My Mistake (Stories of Serendipity #7) (11 page)

Her mother went to bed, and Casey got him blankets and a pillow for the couch.

“I owe you, Les. I wish you guys didn’t feel the need to do this, but I do appreciate it.” He had stripped to his boxers in front of her, oblivious to decorum in her living room. But he probably didn’t want to be there anymore than she wanted him there. They were both doing this for Brent. She looked at his strong physique and marveled at his fitness, but felt nothing like the chemistry she felt with Brent. Les was like a brother to her, and there were absolutely no sparks.

“It’s nothing. My bed’s too big anyways.” He said it softly, and Casey heard the wistful tone in his voice, wondering briefly who he was thinking he wanted to share it with.

“Well, she’s a fool if she doesn’t see the awesome guy you are. And if she never does, I promise you there’s someone out there with your name written all over her.”

He snorted at her, pulling his guitar to his lap. “Y’all sure y’all don’t mind if I play a little? It helps me compose myself for sleep.”

She shrugged. “Knock yourself out. Just don’t plug in an amp, and we’ll be fine.”

Casey took herself off to bed with the soft strumming of Les’ guitar in the background of her conscious. He really had gotten better since their teen years, when he played Guns and Roses constantly. Now he was playing something that sounded classical, soft, romantic.

Casey went to her room to work, turning off the window unit, and cracked the other window to let out some of the stale air. As she did it, she reminded herself to close and lock it before going to sleep. Her deadline loomed though, and while she was okay financially, she still needed the money from this huge job, and it sapped her attention. She ended up working for three hours, only stopping when she realized she’d dozed off at her desk, listening to the soft strains of Les’ guitar.

She poured herself into her bed and slept until morning, forgetting all about the open window, not noticing the indentation on the pillow next to her when she woke.

B
rent stopped at Summer’s bookshop on his way to Mr. Jackson’s the next morning, since her car wasn’t at home. He used his key and let himself in the back door, finding her making a pot of coffee.

He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “Feeling better?”

She nodded. “Got my plane ticket, going to do my hair tonight. I’m leaving in five weeks. That’s the soonest I can affordably get there.”

“Good.” He smiled brightly at her, relieved that she was doing something to make herself feel better. He only hoped it worked. If she came back from Europe broken, he’d fly over there, hunt Bo down, and kick the Amazon’s ass. It didn’t matter what Nana had taught him about hitting women.

Summer looked at him appraisingly, and he blushed under her scrutiny. “What?”

“You’ve been talking to Casey…” she mused. “More than just talking, I’d wager…” The corners of her mouth lifted sadly.

“Yeah, well…I’ve been working on Mr. Jackson’s roof, and she’s been staying in her mom’s house across the street. It was probably inevitable that we’d speak eventually.” He opened the mini-fridge and looked around, grabbing a yogurt cup. “Why don’t women eat real food?” Holding up the tiny cup, “Yogurt?”

“It’s good for digestion. So, you managed to put aside your past?”

He turned away, pretending to struggle with the foil-covered lid. “I haven’t told her, yet.”

Summer’s hand on his shoulder stilled his efforts at subterfuge. With a sigh, he turned and looked at his kid sister, so much like the wise old Nana.

“She would understand, you know. Just be honest with her.”

“We haven’t really had time to talk much.”

She smirked and a ghost of her old self returned with the gesture. “Been too busy doing other things?”

“No…” Embarrassed to talk about sex with her, he slammed the yogurt cup on the counter of the kitchenette, inadvertently bursting the foil seal and sending a stream of yogurt over the countertop. He grabbed a dishtowel out of the sink and started cleaning up his mess to hide his embarrassment at the overreaction. “It just hasn’t been the right time to talk about it. That’s all.”

Sensing his need to change the subject, Summer said, “Well, you go on and get to work. I’ve got a store to run.”

Brent sat on the apex of Mr. Jackson’s roof studying it, his thoughts consumed with Casey. He looked over at her house and wondered if she was able to get her work done or if she was consumed by him, too.

Remembering Summer’s words, he promised himself he would tell her about his past. He was dreading it, because everything was going so well, he didn’t want to screw it up. But he knew that the longer he waited, the angrier she would be. He’d already lied about the Buprenorphine strips. Supplements? He shook his head, the feeling of dread spreading through his limbs, weighing them down like tendrils of lead in his veins.

He could remember her tears of grief and frustration at her father, when he’d run away for days at a time to go on one of his benders. What would she do when she found out Brent wasn’t any different?

Standing, he evaluated the roof. He was almost finished. In fact, he could probably finish today, if he didn’t take any breaks. He slapped down the shingles, using efficient strokes to hammer them down before quickly moving on to the next.

He should know better. Casey was too good for him, she didn’t deserve to be linked to his past. It was bad enough she was Leonard Stewart’s daughter. To be Brent Baum’s wife would be one more obstacle for her to overcome.

Wife?

His hammer stopped, poised over his shoulder at the thought, before coming down to drive the nail through the shingle and into the roof in one stroke.

Yeah. Wife.

She was his, dammit. He’d made her his, made love to her with all the restraint he could possibly show, marked her body with his lust, filled her with his seed. She made his past disappear.

She made it all go away. His past, the accident, the drugs, the memories, the escape. It was all gone when she was around.

But he wanted something he could never have. He’d wanted her since he was twelve, walking in on her flour-dusted nose making cookies that first day. He hadn’t understood the tightening in his chest at the time, and it had been a little gross. She’d been a child. But he’d watched her grow up, he’d seen the other guys in school notice her, he’d even punched one or two for making imbecilic observations about her. And then she’d gone away, and he’d gone a little crazy without her around to center him.

And now she was back, and she was amazing. Casey was everything he’d dreamed she’d be and more. She was like a rock for him to anchor himself to, to keep from drifting out into a sea of oblivion. Sure, he had his horses, but she gave the horses a purpose besides just a way to make a living.

After his accident, he’d discovered a dark secret place inside himself. He’d tried to fuck his way out of it, but that hadn’t worked. The dark place had shown him another side of life that he’d never really realized he’d wanted. He didn’t think now that he’d ever actually
wanted
it, but it had been what he’d done. All that mindless fucking sort of went hand in hand with the amounts of drugs he’d been doing.

When she found out, she would leave him. He knew it. She wouldn’t put herself in the position of caring for another person like her dad, ever. She’d always said so, and her reaction to him asking about her dad yesterday confirmed it. Brent stood to walk to the end of the row, tossing shingle sheets down as he went. He began hammering in the next row, as he came to a decision.

She would find out, but not yet. He wasn’t ready to lose her. When he was with Casey Stewart, Brent was whole again. He was a man in her eyes. He would enjoy seeing that for as long as he could before she finally saw the truth.

They had a nice routine going, Casey thought to herself as she finished up the last of this job she could do before resubmitting it. Being with Brent kept her from dwelling on her inadequacies as a woman. As Kevin had reminded her every chance he could, women were created to procreate and bear children. Since she couldn’t do that, she wasn’t a real woman. But Brent never made her feel that way. With Brent, she was sexy, she was whole, she was a real woman. She didn’t have to hide anything from him. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. She was an open book when she was around him. He’d always made her feel that way. She’d always been able to tell him anything.

She remembered once, when she was a freshman, before he’d moved, Brent had driven her over to Jacksonville to help her look for her dad. They’d found him drunk and passed out behind a bar. Brent hadn’t said anything about the haggard man, or the odor of vomit that emanated off him. He just pulled Casey into a hug before helping her get him into the bed of his truck. On the way back, he’d woke and started beating on the glass of his back window, shouting obscenities at her. When they’d gotten back to Casey’s home, he’d jumped out of the truck and gone straight into the garage where he’d thrown things until he’d calmed down enough to go to bed. Brent had stayed with Casey the entire time, making sure she was safe. During that time, she’d told him things she’d never told anyone. Not even Summer. She’d told him about the drunken rages, the beatings her mom had taken, and her own dispensability in her father’s eyes. The entire time, he’d held her tightly in his arms, stroking her back, making her feel cherished.

The next time it had happened, Brent hadn’t been so calm about it. They’d found her dad in almost the same exact place, only this time, after hauling him into a standing position, Brent had lost his temper.

“This is the last time I’m driving Casey around to find your sorry, drunk ass.” Towering over her father, Brent had pushed the man back against the wall for effect, but he’d only mumbled something incoherent in response.

“What?” Brent poked Stanley in the chest. “What did you say?” Another poke. Casey had watched, stunned. Nobody ever really stood up to her father, unscathed. Apparently, tonight he was too drunk to respond, because the more Brent poked at him, the more the man shrank away. “You. Can’t. Expect. Her. To. Come. Pick. Up. Your. Shit. Every. Time. You. Lose. It.” He had punctuated each word with a poke to her dad’s chest.

Then he’d tossed Casey’s dad into the back of his pickup and driven him home. There was no banging this time, no shouting. Stanley was quiet the entire drive home, and sullenly went into the house when they got there. He didn’t leave his room for a week after that.

Once the week was over though, he was back to normal.

Brent still made her feel cherished, but for different reasons. And now, she was all grown up. She hadn’t broken down in his arms about her dad. She would never give her dad that power over her again. But she still felt cherished in Brent’s arms, and she believed him when he said he loved her, and always had. Something about it all just seemed so right.

Casey had taken to spending the mornings at her desk and the afternoons at Brent’s ranch before going home to spend the night and dream of being wrapped in his arms.

Today, she laid out a pair of soft pink high heeled sandals on her bed and taken a picture of them to send to Brent with the caption,
I’m coming soon…You there?

He’d replied with
I like your pink things…

Eagerly, she rushed around, getting ready for him. In her haste, she didn’t stop to wonder where her favorite pink jeweled hair comb had gone. Instead, she grabbed one that was silver with rhinestones and used it to pull her curls back from her face.