Second Chances (6 page)

“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I'll come.”

“Rich and I are at the Arrowhead Motel, just outside of Brandt. It's a straight shot, and you'll see the motel from the interstate. Is Mom expecting you tonight?”

“She was,” I told him. “Will it be too late once I get there?” I was already up and throwing things back into my bag.

“No, no, not at all,” he said. “Call me if you can't find it.”

“I will,” I said. “I'll be there soon.” And I hesitated for a moment, desire and hope and so many other things rioting together inside me.

“Hurry,” he said then. His tone sent trailers of heat spiraling down low into my belly. “But drive safe.”

“I will,” I said again. And then I hung up and tornadoed through the room, grabbing my shampoo and make-up bag from the bathroom, brushing my teeth, shaking out my hair and running my fingers through its length, almost falling over in my haste to get dressed. Jeans, tank top, sandals…I barely remembered to check out before I was jogging to the car. The girl at the front desk had been kind enough not to charge me for the night.

The sky was huge and glinting with the first couple of stars as I slid behind the wheel, reenergized. He wasn't angry, he hadn't told me to go home to Minnesota and forget about him. So much for Rich keeping my secret. But I didn't care. In less than a few hours Bly would be in my arms. I literally ached to get them around his shoulders, to cup his face and kiss him like he'd just returned from battle. I found the interstate with no trouble, again heading south as a moon waxing towards full shone down like an ivory half-smile.

I let the radio seek until it found a local station, and a country song came crooning into the car, reminding me of the nights that Blythe and I would dance to the radio in his truck, out at the old state park campsite. I curled my hands around the steering wheel and kept it on that station, volume low, my nerves jittering as I crossed from Kansas into Oklahoma. For a moment a part of my mind realized that I'd never been farther south than southern Illinois. The sky above me was black now, spangled with stars, and I passed only a few other cars on the road on this August evening. The western rim of the horizon, visible out my passenger-side window, still held a streak of orange, but it had melted into darkness by the time I'd navigated past Oklahoma City. Within 10 minutes I saw the first green road sign announcing Brandt, 37 miles.

My phone vibrated again then, from the central cup holder where I'd stashed it and I saw that Jillian was calling this time, but I ignored it, too keyed up to talk. She left a no doubt lengthy voicemail, and I promised myself I would call her tonight. I needed to hear her voice and she would be angry if I didn't. The road flashed away beneath the tires, and my heart rate increased with each passing mile. 24, then 11, then three…and then I saw it off the interstate, just as Blythe had said. A neon-pink sign advertising the Arrowhead Motel, complete with a flashing arrow that quite literally pointed the direction to its parking lot. I felt my breath catch as I signaled for the right turn, slowing and at last braking completely at the stop sign. The Arrowhead Motel was the only building on the appreciable horizon, a low-slung structure that housed maybe 40 rooms. I turned left and drove a quarter mile before making the final turn into the parking lot. There were outside lights on, and vehicles parked at intervals all around the motel, including Blythe's truck. I was here, for better or worse, and put the car into park.

August, 2003 - Brandt, Oklahoma

His truck was so familiar to me
that my pulse reverberated just looking at it across the way. What's more, Blythe was in that motel, just beyond one of the closed doors. And yet I sat motionless, gripping the wheel with both hands, tightly, my cheeks hot and my limbs trembling, heart thudding against my breastbone as though it wanted to be released from the prison of my ribcage. For a moment I didn't think I could do it, but then the door to room 17 opened, about 50 feet away to my right, and there he was, walking swiftly towards me, his stride determined, his eyes fixed on my car.

My entire body pulsed at the sight of him, and before I even knew I was moving I was flying across the parking lot and into his arms, which opened wide and collected me close and hard against his chest. I clung, my arms tight around his neck, and he lifted me up against him, my legs bent parallel to the ground as we clutched each other for a long moment. Blythe buried his face against my neck, his breathing ragged, as though he were holding back tears. I gripped his skull and stroked his hair, curled my hands around the back of his neck, my lips pressed to his collarbone, tears flooding over my cheeks and getting him wet. Finally he said, his voice hoarse and deep, “I can't believe you're here, but I'm so glad you are. So glad, Joelle.”

He pulled back slightly and my feet slid to the pavement. He cupped my face in his strong hands and tipped his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. I put my hands over his much larger ones, holding them against me.

“I had to come,” I whispered. His eyes opened at my words, drove into mine with certainty and pain.

“But you shouldn't have, baby,” he whispered back, sliding his hands gently over my shoulders, coming to rest around my waist. “You shouldn't have to go through this.”

At that moment I noticed Rich coming down the sidewalk from the same motel room. Bly clutched me extra hard for a moment before letting me go as we turned to face Rich.

“Joelle honey,” Rich said, catching me close for a hug. I breathed against Rich's shoulder, clad in a worn flannel shirt, drawing in the scent of tobacco and his perennial aftershave; he was as much a father to me as anyone I had ever known, and I let his familiarity comfort me. He patted my back twice before pulling back to study me and as he did, Blythe moved near again and wrapped one arm around my waist. I couldn't bear to stop touching him either and snuggled into his side. He kissed my hair. I wanted to cry.

“Mom said you'd talked,” Blythe said, drawing me towards the open door of their room.

“Jo, Bly, I'm going to have a smoke,” Rich said as we made our way along the sidewalk. “I'll be in after a few.”

“K, Gramps,” Blythe said over his shoulder, then let me pass in front of him and carefully closed the door behind us. The moment we were alone I turned to face him, my heart thumping painfully, longing and tension racing through my blood with equal fervor. My cheeks were scalding as I looked up at the man I loved. He stared back into my eyes, his so intense that I could hardly breathe.

He moved so suddenly I gasped. I was in his arms and against his huge chest, my legs around his waist, before I even knew he'd lifted me. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, unable to get close enough to satisfy my hunger for him.

“Joelle, oh God, Joelle,” he groaned against my mouth before claiming it again, one big hand cupping my head. He held me up hard against him with the other, effortlessly. I curled my fingers into his thick loose hair, pulling back just a fraction to meet his eyes before sliding my palms over his cheeks, tracing his bottom lip with my thumbs, then reclaiming his mouth. He tasted sweet and salty, as though my tears were caught in our kiss.

After a moment, in which I felt as though I would never be able to stop kissing him, now that I'd started, he drew slightly away and pressed soft kisses along my jaw, my neck, then back up, coming to rest with his lips against my left temple. With a graceful movement he turned and seated us on the bed, keeping my legs woven around his waist. From six inches away I drank in the blueness of his beautiful eyes, his hands cradling me against him, mine resting on his wide shoulders.

“I'm so glad you're here, you have no idea,” he whispered then, moving his right hand up and smoothing hair from my cheek. He stroked his fingers all along the side of my face, tracing over my bottom lip as I just done to his. Shivers spiraled up my spine. He went on, his voice low and rough, “When you left the jail that night, I thought there was a chance I might never see you again.”

“Oh Blythe,” I said, hurting. I'd thought the same thing, lying in bed that night.

“But you're here,” he said. “I've been pacing like a caged animal since we talked, you should have seen me. I still can't believe you're here.” He caressed my neck, his fingers trailing in my hair, which hung loose down my back. With gentle motions, he combed through it. “You're so soft. God, I've missed seeing you, making love with you at night. All I could think about this week was the last time we'd been together back in Landon.”

“I've missed you too, and I'm so glad you're happy I'm here. I was afraid you would send me away,” I told him, tears in my eyes again. But he thumbed them away as they streaked over my face, and I went on, determined, “I got up in the middle of the night and just knew I had to come after you. I love you and I want you to come back to Landon with me.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. He whispered, “I wish I could, I so wish I could.”

“You can,” I insisted in a low voice, but at that moment we heard Rich approaching, the sound of his footfalls coming through the window that was propped open to the night air. I moved with reluctance to sit in a less intimate position beside Bly on the bed, a decent distance between us. He sent me a look that said our conversation was nowhere near done, and in the next second Rich was tapping lightly on the door before entering the room and surveying us with concern in his eyes.

“Joelle, I'm glad you made it here safe, honey,” Rich said as he took a seat on the chair near the bed. I shifted position to slip off my sandals and then sat cross-legged on the mattress, folding my hands together like an obedient elementary school student. Blythe reached over and curled one big hand around both of mine, and I wound my fingers through his from either side, squeezing him hard for a second.

“So what's happened since Friday?” I asked, directing my question to Rich.

Rich blew out an elongated breath through pursed lips, an age-old habit and one I recognized from my childhood. He plucked for a moment at the slim pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, almost unconsciously, before his right hand roamed back to join the left and he began twirling his thumbs around one another, again a familiar gesture. At last he said, “Well, we got in Saturday afternoon. I rode down with Bly, but I'll fly home when it's time. We spent last night at Christy's but there just ain't any room there, which is why we're here now. Christy seems to think that the charges will blow over.”

“I talked to Dale yesterday,” Blythe said quietly, squeezing my fingers this time, as though he needed reassurance. “He's my parole officer. He says we can probably get before a judge by Tuesday or Wednesday. He told me to lay low until then.”

“Jackson won't be pressing any charges,” Rich said then, and I looked back at him in surprise.

“Did you talk to him?” I asked.

Rich shook his head and then clarified, “No, but Jillian and your mom did, just this afternoon. It sounds like he's sorry for how he acted the past few days. He said to tell you he's sorry about last night.”

I cringed internally, wishing that Rich could have had the foresight to deliver this news without Blythe hearing. It wasn't that I wanted to keep any secrets, but I'd already put Jackson's obnoxious behavior behind me; his alleged apology meant next to nothing now. Altogether I was glad Jackson was over a thousand miles away as Blythe's eyebrows drew slightly together and he asked, “What?”

I sighed a little and said, “He showed up drunk at the café and was acting like a jerk again.”

Blythe grasped my hands a little more tightly but his tone was soft as he said, “I'm sorry I wasn't there.”

“It's all right,” I assured him. “We had to talk about the girls anyway. He told them they could come to live with him and Lanny in Chicago, but thank God they don't want to. And it was an empty promise anyway. I know they couldn't handle three teenagers, plus a new baby.”

Blythe's expression softened as he asked, “How are the kids doing? I miss them, and Clint. The whole place. It was so hard to walk away. God, I was dying.”

“They miss you too,” I said, my eyes absolutely devouring him. I loved Rich, but good Lord I wished he had his own motel room at the moment. I held Bly's hand between mine and tried to redirect my thoughts.

“They don't think I'm an asshole for punching out their dad? God, Joelle, when he flung you against the wall I was ready to kill him.”

“Now, Bly,” Rich interrupted.

I said, “No, no, I know you were just angry. And protecting me. But honestly, Jackson was just caught off guard because I hit him. He wouldn't ever hurt me. I mean, not physically, not on purpose.” I was babbling a little, the strain of the whole past few days hitting me again. I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose for a moment, collecting myself. When I opened them again, Bly was looking at me with such love, such concern, that my heart leaped towards him; it took all of my willpower not to follow and knock him backward onto the bed.

I swallowed and then deliberately turned to ask Rich, “So what next?”

Rich settled his ankle on the opposite knee and considered for a moment. At last he said, “I think it will be all right, sweetie, I do.”

I didn't get the feeling that he was trying to pacify me, but he was worried, more worried than he was letting me see. I wondered if Blythe knew him well enough to notice it too. Shit, and now a small moth of fear was beating inside my stomach, growing larger with each second. Bly sensed my sudden agitation, because in the next moment he moved with his easy grace, shifting so that he was sitting behind me, his long legs on either side of my folded ones, his strong arms around my waist, his chin against my right temple. His huge chest bracketed my entire body, and it felt so good that I shuddered with pleasure, all at once encased in his warm safety and strength.

“It'll be okay, Joelle,” he said low, holding me tightly. I clutched his forearms, letting him reassure me.

“I know,” I managed to whisper at last. “I know.”

Rich's phone rang at that moment. He extracted it from his pocket and informed us, “It's Christy,” before answering.

While Rich was occupied chatting, Bly murmured in my ear, “God, I'm so happy to have you in my arms.”

I turned my face a fraction; my nose was against his chin now, and I breathed him in like a drug I could never inhale enough. I twined my fingers again around his, possessively.

Rich hung up momentarily and said, “Bly, your mom needs a ride home. Her car isn't starting.”

Blythe nodded from behind me. “I told her yesterday she needed a new battery,” he said with affectionate irritation. “We'll go get her and then she can meet Joelle.”

“Where is she?” I asked him, reluctant not only because I had to move out of his arms, but because I was terrified to meet his mother, despite everything.

“Her job,” Bly explained, planting a kiss on the top of my head before bending down and grabbing my shoes. He set them side by side on the floor at my feet. Kneeling, he studied my expression of unease and teased, “You coming?”

I rolled my eyes, bracing one hand on his shoulder as I slipped into my sandals. “Wild horses couldn't stop me,” I told him.

Minutes later we were rolling along under the starry sky, back onto the interstate for a mile or so, and then Blythe was taking the exit into Brandt. I clutched his free hand in my left, lifting it to press my lips to his knuckles, each one individually.

He angled a grin my way, setting my heart on fire all over again. He said, “I love having you back in the truck with me.”

“I love being here,” I replied, folding his captive hand lightly between my breasts. “I have so many amazing memories of this exact bench seat.”

“Come here,” he ordered, his voice low and sweet as he hauled me against his side and wrapped his right arm tightly about my waist. He tipped his head to kiss my hair again, murmuring, “You smell so good, just like a peach. God, I want to bite into you.”

I smiled against the side of his neck. But I couldn't allow myself to melt away just yet, not when our next stop was to pick up his mother from the bowling alley where she worked evenings. I bit his earlobe lightly, with a promise for later, before sliding back to my side of the seat and taking a moment to observe Bly's hometown through my open window.

It was reminiscent of Landon, actually. One stoplight at what was certainly the busiest intersection, in this case the juncture of Main and First Streets. The downtown buildings were brick, with the kind of high, squared fronts that were constructed in Gran's youth. Most were closed for the night, although down a side street a number of bars advertised their unmistakable presence with the welcoming glint of beer lights; cars were crowded nearby like ants at spilled sugar. The streetlights were old-fashioned: stands shaped like hourglasses with round lamps perched atop, glowing amber. Every 15 feet or so, all along the sidewalks, whiskey barrels were spilling over with petunias. There were benches under awnings in front of nearly every business; when we passed a small appliance shop, obviously closed for the night despite the fact that its OPEN sign was still lit in the front window, Blythe smiled and commented, “Looks like Rusty forgot to click out the light again. His dad'll have his hide.”