What You Leave Behind, Page 9

  “You have nothing to fear. I promise you. I’ll always—”

  “Can you promise I didn’t spend ten years loving the wrong man? That I didn’t waste time that I should have spent with you? Can you promise this will last? Or that it won’t? Because that’s—Austin, this is—” She takes a staggering breath as she collects herself. “I promise, if you promise.”

  “Always.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Beneath the caress of the morning sun, forgotten is the fear of the night prior, replaced by a crackling static, a current that courses between Harper and Austin and mounts as they come to. In the two brief hours they’ve managed to sleep, they’ve remained entwined—arms wrapped loosely about each other’s bodies, legs over and under and between—and they find a certain kind of safety enveloping them as they welcome the waking world as one. Austin’s hand finds itself across the small of Harper’s back, and from where she is nestled against his side, she lets out a small, contented sigh as his thumb rubs circles over her spine. The sigh transforms to a moan as he brazenly guides her on top of him with that same hand, and he matches the sound as she more than willingly slides up the length of his body until their noses touch. Harper hitches her leg up his hip, raising the stakes, and Austin bites back a groan, fights against himself, and his want to be inside of her—a want that feels more and more like a need with each passing second.

  “Tell me we can stay in bed,” Harper murmurs against his jaw as she curls into him. At the balmy feel of her words against his skin, Austin rocks his hips gently, leaving Harper a bit mesmerized by the way his lips part just so—the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he tries not to do it again. She shifts her weight and meets him halfway, her gaze pinned raptly on his face as their hips meet, and when he opens his eyes, she sees a drowning man, anchored with the weight of wanting. “More,” she begs as she writhes against him encouragingly. “Please, more.”

  She presses her lips firmly against his, her sour morning breath restraining her from sliding her tongue against his as she craves. Instead, her mouth leads her away to places where she can taste him in some way, and she lets her teeth scrape against his neck as his hips move against her again. She can’t stop the cry that escapes her throat, and her teeth meet his skin once more, daring him to do it again. This time, when he moves, she does too, and moans tumble out of their mouths harmoniously as they meet in the middle.

  Harper slides off of him slowly, dragging the friction out as long as she can before her back presses against the mattress, and the dig of her heel against the back of his thigh begs him to move atop her. Austin cannot find the strength to protest. He wants her entirely and he will give her anything she desires—particularly when her desires align so perfectly with his own. He holds himself up with a flattened palm against the mattress, his other hand gripping her hip, and cannot stop his body from quaking lustfully as he looks down at her—the part of her lips, the way her hair fans out in waves around her, the feminine ridge of her collarbones. Laid out beneath him, she is just as he pictured she would be, yet somehow even better, even more beautiful.

  “So long,” Austin mumbles, his mouth near her neck. He breathes heavily against it as his hips begin to rock unapologetically, press and push with a focused rhythm. “Harper, so long.” She hears the words, but feels the meaning of them more in the way he moves against her. He is taut with years of longing, eager to push himself against and into whatever parts of her she’ll give him—and she wants to give. She wants to give him everything so very badly, to reward him for all his wanting. Her fingers press into the slight dimples at the base of his spine and coax him forward as her own hips rise to meet his fervently. Austin grunts at the feel of it and moans her name against her neck before his hips rock faster, harder.

  “Kiss me,” she pleads, the words a breathy whine. Her hand grips his jaw, aiming to drag him to her mouth, morning breath forgotten. He holds himself up on his forearms and presses his mouth to hers without pause, his lower lip surrendering easily to her teeth and tongue. She worships his mouth as the spark of a fire begins to burn within the pit of her stomach, and it spreads with each thrust, each lick and moan. She remembers that feeling and the way it’s always been attached to Liam, and digs her fingers roughly into Austin’s back and her teeth into his shoulder as she tries to forget that name. “Harder,” she begs, the word nearly lost beneath a gasp as he presses against her with more need. All thoughts of Liam slip away as pleasure trumps pain, and Austin grinds against her as she bucks up against him in kind. She kisses him hard enough to bruise as her eyes close to the beautiful burn, the crush of his body against hers.

  “Harper, I’m not—I can’t—” She marvels as his face contorts with pleasure, eyes closed and mouth open, and pulls herself up to kiss at his jaw as he falls apart. He crashes against her one last time, finality and release in every part of the motion, before his arms quiver and he half falls onto her small frame. She touches all of him she can as he comes down, her hands stroking over his shoulders, back, and hips as she waits for his breathing to level out. When it does, he tilts his head to capture the corner of her lips, his mouth slow and lingering. “Harper, I don’t know what—I hope I didn’t—I don’t know what came over me,” he sighs, all of the words sounding too heavy and lacking the distinct bliss Harper thinks they should hold. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t.” She turns to kiss his lips full-on and takes his hand from where it rests tenderly against her cheek to drag it down her body. There is no reason for him to apologize and she shows him this by pushing herself against him as she unbuttons her jeans and drags down her zipper. “I wanted that, too.”

  Austin’s lips part, and form a breathy, “Oh God,” as she guides him beneath the waistband of her jeans. Without hesitation, his long fingers slip urgently across her skin as her breathing picks up, her hand still lingering over his. Needing more, she presses against his knuckles and his fingers slide easily into her—one, then two—as she moves against his hand and moans his name.

  “God,” he sighs at the sound, because a higher power is the only thing that makes him believe such a thing could be happening, and he twists his fingers inside of her, pushing them until they disappear fully into pink skin unseen. Her hips rise each time they’re removed, grinding against the heel of his hand and calling his fingers back to where she needs him most, and she sinks her teeth into his shoulder to stifle her cries as her need builds. “No,” Austin says, moving out of her mouth’s reach as he sits up to watch her. “I want to hear you.”

  Harper boldly locks her heavy-lidded gaze on his and she cries out a moan loud enough for his liking as his fingers slam into her in response. Austin groans as he watches her crash against his hand, and that’s all it takes—that sound and one final thrust of his hand—to cause her body to arch toward him as ecstasy cuts through her. He waits until she’s done shaking, before he slowly removes his hand and licks his fingers, his eyes locked on hers as she watches him.

  “Wow,” Harper sighs, her eyes closing as her head lolls to the side. A residual moan escapes her mouth, followed by another as a belated shiver of pleasure finds its way up her spine when Austin kisses her neck. “Good morning.”

  He smiles against her skin and echoes, “Good morning,” while thinking he’s never heard a bigger understatement.

  ***

  Despite his reputation with Dylan Rhodes, Austin is not a lumberjack of any sort—nor a lumberjackass—but as he hauls stacks of timber across the warehouse, he can see where the confusion comes from. Not many people know the term wood technologist, after all, and today he feels more like a logger than he ever has before. He removes his gloves and rakes a hand through his damp hair, wipes his sweaty brow along his sawdust and splinter-covered flannel sleeve, and leans back against a pile of cherry wood logs, proudly admiring the almost-ton of raw timber he’s amassed on the loading dock. Manual labor and lack of sleep are a tough combination at the lumberyard, no matter how the bliss of the early
morning has enlivened him, and as he absentmindedly counts the logs in front of him, he thinks he’s earned the break.

  “Hayward, phone call on line three,” Gemma’s normally meek voice thunders through the PA system, and Austin groans, exhaustion setting in. On this grueling Monday morning, even on a break, he can’t catch a break. Wiping his brow again in an effort to remove the sawdust that has caked across his forehead, Austin hauls himself inside and seeks out the nearest phone. He finds one in the break room on the second floor of the warehouse. As a light flashes next to the button for line three, Austin grabs a bottle of water from the common refrigerator and sits down on the cracked and beaten leather sofa. For a moment, he just lets himself exist in limbo. The mechanized sounds of the warehouse fall away and he closes his eyes to the fluorescent lights of the break room. Then, with a heaving sigh, he returns to reality and lifts the receiver.

  “This is Hayward,” he says in a clipped tone, all business. He’s learned that the companies the lumberyard usually has dealings with prefer a curt man’s man, and though it reminds him of his father to be so blunt, he’s adapted to it over time. “Talk to me.”

  “Austin, don’t hang up.”

  The room lurches as Liam’s voice rushes into Austin’s ears.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Austin asks him sharply, months of anger and hurt spilling out of him in the words. The line falls silent and Austin’s fury grows and morphs with each wordless moment. It shows in the way he gets to his feet, nearly pulling the base of the phone off the wall as he does, as his free hand clenches into a useless fist at his side. Soon, there’s too much fury to contain and Austin explodes—the shrapnel of his rage flies violently over the line. “You don’t get to fucking call me, Liam. You’re shit. You’re complete fucking shit. How dare you do that to her. How fucking dare you, you son of a bitch.”

  “I had my reasons for—”

  “Not good enough, guy. Not fucking good enough.” The silence encroaches again and Austin is pleased with it this time, feeling as if he has put Liam in his place and defended Harper, though he’d rather do so with his fists. At the thought, his futilely clenched hand tightens reflexively at his side. Shaking with anger, he begins again, his tone unnaturally calm as he repeats slowly, “What. Do. You. Want.”

  “I’m in Arizona. Was right in your hometown, actually. I just—it reminded me of you. I miss you, man.”

  “I’m glad it takes a whole fucking state for you to remember me, Liam.” There’s a certain saccharine element that weaves through Austin’s words and if there was ever any doubt that it was wholly false, Austin ensures Liam knows this when he says, “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Austin, please—”

  “Please what, Liam? What the fuck do you think I have to say to you at this point? And really, what the fuck do you think I want to hear you say?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then why the fuck did you call me?”

  “Have you seen her?”

  The question hits Austin with an unseen force and he pitches forward. Unsettled, he roughly grips the back of the sofa to steady himself, his fingers sinking right through the thin leather. Though somewhere in the back of his mind, Austin knew that he would, he cannot believe Liam actually has the gall to ask about her, and it leaves him in a shocked sort of silence.

  Liam counts the quiet as permission to proceed and continues, “Harper—I haven’t said her name in so—”

  “You don’t get to ask about Harper,” Austin snarls, getting his bearings, getting upright. He paces as much of the room as the corded phone lets him, fury in every step. “You lost that right when you fled town like a little pussy.”

  “Austin, please—”

  “No.”

  “I just need to know she’s okay.”

  “That’s it? You just need to know she’s okay? Well, she’s fine, Liam. She’s perfect.” Austin’s answer is biting sarcasm, but the pained gasp on the other end of the line tells him that Liam hasn’t caught on. Realizing this, he takes it further, digging the knife of his words into wounds that deserve to be fatal. “I guess you did the right thing.”

  “You’re joking,” Liam says brokenly into the line and Austin cannot help the satisfied smile that graces his mouth at the sound of Liam’s pain. “Tell me that’s not—I only did this so that I’d know—so she’d know, you know?”

  “I don’t, actually,” he tells him, his tone outright unsympathetic. With his anger leveling off, Austin’s goal changes. He’s done putting Liam in his place. He wants to see if he can hurt Liam as badly as Liam has hurt Harper, instead. His smile grows wider and for the first time, he’s thankful that Jimmy’s sadistic blood runs in his veins. “I do know that you did the right thing by leaving her, though. She’s better off without you. I mean, this new guy she’s—”

  “New guy? What? Do—do I know him?”

  “Does it matter who it is?” Austin asks with a lazy shrug of his shoulders. “Does it matter? You didn’t want her, right?”

  “I did—I do,” Liam counters. “I love her.”

  “Yeah, well, what’s done is done,” Austin replies as he reclines against the wall next to the phone’s base, and rolls up his sleeves as if it’s the most casual and unimportant conversation in the world. It isn’t either one, but Austin feels like he’s accomplished what he set out to do. Liam is broken and banished, and Austin relishes the soft sounds of his cries on the other end of the line. He checks the time on his wristwatch, sees it’s officially lunchtime, and decides he’s wasted enough time on Liam. “Look, I’ve got to get goin’. Some of us have jobs to keep and shit. Look up my cousin while you’re there. She’s a petite, little redhead—just your type, you know. As for the one you left behind, you’re probably better off leaving that for good.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Austin disconnects the line.

  In the quiet aftermath of the call, Austin rakes his hands over his face and heaves out a sigh. Whatever exhaustion he felt before was purely physical. Now, he’s spent in every sense of the word. Locking the break room door, he turns off the overhead lights, curls onto the battered sofa, and closes his eyes, hoping to recoup some of his lost energy during his lunch break.

  Not even a minute into his attempted nap, there’s a jiggle of the locked knob, followed by a soft knock at the door. He throws his arm over his eyes and tries to ignore the sound. The knock grows louder, turns to a pounding, and Austin resigns himself to enervation as he gets to his feet and pulls open the heavy wooden door before another knock can sound.

  “Hi.” Harper stands on the other side of the threshold, blank-faced and wide-eyed, with a brown paper bag held to her chest with crossed arms. “Is now a bad time?”

  Austin smiles softly, still weary but vivified at the sight of her. “Of course not,” he says, stepping out of her path. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you,” she tells him, and she knows the words sound sad—like there’s the wrong kind of emphasis on wanted. She carelessly drops the brown bag onto the sofa and crosses her arms over her chest again. She leans back against the wall beside the door, completely ignoring Austin’s widespread, welcoming arms. Dodging his stare, she looks at the linoleum between them and quietly asks, “So, how’s your day going?”

  “Oh, you know, same ol’, same ol’.” Harper sees the tips of his boots come into view as he takes a step toward her. He crouches, attempting to look her in the eye as he gently asks, “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know, Austin. Is it?” Harper snaps.

  “I’m asking you,” he counters slowly, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion and worry. “What’s going on?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I would, if I knew.”

  “So, you aren’t aware you just talked to Liam? Or that you told him that he did the right thing? You aren’t aware you just outright lied to me?” Harper asks bluntly, leveling her stare on Austin, as he pales and staggers out of his crouch
. Before he can get to her, she says, “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” and walks out of the break room, slamming the door shut behind her.

  Austin goes after her as quickly as he can, but his smoker’s lungs can’t keep up with her runner’s legs in the cold winter air, and he loses her before he even makes it off the yard. Shaking his head and cursing to himself the whole way, Austin half runs, half walks the half mile from the lumberyard to the deli, only to find she’s nowhere in sight. He’s terrified he’s lost her in more ways than one.

  Through the dense lunch crowd, he spots Kevin, standing out like an awkward lighthouse overlooking the sea of customers—his lanky frame reaches even higher than Austin’s.

  “Is Harp here?” he shouts at Kevin, hurriedly pushing past patrons and leaning over the cold case. Kevin, overwhelmed and undermanned, doesn’t even register Austin’s question, let alone his presence. With a heavy exhale, Austin reaches out and snatches Kevin’s hairnet, gaining his notice. “Carter, I asked you a question.”

  “Sorry, um, what’s—what’s up?” Kevin asks with a stammer, nervously handing Austin his undivided attention as the customer beside Austin sighs dramatically. “Sorry, ma’am,” Kevin mutters to the older woman. His gaze darts back and forth between her and Austin—the latter being much larger and more threatening, and thus, who Kevin aims to tend to more urgently. “Just one second.”

  “Is Harper here?” Austin asks again, less of a shout this time and more of a whimper. “I need to find her.”

  “I don’t know if—”

  “She’s not here, Austin,” Hilary says brusquely as she appears, blocking the doorway to the back of the shop with her meat cleaver prominently displayed in her hand. “Haven’t seen her all day.”

  Hilary isn’t fooling him, but Austin knows better than to tussle with Mrs. Reed, particularly when she has a cleaver in her hand. Though Hilary seems like the world’s friendliest woman, with her Christmas sweater, silvery hair, and smile lines—a modern Mrs. Claus, really—he’s well aware of the fiery temper and fierce protectiveness that lingers within her, constantly at the ready. “Well, if you do see her,” he says loudly, hoping Harper can hear him over the crowd from wherever she’s hiding in the shop, “please let her know that I’m sorry. Incredibly sorry. Beyond sorry.” Hilary’s face remains impassive, as he says this, and he knows when to quit. “Okay. I’ll just—I’ll be going then. But please tell her.” Defeated, he nods at Hilary, who nods in return, and drops Kevin’s hairnet atop the cold case, before sulking out the door and out onto Main Street.