It made him sick to his stomach to empathize with his mother, but now he was starting to see why their marriage might have gone south.
“What happened to that girl anyway?” Adam said.
“You’re not changing the topic.”
“That your way of saying you got bored?” His father coughed into his handkerchief. “What was wrong with this one? I thought she seemed nice. It’s the first time you’ve brought someone around here.”
“She’s a friend.”
Adam scoffed. “You don’t have female friends.”
“Says who?”
“The newspaper.” He pointed to a stack in the middle of the coffee table that Donna had tried unsuccessfully to tidy up. Adam had refused to let her throw the old ones out, and the tower had become unwieldy.
“You know it’s all bullshit. They write whatever will sell papers, doesn’t matter if it’s the truth.” Damn it. His father was goading him into arguing again, steering him off topic so they didn’t have to talk about the painful stuff. “Nice try on distracting me too.”
Adam harrumphed. “You’re a thorn in my side, you know that?”
“Someone has to be. Because as much as Donna cares, she’s not family. I am.” Reed swallowed the frustration clawing up his throat. “I’m worried about you.”
“You should be more concerned with what’s going on in your own life.”
How was he supposed to say that everything in his life was about Adam? The job and the money it brought was what kept him going, knowing he could care for the man who’d raised him. The rest—friends and baseball—was simply an outlet. There wasn’t anything else of significance.
“Family is what matters to me.” Reed picked at the frayed edge of the couch cushion. Once everything was settled down with work, he’d buy a new sofa to replace this eyesore. “You always said we had to stick together because no one else would care about us.”
Adam heaved in a big, rattling breath. Reed tried not to notice how skeletal he looked these days—his cheeks were hollowed out, darkness pressed through the thin skin under his eyes. If only he would eat a little more. Reed was counting on this Dr. Preston to help his father deal with whatever messed-up voice was telling him to give up, because nothing Reed said made a lick of difference.
“I think I’ve done you a disservice, Son.” The words were spoken so quietly that Reed only just caught them.
“What do you mean?”
“I was so angry after your mother left, and I poured that anger into you for the next fifteen years.” He sighed. “Instead of shielding you from my pain, I let you carry it around. I let it eat away at you.”
“No you didn’t.”
“I did.” His jaw clenched. “I was too weak to move on with my life and I…poisoned you.”
“Dad, stop.”
Reed pushed up and went to his father. But he wasn’t sure what to do—they didn’t hug; they didn’t comfort with physical touch. Yet the desire to connect with his father felt like the most important thing that he could do right now. With uncertainty, he placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. A safe start. When Adam didn’t shrug him off, Reed gave him a tentative squeeze.
“You didn’t poison me.”
“Didn’t I?” Adam raised a bushy, gray brow. “So you enjoy changing women like you change your underwear?”
“I don’t have time for a relationship.”
“Bullshit,” he spat. “You don’t want to put yourself out there because you’re worried you’ll end up like me. I did that to you.”
“She did it!” Reed couldn’t hold back the angry swirl of emotion that tracked through his body, making his hands shake and his head pound. “She said she loved us and then she left and never looked back. What sane person would choose to go through that?”
He hadn’t realized he’d shouted the words until he felt the scratch in the back of his throat. God, he needed to get a fucking grip. He’d barely slept a wink the last week, trekking to and from work and the hospital, forgoing solid meals and a real bed to spend as much time with his father as he could. But it was catching up with him. He needed to face-plant into his duvet and stay there for a few days.
“You blame her for how I am.” It wasn’t a question.
“You started smoking because of her when you’d never touched a goddamn cigarette in your life.” Reed folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not exactly a leap.”
“I picked up the cigarette, I put it in my mouth, and I lit it.” The creases in his father’s face deepened. “And then I did it again and again and again. It’s my fault.”
“But if she hadn’t left—”
“Son.” Adam looked up, the sadness in his eyes wrenching a hole in Reed’s chest. “I have to take responsibility. I should have done it a long time ago. Your mother left because I wasn’t a good husband.”
The voices in his head wanted to protest But she promised! However, Reed knew it was pointless. His father seemed hell-bent on shouldering the burden.
“Now,” Adam said. “If we can wrap up this Dr. Phil bullshit, I’d appreciate it. I’m going to take a nap.” He made the slow ascent from his chair and Reed stepped out of the way, knowing better than to help. “Donna put some leftover pasta in the fridge if you want to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Adam grunted. “Funny how it’s okay for you to say that.”
Reed bit his tongue and watched his father shuffle from the room. He had no idea what to make of Adam’s confession. True, the old man was tougher than an overcooked steak and twice as gristly. But whatever happened about till death do us part? Half his colleagues at work were divorced and shelling out alimony to wives who probably never had any intention of sticking around. As for Gabriel…well, he was one of the lucky few. An anomaly in marriage-land.
His father could try to take the blame as much as he liked, but Reed knew the truth: people were out for number one.
But his mind flicked to Darcy. She’d been calling him all week, and every time her name flashed up on his phone, regret stabbed him in the gut. He should never have let her get so close. All the red flags were there—bringing her to see his dad, going to her house. The stupid “double date” with her sister.
Not to mention he’d sent himself into a tailspin over her denial that he was anyone important. The words no one were branded into his brain as a reminder of why he needed to protect himself.
Adam was right—there was no way Reed would let himself end up in pieces like his father.
Chapter 23
“It took me a long time to learn this, but sometimes you just have to accept that people can’t be fixed.”
—HappilyMarried
Darcy had been in a holding pattern ever since her meeting with Reed last Wednesday. Her thought process was running circles faster than a puppy chasing its tail. She’d reach for her phone, chicken out, reach for it again, call Reed, avoid leaving a voicemail, and then convince herself that was the last time she’d call…until she reached for her phone again.
Pathetic.
By Monday afternoon she couldn’t take it anymore. So she’d done what any normal girl would do—liquored up and gone to deal with the problem in person. Like any good person with Italian heritage, she’d also brought food. Specifically, another batch of biscotti from her mother. Homemade food was homemade food, right? Shouldn’t matter who’d made it.
She’d even wrapped the parcel up in red ribbon and put a tag on it with Reed’s father’s name. Hopefully the gesture would come across as thoughtful, rather than desperate, but Darcy was a little out of her depth. Not to mention the rum she’d downed at the bar around the corner from his office had gone to her head more than expected.
It’s Dutch courage. You need it… How else would you be able to convince yourself to line up for potential humiliation?
She stood in front of Reed’s office building, bouncing from one combat boot to the other. For a moment, back home, she’d wavered on whether to borrow a dress and those stupidly expensive flats from Remi. But then she wouldn’t have been much better than the girl who’d bought a blouse for her honeymoon thinking it’s what a wife should wear. Reed could take her as she was.
“Come on,” she said to herself. “It’s now or never.”
If she walked away from this, it might take her another year to work up the courage to try again. Putting herself out there had required a lot of mental to-ing and fro-ing, as well as a little help from Captain Morgan. She swallowed past the lump in her throat.
Why are you even here? He’s ignoring you for a reason.
The gremlin in her head liked to say destructive things like that. It had a whole arsenal of criticism stockpiled, but she was over listening to that crap. Since finally laying it all out with her mother, she’d done some serious thinking.
She’d even called Ben to congratulate him on his engagement. The conversation had been awkward as hell, but she’d needed the closure. And Ben had said something that’d stuck with her: There were no signs for you to see because I spent every hour of my day trying to hide them.
It’d eased the burden a bit, allowed her to lift some of the blame from her shoulders. Not that it meant much in the grand scheme of things—she’d still fallen for the wrong guy, and she might still make mistakes in the future. But what she realized now was that there was no way to safeguard against that, aside from committing to being alone…and she didn’t want to do that. She wanted love—the kind that Ben and Mark had. The kind that her mother and Genio had. The kind she now realized was blossoming between Cynthia and Brad, despite her initial impressions.
She not only wanted it—she deserved it. And she was strong enough to take a chance on Reed. Strong enough to face potential rejection, because she knew now that it was better to try and fail than to settle.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the huge, gold-trimmed building and stepped through the turnstile. By the time she made it up to the thirty-sixth floor, her heart was pounding. She had no idea what she was going to say to him, because every time she tried to devise a script, her brain would scramble.
“Can I help you?” It was the same receptionist she’d seen on her last visit to the Bath and Weston offices.
“I’m here to see Reed McMahon, but I don’t have an appointment.”
“Let me check if he’s available.” She picked up the phone and spoke with someone whom Darcy assumed was Reed’s assistant. An eternity passed before she returned the phone to the receiver. “He’s going to come out and meet you. Take a seat in conference room D. He’ll meet you there.”
The receptionist directed Darcy down a small corridor. There were four rooms in total, all with glass walls and identical white tables and white leather chairs. Each room had a matching clear vase with white flowers and a modern-looking black-and-white print on the wall. The sameness unsettled Darcy—she wanted to find a can of paint and fling it across the pristine room. It couldn’t have been further from her library, with its scribbled rainbow drawings and glitter masterpieces.
She walked into the room and sat in one of the chairs, her head feeling a little fuzzy from the alcohol. Maybe she should have stopped at two. She tapped her fingers against the tabletop in time with the seconds ticking away on the clock on the wall in front of her. It was bland and white and silver, just like everything else in this damn office.
Bouncing restlessly in the chair, her eyes darted to the corridor every few seconds. What was taking him so long? Perhaps he was working on a speech to let her down gently? Or what if he’d decided he was over her and had picked up someone else?
“Darcy.”
Hearing her name in Reed’s smooth baritone was like a jolt of electricity to her body. Warmth rippled through her as she looked up, taking in his arresting form in all its magazine-worthy glory. He seemed even more attractive now, because she knew what he looked like out of his three-piece suit and smiling instead of frowning. Wait, why was he frowning?
“I thought we had everything ready for Friday.” He came into the room but didn’t sit. Shadows curved under his eyes and his mouth was a grim line. He looked utterly exhausted.
“I, uh… No, everything’s fine with the fundraiser.” All the warm, fuzzy feelings from the alcohol evaporated into thin air. Now she was exposed to the chill in Reed’s stare, unprotected and vulnerable. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
He closed the door behind him with a click that sounded far too ominous for an inanimate object. “It’s been a busy week.”
“How’s your dad?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, but the rest of his face remained impassive. A mask. “He’s going through a rough time, but I’m getting him the help he needs.”
She could read between the lines, and it damn near broke her heart. When his assistant had called to cancel their drinks, she’d only said it was a family emergency. But Reed’s tone was far more telling. For all his faults, he loved his father like nothing else.
“I brought him something.” She gestured to the parcel wrapped in butcher’s paper and tied with ribbon. “They’re homemade Italian biscuits. Confession, I didn’t make them. My mother did. But they’re very good.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
Normally when people said that, it was meant as an offering of thanks. But, for some reason, it sounded like she should take it at face value. He was still standing, leaving a good few feet between them. Brows creased. Hands clasped in front of him. The absence of their usual spark settled in the pit of Darcy’s stomach like a stone.
“I wanted to,” she said, pushing the parcel toward the empty seat on the other side of the table. He nodded. The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Can you sit? You’re making me nervous.”
He hesitated for a moment but pulled out the seat across from Darcy and dropped down into it. He’d popped the button on his suit jacket, exposing the tailored vest underneath. She’d never been one for a guy in a suit, but damn he managed to have this sexy, aristocrat vibe going on, and it was doing all kinds of good things to her libido.
She waited for him to tease her about staring, but his facial muscles were rigid. “So…uh…” She swallowed down the nervous flutter in her stomach. “We were supposed to talk last week. I understand why you had to cancel, of course, but I was hoping we’d be able to reschedule.”
“I don’t have the time, Darcy.” He raked a hand through his dark hair as though she was trying his patience. “I’m sorry. But things are tense here, even with me signing Dave Bretton. I’m dealing with a lot of backlash over the Bad Bachelors articles, and frankly, I’m about one wrong look away from telling all of them to go fuck themselves.”
She cringed. Obviously she hadn’t picked the best day to drop in for a chat. “I understand. It’s just…I get the impression you’re avoiding me and I wanted to make sure that wasn’t the case.”
He stared at her blankly. “Like I said, I’ve been busy.”
“I get that.” She gripped the edge of her seat, her knuckles turning as white as the walls around her. This wasn’t going how she’d planned. “But it would have taken five seconds to send a text back to say, ‘Hey, I’m busy. I’ll call you when I can.’”
“Because I owe you something?”
The words made her reel as if he’d slapped her across the face. “I’m not saying you owe me anything, but it would have been nice—”
“You’re saying exactly that.”
“Well, when you canceled on drinks and then didn’t answer my calls, I thought something might’ve happened to…” She shook her head. “I was worried.”
Darcy’s nervous system had gone into meltdown mode. Her heartbeat was accelerated, her cheeks overheated. And all this when she wasn’t quite sure what s
he’d hoped to gain by coming here.
Bullshit. You know exactly what you wanted to gain.
This whole weekend had been a total joke. She’d been like a zombie, ambling around the library aimlessly, shelving books in the wrong spot and forgetting people’s names. All because there was this sense of unfinished business with Reed.
“I appreciate your concern, but I have everything under control.”
“I know we never discussed where this was going,” she said. “But you don’t have to shut me out like I’m a stranger.”
“I don’t understand what you want from me,” he said. “We’re not in a relationship and our work is on track. We’re not even friends.”
“You’re right. I guess I would have known that you were engaged once if that were the case.” The words popped out of her mouth and she regretted them instantly.
Way to tell him that you’re still reading up on him like some obsessive internet stalker.
* * *
“Let me guess: you read the article about Barbara,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You and everyone else in this goddamn city. Christ, why can’t people mind their own business?”
Even mentioning that wretched site had him wanting to breathe fire. But thankfully, progress had been made in that area. His PI, Peter, had been frequenting the coffee shop where Barbara had met the interviewer, Leanne. Armed with Barbara’s description, he’d managed to track the woman down. Turns out for all the secrecy behind Bad Bachelors, this particular woman was a creature of habit.
Each Wednesday and Friday, she’d arrive with her laptop sometime around 10:00 a.m. and order an Americano, work for an hour, and then purchase a sandwich to go before leaving. Peter hadn’t made contact. That moment of glory was going to be saved for Reed. If it hadn’t been for his father’s hospitalization last week, he would already have confronted Leanne. But now he had to wait till Wednesday.
“You know I defended you to my friends when they told me I was crazy for sleeping with you,” she said. Now two pink splotches colored her cheeks and her arms had folded tight across the front of her Mother of Dragons T-shirt. “I said you were so much more than what Bad Bachelors claimed.”
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