If She Dares (Contemporary Romance)

by Tanya Michaels

  Later. There was no way his self-control would last much longer. He needed her now. He fumbled for the wallet in his pocket, breaking their kiss to tug down the zipper at his fly and cover himself with the condom.

  He backed her against the wall, kissing her once more as he lifted her legs around his waist. Wrapping one hand around his erection, he guided himself inside her. Hot, wet, bliss. She bit his bottom lip in approval, and he growled against her mouth. Knowing this wouldn’t last long but determined that they’d both enjoy the hell out of it, he thrust hard.

  Had anything ever felt as damn good as being sheathed inside Riley? He moved against her, quickly losing control, and when she began tightening around him, he slammed into her one last time with a wordless shout.

  Heart pounding, skin slick with exertion, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. How was it that even now, when standing was a struggle, he wanted her again?

  He glanced up. “I hope you’re not in a hurry to say goodnight.”

  She grinned without bothering to open her eyes. “Once wasn’t enough?”

  “Not even close.” As he set her down, supporting her until she found her footing, he had to wonder—how much of Riley would ever be enough?

  * * *

  THE SOUND SEEMED to be coming from a million miles away, and Riley had to drag herself out of a heavy fog to find the source of the noise. Phone. Blinking, she battled her way awake just enough to grab the cell off the nightstand.

  She realized two things simultaneously. Her phone wasn’t the one insistently chiming, and there was a heavy arm across her midsection.

  Jack! They must have fallen asleep. After the stairwell, they’d made love twice in her apartment. That second time had taken everything out of her, in the best possible way, and she couldn’t blame Jack if he’d passed out afterward, too. The ringing, accompanied by an intermittent blue-white glow, was coming from his discarded pants on the floor of her room.

  “Jack.” She nudged him, wondering if he always slept so deeply or if this was the result of their extremely acrobatic night.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Your phone.” Who on earth would be calling at this hour? She squinted at the digital clock on her dresser. 3:48 a.m. Not a time for casual conversations. She switched on the lamp and poked Jack in the side with more urgency. “Your phone’s ringing.”

  He lurched out of bed, not awake enough for his usual grace, but still extremely appealing in his nude state. Her toes curled beneath the sheets.

  “Hello? Yeah, I remember you. Why—?” He shot into motion, tugging on clothes while holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. His voice was calm but bleak. “I’m on my way. Thanks for calling.”

  Riley’s blood was ice in her veins. So much for any hope that it might be a wrong number. “Jack?”

  He continued dressing, not looking at her. “My mother’s in the hospital.”

  11

  BEHIND HIM, RILEY was speaking. He heard “I’m going with you,” but the words didn’t have any real meaning. They were too far away. He was adrift in a sea of questions and recriminations. What had actually happened to Cyndi? The nurse on the phone said she’d fallen down the stairs, but he’d had firsthand experience with his mom’s “falls” before. Was he in part to blame for this? Should he have tried harder to talk sense into her? To get her to stop seeing—

  Jack didn’t even know the current boyfriend’s name. But did it matter? Over the years, the men who’d passed through the Reed household were so similar that they blended together into a single faceless SOB with no regard for women or children.

  In theory, it was possible that Cyndi wasn’t even with someone right now. Maybe she had fallen—accidents happened. But none of Jack’s experience with his mom supported that. Still, he was ashamed that so much time had passed since his last conversation with his mom that he didn’t even know the name of her probable attacker.

  “Jack?” Riley was standing behind him now, her soft hand squeezing his. “Which hospital? I’ll drive you.”

  He gave himself a mental shake, trying to pull himself from the familiar abyss of negative emotions. “It’s the middle of the night—you should stay here.”

  “Not an option,” she said firmly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You’re too rattled to safely be behind the wheel. Is she... Is she okay?”

  “She was unconscious when she was admitted. She had a bad fall—called 9-1-1 but was unresponsive when the ambulance arrived. The neighbor from next door gave them my name, and one of the guys on the crew knows me through the Langs. He thought I’d want to know.”

  Riley herded him into the living room, where they found his shoes. Then they were headed toward the elevator. He wished it were the stairwell. He wished he could go back to earlier tonight, when he’d been with Riley there, watching the passion glaze her eyes and hearing the sexy noises that always let him know he was giving her what she needed.

  By the time they reached the parking lot, he was starting to feel more centered, less numb. The cold air helped. The temperature had dropped a lot since the outdoor party in the autumn sunshine. Had that only been twelve hours ago? It seemed like longer.

  Riley waited until they were in her car before asking any other questions. “Does she have anyone there with her? Does she live alone?”

  “I...don’t know.” Because I’m a horrible son. But he’d had to walk away for his own sanity. He couldn’t change her through sheer force of will, and he couldn’t stand watching her fall into repeated patterns of self-destructive behavior.

  The last time they’d been close had been about five years ago, when he’d moved her out of the trailer park into a rental home closer to where he lived. She had dumped the guy she was with and seemed happy in a new job as a department store cashier. But when the guy showed up, hat in hand, talking about how sorry he was, the cycle had started all over again.

  “My mom...” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to find the words. Talking about her made him feel ashamed. The embarrassment of their life—the trailer park, the crappy men she’d picked up over the years at the bar where she’d worked—was one thing. But the more painful part of telling anyone about her mistakes was that he felt he was dishonoring the woman who’d taught him to read, the woman who’d assured him he was going to be a great man because his father had been one, too, the smart, sassy woman who’d given him a king-size candy bar with a twinkle in her eye. He loved that woman. Just not enough to be part of her life.

  Jack’s version of love, running away, might be safer than the examples he’d witnessed in his mom’s life, but it wasn’t exactly high functioning.

  “The first time I remember my mom being in the hospital, I was seven,” he said. “She was gone all afternoon, and I stayed with our neighbor Gloria. Mom told me later that her broken arm was an accident. I knew she was lying, but I thought she was telling me that so I wouldn’t be scared. The guy she was dating broke it. I didn’t realize until much later that Mom was lying to herself. Because she didn’t want to be scared. As soon as the day came that he tried to haul off and hit me—Mom put herself between us—she left him flat. We did okay for a while, just the two of us, but then she got involved with another guy who was a lot like the one before him. Why would she do that?” It was a rhetorical question, one he’d asked himself a lot over the years. He didn’t expect Riley to make sense of it.

  “There’s comfort in the familiar,” Riley said. “Even when the familiar is bad. I don’t know if that applies in this situation. But I went to group therapy for a little while, last winter, and someone said that. She knew she had bad patterns, but they were her normal. Breaking the pattern was scarier to her than facing consequences she at least had practice coping with.”

  She said it matter-of-factly, neither making excuses nor passing judgment,
but he still hated giving her a glimpse into that corner of his life. He simultaneously appreciated that she was driving him and resented that she was here to witness this.

  “Are you thinking her fall wasn’t an accident?” Riley asked. “Like her broken arm.”

  “I don’t know.” Nor did he know what he was going to say to his mom after so much time had passed. Was she conscious yet? Would she want to talk to him?

  You know she wants to talk to you. The two phone calls earlier in the week might not have come from a number he recognized, but the area code was hers. If he’d answered either of those calls, would things have turned out differently? Why hadn’t he phoned her back? Maybe for the same reasons she didn’t leave a message.

  “I’m going to call the hospital and see if a nurse will give me an update on her condition,” he said.

  Riley nodded. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He suspected that most people, as they got closer to reaching their loved one, would become calmer, glad they’d be able to see with their own eyes if someone was okay. But for Jack, his dread grew with every passing mile. He was en route to see the person who undoubtedly loved him most in the world, and it took everything he had not to ask Riley to turn the car around.

  * * *

  CYNDI’S CONDITION WAS STABLE, her injuries relatively minor, to Jack’s relief. She had a concussion, but no cranial hemorrhage or hematoma. She also had bruised ribs and a badly sprained ankle. The ankle might work to his strategic advantage, Jack decided as he shifted his weight in a lumpy orange chair in the waiting room. Maybe he could talk her out of going back to the house—and, potentially, the man who’d done this to her—because she wouldn’t be able to navigate the stairs.

  The next question was, where should she go? If he offered her money for a hotel, would she be offended? If he offered her money, would some unscrupulous lover get his hands on it? Most sons would probably offer to let their recovering mothers stay with them. A knot formed in his stomach.

  “You know, you don’t have to stay here,” he blurted to Riley.

  She glanced up from the magazine she was perusing, looking a little surprised that he’d addressed her. He guessed he hadn’t said much since thanking her for the coffee she’d gone to get him. It was even worse than the sludge at the station, which he hadn’t thought possible. Still, after only a few hours of sleep on the heels of marathon-aerobic activity, the caffeine was appreciated.

  “I’m your ride,” Riley reminded him.

  “I can call Tony when I’m ready to go home. Or a cab.”

  “Or me,” she said gently. “You could call me.”

  He ducked his gaze. “You’ve done so much already. I don’t want to impose.”

  “Right.” There was a catch in her voice.

  She didn’t understand—how could she? She came from a family of five, where siblings barged in on one another to make sure a person was okay. He came from a barely functional family of two; he was used to handling problems alone. Preferred it, even.

  “Riley...” But he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t hurt her feelings further.

  Gathering her purse, she stood. She tried to smile. “Hey, I suddenly remembered, I have a bed at home and it’s way more comfortable than this bench. I’m going to head out.”

  “Text me to let me know you got back safely?” After all, she hadn’t had any more sleep than he had.

  Nodding, she studied him. She hesitated for a long moment, and he was relieved when she turned to go without hugging him or kissing him goodbye. He’d retreated beyond that. He needed to be thinking forward, to his mother’s recuperation, not losing himself in Riley’s earthy, raspberry-tinged scent and generous spirit.

  And yet, perversely, watching her leave made him miserable. Part of him wanted to call her back. Even though he hadn’t been talking to her, hadn’t been letting her in, he’d known she was there.

  God, he was a wreck. He’d deliberately sent away a woman who cared about him, and now he missed her already. In his way, he sucked at relationships as much as Cyndi did. At least his mother put herself into them wholeheartedly. Which, often as not, ends with her in places like this.

  He got out of his chair with a growl, brimming with angry energy and thinking that a punching bag in the remote corner of some wing might be far more useful to families of patients than celebrity magazines about “Who Wore It Better.”

  “Mr. Reed?” A man in scrubs appeared from around the corner, clipboard in hand. “You can see your mother now.”

  * * *

  CYNDI WAS IN a curtained “room” barely big enough to hold the bed. The close quarters demanded that he stand right next to her. He studied her face, the woman who was both mother and stranger, and tried to find his voice. Words were piling up at the lump in his throat like an accident during rush hour.

  She spoke first. “You look good, Jacky.” Her voice caught him off guard. There was more silver in her hair than when he’d seen her last, more fatigue in her face. But her voice hadn’t aged. It sounded exactly the same as he remembered from childhood, the same as when she’d said to him one Halloween morning, “I have an idea...”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets, restless but trying not to fidget so that he didn’t bump any of the machinery in the small space. “Are you okay?” What an incredibly asinine thing to say to someone in a hospital bed. It wasn’t like she’d called 9-1-1 because she was bored.

  “I’ll live.”

  “Were you...alone when it happened?” There certainly hadn’t been anyone with her when the ambulance arrived.

  She glanced away. The fluorescent lights caught the sheen of tears in her faded blue eyes. “Not exactly. But it isn’t what you think.”

  It never was, according to her. “Dammit, Mom.”

  “Don’t you swear at your mother, Jackson Reed.”

  He sighed. “Did you try to call me this week?”

  A pause, then a sheepish nod.

  “Why didn’t you leave me a message if you needed help?”

  “But I didn’t. Need your help.”

  He raised an eyebrow, indicating her surroundings.

  “I was leaving. I set everything up—reached out to a woman in Marietta who runs a private facility.” She sat up straighter, no longer looking as frail, despite the bruises that mottled her face. She sounded almost...excited. “There’s an apartment complex just for women who want to start over. My calls were to tell you the good news, but after so many years of not talking, I didn’t want to reconnect through voice mail. Chet’s been getting worse. I knew I wanted out, but I had to do it smart. Really think things through this time, not just lock him out and let him charm his way back later.”

  Conflicting emotions churned in his stomach with the lousy coffee. Pride and weary disbelief. Would she have gone through with her plan?

  “Chet was supposed to be gone all weekend, a camping trip with some of his hunting buddies. It was the perfect opportunity for me. But he got into a fight with one of them, lost his temper and came home in the middle of the night.” Her lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “Seeing my packed bags didn’t exactly calm him. We were arguing. He wanted me to stay, and he grabbed my purse. I was yanking away from him and lost my balance. That’s how I fell. I don’t think he would’ve pushed me.”

  I don’t think... Hardly a ringing endorsement. His mother had been living with a man she’d only been partly sure wouldn’t shove her down a flight of stairs at a moment’s provocation, one who’d bolted guiltily instead of sticking around to get her medical attention. This was the type of person she “loved.”

  “I’m glad you were leaving,” he said. Unfortunately, he sounded more jaded than supportive. He could tell from her wounded expression that she heard it loud and clear. “But Mom, these men—there’s always another Chet.�
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  “No.” Her words were barely audible, as if she was talking more to herself than him. “There’s always another Lamar.”

  “I don’t follow.” He didn’t remember a Lamar.

  “My father,” she said quietly. “Lamar Benton, a mean-spirited bastard if ever there was one.”

  They’d never talked about her parents. He’d been born into this world with Cyndi, a terrified young widow, his only family, and hadn’t much questioned it. It had simply been his normal.

  She swallowed hard. “My father spent my entire life telling me how worthless I was. Making me believe it. Your daddy changed my mind, or was starting to. He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever known—until you started growing up, so much like him. The two of you would have been peas in a pod. You both care so much about others.”

  Jack gave a harsh laugh, thinking of how he kept people at arm’s length. He’d agreed to sleep with Riley only because she’d promised not to make any demands on him beyond the sexual; he’d been friends with the Langs for years and this was the fifth consecutive time he’d refused to have Thanksgiving with them. He annually chose eating alone out of his microwave over being with any of his friends.

  “I have a few good qualities,” he said tightly. “But I’m not particularly ‘caring.’”

  She frowned. “You’re wrong. You always tried to look after me, even though it should have been my job to look after you. You tried to help that dog that got hurt by your school even though you hated dogs. You remember that baby bird you fed after it got displaced from its nest?”

  “No.”

  Sighing, she closed her eyes. Her expression was pained. Because of the conversation, or because her injuries were causing her discomfort?

  “Do you want me to go?” he asked. “So you can rest?”