Chapter 7

ChapterSeven

Shiloh

I openthe door of my closet to find a very angry, very naked rancher.

“Who the fuck wrote this?” he asks, stabbing the glossy page of a book.

Oh God, it’s my yearbook? He’s looking at my yearbook?

As if the passive-aggressive conversation with my mother wasn’t enough, now I’m being dragged through a dung pile of embarrassment. I try and snatch the book out of Blaste’s huge hands, but he holds on tight, keeping it from me with very little effort. “Shiloh, who wrote these things?”

“Nobody.”

“Somebody wrote them,” he insists, shaking the book around.

My face grows hot. “Bullies, okay? Just…you know, the kids who peak in high school. A bunch of clichés. It’s fine.”

“It ain’t fine,” he fumes. “I’m fitting to kill somebody.”

“What?”

“Shiloh,” my mother calls through the bedroom door. “Who are you talking to?”

“Myself. Sorry. I’m watching a show on my phone and…yelling at the characters. For making bad decisions.” I bury my face in my hands, before dropping them away. “Sorry, I’ll keep it down.”

“Yes, please,” calls my mother on the way to her own bedroom, shutting the door.

“Keep quiet, please,” I whisper. “Look, I just, like…wasn’t very popular in high school. It’s a weird time for everyone, right?”

Blaste’s expression is murderous. “Explain it to me.”

“I bet you were popular.”

“Bet your ass I was. I wasn’t mean to anybody, though. And stop changing the subject.”

I roll my eyes, feeling a flush consume my cheeks. “It all kind of started in freshman year…” Once again, I try to take the yearbook, but he holds it over his head, hitting the light chain and sending it swinging. “I was never one of the cool kids. I just kept to myself, ate lunch in the library with my two friends who also just wanted to blend in. But…oh God, this is so stupid. One of the popular girls, the dance team captain—her name is Pippa—well, her boyfriend took an interest in me. I didn’t encourage him at all, but he started…” I notice Blaste’s jaw starting to clench. “I’m not telling you the rest until you calm down.”

“This is as calm as I’m going to get.”

“You realize that you call me some of the words written in my yearbook, right?”

His chest shudders up and down. “I will never, ever say those words to you again.”

Emotion impacts me in the chest, heat sneaking in behind my eyelids. “Thanks.”

His chest lifts and falls. “Finish the story.”

I slump sideways against the shelf. “Well, he started following me home, asking me out repeatedly. He got my phone number and started calling me. I always said no. I wasn’t interested. One afternoon, he cornered me in the library and…” I shake my head, not wanting to replay the hideous moment out loud.

“And what, Shiloh?” Blaste growls.

“And, um…” My throat is too dry to swallow. “H-he kissed me and tried to put his hand up my skirt. I was fighting him off, but his girlfriend walked around the corner and misinterpreted what was happening. Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe what was really happening. But anyway, she told everyone I tried to steal her boyfriend. From then on, all the popular kids called me…those names. Slut, whore, homewrecker.”

“What’s his name and where does he live?”

“Blaste, don’t be ridiculous.” I wave my hands. “Zander doesn’t mean anything. He’s just a part of the past I want to forget.”

“Zander,” he spits. “Did he ever corner you again? Did he…ever touch you again?”

I’m already shaking my head. “No. Just bullied me, along with his friends.”

Again, I try to take the yearbook, but he flips the pages a few times, past all of the messages calling me troll or bitch or slut. And he lands on the message that Zander wrote on the final day of senior year, when he grabbed my yearbook in the hallway and scrawled the message before I could stop him.

“Is that his phone number?”

“As if I would ever call it,” I scoff. “It’s just a taunt.”

Blaste slaps the yearbook shut. He turns to pace, but of course there is nowhere to go, so he faces me again. “I’ll never say those words to you again, Shiloh. I’m sorry. You should have told me why they bothered you so much.”

“But it was so much more effective to lock you out of my bedroom until you’d scoured the internet for answers.”

“The inter what?”

“Never mind.”

He drops the yearbook and pulls me up against his chest, planting kisses on my hairline, my cheeks, my forehead. “You’re a sweetheart. A princess. An angel. My sugar. Baby. Those are the only names I’ll ever use.” He holds me so tightly, a tear leaks out of my right eye. “I’m sorry that happened to you. My offer to kill him stands until the end of time.”

“Noted.” He dips his mouth to kiss me, but as much as I want to…talking about the last four years has made me feel kind of heavy. Not to mention, if Blaste kisses me, we’re probably going to have sex and my mother will overhear, since I can’t stop whimpering and moaning when this man is inside of me. “D-do you think we could get out of here.”

He throws a miserable glance down at the yearbook. “Right now, sugar, I will do anything you want to do.” He tucks his tongue into his cheek, looking thoughtful. “Matter of fact, I’ll always do anything you want to do.”

“We’ve come a long way since last night.”

“Seventy-four years.”

A giggle slips out of me. I’ve never been a giggler, but somehow this man has turned me into one. “You know what I mean. Emotionally.”

“I do know what you mean, Shiloh.” He cups my face, stares down into my eyes. “I feel like I could tell you anything in my head and you’d already know it was coming.”

My chest tightens. “I feel safe with you. I feel important.”

With a groan, he scoops me up and backs me into the closet door, rattling it while he uses his tongue on my mouth. “Ah, sugar, you are the most important. And safe as houses, okay? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

I start to wind my thighs around his waist, but my last remaining brain cell stops me. “We should go to the mall. You’re going to need clothes while we figure out if you’re staying here or going back to the past. And if that’s even possible—”

“We, Shiloh.” He bares his teeth against my cheek. “If we’re staying or going back to the past. I’m not making any compromises on that.”

Okay. Now I’m overwhelmed.

Last night, I was so shocked by the appearance of this man from the past, this man who feels like mine, like a long-lost part of me, that I haven’t had time to think about what happens now. But in the light of day, there are decisions to make that can’t be ignored any longer. And if he…we…decide to go back to nineteen forty-nine, is it even possible?

One thing at a time.

“As much as I like you shirtless, you need something to wear out in public. I have one T-shirt that might fit you. And only because Amazon sent me the wrong size…” Blaste is still watching me with an instructible expression, but I scoot past him to retrieve the plain, white shirt off my shelf, shaking it out and presenting it to him. “Here you go.”

Grunting, still staring at me from beneath drawn eyebrows, he tugs the garment over his head, rolling it down his excessive muscle and…

“Unbelievable. It’s double XL and still too tight.”

He saunters toward me, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “You know what else is too tight, sugar—”

“Blaste.”

He hangs his head on a groan. “Fine, let’s go to the fucking mall.”