Kickback (Caldwell Brothers Book 3)

by Colleen Charles

  He smiles, and it brings me back to a time when life was simpler. I could get lost in the sentiment of that memory if I allow myself. I don’t. Besides, he’s right. I should lock that shit down because if I don’t do that, I’ll have to live with a lifetime of regret.

  And blue balls.

  “You’re right. I’ll call her.”

  “Nope, don’t use the phone. People are all hiding behind their devices nowadays. This type of important discussion requires a face to face meeting. Just like if Haylee were suing you in a court of law for being a yellow-bellied coward. Did you know there are laws against leaving your common-law wife high and dry in thirty-eight states?”

  “My common-law wife? Don’t you have to be together at least seven years before that statute kicks in?”

  He rolls his eyes. “I was just kidding. Nevada’s not a common law state. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hightail your ass over to her place and eat some crow with a side helping of your pride. I’ll cover for you if Nix starts to go on the warpath. He’s been calmer lately, though, so I think you’re good. Marcella’s tamed him in a good way.”

  “Agreed,” I say, standing and stretching out my back. I feel better already, and Reag’s correct in his assumptions and analysis. I need to have a face to face with Haylee in order to make things right.

  I don’t even return to my office to grab my suit coat as it’s hotter than hell outside today. I wish I’d worn short sleeves, but Nix and I had a meeting with the gaming commission this morning, and he insisted I emulate him and appear to have a Gucci embossed stick up my own ass. Cruz says he has availability, so I opt to ride in the town car instead of driving myself. That way, if there’s a make-up that happens, I can suggest a ride down the strip which might include Haylee riding my cock in time to the tires rotating on the pavement.

  Before I have my grumbling speech committed to memory, Cruz glides the vehicle to a stop in front of Haylee’s house. “I’ll wait,” he says, opening the door, and allowing me to jump out before he gets back inside the cab and into the air conditioning.

  I make my way up the cracked sidewalk, careful to avoid the worst spots. It makes me worried that Haylee might be coming home late from work sometime in the dark and trip and hurtle into her own cactus shrubs. Funny how my mind only goes to Haylee coming home late because of work and not because of another man. The possibility of a real rival makes me see red.

  There’s a chip in the front window of the house. I can see it behind the metal bars that keep criminals out and an angel inside. I wonder if she’d be pissed if I had someone come over and replace her windows with those new ones that can’t be broken into. Then, the bars could go. Hawk could even install a state of the art security system, and I’d never have to worry about her again. Even though the ultimate solution would be to have her move in with me or even move to a different house in a better neighborhood, I know how independent my girl is so I’m not going to suggest any of those options. She’d never go for it, especially not this early in the game.

  Before I can lose my nerve, I lift my hand and knock.

  “Hey,” she says, pulling the door open and stepping outside. It’s hot out here, and I had hoped she’d invite me in instead of forcing me to have this uncomfortable conversation outside in my long-sleeved shirt and dress slacks. I can hear the central air running. She’s wearing a green tank top that hugs her full breasts and cut-off denim shorts that barely hide her pussy from my hungry gaze. She looks good enough to eat.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say hesitantly, feeling her out. She looks like she’s in a good enough mood, but she’s not as open as normal. I don’t feel like I can get away with stealing a kiss or even touching her on the arm. It’s almost like she’s closed for business, erecting walls around herself that weren’t there before.

  “I need to talk to you too,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing back at the house. Does she fucking have someone else inside that she doesn’t want me to see? Dante? I fist my hands to keep from reaching for her and shaking her until she admits she’s got a guy in there.

  “You first,” I say. If she’s going to tell me I don’t have a chance, then I’m not even going to speak my peace. What would be the point? A man does have his pride. I’d rather not have my ego trampled into the dirt today.

  “I can’t see you again, Ford.” The words come out strained, and she clears her throat. “In fact, I can’t work for you, either. I’ve been lucky enough to find another position that’s even more lucrative than modeling for Strict Necessaire. I’m going to have to ask you to never contact me again.”

  “What?” I hate the sound of my own voice and the way that it shakes speaking just that one syllable. I heard her correctly the first time, but I’m going to force her to repeat it. I know what I did eight years ago was terrible, leaving her like that, but did nothing between us before that mean anything to her? Is she really going to do this? My heart hammers in my chest, and the ache there is almost unbearable. I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  She looks over my shoulder, unable to meet my eyes. “I can’t see you anymore. I’ve done a lot of soul searching. Since…since…”

  “Since we made love.” I don’t call it having sex because that wasn’t what it was, and it shits all over the feelings we still have for each other. I’m not going to let her avoid them either. She’s going to explain what the fuck is going on if it’s the last thing I ever make her do. If she needs help, I’ll help her. If she needs me to grovel, I’ll hit my knees.

  “You left me, Ford. You made a promise, and you broke it. I thought I could get over that, but I just can’t. I tried…really, I did. I’m sorry. And then I let you back in, you leave again.”

  I stare at her face, searching for the tiniest indication that she’s bullshitting me with this. I knew it might happen. Hell, I deserve it. But deep in my soul, I always thought we’d find our way back to each other.

  “How can you say that? I wanted you to get good sleep. We agreed I wouldn’t stay the night.”

  Her body seems to grow bigger, and she’s trembling. I want to touch her so badly, but I don’t. “How can I say that? Are you kidding me? You promised me forever and apparently forever only lasts until high school graduation. I’m not sure we would have made it anyway since we were so young, but you did the unthinkable. You made it so we never even had a chance to find out. That’s the space where regret lives, Ford. And who wants to have that in the front of their mind for the rest of their lives? You did that, and I can’t forgive you. And I honestly can’t trust that you won’t run again if things get rough.”

  I take a step toward her, considering my options. I could take her in my arms, discount everything she’s saying and let my body do the talking. Something scares me away again, and I back down, not liking myself one bit for it. I tell myself it’s because she deserves some space and that if it’s meant to be, she’ll come back to me. But it’s really probably because I’m a terrified piece of shit who never deserved that chance she’s talking about in the first place.

  Haylee deserves to have a man who knows how to be a man and keep her heart safe. Someone like Nixon. Someone that’s not me.

  My spirits sink, and my shoulders fall multiple inches. I’m sure I look like a man defeated. Without hope. That’s because I am.

  “I understand,” I whisper, searching her face for any sign that she’s going to change her mind. “I guess I just hoped that you could find it in your heart to forgive me and give us another chance. I think we’re worth it.” I swallow hard. “I love you.”

  She lifts her chin. “I don’t love you.”

  Her eyes flutter closed, and I can’t even see her expression to know if she means it. Those words gut me in a way that might cause me to miss her for the rest of my life. At this point, I’m not sure I can move on from it.

  Before I know what’s happening, my feet have started moving, and I’m striding down the sidewalk and toward the town car. Aw
ay from everything I’ve really ever wanted. I built a billion-dollar business from the ground up to try to give my life meaning after what I did. Even that didn’t hold a candle to the feeling I get when I’m with Haylee. My throat clamps shut, cutting off good airflow to my burning lungs. I don’t turn around even though every single cell in my body begs me to fight.

  I do what I’m best at. I run.

  Chapter 17

  Haylee

  I might be sitting across from the biggest douche bag in Vegas. As I look over Dante, from the perfection of his tailored designer suit to his hairstyle with not one strand out of place, I wonder what I ever saw in him that day he approached me at the Armónico. I’m finding that I like men with their hair messed up, their tie askew, and sneakers. Definitely, Converse.

  And square glasses with grey frames that bring out the blue in their mesmerizing eyes.

  Dante’s droning on about how many holdings he has, how many homes he’s remodeled and then flipped for a staggering profit. It’s boring. He’s boring. I can’t believe that I agreed to date him, be his pathetic version of arm candy. But when I think of Atlee and what her therapy has been able to do for her…well, my own feelings have to be placed on the back burner. When you’re a mother, that’s just the sacrifices you make. Your soul goes to the highest bidder, and you hand it over without even shedding a single tear.

  Drowning out the sound of his droll voice with my self-recriminations, I glance around the restaurant. The food is stellar again, and so is the wine. Dante doesn’t even stop for breath until a beautiful brunette clad in a black jacket stops at the table.

  “Good evening, Mr. Giovanetti,” she says. “I trust your entrees were acceptable?”

  “The sea bass was divine, Pepper. Just like every night I choose it. It’s my favorite, and I’m so glad you were able to add it to the menu.”

  Pepper’s gorgeous face stays calm, a mask of cool indifference. I realize that she probably hates sea bass so much she’d rather stab its carcass with a fork a hundred times before serving it. But it’s Dante’s favorite, and he clearly always gets what he wants. Including the sell-out that’s currently sitting across from him. I feel a kinship with the woman standing next to me even though I don’t even know her. We’re both in the same boat. The one that’s heading out onto Lake Heartbreak with a gaping leak in the hull.

  “My entrée was spectacular,” I say, drawing her attention to me. I get the first genuine smile, and it makes me feel good. I want to say even more. Her culinary skills are exceptional, and she should get the kudos she deserves. “The way it’s shaped like a horse? You’re so creative. When something’s delicious and has that artistic flair, it’s almost a shame to eat it. But I did.”

  Pepper laughs, an infectious sound that causes diners three tables away to turn and look at her. One of them raises his glass toward her in an impromptu toast over his empty plate. “Thank you, miss…?”

  “Miss Jacobs,” I say, holding out my hand to her. She clasps it in her strong, warm one and squeezes. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’ve lived in Vegas my entire life, and whenever a new restaurant gets the kind of buzz that this one did in the beginning, I know it’s going to be a huge hit.”

  “A local,” she says, giving me a saucy wink. “Those are my favorite kind of endorsements. It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Miss Jacobs. Mr. Giovanetti. I need to get back to the kitchen before Basil starts a small fire.”

  Just like that, the buffer between Dante and me flees, and I watch her rigid back meandering through the tables until she disappears. I almost want to let out a sigh, but that would probably get me that look of censure from Dante that I don’t like and try to avoid. Since I’m not sophisticated enough for him, it happens far too often. This is our third date, and everyone knows what that means. Except I can’t sleep with him. I won’t. I’m in love with Ford, and even though we can’t be together, I simply can’t allow myself to be touched by another man.

  “If you’re done with your meal, we should have an after-dinner drink,” he says, the actual words seeming innocuous enough.

  I nod, and he’s up in a flash, coming around the table to pull my chair out for me. He’s all ease and politeness, a gentleman in every sense of the word except the one that’s most important. Honesty. His manners are strictly an act for his own selfish gain.

  Stifling a groan, I stand and allow him to guide me to the exit, even though his touch turns my stomach in a way I thought I’d never feel in the presence of a man I actually chose to be with. I glance down at my dress, borrowed from Dixie. One thing I wasn’t going to do is overextend myself by buying a bunch of fancy clothes for this charade. This new one’s red and it hugs my body a little too tightly for my liking. My breasts are lifted and cradled like I’m trying too hard. His lascivious gaze rests there for a split second before he brings his eyes back to my face.

  Anxiety begins to spiral out of control because I know where this runaway train is headed, and my body’s printing a one-way ticket to nowhere. Pulling an invisible cloak of protection around me, I follow Dante’s lead until we reach a bank of elevators. He stabs the up arrow with his finger, and I stand there, muscles clenched, hoping that the ding will never come. I’d give anything to be in the limo right now, the wheels hugging the interstate as I roll toward home. And safety.

  I wish Ford would come and rescue me again. But after the way I treated him, telling him a bunch of lies ending with the biggest one of them all by denying my love for him, how can I expect there to be a repeat of that first date with Dante?

  “How about a drink on the terrace?” he asks, as if I can say no at this late juncture. He’s backed me into a corner, and he knows it. I’ve never felt so manipulated. Used. Dirty. I feel like a thousand showers couldn’t wash away the feeling of corruption that’s taken over my senses.

  “Sounds nice,” I say, keeping my cool. Grace under fire, that’s always been me. You learn it the hard way by waitressing in a café for years on end. Somebody’s always pissed about the temperature of their steak or the carbonation in their Coke. Except what Dante’s proposing doesn’t sound nice at all. It sounds like a lamb being lead to the slaughter because she wants to save someone else by sacrificing herself.

  Someone who doesn’t have any other choice.

  “Excellent.”

  He’s the butcher, holding the knife that’s poised to slit my throat so I can bleed out. It’s not so much the word that bothers me, although it’s meaningless in this context. It’s the tone that he’s using, the lack of warmth, the void of any sort of pleasure that has me itching to turn tail and run.

  The ding sounds far too soon, and I climb on board. The cab of the elevator leading to his suite is much too small, and it feels as if all the oxygen has been sucked from the ten by ten space. I heave a breath, panicking, and lean back against the plush interior, a wave of heat flowing over me. It’s Dante’s private elevator, and he spared no expense in its design. It’s the fanciest lift I’ve ever seen. Staring at the velvet walls, I try to avoid eye contact with him. Anything to keep me from throwing up all over his polished ostrich leather shoes.

  “After you, my dear,” he says, holding the door open so I can step inside his penthouse. Why in the hell did I allow myself to be pushed farther than I wanted to go? I think of Atlee. And John. And every single day that she’s shown improvement because of his out of the box techniques. He even indulges her Wonder Woman fantasy in his therapy, and she’s the little girl she is today because of him.

  You’re doing this for your precious daughter, Haylee. Suck it up.

  I just hope I won’t have to suck it before I can escape this torture chamber. My knees give a slight wobble, and then they decide to work and propel me forward into the room. If I wasn’t obsessed with my roiling stomach and my racing heart, I might enjoy the view. This penthouse suite has floor to ceiling windows, offering a spectacular panoramic vista of the entire strip below us. I wish I was down there. Rushing around w
ith a flyer in one hand and a three foot tall Pina colada in the other.

  But I’m here. And so is he.

  “What can I get for you? Wine? Chardonnay?” His voice jolts through my body and causes it to respond in fight or flight mode. I’d prefer flight, but I’m down for fight if it should come to that. I hope that I will be able to bolster my dwindling courage in order to get through this evening unscathed.

  My mind drifts to Dixie, home with Atlee and then Ford’s face floats through my consciousness right behind. His smile. That charming dimple in his cheek that I love so much. It’s still there. It’s all still there. Everything I loved about Ford remains, and the only thing that’s standing between us is his cowardice in leaving me. Leaving us. Of course, he doesn’t know there’s an us, but I know it’s only a matter of time before my goose is cooked. I suppose I should have told him that day he came to my house. I’m choking on my self-imposed diet of should ofs. Now, if Dante doesn’t get exactly what he wants, he’s going to be the one to tell Ford about Atlee, and I can’t imagine the fallout from that happening.

  “Chardonnay would be lovely,” I answer, walking to stand in front of the windows, pretending to enjoy the view. Even though he’s in the kitchen, I feel like I can’t get far enough away from him. It’s like he’s grown ten inches, turned into a cinematic monster with bared teeth, and stands poised to devour me. He doesn’t seem like just a man anymore.

  “Won’t you have a seat on the sofa.” He makes it a command instead of a question, and I sink into the black leather couch, perching myself as close to the armrest as possible without making an issue of it.

  He hands me my glass of wine and sits right next to me. Close. Too close. I shiver, and his eyes light up. He doesn’t understand that it’s not a good sign. As I take the first sip and the flavor of the expensive wine explodes across my tongue, Dante puts his arm behind the back of the couch, dangerously close to my shoulder. I watch in horror as a tapered finger reaches down and strokes my sensitive skin. Gooseflesh breaks out across my arm.