Coming Home

Chapter 7

The “very sweet boy” fumed as he sped away from her home, but the distance he was putting between the two of them was not enough to quell his anger.

            “Very sweet boy my ass,” he muttered darkly as the hotels dim lights came into view, but even that place of refuge was not far enough away from her to keep him from doing something stupid. How he wanted to go back there and show just how sweet he could be while his lips sated the deep thirst he had for her, but that would be stupid. Less stupid than his other urge; to beat the shit out of Michael Kent.

            “Filthy bastard,” he wanted to roar the words, but they came out through clenched teeth, his jaw aching painfully as he held himself back. 

            Another curse words flew past his lips as he threw the truck into park, but his skin was still itching to turn around; to go back and take what he wanted, revenge and then her. he shook his head, trying to clear the dark thoughts and quickly decided he needed to go home for the night. He needed to be far away from town in order to keep his idiotic urges to himself.

            The only flaw in his plan was the fact that in order to get to his ranch he had to pass Cheyanne’s house to get there; it was unavoidable. Or so he kept telling himself as he drove toward the house, beating back his instinct to stop at the house and ravish Chey.

            His resolve faltered as he passed the white house. Chey sat on the porch, head hung in her hands; his foot eased off the gas as he fought to keep driving. It was an impossible task to accomplish, he pressed on the brake fingers brushing over the turn signal just as the front door opened and her mother stepped out. She said something to the troubled girl sitting on the steps, Chey shook her head in answer and let out a terse laugh, he could see it from even there the way her dimples flashed uneasily before she stood to go inside.

            It strengthened his resolve to press back on the gas and get the hell out of town before he went back and tried to get Chey to fess up as to why she was upset.

            The cold road stretched out before him did little to calm him down, if anything this part of his journey always made him uneasy. As the bridge came into sight he shivered and not from the cold night that was settling around him, but from the memory he wished he could erase.

            Clint. With the name came another shiver accompanied by the same pain he felt every time he passed the marker.

            “You two are idiots,” Chey laughed, her body pressed tightly against his in the cab of his truck on their way home from Austin. Ears still ringing from the loud concert they had attended.

            “But you love us,” Clint kissed her cheek loudly, eliciting a squeal.

            “Eww,” she swiped at her cheek, “keep those nasty lips to yourself,” her body shook against Riley as she laughed.

            ‘Why do you even hang out with him?” she asked him.

            “It’s entertaining watching the two of you fight,” he answered with a grin, she blushed slightly.

            “We don’t fight,” Clint argued from the other side of her, “we are as close as twins can be,” he declared, his arm going around his sister to pull her closer to him.

            “It’s true,” she sighed, “I can’t seem to get rid of the lug.”

            “Hey,” he feigned hurt, “that is not nice Chey,” Riley watched her roll her blue eyes. “I love you.”