Chapter 98 Chapter~98~Almost paradise.

Chapter 98 Chapter~98~Almost paradise.
Nick~

There's not much left of the pie, so I spoon the leftovers into a Tupperware and put them in the fridge. Harley and I rinsed the dishes, put them in the washer, and cleaned up our mess. It's hovering around midnight when we strip on the back porch.

Then I flip the indoor switch and throw juice to the jacuzzi. Spa lights glow under its cover, and the hum of the jets vibrates through the deck, beckoning us. We step out into the night and cross to another platform to reach the hot tub.

A strong whiff of the cowboy cologne shrubs growing around the lake wafts past as I lift the cover. My parents must have been here recently; there are still towels inside the warmer.

Harley's body glows in the moonlight, but her growing breasts and belly took the spotlight for me. Goosebumps are forming on her arms, so I lead her down the steps and into the bubbling water.

We settled on the wrap-around bench, and my arm went to rest on the side behind her. The velvet sky was thick with stars, each a sharp prick of light against the night.

Beside me, Harley shifted, her damp skin warm where it pressed against me. My heart is a sporadic rhythmic thrum echoing against her temple.

"What was it like coming here with your family?" she asked, her voice a soft vibration against my ribs.

"Not nearly as pleasurable as this." I traced the curve of her shoulder beneath the surface, the water heavy and warm against our skin. "But we had our moments. It was normal for us; neither of us boys realized how privileged we were."

"Maybe we can all come here together sometime," she mused, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest under the water. "I never had the 'big family' trip growing up, but I want that for Etta."

My gut twisted, and my skin crawled. I've never allowed the world I created and the one I left behind to collide, even in thought. "Perhaps," I managed, the word sticking like grit in my throat. "Someday."

Harley pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes searching. "Why are you so hesitant about me meeting them? Do you not believe your family will accept me?"

A dry, hollow laugh escaped my chest. "No, Harley. You will fit in anywhere. I'm the one who'll be the outcast. "

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I've been the family pariah since the day I packed my bags."

"You were a kid, Nick," she countered, her tone shifting toward that stubborn, hopeful logic of hers. "When did you even last speak to them?"

"A year. Give or take a few months."

"Things change, Nick, tempers cool, and mistakes are forgotten. What if you start by telling your parents they're going to be grandparents?"

I'm rescued by a technicality as the air, which had been heavy and humid, suddenly splintered. A sharp wind tore across the yard, bringing the smell of wet slate and sand.

As it hits us like a physical weight, the water's surface cools. Thunder rolls as the lightning flickers, illuminating the horizon in jagged, ultraviolet bursts.

It's time to go. "Come on," I grab the oversized towels out of the warmer and place them on the side deck.

"I'm with you, Wolfman."

Water cascades off us as we rise out, the cold night air biting at our skin. Harley grabs the towels, leaving me to snap the lid onto the tub. Rain begins to plummet instantly, turning the deck into a treacherous path.

Harley clings to the towels while I lift her, sprint-walking across the slick planks. The glass doors screeched across their tracks in a rush behind us as I pulled them closed.

She's panting and shivering at the same time; I take the towels from her hand and wrap one around her and then the other around me.

"Let's get you into some dry clothes," I stop in the living room long enough to grab our bags. "We're going down this hall," I step around her and lead the way.

Dust motes danced in the shafts of the overhead light that cut across my room. 'My room' was a space that now felt like a museum to a former version of myself. The air, smelling of cedar and floor wax, felt stale and hollow.

Our bags went onto the leather recliner, and I led Harley to the bed, where I peeled back the layers of obsidian microfiber and cool cotton. The familiar fabric was heavy yet soft under my palm.

Harley settled onto the side, and I turned back to our luggage on the chair. "What do you want to wear?"

"One of your shirts. And my shorts."

I fished out the clothes and tossed them to her, then pulled on my own boxers. When I turned back, she wasn't looking at me; she was scanning the room.

In my early twenties, I'd been obsessed by the moon and the pull of the water. My mother had found one of my old rolls of film. That's all Ruby needed.

She'd always encouraged my talent behind the lens, as she called it. She'd blown eight of the photos up into massive, framed glossies that now dominated the room.

Other than the matte, battleship-grey paint, my room was a study in shadows. Midnight drapes, charcoal towels, and even a deep, ink-stained, black rug covered the hardwood.

"These prints are incredible, Nick," she murmured, her eyes tracing each one. "Did your mother take these?"

"No," I rounded the bed and slid under the sheets, "Yours truly, a lifetime ago."

She focused on a shot of a full moon casting jagged beams on a rough tide. The frame had cost me hundreds of ruined exposures and a night of soaked boots to get. "You like them?"

"Yes, I do. You're talented. Why did you stop?"

A dry, jagged laugh scraped my throat as she tucked herself against me, her head resting above my heart. "Bounty hunting and landscape photography aren't exactly compatible hobbies."

She traced the line of my collarbone, her touch light against my skin. "Maybe not. But you're not chasing anyone anymore."

Outside, the storm continues coming in, and the wind drives sand and source rocks against the windows. A low, rhythmic growl of thunder vibrates the glass before the first heavy drops hit the double panes.

"I haven't given it much thought." I pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead; her skin was soft beneath my lips and smelled faintly of sleep.

"Well, you should." Harley's voice was a playful murmur. She draped a heavy, warm leg over mine, and I began to make my circles for Etta.

Under my palms, the heat of her skin began to yield as the tension dissolved. My rhythm didn't falter until her breathing smoothed out, her exhalations turning into rhythmic puffs against my collarbone.

My girls had the right idea, so I let the darkness pull at me. Before long, I'm burying my face in the citrus-and-clove scent of her hair.