“Another coffee, Dahlia?” Darragh asked from the kitchen door. “Dad?”
“Not for me, I’m good,” Dad answered.
I got up from my chair. “Let me help.”
Krista stayed out in the sitting room, and I found myself alone in the kitchen with my brother for the first time. Immediately, I went to him and put my arms around him.
Darragh hugged me close, and we stood like that for a few seconds.
My hug said I was sorry for all the years I’d wasted.
His hug said he understood.
Pulling back, I gave him a soft smile. “The boys are amazing, Darragh.”
My big brother grinned. “Yeah, we did all right there, huh?”
“You did.” I leaned against the counter as he set about making us coffee.
“You going to Davina’s tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” I was still a little nervous about that. Despite the good night I’d had with her and Darragh at Dad’s last Sunday, Darragh was definitely the more forgiving between my two eldest siblings.
“So … uh … Dad called me last night after what happened with Mike. He feels terrible.”
I winced. “I told him not to. I know what he was trying to do. It unfortunately backfired.”
“I take it Dad told you the reason Mike’s still in our lives is because of Dermot?”
The thought of Dermot made my stomach roil. “Yeah.” Dermot was a cop too. He and Michael worked from the same precinct. They’d become friendly when Michael and I were together, but they’d formed a little bromance after I left.
“I imagine the way Dermot feels about you has probably affected Mike’s feelings too.”
I shook my head. “No, Michael’s feelings are all his own.”
“Well, my point was going to be that Dermot has probably affected Mike, and Mom has definitely affected Dermot. And that point leads me to my next … Are you thinking about seeing Mom while you’re here?”
I looked back over my shoulder to make sure Dad was well and truly out of earshot. Then I leaned toward my brother and said in a low voice, “Dad won’t talk about the divorce. I need to know he’s okay and if he won’t give me answers, maybe Mom will.”
“Dahlia, the divorce is between those two.”
“Is it, though?”
Anger darkened his countenance. “For fuck’s sake, please do not tell me you’re going to blame yourself for this too? Jesus Christ, Dahlia, do not let Mom’s crap do this to you any longer. You let her, and you’re a martyr.”
I glowered. “Say it how you feel it, Dar.”
“I know you’re worried about Dad, but don’t be. I think this is the best thing for him.”
Shocked, I stared at him for a second. “How can you say that knowing how much they love each other?”
“Just because they love each other doesn’t mean they’re right for each other.” Darragh studied me thoughtfully. “How … How can you want her to be happy after what she said to you?”
The memory burned but I shrugged it off. “She wasn’t in her right mind.”
“Yeah? Well, she hasn’t been in her right mind for years. She pushed us all out after Dillon.” He stared at the floor, and it was the first time I’d heard the hurt in my brother’s voice. “She doesn’t have time for Davina; she spends time with the boys but she holds herself back from them. The only person she’s close to is Dermot, and she’s filled his head with all her lies.”
My first thought was for Dad. “All of this was going on, Dad was dealing with it, and he didn’t say a word to me.”
“Yeah. I’m sure it has a lot to do with the divorce. So stop blaming yourself and stop worrying. Dad will be fine.” His gaze moved across the room out into the sitting room where Dad was laughing with Leo. “He’ll be more than fine. Look at him. He looks great. He’ll start dating soon, and it’ll be a whole new chapter in his life.”
Dating? I’d never even thought of that. “You would be okay with that?”
“Of course. Krista already wants to set him up with a colleague of her mom’s.”
The idea of my Dad with anyone but my mom was very strange. Then again, the only memories I had of my parents together were from before Dillon died. Darragh had been there the nine years I’d missed out on, clearly witnessing a deterioration I hadn’t been around for.
I wondered how bad it could be that Darragh was so eager for Dad to move on.
“I still think I should face Mom. See what she has to say about all of it.” The thought made me sick. Coming back to Boston, facing everyone, had been difficult, but I’d done it. And I was still breathing.
It occurred to me that maybe clearing the air with my mother might put to rest some very persistent demons from the past.
“I’m not going to stop you,” Darragh said, sighing, “but I am noting my concern.”
“Noted.” I grinned at him. “God, it’s good to have you back, big bro.”
He slid his arm around my shoulders and walked me back out into the living room.
“Aunt Dahlia, just another level, I promise!” Leo shouted over at me.
“Aunt Dahlia, I drew you,” Levi said quietly, coming toward his dad and me.
I sank into my brother’s side, feeling so goddamn full I almost wanted to cry with the joy of it.
* * *
The next evening I found myself sitting at the dining table in the large, open-plan living space of my sister’s gorgeous Bunker Hill apartment.
She must make serious money.
Seriously.
Wow.
I was so proud of her.
My effusive compliments on the apartment and her obvious success had seemed to go a long way to mollifying Davina’s girlfriend, Astrid. When I’d first appeared at the apartment, she’d been quietly and intensely studying me, not giving much away.
Dad was working so he couldn’t serve as a buffer.
This, and Astrid’s cool appraisal, was making me jumpy, and I hated that feeling.
Silence fell over the table as we sat to eat. “Well, this isn’t at all awkward.”
Davina snorted. “You’re making it awkward.”
“How am I making it awkward?” I argued.
“Is it because we’re gay?” Astrid raised an eyebrow at me.
I made a face, no longer caring about tiptoeing around her, after such an absurd question. “My sister could tell me she was thinking of transitioning into an orangutan and it wouldn’t make me love her any less.”
“Maybe more,” Davina mused. “Orangutans are cute.”
“Aren’t they?” I leaned across the table. “The way they hug each other is so adorable. It’s like a full-bodied ‘I love you’ hug. It’s so open and cute. I wish people were like that.”
“Seriously?” Astrid’s eyes darted between Davina and me.
“Asking her if it’s because we’re gay was stupid.” Davina shrugged.
Her girlfriend glared. “Well, not all of your family have been accepting.”
My sister frowned at her plate. “I’m aware.”
Not wanting an argument to break out between them, I changed the subject. “Have you thought about getting married? Because I make jewelry and I could make the rings. Something perfect and unique.”
My big sister snorted. “You haven’t changed. Still saying things you shouldn’t say. What if marriage is a sore topic for Astrid and me?”
“Is it?”
“No,” Astrid answered. “We’ve thought about it.”
I grinned, happy for my sister. “Really?”
“Ugh,” Astrid huffed, shooting my sister a look. “You were right. That dimple gets her out of everything. She’s adorable.” She turned back to me. “Annoyingly adorable.”
I grinned harder as my sister laughed under her breath. “I’ve been told this. It’s a problem, I know.”
They laughed and the awkwardness melted.
As we ate, Astrid told me about her job as a publicist for Candlelight Press, a book publi
sher in Allston. Davina tried to explain her job for the hundredth time, but I couldn’t get my head around it. Thankfully, neither could Astrid. And they asked about Hartwell, even though Davina seemed tentative.
“It’s beautiful.” I missed it. I’d already told Davina about it the other night, so I talked more about my friends. “Bailey got engaged to Vaughn, so that’s been the latest excitement. Oh, and we sporadically have trouble from a family called the Devlins. Ian Devlin, the dad, he owns a hotel, some other businesses in town, the fun park, and he’s a shady character, to say the least. He’s been trying to buy property on the boardwalk for years and has these crass plans to turn it into a five-star resort that a tiny percentage of the population could afford to visit. His son broke into Bailey’s inn and attacked her, trying to find confidential information he could use against her.”
Davina and Astrid stared wide-eyed at me.
“What?”
“It sounds like the setting to my favorite soap opera,” Astrid said.
I laughed. “It’s not as dramatic as it sounds. That family is a menace. Every town has one.”
Davina looked at her half-empty plate. “You’re really going back there, aren’t you?”
“I … I live there. I love it there. But I won’t leave again. You and Astrid could come vacation there in the summer, and I’ll be back. I promise. Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas … whenever you want me, I’ll come back.”
My sister looked up, tears in her eyes. Astrid grabbed her hand tightly. “After Dillon died, I didn’t only lose her. I lost you, and I lost Mom. It was like our whole family fell apart.”
Grief clawed at my throat. “Da—”
“I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty. I think we both know you’ve lived with that emotion for too long. I just … I need you to know how much it means to have you back.”
“I need you to know how much it means that you would have me back.”
“No more of that,” she chided. “Deciding to forgive you means not bringing that up again.”
Silence fell over the table and then Astrid piped up. “I bought a banoffee pie from Bova’s.”
I took a second to understand. “And you made me eat real food when you were sitting on banoffee pie from Bova’s?”
Chortling, my sister’s girlfriend got up to clear the table just as my cell blasted from my purse.
“I see your taste in music hasn’t changed,” Davina said.
Grinning, I reached into my purse to silence my cell. It was an unknown number. I showed it to Davina. She shrugged. “Answer it.”
I did. “Hello?”
“Dahlia?” Dermot’s voice filled my ear.
“Dermot?”
My sister’s expression froze with alertness.
“I just got off the phone with Dar, and he said you’re thinking about going to see Mom?”
“Ye—”
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled. “She wants to talk, she’ll come to you. You go there, you corner her, and you’ll have to deal with me.” Silence followed his threat, and I realized he’d hung up.
That tight ugly knot filled my stomach as I lowered my phone.
Every time I took a step forward, there was someone to push me back.
The rain lashed against the windshield of their unmarked Ford Crown Victoria as Michael waited for Davis to come back with their coffees. Davis would also probably get himself a cinnamon pinwheel or two. Bastard. He knew Michael didn’t eat that shit regularly.
It was one of the reasons Michael wouldn’t let him stop at a Dunkees. He’d come out with a dozen fuckin’ donuts otherwise.
The weather had been miserable all night, the rain chasing them around North Boston as they tried to nail down a suspect in an armed burglary. As soon as Davis pulled up outside the late-night bakery so they could grab a coffee, the rain had started pissin’ down. The weather mirrored his mood.
Dahlia.
He squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. That woman had been messing with his head all week, and he hated being distracted on the job. It could be dangerous.
Dermot had called him to give him a heads-up that Dahlia was in town, and his friend was pissed to find out he was too late making that call.
“I don’t know what my fuckin’ family is thinkin’, man. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think your dad meant any harm.”
“It wasn’t Dad. Dahlia will have put him up to it. That bitch thinks she can walk right back into town and expect everyone to roll over. Mom is a mess. I don’t know what to do.”
Michael had flinched at Dermot calling Dahlia a bitch. Even now, after everything, it was his instinct to defend her. “She’s still your sister, so watch your mouth. And it was definitely your dad’s doing. She was just as shocked as I was.”
Dermot had gone quiet. “Don’t let her manipulate you, Mike. You just got out of a crappy marriage. You don’t need my fuckin’ sister messing with your head again.”
Michael had gotten off the phone because Dermot’s acridness toward Dahlia pissed him off. It wasn’t fair, considering how angry he was with her and how he’d spoken to her when he saw her, but that was different. He could be mad as fuck at Dahlia and still not want anyone else to hurt her.
He’d hurt her.
The anguish had blazed out of her at his cutting remarks the other night. His consequent remorse made him even more pissed. What the fuck did he have to feel guilty for? She left him.
Jesus Christ.
An image of her from the other night popped into his head for the millionth time. She’d been wearing a blue dress, the same shade as her eyes. It was fitted and wrapped tight around her perfect body.
Dahlia had always had full hips, a tiny waist, and big boobs. It was the first thing he noticed about her.
He was a man. He loved her body.
No point pretending he didn’t.
But from the moment he’d looked into her eyes in that art gallery all those years ago, he’d been a fuckin’ goner. Michael had never met anyone so full of everything. Curiosity, humor, boredom, annoyance—it had all flashed in her eyes as she stood on that podium in that ridiculous body stocking that barely covered her.
And then she’d flipped him off more gracefully than anybody had ever flipped him off.
All that life, all that vibrant energy she gave off, she still had it. There was more sadness in her now, but she was still Dahlia after all.
That night, when he’d gotten home and eventually fallen asleep, he’d dreamed about her.
About fuckin’ her. Angry hate sex.
The next night, he made love to her in his dreams.
And last night the dream had been a mixture of both.
A few hours later his alarm went off, and he woke up hard, frustrated and angrier than ever.
The passenger side door opened and Davis dived in, cursing under his breath, yanking Michael out of his thoughts. His partner’s suit and hair were soaked. A warm coffee aroma filled the car as Davis passed him a cup. But that didn’t appease Michael when he saw the brown paper bag in Davis’s other hand.
“You fucker.” He eyeballed what he knew were pinwheels.
His partner grinned. “Hey, I ain’t watching what I eat.”
Michael’s looked at Davis’s gut. The man was tall and lean everywhere except for his stomach, which had a small round swell to it. “Clearly.”
“Fuck you, little pissant,” Davis said congenially as he opened the brown paper bag with something akin to glee. “Come to Daddy.”
Exhaling in frustration, Michael reached into the back of the car for his own brown paper bag. Inside was a little plastic container with homemade salmon teriyaki and rice. Kiersten used to cook healthy meals for him so now he was learning to do that stuff for himself. He didn’t think he was half bad at it.
“Grow a pair and eat some real food, Mike.” Davis sneered at the rice, salmon, and salad.
Michael ignored his ribb
ing. He ate well six days out of seven. There was no point hitting the gym before work every day if he was going to eat shit like pastries and burgers. Michael respected his body. He gave it the fuel it needed to be strong. Even if it was torture sometimes.
“No comeback?” Davis asked. “Something’s definitely up with you. Is it Bronson? Word is out he’s bangin’ your ex.”
Michael liked Davis. He did. But the man had no fuckin’ filter or diplomacy. “I’m happy for them,” he muttered around a mouthful.
“So, what is it?”
He shrugged, not ready to talk about Dahlia or the fact that every instinct in his body told him to go to her now she was in Boston. They were like magnets. Always had been. “Night shift. Not used to it yet.”
His partner shrugged. “It takes time.”
“It’d be easier if you wouldn’t stop every five seconds for a pinwheel or a tonic.” The man was addicted to goddamn Pepsi.
“You know, I think you’d benefit from a fuckin’ pinwheel now and then. You moody little fucker.”
Michael smirked.
“Where do you think this asshole is?” Davis asked after a few seconds of quiet eating.
“Back to the girlfriend in Chelsea. My bet is she called him after we dropped by. He might think her place has the all clear for the night.”
Davis nodded.
They finished up as the rain calmed. “You’re already wet.” Michael shoved his garbage at Davis. “You can put this in the trash.”
“I had to get a neat freak, healthy-eating, gym-going motherfucker like you for a partner, huh,” Davis muttered under his breath as he got out of the car with the garbage. Michael knew some cops let shit collect in the back and on the floor of their vehicles. He wasn’t one of them. It sent a message you were a lazy cop, and Michael was anything but lazy.
Things We Never Said: A Hart's Boardwalk Novel Page 9
