Walker and Michael returned with the new horse mats for the gym floor. They laid them out and began the process of rearranging the equipment on top of it, and John had to admit Michael was right.
He straightened and mopped the sweat from his brow. “Good call on the flooring. Just as shock absorbing as the foam flooring they sell for gyms.” Of course, Michael would know best; exercise was one of his areas of expertise.
Michael puffed up at the compliment. “Yep, and at less than half the cost.” He added a hop to demonstrate the pride he had in his stamp on Gus’ room.
John paused for a moment to enjoy Michael’s genuine happiness. It had been a long time coming. There was a connection between the two men that wasn’t present with the others. Michael reminded John of his brother, Troy—the brother he raised like a son, only to lose way too soon. You never get over losing someone you love, but when their suffering is so unbearable they take their own life, then, even making peace with it sometimes seemed impossible.
Looking at Michael now gave him hope. There were parallels between Michael and Troy’s lives. They had both been raped by a woman, and no one understood the impact of it. Troy’s attacker accused him of the crime, and he was convicted and incarcerated. It was too much for the man who was barely an adult, and he ended his life in a dirty cell before his nineteenth birthday.
Michael, however, was finally flourishing—happy, healthy—and that was the calm John latched onto. With the tenth anniversary of Troy’s death looming, Michael finding his way out of the darkness was allowing John to come to peace with his brother’s death. He couldn’t explain how or why—he was sure Gus or Tori could—but he couldn’t. John just knew it was a good thing, and he could use a good thing in his life about now.
That contemplation ushered in thoughts of Augusta. Before he could throw himself a pity party, Walker interjected some much-needed levity into John’s darkening mood.
“So, Big Dax, what do you say we close the door and let your brothers here in on your little secret?” John had started to chuckle by the time Walker said “so.” It was the same thing every time they got in a room together.
John had always known his sister was many things, traditional was most certainly not one. It seemed Stacy found her perfect match in Dax. He was about as far as you could get from typical too, just in a different way. One thing they were in total agreement on was the social convention of marriage. They were as married as any two people he knew, just without the legality of it. But they took the commitment to the extreme and decided on what they called “claiming tattoos.”
He shuddered every single time he thought about his sister’s. It was nothing a brother ever wanted to dwell on for sure, but to each their own. According to Stacy, Dax tattooed exact replicas of his ears on her upper, inner thighs. Not that John had caught more than a glimpse, or would want to, because as far as he was concerned, his sister only existed from the neck up. Though Dax never tired of teasing him about Stacy being so much more.
Knowing Stacy, her claiming mark on Dax would make his look like child’s play. As of now, only Stacy, Dax, and Walker—by default of being the artist—knew what Dax’s tattoo was. And Walker hadn’t shut up about it in the months since he did the work. He was always dropping hints and trying to get Dax to drop trou. That, at least, gave a clue to the region, so it had to be hilarious considering the couple.
“You might as well show them on your terms, big guy, or else Walker will bust out the pictures and project them on the wall at the next Reid family barbecue.” Stacy’s voice from the door captured everyone’s attention. Everyone except John. His interest wasn’t on the woman leaning against the door jamb with her arms folded over her chest, it was on the glowing woman behind her to the left.
Augusta was a vision of maternal bliss, intriguing innocence, and womanly wiles all wrapped up in a petite package. She dyed her short golden locks a shocking magenta with purple tips before the pregnancy, which had now faded to a soft pink and lavender. It wasn’t something John would normally find attractive, but on Augusta, it just added to the illusion that she was a pixie, as his sister called her.
John’s mind drifted further down the rabbit hole. He realized he had never found a color to describe her eyes, even to himself. He just closed his lids and saw it, but if anyone were to ask, he would have been lost. The same was true with her skin, her lips, her…everything. It seemed her hair was the only thing he could detail with words, everything else was just burned into his mind in Technicolor clarity.
When she gifted him a timid smile, he realized he was staring, and it seemed the other occupants of the room were content to stand silently by while he did so. Asses.
“Donald Trump’s bad comb-over. If it will finally shut you guys up, then fine, but then we’re done.” Dax’s ire seemed faked. His words said anger; his face said pride. Yep, perfect match for Stacy.
“Excuse me, did he just say—” Augusta’s soft, lyrical voice inquired.
Stacy waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, this month it’s politicians, last month was fictional law enforcement, next month, who knows. Okay, babe, show ‘em.”
John’s eyes were glued on Augusta. When she averted her gaze and started snickering, he took that opportunity to appreciate the movement of her growing breasts without anyone noticing him leering. Almost immediately, the room erupted.
Stacy was clapping her hands like a child on Christmas morning. John ripped his attention from the hall and turned it toward the gym. In the middle stood Dax, jeans around his ankles, shirt lifted up, and embarrassment apparent, even under all that facial hair.
Right there on his right ass cheek, in photo-realism, were two strips of bacon. John turned toward his sister and raised an eyebrow. When she finally noticed, she took on an air of innocence, complete with shrugged shoulders and open expression. “What, I love the fuck out of that ass.”
Chalk it up to Gus’ presence diverting the blood from his brain, but it took him a moment to put it all together. Growing up dinfast—cooking breakfast for dinner—meant love, a way of taking care of each other. It was one of the memories of their parents that had endured all these years. It was also how Stacy was first able to express her true feelings to Dax. So, when she said she loved his ass, she showed it with bacon.
When all this finally clicked in John’s brain, he joined the hilarity, which was still in full swing. Walker was holding his side and spoke between bouts of laughter, “Thank fuck you finally caved, bro. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep that to myself.”
Dax pulled his pants up—thank God, since he was commando. I’ll take things I didn’t need to know about my sister’s man for five hundred, Alex.
“Go ahead and yuck it up.” After re-dressing, he went to Stacy and kissed her cheek. The glow in her eyes did John’s heart good. She found her happiness, and he suffered a moment of weakness brought on by it. If Stacy could find a happily ever after with her anti-relationship stance, then maybe I can too.
John’s attention returned to Augusta, as it always did. Letting his mind wander freely to the possibilities put a flutter in his gut, until his gaze landed on her rounded belly. The flutter transformed into a lead weight, sinking his momentary hope and poisoning his blood.
Dax was still speaking, but John barely heard. “My woman loves me, and if a little bacon on my ass makes her happy, then she can tattoo a whole breakfast platter on there, for all I care.” Then they started making out like their ship was going down.
John shifted his gaze up. His eyes collided with Augusta’s since she was staring at him intently. A sad, borderline horrified look overtook her hazel eyes. That, coupled with the protective hold she engaged around her belly, told him she had been staring for a while and was misunderstanding, yet again, his disappointment at her condition.
John opened his mouth to explain, but it was so dry, not even a squeak exited. Augusta gave him a sad smile and managed to stoop down, while steadying herself with a hand to the wall, to pick up Lynyrd, who was circling her legs. When she regained her feet, she turned toward the kitchen.
He sneezed and followed her down the hall. Bacon, Dax’s ass, gym equipment…all of it faded into the background. Augusta was hurting, and it was his fault. He was afraid he’d continue to cause her pain until he could get a grip on his feelings about this pregnancy. Maybe he would have to make himself scarce until she brought the baby into this world and then find a way to let it all go.
Right, like that is ever going to happen. If I could forget it, I’d have done so by now and saved us all a whole helluva lotta heartache.
John’s eyes were already watering and the occasional sneeze interrupted the relative calm of that end of the house. The fact he wasn’t rapid-fire sneezing and his eyes hadn’t swollen shut yet was a testament to his immunotherapy working. But his allergies weren’t completely suppressed, so he spoke to Augusta’s back without fear of startling her.
“Where’s Skynyrd?” John hated to admit his fondness for that asshole cat, but he couldn’t help himself. Of course, his affection was based on the introduction to him rather than the cat’s glowing personality. He watched Augusta feed Lynyrd and speak to him as if he were a baby. His heart traveled back in time to that first moment she had looked at him with that sparkle in her eyes—a look that John now recognized, though he refused to use the word.
Augusta had called him frantic after hitting a stray cat during a storm. He showed up, and between the two of them, managed to get the damn thing to the vet, despite his allergy and brand new leather interior. The passenger seat, door panel, and console were replaced after that. Between the blood and the scratches, there was no salvaging them, but it was worth it. Augusta wouldn’t let the cat out of her sight ever since. That…thing was a terror to everyone except her. With her, he was a genuine pussy cat. She has that effect on males, even me.
That was the night John noticed she looked at him the same way she did the cat, like she recognized something loveable and redeemable that no one else could see. John believed once she saw that part of someone, she would never give up until she rescued them. But the hurt in her eyes he witnessed moments ago made him question if that were still true.
“Skynyrd is holed up in the back bedroom with Rick. They have become best friends ever since I brought Rick into the family. Isn’t that right, Lenny? Yes, it is. He has Rick, and I have you.” She kissed the cat’s snowy white head and gently lowered him to the counter, stroking his fur while he ate from the bowl of food she’d painstakingly prepared for him.
At some point, she quit talking directly to John and spoke to Lynyrd. Another wave of guilt crashed into him. He recognized her avoidance habits by now. He recognized a great many things; just because he was too much of a coward to say them aloud or even think them, didn’t mean he didn’t take note of them.
“Skynyrd has a friend? One he doesn’t shred or terrorize?”
Again, she spoke to John, by speaking to Lynyrd, “Uh-huh. I think rescuing Rick was the best thing to happen to Lenny and Skin, right?” I really screwed up this time. She cooed to the cat as he contentedly ate and ignored her. I’ve never been so jealous of a cat in my life.
“Skyn just needed a friend, and well, Lenny here is a loner, a real ‘Freebird,’ huh? Anyway, those two are like peas and carrots. They tone down each other’s negative traits, and they both leave Lenny alone to do his own thing. We couldn’t be happier, could we?”
Lenny maybe; Augusta, not so much. It was crystal clear she was deeply hurt, and John was so flustered, he didn’t know how to fix it for her. He knew what she wanted. Hell, he knew what he wanted, but it wasn’t that simple. Not anymore. Honestly, it would’ve never been simple, but at least it would’ve been doable at some point.
All John wanted to do was wipe that hurt from her face…bring that joy back to her that had always seemed so ingrained. She was never not-happy. Even when brooding over something she feared she did or shouldering someone else’s hurt—which she did often—she still seemed to be happy at her core. She had a poetic soul, one that wrung the beauty and joy from everything she experienced—the extraordinary, the mundane, and even the bad.
John wanted to bring back that look, wrap it in a bow, put it under a tree, and watch it return to her eyes as she peeled back the shiny paper. Dear Lord, she even has me thinking poetically. She gifted him with that look the night they rescued Skynyrd…and every day since until he threw it away with his pigheadedness and inability to accept this pregnancy and just be there for her. She needed him to rub her feet and bring her ice cream at two in the morning. He wanted to make love to her and watch her experience the heightened awareness of her own body during this amazing time in her life.
John shut that line of thinking down as quickly as it sprung up. That was not the path laid out before them. They chose their path over the last year and a half. Or rather, he chose it when he kept everyone at arm’s length, even Augusta. He chose it again when Tori and Erika orchestrated their master plan to get Augusta and Dax together. He had backed off in a failed attempt to make everyone happy; he was not a rock-the-boat kind of guy. Well, not anymore, anyway.
Once John realized Stacy and Dax had feelings for each other, it freed him from guilt to pursue Augusta. But his own personal issues gave him cold feet. Then, just as they were warming up, Gus chose not to give them a chance when she decided to carry someone else’s child.
Maybe when this was all in the past, there would be a trail for them, one they could walk together and see where it led, but John had his doubts. He didn’t know if he could watch her grow more beautiful each day with a child that wasn’t his.
Not again, never again.
As it was, his past was already tainting his view, and that hurt Augusta. John could tolerate a great many things in life, but hurting her wasn’t one. He just wanted to make her smile…and laugh…and scream with passi...No. He cut his thoughts off abruptly. That was not what she wanted from him anymore, and it certainly was not what he needed.
Knowing he was digging the hole deeper didn’t stop him from trying to explain. But how does a man explain his issues with her pregnancy to the pregnant woman? I guess it’s time just to tell her. Tell her about Deborah, tell her about…everything. Then she’ll understand why I can’t be in her life right now, his inner voice assured him. John was positive that voice was wrong, but what else was there to do at this point?
He felt he needed to clear things up with her before he left. John was flying Tori and Erika out to scout the possibility of a new store franchise for their clothing line, FORM wear—named for their friend Melanie, who they lost. Now that they were devoting more time to family and other pursuits, they were loosening the reigns of their baby and letting others handle the day-to-day operations.
John opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of Linda Ronstadt asking when she would be loved. Augusta blushed and reached for her phone. If John’s heart were already in a blender, the ringtone pushed the frappe button.
Most people picked a song they loved for their ringtone, and John knew them all. Walker’s was “Tattooed Millionaire,” and Erika’s was “Walking on Sunshine,” and had been since he met them. With Tori, it changed weekly, but it was always a movie line or song. Michael’s was, of course, a Superficial Sinner song. The man loves the sound of his own voice. Dax’s was “FOAD,” and Stacy chose whatever was inappropriate and could irritate the most people. But Augusta, hers was fluid, always a direct reflection of her mood.
She had confessed that to him the one and only time they almost kissed had been interrupted by “Leather and Lace.” After blushing a most becoming shade of crimson, she admitted she changed it as often as was needed, and sometimes even more than once a day.
The reddening of her cheeks now, and the embarrassed look she cast through her lowered lashes, told him she remembered his knowledge about her ringtone and she regretted telling him. But John suffered the song’s meaning viscerally. She felt unlovable, and he couldn’t live with that. He wanted, no, needed to do something to let her know she wasn’t unlovable. Hell, she is the most lovable woman on the planet. It wasn’t that she was unworthy of love so much as he was unworthy of giving it to her.
In his panic over sealing the fracture in her heart, John blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight?”
Her shocked reaction morphed into one of hope. The false hope his invitation gave her made the realization of his error settle in the pit of his stomach like gas station sushi. He meant it one way, should have elaborated, but she took a whole other meaning. Just one more way you keep hurting this girl, you asshole.