Wild Card by Ashley Munoz

Chapter Seventeen

I slammedthe truck door shut, peering up at the two-story farmhouse-style home. It was weathered with its faded white paint and chipped splotches along the window panes. Flower boxes hung in front of the three lower windows, but there was nothing but dirt and a few old weeds inside each one.

Gravel crunched under my shoes as I followed Decker toward the house. The silence around us was heavy and it almost felt…like death. Like something here had died and now it was just a mausoleum.

“D!” a loud voice boomed from one of the top windows.

I looked up, but with the screen in place, I couldn’t see anything.

Decker just smiled and kept moving forward, pulling the screen door open and holding it for me.

“I’m glad you agreed to take a break from being Nancy Drew for a bit.” Decker smiled at me as I passed by him into the foyer of his childhood home…at least, I was assuming this was his childhood home. The way he looked at it with such reluctance and affection, it seemed there were memories here that were precious to him.

“Yeah, me too. I’d like to help you, if you want, or I could just hang out. I think a mental break would be good for me though.”

The small entryway was barely a square of linoleum with a braided rug thrown down. A pair of soft blue shoes were neatly sitting by the door, and that was it. No jackets or other shoes, no coat rack. A foot off to the side looked like the start of a staircase covered in worn, brown carpet.

It smelled like old leather, vanilla, and…hairspray.

“Come on, I want you to meet my—”

“D! I didn’t think you’d be here this weekend. Can you give me a ride to the country club?” a tall, younger version of Decker came jogging down the stairs. He was the kid in the framed photo I saw in Decker’s apartment. His eyes lit up when he saw me standing there, a smile erupting on his face as he closed the distance between his perch on the stairs and the last step.

“Kyle, this is Mallory. Mallory, this is Kyle, my younger brother.”

“Hey.” Kyle ran his hand over his head, giving me a sexy smirk.

Oh gosh. This kid was cute.

Sixteen-year-old me was totally screaming inside at how adorable he was being.

“Is this the one…you know, the one you mentioned?” Kyle asked, and I tried not to spin toward Decker to see his expression. The strangled coughing sound from the chest at my back told me enough.

“Why do you need to go to the club?” Decker changed the subject and moved us farther into the house. His hand landed on my hip, pushing me forward.

There was an older blue couch that framed the room and two recliners facing the flat screen along the adjacent wall. It was comfortable; it felt like a home, and all I wanted to do was curl up under one of the throw blankets and take a nap.

“It’s this thing…complicated, but there’s a lot of money to be made. Just trust me.” Kyle pleaded with Decker while the two went into the kitchen. There was a counter separating the space from the dining room, a small island in the middle, and a big bright window that faced the backyard. I instantly loved it.

Walking toward the large glass doors along the back wall, I saw the yard, and my mouth gaped. Directly outside the French doors was a paved patio with hanging lights that draped over a small table and four chairs. Beyond that was rich green grass, running for what seemed like half a mile. It butted up against a stone retaining wall. To the side was a patch of gravel in the shape of a circle with a charcoal pit in the center, low Adirondack chairs littered around the white rocks, a few with throw blankets on them. An old swing set sat forgotten along the back side of the house, along with a few other old toys. I could see a few bats, a few baseballs, and even a few weather-worn gloves.

“Geez,” I murmured, my breath fogging up the window.

The boys in the kitchen went silent.

Suddenly there was a throat clearing behind me, a warm presence at my back. “Our dad had a landscaping business…before…” He cleared his throat again like he was trying to force the words out.

A bone-deep awareness skittered down my spine. It was like a third eye blinking open and being able to see what my natural eyes could not: the silent but gaping wound of grief. Decker was bleeding out from it. His dad was gone, like my mom was…like my dad now was.

On instinct, I reached back, grabbed his hand like he’d done with me in the truck, and squeezed. He didn’t need to say it out loud. Sometimes confessing that a parent is gone is like admitting that one is alone. It was just easier not to say it out loud, not to give words to that piece of us that was now missing and that we’d never get back.

Decker squeezed back, and then he tugged me until I left the window, the sight of his father’s legacy behind and turned back toward the living room. There, a frail woman had materialized. She had light brown hair with a wisp of grey, and her pale face was beautiful, her green eyes even lighter than Decker’s, about the same shade as her younger son’s.

“Hello.” The woman smiled at me, and her eyes bounced over to her son, who was standing next to me…and who was still holding my hand. I let him go and stepped forward.

“Hi, I’m Mallory.” I held out my hand for her to shake.

She hadn’t stopped looking at her son, and whatever she saw there had her stepping closer, bypassing my hand, and pulling me into a tight hug. I froze for a fraction of a second, my mind a battle zone of anxiety and panic…but then, her warmth settled into me and I melted. Tears burned the backs of my eyes as I inhaled her sweet smell, matching it to what I’d encountered when I first stepped into the house.

“I’m Penny. Welcome to our home.”

I hadn’t been hugged by a mother-like figure in…

Come here, butternut…come give me a hug.

I pushed the memory of the last time my mother hugged me down as far as I could and cleared my throat, just like Decker had done.

“Thank you.” I pulled away. I had to. She was warm and loving, nothing at all like my cold stepmother.

“Mom, I’m going to work on the yard and change the oil in your car. Mallory has a few things to do while I work, but we will stay out of your way if you need to sleep or…”

“No, I’m headed out. My coworker needed to swap shifts, so I’m going to work this evening.” Penny smoothed down her light green scrubs then tugged the end of her ponytail around her shoulder. She seemed empty, and the way she kept looking out the back window…it was sad. I could see she was still riding that grief wave pretty hard. I wondered how recently her husband had passed.

“I’ll have Kyle do your oil some other time then. Have a good day at work.” He went to hug her, but her eyes moved back to me, almost urgently.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

Was she asking me or him?

“Uh…” Decker looked back at me, then his mom. “No, Mom—we have to get back.”

His mother swallowed and brought a hand to her throat before saying, “There’s going to be a storm, Decker…”

I watched the family in front of me. Decker looked over to his younger brother, who was in the kitchen eating an Otter Pop, but at the mention of a storm, he dropped the frozen treat and stared helplessly at his big brother.

“We’ll be fine. We won’t stay long…just two hours or so,” Decker said, shoving his hand into his pocket.

I felt awkward, like they’d be saying out loud what each of them seemed to be saying with their eyes if I weren’t in the room.

“Decker, it’s already getting late…please.”

“Yeah, D, don’t be an idiot,” Kyle added, emphasizing their mother’s plea.

Decker looked at me. That storm they were talking about was currently in his eyes as he glared, like I should voice an objection…but the concern on his family members’ faces—it was too much.

“I can tuck away and sleep anywhere. I don’t have another shift at the bookstore until tomorrow night, and my laptop is here, so I can do my homework.” I blinked, watching them as I gave my pathetic offer.

“You work at a bookstore?” Kyle asked from the kitchen, a new color of popsicle in his hand.

“I do. It’s a little café too, really good cinnamon rolls.”

Decker’s gaze was deadly as he stared down at me.

“Huh, isn’t that interesting, D?” Kyle said playfully from his perch in the kitchen.

“I don’t sleep in the house,” Decker said grimly, making me do a double take.

Why didn’t he sleep in his house?

“We’ll be fine,” he insisted. “The sooner I get this done, the sooner we can leave.”

Decker turned and headed out the French doors without another word. I decided it was as good a time as any to go grab my laptop from the truck.

* * *

I watchedfrom my place on the patio as Decker mowed the grass. His shirt was gone, showing off his glorious physique. He must have done this mowing thing a lot because his chest was sun-kissed and perfect; his black tattoos wrapped around his biceps and went up to his shoulders, but nothing touched his back, his forearms or chest. Those dark jeans molded to his strong thighs as he walked behind the mower until he’d covered every inch of grass in the backyard. When he started pulling weeds and I realized I was outright drooling over the way his muscles moved and shifted, I knew I was a goner. There was attraction, then there was drooling. It was totally unacceptable.

Every thirty minutes or so, he’d stop for water. During those breaks, I tried to strike up conversation, but he didn’t seem like he was in the mood to talk. I assumed it was because he was in such a hurry. Only about an hour and a half had passed when the sky started to turn. It was subtle with a little darkening off in the distance, but then thick clouds were directly above us.

At that point I decided I should probably help him, especially as I caught sight of his head tipping back and that granite jaw looking like he was chewing rocks. Hot damn.

I walked over to a patch of weeds off to the side and, bending over, started pulling with my bare hands. The weed put up a fight as I struggled with it, tugging and straining.

“You little bastard. Come the fuck out of the ground!” I tugged again, only to strip the thing of all its little leaves. “Ow.”

“What are you doing?” Decker’s gravelly voice asked from above me.

“I’m helping.” My hands wrapped around another bunch of weeds as I pulled with new vigor. I managed to strip the tops, but nothing pulled up from the root. My hands burned like I’d pushed a thousand tiny slivers into them.

“You need gloves, and to squat. You’re going to kill your back doing it like that.”

I stood, looking at him, wondering where the happy guy from this afternoon had gone.

The sky turned a shade of navy I was sure I had only seen in that movie Twister. I tipped my head back, and before I could even open my mouth to argue about my weeding skills, a crack of thunder rumbled across the sky, making everything below it shudder and shake. I could feel it vibrate through my body in a way I had never experienced before. Had I ever been this close to—

“Shit,” Decker snapped, interrupting my thoughts on thunder. He didn’t hesitate or wait before grabbing my arm and running like hell toward his house.

I saw why just two seconds later when a blinding flash of lightning ripped through the cerulean sky.

“Oh my god!” I shouted over the hail that started to pour down two seconds after that. Decker deposited me under the covering of the porch before he ran back out to grab the mower. I didn’t see the sense in that, especially when another loud blast of thunder rumbled across the sky, shaking the house.

“Holy shit.” I breathed out as rain slapped against the stones around my feet.

The wind picked up, howling as Decker pushed the mower under a little covering at the side of the house.

“Why are you still out here? Get inside!” Decker yelled, running toward me.

Right—inside, where it was safe. I grabbed my laptop off the patio table, thankful it was covered, and ducked in through the French doors. Decker’s hand landed on my lower back as I made my way in.

We both stood in the safety of the living room while Decker watched the storm unfold outside. Lightning flashed across the sky again, followed by another loud boom that shook the house. I shuddered, retreating toward the couch, where a throw blanket waited for me.

“Well, I guess we’re stuck here, huh?” I muttered uselessly.

“Fuck,” he snapped, tossing his sopping wet shirt to the floor. His scarred hand tunneled through the soaked strands of his hair, the sight of him wet and angry turning my mouth dry.

“I mean…” I cleared my throat, trying to seem unfazed by his hotness. “I can drive if you’re comfortable with that.” I didn’t want to. I really hoped he wouldn’t make me, but I would, because he seemed like he really didn’t want to be here.

“No, it’s not that.”

I curled my legs up underneath me and relaxed into what would probably end up being my bed for the night. I waited, watching him stand there, staring out the back door, totally unsure of what to say or how to help the situation.

Decker finally moved away from the door, bending down to grab his shirt. He threw it across the back of one of the dining room chairs with a loud sigh that was nearly gloomier than the thunder outside.

He disappeared briefly into the laundry room then came back out with a dry shirt and a pair of loose sweats. I busied myself with watching the storm through the large windows. It was peaceful—until the power went out.

“D!” Kyle boomed from upstairs.

“I know, I’ll grab the flashlights.” He gave me an odd look then ducked back into the laundry room right as Kyle ran downstairs.

“Crazy storm, right?”

I smiled. “Yeah, it’s kind of scary. Decker doesn’t like driving in them?” I hesitantly asked. I mean, there was a chance Decker wouldn’t tell me, and I was the kind of curious that would kill a cat nine times over.

“Nah…I think D would be just fine, especially with that fancy truck of his, but our dad died in a storm like this. He was on his way home and got caught up in a big storm about a year ago. There was a tree that went down, and the car in front of him stopped too fast.” Kyle ducked his head, and I noticed his voice started to strain. “It was a six-car pileup, and my dad’s car was the second one in the mix. A semi-truck was the sixth.”

My throat dried up. I remembered that storm. Trevor had wanted to run a big story on it, showcasing and interviewing the student who was affected by it. Supposedly it was because the student was a big baseball player who was being scouted by some of the pro teams. It was a big deal since he was only a junior. According to Trevor, not only was the storm historic, but the spotlight of the player would guarantee us clicks and paper purchases. I was the one who had told him no. I’d almost lost my spot on the paper because of it, and I wondered now if that was the reason the asshole hated me so much, but I couldn’t have imagined seeing my mother’s death splashed across the front page for the whole school to discuss. I had gone over Trevor’s head and made sure the faculty advisors were aware of my concerns. They sided with me and killed the article. It was one of the only times a student had ever gone above the head editor’s role, and Trevor had been out for my spot ever since.

“I’m so sorry, Kyle. I lost my mom to an accident too…it was different, and it’s been longer…, but I’m sorry just the same.”

Kyle’s throat bobbed, but he gave me a sweet smile before nodding and heading toward the laundry room.

The boys were gone for so long that I ended up pulling the blanket higher and letting the sound of rain lull me to sleep.

* * *

The feelof someone’s warm fingers curling into my leg woke me.

The rain was still pelting against the house, along with a raging wind. The lights seemed to still be out, but I could still make out the figure who was sitting down at the end of the couch.

“Hey.” I sat up, trying to figure out why Decker was sitting up, his head bent low, while he watched what looked like a baseball game on his cell phone.

“Hey.” His hand tightened around my calf. His fingers had bypassed the blanket and my jeans and had somehow found a way to attach themselves directly to my skin. “Did I wake you?”

I tried to ignore the way his touch made me feel. I tried even harder to erase the burn it made along my skin, but I knew I’d think about it long after his hand left me.

“No, you didn’t…but why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I can’t sleep in here,” he grumbled softly, sleepily.

“Oh.” I sat up, pulling my legs under me. “Go upstairs to your room. I’m good down here.”

He was already shaking his head. “I can’t sleep in this house. Not since my dad…” He trailed off, and again, I felt that surge of pain in my chest at why he couldn’t say the rest of that sentence.

“Where can you sleep?” I crawled a bit closer to him, hoping he didn’t notice.

“My truck, outside…anywhere else.”

I kicked my legs out until I was standing, grabbed the blanket, and tugged the one on the recliner free as I held out my hand. “Let’s go then.”

He accepted my hand, but when I tried to take a step, he stopped me. The flashes of lightning were the only thing illuminating the room every few seconds or so. I paused, trying to decipher what he was doing. I thought maybe he wanted to go to his truck alone, and I suddenly felt so stupid assuming he’d want me to join him.

Tugging me a step closer, he brushed his scarred hand down my face before he pinned his forehead to mine, forcing my breaths to come out in little wisps.

“Tell me what this means.” He brushed the pad of his finger along the tattoo inked under my ear.

I reached up, holding on to his wrist, internally batting away the urge to keep this part of me closed off. After my mom’s death, things were obviously hard…but once I became a woman, left the house, and realized how much I wanted her with me, things became granite. It may have also been the fact that Taylor and her mother went on a vacation, traveling through Europe after graduation. The invitation that came from Taylor to join was half-hearted and insincere, no matter how hard it was for her to actually extend it. Taylor at eighteen was a nightmare compared to the Taylor who lived with me now. So, of course, I didn’t go. I hunkered down into my books, soaking in the library at my father’s house, story by story…until things hurt a little less and college began.

Blinking, I watched as the white light strobed across the walls of Decker’s childhood home.

“It’s originally Nordic. It’s called a Vegvisir Futhark, and it means anyone who carries the symbol will be protected from losing their way in a storm or bad weather.” I licked my lips, trying to build up the nerve to keep going, “I was going through some turbulent times at eighteen and had been reading a ton of Norse mythology.” I dipped my head, releasing my hand, still feeling a little stupid. “The symbol became a rune, making its way into Irish folklore, and since I’m part Irish…I guess I wanted to claim it.”

I shrugged, finally daring to tip my head back to catch his gaze.

An entirely different kind of storm brewed there as his jaw ticked and his other hand came up to cup my face. My chest expanded with hope that he’d close the distance between us, kiss me again…let me get lost in him, in the touch of his skin against mine.

“I want to try something,” he whispered, slamming his lids closed. Giving my tattoo one last swipe, he turned us and braided his fingers with mine. We headed toward the stairs, where carpet silenced our steps.

Thunder boomed and rattled the house as we ascended into this place he hadn’t braved in over a year. I tried to take in as much as I could of different images and pictures of his life, but it was too dark to gather much. Once we crested the last step, Decker walked past two closed doors then paused at the third. He looked at it like it would destroy him any second.

I squeezed his hand, which made him look over at me.

“My little compass,” he whispered before grabbing for the handle and pushing the door open.

Lightning bled through the window on the far wall where a set of navy curtains hung open, revealing a view of the sky. A queen-sized bed covered in a dark comforter rested in the middle of the room, and several baseball posters and framed pictures hung along the walls. A nice dresser and small computer perched in the corner. It was cozy but felt forgotten.

“Come here.” Decker pulled me to the bed.

He sat down first, kicking off his shoes and swinging his legs up until they stretched in front of him. His hand never left mine as I crawled on after him, ensuring the covers were tugged free as we settled.

A strong arm came around me, bracing me against his firm chest. My head settled into the soft pillow as my chest kept expanding with fear. He was testing this; he hadn’t been in this bed in over a year. We might as well have been a pair of hands holding in the pin of a grenade, gasping for air as we tried not to explode.

I felt him breathe in and out unevenly, so I pulled his hand against my heart, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, hoping he’d begin to match me. After a minute or so, he did, and we both began to calm.

“Are you okay?” I asked, finally relaxing into him. He felt so good, firm and rigid in the right places.

“I can’t open my eyes,” he whispered, pain lacing every word.

I gripped his wrist that cradled my stomach, encouraging him to keep going.

“If I see the lightning up here, it’ll take me back to that night. I haven’t slept in this room since we found out he wasn’t coming home. I slept on the front porch for a few nights…after…before making myself a bed in the shed. Nothing since then.”

His lips brushed against my ear, and my heart nearly burst. Tears clogged my eyes, but I tamped down the urge to let them fall. He didn’t need weakness right now; he needed strength, needed someone to help him through the storm.

“Just keep them closed, Decker…hold on to me and fall asleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

Silence stretched as the thunder rumbled, and my eyes fluttered shut. I was sure he was asleep, until I felt his grip on me tighten and heard him mumble near my ear, “Promise me.”

I realized as the sounds outside echoed around us that there was a fatal flaw in this night. I couldn’t let Taylor have him. I couldn’t let anyone have him, because whether he knew it or not, he was mine and I was going to be his. Even if it broke me to let him in, even if it ruined me. There wasn’t much left of my heart, but whatever there was I’d shove into his massive palm. Then I’d just let him decide what to do with it. Maybe he’d realize that our tattered pieces matched. He needed someone who matched him, and she didn’t. She never would, not with her silicone heart.

Blinking away a tear, I shuddered in response.

“I promise.”