Page 51 of Memories of Us

Brenton

THE SLOW, CONSTANTthrob of my blue-as-shit balls had me adjusting on the leather couch to find a position that would take pressure off the tender boys. Hand wrapped around my swollen nuts, I shifted them back and forth, which only made it worse.

Fuck the gentleman shit. I should've taken her up on returning the favor. What the hell was I thinking anyway? I always got mine first, and there I was offering up another round for her to have some fun before even thinking about my relief. That woman was fucking with my head, and not in the way I needed.

Or maybe she was.

Hell, this was complicated.

I didn’t do complicated. Order, process, routine—those offered the control I needed. With control, I could keep the constant want for a stiff drink or line of coke for an easy escape at bay. Control offered the safety net I needed to keep from plunging back into a free fall to addiction.

For the hundredth time that morning, I watched out the large window.

Who in the hell was over there?

An older truck had pulled up half an hour before, but I didn’t see who got out. And it was driving me fucking crazy. I should’ve paid attention to the type of truck that dipshit Kyle guy drove last night when I left to change.

Unfamiliar jealousy swirled in my chest at the mental image of him being with my Beks. Alone. Her dad thought he was the perfect match for her, so maybe he called the guy back under the ruse of checking on Bradley.

Someone scurried into the living room, but still I kept my attention on the small house and unknown truck. Knowing Dad had left yesterday for Dallas kept me from tensing at the presence of someone in the room.

“Would you like some lunch, Mr. Graves?” said a soft female voice by my right shoulder.

“Yes, that would be great. The same that was made for dinner last night, and make extra again, please.”

“For her?” she asked, drawing my attention.

The girl couldn't have been more than twenty. Freckles lined her cheekbones, accentuated by her fiery red hair. Under my scrutinizing gaze, she shifted her focus to the floor.

“Uh, sorry,” she stammered and took a step back. “None of my business.”

“Wait.” If Beks wouldn't give me the information, maybe this girl could. She was too young to remember what happened thirteen years ago, but I bet there was still gossip around this place. “What do you know about her?”

The girl’s hazel eyes looked past me to the house I'd been monitoring all morning.

“Not much, sir. Sorry, I shouldn't—”

“Stop, please. What do you know?”

A bit of fear lit in her eyes as she retreated another step.

Hell.

Frustrated, I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands.

“All I know, sir, is in a town like this, what you two did....” Her pause made me sit up straight and swivel on the couch to give her my full attention. “She's always been kind to me, so I won't repeat what they called her, both to her face and behind her back, but she didn't deserve it. We all make mistakes. The whole town turned against her when she needed them the most. If I were her, I wouldn't have ever come back.”

At that, she vanished around the corner, leaving me more confused than ever.

**

CACKLING LAUGHTER MIXEDwith the rhythmic squeak of metal against metal filled my ears before the two lounging on the porch swing came into view. A wave of relief barreled through at the sight. Not the guy, but it was the feisty tiny woman who gave me hell at the funeral.

This could be interesting.

Hopefully Beks had already lessened the woman's disdain toward me by explaining I wasn’t the man I used to be.

Noticing my approach, Beks paused midconversation, her wild hands up in the air, and smiled. Her friend followed her line of sight and glared with more unease than hatred. It was a start.

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