“Well . . . he wasn’t exactly planning on me asking you. I’m kind of going rogue here.” He scrunches his nose, realizing how bad those words sound out loud. “He thought if I could just get you there, even coerced, you might . . . talk to him.”
Blood pumps in my ears. “You know, Cam, it’s been years since you and I have really fought, but maybe we’re due.” Dad’s backyard barbecues are legendary, down to the special rub he puts on the baby back ribs. A year ago, the party was at our house with fifty of my parents’ closest friends, including the woman we later learned he was sleeping with.
“Obviously, I didn’t agree with his method”—Cam’s attempt at soothing my growing temper fails, especially when he adds—“but I do think you should consider going.”
“Why?” I demand, my heart pounding with a ferocity I didn’t know I possessed. “He’s not the man I grew up with. This version is one I don’t even recognize. So why should I sacrifice for him when every decision he’s made this year has been one-hundred-percent selfish?”
“True, and I have no doubt he’ll not be getting Father of the Year anytime soon. But . . . you miss him. And despite what he’s done, he’s still your dad, and it’s his birthday.”
I turn away, emotions bouncing so quickly between fury and heartbreak that my hands tremble. “It’s like he doesn’t even care what he’s lost. He just goes on like nothing’s changed—new home, new woman, same old party.”
“The guy I speak to on the phone seems very aware of what he’s lost.”
The tears I’ve refused to cry for that man come tumbling over, and I can’t respond for fear I might choke on anything I attempt to say.
Cam rushes around the table and slides in next to me. “I’m sorry I brought it up. Forget his stupid party. I always thought his ribs were overrated, anyway.”
I chuckle despite my emotional turmoil, and Cam pulls me into his arms. They’re warm and familiar, yet tonight I feel a twinge of unease that’s never existed before. It’s innocent, the hug, I know that, but I can’t help but picture the hurt in Bryson’s eyes when I admitted to keeping our new relationship a secret.
I pull away. “My dad’s a jerk, yes, but his ribs are excellent, and you know it.”
“Yeah okay, they are.” His smile is wrapped in pity when he wipes away my fallen tears. “I hate that I made you cry. I just couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. It was killing me.”
I look down, suddenly guilty and uncomfortable. Here he is apologizing and I’m doing the exact same thing—protecting him with a secret. “It’s okay, Cam. I understand why you did it.”
When he sees I’m not mad at him, he returns to his seat across the table. “What do you want me to tell him?”
I realize then what a terrible position my dad has put him in. It’s unfair. Cameron already shoulders all my burdens. He shouldn’t have to shoulder my dad’s, as well. “Tell him to stop calling you.” Cameron is opening his mouth to protest when I continue, “If I want to talk to him, I will be the one to initiate it. I’m really sorry he involved you.”
“Can’t fault the guy for trying.” Cameron shrugs and winks at me from across the table. “If I lost you, you’d better believe I’d fight to get you back.”
My body warms, his words reinforcing my need to be careful with his feelings. Cameron’s my person. Now and always. “I know. I’d fight for you, too.”
twenty-six
I knock on Bryson’s door, a detour I hadn’t planned on this morning, but since he hadn’t returned any of the texts I sent after Cameron dropped me off last night, I figured he might need some reassurance. I know I do, anyway.
The door swings in, and I’m struck by the physical reaction I have to seeing him wearing a tank top and gym shorts. My gaze trails over the lean muscle and olive skin he rarely shows. His hair is disheveled, and his face all but screams his sleep was as restless as mine last night.
He leans his forearm against the doorframe and looks down at me, his smirk far too reminiscent of the arrogant rock star he used to pretend to be. “How was your date?”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“Got news, Darcy. When a guy picks you up and takes you out to dinner . . . it’s a date.”
“Not when the guy is my best friend.”
“A designation you and I still do not agree on.”
“Are we really back to that? What can I do to make you believe me?”
He shoves a hand through his hair. “Rewrite history, I guess.”
“Well, I can’t exactly do that.” I stubbornly cross my arms and look up at him with the same challenging stare he’s giving me. It doesn’t work. Bryson remains a brick barrier, refusing to let me pass. I redistribute my weight from my left foot to my right, suddenly nervous. “Are you really not going to let me in?”
He must sense my growing insecurity because he presses his back against the door to give me passing room.
I step forward, my insides tumbling. He told me he was uncomfortable, but he never said going to dinner with Cam was a deal breaker. “I texted you when I got home. You never responded.”
“That’s because it came in at midnight. About two hours later than I thought it would.” There’s a chill I’m not used to from him, which makes the hair on my arms stand up. He shuts the door but doesn’t move any closer to me. It feels bigger than a physical rejection; it feels like we’re breaking up.
I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “Well, if you had answered my text, I would have informed you that I told Cameron last night I was seeing someone, and you were wrong. He didn’t get upset at all.”
“Really? And did that someone have a name?” I bite my lip, my nonresponse answering his question. He shakes his head. “Yeah, I thought so.”
I lift my arms and let them drop back to my sides, completely out of options. “What do you want me to do?”
His eyes meet mine, sharp and angry. “I want you to tell him. Not hint. Not leaving out details. I want you to tell him it’s me. And that we’re serious about each other.”
“I will. I promise you, I will . . . when it feels right.”
He grunts a laugh completely devoid of humor. “It’s never going to feel right. That’s the problem.” No matter how much Bryson’s softer side comes out when we’re together, there’s always that hint of darkness hovering right near the surface. He must sense it, too, because he rolls his shoulders, a motion I’ve often seen him do when he’s trying to relax. “Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?” He rubs his forehead like it suddenly hurts. “I’ve watched Cameron pine for you for years. I’ve had a front row seat to the long, lingering stares. Been the recipient of the passive-aggressive warnings to back off. And it’s not just from high school. It’s now. It’s all the time. It’s him calling you ‘his girl’ and hugging you like he needs you in order to breathe. And despite how much you try to justify those behaviors, I’m here to tell you . . . they’re not normal. I’ve had many friends who were girls, but there were lines, boundaries. Always. You and Cameron have no lines.”
“Then we’ll draw some, okay?” I clutch the front of his shirt, lifting up on my toes to kiss the stubble on his jaw. “I just need a little more time. That’s all I’m asking for. Let Black Carousel get through this concert and then we’ll tell him together.”
“Time is not going to change the outcome.” He sighs and the misery in his eyes cuts through me. “If you don’t want this, if you have any hesitation at all, I need you to tell me now.”
“I want this.” He turns his face away, and I cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to mine. “Hey, I want this. But you’re asking me to do really difficult things. And I’m willing to do them for you, but you have to give a little, too.”
He finally crushes me against his wonderfully hard chest. “How am I supposed to argue when you look at me like that?” he growls into my hair. Suddenly, my back is pressed against the door, his forearms creating a cage around me. “Tell me I’m not fooling myself.” His face, his lips
are inches from mine and all I can feel is Bryson, his eyes strained, his voice dark and smooth and hypnotic. “Tell me anything that will make me forget the last twelve hours of wondering.”
Anticipation roars inside me, but he doesn’t come closer, doesn’t lean down or close his eyes or even tease me with the tickle of his breath. I press my palms to the wood to keep them from touching every inch of his beautiful skin. It’s the contrast that makes my stomach whirl when he stares at me this way. Soft and hard. Angry and broken. Scared and sure. I’ve never met anyone so complicated in my life, nor have I ever wanted to understand someone more.
“I missed you.” I bite my lip, feeling just as foolish as he admitted to feeling. “More than what’s normal. More than I’ve ever missed anyone. More than I know how to express without terrifying both of us.”
If words could calm a storm, those seem to do it. His entire body collapses into me. Bryson slides his hand down the door until it cradles my head. The pad of his thumb glides gently against my cheek. “I . . . missed you, too.” He leans closer, his breath hot against my closed eyelids, then moves downward until finally he gives me what I’ve been waiting for. The contact, the reassurance, the same glorious shock waves that always seem to come when he kisses me.
The jerk knows it, too. He’s all but cocky when he finally grins down at me. “So, is it safe to assume you’re free today?” The question feels like a test, and luckily it’s one I can easily pass.
“Yes. And I already ran by the farm this morning, so gold star for me.”
He pushes off the door, allowing us both to breathe a little. “It’s only nine o’clock. What time did you get there?”
“Six-thirty. Thankfully, Charlie was already up.”
“After getting home at midnight?” Concern deepens his brow. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Not really.”
“How come?”
“Just stuff with my dad.” I shrug because that’s all I really want to say on the subject.
“What stuff?”
“It’s nothing.”
“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t have lost sleep over it.” He takes my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist, intimate and comfortable. Two things I always seem to feel with him. “Darcy… openness has to go both ways.”
I have no ability to deny his request, even though I know talking will do nothing but add to the hurt. Ever since Cameron mentioned the stupid event, an unexpected yearning has swelled in me. Memories I had all but buried have tumbled loose and with them the pain I’ve worked so hard not to feel. “Dad wants me to go to his birthday barbecue. It’s the same one he’s hosted every single year of my life.”
“When is it?”
“Not for a couple more weeks, but time won’t change how I feel. He isn’t the man I knew and loved. He’s just this person now who wrecked my family.”
“Tell me what happened.” He fiddles with my fingertips, that rare flash of insecurity popping through. “I don’t have experience with divorce, but I certainly understand growing up in a dysfunctional environment.”
I smile at his attempt to empathize. “That’s just it. My home wasn’t dysfunctional. I had a wonderful childhood. The kind where I would lie in bed and thank God for parents like mine. The kind people saw and wanted to have.” My throat tightens, and I pull my hand away, needing to pace and breathe. “Do you know they didn’t tell us until after Christmas even though they’d filed months before?”
Bryson shakes his head, quiet. His silence used to bother me, but now it’s one of my favorite things about him. He listens without passing judgment, without lecturing or trying to convince me I’m wrong for feeling how I do.
“Dexter came down with his family for the holiday weekend, and it was smiles and hugs, even the required thank-you kiss when they gave each other their gifts. Dad got Mom a gold watch, and she got him Cowboys tickets.” The words choke in the back of my throat. “They even talked as if they would go together.” I slump down on the couch, my hands shaking. “They waited until the night before Dexter was set to leave to finally tell us the truth. His family was tucked in bed, and I was saying my goodbyes when Mom politely asked me to come into the living room. They sat us down, took each other’s hand, and told us they were getting a divorce.”
Bryson sits next to me but doesn’t take my hand. I’m grateful. I want nothing between us to remind me of that horrible night.
“I couldn’t breathe. I just sat there thinking this is a joke. A sick, twisted joke that was in terrible taste. But then Dad started crying, and Mom walked away and shut herself in the bedroom. And all I could think about was that stupid gold watch and the printed-out football tickets.” A fierce ache grips my heart as I stare at him, this wonderful new man who truly cares, and admit the biggest shame in my life. “Bryson, your parents aren’t the only ones who pretended life was perfect. If Christmas was any indication, mine had been lying to us for a very long time. Long enough that my mom firmly believes she knows Michael—a man who’s been in her life a mere month—better than she ever knew my father. And now I’m stuck with the reality that my entire childhood, the basis of my beliefs and my choices, was all an illusion. I didn’t just lose my dad and my mom that night; I lost every wonderful memory I had. They’re tainted now because I can’t distinguish between what was real and what wasn’t.” I glance down at my feet. “I’ve never even heard them fight. Not once. And now I resent them for it . . . I resent them for not fighting.”
I feel the cushions give and Bryson’s warm arms around me.
“Come here.” He pulls me close, attempting to heal my pain with affection and care. I love the smell of him and the feel of safety his touch brings, but I don’t feel better. I don’t feel less angry or less bitter or less betrayed. In fact, if anything, I feel trapped. I want to run. To move and go until I exhaust myself of all the emotion clamoring to explode.
My head jerks up. “That’s it. That’s what she needs.”
I scramble to my feet, leaving my confused boyfriend on the couch. “What who needs? Your mom?”
“No, Penny. She needs to run. She needs to exhaust herself, and then maybe I can finally start to socialize her a little. If she’s worn out, she won’t have the energy to fight me so hard.” I jump and clap my hands together. “We need to go to a hardware store.”
He stands and scratches his head like he still can’t keep up. “A hardware store?”
“Yes, for supplies. Now go change.” I push him toward his room. “I’m going to make a list.”
“Darcy . . .” He halts the movement, and I’m nowhere strong enough to budge him. “I don’t think immersing yourself in a new project is what you need right now. I’m here to listen, to help you get through this.”
“I know you are, and . . .” I lift on my toes and kiss him with all the thanks I can show. “I appreciate it so much, but I want to do this. Now. Today. I don’t want to spend another moment crying over my parents. I feel like that’s all I’ve done for the past seven months.”
He hesitates but then obeys, leaving me to rustle through his kitchen drawers to find something to write with. The rescue facility I volunteered at had an obstacle course with tubes and stairs and long bridges. I wouldn’t be able to make anything that elaborate, but for a little dog like Penny, I could certainly figure out enough to keep her challenged during our training sessions.
I draw, turn the page sideways, and draw some more. The task works, and for a brief ten minutes, I gloriously forget about my dad calling Cameron. I forget that tomorrow is yet another Sunday night dinner I’ll be missing. And I forget watching my mom throw a very expensive gold watch straight into the trash.
twenty-seven
Okay, bring her out slowly,” I call to Bryson, who’s standing with Macey just on the other side of Charlie’s back door.
It’s been a week of nonstop obstacle training with Penny. She has the course down to perfection, weaving in and out like a circus animal, but the purpose behind t
he course has yet to be realized. Today we spent an hour running, twice as long as we have in the past. We’re both exhausted, and hopefully spent enough that Penny will actually choose to be civil to her housemate.
The screen opens slowly, Macey eager to take the steps until she sees Penny by my side. I can’t really blame her for the tentativeness. Penny’s attacked her every time we’ve tried to socialize them.
“Come on, girl,” Bryson coaches, and they descend together.
I keep Penny close by my leg. She sees the other dog but hasn’t reacted yet, which is no small thing. Last time, I brought Penny forward and allowed her to be the pursuer—a monumental mistake. This time, I’m letting Macey approach.
Bryson watches me for guidance, and I nod for him to keep going. They get to the grass, and Penny surprisingly remains silent at my feet.
“Good girl,” I coo and give her a small reward that she gobbles down.
Macey’s tongue hangs from her mouth, her breathing intensifying. She’s nervous, poor thing.
“Keep coming, nice and slow.”
Bryson does, but as soon as he crosses the four-foot-away mark, Penny stands and growls.
“No,” I say. She glances at me, by now recognizing my authority. I reward her silence with another treat and motion for Bryson to continue.
Three feet . . . two feet . . .
Penny lunges, almost as if she’s calculated exactly how much slack she had in the leash.
Bryson immediately pulls Macey back to safety, only Penny is now beside herself, pulling and barking and twisting to get away from me.
“Take Macey around front.” I groan, feeling utterly defeated. “I’ll put Penny up.”
Bryson’s expression is sympathetic, and I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t say I told you so. No doubt he’s thinking it.
Nothing I try seems to work with this dog. She hates all other animals. She even terrorizes the squirrels who happen past her. “We’re running out of time, Penny. You have to get better.” I can’t stand thinking of the alternative, but I may be forced to.
Love and the Silver Lining Page 22
