Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2)

by Tessa Bailey

  There’s my opening. “Look, one person in Hook knows something, everyone knows it. Already there’s word you’re taking on bigger contracts, producing more lucrative items. No more license plates or plastic garbage. Maybe no one has had an interest in lifting the merchandise, but that’s going to change.” He waited for that to sink in. “You need night guards. Regular patrols. A sophisticated alarm system, surveillance around the perimeter…all of which will lower your cost of liability insurance—”

  “Monday morning.” Three Piece handed him back the identification. “Bring me your ideas on paper, cost analysis included. I’m late now.”

  Vaughn nodded once and stepped back. “Can’t have that, can we? We’ll talk Monday.” He stuck out his hand. “Vaughn De Matteo.”

  “Yes, I read your identification.” With a stiff shoulder roll, the other man shook his hand. “Renner Bastion. Please don’t show up here in ripped jeans again. I’m not in the habit of hiring men who look like they’ve been accosted in an alley.”

  “Welcome to Hook.”

  Chapter Ten

  When the doorbell rang, signaling Vaughn’s arrival, River was on the verge of dumping the spaghetti into the trash, turning off the lights, and hiding in the cupboard. That plan would have backfired, unfortunately, considering that Marcy’s caterwauling could probably be heard down the block. This state of domestic chaos was not the image she’d planned on projecting. Oh no. She’d actually envisioned herself answering the door in high heels and an unsoiled apron, hair twisted and coiffed, like some modern day June Cleaver, all while Marcy honed her grasp of phonics in the living room. Quietly.

  Ha!

  The reality of the witching hour—also known as the period of time approaching dinner and bedtime—painted quite a different portrait. The sheer quantity of marinara sauce splattered around her kitchen made it look like a staged Law & Order crime scene. Some of it had ended up in her hair—and that of Marcy, who was sitting behind her on the counter, screaming for chicken nuggets.

  Judging from Vaughn’s comically raised eyebrows when she yanked the front door open, he’d expected domestic bliss to enfold him like a sugar-spun cloud.

  “Hiya…” The hand holding a bunch of daisies dropped to his side. “Doll?”

  She was forced to raise her voice over Marcy, who had decided now was the perfect time to sing her ABC’s at the top of her lungs. “Yeah. Yeah. This is what it’s like. It’s a freaking free for all. Okay?” Hearing the crack in her voice, River pinched the bridge of her nose and took a calming breath. “You’re thinking of running, aren’t you? Like, sprinting down the block at full speed?”

  She’d meant it as a joke, but Vaughn’s face fell. “No. Jesus, no, Riv.” His throat worked. “I’m standing here praying you haven’t changed your mind. That you’ll let me in to…help. Can I help?”

  She nodded and took the daisies with a quiet thank you, but neither of them moved. “It’s not easy, Vaughn. Do you know what you’re asking to take on here?”

  “Yes,” he rasped. “But I’m not asking, I’m begging.”

  Resisting the urge to massage away the tightness in her throat, River stepped back to allow him inside. It was different from the last time he’d been there. His stepping over the threshold seemed…symbolic. A changing over from before to after. And that observation was so terrifying and real, she shoved it to the back of her mind in an act of self-preservation.

  When they walked into the living room, Marcy was throwing herself into a stack of pillows with such dedication, River knew if she forbade the activity, her daughter would only reassert herself with twice the fervor. “Marcy May.”

  Of course, the child ignored her. River turned to throw a good-natured eye-roll in Vaughn’s direction, but froze upon witnessing his reaction to Marcy. At first glance, he appeared…blank. He wasn’t moving at all. Maybe not even breathing. The stillness in the room must have caught Marcy’s attention, because she rolled over, a pillow hugged to her chest, and stared back at Vaughn through a messy veil of straw-colored hair. “I want chicken nuggets.”

  “Where do you…do you have them here? Are they inside or outside?” Vaughn visibly shook himself. “I mean, do we have to go get them or—”

  River quieted Vaughn by squeezing his arm. “I have them here.” She swallowed a gasp when his hand covered hers, gripping tight. So tight. “Are you okay?” He didn’t answer, so she transferred her efforts to her—their—daughter. “Come over here and say hello, Marcy.”

  “No.”

  “I brought something,” Vaughn said abruptly, before lowering his voice. “I wasn’t sure how you felt about gifts or—”

  “It’s okay.” Alarm prickled River at realizing how deep her trust in him still ran. “Whatever you brought is okay.”

  He appeared dubious, but he reached into his jacket pocket, removing what looked like a photograph. He took a step in Marcy’s direction, then stopped short. “Is it…can I?”

  Oh God, River was breathing through a cocktail straw. Never in her life had she seen this man so unsure, so out of his depth. And she knew what he needed to come back down to earth. A vision of her and Vaughn intruded—one from a long ago day, after he was released from jail. He’d lain flat on his back, staring at the ceiling while River ran soothing palms up and down his naked chest, whispering nonsense into his ear until he’d come back to her. Looked at her and seen her, not the girl who’d sobbed on the sidewalk as he’d pounded another man with his fists.

  When River realized she’d been staring into space rather than giving Vaughn his desperately needed answer, she gave a quick nod. “Yes.”

  He ran scrutinizing eyes over River before advancing further into the living room, hesitating, then crouching down beside a miraculously quiet Marcy. “This is a picture of your mom when she was younger.” He set it down on the rug, in Marcy’s line of vision, and in true toddler fashion, she snatched the photograph right up, frowning down at it. “You can borrow it for a while, if you want.”

  His accent was getting thicker, as it always did when his emotions were running high. When she was younga…you can barra it. Those dropped consonants never failed to trigger a response deep within her, tug at the connection between them that had apparently never weakened. It relocated her across the room to join Marcy…and Marcy’s father…on the floor. “Can I see it?”

  Marcy handed over the snapshot—mostly. She insisted on keeping one corner pinched between her tiny fingers. River’s laugh broke off when she finally glimpsed the photograph, though. It was taken outside Hook High, the ancient, brick structure looming in the background. River sat on the front bumper of Vaughn’s truck, his leather jacket slung around her shoulders, such a contrast to the modest, white eyelet dress she wore. Vaughn was in the picture, too, elbow propped on the truck’s hood, looking down at River with a ferocious frown while, in an alarming contrast, she beamed back up at him with unabashed worship.

  “I must have been blind,” she murmured.

  “What was that?”

  She brushed off Vaughn’s sharp question and handed the picture back to Marcy. “Say thank you for the present.”

  Marcy side-eyed Vaughn, but a smile teased the ends of her lips. “Thank you.”

  River retreated to the kitchen to put the daisies in water and stir the spaghetti sauce—where she could still watch the first meeting between father and daughter without participating—because after having her past naïveté presented to her in vivid color, she needed a moment to regroup. Had she imagined the supposed love between her and Vaughn back then? Conjured it up out of sheer force of will?

  “Mommy is pretty,” Marcy said, still looking at the photograph, poking it with a finger. “She’s smiling like that.”

  River could feel Vaughn watching her, so she ducked into the refrigerator, grabbing the hunk of Parmesan cheese she’d picked up that afternoon. Vaughn’s voice drifted into the kitchen. “Does your mom smile a lot, Marcy?”

  Heart beginning a dull pou
nd, she closed the refrigerator door to find Marcy holding up the picture, comparing it side by side with River where she stood in the kitchen. Marcy and Vaughn were lying on their stomachs in identical positions, their foreheads wrinkling in the same place, their resemblance apparent for the first time. “She smiles…for me.”

  Vaughn must have read between the lines of Marcy’s answer, same as she had. River put on a happy face for her daughter—the one thing that brought her joy—but smiles for anything personal, save her chats with Jasmine, were few and far between. And based on Vaughn’s frown, he didn’t like knowing it.

  “Mom said you’ll stay only a little while.”

  A flush raked down River’s face, moving all the way into her chest when hurt flashed in Vaughn’s expression. Hurt followed by stubbornness. She could tell he wanted to contradict what she’d told Marcy, but didn’t want to overstep. Especially so soon. And God, she hated having put him in that position, but hadn’t it been necessary?

  “Tell you what, Marcy.” Vaughn’s voice was quiet as he addressed his daughter, who watched him with rapt attention. “I want to stay longer than a little while. So I’m working on it.”

  Marcy nodded, then went back to looking at the photograph.

  “Dinner in five minutes,” River managed.

  …

  Vaughn sat on River’s couch, his hands loosely clasped between his knees, staring straight ahead. Because holy shit. Dinner with a toddler was no joke. He could hear the low strains of River’s voice upstairs as she read Marcy to sleep, and it wrapped around him like a down comforter, fresh from the dryer.

  He didn’t remember a time when River didn’t occupy his heart. His mind. All of him. Her sophomore year at Hook High, she’d passed him in the school parking lot, and magic happened. He’d been a rusted lawnmower forgotten in the shed until River yanked his cord and brought him roaring to life. She’d stopped and stared at him, blonde hair flying around her in the wind, books clutched to her chest—a glowing angel in a gray planet—and he’d lit a cigarette.

  God, what an unworthy piece of shit he’d been. Still was. Being in awe of River was a given. She was smart, compassionate, and beautiful. Saw right through him and embraced him anyway. Loved fiercely and took chances. Yeah, he respected River like hell. But watching the way she handled Marcy? He’d only known the half of River’s capabilities. He’d sat there like a stool pigeon, frozen in the face of actually doing what he’d set out to do. Be a parent. Help River.

  He’d thought winning his family would be the challenge. Turned out, that would only be where it started. Learning to be a…father. That’s where he’d need to put in the work.

  Vaughn stood and turned upon hearing River descending from above, his breath growing shallow at a sight he never expected to see. River with a finger over her lips, tiptoeing down the stairs so they wouldn’t wake their child. She still wore the soft pink T-shirt and form-fitting jeans, but might as well have been wearing a dress made of diamonds for how she sent his pulse flying. And God, goddamn, he finally understood the saying “You could have knocked me over with a feather.” If a flock of seagulls had been passing by, he might have been toast. Too much good.

  When the finger fell away from her mouth to reveal a frown, when she advanced on him looking worried, Vaughn finally heard the wheezing breaths he was dragging in. It was the same thing that had happened in River’s bed the night before, almost like he’d ignored anything resembling feelings for too many years, and now they rushed in to drown him, dragged him to the bottom of the ocean. He’d left her. He’d left his girl crying on the floor, while life swam in her belly, making their child.

  “I…uh.” Vaughn tugged the hair on the back of his head, until he felt pain. “I’ll never be able to do what you do, Riv. Eating with one hand, minding Marcy with the other. Two conversations at once. Having the answer to everything. You…” He stabbed the air with his finger, trying for a casual smile and failing. God, his voice sounded so unnatural. “You’re something, doll.”

  “Hey.” River approached him slowly, and he could see the girl breathing side by side with the woman, identical postures forty-nine months and five days apart. How many times had she been required to ease his wild side? “Come here.”

  A humming noise buzzed in his throat. “I’m making things even harder for you, coming back here. I hate knowing that. But I can’t go. I’m sorry.”

  River finally reached him and the earthquake beneath his feet stilled, those blue eyes firming up the ground. His pulse still sounded like a thunderstorm raging in his ears, but cooling rain had begun, trickling down onto scorched earth. “I know dinner seemed crazy, but it went really well.” Her hesitant palms pressed against his stomach. “And I don’t want you to go anywhere. This is…good. It’s going to be good.”

  “You don’t want me to go?”

  “No.”

  His rough exhale picked up those tiny strands at River’s hairline and made them dance. “I just sat there. Didn’t know how to help.”

  Her hands slipped higher, up to his sensitive pectorals and back down. “You’ll learn. You’ll catch up.” A smile teased her lips. “And no parent knows what they’re doing all the time, but it’s good to know I had you fooled.”

  Lord, she was being so sweet to him, her palms chafing up and down, that mouth husking words meant to calm. Reading him, knowing exactly what would work to clear the wildfire in his mind, the same way he knew her signals, her needs. River’s attempt to ease him might have worked on an emotional level, but certainly not on a physical one. The more she stroked his torso, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, the heavier his groin grew. Without any kind of mental consent, he began pushing his chest into her touch, maybe harder than he should have, because River fell back a step.

  But she didn’t stop. Thank God for that. No, she added the heels of her hands to the mix, raking them down the bumps of his stomach, pressing at his waistband, before dragging them back up to his pecs.

  “I should stop.” River’s breath hitched when Vaughn arched his back, pressing his upper body into the provocative massage. “I’m…it’s probably just the memories making me…remembering…”

  “The way you used to calm your buck down.” Vaughn’s tone was like gravel. “Petting me, whispering in my ear about how you love the body that keeps you safe. The body that can’t get enough of yours.”

  Her thumbs met at his belly button, bearing down into the indentation, and Vaughn’s cock surged. “Yes,” River whispered.

  The vulnerability in that single word sliced through the building lust, forcing Vaughn to focus. They were rapidly moving into a stage where he would become single minded in his need for River. But things weren’t completely right between them yet. Were they? It was so fucking difficult to tell when she only showed flickers of the pain he’d caused. Over the phone that afternoon, she’d said no to a physical relationship and respecting that wish—respecting River—was something he couldn’t take lightly. Not if being part of his own family was his goal.

  With incredible reluctance, Vaughn seized River’s wrists and ended the torturous massage of his abs. “Have to go. Before we do something that makes you hate me tomorrow.”

  River gave a jerky nod, but it was impossible not to notice her flushed skin, the way her nipples were peaked beneath the thin, pink cotton shirt. “Okay. You’re right.”

  When she stepped back, Vaughn fought the impulse to yank her close again. His body screamed that River belonged up against him, even as his mind believed the opposite. She didn’t belong anywhere near him. Never had. “Night, doll.”

  Vaughn turned and all but limped to the front door, thanks to the nuclear warhead in his pants, but before he could open it, he heard River move. Heard her feet creak the floorboards. Vaughn didn’t face her, but closed his eyes and issued the most heartfelt of prayers that she would ask him to stay. That they wouldn’t damn their progress if they obeyed the commands of their bodies.

  For the second t
ime that night, Vaughn nearly collapsed, as River’s hands snaked around his sides and unsnapped the button of his jeans. “Don’t go.” She planted a kiss in the middle of his back while slowly lowering his zipper. “I know what I said…and I meant it. This can’t be about us. But the us won’t…”

  “Won’t be ignored,” he managed. “Hell if I don’t know all about it, Riv.”

  A puff of warm air drifted over the back of his neck. “I know it might complicate things, but I need to…”

  His control severing, Vaughn pivoted on a heel and grabbed the sides of River’s face. “You need what? I’ll give it to you. As many times as you can handle.”

  The blue of her eyes seemed to deepen. “I miss you begging me,” she whispered. “I miss being begged for…th-that one thing.”

  “What one thing?”

  Christ, he was almost shouting. Take it down a notch. As soon as he managed to focus on anything but ripping off that pink shirt of hers, he remembered, though. Begging River had never been necessary, except for…

  “You want me in your mouth, doll?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Okay, so maybe River wasn’t thinking with her upstairs lady brain. But hell if it hadn’t always been this way between her and Vaughn. When one of them needed, the other provided. Loved providing that balance, fighting one another’s insecurities. So when she’d walked down the stairs and seen Vaughn all but vibrating with suppressed emotion? Everything feminine inside her reacted. A red-hot streak of lightning had hit its mark, spreading heat throughout her loins.

  Never mind her heart. That traitorous organ had taken a backseat to something else achingly desperate. Maybe more so, at the moment. He’s mine to fix. Mine to balance. A responsibility her body took seriously, if the arousal slickening her flesh was any indication. Vaughn was staring at her mouth like a man obsessed, her lips swelling under that sexual acknowledgment. I want to be your salvation. I don’t care if it’s wrong. She hadn’t been lying. Forty-nine months and five days without being the one thing standing between a man—Vaughn—and utter bliss was apparently far too long.