“You’re doing it.”
“What?”
“Being here. Seeing you reminds me they didn’t die for nothing. It’s not much, but it’s all I have.”
I pursed my lips as tears welled in my eyes. We hadn’t made love this morning, but he’d spent a long time holding me. The other guests were approaching. “I should go.” I pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He held me tightly for a moment. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he murmured before letting me go.
Swallowing hard, I stepped out of his embrace and entered the clubhouse. The weight in the pit of my stomach grew heavier, and I paused just inside the door, debating if I should stay or go. I was still arguing with myself when the door opened, and the group that had been walking up entered with Colt on their heels. He took my hand, smiled softly at me, and slowly towed me deeper into the clubhouse.
“Lucia,” he began as we coasted to a stop in front a beautiful Hispanic woman receiving condolences, “this is Willow Larke. Willow, Lucia Whatt. Lucia is Juice’s wife.”
“Widow,” she corrected softly while holding my gaze. “Thank you for coming,” the woman said, but her voice was cool and her eyes hard.
I could feel tears threatening. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
There was nothing else to say, so we stepped away. “I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered as I struggled to not cry.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he murmured as he put his hand on my hip to pull me into his side. “Don’t act like you have.”
We held back a moment before he urged me closer to the two women. “Ms. Fisher, this is Willow Larke. Willow, this is Fish’s mother and sister…” He paused. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Callie. Callie Steen,” the younger of the two women replied softly.
I could see the family resemblance. Fish’s mother appeared to be in her mid- to late-seventies and was going soft with age, her once dark hair shot through with grey. Callie was probably in her early-fifties, also going grey, but thinner than her mother. I’d figured Fish to be in his early-forties, so he must have been the baby.
“You’re the woman he tried to protect?” the older woman asked softly.
“Yes ma’am. Did protect,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Fisher. I wouldn’t be here except for your son. He died a hero.”
“Please, call me Mary,” the woman said as she nodded her head slowly. “Tom, he was always a good boy, never got into trouble, and always thought of others. I’m glad he… died, doing something important.”
“He saved us all,” Colt whispered.
Mary’s face crinkled with her grief, and tears leaked from my eyes as Colt bent and pulled the woman into a long hug. He was whispering something to her I couldn’t make out, causing her to nod. I looked to Callie as she watched, both of us sniffing and trying desperately not to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Chewing on her bottom lip, Callie nodded but didn’t say anything. Colt released Mary and turned his attention to Callie. “If there’s ever anything we can do for you, if you need anything, you call me,” he said, his voice thick. “Either of you.”
Callie sniffed and wiped her eyes as she gasped. “We will. He talked about you a lot, about how good a friend you were.”
Colt’s face twisted as his eyes became shiny and his lips thinned as he fought for control. “He was my best friend. I’m going to miss him,” he choked out after a long pause. “We all are. He was the best of us.”
Mary sniffed as she nodded slowly. “I’m going to miss him too.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated before Colt nudge me on.
“Ah… fuck,” he growled as he sniffed and wiped furiously at his eyes. “This is so fucking hard.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
As we approached Maddy, my knees became weak. She was staring at me, her hatred clear in her eyes. Of everyone there, Maddy was the person I was dreading meeting the most. Colt’s face was hard, perhaps daring her to make a scene, we stopped in front of Grace’s widow. He didn’t introduce me.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” I whispered.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft but as cold and hard as frozen diamonds.
There was nothing else for me to say, so I nodded and allowed Colt to lead me away.
“I should go,” I murmured when we were away from Maddy. “I’m not welcome here.”
“You can if you want, but I’d like you here, for me.”
I looked down. “I don’t want to create a scene.”
“Don’t worry about her.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” he murmured as he softly touched my face. “It… helps me… you help me. You’ve helped me get through this.”
His words warmed me and I tipped my cheek into his palm as I placed my hand over his. “Then I’ll be right at your side.”
-oOo-
I watched the GPS as Colt and I bounced along in the Larke Oil truck. We were on our way to the drill site so I could pick up the core samples to take back to Houston with me. I glanced at him as he stared, unblinking, out of the windshield.
“You okay?” I asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
He looked at me, a small smile forming on his lips. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About your brothers?”
“Yeah… thinking about the good times.” He reached over and took my hand. “And the gift they gave me.”
I squeezed his hand. Yesterday were the funerals, and last night he’d taken me three times in quick succession. He seemed to crave my touch and we’d gone to bed early. After our first time, I’d snuggled in his arms as I tried to comfort him with my touch. After a long moment, as I was beginning to drift into sleep, he’d wanted me again.
Our second time had been the single most intense sexual experience of my life. As he began to peak, he’d reared up on his strong arms, his muscles taut, wailing loudly each time he thrust his manhood into me and held himself deep for a long moment, before slowly pulling back to again ram himself deep with another loud cry of pleasure. Watching him engage in battle with himself, fighting against his pain and grief while making love to me, had touched me deeply. He was like a mythical hero, and I was his weapon. His face twisted and eyes crushed closed, he’d fought his demons, baying his pleasure and effort to the room as he took me. When he’d cried out his final time and collapsed over me, I held him tight as he shivered and jerked, his hands flexing convulsively under my shoulders. His quiet gasps and occasionally bouts of twitching made me believe he’d silently wept into my neck as he held me. Even in his grief, he was thinking of me by supporting most of his weight so I wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Sensing the pain he was carrying inside himself caused me to weep my own silent tears. He was so strong, taking the blame on his shoulders while resolutely refusing to lay fault at my feet for the death of his brothers, while also trying to help his brothers’ families deal with their loss. There was little I could do but hold this amazing man for as long as he needed me to and try to lend him what strength I could.
Finally, after many long moments of us holding each other, he began taking me again, gasping and moaning as he plunged into me in a slow, pleasurable rhythm. I hadn’t come with him the second time, but that in no way diminished the experience. He seemed to need me, to desperately need me, and I was thankful I could give myself to him. After many long moments, I whimpered softly as another orgasm swept through me, and some time after that, the night had ended with him moaning softly as he again spilled into me while holding me incredibly tight.