Something resembling a snarl turned his mouth down. “I wouldn’t know.”
What? The last I’d seen them, they were happy.
“Why wouldn’t you?” I asked carefully.
“I broke it off with her.” He shoveled a piece of broccoli in his mouth a little too aggressively.
I stared at him incredulously. “You what?”
He set his fork down on his plate and leaned back in his chair. “It’s not fair to her. She shouldn’t have to accept that I don’t think I can go through a relationship again.”
I put my own fork down with a clatter and pointed at him. “Does this have to do with Mom?”
He banged his fist on the table in an uncharacteristic display. “No. And I don’t want to talk about her.”
Whoa. Seemed like I was getting warmer to the root of what was going on.
“I’m just trying to figure you out. I thought you and Mrs. Quinn were on fire.”
He shot a shut it look in my direction. “On fire?”
“Yeah. Hot for each other.” I leaned back in my chair and polished off my beer, relieved the conversation was less intense.
“You aren’t trying to do anything but avoid telling me why you won’t go home. I’m thrilled to have you here any way I can get you, but if you want to get real, let’s get real. Why are you calling your old man after work instead of that beautiful roommate of yours? Or hell, even your brother or sister?” He pushed his mostly empty plate away from him and folded his hands on the table.
My dad avoided some things like it was his job. Mainly anything to do with my mother. But he didn’t shy away from the hard stuff. He always knew when to push and when to leave things alone.
“Andrew and Marlow are probably in bed.” I picked at the edge of the label on my bottle, avoiding his eyes.
“Not with my two grandkids.” He winked.
“What kind of trouble did they get into today?” I loved my nephew and niece. Well, technically she wasn’t my niece yet, but I was never one to get bogged down with technicalities.
“We’re back to avoiding the subject at hand?” Dad tilted his beer back. “Suits me.”
“I just needed some space.” I worked harder at peeling the label off in one piece. It began to rip when I had a quarter of it off.
“Living with her isn’t what you thought?”
I concentrated on the label, slowly pulling on the edge to stop the split. “No. It’s pretty much exactly what I thought.” Aside from not being able to control this need to touch her. If anything, it was getting worse. “Can we not talk about Baker?”
A smirk toyed on my father’s lips. “You pushed about Audrey and Ivette.”
“Fine. Let’s just forget about women for now.” I held up my bottle. “Want another?”
“Please.” He handed me his empty.
I paused in the doorway to the kitchen. “You aren’t the same without Mrs. Quinn.” Now that he’d confessed he’d let her go, it was painfully obvious he was struggling.
Plates clattered from the dining room as I disposed of our bottles in the recycling bin. I opened the fridge and pulled out two more. Dad dropped our dishes in the sink.
“No, I’m not,” he admitted through a stiff jaw. “But I’ve made my bed.”
“Just want you to be happy, Dad.” I held the fresh beer bottle in front of him.
He took it greedily from my hands. “Why do all my children keep saying that to me?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“If all of you are happy, then so am I.” He meant it. I knew that with everything I was. But there was a halo of loneliness around him that burned brighter than it had before I’d left for Wyoming.
“Call her.” I couldn’t keep my mouth shut when I knew he was being a fool not to try with Mrs. Quinn.
He hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me in. “Have I told you how glad I am to have you home?”
“Once or twice.” I hugged him back. The man told me every single day in some way, shape, or form. I was glad to be back too. “Mind if I crash here tonight?”
“You never have to ask.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the caller ID and shoved it back where it came from.
“More lady friends?” I teased.
His eyes looked haunted. “No. Your mother.”
“What does she want?” I couldn’t hide my disbelief. The little boy in me clapped with hope that they might get back together. But the man in me was worried for my father.
“I can’t imagine after nearly forty years.” He leaned against the counter for support. “But she’s reminded me why I can’t be with Audrey. I can’t go through that hurt again.”
“Dad.”
Wariness was in his eyes. “Your mother surfacing has brought it all back up again. I—I just can’t.”
I hated the pain radiating from him. His struggle was palpable, and I wanted to take it away, but didn’t know how. My mother had dredged up things that were better left alone, even if it was hard.
“Why did she leave right after I was born? Is it because she didn’t want more kids?”
He slammed his beer down and took me by the shoulders, shaking. “She left because of me, son. Don’t you ever think otherwise. Ever.”
I was taken aback by his adamancy. I’d thought the questions a million times in my life, but never voiced them aloud to my father. There just seemed to be too much of a coincidence that I was born and she took off right after to not have a connection.
“Are you sure? Because—”
“I’m sure.” He cut me off, shaking my shoulders again. “It’s my fault. Not yours. Do you hear me?”
I nodded automatically, though I wasn’t convinced. I’d wanted to ask this question for so long, and part of me couldn’t be satisfied. It’s my fault. Not yours. How could I reconcile that with the guilt and pain, believing for over thirty years I was responsible for all the hurt my family had endured. I wanted to believe him. But was he still trying to protect me?
“It wasn’t your fault, either,” I said quietly. She’d left all of us for another man. Another life. And she’d never looked back. Not until lately.
I’d reached out to her. If it weren’t for me, she probably wouldn’t be dragging Dad back through this confusion and hell. She’d have left well enough alone if I had too.
His eyelids shuddered. “We have to live with the choices we make.”
A rope knotted around my gut. “I know. But we have to live with the choices other people make too.”
A shrill ring cut through the room. This time my own phone rang.
“Don’t answer that,” Dad said severely when he saw the caller ID. He covered my hand with his.
The number was one I didn’t recognize. “It could be work.”
“It’s her.”
Her? “Mom?”
He nodded, his grip on my hand pleading. I stared at him, one part of me insanely curious to find out what she wanted, the other terrified to hear what she’d have to say.
Frozen, the phone seemed to ring forever until it stopped. Silence enveloped us, thick and heavy.
“Why is she calling me?” I whispered. I’d wanted that for as long as I could remember. For my entire life. I just wanted my mother to want me, no matter the reason.
“I don’t know.” His voice cracked. “I can’t tell you not to speak to her. I want to, but I can’t.”
“I don’t want to betray you.” There was longing in what I hadn’t said. That I wanted to at least have a chance with her, even if I was a grown man.
“You couldn’t. Don’t let my feelings shape yours.” The sound was rough, pained, but selfless.
“I need to talk to her. To know the truth,” I said honestly.
His face dropped, but he nodded once. “I understand you want to know her side, but that doesn’t make it the truth. Be careful, son.”
Chapter Three
Baker
He hadn’t come home.
As I turned my key in the lock after a long day at work, I half expected his things to be gone.
I pushed open the door. Quickly peering around the open space, everything seemed the same. His books littered the coffee table. The mug he’d left on the kitchen counter three days ago was still there. A T-shirt draped the back of a barstool. The apartment was still, lacking the energy that hummed through it when Holt was home.
Home.
What a joke. I’d jumped at the opportunity to get out of the shelter. To leave behind the first place that had been a real home to me in a long time. Because I wanted it all. The place to come back to that had nothing to do with the surroundings but who was in it.
Foolishness.
That desire for things that didn’t exist was what had gotten me into trouble in the first place.
Illusions.
I still had a hard time distinguishing what was real and what wasn’t. This was something I’d worked on with my therapist, but I’d taught myself to put up a good front. Deep down, I hadn’t learned who was to be trusted and who wasn’t. Like an innocent little girl, I let my heart do the picking.
That was why Trish was my best friend. Why I loved her baby like she was my own. Why I was living with a man I had no business being around.
He could hurt me. I doubted the way I had been in the past, but he had the power nonetheless. And he shouldn’t.
I didn’t even know him.
But the fact he hadn’t come home after the morning we had stung me something deep and fierce. And I wasn’t brave enough to wonder if that was because he could have hooked up with someone last night. I’d even stayed late at work and contemplated asking Trish if I could sleep over with her just to give Holt a taste of his own medicine.
In the end, the pull toward home had been strong. I couldn’t stay away. Needed to know if he would come back. I had my answer.
No.
And that stung.
I dropped my bag on the counter and went straight for the wine. Some of my co-workers had asked me to go out tonight, but I’d declined. Now that I’d come home to an empty place on a Friday night, I reconsidered.
Phone and wine in hand, I leaned against the counter and took a long, satisfying swallow. Immediately, some of my muscles loosened. I thumbed through my contacts about to press Call for one of my colleagues when the front door opened.
Holt’s coveralls were filthy. He had a smudge of grease on his cheek. His hair was a wreck, strands of it haphazard in opposing directions.
Relief rushed through me even as I stood a little straighter.
“You should lock the door.” He kicked it shut and shucked off his leather jacket, tossing it on the back of the sofa.
My pulse thrummed a rapid beat with every step he took toward the kitchen. His eyes were locked on mine, but I couldn’t read anything but the heat in them. Fury or desire, I didn’t know. He looked exhausted, that much I could tell.
He swiped the glass from my hand and drained half, making a disgusted face when he handed it back to me. “How do you drink that stuff?” He grimaced and went to the fridge, grabbing a beer and twisting the top off.
“Like this.” I made a show of putting the glass to my lips, slowly tipping it back until the dark liquid flowed into my mouth. “Delicious,” I said once I’d swallowed.
His throat bobbed as he watched me. His eyes slid down my body when I lowered the glass to the counter.
“Nice dress.” His gaze lingered at the V where just a hint of cleavage peeked out.
I’d worn the red A-line dress for him. To get his attention. Pathetic.
“That what people who work at a magazine wear?” He pointed his beer toward me, heat burning a trail where his eyes wandered down my body all the way to my heels.
“Only the easy ones.”
“I already explained that,” he said with a hint of impatience.
“I know what easy means.” He had explained and I loved his nickname, but I was still pissy after he hadn’t come home last night. “Apparently you’re well acquainted with the definition.”
He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I lifted one shoulder to my ear. “Nothing.”
He set his bottle down and closed the distance between us, though he was careful not to touch his clothes to my dress.
“You’d better clarify, Easy. This grease monkey isn’t following.”
I barely heard what he said, blindsided when the scent of motor oil wafted into my nostrils. I gripped the rounded edge of the counter and pressed my lower back into it to get away. It was useless. I was dizzy with the combination of sweat, garage, and Holt.
“I said nothing.” I lifted my chin, as I pretended not to be affected. There was no way I was asking if he’d been with someone the night before. “And stay out of my room.”
“That’s where the only working bathroom is. You knew that when we moved in.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a problem then.” I shrugged, and he scowled.
“No problem.” His voice held dark promise and unspoken desire.
Every inch of me ached for him to touch me, his breath ghosting across my face not anywhere near enough. I clenched my thighs together. That did nothing to stop the throb of heat in my core.
“You stink.” I wrinkled my nose and prayed he believed the lie.
“Then why’d you just inch closer, Easy?”
“I didn’t,” I said indignantly. “Can you back up, please? I have plans.”
He flattened his palms on the stone surface on either side of me. “We have plans.”
I held my breath to keep from taking any more of that intoxicating scent in, but I had to let it go so I could speak. “We do not.”
Holt winked at me, a signature move of the Dixon men. I should have been immune, but I melted. “Sure we do. It’s in our roommate agreement. Friday nights, we hang out.”
I shoved at his shoulders. “What are you talking about?” My voice was shaky, far too affected for my liking. “We don’t have a roommate agreement.”
“Sure, we do,” he said easily. “Did we or did we not agree to be roommates?”
I stared at him a moment. This was a trick question. It was too easy not to be. “Um . . . yes?”
He tapped the tip of my nose and grinned. “Exactly. And since we agreed to be roommates, we agreed to Friday nights. I’m picking this week. Pizza. Beer. And The Walking Dead.”
“Did you get hit on the head at work today?”
“Not that I remember,” he said cheekily.
I quirked my mouth to one side. “Inhale toxic fumes?”
“Probably.” He flashed his perfect white teeth at me.
My gaze dropped to his mouth, and I had to fight desperately to keep from doing something really stupid. Like kiss him the way my lips burned to.
“I have plans,” I said weakly.
“I know. We just went over them. Pizza. Beer—”
I held up my hand. “I got it. I got it.”
“Good.” He dipped his head closer to mine, our eyes locked. His were full of the kind of mischief I definitely wanted a part of.
He rapped his knuckles on the counter twice, and I jumped, narrowly avoiding head butting him. That grin turned knowing before he backed out of my space.
“Wait to change until I’m out of the shower. I need my privacy,” he said over his shoulder as he sauntered toward the bedroom.
I sagged against the counter when he disappeared, blindly feeling around for my wine glass. Once in hand, I downed the rest in one long swallow. Sweet Jesus that man put me in a tailspin.
He couldn’t get that close again. I’d never survive however long we lived together.
&nb
sp; I marched down the hall with determined steps.
“We need to establish . . .” I lost my train of thought at the sight of him bare-chested, coveralls hanging off his hips. We had to get that bathroom fixed. Stat.
“Establish?” He twirled his hand in front of him in a finish that thought gesture.
I cleared my throat and dragged my eyes away from those cut abs up to his face. So that wasn’t really a hardship. “Boundaries. We need to establish boundaries.”
He shook his index finger at me. “Yes. I told you I needed some privacy, yet you tear in here like the house is on fire.”
“You can’t get in my personal space again.”
Holt shoved his coveralls off his hips, leaving him only in charcoal gray boxer briefs. “Easy, we live together. You can’t get any more up in each other’s personal space than that.”
I cinched a hand on my waist. “This what I’m talking about. You can’t walk around in your underwear. Or drink my wine without asking. Or—”
He stepped closer, a distinct ridge evident against the cotton of his underwear. I stepped back.
“That’s what this is about. I drank your wine.” His smile was conciliatory. “We’ve got nothing to worry about. That sure as hell won’t happen again.”
Holt moved toward my bathroom, pausing when he got to the splintered doorframe. “Since this is broken,” he motioned to the door, “can you give me a minute? I won’t be long. I need my privacy.”
The bastard didn’t wait for a reply, dropping his underwear to the floor, so that all I was left with was an unobstructed view of his perfect ass.
Taut muscles defined the planes of his back, which gave way to his solid behind. And damn his legs. Long, thick with muscle I imagined came from hiking or mountain climbing. He was the picture of strength, and my second time looking at his naked form was no less awe-inspiring than the first.
My nipples pebbled into hard buds that stabbed through the thin lace of my bra. The silk fabric of my dress did nothing to disguise my physical reaction to him. I couldn’t make myself move, not even when the water turned on.
Holt’s face appeared in the doorway. I ignored the disappointment that I couldn’t see any more of him.
Trust Me: A Roommates To Lovers Romance Novel (Free Book 2) Page 2
