Archer's Voice
Page 14

Archer shook his head. No, you can sleep in my bed. When my eyes got wide, his face paled, and he closed his eyes for a couple beats. I mean, I'll sleep on the couch and you can take my bed, he clarified. Spots of color stained his cheekbones and I swear I felt my heart flip over once in my chest.
"I couldn't do that," I whispered.
Yes you can, he said, walking past me, out of the kitchen.
I followed him into the room across from the bathroom and looked around at the sparsely furnished room–just a bed and a dresser and a small chair in the corner. There weren't any knick knacks or photographs or anything.
I just washed the sheets a couple days ago. They're… clean, he said, looking away from me, those same red spots appearing on his upper cheekbones.
I nodded. Okay, I said. Thank you, Archer. For everything. Thank you.
He nodded at me, our eyes lingering, and when our shoulders touched as he was walking out of the room, I felt him jerk slightly. He closed the door behind him.
I looked around the room one more time and noticed that there actually was a small photograph lying down on the top of his dresser. I walked over and picked it up delicately. It was a beautiful girl, her long brown hair flowing over her shoulder, laughing at the person behind the camera. She looked carefree and happy. She looked like she was in love. I realized why her smile looked so familiar–it was Archer's smile. This must be his mother, Alyssa McRae, I thought. I turned the photo over and on the back was written, 'My beautiful Lys, Love forever, C.' C? Connor. Archer's uncle. The man who had shot him. He was such a town hero, though–they must not know that he had shot his nephew. "But how is that possible?" I asked the girl in the photo softly. Her large brown eyes remained smiling, not giving me a clue. I placed the photo back down where it had been.
I undressed quickly, down to my underwear and bra and pulled back the covers and got in Archer's bed. It smelled like him–soap and clean male.
As I lay there in his bed, I thought of him in the other room, his long body probably hanging over the end of the couch. I inhaled the scent of him on his sheets and pictured him shirtless, the moonlight shining in on his smooth, bare chest and I shivered slightly. He was just mere feet from me on the other side of the wall.
Thinking about Archer that way felt just a little dangerous–I didn't know if it was a good idea. Thinking about it now, I realized that there had been a chemistry between us from the very start. It had just been difficult to classify because of all the ways he was so different. And I still felt a little confused. But apparently my body did not feel confused at all as my hormones flash fired through me, my veins filling with heat, my mind unable to let go of the images of he and I tangled together in these very sheets, those beautiful, whiskey colored eyes filled with passion.
I turned over and adjusted the pillow, groaning softly into it and closing my eyes tightly, willing myself to sleep. After a little while, even though I had slept for several hours earlier that evening, I fell into a peaceful sleep and didn't wake up until the sunrise, muted by the trees around the house, was lighting the room.
**********
I sat up and stretched, looking around at Archer's room in the morning sunlight. I pulled on my shorts and tank and peeked my head out his door. He was nowhere in sight and so I headed straight across the hall to his bathroom. I did my business and used my finger to brush my teeth and gargle with his mouthwash. I washed my face and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked okay. My eyes were still very slightly swollen, but other than that, I didn't think my freak-out had left me looking too worse for wear this morning. I smoothed my hair back and leaned against the sink.
Thinking of my freak-out had me thinking of the flashback that was sure to come on any second now. It would be better if I had it alone, out of Archer's sight. He probably already thought I was half nuts. Letting him see my PTSD episode would definitely convince him that I was fully there.
I stood against the sink for a few minutes, closing my eyes and willing the flashback to do its worst while I was locked away behind closed doors. Nothing happened.
I turned on the water and imagined it was the rain falling down around me, just like that night. Nothing happened.
I tried to stamp down the hope that blossomed in my chest–I had been hopeful in the recent past that the flashbacks had stopped, right before being cast into an attack.
I closed my eyes and thought about the night before, what Archer had said to me when I told him my deepest shame, that I had done nothing as my father was gunned down, as I was almost raped. He hadn't looked at me with disgust… but rather with understanding. Relief washed through my body again at the memory alone.
And I had cried more than I knew I could. I had cried a river of tears… for my dad, for the loss I felt everyday at losing my best friend, my person… for losing myself somewhere along the way, for running away…
I opened my eyes, biting my fingernail and worrying my brow. Is that what I had needed? Was that the purpose of the flashbacks all along? To force me to face what I was running from? That felt right. But it was only part of it. Maybe I needed to feel safe and accepted in my pain before I was set free from this daily misery. I had needed someone who would understand and hold me as I cried.
I had needed Archer.
I swung the bathroom door open and walked quickly through the house, calling to him. He wasn't inside. I ran outside and called for him. After a few minutes, he walked from the direction of the lake through the trees and stood there looking questioningly at me.
I didn't think you'd be up this early, he said.
I ran down the slope and stopped right in front of him, grinning broadly, my excitement bubbling out of me. I laughed, looking in his beautiful face. I still wasn't used to seeing all of it. Or most of it at least. He still desperately needed a haircut.
I didn't have a flashback this morning, I said, my hands moving quickly.
He frowned, looking at me confused.
I shook my head, laughing a small laugh. I guess I just can't believe it… I mean, I always have one. Every day. I've had one every single day for six months, I said, my hands moving quickly, my eyes filling with tears.
Archer kept looking at me, understanding coming into his eyes, a flash of compassion moving over his expression.
I have to go let Phoebe out and feed her, I said, swiping quickly at my tears. I took Archer in again, joy washing through my body. He had given me an incredible gift and I was giddy. I wanted to spend the day with him and I didn't care that I was always the one doing the asking. Can I come back later? I blurted out, looking at him expectantly.
His eyes moved over my face for a couple beats and then he nodded his head.
I grinned. "Okay," I breathed out. I stepped forward and his eyes widened slightly, but he didn't move. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly. He didn't wrap his arms around me, but he let me hug him.
After a minute, I stepped back and smiled at him again. I'll be back.
Okay.
Okay, I said again, grinning bigger.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he just nodded at me.
I turned around and ran up the wooded slope to his house and then up his driveway. My bike was leaning against the inside of his fence. I wheeled it through the gate and started for home. Here and there, I coasted down the dirt road with my head tilted up to the sky, feeling happy, feeling alive, feeling free.
CHAPTER 15
Bree
When I got home, I let Phoebe outside to do her business. I felt lighter, happier, as if I had shed the chains that had held me tied to the pain and grief of my loss for the last six months. As I stood in the bright sunshine waiting for Phoebe, a feeling of deep peace washed over me. I would never, ever forget my dad. He would be with me in everything I did for the rest of my life. Letting go of the chains of grief and guilt didn't mean letting go of him. My dad loved me, he would want me to be happy. The relief that flooded my body almost made me sob. I choked back the emotion and called to Phoebe, walking back inside.
After I'd fed her, I sat down and drank a cup of tea. I thought about my dad the whole time I sat there, remembering special moments we'd shared, reminiscing about the little quirks he had, picturing his face so clearly in my mind. I focused on what I had had, on what some people never got for even a minute. I had had him for twenty-one years. I was lucky–I had been blessed. When I stood up to put my dishes in the sink, I was smiling.
I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower and stripped off my clothes. My scratches looked a lot better. Apparently, the ointment that Archer had applied had worked.
Archer… I sighed, so many confusing emotions and feelings swirling through my body. A warm feeling filled my chest whenever I thought of him.
I wanted to know his story. I wanted to know everything about him. But instinctively, I knew that I shouldn't push the issue of what had happened the day his uncle shot him. The Chief of Police, his uncle, shot him. God, how did you wrap your mind around that? And what the hell had happened to bring that about?
A half an hour later I was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, my hair dry and put up in a ponytail.
As I was slipping on my flip flops, I glanced at my phone sitting on the top of the dresser and picked it up. It had two messages. I listened. They were both from Travis. I threw the phone back down. I'd call him back, just not right now.
I lifted Phoebe and started outside to head back to Archer's house. I considered something as I was about to close my door and turned back. A few minutes later, I was riding away from my cottage toward Briar Road.
**********
"Hey." I smiled when Archer opened the door to his house. He had left his gate slightly open so I could enter and bring my bike inside and let Phoebe head off to find Kitty and the pups.
He smiled back and opened the door wider for me to enter.
I went inside and turned back around to him. I took a deep breath. Thanks for having me back here, Archer. I bit my lip, considering. I hope you don't mind… after last night… there was no other place in the world I wanted to be than here, with you today. I tilted my head, studying him. Thank you.
He watched my hands as I spoke, looking up into my eyes finally, a pleased expression on his face. He nodded at me and I smiled. I took him in.
He was wearing the same worn jeans that looked like they could disintegrate at any second and a tight, navy blue t-shirt. His feet were bare… and as I looked down, I saw that they did look a lot better, mostly because the swelling had gone down. But the cuts and scratches still looked painful. I grimaced.
Archer's eyes followed mine down to his feet.
They're fine, Bree.
I was still doubtful, but I nodded anyway.
He smiled.
I tilted my head to the side. So, Archer, I brought something with me, but before I show you, I just want you to know that if you don't like the idea… or… just want to say no to me, I'll completely understand.
He raised an eyebrow. This sounds scary.
I breathed out a small laugh. No… just… well, let me show you. I went over to the small bag I had brought and pulled out my scissors.
Archer looked at them warily.
I thought you might want a haircut, I said, and then hurried on, but if you don't, that's okay too. I'm not saying you need one, but, well, you need one. But I can also just take off a little–more like a trim.
He smiled a slightly embarrassed smile and put his hand on the back of his neck, but then took it down and looked up at me. I'd like that.
I grinned. You would? Okay! I mean, I'm not the greatest, but I can make it straight. I trimmed my dad's hair many times.
He smiled. Cut as much as you want, Bree.
Well, what do you want? I'll do whatever you'd like.
He looked at me, something warm coming into his eyes, although he didn't smile. He looked at me seriously, swallowing before he said, I want you to like it. Do whatever you want.
I hesitated, not wanting him to feel like he was doing something he didn't want to do. You sure?
Very, he said, walking into the kitchen and pulling one of the chairs from his kitchen table into the middle of the floor where the hair could be easily swept up.
I went to his bathroom and got a towel and the comb sitting on his sink, and then joined him in the kitchen, wrapping the towel over his shoulders.
I began cutting his hair, focusing on the work of measuring and evening. He had told me I could do what I wanted and so I was going to go short. I wanted to see his face, and I had a vague notion that he used his hair to hide. Was it my job to strip him of that? No. But he had given me permission and so I was going to take it. It would grow back if he wanted it to.
I sat the comb aside and used my fingers to comb through his dark, silky hair before using the scissors. Running my hands through his thick, very slightly wavy strands felt intimate and sensual and my pulse rate rose as I moved my body around his, cutting the back first, and then the front. Each time I ran my hand slowly along his scalp, Archer shivered slightly. I leaned in closely as I worked with his hair, drawing in the scent of his shampoo and his clean smell. He smelled like soap, but just underneath that was the musky scent of his maleness, and it made my tummy clench with desire.
As I moved in front of him, smoothing the hair back from his forehead, I looked down into his face and his eyes met mine right before he closed them tightly. It looked almost as if he was in pain, and my heart clenched. Had anyone since his mother touched him with tenderness?
I continued to work and when I leaned in close to get the hair above his ear, his breath hitched. My eyes darted to his face again. His pupils were dilated slightly and his lips were parted. My ni**les hardened under my t-shirt and Archer's eyes moved down, widening when he honed in on my chest. His eyes shot to the side, those red patches appearing on his upper cheekbones, and he fisted his hands which were sitting on his muscular thighs.