His Best Mistake (Shillings Agency)

by Diane Alberts

  “Right.” He skipped his fingers up her calf, inching toward her knee. “My mom wants to have Ginny over for dinner tomorrow. She has some friends coming over who like playing with her. She says it makes them feel young again. Want to go out with the gang, and tell them all the truth then?”

  She groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of it from Lauren.”

  “Me, either.” He snaked farther up her leg underneath the blanket, teasing her upper thigh, and heard her breath catch in her throat. “But it’s worth it.” He teased her core, running his finger around her with enough pressure to make her groan for an entirely different reason. “Right?”

  She bit down on her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe show me why again?”

  “Hmm.” He crawled up her body, staying under the blanket. He dropped a kiss on her thigh, and then he pushed her legs apart more. “Let me see if I know how…”

  “Ginny…” she whispered.

  “Is asleep, and if she comes out, all she’ll see is me hiding under a blanket.” He flicked his tongue over her, savoring her sweet taste. She buried both her hands in his hair, holding on tight. “Damn, it feels nice to have both your hands on me.”

  “Just wait till later. I’ll show you what I can do with them.”

  She moaned and arched closer to him, running her hands down his spine.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered.

  “Gladly.” She spread her thighs more, and urged his head closer. “But first…”

  He thrust his tongue inside her, lapping up everything he could, and then sucked her clit into his mouth. She cried out, but quickly muffled it, closing her legs on either side of his head as she writhed beneath him. She fucked his mouth with an abandon he couldn’t live without.

  And when she came, it was his name that she cried out as she collapsed against his couch with a satisfied little groan. It was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard.

  He threw the blanket off and stood, pulling her to her feet. She stumbled into him, and he caught her easily enough. “Convinced yet?”

  She blinked. “Of what?”

  …

  The next day, they stood outside the restaurant, hand in hand, watching their friends through the big window on the front of the brick building. Down the road was Lauren’s bakery, and past that, Lauren and Steven’s house…as well as Holt and Lydia’s.

  All four of them sat inside, waiting for Daisy to show up. They hadn’t mentioned Mark. She’d just told her friends that she had someone to introduce them to—a man she’d been seeing—and they’d been too excited she was dating to ask too many questions. But now…

  Now it was show time.

  And after this…

  She would meet his mother.

  Abort mission! Abort mission! Exit the vehicle! Run!

  That’s all she’d heard in her head—all day, over and over again. Warning bells screaming in the silence of her thoughts. This was all going so fast. Some might say too fast. She was hanging on for dear life on this crazy ride, and hoping like hell that she didn’t fall off. She tightened her grip on his hand. “You ready?”

  “Yep.” He grinned at her. “Don’t look so scared. They’ll be happy for us.”

  “I know.” She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. Maybe it was because telling them made it official. Even though falling asleep in his arms for the past two nights had made it feel pretty frigging official, too. And she couldn’t find a single regret within her for taking that leap of faith with him. “Okay, let’s—” Her phone rang, and she winced. “Hold on. I’m on call tonight.”

  He nodded, staring straight ahead, not letting go of her hand. It was comforting, that soft hold he kept on her. Every once in a while, he ran his finger across the back of her knuckles. She smiled at him and lifted the phone to her ear. It was a number she didn’t recognize. “O’Rourke.”

  “Yes, is this Richard O’Rourke’s wife?”

  Not tonight. Please, not tonight.

  She stiffened. “Daughter. Not wife. His wife is dead.”

  “Oh. Right. He said wife…”

  “How drunk is he?”

  “Very. That’s why I’m calling. He said you’re…or his wife…was…is…a cop?” The woman on the line cleared her throat. “Is that still true? Or is that his dead wife that was a cop?”

  Daisy closed her eyes. Tonight, of all nights, her dad had to remember she existed. When Mark was standing beside her, waiting to go into the restaurant with her. Back when William was alive, he used to get angry at her for always rushing to her father’s side, since he never did the same for her. But no matter how bad it had gotten, or how horrible he was, he was still her father. Blood was blood. Nothing changed that.

  Even though sometimes she wished it would.

  Would Mark get angry at her for rushing to help her “loser father” like William used to? Or would he smile, say he understood, and send her on her way? She didn’t know, but she was about to find out. “It’s true. I’m a cop. What did he do this time?”

  Mark frowned down at her.

  “He’s in my bar, breaking glasses, and starting trouble. Being a danger to my customers. He said if I call you, you’ll take him away, and make sure he’s not arrested or a threat. I don’t want the cops hanging around my establishment, interrupting business—” Glass broke in the background, and she paused. “Damn it, Dick.”

  She heard her father’s surly reply, slurred beyond intelligibility.

  “Where is he?” she asked, glancing at Mark.

  “Everything okay?” he mouthed.

  She shook her head, and turned away slightly from his concerned gaze.

  “Bud’s Corner, on Fifth and Dodge. You’ve got five minutes to get here, or I call 911.”

  Daisy hung up, clutching her phone so hard it hurt. This cold dose of reality wasn’t a welcome one. She’d been happy—being with Mark, acting normal. And then her father, like usual, had to swoop in and ruin it all. “Son of a frigging bitch.”

  “What’s wrong?” Mark asked quickly, glancing toward their friends again. They were oblivious to the two of them standing hand in hand outside. “Is it your dad?”

  It’s always my dad.

  “Yes.” She gestured toward the window, knowing this might be their first fight, because it always led to one with William, and he’d been the most patient man to ever walk the earth. “I know we’re supposed to be having our big reveal now, and I’m not trying to get out of it, I swear. But—”

  “Say no more.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  Out of all the things she’d expected him to say, that was pretty much last on the list. “Wait. What?”

  “Let’s go.” He frowned. “We need to go get him, right?”

  He wanted to…go with her?

  William had never gone along. Refused to be a part of it.

  That’s why she’d always called Tim. He was always there for her, in the one way William hadn’t been. And truth be told, she kind of preferred it that way. If Mark came along tonight, the second he found out how bad her father was, the reality of what living with a drunk for a father meant, he’d run in the opposite direction, and she wouldn’t blame him one little bit.

  Sometimes, she wished she could run.

  Shaking her head, she backed up a step. “That’s nice of you, but you don’t have to come. I can call Tim. He always helps me haul him around.”

  “You can still call him, if you want, but I’d like to come, too, if that’s okay,” he said, staring at her intently.

  She stared at him, not speaking, because she didn’t want him to come. Not because she didn’t want to let him in, but because he’d want to be let out once he met her dad. “Look, he’s really drunk. Like, stupid drunk. He’ll be throwing up. Mean. Angry. And even worse, he’ll cry about all his dead buddies, and my mom. So don’t feel like you have to come. I can do it—”

  “Daisy.” He caught her chin, smiling gently. “I told you I was in this for all of it. T
he good. The bad. The ugly. I meant it. I’m coming with you, and if he pukes in my truck, then I don’t give a damn. It’s just a fucking truck. You’re more important than that.”

  She swallowed, tears blurring her vision for a scary second. She blinked them away, averted her gaze, and took a calming breath. There was no way she could reject him after that. “I…thank you, Mark.” Rising up on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his in a sweet kiss that said nothing, and yet everything. When she pulled back, he stared down at her with heated eyes that held so much promise it took her breath away, and a rebellious tear escaped. “Thank you.”

  “Hey. None of that.” He smiled at her and wiped a thumb across her damp cheek. “Let’s go get your dad.”

  She smiled and took a second to compose herself. After she pulled herself together and sniffed, she asked, “What about them?”

  “Text them once we’re on the road. Tell them something came up. Tell them nothing came up. I don’t care what you say, because he’s your dad, not mine.” He caught her hand and led her back the way they’d come. “But let’s go, before they call the cops.” He led her to his truck, opened the car door for her, and then climbed behind the wheel. As he started the engine, he asked, “Where am I going?”

  “Bud’s Corner. It’s on—”

  “Fifth and Dodge. Got it.”

  He slammed into reverse and she tried to focus on texting Lauren, since that was easier than worrying about how big of a mess her father had made this time.

  And it was also a heck of a lot easier than acknowledging how amazing this man was being to her, and what that could mean. He’d asked her to give him a chance, and she had, but she’d held on to one little last piece of the wall she’d built around her heart, just in case she needed it. After tonight would she be able to hold on to her last defense against him?

  Or would the brick drop out of her hands and crumble into dust…

  That was, if he didn’t go running at first sight of her father before it could fall.

  Biting her lip, she texted a quick apology to Lauren, saying something came up at work, and shoved her phone away. The ride to the bar went quick, too quick, and Mark left his hand on her thigh supportively the whole time. They pulled up in front of the shady hole in the wall and she saw him immediately through the front window. He was leaning against the wall inside, yelling angrily at a woman she could only assume was the owner who had called her, and his face was flushed with anger.

  As she watched, he drunkenly swung at the woman, and she dodged out of the way. Another man in the bar slammed him against a wall, holding him by the throat, and the woman picked up the phone with trembling hands. Time was up. She was calling the cops.

  And I don’t blame her at all.

  “Jesus,” Daisy muttered, throwing the door open and jumping down.

  Mark’s door opened, too, so she could only assume he was behind her, but she didn’t stop to look, or to warn him that this was the worst she’d seen him in years. Walking in to this bar was like running up to a bomb that was about to explode. It was a real threat, but you bolted toward it anyway, to try to stop it from exploding, to try to save everyone else.

  And you got yourself blown up in the process.

  She pushed through the door, calling out. “I’m here. I’m so sorry for this. But I’m here.”

  “Thank God.” The woman stopped dialing. “You’re his kid?”

  “I am.” She glanced at her dad. “I’m here.”

  “You don’t look like a cop,” she said doubtfully, eyeing Daisy’s soft blue dress.

  “I am. I swear.”

  Mark came in behind her, also staring at her father with a tinge of horror in his eyes. Her dad wore a stained, ripped T-shirt that he probably hadn’t changed in days, had food and God knew what else stuck in his beard, and an unidentified dried up substance on his jeans that was probably vomit. Having him here, standing behind her, witnessing the true extent of her father’s fall from grace was embarrassing, but it felt liberating, too. She was finally letting him in. Letting him see what she dealt with.

  No more walls. No more defenses.

  Just them.

  And if he ran?

  So be it.

  Her father finally stopped struggling against the man holding him when he spotted her standing by the door. “Barbara? Is that you?”

  Daisy stiffened.

  When her father was really far gone, he mistook her for her mother.

  She used to argue, try to make him see he was wrong, but it only made him more violent. The sad truth was, he cooperated more when he thought she was her mother. He liked the other woman more. After a quick glance at Mark to gauge his reaction, she stepped forward. “Yeah, it’s me, Dickie. I’m here. Let’s go home, okay?”

  Mark rested a hand on her shoulder as they approached her father. “Are you okay with this?”

  “I do it all the time.” She glanced at her father. He looked like he was dozing on his feet now, which might make it even harder to maneuver him to the truck. “It’s easier this way.”

  “Okay.” He swallowed. “What should I do to help?”

  “Help me get him out once I—”

  “Who’s he?” her father barked, spotting Mark behind her, glowering at his hold on her shoulder. “You brought another man with you? You’re leaving me?”

  “No, Dickie.” She held her hand out, pushing Mark’s hold off. She hadn’t expected him to see Mark, and register their intimacy, let alone call her out for it. “I can explain. He’s—”

  “He’s dead, is what he is. No one takes my girl and lives to tell of it.”

  He lurched forward, shoving the guy holding him aside like he was nothing, and before either of them could react, he swung for Mark. The sound of bone meeting bone was horrifyingly real as her father’s fist connected with Mark’s nose. Blood poured out immediately. He staggered back and tripped over a tipped barstool, and he went down hard. His feet caught her father’s on the way down, and they fell in a tangle of feet and curses. After Mark shoved her dad off him, he groaned, burped, and then passed out on the dirty bar floor.

  Mark lay there for a second, staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavily through his mouth, blood smeared all over his face. He locked gazes with Daisy, and she saw it. The absolute shock and pity coloring those dark brown eyes of his black. And she felt sick. Physically sick.

  I shouldn’t have brought him here.

  One hand over her stomach, the other over her mouth, she shook her head, unable to move or think beyond the pure humiliation rocking her, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He touched his nose, rolled over, and spit out blood, not meeting her eyes again as he checked her father for a pulse. And she just stood there. Doing nothing. Wanting to die.

  She’d thought she could let someone help her, let someone in, and this was what happened. Her father literally tried to kill him. If this wasn’t a wakeup call for them both, then she didn’t know what was. After this was over, Mark would make some kind of polite excuse and end it.

  And she wouldn’t blame him one little bit.

  This is hell. I’m in hell. And nothing will ever save me.

  He rolled to his feet and dusted off his hands. “What do you want me to do, Daisy?”

  “I…” She eyed her father passed out on the floor. “You’re staying?”

  Walking right up to her, Mark touched his nose and winced. “What did I tell you?” He caught her chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Tears choked her, trying to escape, but she swallowed them back.

  As he stared down at her, blood dripping out his nose, a bruise already forming under his eye, in a dirty bar…she did it. She dropped the last brick.

  And she scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Last night had been awful. When Daisy told him her father was an alcoholic, to be honest, he hadn’t really thought it through beyond the fact that the man liked to dr
ink a lot. Alcoholic was a term that could describe so many degrees of a dependency on booze, and he hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that her father was the extreme version of the word.

  That things could be that bad.

  He hadn’t pictured the full reality of what she faced every day, and what she’d had to do to grow up to be as near to normal as she was. To become a cop. The amount of respect he had for her tripled after last night. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  About it.

  He just wanted to pull her into his arms, hug her close, and make it all go away.

  Pressing two fingers to his throbbing nose, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had a hell of a headache, and the sirens blaring in the distance did nothing to help that. After they got her father home last night, and after they spent a good four hours cleaning his filthy home, Daisy had fallen into Mark’s bed and immediately passed out.

  When he crawled into bed with her, she mumbled something about losing a brick, curled up against him, and let out the cutest snore he’d ever heard. He quickly followed her into slumber, and she’d been gone when he woke up. He was trying not to read too much into that.

  There were two taps on the door, and a way too loud voice exclaimed, “What the hell happened to you last night? Did Steven finally lose his temper and punch you?”

  Internally, he rolled his eyes, but on the outside, he calmly said, “Nah. I ran into a door.”

  Holt snorted. “A door shaped like a fist?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Seriously, man.” He eyed Mark with a concern that was almost touching. “What happened? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He dropped his hand from his nose and straightened. “Just ran into a spot of trouble last night.”

  Holt leaned on the doorjamb. “Where were you?”

  “A bar downtown. Some dude got drunk and was causing trouble, and I tried to help. Got caught in the crossfire.” He’d learned a long time ago, when avoiding the truth, stick as close to it as possible. Sure, they’d been ready to tell everyone about their relationship, but this wasn’t the time, or the way, to do it. “I’m fine, though. Really.”