Chapter Twelve
Renegades
I’m startled from another nightmare by a loud ringing noise. At first I think it’s my alarm, but I remember I never set one. It continues for a few seconds and then stops. I hear Bennie’s footsteps and then a knock at my door.
“Yeah?”
She opens the door and sticks her head through. “There’s a phone call for you.”
“What? Here? You still have a landline? Who is it?”
“Yes, I still have a landline. Come on. It’s some guy.”
I grumble and fight my way free from the covers. Bennie points to the pantry. I step inside and pick up the hanging receiver.
“Hello?” The line is silent. “Hellooooo?” I sing.
“Wren, baby,” the voice says. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
I feel like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over my head. My heart stops in my chest, my lungs won’t take in air. I’m trembling. I hold the phone away from my face, sure that he can somehow reach me through the line.
“I know you’re there, baby. Answer me,” the voice says again.
I don’t answer him. I step to the base, slam the phone down, and back away from it. I don’t even realize I’ve crossed the room until my back hits the opposite wall. I slide down, landing hard on my butt.
“Wren? Wrenie, what’s the matter?” My vision is blurred, unable to focus on anything. I can barely make out Bennie’s face in front of mine. She grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Wrenie, I’m here. What is it?”
I clasp my shaking hands together and press them between my knees. I force deep, slow breaths in and exhale. I feel nauseated, like the room is spinning. Finally, I close my eyes and count down from ten. When I reach one, she’s still there, waiting for an answer.
“You called me Wrenie,” I whisper.
“That’s who we are, Bennie and Wrenie.” She sits on the floor next to me, her legs stretched out in front of us. I give her my best smile and feel my pulse returning to normal. I’m here with her. I’m safe. “Do you want to tell me what that phone call was about?”
I don’t meet her eyes and shake my head. I can tell she’s not happy with my answer, but Bennie lets it go. I know I can’t hold on to this secret forever, but I am grateful for whatever time she gives me. She stands and stares at me as she silently prepares her coffee. The only sound is the clinking of her spoon against the ceramic mug. I feel like she can see every skeleton scratching to get out of my closet.
I squeeze my trembling fingers into fists and force more deep breaths into my lungs. Dylan’s voice echoes in my head, fluttering around like a spooky noise in the night. It jars me from my place on the floor. I jump up and hurry toward my room.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I mumble. “Save me some coffee, please.”
She nods, and I can feel her gaze on me until I’m across the kitchen and safely behind my door. I lean against it and claw at the wood, fighting the tears that threaten to fall. I tell myself not to be afraid of him, not to let him make me a hostage again. I convince myself that he’s halfway across the country. But there is that nagging voice pointing out the GPS device from my bag and the fact that he has Bennie’s phone number.
I grab the snow globe from my windowsill and hold it up in the light. It’s such a peaceful scene, so tranquil. The memories from that day flash through my mind. It was a cool, sunny day. Seagulls squawked overhead as we leaned against the railing and watched the rushing water fall over the edge. We were all smiles and sweet flirting, completely infatuated with each other.
It was the calm before the storm. I shake up the globe in anger and set it back down, trying to hold on to the last bit of my strength.
After my shower, I sit on my bed, staring at the wall separating me from Preston. All I can think about is seeing him. This intrusion of Dylan into my small-town escape is enough to have me thrown off guard. But I don’t let him win. I make myself get dressed, I force myself to stay calm. I stare at this wall, willing Preston to know that, despite feeling strong right now, I need him.
“Wren?” Bennie says through the door. Her voice is accompanied by a soft, hesitant knock.
I walk to the door and open it to find her worried face on the other side.
“Yeah?”
“I was going to go spend some time with Laney again. Unless you need me here?”
With that little question, she is asking me for answers without actually asking. This is one of my favorite things about Bennie.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”
“Not yet,” I beg.
Bennie nods. “I’ll give you a couple of days, but that’s it.”
“Thanks, Ben. More man bashing today?”
Bennie gives me a smile. “Something like that.”
“Go on. Have fun. I’ll find some way to entertain myself.”
“Okay, kid.”
She gives me a nod and is out the door before I can change my mind. I let out a breath and slump against the wall. It’s Monday, so the shop is closed. I can’t see Preston that way. Looks like I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.
In the hall, I knock on Preston’s door and wait. Music pounds through the walls; all I can make out are heavy bass beats. It’s a full minute before he opens the door. It’s the exact same scene as last Monday. He is in a black beater and gym shorts and glistening with sweat. He hasn’t shaved yet, and I want to scrape my nails across that stubble. This time he has a towel in one hand. I stand there, silent, as he wipes his face and chest down.
“What exactly are you doing in there?” I ask. The unmistakable lyrics and heavy guitar riffs of Rage Against the Machine spill into the hall and give my words a pulse.
Preston shakes his head as if he’s not going to answer, but then he does. “Just working out.”
“Every Monday?” I step toward his door.
“Every day,” he answers.
I take another step and now stand within arm’s reach. He doesn’t stink like a sweaty gym sock. He smells like man and a sweetness that I want to know more intimately.
“Did you need something, Wren?”
I shove my hands in my pockets and take a deep breath. “I just, uh, I wanted to see if you could hang out today. But I mean, you don’t have to. You’re busy, I’m sure. Bennie’s gone, and I don’t want to be alone.”
Preston frowns at me, his brows dipping heavily over concerned eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why? I’m fine,” I say. I meet his gaze in an effort to convince him. I try to ignore what a hypocrite I am, demanding the truth from everyone while I hide behind my own lies.
“Well, I leave for my appointment at 12:15 and won’t be back until after three o’clock.”
“Oh,” I say, retreating. I shrug and look back toward Bennie’s apartment. “I didn’t realize that was every Monday.”
He nods and moves forward when I move away.
“But, you could come with me to Franklin,” he offers. “If you could find something to do while I’m at my appointment, we could hang out after?”
His words shoot through me like sun through gray clouds. I am warmed and overjoyed by his offer. I can’t help the smile that lights up my face.
“I’d love to.”
Preston returns my smile and wraps the towel around his fist before unwinding it again.
“Okay,” he says. “Don’t be late. I have to leave at 12:15.” Preston taps his watch.
“I won’t be late.”
“Good. I’ll see you at 12:15.”
“You certainly will, Preston-who-works-out-every-day.”
He chuckles as his gray eyes shine in the ambient light from the hallway. I head back toward Bennie’s as he pokes his head into the hall and watches. When I reach her door, I spin and face him once more.
“Oh, and Preston? Don’t shave today.”
His look of confusion is the last thing I see before entering the apartment and closing the door between us. I lean against it and smile to myself. This longing for him, this hunger for Preston, seems to multiply every time I see him. I feel like I can never get enough. He’s in my thoughts, in my dreams, the memory of his lips and hands on me burned into my skin. Though I know my infatuation doesn’t come close to the inner torment he goes through, I want to understand it more. I sigh and wonder if his obsessions are anything like this.
…
“Do you hear a ticking sound? I think I hear a ticking,” Preston says.
We’re both quiet, listening to the sound of his truck on the road to Franklin.
“I’m sorry, I don’t hear anything.”
Preston frowns. His eyes squint as if this helps him to hear better.
“Maybe a valve is sticking. Or it could be the U-joint. I’ll have to check it tonight.”
I nod as we pull into the parking lot and come to a stop.
“So, I’ll pick you up right here around three,” he says.
Preston puts the truck in park and opens his door. I hold up my hand to stop him.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to get out. I’ll get my own door this time.” I give him a wink and slide out of the truck, closing the door behind me. With the window rolled down, I stack my forearms there and lean back into the truck. “See you at three.”
I turn and make my way into the shopping center. I can feel his possessive glare burning through me. How does my ass look in these jeans? Is my walk sexy or just awkward? Am I trying too hard? I look over my shoulder when I reach the door. As I suspected, Preston has one arm thrown over the back of the bench seat and one hand on the steering wheel. He is watching me with no apology. I slip inside the store and lean against the glass door in relief. This guy makes me question everything I ever thought I knew about myself. It’s refreshing and terrifying.
Because I was here last week, I don’t really need anything. So, I wander around from store to store, browsing, and willing time to pass more quickly. I grab a slice of greasy pizza for lunch and take a seat at one of the empty tables in the food court. After piling on extra cheese and red pepper, I fold the slice in half and take a huge bite. With a mouth full of cheese and pepperoni, I hear a familiar voice.
“Wren?”
I look up to find Laney Daniels staring down at me. She’s pushing a stroller, leaning on it like the sleep-deprived, exhausted mother she is. Her hair is a knotted mess, and there’s a bright orange stain on the front of her shirt.
“Hi, Laney,” I say before looking around for Bennie. “Who’s this?”
She glances down at the kid in the stroller and back to me. “This is James, Jr.”
“Hey, JJ.” I offer my finger to the kid, and he wraps his chubby little fingers around it. “Where’s Bennie?” I ask.
Laney frowns at me and shrugs. “That’s a great question, Wren. Where is Bennie?”
“I thought she was with you today.”
“Today? I haven’t heard from or seen Bennie in months. Not since Jack, Jr.’s first birthday party. It’s like she fell off the damn planet.” Laney’s hands flail around as she gets more and more agitated. “I mean, here I am, going through this divorce, restarting my life at forty-two, and my best friend is nowhere to be found.”
“Oh,” is all I say. My insides tighten as I think about Bennie lying to me.
Laney takes a deep breath and blows her overgrown bangs from her eyes. She seems to calm herself as JJ lets go of my finger.
“When you see her, please tell her to call me. I just, well, I could really use a friend right now. You know?” I stay quiet and nod. “It’s good to see you, Wren.”
“You, too.”
With barely a wave, she is gone, pushing the stroller toward the parking lot. I watch her retreat in her sweatpants and stained T-shirt and am hurt that Bennie lied to me. Twice. I want to be angry with her, but find it easier to blame myself. This is my fault. I should have never left Crowley. My leaving has done irreparable damage to our relationship.
I call Bennie’s cell phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. Frustrated, I throw the rest of my food away and call her again with the same results. The rest of my time here kind of fades away. I move around the shopping center, in and out of stores, without actually seeing anything. Bennie and I have never had secrets before. We always represented a united front—us against the world.
I walk to where I’m meeting Preston, and when I turn the corner, I find him already in the lot. He is parked away from other cars, ducked under the open hood of his truck. I watch from my place on the curb, enjoying the view. The sight of this man, bent over, tinkering with dirty things, does dirty things to my thoughts. Preston shakes his head, dusts his hands off, and slams the hood closed.
He opens the truck, takes out a bottle of liquid soap, and squirts some into his hands. I watch as he lathers up and then rips open a package of wipes to finish cleaning his hands. I start across the lot as he yanks down the tailgate and has a seat on it, immediately pulling out his notebook and scribbling inside.
“Hello,” I say softly. Preston gives a slight nod but keeps his eyes on the paper. “Find anything in the engine?”
“No.”
I hop up on the tailgate next to him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Give me a second,” he says, holding up a finger.
I nod even though he doesn’t look up and swing my feet back and forth. It’s a beautiful day. A blue sky holds the occasional puffy white cloud, and the sun warms my head and shoulders. I try to give Preston some privacy, but my eyes can’t resist watching the muscles of his forearm as he jots in that notebook. His large hand wraps around the pencil, his grip so delicate.
After a couple of minutes, he closes the notebook with the pencil tucked inside. Preston looks up, but sunglasses cover the eyes I want to see. All I see is my own distorted face in the reflective surface.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
I think of Bennie and her lies and my phone call this morning, but I decide not to divulge this information. Though I’m not sure of my poker face skills, I decide to keep it to myself.
“Nope.”
“You ready?” he asks, standing and putting his notebook in his back pocket.
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Preston closes the tailgate and shoots past me to open my door. I laugh and climb into the truck. When the engine roars to life, we are off. I’m too lost in my own thoughts to make conversation, but Preston seems okay with this. I break out of my head long enough to recognize Franklin University when we pull onto Wildcat Drive.
“You’re taking me to F U?”
“Yep.”
“Want to build a career? Eff you! Want to get a degree? Eff you!” I sing.
Preston chuckles. “Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the best advertising campaign.”
We drive past the historic main buildings and pull into an empty lot. Preston parks the truck and runs around to my side. I let him open my door because it seems really important for him to do so. He nods toward a modern-looking building. The sleek new structure stands out among the old architecture and red brick buildings. I follow Preston toward the open entrance hall.
“So, how was Coffee Call last night?”
Preston keeps his eyes on the ground. “It was good. There were only three people who shared their work. But it was good. I didn’t recognize them. I think they came in from Franklin.”
“That’s probably true,” I say, kicking a pebble. “I can’t imagine Crowley locals are into that kind of thing. I take it you didn’t share your work?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Isn’t the building going to be locked? It’s summer.”
“We’re not going inside.”
In the center of the building is a courtyard. There are metal and stone sculptures throughout the space, along with a few plants and benches. A calming silence surrounds us as Preston leads me to a dark corner and takes a seat on a bench.
“Is this where you take me down into the basement and kill me, Preston? Seems kind of formulaic, don’t you think?”
He chuckles. “I’m not going to kill you, Wren. Too messy.” He holds up his hands and makes a disgusted face.
“I’m just saying you, of all people, probably have gloves, cleaning products, and the kind of attention to detail that would stump a veteran CSI team.”
“I’m not sure I like your implication. But this is what I wanted to show you.” He throws out his hand, gesturing to a sculpture of two trees.
“Whoa.” I step closer and see that two human bodies form the realistic-looking plaster trees—one of them displays a nude male, the other, a female. They seem to be entwined with their legs turning into roots and their arms twisting up into limbs and branches. It is beautifully erotic and somehow reminds me of Adam and Eve, the original sinners. Etched into the base of the design, bold lettering composes several lines of handwritten text.
Two lovers dropped, seedlings on a breeze
Separated by soil
Sprung up from Earth, they meet again
Their limbs do uncoil
Reach toward the sky, sun’s rays embrace
Forever etched in bark
Pulpy flesh beneath splintered fingers
Each leave their mark
Two lovers dropped, roots grown into one
Share a common heart
If one should fall, expose bloody rings
The other will depart
I turn toward Preston. His eyes aren’t on the words or the human forms carved into trees, they are on me. His shoulders are tense, the corded muscles of his neck strained. He waits for me to react, and when my mind catches up, I do.
“Is that yours?” I ask. He nods and looks away.
“It was part of a collaborative art project that the professor decided to make a permanent installment here in the sculpture garden.”
I’m so honored that he shared this with me, that he’s letting me have a tiny peek inside his world. It only makes me want more. I step between his parted knees and rake my fingers through his hair. I place my other hand on his neck, trying to calm his furious pulse. I can see how vulnerable he feels in this moment. He’s put himself out there, laying his words and talent in my hands, and now waits.
“It’s beautiful.”
He grins up at me, his shoulders relaxing. That smile is my whole world. There is nothing else but the curve of his lips and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. My thumb slides over the scruff on his jaw.
“You didn’t shave.”
“You asked me not to,” he says.
“Do you always follow directions so well?”
He nods his head yes, but says, “No.”
“Kiss me.”
Preston is the kind of man who doesn’t have to be told twice. His lips find mine, and it is a hungry kind of kiss. It is fueled by exhilaration and relief, and that always underlying claim over my body. Our tongues probe and taste each other while his hands slide down my back. Just as I take Preston’s bottom lip between my teeth, his hands slip below my ass and pull me onto his lap. Like we’ve done this a thousand times, my legs instinctually wrap around his waist. Here, in this place, we are our own art exhibit. We are passionate embraces and two bodies twined into one.
His hard chest presses against my soft one with heavy breaths. Every muscle in his body is pulled tight—my very own stone statue of perfection. My hands find his shoulders, and I grip hard, trying to press my fingers into the muscle there. Preston moans into my mouth, his fingers dig into my waist.
He slows the kiss down, ending it with tiny pecks again. I’m assuming an even number. My arms lay on his shoulders, my knees on the bench on each side of his hips. Preston rests his forehead on mine as we each catch our breath.
I lean back so I can see him better. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” I say.
“I want to share everything with you, but I’m not ready.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
I scoot back and get to my feet, feeling the hardness beneath his zipper. Preston adjusts himself and gives me an embarrassed grimace. Feeling bold, I trap his hand beneath mine and slide it over his crotch. Preston’s eyes close, and he groans.
“I can take care of that for you,” I whisper. Surrounded by nothing but the empty space, my words sound sinister.
He opens his eyes and looks around. “Not here. I can’t.”
“Okay,” I say, removing my hand. “Not here.”
Preston looks thankful. He holds up his finger to let me know he needs a minute. I nod and turn to take a look at the other sculptures surrounding us. They are all beautiful and interesting in their own way, and I wonder how it feels to have something so tangible immortalizing you.
When I reach the last piece, Preston approaches, gives me a shy smile, and leads me back toward the entrance.
“Do you want to tell me what was bothering you earlier today?” he asks.
“I said it was nothing.”
“I know what you said.”
I shake my head and walk faster toward his truck. “I’m not ready.”
He recognizes the words he spoke to me just minutes ago and lets it drop. I can’t help but appreciate how attentive and observant Preston is. Every sense is tuned in to me. He sees me, he hears me, he knows every curve of my body. Does he see everyone this closely, or is it just me?
Once we’re in the truck, Preston opens the glove compartment and pulls out a couple of wipes. He cleans his hands, and I follow his example, doing the same. On our way out of the parking lot, he pulls next to a garbage can and tosses the trash inside.
This drive back to town is different. Instead of being pressed against the opposite door, I’m in the middle of the truck, pressed against Preston. One of his arms is stretched across the back of the seat, and I’m so content in this moment that I forget about the troubles awaiting me in Crowley.