Page 19 of The Pucking Grump

“What do you mean?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

“Her dad,” Ken says. I hear some rustling that means he’s coming closer to the phone. “He’s been on the news every single day, talking smack about Faye, going off about how her fiancé is desperate for wedding planning to resume, all that stuff. And she’s saying nada. You’ve got to wonder how much control her dad has over her, cause she’s just letting this happen.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Alex. I understand why. What Ken is saying hits too close to home, particularly in relation to how my own father controlled Brit before she broke free and fell in love with Alex.

He’s still not over that. Neither am I, if I’m being completely honest.

Still, I focus my attention on Faye. What Ken said is horrible news. I assumed Dave’s smear campaign would last twenty-four hours before he redirected his time and energy to finding his daughter. But he’s apparently still on full throttle.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to suggest Faye not watch the news. I don’t know how long she’s planning on hiding out, but I do know her fallout will be more horrible than either of us could have ever imagined if she remains in the dark.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Really, bro?” Alex asks. “That was like two minutes. What the hell are you doing over there?”

You wouldn’t believe it.

“I’ve got to go,” I repeat. “Send my regards to Britney.”

I hang up the call before he can protest more. Handing Shane’s cell over to him, I head back to my G-Wagon. It’s time to go back to my cabin and ask Faye if the fact that her dad is still causing a stink on social media changes her plans in any way. A part of me does feel joy at the prospect that the news could cause her to leave here soon. Then I could actually relax and get my life back.

On the other hand, thinking of sleeping in my bed knowing that I would never run the chance of brushing against her porcelain skin again carries its own kind of pain.

Who hurt you?

Her words come to me as I turn on the ignition and ease the car out onto the main road. My grip on the wheel tightens for a second the moment I recall them.

Can’t say she was totally out of line, asking me that. All my friends would agree with her. As Cupid’s arrow shot them one by one and they disappeared into the confusing abyss they call a happily married life, I remained stuck on the wall we had all been hanging onto together.

I still view love the way we all used to, and they have the gall to be surprised by it.

Even if I hate it, I kind of get why they were so quick to shift gears. Reggie, for all his bravado, had been alone all his life and welcomed the opportunity to finally have someone to love. Alex’s playboy era had been unfulfilling, and he had ultimately found satisfaction in his wife.

On the other hand, though, I have no deep unresolved family trauma, and I’m fine by myself. My father’s overprotectiveness did border on being abusive, but it was always directed toward Brit, never me. And now she is fine, happily married with a kid. Over it, hopefully.

The thought that my disgust toward the concept of love means I’ve been hurt is laughable. Worse than laughable, really.

I ease my car onto the sloping lane that leads to my cabin. I haven’t been back this early in four days, and I have no idea what Faye is up to while I’m gone. I half expect to see her right in front of the cabin, maybe setting fire to her wedding gown.

But she’s not there, and the shutters on the windows are closed with no sounds of movement whatsoever.

Which means she’s probably in bed. Maybe sleeping.

The thought of being in the room with her sends blood flowing south so quickly that I feel lightheaded.

Parking the car, I swing my legs out and storm toward the cabin, going around it and heading for the lake. She’s going to be asleep for a couple of hours, I guess. I could use that time to relax the way I’ve been craving for ages. Grab a Stephen King novel and get lost in his twisted world. Maybe being in my favorite spot will burn off all the illicit thoughts I have of her.

Maybe.

The lake is right in the center of a grove of trees. It’s a V-shaped pool that’s cool in the winter and a bit warmer over the summer. I would like nothing more than to take a swim, but I can’t do that now, not when . . .

I stop in my tracks at the same moment that my thoughts come crashing to a halt.

Nothing has changed in my backyard. The grove of trees looks the same as when I was here last. The lake is still gazing up at me. Even my folding chair is still out there.

Nothing has changed, except the woman standing by the pool of water, running her fingers through her auburn hair. She’s wearing a yellow two-piece bathing suit that clings to her wet body like a second skin.

Fire spills from my gut, drenching my entire body in flames. I let her hold my gaze—how could I not? She’s glorious, even more perfect than my imagination could have dreamed. She has her back half-turned to me, and I sigh as I note her smooth, unblemished skin, the soft flare of her hips and her perky ass cheeks. She’s soaking wet, and I follow a rivulet of water as it glides past her clavicle and down the space between her boobs.

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