Crimson River (The Edens)
Crimson River: Chapter 17

The dead bolt flipped with a thunk. With that sound, my shoulders dropped from my ears.

I’d wanted to shut down the shop for hours so I could talk to Vance about what had happened earlier, what had sent him racing out the door. But I’d had to bide my time until closing. Finally, we were alone.

I turned off the lights, not bothering to mop the floors or wipe down tables—I’d do it in the morning. The work could wait.

Vance strode out of the kitchen, his broad frame limned by the dim light. “What about cleaning?”

A few nights spent working with me here and he’d already learned my routine.

“I’ll do it tomorrow.” I met him behind the counter, walking right into his space to put my hands on his hips. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, his gaze tracing down my nose before he dropped his lips to mine. The moment I opened for him, he sucked my tongue into his mouth.

I’d expected a chaste kiss, and his urgency took me off guard.

His hands raked down my back, sliding to cup my ass.

With a hand planted on his heart, I gave him a small shove, enough that he tore his mouth away. But he just moved his kiss from my lips to my pulse.

“We should talk,” I breathed, threading my hands into his hair.

He ignored me and swept me off my feet with a quick hoist into his arms. With a spin, he turned and walked us to the counter, setting me on its surface. Then he licked the seam of my lips, eliciting a low moan in my chest as desire pooled in my core.

This was just another tactic for changing the subject. “Vance.”

“Lyla,” he murmured, trailing his mouth along my jaw, that beard leaving a delicious scrape against my smooth skin.

My head lolled to the side as my fingers continued to tug and pull at his thick, unruly strands. “Talk to me.”

“Not yet, Blue.” He pulled my earlobe between his teeth.

My breath hitched.

Goddamn it, I was going to cave. I always caved.

I’d let him have his way with my body and the important conversations would go unspoken. Like the shooting Winn had mentioned. Like whatever had happened today. Like whoever he’d thought he’d seen on the sidewalk.

“Have you ever been fucked on this counter?” His gravelly voice was thick with want.

I gulped. “No.”

“Then I’m taking it. When you come to work every day, I want you thinking about me inside you.”

He’d leave his mark, and I’d never recover. He’d change this place forever.

And I was going to let him.

Maybe I’d regret it someday. Maybe when I met the man I’d marry—if I met that man—I’d regret letting Vance claim this space.

But tonight, I just wanted to have something from him I’d never forget. So I reached between us and unfastened the button on his jeans, working the zipper free so I could dive into his boxer briefs. The moment I fisted his shaft, a hiss escaped his lips.

“No going back,” he warned.

I loved him for knowing I’d remember him. I loved him for giving me a chance to stop and save this for someone else.

I hated him for expecting there’d even be a someone else.

With my free hand, I fisted his shirt, gripping it as hard as I had his cock. Then I hauled his mouth to mine. Now it was my turn to shut him up.

I delved inside, exploring every corner of his mouth. Leaving my own mark and memory. I kissed him with every bit of love and hate that coursed through my veins.

Good luck to the woman who came next. She’d have her work cut out for her to erase me from his mind.

His tongue tangled with mine as he tore at my jeans, somehow working them off my hips while keeping me from falling off the counter. Then when yet another pair of panties were shredded on the floor, he positioned himself at my entrance and thrust home.

“Vance,” I cried out, my voice filling the dark space.

“Fuck,” he gritted out.

I was already trembling, my inner walls fluttering.

His gaze drifted over my shoulder, so I followed it, looking to the windows that overlooked the street.

We were shrouded in darkness, hidden from anyone passing by. But if someone stopped, if they looked close enough, they’d see us together. My pussy clenched.

“You want someone to see us, Blue?”

My eyes whipped to his.

“You want someone to walk by, stop at the glass and lean in, just a bit, don’t you? Maybe they cup their hands over their eyes to see inside.” He pulled out, then pistoned his hips forward again. “You want someone to watch me fuck you.”

I moaned.

“Say it, Lyla.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Close your eyes.”

I obeyed, losing myself in the feel of him slide in and out.

“This is mine.” He reached between us, his finger replaceing my clit.

“Oh, God.” Those slow, perfect circles he alone knew how to draw would be my undoing.

“You can think about some stranger watching us together, but you’re mine, Lyla. To kiss. To fuck.”

I whimpered as his finger moved faster, my orgasm building faster and faster.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“No.” How did I promise myself to him when he was leaving?

“Say it, Lyla.”

I shook my head.

Vance let out a frustrated groan. “Blue.”

I opened my eyes, his gaze waiting.

He rocked forward, his cock replaceing that spot so deep inside it made me feel like I’d been put on this earth for him and him alone. “Please.”

All these weeks and he’d made me say please. To beg for an orgasm. Each time, it had been driven by desire. But this please, his please, was different. Desperate.

This please made tears well in my eyes.

So I cupped his cheek. “Yours. Only yours.”

He slammed his mouth on mine, swallowing my gasp. Then he moved faster, bringing us together until the only sound was our bodies colliding, our breaths ragged.

I came on a cry, my shout echoing off the walls. He was close to follow, pouring long and hot inside my body. And as I collapsed, boneless against his chest, his arms wrapped around me like chains.

God, I wanted to cry. Why did he have to leave? Why did he have to have this life beyond Quincy? This life I knew nothing about?

Tears threatened again but I squeezed my eyes closed, refusing to cry. Not yet. I’d cry when he was gone. It seemed silly, wasting the little time we had left on tears.

So I clung to him, my face buried in the crook of his neck to drag in that fresh, earthy scent. I held tight until we’d both regained our breath and he pulled back, tucking himself away before helping me off the counter and into my jeans.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Are you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Vance?” I whispered. “Talk to me. What happened earlier?”

“I’m losing my fucking mind.” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. Then he hoisted me up again, putting me on the counter. He paced the length of the counter. Twice. “I thought I saw Cormac’s daughter.”

His daughter? Hadn’t he killed her?

Vance stopped moving, giving me a sad smile. “She’s dead. I know she’s dead.”

The way his voice cracked on that awful word. Dead. My hand came to my chest.

“Sometimes I see red hair and it makes me think it’s one of his girls. I know it’s not, but the grief is . . . it just never goes away.” He rubbed a hand over his heart, like he was trying to erase the pain. “His oldest would have been twenty-one. I could have taken her out for a beer. Maybe she’d be in college. The twins would have been fourteen.”

At fourteen, Talia and I would have been freshmen in high school. We would have been worried about acne and which boy would ask us to winter formal.

Vance didn’t tell me their names. Was that because they were too hard to speak?

“What were they like?” I asked.

“They were lights.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The twins were a personality. Individually. Together. They owned every room they entered. It was impossible not to smile when they were around. They were dramatic and had these imaginations. You’ve never seen such imagination. They’d make up these stories and act them out over dinners, complete with costumes and makeup.”

A tear dripped down my cheek. How was it possible to cry over kids I’d never met? But the love, the loss, in Vance’s voice was overwhelming.

“Cormac’s oldest was my favorite.” He met my gaze and the grief in his eyes broke my heart into a thousand pieces. “You would have loved her, Blue. She had this energy. It was contagious. She was always on the move. Always ready for the next thing, like if she sat still, she’d perish. And God, she was sweet. Whenever I saw her, she’d run forward and throw her arms wide, yelling, ‘Uncle Vance,’ at the top of her lungs. She loved her people. I was one of her people.”

Uncle Vance.

He’d be a good uncle. “I don’t know what to say,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You’re listening.”

Of course I was listening. Why did he say that like it was some big deal? Did people in his life not listen to him? Or was this the first time he’d shared?

“They were my family,” he said.

And Cormac had stolen them away. The motherfucker.

“He drowned them, Lyla.” Vance raked his hands through his hair. “He snuffed out the lights. How could he do that? How could he take away my family?”

The tears were constant now, impossible to catch. “What about your family?”

He started pacing again, back and forth. He followed the same path I’d walked a million times, from the espresso machine to the shelf where I kept extra coffee mugs. Back and forth. Back and forth. With every step, every turn, my hopes sank further.

This was when he’d change the subject. This was when he’d take my clothes off again, anything to escape sharing.

So I glanced around my dark coffee shop, taking in the walls as he walked.

This place was special. When people stepped inside my building, they shared secrets. They confided struggles with friends and family. They celebrated achievements or engagements. I’d overheard more than one pregnancy announcement.

The only person who seemed immune to the magic of Eden Coffee was Vance Sutter.

I was about to hop off the counter, to call this night over, when he stopped so suddenly I froze.

His shoulders fell. His chin dropped. Then he walked over to the counter and took a seat in the space beside mine. His legs were so long he didn’t have to hop up. He just sat beside me, our thighs touching.

“I have three sisters. I haven’t spoken to them in six years.”

Six years? My jaw dropped. The idea of not talking to my siblings was unfathomable. Sure, we’d argue, but we always made amends. Always. “What happened?”

“I’m the oldest. Andrea is a year younger. Rochelle is six years younger, and Jacie is eight. Because of the age gap, Andrea and I were always the closest. As kids, we’d go on adventures together, building forts and hideouts in our backyard. We stayed tight, all through high school. She was my little sister. All the guys knew if they fucked with her, they fucked with me. I’m guessing Griffin and Knox were the same way.”

“Protective? Yeah, they were. Mateo too.” Even though he was the little brother, everyone in Quincy knew that if you messed with Talia, Eloise or Lyla Eden, there’d be hell to pay.

“Andrea went to college in Arizona,” he said. “We didn’t lose touch, but we lost that closeness. She met a guy, Brandon, and came home her senior year engaged. They got married right after graduation and moved home to Idaho.”

“You didn’t like him,” I guessed.

“He wasn’t who I’d pick for her, but I kept my mouth shut.”

“What didn’t you like?”

“At first, it was little things. He’d tell her what not to wear. What not to eat. Then instead of what not to do, exactly what to do. He dictates her entire life. How she styles her hair. Where she goes each day. And he’s got her convinced it’s for her own good. That he loves her so much it’s okay when he punches her and cracks her ribs.”

I gasped, my eyes closing. “Oh my God.”

“She hid it well for a long time. That, or he didn’t start beating her until they’d been married for a while. But we’d plan to meet for coffee or lunch and she’d be sick. She’d hide herself away until the bruises faded.”

“How’d you replace out?”

“Six years ago, at Christmas, they showed up at Mom and Dad’s. She had a black eye. Did her best to cover it up but . . .”

“Some bruises are hard to hide.” I knew from recent experience that a tube of concealer only went so far.

“I lost my ever-loving mind and beat the shit out of Brandon.” Vance’s voice dripped with venom as he spoke that asshole’s name. “That fucker called the cops. He was abusing my sister and he had me arrested for assault.”

“Shit.”

“Pretty much,” he muttered. “Needless to say, that didn’t bode well for my career. But Cormac stepped in. Talked to the captain. Asked a lawyer friend for a favor. Helped me get it worked out. I earned a black mark on my record, but I kept my job. And Andrea convinced Brandon to drop it.”

“Did she leave him?”

“Nope.” Vance shook his head. “I thought she would. After everyone learned about what he’d been doing, I was sure she’d get away. But she stayed. He told her how much he loved her. He promised he’d change and get help.”

“Did he?”

“No. Three months after that we had a birthday dinner for my niece at Mom and Dad’s. Andrea was limping. When I asked her about it, she said she twisted her ankle on a jog. Then fifteen minutes later, I overheard her talking to Jacie. Said she slipped on a wet spot in the kitchen.”

So that bastard was still abusing her. “What about your parents?”

“Andrea has chosen Brandon. And like the abuser he is, he’s done everything he can to alienate her from her friends and our family. To isolate her. But somehow, Mom, Dad, Jacie and Rochelle have clung to her. They’ve stood beside her so that she’s not alone. They’ll kiss Brandon’s ass. In a way, I think they’ve convinced themselves he’s not so bad. That he’s not hurting her. Maybe that part is true. I hope it is, at least. They did what they needed to do to keep Andrea close so that if she ever does decide to leave him, she’s got support. It’s not that I don’t want to be a lifeline for her, but it’s not an option right now.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It was part of the deal Andrea made with Brandon to get him to drop the assault charges. I’m not a part of her life. He gave Andrea an ultimatum. The assault charges or she cut me out.”

So Andrea had chosen to stand up for Vance. Yet in doing so, he’d lost his family.

“I never should have gone after that son of a bitch.” Vance shook his head. “I fucked up.”

“I think a lot of older brothers would have done the same.” Mine included.

Vance shook his head, like he couldn’t believe this was the outcome. I couldn’t quite either. “I argued against it for a long time. Tried to convince everyone that what really needed to happen was for Andrea to leave Brandon. Eventually, that arguing created a rift, especially with Mom and my sisters.”

“What about your dad?”

“He supports my mother and my sisters. We text. Talk every now and then, but it’s shallow. I let him know where I’m at. Check in. But he doesn’t like being in the middle, and push comes to shove, he’s on Mom’s side. They won’t cut ties with Andrea. She needs them more than I do. I’ve made peace with that. I haven’t actually seen Dad in over a year.”

A year? I couldn’t imagine not seeing my father in over a year.

“Andrea and Brandon have a daughter. Rochelle has two girls. Jacie has two boys. I send birthday presents even though I don’t get invites to the parties anymore. Same with Christmas. Andrea’s daughter is into dance. Dad used to email me her recital times and I’d go, sneak in, sit alone and watch. But about a year ago, Brandon saw me. Must not have liked it because that was the last time I knew about a recital.”

I leaned into his side, letting my head fall to his shoulder. “For the record, I don’t think you fucked up by kicking that bastard’s ass. But I’m sorry it’s turned out this way.”

“Thanks.” Vance put his hand on my knee.

It was so unfair. He’d lost his actual family, then he’d lost Cormac’s.

God, I wanted to hold him. To haul him into the Eden family fold, because while we weren’t perfect, my parents and siblings believed in family. To the end.

Instead, he’d leave and go back to Idaho.

Stupid Idaho.

Vance shifted, hooking his finger beneath my chin, tilting up my face until we were staring at each other. “Lyla, I have a fucking mess at home. As much as I want to ignore it . . .”

“You can’t.” I sighed.

So he’d leave to face it. To clean up that mess. Alone.

“It’s more than just my family,” he said.

It was also the shooting, wasn’t it? “What happened?”

“How many stories do you want tonight?”

I put my hand in his and laced our fingers together. “As many as you’ll tell me.”