Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(96)

Fifteen minutes later, my fingertips still itching to touch Aiden, I escape out on the patio to check in with Javier and Reagan.

The backyard is virgin, stretching into a meadow of wildflowers, blackberry shrubs, thistles and yellow-barked Ponderosas. Peaceful and untamed. As though it safeguards all tranquility missing from the man who owns it.

I start weaving through the knee-length grass. It will be easier to handle the call with Javier if I’m moving. But the moment I switch on Aiden’s phone, I trip on a giant fern.

His screensaver is a picture of me sleeping, lips pressed against his pillow. Bloody hell, that’s what I look like when I’m asleep? I pick myself up and tap Javier’s number, pretending I didn’t see the drool on my chin.

The longer Javier’s phone rings, the faster I roam and the less I hear the bluebirds chirping. How am I going to explain things to him? What if he hates Aiden now?

“Mr. Hale?” Javier finally picks up, his voice formal.

I almost collide with a pine this time. “Javier, it’s Isa.”

“Isa?” His voice warms. “You okay? Why are you calling from Hale’s phone?”

“Because you have mine from last night.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot. It’s in the Honda, locked in the trunk.”

“I’m not worried about it. I just wanted to see how you are. And to say sorry about last night.” My voice drops to a whisper and I plop on the grass.

“Why are you apologizing? It wasn’t your fault.”

I split in half. I don’t know whom to protect. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Javier. Not yours or Reagan’s, not even Aiden’s, although he said some awful things. He’s terrified of anything happening to me and lashes out when he feels helpless.”

A long pause. I twist a fern frond, trying to draw in some air. “Yeah,” Javier says at last. “He’s something else.”

“I know but he means well. He’d never hurt anyone I love.” I leave out Aiden’s rant that he’d destroy anything that hurts me. He’d never break me that way.

“I don’t care about his threat, Isa. What’s he going to do that I’m not already in danger of? I’m more worried about you with him.”

“Don’t worry about me. I will take care of myself.”

A six-chemical-elements-long sigh. I picture him squinting his eyes, as he does when he visualizes the finished painting, not the sketch.

“You don’t hate him, do you?” I whisper, twisting the fern into knots.

“Oh, hell! No, I don’t hate him. Actually, after last night, I kind of get him a little more. He’s got issues—that’s true—but no dude freaks like that over a dress. Not unless he really cares about the girl.”

I smile because things sound so true when Javier tells them. The problem is Javier doesn’t know about PTSD and self-loathing men who will destroy themselves before allowing love in their lives.

“All right, stop reciting the periodic table or whatever you’re doing. We’ll figure it out. You’re still babysitting tonight?”

“Of course,” I say, even though it will mean a night away from Aiden.

“Thanks, sweetheart! I gotta go. This new villa won’t paint itself. Maria will wait for you with the girls. Now, you want someone who loves Hale, talk to her.”

I laugh, picturing him rolling his eyes. “See you later, Javier. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up, not wanting to delay him anymore than I already did. But as I start dialing Reagan, a text blitzes on the screen, followed almost instantly by three more.

Jazzman: Hale Storm, WTF? You’re coming if I have to drag you here dick first.

Callahan: Storm, Jazz is jizzing his pants. Told him about your woman. Fuck. Me.

Hendrix: Does she have three tits?

Callahan: Duh!

I don’t realize how hard I’m laughing until the bluebirds startle in the air out of a huckleberry bush. Hale Storm? It suits him. There’s no way I’m letting him miss this. Not even for my green card.

*

Three hours later, after scones with Cornish clotted cream and three more orgasms, Benson is whisking us away down the hill. Aiden throws his arm around my shoulders and tucks me to his side.

“So now that we’re in the car, will you tell me where we’re going?” I ask, relieved that I didn’t need to pack a suitcase.

“You’ll see.” He smiles, drawing circles on my knee.

“How long is your vacation?”

His arm tightens around me. “At least until June thirteenth.”

A shiver runs through me, having nothing to do with his touch. He kisses my temple but doesn’t say his usual “it’ll be okay”, “don’t worry”, “we’ll fix it”. He knows he can’t make that promise.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” I say, kissing his neck.

“It’s for me too…for us.”

I almost catapult out of the sunroof at the pronoun. I love you, I think at him and snap a picture. His phone buzzes in his jeans pocket for the nth time. I lost count after buzz number fifty-eight. He looks at it, smiles and thumbs a text. That reminds me.

“Aiden, I have a dark confession to make.”

“Oh? Did you say ‘f*ck’ around some weeds?”