Chapter 17 - Lowyn

OK. He's got me. I knew there was more to Collin Creed than the man he was showing me this past week. I could sense it. I mean, how does a teenage boy kill someone, disappear for twelve years, and then show back up as the same person he was when he left?

That's not how it works. And I knew this.

Should I be afraid of his truth? Of what he's been up to all these years?

Probably. Not in the strictest sense of the word, but I'm almost a hundred percent sure that I don't want to know what he's been up to.

And if he was simply… I dunno, shopping for a gun, or talking about his business, or reliving old times with Amon about the military—or whatever it was they were in—I'd gladly walk away from that and just let him do his thing.

But this isn't about him, it's about us.

And not in the old us kind of way, either. This is about the new us. Grown-up us. It's about how we're going to be intimate with each other, and that? Yes. That I want to know.

He wants to tease me. I'm not even sure what that means. But I do understand what it doesn't mean. We will not be getting naked and jumping into bed. This is not a direct route to an orgasm.

It's a long and winding road to something that I can only describe as worth the wait.

He's on his knees with his mouth practically on my stomach, lookin' up at me with those eyes of his. Waiting, patiently, for my answer. My jeans are stuck around my hips, his hands are holding my thighs, and I'm already tingling inside and we haven't even gotten started.

So I say, "Yes. I would like you to tease me, Collin."

And this makes him smile all the way up to his eyes. He tugs my jeans down to my knees and places his mouth on my stomach—still looking at me. Then he begins to drag his tongue down between my legs.

I still have my hands in his hair. And I'm caught in whatever spell this is because I cannot stop watching him. I cannot help but imagine what it's gonna feel like when his tongue runs out of stomach, which it does pretty quick. He angles his head up so his chin is right between my legs. Touching me right where I want to be touched.

But then he stops and goes still.

I close my eyes and let out a breath. Willing him to keep going.

He doesn't. He's not going to. This is his game and he's gonna make me play it.

Or… say ‘No, thank you,' I guess.

"You know what to do next, Lowyn. So do it."

Again, I don't know him. I think I do because he feels so familiar. But it's an illusion. Something held on to from long-ago days.

It could take weeks, or months, or, hell, even years to tease out the real Collin. He's got his guard down tonight, though. He had a stressful day and then had a couple too many to drink. And that's probably why he's giving me something real like this.

And I don't want to wait weeks, or months, or years. I don't even want to wait hours. I want a crash course in him right now. So I angle my hips forward until I can feel the pressure of his chin. I bite my lip, wondering if I'm really gonna do this. Am I really gonna grind against his face and get myself off? Because that's what he's set up here. That's what he wants me to do.

"Come on, Low." He's encouraging me now. Maybe thinking I might lose my nerve.

And maybe I might. So I like his encouragement. Because I do want to keep going.

So I move my hips again.

"Yeah. Like that, Low. You got it." And this time, when he talks, he adds a little bit of pressure to my motion—pushing forward and driving me wild.

I'm breathing fast now. Biting my lip and closing my eyes, getting excited just thinking about what's happening in my bedroom. There's a really big part of me that wants to stop this. But that's because it's kind of embarrassing. Not because I don't want to follow through.

And I don't like making decisions just based on emotion. Though I'm not sure my argument holds, seeing as my payout here is nothing but emotion.

Still, I grip his hair tighter and continue to move my hips. The tender skin of my inner thighs sensitive to the scratchiness of his unshaven jaw.

Collin reaches up with his hands and begins to fondle my breasts and when I open my eyes and look down at him he's staring back at me with the most intense look I've ever seen. Not just on him, but any man.

I'm so close. It won't take much. And it's like he's reading my mind because one hand slips down my stomach and thumb is right between my legs. Putting just a little bit more pressure where I've already got plenty.

I last about five more seconds and then I thrust forward and my whole body goes stiff as the climax flutters through my body in waves.

Collin stands up, his fingers still between my legs, pushing me back onto the bed. But he doesn't ease me back onto the mattress this time, he turns me around, places his hand between my shoulder blades, and presses me forward.

"Stretch out your arms, Lowyn. Stretch them out on the bed in front of you."

Collin's voice is dripping with lust and when I do as he asks, I'm suddenly ready again. He grabs the cuffs of my jeans and drags them the rest of the way down my legs. Then he taps his boot against the inside of my ankle, signaling me to open my legs. I suck in a breath—so fuckin' turned on I can barely stand it—and scoot my feet along the rag rope rug until he leans forward, pressing himself against my ass. He grinds against me a few times, then he eases back and the next time he comes forward, he's inside me.

He starts slow, but his pace quickens when I push back, allowing him to enter me deeper.

Then he's grabbing my hair. A whole fistful of hair. Wrapping it around his hand. Pulling it as he leans forward and fucks me like I am the only woman he's ever gonna have for the rest of his life.

Just a few moments later, he pulls out and comes all over my ass.

There's a moment now when we're just spent and I know he wants to flop over onto the bed. Maybe he's not drunk, but he's definitely buzzing. So I kind of expect him to do that.

But he doesn't.

That's not something Collin Creed would do. He picks up his shirt, or my shirt, or whatever, and cleans me off like the gentleman he usually is. Then he's kicking off his boot, dragging his jeans down his legs, and pushing me over so I'm on my back.

I'm smiling at him when he finds my face with those eyes of him. And I know what he's thinking.

Did I go too far?

But he doesn't say it out loud. He sighs instead. Then kisses me on the lips.

A nice, long I'm-sorry-I-got-weird-there kiss that makes me laugh right into his mouth.

He pulls back a little, also chuckling. "You liked it, didn't you?"

And I just nod.

Because I did.

My doorbell wakes me from a very nice slumber. Not to mention a sexy dream involving the man who's got his arms around me right this very moment.

"What. The fuck. Is that?" The aforementioned man growls this into my neck.

"That, dear Collin, is a costume change."

"What?"

I crack one eye open, find the vintage clock face on my nightstand—squint a little to force it to make sense—and nod. "That's right. When someone rings my doorbell at seven a.m. on a Sunday morning during Revival season, it means a costume change."

"I hate this fuckin' town."

"No, you don't."

"I'm not wearin' a costume today. I've had about enough of the fuckin' Revival."

"Well, you do you, Collin. But…" I push him away and start to get out of bed.

He grabs me back and leans his face into my neck so when he whispers, "Don't leave me," it's right up against my ear.

"I'm not going far, you baby." Which makes him chuckle. "But I need to see what my costume is. I hope it's a pretty dress. It's Easter, after all."

This kinda shakes him out of his hungover stupor. "Shit. I forgot about Easter."

I scoot out of his grip and get out of bed, naked.

I think he kinda forgot I was naked. Not in the logical sense—we were all cuddled up together skin to skin, after all—but in the general sense, because his eyes go big and his smile goes wide.

I let him look all he wants as kind of a consolation prize for leaving him. Then I smirk, pull on a robe, and go downstairs.

Outside my door is an Easter basket, of all things. A giant—like two-feet-wide—Easter basket. And it's filled with packages.

I gaze up, studying the sky, and take note that there's a storm coming. Then I look around, checkin' other porches on the street. There are no houses directly across the street from me because it's just woods that lead down to the river valley proper. But I can see five or six porches in both directions to make my comparison and none of them are showing any signs of an Easter basket. Three of them, however, do have brown paper bags.

Hmm.

I pick up the basket and take it inside. Collin is coming down the stairs wearing his jeans and nothing else. They're not buttoned or zipped so I get a good, long look at that happy trail of his before I shut the door and meet his eyes.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Do you need a coffee, Collin?"

"I feel like I need a cigarette."

This makes me laugh. "Do you smoke?"

"Not really. But I've been known to."

"Would you like one?"

"Do you smoke?" He's squintin' his eyes at me.

"Not really. But I've been known to as well."

He lets out a breath. And I can tell he's moody about the early hour and probably wondering what fresh hell is waitin' for him today. Because it truly does seem like Disciple is trying to piss him off every chance it gets. "What do we do for Easter?"

I blink my eyes at him, mostly due to the change in subject, but also because I'm really not following. "Pardon me?"

He points to the basket I'm holding. "Do I buy you flowers? Candy? Is there a big dinner waitin' at the end of this day?"

I can't help my laugh. It comes out a little bit barky, too. Because he's just too much. "Well, I would not turn down flowers and candy, but it's not necessary. And you know as well as I do that Easter is just a pretend thing around here. So I don't think anyone's gonna have us over for dinner." He looks disappointed, so I hold up a finger. "But, if you would like me to rustle up a spiral ham and a couple of side dishes, I would be more than happy to do that for you."

"I forgot Easter isn't a thing here."

"Have you been celebratin' Easter all these years, Collin?"

"Not specifically celebrating it. I don't go to church, if that's what you're asking. But the mess hall always had a nice spread. And even when we were overseas, someone brought us a fuckin' ham."

"Well, hmmm. It appears that thinking about missing Easter dinner is making you cranky, so I will rectify this. Don't you worry, Collin. You will eat good tonight. Does that make you feel a little better? Can you face the day now?"

He's noncommittal. Just gives me a shrug. "I guess." Then he points at my basket. "What's in there, anyway?"

"I don't know." I heft the large basket up onto the kitchen counter and walk around the other side of it so when Collin comes over, we're facing each other. He looks tired. "Are you hungover?"

"What?" He was studying the basket, but he looks up at me. "No. I mean… I do have a headache. And…" He pauses. "About last night…"

I raise an eyebrow. "What about last night?"

He lets out a breath. Like he's unsure where to go from here. It takes him another five whole seconds to even get the first word out. "When I…" He cranes his head back, massaging his neck with his hand.

"Are you worried what I think about you after the dirty sex, Collin?"

Finally, this man smiles. And it's weird seeing him so uncomfortable, especially about sex. "Maybe a little." He winces. "I might've been a little bit buzzed?"

"Is that your excuse?"

"Do I need an excuse?"

I slowly shake my head. "I'm a grownup, Collin. If I didn't want your face between my legs last night, your face would not have been there."

He nods, looking me straight in the eye. "OK."

"Should we unpack this basket?"

"No. We should probably burn that thing."

"Come on now. It's not gonna be that bad. And it's all so pretty, isn't it?" I reach for the top package. It's a hat box, I already know that. But it's not just any hat box. It's pale yellow with lavender flowers all over it. And the handle is a braided satin cord the color of green apples.

There are at least a dozen packages in this basket and they are all held in place with yellow and white baker's twine, so I get the scissors and cut them all free. Collin takes them out of the basket and places them on the counter.

He's moody about the Revival, and the costumes, and countless other things that come with being a part of this town. But he's caught up in the spell this morning. Not because he wants to be, but because he can't help it.

None of us can.

I know the people over in Bishop probably think their town is pretty special. I mean, really, how charming are those big horses lugging things around town? It's like a twenty-four-seven Heritage Day parade. And I know that the people of Revenant probably think their town is remarkable as well. It's exciting over there. It feels like… life. I don't know how to describe it. Not a constant party. That's too vague. But… more like a Fourth of July picnic that never ends.

But here in Disciple it's all about… the look. And the mood. And a sense that you're part of something bigger. It's just an old-timey feeling. Like you're living in the long-ago ‘better days.' But not in the same way as Bishop, because no one in Disciple has to wake up at five a.m. to milk cows. And not in the same way as Revenant, either, with their marina festival, and their bikers whooping, and hollering, and drinking.

Because we're not crass here. We're kinda classy here. The women are mostly… well, women. Monday through Friday they are raising kids, and doing book club, and cooking dinners. But then every single weekend for nine months out of the year they wear tea dresses and white gloves. Cloche hats with satin ribbons and felt flowers on them. They play cards, and gossip, and prop up the script doing fun things like fainting and fanning themselves.

And the men are mostly just men. Hard workers during the week, doing jobs like everyone else, some more important than others. But on the weekends, they are doing something extraordinary that's not only fun, most of the time, but earns them enough to dream bigger and make plans for a better future at the end of every year. They wear their fancy suits and bowler hats. And their kids dress up like papergirls and boys, and sing in the choir, and practice good manners as they learn their place in our community.

If Revenant is a Fourth of July picnic and Bishop is a Heritage Day parade—then Disciple is a garden party. A lovely, pastel-perfect garden party.

And never is there a time, all through the year, when this feeling is more tangible than on Easter Sunday.

The package underneath the hat box is wrapped in thick brown paper and held together with more baker's twine. Collin's name is written across the front in neat calligraphy. "Yours, good sir." I smile, starting a pile for him.

There are ten more packages, all wrapped up in either pretty pastel paper for me or brown paper for Collin.

When that's done, and I look up, I find him smiling. "Is your mood improved?"

He lets out a sigh. "I was thinking back. When I was like… eight, or something. Olive wasn't born yet. And we got a basket like this for opening day. I don't know what it was about, but I got a new suit." He squints his eyes at me. "You know what's funny?"

"Tell me."

"I remember you that day."

"Hmm. That was my second year in the children's choir and I had been given a solo on Easter Sunday. I sang?—"

"‘Rise and Shine.' You sang ‘Rise and Shine.'"

"I did." I giggle a little. "I was lookin' right at you on the stage that day. Your suit was gray. With a cream shirt and tan waistcoat."

"Yeah." He kinda laughs this word out.

"And usually you just wore navy blue."

Collin nods. "I hated those fuckin' suits." But he's not upset. He's actually smiling pretty big. Then he lets out a breath. "All right. I get it. It's special. Let's just... play along, I guess."

I bring my hands up like I'm praying and clap them together. Then we open our packages.

They are all clothes. A dress for me and a suit for him. I've been given a gorgeous, drop-waist silk flapper dress in the prettiest peach color. Glass beads everywhere giving it the kind of heft I just die for because of how it will fall just so over my curves. It's sleeveless and it's got an art deco motif, a deep v-neck, and a handkerchief hem.

There's a capelet too. All fussed up in tiny sun-colored glass beads and silver pearls. It's very short, just barely enough to cover my shoulders. But with the dress, it's just perfect. The lariat necklace is a double string of gold pearls that are so heavy, I swear, they might be real. I slip it over my head immediately. The two strings come together at my waist where a bronze clasp holds them together, then a single loop descends from there, dropping nearly to my thighs.

I even got a matching bag. More beads, more art deco motifs—stars and a starburst. Not to mention a dainty chain to balance it on my shoulder.

My breath comes out in a rush as I stare down at everything, wondering what part I'm playing today that they have given me such an outfit.

"Wow." Even Collin seems impressed. "You're gonna look good in that, Low."

I smile at him, shrugging my shoulders up a little with excitement. "I am. What'd they give you?"

He pulls out the various pieces of a three-piece suit in a light brown color. Not wool, this time, but linen. There's a peach tie that matches my dress, plus cufflinks and a pocket watch on a long gold chain.

"That's nice, Col. And it looks a little more fitted than the last one."

"Yeah. It does." He looks at me and squints his eyes. "They're letting me look nice? Why, do you think? What do they have planned?"

"Let's see." I dig through the basket. "Is there a script in here?" There's an envelope with both our names on it. I pull it out and hand it to Collin.

He takes the envelope, opens it, but it's just a card. Like a postcard.

"What's it say, Collin?"

"It just says, ‘Welcome to Revival, Season Nine: The Prodigal Son Returns. Have a nice day.'" He puts the card down and looks at me. Unsure what to think.

"Maybe they just want us to have a nice day?"

"That's funny."

"Well, here's the bright side. There's no new script."

"I didn't even read the old one."

"Well, I did. They didn't give us any lines."

"OK. So what are we supposed to do? I mean, I know what I'm doing. I'm standing at the north gate with the dog."

"And I'm sitting in the pew fanning myself, waiting for my cue to faint."

We both laugh. Then Collin says, "This is stupid."

"I don't know. If we don't have any lines, maybe we really are just supposed to have a nice day."

"I think it's more likely that they didn't give us any lines because I am not about to follow the script. So what they did is give Rosie Harlow lines. Or fuckin' Grimm lines. Or whoever. So they can nudge and prod the story along without our participation."

I take a step towards him, closing the little bit of space between us, and drape my arms over his shoulders, clasping my hands behind his neck. Then I lean up and kiss him. He kisses me back and while we're doing that I whisper, "I had fun last night."

This makes him smile. "So did I."

"I would like to put it on record that we can do that again any time you want."

He laughs a little. "Noted."