Ride Wild

by Laura Kaye

“Truer words.” Dare let out a troubled sigh. “You hanging around for a while?”

  “I wish.” Slider said the words almost reflexively, but there was some truth behind them, and that surprised him. It’d been a long time since he’d wanted company or craved friendship. He almost didn’t know what to do with those feelings. “But I’m in the middle of a shift.”

  Dare nodded, though the look he gave him was suddenly challenging. “When you gonna do more than run that emergency towing service? Jeff Allen’s been ready to retire and sell that shop for about a million years. It should be yours by now.”

  Well, hell. Slider hadn’t been expecting that, had he? He managed a chuckle. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

  Smirking, Dare shook his head. “Just calling it how I see it. I get that you’ve gone through some shit, but don’t forget that I’ve known you for close to twenty fucking years. I know who you are and what you’re capable of. And you, Sam Evans, were never one to coast through life. Hell, most of us aren’t married and aren’t fathers, but you wanted those things and you went after them. That’s who you are.”

  Slider swallowed hard, his friend’s words poking at things that Slider had almost forgotten. “What if that was the Sam I was, and not the man I am?”

  “Bullshit,” Dare said, crossing his arms, that fierce face challenging Slider to disagree.

  Slider thought about it—really thought about it. His gut felt the truth in Dare’s analysis of him and the situation, but his heart had been so trashed that it was still hard to believe in almost anything.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  “Don’t think too long,” Dare said, nodding. “Because none of us has forever.”

  Chapter 15

  “How’s the dog?” Cora asked Maria first thing after she arrived at the shelter on Thursday.

  Maria smiled. “Dr. Josh named him Otto. And he was stable enough to be transported to Noah’s Arks last night. So he’s got a fighting chance.”

  Cora sagged into the chair in front of Maria’s desk. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been beside myself all week.”

  “Me too.” The smile slid off her face. “If only his case was the last one we’d see . . .”

  “Has there been another already?” Cora asked.

  Shaking her head, Maria sighed. “No, but Otto was the eleventh dog picked up around Frederick in the past three months that we suspect had been used in dogfights. And we’re not the only ones finding them. Shelters in Washington and Carroll counties reported it, too.”

  Eleven! “This is so terrible, Maria. Do the police know? Is anyone doing anything to find these guys?”

  “There’s an investigation, but crimes against animals don’t rate the same kind of attention as crimes against people. Or even property, sometimes.” Her shoulders fell in a gesture of defeat. “Dogfighting is usually an underground activity, and not widely advertised. Hard to hear about it without the wrong kind of connections. The police are doing the best they can, I guess.”

  Cora was torn between relief and cautious hope for Otto, and anger about the likelihood that he wouldn’t be the last. So she was really grateful to be asked to walk the dogs again, because that meant she could spend some time loving on—and being loved by—the dog-shaped potato sack known as Bosco the Lovable Basset. “Who’s a handsome man?” she asked, scrunching his saggy face and rubbing his floppy ears.

  He peered up at her with droopy eyes Cora couldn’t help but think were filled with satisfaction and affection. If she owned a dog that looked at her like that, she could never ever give it away. Never in a million years.

  The thought made her feel like she’d walked into a wall, because it lodged a seemingly obvious but also impossible idea into her head.

  She could adopt Bosco.

  Except, she totally could not adopt Bosco. She didn’t own her own place. And she couldn’t possibly ask Slider if she could bring a dog to his house, especially a dog that, given Bosco’s age, probably wouldn’t be around for that many years. Would it be fair to the kids if, somehow, Slider agreed and then Bosco lived only long enough to make them all fall in love?

  She attached his leash, took him outside, and walked him for a long time, until his stubby legs gave out and he flopped contentedly onto the grass in the sun.

  There was another way to look at this, wasn’t there? Would it really be fair to Bosco not to love him just because he might not have that much time left? For all Cora knew, neither did she. Neither did anyone.

  That last question stuck with her all day and into the night. At dinner, she found herself posing a question. A hypothetical question, of course. “So, I’m curious.” All three Evans men looked up from the burgers and Tater Tots she’d made for dinner. “Would you adopt an awesome but older dog if you knew that he might not live that many years longer?”

  “That would be hard,” Sam said thoughtfully. “You’d know you’d lose him.”

  “I’d want a puppy,” Ben said, looking back and forth between Cora and Slider. She felt a little guilty because Ben had been dropping not-at-all-subtle dog hints ever since Cora first talked about working at the shelter.

  Slider put down his burger and licked some ketchup off his thumb. Cora tried not to pay attention to his mouth, and his tongue, and the enjoyment he seemed to be taking in her cooking lately, but it was hard when literally everything the man did drove her to distraction. Plus, he was wearing his cut after a day over at the track, and he looked so freaking hot in it—tough, edgy, maybe even a little dangerous. “Don’t a lot of older dogs end up at shelters?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s crazy how people can have a dog its whole life and abandon them toward the end. I can’t imagine ever doing that. They’d be like family.” Hell, they’d be better than any family she’d ever had.

  “I bet they don’t get adopted much, either,” Slider said, and Cora shook her head.

  “Why not?” Ben asked.

  She gave him an understanding smile, not wanting him to feel bad. But then Sam smirked and said, “Because people want puppies.”

  “Oh.” He popped a Tater Tot into his mouth and swung his legs so that his feet kicked the rails of his chair. “What happens to dogs that don’t get adopted?”

  Cora met Slider’s gaze across the table and silently asked if he wanted to handle this or if he wanted her to.

  Slider braced his arms on the table. “Well, buddy, if it’s a no-kill shelter, the animal lives its life out in the shelter. And I guess there are some rescues that take in abandoned animals. But not all shelters are no-kill . . .”

  “They kill them?” Ben’s eyes went wide. “That’s not fair!”

  Cora rubbed the boy’s shoulder, hoping she hadn’t done the wrong thing by bringing all this up. “Where I work is a no-kill shelter, Ben. But you’re right . . .”

  After dinner, Cora and Slider cleaned up the kitchen while the boys took turns getting showers. And even though Slider seemed totally relaxed—actually, way more relaxed than usual, at least for Slider—Cora felt like she should apologize. “I’m sorry about where that conversation went,” Cora said, leaning back against the sink. “I should’ve guessed it might lead to talking about shelters that put dogs to sleep.”

  Hand towel thrown over his shoulder, Slider stood in front of her. “Death is a part of life, Cora. My boys are more acquainted with that fact than most kids their age. No sense hiding it. It’s not something we can hide from, not any of us.”

  Dropping her chin, she nodded. The reminder of the loss they’d suffered seemed more of a reason against than for.

  Slider grasped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Tell me about this awesome but older dog.”

  Her mouth fell open, from the touch and from the too perceptive question. “Oh, no. I didn’t . . . I mean, I wasn’t . . .”

  His lips quirked just the littlest bit. “Uh-huh. What’s his name? Or her name?”

  Chagrined, Cora gave a small smile and cringed
at the same time. “Bosco the Lovable Basset.” She blinked.

  He arched a brow. “Bosco the Lovable Basset.”

  “Well, officially, Bosco. I added the Lovable Basset part.” She gave him the most innocent expression ever, or at least hoped it came off that way.

  His eyebrow was still arched. Over that incredibly sexy, scruffy, masculine face. “How old do lovable bassets tend to get?”

  Cora’s belly squeezed. She’d looked this up. Damnit. And the news wasn’t great. “About twelve years.”

  He shifted a half step closer, close enough that she could easily reach out, fist both hands in his shirt, and haul him to her. God, how she wanted to. “And how old is Bosco?”

  “Bosco the Lovable Basset,” she quickly corrected. That eyebrow went higher, and her shoulders sank. Humor wasn’t getting her out of this, apparently. “Eight.”

  He nodded, then stared at her for a long moment. Long enough that Cora had time to get distracted by the soulful cast of Slider’s eyes and the shape of his mouth and the little scar on his lip. “You want him,” he said.

  She’d been so deep into the man in front of her that she nearly forgot they were talking about the dog. Shrugging with one shoulder, she peered up at him. “We can’t always have everything we want.”

  Slider braced one hand against the sink behind her, and then the other, boxing her in tight against the counter. He swallowed hard, and tension filled the spare inches between them. “But maybe we can have some things we want.”

  Oh, holy hell. What did that even mean? “Like?” she whispered. Suddenly, she remembered the last time they’d been this close. In her room on Monday night, while he’d comforted her about Otto. Slider had been about to say something, but they’d been interrupted . . .

  Those light green eyes burned. “Christ, Cora.”

  She placed her hand flat on his chest. Just the one hand and nothing more, but still his muscles went rigid underneath. “Like?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his tone gruff, but his gaze vulnerable. “Like honesty. Like certainty. Like forever.”

  Cora’s heart beat harder. After thinking about Bosco all day, she’d been contemplating two of those herself. But honesty . . . honesty had her thinking about—and considering for the first time—the possibility of finally, finally sharing more of herself. Sharing all of herself. Including those parts she’d been trying so damn hard to hide. Given what Kim had done, it didn’t surprise Cora that Slider would value the truth, and that meant she owed him hers. At least, she did if he was someone she wanted in her life . . .

  And, God, she did.

  She swallowed hard. “There’s no such thing as certainty, Slider. But forever definitely exists for every single one of us. Love doesn’t end because someone dies. It stays with us in memories and stories and smells and sounds that are connected to other times and places. Just because those things are painful doesn’t mean forever doesn’t exist.”

  Under her hand, his heart beat harder. He leaned closer, and now she could feel the heat of him. “And honesty?”

  Cora’s fight-or-flight response threatened to engage. The room spun a little and her chest went tight. No matter how much she wanted to give him what he wanted—her honesty—it was still hard to let go of a secret she’d never told another soul. One she knew Slider wanted to know. And now he was asking. She didn’t have any advice for him on wanting honesty, but maybe . . . maybe she could show it to him. “My hair was longer when Haven and I first ran away from Georgia. Down to the middle of my back.”

  He frowned, and his gaze flicked to her shoulder-length waves. “Didn’t know that.”

  “Our third night on the road, I borrowed a pair of scissors from a girl at the cash register at a truck stop and went into the bathroom and chopped it off to my shoulders.” The words spilled out in a rush, because adrenaline was making her jumpy, nervous, restless. She glanced at the open doorway, but the boys were holed up in their rooms.

  “Go on,” he said, as if he understood something important was happening.

  “You see . . .” Forcing out the words was drawing her back there, back into that dark room. “That . . . that was how . . .”

  “Cora—”

  She fisted her hand in the cotton of his black T-shirt. “Don’t. I’m giving you this.” She met his tortured gaze. “I need to.”

  A single nod. “Tell me.”

  “My long hair . . . that was how he grabbed me.”

  For being so pale, Slider’s eyes were absolutely on fire. Questions swam in his gaze. His muscles braced with the need to act. His jaw was tight with restraint.

  And, God, she appreciated that. She appreciated it so much. Cora could tell he was holding back from reacting, from talking, from trying to make it better so she could get this out.

  Now that she was talking, she couldn’t stop the words, and they spilled free almost mechanically, faster and faster. “I got away from him when he woke me up on the couch. Then he chased me and backed me into my room, but when I turned to run through to my bathroom, he caught me by the ponytail. Pushed me facedown onto my bed. Got on top of me and pulled down my pajamas. His breath sm-smelled of b-beer . . .”

  A tear she hadn’t even been aware of spilled over onto her cheek, then another. She was trembling. And hot. Sweat trickled down her back. The scent of beer was suffocating in her nose. The memory of it smelled as real as if a bottle was in her hand.

  “After, I came up with a plan for both me and Haven, and we ran away in the middle of the night three days later.”

  “Who, Cora?” Slider asked, his voice like it had been scoured with sandpaper.

  She lifted her gaze to his. “M-my f-father.”

  It was his eyes going glassy that made her crack. Just cracked her wide open. Long-suppressed agony ripped out of her.

  “Can I hold you now?” he asked, even as she curled against him. “Please, sweetheart, can I hold you?”

  All she could do was nod, and then his arms were around her so damn tightly that he was all that held her together. He swept her into his arms and cradled her against his chest as he carried her . . . somewhere. He kicked a door shut with one foot, and then he was sinking down and holding her to him even though she was a sobbing wreck.

  And though memories threatened to pull her down like weights in dark waters, Cora Campbell felt safer than she’d ever felt in her whole damn life.

  Right there in Slider’s arms.

  Fucking hell. Jesus fucking hell.

  Slider couldn’t help the tenor of the refrain running through his head. Given what little he’d known, suspected, and deduced, it was what he expected. And also a million times worse than his worst imagining.

  Her father. Her fucking father.

  It made him want to retch. And rage. And tear the motherfucking world apart with his bare hands.

  But his hands were full of her. And Slider realized that was the only place that mattered.

  Because Cora mattered. Because, goddamnit, he was falling in love with her. Despite his rules and his fears and his insecurities. He was falling in love with Cora Campbell.

  But that didn’t matter just then, either. The only thing that did was her and how she was feeling.

  So Slider held her until she cried herself dry, and then he held her some more. He stroked the damp waves of her hair off her face. And kissed her forehead. And silently whispered, I’m sorry, and It wasn’t your fault, and You never deserved that, and I’ll never let anything hurt you like that again.

  He said it again, just to be sure she heard him. “I swear it. I’ll never let anything hurt you like that again.” Slider wasn’t sure of the entire universe of what he was promising just then, but that didn’t keep him from promising this.

  Finally, her tears quieted, and her muscles went limp, and he wondered if she was asleep but didn’t want to ask and chance waking her. So he let himself relax against the soft back of the overstuffed family room couch, and he drifted off, too.

&n
bsp; It was her voice that woke him some hours later. The clock read after midnight, which explained the stillness of the house around them.

  “Slider?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m here.”

  Her fingers traced along the edge of his cut. “I wonder if I did enough, fought hard enough, said no loud enough. You know? Part of me wants to analyze the whole night bit by bit, but the bigger part of me is too terrified to do so and maybe find that it was partly my fault—”

  “It wasn’t, Cora,” he said, his voice cracking from sleep. And emotion. “It wasn’t your fault at all. He was your father, the single person on the whole fucking planet whose number one job was protecting and providing for you. Not one thing about what happened to you was your fault.” He leaned over until he could make eye contact. And, aw hell, the tears had made her eyes as bright as emeralds. “Do you hear me?”

  She nodded. “Still . . . do you think less of me?”

  “Look at this face. Look into these eyes. And never, ever doubt that you’re looking at your biggest fan, your staunchest defender, and the man who will always hold you up and have your back.”

  She swallowed, hard, her eyes searching his. So he let her see it. The emotion. The confusion. Him. He let her see it all.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

  “Do what?” Of course, healing from this was going to take some time. And he’d help her with that however he could. And forgiving herself, well, even when there was nothing to forgive, it was possible to beat yourself up till the end of time. Slider knew that too damn well, didn’t he? As for getting justice—or revenge—the Ravens had already taken care of that when they’d killed her degenerate drunk of a father at their racetrack the night Haven’s father attacked the club.

  But none of that was what she meant. Instead, she surprised the hell out of him—not with what she revealed, exactly, because he had an inkling. But instead she surprised him with her courage. “Pretend that I don’t have feelings for you,” she said.

  If she hadn’t owned him already, she did as of that very moment. Emotion thick in his throat, he tried to tell her. “I’ve been such a fucking wreck, Cora.”