Tears flow down my face like a raging river, as I sit here wishing that I could absorb this girl’s pain. I wish that I could take it all away from her, and give her brother back to her. With her head resting on my shoulder, her audible sobs tear at my heart. I keep quiet and just let her cry. Cry for the brother she lost. Cry for the pain that suffocates her. Cry for the mere fact that she knows she will never get him back. She will now have to live the rest of her life with only the memories of Trent ingrained into her heart and soul. But we all know, as time goes on, even those memories fade.
Long minutes pass before she continues. “You know, sometimes, I can still feel his arm across my chest using it as a shield to keep me from flying out the window. He protected me. Trent made sure I was the one who was safe. But all I can think about is how I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t keep him safe,” she chokes out, her voice raw and thick with emotion. And with that last statement, my heart crumbles for this little girl even more and what she had to witness and the pain she endures every day because of it.
Throughout the rest of the week, Bailey seemed to open up more and more. She still had her moments, but when she left last night, I caught her giving a John a hug, and she actually smiled at me when she said she’d see me on Monday. As far as Wes and I were concerned, we still tried to sneak in time for ourselves. Innocent touches and stolen kisses passed between us, but nothing like the heated inferno we endured in the tree house or the barn or the truck. When I would pass by him, I would let my fingers gently graze his lower back, the tips of his fingers, or his arm. There was one moment when I was putting a bridle away, and he snuck up behind me and began tenderly kissing my neck. No words needed to be said between the two of us. Our actions and eyes said it all. A couple of times, I thought Mrs. Sandy had caught us. One of those times had been in the laundry room. I actually needed to do laundry. But when Wes came in behind me and locked the door, my plans were thwarted. Just as he was about to sneak out, his mom came around the corner and asked what he was doing. I had to cover my mouth with both hands to stifle my laughter. His answer was ridiculous as he told her he was putting a load of clothes in the wash. The thought alone was absurd, because when he’s home, his mom does his laundry. Mrs. Sandy told me herself. It wasn’t because he wanted her to, but because it was the only thing that he would let her do for him besides feeding him.
Last night, I was beat and ready to go to bed. As I came up the stairs, Wes caught me in the hallway. He said Brantley mentioned how he and some of his old friends were going to ride tomorrow. Everyone was going to have their ATVs and dirt bikes out, riding the trails. Brantley asked if we would come. Wes thought it would be a fun way to unwind and relax since we’ve all been with the kids this past week. With my last riding experience with Wes on the back of a four-wheeler still fresh in my mind, I said hell, yeah.
I’m on the edge of my bed, pulling on my rain boots. The early morning light barely shines into my room. I’m reaching behind my head to gather my hair into a low ponytail when a light knock sounds on my door. Right as I’m about to say come in, the door squeaks open, and there stands my man. Wes. My eyes slowly drink him in as they rake up and down his worn jeans, his fitted, grey, long-sleeved T-shirt, and laced-up riding boots. His blond tresses stand up in that I-just-want-to-yank-it-while-I-do-dirty-things-to-you look. My thighs squeeze shut as I try to contain the sudden urge to do those things to him here and now.
“You look like you have something dirty on your mind?” He wiggles his eyebrows as a devilish smile forms on his face.
“Nope. Not at all,” I answer with a smile of my own.
“Maybe I can change that.” Quietly, Wes enters my room and shuts the door behind him.
“Oh, yeah? And how might you do that?” I ask as he approaches me, like a lion on the prowl, just waiting for the best opportunity to pounce.
His body leans over mine and pushes me into the fluffy mattress. “Like this,” he replies with that deep husky voice. When his soft plump lips connect with my jaw, I turn my head to give him better access to my neck. “Is this working?” The vibration of his voice against me is turning my skin into an inferno.
“Not really. Seems you need to work harder,” I reply breathlessly, as my eyes drift closed.
With that, he thrusts his hips into me and connects with a spot that aches for him. Again and again, he plows forward until I’m panting so hard I can hardly breathe. “What about now? Do you think I still need some work?” he murmurs against the sensitive skin of my neck.