Unfinished Hero 04 Deacon (19 page)

“Here,” he growled and I blinked.

“Deacon, I’m not a big fan of—”

“Future,” he cut me off. “Assert your
feminism when I’m not three seconds away from fuckin’ you on your
porch. I come to you, that’s gonna happen. You come to me, maybe it
won’t.”

Maybe?

I didn’t ask that.

I asked, “So if you get your way and I come
to you, you can miraculously control your base instincts?”

His reply?

“One.”

My body jerked and my brows shot together as
the meaning of that word hit me.

“Are you counting down—?”

“Two.”

I planted my hands on my hips.

“You are!” I cried angrily. “You’re
counting—”

“Fuck it,” he muttered, took two long
strides, and I was in his arms.

Not only in his arms but his mouth was on
mine and his tongue was sweeping inside.

That was when he was in my arms, seeing as
I’d wrapped them around his shoulders.

The kiss was hard, it was heated, it was
hungry, it was long, and it was beautiful.

Deacon ended it by shoving his face in my
neck, his hand cupping the back of my head, guiding my face into
his neck, his other arm holding me tight to his body.

As for me, I had one arm around his
shoulders, fingers in his hair, one arm around him, forearm angled
up his back.

I held tight too.

“Missed you,” I whispered into his skin.

Deacon didn’t reply, but he did. And he did
by squeezing me so hard, his fingers digging into my scalp, I found
it difficult to breath.

He released the pressure but still held me
snug to his frame.

I turned my head and asked against the hinge
of his jaw, “Have you had dinner?”

“Baby,” he replied, and my insides melted and
that was even before he got to the good part. “You think, I got
that job done, I stopped to eat on my way to you?”

It was my turn to reply nonverbally and I did
this by clutching him even tighter.

“Feed me,” he ordered into my neck. “Then
I’ll fuck you.”

That was definitely a deal.

Before I could share that with him, his head
shot up, his neck twisting. I looked at his profile and saw his
eyes narrowed.

Then he looked down at me. “Company.”

I stared at him for a beat before I looked
around him, Deacon turning slightly, and I saw the nose of Milagros
and Manuel’s SUV butting beyond my house.

“Your girl,” Deacon said, obviously having
taken note of the car Milagros drove.

“She does this, pops by,” I told him. “She
worries about me. So does Manuel.”

Deacon said nothing to this, just watched me
say it, no chin dip or head tipping to share he heard it. Still, I
knew he heard it.

Then, strangely, his gaze shifted high but
toward the trees, yet I knew not
to
the trees. They were
focused but unfocused. It was weird, I could tell he was taking
note of something, I just didn’t know what.

I didn’t have the chance to ask before I
heard Esteban, Milagros and Manuel’s oldest boy, shout, “
Tía
Cassidy! We have hot fudge!”

I stood still, letting Deacon guide this.
Another thing it occurred to me right then that I knew about him
was that he was observant. He had to know Milagros and I were
close.

So he had to make the decision of what would
come next.

He did.

And to my way of thinking, it was the right
one.

He let me go, wrapped his big hand around
mine (and when he did, my heart clutched because I missed feeling
his hand around mine), and he pulled me toward the door, through
it, the kitchen, and the foyer.

It was him who opened the front door but he
did it hauling me to his side, hand still in mine.

I wanted to laugh at what happened next, I
really did. But I loved Milagros and Manuel too much to do it.

This was because, the minute Deacon opened
the door, Milagros’s head visibly jerked and then her body shot
straight as a board, her eyes on Deacon. Manuel blinked and his
mouth dropped open, his eyes also on Deacon.

As for the kids, three of them shouted
varying things including, “
Tía
Cassidy!” “Hot Fudge!” and “I
gotta go to the bathroom!”

Gerardo, their youngest, dashed straight
through Deacon and my legs on his way to take care of business in
the bathroom.

Esteban forged in toward our sides, which
meant Deacon moved me back as he turned us toward the boy who was
holding up a plastic bowl with a plastic top that held a melting
hot fudge sundae.

“
Mamá
said you were sad so we got this
for you,” he declared, thrusting the sundae toward me.

“
Papá
always gets me a sundae when I’m
feeling sad,” Araceli, their second oldest daughter (third oldest
child, with Silvia, at twelve, being first, Esteban, ten years old,
second, Margarita, at six, fourth, Gerardo, four and a half, coming
last). “It always makes me feel happy.”

“Well, that’s awesome and sweet,” I replied,
because it was and I wasn’t surprised my mood had been read by my
friend.

I pulled my hand from Deacon’s in order to
take the sundae.

“You have to eat it, like
right now
,
or it’ll be all melted,” Margarita advised.

“I’ll just pop it in the freezer. Dea…uh,
John hasn’t had dinner. We’ll share it when he has. Now, everyone
come in,” I invited, grabbing on to Deacon’s wrist and pulling him
back to give the invitation physically as well.

“Dee-uh-John, that’s a weird name,” Margarita
declared, taking two skips in—skipping her way of ambulating
everywhere. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her take a normal step.

“Rita!” Milagros snapped.

She tipped her head back to her entering
mother. “Well it is.”

“Name’s just John,” Deacon stated and I
looked to him to see him looking to Manuel. “John Priest.”

He stuck out a hand toward Manuel.

Manuel looked at it then took it. “Manuel
Cabrera.” They separated and Manuel put his hand on Milagros’s
shoulder. “My wife, Milagros.”

Deacon offered Milagros his hand, stating,
“Cassie has a lot of good to say about you.”

Milagros took Deacon’s hand but her eyes were
on me as she replied, “Cassie?”

“I…uh, yes. Cassie,” I blathered. “Priest, I
mean, John and I are…uh, well—”

Deacon saved me but he unfortunately did it
by ordering, “Woman, put the sundae in the freezer.”

I looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Boss
much?”

“You want a melted sundae?” he returned.

“Maybe,” I shot back.

“Well I don’t,” he retorted.

“They didn’t bring it for you,” I pointed
out.

“You gonna eat it in front of me?” he
asked.

“Of course not,” I snapped.

“Then put it in the freezer.”

I made a face at him.

He grinned.

I stopped making a face at him and my heart
leapt as my vagina pulsed.

Manuel cleared his throat. Deacon and I quit
bickering and looked to the Cabrera family.

“You guys are funny,” Araceli declared when
we did.

“I’ll help you put the sundae in the fridge,”
Milagros offered unnecessarily, but didn’t allow me a chance to
decline. Her hand shot out, clamped around mine, and she dragged me
through the foyer and into the kitchen.

Once there, she went direct to the freezer,
opened it, snatched the sundae, shoved it in, slammed the freezer
door, and directly invaded my space.

“Who is
he
?” she demanded to know in a
hushed but sharp tone.

“Milagros—”

“Is he why your eyes have died?”

Okay, apparently Milagros hadn’t read my
mood, she’d
read my mood
.

I made a mental note not to become close
friends with any more Mexican American mothers of five as I opened
my mouth to reply but she didn’t let me speak.

“They’re not dead anymore.”

I guessed they weren’t.

“Honey—” I tried again but got nowhere
because Milagros started shooting rapid-fire questions my way.

“Who is he? What does he do? Where has he
been? I haven’t seen him in town, does he live in Carnal? He looks
like he lives in Carnal. Does he have a motorcycle? Because if he
does, Manuel will worry even more. And if he does, and you ride on
it with him, I hope you’re wearing a helmet. Are you wearing a
helmet?”

It was tough and it kind of hurt, holding
back my giggles, but I managed, even if my voice was vibrating when
I answered, “He doesn’t have a motorcycle.”

I didn’t know this as a fact, but considering
he had no home, I couldn’t imagine him having a motorcycle stored
somewhere.

Though, he now had me and I had a big shed.
I’d
totally
let Deacon store a motorcycle there if he wanted
to get one.

“Cassidy,
who is he
?” she hissed.

I grabbed her hand, held it, and got
closer.

“His name is John Priest and he and I are
seeing each other.”

“Since when?”

“Since a few weeks ago.”

“He’s eleven,” she stated on an accusatory
whisper and I pulled in a breath.

Cabin eleven.

She knew exactly who he was.

Kind of.

I let it out, whispering back, “He’s
eleven.”

“Where does he come from? Where does he go?
What does he do?” she fired back and we both jumped apart when
Deacon’s voice came from the door.

“I travel for work,” he said, and it was at
that point I made a mental note that Deacon had superhuman
hearing.

Manuel was trailing him, giving big
shut
up
eyes to his wife.

As for the kids, they were scattering,
Esteban going straight to the fridge, which he knew he had my open
invitation to raid (though he didn’t have his parents’ open
permission; he was the kind of kid who pushed boundaries,
hilariously, to my way of thinking, but I wasn’t his mother). The
girls headed to the back door. They liked my porch as much as I
did.

Gerardo wandered in, still adjusting his
jeans.

“What do you do?” Milagros asked.

“Acquisitions,” Deacon answered, to my way of
thinking, interestingly.

“Whas’ that?” Gerardo butted in and Deacon
looked down at him.

It was then it was proved you could fall in
love in an instant.

This was because badasses melted in the face
of pregnant German Shepherds.

But the sweetness that came over Deacon’s
features when he trained his gaze to the young boy was a vision so
magnificent it was almost, but not quite, painful to behold, such
was its beauty.

I knew Milagros saw it too and felt the same
way I did. I knew this because she leaned in to me and did it deep,
like she couldn’t hold up her own weight.

“I get things for people,” Deacon
explained.

“I’m Gerardo,” Gerardo shared.

“I’m John,” Deacon lied.

“
Hola
, John.”

Deacon smiled.

“
Dios mío,
” Milagros breathed.

Good to know I wasn’t the only one.

“
Mi amor
, it’s late. We should let
John have his dinner,” Manuel called to his wife.

“No!” Esteban yelled and I looked his way to
see he’d had his face wedged in the sliver of an opening of the
fridge door, the only thing he could get with Milagros and me
standing in his way. “
Tía
Cassidy has lemon pie with that
fluffy stuff on top.”

I felt the awe leave Milagros as she set up
to let loose on her son but she didn’t get there in time.

Her husband did.

Thus ensued a wave of Spanish where I caught
only a few words—all of them fatherly in a scary way—then I heard
the fridge door close and watched an ten-year-old boy shuffle
toward his father with head bowed.

“
Lo siento
, Cassidy,” Manuel
murmured.

“It’s okay,” I replied on a smile. Then I
said to Esteban’s back, “I’ll save some for you.”

“Thanks,
Tía
Cassidy,” he
muttered.

“
Mis hijas!
” Milagros shouted. “
Nos
vamos! Ándele!
”

Pandemonium ensued as the girls rushed in
from the porch. They didn’t bother attempting to take turns with
giving me a hug, they pretty much collided with me, squeezed me,
and dashed out, waving perfunctorily at Deacon (with Silvia, I
noticed, avoiding his hot guy eyes in a sweet, shy girl way).
Esteban and Gerardo didn’t bother with hugs, they just shouted
their farewells, Gerardo giving cute waves, and raced after their
sisters.

“We should have called,” Manuel said as I
heard the front door being opened.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” I replied,
moving his way. “You know that.”

His eyes slid to Deacon. They were not
questioning, they were assessing.

I felt Milagros come up to my side. “We must
have you to dinner. Are you here long?”

It took effort not to whoop with glee when
Deacon answered, “Got a break. I’ll be here three, four weeks.”

“Then we’ll have time,” Milagros stated,
holding out a hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Same,” Deacon replied, taking her hand and
clasping it before letting it go.

“We’ll see each other again,” Manuel said,
offering his own hand.

Deacon took it and replied, “Look forward to
it.”

I gave Manuel a kiss on the cheek, same to
Milagros with a hug, and we walked them to the door.

We stood in its frame as Milagros and Manuel
corralled their kids, who were cavorting on the front porch, and
got them in their SUV.

We continued to stand there, me waving, as
they drove toward the cabins in order to turn around.

We did not wait for them to drive back down
the lane. Deacon moved me in, shut the door, locked it, and looked
down at me.

“You got lemon meringue pie?” he asked.

I grinned. “Yep.”

“You can have the sundae. I’ll have pie.”

He’d have pie.