I press my eyes closed at the rush of tears threatening to spill. “Neither can I.”
Mr. Jay was an amazing man. Warm, friendly, and with a heart of gold, that man never once judged me because of my family. He never saw the money or politics most others do.
He was the man who taught me how to hold a hammer correctly and the difference between a Phillips head and a flat-head screwdriver. When their old refrigerator died, he’d taught Hollis and me how to use Teflon tape when hooking up the ice maker on the new one and how to lay down a thin piece of toilet paper beneath the connection to check for leaks.
As we got older, he may have had less and less free time due to his work schedule, but I knew, sure as the sun would rise the next day, that he loved with all his heart. He’d taken me in and always treated me as he did Hollis. And I would forever be grateful to him for it.
“I have to meet with the attorney.” Hollis’ voice is so faint, I strain to hear him. “Apparently, he named me executor of his will.”
“When is the—”
“There won’t be one.” His answer is succinct.
Alarmed, I raise my head to peer down at him, but his eyes are still closed. He mumbles, “He didn’t want a funeral or anythin’ showy. He told me that, time and again.”
I frown but lower my head again. Placing a palm over the center of his chest, I cautiously ask him what I’ve been wondering all along. “What happened?”
“He went to the ER, thinkin’ he was havin’ a heart attack. He had an aortic aneurysm.” His chest rises and falls with deep breaths, like he’s fighting against his riotous emotions. “It ruptured before they could do anythin’.”
I tighten my hold on him, and even though I try my best to be quiet, tears cascade down my cheeks freely, dampening his cotton shirt.
His hoarse voice is heavy with a mixture of anger and hurt. “The worst thing is, Mom can’t be bothered with any of it.” A rough laugh breaks free, but it’s the furthest thing from humorous. “She’s upset because he was due to get a bonus once he hit his anniversary mark in two months.”
“Oh, Hollis,” I whisper raggedly.
Silence hangs heavily between us, for so long that he startles me when he finally speaks again.
“I go downtown to sign some things tomorrow mornin’.” He lets out a long sigh. “I plan on finishin’ that bottle over there tonight.” The grief in his voice makes it sound huskier than normal. “You might wanna head home.”
I tense. “Are you spendin’ the night out here?”
“Mmhmm.”
I hesitate before asking, “Can I—” I break off nervously, before forging on. “Stay here with you?” Then I rush to add on hurriedly, “Just to make sure you’re okay since you plan on drinkin’ and everythin’.”
“You don’t have to watch over me, Shortcake.” A hint of a smile graces his voice. He presses a light kiss to the top of my head.
“I know,” I say softly. “But if it’s okay, I’d like to stay here with you.”
Hollis exhales a long, slow breath, and when he doesn’t immediately answer, I worry he’ll refuse.
He catches me off guard when he whispers, pressing his lips to my hairline, “You’re really the only person I want with me right now.” He pauses a beat. “But I’m not sure you should see me like this.”
“I’d like to stay,” I repeat gently. “I just”—my voice cracks, and I pause before regaining my composure—“don’t want you to be alone.”
“You’re probably hungry after that drive,” he murmurs quietly.
“A little.” A faint smile tugs at my mouth. Only my best friend would be worried about me and whether I’ve eaten at a time like this.
“Want pizza?”
I raise my head to peer down at him. “I can order it for us.” I’m sure he’s forgotten to eat, so maybe I can get some food into him too.
He reaches up to gently cup the side of my face with his palm. “Thank you.” His eyes bore into mine with heartfelt urgency. “For bein’ here when I need you.”
“Of course,” I whisper. He closes his eyes, one edge of his lips tipping up faintly, and I gently add, “I’m always here for you.”
I dip my head to press a light kiss to his cheek. But at the last second, he shifts, and my lips land on the left side of his mouth instead.
We both freeze in place. The softness of his lips, the sensations that bombard me instantly cause my breath to lodge in my throat, and my eyes widen in shock.
His eyes open slowly, and when I start to back away, about to offer a hasty apology, his palm moves to my nape, drawing me to a stop. With an intense gaze centered on me, he guides me to meet his mouth again. It’s achingly slow, as though he’s giving me time to turn away. But the heat in the depths of his dark eyes drags me under, and I can’t bear to do anything but place my lips on his again.
Little coaxing kisses lull me into a fog of lust. The playful nip of his teeth to my bottom lip has me gasping, and he takes full advantage of it. He deepens the kiss, his tongue diving inside to toy with mine, and soon, it’s hard to decipher who’s really kissing who.
Grief. Everyone processes it differently, and I know that maybe I’m allowing him to use me as an escape, but I don’t care. Because right now, with Hollis’ body against mine, it feels right. Perfect. Like the precise moment the scorching summer sun beats down on your skin in midday, warming you through to your center. The comforting heat settles deep and soothes you so thoroughly to your bones.
That’s how this feels.
I can’t get enough of him. He tastes like whiskey and those breath mints he often carries with him. More than that, though, he tastes familiar. Even though the last time he kissed me was nearly two months ago, my body recognizes him instantly. Every single part of me is on full alert.
Our kiss turns frantic, devouring, and I end up beneath him, with his hard body braced above me. Fingers of his other hand tangle in my hair, and he works his mouth on mine. I fist my hands in the soft fabric of his shirt, dragging the hem upward desperate to touch him. When my fingers graze his hot, muscled flesh, a deep growl reverberates in his chest.
I spread my thighs wider, eager for him to press against where I ache for him most. His khakis don’t do much to mask his arousal prodding insistently against the front of the fabric, and he rocks against me in a way that rips a little moan from my throat. The sound of it seems to urge him on because the kiss gets wetter, a little wilder, and he rocks his hardness against the spot where the ache grows more and more urgent.
When he eases away slightly, a dark lock of hair slides over his forehead, and I smooth it back. His eyes study me as if he’s trying to decipher my thoughts.
“Magnolia.” Urgency and torment are interlaced in his tone. “I don’t wanna fuck up our friendship any more than I did that night.”
Even though it became more of a silent agreement that we’d never bring up what happened the night things imploded between Preston and me and swept everything under the carpet, he’s bringing it out in the open now.
Hollis