by Taryn Quinn
Apologies hesitated on his tongue. Pleas. Saying them would only hasten her retreat and deepen his own remorse. She wouldn’t stay with him, not when he couldn’t look her in the eye.
Better all around that he just shut down and make it easier for her to go. Then he’d figure out how to get his shit together.
Far away from Kylie.
He pushed a shaking hand through his hair and turned unseeing eyes toward the doorway. “I have a call to make.”
Before she could ask him to come back, he walked out of the kitchen.
Seven
Kylie wanted to chase after him. In fact, she’d started to do just that when she realized she only had his apron to wear since her clothes were in the living room. Somehow she didn’t figure that was the appropriate outfit for a conversation like this.
Whatever it was.
She wasn’t sure what had happened at the end of their lovemaking, but something had gone wrong. She’d gotten teary, yes, but that happened sometimes when she came. It was probably clichéd, and maybe a little weird too, but she couldn’t help the emotions a strong climax brought up inside her.
Besides, if she were really being honest, she hadn’t simply teared up because she’d come so freaking hard she’d almost burst a blood vessel. The true reason had a lot more to do with the man who’d been inside her than the physical responses he’d coaxed from her body.
It was too soon for her to feel so emotionally on edge around him, wasn’t it? She shouldn’t feel as if she were on a tightrope and a hasty step in either direction would send her plummeting.
With as long as they’d been friends, she should not be falling this fast.
She definitely hadn’t the first time around. And as much as she’d like to credit his tongue ring and hot tat and sexual kinks, she knew it was much more than that. She was…ready for Justin.
Not just physically. Spiritually. Mentally.
But psychologically? That was the sticking point. She’d just gotten out of a troubled relationship. If she hoped to have a more stable one with Justin, she couldn’t just go bopping into it. Especially not considering everything he had in his past. He had his own issues, and ignoring them now would probably cause them a hell of a lot of pain later. She’d kinda filled up her quotient of pain for a while.
But that didn’t mean she knew what to do next.
At a loss, she sat at the table. The pizza would be done soon, and then maybe over dinner they could—
He strode into the room, fully dressed. He went straight to the table by the back door and snatched his keys, then cast her a distracted glance as if he’d forgotten she was still there. “I need to go out for a while.”
“But dinner’s almost ready.” She heard the whine in her voice, and she hated it.
Look at them. So not a couple and already she was falling into the traditional harpy role. Lovely.
“You eat it. I have to take care of something, and it won’t wait.” He ran his scarf through his hands, his brows drawing more together the longer he stared at her. “Kylie, I don’t want you to feel like you need to stay.”
“Huh?”
“It’s your option, of course. I know your…housing situation is problematic, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. But I don’t expect it after—” He broke off and jingled his keys. “Look, I gotta go.”
She stood unsteadily and walked over to the oven to turn off the pizza. It hadn’t dinged yet, but she sure wasn’t going to stay there alone while he charged off to do who knows what. “Wherever you need to go, I’m coming with you.”
“It’s not for you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s tough turnips because I’m coming.” She whipped off the apron and tossed it on the counter they’d so fully desecrated. “Just give me a couple of minutes to get dressed.”
“Kylie—”
“I’m coming, Justin. Deal.” She walked out of the kitchen before he could argue anymore.
Fifteen minutes later, she was in the passenger seat of his Jeep and staring out at the endless white landscape whizzing past her window. She had no idea where they were headed, and she wasn’t about to ask him. He was spookily silent, his gloveless hands wrapped around the wheel, his jaw like granite. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. He’d gone somewhere in his head, and she wasn’t invited.
She turned on the radio, just to fill the cabin with something other than the words neither of them were saying. A cheerful Christmas classic rolled out of the speakers, somehow highlighting how fucked-up everything had become.
Their perfect afternoon had shattered two days in a row. Either they had extremely sucky luck or maybe she was just fooling herself that anything could ever be perfect between them for very long.
Maybe they were both too screwed up or their timing was off. Either way, they couldn’t keep jumping back ten paces for every two they took forward.
“You didn’t have to come,” he said, his voice in a monotone.
She shifted on the seat, trying to find a position that didn’t sting quite as much. She’d been worked over more vigorously in the past, but he’d definitely made her a little sore. Pleasantly so. “No. You didn’t have to take me in either, but you did. You didn’t have to take care of me and make me laugh and make me co—”
“Don’t.” His hands flexed around the wheel as he hissed out a breath. “What I did doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Says who?”
“Your tears said it pretty clearly.” He still wouldn’t look at her.
She rubbed her forehead. All of a sudden a nasty headache was brewing at her temples. “So you know why I was crying then?” she asked tiredly.
“I think it was pretty obvious, Kylie.”
“Apparently not, since you haven’t said one right thing in the past hour.”
“Excuse the fuck out of me.” He jabbed the button to change radio stations. “Let’s just not do this now, okay?”
“So now I’m a this. We’re a this.” She pressed her cheek against the cool window and found it didn’t do a thing to settle her temper. “Good to know.”
“Do you know where we’re going right now?” he asked, his voice brutally quiet as he made a hard right onto yet another isolated country road.
She didn’t know where they were for sure. All she could see for miles was dark and snow and more dark.
“How would I? You haven’t seen fit to tell me.”
“Every holiday I call my mom. I don’t know why, since she usually doesn’t seem like she wants to talk to me. She’s either busy or about to take a nap or a million other excuses that don’t change that I’m way down her list of who she wants to hear from on holidays or any other time.”
She waited, twisting her hands in her lap.
“I called her tonight, and she didn’t answer. I called three times.”
“Maybe they went out?”
“With my stepfather? Doubtful. Now that he’s retired, he’s a homebody through and through.” He rolled his shoulders as if he were shaking off his tension. If only it were that easy. “I need to make sure she’s okay. If I don’t and something’s happened, I won’t be able to live with myself.”
“Okay.”
He cast her a sidelong glance, his surprise evident in the quirk of his mouth. “That’s all you have to say?”
Did he honestly expect her to argue with him? “Yeah. That’s it. You have to make sure she’s all right. You’re her son, and you love her.”
“Sometimes I don’t know why I do,” he muttered.
“Because she’s your mom. No matter what.”
He let out a breath, shaking his head. “Yeah. But if she’s okay, she’s not going to be glad to see me. You don’t need to be there for all that. You shouldn’t be.”
The pang in her stomach was just hunger pains. Sure it was. She hadn’t gotten dinner after all.
It wasn’t because he thought he needed to keep her at arm’s length, except when it came to sex. Even then he didn
’t believe he could be himself with her. Not for more than a few minutes at a time. Afterward he brought up his walls even thicker than before.
“I’m your friend. Friends are part of each other’s lives. Or at least they should be. If they aren’t, if you don’t want them to be, you might as well get a blow-up doll and stick it on your couch.”
His mouth curved for a moment. “Blow-up dolls are less trouble. No arguments there.”
“Is that all you want? Less trouble? An easier life?”
He glanced at her, his eyes so dark in the faint glow from passing streetlights that they might as well have been sinkholes. Resistant to light, refusing to let any back out. “You know it’s not.”
She wished she had the nerve to rip into him for always assuming the worst, both with her and apparently with his mother, but the guy was clearly hurting. She didn’t want to cause him any more grief—she wanted to alleviate it.
If he pushed her away, she’d have to prove to him she would stick around this time. Not like in college when she’d been so eager to lace up her own running shoes.
She’d changed a lot since then, and even if this didn’t turn out to be the love affair of the century, she’d be his friend. No matter what.
She reached across the console and touched his wrist just beyond the sleeve of his jacket. He whipped his gaze to hers, and she held her own steady. “Our deal was we’d spend Thanksgiving together. It’s not over yet.”
But when it was, would they be too?
Trying to ignore the bubbles of fear brewing in his gut, Justin strode up the walk to his mom’s home. The difference tonight was that he was cognizant of every step Kylie took beside him.
They hadn’t spoken for the last few miles, and he figured that was probably a good thing. His tendency for making things worse every time he opened his mouth didn’t bode well for heartfelt chats. At least not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
His mother’s house—not his parents’, since he’d never think of that bastard as his father—sprawled out like a well-lit haven in the dark. Warm. Inviting.
Fake.
He tucked his bare fingers in the pockets of his jeans as he hurried up the snow-encrusted steps to the front stoop. It seemed like every damn light in the place was on. They’d already decorated for Christmas, and old-fashioned, multicolored bulbs encircled the railings. A real fir wreath with a big velvet bow hung on the door.
Hell, it was practically the perfect scene for the Cleaver Christmas version 2.0. Which would’ve been fine, had he trusted any of it to be real.
He didn’t.
All the shrinks in the world could tell him his stepfather was “cured,” and he wouldn’t believe it. As far as Justin was concerned, the man was a ticking bomb, apt to explode at any time.
Before he growled and really freaked out Kylie, he grabbed the door knocker and rapped. No answer. He tried it several more times with the same results.
“Maybe they’re out,” she ventured.
“Car’s here.”
“The property’s pretty big. Do they do outside stuff? They could be out back.”
He rapped again. “In all that snow? Doubtful. They don’t snowmobile.”
“Perhaps—”
“Kylie, enough.” He fished around on his key ring for the spare key he’d had made years ago. They hadn’t given it to him voluntarily, but he’d be damned if he didn’t have a way into their place just in case. With his free hand, he rapped again, well aware that Kylie was stewing at his side. “If they don’t answer in another minute, I’m going in.” He shook his key. “I’m not taking a fucking chance that she could be hurt or dead—”
His hand fell away from the door as it was yanked inward, and his stepfather filled it with his broad frame. “Justin? Whatsa matter?”
Justin’s blood chilled with just one look into the man’s wild black eyes. He was breathing hard, and his clothes looked askew. Dammit. “What the hell’s going on here? Where’s Mom?”
Before his stepfather could reply, Justin grabbed his shoulder and pushed him out of the way. He stormed into the foyer and cast a glance around, expecting to see upended furniture—or worse. So much worse.
Instead he glimpsed his mom hurrying down the hall. Her messy brown hair fell into her eyes while she yanked at her still partially undone blouse. She fumbled the bottom two buttons into place and glanced up at her son, revealing her smeared lipstick. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
All at once, he understood. His stepfather hadn’t been beating his mom into unconsciousness. Oh no.
They’d been having sex. Sex, for God’s sake. He’d walked out on Kylie during a volatile moment and hauled her over to his mother’s house with him for no reason except he was a paranoid maniac and clearly didn’t have a clue how to mind his own damn business.
He raked a hand through his hair and tossed a look at Kylie. She still stood on the front stoop, and she was gazing anywhere but at him.
Right then he didn’t blame her.
“I called, and no one answered.” He shut his eyes and willed the tremor out of his voice. “And I assumed the worst.”
“Everything’s fine.” His stepfather sounded annoyed, understandably so.
Except it wasn’t understandable. He’d been the fucker who’d beat his own wife years ago. If that jerk touched her again, he’d kill him.
“Isn’t it, Tracy?” his stepfather boomed into the silence. He waved Kylie inside and shut the door. “Tell your son it’s fine.”
“It’s fine, Justin.” She sounded infinitely tired as she hustled over to place her cool hands on Justin’s forearms. He’d shoved up his jacket sleeves while he waited on the porch, and her soft touch felt like a balm on his overheated skin. “We were just taking a…break while dinner finished up.” A ding from the kitchen made her smile. “See, that’s dinner now. You should stay, since you’re here and all.”
He was already backing away. “No, thanks. Kylie and I will just—”
“Kylie?” His mother stepped around him and brightened instantly. “Well, hello, dear. I didn’t see you behind these big, strapping men.”
“Hello.” Kylie smiled weakly and rubbed her palm on her hip before extending it to his mom. “I’m Kylie Fisher. I’d know you were Justin’s mom anywhere. You look just like him.”
“Oh, do I?” Apparently surprised by this news, Tracy patted her hair and slanted a look at her son. “He got a few more inches than I had to give him though.”
When Kylie blushed and didn’t say anything, he couldn’t believe the smile that almost curved his lips. He so rarely smiled while in this house that the mere possibility surprised him.
“So what do you say?” His mother twisted her fingers together as if she were nervous. And not because of the gruff man who lurked silently by the door.
These nerves were due to her son’s unexpected visit on the day of a family holiday, Justin was willing to bet. Oh, the horrors.
More than anything, he wanted to get the hell out of there. But Kylie’s big blue eyes reflected interest, and he wasn’t going to disappoint her again today. Not if he could help it.
He hooked an arm around Kylie’s shoulders and tugged her against his side. She went as rigid as a board the moment he touched her, and just like that, his lingering hopes that perhaps they could work out what had happened between them at the cabin faded. She might be interested in a hot turkey dinner, but that was all.
He’d well and truly fucked-up.
“Would you like to stay?” he asked.
Kylie nodded and reached down to clasp his hand. She held it tight while she searched his gaze. “I would. I think getting to know your parents is a lovely idea.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “What about you?”
What he wanted—to get his ass home and in bed before he could do any more damage—didn’t seem to matter much.
“We can stay,” he said finally.
Eight
Kylie shoved back from the
table wearing a huge grin she sure didn’t feel. Even her distractingly warm bottom only highlighted how far they’d come since that amazing session on Justin’s counter. “Thank you. This was wonderful.”
“Oh, but don’t you want another piece of pie?” Mrs. Norton rose and gestured toward the kitchen. As big as the dining room was, the house had a warm, intimate feel that Kylie loved. “We barely dug into the pumpkin, and you loved the lemon meringue one so much. Have another. Please.”
Kylie dabbed her mouth with the napkin and swung a quick look at Justin. He was pushing the crust from his slice of pumpkin around his plate and not looking at any of them.
Throughout the meal, he’d been pleasant enough—replying when spoken to, laughing at appropriate moments, even occasionally making inquiries of his own. But there was no denying the tension that hung thickly over the table, even more weighty than the whipped-cream-laden pies Mrs. Norton had delighted in setting out.
He didn’t want to be there, and considering his past with his stepfather, she didn’t altogether blame him. Justin was an honest guy down to the core, and to him, sitting there and breaking bread like a family probably felt like a lie. She just wished he could see his mother and stepfather the way she did, as an observer. They were happy together, their own little family. Justin felt like an intruder because he didn’t know how to accept that, not because he wasn’t wanted.
And yep, she’d been playing pop psychologist way too long at the bar if she was getting all that from just a simple Thanksgiving dinner.
“Oh, I’m stuffed, thanks,” she murmured.
Truth was, she could’ve happily inhaled another slice of pie, despite the fact that she’d already had two. Justin’s mom was a fabulous cook, and she’d really enjoyed the meal, tension aside. It was nice to get to know more about Justin from his mom, even if he’d barely commented most of the times Mrs. Norton had remarked upon incidents from his childhood.
Either he didn’t want to go there period or he didn’t want to go there with Kylie present. He probably figured she’d get the wrong idea about them having dinner at his parents.
