CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
November, present day
When Sunday morning came, Summer felt like she’d been ridden hard and put up wet. She’d had zero sleep while David was under observation in the hospital, and then once they’d been released, she’d spent the afternoon getting him home—including a stop by CVS for hydration beverages and Tylenol—and fixing a leak under the kitchen sink. Thank God for YouTube and handymen who liked to film themselves. David had spent all day in bed, but she couldn’t seem to rest. Her mind kept rolling over the mistakes she’d made as a mother and stutter-stepping when she recalled the confrontation with Hunt in the ER.
Hunt had texted her to check on David, but that was it. No calls or follow-ups.
Something about the way he’d retreated from them worried her. Over the past few years, Hunt had been diligent in pursuing fatherhood. His attempts had been almost endearing, and she could tell he’d been reading parenting books by the way he asked questions or made subtle suggestions. He’d never stepped on her toes, always deferring to her decisions, until he’d pressed for David to attend this party. Pair that decision with the horrible scene between them, and Summer was afraid Hunter would head for the hills.
And while she didn’t mind seeing less of Hunt, it would be a tragedy for David, who’d grown to count on his father . . . perhaps even love him.
The doorbell rang just as she put the last glass in the drying rack. Summer glanced at the clock on the microwave and realized she’d forgotten to check her son’s progress getting ready for church.
“Yoo-hoo, Summer?” Maisie poked her head inside.
“Hey, come on in,” Summer said, grabbing a towel and drying her hands.
“Dave ready?” Maisie asked, closing the door behind her. Her sister wore a black sweater and gray wool skirt that hit the top of soft leather black boots. The only concession to the somber outfit was a red-and-black checked scarf. Her sister had taken to wearing dark colors the day her ass of an ex moved out of their four-bedroom house.
“Honey, Maisie’s here to take you to church,” Summer called toward the small hallway.
No answer.
“He’ll be out. Probably sulking. He doesn’t want to go. Guilt and all that,” Summer said, setting her hands on the counter.
“I understand,” Maisie said, glancing down at her watch. Her sister was a stickler for being on time. “In fact, you should understand.”
The words were true, but they didn’t sting any less.
“Yeah, I do,” Summer said, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. “But the guilty should be welcome at church, right? The people there are supposed to love and forgive, aren’t they?”
Not that the congregation had been willing to forgive an unwed teenager who had tried to trick the hometown hero. Summer didn’t have a problem with God. She had a problem with hypocrisy.
“I wasn’t being ugly,” Maisie said, looking contrite. “I just remember that time and how hard it was for you. For all of us.”
Of course her sister was right. Summer understood why her parents had bowed to pressure. It hadn’t been just about Summer. There was Maisie . . . and their family’s livelihood.
Summer remembered the night she’d told her parents about being pregnant. She’d finally summoned up the courage a week after she’d taken the home pregnancy test. The initial explanation of what had happened at the beach house hadn’t gone well. When she’d gotten to the part about Hunt ignoring her pleas and forcing himself on her, her father had threatened to kill Hunt.
He’d actually walked to the gun cabinet, his jaw set into stone, his kindly brown eyes turning into rusty bullets, and removed his shotgun. “I hope I have enough rounds for that little bastard.”
Summer’s mother smacked her hands on the laminate table. “Put that goddamned gun down, Jeremy. Enough violence has been done. We’re going to go to the police and tell them what happened.”
Her father had snorted. “Yeah, because the kid’s going to admit to what he did. Not likely. But he’ll talk to the end of this gun.”
“Jer, put the gun up. You know good and well that’s not going to happen. We’re going to figure out what to do and how to make this kid pay for hurting Summer. Put it back.”
“Mama?” Maisie asked from the couch.
“Oh my God. How long has she been there?” Carolyn asked, rising from the table. Summer sat there studying the lines in her palms. She felt sick to her stomach all over again.
“What happened to Summer?” Maisie asked, sniffling through tears. “That boy hurt her?”
“Come to the back, sweetheart. Your daddy and I have some things to talk about with Summer. Go play with your dolls, okay?”
Summer’s father had set the gun back in the cabinet and sunk defeated to the chair. Over the next half hour, her parents debated what to do, and when they finished, it was decided the first thing was to talk to the McCroys.
But a few weeks later when Summer came home for fall break, her parents had changed their tune.
Their about-face had surprised her . . . or maybe, rather, it insulted her. She’d come in the door and her parents had sat her down, suggesting she think things through before doing something that might be a mistake. Even though Summer was only eighteen, she understood the game afoot.
“I’m not lying,” she’d said to her father.
“I know, baby, but there’s no physical evidence. You didn’t tell us until now. It’s your word against his word. You even admitted that you kissed him in front of others and willingly went upstairs with him. That looks bad, baby.”
“So you’re going to tell the McCroys I was mistaken?”
Her father flinched. “I don’t want to, baby, but I have to. Brother Clark was nice enough to mediate this for us. The McCroys are going to pay for the baby, child support, all that. And once we do the paternity test, they’ll pay for your school.”
“We’re selling out.” Summer shook her head, incredulous her father had bowed to this asinine agreement. Hunt would be off the hook for violating her, and she’d look like the town whore. “But he forced me. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does, Sum,” her father said, sinking down on the couch beside her. “If this world were fair, then justice would be carried out. But it’s not. If we go to the police and pursue this, you’ll be dragged through more than what you would . . . well, just having the baby and letting people think whatever they want to think. If we accuse Hunt of rape, our whole family will suffer the consequences. We already have.”
“But you said Mom got laid off,” Summer said, her voice not even convincing. She knew Hunt’s mother was Millie King’s best friend. Her mother had worked for the King family for years. When it came down to it, loyalty had meant squat to the Kings.
Her father gave her a flat look. “Even so, the police and lawyers will examine everything we’ve ever said or done. They’ll pry into your life, make you sound desperate and manipulative, and it will go on for years, baby.”
Summer swallowed hard at the thought.
“But if you agree to not use the word rape, you’ll escape all gossip and endless investigation.”
“You mean you will.”
“I mean us. We’re a family. What happened that night affects all of us. Maisie didn’t get invited to Juliet Markham’s birthday party. Your mother got fired. Brother Clark asked me to step away from being a deacon until things blow over. This isn’t about just you.”
Summer had felt like she’d stepped off a curb and gotten slammed by a Mack truck. All she thought she was—a good girl with a bright future—had slipped through her fingers. Her virtue wasn’t worth her family suffering. “You’re saying I should . . . what? Say I willingly had sex with Hunt? That I was some desperate dork craving his body so much I duped him into going upstairs and planting his baby inside me? Because I’m soooo desperate to have a baby at eighteen? Or am I just so money-hungry that I threw my ovulating uterus at him so I could score some cash? That’s what you’re saying?” Her voice rose to the point of hysteria.
Her father passed a hand over his face. At that moment he looked as if he’d aged a century. “Summer, I’m asking you to be practical. You won’t win. You can’t. So take the money. Take what you can get because if we go to the police station and press charges against the hometown baseball hero, you’ll regret it. Accusing Hunt of rape won’t change anything.”
Except maybe it would have. Summer may not have succeeded in making Hunt pay for the rape, but she would have at least known that she had value. That her parents recognized that what had happened to her that night was wrong and should be righted.
But then her father said the one thing that made her grow still.
“And what about the baby? Does he or she deserve to come into the world with that stigma?”
At that moment, she’d not actually thought about the child. But he or she wouldn’t have to know. Her parents had been urging her to consider adoption. Money was an issue for the Valentine family, especially after her mother lost her job. How would Summer support a baby . . . and did she even want to? Adoption meant she could take a hardship with the University of South Carolina and maintain her scholarship. She wouldn’t need the McCroys’ hush money, and people who adopted babies often paid the medical expenses. Giving the baby up would be the best solution.
Her father had patted her knee and given her a painful smile. “Just think about this, Summer. Pray on it.”
Summer nodded, but she didn’t pray about it. She was too damned mad at God. At everything to be humble, mindful, or contrite.
And after the first time she felt David move inside her, she’d wavered on adoption. And then one night while feeling the baby move, she’d had a realization. The only way she could make sure that her child didn’t have to go through what she’d gone through was if she kept the baby. He would never be alone, never feel abandoned. She’d spend every waking moment of her life righting the wrong done to the innocent babe. That would be her mission.
And now, looking at her grown sister, a woman who’d been hurt by a man who’d vowed in front of God and family to love and honor her until death they do part, Summer knew she couldn’t protect David any more than she could protect her baby sister. “You’re right. It was hard on all of us.”
David entered the room wearing pants too short and unable to tame the cowlick on his crown. Summer’s heart squeezed when she noted how fast he was growing into a man. “What was hard on everyone? What I did?”
“Yep,” Summer said, shooting a look at her sister. “But we’ll hold our heads up somehow.”
“Don’t joke, Mom,” David said, looking upset. “You know how sorry I am. And I’ll never drink again. I swear. Never. Ever.”
“Mark this down,” Summer said to her sister.
Maisie smiled. “You ready, D?”
“Yes, ma’am,” David said, turning to the slender bookshelf next to the mounted television and pulling out the Bible his grandfather had given him right before he’d passed away.
“We’re eating at Mom’s after church. You coming?” Maisie asked, opening the front door. A cool breeze pushed a few leaves inside.
“If I wake up in time,” Summer said, eyeing a stack of mail she needed to sift through. “I’m going back to bed once y’all leave. I’m beat.”
David shot her another apologetic look. The kid was getting good at the “I’m so worthless” shtick. Summer was almost ready to stop being disappointed in him. Kids made mistakes, right? At least David had learned early on the dangers of peer pressure. And other than a brutal copay for the emergency room visit, no permanent harm had been done.
Thankfully.
Summer turned off the lights, shrugged out of her jammies, and filled the bathtub, adding some rose petals and Epsom salts. She had a new romance book and a hot cup of herbal tea calling her name. She’d just dipped one foot into the fragrant waters when someone knocked at the door.
“Damn it,” Summer muttered, trying not to be aggravated. David had probably forgotten his cell phone or something. She shrugged into her bathrobe, jerked the belt tight at her waist, and padded to the front door.
“Hey,” Rhett said when she pulled open the door. He stood framed by the bright autumn morning, dressed in worn jeans, a T-shirt from some surfer bar, and flip-flops. Total Californian.
“Hey,” Summer said, suddenly very aware she was naked beneath the robe and that her hair was snarled in a clip atop her head. Oh, and, of course, she wore not a drop of makeup. “I was just about to take a bath.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his gaze dipping to the skin showing at the closure of the robe. She could feel a rivulet of water run down her leg. “I saw David get into someone’s car.”
“My sister. She’s taking him to church.”
An awkward pause hung between them. Summer didn’t know what she should do. She had a tub full of fragrant water and a morning to herself, but she wasn’t going to send Rhett Bryan packing. Not when he made her palms sweat and her heart beat triple time. The silly torch she’d always carried for him had found an accelerant over the past week. She’d like to chalk up the insane desire to slide her robe from her shoulders to all the memories dredged up, or maybe it was merely the fact she’d gone too long without sex. Either way Summer felt torqued and primed to toss reservation out the window.
“Uh, you want to come in? I have fresh coffee,” she said finally.
He studied her for a minute. “I thought you were about to take a bath.”
“I am. Or I was.” She cast a glance back to her bathroom door. The water was still running. “But I don’t want to be rude.”
“Why not?” he asked with a grin, stepping toward her. “I’m butting in on your morning. I’m interrupting your bath. You can tell me to take a hike.”
“Take a hike,” she said.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned.
“Wait,” she said.
Rhett turned, arching an eyebrow, looking so achingly familiar. “Yeah?”
“Why did you knock on my door?” Something that felt like hope fluttered in her gut. What did she want him to say? How far was she ready to go with him?
“I wanted to see you. Why did you invite me in for coffee when it’s obvious I inconvenienced you?”
Good question. “Because.”
“You’re polite?”
“I wanted to see you, too,” she said.
Rhett smiled. “In that case, I’ll have a cup of coffee.”
Summer stepped back and gestured with her hand like a flight attendant ushering someone aboard. “Come on in.”
After she’d shut the door, she stood a moment trying to figure out what to do. Should she excuse herself to pull on clothes? Plop on the couch butt naked beneath her terry cloth robe? Ask him if he wanted to join her in the bathtub? Of course, they both wouldn’t fit, and though the image of Rhett Bryan naked, slippery, and smelling like roses was so tempting it made her mouth dry, she’d told herself she wouldn’t go there with him. Her heart couldn’t handle the trampling.
Her sister’s earlier words echoed in her brain. If you have the chance . . .
But what if s-e-x wasn’t on Rhett’s mind? The kiss a few nights before had been incredible, passion had stirred beneath the sweetness, but she made a broad assumption if she thought Rhett wanted to—
His arms came around her and he pulled her to him, dropping a kiss on her nose.
“Oh,” she murmured, glancing up at him. “I’m naked under this robe.”
A naughty grin tugged at his lips. “Oh yeah?”
She studied his beautiful lips. How many times had she done that over her lifetime? Dozens? Hundreds? Even when she watched him on the flat screen chatting with some celebrity promoting a movie, she’d hungered for those lips. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
“But intriguing,” he said, sliding a hand down to her butt before giving it a pat.
For a few seconds their gazes hung up, their measured breaths quickened. She was keenly aware of his body hard against hers. Rhett was warm like sunshine and smelled like California—all fresh yet unfamiliar.
“Go get your bath,” he said, releasing her and walking toward the kitchen. “I’ll pour myself a cup and wait on you.”
Disappointment mixed with confusion. What was that all about? They’d been so close to tipping over the edge and plunging into something wonderful, and then he pulled back.
She watched him open a few cabinet doors, looking for a mug. Then he picked up the carafe of the French roast she’d splurged on and poured himself a cup. He turned and crooked that eyebrow again. “You going?”
Summer nodded and headed to the bathroom. The water was almost to the top of the tub. She turned it off and pulled the plug to let some out. As she watched the water lower, she perched on the edge of the tub. Damn, she was so confused. Was Rhett into her? Or not? Did she want him to be? Or not? She remembered the pass she’d made on the beach all those years ago—she obviously couldn’t read him for shit.
And anyway, what would be the result of dragging him into her bedroom and asking for the full Rhett Bryan experience?
At best, multiple orgasms. At worst, horrible regret.
Toss-up.
She jabbed the plug in the tub, locked the door, and dropped her robe. The water welcomed her, whispering she should soak her cares away. The clink of the fridge shutting in the kitchen screamed, “The fabulous Rhett Bryan is in your kitchen.”
Tell her what she’s playing for, Ed.
A brand new . . . mistake!
Summer sighed and made short work of bathing, even touching up her legs with the razor and intentionally avoiding touch-ups on her bikini area. She wasn’t going there with Rhett. She’d misread all the signs the same way she had all those years ago. Yeah, he’d kissed her just now, but that was it. And it hadn’t even been all that passionate. More flirty and friendly.
She dried off and pulled on her robe, leaving her hair in the clip. Her only concession to a hot, famous guy in her kitchen was the mouth rinse and swipe of lip balm. Oh, and deodorant. Then she opened the door and nearly ran into Rhett.
“Eek,” she yelped, nearly running into the cup of coffee in his hand.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. Rhett looked genuinely concerned. “I just wanted to bring you some coffee. Are you okay?”
Something clicked in her brain. A sort of “ohhhh.”
“I’m not that fragile, Rhett,” she said, taking the cup from him.
“I know,” he said, following her into the living area, his voice sounding pretty unconvincing. This was what the kiss on the nose was about. This was why he pushed her away. He thought she needed to be handled carefully because of the date rape.
“You think I’m afraid of being with you?” she asked.
“No. I don’t think you’re afraid of me. I just . . . well, I haven’t been with anyone who . . . who . . .”
Summer sank onto the couch. Guess she would go commando under the robe, awkward as it was. She sipped the coffee and looked up at Rhett. “How do you know you’ve never been with someone who’s been sexually assaulted?”
“I suppose I don’t.”
Rhett ignored the recliner and instead sat down beside her. His hands cradled the mug David had given her for Mother’s Day. Pink flowers and a Bible verse decorated the porcelain, which emphasized the daintiness of the mug in Rhett’s masculine hands.
“More women than you think have dealt with sexual assault. But I’ve worked hard to get past any sexual hang-ups I had. What happened to me wasn’t easy, but when you combine alcohol, rejection, and dumb decisions, bad things happen. So I don’t do those things, and I’ve had some healthy relationships with decent guys who helped me heal. So if you’re worried you have to handle me like a victim, don’t. What happened that night doesn’t define me. It doesn’t keep me from embracing my sexuality.”
Rhett took a sip of coffee and then looked at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, if that was what you were doing. I’m not trying to say you wanted to . . . what I’m saying is if you’re”—she took a deep breath—“holding back because you think I’m damaged, then don’t.”
“Maybe I was.” He studied her, his pale-blue eyes so intense in the dimness of her living room. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous. I also wanted to . . . to . . . I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I felt like I needed to give you space or something.”
“That’s nice of you, but again, Hunt took away my innocence, but he didn’t steal the pleasure I take in sex. I’m not saying it was easy the first few times, but I persevered.”
“Persevered sounds terrible.”
Summer gave a light laugh. “Touché.”
“So . . . ?”
“So . . .” she echoed, wondering if his so meant what she thought his so meant. “We have a few hours to, uh, have coffee?”
He stared blankly.
“Please don’t make me kiss you, and then you say something about how I’m a terrific girl and I’ll make some man a happy man someday, and then you say—”
“I’m not, but I did some research about intimate relationships with rape victims. The author said to allow the victim to set the boundaries. And then there was something about touching exercises,” he said, and damned if he didn’t look absolutely earnest.
She envisioned Rhett on the Internet trying to find the right way to be intimate with a rape survivor. It was both amusing and touching that he cared so much.
He’d tossed the ball on her side of the net, so she stood, unbelted her robe, and with one wriggle of her shoulders, her robe fell to the floor.
The move could go either way. Rhett had no doubt seen dozens of nude women with tight bodies and high breasts that had never nursed a baby. Summer had a slight belly and her thighs were thicker than what she would have liked, and there was the fact that she’d not bothered to touch up her bikini area. Why hadn’t she at least given the area a cautionary swipe of the razor?
Rhett’s mouth did a little open/shut thing, but his eyes fastened on the abundance of flesh, his gaze sliding down her body. But he didn’t move.
If this was going to happen, it was up to her. “I love the sound of touching exercises, but the boundary is you can touch only what is uncovered.”
“I can handle that,” he said, pulling her to him.
She fell gracelessly into his arms, but she didn’t care much because his lips found hers. Greedily he kissed her, like she was water and he was thirst.
And it was good. Very, very good. As in the man knew how to kiss a woman until she lost her breath . . . along with her good sense. Desire coated her like warm honey. She wanted to stay there forever, yet she wanted to push him harder, drive them both to the point where the real world fell away and there was only pleasure.
“You smell so good,” he whispered, dropping tiny kisses along her jawline while his hands explored the hills and valleys of her body. “You taste even better.”
His mouth found hers again as she twined her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through the silky hair at the nape of his neck. She’d dreamed of this so many times, but her fantasies couldn’t come close to the wonder of actually being in Rhett’s arms.
“Bedroom?” he asked after ripping his mouth from hers. Dilated blue eyes lazily searched her for an answer. He looked hotter than anything she’d ever seen. Heavy breathing, tingly feelings, and the erection pressing against her side told her he was as into her as she was him.
“Please,” she said, sliding her hand up to cup his raspy jawline. “I want this.”
He slid her to the side and rose, pulling his shirt overhead and tossing it onto the recliner. Hewn muscles and golden skin made Summer nearly drool as she shoved off the couch and started down the hall. She heard the clunk of his shoes hitting the floor and the jolting sound of the man removing his jeans as he followed.
When she opened the door to her bedroom, she turned. Rhett caught her against him, his boxer briefs clearly outlining his arousal. He looked like a dream standing in her little hallway.
Rhett looked down at her cradled in his arms. “Are you sure?”
Summer leaned forward and kissed the indentation at the base of his throat before rising on her tiptoes and kissing the cleft in his gorgeous chin. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to have you, Rhett Bryan. I can’t be any more sure.”
He kissed her then, a sweet, tender, hot, molten kiss that made her curl her toes against the worn floorboards. Pulling back, he looked down at her body, lightly glancing the curve of her breast before sliding a hand down to her hip. “You’re beautiful.”
His words curled round her like a tender melody. He’d once told her she was pretty, but this time she believed it. The reverence of his touch, the way his gaze hungrily engulfed her, and those sweet words became the tempo for what would happen on her rumpled sheets.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Summer,” he whispered against her neck.
She smiled into his golden hair. “I’m not asking for forever, Rhett. I’m happy with Sunday morning.”
So he pulled her into the room and she locked the door.
He didn’t waste time with checking out her cluttered room or asking her any further if she was certain she wanted this. His arms came around her, his lips found hers, and again she was lost in the music of Rhett.
His body was hard and warm, pure sunshine curving around her. The hands that found her ass hauled her tight to him as he devoured her lips, her neck, her earlobe. Heat pulsed inside, storming her with need.
She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything. Her hands could find no rest. She caressed the broad shoulders, the sandy curls on his chest, the broad plain of his back. At that moment Rhett belonged to her, and she would play him like she played her music . . . with utter pleasure.
Rhett pulled her onto the bed, and she fell atop him, finding it a happy coincidence that all the hard places lined up with her soft ones. She kissed the cleft of his chin again, giving a little wiggle to make sure certain parts of him made delicious friction on parts of her that needed . . . delicious friction.
“I want this to be good for you, Summer,” he murmured, his fingertips stroking the plump breast resting against his chest. “I want to go slow, but I’m losing it here, baby.”
Summer shifted to her side, sliding her hands down, skimming his tight stomach, tracing the erection straining his boxers. “How about we not worry about anything other than pleasing each other? We can go slow next time.”
“Next time? You have plans, do you?” His mouth covered hers as he rolled her onto her back. Again the parts lined up. She moved, sighing at how good he felt atop her. Delicious weight, salty skin, and the essence of the boy she’d been waiting for her whole life.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured as he trailed a hand down her side, making her belly jump. He dropped his head and kissed the top of each breast.
“A good performance always deserves an encore.”
Rhett groaned his approval against her breasts, filling his mouth with better things than words. Then Summer lost her ability to flirt . . . to talk . . . to make sense of anything other than Rhett making love to her on a Sunday morning. Because it had been a long time since she’d had a man’s hands on her, since she’d had a man’s mouth on her, since she’d felt the fullness of a man inside her.
And it damned sure would be a long time until she found another man who made her feel so alive. Like a song, the notes fell in place, the harmony unfolded, and when the deafening crescendo came, there was only beauty.
And Rhett.
For Summer, that was enough.