by Jill Shalvis
Well, shit, here we go, Sam thought. “And okay,” he said. “Also a sort-of mom to me.”
Amelia snatched the container of cookies back, making Sam grimace.
“You know what I mean,” he said.
“No,” she said. “You’d best clarify. Immediately, if you want these cookies. And let me just tell you right now, they’re your favorite—double fudge with chocolate chips—and they’re my best batch yet. And also, keep in mind that what I just saw going on in here is blackmail material, so make it good, sweetheart. Real good. Sort-of mom?”
There were few people who’d ever gone out on a limb for Sam, and he didn’t even need the fingers of one hand to count them. Amelia was one. “How about you were the only mom I ever had?” he asked.
“Oh.” Her beautiful blue eyes filled, and she sniffed as she stepped toward him, her arms outstretched. “Oh, Sam, you’re so sweet.”
Sam endured her hug and a kiss to each of his cheeks, and then she was gone. “Sorry about that,” he said to Becca, who was nibbling her lower lip, her thoughts seemingly far away. “You okay?”
“She was like a mama bear with you,” she said, sounding a little bit awed. “She’d probably fight to the end for you.”
“Would, and has.”
When she just looked at him, he let out a breath. “My mom died when I was five. My dad was never real great at being a dad. I landed in foster care. A lot.”
Her eyes softened. “Oh, Sam.”
“Amelia used to take in the occasional foster kid, and the minute I ended up at her place, she . . . claimed me.” He gave a small smile. “She’s protective.”
“That’s where you met Cole.”
“Yeah.”
“He claimed you, too,” she said.
“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree there,” he agreed. “But we claimed each other.”
“That’s incredibly sweet.” Her eyes were suspiciously shiny, but before he could get a good look, she turned to the door. “I gotta get back to work.”
And then she was gone, too, leaving him to wonder at the sadness he’d seen in her gaze. Had no one ever been willing to fight for her?
Chapter 13
Becca tossed and turned, one odd and uncomfortable dream chasing another. Her parents were there, only they weren’t her parents. They were her employers, asking her to take care of Jase.
“I already do,” she said.
“You left him. You walked away,” they accused.
And then Jase was standing there with him. “You did,” he said. “You left me.”
“No, I—” But she broke off when Jase turned into Sam.
She reached for Sam but he took a step back and was flanked on either side by Cole and Amelia.
“We’ve got him,” they said.
She stared at them, seeing the bond, and turned back to her family.
Her parents and Jase had vanished.
She was alone. Feeling an odd sensation in her chest, she looked down and saw her heart crack in half. With a gasp, she sat straight up in bed.
She looked down at her heart. Still in her chest. That was good. As to whether or not it was cracked in half, that was another question entirely.
It was four thirty. Since there would be no more sleep, she checked email and saw that she had one from the ad agency.
Her Diaxsis jingle had been accepted, and she’d been sent her next assignment. Eagerly, she’d loaded the doc and read.
The assignment was for a line of personal hygiene products.
She flopped on her back and stared at the ceiling, allowing a few moments of self-pity. When she was over herself, she sat up and stared at the email for another moment. Then she hit REPLY, responding with what she thought was calm grace, explaining that she realized she had to earn her way back into good graces after her year-long slow spell, but that she felt she’d come through twice in a row now and wanted a better product to write about.
Like, say, something, anything, that wasn’t mortifying to put on her résumé.
It was hours later before she got a reply.
This is what we have. Take it or leave it.
She took it.
The day was a hot one. Sam went for a predawn run with Ben and then found himself trapped in his warehouse office hunched over the books for hours, sweat running down his back.
Or maybe he was hot because he’d headed to the hut earlier to check on Becca and had found her running his world with an ease and charm he’d never managed, wearing a snug white tee and bubblegum-pink shorts, looking heart-stoppingly amazing.
At the memory, he reached into his fridge to grab a badly needed soda and discovered it empty. Tanner, of course. The guy would walk all the way over here to steal Sam’s last soda rather than hit the store.
Sam rose to go himself, when someone knocked on the open doorjamb.
His dad.
And behind him, Becca.
“Hey, son.” Mark said this tentatively, and he had good reason. He rarely made an in-person visit, preferring the telephone to suck Sam dry.
“Dad,” Sam said. “What’re you doing here?”
Mark set a lopsided-looking snowman on Sam’s desk.
“Found this in your mom’s storage,” Mark said. “You made it for me, remember?”
Sam remembered. He’d been seven and looking forward to a promised fishing trip. Sam had made the clay snowman with the lady who babysat him while waiting for his dad.
And waiting.
Mark had never shown.
“I know you don’t like company in here,” Mark said, “but your cutie-pie admin here told me where to find you. She said it’d be okay.”
Sam gave his “cutie-pie” admin a long look.
Becca met his gaze, her eyes filled with sympathy.
Which, for the record, Sam hated.
“He wanted to see you,” she said apologetically. “I know you don’t like unannounced company in the Man Cave, but it’s your dad, right? So I locked the hut and put up a sign saying I’d be right back.”
Mark beamed at her. “You’re great. Isn’t she great, son?”
Sam thought about bashing his head against his desk. “Yeah. Great. What’s up, Dad?”
Mark shrugged. “Nothing. Just came to see you.”
“You never come to see me,” Sam said.
Instead of responding, Mark turned his head and looked out into the open area of the warehouse, eyeing the boat Sam was building. “Impressive.”
“I already put money into your account,” Sam said, crossing his arms.
“Yeah.” Mark didn’t meet Sam’s eyes, but kept them on the boat. “Thanks.”
“Christ,” Sam said. “It wasn’t enough.”
“No, it was enough,” Mark said. “It was great. It’s just that. . .” He trailed off.
“What?” Sam said. “It’s just that what?”
“She kicked me out. Changed the locks and everything.”
Sam stared at him. “Let me guess. She also wiped out your account.”
Mark lifted a shoulder.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam asked.
No longer smiling, Becca stirred. “Sam—”
“Again?” Sam asked Mark. “Seriously?”
Mark sighed with clear misery.
Sam wasn’t moved. At all. They’d done this dance too many times. Hell, all Sam’s life. His dad never learned. Nor, apparently, did Sam. “Why can’t you do what you did last time and grovel?” he asked. “Or whatever it is you do that reels them in.”
“Sam, he’s got nowhere to go,” Becca said softly. “And—”
“Already told her your sob story, I take it,” Sam said over her head to his dad.
Mark looked guilty as hell and Sam shook his head, working on not grinding his back teeth into powder.
“I thought maybe I could stay here,” Mark said. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
Sam’s gut tightened. Having his dad here would kill him. Or drive him to
kill his dad.
One or the other.
“Mark,” Becca said softly. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Sure, darlin’,” Mark said, and with one last look at Sam he stepped out of the office.
“He said he’s had some problems,” Becca said quietly.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Lots of them. He gambles, he drinks, he lies. Pick one. You shouldn’t have brought him here, Becca.”
“Not her fault,” Mark said firmly, back in the doorway. “She tried to tell me that no one comes in here without permission, so don’t you blame her.”
“And yet you came anyway,” Sam said. “You took advantage of her sweetness and pushed your way through with one of your bullshit emergencies.”
“It is an emergency,” Mark said.
“Sam,” Becca said with soft reproach. “He’s—”
“No, darlin’,” Mark said. “Don’t defend me. It’s okay. I deserve his mistrust, believe me.” He met Sam’s gaze. “I’m sick.”
Sam felt this news reverberate through him. He searched his dad’s expression. The truth was there, and his gut tightened painfully. “How sick?”
Mark grimaced.
“Cancer?” Sam asked. “Your heart?”
“No.” Mark paused. “Liver stuff.”
Sam drew in a long, unsteady breath, unable to reconcile all the years-old resentments with the new and terrifying fear for his dad’s health. “I’ve got a spare bedroom at the house,” he said. He spent the majority of his time here. This was his real home, his first real home that he’d gotten for himself, and he wasn’t sure he could share it with his dad.
“Thank you,” Mark said, with genuine humility. “I won’t be a bother.”
Feeling like a first-class dick, Sam reached into the desk, pulled out a key, and tossed it to his dad.
Mark pocketed it with a nod of his head. “See you later then. Love ya, son.”
Sam closed his eyes, and when he opened them Mark was gone. Not quite trusting himself to speak, he stayed still. After a moment, he felt a gentle hand slide up his back.
“You okay?” Becca asked.
He was a lot of things. Gut sick. Angry. Furious, even. And afraid. One thing he was not was okay. Shoving free of the desk, he dislodged her hand, picked up the snowman on his desk, and chucked it across the room.
It shattered on the far wall.
Becca leapt back, inadvertently slamming herself into his desk. At the impact, she jumped away and then tripped over his trash can, hitting the floor on all fours.
“Jesus.” Sam crouched down and reached for her. “You okay?”
It was her turn to shove free of him, and he discovered he didn’t like the feeling very much as she got to her feet on her own.
He got slowly to his as well. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t. I. . .saw a spider. It’s gone now.”
Shit. He really was an asshole. “Becca—”
“I’m . . . fine. Totally fine.”
“You said it twice.”
“So?” she asked.
“Saying it twice implies that you’re not fine at all.”
“No. Saying it twice makes it true,” she said.
Sam let it go because she was desperately trying to calm her breathing while not meeting his gaze. He watched her hand shake as she lifted it to push her hair from her face.
“Becca,” he said softly.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him back here without asking—”
“It’s not your fault. Becca—”
“Is he really sick?” she asked, clearly not wanting to discuss her reaction.
“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.”
She stared at him. “And if he is?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
She eyed the snowman on the floor in a thousand pieces. “My break’s over,” she said, moving to the door.
As gently as he could, he caught her by the wrist and slowly reeled her back in. Her breathing was still a little off, and her eyes were far too bright, but she met his gaze. “What?” she asked.
There were lots of whats going through his mind, but he settled on one. “You’re safe here,” he said. “You know that, right?”
“Of course I know it.”
“I was just pissed off because—”
“He drives you crazy. But he’s your dad. I get it.”
He could see that she did, but they were going to have to circle back to that fascinating subject because it wasn’t what he wanted to cover right now. “You thought I was going to hurt you.”
“No,” she said. “Of course not.”
Chest tight, he bent his knees to look into her eyes as he slowly slid his hands up her arms to cup her face.
“My break’s over,” she said again.
He shook his head and pulled her into him.
She remained frozen for one beat, then relaxed against his chest, pressing her face into his throat. They stood like that for a long moment. “I didn’t think you were going to hurt me,” she said. “I just . . . you surprised me.”
“I lost my temper.” He pulled back and met her gaze. “It doesn’t happen very often, but I can lose my temper and not hurt you.”
She nodded. “I know.”
He wanted to believe that. He pulled her in again but the phone started ringing, accompanied by that stupid red light Cole had put in to be funny, and Becca backed away. “Later,” she said.
Sam tried to go back to the books, but after an hour he gave up. He pulled out his cell and called his dad. “Define liver problem.”
There was a long pause. “I don’t know medical shit.”
