though, he was kinda
there
for me. He hung out
with
me and watched out
for
me. I’d always heard that the bass guitarist and the drummer tended to be the closest in the band.

I’d also figured the people who thought that had never met Justin.

But in the time after Ilsa had disappeared, Justin kept me from swirling in melancholy. He kept me up and out and about, dragging me with him to car shows or monster truck rallies. In very un-Justin-like fashion, he didn’t bail on me as soon as a chick tossed a suggestive wink his way. Like he didn’t want me to feel all alone.

However, he was still Justin, and tonight he was working his way into a bed with a couple girls who were out on the prowl with a bachelorette party. So I was on my own.

I stepped outside the back of the bar and walked to the far corner of the lot, leaning up against the split rail fence that bordered it. The night air was quiet and peaceful, even with muted revelry carrying over from the bar. Well into fall, the days were getting a little shorter, cooling off sooner with the crisp smell of falling leaves. I wondered where Ilsa was and what it was like there.

I wondered if she ever stared off into the twilight wondering about me.

“My real name is Isabelle.”

The voice sounded behind me like a dream. That voice.
Her voice
. I was afraid to turn around, to see nothing there. I wanted so badly to see her.

I took a deep breath and slowly looked back to see her standing a few feet away. Her eyes were full of tears. She was shaking, trembling there before me.

“I didn’t know if you still wanted me to come back,” she whispered. “The longer I was gone, the more I thought… you’re so much better off without me. I realized, though, I never told you my real name, and it felt wrong that I still had that one secret.”

Without a thought, without even realizing I was doing it, I strode over to her, grasping her cheeks in my palms, and brought her lips up to mine.

She let out a choked sob at the first touch, then threw her arms around my neck and kissed me back. The touch of her, her warm scent of sunshine, everything rushed through me, swelling in my chest with a beautiful ache. She melted against me, and I could taste the salty wetness on her tender lips. I didn’t want to stop kissing her.
Ever
. I was halfway afraid that if I did, she’d disappear. That I would find she was only an apparition.

Oh God, don’t let her leave me again.
I wanted so badly for her to stay.

I pulled away a bit and touched my forehead to hers, trying to make my voice work. The wonder of seeing her, though, of feeling her in my arms, made it an impossible task for a second. My own eyes burned, and I kept them tightly closed while I tried to sort through the thoughts whirling around in my mind.

Ilsa spoke instead.

“My birthday is April twenty-sixth,” she whispered against my lips. “My maiden name is Phillips. I’m twenty-three years old. I've been married once, and he hurt me a lot. He made me afraid to love you because I knew that I couldn’t have you. I didn’t deserve you.”

“Ils—” I started, but she didn’t allow me to interrupt.

“I knew it was wrong to be with you.” Her breath caught in a pained sob. “And then
he hurt you
. I’m so sorry he hurt you.”

I shook my head just faintly, not wanting to do or say anything to push her away. I wanted her right where she was forever.

“I don’t give a fuck what happens to me,” I said, still somewhat dazed that she was here, “not with what he was doing to you.”

“I know that, too.” She smiled through her tears and her fingertips trailed down along my shoulder where I’d been shot. “But he could have killed you… because of me.”

I shook my head. “Not because of you. Because of me.”

She shook her head. “Cody—”

“I
love
you, Ils… or Isabelle, or whatever the fuck you want me to call you. I wasn’t about to let him hurt you or Max. I sure
as fuck
wasn’t going to let him take you away from me.” I gave her a lazy grin to cover the rapid beating of my heart against my ribs. “It was purely selfish of me.”

Ilsa didn’t smile at my sad attempt at humor. Instead, she swallowed hard and looked down at my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I urged, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead, holding her tight against me.

“I don’t know if it means anything,” she whispered into my chest, “but I won’t ever lie to you again.”

“You didn’t really lie to me. You didn’t give me a lot to go on, but you didn’t lie.”

“I wasn’t honest.”

“I think you did what you had to do to protect Max, even to protect me. That’s pretty valiant, actually.”

“But Cody—”

I tipped her face up to mine and pressed another quick kiss on her lips to quiet her argument. Then I kissed her just a little longer because I had missed her and it felt so incredibly wonderful to have her close to me.

And I kissed her another moment more because I really,
really
wanted her and Max to stay.

“Where’s Max?” I finally asked when I pulled back a bit, touching my forehead to hers once again.

“Inside. Sophie’s got him. She said she needs practice.” She pulled back to look up at me, slightly shocked. “Is she…?”

I laughed. The baby fever talk hadn’t really died down much over the last few months.

“Not that I know of, yet… Brannon finally talked her into marry him first.”

Ilsa’s eyes softened. “Awe, they’re getting married? When?”

“Probably pretty quick,” I replied. “I think they were hoping you’d come back soon, so you could be here.”

“Me? Why me?” The confusion in her eyes made me smile down at her.

“You’re part of us, a part of our little group. You and Max.” I shrugged, “Plus, I’ve been kind of miserable lately. I think they felt bad doing something so happy with a wet blanket like me around.”

A flash of guilt crossed her features. “You’ve been miserable?”

“I’ve missed you,” I said honestly, and the emotion in my voice made it sound rough.

“Why? I kinda wreaked havoc on you,” she murmured regretfully. “You shouldn’t even want me now that you know everything.”

“I realized something while you were gone. I may not know much about your life and your past, but all that is just… I don’t care… because I know
you
. I know who you are inside, and I love you.”

“Cody…” she trailed off breathlessly.

“Just tell me if there are any other big things coming,” I grinned, and she smiled tearfully in response. “I can handle it if I brace for it. You’re worth it.”

“No more skeletons in my closet. Nothing else to hide. I’m an open book now.”

Relief flooded through my body, making my knees turn weak as I lowered my lips to hers once more.

“Good,” I said, placing a short, firm kiss to her lips. “I can’t wait to read you.”

Ilsa had given up her apartment before she left, so she and Max stayed with me at the Mofos’ house for a bit.

Honestly, I tiptoed around the idea of getting a place, like I had suggested right before things had gone to shit before. I was somewhat hesitant to bring it up again, though. Everything was so new and a bit fragile. I didn’t want to send her running.

So, as much as I didn’t want to be without her, not even for a
minute
, I tried to give her some time to adjust. To come to terms with the horror of Simon’s psychotic episode. To find closure in his death.

After she disappeared from the hospital, she went to Indianapolis and essentially sold everything she suddenly solely owned. She set aside a little money to start fresh, just enough to leave Indy behind her.

She donated the rest to the women’s shelter that had been too packed to take her in. Her endowment turned out to be a pretty hefty sum considering the house, cars, and other belongings. When she gifted the money, she set strict parameters for them to use it to increase the capacity of their facility. More beds so more women could find their way out of their own nightmares.

While she was in Indy, her parents came to see her, apologizing and saying they thought she had just been overreacting. They tried to ease their own guilty consciences by offering her support. They claimed they wanted to bond with their grandson, a child they’d never shown any interest in before.

But it was too little too late.

Ilsa more or less told them to fuck off before she drove out of Indy… and headed for Montana.

She came to see me in spite of the self-reproach festering in her heart, the staggering and suffocating awareness that Simon
could have killed me.
If his aim had been just a little bit better, or if he’d only been a little bit faster or stronger.

She shouldered that guilt, unable to imagine that I wouldn’t blame her, that others who loved me—my parents and my friends—wouldn’t blame her as well. So much that she almost didn’t come to see me at all.

In the end, though, she simply had to.

She loved me.

As much as I wanted to fix everything for her, to magically make it all better, I knew she needed to deal with the traumatic events that had taken place. More than ever, she needed patience and understanding. She needed me to love her like nobody ever had before. She sure as hell didn’t need me turning into a chick and demanding all kinds of commitment.

As it turned out, I didn’t even have to. I had a little help.

She’d been back in Ophir for about a week when, one day while I was at work, my mom stopped by.

At the hospital after I’d been shot, Ilsa had stayed beside me until she knew I’d be okay. From what the doctors and nurses and my friends said, she didn’t leave my side.

Not long before my parents got to the hospital, though, she panicked and ran. She disappeared into the night, unable to bear witness to the pain she’d caused. She thought my parents would hate her.

She thought my parents
should
hate her.

Because she still thought that way, she damn near had a heart attack when my mother pulled up to the house. With an ominous weight in her chest, she took a deep breath, opened the door, and, as she told me later, things sorta went down like this…

“Hi, sweetheart,” my mom said.

Sweet. Concerned. Worried.

And Ilsa was all like,
Wait, what?

Not the greeting she’d had been expecting. She stood there gaping at my mom, feeling like her jaw had hit the floor.

“Can I come in?” my mom asked, seeming a bit nervous herself.

Ilsa nodded dumbly and stepped back.

Mom walked through the kitchen and into the great room, looking around before turning back to Ilsa.

“So where’s that sweet little boy of yours?” Mom asked with a soft smile.

“He’s upstairs, napping.”

Mom looked around the room again, decorated in beer signs and not much else. “This house…” she murmured, “it probably isn’t the best place for him.”

Ilsa’s heart sank, even though this was more or less what she had expected. She knew my folks were nice, that my mom wasn’t going to come in screeching at her or something. My mother’s words, albeit polite, compounded her self-condemnation.

“I know,” Ilsa replied sadly, and she steeled herself for what was to come. “It’s great for twenty-something-year-old guys. Not so much for an almost-toddler guy. I’m just figuring out… where to go next.”