Things We Never Said: A Hart's Boardwalk Novel

by Samantha Young

  She scoffed. “A jewelry designer? Oh my God, your head is so far up your ass in dreamland. Do you know how many people succeed as jewelry designers?”

  I clenched my fists at my sides. “I’ll be one of them.”

  “Why? Because you’re special? It takes more than a little creativity to make a career out of jewelry design, Dahlia.”

  “Jesus Christ, Mom,” Davina snapped.

  I narrowed my eyes. “I know you don’t think much of me, but I’m good at this stuff. You don’t get into MassArt if you’re not, Mom. I know you didn’t think it was a big deal I got in, but it is.”

  “A big deal? Getting into Harvard is a big deal. Getting into art school is a waste of your life. Why am I always the bad guy here? All I’m trying to do is talk some sense into you. You’re wasting your life, Dahlia. On that guy and on this school. You need to—where are you going?”

  “I’m not sticking around to listen to this shit.” I grabbed my keys, my coat, and hauled open the front door.

  “Don’t talk to me like that and don’t you—Dahlia!”

  “Why do you do that to her?” I could hear Davina shout as I hurried down the porch stairs. “You’re always on her back!”

  Always, I hissed, drawing back the tears that threatened to spill. Only my mom could make me feel like utter garbage.

  Fingers trembling, I called Gary, but he didn’t pick up, which made the tears spill over. Fuck, I hated crying! I ducked my head and hurried down the street. My thumb hovered over my contact list, wondering who I could call.

  I knew who I wanted to call.

  But he was probably working.

  And I shouldn’t call him.

  Michael.

  I’d been dating Gary for six months now, and in that time the feelings I had when I first met Michael hadn’t gone away. If anything, they’d only gotten stronger. Michael was funny like Gary but more … he was also mature, and I could talk to him. When we were at parties, when he wasn’t chatting to some pretty girl, and Gary was off being an idiot with his friends, Michael and I would talk.

  I felt this weird electric awareness around him, but I also felt like I could tell him anything.

  There was something comforting about him.

  Something safe.

  I shouldn’t call him for comfort.

  I shouldn’t.

  Trying Gary again and getting nowhere, my thumb moved with a mind of its own and pressed Michael. The phone rang in my ear and with every ring my heart thudded harder and faster.

  He picked up on the fifth ring, and I belatedly wondered if he was working.

  “Dahlia, you okay?” he answered.

  I hesitated, tears choking my throat. I never cried. I was not a crybaby. But after the altercation with my mom and the realization that the one person I wanted to talk to was my boyfriend’s best friend, I was feeling pretty vulnerable.

  I should not have called him.

  “Dahlia?” Michael sounded worried.

  “Hey,” I choked out. It came out all croaky.

  “Dahlia, what’s wrong?”

  “You working?”

  “No. What’s going on?”

  “I shouldn’t have called.” Shit, I shouldn’t have called.

  “Where are you?”

  “No, really, Michael, it’s stupid. I’m being a baby.”

  “Dahlia, where are you?”

  I told him where I was.

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  He hung up before I could ask him how he intended to get here so fast from Southie.

  As I waited, I tried to calm down, but I kept replaying the argument with my mom over and over again. It wasn’t even an argument. It was a verbal beatdown.

  I pushed off the tree I was leaning on when I saw Michael’s old Ford turning the corner. He pulled up beside me and leaned over to push open the door. I scrambled to get in, and that electric awareness zinged through me when our eyes met.

  “How did you get here so fast?”

  “I was in Malden.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged, turning away. “Just hanging out.”

  Oh my God. He’d been on a date. I grimaced. “You were on a date, weren’t you?”

  “It wasn’t a date. Put your seat belt on.”

  I did, but guilt consumed me. Not a date was guy speak for a hookup. When I first started dating Gary, he told me Michael wasn’t a casual hookup kind of guy, but ever since I’d known Michael, that’s all he did. He didn’t seem to want to get serious with any girl. Ignoring my jealousy, I concentrated on the guilt. “Michael, I’m sorry. You should go back.”

  He flashed me a grin as he pulled the car back onto the road. “There is no going back. She wasn’t exactly pleased I bailed on her.”

  I flushed. “Why did you? Bail on her?”

  Michael’s grin fell, and he gave me a quick, serious look. “Because you sounded like you were crying. And you look like you’ve been crying. What’s going on?”

  Feelings I didn’t even want to contemplate flooded me. Michael had ditched a girl for me because I’d sounded upset.

  I felt that in an ache in my chest and, to my chagrin, an ache between my legs.

  Heat rolled through me, and I did my best to ignore it. “Now I feel terrible. It was only a stupid argument with my mom.”

  “Dahlia, I’ve never seen you cry so I’m guessing it wasn’t stupid.” He shot me another look. “Why didn’t you call Gary?”

  “I tried. He was supposed to be taking me out tonight, but he canceled. That’s how the argument with my mom started.”

  “So you called me? You don’t have a girlfriend you can call?”

  Embarrassment prickled me, and I hated that feeling. Especially in front of him. “I’m sorry I called, okay? You can drop me off here.”

  “Hey, I’m not mad that you called. I’m … glad.” He kept his eyes on the road, and I took the time to study his profile. Why was he so freaking handsome? His voice was a little hoarse when he continued, “I don’t like the idea of you being sad.”

  Why was he so freaking wonderful too?

  To cover my rush of inappropriate feelings, I teased, “Even if it means being cockblocked?”

  Michael chuckled. “I think you might have saved me. When I told her a friend needed me, she went off like a fuckin’ shrew.” He winced at the memory. “Not sexy.”

  “Well then, I’m glad to have helped.”

  Michael shot me that boyish, crooked smile of his and I couldn’t help but smile back. “That’s better,” he said quietly.

  I bit my lip at the awareness that sprung between us and turned to look out my window. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere we can talk.”

  We were quiet a moment as he drove out of Everett.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For dropping everything to come get me. I don’t … I’m not usually such a drama queen.”

  “Dahlia, no one would ever accuse you of being a drama queen.”

  “It’s just you seem older than the rest of us. I don’t want to seem immature in comparison.”

  “Does older mean boring?” he asked.

  Surprised by the slight insecurity I detected in his voice, I reassured him. “Absolutely not.” It was sexy. So, so sexy.

  I definitely should not have called him.

  A few minutes later Michael pulled into a parking lot in South Wellington at the Mystic River Reservation. The lot was empty. “We’re not supposed to park here after dark.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll take off if we see a patrol car.”

  I gave a huff of laughter. “Michael, you’re a rookie. I don’t think you should take this chance.”

  “I’ll say you got sick and I had to pull over somewhere.”

  I studied him a second as he parked the car. “You would absolutely get away with that.”

  “I have a sincere face.”

  “You do.” I laughed. �
�You so do. I bet you got out of a lot of trouble growing up because of that face.”

  He took off his belt and turned a little in his seat to face me. “Gary would have gotten into some serious shit if it weren’t for this face.”

  “I believe that too.” My eyes roamed over his features, and I tried to avoid his lips. His eyes always ensnared me, and it was hard to avoid them, but I had to avoid his lips. They were so beautifully formed. Almost a little pouty for a guy. The hard angles of the rest of his face stopped those lips from making him a pretty boy. However, it did not stop me thinking about his mouth more than I should. When I drew Michael’s face, I took extra time on his lips, trying to get the curvature perfect.

  Oh damn, I was staring.

  I cleared my throat and looked out across the lot at the dark park beyond.

  “So …,” Michael prompted, “you going to tell me what happened with your mom?”

  “Ah, Sorcha McGuire.” I tried for breezy and snarky. “I’m pretty sure she gives more than ten percent in her tithe in the hopes that Jesus will set me on the right path.”

  Michael stared at me until I squirmed.

  “What?”

  “You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time with me. I get it. You’re a funny smart-ass, and I love that about you. But let’s be real here, Dahlia. Whatever happened tonight, you are not as cool about it as you’re trying to make out. Or you wouldn’t have called me.”

  Tears burned my eyes and I looked away.

  Seconds later his warm, calloused hand wrapped around mine and I turned back to him. “Talk to me.”

  So I laid it out. Everything my mom had said tonight and everything that had come before. I swiped angrily at a tear that slipped by my defenses. “It wasn’t so bad when I was a kid. At least I didn’t notice it so much. But the older I got, the more she singled me out. I don’t remember her coming down on Darragh, Davina, or Dermot like this. I mean, as far as she’s concerned, Dar and Davi are the best. They both went to college, they’re both doing jobs that will eventually make them good money—hopefully. Dillon can do no wrong in my mom’s eyes, so the fact that my sister will probably struggle financially as a beautician for the rest of her life doesn’t even seem to register with Mom. It’s apparently a practical skill set to have.” I rolled my eyes. “And Dermot … my God, my brother has moved from job to job, before settling on the police academy. And we’re all holding our breaths on that one. But did my mom come down on him throughout all those years? No. It was all ‘Don’t worry about him, Cian, our boy will find his way.’

  “While me …” I gave a snort of bitter laughter. “I’m wasting my life. MassArt is a waste of time. I’m not special enough to make a career out of my creativity.”

  “She said that?” He glared at me.

  I nodded. “She’s said that to me my whole life. When I wanted to try out for gymnastics, she told me there was no point, because I was too chubby as a kid. When I wanted to join the school choir, she laughed and told me I was tone deaf, so I didn’t bother. When my art teacher put my portfolio forward for a regional award, and I won …” I bit back more tears as I remembered. “She, uh … she looked at the award and said, ‘Wow, I guess they were short on talent this year.’” I know she said it to dissuade me from art and not because she meant it, but it stung.”

  “Jesus fuck.” Michael looked disgusted.

  I wiped away another tear. “My dad lost his shit with her and wouldn’t talk to her until she apologized. Which she did. But I knew underneath she was mad at me about that too.”

  “What she said isn’t right, Dahlia.”

  I nodded. “One night we were arguing about my boyfriend at the time. I was sixteen, and I stupidly left condoms in my bedside table. She found them and went off about me having sex. That, I don’t blame her for. I get it now, but I didn’t then. So we had this huge argument, and I asked her if I was even her kid. If Dad had cheated on her and I was the result, and she hated me for it? I have never seen her so pissed. I thought she was going to hit me, she was so fuckin’ mad. Instead, she grabbed my hairbrush and said she’d do a DNA test to prove that my worthless ass was unfortunately hers.” I exhaled shakily, the old confusion rolling over me when I told him. “Later that night I overheard her crying in her bedroom. My dad was comforting her because she wasn’t mad at me. She was mad at herself … that she had made me feel like I wasn’t her kid.

  “So she knows.” More salty tears rolled down my cheeks. “She knows what she’s doing, Michael. She can’t seem to help herself, and I don’t get it.”

  He’d not let go of my hand since he’d first taken it, and he squeezed it now. “Have you thought about asking your dad?”

  “I’m afraid if I do, I’ll cause problems between them. My parents love each other. Like, so much. I want what they have. And I adore my dad, Michael. He’s the best guy ever. I don’t want to put him in the position where he feels like he’s in a war between his kid and his wife. I need to get out of there. I think once I have my own place, my relationship with her will get better.”

  Michael nodded. “You could be right. My life is better now I’m out of my parents’ house.”

  I knew from Gary that Michael had followed in his dad’s footsteps to be a cop, but I’d picked up on little things Michael had said over the last few months and I suspected his family life hadn’t been great. “You’re not close with your dad, are you? Despite the cop connection?”

  He shook his head. “My dad is a lot like your mom. He, uh … he tried to crush my confidence my whole life. I guess he saw something in me he didn’t like very much, something that made him feel insecure. He tried to stop me from succeeding, but it only drove me to succeed at whatever I put my mind to. I worked hard at school, and I played ball. Gary’s dad was a fuckin’ nightmare, and he didn’t deal with that very well. Gary pulled a lot of shit he shouldn’t, and I was always there, trying to get him out of it. Dad liked that. He liked me in trouble.” The muscle in his jaw clenched, and I squeezed his hand. “I wanted to go to law school, but we couldn’t afford it. I was trying for a scholarship, but Gary broke into a liquor store, and I got caught trying to stop him. Gary told the cops I was there to stop him—so did a couple of idiot guys who were with him. The police believed me, let me go. But Dad told my coach, who was a hardass. He benched me. My math teacher, who I respected, and who was a Boston U alum, found out why and withdrew his recommendation offer. There was no way I was getting that scholarship. So, I graduated, and I did the next best thing, which was to apply to the police academy.

  “That pleased my old man. ‘See,’ he said, ‘you ain’t no better than me.’”

  “Michael,” I said, hating that for him.

  He shook his head, his dark eyes blazing with determination. “It’s not going to stop me, Dahlia. One day I’ll make lieutenant. Then detective. And if I want to, I’ll go all the way to captain. Let him choke on that.”

  “You’ll do it too.” I knew he would. “Absolutely.”

  We shared a tender smile, and I watched the shadows lift from his eyes. “Gary said the same thing. At least I have him. He’s the one person who has always had my back.”

  “I never realized when I called you that you’d understand so completely what I’m going through. I wish you didn’t. I don’t want that for you. Do you at least have a mom who’s like my dad?”

  Just like that, the shadows came back. “No. My mom is a timid woman. She’s afraid of my dad.”

  “Does he hurt her?” I was almost afraid to ask.

  “Not anymore. Not since I got big enough to take the hits instead. I was worried when I moved out, but I think he knows, me being a cop now, I’d fuckin’ ruin him if he touched her again.”

  Without thinking about it, I reached across the center console and wrapped my arms around him. Michael hesitated for a second but then his strong arms enveloped me.

  I rested my chin on his shoulder and tightened my embrace, soaking in his warm strength and hoping
he was soaking in mine. I was kind of awkwardly sprawled across him, but I didn’t care.

  His voice was hoarse in my ear. “What’s this for?”

  I pulled back so I could look deep into his beautiful eyes. “Because you deserve so much better. I hope you know that.”

  Michael’s breathing stuttered, and he looked so young all of a sudden. He loosened his right arm but only to cup my cheek. Heat flooded me, and I realized that my impulsiveness had once again gotten me in trouble. “So do you,” he whispered. “You deserve everything.”

  His eyes had dropped to my mouth, and his thumb was caressing my skin, drawing closer and closer to my lips.

  My own eyes, with a will of their own, lowered to his beautiful mouth.

  At the hitch of my breath, I knew when we both became completely aware of every inch of each other. My breasts were crushed against his chest and if I swung my right leg over, I could straddle him in seconds, so every part of us was touching.

  I was suddenly so hot, I was burning up.

  His mouth was millimeters away from mine. All I had to do was move a tiny bit …

  Our lips brushed, and Michael’s arm tightened around me as we both let out a little gasp.

  My lower belly flipped, deep, low, and there was a rush of slickness between my legs. I was desperate for his kiss, for his tongue against mine, but it was more. Never had I been so needful of someone. I wanted Michael inside me. I wanted to ride him while he touched me and kissed me.

  I wanted that more than I’d ever wanted anything. The want became a red haze over my mind.

  Our lips brushed again as I swayed into him.

  “Dahlia,” he panted.

  We were out of breath, and we’d barely touched each other.

  And then Michael’s words from earlier whispered in the back of my mind. “Gary said the same thing. At least I have him. He’s the one person who has always had my back.”

  I couldn’t do this! Not to Michael. Not to Gary. But mostly not to Michael. He’d never forgive himself.

  Pull back, Dahlia. Pull back before you can’t ever go back.

  With every ounce of will inside me, I wrenched myself away from Michael, falling against the passenger side door. “I’m sorry.” I panted hard. “I can’t.”