by Tara Wyatt
Thought you could use something to wear tomorrow. - Dylan
Slowly, she sank down onto her bed, avoiding the dress. A confusing storm of emotions roiled through her. Excitement. Happiness. Surprise and worry and fear. Doubt. And underneath it all, a creeping resentment. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she got up and paced through her apartment, but when that didn’t dispel the weird energy snapping through her, she picked up her phone and called Dylan. The team had been out of town on a short three game road trip, and they’d had an off day for travel today. He answered on the second ring, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine.
“Hey,” he said casually, and she could picture his body language just from that single syllable. He was sprawled out in an armchair or on a sofa, his arms over the back, his legs wide in front of him, that maddeningly cocky smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.
“Hi. Um, so…the dress.”
“Shit, did I get the size wrong? I had to guess. Although I think I know your measurements pretty well.” She could practically hear his wink.
“No, uh, I don’t know. I didn’t look at the size. Listen, you didn’t have to do that.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, it’s not that. I…” She trailed off. She what? “I’m not comfortable with it.”
A silence stretched between them, so long that she wondered if the call had somehow disconnected. “Tell me why,” he said finally.
“Because I could never afford this on my own. And I feel like…like you’re buying me, or like it’s charity or something, and it puts us on unequal footing.”
Another silence.
“It makes me feel like that diner waitress who drove a rusted Corolla and lived in a shitty part of town. The girl who wasn’t good enough for you.” Her chest tightened as she spoke, and she sank down onto her living room floor, staring out the darkened window, clutching the phone in her hand.
“Shit, Maggie, I didn’t mean to make you feel anything but beautiful. It’s just a dress,” he said. She could hear the caution in his voice.
Closing her eyes, she sighed. “I…I get that. But things are so confusing between us, D. I don’t know who we are to each other or what we’re doing, and this is just muddying the waters even more and—”
“You called me D.”
Her eyes flew open, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. Oh God, she had. “I guess it just slipped out.”
“Maggie, listen to me. You were always good enough for me. More than good enough. When I was with you, I felt like so much more than just a jock.”
Something warm expanded in her chest at his admission. She clung to the tiny reserve of courage she had. “Then why did you break up with me? Tell me the truth. Please.” Because I’m starting to feel things I don’t know if I should feel. If I should want to feel.
There was a long pause before he answered. “I was stupid. Immature.” She waited, giving him the space to say more, but he didn’t. Even though he couldn’t see her, she nodded. She’d wanted an explanation for why he’d ended things between them and he’d given her four words. It felt like there was more, beneath the surface. That he wasn’t telling her the whole story, and she didn’t know what to do with that. She wanted to trust him, but it wasn’t easy, especially when she felt like he was holding the full truth back. When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “I’m sorry if the money stuff makes you uncomfortable. I obviously didn’t mean it to.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not the same guy I was ten years ago, but I can’t change the fact that I have money. I was trying to do a nice thing.”
She’d hoped calling him would help her get some clarity, but now she felt more inside out than before. “I know. I guess I still have some baggage from the past.”
Dylan snorted out a masculine laugh. “Don’t we all? Listen, wear the dress, or don’t if it makes you uncomfortable. It’s up to you, okay? If you don’t want to wear it tomorrow night, that’s fine. I just want you to come with me. You’re still coming with me, right?”
“Um, yeah. Sure.” She didn’t feel sure at all. It felt like she kept wading into deeper and deeper waters, less and less sure of her ability to swim.
“Okay. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”
“Sure.”
“Did you want me to come over tonight?”
She scratched at her cheek, and for a second, she was tempted, but she knew she needed some space tonight. “Um, you know, I’m really tired, so I think I’m just gonna crash,” she said, her voice coming out higher than normal.
“Oh, yeah. Okay. So I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, tomorrow. Night.” She ended the call, unable to take any more awkwardness. Pushing up off the floor, she walked back into her bedroom, her eyes immediately moving to the dress, roving over the luxe fabric splayed across her bed. Ever so carefully, she ran the tips of her fingers over the crystals adorning the bodice and tried to picture Dylan going to the trouble of picking it out for her.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Mama,” she whispered, sitting down on her bed. “I loved him once, and I could love him again, and that terrifies me because he hurt me worse than anyone has ever hurt me. I should’ve stayed away from him, but I can’t seem to. I’m weak when it comes to Dylan. I always was. Weak and soft-hearted and foolish.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I just want to be enough for him, and I don’t know if I ever will be.” She glanced over her shoulder at the dress, shimmering softly in the light. “What am I supposed to do?”
But as usual, Mama didn’t answer, and so with careful movements, Maggie put the dress away and tucked the box into her closet, out of sight.
Eleven
Dylan ran a hand over his hair, adjusted his bow tie, and shot his cuffs, then knocked on Maggie’s door. Ever since their phone conversation last night, he’d been feeling just left of center. Mostly okay, but also not really okay. He hadn’t meant to make her feel less than or like a charity case. God, he’d never want her to feel like that, like he saw her as somehow beholden to him or in his debt. He’d been trying to do something sweet for her. Something he’d hoped she’d find romantic. Apparently he’d blown that one, big time, because it had clearly upset her.
He’d also been able to tell that she’d been disappointed with his answer as to why he’d broken up with her. But telling her the deeper reason why would only push her away. It was in the past, and it was done. And shit, if the dress had made her feel like they were on unequal footing, finding out what he’d done would make her feel a million times worse. He regretted losing her, but he didn’t regret the opportunity he’d given her. And even though he wished he hadn’t walked away from her, he couldn’t change it. All he could do was move forward, and he wanted to move forward with Maggie.
Maggie’s door swung open, and there she was, looking like a goddamn goddess. His ego swelled and possessive satisfaction crashed through him when he saw the dress he’d picked out for her hugging her gorgeous body. Her hair hung over one shoulder in golden waves, highlighting the slender column of her neck and her delicate collarbone. Her eyes roved over him, devouring him, and when they finally met his gaze, he smiled, tilting up the corner of his mouth.
“You wore the dress,” he said, his tone heavy with approval. Her cheeks went pink, and she ran her hands over the fabric of the skirt, making it ripple and shimmer.
“Figured I shouldn’t let it go to waste. It’s not every day I come home to find a Chanel gown on my doorstep.”
He took a step closer and wrapped a shiny, golden lock of her hair around his finger. “And it’s not every day I get to see a Chanel gown on my bedroom floor, either. It’ll look fantastic there in, say…” He made a show of checking his watch. “About three and a half hours.”
She swatted at him, but she laughed, her eyes bright, and he felt the tension ease between them. “Hey, no advance planning. I know we’re breaking rules left, right, and center here, but let’s at least try.”
Dylan: You up?
She laughed and texted him back.
Rule breaker.
“Never took you for a stickler, Jennings,” he said, unable to take his eyes off of her. She was glowing, radiant. So beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. And she was his. Maybe she didn’t know it yet, hadn’t accepted it yet, but she was.
“Well, we can’t just break every rule,” she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Fuck, just that look and he was half hard for her. He took a step closer, her sweet, warm scent hitting him like a punch in the gut, making every muscle in his body tighten.
“Why not?” Before she could answer, he dipped his head and started dropping kisses on her exposed neck. She shivered and let out a little sigh, letting her head fall to the side.
“Because I don’t wanna fall for you again.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, words he wasn’t even sure he was supposed to hear. He lifted his head and cupped her face, meeting her gaze.
“What if I promise to catch you?” I’m still in love with you, Maggie. Don’t think I ever fell out of love with you. The words echoed through his mind, loud and persistent and so fucking true.
Emotions flickered through her eyes, one after the other. Doubt, uncertainty, fear, and maybe, buried underneath it all, longing. Hope. Need. Slowly, she shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t complicate this, okay? It is what it is.”
“Doesn’t feel very complicated from where I’m standing.” He kissed her once, a soft, sweet kiss on the lips. And then, before she could argue, he stepped away and held out his arm for her. “Come on, let’s go.” She hesitated for the tiniest second before looping her arm through his and letting him escort her to his car.
Dylan navigated the BMW through the evening traffic, taking them downtown toward the Sheraton where the event was being held. His agent, Aerin, had floated the opportunity by him, and while he’d been reluctant, she’d given him a little speech about being a local celebrity and stepping up for the community that had convinced him. The fact that it had come with a bonus ticket had been the icing on the cake.
Maggie was quiet on the drive, her attention focused out the window, watching the buildings and early evening lights slide by. “Only You Can Love Me This Way” by Keith Urban played softly on the radio, and Dylan smiled when he recognized the song.
“This song always makes me think of you, you know,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. In his peripheral vision, he saw her head whip around in his direction. She stared at him as she listened to the lyrics about love and regret and never forgetting the woman you love. She didn’t say anything, just listened to the song, and before it was over, Dylan was pulling up to the hotel’s valet stand. He handed his keys off to the attendant and then jogged around to Maggie’s side to hold her door for her. She took his hand, her eyes bright and shining up at him, and a warmth filled him when he saw that some of the doubt and uncertainty so obvious before were fading, like the sun chasing away clouds.
“I never said thank you,” she said as they moved toward the hotel’s doors. “For the dress.”
“It was my pleasure. You look incredible. So incredible that I don’t think I’ll last that three and a half hours.”
She laughed, clearly pleased with his flirting. Arm in arm, they headed inside and were directed toward a ballroom where the event was taking place. The spacious room had been transformed into a glamorous casino, with blackjack and poker tables, a bar, and other games, with all proceeds benefiting the Dallas Children’s Health Foundation. Gold and cream fabric swagged down from the ceiling, twisted elegantly with sparkling lights. Frank Sinatra played through the speakers, mixing with the sound of conversation, shouts and cheers, and tinkling glasses. Servers circulated through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
Maggie gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to go use the ladies’ room. Be right back.” She gestured in the direction of the restrooms, and he nodded, watching her weave gracefully through the crowd. A few other men in the room noticed her too, and a possessive satisfaction settled in Dylan’s chest.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
Dylan closed his eyes and groaned inwardly at the familiar voice. Wishing he’d had the chance to order a drink already, he turned slowly, steeling himself and schooling his expression into something neutral and practiced. His father stood a few feet away, tux on, scotch in hand.
“Same. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have come,” said Dylan, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I see you went dumpster diving for your date this evening.” His father’s tone was cool, casual, but it didn’t matter because his words had Dylan seeing red. He clenched his fists in his pockets, trying to get a grip on his rising temper. Getting a reaction was exactly what the man wanted, tugging on Dylan’s puppet strings as always, and fuck if he’d give him the satisfaction. So instead of reacting, Dylan simply stared him down with one eyebrow arched. He wasn’t taking the bait. Undeterred, his father took a sip of his drink, rocked back on his heels, and surveyed the room. “Guess you’ll have to float her some fun money tonight. I hope she’s at least earning it. I assume you bought her that dress she’s wearing?” Each word was like the pull of a saw, fraying the rope of Dylan’s self-control one fiber at a time.
Dylan forced himself to smile, the muscles in his face tight to the point of aching. “I’m not playing this game with you. I’m here with Maggie. You don’t like it? Newsflash: I don’t give a fuck. You don’t get to call the shots anymore.”
His father’s grin faltered and shook his head. “Don’t be cute. I’ll always call the shots.”
“I’m not bein’ cute. I’m just telling you how it is.” He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied his father. “What do you have against her, anyway? You don’t even know her.”
“I know enough. I know her mother was a tramp who got pregnant in high school. I know she probably looks at you with dollar signs in her eyes. I know I expect you to do better than Maggie Jennings.” His father blew out a breath and shook his head. “You’ve always had a blind spot when it comes to her.”
“You know, once upon a time, I actually believed that you did what you did to help her. But really, you just wanted her out of my life because you knew how much I loved her. You played both of us, and to tell you the truth, I resent the hell out of you for it.”
His father tipped his head. “I paid for her college on the stipulation you end things with her because it was what was best for both of you. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have accepted it, and would’ve kept following you around like a puppy dog. You went to Vanderbilt without any dead weight, and she got an education she never would’ve been able to afford. It was a two birds, one stone, win-win scenario.”
Dylan rubbed a hand over his mouth, the weight of the past crashing down on him. The weight of what he’d walked away from, and the price he’d paid for letting his father manipulate him. “I shouldn’t have done it,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I shouldn’t have let you play me like that.”
“She wouldn’t have gotten a free education if you hadn’t. She’d probably still be pouring coffee at that diner.”
He couldn’t think. Everything was so twisted. Walking away from Maggie had been a colossal mistake, but it had given her a chance at a good life. How was it possible to regret something and be grateful for it at the same time?
“I’m done letting you control my life,” said Dylan, and he started to walk away, but his father’s statement stopped him.
“I don’t understand what you see in her. Besides the obvious, anyway.”
Dylan wheeled on him, his control slipping through his fingers. “Maggie Jennings is the warmest, kindest person I’ve ever met. She’s sweet, and tho
ughtful, and smart, and hardworking. She doesn’t judge people. When I’m with her, I feel like the man I want to be, not the man everyone expects me to be. She’s beautiful and amazing and I’m so in love with her I can barely think straight, so either you get used to that, or this is the end of the line for us.”
His father smiled in a way that sent a chill rippling down Dylan’s spine. “You have a good night, son.” And with that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. Dylan shook his head and tugged at his bowtie, feeling too hot and like he couldn’t get enough air. Once, he’d worshipped his father, wanting nothing more than to be like him. To please him and win his hard-earned praise and respect. He’d let him manipulate him because he’d tried so hard to be what his father wanted. But he knew now that he never would be. No one ever would, because then Caleb wouldn’t have any games to play. Over time, Dylan had come to see all those aspects of his father—the God complex, the phony kindness, the need to control everyone and everything in his life. And sometimes, when he looked in the mirror and saw a younger version of his father’s face looking back at him, he wondered if he was much different, especially with the way he’d manipulated Maggie. Then, and maybe even now.
Maggie emerged from the ladies’ room and started making her way through the humming crowd and back to where she’d left Dylan. She hadn’t needed to use the facilities; she’d just needed a little space after his admission about the song in the car. Could it really be true that he’d never stopped thinking about her? That he’d missed her and regretted leaving her? God, she wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe him, and trust him, but it wasn’t easy. She’d put her heart in his hands ten years ago and he’d crushed it, but it wouldn’t be fair to assume he was still the same immature kid he’d been then who hadn’t wanted to be tied down to a girlfriend back home.
