Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"Is this gonna piss me off?" I asked from the backseat of Smith's truck.

My dad was riding shotgun. Which was a five-minute argument I finally ended by climbing into the back and locking the door so they—yes, both of them—would shut up about me sitting in the front. I didn't need to sit in the front. I also didn't need help climbing into the cab of the truck, but they both insisted I did.

It had been twenty-five days. The stitches above my eyebrow had been removed. The bruising on my face had all but gone away, with the exception of a little purple under the eye that had been swollen shut, the laceration on my cheek nothing more than a scab. My busted lip was closed. My vision was fine. My hearing back to normal. The road rash was at the annoying itchy stage that made me want to saw off my leg. The soles of my feet were completely fine. The only thing that still gave me a twinge of pain were my ribs but that was to be expected. The doctor had told me it would be six weeks before they were healed.

But you would still think I was twenty-four hours post-beating, the way they both treated me like I was glass.

The first two weeks, I needed them. It hurt to move. Smith had to help me to the bathroom and he'd had to bathe me. I couldn't stand up long enough to make myself a coffee or pour a bowl of cereal. Smith did everything. He cooked or ordered every meal we ate. My dad cleaned up, he grocery shopped, he stayed with me the three times Smith had begrudgingly gone into work. But in the last eleven days I'd needed them less and less.

Not that either man noticed. Or if they did, they didn't care and still followed me around in preparedness to catch me in case I suddenly lost consciousness.

It was beginning to annoy me.

Then out of the blue after not leaving the house other than to go to a doctor's appointment, suddenly they're taking me on a field trip, whereabouts unknown.

This was suspect. Thus I felt the need to ask if it was going to make me mad.

"Fifty-fifty chance," Smith told me.

"Those are not favorable odds, Sailor."

"Best I got, baby."

I could see my dad's profile, therefore I could see his huge smile.

"Glad you find this amusing, Dad."

"Listening to my girl is always amusing. But listening to her bicker with her man is way more entertaining than I thought it would be."

"He won't be my man much longer if he doesn't stop treating me like an invalid and let me make dinner."

Smith caught my eye in the rearview mirror. He too was smiling. His was smug.

"Now who's making wild threats?"

My cheeks heated and for the first time since my father showed up I wished he wasn't there so I could give Smith the comeback that deserved. But I didn't think my father would appreciate a sex joke coming from his daughter. Not to mention, as it stood my father not only approved of Smith but made his approval known by asking me—in front of Smith—if we'd hold off on a wedding until he was stateside. I reckoned me reminding Smith he'd yet to fulfill his threat to spank me if I didn't stop jerking around in bed with broken ribs wouldn't go over well.

Whatever.

"Fine, spoil me rotten. Do all the cooking and cleaning and dote on me all you like. But you're setting precedence so prepare to be held to the current standard for eternity.

"That's the plan."

I'd had this version of Smith for twenty-five days. The openly sweet version that I wouldn't've thought possible because I fell in love with the brooding, closed-off Smith. But it was true nonetheless that I loved and adored sweet, openly loving Smith. That wasn't to say the first few days after the attack he hadn't shut down, but he hadn't shut me out. My injuries were a horrible reminder of his past, made worse because they were mine. He never hid how helpless he felt that he couldn't take away my pain.

Ten minutes later, I knew where they were taking me.

The Grasonville house.

I sat quietly, searching my feelings. It didn't take long for me to come to the conclusion I didn't have any strong emotions either way. Now, my home, I had strong feelings going back there. Thankfully, neither Smith nor my dad pushed me to go back there. Though Smith did tell me, Zane had a remediation crew go in and clean my house. And Philip had repaired my broken window under Jonas's watchful eye.

I still didn't want to go back to that house.

When I felt well enough to come up with an actual plan, I needed to sort the house, and put it on the market.

But for now I wasn't worried about it.

But my flip, that needed to be dealt with. There was a shitton of work I needed to get done.

"Does this mean Big Boss and Bigger Boss are allowing me to get back to work?" I asked as Smith took the turn onto Cemetery Road.

"That depends," my dad answered.

"On which one of us you're calling Bigger Boss, and which one is Big Boss."

Before I could filter my response I blurted, "Well, I was gonna go with Big Boss and Big Daddy but I thought that might traumatize you. So I settled on Big and Bigger Boss."

"Why—"

"Aria," Smith warned.

"It's like you don't know me," I muttered and smiled out the window.

"Jesus," my dad complained.

My smile got bigger.

I noticed the SUVs lining the street before the house came into view.

"For goodness sakes it looks like an FBI raid if the FBI drove Chaldaics instead of Chevys. Are we having a good riddance to the Sex House of Horror party?"

"Something like that." Smith chuckled.

So far he was on the good side of fifty-fifty when he swung into the driveway.

That quickly changed when it hit me what I was looking at.

New siding, new shutters, new porch, new garage doors, new lighting.

"Smith," I growled.

"Maybe it was more eighty-twenty," my father joked.

"You think?"

Smith put the truck in park but left the engine running when he shifted in his seat and looked over his shoulder at me.

"For too many hours the men and women in that house were terrified for us," he started. "Terrified they'd lose you and terrified if you were gone what that'd do to me. When they told me what they were going to do, I was going to tell them no. But I changed my mind. They needed to do something. They needed to find a way to show you they had your back. They needed to show you, you're family. There was nothing they could do to take away your pain. They can't erase the memory of that fucker. This…" He pointed to the house. "Was the only thing they could do to lessen your load. It's not going to be what you envisioned. It won't be exactly how you wanted it. What it is, is finished and ready for you to put your final touches on it and sell it."

It was too much. Too big of a gesture.

But still I whispered, "It's perfect."

"You haven't seen the inside and Cash was in charge so you might want to reserve?—"

"It's perfect," I repeated.

Though Cash being in charge did give me a twinge of worry, so I asked, "Just so I can prepare, are there mirrors on the ceiling in the master?"

Smith grinned.

Holy shit .

"I was joking," I told him.

"I don't think Cash was when he suggested it. Luckily for you, Kira was second in command and put the kibosh on that."

Thank God for Kira .

I started to open the door. Smith's growl slowed my progress but his warning halted it altogether.

"Don't give a shit your father's in the truck." That wasn't the best opener. "But if you open that door and jump down with broken ribs, that spanking I promised you will happen."

I looked to my dad for help, though I'd take him shooting laser death rays at Smith.

"You're looking at me like you want me to say something," my father rightly surmised, then wrongly guessed what I'd wanted him to say. "I'm sure I've got some foamies somewhere floating around in my bag. Not the same as a headset but it'll dampen the noise enough I won't want to throw up."

"That's not helpful."

"You know what would be?" my dad asked. "You remembering your ribs are broken, and as annoying as it is because you're active, have a mind to those ribs so they'll heal."

"You know," I said conversationally. "As much as I love you both, your overbearing, over-protective act is seriously infuriating."

"Yeah, baby, it's good you love us."

Smith saying it back made me realize what I said. Neither one of us had said the words. I knew he loved me, he showed me a thousand times a day. And I hoped he knew I loved him and not because he was bathing me, feeding me, and babying me. I loved him before the crazy manic kidnapped me.

"And do you guys love me back?"

"Oh, yeah, we love you like fucking crazy."

I didn't stop myself from smiling.

"You know what's even crazier? The two of you hiding behind ‘we' and ‘both' instead of using ‘I'.

My smile turned into a frown.

"Don't ruin my moment, father ."

My dad's laughter filled the cab of the truck. Smith's smile added to the goodness.

And there I sat, my gaze bouncing back and forth between the two men I loved most in life.

One I had all my life, the other I'd have for the rest of my life.

I was stunned into silence.

The house was amazing.

Cash had even found some reclaimed hardwood for the damaged flooring in the fourth bedroom and replaced the rotten planks.

I knew those floors would look stunning sanded and stained. The proof I was right was gleaming under my feet. The new bathroom and closet were amazing. Kira had added built-ins. With the money saved from salvaging the hardwood, she had the funds for it.

Unrepentant, she'd told me she looked through my laptop and found my budget and plans for the house. This of course after she unapologetically told me she cracked my password.

I finished my walkthrough of the upstairs, something I was surprised I'd been allowed to do alone, though Smith had walked me up the stairs and he was standing at the landing waiting for me to go back down.

"Brittney and George are downstairs," he told me. "They were in the area and wanted to come by and see the house. If you don't want them here, I'll go down and handle it."

They weren't ‘just in the area.' I wasn't given the exact timeframe but Smith had told me the police had asked them if they'd come to the station and look at the evidence taken from the house. Smith reported Brittney was freaked. George was pissed. Beyond being angry his ex-best friend had been renting a storage unit in his name, had dating profiles set up using parts of his, had creepy pictures of his sister, had hidden evidence of his many crimes in his childhood home, he too was freaked to learn Billy was crazier than he'd thought. Especially when it came to Stephanie, a girl he knew in high school. A girl he'd told the police Billy was obsessed with. I'd guess he wasn't as freaked out as he was scared yet thankful Billy hadn't turned on his sister, seeing as Billy was also obsessed with Brittney.

"I'm glad they're here."

Smith helped me down the stairs. The house wasn't small but it certainly wasn't designed for entertaining either. Thankfully, there wasn't furniture in the living room, or Cash, Jonas, Zane, Ivy, Kira, my dad, Philip, his two teenage sons, Everette and Dakota who had also helped with the house, Brittney, and George, with the addition of me and Smith would not fit in the room. Lincoln was around here somewhere, or he had been when I went upstairs.

"Hey," I greeted Brittney and George. "What do you think? They did a great job, right?"

Brittney's face crumpled.

Oh hell .

Maybe it wasn't a great idea having the old owners in the house they grew up in after it was totally remodeled.

"It's beautiful," she softly muttered.

"You sure?"

George put his arm around his sister.

"It's great, Aria. We wanted to come by and see it but also we wanted to apologize."

Smith, who was never far, was suddenly pressed close, ready to take my back in the event they said something that brought up bad memories for me.

Yeah, I totally loved him.

"There's nothing for either of you to be sorry about."

"We—"

"Please," I cut off George. "I don't mean to be rude. But I'm being honest when I tell you, you don't need to apologize for what Billy did. He did it. Not either of you. Let's leave it there."

"Right," George grunted.

The devastation Billy fucking Rice wrought was far-reaching. I might've been the last person he attempted to victimize but I wasn't the only one. The list of people he'd harmed was unfortunately long. The brother and sister in front of me only the tip of the iceberg.

The front door opened. Linc walked in, his face like thunder, his blue eyes sparking fire.

Oh, God, what now?

When he cleared the crowd and he fully came into view, I saw them.

"Ugh," I grumbled. "I hate this house." Then I remembered Brittney and George were in the room and quickly added, "No, offense. I just can't take anymore."

Brittney and George exchange looks but it was George who studied Lincoln.

"More?" Smith growled.

Whatever hold I still had on my sanity was coming to an end. I'd told Smith and Zane and the police I didn't think Billy had anything to do with the letters being sent and why.

Billy was dead.

Lincoln held two white envelopes in his hand, proof Billy had told the truth.

"What's going on?" George asked.

"Aria's been getting letters mailed to the house. Every two weeks."

George's brows pulled together. He looked down at his sister and asked, "I thought she stopped."

"No. Dad didn't tell you?"

"What are you two talking about?" Zane cut in.

Smith's arm around my waist tightened. Not tight enough to hurt my ribs but tight enough for me to know he was unhappy.

"The neighbor two doors down. Her and my dad had a feud. This goes back to when we were kids." Brittney stopped to look at her brother. "I think I was about ten or eleven. Anyway, the property line is weird in the backyard. The far corner of the backyard meets with Wallace's next door and Miss Edna's. One summer, Dad got fed up with the birds and squirrels dropping these purple berries on the back porch. They stained the concrete. He also was sick of wasps the bush attracted and got stung at least once a year when he mowed back there. So he cut the bush down." Brittney paused and smiled. "Miss Edna freaked out. Called the police on Dad and everything. She said the bush was on her property and he didn't have permission to cut it down."

George jumped in to add, "When the police wouldn't do anything she called DNR and reported Dad for cutting down a bush on the rare, threatened and endangered plant list. The bush was called a chokeberry bush. Dad offered to plant her one in her front yard but only if she promised to eat it."

"And that started the feud. When she ran out of legal options she resorted to psychological warfare and started sending him letters. One every two weeks. All they said was, ‘I know." Dad figured she knew because he told her he cut down that bush and he told DNR to fine him, but he wasn't getting stung by wasps anymore and he wasn't power washing purple bird shit off his patio."

Brittney smiled and shrugged.

"She's a cantankerous old woman. The one who won't let kids get their footballs from her yard. I bet the old biddy has a dozen footballs and twice as many soccer balls in her garage," George finished the story.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to shout or laugh.

An old lady feud.

Are you fucking kidding me?

All of this started because of a chokeberry bush.

"Explains why the letters stopped when she had her heart attack," Jonas said. "Saw a Ram in her driveway a few weeks back. Man and woman with a couple of kids helping her into the house."

"Oh, no, Miss Edna had a heart attack. What a shame," Brittney said like the woman was her friend and not someone who waged psychological warfare on her family.

Oh, yeah, my head was going to explode.

To stop this from happening I looked at my father and smirked.

"I was right, the letters didn't mean anything."

The room went deathly silent.

My father scowled at me.

Zane grunted.

"Too soon?" I tried to backpedal my poorly landed joke.

"Yeah, way too fucking soon," Smith growled. "And if you're wondering, there will never be a time when it won't be too soon."

Jeez .

"Aye-aye, Sailor."

"Can I please make dinner tonight?"

We'd just walked into Smith's house after our outing. Truth be told, I was exhausted but I hadn't cooked in nearly a month and I wanted to do something for Smith and my dad.

"Not tonight."

This was getting seriously ridiculous.

I felt Smith needed to know this, so after I tossed my purse on the couch, I told him, "This is ridiculous. I can stand at the stove and brown meat for tacos."

"You could, or you could sit with your dad and look at houses while I make tacos."

Seriously, I loved this man, he didn't miss my thinly veiled request for tacos.

"I'm not ready to buy another house. I have to sell the one your friends?—"

" Our friends," he interrupted to correct.

"Okay. I have to sell the house our friends finished before I buy another one. And next time, I'm having Kira crawl up the sellers' behinds so I don't get stuck with a meth lab next."

"Smart," my dad said as he passed by me on his way to the kitchen.

It was strange that it had taken so long for me to notice, but my dad moved around Smith's house like he would mine. He wasn't a guest in Smith's home. He was family. It was a given he was welcome to make himself at home. Something my dad felt comfortable doing.

"We haven't talked about it," Smith began before he led me to sit on the couch.

"Talked about what?"

Instead of Smith sitting next to me, he sat in the chair across from the couch. I didn't have the best feeling about this conversation if it required physical space between us.

"This place. Your house. Where we're gonna live."

Butterflies erupted in my belly.

"Where we're gonna live?" I cautiously asked.

"If you want to move back into your house, I promise I'll try. I know you love it there. But straight up, the last time I was in that house…" he trailed off and shook his head. "I don't know if I can unsee what I saw."

I knew what he saw—the aftermath of me fighting Billy. I didn't have vivid memories of the actual fight or what my house looked like as a result of Billy dragging me out but, boy, I could imagine.

"I don't want to live there," I admitted. "I don't know if I even want to go back there to pack my stuff."

"Then you won't ever go back there."

Of course that was his answer.

Smith would take care of it, and in doing so, take care of me.

"I told you I didn't intend to stay in this place long. I want a backyard big enough I can build an outdoor kitchen and have a firepit. I want a dining room big enough to fit a huge table, and living room big enough that when everyone's over, they're comfortable. That's it, that's all I want, the rest is up to you."

The rest was up to me.

"We're moving in together?"

"Yes."

"Were you going to ask me?"

"Nope."

Bossy Smith was back in the building.

"What if I didn't want to move in with you?"

"Then I'd move in with you."

I couldn't stop my lips from twitching. Which meant the jig was up, he knew I was giving him shit.

"Find a place for us to live, baby."

I could totally do that.

"I love you," I whispered, testing out the words for the first time.

Smith stood, maneuvered around the table, gently cupped my jaw to tilt my head back. When he had my eyes he told me, "Never forget the day I met you. I'll never forget how I felt the first time I held you. Both are burned into my heart. But this, you giving me you, giving me your love, that's branded on my soul." He bent, brushed his lips on mine, then gave me the same gift

"I love you, Aria."

Only mine was better because I heard and felt him say the words against my lips.