Better (Stark Ink Book 2)

by Dahlia West

  Late in the night, after he felt certain she’d fallen asleep, Dalton crept down the hall. He pushed lightly on the spare bedroom door and stepped inside the darkened room. Zoey lay sleeping with her head on the pillow. Her long brown hair was spread out around her shoulders. Though her belly was large, the rest of her seemed so small. It probably was an inaccurate assumption. He was probably remembering her vitality, which had now been sapped from her. But he still couldn’t help but feel that Patrick Grant had made Zoey less, smaller, more fragile. Again Dalton’s hatred for the man flared.

  Zoey had kept the small table light on. Whether it was because she was in an unfamiliar house or because she felt more secure with the light on, he didn’t know. He chose to believe the latter, however irrational. It was another thing to hate Grant for. He’d taken Zoey’s sense of peace away at a time when she was vulnerable and needed it the most. You could say a lot of things about Dalton, that he was selfish and self-pitying, a fucker and a fool, but no one could ever say he was a monster.

  Silently, he slid his phone back out of his pocket. He raised it, adjusted the frame, and pressed the shutter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Almost anything out of the ordinary had the power to change Dalton’s world, and not for the better. He woke up early on Sunday morning and slipped quietly into the shower. He called Ava to come over and then left the apartment while Zoey was still sleeping. Jonah didn’t need to be here every day and Dalton would be just a few blocks away this time instead of all the way across town. He hopped into his truck and headed down the street to the church.

  Service was just finishing up at this time and he took a space at the far end of the lot, successfully avoiding running into Elaine and Lyle as the parishioners filed out and hurried to their cars to get out of the cold. He searched the lot, not really expecting to see Grant, though if he wanted to find Zoey, church might be a good place to look this morning. Dalton saw no one approach the Connors or look otherwise shifty-eyed. If Grant really wanted to talk to Zoey, he apparently didn’t want to brave the cold and stand around outside waiting for the chance. He could be inside, but somehow Dalton doubted it.

  Dalton made it to every meeting with a vague sense that he only narrowly avoided being struck down by lightning each time he entered the building. Who knew what would happen to Grant? Human BBQ, Dalton suspected. That, and Grant would have to come face-to-face with Zoey’s parents with no way of knowing how much she’d told them. Dalton waited for the crowd to die down and then headed inside, once again choosing the side door over the front and descending the basement steps.

  Jig was already there setting up. He turned at the sound of Dalton’s boots on the linoleum. He looked surprised to see him. “Did you catch the service?” Jig asked.

  Dalton shook his head. “No. Overslept.”

  Partly true, he hadn’t woken up early enough to attend, but was that a whiff of ozone Dalton caught as he breathed in? Best not to say too much.

  Dalton wasn’t ready to talk about Zoey. There was nothing to say at this point, anyway. He was just helping out an old friend. He helped Jig set up the chairs and tried not to think about it too much, which of course meant it was the only thing on his mind. There was no telling how long Zoey would stay, a few days maybe, a week? Much of it depended on her parents and how long it would take them to come around.

  For better or worse, Elaine and Lyle would eventually realize that the longer they refused to get on board with Zoey leaving her husband, the more time she’d be spending at Dalton’s place. They wouldn’t want that, obviously, and so he expected them to call her and change their tune any day now. He really couldn’t sort through how he felt about that. It was good for Zoey. Her mom obviously would know better what she needed with the baby. It was probably good for him, too, if she left. Too much change too fast could up-end everything he’d worked for so far. He still didn’t want her leave though, even if it was what both of them needed.

  “Is that the coffee?” Jig asked. “Or do I smell burning rubber.”

  Dalton paused and actually looked up at the ceiling without thinking. “What?”

  Jig laughed. “You man. I think your brain is grinding its gears.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s going on, Dalton?”

  Jig knew him fairly well by now, Dalton supposed, though anyone could put two and two together and figure out that Dalton only came to meetings once a week and this was his second in as many days. It wasn’t a stretch to know something was off.

  “Nothing,” Dalton said quickly. “Ran into an old friend.”

  Jig’s lips pursed. “Drinking buddy?”

  “Nah. Not like that. An… old girlfriend.”

  “Ah,” Jig replied knowingly. “This would be Zoey?”

  Dalton nodded.

  “And? You know you’ve got to be careful. You may think it’s all open road from here, but there’s still a few blind curves. Get a plant, Dalton. If it’s meant to be, it’ll keep.”

  Jig looked worried, which made Dalton feel shitty. Here was a man who’d taken it upon himself to watch out for him for no other reason than they’d once been on the same road. Jig had gotten off of it and now spent his free time helping others find their own exit. Dalton still wasn’t sure about plants, or Zoey, or anything much beyond getting up every morning, going to work, and then going back home. But Jig was worried and maybe he had a right to be.

  Dalton nodded slowly. “Might get a plant. Are orchids nice?”

  “Nah. They don’t bloom this time of year, remember?” Jig gestured to the stairs. “Could just get a poinsettia. They’re selling them as a fundraiser upstairs. Cheap, easy to take care of, looks good this time of year. If you take care of it, it’ll bloom again next Christmas.”

  Dalton looked at the stairs and then back at Jig. “Okay,” he decided, still feeling a bit uneasy.

  Jig beamed, though. “Well, alright!” he said and clapped Dalton on the arm.

  Dalton sat in the back next to the older man during the actual meeting. At the podium was a younger guy who’d popped his Pop’s pain pills back when he was boozing, too. Made the whiskey last longer, he said. Dalton was glad he’d never cottoned on to that knowledge himself. Apparently the guy’s girlfriend was a junkie too and he’d once put her in the hospital when he’d come home and found she’d overdosed. He hadn’t actually called an ambulance or drove her there himself. He hadn’t been concerned with saving her at all. He’d come home to find the empty bottle in her hand, she was delirious by that point, and he’d beaten her the rest of the way unconscious for taking all the pills and not saving any for him. It was the neighbors that had finally called the police.

  Listening to him talk, Dalton could understand it. Booze and pills weren’t an excuse to hit your woman, but they were a reason, at least. What reason did Grant have? None that Dalton could see. Grant was just an asshole.

  Halfway through the meeting, Dalton’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d put it on silent so as not to disturb anyone. He gave Jig an apologetic look before he glanced down at the screen. It was a text from Ava.

  “Zoey’s awake and she wants to know where you are. What do I tell her?”

  Dalton sighed and turned to Jig. “It’s Ava,” he whispered. “I should go.”

  Jig nodded. “Oh, yeah. Go. Hope everything’s okay with your old man.”

  Dalton felt bad about letting Jig think it was Pop, but he didn’t want to get into it right now in the middle of a meeting. He simply nodded back and got up as quietly as he could. He took the stairs two at a time, but when he got to the top he turned left instead of right and walked to the front lobby. There was a large table set up with rows of potted Poinsettias: bright, red, and festive. He pulled out his wallet and stuffed a ten into the donation box before scooping one up.

  He cradled it on his way out to the truck, blocking it from the harsh wind that was whipping up. He belted it into the passenger seat and headed back to the apartment. He could get it h
ome, but he wondered at his ability to keep it alive. He was good at making things— furniture— that required little in the way of upkeep. A waxing every few months was all it took. Caring for it daily didn’t seem all that complicated, though. Water, sunlight, maybe plant food. And why not? He wasn’t doing much else these days. Plus, he’d have it for as long as Zoey was staying with him. She would like it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dalton managed to get the plant to the house in one piece, at least, though the looks on Ava’s and Zoey’s faces told him he maybe should have just kept on driving. It was clear that things were tense between the two of them. He regretted having to put Ava in this position in the first place. He gave his younger sister and apologetic look as he set the Poinsettia down on the dining table as a centerpiece.

  “Sorry,” he told them both. “Didn’t realize I’d been gone so long.”

  Zoey stared at him as he took off his coat and draped it over the back of one of the chairs. She plucked the card off the flowerpot and read it. “You were at church?”

  Dalton nodded. “I got this after the service. I thought you might like it.” When he looked back, Zoey was eyeing him warily. It was the same look she used to give him all those months ago.

  “Dalton, church was over an hour ago,” she pointed out. She looked hurt and he was both surprised and concerned by it. He hadn’t meant for it to be that way at all. Back when they were dating, he’d stay out longer than he meant to, tying one on. When she’d ask him how much he’d had to drink, he would always halve the actual amount when he told her. It had been a terrible thing to do and he felt equally terrible inadvertently reminding her of it now.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t at church. I didn’t mean for you to think that I was. You were asleep. “So, I didn’t say anything to you. I was at church, this whole time. I just… wasn’t there for the service.”

  Zoey frowned. “I don’t understand. Then why were you there?”

  “I’m sorry,” Ava told him. She looked guilty as hell. “I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t tell her anything.”

  “It’s fine,” he told her. “Everything’s fine.”

  “What’s going on?” Zoey asked. “Where were you?”

  Dalton sighed and reached into his pocket. He crossed the room, took hold of Zoey’s hand, and pressed the coin into her palm. She took it from him and frowned down at it. He waited for her to read the inscription. He already had the serenity prayer memorized at this point.

  “Five months sober,” he told her. “Well, technically longer, but it took me a while to work up the balls to go to my first meeting.”

  “You’re… you’re in a program?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t go voluntarily,” he told her because it felt more important to be honest than make himself look good. “Not at first. Adam dragged me to rehab and they threw me in a cell, well, it felt like a cell, anyway. They can only hold you if you’re actually drunk. Once I dried out and looked around, I decided to stay.”

  She looked up at him, eyes rimmed with tears. “You finally went.”

  Dalton hung his head, feeling ashamed. Rehab was the only thing Zoey had ever really pushed him on. But he hadn’t wanted to hear it at the time.

  “I wasn’t ready,” he told her. “I wasn’t ready when Adam took me there, either. But once I cleared my head, I realized you were really, truly gone. And that’s how I knew I’d gone as low as I could possibly go. They… when you go to AA they have you make a list of all the people you screwed over when you were boozing. You’re supposed to visit them, tell them you’re sorry, make it up to them. Zoey, I put you on that list so many times and every single time I’d scratch you off. You’re only supposed to make Amends if it would make things better for them. If seeing you again would hurt them more, then you leave them alone.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You were engaged. I thought you were happy. I thought seeing me or hearing from me would only upset you and I didn’t want that. Goddamn it, Zoey, I thought you were okay! If I’d known the truth, if I’d had the balls to come and see you, I would’ve realized what was going on. This wouldn’t have happened to you! I’d have gotten you the hell out of there.”

  He blew out a sharp breath. “This is my fault,” he decided. “I let this happen to you. I let him hurt you. I cheated on you and he beat you and you deserve so much better than either one of us.”

  She pulled away and shook her head. “My marriage has nothing to do with you. It’s not your fault, Dalton. Honestly. But…” Her lower lip trembled. “Listen, if my being here is going to hurt your recovery, if it’ll set you back in any way, then I’ll go. I’ll go right now. To my parents, or a hotel, anywhere. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be okay. It’s more important that you’re okay.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “I’m fine, Zoey. I’m doing fine.”

  “But Dalton, you were… sick… for so long. I prayed so hard for you to get better. If-”

  Dalton grabbed her hand. “Zoey, listen to me. I’ll be okay. I swear it. You can believe me, but I’m not asking you to trust me, okay? I wouldn’t do that. You don’t have to. I’ll do anything you need to make you feel safe.”

  “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I don’t know. We’re not…”

  They weren’t together. He wasn’t obligated to her. He owed her no explanations, he supposed. But they were still friends, or at least he’d like to think so. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “I get it. I hurt you; he hurt you. That does things to your sense of faith in people. You’ll get it back, though. Don’t worry.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “No. I got this.”

  She considered his words for so long Dalton got lightheaded. He’d forgotten to breathe. Finally she stepped forward and he pulled her into a hug. He held her against him and suddenly her stomach growled loudly. Despite her tears, Zoey laughed. Dalton grinned down at her. “Well, one of you is clearly hungry.”

  She pulled away from him. “I can make us something.”

  He shook his head. “Why bother? It’s Sunday. Chinese for three?”

  She smiled. “You know that’s not actually a thing, right? You’re not eating for two when you’re pregnant.”

  Dalton eyed her suspiciously. “Well, I meant Ava, actually. But are you sure about that, Z? Cause I’m looking at your boobs right now and-”

  “Oh, you!” She slapped his arm. It hurt a little and Dalton was glad for it. She still had an arm and a sense of humor and, unfortunately, she needed both right now.

  He caught her in a bear hug and held her close. “I’m kidding!” he told her. “I’m just kidding… sort of.”

  “Oh!” Zoey wiggled out of his grip and glared at him. He grinned back at her.

  “You look great, Zoey,” he said, suddenly serious. “You really do.”

  Zoey paused and tugged at her hair self-consciously as she looked up at him.

  A long moment of silence hung in between them.

  “Where’s your menu?” Ava asked, cutting the tension.

  Dalton glanced at her. “It’s-”

  “In the drawer by the fridge,” Zoey finished.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Did some snooping?”

  Zoey pressed her lips together and her hands to her belly. She didn’t answer.

  “You can look anywhere, Zoey,” he told her. “I don’t have anything to hide. There’s no booze here. Not even mouthwash.”

  “His breath probably stinks,” Ava chimed in happily.

  “Maybe,” said Zoey and Dalton realized she was looking at his mouth.

  He felt a familiar warmth rising in all the wrong places. “I’m going to water the plant,” he muttered as he opened a cabinet.

  Ava leaned in and whispered, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dalton finished up the dishes while Zoey showered. He figured he could stand a
t the counter awkwardly waiting for her to return, but it seemed like they’d had enough conversation for one day. He left the kitchen and headed not to the front door, but to the garage door. Inside the large utilitarian space, he flipped on the heater and the overhead lights.

  His current project sat on a piece of cardboard, draped with a sheet. He tugged it off and surveyed it carefully, knowing exactly what it needed. Building something was a process like any other, one step at a time until it was done. He picked up a piece of sandpaper, medium grit, and picked up where he’d left off. Despite his injury, he still preferred building by hand. He ran it slowly over one of the legs and let his mind drift. Mentally, he laid out the entire process before him. With measured patience and skill, he would smooth its entire surface. He’d strip it all down— bare— opening it up so it was able to take staining. Then, with a soft cloth, he’d rub the chosen stain it into every surface, pushing his fingers into every groove until the color turned warm, rich, and dark. With a stiff brush he’d paint a topcoat and let it dry until it was glossy and gleamed to perfection. In the end, he’d have something that was completely his and his alone.

  “What is it?”

  He glanced behind him, surprised that he hadn’t heard the door. “It’s a coffee table,” he told her. “Or it will be.”

  She crossed the cement floor and looked around the garage. “You’re still doing this?”