Free Second Chances by Abbie Williams Page B

cupping the back of my head with one hand to tip it where he wanted. The soft sound of a bedroom door being opened in a different part of the trailer was the only thing that brought me to my senses; when I pulled back, shaken, his eyes were dark and hooded with desire. But he grinned again, letting me step back, and whispered, “Soon.”
    I turned just as Christy came back into the living room, clad in a pink sweat suit, rubbing lotion into her hands. She’d snapped a rubber band around her bountiful curly hair. If she suspected we’d been making out like teenagers, she hid it well as she breezed through to the kitchen asking, “Joelle, would you like a drink?”
    â€œGo, relax a bit,” Blythe said, rubbing my back again with a gentle hand; he was so fond of doing that, and it calmed the fire in my stomach. “I’ll grab your stuff, sweetheart.”
    â€œThanks,” I told him, standing on my extreme tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his lips. Fortunately I’d thought to retrieve my bag before we’d left the Arrowhead parking lot.
    Moments later I was seated at the table with the fringed cloth, uncertain, though Christy was friendly as she hustled around the space, clinking ice into tumblers and pouring us each a rum and coke. She topped these with lime wedges and slid one in front of me as Bly appeared in the archway and leaned one shoulder on the side. A smile tipped up the right side of his incredible lips.
    â€œJunior, we’ll be just fine,” his mother insisted, curling one leg under herself as she took her own seat.
    â€œI know,” he said, his deep voice soft. “I’ll be back bright and early.”
    â€œSee you in the morning,” I told him, keeping my voice as neutral as possible; his smile widened ever so slightly, and he came fully into the kitchen and reached to take a strand of my loose hair between his fingers. He rubbed it gently, like some men might rub silk or even gold.
    â€œâ€˜Night,” he murmured, and then Christy rose and gave him a quick squeeze. I watched him, my insides humming with equal parts yearning and tenderness. The truth was, he understood something that Jackson never fully had.
    That something was me.

    After his truck had fired to life and driven away, I faced Christy at the table. She regarded me with a frankness that was disconcerting, spinning her drink in circles between her palms. Now that I had her attention, I was floundering. She didn’t strike me as a judgmental person, but still; I was closer to her own age than her son’s, and the thought made me squirm internally, though outwardly I sipped my drink with moderate composure and made small talk with her for a few minutes. Finally she said, “I remember what fun you and your sister had that summer I stayed with Mom and Rich.” She lifted her drink for a long swallow, before continuing, “What a pretty place you guys had up there, the restaurant on the lake. I loved it. I think I spent half the summer lying on that beach.”
    â€œIt is great,” I agreed. “I love it there too.”
    â€œI was so happy that Bly got hired up there, and had a chance to move away from this place. Rich looks out for him so much, and he’s not even his real grandpa. But that’s why Mom loved him so much.” She paused for another sip, and then said, “Bly is a good boy. He’s always worried about me first, even when I didn’t deserve it. Too damn bad his dad wasn’t the same way.”
    â€œWhere is Blythe’s dad?” I asked her, but she needed little prompting, launching into the story with a sense of unburdening herself.
    â€œWe met in high school, but we didn’t date until a few years later. We were together for about a year, while I worked at the bowling alley and he was in the National Guard. We never got married, but after I got pregnant I thought we finally would. I found out at Halloween. I