Beg for It(34)

“What happened?” she asks as he steers them down the long, winding country lane toward the main street. “Did you and your dad have a fight?”

“Something like that. Nothing new. It’s fine.” Tight-lipped, Reese switches on the radio so they don’t have to talk.

At home, she tells him to go take a shower. He doesn’t want to. They showered just before leaving for his parents’ house. He’s not dirty. He and Corinne face off in the bedroom; Reese feels alternately hot and cold. Itchy in his skin. He wants to pace.

“I told you to do something,” Corinne says sharply. “But feel free to keep arguing with me, and see what happens.”

He can’t stop himself from arguing. He keeps thinking of his father’s words and the look of disgust and disappointment on his face. “I don’t want to take a f*cking shower, Corinne! I just want to go to bed.”

She gives him a cool shrug. “Fine. But you’re not getting into bed with me without taking a shower first. Go sleep on the couch. No. The floor.”

He pauses. She means it, he’s sure of that. She teases him sometimes, sure, but right now there is nothing but calm steadiness in her expression as she stares him down.

He does not have to obey her. He could, in fact, force his way into the bed, and there’d be very little she could do to make him get out of it. They both know, though, that he won’t do that. Breathing hard, angry, his nails biting into his palms, Reese sneers.

“Fine. I’ll take a f*cking shower.”

“Go.”

In the bathroom, he strips out of his clothes and throws them defiantly on the floor, then gets under the spray before it’s even hot. Cold water needles him into a gasp. It warms quickly, but even so, that first onslaught is enough to take his breath away and leave stinging patches all over. Minutes in, the steam wreathes him, and in the fog and the heat, Reese lets his forehead fall against his arm as he leans against the shower wall. The water washes away most of his anger, leaving him with a hollow feeling in his stomach.

He dries off and hangs up the towel, then puts all his clothes in the basket. Naked, he goes to the bedroom. Corinne is propped up in bed, reading, and when she sees him she pulls back the covers and pats the bed in invitation.

Wordlessly, Reese slides in beside her. She puts an arm around him, letting him press his face against her breasts. Her hand strokes down his back in patterns of three, then one then three again. She’s soothing him.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I needed the shower.”

“I know, puppy. It’s okay.” She kisses his wet hair and makes a noise, prompting him to move so he can look up at her. She caresses his face. “I’m sorry you and your dad can’t seem to get along.”

He talks to her for a long time about his father.

When he goes quiet, Corinne says, “I think you should go talk to him. Be the first to reach out. Didn’t you tell me that you guys used to go to Triton’s a lot? Invite him to lunch or something.”

Surprised and angry that she’s not taking his side, Reese sits up. “What? Why? He’s not going to listen to anything I have to say. He’s made his judgments, and that’s it as far as he’s concerned. I’m not going back to work on the farm. Is that what you want me to do?”

She hesitates. “It’s a job—”

“No! Shit, Corinne. I hated working on the farm. If you don’t want me to live here anymore, just f*cking say so.”

She’ll be pissed off now. She’ll discipline him for the language, the tone, the attitude. She’ll hurt him, maybe, and then maybe she’ll f*ck him. Suddenly, Reese wants that more than anything.

“I love having you here. Don’t be rude. And if you don’t want to work on the farm, you don’t have to. But I think you do need to go talk to your dad and try to mend things with him.”

“Are you ordering me to?”

She frowns. “Of course not.”

He quiets and sits with his back to the headboard, their shoulders touching. He doesn’t look at her. The calm he’d gained from the shower is gone; his stomach is tense and tight again. When finally he slides beneath the covers and turns on his side, facing away from her, Corinne says nothing. She turns out the light. She spoons behind him, her hand flat on his naked belly. She kisses him between the shoulder blades.

“I don’t want you to hold onto a grudge that you might regret, that’s all.” Her soft words float through the darkness over him. “I’m looking out for you.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t listen to her, though, and Thanksgiving Day is the last time he speaks to his father until his mother dies of a stroke two months later.





Chapter Nineteen



“He’s trying to get under your skin, that’s all.” Caitlyn had listened to Corinne’s tirade over dinner.

Overcooked pasta and limp salad, Caitlyn’s work, still appreciated even if it hadn’t been top-notch cuisine. The kids had scarfed down everything on their plates and begged to disappear into the TV room to play video games, and although she usually tried to keep Friday night family night to honor the Sabbath, Corinne had allowed it tonight. She’d been too agitated to really eat, though she appreciated baby sister’s attempt at repaying her for the use of the guest room for what was becoming an indeterminate amount of time. Now she pushed her plate away.