“You have to let her hit rock bottom.” That’s the advice Max offered me. He took a long pull from his beer and set it back down on the table, allowing me time for the statement to sink in.
"Rock bottom," I repeated slowly.
I was on my third whiskey, and I was feeling the effects of it. We'd already talked for an hour, only stopping so he could make a quick call.
“Yeah, rock bottom. You have to show her some tough love, Dylan. You can’t give her any support that will allow her to continue doing the shit she was doing.”
I played with dark amber liquid in my glass, tilting it back and forth in my hands.
“Tough fucking love,” he said.
“What if I’m at rock bottom? Me and the kids, sitting right there.” I pointed to the table and tapped my finger. “On the bottom. With the rocks.”
Max tilted his head forward in understanding as the waitress slid another whiskey in front of me.
"It's painful. I get it. You just have to remember, Sheri's not choosing drugs over you and the kids. It's not personal." He shook his head and took another sip of beer. “If she had the ability to decide not to use drugs, she wouldn't be an addict."
"I want to think I'm a good man, Max. I promised Sheri in sickness and in health, you know? Good times. Bad times." I scrubbed my hands over my face, and the room spun a little faster. “But I was thinking about it today. When the fuck were the good times? My kids, they fucking deserve better. Maybe I don't. But that doesn't stop me from wanting better. More."
Max studied my face for a minute. I knew he was choosing his words wisely. I had weak knees, but I was still coherent. Mostly.
“Look, Dylan, choosing to stay in the relationship, that’s up to you. That’s a personal decision you and only you can make. But I agree, you need to put those kids and yourself first.”
"It's just. Something's different now."
I thought about my daughter in the kitchen, laughing, a princess tiara sitting crooked on her freshly braided hair. Ben cooing...forget the cooing, the kid has been sleeping almost through the entire night for the past few days.
It was like magic.
“What’s different this time?” he prompted.
I gulped back the entire glass of whiskey. I needed to feel the burn. I didn’t want to voice the words out loud. It was bad enough I was thinking them, but to put them out in the open would make them too real.
He shrugged, waiting. “Well?”
“For the last few days, I got to see what a real family could look like. And Sheri, she wasn’t a part of it.” There. I said it. And now I was smiling.
“Who was?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
I shook my head. I wasn’t implicating myself any further. Damn, the room was spinning faster now. I laughed for no reason.
“Nope. No way.”
I straightened up and tried to put a serious expression on my face. But I couldn't feel it, and I knew I must have been smiling like a fool, because I was thinking about Callie and silly stories she made up for bedtime. And the way she looked in just a towel.
“Okay. Stop. Just stop.”
“Stop what?” he said, narrowing his eyes at me.
“I need to flush every thought that is Callie out of my system. Okay? I can’t fix my wife and my miserable, sexless marriage—” I held a hand up, completely losing my point. “Sexless. Do you know I haven’t had sex since probably Ben was sperm?”
His eyes widened. “That’s not good.”
"No, it's not. Because I have been one hundred percent faithful, and I think my dick hates me." I needed to focus on what my point was. "It doesn't matter. But the part that does is the part about how I need not to think of how I want to be somewhere else when I need to be wherever I need to be. You understand?"
He nodded. “Why do you feel like you have to talk yourself into staying with Sheri?”
“No reason,” I said.
Maybe I was saying too much. I think I was drunk. I pushed the glass of whiskey away. Work would be hell tomorrow if I had a hangover. I looked down at my phone. It was a few minutes past nine. Plenty of time to sleep it off.
“Callie?” he asked. “Callie’s the difference.”
How the hell did he guess?
The words stumbled out of my mouth in a rush. "I like her. I like her too much, and we set ourselves up like a perfect family, and fuck it if I don't want it. So yeah, I have to focus on my wife, because I don't want to hurt Callie. And she's not for it, you know? She's this fortress. She doesn’t want me.”
“You spoke with her about this?” he asked dryly.
"No. No. Callie just doesn't want to put herself in a relationship where she's vulnerable. And here I am, married to a drug addict, two kids, and a shitty job. She doesn't need my headaches.”
"Well," he said, gulping back the last remains of his drink. Fuck, this man could drink me under the table. "You just spent," he looked down at his watch and squinted, "about an hour or so." He hiccupped a burp and laughed. "Sorry. An hour or so telling me all about your wife's addiction and your shitty marriage, and you're more worried about trying to make sure you stay away from Callie. That should tell you something."
“What should it tell me?” I asked. Finally, maybe someone will give me an answer.
"Hey, Callie." Max was smiling up at someone behind me, and a warm, tingling sensation trickled along my spine.
"Hey, guys. Fancy meeting you here. Together." She slid next to me in the booth and smiled her perfect smile.
Max stood up across from us and cleared his throat. “I gotta get home to the wife and kids. I’m sure everything will work out for you, Dylan.”
“Wait!” I yelled, holding out my hand to stop him. “What should it tell me?”
He lifted his shoulder in a laugh and positioned an old worn out ball cap on his head. “Try to stay away. See how that works for you.”
I watched Max walk away. "That didn't fucking help me at all."
When the door closed behind him, I focused my eyes on Callie. It took a few minutes. I couldn't say how long; it was like time stood still. Clocks stopped, people blurred and ceased to exist around us, everything just faded. Everything but Callie.
“How are the kids?” she asked.
“Great. They spent the day with Claudine. Hopefully, they won't grow up and be junkies like their mom."
I didn't want to fall into her eyes and drown, so I squeezed mine shut. I prayed she wouldn't say any thoughtful words like she always did. I needed to do the opposite of like her. I needed her to go away so I could get back to the only kind of relationship I thought there was. A shitty one.
Instead, I said, "God, I can’t look at you. You’re too fucking beautiful.” My eyes shot open, shocked by my own honesty.
She sat stoic, not responding. She seemed pissed off at me. I haven’t seen her since—hold up—there was a car in her driveway all night.
“Wait a second. Did Max call you? Who were you with all night?”
“Vince.”
Did she give me a one-word answer? I needed more information. Was this Vince a cousin? A ninety-year-old uncle?
“Who’s Vince?”
“He’s on the narcotics detective squad,” she said, crossing her arms over her stomach, then quickly unfolded them and nervously tapped them on the table.
“Okay. But who is he to you?” I asked, reaching my hand out and touching a few strands of the hair that cascaded down in front of her.
She shrugged and reached for the drink I left on the table. “He’s just my Wednesday night.” She downed the entire whiskey.
My hand dropped from her hair, landing heavily against the cushion of the booth, almost knocking the drink from her hand. Hell, what was wrong with me? I could chalk it up to the whiskey, but I was getting tired of lying to myself about everything. I didn’t like this Vince.
Her eyes flicked up to mine, and she swallowed hard. Her throat, smooth and long, moved with the motion, and a
ll I could think of was how the skin there would taste on my tongue.
We stared at one another for a moment, eyes locked, mouths tightly closed, holding back words we desperately wanted each other to hear.
I leaned forward and slipped my hand through the hair that fell on her shoulder, cupping my palm around the side of her throat. I couldn't help myself—I had no control over the damn thing—it just touched where it wanted, where it needed to be. Her pulse pounded under my fingertips, fast and hard.
Her skin was silky and smooth, delicate beneath the rough palms of my hand. I knew I should let her go. I should let go of her throat and walk the fuck out of her life. Just let go and tell her how sorry I was.
But I wasn’t sorry. And I sure as hell didn’t think I could let go now that her skin was touching mine.
My gaze dropped to her hands as she balled them into white-knuckled fists. Was she restraining herself? From what, I could only guess. Maybe she wanted to punch me. Or maybe she was holding back from laying her hands against my skin and pulling me in.
“Dylan,” she whispered.
The sound of my name on her lips sent heat surging through my body. I gently dipped my thumb into the scoop of her collarbone and slowly drew circles over her skin. Her breath shuddered, and her hands shot up and grasped hard around my forearm.
Her voice broke when she repeated my name. "Dylan."
I froze, fighting against every muscle and tendon in my body that wanted nothing more than to cover her mouth with mine. Her breaths quickened, her chest rising and falling faster as she tightened her grip on my arm.
"Stop. Please." Her soft plea was a bullet to the heart. "We can't do this."
I nodded, looking away, closing my eyes to it all. “I know,” I murmured, leaning my forehead against hers softly. “But fuck, Callie. You make it hard for me to want to stay faithful.”
She fisted her hands against the sleeves of my shirt, then pulled away and slipped out of the booth. “Come on, Dylan,” she whispered, pulling me up into a standing position. “Let’s get your drunk ass home before you say something else you might regret.”
Chapter 17
Callie
Behind us, the yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the cold wind that blew in through the broken windows. Just this morning the place had been a busy convenient store, with dozens of customers rushing through to grab their coffees and newspapers. Now it was the host to three dead bodies, all sporting matching bullet holes in the center of their foreheads.
Detective Cage kicked at a candy bar wrapper that lay empty next to one of the bodies. One piece was still clutched in the victim's hand, while another part oozed in a chocolaty mess from his bluish lips.
“I’d hate that to be my last meal.” He looked up at me seriously. “Dark chocolate is disgusting. Now a Snickers, on the other hand, that'll really satisfy."
“Shut up, asshole,” Detective Dean Fury said as he knelt in front of the body closest to the register. “Everybody knows M&Ms are the best.”
“Yeah, well that’s because you like it when shit melts in your mouth, and not in your hands,” Ryan quipped.
"Okay, enough! This party isn't going to be over until mugshots are taken. Let’s get some answers here,” Sergeant Kannon reprimanded. He glanced in my direction and jutted his chin in the direction of the back offices. “Ward, let’s see if they found anything on the security footage.”
I followed him into the back hallway, where we found a small office lined with computer monitors against the back wall. Two officers were inside, pointing to one of the screens, discussing the situation.
"Hey, Boss," the taller of the two said as Max walked inside. The officer's eyes flitted briefly to mine, and his smile widened. “Detective Ward,” he greeted.
Officer Kevin Ramsey. I spent a few Saturdays with him. He was a fun guy, had a sweet demeanor, and was always up for no-strings-attached hookups.
"Hey, Ram. Whatcha got?"
“Looks like a lone gunman. We can see him here," Kevin said, pointing to the screen all the way to the left of us with a still shot of a silver Lexus parked outside. "He pulls up and parks in the back. Then he waits for the victims to drive up, park, and walk into the store."
“So he knew they were going to be there, if this was a hit,” I mumbled to Max. “Let’s make sure we get their cell phones.”
“There’s more here,” Ramsey said, smiling at me. “We got a full view of his face when he leaves.” He pressed play on the console, and the killer's face was in full frontal view.
My phone buzzed in my pocket the same time I heard Ryan rushing down the hall, whistling for Kannon. “We just got a call. Someone says their boyfriend is holed up in their house. Says she thinks he just killed three guys. We got cars already on the way.”
Kannon sighed next to me. “That’s too perfect.” He waved his index finger in the air. “Let’s go.”
I pulled out my phone as I followed Ryan and Max out of the small room.
“Hey, Callie?” Ramsey asked before I stepped through the doorway.
I spun around, smiling. “Yeah?”
“Want to get dinner tonight?” he asked, giving me a slow, sexy smile.
“Sure,” I said.
That was exactly what I needed today: to go out and keep trying to forget about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking about. Like warm married hands caressing my neck or how I make it hard for people to want to stay faithful.
He smiled wider. “I’ll call you when I get off.”
I nodded and stepped out of the room. “See you later,” I called back to him.
My phone buzzed again in my hands, alerting me of the missed text. I walked out of the hallway and crunched my way over broken glass to exit the building as I opened the message.
Dylan: I’m sorry if I said or did anything wrong last night.
Callie: You didn’t. No worries.
Dylan: I hope I didn’t mess up your date.
Callie: It wasn’t a problem.
Dylan: So, how was Mr. Wednesday?
Crap. I didn’t want to get into a text conversation like that at the moment. I was supposed to be forgetting about him. It was proving to be harder than I thought. This morning, I woke up with a smile on my face because last night he called me beautiful. It was silly and immature even to think about, but most guys called me hot. Maybe I got a pretty or a cute here and there, but I didn’t remember ever being called beautiful. The word was making me anxious. I didn’t want one word to weaken my resolve, so I tried to think of anything but Dylan.
The problem was, I couldn’t stop. I walked him home from the bar last night with him leaning heavily on my shoulder. It felt good having his weight there. So good, I still felt his warmth on my skin, as if he’d tattooed his touch to me.
I needed to stop this insanity.
I stared at the text message. How was Mr. Wednesday? How could I possibly answer that without hurting either of us? He was married, he wasn't supposed to care about what I did, and I shouldn’t care about what he did either.
Callie: Why do you want to know that?
Dylan: Because I need to know.
Callie: Why Dylan? Why do you need to know about my sex life?
Dylan: I don't know. I know I'm nothing to you but…
Callie: Dylan we’re friends, me and you, okay? You can count on me for anything. I'll always have your back. Whatever you’re going through with your WIFE, I got your back.
I needed to mention his wife. I wanted to text it a thousand times. You are married. You are married, and you would do nothing but hurt me when she came back.
Dylan: Just tell me how Wednesday was!
Callie: Fine! Horrible. I'm hoping Thursday night will be better.
My phone rang instantly.
I stopped walking and stared down at it. Dylan's profile picture was of Addison and Ben, and seeing their faces made me laugh out loud.
“What’s up, Dylan?” I said into the phone. I scanned the parking
area and found Max, Ryan, and Dean climbing into an unmarked car, waving for me to follow.
“Don't do that to yourself,” Dylan’s voice rumbled into my ear.
“Do what?” I asked, feeling that familiar flutter in my chest after I heard his voice.
“Think that's all you get,” he answered.
“But it is, Dylan. It's all I get,” I said impatiently. “It's what I need to do, and more importantly, it’s what I choose.”
He huffed loudly into the phone. “Okay, I'll remember that,” he snapped. “But it's hard, though.”
“What's hard?” I said as I climbed into the back seat next to Ryan.
“Hard not wanting to be the rest of your week.”
“Well,” I said softly, “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to try. I’m a lot of horrible things, but I’ll never knowingly be someone’s infidelity. Now, I’m hanging up this phone because I need to find a guy that killed the three dead bodies we just found.” I ended the call with my teammates staring at me wide-eyed and jaws tight.
“Who was that?” Max growled from the front seat. His head turned toward me, his brows knitted together in confusion.
I shook my head, refusing to tell any of them. “Just drive. I’d rather be dealing with the murder suspect than this shit.”
Besides, I had a date with Kevin lined up that night to look forward to. Kevin Ramsey who wasn’t even the slightest bit married. And I called him Ram for a damn good reason.
We made the evening news. The gunman, a twenty-three-year-old local gang member, barricaded himself in his girlfriend's house and had a two-hour standoff with us. The hostage negotiation team managed to talk him out with the help of the girlfriend. When the news reporters questioned him as to why he shot the three victims, he just shrugged and smiled.
“Look, there you are.” Kevin pointed to the television with a pair of chopsticks. He was holding a pint of lo mien in his other hand. “You look hot as fuck.”
I laughed into my glass of wine. “Shut up.” I didn’t look too bad; actually, pretty badass walking the guy out in cuffs.
Finding Love (Behind Blue Lines Book 3) Page 11
