He reached down, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. “Don’t look so worried,” he said quietly, reaching up and running a hand along her cheek. “It was a long time ago.”
“But it was a bad time,” she confessed, not able to meet his dark gaze. “I—I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it yet.”
His dark eyes narrowed, and his hands settled lightly on her hips. “Maybe it’s time we did. Maybe it’s time we were honest with each other.”
Marissa squeezed her eyes tight. Honest? How could she be honest?
He was right, they should be honest with each other. There should be no lies, no secrets, no misunderstandings between them. But there was so much he didn’t know.
She looked up at him, searching his face—the anger and the loathing she’d once seen in his eyes sixteen years ago haunted her. But there was no anger in his clear, dark gaze now—no fury or outrage. But if she were to be honest with him now, really honest—if she were to tell him about Josh, about everything—what would she see in his eyes then?
“You’re right,” she admitted, letting her arms drift up and encircle his neck. “It’s just been so wonderful today—being with you, being together.” She clutched at his shirt, her hand balling into fists as a wave of desperation swept through her. “I don’t want anything to spoil it.”
The urgency in her voice surprised him, and he felt his heart lurch in his chest. It had been a wonderful day for him, too. And it was because it had been so wonderful between them that he’d felt the need to clean the slate of any remnants of the past, lay them to rest once and for all.
“Nothing’s going to spoil this,” he said, pulling her close. “Not this time.”
“You sound so sure,” she whispered as he brushed his lips to hers. She wanted desperately to believe him, wanted to believe that nothing would change the way it was between them right now.
“I am sure,” he murmured against her lips, pulling her tighter against him. “Because I love you, and that’s never going to change.”
Marissa felt her whole world tilt, felt the ringing in her ears become a roar. Tears stung the lids of her eyes, and the air seemed to lose its way to her lungs. He loved her. Dylan James loved Marissa Wakefield.
“Dylan,” she murmured, wanting to tell him about the feelings swelling in her heart, wanting to tell him how much she loved him, too, but his mouth had locked on to hers, and she could think of nothing else.
But even as she found herself succumbing to the passion of his kiss, even as she felt herself being swept away by the growing need inside her, a cold spot of dread had begun to form at the core of her heart. She had to tell him the truth about Josh. He had to know about his son.
“Dylan,” she said, tearing her mouth free from his. “Dylan, I have to…I have to tell you—”
“Later,” he growled, cutting her off with a voice made rough with need.
Marissa felt the words die on her tongue. She couldn’t think when he was kissing her, couldn’t remember voices or commands—or maybe it was just that she didn’t want to. She told herself there would be time later for the truth, consoled herself that there would be time to be honest later. Now she let him sweep her up in one swift motion and carry her through the house.
After that there would only be vague recollections of tangled sheets on the bed, clothes scattered around on the floor and faded sunlight drifting through the shades. The sequence of events were unimportant—the only thing that mattered was that she was with Dylan, and that he loved her.
“Oh, yeah, and you would have noticed me.”
“I would have,” Dylan insisted, absently running a hand back and forth along the swell of her hip. The setting sun through the window painted the sky a brilliant canvas of soft, rosy hues, casting the entire bedroom into dark, muted shadow and making her skin glow like warm, rich gold. “Eventually.”
“Yeah, right,” Marissa snorted inelegantly. Two hours ago she never would have believed she could be lying there casually joking about the time in her life—the one time in her life—when she’d wanted to be her sister. But two hours ago she hadn’t known that Dylan loved her. She knew it now, and it had changed everything. “The fact is, Mr. Hotshot Quarterback, you wouldn’t have given the captain of the debate team the time of day. But a cheerleader with a cute little short skirt…” She purposely let her words fade into the twilight, making her point. “Well, now, that was a different story.”
“Are you trying to say I was superficial?”
She made a play of acting bored—checking her nails, polishing them against the sheet. “If the shoe fits.”
Dylan slowly pulled her beneath him, framing her face with his hands. “Speaking of shoes fitting.”
Marissa smiled as he bent his head low for a kiss. She loved the good-natured ribbing. There had been too little of it in her life—too little of him.
She was beginning to understand why he’d struck out at her all those years ago, how he’d thrown up a smoke screen of flippancy and fury to cover the fact that she’d hurt him. If only she hadn’t been so blinded by her own shattered feelings—their lives could have been so different.
But there was no going back. She’d been given a second chance, and she was going to make the most of it. She wanted it all now—Dylan and their son—and she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way of getting it.
“You know, maybe I wasn’t the only one who was superficial back then,” he murmured, planting small kisses along the line of her jaw to her ear.
“You’re calling me superficial?” she said, lifting her head off the pillow and arching her brows indignantly. “You? With your letterman’s jacket and football jersey?”
“I’m calling you superficial,” he repeated, settling back against the pillows.
“How do you figure?” she insisted, rising up on her elbow and cradling her head in her hand.
“Oh, the fact that I was quarterback on the football team didn’t make a difference to you?”
“Of course it didn’t,” she insisted, faltering just a little. “Well, I mean—”
“And I suppose if I had been on the chess team instead,” he said, cutting her off, “you would have been just as anxious to meet me, right?”
“Well—” she said with a little laugh, but again he cut her off.
“And I guess if I’d walked around school with a pocket protector instead of a letterman’s jacket, you still would have wanted to go out with me.”
“Dylan, this is silly—”
“Because none of that other stuff mattered to you.” He turned to her and gave her a smug look. “Did it?”
Marissa looked up into his dark, handsome face and started to feel pretty smug herself. “Wrong.”
Dylan blinked and laughed. “Wrong?”
“Wrong. It did,” she said simply, running her hand slowly down the length of him. “I admit it. You were right. It wasn’t your mind I was after.”
“No?”
“Of course not,” she said simply, sliding her hand down around his bottom and giving him a squeeze. “It was your body. Actually, it was your butt in those tight football pants.”
A slow smile crept across his face. “So it was purely physical, then.”
“Of course,” she said flippantly, moving her body close to his, giving his buns a squeeze again. “It still is.”
“For me, too,” he laughed, pressing a kiss against her lips. But the kiss became long, and sweet, and when it had ended, Dylan’s breathing was shallow and uneven. “I… never meant them,” he whispered against her lips. “All those stupid things I said, I never meant them.”
“I know,” she murmured, her heart swelling. And for the first time in sixteen years she did.
“All right, look, lady,” Dylan said loudly after a moment, breaking the mood for both their sakes. “If you’re going to keep me here and expect me to continue your carnal appetites, don’t you think you could at least feed me?”
Marissa
laughed, realizing just how hungry she was, too. The meal they fixed turned out to be a collaborative effort, Dylan pulling two frozen trout from the freezer and defrosting them in the microwave while Marissa cut up hearts of romaine and shredded fresh Parmesan cheese for a Caesar salad. They lingered at the table long after their appetites had been appeased, drinking white wine and chatting casually—talking about old times, and filling in the gaps. They’d started the day out as lovers, and were ending it by making a momentous leap to friends.
“I can’t believe it,” Dylan said after she’d told him the whole story of her broken ankle and how she’d injured it while helping a young, and very pregnant, Navaho woman and her daughter, and then how all three of them had become stranded in the desolate wilderness of Arizona’s Big Res. He reached across the table and wove his fingers through hers. “You must have been so scared.”
“Getting lost and then outrunning a flash flood didn’t bother me,” she said with false bravado. “But when Ruth went into labor.” She stopped and shook her head. “That was scary.”
He leaned forward, bringing her fingers to his lips, kissing them. “Promise me you won’t go roving the wilderness any longer, okay?”
She smiled, wondering if it was possible to be any happier than she was at that moment. The truth still hung over her head like a dark cloud on the horizon, and she knew that someday she would have to go to Dylan with it. But not tonight…not tonight.
“Dylan,” she murmured, leaning forward and pulling his hand to her lips. “I love you.”
Dylan looked up at her, feeling his heart stop in his chest, and the air leave his lungs in one long, involuntary sigh. The moment stretched out—defying convention and the limits of time. He wanted to just stay there and absorb it, feel it in his pores and let it seep into his skin. He wanted to preserve and to hold on to as much as he could, for as long as he could.
The telephone warbled quietly, causing them both to jump and bringing the real world back into focus again.
“Talk about a mood breaker,” he said, his wry tone covering just how deeply shaken he was.
It warbled again, and Marissa glanced down at the hand he still held. “I should answer it.”
Dylan looked at their hands, too. “It would be wrong to just let it ring, wouldn’t it?”
His look of regret was very real, and her heart swelled with emotion. “Very wrong.”
“I was afraid of that,” he mumbled, reluctantly letting her go.
The phone sounded again as Marissa stood and started across the kitchen. She reached for the handset, lifting it from its cradle, and lifted it to her ear.
“Hello?” Marissa felt her throat tighten as she listened to the familiar voice on the other end of the line. She glanced across the kitchen to Dylan, sitting quietly at the table, and felt the feeling of dread grow. “Josh, sweetie, hi, how are you?”
Chapter 13
Marissa waved one last time, watching as the Scalettis’ minivan disappeared around the corner. She turned to Josh beside her, and put an arm around his sturdy shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I missed you.”
Josh grinned, the color in his cheeks rising. “I missed you, too.”
“You hungry?” she asked as they started up the walk together. “I’ve got some cold cuts and cheese. I could fix you a sandwich.”
Josh shook his head, holding the front door open and following her in. “Maybe later. We stopped on the way home for fast food.” He tossed his duffel bag down on the bottom step of the stairs as he followed her through the house toward the kitchen, patting a hand over his stomach. “I’m still stuffed.”
Marissa laughed, knowing that probably wouldn’t last much longer. “Then let’s get something cold to drink,” she said, flipping on the kitchen light and opening up the refrigerator. “I want to hear everything about your weekend. Did you have a good time, what was the beach house like, did you and Nico get along?”
Josh made a play of rolling his eyes, but Marissa knew he was pleased by all her questions. He liked it that she was interested, liked it that what he did mattered to her. He hadn’t had enough of that in his life the last few years. Penny had been too caught up in her own problems after Caleb died to give Josh the kind of attention he’d needed, and Marissa was determined to make up to him for that. Besides, she really was interested. She’d missed enough of her son’s life already, she didn’t want to miss anything more.
And Josh didn’t disappoint her. Despite his protestations, he hopped up on the stool at the kitchen counter and started on a full accounting of his weekend away—including picnics on the beach, playing Hacky Sack in the sand, boogie-boarding in the surf, and watching Fourth of July fireworks from the cliffs overlooking the ocean.
Marissa listened, watching his dark eyes flash bright with humor and excitement as he talked, thinking how far he’d come from that scared, troubled kid she’d taken custody of only six weeks ago. It was so good between them, being together had changed both their lives for the better, and she didn’t want anything to ever change that.
But having Dylan in her life was a big change, and as she stood there, sipping a cold drink and listening to Josh chatter on, she couldn’t help wondering how he was going to react to the news.
Her weekend with Dylan had been wonderful—virtually like a dream come true. She had no second thoughts, no regrets—how could she? She loved Dylan, and it still seemed too good to be true that he loved her back. It felt so good between them, so right, as though fate had lent a hand because they were meant to be together. Still, she couldn’t help being apprehensive about the prospect of telling Josh. How many more changes could Josh take in his life? How would he feel about Dylan being a part of her life, and a part of their life together?
And yet, telling Josh about her feelings for Dylan was just going to be the beginning. Sooner or later she was going to have to tell them both the truth—the whole truth. They were father and son—they had to know, and somehow find a way to make them understand.
Marissa drew in a deep breath, and rubbed at the tension building at the bridge of her nose. One step at a time, she reminded herself. She could only take one step at a time. First she had to tell Josh how she felt about Dylan—had to help him get used to the idea, get comfortable with it. She’d worry about the rest of it later.
“You okay?”
Marissa abruptly stopped massaging her forehead and glanced across the counter at Josh. “Sure, I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said, gesturing to her forehead. “I just thought you looked a little worried. Your head ache?”
“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, shaking her head and flashing him a bright smile. She waved him on with her hand. “Finish your story.”
“Oh, okay. Anyway, the fireworks were really cool. It was really fun, well…until Dino and Gina got scared of the dark and the noise from the fireworks,” he said, referring to Jill and Dom Scaletti’s two youngest children. “And started crying.”
“Poor things,” Marissa said, taking a sip of her soda. “But you know, I remember being scared of those loud bangs during the fireworks displays on the Fourth when I was little.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Josh admitted, reaching for the soda can and pouring the rest of it over the ice in his glass. His expression grew wistful. “Dad used to let me sit on his lap, and would cover my ears with his hands.”
“Yeah, I remember that, too,” Marissa said, reaching out and running her hand along his cheek. “You miss him a lot, don’t you.”
“Yeah, I do,” Josh murmured. “And my mom.” He was quiet for a moment, then pushed his feelings aside with a deep breath and went-on. “When the kids started crying, Mrs. Scaletti said we were all going to have to go back to the house, but then Nico and I started playing Hacky Sack in the dark. We were falling down and goofing around—it was pretty funny, and the kids got laughing and sort of forgot about the noise and being scared.”
Marissa studied him as he talked, watching his expr
ession change. Just like Dylan, Josh had used a tough act and smart attitude to hide how much pain he’d been in after losing Caleb, but that was changing. He was a different kid than he was six weeks ago—happier, freer and a lot better able to deal with life.
“Jill says Nico usually loves to tease the little ones,” she said, seeing the affection in his face.
“He calls them the rug rats,” Josh pointed out. “They drive him crazy.”
Marissa laughed. “Sounds like you got along with them pretty well, though.”
Josh looked up and shrugged. “I guess. Oh, they could be a pain sometimes, but they’re actually kinda cute.” His eyes grew wide as he laughed out loud. “But you should hear Nico describe the new baby coming—he does this thing like a preview for a movie that’s coming. It drives his mom crazy.” Trying his best not to smile, Josh cleared his throat loudly and made his voice boom. “No one is safe. It knows where you live. It’s loud, it doesn’t always smell very good. It’s—” he made the sound of a drumroll “—Rug Rat Part V—The Final Conflict.” He then dropped his voice down an octave. “Coming soon to a theater near you.”
Marissa laughed at his crazy joking, but a small band of remorse twisted at her heart. He had so much to give—so much love and humor. He needed people in his life, needed a family—brothers, sisters, mother and father. He would like playing the role of “big brother,” he would be loving and protective of a younger sibling, and she regretted once again all the things he’d missed out on.
They talked for a while longer, and Josh continued to make her laugh with his silly stories and joking around.
“Mrs. Scaletti told me how you used to help her baby-sit her little brothers and sisters,” Josh said after a while, reaching for his glass of soda and finishing it. “You two must have been pretty good friends back in high school.”
“Yeah, we were,” Marissa said, remembering the noisy Lawrence house with its endless bedrooms and countless children. “It was rough on them after their mom died.”
Father Figure Page 17
