by Jen Talty
“Well, since I’m now sharing with you, I won’t be drinking it all by myself.”
“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked in a that kind, caring voice that she suspected made all his men feel at ease. Dylan was the kind of man that people trusted to have their back. He had honor, humility, and a sense of duty that couldn’t be taught.
“Do you want my clinical analysis of my problem? Or your average Joe version?” The only difference would be the language she used.
“How about the latter.”
“My mother drives me fucking crazy, and my father is a wet noodle sometimes.” She chugged the wine like it were grape juice. At least this time her father hadn’t come running and was currently on a special assignment so he had no plans on making the trek from Orlando to Jupiter.
But he had listened to his ex-wife on the phone for over an hour.
Dylan snagged the glass after the third gulp. “You just called the man you want to fix my mom up with, a wet noodle,” he said with a huge grin.
She laughed, shaking her head. “Why he sits and listens to my mom cry over other men, is beyond me.”
“Why my mother hasn’t dated once since my father died, is a concept that I can’t fathom. I mean, after Nick’s first wife died, she still pushed him to date, but never once went out herself, no matter how hard we pushed.”
“It’s shocking that men aren’t pounding down her door. She’s not only kind and loving, she’s hot.”
“Hey, that’s my mother we’re talking about.” He winked. “But the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree either.”
“Conceited much?”
He lifted his hand, making the inch sign with his thumb and index finger. “Just a little.” His smile faded. “Why do you let your mother get under your skin?”
“Because she’s my mother and I love her, despite her crazy life. I remember when she and my dad split, before she met husband number three—”
“Wait, your dad wasn’t number one?” Dylan asked, resting his hand on her bare knee.
She watched his thumb gently rub against her skin. A warm shiver glided from her legs to her brain, making her want things she had no business desiring.
Especially with a man like Dylan.
“Nope. Her first husband lasted three months. My dad, six years, and since then, the longest marriage only two years.” Kinsley wanted to laugh at how easily Dylan kept the focus on her and her problems, avoiding his own. “My mom ends up having these emotional affairs, which is why her husbands keep leaving her, and I can always tell they are coming because she starts calling my dad. He used to fall for it, and I think the first time he hoped they’d get back together, for my sake, but they didn’t. The worst part is she wants to all of a sudden be a mother, forgetting she left me at sixteen to run off and get married. My dad flipped out over that one, and I moved in with him.”
“Wow. That’s crazy.” He tapped her knee.
“What’s really nuts, is this time I didn’t see it coming. She didn’t call my dad until she showed up her and from what I can tell, there is no other guy she’s conversing with, so I don’t get it.”
“Is that why you went into psychology? To fix your mom?”
She covered her mouth to keep from laughing so loud that she’d wake the neighbors. “I wanted to understand her, but subconsciously, you’re probably right.”
“The subconscious is a fucked-up thing.” He reached out, twirling the ends of her braid with his fingers. “I was the last person to see my father alive.”
She held her breath for a long moment.
“He spoke to me in his hospital bed.”
“What did he say?” she asked softly.
“He told me he loved me. That he was proud of me. The usual things.”
She held his forearm, rubbing gently. “Usual?”
“He told me not to be afraid. He knew he was dying, so he wanted me to know that we’d all be okay without him, but that we needed to take care of Mom.”
“Your mom is one tough cookie.”
“Yeah, she is.” Dylan’s fingers continued to fiddle with the ends of her hair. His gaze followed the movement of his hands.
“There is more, isn’t there?” she asked.
“He had me promise I’d tell my brothers how much he loved them too.” Dylan’s Adam apple bobbed as he swallowed. The moon shined on his face, showing a gloss over his cool eyes. “During captivity on this last mission, when the torture would end, and my men were brought back into the holding cell, near death, they’d all say the same things.”
“They’d want you to tell their families they loved them,” she whispered. “How long were you in captivity?”
“Fifteen days,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “They had already started torturing the Marines before we got there. They’d take two to three men at any given time then bring them back, broken and bloody. Five of them died in my arms, begging me to give messages to their loved ones, if I survived.”
“Dylan.” She cupped his face, leaning closer. “Look at me.” She waited patiently as he blinked his eyes open.
“I called every man’s family and gave their loved ones their dying words, and every time I did it, I could see and hear my mother cry and my brothers bite back their own tears as I told them I got to speak to Dad right before he died. My mom asked me if Dad had been in pain. My brothers asked if he was frightened, and all I could think about was how I saw him take his last breath and how I felt his heart stopped beating under the palm of my hand. The man I knew and loved slipped from his body, and I couldn’t get him back.”
She kissed his forehead. “Those last few moments are a blessing and a curse.”
“You’re telling me.” He wiped his eyes and adjusted her body so her head rested against his chest. His heart thumped against her ear. “Can I stay with you tonight?”
Dylan squeezed his eyes shut, holding the tears behind his lids so they didn’t stream down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried since his father died. Not even when he’d called his men’s families. It wasn’t that he didn’t think men should cry, but he could never bring the emotions to the surface.
Both his mother and Kinsley had been right.
He stuffed every feeling he ever had, telling himself that this is how a proud man behaved. His father faced death with a smile on his face. Not that he wanted to die, but he accepted it. Nick said his first wife had done the same thing, and that had tormented Nick for many years.
But it wasn’t just his father’s death that woke Dylan up in the middle of the night.
“I don’t know,” Kinsley whispered. Her warm breath tickled his chest.
He kept his arms wrapped gently around her body, resting his chin over the top of her head, enjoying her way more than he ought to. He knew it was a lot to ask of someone who was essentially a stranger to spend the night, even if he didn’t expect anything other than conversation, no matter how attracted he was to her.
“Your mom would worry if you didn’t go home.”
He chuckled. “I’m a grown man. I think I can stay out all night if I want.”
“You know what I mean.” She pushed from his chest, resting her hands on his shoulders. “She’s already stressed—”
“It’s nearly one in the morning, and I texted her a few hours ago that I was here, with you, and wasn’t sure when I’d be home. She knows where to look for me if she gets worried.”
“That’s not the point, and you know it.”
“Are you talking about all the sexual tension between us? Because I think I know how to behave like a gentleman. I promise to fend off all your advances.” He’d never been good at humor like his brothers Logan and Ramey, and by the way Kinsley’s nose crinkled, he figured this attempt hadn’t gone over as planned.
Not to mention, he hoped to lighten up the conversation.
“You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Are you denying there is something there?” That question had nothing to do with b
eing funny and everything to do with how much he wanted to bury himself in her both emotionally and physically. He hadn’t meant to open up that can of worms, but since he put it out there, he might as well find out her thoughts.
Thoughts?
Or was it her feelings?
Well, hell, maybe he was learning something.
She’d probably tell him that this was just another one of his many tricks to avoid his problems.
And she’d be partially right.
But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit feeling an intense, very real pull toward Kinsley. She was like no other woman he’d ever met. She made him want to push past his issues and move forward with his life.
She almost made him want to have a real relationship with a member of the opposite sex.
Sitting upright, she put some distance between them. “No. I won’t deny that I’m attracted to you, but I’m doing my best to help you with your nightmares. Acting on that attraction wouldn’t do you any favors.”
“I beg to differ,” he said as his lips tugged into a broad smile. “But what I want to know is if it would do you any favors?”
“Dylan, I need you to be serious and stop deflecting the issues with your charm.” She stood, pulling over another chair, and sipped the wine.
Nothing like crashing and burning.
“You find me charming?” He winked.
She cocked her head and glared. “Why don’t you want to go home? And don’t say it’s because you want to flirt with me. It might be true, but it’s not the underlying reason.”
He nodded. She deserved the truth. “I don’t want to sleep in my childhood bedroom. Every time I climb between the sheets, all I see are my brothers and my dad. They are good memories, but it slowly turns fucked up the second I drift off.”
“That makes sense,” she said, resting her hand on his leg, handing him the glass of wine. “Have you been injured in other ops?”
“Not mortally. I’ve had a bullet graze me. Broken a leg and arm. But nothing like this.”
“And you’ve been on missions where others have been killed,” she said.
He nodded.
She flicked her braid behind her shoulders. “Did something else happen to you as a child? Something equally traumatic as losing your dad or your sister-in-law.”
Dylan reached way back into the dark recesses of his mind. He hadn’t talked about Colin, his best friend in first grade, in years. “The only thing I can think of is my friend who died of meningitis when I was seven.” He remembered Colin had spent the night. He hadn’t been feeling well when he woke up, and by that evening, he’d died.
“That’s a lot to take in as a child.” Kinsley slapped at her arm, missing the mosquito that had been buzzing around.
“Let’s go inside.”
Kinsley let out a long sigh. “This does not mean I have agreed to you spending the night.”
“Understand.” He collected the empty wine glass and followed her inside. While she got them a couple of waters, he sat on the far side of the sofa.
Kinsley sat next to him, tucking her feet under her nice round ass. “How close were you and this little boy?”
“About as close as two seven-year-olds can be. After the funeral, his parents gave me his Lego collection. My mom still has it.”
“That’s a sweet gesture.”
Dylan nodded. “I never could bring myself to play with them. Every time I looked at them, all I could see and hear was his parents wailing in front of his casket.”
“Did you ever think it should have been you?” She reached out, resting her hand on his thigh, squeezing gently.
“I wondered why it wasn’t me. I wondered why I didn’t get sick. I also worried the rest of my family could have gotten sick, I mean they wouldn’t let me or my brothers back in school until we all had shots and taken oral pills to help prevent us from getting it.”
“You always wonder why it wasn’t you. Your friend. Your father. I bet you even took that on when Nick’s first wife died.”
Dylan closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. “I was supposed to be on the boat with them that day. I opted to do something else.” The weight of death surrounded him like a snow storm with blustering winds that created whiteouts. “I don’t think I felt responsible, especially for my father’s death. He was shot in the line of duty. That had nothing to do with me.”
“Doesn’t matter. None of these deaths are on you, not even the men you lost on this last mission, but do you see where I’m going with all this?”
Dylan blinked his eyes open. Kinsley had leaned forward. Her thick eyelashes flashed over her blue orbs like butterfly wings. She eased his aching heart and filled his mind with hopeful wishes. Thoughts he had never expected he’d ever consider. “I understand, but it doesn’t account for my dreams.”
“But it does.” Kinsley cupped his face. “In your dreams, everyone you care about seems to be standing in line to be tortured. But your father, your brothers, they don’t represent themselves, they are an adaptation of the torture you feel in your heart. The hurt you cause yourself when bad things happen to everyone else. The men that died brought all your emotions to the surface. Feelings you’ve never allowed yourself to express, going back to when your friend died.”
He wanted to tell her that her assessment was full of shit.
Only it was spot on and he knew it. “Why don’t I let myself feel things at the time they happen?” Tears welled in his eyes. A sob bubbled in his throat. He didn’t want to cry. Not ever and certainly not in front of her. He remembered the second his father took his last breath, climbing up on the hospital bed. He had no idea how long he had lain there, hugging his father, balling like a baby.
And it did nothing to help him through the pain of losing the man he admired the most. Every day since that day, a dark cloud seemed to hang over Dylan. It wasn’t that bad things happened, because his life had been pretty damn good, but having to tell his brothers what their father had said, seeing their reaction, feeling their anguish, he shut down. It was all too much for his heart to bear.
Even Logan once told him that he needed to open up. When they’d all get together and discuss their missions, he’d seen all his brothers get teary-eyed, where Dylan either used the stance I can’t talk about that mission, or I don’t want to dwell on it. Just learn from it.
But what had he learned?
“I don’t have an answer for that.” Kinsley rubbed her thumbs across his cheeks.
He felt the moisture of the tears pouring out of his eyes.
“But if I had to guess, you didn’t want to ever be the cause of anyone’s pain. Anyone’s tears. Anyone’s utter sadness over anything and when you are forced to face it, you go back to the idea that it should have been you. That you have no legacy to leave behind, so no one will ever really miss you that much.” Kinsley pressed her lips against his cheek. “You give only a little bit to your family, even though you’re close, you still push them away. Your father’s dying words of love and strength have stood with you, but not in the way I think he meant. You’re the one who had to deliver those emotions to your brothers and you believed, in a weird way, that you caused them pain. That it was your fault. Just like you did when you called your men’s families.”
He grabbed ahold of Kinsley, pulling her tight to his chest, even though it hurt like hell. Desperation gripped his pounding heart. He half-expected to hear horrible howling vomit cries coming from his mouth, but instead, the tears simply and silently rolled down his cheeks.
Holding Kinsley as close as he could, he spread out on the sofa. All he wanted was her kindness. Her warmth. Her caring heart and soul.
No. He wanted so much more, but he knew tonight would not be the night.
Chapter 9
Kinsley had her fair share of crying patients, but never had she let one fall asleep in her arms, on her sofa. Guilt tugged at her heart as she thought about how much she wanted to share a bed with Dylan. She shouldn’t be th
inking about sex. Her only thoughts should be on how to help Dylan continue letting his emotions out, coping with the losses in his life, and giving him the tools so he can go back to what he does best.
She let out a long sigh.
Exactly what he did for Delta Force was a mystery to her, but she knew it included activities that could potentially kill him.
Not to mention take him to faraway places on a regular basis.
She rested her hand on his chest. It rose and fell with each restful breath. Slipping from the sofa, she covered him with an afghan and headed toward her bedroom with a quick pit stop in the bathroom.
Before climbing into bed, she checked the time.
Three in the morning. Her alarm would be going off in a few hours. She had three clients, one meeting, and a ton of paperwork, but it was Friday, and that meant she’d have the weekend to catch up.
She groaned, shifting in bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. How could she have forgotten her mother was still in town, crying over her latest failed marriage? Kinsley’s weekend would be filled with trying to talk her mother off the cliff AND keeping her from sitting at the bar, trying to attract eligible bachelors.
If she hadn’t found one already.
Reaching toward the nightstand to shut off the lamp, she gasped, staring at Dylan standing in her doorway. The moon filtering in through her window glowed over his tall, broad body. His strong silhouette covered the space like a sexy cowboy strutting in from a long day wrangling horses. Not that she knew anything about cowboys or horses, but damn, Dylan had some serious sex appeal.
Even injured.
“You scared me,” she whispered. “Did you have a bad—”
“No dreams. First time I woke up slightly peaceful since I was tortured.”
She fluffed the pillow and lifted herself to a sitting position. For only a second, she questioned her decision to pull the covers back on the other side of the bed.
He inched closer. His lips curled into a soft smile.
“I want to make a few things clear,” she said, needing to protect her heart and his as well. They each had their own issues regarding commitment, something neither one of them had ever really discussed, but she understood his and suspected he’d accept hers. “Your cognitive processing is getting better. I’m no neurologist, but over the course of this week, I’ve seen little to no signs of any problems. I believe you’re going back to Delta Force the second you get the thumbs up.”
