six
rutledge
I walked to the front office of the Matter’s Inn, signed in, and grabbed the keys from the old man behind the counter. Once in the dingy room, I threw my bag onto the old flowered bedspread. All I wanted was a fucking shower to wash away all the damn demons laying on the surface after being at the house. But that didn’t come when my cell went off.
Peyton Morgan’s name lit up the screen.
She didn’t let me talk as she rushed out, “There are two men at the house, one of them is John Raines. They are both drunk.” Scared. She sounded scared.
“Fuck,” I grated out and headed back out the door. “Just go sit in your car, I’ll be right there.”
Fuck!
The balls on my father. Showing up at the fucking house. Granted, I knew it was his mom and dad’s house, but it was left to me, not him. He had no fucking right being on the property or harassing the potential buyer.
Her voice was shaky and small when she replied, “Okay, but I’m worried about them driving away. They’re really drunk. Should I call the cops?”
“No,” I quickly threw at her before I went on, “My father has perfected drunk driving. Just sit tight, I’m about five minutes out.” I didn’t give her a chance to reply, I hit end. My main focus was on just getting to the house.
It was a good thing I knew most of these streets like the back of my hand as well as where all the shortcuts where, knowing that the small dirt road off the main one cut through the Marshall’s farm, and brought me out on the end of Clover Lane was useful.
I flew, pebbles kicking up as I hauled ass down the drive. My eyes zeroed in on Peyton and Coda sitting in their car. My dad and Sticks stumbling around the yard. I was fucking pissed, but I think what threw me over the edge was when my dad pointed to the decrepit shed, smiled, and Sticks chuckled.
“What in the fuck are you doing here?” I shouted before I even had the driver’s door all the way open. I ripped the keys from the ignition and threw them into the console.
When my dad’s eyes came to me, surprise set in his haggard features. “I get a say in this boy!” he yelled from across the lawn.
“The fuck you do!” I rumbled back, making my way toward him. I stopped a few feet in front of him because I knew if I took the last few steps, I’d lay him on the fucking ground. “Get back in your fucking car and get the hell out of here.”
Sticks chimed in, “You need to respect your father, young man.” His words were slurred.
“I’ll break every fucking bone in your body if you speak another word,” I bit out under my breath. I didn’t need Miss Morgan or her friend to hear me.
At that moment, I shifted my eyes behind me and saw they had exited their car and stood in front of it. So every word that was being said they heard.
Fucking great!
I tried to make my rough tone even as I spoke to them. “You guys can go, I got this.”
It wasn’t Peyton who answered but her friend. “All the same to you, we’ll wait here in case you need us.”
I appreciated the back up, but I didn’t need it in this situation, so I tried again. “Nah, no worries, I got this.”
“Yeah,” my old man piped in. “You all can get going.”
I rumbled under my breath toward him, “Shut the fuck up.”
My father’s voice was loud and menacing when he added, “Boy, don’t fucking talk to me like I’m one of your damn workers. I’m your fucking father—”
I didn’t give him a chance to continue as I turned to him, the blood in my veins burning, boiling, and threatening to boil over. “My fucking father? Ha!” I sarcastically snapped. “Get a fucking grip old man.”
“Don’t get me fucking started,” my father warned.
I took the last steps and went toe to toe with him. “Consider it started,” I growled.
He looked behind me, accessing the people watching. I was too far gone to even care who the hell witnessed what was happening.
“You wanna talk about that shed?” My father’s voice held humor, a smile spread across his face as he pointed to the crumbling building at the far end of the property.
My breathing became labored. A numbness crept through my body, causing me to flex my fisted hands. A tingling sensation crawled through my head, making it feel as though it was disconnected from my body. I couldn’t speak. My words stuck behind the bile caught in my throat.
“Yeah,” my father drawled out. “That’s what I fucking thought, boy.”
With the battle going on within me, I was only able to get out two words. “Go home.”
My father turned to Sticks. “Let’s get out of here.”
Sticks nodded.
I stood there, feet planted to the unkempt lawn. A cool breeze produced a chill that slithered down my spine.
I turned, and when I did, my father’s eyes were on me as he stood by his old beat-up van. “This ain’t over, boy.”
There was so much I wanted to say, but when my eyes glanced over to Miss Morgan, I saw the fear in them, so I kept the words at bay. Now wasn’t the time to go head to head with my father.
We all watched as his drunken expertise pulled his van out of the drive and down the road. Without saying anything to Miss Morgan and her friend, I pulled the cell from my back pocket, tapped the screen, and hit call.
I didn’t give Smitty a chance to say anything when I rushed out, “Him and Sticks were here, drunk as fuck. They should be hitting the state line in a few hours. Let Jeff know, he’ll deal with them.”
“On it,” was all Smitty said before I tapped end and turned to my audience.
What in the fuck was I going to say to them?
Jesus.
They were looking at me with wide eyes and opened mouths. So I gave a small smile, threw my hands in the air and said, “Fucking family, huh?” I gave a slight chuckle.
Miss Morgan recovered first, her expression going from startled to understanding. She touched her friend’s arm. “We should go.” She glanced over at me. “Thank you.” Her eyes lowered; she had something else to say, but she didn’t. Her gaze lifted, and she held my stare as she was again said, “Thank you.” She climbed back into the car.
It was then that I realized selling my grandmother’s home was the right decision. After years of having doubts, this very moment solidified that hesitation.
But now I might have lost the only person interested in buying it.
***
It was a few hours later; I was back at the room, two shots of Jack in, my nerves were settled. Lying on the hard mattress, I reflected on the day.
Walking through the house with her, going from room to room, I felt a peace that I’d only felt when my grandmother lived there, her presence in every room. Just being a simple gentleman, like my grandmother had instilled in me at a very early age, I guided her through every room with a hand to her lower back and tried not to curse, which was really fucking hard for me. So I did my best to put on the facade I wore from time to time, the professional side of Rutledge Raines. That fucking crumbled when my old man showed up.
Deflecting that thought, my mind wandered to the softness I felt underneath the cotton material of her shirt. Wondering what it would feel like touching her with my bare hands. Would my calloused ones catch on the softness of her skin? Would her breath hitch every time I touched her? So many fleeting looks between us, sidelong glances that at one point I thought it possible that we were mentally fucking each other while roaming the dusty house.
Because I fucking was.
But fuck!
I hadn’t planned on falling the fuck apart in front of her, but when she touched the shelf. That goddamn fucking shelf. The shelf that started it all, that piece of wood that produced the demons taking up residence deep inside me. It was supposed to be fun. A project. One that I would’ve been proud of as the little boy I had been, but I wasn’t. It had been my grandmother’s most prized possession because it had been done by my hands, but she hadn’t known the truth.
And remembering all of that; I lost it.
Someone who looked as pure as her, touching a piece of a wood that held so many demons wasn’t right. It took everything in me to not snatch her hand, peeling it off the old decrepit wood.
Jesus.
It’d been twenty-four years since I saw it. Fuck, twenty-four years since I’d seen the house. And just like the last time I’d seen it, it still held all the fears that I fought off in the dark of night. Ending the day with my father showing up only added to the shit of it all. What a great fucking impression was made to a potential buyer.
A buyer so fucking cute, I wanted to do things to her she’d never forget.
Before possibly remedying that, I needed to make a call. I reached for my cell, angrily I tapped the screen and hit call.
“Hey,” Jessica answered, her voice full of excitement.
“What in the fuck kinda real estate agent are you?” I bit out.
“What?” she asked, confusion in her tone.
I huffed, trying to keep calm. “Why wasn’t there a fucking lock box on the house?”
“Umm,” she fumbled. “Oh, you...you’re there and—”
I didn’t let her finish and bit out, “Yeah, I was. Did you not put in the fucking ad that I’d be overseeing the renovations on the house?”
The sound of a shaky inhale came across the line. “I thought I did.”
“Well, you fucking didn’t, Jessica. So, I had to sit there with my dick in my hand looking like a fucking jackass, arguing with the potential buyer about me overseeing shit.” The more I thought about my interaction with Miss Morgan and how much she hadn’t known, the more my blood began to boil. “For fuck’s sake, is it that hard to do your job? ʼCause you not doing it correctly makes me look like a fucking moron. And word to the wise, Jessica, I do not like looking like a fucking moron.”
“I…” She faltered.
I needed to reel it in, because the longer the silence held between us, the more time it gave me to get into my head. Was I so pissed off because of her lack of work ethics? Was it the house? Was it my fucking father? Or was it the fact that Peyton Morgan had not been what I was expecting? A stunning woman with eyes so warm and a body so soft.
“I’ll text you the info for the inspection when I have it.”
Her shaky voice replied, “Okay, Rut.”
I hung up. I was just about to tap the screen and bring up the person I needed to talk to when the cell buzzed in my hand. I looked at the name and hit the green button.
“Hey,” I answered.
“I got her,” Max rushed out, excitement in his voice. “Just for two days, but I got her.”
And with all the shit of my day, just him letting me know that, I smiled.
“Happy for you, man,” I told him truthfully. “Now go enjoy your time. I’ll catch up with you when I get back in town.”
“You got it,” was all he said before we ended the call. I hit the screen a few times, and bringing up Miss Morgan’s name, and I typed out.
Me: Where are you?
Her reply came almost immediately.
Peyton: Hey. I’m staying at the Swan Point Inn.
Quickly, I typed back.
Me: That guy still with you?
I entered the small shitty bathroom, stood over the toilet, and unzipped my pants. Before I had a chance to whip my dick out, she texted back.
Peyton: Coda? No. He went home. Had a date.
I felt like shit for the scene that she had witnessed. Plus, the last fucking thing I wanted was for her to lose interest in the house. I rapidly replied.
Me: You free tomorrow?
I pissed, washed my hands, and read her text.
Peyton: Yes. I was going to explore.
Perfect. I didn’t even give her a chance to refuse when I sent her my next message.
Me: Good. I’ll be there at noon to pick you up. Have a great night, Miss Morgan.
When she messaged back, I ignored it.