Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(89)

“She did,” I agree, coming behind her to rest my chin on her head as I look out over the darkness. It’s hard to see but with a full sky of stars, you can just make out the tops of the trees.

“There’s something really special about this place, isn’t there? I can feel it when I come here. It’s like all that shit out there isn’t happening. I can see why your mom doesn’t want to leave.”

“Yeah.” Except she does now. My wheels are churning, trying to figure out how she can stay while getting him away. Fuck.

Reese turns her body around until she’s facing me. “How’s Mama?”

Her calling my mother “Mama” makes me grin. “She thinks you’re a sweet girl.”

The responding snort I get in return is exactly what I expected, making me chuckle as she breaks free to crawl into bed and under the covers, watching me intently as I peel my clothes off.

“Playing hard to get?” she says, but I hear the hitch in her voice as her eyes drift over me.

“What did you expect?” I lift the blankets to slide in next to her and hit the switch on the lamp.

“Full two-piece pajamas with pockets, just like Mason.” She wastes no time, resting her head in the crook of my arm, her own slender arm coiling around my chest. It’s . . . nice.

There’s a long, comfortable silence before I hear myself say the words out loud. “She’s leaving my dad. She just told him. That’s it.”

Reese’s fingers, which were doodling little circles against my chest, stop. “Are you . . . is that good?”

“Yeah. It is. And it isn’t. She’ll have to sell.”

I hear a “shit” under her breath as she swallows hard. “Why?”

“She can’t come up with the kind of money she needs to buy him out and the bastard’s never going to give the place to her. After all he’s done, you’d think he’d at least do that.” I hear the bitterness in my voice and, by the sudden tension in her body, I think Reese does too. “Sorry,” I murmur softly. “You don’t need to hear all that.”

“That’s okay. It’s what friends are for.”

I feel the soft smile stretch across my mouth. It’s funny—I have a lot of friends that I’ve known for a lot longer than Reese, and yet I feel closer to her than any of them. I hadn’t realized how connected we’ve become in such a short period of time. “You know what else friends are for?”

“Causing pain and frustration?” A sharp nail against my nipple has me hissing and swatting her hand away.

She apologizes with her wet tongue covering the sore spot.

Chapter 29

REESE

“You squirm a lot in your sleep,” Ben murmurs into my ear, somehow sensing that I’m awake.

“That’s because you’re a leech,” I grumble, the soft tickle of his breath grazing the back of my neck. I’ve never been a cuddler. Normally, I hug the edge of the bed, despising anyone else’s body heat. Jared knew it and was fine with it, preferring his own space anyway.

Not Ben. Every time I tried to shift away, an arm or leg managed to lock itself around me and yank me back, until he was molding his body to the back of mine. Never in a million years had I expected him to be the type.

I also never expected to find myself liking it.

“Leech?” With a strong hand against my shoulder, Ben pushes me onto my back, his mouth affixing itself to my breast. It takes a moment and a pinch of pain to realize what he’s doing.

“Stop it!” I smack him against the head. “What are you, twelve?”

He lifts his head to check his handiwork with a smirk and then dips down to nuzzle himself in the crook of my neck, sending shivers through my body. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot how nasty you are in the morning. Let’s see if we can fix that mood.” Ben’s thrown the covers off and starts working his way down, his hot breath leaving a trail along my chest, my stomach, my belly button, and farther down.

“Hello?” The warm, delicious scent of coffee and baking tells me there recently was life in the kitchen, but it’s empty now, save for a plate of scones and jar of marmalade on the table. I help myself to a cup—as great of a wake-up as Ben just gave me, I still need my coffee—and then go in search of him, wandering through the main floor, out to the back veranda. When I pass the foyer and notice that the front door is partially open, I venture out onto the porch.

Ben is standing in the driveway, his arms wrapped tightly around Wilma; her face buried in his chest, her tiny body shaking.

Sirens sound in the distance.

I pick up speed until I’m running. I’m sure my feet are stomping against the gravel driveway, but all I hear is the pounding of my blood in my ears as I close the distance, until I’m skidding to a halt to find Ben’s eyes squeezed tight, his jaw visibly taut as his mother sobs uncontrollably.

There’s really only one thing—or one person—this can be about.

And when I turn to see the barn doors gaping open, and the body slumped over in the Adirondack chair, the arm dangling lifelessly to the side, that bottle of whiskey lying on the ground next to a small white bottle, it’s not hard to put all the pieces together.

A processional of lights and sirens invades the serenity of the family grove as a line of emergency vehicles race up the picturesque driveway. When the paramedics hop out, arms loaded with big black bags, and neither Ben nor Wilma makes a move to address them, I take charge. “He’s in there,” I say, pointing. They don’t need any more instruction than that, but I run over with them anyway.