It's About Time (Blossom Peak #4)(6)

It’s a gift, really. And we’re not afraid to face our feelings head-on or conquer our demons when our strength and sanity depend on it.

I just hope my murderous tendencies toward this man can stay dormant in the process of helping him, or it might make the animosity between us even worse—because helping Elliot Thorne might be the right thing to do, but it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.





Chapter 3





Elliot



Not Taking No for an Answer



One Week after My Wedding


“What do you mean she’s gone?” My voice echoes through the groom’s suite as Rhonan stands there with a crinkled piece of paper in his hand.

“What do you know about her boss?”

Water assaults my face, ripping me out of a dead sleep and the same fucking nightmare that’s been on repeat all week.

“What the fuck?” I shout, eyes still squeezed shut to protect them from the sting of the water pelting my skin.

“Get up!”

That voice. I don’t even have to open my eyes to know who it is .

“What the actual fuck, Dilynne?” Attempting to block the water, I turn away and lift my hands just as the spray stops. I drag my hands down my face before I finally crack one eye open and find Dilynne Clark standing in my living room in her signature overalls, black tank top, and red bandana tied around her head. The faint smell of oil and grease hits my nostrils, and that’s when reality hits me.

“Did you really just bring the garden hose into my house and spray me with it?”

She plants her hands on her hips as water drips from the spray nozzle attached to the end of the hose. “Damn right. I could smell you from outside. Now go take a proper shower and get dressed.”

I slick my hair back with my hand and then assess my couch—my now very wet couch. “Fuck you, Dilynne. My couch—”

“Will dry. But you? You’ve been cooped up in this house for a week. The boys don’t know what to do with you, so…”

“They sent you? Jesus, they must be really fucking desperate if that’s the case.”

She leans forward, just far enough that I catch a glimpse of her cleavage poking out over the top of her overalls, and I quickly avert my eyes. Nope, not going there. Not with Dilynne.

“For your information, I came over here on my own. I’m gonna take you somewhere that’s going to make you feel better, but not with you smelling like you sat in a vat of grilled onions for a week.” She waves her hand toward the hallway. “Now, go. Scrub your pits and balls, Thorne. I don’t have all day.”

Cautiously, I stand from the couch and meet Dilynne’s eyes. “Why are you doing this, Dilynne? Why do you fucking care? Hell, I bet you’re happy Tori left me.”

Dilynne nods. “Yeah, I am fucking glad that she left, Elliot. She left before you were tied to her legally. Come on, you’re a lawyer. Think of wha t an even bigger mess that would have been.” Shaking her head, she narrows her eyes at me. “But the real reason I’m doing this is…”

Silence descends between us as she contemplates her next words. For a split second, I see the harshness in her face melt away, leaving a delicate vulnerability that I rarely see. But in a flash, her shield is back up.

“Well, because… Because it’s no fun to argue with you when you’re acting this pathetic!” She fans her hands up and down my body, then snaps her fingers. “My snappy remarks are being wasted without you to spar with. So, you need to bust out of your pity party so we can get our witty repartee back up and running.”

Part of me can’t help but wonder if that was really what she was going to say, but the other part of me is glad that she did say it. It feels normal, and that’s something I didn’t know I needed.

“Well, that’s selfish.”

She shrugs. “Call a spade a spade. All I know is that you and I fight. That’s what we do.”

“And whose fault is it that we’ve been nemeses since we were teenagers, huh?”

I eye her curiously as years of flashbacks assault me—us in high school in particular. That’s when things really started to take a turn. I take a step closer to her, forcing her to crane her neck back as she stares up at me.

I watch her throat bob as she swallows, opening her mouth as if to say something. But she snaps it shut, retreats from my proximity, and poises the hose right in front of my face instead. “We don’t have time to go back down memory lane, Elliot. Now, get your stinky ass in the shower, or I’ll be forced to hose you down right here.”

Rol ling my eyes, I head in the direction of my bedroom, but not before I hear Dilynne shout from the living room, “Dear God! I think I just saw a rat scurry across the floor!”

And the corner of my mouth tips up for the first time in a week.

***

“Where the fuck are you taking me?” We’ve been driving on a dirt road for what seems like an eternity, and I’ve barely said a word since we got into Dilynne’s jet black ’69 Chevy Camaro after I scrubbed every inch of my body. I won’t admit that the shower actually made me feel better though, because no amount of soap could clean up the chaos stinking up my mind.

“Don’t worry. If I was going to murder you, I would’ve done it long ago.”