Page 60 of All Along The Watchtower

Scooping up her backpack, she flounced out of the room. Surely that flounce meant she’d actually had a good day?

Once I heard the door to her room open, I finally let out a long, slow breath and scrubbed both hands down my face.

Much as I hated that Peyton had interrupted us, it was probably for the best. Falling back into bed with Bree would do nothing to prove to her that I’d changed. That she was actually a priority for me. That I could find a way to be there for herandPeyton in a way that could work for us all.

But the kiss gave me a hope I hadn’t dared reach for after I’d walked out of her kitchen yesterday. She might not want to want me, might not want whatever she felt for me, but that kiss had made it abundantly clear I wasn’t in this alone. Even with all her walls, all her defenses, I’d felt her melt against me, felt the way her fingers had curled into my shirt. All the years of regret and longing had poured into that moment, and I knew damn well she’d felt it too. The question was whether she’d let herself acknowledge it, or if she’d keep pushing me away like she had been since the day I came back.

Probably not, considering that the moment we’d been interrupted, the moment she’d had a chance to think, she’d fled. I knew Bree Cartwright. She was on the retreat now, scrambling to talk herself out of what she wanted because it came along with feelings. Nothing on earth scared her more than those. And I got it—after what her parents had done, after what I’d done, she had every reason to be gun-shy. But I wasn’t going anywhere this time, and sooner or later, she’d have to face that.

Sawyer had said I needed to show her with actions what she needed to see. So I’d do exactly that. I was here now. And I was determined to prove to her I could be what she needed. What she deserved.

I just wished figuring out the details was as easy as figuring out what to feed a thirteen-year-old girl.

CHAPTER 28

BREE

I pulled another draft from the tap, carefully angling the glass to get the perfect head of foam. The habitual motions helped steady my hands, which had been trembling since last night. Since I’d lost my damned mind and vaulted over all my carefully constructed walls to try to climb Ford like a tree.

“—and then they tossed the whole place!” Wally’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Papers everywhere, drawers dumped out. Amateur hour, if you ask me.”

“Eight days after they found the body.” Duck stabbed a French fry in the air between each word for emphasis. “What kind of idiot waits that long to search a dead man’s apartment?”

I slid the beer across to a waiting customer, grateful for the distraction of the Gray Beards’ latest theories about David Galef’s murder. Anything to keep my mind off Ford’s hands in my hair, the heat of his body against mine…

“Bet they were looking for money,” Milt declared. “Man like that, working for the fishing company, probably skimming off the top. You know he got let go from O’Connell’s because they thought he was spying for Atlantic. Fishing espionage or some shit.”

“Fishing espionage? What kind of bull pucky is that? Nah, had to be documents,” Cliff countered. “You don’t tear apart furniture looking for cash.”

“Unless the cash was hidden in the furniture,” Duck pointed out.

“What do you think, Bree?” Wally called out. “You’re being awful quiet over there.”

I managed what I hoped was a neutral smile. “Just trying to keep up with the lunch rush, fellas.”

“Speaking of quiet,” Duck leaned forward conspiratorially. “Heard you were over at Ford Donoghue’s place last night.”

I nearly dropped the glass I was holding. Pop shot me a knowing look from his perch at the end of the bar. Recovering quickly, I focused on pulling the next pint. “It wasn’t just me. Willa and Sawyer, Gabi and Daniel, and Mama Flo and Mimi were there, too. Making sure we’re all on the same page about keeping an eye on Peyton with everything going on.”

“Mm-hmm,” Duck hummed skeptically. “That why you’re blushing?”

“That’s enough out of you.” Pop’s stern voice cut off the teasing, and I was grateful.

I grabbed a stack of menus, desperate for something to do with my hands that didn’t involve resisting the urge to trace my still-tingling lips. But even that simple task proved challenging, as flashbacks of the kiss kept hijacking my brain. The tug of Ford’s fingers threading through my hair. The solid warmth of him wrapped around me. The way my breath had hitched as his tongue delved into my mouth… and how I’d so desperately wanted more of him inside me.

I stumbled into an empty chair, the menus scattering across the floor. Sweet Jesus, I needed to get it together. But how was I supposed to function when my body kept replaying every scorching second?

“You okay there, sweetheart?” Duck’s concerned voice yanked me back to reality.

“Fine!” My voice came out embarrassingly squeaky. “Just… clumsy today.”

I gathered the fallen menus, willing my hands to steady. But it was no use. My mind kept circling back to that endless moment before Peyton walked in—Ford’s hips pressing against me, his fingers gripping my ass, his tongue doing wicked things that made me forget every reason I’d spent a decade shutting him out of my life.

If his daughter hadn’t interrupted us… The heat blooming in my cheeks had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with exactly where I imagined those talented hands would have wandered next. Where I’d wanted them to wander next. And I’d have let him. God help me, I’d have let him do any damned thing he pleased because one touch had me ready to beg.

Because I hadn’t learned a damned thing. Ford Donoghue was my personal addiction, and I’d just fallen off the wagon in a big way.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Pop suggested quietly. “Get some air.”

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