Show Me How (7 page)

“Jagger . . .” I released a sigh and glanced over at Deacon, but his eyes were on the grass. Without saying a word to any of them, I started walking in the direction of the tent.

I hadn't taken more than three steps before Deacon called out, “Char—­”

“Good night, Deacon,” Jagger said roughly, and turned to follow me when I passed him.

Despite Jagger's constant questions about what Deacon and I had been doing, and Grey's questions about what she had walked in on, I remained silent as I collected my son and walked to my car.

“Deacon isn't the kind of guy you should—­”

I shut the back door of my car once I had Keith in his booster seat, and whirled on Jagger. “We were talking, Jagger. Literally
talking
. Nothing more. But even if for some insane reason there had been
more
, you cannot do what you just did.”

Jagger shot his arm out behind him. “Do you know how close you two were? Do you know what it looked like I interrupted? And with
Deacon
, of all guys!”

“I don't care!” I cried out. “He was holding me because he was trying to keep me there so I wouldn't keep walking away from him while he apologized for what he'd said last week.”

That stopped Jagger from whatever he'd been about to say. His head jerked back as he took in my words, and Grey's eyes widened as she looked from Jagger to me. It was clear in her look that she hadn't told Jagger that there had been tension between Deacon and me. Not that I'd thought she had. Jagger would have brought it up to me as soon as Grey mentioned it.

“Apologize?” Jagger asked softly, darkly. “For what?”

“It doesn't matter; and you're still doing it. Jagger, you are my
brother
. Just be my brother! I appreciate what you did for me growing up more than you will ever know, but I am an adult now. You don't need to keep parenting me. You don't need to force your way into a situation and act like my father when you don't even know what the situation is. Do you know that ­people think I hide behind you? Do you know that ­people think I pawned Keith off on you because
you
forced me to go away to college alone? All I wanted was to be with my son, but because you think you know what's best for me, I missed out on so many months with him!” I nearly yelled. “Jagger, I love you, but just
stop
!”

I rounded my car, ignoring Jagger's protests, and slid into the driver's seat.

“Are we mad at Uncle J, Mommy?” Keith asked softly from the backseat once I was pulling out of the parking spot.

I sagged against the steering wheel and put the car in drive, but just sat there with my foot on the brake for a few seconds. He'd still been asleep when I'd put him in the car. I hated that he'd heard us yelling. “No, buddy. No, we're not,” I finally said.

“Then why we yelling at Uncle J?”

“Sometimes . . .” I trailed off, and tried to think of what to tell him. “Sometimes grown-­ups don't listen to each other very well. And sometimes when that happens, we raise our voices to get another grown-­up to finally hear us, but that doesn't mean it's a good thing. It wasn't nice of me to do that to Uncle J. I'm sorry you heard that.”

Keith was silent for so long that I'd thought he'd fallen back asleep, but he suddenly said, “So Uncle J hears you now?”

I nodded. “Maybe.”

“Okay then, Mommy. Then it's okay.”

I smiled though he couldn't see me, and whispered, “Thanks, buddy.”

O
NCE WE GOT
home, I got Keith in his pajamas and in bed, then changed into something comfortable. I'd just finished taking off my makeup when I heard Grey and Jagger get home.

I checked my phone again, and tried to hide the disappointment that there was still nothing from the stranger, then walked out into the main room to talk to Jagger.

I knew he would be waiting for me, and I found him sitting on the couch, forearms resting on his knees and head dropped.

Long seconds passed in silence after I sat down next to him before he looked up at me. His expression was withdrawn and full of worry, but a small smirk tugged at his mouth when I sent him a shaky smile.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

His head was already shaking before I finished getting the second word out. “Don't be. Apparently I still think you need me for everything. I think I've chosen to forget that you were raising Keith and dealing with Mom on your own while I was away at college. In my head, you still need me. I know that you can make all of your own decisions, Charlie, but I feel like I still need to make them for you. You know?”

“I want your opinion,” I said quickly. “I want your opinion, but I just want my brother. I don't like when you say things and that's the final decision for
my
life. Part of the agreement was that I needed to find my own place, but the times I've even mentioned that I've looked at places, you
still
say that it would just be easier to stay here in a way that hints that you don't want us leaving. Yes, it would be easier, but I need a place with Keith, and you and Grey and Aly need this place to yourselves.”

Jagger nodded slowly. “I know.” He sighed slowly, and said, “I know. Grey and I were talking on the way home about what you said. I don't think I realize all that I've been doing all these years, and I swear to God I'll step back.” He made a face, and the corners of his mouth pulled up in another grin. “
Try
to. But there's one thing I need to know. Do you resent me for making you go to college?” When I took too long to answer, he laughed sadly. “Got it.”

“No, I don't. Really, Jag, I don't. I was trying to think of how exactly I felt.” I looked away as I tried to gather my thoughts, and when I spoke again, my words started off slow and unsure. “I was upset, yes, but I knew why you did it. I knew that going away was something I had wanted growing up, and I think you were just trying to make sure I still had that. My wants changed after Keith was born though, and I don't think you could fully understand that until Aly was here. But honestly, I'm not mad that you forced me to go, I'm mostly mad that I allowed you to. Like I said, some ­people think I pawned Keith off on you, and that's how I feel too. It felt like as soon as he got to be mine, I abandoned him. I feel like I'm no better than Mom.”

“You're nothing like her,” he argued gently.

I chewed on my bottom lip as dozens of responses and insecurities came to mind, but didn't voice any of them.

Jagger exhaled heavily as he stood, and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. When he straightened, he asked hesitantly, “Can I ask about one more thing?”

I looked up and lifted an eyebrow in silent response.

“Deacon.”

My face fell. “What about him?”

“What's going on between you two?”

“I don't—­” I started to tell him it wasn't something I wanted to discuss before I realized that Jagger's tone was different from Grey's earlier that week. “Um. Wait, how do you mean . . .”

“I'm not gonna be able to sleep if I think there's something going on between you and Deacon fucking Carver. I get that you want me to back off, Charlie, and Deacon's a great guy . . . but not in that way. Never in that way, and especially not for you. I know Grey would say the same.”

I forced a laugh and tried to ignore the way my stomach swirled with heat. Jagger's worries were unnecessary because Deacon would never look at me like that, and I hated that I felt anything for him at all. “It's not—­there's nothing—­no, you have it wrong. Deacon and I fought earlier this week. He was trying to apologize tonight. That's all.”

“Apologize.” Jagger's tone was full of disbelief. “Do you have any clue how close the two of you were tonight?”

Yes. I knew exactly how close. I could still feel Deacon's body pressed against mine, the way his fingers curled against me . . .

Irrational, betraying heart.

“I didn't want to talk to him. I'd already walked away from him. He was trying to keep me there so I would listen to him.”

Jagger's eyes narrowed. “Are you gonna tell me what he was trying to apologize for?”

“No.”

He nodded, as if he'd expected the answer. “All right. And you swear there isn't something else going on between the two of you?”

“Jagger, I have only ever been with Ben. I've never had a boyfriend, and I have a son. Do you really think the next guy I'd choose would end up being one of the two remaining town man-­whores?”

Jagger shrugged. “You surprised me before.”

I deserved that. “There's nothing there, but whenever—­if ever—­I find someone to be with, trust me to make the right decision for me and Keith. Okay?”

After a short hesitation, he nodded, and then turned to walk toward the loft where his and Grey's room was.

I pulled myself off the couch and headed toward the bedroom, ready to crawl into bed and sleep for the few hours I had before I needed to wake up for my shift. I checked on Keith, and smiled at the way he was sleeping, completely sprawled out with all of the covers pushed all the way down.

As I was pulling the comforter back over him, my phone vibrated on my nightstand, and my heart skipped a beat.

I stared at it until the screen went black again, then slowly straightened and walked around the room to retrieve it. With shaky hands, I picked up my phone and held my breath as I prepared to check the lock screen.

The air ripped from my lungs and my heart took off when I read the message that waited for me.

Stranger:
And here I'd thought you'd taken your words away from me . . .

 

Chapter Eight

Deacon

June 5, 2016

“
J
ESUS
C
HRIST, DUDE,
stop yawning,” Graham said with a groan the next morning, and kicked at my leg.

I ran my hands through my hair and bit back another yawn. “Shut up, you don't look any better than me,” I grumbled, and picked up one of Keith's crayons to fix some things on his kid's menu before he woke from his nap on the short drive over.

“I need coffee,” I said distractedly as I colored. “It was a long night.”

“Ew,” Grey said, then pretended to gag. “Ew, I don't want to know.”

“Did you really take home someone from the wedding?” Knox asked, and shook his head. “Come on, man. It was my wedding.”

“He didn't,” Graham answered for me. “But he probably had a line waiting when we got home. I made him turn off Candy for a ­couple days until the wedding was over.”

Knox barked out a laugh, and everyone else sitting at the table looked among the three of us with clueless expressions.

“Didn't,” I said through another yawn. “Just . . . I just couldn't sleep.”

“Yeah, I bet you couldn't,” Knox said through his laughter.

I'd spent the entire night and morning texting the owner of the journal while working on Charlie's car outside the warehouse. After the bullshit that had gone down at the wedding with Charlie, I probably would have done exactly what Graham and Knox thought—­I would have gone down my list of waiting girls in Candy. But that message, that fucking message with that one word had changed everything.

Stranger . . .

I hadn't been able to respond fast enough.

I also hadn't responded to anyone else, or given a shit that hours had passed or that night had turned to day as we'd texted.

I still didn't have a name, but I didn't care. I knew she was somewhere between the ages of twenty and thirty, so at least I knew she was legal. And I knew she was single . . . that was all I needed to know to not put a stop to this now. The rest of the specifics didn't matter.

Her words and everything else I learned about her through them mattered more than specifics ever could.

The fact that I had been able to open up to her in a way I never had with anyone else meant fucking everything.

Because to her, to this girl, I wasn't Deacon Carver. I wasn't the guy everyone in Thatch knew me to be.

“Hey, everyone. What can I get you?”

My head snapped up at that voice, and my gaze locked with eyes so blue, it was hard to look away.

To this strange girl, I wasn't what Charlie had so perfectly described me as: Unapologetic and arrogant.

A chorus of “Heys!” went up around the table, and as soon as they died down, Jagger cleared his throat.

“Well, apparently Deacon needs coffee to get through the morning after the marathon of women from last night.”

My eyes shot to Jagger, but he was looking at his sister pointedly.

“Ew,” Grey and Harlow said at the same time, and after a slight pause, I heard Charlie mumble under her breath, “Disgusting.”

Before I could say anything in my defense, Charlie looked at Harlow and said, “Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon?”

I didn't pay attention to Harlow's response, or anyone else as they gave Charlie their drink orders. I couldn't stop watching Charlie and the way she was once again so obviously trying not to look at me.

Without realizing it, my gaze slowly dropped from her face down her body, and settled on her waist. My hands curled and the tips of my fingers tingled, and I had the strongest urge to pull her against me again.

I flexed my hand and mentally shook my head, and told myself it was because I wasn't used to having someone who didn't throw herself at me. But when I looked back up and noticed the way her eyes kept darting over to Graham, and how her cheeks filled with heat, my hand curled into a fist. Irritation flashed through me, and something white-­hot settled in my stomach and pulsed through my veins, just as it had the night before when I'd seen Graham dancing with her. I didn't understand it, and I didn't like it.

And I needed to stop thinking about the way her body had felt against mine.

Before I knew I was moving, I was out of the booth and following her as she walked away to get our drinks.

“Charlie Girl,” I murmured when she slowed at the POS to enter in the drink order.

She faltered for a second, but she didn't turn to look at me, and her voice was calm when she asked, “Why are you following me?”

“Is that really how ­people see me?”

She looked over her shoulder, her brow pinched and eyes full of confusion.

“Unapologetic and arrogant,” I clarified.

“And unaware,” she added softly.

“Of what?”

“Exactly.” Her eyes bored into mine for long seconds before she spoke. “Deacon, why are you asking me this?”

“Because I need to know if that's what ­people see when they see me.”

“Isn't that how you want ­people to see you?” She looked down again to punch our drinks into the screen, and when she finished, she just stood there. She didn't have to look to know that I hadn't left. With a sigh, she turned, already speaking as she did. “You've created this image, Deacon. The three of you did. Knox got out of it, but that was different because he'd had Harlow before any of you ever became—­well, the way you are.”

“And what's that?” I asked, my tone slightly taunting, mostly curious to see if she would say it to my face.

Charlie's cheeks blazed red, her head shook slightly. “You sleep with every legal female close enough to touch—­”

“Not every.”

“—­and you brag about it. You act like no one can touch you. And if you hurt any of those women, you don't care. It isn't in you to care.”

I lifted an eyebrow and reminded her, “I cared about hurting you.”

“That's different, Deacon. You would also care about hurting Grey or Harlow or Knox's sister.”

I had never fantasized about touching any of them though. And I still didn't know what to do about wanting to touch the girl in front of me.

“So to answer your question, yes, that's how ­people see you. But I think that's only because you created
this
for them to see. And I also think that you have deep and confusing thoughts when you're going off little sleep. That, or one of the girls from last night made you think about who you are far too much. Which . . . actually might be a good thing for you. Maybe she'll be a change for you, like Harlow was for Knox. But go sit down and I'll bring your coffee regardless of whichever one it was.”

I bit back my automatic response, because, technically, she wasn't wrong, and blew out a heavy sigh as I took a step back. Before she could turn away, I asked, “Why does it have to depend on a girl? Why can't there just be different sides to me?”

“Such deep and confusing thoughts,” she murmured again. “Why are you coming to me with this?”

“Because I've seen different sides of you in just the last week. I've seen the shy, sweet Charlie I grew up with, and I've seen the one who stood up to me and for herself.”

Embarrassment flashed across her face. “You can't compare us, Deacon. All you've ever wanted was to be seen, and I'd rather not be seen at all.” She walked away, leaving me there, staring at the place where she'd been standing.

Just as I turned, she called out my name, and I looked over my shoulder to see her walking back toward me with a mug of coffee in her hands.

“Here, so you can get started.” She smirked, but it died as soon as I took the mug from her hands. “And, Deacon? Keith might be sleeping right now, but he repeats everything, and he's obsessed with you lately. Keep that in mind when you talk about your
nights
, okay?”

I'd never realized how much ­people expected me to have a night with a random girl, or multiple girls, until this week. I'd also never realized how much this image that Charlie said I'd created for myself would piss me off when I found that I could no longer get away from it.

I huffed in frustration, and stared into the dark depths of the coffee for a moment before looking up at her again. “Would you believe me if I told you that I was alone last night?”

Charlie's face was etched with disbelief, and it was the only answer I needed.

“Right.” I cleared my throat and took a step back, and raised the mug in her direction. “Thanks, Charlie.”

I had barely gotten settled back into the booth before Jagger said in a low, warning tone, “Man, stay away from my sister.”

I glanced up, and everyone else at the booth was frozen and looking at either Jagger or myself . . . but Jagger wasn't paying attention to me. His focus was on his daughter.

Just when I started to think I'd imagined his warning, and imagined everyone's stares, he said, “I love you, Deac, but I'm so fucking serious.” His eyes finally flicked in my direction, the look in them drove home his words.

“Jagger . . .” Grey said, her voice almost too soft to hear.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. “We were just talking.”

One of his eyebrows ticked up, a huff burst from his chest. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. As long as it stays that way, then that's fine. I mean it; you're like a brother. But Charlie has Keith, she doesn't need to get involved with someone like—­”

“Jagger, stop,” Grey said, this time louder.

“Yeah, no, I got it.” I tried to laugh, but it may have come across as a sneer. One of my phones chimed then, and I didn't even pay attention to which one it was when I pulled it out of my pocket and held it up. “Because of this, right? They call, and I go willingly.”

I downed the hot coffee as fast as I could and slid out of the booth, more than ready to get away now that no one was speaking and everyone was staring at me with a mixture of shock, confusion, and sympathy.

“See the two of you when you get back from your honeymoon,” I said to Knox and Harlow, then nodded in Grey's direction. “When Keith wakes up, tell him I already covered up the ladybugs on the menu so they can't take his superpowers away.” When her sympathetic expression turned confused, I said, “He'll understand.”

I turned and nearly ran into Charlie as she carried the drink tray toward the booth.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, her eyes already darting over me. “Are you leaving?”

My mouth opened to say, “I have to go live up to my reputation,” but shut again. Instead, I simply mumbled, “Charlie Girl,” and walked past her and out of Mama's Café.

As soon as I was back home and in bed, I opened up the conversation with Words, the journal girl, on my phone. And as I tapped out a message, I realized I needed this more than I'd thought. If the ­people I was closest to wouldn't allow me to be anything other than this image I'd created, then at least I had this.

Words, have you ever thought about how ­people move to places like Thatch to start their lives over, but the ­people who grow up in those towns can't start over unless they leave?

Charlie

June 9, 2016

S
TRANGER
:
A
T ALL.

My jaw dropped in disbelief as I hurried to respond a few days later.

I'd spent every night since the wedding talking to Stranger, and in that time, I'd come to know him better than anyone, and he me. And sometimes it was hard to believe that he hadn't been in my life for years, because I'd never been able to talk to anyone like I could this.

What do you mean? How can you not believe in love?

Stranger:
No, I mean, I do. Just . . . not like . . . I don't know. I love my family and my closest friends because they're like family. But the other? I think it's something ­people have made up over the years. It's wants and needs and infatuations that ­people glorify into a relationship and marriage that you either stick out for your life or decide you don't want to deal with anymore.

Stranger:
I don't think we're meant to fall in love with someone and spend forever with them. I think the whole “the one” thing is just bullshit.

“That's depressing,” I whispered, then tapped my words out to him.

That is incredibly depressing.

Stranger:
How did I know you wouldn't agree with me? Even after the guy from years ago that treated you the way he did, you still believe in it?

Of course I do.

I don't think it's always easy, and the journey to find the person you're meant to be with can be messy, but I think there is at least one person for everyone. And I don't say “at least” in the instance that we get bored, but if there's a death, or something like that . . .

And, yeah, it can start with wants and needs and desire, but you never know when it might end up turning into something so much more than that—­when your soul recognizes theirs. I feel like a part of our souls are dying away every day until we finally find the person who holds the other half.

Stranger:
Soul mates, huh? If that even exists, I think ­people are quick to put that label on someone. Just like I think ­people are too quick to say those three little words.

True, some ­people are.

Stranger:
Not you?

I had only ever told one person that I had loved them, and I hadn't even said the words “I love you.” I'd simply told Ben that I'd been in love with him for as long as I could remember. Those three words had never left my lips, though I had fantasized for years about the day they would.