Southern Secrets by Natasha Madison

Chapter 5

Asher

I get backinto the truck, and even with the windows open, I smell the smoke. I knew I should have just gone to a motel after I left the barn at three a.m., but instead, I sat on the hood of the truck and watched the empty space where the barn used to sit.

My head spun with regret the whole time. The dark sky was slowly turning a soft pink when I finally got off the truck while my head screamed at me that I needed to stop dwelling and get over it. I walked into the barn, making a mental list of the things I had to do. I wasn’t expecting Quinn to be there or to see Amelia standing there with him. I should have taken Quinn up on his offer to use his place, but I didn’t know how Willow would feel. She just started getting comfortable around me, and I didn’t want to ruin that.

I pull up to Amelia's house and turn off the truck. Her house is a perfect size, and I’ve even thought about buying one like hers. I just didn’t know if I wanted to call this place home. Grabbing the black bag, I get out of the truck, looking toward the front of the house.

I walk up the path past the garden in the front with perfect flowers. I know that this is all Amelia. Unlike her other cousins who love to cook, she is a more get your hands dirty to relax kind of person. Three steps lead me to the blue door, and when I unlock it, the cold air escapes like I just opened the freezer.

I kick off my boots at the front door and place the keys on the hook right beside the light switch. I take a second to look around. I have been in here a total of two times. Both times were with Quinn—one was to move her bed and the other was to help hook up her television on the brick wall to my left.

I walk past the living room and the L- shaped couch facing the brick wall with the television. The living room spills into the dining room, and I know the spare bedrooms are on the right side, and her bedroom is on the left. I feel like I’m intruding on her privacy by being here by myself. I look at the pictures on the wall when I turn toward the spare bedroom. There are three pictures on the wall, one on top of the other.

The top one is a picture of Amelia with her grandfather, her smile huge as she hugs him. I don’t care what he says; she’s his favorite. The middle one is of her with Quinn and Chelsea. The three of them are laughing at something only they understand or some inside joke. Then the last one is of her and Chelsea with her head thrown back laughing. The candid shots look like they were taken not too long ago.

I walk toward the first bedroom and stop in my tracks. This has to be the nicest spare bedroom I’ve seen in my life. Usually, a spare bedroom is just a bed, but not here. A king-size bed fills the room with a cast-iron bed frame. The white cover on the bed looks too nice to even touch. A checkered black-and-white cover is folded at the end of the bed with matching pillows.

Turning, I walk to the next room, which is the bathroom. After dumping the bag on the floor, I push the shower curtain to the side and turn on the water. I strip out of the smoke-soaked clothes and toss them in a pile on the floor.

I step under the hot water and close my eyes, stopping the burning for just a minute. I put my hands on the white tiles on the wall, and when I open my hands, I see that the black is coming off it. The water is turning gray at my feet. I hang my head down, letting the hot water seep into my skin. I spend more time in the shower than I ever have, washing twice to make sure I get the smoke off my skin. When I step out, I grab a white towel and wipe my face to see if anything black comes off.

Opening the black bag, I grab the shorts and slip them on. Walking out of the bathroom, I go back to the bedroom. I think about slipping under the covers, but instead, I walk out and go lie on the couch. It takes me less than thirty seconds to fall asleep.

I hear walking, and my eyes open slowly, and it takes me a minute to figure out where I’m at. Looking to the left, I see the brick wall, and then I hear movement coming from the kitchen. The house is darker, and I look to see that someone has closed the drapes. I sit up and look at Amelia in the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as she can. "Hey," I say, my voice groggy as I get up.

"I’m so sorry. I tried to be quiet," she says. I see that she’s tied her hair up on top of her head, and she’s wearing shorts. "Why are you on the couch?" she asks, reaching into the cupboard to pull out another plate.

I walk past her wooden dining table with two long benches and a vase of fresh roses in the middle. "The bed looked too clean to sleep on," I say and run my hand through my hair.

She stops moving and just looks at me. "What bed?"

I look at her and point toward the bedroom. "The one with the white bedspread and the black-and-white-checkered blanket."

She puts her head back and laughs. "Chelsea threw up on that bed two weeks ago."

"Gross," I say, shaking my head. "Can I get a glass of water?"

"Help yourself," she says. "Cups are there"—she points at a door—"and drinks are in there"—she points at the fridge. "You can also help yourself to some chicken pot pie."

"You cooked?" I ask, going over to the cupboard and pulling it open to grab a glass. I look over at her as she grabs her plate and goes toward the dining room table. I walk over to the stainless-steel fridge and grab the water she has in the glass container. I look around her white kitchen with a big white and gray island. The rustic brown cupboards under the island make it seem like a farmhouse.

"My grandmother has enough food to feed the whole state," she says, sitting down with her back toward me.

I look over and see that it’s just past two. "I slept six hours straight."

"Lucky," she says as she chews. "I got four hours."

"When did you get home?" I ask, grabbing a serving of pie and walking over to the dining room table.

"Quinn kicked me out at eight," she says while I sit down in front of her.

"Quinn?" I ask, surprised.

"My grandmother and grandfather came," she says, and I laugh. "They threatened us all." She rolls her eyes. "Willow got scared that they would ‘die.’" She uses air quotes. I look at her confused. "According to them, they worry about us so much they could die."

I shake my head. "Thank you," I say while I eat, "for feeling sorry for me."

"Oh, I didn’t feel sorry for you. I felt sorry for anyone who had to smell you." She scrunches her nose as she finishes eating. She gets up. "I’m going to go and see if I can get another couple of hours before I go to the bar."

I try not to watch her walk toward the kitchen, but my eyes deceive me, the shorts tight enough to mold to her ass. My cock springs to action, and when she turns around, my eyes fly to my plate as my heart speeds up at being caught by her. It’s not the first time my cock has sprung for her. It’s literally an everyday occurrence at this point, and no matter how many times I tell myself to get over her, my body fights with me.

"I’ll let myself out," I say, raising my head.

"Take your time," she says, walking back to her bedroom and closing the door behind her. I finish my plate and clean up before I walk back to the bedroom and look in the bag. I grab the boxers and then slip on the jeans next with a T-shirt that fits me just a touch too tight. I turn and see that the jeans are tight on my ass. I squat down, hoping to stretch them, but nothing happens.

I grab the bag and stuff my old clothes in my hand. I slip on my boots and softly close the door behind me.

I take my phone out and see that I have a couple of texts checking up on me and another couple of phone calls from Billy and Charlotte. Never in my life have I had someone worry about if I was okay, but this family has taken me in with open arms. Not once have they looked down on me. When I first came into town, I had five dollars left. I was one day away from eating from the dumpster when Ethan not only gave me a job but also gave me shelter.

I toss the bag on the seat and throw the clothes in the garbage can. I get into the truck and make my way back over to the barn. The sun’s shining high, and the heat hits my arms right away.

Parking the truck on the side of the road, I spot Jacob’s sheriff truck at the entrance. I make my way toward the barn, ducking under the yellow tape. Even though I knew there was no barn there, seeing it again in the sunlight makes me stop in my tracks. Knowing that it’s gone and seeing it with my own eyes knocks me on my ass. The lump in my throat grows when I see that everything is dust. Jacob and Ethan both walk around, looking down at the ground around the barn.

Ethan must sense someone is here because he looks up and starts laughing. "What the fuck are you wearing?" he asks, making Jacob look in my direction.

"I borrowed clothes from Quinn," I tell them, walking toward them.

Jacob laughs when I finally stand in front of him. "If you lather yourself in oil, you might pass for one of those calendar boys." I shake my head.

"I’m going to buy clothes after this," I tell them, looking around.

"I can’t believe nothing is left." I walk, stepping on some of the debris, picking up a piece of tin. "When do we start cleanup?"

"We are trying to see if anything here is out of place," Jacob says.

"What are you looking for exactly?" I ask. Getting up, I look around, walking through the ashes.

"Anything you think shouldn’t be here," Ethan says, and I watch as they make their way down different sides. Something white catches my eyes in the grass a couple of feet from where the side of the barn used to be.

Once I get there, I squat down and pick up the white piece and hold it in my hand. "Jacob," I call his name, and they both look at me. "Would a cigarette be out of place?"