“But I was . . . I was weak about my mom,” she declared. “It wasn’t like she’d ingratiate herself or she was around all the time, being annoying. She’d come and she’d go. But when she’d come, she’d always have her hand out. And part of me giving her money was the fact that, if I did, she’d go without making a mess of things, because she’d make a mess of things if she didn’t get what she wanted. But part of it was because, well, she’s far from great, but she’s the only mom I’ve got.”
“Greta, baby, she’s clearly even less of a peach than I expected, but I’ve seen kids take care of parents who beat them. Who sexually abused them. Who let men or women into their homes repeatedly, and it was them who would administer the abuse. I get that she’d manipulate shit to get what she wants, making it hard for you to say no. I also get it’s just straight up hard to say no to a parent. It isn’t that one person is stronger, being able to cut that shit out of their lives. It’s maybe that your heart is larger that you’d look after her, but it’s also not just that. It’s like the chicken and the egg. No one can say what’s the right answer in how to handle that. It’s just one of life’s things that we deal with the way our heart tells us to do it and there’s never anything wrong with that.”
She said nothing.
She just stared at him with those big eyes in that beautiful face that even a broken nose couldn’t make any less beautiful, and taking that in, Hix knew even more the man who divorced her was an idiot.
But even with all she’d just laid on him, Hix felt fucking great.
Because he couldn’t give her a house or a car or help out with her brother (much, this being financially) until after the girls were out of school.
But he could put up with her mother, and with the way her voice got when she talked about him, he had not the slightest hesitation of having her brother in his or his kids’ lives.
So yeah.
If this worked out, he could give her that.
And he had a feeling that meant more to her than a top-of-the-line Cherokee ever would.
Or a diamond ring.
He threw back more beer and heard her cautious, “Hix?”
He looked to her. “Yeah?”
More caution when she muttered, “I just, uh . . . gave you a lot.”
“Unh-hunh,” he agreed.
She studied him.
He leaned to her and whispered, “Put me to the test.”
“Sorry?”
“I’ll pass.”
He watched her eyes get bright with wet.
He did not want to make her cry. He liked she felt that much from what he said.
But he never wanted to be the man who made Greta cry.
“We’re new,” he stated. “Life has thrown me some curveballs lately so I have no idea how it’s gonna go. It’s obviously thrown more at you and has since birth. What I do know is how much I like bein’ with you. How good it feels. And I wanna take care of that. I let your mother put that at risk once, that was stupid but I’m not stupid, so I learned that lesson and it won’t happen again. And I think there’s nothing in my life I’ve heard that’s more beautiful than what you give your brother, before he got hurt and after. I also know I can say all that ’til I’m blue in the face, I still have to prove it. So put me to the test. Go for it. At least with all that, I’ll pass. What I don’t want is to make you cry about it, Greta. You laid it out and it is what it is and all you gotta do now is sit back and see.”
“Okay, I really wanna have sex with you, like, right now,” she announced.
His cock felt that.
But his lips only smiled.
“Baby, I’m not making love to you two days after you got your nose broke.”
“It’s been three.”
His lips kept smiling. “Greta, sweetheart, I’m not making love with you three days after you got your nose broke.”
“We won’t kiss.”
“The fuck we won’t,” he growled.
“We can—”
He gave her hand a firm shake and leaned to her. “Weekdays, Shaw’s curfew is ten. He’s gonna be home soon and I gotta be home with my boy. But Friday, Shaw plays ball and you won’t be singing. I’ll tell him to maneuver a sleepover with one of his buds. And after the game, we’ll have all night.”
Her eyes instantly rolled to the ceiling of her porch while her lips moved but no words came out.
“Babe?” he called.
“Hush,” she shushed him.
He started chuckling. “Greta.”
She rolled her eyes back. “Hush, Hix, I’m counting the hours so I can count them down.”
He stopped chuckling and busted out laughing.
Then he leaned farther and took her mouth in a slow, gentle, wet kiss.
When he was done, he pulled back an inch. “Tide you over?”
“Not even close.”
He touched his lips even more gently on the tip of her nose before he sat back, kept hold of her hand and lifted up his beer.
When he’d taken a tug and dropped it, he asked, “Okay, so what in the hell is a wash, rinse and set?”
That was when Greta laughed, he turned to watch, and when she quit, she explained a wash, rinse and set.
Having a dick, he discovered he really didn’t need to know.
But he was glad he did.
So We’re Good
Hixon
THE NEXT NIGHT, Greta met him at the top of the steps to her porch, her feet in thick socks, a slouchy cardigan on, a big scarf wrapped around her neck, her head tipped back, the swelling nearly gone around her nose, the bruising still angry but receding.
“Beer?” she asked in a firm tone.
He smiled at her. “Yeah. But kiss first.”
She leaned into him, put a hand on his chest, and they exchanged a short, wet kiss before she broke away and whispered, “Be back.”
She went in and he went to his chair on her porch.
It was nippy. Dark. Mid-October weather in Nebraska was still nice during the day, but when the sun went down, the chill set in.
He turned his head and saw that she had her mug of tea sitting on the table by her chair. She also had a book and some catalogs.
He was eyes back to the street when Greta returned, handed him his beer and then adjusted her chair so it was set butted up to his. Then she settled in it so she was pressed to the side of the chair closest to him, her feet up on the pad in the seat, knees falling to his side, and her hand came out and ran down the inside of his forearm.
He transferred his beer from that hand to his left, thinking she wanted to hold hands, also thinking he was totally okay with that.
But she engaged her other hand, pressing his right hand flat between both of hers, her eyes watching.
It was an affectionate touch, but there was something poignant about it that concerned him.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked.
“You have really beautiful hands,” she murmured, still pressing his between hers before she laced her fingers through his, dropping her other hand away, bending their linked ones toward them with elbows resting on the arm of the chair as she rested her head on his shoulder.
He liked she thought that about his hands.
He was still concerned.
“Greta, something happen today?”
“Nope, just . . . nope,” she answered. But before he could prompt further she said, “I was . . .” She stopped and started again. “Having you for a spell, then things happened and I didn’t have you . . .” He felt her head move on his shoulder like she was shaking it. “I like my house. I don’t mind being alone. Or I didn’t. Then I had you to sit on the porch with me and I minded. And I, well . . .” Her tone became hesitant. “I like having you back.”