by Meader, Kate
His eyes froze, the blue the chill of Arctic ice.
She continued digging her grave. “I—I lashed out at you and of all the things to say, that was terribly cruel.”
“You didn’t know,” he said, the words a whip against her skin. She shouldn’t have brought it up. She hated that she could ever have hurt him with such a thoughtless comment. He was obviously still in a bad place.
“I didn’t. But it was no excuse.”
“It was the perfect excuse. But now you do know. You read those texts I sent and we’ve been sharing something for months. Neither does it help when a man breaks down after making a woman come. I’d say it’s shifted our dynamic.”
Hell yeah it had. How could she not be moved, knowing who he was along with the additional insight she had from the man she knew as LonelyHeart? And how could she not be affected by a man who gets so emotional after sex?
Was I your first since Kelly?
“It bothers you. This shift.”
“Might have preferred when I was just the jerk you hate-lusted after.”
“I didn’t hate-lust after you.”
“Didn’t you?”
She rolled her eyes. “So the dynamic is different. People learn things about other people all the time. Layers are peeled back. Mysteries are revealed. Would you really rather we knew nothing about each other—oh.”
A cold gust of knowing washed over her. He’d given her an orgasm that sent her into a different stratosphere, had a good cry, and now felt foolish. She’d thought it brought them closer but he saw the gulf for what it was: unbridgeable.
She struggled to a wobbly stand. He peered up at her.
“What are you thinking, Sadie?”
That she already missed LonelyHeart. At least, that guy had been honest.
“I think it’s best you leave.”
“Leave?”
She slid a glance to the door, the one he’d been so anxious to walk through a while ago. “I need to pick up Lauren.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “Are you mad at me?”
“No. Not at all. I—well, I liked what we had on text. I liked where that was going but this isn’t the same.”
He blinked. “No. It’s not. It can’t be.”
But they were friends before. They were opening up to each other.
She wanted that back.
“I’m not sure what you expected to happen here,” he said.
“You’re right. This situation is too weird to have any idea how it would play out. But I know that we were friends and what’s just happened has changed that. Possibly for the worse, and not because it wasn’t good because it was.” Damn, it was. “But because you don’t like that I have this insider knowledge about you. That you’ve shared pieces of yourself with me. And you especially don’t like that what we did here tapped into some part of you that might have been previously inaccessible. You don’t want to be known, least of all by me, and that’s okay.”
“I suppose that’s not wrong,” he muttered. “When it was just sniping and lust—”
“It didn’t seem all that important.”
He looked uncomfortable at the reveal of this strange truth.
She wasn’t here to be his guide back to himself. She could barely figure out her own problems. A man like Gunnar Bond came with far too many complications. She was accusing him of holding back but maybe she was scared of what exploring this might mean for her.
“I should leave.” He screwed up his mouth, and even that was attractive. He needed to go before she did something more stupid than rutting on him.
She nodded, choosing silence, worried that any words out of her mouth would be the begging kind. He left without a backward glance, and she slumped against the door, telling herself it was sweet relief and wondering why she hadn’t asked:
Who’s Angel?
22
“Sweetheart, are you alright? Can you hear me?”
I reached over to the passenger seat, blindly because of the dark liquid in my eyes. Blood. I hauled my hand back and wiped, taking a few seconds to allow the scene to come into focus. The air bags had gone off. There was a dripping sound—the fuel line?—and a metallic-oil smell.
Kelly’s head was at a weird angle but her eyes were open.
“Kel—Kel! Can you hear me?”
She tried to move. Nothing happened. But I saw the effort in her eyes. Her body refused to cooperate.
“I—I can’t feel my legs. Can’t feel any-anything.”
“Just stay still, sweetheart.” I turned my head, shifted in my seat, doing a quick check of my body for injuries. The side window had caved in and some of the glass must have slashed my forehead and cheek. It stung but other than that, I was remarkably intact.
Except I couldn’t move.
I pushed at the airbag but behind it, the entire dash had lurched a foot forward, trapping me in place.
“Janie! Danny! Can you hear me? Can you hear Daddy?”
Nothing for a second, then a wail. Janie. That’s my girl.
“Daddy, my leg hurts.”
“I know, baby. Daddy’s gonna take care of it.” I hauled a breath into lungs restricted by imaginary steel bands. “Danny, you okay, buddy?”
Nothing. Panic set in, not the creeping chill of before, but bone-whittling fear. Why wasn’t my son responding?
“Danny! Wake up, Danny!
“G-man, it’s okay.” Someone shook Gunnar’s shoulder and his first instinct was to lash out and connect.
“Fuck!”
He bolted upright and realized his mistake. Theo stood over him, holding his jaw, looking as wounded as a just-kicked puppy.
“Theo? What are you doing—?” In his bedroom. Only, this wasn’t his bedroom. He looked around, taking in Kershaw’s living room. Memories of last night rushed back for a morning meet-and-greet.
Sadie. They had—Jesus. And after, weighted down with shame, he had needed unchallenging company. Three beers later, he’d taken a snooze on Theo’s sofa.
“Shit, did I hit you? I’m sorry, T.”
Still rubbing his jaw, Theo said, “Yeah, you hit me! Have you any idea how much this face is worth?”
Gunnar swiped the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs to the floor. “Your beautiful face will survive. Now you know not to approach a man in the middle of a bad dream.”
Theo sank into the sofa. “Was it about your family? The crash?”
Kershaw would never be known for his tact, but that’s what Gunnar liked about him: he was a straight shooter. A tactless straight shooter.
“Yeah. I haven’t dreamed about them in a while. In fact, here in Chicago, I haven’t been dreaming much at all.”
Except about Sadie Yates’s lush curves. That had to be why the dream was returning: soul-crushing guilt. Giving her that orgasm, the sensation of her unraveling in his arms, had felt so good. He’d forgotten how amazing it felt to give someone else pleasure, to watch that sweet surrender.
But it had meant another shift in the sands of time. Another door shut on his old life. Another vow broken.
For a few stolen minutes, he’d lost himself in this woman’s taste, her sounds, the feel of her wet heat. Only when she asked what she could do for him did he realize the depth of his betrayal. As if the act wasn’t bad enough, he’d broken down in front of her, then pushed her away because he was so mad at himself.
This wasn’t how a man should grieve the loss of his family. For all intents and purposes, he was still married, still had two beautiful children, even if it was only in his dreams—or nightmares.
“I guess dreams pop in because of something else that’s going on,” Theo said.
“Uh huh.”
“Or someone else.”
Gunnar stared at Theo. “Don’t hold back now.”
“At dinner the other night over at Nick and Jenny’s, you couldn’t take your eyes off that Sadie chick.”
“If you’d been paying proper attention, you’d have noticed that we
weren’t exactly enjoying each other’s company.”
Theo grinned. “Yep. Classic symptoms of the love-hate connection. Summer lovin’, had me a blast …”
“There will be no summer lovin’.”
“Why were you so pissed when you stopped by last night? Because you’re sexually frustrated?”
“Leave him alone, Theo,” a soft voice called out. Elle walked into the room in a Rebels jersey, one hand on her hip, the other protecting her protruding belly. “Go start on breakfast.”
“Yes, my commandant!” He saluted then hopped up to kiss her, adding a belly rub at the same time. His attention squeezed a smile from her lips.
“Sorry if we woke you,” Gunnar said as Elle took Kershaw’s spot on the sofa. He hoped she hadn’t heard his moaning, or whatever he’d been doing.
“I can never sleep these days. And Theo is usually up all night, talking about the future and all the things he wants.” She looked embarrassed to be caught in such domestic bliss. A daughter of con-artists, she’d had an unconventional upbringing, so this was new to her. “You okay?”
He shrugged.
“Gunnar.”
He flicked a glance to the kitchen, where the strains of Kershaw singing “I’m Too Sexy” filtered through. “I screwed up.”
“Find that hard to believe. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
No, but he could use a woman’s perspective. “I’m interested in someone.”
“Go on.”
“It’s kind of more complicated than it should be. You see, I’ve known her for a while but I didn’t know who she was.” At Elle’s quizzical frown, he explained how he’d first “met” Sadie and described their argument without going into too much detail.
“I did not have ‘recycled phone number of my wife’ on my bingo card,” she finally said. “Theo’s going to love that story.”
“You have to tell him?”
“I do.” She chuckled at his weary sigh. “So, you enjoyed texting with Sadie.”
“Angel.”
“You felt a connection.”
“I suppose.”
Elle smiled at his cagey response. “Then you met her in real life, and underneath the backbiting and snark—which believe me I know all about relationships starting out that way—you were attracted to her.”
“Excellent summarizing skills.”
She made a face. “In other words, Mr. Sarcastic, you have all the right kinds of chemistry, so what’s the problem?”
What was the problem? He actually understood why Sadie kept it a secret, at least for a while. He didn’t blame her, so what exactly was the true source of his discomfort?
When it was just sniping and lust, it didn’t seem all that important.
“She knows things about me.” Things he hadn’t told other people, things he would have only told Kelly, if even that.
“You’re worried she’ll use it to what—tell all to a tabloid?” Awareness dawned on her face. “Ah, you’re worried it’ll make the sex too good.”
“What? No!”
She smiled. “She knows these things and it makes you feel vulnerable. Vulnerability tends to open the floodgates of emotion. Emotion and sex together is a pretty lethal combo. That bothers you.”
Yes, it bothered him. He’d already made a damn fool of himself. “I’m not like Theo. I’m not an open book. I don’t want any woman to feel she has to be my therapy, the one that cures me of my grief. I don’t want to overpromise anything. But at the same time, I’m not really a casual hook-up kind of person.”
She squeezed his thigh. “That’s quite the dilemma. But maybe look at this way: has it ever occurred to you that she’s not interested in a deep, open-your-heart connection with you either?”
Way to tear down his ego. But Sadie had seemed hurt that he was reluctant to spill his guts to her now that they had met in real life. Surely she saw what a terrible idea it would be for him to use her as his sounding board. Yet, he didn’t want to stop what was happening here.
“She’s only going to be in town for a couple more weeks. She’s moving back to LA.” Something lurched in his chest at the thought.
Elle’s eyes brightened and she grabbed his arm. “Which makes it perfect for a fling. I know that’s not really your style but this could be your means of inching back into relationships. You’re not built for casual. You might want to get serious with someone again. Not this summer or next, but eventually. No harm in exploring with someone who you already have a connection with even if it can go nowhere. Even better because it can go nowhere. It’s time- and geographically-limited and then neither of you will feel any pressure to take it more seriously.”
A brief fling, a short affair. Could he do that? And more to the point, would Sadie want that? He’d have to come clean with her and ensure the expectations were clear.
No future, no past, only living in the present.
No more tears.
And especially, no exchange of hearts.
23
The place smelled like institutional death and decay. Sadie wasn’t sure what to expect. Something like Silence of the Lambs perhaps, a walk by a row of cells with cat calls. Or glass screened carrels with germ-ridden phones.
She was surprised to be shown into a room with tables where visitors sat across from inmates. There were signs about touching—as in no touching—but she could see people holding hands.
She’d rather obey the rules, thank you.
She took a seat at an empty table and waited. Low-hummed voices comingled with muffled sobs. Her father appeared at a nearby door, clad in orange, stooped like Quasimodo. Her heart wrenched at seeing him dragged so low. He had screwed up his life and Lauren’s, but he was still her father.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Sadie.” He took a seat, clasped his hands. He’d turned completely gray since she saw him last, no longer able to rely on the hair color that kept him looking youthful. Finally, he was showing his age and then some.
“How’s Lauren?”
“She’s fine. Playing hockey at the Rebels’ summer camp, wiping the rink with them. Her coach says she’s really talented.”
“She stopped playing after Zoe left us. She got mad at school and …” He broke off, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t bring her here. Please.”
“Of course. But Dad, we need to talk about what comes next. I have to go back to LA—”
“Why can’t you stay here?” His sharp voice drew attention from tables around them.
She lowered her voice. “I have a life in LA. Friends, an apartment, a job.”
“For that D-lister? You can get a job anywhere.”
“My skillset is difficult people. LA is my hunting ground, Dad.” She smiled, but he didn’t return it.
Jonah Yates had never liked her. Parents didn’t have to like their children, but they should try to love them, at the very least. Once her mother had cheated, then died (which her father saw as another form of cheating), it had doomed any chance of love from Sadie’s father. All he saw was her mother, all he knew were her faults. For five years, they’d both counted down the days until she turned eighteen and any semblance of duty could be abandoned.
Now duty had brought Sadie back. Not to her father, but to Lauren.
Her father’s eyes were cold steel. “So you want to take my daughter away from me? I’ll be out of here soon and then you’ll have upended her life for nothing.”
You upended her life, Dad. This is not my fault.
“Dad, if your appeal works out, of course she’ll come back. But for now, I have to do what’s best financially. I don’t have a job here and there’s no money. The house is being sold for restitution.”
He shook his head. “That lousy leech of a lawyer. Couldn’t stop the judge, and what’ll happen when I win my appeal? Too late then. Too late for everything.”
The evidence had been overwhelming, the paper trail a million miles long. The appeal would fail.
“What grounds do
you have for appeal, Dad?”
“That judge had it in for me. Bitch. Probably can’t get laid and takes it out on all the male defendants.”
“Dad …”
“Zoe would have known what to do. She would have made me look sympathetic. She shouldn’t have left me.” He buried his face in his hands. “And now you’re taking my daughter away.” He raised his head and threw a look of sheer hatred at her. “You never understood.”
Oh she understood alright. That she wasn’t good enough to be his daughter but had her uses now. That she was a distant second once her father remarried and Lauren was born. That she would always remind him of the wife he couldn’t lock down.
“So like your mother. You couldn’t wait to leave and now I suppose you’ll have the last laugh.”
Shock tied her tongue. Sadie had learned a long time ago that her father didn’t think like other parents. Even now, he hadn’t acknowledged Sadie as his daughter or thanked her for her part in coming to the rescue. It was always Lauren.
Worst of all, her father was right. Jealousy, cold and sharp, cut through her. She hated feeling this way about an innocent, troubled girl. Lauren was not to blame.
“I’m trying to do what’s best for Lauren. So you and I didn’t get along, but that’s all in the past. We’ll be here for a few more weeks while I pack up the house and settle up here. I’ll bring her to see you. She’ll want to see you.”
“I won’t sign over parental rights to you.”
“You won’t have to. The state has appointed me her temporary guardian. I make the rules for now.”
The words out of her mouth sounded bitter. She didn’t want to get wrapped up in using Lauren and guardianship for revenge. She just wanted it to be over.
* * *
Sadie was not a sports person. She saw the appeal—winning, camaraderie, tight pants on muscular butts—but she was hard-pressed to appreciate the work involved. She also worried about creating tiny assholes who would turn into bigger assholes. As if Lauren didn’t already have enough problems when it came to their father’s genetics.
