21. Tilly

Chapter twenty-one

Tilly

I wake the next morning very early. The sun is just barely peeking over the snow-covered mountains outside the windows. The view is gorgeous, and I can truly appreciate the majesty of mountain living—so long as we're inside away from the cold. Not a snow bunny. Not now. Not ever. Tommy is still snoring, his face frozen in a peaceful, satisfied expression. I kiss his nose and sneak out of bed.

After his performance last night, there's no way I'm interrupting his sleep.

My first stop is the bathroom. After relieving myself, I gather up the blanket we left on the floor, then the towels from the bedroom, and go looking for the laundry room.

I find it connected to the garage and start the load. Just as I come back out, Henrietta emerges from her bedroom.

"Oh, good morning, baby. How'd you sleep?" Henrietta asks, going straight to the coffee pot.

"Like a dream," I say, trying not to picture naked Tommy from the night before.

"I'll bet. I thought someone was breaking in. Maybe next time, shut the door? Tends to muffle things."

Oh. My. God.

Is my face melting off? I literally touch it and feel the heat on my cheeks. She heard us? Just kill me now. But Henrietta doesn't seem to be the least bit upset about it. She's at the coffee machine, watching it drip into the waiting pot while humming a happy tune.

"Ma!" Tommy has come out of the hall, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Henrietta is waving him off, not in the least bit concerned that her son was having sex with me. "Oh, please. Passion makes us human. Don't apologize for that. What would you two like for breakfast?"

I'm still fighting the blush from her blunt comment about our ‘passion,' but I clear my throat. "I actually thought we could cook for you."

Henrietta crosses her arms, her eyes on me like I just told her I'm selling oceanfront property in Kansas for a steal. "And what will you make? Because I know my son is useless in the kitchen."

The coffee pot beeps, and Tommy goes over to it. He fills three mugs and distributes them onto the giant island where we're sitting. I really love this house. The kitchen is my favorite room so far, with the brilliant white countertops and modern stainless-steel appliances. It's rich but also functional. The perfect kitchen. Or maybe it's the second favorite because the bedroom where Tommy made me so deliciously sore last night is definitely top of the list. As he hands the mug to his mom, he kisses her cheek. "Tilly makes a mean French toast."

"She's cooked for you?" Henrietta tilts her head, a smile on her lips.

"A few times." He gives me a look so full of affection that I have to avert my gaze. I didn't realize that cooking was such a big deal to him. But after meeting his mom, I get it. That's how she shows she cares.

"All right then. You have the kitchen. I'll just putz around." She leaves the kitchen as Tommy starts pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry.

As we cook together, I take every opportunity to touch Tommy. I need to know that nothing's changed. Need to feel him lean into my body, to hear him say he loves me again and again. He is still shirtless, and my favorite thing is quickly becoming his abs. They're practically stacked on top of each other. It's like a ladder of sexiness that I'm ready to climb again and again. It's not that I haven't seen them before, but they're mine now, and I seriously love how they feel. Licking, touching, biting, I'll take anything he'll give; I'm not picky. Since his mom is in the room, I have to settle for grazing my fingertips down them every chance I get.

"You better stop that, or this is gonna burn," his voice has the growl in it that gives my body all sorts of inappropriate ideas.

I put my hands on his shoulders and lean over to his ear. "Then take it off. Now." Repeating his words from the night before has the intended effect. I watch as the tips of his ears redden.

"You're such a tease," he says in a breathy whisper. I tilt my head up and capture his lips in a long kiss. Before long, his hands are exploring my body, the two of us growing more tangled up even with the spatula still in his hand.

Henrietta cuts us off with a loud throat clear. "I do draw the line at ruining breakfast, kiddos."

Tommy pulls away but keeps his eyes trained on me. "Sorry, Ma." He places a peck on my nose, then flips the final piece of French toast onto a plate. With Tommy's helpful directions, I find more plates and set the table. Before long, we're all sitting down, with Henrietta dumping syrup on her plate before taking a bite.

Though I'm not typically an insecure person, I can't help watching for her reaction. For some reason, I want to impress Tommy's mom. She squints as she chews, then reaches for a napkin to dab at her lips. "Nutmeg and… cloves?" she asks. I nod, almost too eagerly. A broad grin breaks out on Henrietta's face. "Imagine adding a little pumpkin puree to this. It would transform into a fabulous pumpkin French toast."

I beam at her across the table, my fork poised in her direction. "Yes! Exactly!"

Henrietta is clearly pleased, and I feel pride sweep through me. "You might just have the makings of a chef, baby," Henrietta says.

Tommy's fork clatters to the plate as he puts both hands on his head. "Ma, don't call her that, Jesus."

But I smile, placing a reassuring hand on Tommy's knee. "No, I love it. It's like being that girl in Dirty Dancing."

Tommy shakes his head like he can't believe I just said that. "That girl hated being called Baby!"

"Okay, but she also got to dance with Patrick Swayze, so I'll take it."

Laughter comes from both Tommy and his mom. For a while, we enjoy the breakfast and the company in pleasant silence. Everyone is too busy chewing to say much else.

When we finish, Tommy starts to clear the table, but Henrietta waves him off. "No way. You guys cooked, I'll clean up. Just a heads up, I've got some errands to run afterward. You'll have the place to yourselves until after lunch."

Her wink sends a flush of warmth through me. Everything about her is so welcoming. It's a complete flip from the distant, often formal interactions I've had with other parents of my boyfriends in the past.

Wait. Boyfriend. Is that what Tommy is?

The term swirls in my mind, settling with a delightful fit. It's a title I decide to embrace wholeheartedly, especially now. As Henrietta busies herself with the dishes, Tommy hunts down a charger for my phone, which had been dead since the night before. I'm anxious to check on Sam. She's still a few weeks from her due date, but I know these things tend to happen on their own timeline. Once the phone is plugged in and begins to charge, I settle in to wait for it to power up.

A knock at the door pulls Tommy away, and he calls out to his mom, "You expecting deliveries, Ma?"

She confirms she isn't, but Tommy opens the door regardless. At that moment, my phone springs to life, inundated with a barrage of dings. Text after text floods in from Miranda. Reading the first message sends a jolt of panic through me, halting my heart mid-beat.

Then there's shouting at the door, and I'm on my feet in an instant, darting over. Keaton and his goons stand there, menacing as ever.

"You leave her the fuck alone. You hear me! Do this again, and I'll kill you myself!" Tommy's face is a storm of fury, a crumpled manila envelope held tightly in his fist.

I shove myself in front of him, pressing against his chest. Though I have no idea what's happening, Tommy really can't say things like that to my family. They take even the smallest of threats seriously, and that wasn't exactly small. "Tommy, don't."

Henrietta appears, drying her hands with a towel, bewildered. "What in the world is going on?"

As she grasps the situation, she nudges past me and Tommy, confronting the trio head-on. "Is there a problem?"

"If she doesn't leave, this house burns," Keaton sneers, spitting on the porch before they all turn to leave, throwing dangerous looks over their shoulders as they saunter back to a waiting car.

Steam is practically pouring from Tommy's beet red ears. Both fists are clenched at his sides, his shoulders scrunched up like he's already rearing to let loose a fury of punches. "Let me go, Tilly. I'm going to rip them in half!"

But then Henrietta spins, her eyes ablaze. "Thomas Hillcrest, you will get in the house, or so help me…"

Tommy whirls around, stomping inside to collapse on the couch, hands clutching his temples, the envelope still in his grip. He's mumbling to himself, and I hear words like ‘stab' and ‘death.' Oof. He's never been so pissed off before. Ever. Not when Greg pushed him. Not when he's lost tournaments, or when his car was stolen.

Henrietta locks the door and hurries over. "Give it to me."

Tommy shakes his head.

"Thomas Jonah Hillcrest, I need to know what's going on, right this minute."

He leaps up, shaking, his eyes wild as he shakes the now crumpled envelope in his fist. "They… they took photos from last night—"

That's all I need to hear. Without saying anything, I snatch the envelope from him, ripping it open. Inside, a grainy black-and-white photo of me, naked on top of Tommy. There are some tree leaves in the corner, leaving no doubt that they were watching from the window. A fucking picture. My head tilted back, my mouth parted in ecstasy as I straddled Tommy naked on the bed. His mouth on one of my breasts. My face goes white as I sit back down. It's so over the line that I don't even know how to feel. My own goddamn cousins watched the most intimate moment of my life.

Without a word, Henrietta whips the picture from my trembling hand and tosses it into the fireplace, igniting the flames in a whoosh.

"Who were they?" Her question hangs in the air, but I'm the one to answer. "My cousins."

She recoils, and I can feel her judgment. "I'm sorry, Henrietta. I'm going to head home this afternoon, and they'll leave you alone."

Tommy's shaking his head. "That night you came to Sam's. They trashed your apartment, didn't they?" I nod, unable to meet his gaze. He sighs, and I can see how his entire body has tensed up at the confirmation. "You know, Greg gave me a business card for a friend. Maybe I should give him a call."

"A friend in the FBI?" I ask, half afraid of the answer.

Tommy shrugs. "DEA. He said there was a case against your family."

My heart races at the thought, and I struggle to get any coherent words out. Hell, I can hardly think clearly. The DEA? That's… that's amazing! If they somehow manage to lock down the evil hellions that are considered my blood, I might have freedom I've never dreamed of before. Freedom to be who I want. To go where I want. To actually live without looking over my shoulder.

Henrietta stands abruptly and leaves the room without a word.

"Where's she going?" I ask, confused.

Tommy manages a weak laugh as he rubs a palm down his face. "My mom's a fixer, Til. She's probably trying to figure something out."

"Are you okay?" My concern is genuine as I watch him, defeated, slump over his knees.

"No. I'm pissed as hell. What about you?"

"I've been dealing with this all my life. I thought my dad was bad, but he never did anything like this." As the words leave my mouth, I can't help but reconsider my father's actions. Sure, he was far from perfect, but compared to my aunt's recent escalations, he seems almost tame.

He meets my eyes, and I can see the swirls of emotions reflecting at me. With his hair sticking up from sleep and running his hands through it, he looks a mess. "Will they actually do it?"

"Yeah." The word is heavy on my tongue. I've seen what my family is capable of in the past, like what happened to Grayson's wife. I know things weren't perfect between Grayson and Suzanne, but the family intervened, and we never saw Suzanne again. Grayson is convinced she's only missing, scared away, but I wouldn't put it past my family to kill. In fact, I know they're capable. Whispers and murmurs here and there. Enemies disappearing, opposing business owners in suspicious car crashes. Yes. If they say they'll burn this house down, they will.

Henrietta re-enters the room, determination in her stride. "I've canceled my errands for this afternoon and our dinner with Dylan."

I turn to her, my gaze apologetic. She doesn't deserve all this. Not at all. "Please don't. I'm leaving, and they won't bother you anymore."

She looks from me to Tommy, her expression hard as she gestures to me. "And you're allowing this?"

"Ma, I don't control her!" Tommy yells back.

My phone rings, cutting through the tension. It's my sister. "Hello?"

"Oh Tilly, thank God." Her voice is breathless, panicked. "Tia is livid. You're supposed to be with us in thirty minutes."

"For what?" My confusion grows with each word.

"Investor meeting."

"Andy, you cannot be serious."

"Of course, I'm serious! Last night was just the beginning, Tilly. It's only going to get worse." I know that she's right. Based on the few interactions I've had since arriving yesterday—holy shit, that seems like so long ago—things won't get better before they get worse. "I've held them off. Told them you were breaking up with him." She says it like he's the entire reason I'm in this position. "You can't keep hiding at his mom's."

"I'm going home."

Her sigh is heavy, and I know she's rubbing her temple. "You really can't. This isn't going to work like it used to."

I square my shoulders. "I am. They can't do this shit to me anymore."

"Tilly! You're not listening to me. Things are different now. Tia is hell-bent on bringing you on board. You really don't get it. You not working with us, it's threatening to her. Like you'll go throw us all under the bus."

I'm quiet. Not because I want to turn my family in, but because of what Tommy said. Even if I did want to, I don't know anything to help. I've never been involved with the family business. "It wouldn't be the worst thing…" I trail off, hoping to gauge her reaction.

"I'm coming over."

Her tone leaves no room for argument. "Fine. Do you have the address?"

She laughs, but it sounds hollow rather than amused. "Yeah, I'll figure it out. You're not good at being sneaky." The call ends, leaving me to ponder what the hell she meant.

"You are not going back to that resort," Tommy says firmly once I hang up.

"I thought you didn't control me?" Our gazes lock, a silent battle of wills. If he thinks I'll change my tune, he's wrong. He must know that. We've been friends for a very long time. Stubborn is basically my middle name.

"If you do, I'm going with you," he says. He might not know that I have no intention of going back, but I really don't want him thinking that he has this kind of control over me. Maybe it's juvenile, but I don't care. My entire life, people have been attempting to sway me, to coerce me, manipulate me into what they want. That's not going to happen anymore. I'm point two seconds from arguing when the doorbell rings, and we both tense. Henrietta, however, doesn't hesitate and strides towards the door.

"Ma," Tommy calls after her, but she doesn't falter. When she opens the door, a towering figure greets us.

The man on the porch must be over six and a half feet tall, his presence commanding, with a bushy beard, bald head, and narrowed eyes.

"Tilly and Tommy, this is Mack, one of my sous chefs," Henrietta says with a smile.

Mack extends a hand, his voice gruff. "Nice to meet you."

I swallow hard, taking in his imposing figure as I shake his rough palm. He towers over Tommy, his physique suggesting either he's a gym rat, or maybe he's simply blessed with muscles that ripple across his body like an armored truck. Every inch of him radiates strength and authority. But it's the intensity in his eyes that draws me in. This guy, good Jesus's mother, he's got dark and broody down. Almost on reflex, a gasp slips my lips and something that sounds almost like ‘hubba hubba.'

I feel Tommy's arm wrap around my waist and realize I've been staring. "Oh, relax," I mutter, but that just makes him tighten his grip. "You're staring at him like he's the last piece of cake."

"Beefcake maybe," I mumble, and Tommy scowls at me. Oh, I like that scowl. Typically, nothing bothers Tommy like this. He's such a goofball. But one innocent scan of the specimen before me and he's doing his best to imitate a guard dog on steroids.

Henrietta closes the door behind Mack, and we all move to the long couch. "Mack learned to cook in the Marines. He was wondering if he could keep you two company."

The clarity of Henrietta's call and her plan suddenly dawns on me, and I'm shaking my head before I can stop myself. "No way. I'm not going around with an overprotective boyfriend and a bodyguard in my shadow." I wince a little at the word "boyfriend." We haven't even discussed labels. But Tommy doesn't seem caught up on the term. Instead, he's focused on another part of my sentence.

"Overprotective? I'm sorry, am I overreacting to your family destroying your home or spying on you and threatening my mother?" He has a point, much as I hate to admit it.

Mack leans forward, a partial grin on his hidden hairy lips. "Miss, I'm just a deterrent. Only here to make them second guess doing anything rash. Usually, when people see me, they tend to rethink things." Mack says it with such confidence that I immediately believe him. Hell, I'm rethinking things, like how I should be more single and take him for a test ride. Of course, that's a ridiculous thought; I have been with Tommy exactly one time and already can't imagine being with anyone else. But hot damn, Mack is a fine specimen.

"Look, my sister is on her way. Let's just all take a breath until we hear what she has to say," I say, frustration seeping into the words.

Mack's expression remains stoic. "I agree. Gather intel, then form a plan."

Sitting awkwardly, his arm going over my shoulder, Tommy breaks the silence. "Uh, thanks for doing this."

"No problem. For Enri, I'd pretty much do anything." Mack's pronunciation of Henrietta's nickname, sounding like 'onery,' fits her perfectly.

Tommy shifts forward, his body tensing beside me. "Are you two…?"

To my surprise, Mack laughs. "She's like a mom to me. To everyone at work, really. No, we're not romantically involved, if that's what you're asking."

I get it completely. In less than a day, I feel so connected to Henrietta that I'd do nearly anything she asked. She oozes maternal affection. For me, for Tommy, and even for the brick house of a man taking up half the couch with his giant body.

Then there's a knock at the door, and Mack heads over to open it. I brace myself, knowing it's my sister Miranda at the door, ready for whatever news she's bringing.