Unforgiven

by

Elizabeth Finn

Part I: Falling from Grace

Chapter One

Now

Her hand hurt like bloody hell. Bloody . . . not just a British expression. She was bloody. The towel that was likely dirty with dog shit and piss was doing little to slow the steady seep of blood from the gash on the side of her hand. The waiting room was quiet, but then, it was Savoy, Arkansas, on a Thursday night. A population of 3,500 or so odd folk didn’t much support a bustling emergency room, but seeing it was the only one for almost two hours in any direction also meant it was a well-visited establishment—apparently just not on Thursday nights. Didn’t mean she hadn’t been waiting for well over an hour. People were starting to stare. The blood had soaked through the towel enough that she was frightening the few other folk who sat in the waiting room. Blood was a horrifying thing after all. She could be fixin’ to bleed the plague all over them for all they knew.

“Bailey Trent.” The older woman standing at the door looked around the room, settling her gaze on a young man with a rag held to his forehead.

“I’m Bailey.” She held her hand up as she stood and approached the woman.

“Sorry, dear. Thought it was a man’s name.” She looked at Bailey with genial amusement.

“Get that a lot, but I got boobs and everything. . .” Her voice died away on a nervous chuckle. She never had been good at acting normal when she was nervous.

The woman smiled and almost burst into laughter as Bailey’s cheeks burned. “Ready?”

Of course she was ready. The blood was about two seconds away from dripping from the nearly saturated towel that was wound around her hand. Didn’t mean she was looking forward to it. “Yep.”

“Sorry for the wait. We only have two docs on staff tonight, and they’ve both been tied up. Traffic accident over near the big bend on Highway 45. A few casualties.”

“It’s no problem.”

They were walking slowly toward one of the small exam rooms, and Bailey’s heart was starting to flutter in nervousness. She didn’t enjoy hospitals, not that anyone did, and this trip likely meant sutures. That meant needles. She could do without those too. The moment they passed into the room, the nurse indicated a small table and chair, much like the one she used to sit in at grade school. There was a swivel stool on casters sitting near it.

“So, tell me what happened.”

“Dog food can lid. Just sliced clean into me.”

“Your tetanus up-to-date?”

“Good question, and I haven’t a clue.”

“That means no to me, dear. Let’s have a look, shall we?” The nurse slipped on a pair of latex gloves, and after she moved the swivel stool into place, she sat facing Bailey. She slowly unwrapped the towel from Bailey’s hand as Bailey winced. The moment the towel was pulled away, the laceration went from being barely discernable to a crimson line to a weeping gash running up the top of her hand from between her thumb and her first finger to nearly her wrist. “Well, well, now that’s how you do a cut, ’idn’t it?” She smiled tenderly at Bailey, and Bailey couldn’t help but smile back—one of the few smiles she’d had recently. The woman just had the odd gift of putting her at ease.

“Stitches?” Bailey could feel her face muscles scrunching at nothing more than the idea flitting through her mind.

“Not up to me. That’s for the doctor to say. But . . . I wouldn’t hold out much hope of getting away without any.” The lady had a southern drawl, as did most of the folk around their Ozark Mountain town. It was an odd mix of people for sure. A lot of people came to the area to vacation during the warm months, and still others migrated southward to their forested and hilly world in their retirement years. Then there were the locals. Nurse Lady sounded like a local, but Bailey didn’t recognize her. Course, Bailey had been local since she was five, and she’d adopted something of a southern twang herself, so who was she to complain. But the locals worried her. They knew things. They had memories; memories Bailey wished didn’t exist.

“Well, maybe they can just glue it closed—Band-Aids, you ’spose?”

The nurse just chuckled at her but didn’t respond. Bailey wasn’t holding much hope given the humoring response nurse lady had given her. She stood. “I’m Marie, by the way. Let’s get this rinsed up, so we can see what we got.”

Ten minutes later and Nurse Marie had flushed the slice, pulling back gently on one side of the laceration to open up the cut and rinse the deep flap of skin that was filleted open. That left Bailey cursing under her breath, but the woman took her fuck in stride. She wrapped it tightly with a thick patch of gauze and bandages.

“See, good as new. Don’t even think I need to see the doctor.” That earned Bailey another chuckle.

When Marie stood, she smiled at Bailey again. “Doc’ll be in soon. They’re playin’ catch up, but I don’t ’spect it’ll be much longer now.”

Then Bailey was alone. She’d borrowed her coworker’s cell phone when the sweet gal had offered to drive her to the hospital. She’d called her mom, wondering the moment she heard the worry in her voice why she’d thought it was a good idea.

“What do you mean you cut your hand open?” Her mother’s voice had been shrill. She was just entirely too good at worrying about her. She was too damn old for the constant concern, but she had it whether she wanted it or not.

“It’s nothin’. Just gonna get a few stitches, and then I’ll be good to go.”

“Maybe I should come down there.”

“No. I’ll call when I’m done, and you can pick me up, but you don’t just need to sit with me. Try not to worry, all right? Please?” It was impossible. The woman would worry about Bailey until she was in her grave.

“Fine. But you call me as soon as you’re done.” The things that woman said that fell into the absolute duh pile were astounding.

“I know, Mom. You know, I’m twenty-seven. I actually can handle this.”

“I know. You’ve just been through so much, and I just . . . well, I worry is all.”

“I love ya, Mom. I’ll talk to ya in a while.” Bailey had disconnected quickly after that, and her sweet coworker had just eyed her. The look suggested she was starting to get concerned Bailey might make a mess in her car.

Now the fear of making a mess was gone, and she really was wondering why she was still here. Nurse Marie had stopped the bleeding; what more was there to do? She’d twiddle her thumbs if one weren’t wrapped up to the point of cutting the circulation off.

It had to have been a good thirty minutes later before she heard anything at all, and it was when she heard a flurry of movement outside her door that she straightened her posture and peeled her eyes from their place on the floor in front of her. She heard a man’s voice before the door had even been pushed open. “Sorry to keep you waiting. . . Ms. . . Ms. . .” All she could see of the man was the top of his head as he pushed the door open while scanning the chart in his hand, and when his eyes lit presumably on her name, he froze. His focus snapped up to her, and she took in the wide eyes before her brain even had a chance to register the face those eyes belonged to.

“Darren. . .”

He just stared. His mouth was open, his eyes still wide and shocked, and he held the door back, refusing to fully enter the room or let the door close behind him. But as she watched, feeling her heart start to hammer and her ears start to buzz, he regained his composure. He closed his mouth, letting his jaw clench tight. He took a step closer, allowing the door to slowly close behind him, and he finally pulled his glare from her to settle on a spot over her shoulder. He shook his head slightly as his nostrils flared.

“I’d heard. . .” He trailed off as he shook his head again.

Bailey was struggling to even breathe as she stared at his chest. The emotion boiling up inside her guts threatened to make her puke. She could feel the bile trying to get into her mouth, and the tears threatening her were owed as much to the panic she felt as the long-buried memories this man incited. This could not be happening. Luck was a bitch named Darren Cory with his dark, neatly trimmed hair and his equally dark eyes that said he hated her guts even though his words had been few.

“I didn’t realize you worked in the ER.” She could barely hear her own voice.

“Why would you? You’ve been gone for how long now?”

“Almost six years, but I’ve been back—”

“That was rhetorical. You can’t possibly think I care.”

She said nothing as he watched her. Of course she didn’t think he cared, but he had once.

He held his dark, harsh glare on her for an uncomfortable length of time. She was nearly ready to flee until the door was suddenly pushed open, and sweet Nurse Marie peaked in, “Doctor Cory, Doctor Sheehan says he’s caught up now. If you need him to take over here so you can leave for the evening, he can.” She waited patiently as Darren said nothing.

He looked back to Bailey for a moment, but she couldn’t seem to lift her gaze up from his chest. She didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was still glaring. When he turned back to Marie, his voice was far lighter than it had been when he’d spoken to Bailey, but then, he likely didn’t find Marie reprehensible. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I think I’ll enjoy torturing Ms. Trent.”

Marie’s sudden easy laughter said Darren was selling his comment as nothing more than a good-natured joke, and he was selling it well, but while Bailey couldn’t see his face, she was certainly not buying his brand of humor. This man would absolutely enjoy her pain. But did she blame him? Of course she didn’t.

Marie’s attention moved to Bailey, and she offered her a sweet, encouraging smile once again. “Bailey, you’re in good hands. Doctor Cory, I’ll get a suture tray set up for you.” And then she was gone, and Bailey’s gaze chased after her as though she wasn’t ready to be alone with him again. But she was gone, and Bailey was alone with him.

He turned around toward her again in an agonizingly slow rotation. Whatever calm and relaxed expression he may have given to Marie, it was lost by the time he was facing Bailey again, and in her nervousness, her gaze found his chest. He moved to the sink, washing his hands as she took in the sight of him. It was the only way she could possibly be comfortable studying him so closely, and she took advantage of it.

He was as perfectly put together as he’d always been, and she wasn’t sure she could say he’d aged a day since she’d last seen him. That was not to say he’d not changed. He was almost unrecognizable from the man she’d known so many years ago in his approach to her, but then, there was little question whose fault that was. She couldn’t imagine the man standing in the room now ever smiling at her, but she didn’t need to see that smile to know it was straight, white, and could make the coldest of her sex melt like an ice cube under a blowtorch. She’d been on the receiving end of that smile plenty, but that was a different lifetime.

He snapped his gloves on as he turned toward her, and he sauntered across the room casually before taking his place on the stool facing her. His expression remained coldly impassive, and she started trembling as he reached for her hand. He was entirely too close for comfort.

This was her hell. Being trapped in a room with a reminder of who she used to be, a reminder of everything she lost, a reminder of everything she’d destroyed. She’d been back in Savoy for nearly two months, and this was hands down the biggest challenge she’d thus far encountered. It couldn’t get much worse than this. She’d dreaded such a meeting, and as her past swam closer to the forefront of her mind than she’d allowed it to get for a long time, the trembles intensified, her breath became panicked, and she had to fight hard against the tears that were stabbing the backs of her eyes. She could not cry in front of this man. Not because he didn’t deserve her tears, but because this version of the Darren she’d known for more years than she could recall wouldn’t let her off so easy with that emotion.

She bit her tongue as he took her hand, still wrapped tightly in bandages. She flinched and pulled away from his touch as though she expected him to hurt her. Hadn’t he already said he wanted to? His eyes followed her withdrawn hand calmly, and then they shifted up to hold her gaze easily, though his head remained motionless. She couldn’t fathom how he could act so easy around her. She could barely breathe around him.

He waited, he watched, and he remained still as a statue until she eventually stretched her hand back out to him. He slowly unwrapped the bandages. He was silent, and she kept her tongue clamped between her teeth to still her nerves. It wasn’t really effective, and as she watched his hands work to unpeel the layers of bandaging, she could easily see the tremble in her own hand. She had no doubt he could see the shaking, and even if he couldn’t see it, he could certainly feel it as his left hand held hers while his right hand worked.

When her hand was again exposed, she saw that the bleeding had nearly stopped, but her skin was tinged pink. He palpated her thumb joint as she winced. The movement opened the laceration, and the cool air hitting the fresh open flesh left her hissing in pain. He stilled, but when he glanced at her eyes, he started flexing and extending her thumb joint again, disregarding her pain completely. He pressed on the tissue around the laceration, and then he asked her to go through a number of range-of-motion tests. Every last move she made hurt like hell, and not a single reaction he gave her suggested he cared at all, but regardless of the lack of reaction he was giving her, he was apparently satisfied that her hand wasn’t going to fall off.

When Marie reentered with a tray of horrifying instruments and a curved needle, Bailey’s trembling turned violent. “She’s going to need a tetanus booster, Doctor. I can take care of it when you’re finished.”

“It’s okay. I’ll administer it.” Marie stalled for a moment as her eyes flashed to him, but he met her gaze calmly, and she let go of her initial surprise quickly before excusing herself.

Darren went back to ignoring her while he worked. He washed the gash, patted it dry, and picked up a syringe on the tray. There were two on the tray, and she didn’t like the look of either. “Lidocaine.” He said the word and nothing else, and then he stabbed her hand shallowly and plunged the syringe partially. Bailey yelped and cried out as the pain of the injection burned through her skin. “It’s going to burn like hell too. Suppose I should have mentioned.” There was a cruel smirk on his lips, and Bailey could only whimper in response as he withdrew the syringe and stuck her on the other side of the laceration. She so desperately did not want to give him the reaction he was waiting for. There was no doubt in her mind he wanted her in tears in front of him.

The next time he withdrew the syringe and pricked her skin again, she grunted with her lips closed to stifle the reaction. He was right; Lidocaine burned like hell going in. She’d had stitches before, and she knew full well the pain was inevitable. It was his approach to her that was entirely intentional. He was enjoying the fact he was hurting her, inevitable or not, and she was going to tolerate it. However much he might deserve this small measure of retribution, she wasn’t going to fall apart. Her guilt didn’t mean she wanted to show him any weakness.

“Ah!” she cried out. “Fuck.” The next shallow stab seared her again, but she could feel the blessed numbness starting to take over the side of her hand, and when he pulled the syringe from her again, moved down the line of her laceration a bit farther, and stuck the needle in once more, the pain was finally faded and distant.

She released a deep sigh as she started to calm. Relaxing was impossible with this man sitting close to her with his knee between her legs. His cheek was near to hers too, but far enough away that she could easily see his focus shift to her eyes every time he stuck the needle in her skin. He was waiting for her reaction, wanting to see her pain. She couldn’t blame him for that, but it didn’t mean she appreciated the emotional torture. But it was a lost cause. She could barely feel the side of her hand now, and once he set the syringe down, he picked up the tweezers and started prodding the skin around the cut.

“Any pain?” He couldn’t possibly care, but she shook her head as she met his gaze quickly. She was bleeding again, though the steady seeping had slowed significantly, and once he’d swabbed the area, he picked up the hemostat, used it to grip the arched needle on the tray, and used the tweezers to lift a flap of skin before stabbing it through with the needle and connecting it with the opposite flap of skin with the dark thread.

She stared at his latex-covered hands as he worked. His hands were as masculine as any, long-fingered and incredibly graceful as they moved quickly, pulling, knotting, and tightening the sutures. It was a well-rehearsed talent, and she almost thought he could do it with his eyes closed. For the first time since finding himself face-to-face with her after five years, his focus seemed aimed at something other than her. Or rather, his focus was on her hand and not on the part of her that left her most vulnerable around him.

She listened to his quiet breathing, and she could almost remember the young man she knew so long ago. Darren was three years older than she, he was handsome—incredibly handsome, and he was smart . . . obviously. But he was good and decent in a way people sometimes questioned even existed in the world anymore. Odd that Bailey could still regard him in such a way, but she knew him—really knew him, the him inside the him, not the man who sat beside her, struggling to stifle his hatred and loathing of her.

“I’m sorry.” She’d actually been thinking the words, not necessarily intending to say them, but she listened to her voice whisper out the apology—so pointless now. He froze with the curved needle embedded through both sides of her flesh, and she watched as a pronounced tremble ran through his hands as the rest of his body stayed unmoving.

“Shut up.” His voice was as quiet as hers, and his steely, cool demeanor was lost for a moment. She glanced to his eyes, and they were already on her, glaring. But that control was lost, and his lips trembled for a moment just as much as his hands had before his jaw clenched tight. “I hate you. Do you understand me? Your apology means shit to me.”

Bailey’s own shaking became violent as his words bit into her heart. It was nothing she didn’t already expect—hell, know—but the words were as painful as his needle stabbing her skin. He returned to his task, but he abandoned it quickly with an annoyed huff. “I suggest you hold still. I’d hate to stab you with this needle somewhere the Lidocaine doesn’t reach.” His glare that she only barely managed to hold for half a second said he was lying. He’d love nothing more than to stab her. A needle, a knife. She could go on, and none of it was pretty.

How she managed to hold still long enough for him to finish was a minor miracle. She held her breath the better portion of the time as her eyes watered. She was damn lucky she hadn’t passed out altogether, but she managed it, letting go of a deep breath as he tied the last knot and clipped the thread. He re-wrapped her hand with new bandages, and he wasted no time snatching up the other syringe, pushing the sleeve of her grungy T-shirt up, swabbing her arm, and sticking her with yet another needle. He watched her face again as he slowly pushed the plunger of the syringe.

After he put the Band-Aid over the injection site, he froze, and his hands dropped to his lap. She could see him staring at the side of her face, but she didn’t have the nerve to look at him. He stayed staring at her, and Bailey started trembling again. The tears she’d been fighting started pricking her eyes again, and she fought with every ounce of herself to keep them hidden from him, but it was no use. When he exhaled a deep breath, he opened his mouth, and her tears fell as she listened to him speak. “I never wanted to hate you. Not ever. You did this.”

Bailey didn’t bother apologizing; she didn’t bother trying to say anything at all. It was impossible with her tears streaming, and the breath she held captive in her chest was the only thing keeping her silent tears from turning to sobs of anguish. She would let him stick her with a thousand needles dipped in alcohol before she allowed herself to feel the pain of his words again.

Nurse Marie pushed the door open at just that moment, took one look at Bailey before her eyes flashed to Darren’s slumped figure sitting in the chair in front of her, and Bailey bolted. She snatched up her bag, grabbed her old hoodie that she’d abandoned on the exam table, and she pushed past Marie on her way out the door. Bailey ignored Marie’s concerned voice trailing after her, and she kept her head down until she’d reached the lobby of the hospital. She used the pay phone to call her mother, and she nearly hung up on her after she told her she was ready to be picked up. Bailey found a tree to stand under in the parking lot, and she waited. It wasn’t near the pick-up zone, but Bailey didn’t want to be any closer to the hospital than absolutely necessary.

This was the hell Bailey had been dreading, the hell she deserved. She was in it, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back out of it. Could she live like this for the rest of her life? Taunted and haunted, always running into her ghosts? She wanted to run away, but she couldn’t. Her mother needed her here, and there was just nowhere for her to go. She was trapped in this place, doomed to suffer for her sins.

Chapter Two

Six Years Before

“Your turn, Bailey.” The look in Darren’s eyes was taunting, challenging. Bailey was very used to that look, though it had admittedly changed to something a bit different than it was when she was a child. He was flirting. He couldn’t possibly be flirting. There was no reason. His girlfriend-of-the-moment was sitting right beside him, and she was that knock-out type that left little room in the world for the likes of Bailey. Not that Bailey was ugly. She wasn’t, and she wasn’t so filled with self-loathing to try to convince herself otherwise, but she was only twenty-one, and this girl, Trinity if she’d remembered correctly, was older than that. Hell, Darren was twenty-four, and Bailey felt little more than a child compared to them.

“Stop stalling, Bay.” Jess beside her nudged her in the side. She wasn’t stalling, she was aiming. This was a serious, albeit slightly inebriated, game of quarters, for crap’s sake, and Bailey intended to win. That was actually not likely at all, but she was making a show of it anyway.

The shot glass was a good two feet in front of her on the granite countertop of the large kitchen island they were sitting around. It was a beach home in Galveston. They’d rented the stilted home for spring break, and they’d somehow made it half a week without completely trashing it. Of course, the group of fifteen or so other college kids in the living room was threatening that at the moment. How the four of them had managed to bail on their own party was a mystery. They’d just found their way into the kitchen, abandoning the group in the other room. A few they knew from school, and they’d rented a place a few houses down. Others they literally had no idea where they’d even come from. They could apparently smell a party from a mile away and come running, but their small group of four wasn’t concerned with anything but their game of quarters. It was Olympic level at this point after all.

Bailey aimed, she held her quarter between the pad of her thumb and her middle finger, and just as she dropped her hand to bounce the quarter toward the shot glass, she caught Darren winking at her. The quarter was sent bouncing from the island over to the kitchen counter and into the sink. Shit. That wasn’t going to win her any medals.

“Asshole,” she muttered to Darren as he started chuckling.

“Drink.” He was pinning her to her place, waiting with that taunting look in his eyes that he was just far too good at giving her. She poured a small shot, likely only a third of a shot, of whiskey. She threw it back with a grimace. Her shots were getting smaller and smaller with every loss.

“Who’s up next?” Jess slurred the question. She was fading fast, and she was starting to sway in her chair on the side of the island.

“My turn, sis.” Darren stood and rounded to the end of the island where Bailey still stood. His hand found her lower back, waiting for her to step back over to the side by Jess, and Bailey nudged him with an elbow in his gut. He laughed as she stumbled her way to the sink to collect her quarter.

“Does anyone think we should kick that room of party crashers out before they tear this place apart?” Darren spoke as he started lining himself up with the shot glass.

Bailey turned toward him as she fished her quarter from the garbage disposal. “Yes. I don’t really wanna pay extra just to have this place cleaned.” Jess was too busy staring into her shot glass, and Trinity was too busy checking her makeup in a compact to care about what they were talking about.

She watched as Darren set his quarter down on the countertop and walked to the doorway that separated them from the living room, which they’d kept closed to shut out the commotion and the loud sound from the stereo. He opened the door and stepped through.

“Get out! Everyone out! Cops are at the front door!” he hollered to the room, and as his complete lie sank in, the group of party crashers could be heard hustling, panicking, and running out the sliding door to the large deck that spanned the beach side of the house. They scurried down the steps as Bailey laughed, and when Darren finally walked back in, he was chuckling. He took a quick bow as Bailey applauded. Jess pulled her head up from her somewhat drunken stupor and mumbled something incoherent. She was almost down for the count. “I think it’s time for you to hit the sack, little sis.” Darren walked to Jess, helped her up, and supported her weight as he led her upstairs, tossing over his shoulder. “I’ll be back to kick your ass in a minute.”

Trinity wasted no time abandoning Bailey and the disastrously messy kitchen, and Bailey started collecting shot glasses and bottles of liquor. When Darren walked in on her as she was standing at the sink rinsing glasses, he walked up behind her, snatched three shot glasses from the counter that she’d just rinsed, and grabbed her hand, pulling her back to the island. “We’re not done.” She smiled. She couldn’t help it. He might not be her boyfriend, but he was damn good at making her wish he was.

He was wearing his worn and faded University of Arkansas T-shirt, and she trilled with warmth as he filled their glasses, placed the empty one between them, and took the abandoned quarter from the island countertop. He was across from her with the corner of his lips pulled up seductively. “What do you think of Trinity?” He watched her carefully.

“You can’t really want me to answer that.”

“Sure I can.”

“How long have you been dating?” She wasn’t ready to give him an answer.

He smiled. “Nice avoidance. Month and a half maybe. Now answer my question.”

“Fine. Vapid. Beautiful. Very beautiful . . . Vain.”

“Fun-with-words. I like this game. So what words would you ascribe to me?”

“I don’t like this game.”

“Really, Ms. English major? I know you do.” He was taunting again. “I make this one, you play the game.” He held his quarter up again, but he refused to look away from her.

He’d been kicking her ass all night. Did she really want to do this? Hell no. Was she going to? Of course. “Fine.”

Ping.

She knew that was going to happen. “So?”

“Umm . . . nice?” He smirked. She was holding out, and he knew it.

“Come on. You can do better than that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine . . . Moral, decent, honest, kind, caring, toying, playful, laid back, smart.” Brilliant was likely closer to the truth. “Handsome.” Stunningly handsome in fact, but there was no way she was going to admit that. “Very handsome.” It came out whisper quiet. He watched her impassively, but the deep and steady rise and fall of his chest said something else. She wasn’t sure what, but there was more to his calm reaction than he was showing her. “Your turn.” She still couldn’t seem to get her voice to rise higher than a whisper.

He finally broke his expressionless stare and smiled gently at her. “Perhaps another night. I might get myself in trouble tonight with this game.” He winked as he snatched the quarter from the glass between them. “Drink.” Now he was whispering.

She wasn’t sure what to make of his words. Was he afraid he’d hurt her feelings by describing her? Or was it something else entirely? She wanted to think it was something else entirely, and there were times . . .

As she took the quarter from his outstretched hand, she tried to let go of her curiosity. If she pushed it, he wouldn’t give in. She knew him well enough after years of being his sister’s friend to know that much.

“How’s your junior year been?”

She looked up from her aim to see him studying her.

“Boring, pointless, easy . . . penniless?” She rolled her eyes with that one. It was a bit of a stretch, and he started chuckling. She obviously wasn’t done with the game. “And you? Second year of medical school?”

“Hmm . . . Hard, busy, interesting, long, exhausting . . . terrifying.” His gaze dropped from hers momentarily with his last word, but when he looked back up to her, he was smiling again.

“When do you start killing people?” She gave her best smirk, and he laughed.

“Next year. I’ll spend my last two years in the hospital for the most part and then a few years of residency after that. Hopefully not killing people, but we’ll see.”

She took her aim again, bounced, overshot the shot glass, and his hand snatched the quarter midair. “Drink . . . twice.”

“Twice?” Her voice was incredulous.

“Uh . . . yeah. One for missing and one for my catch.”

Bailey downed her shot glass and then shook her head. “I have to go to bed. Too much for me.”

“Chicken.”

“Yep.”

They stood at the same time, abandoning the last three glasses between them. They were both swaying slightly as they walked upstairs together.

“Good night.” His voice was quiet as he stopped at her bedroom door with her.

“Good night.” She slipped through the door, sighing as it closed behind her. He always left her body flushed and shivering in his wake, and warmth was pulsing through her groin—also very normal around him.

Bailey pulled the large slider open that led to the second-floor balcony that ran along the beach side of the house just as the first-floor balcony did. It allowed a person to walk between the three beach-facing bedrooms on the floor. She might be drunk, but she wasn’t ready to sleep, and as she walked out onto the deck, she stared out to the bright moon over the ocean. It was beautiful here. She could live in such a place. Maybe someday. She was only a junior after all, just as Jess was at the University of Arkansas. Darren was enrolled there as well, but he was far beyond them—medical school after all.

She stood staring endlessly with her palms rested on the railing, and it wasn’t long before she heard noises. These noises were arousing, masculine, and there was no question what they were. Occasionally she’d hear a female moan, and it stabbed her dignity every time. The sound was wet, laving, and sloppy, and she knew without seeing that his dick was in the pretty girl’s mouth. She might not need to see it, but she wanted to, and at the same time, she didn’t. It hurt to consider what that woman had and she didn’t.

Were she sober, she’d never have the nerve to look, but drunk, and her feet just seemed to tiptoe on their own. The curtains were billowing out through the open slider of his room. There was a sheer layer inside the heavier curtain, and she walked slowly to the gauzy fabric, stilling it with her fingers, and slowly, as though she knew what she was doing was wrong but she was powerless to stop it, she lifted her eyes to look.

The shudder that ran through her body made her knees feel as though they were collapsing beneath her, but she was frozen in place. He was sitting on the side of his bed, facing the slider, and his head was dropped back. Trinity was between his parted knees, and she was sucking on him. Every time she released him from her mouth, Bailey was given the most perfect view of his hard, rigid length. He was large, incredible, and aroused was an understatement.

Trinity’s lips parted over the head of his cock again and pushed down, and Darren’s groan was loud and unrestrained as he dropped his head down. His eyes stalled, staring out the slider and leaving Bailey certain he’d seen her, but then they dropped to Trinity as his fingers pulled her hair back to watch what she was doing. “Fuck.” He moaned the word, and Bailey held her breath. She knew what she was doing was wrong—even drunk, she wasn’t fooling herself, but she was powerless to look away. It was painful to see, but it was also so fucking arousing she was practically dripping.

Bailey ran her hand up under the bottom of her shirt, pushing under the waist of her short cotton shorts, and then past the waist of her underwear and down to her hot, wet center. Her finger slipped between her lips, and she had to bite her tongue to stifle her own groan. She watched Darren get his dick sucked by his beautiful, vapid girlfriend, and Bailey did the only thing she could. She stroked her peaked and aroused nub, letting her mind see herself touching, sucking, and pleasuring him.

When he suddenly stopped Trinity, Bailey gasped and his eyes flashed toward the slider for a moment before returning to Trinity between his legs. “Hands and knees.” He didn’t need to say anything else. It was like a well-rehearsed dance between them. She crawled onto the bed as he circled to the far side and climbed up behind her, but she didn’t bend over. Instead, Bailey watched as his fingers trailed slowly down over her perfectly flat stomach to slide between the lips of her shaved sex. Bailey’s own finger was in exactly the same position, toying with herself as she watched. Trinity moaned, she cussed, and she cried out his name, but his eyes remained oddly emotionless as they gazed out the slider toward the ocean. They weren’t near Bailey’s own hiding place at the edge of the slider, but she had no problem seeing the lifelessness in them. It was odd after such a charged and personal conversation between them in the kitchen.

“Please.” Trinity started begging, and it was only after many long seconds that he finally seemed to come around. He grabbed a condom off the nightstand, tearing the packet quickly. His hands moved between them, and moments later, he pushed her chest down to the bed, running his hand over the turgid length of his arousal. Her head and long, blonde hair hung over the side of the bed, and as Bailey watched, his tongue passed over his lower lip, and her finger pressed harder against her own desire.

He thrust hard with a grunt, his fingers gripped tightly into her hips, and when he started pounding into her body, Bailey’s fingers moved, circled, and enticed her own need until she was panting silently. She watched as he plunged and pulled from her body. He remained upright, his strong, contoured stomach muscles rippling as his body moved and plowed harshly into Trinity. She was jolted forward with every thrust, but she was moaning, whining in that perfectly seductive way. The ceaseless rhythm went on as Bailey neared her release, and in just the same moment he let out a loud and ferocious “Fuck!” followed by a moan, her own release hit like an explosion that didn’t only leave her legs shaking but left her crumpling to the deck, smacking her knees hard on the wood surface below her. Her hand still gripped her own sex harshly as the last of her unrequited need passed.

“What was that?” Trinity’s voice trailed out to Bailey in a shocked whisper. Bailey held her breath—afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Can you run to the kitchen and get a glass of water?”

There was silence for a moment until Trinity agreed, and as Bailey listened, she heard the bedroom door open and close. She climbed up from her crumpled place on the deck floor and darted toward her own room, but not fast enough, and as a hand gripped tight on her shoulder moments before she’d have passed within the safety of her own room, she froze.

“Enjoy yourself, Bailey?” Fuck.

She stayed silent, huffing deep breaths of terrified air as his fingers gently gripped her shoulder. One finger slowly caressed along her collar bone before she felt his body close in behind her. When his forehead dropped to meet the back of her head, it was a deep sigh that she felt on the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, but it didn’t help steady her voice, and it lurched in her nervousness.

He said nothing for many long moments. He held his grip on her shoulder, and she stayed trembling in place. When she heard his bedroom door open again, he released his hold on her shoulder. He took a deep and steadying breath, and Bailey listened as his footfalls retreated from her. The speed with which she threw herself into bed, pulled her blankets up over her head, and closed her eyes tight was staggering. Her breath continued to lurch as she inhaled and exhaled through her absolute humiliation and horror, and eventually, the catastrophe turned into troubled dreams that took her away to the land of hellish embarrassment and unimaginable shame.

Chapter Three

Now

“Dr. Cory? Macy is ready if you want to come on back.” He stood, dropped the Dog Fancy Magazine he’d been flipping through, and walked toward the scrub-clad young woman standing in the exam room doorway. Damned dog decided it would be a great day to eat an entire bag of Hershey’s Chocolate Kisses he’d stashed in the pantry. Macy was a ridiculously stupid labradoodle with curly blond hair and a tongue that was nearly always hanging out the side of her mouth.

When he followed scrub gal into the room, she closed the door behind them, turned, and smiled. “Doctor Gregson will be in in a moment.” She excused herself out the opposite door in the room, and he settled into wait some more.

No more Dog Fancy Magazines. Hell, he couldn’t even find a Cat Fancy, but fortunately he didn’t have to wait long. A taller woman with a blonde bob-style haircut walked in. She was cute, and she instantly flashed him a million-dollar smile when her gaze took him in. Actually, her eyes were roving quickly over every inch of him. She was good at being subtle as she checked him out, but not good enough to hide it from him. He didn’t mind, and frankly, he was quite used to it.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Veronica Gregson. You must be Dr. Cory?”

“Yes. Call me Darren.” It was common courtesy with other doctors, regardless of how many legs their patients walked on. He was well aware doctors of the animal type had to earn their knowledge in just as arduous a fashion as he had, and their pay-off was far less than his would ever be.

“It’s good to meet you, and please, call me Veronica.” She reached her hand out to him, and he smirked as he shook her hand. It was seductive, and she responded with a blush to her cheeks. “So, Macy is going to be just fine. We induced vomiting with Apomorphine right after you dropped her off this morning, we gave her activated charcoal, and then we monitored her all day. She was quite the mess after vomiting dark chocolate—that’s what you get for having such a blonde dog.” She was twirling one of her own blonde locks between her fingers as she spoke—no doubt still flirting. “So, I had a kennel helper give her a bath, and she’s just clipping her nails right now.”

“Great. Anything I need to watch out for tonight when I get her home?”

“Not really. We’ve had a close eye on her all day, and she’s not showing any signs of theobromine poisoning, so I really don’t expect you’ll have any problems, but signs to look for would include hyperactivity, muscle twitching, and increased urination. We’d want to see her back if you start noticing any of those symptoms.” Darren nodded his head as he held the good doctor’s gaze. She bit down on her lower lip, her own seduction, and after studying him for a moment, she opened her mouth, closed it, chuckled quietly as her eyes flit away, and then zoned back in on him again. “I hope I’m not sounding too forward, but you don’t have a wedding band on, and I was just wondering if you’re seeing anyone.”

He smiled, and he shook his head slowly. He was toying with the anxious woman now. He had no idea the vet clinic could be so much fun, and as her cheeks turned rosy again, he chuckled.

“Maybe you’d like to go out sometime. Savoy might not be the most exciting place on the planet, but I’m sure we could have fun.” Seductive again. She was good at seductive. When the door opened moments later, he’d still not given her a response.

“Doctor, Macy’s ready.” His eyes flashed to the door that was opening behind the pretty doctor at the sound of that voice. That voice was not a voice he was capable of forgetting. She stepped through the door holding Macy’s leash in her hand, but the moment her gaze lifted to his, her eyes bulged, dropped to his feet, and then she took an inadvertent step back as though she were ready to run. She paused in the doorway. She must have known running wasn’t an option, even if it might be her gut reaction. Her brow flinched harshly, and she refused to look at him.

Darren’s own expression must have been harsh, given the shocked and concerned look on Veronica’s face. “Um . . . Bethany . . . or . . . I’m sorry. I just don’t recall your name. Uh . . . can you give Dr. Cory his dog, please?” Veronica sounded annoyed as she snapped at Bailey.

“Her name is Bailey.” He offered her name before he could help himself. He almost sounded as though he was defending her, but that was impossible. She didn’t deserve his defense. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t suddenly glaring at Veronica. Bailey walked toward him hesitantly. Her hand was still bandaged but not wrapped. It had only been two days since he’d been forced to endure her again, and he’d not stopped thinking about her the entire time.

She offered him Macy’s leash as his dumbfounded dog stood between them, drooling like an idiot. He reached out, taking the leash from her fingers. His own fingers brushed over hers gently, and she gasped. He just watched her, unable to figure out how the hell to react. He felt a bit crazy when he was around her, and he’d not shaken the crazy since seeing her two nights before.

“Do you two know one another?”

“Yes.” Their voices echoed one another, but neither offered more information than that.

As he continued to watch her, her eyes moved to and then from him over and over. She was so exceptionally nervous around him. Of course she would be, and in one moment, the sight of her brought him pain, and then it brought anger and utter sadness. She was an emotional roller coaster to him, and in a flash of anger, he turned his eyes to Veronica. “Didn’t know you hired felons.”

Bailey gasped as Veronica’s eyes widened, and he watched as Bailey shook her head before walking out the door behind her. Darren followed suit and left through the opposite door, leaving Veronica staring after him. He paid quickly, but not quick enough.

“So, felon, huh?” It was Veronica.

He just stared at her, saying nothing. The flirtation was gone—dead and gone.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier. About going out sometime?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m really busy at the hospital right now.” He turned and walked away, and Veronica again stared after him, stunned.

Macy was sitting beside him in his Infiniti SUV. Thank God for leather; she was so damn excited, her drool was practically a steady stream onto the seat beneath her. But Darren wasn’t thinking much about his faithful, albeit brain-dead companion; he was thinking about her. Veronica . . . or was it Bailey? He’d been prepared to accept her proposal, but then Bailey appeared . . . again. After six years, he’d managed to see her twice in less than three days. He was starting to feel haunted. He hated Bailey. Seeing her made him want to put his fist through a fucking wall, and yet, he’d rejected Veronica instead. Why? Not that he hadn’t taken his shot at Bailey too, but why did he suddenly find Veronica reprehensible?

Staying away from Bailey was the only way he was going to keep his sanity. At least now he knew he was going to have to find a new vet in order to make that happen. Fuck. It might be a relatively small town, but he wasn’t catching a break.

He pulled from the parking lot with Macy slobbering out the passenger window, and as he started driving toward his home, his mind wandered. She looked the same. Her skin was just as smooth as it had always been. She’d never worn much makeup, never really needed it to be cute. He remembered seeing Jess and Bailey dressed for prom one year, waiting for their dates to arrive. He’d been blown away by how much different she’d looked with actual makeup on. She was stunning, but he’d never gotten used to it. He’d always liked her fresh-skinned with nothing more than glossy lips and her bright, round eyes.

She used to wear her long chestnut hair straight as a board and all one length. It had shone and been as glossy as she always kept her lips. Her hair was still long, but she had layers that made it look full and wavy, and it still shone like silk as it cascaded down. She still looked young and innocent, and it was confusing. He wanted to hate her—he did hate her, and yet . . . she looked so damn much like the girl he’d grown up with—that sweet, smart, somewhat shy girl he used to think about far more than he had any business thinking about.

He nearly missed his turnoff and had to slam on his brakes, pinning Macy to the passenger seat with his forearm to keep the girl from flying forward. His home was buried in the Ozark woods on the hills that overlooked Lake Savoy below. He built his home a year before when he decided he was going to stay in Savoy. He didn’t have to, of course, and once his residency was finished in Little Rock, he’d considered moving on, but leaving his family behind wasn’t something he wanted to do anymore. There had been a time when he’d wanted to end up somewhere, anywhere, far from Arkansas, but he was a country boy at heart—Ozark country if nothing else, and he needed to be home now.

The home was built within the tall, towering pines, and the only trees he’d excavated were those that were simply in the way of his large, rustic home and those that directly obscured his view of the lake below from his large deck. He loved his home. It made coming back to this place tolerable. It was his sanctuary—all his. He rarely had company, his family and the occasional date. He dated plenty, but he avoided letting most women come home with him—preferring to fuck them on their own ground than his. He just didn’t want to share this place. He wasn’t ready to share any real part of himself yet.

He let Macy run while he collected wood for the outside chimney on his deck, and he stacked the wood on the already plenty high woodpile. When he hiked down to the lake with Macy in tow, he walked carefully. He wasn’t interested in falling victim to a copperhead bite, and he sure as hell didn’t want to pay any more vet bills when his dumbass dog got herself bitten. He loved the dog. He also really enjoyed her utter stupidity.

He’d taken Macy to a dog park once a few months ago. He’d expected his dog to make easy friends with pretty much every other animal there, and she had. She didn’t have an aggressive bone in her body. What he hadn’t expected was the overwhelming need most dog owners had to tout just how brilliant and well-trained their furry companions were. Darren wasn’t kidding himself. His dog was dumb—even by dog standards, but when he’d made the mistake of actually acknowledging such a thing, the lovely young woman he was talking to actually bent down to cover Macy’s ears as though he’d just said the most cruel thing in the world. “No” was the only cruel word his dog understood, and he spent the next five minutes trying hard to stifle his laughter as the pretty woman driveled on about her genius-level poodle. He walked away with her number and conveniently lost it in the parking lot. He knew his Macy was dumber than a box of rocks, but you’d hear no complaints from him. She was also likely the nicest dog you’d ever meet. Nothin’ much to complain about.

The water was smooth as glass, and he spent five minutes skipping stones across the flat surface, destroying that glassy surface and sending ripples out in every direction every time he cocked his arm back and slung. He found a large rock, brushed it clean, and sat with his feet up on a smaller rock closer to the water’s edge. He kept his eyes moving over the surface of the rocks—there were more than just copperheads to worry about, and he was no more excited to be bitten by a fiddleback than a snake.

Macy plodded through the water at the shallow rocky shoreline, getting wet up to her shoulders. She was destroying the bath she'd gotten earlier in the day with lake water. Cleanest, clearest lake water around, but lake water nevertheless. She’d bathed his dog. She’d clipped his dog’s nails even. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d known whose dog it was she was wrestling in a tub—he’d bathed the animal before. It couldn’t have been an easy chore. What difference did it matter if she’d known it was his dog or not? Did he think she’d be cruel to his dog on his account? Of course not. Hatred was a one-way street with them, and it flowed directly from him to her.

“Mace!” She was trampling through some downed limbs that hung out into the water. Good place for copperheads and fiddlebacks. His dog was going to live a short life in this place. He smiled at Macy as she hopped around barking.

It was spring, and the weather was comfortable. The redbuds were in full bloom, speckling the forest with their pink flowers. It was a beautiful time of year, and his gaze fell on the opposite shoreline of his little cove, taking in the multitude of colors, but even that didn’t keep his mind from disappearing for a while.

He’d been oddly relieved to see her again. It was a confusing combination of feelings, much like it had been the other night in the hospital. In the hospital, he’d enjoyed knowing she was nervous; he’d enjoyed knowing she was in pain. There was no sugarcoating it. If it made him an asshole, a monster, a lousy fucking doctor, fine. He’d had plenty of his own pain, and he didn’t much care if she endured a bit of it. What he found most perplexing wasn’t that he wanted her hurting. That made sense. It was that he kept wanting to reassure her. He didn’t, wouldn’t give her that, but the irrational desire to ease her in some way kept cropping up constantly, and he didn’t understand it. How could he go from wanting to hurt her in one second to wanting to comfort her the next?

He gave up after a while trying to figure out what was wrong with his brain, and he hollered for Macy as he stood from the rocks and started the long hike back up the wooded hillside to his home. It was over a quarter mile of rugged and difficult terrain to his rocky backyard, and as Macy ran out in front of him, barking and bouncing like an idiot, he followed. Macy literally ran circles around him as he pushed himself up the steep incline in a near jog, and eventually, he saw his towering home.

He grabbed an armful of small branches and a few small logs and carried them up the deck stairs. He started a fire in the chimney on the back deck, grabbed a beer from his fridge, and flopped down on a lounge chair by the fire. The sky was fading to pink, and before long the pink had turned to purple and then finally to black. His next shift started early the next morning, and it was going to be an early-to-bed night for him. He just had to get his brain to stop spinning. It was her. She wound him up in a most inconvenient way. Always had to some extent. She’d always gotten to him—always—and while her effect on him was something completely different now, she was still so effectively pushing his buttons.

* * *

The next night he left the hospital exhausted after a busy fifteen-hour shift. It should have been twelve, but that was just the way it worked. He was also leaving in scrubs after his slacks and dress shirt were ruined by a gushing wound made by a rather large chunk of wood flying off a man’s table saw and into his gut. He spent more money on clothes than most teenage girls did.

He was fortunate to have a retired couple who lived a half mile down the winding gravel road that ended at his home who rescued Macy from monotony whenever he worked long shifts. They would walk over a few hours after his shift would start, let themselves in, and take Macy back to their place with them. They professed to be too old to have a pet of their own, and Darren was infinitely happy they enjoyed his so much. He’d swing by their house on his way home to collect his girl, and he’d offer them payment, which they’d politely refuse. It was their routine, and it worked.

He neared his SUV, stretching his neck as he walked, and that’s when he heard it. That voice he couldn’t seem to shake, couldn’t seem to let go of, couldn’t seem to just plain forget.

“How dare you!” He looked back to see her hopping off her shabby-looking fat tire bike and dumping it in a grassy area near his car. He took a steadying breath as his heart started racing. “I lost my fucking job because of you! Not to mention the visit from my parole officer.” He crossed his arms across his chest as she walked to him. She was wearing her own pair of scrub pants and a gray T-shirt. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and there wasn’t a stitch of makeup on her face. She looked furious. Of course she was furious; she’d apparently lost her job.

“Perhaps you should have been a bit more honest about your criminal record, Bailey. Not really my problem you hid your past from your employer.” He forced himself to turn from her and back to his car. He didn’t really want to. He wanted to square off with her for some strange reason, but he wasn’t willing to get into it in the hospital parking lot. What he was willing to do was mutter over his shoulder. “Nice bike, by the way.”

“You fucked me! Do you understand what you’ve done? This was all I had!”

He ignored her until he reached his driver’s-side door, but then he lost his composure and wheeled on her. “I’ve not ever fucked you, as you well know, but I sure as hell screwed you over pretty good. Seems fitting.”

“I lost my job because of you!”

“You can’t possibly think I care.” He was seething as he spoke the words, and her eyes had filled with tears.

“Yeah? Well, you used to,” she yelled at him. She stayed staring at him with her lips trembling as her tears started to fall, and with a final resigned shake of her head, she turned back to her bike and walked away.

He watched her small figure walk away from him, and he didn’t look away from her until she’d hopped on her bike and was pedaling away from him. He didn’t want her to catch him staring after her, so he forced himself to get in his car and drive away before she noticed.

That odd combination of hatred and hurt racked his brain on the way home, and once he was safely inside his own home, he flopped down on the couch and stared at his great room ceiling high above him. It was nearly thirty minutes before he realized he’d forgotten Macy, and he trudged back outside to jog the half-mile to the Anderson’s house. They were outside on their porch, and Macy was lying at their feet. She started barking the instant she saw Darren, and when Darren made it up to them, he apologized.

“I can’t believe I forgot her. My brain was just taking a break, I guess. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. If we were worried, we’d have called. You know we enjoy Macy’s company.” Katherine Anderson was a plump, older woman with the sweetest face he’d ever seen. She always smiled, and Darren no longer thought she owned a frown. He certainly did, and his stress was more often than not etched on his face—at least Katherine often told him so. She also didn’t know how to hold her tongue. “You look upset, Darren. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He sank to their porch steps as Macy wriggled up to him and tried to French kiss him before Darren could close his mouth. “Just a long day is all.” He could hear the drawl in his voice. It only ever really popped up when he was stressed. Another of Katherine’s very astute observations.

“How your folks doin’?”

She was studying him closely, looking for his deception. “They’re all right. Only see ’em once a week or so. Been so busy at the hospital.”

“Well, you make sure you get to see them soon, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Darren didn’t call anyone ma’am, but she seemed to bring it out in him with her strong southern accent. They’d retired up to the Ozarks from Louisiana. They liked seasons more than they liked hot, humid, year-round warmth. He stood and stepped down from the porch steps. “Y’all take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They watched as he retreated with Macy, and with a final wave, he rounded the bend at the end of their driveway. He jogged most of the way home, still wearing his scrubs but at least with a good pair of tennis shoes on at this point. He was sweating when he finally reached his house, and he stripped out of his clothes as he stepped into his walk-in master shower. He stood with the water only barely warm, showering down over him, and he closed his eyes, seeing her. When he opened his eyes, it was no better. He couldn’t shake the image of her standing furious in front of him, her tears streaming down her cheeks and her cutting words, hell, his own cruel rebuttal. He wasn’t ready to have her near him again. He just wasn’t ready for this.

Chapter Four

Six Years Before

“Hey, Jess, you seen Bailey?”

“Shut up! My head is throbbin’, and your voice is the most obnoxious thang in the world.” His sister was sitting slumped over the kitchen island, and even though she was being rude, he couldn’t stop the smile that pulled up his lips. She did look like hell after a night of losing literally every game of quarters they played, and frankly, she deserved her pain. “She left a note. She was takin’ a walk this mornin’, and I haven’t seen her yet today.” She looked to the wall clock. “Helluva long walk.”

Darren knew exactly what Bailey was doing. She was avoiding him. He’d been trying to find her since he’d woken up. She wasn’t in her bedroom, she wasn’t anywhere in the house, and after breakfast and waiting for Trinity to leave to go shopping for a while, he was done waiting for her to show back up on her own. He knew she was embarrassed. Hell, he knew it was completely his fault, but it didn’t mean he was interested in letting her ignore him. He’d been up for two hours now, and he was anxious. He was also nervous.

He made his way down to the cabana that belonged to their rental house. It was a platformed deck with a pergola-style roof structure, woven with heavy waterproof fabric. There was a wide lounger the size of a king-sized bed with an adjustable head. The mattress was white linen, and it was soft. The head of the bed was raised at the moment, and it obscured his view. He didn’t know if she was on the lounger or not, but he’d been waiting for two hours for her to return, and he was out of places to search.

He was wearing only a pair of jeans and flip-flops, and it wasn’t until he rounded the side of the lounger and saw her curled up looking out to the water that he realized perhaps he should have at least put a shirt on. Her eyes glancing to his stomach quickly before she could stop herself confirmed that fact. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen him without a shirt. Hell, they’d been on the beach in Galveston for nearly a week, of course she had. But she’d never seen him naked before, and he was guessing shirtless was just a reminder of what she’d witnessed last night.

“How long are you going to avoid me?”

Her forehead wrinkled as she looked to his eyes before glancing back down to his stomach. “Forever?”

He chuckled quietly. He wasn’t at all amused; he was more terrified of what had happened than that, and he was trying to loosen himself up as much as her. “Bailey, you have to talk to me.” He sank down on the oversized lounger facing her, forcing her to look at him. But she couldn’t. Her eyes moved off to the side of them and down the beach. “Please.” Her eyes teared, and she brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye. It was painful to see what he was responsible for doing to her.

She was wearing a black bikini top and a pair of short white shorts. He was having a hard enough time keeping his own eyes where they belonged, and as she glanced quickly to him and caught his eyes studying her small breasts, her stomach muscles clenched and her shoulders wriggled under his invasive stare. He forced his eyes back up to hers, and he caught the furious blush on her cheeks.

“It can’t be like this with us, Bailey.” He leaned forward, rolling over to lounge next to her, shoulder to shoulder. “Game.”

“Darren.” She was warning him, but he wasn’t about to listen.

“How do you feel? Tell me. Close your eyes if you have to, but don’t hide from me.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She did close her eyes. “Humiliated, embarrassed, mortified.”

“Come on, English major, you can do better than giving me three words that mean the same thing.” He turned to look at her, and she managed to open her eyes and give him a small smile.

Another deep breath later, and her eyes closed again before she took another stab at it. “Awkward, pathetic, stupid, immature, ashamed . . . and really, really embarrassed.” He reached for her hand, squeezing gently.

He opened his mouth, not bothering to close his eyes, and he watched her, waiting for her to look at him. “Guilty, frustrated.” She met his eyes as he spoke, and he forced himself to hold her eyes. “Cruel, inappropriate, indecent, so fucking sorry.” They stared at one another for a moment.

“I win. Eight to six. Thanks for playing.” Her voice was quiet as she spoke, but he saw the first glimpse of a smile—small, but a smile.

“Bullshit. Tie.”

“How do you figure?” Now she was perking up. She was competitive if nothing else.

“You only get credit once for embarrassed, humiliated, and mortified because they mean the same thing. Rules, dear Bailey, are not something I’m willing to set aside even for you.”

“Did you know I was watching?” Her eyes were suddenly off studying the water again, and Darren suddenly couldn’t breathe. He sat up, letting his own gaze move to the water. He was hoping something, anything, would save him from having to answer this question, and as Jess hollered out to him from farther up the beach, he let out a deep, steadying breath he hoped Bailey wouldn’t notice.

“Hey!” he hollered back to her, wasting no time calling her over rather than dealing with a question he wasn’t ready to answer. “What’s up, Jess? How’s the head?”

“Good, now that I’ve gotten half a bottle of Motrin in me.” Jess was smiling again, and she finally looked glad to be alive rather than wishing she were dead. Jess crawled onto the lounger on Bailey’s other side but propped her feet up on the raised head of the bed. She instantly turned to Bailey’s feet. “You need a pedicure; your feet look disgusting.” That was Jess. Outspoken even to her best friend. Of course nothing Jess said could ever offend Bailey.

“Yeah? Well, you need a face-a-cure.” Bailey smirked at Jess as she reached over and pinched her leg.

“What the hell are you two doin’ down here? Thought you were making out for a minute.” Darren was suddenly holding his breath again, but given the sudden tension in Bailey’s shoulders, she was too. “Sooo. . .” She got tired of waiting for a response that wasn’t going to be coming. “What are we doing tonight?”

“Seriously, Jess. ’Cause you didn’t have enough fun last night? Maybe you two should take it easy tonight.”

“I was thinking we could go out.” Jess was begging with her eyes, but they weren’t aimed at Darren. She didn’t give a shit if her older brother wanted to go out or not. Instead her eyes were pleading with Bailey. Bailey had that unsure, questioning look on her face, and he was siding with her at the moment.

“Come on. I didn’t even get to enjoy last night because you guys cheated at quarters and never let me win. It’s not my fault I got drunk and passed out.”

“I’m too old for this shit,” he muttered.

“And I was asking Bailey to go, not you. You can have a whole evening of nothing but you and your brain-dead girlfriend. Bailey and I are going out without you.”

“There isn’t a chance in hell you two are going out alone. No.” Bailey was sitting silently watching them.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to act younger than your age, go with us, and have a good time. Feel free to leave the brain-dead girlfriend here.” Jess stood and smirked at him, pulled the sarong from her waist, and started for the water. Bailey remained by his side for a moment, awkwardly fidgeting, before she finally stood and peeled her white shorts down her legs as he watched.

“You could come with us tonight. Might be fun.” He had no doubt it would be fun with Bailey there. He enjoyed spending time with her just a bit too much. Always had, even when they were kids. They’d always talked easily, laughed a lot, and been close. He used to think of her as an extra sister who he actually got along with, and then she became the cute teen he avoided because she was too young to have a crush on. Now she was just the pretty young woman who was still just a bit too young but who he very much had a crush on. He didn’t even bother trying to keep his interactions with her to a minimum because he just plain didn’t want to. And on spring break when Jess had begged him to go in with her and Bailey on a vacation house they couldn’t afford on their own, what was a big brother to do? He also didn’t much like the idea of Jess and Bailey being in Galveston alone. They might technically be adults, but it did not mean they acted like it. He wasn’t at all sure he did either, for that matter. He was certain of it, in fact, after the night before.

He watched her black bikini-clad ass walk down to the water’s edge. She stood with her legs shoulder-width apart, and he studied the perfect proportion of her legs. She had fit legs from years of running. They ran together at least a few times a week on campus, so he was very familiar with her build. Her bottom was as tight as her legs, and his groin was tightening with every passing second. He didn’t just like spending time with her too much; he just plain wanted her too much to. It was entirely physical; it was also entirely more than just that.

She glanced back once, catching him staring at her. From that distance she couldn’t possibly know he was staring at her ass, though he wasn’t sure it really mattered; he was just plain staring at something he had no business staring at. He climbed up from his spot, thanking God she was too far away to see his raging hard-on, and he headed back up to the house as she joined Jess in the water.

Trinity nearly caught him with his dick in his hand when he gave into the temptation of letting his mind wander away to Bailey for a while. And it wasn’t just Bailey. It was naked Bailey, aroused Bailey, willing and wanting Bailey. She’d watched him fuck his girlfriend for a reason last night, and while alcohol might have played a part on both of their accounts, there was more to it than that. She wanted to see him, she wanted to watch, and it was her want that was driving his arousal as he stood in the bathroom staring into the mirror as the shower heated up.

Trinity wrapping her hand around the length of his shaft from behind him was an unwelcome interruption. “Looks like someone’s been thinking about me.” Her hand was gliding up and down along his hard length, but he was struggling to deal with the feel of her hand on his skin.

“Sorry, Trinity. I can’t do this right now.” He peeled her hand away from him and brushed past her as he stepped into the shower.

He and Trinity weren’t going anywhere. He and pretty much every girl he tried to get involved with never seemed to go anywhere. He ended up bored more often than not, and he just wasn’t sure there was any point. He was going to spend the vast majority of his time, waking and otherwise, in the hospital starting the following year, and residency after that wouldn’t be much better. He wasn’t even sure why he asked women out anymore. It would likely be more respectful to just have random one-night stands. At least then he could avoid dumping them later on when he realized, yet again, he was just bored and unsatisfied. He was starting to think maybe he was an asshole.

He’d want to kill a man who did the same to Jess, though it was almost easier to think of her pulling that move on a guy rather than the other way around. He would most definitely kill a man for doing it to Bailey. Bailey wasn’t Jess. She was . . . well, he didn’t know what she was. But she wasn’t brazen and loud like Jess. She also wasn’t weak. They were as opposite as could be, but they were attached at the hip. Jess was jealously protective of Bailey, an inclination Darren understood well, and Bailey brought a sense of softness to Jess that she didn’t naturally have on her own.

All it took was a glare from Bailey to silence Jess when she was being loud and outlandish. Next came the, “Okay, okay, sorry” as Jess rolled her eyes, but it was the restraint that Bailey inspired in her best friend that was most amazing. She gave Jess maturity and thoughtfulness, and in return, Jess gave her undying devotion and support.

By the time Darren stepped back out from the shower, he’d still not stopped thinking about Bailey, analyzing her, obsessing about her. He’d simply spent entirely too much time with her this week. He ended up flopping down on his bed and falling asleep. He wasn’t that tired, a bit hung over perhaps, but the nap was more to stop his brain from thinking about a woman a bit too young for him, a bit too close to him, and just plain too fucking much for him. The fact was, he cared just a bit too much for her to subject her to his brand of relationship. He couldn’t hurt her.

He avoided her for the rest of the day by staying in his room, working on his laptop, and getting ahead on some reading for his ethics class. But come late evening, it was time. He dressed in jeans and a simple gray T-shirt, and he headed to the kitchen. Trinity came in a few minutes later, smelling of perfume, plastered perfectly with makeup, and her hair looking like something on a Barbie doll. She looked at him wearily. She obviously wasn’t thrilled about being rejected earlier in the day, but that was all lost on him when Jess and Bailey walked in together.

Jess was wearing a short, too short, jean skirt, skimpy summer tank top, and wedge sandals, and Bailey was wearing a white, strapless sundress. The skirt was flirty and the bodice fitted, leaving him studying the fabric to see if he could see her nipples beneath. Nothing but her small tits and the tight fit of the bodice were holding it up, and he was in hell knowing how much attention this was going to garner. The skirt hit a few inches above her knees, not nearly so short as Jess’ skirt, but plenty to leave little to the imagination, and while her sandals didn’t have quite the high wedge Jess’ sandals did, they were plenty tall to draw his eyes to her legs. These two were definitely going to be getting in some trouble tonight.

Bailey smiled at him, but it was a shy smile. “Well, this promises to be a great night,” he muttered as he snatched the keys up from the counter.

Chapter Five

Now

“Michelle, I’m just not up for it. I lost my job nearly two weeks ago. I’m broke, I’m going to be homeless soon if I don’t find a way to make money, and my parole officer, bless his heart for being the most patient and kind man in the world, is not happy with me for not disclosing my record to the clinic. It’s just lousy timing.” She’d been trying to get off the phone with Michelle for nearly five damn minutes, but her dear friend, who didn’t hate her guts like everyone else in town, just wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“That’s precisely why you need to come. It’s St. Paddy’s day, Bailey, and you need a night out. It’s my treat. And I’m pretty sure that means you can’t say no. Come on, please? Parade first and then drinks.”

“Drinks.” She was muttering. “Michelle, I just don’t know.” Bailey was starting to get exasperated. She didn’t want to go out and try to have a good time. It never worked. The good times were over, and regardless of how much she might try to recapture them, they were gone for good.

“You can sulk all night, and I won’t even complain. Just go. It’ll do ya some good. Promise.”

“Why do you still insist on being my friend?”

There was silence from the other end of the line. It was a stupid question to ask, but it popped out anyway. When the silence became overly long and awkward, Bailey cleared her throat and opened her mouth to say something. She wasn’t sure what to say, but she opened her mouth anyway, hoping the words would find her. There was nothing easy about the question she asked.

“I’d like to think you’d do the same for me.” The silence set in again, and Bailey’s mouth remained open, fighting to find the right words. “Listen, go with me. Have a good time. Be normal again. Just . . . just fake it till you make it and all that bullshit. Pretend to be happy until it feels right again. Smile, painful as it is, until the smile doesn’t hurt anymore. That’s all I’m asking.”

“That’s all?” Apparently her speechlessness couldn’t compete with her sarcasm.

“That’s all. Just try.”

“Fine. Fuck, I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this. Where, when, and how should I dress?”

The squeal from the other end left Bailey pulling the phone back from her ear. Michelle was nothing if not loud. They hung up moments later, and Bailey wandered around her house trying to figure out exactly how to go about pretending to be normal for a night.

Her small cottage in the woods was rented, and it was ridiculously tiny. Didn’t much matter because Bailey had little to nothing to her name, including appropriate clothes for a St. Patrick’s Day parade. She couldn’t even find anything green in her drawers to wear, and after forty-five minutes of literally trying on one outfit, wandering from her bedroom to the mirror on the bathroom door, stripping back out of the outfit and tossing it on the bed in a huff, and then trying on the next item she found in her closet, she collapsed on her bed and gave up.

She settled on a faded pair of jeans and a gray Notre Dame T-shirt she’d had since she was fifteen. It was tight as hell thanks to the fact she was no longer anywhere near fifteen, but she was guessing that actually made it more appropriate for a night out. What the hell did she know about the socially acceptable way for a twenty-seven-year-old to have fun?

Fun. Could she really do this? She wasn’t holding her breath, and as she stared at herself in the mirror after blow-drying her hair and applying a marginal amount of makeup, the pain hit. Amazing how used to pushing it away she’d gotten, but even more amazing was the way it snuck up and slapped her on the face at the most inopportune times. Her eyes teared for a moment, and she cursed her reflection as she shook her head, refusing to give into it.

The knock on her door pulled her out of her funk, and when she pulled the door open for Michelle, she was nearly pummeled to the floor of her cottage as Michelle tackled her for a hug. “Wow. What the hell’d I do to deserve that?”

“You agreed to go out. It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, well, prison tends to put a crimp in one’s social life.” Bailey spoke through Michelle’s hair that was in her face as she held her in a tight embrace. When Michelle finally released her death grip, she pulled back and beamed at Bailey. “What if we see people we know? I mean, no one wants to see me. And frankly, I don’t want the reminders of just how much everyone in the world hates me except for you.”

“I’ll be there, and I’ll kick anyone’s ass who’s mean to you. We’re going to have some fun. To hell with anyone who wants to stand in our way.” Michelle was still beaming at her, and it was almost easy for Bailey to think for a moment that perhaps she could have a good time.

Michelle was wearing a dress. Of course she was, and she looked damned cute too. She was a good six inches taller than Bailey, and she was slim and lithe. God bless Michelle and her good genes. Suddenly Bailey was rethinking her T-shirt and old tattered jeans, but the second she said something, Michelle stopped her. “Oh, no you don’t. You look fabulous in that perfectly casual sorta way you pull off better than anyone else in the world. I remember that T-shirt. You got it when Jess’ parents took us to the football game. We all got one. Can’t believe you still have it!”

“Well, my clothes have been in storage for a while.” She contemplated for a second before opening her mouth again. “I saw him . . . Darren. Few times now. Can’t seem to stop running into him. ’Course, I tracked him down to yell at him in a parking lot one of those times. . .” She trailed off as she caught the wide-eyed shock on Michelle’s face.

“You . . . well . . . I don’t even know what to say to that.” She was stunned for a moment. “I mean, of course you would run into him at some point. His parents too, I ’spose, but what did he say? What did he . . . do? Was he . . . I don’t know. Civil?”

“He hates me. I mean . . . of course he does.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He got me fired. Not sure if it was intentional or not, but he certainly has no problem with the fact I’m jobless. Sometimes I think I was crazy to come back here. I mean, my lawyer had to actually do lawyerly stuff just to get me paroled back to Savoy from out of state. What the hell was I thinking, and what the hell did I expect? That I could avoid him forever?”

“Stop. This is your home as much as his. Your mom is here, and now that your dad’s gone, she needs you. You have as much right as anyone to be here.”

“Well, I think you and Mom are the only ones who actually believe that. Someone vandalized my bike. My bike! That’s . . . I mean . . . it’s a bike, for fuck sake!” Michelle’s expression was sad, and perhaps a bit stunned. A bike, after all . . .

When they finally made it to the parade, and she caught sight of her nemesis across the street from her almost instantly, she thought certain God was tutting at her in disappointment. Darren did not see her, and as the marching band moved between them, she took the opportunity to watch him. His hatred for her didn’t extend to the rest of the world in any way. He smiled as different people greeted him with a hand clapped on his shoulder. It was too small a community for people not to know the prodigal son who’d come home to such a noble pursuit as ER doctor in their hospital. The town loved him, and he greeted everyone with a friendly smile, but she saw that smile fade quickly when no one was looking, just to be reinvigorated when the next person called his name.

She remembered that smile, and she missed it more than she cared to admit. It was a hard thing being hated by him. She knew she was staring, but Michelle beside her was too busy watching the procession of band members, cheerleaders, firemen, and the like to notice that Bailey was off in a different world. Bailey imagined what life had been before. She let herself feel the warmth and comfort of a world where so many people didn’t hate her. She let herself feel the flutter of nerves as Darren flashed his million-dollar smile at her. None of it was real, but it had been, and she escaped to those memories as she watched him shake hands, wave at people, hug a little old woman who greeted him warmly.

He returned his attention to the procession shortly thereafter, and when his eyes moved across the street and caught on Bailey, who was still staring at him like a buffoon, his face dropped. His expression turned to a glare, and he returned her stare venomously. Bailey’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t look away. She lifted her hand tentatively before she could stop herself, and the moment he took in her gesture, he turned, pushed his way through the crowd behind him, and disappeared with one final glare over his shoulder.

“Michelle, can we go?” Michelle looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Bailey didn’t want to get into the Darren discussion here, so she pleaded with her eyes. Michelle watched her for a moment, gauging just how much resistance she wanted to put up. With a sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, Michelle nodded, and they left.

Michelle was one of Bailey’s oldest friends. After high school, she’d ended up in Kansas City for college, and she’d returned to Savoy with her MBA a couple years ago to help her father run his furniture store. It was the only furniture store in Savoy, so being successful and profitable had never been a problem for them, but her father was nearing retirement, and he’d be handing over the reins soon enough. Bailey’s small cottage was furnished in damaged pieces from their store, and she’d spent an entire evening using furniture scratch cover-up to make it look decent. She’d been high as a kite by the time she finished thanks to the fact she forgot to open a window, but from a distance, her furnishings were quite nice for her small, moss-covered cottage in the woods.

When Michelle suggested a bar instead, Bailey inwardly groaned, but she had made Michelle miss the parade, so she ended up nodding, wondering just how much worse her afternoon of being a normal twenty-seven-year-old could get. She found out quickly it could definitely get worse.

He picked up his glare right where he’d left off at the parade the moment she and Michelle walked through the doors to the dingy old bar just on the edge of town. It was a watering hole type of joint, and Darren was playing a round of pool on the old retro seventies pool table. She watched as his lips mouthed, “What the fuck” at seeing her, and his expression was cold and pissed. Bailey recognized the two guys he was shooting pool with, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember their names. Didn’t really matter. The moment they followed Darren’s glare to Bailey, their brows arched in that “oh, shit” sorta way.

Michelle sat at the end of the bar, only just taking in Darren and the other two guys at the pool table. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath before standing and walking over to them. Bailey stayed planted on her barstool, refusing to even look up. There was just no escaping him in this town, and he seemed to be everywhere. Bailey glanced up once to see Michelle speaking with the group of three, but only the two nameless men were actually looking at her. Darren’s eyes were glued to Bailey.

“Hey, let’s get a booth in the back.” Michelle was suddenly standing by Bailey’s side, looking expectantly at her. Darren had returned to his game, though his attention seemed to be constantly pulled toward her as though he was just as powerless to look away from her as she was to look away from him.

“Or we could just leave, Michelle.” Bailey knew she’d never go for that one, but she couldn’t help but hope.

“Come on. Just pretend he doesn’t exist, okay? For one night. You won’t even have to look at him in the back room. Please?”

“You think this is about my wanting to be away from him, but it’s not. Do you think for one second he wants me here? ’Cause I’m tellin’ ya, he doesn’t.”

“He didn’t say a thing to me when I was over there—”

“That’s ’cause he was busy glaring at me! That’s what he does. He hates me; he glares at me; he destroys my job; he glares at me some more.”

“Well, he can’t glare at you if you’re sittin’ in a booth in the back room. ’Sides, this place is gonna fill up after the parade gets over. You won’t be able to find him even if you want to in a while.”

She was right. Soon there was a flood of parade goers walking through the doors, decked out in their green—their ridiculous plastic green hats, green beads, green just about anything. But even the green people of Savoy weren’t enough to save her. In fact, they ended up being the catalyst for her misery.

“Aren’t you that girl?” Bailey looked up to the woman standing beside the booth she and Michelle were hiding in.

“Umm . . . I don’t—”

“You are! You’re her!” The sneer on her face meant she wasn’t asking if she was that girl who once broke the Savoy high school record when she swam the 200 freestyle. Nor was she asking if she was the girl who won the literary award for creative writing when she was only a sophomore in high school. She was asking a far more loaded question than that. Bailey had the odd reaction of looking behind her at the back of the booth she was sitting in—as though perhaps hopping over the back and bolting might be a good option.

Instead, she turned back slowly to the woman standing with her hand on her hip and the other holding a green beer in her hand. The woman was waiting, swaying slightly in her drunken state, for a response Bailey was having a hard time coming up with.

“She’s the girl who’s just trying to have a pleasant drink with her friend on St. Patrick’s Day, just like everyone else.” Michelle challenged the woman beside them with her cold, dead stare. Michelle had always been good at holding her ground. Perhaps it was years of working in the store with her dad from the time she was old enough to run a cash register. Her glare meant business. Her glare meant, “Get the fuck away from my friend or deal with me instead.” Her glare meant, “I’m going to kick your ass if you open your smug mouth again.” Bailey loved her glare at the moment.

“Whatever.” The woman staggered off.

“You can’t pay attention to that bullshit, Bay.”

“It’s not bullshit. She has every right to hate me.”

“The hell she does. She doesn’t know you.”

Bailey just stared at Michelle. There were times she actually felt like Michelle did. She felt she deserved forgiveness; she felt she deserved a life—a real one that didn’t leave her incessantly followed around by ghosts. There were those times, but they were few and far between. Most of the time, Bailey felt like she deserved everything she got, and she was going to deal with it until the day she died because she’d earned this. That was her most-of-the-time perspective, and it really didn’t matter that her only remaining friend in the world didn’t agree.

When the group the drunk girl had returned to started eyeing her venomously, it didn’t take long for Michelle to return the glare with her own dose of lethal eye venom. It also didn’t take long for Bailey to excuse herself from the table to escape the attention.

“I’ll be fine, Michelle. I just need some air.” She didn’t give Michelle any time to respond before she stood and walked to the back door that led onto a wooden deck that wrapped from the back of the bar around the side. Like most other places in the Ozarks, the trees grew right up to the railing surrounding the deck, and Bailey stood alone in the near-darkness listening to the sounds of the woods around her. She hated this place—almost as much as she loved it.

Her mother really was the only reason she was here anymore. Her father had passed away nearly two years before while Bailey was sitting in a prison cell. Her mother dealt with the loss on her own because her daughter had been too stupid to keep her ass out of trouble. And now her mother was alone, trying to eke out a living in a town that had taken its toll on her almost as much as it did on Bailey. Her father had died of lung cancer after years of secretly smoking outside back doors and side doors of whatever non-smoking establishment he happened to be at. Nobody smoked anymore; it could kill ya, didn’t ya know? But that was Bailey’s fault too.

Her father had all but conquered that addiction years ago when Bailey was still in high school. That was until his daughter wound up in jail. Funny how such things tended to shit on everyone around you, including your own father, who ended up smoking himself into an appointment with death far sooner than what he deserved.

“You know you were supposed to have those sutures removed after seven days, right? Or maybe you didn’t know that, seein’s how you chickened out and ran.” His voice broke her concentration, and she jumped as she wheeled toward him. He was standing behind her, a couple feet away. His expression was impassive and sent a chill up her spine. There was a time he was incapable of being so impassive with her.

“I just hadn’t gotten around to. . .”

“It’s fine by me, of course, if you want them growing into your skin. It’ll make removing them all the more fun for you.” His eyes had the glint of hatred, and his smirk was mean. All she could do was swallow over the lump in her throat and try to hold his gaze.

“I should find Michelle. She’s probably worried.” She walked to the back door, listening as his steps followed her. When they entered into the crowded backroom, every eye in the room snapped to them. They walked through the crowd, his body following closely behind her own as the room stared in absolute shock at the two of them together. Finding her table empty, Bailey started scanning the room desperately as Darren chuckled behind her.

“Seems Michelle isn’t that worried about you.” He was leaning down to her ear from behind her body as her eyes found Michelle sitting at the bar with a drink in her hand talking to some guy. “Doesn’t she know how much trouble you can get into on your own?” His hand had found her waist, gripping her tightly as his lips remained at her ear. It was the type of touch that would have set her body on fire once upon a time, but now . . . now it was a taunt. He was trying to make her uncomfortable, and he was succeeding.

She pulled away, stalking to the bar. “Michelle, I think I should go.” She didn’t even wait for Michelle to notice her before she started talking.

“Bay! Sorry. I needed a drink, and they’re so damn busy I had to. . .” Her words trailed off quickly as she took in Darren, who was still shadowing her every move. “Oh! Dare. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Michelle. I’m going to take Bailey home.” Michelle’s jaw hit the floor at the same time as Bailey sucked in a shocked breath of air.

“No!” She turned to him quickly as his gaze shifted from Michelle to her.

“Yeah, maybe not a great idea.” Not even Michelle appreciated his offer.

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt her. I’m just going to take her to the hospital to remove her sutures. I’ll see she gets home safely.” His eyes were staring at Bailey deadpan. He’d somehow mastered the art of impassivity since six years ago, and he was giving her nothing at all to gauge what he was saying. She wasn’t stupid enough to think this man wanted to help her. “And seeing you’re busy with your drink, and about every last person here hates Bailey, you should probably just thank me and let me get on with it.”

“I don’t need a ride, Darren.”

Michelle’s eyes moved back and forth between them as they stared at one another. Bailey was confused—more than confused. She didn’t trust him. She had once, and he’d deserved that trust.

“Come on, Bay. I would never hurt you.” And then leaning to her ear, he whispered. “Not physically anyway.” He righted himself, still piercing her with his cool gaze that left her wanting to shrink away from him. It also left her wanting to touch him, remind him of who she was, remind him that he’d been her friend once. She was mesmerized by just how familiar he was to her, and yet, just how much of a stranger he was now. She wanted the old Darren back so much it felt like a hand in her guts twisting her insides slowly as she watched him. “You know you want to.” His voice was nearly seductive, and Michelle’s eyes were still dancing about between them.

“Okay.” She was whispering when she said it, and she wasn’t even sure why she’d said it. Her cheeks started burning. She had an obvious blush—always had, and she knew damn well he could see it. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, and just when she thought he might say something, Michelle interrupted them.

“You’re sure, Bailey?”

She nodded, still unable to look away from him.

“I said she’ll be fine, Michelle. You know me better than to think I would do anything to her.”

“I also know you well enough to know you’re acting weird as hell.”

He finally broke eye contact with her as his attention snapped to Michelle with an amused laugh. “Fine. I’m acting weird. Aren’t I allowed? I am being forced to deal with her again after all.” He nodded toward Bailey.

“It’s fine, Michelle. I’ll call you later.” She snatched up her small clutch that Michelle had brought with her to the bar, and then she stood awkwardly by as Michelle watched her. Michelle didn’t have a clue why Bailey was agreeing to go anywhere with him. She wasn’t sure she quite understood either. He’d asked. That was her rationale. He’d asked, and she wanted to see what would happen. If she didn’t go, she’d wonder. And truth be told, she knew she was safe with him—at least physically. He might torment her emotionally, and he was likely implying he would, or at least that he could, but he’d be hard-pressed to keep up with her own self-torture. She was the queen bee at emotionally putting herself through the ringer. Hell, going with him might just be another brand of self-destructive torture. Only time would tell.

Chapter Six

Six Years Before

The music was loud, and the crowd was too. The bar was on Seawall Boulevard, or to be more accurate, it was on the beach. You could literally step right out of the bar onto a patio and down the patio steps to the sand. Couldn’t possibly be smart to put drunk people so close to the water, but hey, it was Galveston, and people liked to get their drunk on at the beach. Bailey was no exception to that equation—not on spring break when she’d been talked into going out by the illustrious Jess.

It wasn’t that Bailey didn’t enjoy a night out on occasion; it just usually involved going to the movies or out to dinner. Bars really weren’t her scene—at least not hopping tiki-style bars with entirely too many drunk people spilling their drinks on one another. It really was best just to get a few drinks in you. Made the drunks far more tolerable when you could just join ’em rather than trying in vain to stay out of their way. So, she was being a joiner tonight. One Mai Tai and two shots of rum later, and she was well on her way. The Mai Tai was weak, the rum was watered down, so while it might’ve been a good start, she was really quite lucid.

She was plenty lucid to see Darren watching her as she stumbled her way around the dance floor with Jess. She was also plenty lucid to be embarrassed when she managed to dance right into a guy, spilling her drink on his thong-clad feet. Shit, she was one of the drink spillers now too. She was also more than lucid enough to catch Darren laughing at her when she cringed as she peered up to the guy standing in front of her. Did she miss the way Darren’s face fell when said strange man pulled her into his arms and started moving her around the dance floor? Of course not. She was lucid after all. Painfully and obnoxiously lucid.

She also still had her Silo cup full of something. What was she drinking? She didn’t much care. It was tropical, and though weak, she was certain it had at least a marginal amount of alcohol in it. Might as well keep drinking.

The guy was handsome. He was also quite drunk. He’d said his name; she was certain of it, but she’d managed to forget already, and when his body closed in on hers, she could feel his arousal against her stomach. He was clutching her lower back, pulling and pinning her body to his. His other hand held hers as he spun her and moved her across the floor. Bailey was just barely managing to keep her drink from spilling as she held it in her free hand. Jess was already dancing with someone else, and so Bailey’s attention returned to the handsome man and his arousal held tight to her body.

Bailey wasn’t the one-night stand sorta gal, but it was seeming like a fine idea at the moment. For whatever reason, she needed this. She needed to beat Darren at his own game. He made her feel inept and juvenile, and she needed to be something other than that. Were she a bit more sober, she’d easily realize her behavior was proving just how juvenile she really was, but her lucid self was perhaps not quite as lucid as she thought.

“Take a walk with me.” The strange man spoke against her ear, and her breath left in a rush as she looked toward the bar.

Trinity was sitting next to Darren, stroking the inside of his thigh with her palm, but while her attention might be solely on him, his was not on her. He was glaring at Bailey, and she shuddered at the anger in his eyes. Anger wasn’t how he ever regarded her—not ever, but she’d be damned if he didn’t look two seconds from ripping into her. When he cocked his head to the side, he was warning her, but when Trinity’s hand moved up toward his groin and Bailey watched as he sucked in a quick breath at the touch, she made up her mind.

“Sure.” The guy pulled her toward the open patio, and she walked with him down the patio steps to the sea wall and the sidewalk that ran along it.

They moved slowly; the guy was staggering just slightly, and Bailey wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t too. When he pushed her up against the wall, she gasped. He was pinning her to the wall with his groin. He trailed his hand out to her own, taking her drink from her and setting it behind her on the top of the wall just behind her shoulder level.

“You don’t need that now, do you?” He was speaking seductively as he ground his pelvis against her.

“What she doesn’t need is you touching her, asshole. Get your fucking hands off her.” Darren’s voice was seething with hatred, and when she turned to look up the sidewalk from the direction they’d come, he was standing there alone, glaring at the guy who still pinned her to the wall with his erection.

“Fuck you. Who the fuck are you?” The guy spoke with all the surety his drunkenness afforded him.

“I’m her brother. Get lost.” Darren was still seething, and he’d not even bothered looking at her yet.

“You are not!” She burst out laughing, but it was more condemning than humorous.

“Bailey, shut up! You’ve already shown just how stupid you can be on your own.” His eyes flashed to hers as he spoke, and it stopped the laugh in her throat in an instant. He was furious. When his attention moved back to the guy who had finally pulled his body away from her to face Darren, it was only to threaten him. “You’re going to leave her alone, or I’m going to make you. Your choice. But keep this in mind. My only concern is her—not getting laid, not getting loaded, not looking like the stud you obviously think you are. There’s no possible way for you to come out of this ahead without looking like a douche bag . . . unless of course you walk away and go find some other drunk chick to fuck around with. Either way, I’m not leaving until you’re gone.”

Bailey knew her mouth was hanging open. It was two parts embarrassment, one part complete and utter arousal. She’d wanted to show him up. She’d wanted to make him jealous, and whatever he was, it wasn’t pretty. It was anger, it was irritation, and it was a glaring reminder that she couldn’t and shouldn’t have even tried to play this game. She’d done it for her dignity’s sake, but it had been a complete and utter fail.

The guy started shuffling his feet a bit, eyeing Darren as he contemplated, but it was obvious he’d lost his edge. “Oh yeah? Well, you’re a pussy-fucking bitch-boy with a hard-on for his sister.” The guy was trying hard to maintain his cool, not realizing in the least he was falling prey to Darren’s own brand of calm, cool control; he was also proving Darren’s point perfectly, though he was likely too arrogant and stupid to realize it, and his inability to stand his ground without looking like a knob was almost embarrassing.

“You can call me whatever you like so long as you move on.”

“Bitch.” He spit the words at Darren, and Darren’s only reaction was to roll his eyes as though he couldn’t believe he was being forced to stoop so low.

The guy started off down the sidewalk, walking out and around Darren in a wide arc. Darren’s arms were crossed on his chest, and he was studying Bailey as the guy moved away from them, taking Darren’s advice, though the occasional pathetic curse he let loose said it was a struggle to keep his dignity as he scampered away.

“You’re competitive, Bay, but I’d say this is taking it just a bit too far. How ’bout you fuck my girlfriend while I watch, and we’ll call it even.” His glare was calm, too calm. He was boiling under the surface of his sarcastic remark.

“Oh, I’d say I’ve already won this one. No need for the vapid slut girlfriend.” Bailey didn’t normally find it so easy to hold her own with him, but a good dose of alcohol and a bit of humiliation, and she was ready to go her round with Darren. She walked by him, knowing he’d stop her, and he did. He pushed her up against the wall, holding her elbows as he glared down at her. He said nothing. His chest was rising and falling as he struggled against some inner turmoil she wasn’t privy to, and she took her opportunity to get one last shot. “Did you know I was watching?”

His brow flinched, and his eyes shifted from hers for a moment. “Don’t do this.” His voice was warning.

“Did you?”

“Dammit, Bay! You don’t—”

“Did you know I—” She was practically yelling.

“Yes!” His breath left him in a huff. “Fucking hell, Bailey!” He wasn’t practically yelling; he was just plain yelling. “I fucking knew!”

“Why?” She’d lost her own edge, and it came out a whisper as he stood panting and staring down at her.

When he spoke again, it was just as quiet, and his hands gripping her elbows squeezed gently, almost reassuringly—as though he knew what he was saying was wrong, and he needed her to understand that it was still just him. “I wanted you to see me.” He let go of her elbows, and he backed away from her, crossing his arms. It wasn’t aggressive; it wasn’t even angry. It was as if he didn’t trust what his hands might do if he didn’t clamp them to his body with his arms. She could see and understand his every physical reaction to her like they were words coming from his mouth. “Fuck! I just wanted . . . I don’t know what I wanted.”

His eyes dropped to her feet, and she stared at his chest as it rose and fell. Her body was coursing and vibrating with electric need that pulsed through her in warm waves. She knew she wanted him. She wasn’t immune or naive to want and desire, and he was better than any other man at inciting it in her. She usually ignored it with him. She had to because that just wasn’t who they were. But now? She felt the need to console him, to reassure him, and as much as that, she felt the same need emanating from him. He wanted her. She usually questioned if he ever possibly could, though she suspected there were certainly times he must. Right now, she knew with no doubt in her mind that he did—just as much as she did for that matter.

When she reached out to his arms, he flinched and then he sighed. She was studying his face, wondering where the nerve came from. He was still looking down, but she was closing the space between them slowly, and his focus was shifting gradually up her body as she neared him. His eyes stalled over her lips, and he licked his as he studied her mouth. She didn’t mean to suck in a quick and shocked gasp at the sight of his tongue passing over his lips, but she couldn’t stop the reaction, and the moment he heard the quick inhalation of her breath, he lunged at her mouth.

His tongue pushed past her lips as he backed her body up to the wall. His hand gripped her neck, holding her mouth to his as his other hand squeezed gently at her waist. His fingers tightened and caressed her through her dress, and she moaned into his mouth when his fingers worked their way down to her hip, stroking over her hip bone. His moan was lower and set her blood on fire as he licked her tongue, tormenting her entire body with nothing more than their kiss.

Bailey gripped his upper arms as he pushed his body against her, pinning her to the wall with his erect and hard arousal that strained against the front of his pants. For the second time this night, she was held firmly against this wall, allowing a man to show her just how much he wanted to fuck her. She welcomed this man far more than the other, and could she unwrite what she’d almost been willing to do with the other just to make herself feel better about herself, she’d do so in an instant. This was what she wanted. This was what she always wanted. She trusted his touch, his force, his power, his intent, his everything. This was what she always wanted. Always.

She melted when she felt his fingers brush up past the hem of her dress. His fingers trailed lightly up her thigh—so lightly they tickled and innervated her desire until her knees were shaking, and she was whimpering between the smacking of their lips. His mouth was still ravenously assaulting her lips, but his fingers were gentle—gentle and trembling slightly against her skin as they moved. His lips paused as did his fingers when he hit the top of her thigh just as his fingers brushed the lace of her underwear. He stroked along the edge of the fabric that met her bikini line, and he breathed his minty breath into her mouth. He was deciding, and could she make the decision for him, she’d force his hand farther, but she froze in her spot, waiting, begging in her mind for more.

She could hear the sound of him swallowing as he struggled, and when he let go of a deep, pained sigh, she did too. He pulled his fingers from her skin, and his forehead dropped to hers, refusing to let his lips touch hers again.

“Oh, fuck, Bailey.” He was whispering again, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. She could feel his brow flinching against her forehead, and she couldn’t seem to loosen her grip on his arms. “I can’t do this.”

The rejection was painful; knowing he wanted it didn’t soften the blow in the least, and when he turned to walk from her without another word, she couldn’t seem to loosen her grip on his arm. He stilled when he felt her fingers pulling against him, and he turned back slowly, refusing to look at her. She couldn’t tell what was going on in his head, but she was still coursing with need. The need was as much to be reassured as it was to be fucked, and the combination of those desires was nearly overwhelming.

“Dammit, Bailey.” He was speaking through gritted teeth as he finally looked at her. She didn’t waste even one second before she lunged at his mouth, standing on her tiptoes to close the distance. He met her halfway as he seemed to lose control again, and she ended back up against the wall as his hands held her still and his tongue thrust and tasted her mouth. There was nothing gentle or slow about the trail of his fingers back up under her dress, and the moment he hit the lace, he pushed his hand roughly past the material and cupped her sex. His finger slid between her lips, and she could feel the soaking wetness coating his finger as he moaned.

He stroked, but didn’t push into her. “Is this what you want?” His voice was breathy and aroused, and her body responded perfectly at nothing more than the sound of his warm, needy words. “Huh?” She listened to his panting voice as his finger slid through her cum. “Where’s this going to end, Bailey?” She whimpered as her fingers dug into his arm. “With my cock inside you?” And the moment he spoke the words, his finger invaded her tightness, and her sheath tightened and trembled around his finger. “Fuck, that’s good.” He wasn’t even speaking to her as he muttered the words. He sounded nearly desperate, nearly angry, but so nearly ready to lose his mind that he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. That was the desperation and anger she was hearing. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His finger was plunging into her wetness, and she was gripping his arm, groaning with her mouth buried against his chest.

He slid a second finger in with the first, and his thumb started swirling around the peaked nub of her clitoris as she gasped for air. “Darren.” There was no real reason she said his name—only that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut or keep her voice stifled any longer. She started gasping as his strokes sped, and his fingers pushed and pulled harshly in and out of her body.

“You feel so good. God, I want you so much.” His voice tormented her with his most erotic and confessing words.

She cried out as her orgasm raced through her body.

“Bailey.” He was still stroking, slowing the penetration of his fingers as she trembled around him. “I have to have you.” She nodded as her head sank to his chest. She’d give every ounce of herself to this man in a heartbeat.

“Darren?” The unwelcome voice jolted both their bodies to attention as his name was hollered from a distance. “Darren?”

“Fuck.” He muttered as he slipped his fingers from her and pulled away, stepping back. “I’m over here, Trinity.” He studied Bailey as she fought the hot, burning heat that was flushing her skin while they waited for Trinity. Trinity was still up on the patio of the bar, and she couldn’t see them. Darren shook his head in frustration while they listened to Trinity’s clicking heels near them.

“Darren—”

“Stop, Bailey. There’s nothing to say. I fucked up.” Then he shook his head again as he watched her. “Fuck.” He couldn’t seem to stop muttering, and when Trinity turned toward them as she stepped off the last step to the seawall sidewalk, Darren turned from Bailey and started walking toward Trinity, leaving Bailey staring like an ass after him and feeling like an ass too.

Chapter Seven

Now

“Why did you offer to give me a ride?” Her voice broke his concentration on the road. In truth, his concentration was nowhere near the road, and it was already entirely on her, but he’d been zoned out thinking about her, not at all expecting to hear her voice.

“I thought I already told you. Your sutures need to be removed.”

“Then why aren’t we headed toward the hospital?” Her voice was quiet, unsure, and her fingers trembled as much sitting beside him in his car as they did the first night in the hospital. Her discomfort left him feeling just as conflicted now as it did then.

“I’m just going to stop by my home; it’s closer than the hospital, and I have what I need there.” And he wanted her there. He couldn’t—hell, wouldn’t—admit that to her, and regardless, he didn’t even understand why anyway, so there was nothing at all to explain. He just wanted her there, wanted her near. He would torment her when the compelling and angry need would surface, and she’d likely tolerate it. He’d hurt her with every cold remark he made, and then he’d go back to utter confusion at what was driving him. He’d only seen her a handful of times recently, but he knew very well how he would respond to her. It was as if his need to hurt her was an addiction he couldn’t deny. But his need to see her and be near her in some way was becoming just as compelling as his anger.

She said nothing in response, and she stared straight out the front window. When he turned onto his long and winding lane that led back into the woods and past the Andersons’ house, she started looking around. It was really very beautiful, and it was why he’d chosen the spot. When he risked a glimpse at her, her lips were pulling up slightly. It’s not as if they hadn’t both grown up for the most part in the Ozarks, but his particular slice of heaven compared to no other. The narrow road was winding as it moved up into the hills. There was a stream that ran and followed the lane, crossing under a stone bridge in one place and crossing back over the roadway itself in a shallow, slow-moving sheet that literally covered the roadway in another. The green in the surrounding deep forest was lush, the trees were tall, and it was like being surrounded by a thick, green carpet with a green canopy overhead.

When Bailey caught him looking at her, his eyes shifted away instantly, and he was left fighting his lips to relax. He’d wanted to smile. As they pulled up outside his contemporary, yet completely warm and earthy home, she inhaled deeply, and her eyes flashed quickly to every surface imaginable. There was little discernible slope to his roof—only enough to allow for effective drainage during the heavy rains. The siding he’d chosen was a cedar plank siding, and the windows were large and many.

She climbed from his front seat, still staring up at his tall and towering home. It was a two-story structure with the bedrooms on the second floor, but the first-floor living room was open to the high second-floor ceiling. Once she’d made it up his front steps and he’d opened the front door, escorting her into the large living room, her eyes still hadn’t stopped roving and taking in every last detail.

“Your home’s beautiful, Dare.”

“Darren. No one calls me Dare anymore.” That name held entirely too many memories—memories that sparked rage with the woman standing in front of him, and he didn’t want to feel any of that at the moment. He’d had enough of it recently, and it was wearing on him. It was making his well-ordered and managed life entirely too confusing and complex. It was bringing up far too much of his past that he’d prefer to ignore—prefer to pretend didn’t exist at all. It was making it damn hard to simply believe he was happy.

He didn’t bother responding to her compliment. “Stay here a moment.”

He walked to his office that sat beyond the open dining room, and as he rustled through a medical case with miscellaneous instruments, he tried to calm the tremble in his own hands. He didn’t tremble. He didn’t get nervous. He didn’t allow himself to care enough about anything to warrant such pathetic responses as trembling, sweating under pressure, heart-pounding nervousness, but he could see the shake in his hands as he dug through his case, and he could nearly hear the pounding of his heart roaring through his head.

As he returned to the living room, he saw her sitting on his large sectional couch. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knees set together, and her body rigid. He sat on the coffee table in front of her, holding the operating scissors and tweezers in his hand.

“Scoot forward.” He was already sitting very near the edge of the table, and he needed her closer. She struggled to figure out what side of his legs to put her knees on as she moved toward him. He made that decision for her when he reached between her knees, pushing them apart and wedging his knee between hers. They were entirely too close, and his heart was thudding away. He was guessing hers was too, but he’d never shown much respect for her personal space before, and he wasn’t going to start now.

In the past, she’d enjoyed the limits he’d pushed with her. He’d always chastised himself loudly in his head as he overstepped one limit after another, touching her just a hair too low on her back, refusing to pull away when he found himself too close. She’d allowed it, and he knew why. She’d wanted him. She’d wanted him just as much he’d wanted her, but the touches, the looks, the closeness were where it had ended in that lifetime—at least for the most part.

He might be displaying the same lack of consideration for her personal space now too, but it was different. Everything was different. She was panting by the time she had scooted to the edge of the couch. His knee was practically touching her crotch, and he swore he could feel the warmth of her sex.

He studied her old, tattered T-shirt. It was gray, and he knew it. He knew it well, and he’d seen it plenty. She likely thought he was staring at her tits, and he certainly wasn’t above noticing them—perfect and perky, if a bit bigger than they’d been six years ago. He’d always liked her build, and despising her didn’t seem to wipe out his ability to appreciate her figure. But right now, he was studying that ridiculous disjointed leprechaun on her chest, and he was remembering a different life, a different world. He liked her in that life; hell, he might’ve loved her. To some degree, he most definitely had.

When she offered him her hand, he cleared his throat and forced his focus to move back to her hand and not some other time that simply didn’t exist anymore. He snipped through the sutures. Her laceration had healed perfectly, but she’d ignored the sutures a bit too long, and they’d already started healing into her skin. He picked up the tweezers next, and as he started pulling the thread pieces from her skin, gently tugging the exposed ends, she winced. Each thread he pulled left a small dot of blood in its wake, and eventually she had nothing but a faint pink line of healed scar tissue lined with dots of blood.

He stood, and she did too. They were standing close, and her breasts were brushing against his chest just below his pecs. He pulled away quickly, but not before his cock was set on fire and started straining against the front of his pants to get to her. He didn’t want to respond to her, but it hardly mattered how he wanted to respond. His body had other things in mind. He pulled her to the kitchen sink, holding her hand under the faucet as he turned the water on to flush the blood away from her skin.

He pressed a paper towel against her skin after her hand was clean and held the pressure, trying to ignore her, trying to ignore the fact he had a raging hard-on for a woman he hated. But his brain wasn’t cooperating, and instead of ignoring his arousal, his brain started flashing images of the one and only time he’d truly indulged in her. He’d been jealous, crazy jealous to the point of wanting to fuck her brains out against that damn wall on the beach. He’d been such an immature prick then. He’d touched, he’d penetrated, he’d thrust into her with his fingers as though he’d had every right in the world, when in truth, he had no right. He’d been in a relationship, and it didn’t really matter that the relationship wasn’t going anywhere.

He wasn’t the cheating type. Had never up to that point or since then stepped out on a woman he was dating. His relationships never panned out, and he failed to commit to the level needed for something worthwhile, but regardless of his inability to truly commit to a relationship, he still respected the bounds of it . . . except for that night. That night, he’d been prepared to set his integrity aside for her. It had been wrong. It had been wrong to the girl he was dating, and it had been wrong to Bailey, but he’d needed to consume her in a way he didn’t quite understand. He’d been a jerk, and he wasn’t making any excuses for it.

“How is your family?”

Her voice startled him again, and as he looked down into her eyes, he was incapable of thinking about anything but the way she’d felt around his fingers that night. She’d been wet; scorching hot heat had coated and covered his fingers as he pushed. Her tightness had trembled and clenched around him, promising his dick everything he wanted. Had his girlfriend not arrived when she had, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have ended up fucking Bailey against that wall. In fact, he was quite certain he would have.

“My family is fine.” He stared into her crystal blue eyes. He knew he was likely glaring, but she didn’t look away. She just watched him as he held her hand, squeezing gently on the side of her hand to stop the bleeding. “And your mother?”

Her cheeks flushed, and he inhaled a deep breath while he waited for her response. She shrugged before finally speaking. “She’s okay.” He knew better. He’d seen her mother on occasion, and since Bailey’s father had passed away from cancer a year and half ago, the woman was looking more and more gaunt every time he saw her. It didn’t take a genius to understand that seeing your daughter hauled off to prison and losing your husband in a matter of years might take its toll on a person. But he let Bailey’s understatement slide. She was nervous enough as it was.

He released her hand, checking to see that the small punctures where the sutures had been had stopped bleeding, and after bandaging a couple that just refused to stop seeping, he walked away from her to grab his keys. She followed silently, and soon he was traveling slowly down his long and winding lane. He glanced at the Andersons’ house as he passed, and Katherine was sitting on the porch. He raised a hand, and she did the same, but her expression was all intrigue. She hadn’t missed the woman sitting beside him.

Bailey gave him directions to her home—not more than three miles from his own. Her surroundings were just as wooded and deep, but her small cottage was covered in moss, and overgrown shrubs and ferns surrounded the exterior walls. He wanted to go in. He wanted to see what her life looked like now, but he sat stone-still beside her when he parked.

“Do you hate me yet?”

Her eyes snapped to him with a shocked look on her face.

“It’s not like I’ve been at all nice to you. You did lose your job because of me after all. I’m just curious if it’s sunk in yet.”

She swallowed harshly as her wide eyes watched him for a moment. “I couldn’t ever hate you.”

“You should. It would be easier on us both.”

She sat silently beside him, and he refused to look at her. The silence became uncomfortable and long, and he was contemplating just what harsh and cruel words he would use to kick her out of his car, but he didn’t get the chance to use any of them. She refused to look at him as she opened her mouth to respond. “You’re different than you used to be. Sometimes I think there’s nothing recognizable of you left. But then. . .” Her eyes drifted out the window. She was still refusing to look at him, but she didn’t need to. She was reminiscing, remembering, and she didn’t need to see him to do that. “Sometimes I see you in there. I hate that I played a part in changing you.” Then she turned to him, and they focused on one another. “But I don’t hate you. And I won’t hate you until I’m certain you hate me.” She could be unbelievably bold when she wanted to be. Her strength was a quiet one—always had been, and he’d always been drawn to that in her, but now, he hated that she was using that backbone on him.

“And you don’t think I do already?” His tone was cruel, taunting, but she’d already thrown it in his face. He hated her, but even as the words passed through his mind, he could hear the question, the lack of surety, the weakness in the thought. All he could see was that damn T-shirt. He could see a trio of them standing side-by-side in the stadium, bouncing, screeching, and hopping excitedly around as Notre Dame squared off with some other team he’d long forgotten. He was there beside them, specifically right beside Bailey, feeling her arm brush against his constantly, regardless of whether they were sitting or standing, feeling her skin on his and doing nothing to move away. He never moved away—even then. She never did, either.

She opened the door without responding, but before closing the door and walking away, she turned, finally looking at him. “Thank you.” And then she was gone, and all he could do was stare after her. It wasn’t all he could do of course; it was simply all he was willing to do.

Chapter Eight

Six Years Before

He couldn’t seem to stop staring at his fingers. He wanted that warmth again. Her warmth, her wetness. He’d dreamed of it plenty, and now all he wanted was more. Of course that wasn’t going to happen now. Trinity beside him, hanging on him wantonly, wasn’t going to let him out of her sight. She seemed wary. She had every right to be. His heart was cold to her, and all he could think about was Bailey.

She was glancing at him regularly from her table across the bar with Jess. She was refusing to dance with Jess, and if nothing else, that was at least a relief. Her previous idiotic suitor was nowhere to be found either, affording him another moment of relief. But her eyes were leery, she looked nervous as hell, and she couldn’t seem to hold his eyes for more than the briefest of moments. All he wanted to do was look. He wanted to look, touch, taste, and fuck until he could stop thinking about her. Instead, he watched.

Trinity tired of trying to get his attention, and eventually she started pulling on his elbow to leave. She was done trying to interest him, and seeing as there was no chance she could, he didn’t blame her in the least. He was tired of tormenting himself too, but when he walked to the table Bailey and Jess were sitting at, Jess was none too happy to see him.

“No way, Dare! It’s only eleven. We’re not ready to leave yet.” Bailey was offering no help either.

“We’ll just take a cab. They’re lined up outside. It won’t be a problem.” Bailey could barely look at him as she spoke, but she was obviously siding with Jess. He didn’t trust the two of them to behave. Not that either was stupid or would intentionally do anything to get themselves into trouble, but Bailey already managed to show just how quickly she could get into trouble whether she intended to or not, and with Jess beside her, who was quite obviously doing her best to party it up on their next-to-last night in Galveston, he didn’t know what to expect.

“Can I talk to you?” He was pinning Bailey to her seat, and her fingers trembled as she placed them on the table top and pushed herself up to stand.

“I’ll be back, Jess.”

When Trinity started to move with them, he stopped her quickly. “I won’t be long, Trinity, but I need to speak to Bailey alone.” Trinity was gnawing on the inside of her lip, her arms crossed on her chest. She wasn’t happy.

He walked with Bailey out the front door, and she was right. There was a line of waiting taxis at the curb to ferry the drunken spring-break crowd at the end of the night. He gently pushed her toward a darkened area at the side of the bar with his hand on her lower back. There was landscaping that tiered the lush flowerbeds around the side of the bar and acted as a retaining wall for the bluff the bar was built into. He sat on the lowest tier, and she pulled herself up to sit on the rather high ledge as well.

“Are you okay?” She nodded but said nothing. “I can’t seem to behave this week, can I?” He tried to smirk at her, but he was too nervous, and she was too. “I cheated you out of an answer last night.”

“Yes, you did.” Her head was cocked as she spoke to him, and his body was pulsing.

He watched her for a moment. He didn’t have a clue what to say, and yet he wanted to say so much. He wanted to finish the damn game and tell her everything she deserved to know. She deserved to know he didn’t simply want to take advantage of her and indulge in her body. At least that was wasn’t all he wanted. She deserved to know just how incredible he thought she was, and how much he cared about her. But when he took a deep breath and opened his mouth, he couldn’t get the words out. He didn’t know how to move what they were out of their safe friendship to something unknown. He had a girlfriend, for fuck sake! She couldn’t become another notch on the bedpost. She was his Bailey, and she simply meant too much to him.

He finally gave up on saying something profound and important. “I’m sorry, Bailey. I had no business touching you.”

Her breath left her in a rush, but it wasn’t nerves. It was irritation or hurt or indignation. Perhaps something that fell in the middle. Basically, she looked pissed. “I see.” She stood, but he grabbed her arm as she moved to walk away.

“Don’t do that. Don’t walk away.” He sounded frustrated, when in truth, he was scared to death.

“No, you’re right, Dare.” She nodded her head. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

They stared at one another. Neither had a clue what to say, and he was guessing it was because neither of them actually agreed with that statement. It should too have fucking well happened, and it shouldn’t have taken this long or this situation for them to figure it out. That’s what he wanted to say, and he knew, even if she was glaring angrily at him, that it’s what she needed to hear. But they just stared.

“Darren, what the hell is taking so long?” His suspicious girlfriend, who was absolutely right to be suspicious, was haunting him, and as her annoyed voice interrupted his thoughts and the quietness between him and Bailey, he turned toward her.

“Okay, Trinity, let’s go.” He stood and turned back to Bailey. “We’ll talk later.” He didn’t mean to sigh in frustration, and she bit her lip in nervousness. His cock instantly flexed at the sight of her small, white teeth clamping down on her lower lip. He wanted that mouth on him so much. He could have it. He knew he could, but he wasn’t sure what that meant for them.

“Can we go now?”

“Yes.” He started moving toward Trinity, but then stopped as he took in the sight of two of the cab drivers joking around and gawking at Bailey and Trinity. They obviously wanted to fuck one or both of them, and Darren’s hackles were instantly on end. He was leaving Jess and Bailey to their own devices, and the idea that they might have to deal with the likes of the lustful cabbies was a fist to the gut. One nudged the other, and they started sniggering like assholes. It really didn’t matter what they found so amusing. He turned back to Bailey again, pulling his keys from his pocket. “You sober?”

“Yes,” she muttered. She was really pissed at him.

“Catch.” He tossed the keys, and she caught them in one hand. “We’ll take the cab. You and Jess behave, or you’ll have to answer to me. Got it?”

She kept glaring. She was still angry. Of course she was. He’d finger-fucked the hell out of her and then walked away to his girlfriend moments later without another word. There was too much that was going unsaid, and he wasn’t doing a damn thing to clear the air. She walked back in the bar as he fought to keep his eyes off her.

He spent the next hour breaking up with Trinity. It wasn’t his intention to have that conversation until they’d returned home from vacation, but she was pissed, and she was pushing him for an explanation. She didn’t want to accept it when he said they were through, and so there was plenty of arguing to go along with the breakup. But his focus was singular, and it was all on Bailey. He didn’t have a fucking clue what it meant, or what he should or would do about it, but he just couldn’t stay away from her anymore. Perhaps it was their week together and his inability to avoid her in this place, or perhaps it was just so long overdue that he couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he just plain didn’t want to. Maybe he was just horny as fuck and couldn’t think about anything but getting his hands on her again.

What he didn’t realize was that while he was breaking up with his girlfriend for her, she was busy killing his sister and destroying his world and everything in it.

Chapter Nine

Now

She was standing in her shower, letting the hot water beat the top of her head and trickle down her shoulders. She’d been home a couple hours, and she’d spent the better portion of that time on the phone. First it was Michelle wanting to know that she was okay. Of course, she also wanted every last detail of her time with Darren. To hear her talk, you’d think Darren was a monster, and she was worried Bailey wouldn’t make it home alive at all. It was absurd to anyone who knew him, and Michelle knew him as well as any, but their interaction wasn’t something Michelle quite knew how to wrap her head around. Bailey didn’t either for that matter, and she was still shivering with the electric pulse of adrenaline while she stood under the hot shower.

She didn’t even have a bathtub, and so she stood until the water started slowly cooling, eventually climbing from her small shower to stare at herself in the small, old mirror that hung above her bathroom sink counter. Her hair was long, and it would dry with a natural, beach-curl wave, which was fortunate, given she had no intention of doing it. She combed through the long layers and then flipped it over and scrunched it lightly to revive the natural curl before righting herself.

The second call that had eaten the better portion of thirty minutes had been her mom. Celia was the epitome of a country bumpkin, and Bailey’s father had humored her by returning to Celia’s roots in the Ozarks. Her father, Daniel, had been a fairly successful author. He was no New York Times bestseller, but he didn’t much care to be, either. He did what he loved, hiding away in his office for days on end at times, occasionally sneaking a cigarette from the window when he was particularly blocked on a scene he was writing. He’d come out smelling faintly of cigarette smoke, and Celia would glare with an understanding smirk playing on her lips. She’d clap a gentle hand on his shoulder and speak quietly while Bailey watched from the table. “Whatever gets you through your madness, dear.”

That was not the woman Celia was today. Celia had once been vibrant and just a bit loony in that absolutely perfect sorta way. She had the same naturally wavy, auburn hair that Bailey had, and she was slim and athletic. She was an artist and had spent years teaching pottery classes out of her workshop. After Bailey was arrested, her always waiting-list pool of students seemed to dry up, so now she turned to her own work, selling to small boutique shops around the region. The region grew significantly after word spread that Celia Trent’s own daughter was a killer. She had to travel hours and hours to pimp her artistry to shops who didn’t know who her most-hated daughter was.

Her health wasn’t what it once was, though there was nothing wrong with her. Her spirit was just broken, and she was just a shell of the once quirky and always laughing woman she used to be. She was barely better off than Bailey at this point too. Her parents had cashed out her father’s life insurance policy in a last-ditch effort to extend his life via alternative means. Those alternative means didn’t extend anything except her father’s posthumous debt, and he’d been dead now for over a year and a half. Her mother now rented a little cottage about as small as Bailey’s, and her workshop now consisted of nothing more than a tiny, dingy shed on the property.

When the phone rang only minutes after she hung up with Michelle, she assumed it would be her mother. Michelle and her mom were literally the only people in the world who spoke to her, and her mother’s now incessant worrying meant they spoke often.

“Hi, Mom.”

“So? How was the parade? How’s Michelle?”

“Well, didn’t stay for much of the parade. Darren showed up and scared me away. Of course, then we ran into him again at Palmer’s Pub, so shame on me for being such a scaredy-cat.”

“I’d say you’re on a roll with that boy. Can’t be easy. You and Darren have got one heck of a history.”

“Well, he seems intent on reminding me of just how ugly that history is.”

“You pay that no mind. He’s hurtin’ is all.”

“His hurtin’ translates as out-an’-out hatred.”

“Darren could never hate you. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t think he does. Hell, doesn’t mean he doesn’t wanna hate you.” There was silence then, and it lasted as Bailey stripped out of her T-shirt and jeans and headed toward the bathroom. “You know, Bailey, you didn’t have to come back here. Didn’t you ever think some other place, a new place, a new start might be a good idea? Not like I haven’t had the thought myself plenty.”

Bailey sank down to sit on the toilet seat, pulling her heels up to rest on the front edge. “No, Mom, I never considered it for a moment. You’re here, so until you’re ready to move on, I’m stickin’ too.”

“Oh, Bailey. Always concerning yourself so much with me. I don’t want to be the thing that keeps you anchored to your unhappiness.”

“You’re one to talk, Mom. You’re happy? Tell me you’re happy here now.”

“You know I can’t. But I’m not the one torturing myself with a man who causes me more pain than happiness. He’s not the same Darren anymore, Bailey. Sometimes I think it’s part of the reason you came home, though.” She was silent for a moment. “Is it? Is that why you came home, because of him?”

“Of course not.” She knew she was lying the instant the words came out. It was at least partly because of him. To some degree or another, she knew it was. Even if he hadn’t lived here anymore, he’d be home someday. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye again—even if he hated . . . wanted to hate her. “He drove me home today. Stopped by his home to remove my sutures before he dropped me off.”

“Huh . . . well, that’s something idn’t it. . .” It wasn’t a question. Her mother was riddling it out in her mind. Trying just like Michelle to figure out what the hell it all meant. By the sound of her overlong silence, she was just as stumped as Michelle—just as stumped as Bailey for that matter.

Now, though, she was soaking wet and alone after her shower, still trying to whittle it out in her mind. She was startled out of her reverie as she stood staring in the fogged mirror at her loose, wet curls that cascaded down her back. The knock at her door scared her to the point of causing a yelp to escape her lips. She wrapped the thin robe tight, tying the sash at her waist and plodding out to the front door that opened onto her screened front porch.

She gasped when she opened the door and saw him standing there. It had started sprinkling, and he was wet. His dark hair glistened with droplets of rain water. It wasn’t pouring, and he had to have been standing outside for some time to get so wet, but his T-shirt was soaked through, and he stood, barely looking higher than her mouth. She didn’t have any idea what to say, and so she stood there as still as he was, waiting. She waited until she was certain he intended to say nothing, and then she opened her mouth to speak.

“Dar—”

“Shut up.” His eyes finally flashed to hers, and the expression made her gasp again. “I’ve thought endlessly . . . years. . .” His pauses were overly long, and his voice was hoarse. “I have relived that night so many times. So many mistakes. So many things. . .” He was nearly stuttering over his words. He was emotional, and her own eyes were tearing at nothing more than the choked, husky sound of his voice. “Could I go back . . . God, could I have just gone back and changed it all. All I wanted was you. I wanted to have you, throw everything else out the window for you. Maybe if I had. Maybe if I’d given in sooner, the fight would have been over. There’d have been no girlfriend keeping me from you, chasing me away from you. Maybe if I’d have had backbone enough, I’d have stayed for you.” He started pacing then, speaking in a flurry, but none of that explosive emotion compared to the moment he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her to the wall beside her. He reached for her cheeks, cupped them with his hands as his expression moved from fury to pain over and over again. “You did this! You did it! And I’m the one who feels guilty for it. Fuck!” He pulled his hands from her cheeks just to rake them harshly through his hair as he stepped back from her. “I want . . . I want so much to hate you. Do you know what that’s like? Do you have any idea what it’s like to see you, smell you, be near you again, feel your skin? Can you imagine what it is to hate someone so much, and yet . . . You destroyed everything.” He staggered back farther from her in defeat, his back sinking against the doorframe, bracing himself as she stayed rigidly planted against the wall, afraid to move, afraid to speak but wanting so much to do something.

She held her breath as he stared at her naked feet. She was having a hard time staying on her feet. Her legs felt like putty, and she was afraid if she even attempted to take a breath, her legs would melt and she’d end up on the floor. He wasn’t doing any better. He seemed to be in a stupor—his eyes might have been focused on her feet, but his gaze was blank and dead. She didn’t need to see his mind to know it was anything but blank. He was lost in there at the moment, and she had no idea if he’d come out from the depths hating her more or less than he did going in. She hoped less; she thought likely more.

“Do you remember the game?” His voice was croaked out as though he couldn’t get his throat muscles to function, but his focus was slowly shifting up from her feet, and she waited, refusing to look away. Of course she remembered. “You know the game. Our game.” His gaze made it to her eyes—his so dark and intimidating, hers with tears watering her vision. “But it wasn’t really a game at all, was it?” His focus had settled on her lips, and his brow flinched when she licked them in nervousness. “It was the only way we knew how to be honest with one another. We were so afraid of crossing that line. I was so afraid of crossing that line.” He slowly let himself sink down to the floor, sitting with his knees propped up, and his arms slung casually across the tops. But there was nothing really casual about him at the moment. However calm and relaxed his body appeared, she knew it was more a wasted exhaustion than a calmness. Bailey stood rigid for a moment, still breathing shallow breaths, the gears in her head spinning.

She finally joined him, stretching her legs out straight, crossing her ankles, and pulling her robe tight across her lap. It hadn’t escaped her attention that she’d said literally nothing to the man, but she knew her words wouldn’t help anything, and she wanted him to keep talking, painful as his words might be. “It was the only time we could really say what needed to be said.” His focus was now solely on her eyes, and she was listening intently. He was right—everything he said. She couldn’t even remember how or when they’d started playing . . . their game, only that it was theirs alone, and they’d never shared it with anyone else. Their relationship, subtle, unacknowledged, ignored as it was by them, was virtually unseen by anyone else, including Jess. They’d hid it well, and it wasn’t until she’d been sitting in a prison cell for nearly a year, analyzing every last aspect of her life that led her there, that she’d finally actually seen it herself.

What happened between them that night at the seawall, hell the night before that even, had been set in motion long before. Her crush on him was not merely some juvenile whim, nor were his feelings for her, whatever they might have been. They cared entirely too much for one another. Their words, every last one of them, were a confession of something important, something they couldn’t say outside the confines of their game, and that night was a catastrophe—an incredible catastrophe they’d avoided for so long but which they failed to control in that moment.

Odd how long hours in a cell day after day had finally given her that clarity. Odder still that it took so many endless days to see what was so obvious. And oddest of all, how well they’d hidden their feelings from even themselves. She’d loved him. She didn’t know what that love had actually meant, didn’t have a chance to find out, and now, sitting on her small cottage floor, she couldn’t help but remember the very moment she realized it. Her eyes had been staring at her cell ceiling as she lay in a stupor, and the understanding was simply there where it hadn’t been before. Looking at Darren’s expression now, the dark and pained emotion on his face, she knew he’d figured it out too. Somewhere along his own path, he’d realized just how deep they’d gotten into it all those years ago. She had no doubt it made his pain even worse.

“I wanted to finish playing the game that night. I wanted to tell you everything I’d refused to say the night before in the kitchen. But by the end of the night, those words were gone, and the only ones I had left . . . Well, let’s just say they weren’t anything like the words I’d started with.”

She nodded slowly, staring at his lips now. She understood what he was saying. It was her fault. She’d made the man hate her, and she’d left him with nothing good and decent to say to her. Her fault. Entirely. Her. Fault.

“I should never have left you at the bar. I should have stayed. I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay with you, be with you, deal with you, deal with what had happened. Hell, I wanted to do it all over again and keep going until I’d finally made love to you. I didn’t have the nerve to handle any of it the way I should have. I was such an immature prick. I made so . . . many . . . mistakes.”

She was shaking her head. “No . . . no. . .” She found her voice then. She couldn’t believe the man who held her so responsible for his misery was trying to share her guilt. None of it was his fault at all, but he was doing a damn fine job trying to convince her and himself that he somehow deserved to share her guilt. “Darren, please, you can’t. . .” She met his eyes, and her voice died in her throat. His expression was harsh. He didn’t want her sympathy.

He reached for her ankle, gently trailing his fingers over her skin, circling her joint. He was looking at the path his fingers were tracing, and Bailey suddenly couldn’t keep her mouth closed. Her lips parted at the intimate touch, and she was sucking in sharp, quick breaths of shocked air. That air left her in a rush when he grasped her ankle and pulled her swiftly toward him. She slid smoothly across the polished wood floor, her robe riding up as she moved, but she stopped before the hem passed her bottom, saving her rear the pain. It did not save her modesty, and she was left sprawled beside him with her legs splayed apart, completely exposed to him.

Her eyes were wide and shocked as she tried to push herself up to sit with her arms that were barely propping her up. His eyes were searing into her, but he was no longer looking at her eyes. His focus was on her sex. He stared, and when she tried to close her knees, he pushed them apart, refusing to let her hide. The moment she tried to close her knees again, he pounced toward her, pinning her to the floor and pushing his way between her legs. His hands held her wrists to the floor, and she could feel his hard arousal through his jeans pushing against her sex. He was breathing deeply as he watched her, his brow flinching. Her body was tingling, prickling in hot need, and his hard erection that was between them was taunting her.

“I want to fuck you.” His voice had turned tormentingly hot, but harsh. “You’d let me. I know you would.” He ground his cock against her naked and parted lips, innervating her arousal with his. “Every nightmarish thing that happened six years ago can be traced back to this. My refusal to acknowledge this. My refusal to take what I wanted and give you what you needed.” He pushed against her again, and she groaned. He did too as his hands tightened harder on her wrists. “Why shouldn’t I have it now?” He looked cold and angry.

“That’s the wrong reason—”

“Is it? Then call it a consolation prize. My sister’s life for a fuck.”

She whimpered. She wasn’t afraid he’d hurt her, but she was absolutely afraid she’d go along with whatever he wanted to do to her. “You’re trying to make me uncomfortable.”

“And you’re making it so fucking easy.” He pushed again, hard, grinding a powerful, slow thrust between her legs as she gasped. She was wet, and she could feel it soaking into the material of his jeans. He kept thrusting this time, slow, deliberate strokes that left her fighting her body to not react. It was pointless, and she started gasping, biting down hard on her tongue to stifle the moan of unwelcome pleasure that was coursing out from where their bodies met. He watched her closely as her body betrayed her, and she started panting as her body readied itself.

When he pushed himself off her, she groaned as though someone had put a fist in her gut. The sudden absence of his weight was enough disappointment to make her cry. He stood, staring down at her. She was practically naked, confused, and stunned to the point that she simply lay there for a moment trying to figure out what had just happened. He looked about as confused as she was, and when she crawled from the floor, wrapping her robe around her, he turned from her and started for the door.

“Darren.” He stopped in his tracks, refusing to turn around. “Darren, please, you don’t have to leave.”

He turned slowly around. He shook his head before finally speaking. “I thought I could handle this. I thought I could handle being around you. I even thought I wanted to be around you. And I do. I see you, and it’s like dangling this incredibly wonderful memory in front of my face, tempting me to touch and taste and take everything I always wanted. And in one moment I want it so much I can barely walk away, but in the next, I remember just how much caring about you hurts. You’re like a poisoned apple.” His voice had that husky, choked-up edge again, and she let out a quiet sob at nothing more than that.

His eyes teared as his focus shifted to her chest, and after a moment he shook it away. “I know you need to be here for your mother. I understand that. But I can’t stay here anymore. I’m giving my notice at the hospital, and I’m going to relocate as soon as they can find a replacement.” Her own tears filled her eyes and then fell to her cheeks, and she sucked in a shaky breath as her heart seized painfully in her chest. “I just can’t do this. It’s too hard.” He turned from her but paused before he reached the door. “I shouldn’t have touched you. It won’t happen again.” Then he was gone, and the moment she heard his car pulling away, she sank back to the floor and sobbed.

This was somehow far worse than his hatred or anger.

Chapter Ten

Six Years Before

“I think Dare has a crush on you.” Jess was sprawled out in the seat next to Bailey as she started Darren’s car. Bailey tossed her a completely contrived look that said bullshit, and even tossed on a snort of incredulity to seal the deal. “I’m serious. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. You’re a shit liar. Always have been.” Jess looked wiped out after dancing for a solid hour straight. Bailey was exhausted too—more from fighting off Jess’ attempts to drag her onto the dance floor too.

“Your brother has a girlfriend, in case you forgot.” A response that actually didn’t require she lie to her best friend. But she glanced away from Jess too quickly. Busted.

“Something happened.” Jess’ voice wasn’t questioning. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she tried to read Bailey’s mind. “I’m right.” Still not a question.

“Jess, don’t be ridiculous.” But she looked away too quickly again, and soon Jess was chuckling beside her. Bailey started chuckling too. Couldn’t seem to stop.

“Fine. I’ll just ask him. He’s about as good a liar as you are.”

Bailey pulled from the parking spot and approached Seawall Boulevard. She paused for a moment, taking in Jess beside her rifling through her purse. “You can’t be serious, Je—”

“Look out!” Jess’ hand grabbed the wheel, yanking it hard to the right, turning farther into the right-hand turn Bailey was in the process of making and, thankfully for them both, swerving her close enough to the curb to keep them out of the path of the delivery truck she’d just pulled in front of. “Fuck, Bay! You sure you’re more sober than me?”

“Thought I was.” She giggled, and Jess joined her in another round of laughter. Bailey’s heart was in her chest from the near miss, but she was too busy laughing to pay it much mind.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay to drive?” She was still trying to decide if she was sure she had any remaining bladder control.

“Uh . . . whew! Yes, Jess. I’m fine. I really didn’t have that much, and I laid off the past hour or so. I’m definitely better off than you.” She steered Darren’s car back in line with the flow of traffic, and soon they were headed down Seawall Boulevard, her heart rate was normal, and she was reassured that she hadn’t actually peed the seat of Darren’s car—no way in hell she could ever live that down. Thank God for small favors.

“Yes, I did have a might bit more than you, but I danced it all off.” She was laughing beside Bailey, holding her cell phone in her hand. She’d forgotten all about her threat to call Darren for the skinny on Bailey’s odd behavior. “So, you were going to tell me what’s going on with you and Dare.” Bailey should have known better than to settle into complacency around Jess. Jess was on a mission, and she was die-hard when she was motivated.

“Nothing. Okay? Just drop it.” She almost sounded annoyed when she responded, but fortunately for her, Jess didn’t get her panties in a bunch too easily.

“Fine.” Jess said nothing else. She didn’t need to. Her fingers moving over the numbers on her cell phone’s keypad were speaking loud enough, and Bailey was starting to panic, even through the giggles she was trying to stifle.

“Jess! Stop!” She was still laughing, so it didn’t sound very convincing.

“Hey, Dare. So, I’m hoping you can help me with a little mystery—”

“Jess, dammit!”

She reached over for the phone, grabbing just as Jess opened her mouth to continue, and then her heart was in her throat again. Jess screeched beside her—the sound so loud it felt as though it could break her eardrums, but the sounds that followed put Jess’ scream to shame. The sound of crunching and bending metal were suddenly surrounding them. Bailey’s body was being thrown side-to-side, and she could feel the shift in gravity as her seat belt gripped her. She was pinned in the most horrifying roller coaster of her life, feeling her body’s weight trying to fly but being held and yanked back into place by the straps of the belts. They cut into her, choked her, tried to tear through her body. She knew they were flying, rolling, and there was no counting how many times before they were finally still again.

She coughed. It smelled like burning rubber, but when she opened her eyes, there was no smoke. The smell of gasoline mixed with the smell of tires, and it felt suffocating. She heard shouting. She couldn’t figure out where it was coming from at first, and then she remembered Darren. He’d been on the phone. It was his voice she was hearing, but now there were others. Distant yelling and shouting coming from outside the car.

“Jess . . . Jess.” She coughed. Her lungs were on fire. Her chest was burning. “Jess, Darren’s still on the phone, you have to. . .” Then she realized she was gripping Jess’ phone. She held it like her hand was a vise, and it was the first time she realized her hand was clamped down so tight on the phone that her fingers were stiffening. “Oh . . . never mind. I’ve got. . .” She looked over at Jess. She was staring out the window toward the ocean with her head resting on the head rest. How the hell had they actually managed to land upright? “Jess? Jess?”

“Bailey!” She lifted the phone to her ear, realizing again that she’d still not responded to his screaming. She could hear sirens now, and the voices from outside the car were getting closer.

“Dare. We’re okay. I don’t know what hap—Jess?” She turned to Jess again, reaching for her hand, and when she shook her slack hand, it was as if a slow, creeping tendril of terror seized her body. It started on her skin, slowly working its way around her neck and squeezing the panic into her body as she gently shook Jess’ hand. “No . . . no,” she was whispering, and she held the phone up near her head. She could hear Darren trying to talk to her, trying to get her attention. The desperation in his voice didn’t compare to the desperation coursing through her body, and so she ignored him. “No, no, no, no.” Her voice was getting louder. It was panic. Her terror was turning to panic, blinding panic that left her gasping for air and unable to breath.

Bailey reached for her chin, pulling Jess’ face toward hers, and then she screamed. She screeched, and she fought, and she kicked, and she sobbed. Her mind started to swim in a heavy, murky sea of muck that seemed to fill her body and make her limbs heavy. This wasn’t her life. This was someone else’s life. This wasn’t happening. She started to fade, the weight of the murky muck she was drowning in was suffocating her into darkness, but even as her mind went black, she could hear Darren in the phone yelling for her, screaming in a hoarse desperation for a response. The sound of his terror mixed with the images of Jess’ lifeless, staring eyes looking at her from her blood-streaked face.

Chapter Eleven

Now

“I saw Bailey.” He blurted it out at the dinner table a few weeks later. It was their routine to have Sunday dinner together either at his parents’ home thirty minutes outside Savoy or in Savoy at their favorite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, Harry and Sally’s. All Darren ever thought of was Meg Ryan orgasming at the dinner table, and he’d never quite figured out why the Harry and Sally didn’t understand why it might be just a bit inappropriate to name their restaurant in such a way. But Harry didn’t even seem capable of exciting Sally, and frankly, Sally made good grits.

His mom dropped her fork, and his dad just held his breath; the vast majority of the other patrons in the quaint little restaurant stared for a moment at the loud clank of metal on porcelain, but then they returned to their own worlds, blessedly ignoring his. All Darren could think was, Thank God he hadn’t told them what he’d done on the floor of her fucking house. That would have earned him a hell of a lot more of a reaction than just that.

“Oh . . . well. . .” His mother, Jillian, didn’t have much more to say than that, and his father, Brent, said even less. They watched him, waiting for something more.

“A few times.”

His father cleared his throat. “So, when you called a few nights ago talking about that Attending position in Little Rock . . . I mean, is that why you’re suddenly so interested in talking to Arkansas Children’s Hospital? Didn’t they pursue you after medical school, and you rejected their offers because you wanted to be in Savoy?”

“I just think—”

“What about taking over my practice in a few years? Wasn’t that the plan?”

His father wasn’t being rude. He was just reminding Darren of the direction his life had been going until just a few weeks ago. But a few weeks ago had changed a lot of things in his mind. The first being how the hell he was going to survive his life in Savoy without going insane. The answer to that was he wasn’t. There was no chance he could keep seeing her and stay sane.

The ironic part of that conundrum was just how much he wanted to see her. It had been two and half weeks since he’d damn near fucked her brains out on the floor of her cottage before he could stop himself, and in that time, he’d not yet figured out exactly what the hell was wrong with his head. He’d fallen apart at her home. Or maybe he’d fallen apart earlier in the day at the parade when he’d come face-to-face with her. There was something about seeing her there, standing across the street staring at him. It was this bizarre reminder of just how interwoven their lives were. It might not have been the first time he’d seen her since she’d returned to Savoy, but it was the first time he’d truly understood that she wasn’t going away.

He’d almost choked seeing her in that damn T-shirt. It was like seeing his Bailey. The Bailey he wanted back. The Bailey who wasn’t responsible for drunk-driving his sister into an early grave. She’d been standing in his world again, merely watching a parade on the other side of the street from him. Her shoulders rubbed the shoulders of his people, in his world, in his existence. She wasn’t going away, and the hardest part of that was he didn’t want her to. He couldn’t handle that want. The want made him feel guilty, made him feel like a betrayal to his family. And the want felt good—good in a way he wasn’t used to anymore and that he no longer trusted.

When he felt good, it was usually followed by him waking up. It was about the only time he truly felt at peace anymore—when he was lost in dreams of a different world. Losing his sister and Bailey in one fell swoop had destroyed him, and even six years later, he was living a ghost life—unable to cope with the guilt, the anger, the utter confusion. Work was a good distraction. It was the tether that kept him anchored to his sanity, but he’d never found his happiness again, and he’d given up thinking he would—especially now.

“Things are different now. I just need—”

“Things have been different for years, Darren.” His mother’s voice was gentle, so perfectly gentle in the same way it had been at the hospital after the accident. Even through her own tears, she’d consoled him. None of it had mattered. He still felt guilty, he still blamed himself, and nothing his parents could say would change that. “Sometimes I feel as though I lost both my children that night. And I worry I’m never going to get you back.”

He didn’t respond. He simply looked out the window of the restaurant to the woods beyond. He’d expected resistance. Not because his parents wanted to keep him in Savoy forever, but because he knew they’d see down to the core of why he wanted to leave—better stated, why he wanted to run away. If they thought he was leaving for the right reasons, they’d support his decision, but they knew better.

“We’re meant to move past grief, Darren. Why do I feel like you’re the only one at this table who hasn’t managed that?” His father’s stern gaze met his as he looked back from the window.

He sighed, he shook his head slightly, and he gave up on the conversation. When he stood, his mother stood as well, and his father’s jaw tensed. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket, but his father stopped him before he could fork over any cash for his meal with a terse shake of his head. He was still their child after all, and he hadn’t managed to pay for a dinner check yet. You’re never truly an adult to your parents after all.

He kissed Jillian on the cheek and nodded to Brent before he left his meal half eaten on the table and walked silently from the restaurant as their eyes followed.

Macy greeted him with a wagging tail and a slobbering mouth when he walked through his door. He set her loose to run while he paced on his back deck. And when he finally called her back inside, he collapsed onto the couch and stared at the high ceiling above. He had an overnight shift that night, and he eventually closed his eyes, determined to sleep for a while before he had to leave for the hospital.

He let his mind move to Bailey. It was both intensely and instantly satisfying and painful at the same time. The moment he let himself see her face, his body shuddered with an electric wave of emotion. He drifted to sleep imagining her smile. It didn’t exist in this world any more than his own smile did, but he knew her smile so well. When he finally fell asleep, it didn’t last.

He woke groaning and almost threw up before he could get to the bathroom, thanks to the horrifying place his brain had taken him. The vision of her smiles had turned sour fast, and his dreams had ended with her tears and pleas. He’d been looking down at her as she’d sobbed and begged him to stop. He’d used his body to invade, intimidate, and hurt hers. He’d watched as though apart from himself as he raped and tormented her, cutting his fury loose to destroy her.

Her voice pleaded, and he’d pounded until he knew her pain was severe. He’d cursed her, practically spitting his hate in her face. He didn’t need to hit her. His violent thrusts as he pinned her to the ground were all the pain he needed to inflict on her. But then she’d spoken “I love you”, whispered between his penetrations as she cried. And that’s when his eyes had flown open, and he staggered to his bathroom to leave his lunch in his toilet. He gasped for breath as he flushed his face in cold water afterward.

He had to get out of this place.

When he pulled the door open to leave, he came face-to-face with the very reason he was losing his mind, and he swallowed the sudden sour bile that was in his mouth.

“Hi.” She was just stepping onto his porch, and she looked nervous.

“What do you want?” His tone said, Get lost, and her gaze flitted away for a moment.

She cleared her throat, and when she looked at him again, she licked her lips. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I have a shift at the hospital.” He brushed past her, running down the porch stairs to his car. She’d conveniently parked her bike behind his car. “See you didn’t get your license back.” His voice was an irritated mutter. She mistook the statement for an invitation to converse.

“Revoked for the time being. It’ll be reviewing in a couple years, depending on my parole status, and—”

“I don’t care. Just move it. You’re blocking me in.” He turned from her as her words still hung in the air as much as her mouth still hung open. She didn’t respond, and he looked back to her slowly.

She was staring at his feet, fighting the tears, swallowing over and over as she tried to rein in the emotion. She finally looked at him again. “I don’t want you to leave Savoy.”

He didn’t know why he suddenly couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow, and his throat felt like sandpaper. And as he forced his face muscles to relax and his eyes to release the wide-eyed terror, his hands fisted at his side. He had to get away from her . . . but he wasn’t at all sure he could leave if she asked him to stay.

Chapter Twelve

Six Years Before

A person hears a lot of things in the hospital, and only a small amount of it is actually meant to be heard. It was the longest and most agonizing eight hours of his life, waiting for his parents to arrive. He already knew his sister was dead, and they did too, but there were no planes to catch in Savoy, and so they had to suffer hours in the car until they could make it to Little Rock to catch a flight south.

She was brain dead. They’d explained it to him, and even if they hadn’t, he knew perfectly well what she was. The ambulance had been close to the scene, close enough in fact to make it there in time to keep her alive. Alive long enough to get her to the hospital before her heart was quiet too long, her lungs still for too long. Long enough for the organ transplant team to catch wind of the gold mine his sister had become. It was what she’d want. Another thing he didn’t need to be told but that the transplant coordinator felt the need to say anyway.

He sat by her side, listening to the machines keep her alive. He cried, he sat in a dead stupor, and he eventually stood and walked to the hallway. He was tired of looking at her. She looked too . . . alive. So incredibly alive. Head injury. Her head had slammed into the side of the passenger door as his car rolled three times before coming to settle on a rocky patch of beach. He couldn’t stand to see her like this, and so he left. He’d already heard that Bailey was going to be fine, so he needed to stay close to Jess. He sank into a bank of chairs in a small side hallway near her room, and he stared at the industrial tile floor.

The next time he looked up, it was to see a doctor standing at the counter with a man in a suit. The man had a badge on his belt, and they were looking at him. The man, a detective if Darren was guessing, was just watching him. He looked away. The detective couldn’t bring his little sister back to life, so Darren didn’t give a shit about the man.

He sat for hours. Different doctors walked in and out of Jess’ room. Darren knew some of them were transplant doctors. They were waiting for Darren’s parents to arrive, like vultures ready to pounce on the spoils. It was what Jess would want. Yes, it was, and some day he would wrap his head around the fact that these doctors intended to leave her body a hollow shell—her body that was still so alive, and yet was just a vegetable. Why vegetable? Why not a loaf of bread? A cut of spoiled meat? Vegetable just didn’t make sense.

People stared at him when they walked by, and after a while the detective returned. He was staying close. He was as much a vulture as any of them, but he stayed away from Darren. He left Darren in peace, but his focus kept shifting to Darren as though there was something to say, but he wasn’t ready to speak. The doctor walked out of the room a bit farther down the hall, and he handed the detective a slip of paper. His eyes scanned the slip before he glanced up at Darren and then back down the hall toward the door the doctor had come from.

Was it Bailey’s room? He wanted to see her; he needed her the way he always needed her when life fell apart, but she’d been driving his car, and he couldn’t figure out how to feel about that. It hurt to think she might have done something wrong to make this happen. It hurt to think she might be responsible. Not his Bailey. This couldn’t be her fault.

In any other situation, she would be the one he would think of first, the one he would want to reach out to, the one he would crave. He needed her support, her gentle sympathy. He’d had it before, and he still thought of it whenever he was crumbling.

Darren had lost his high school best friend, Scott, to suicide his third year of college. He’d been too busy to maintain the friendship the way he should have, and once Scott was gone, Darren was able to think of little else but the many times he let Scott’s calls go to voice mail, the times he’d turned Scott down when he’d called wanting to go out, every last rejection he gave his best friend that said loud and clear that there were other things in life more important to him. It had happened just before winter break, and he was fortunately home a month, otherwise he wasn’t sure he’d have made it through the pain.

Bailey had been the one he needed, and one night, two weeks after Scott’s death, she’d given him exactly what he’d craved. They’d ended up in bed together, curled up with her face nuzzled into his neck. His parents had been traveling, and Bailey was spending the night with Jess. Jess had fallen asleep while they’d watched a movie, and the moment he stood, Bailey’s eyes found him, and he reached for her hand. She’d said nothing when he led her down the hallway to his bedroom, and it was silent when she’d climbed in bed with him. She stroked his back in the dark, and he stared into the black, keeping his body close to hers and feeling the first measure of relief he’d experienced since finding out his friend was gone. They had done nothing wrong, nothing inappropriate at all, but neither of them had ever spoken about that night since then. It was never spoken about to anyone in fact, and he knew without even asking that she’d never told anyone, either. She was just his rock, the one he desired when nothing else could give him peace.

He craved her even now, wanting to feel her close to him, wanting to feel her fingers stroking his back, and her warm breath inhaling and exhaling calmly against his neck. He needed that relief more than anything in the world right now, and he knew she needed him too; how could she not? She was alone. Her parents must be on their way too, but she was alone, and she had to be afraid. But he couldn’t go to her. He was terrified to see her, terrified he might have to acknowledge that she’d done something to cause this, and he wasn’t sure he could deal with his rock being tarnished.

The detective walked up to the room he thought was likely Bailey’s room, peeking in and then slowly meandering back down to the nurses’ station. The detective kept looking into her room, and then eventually he disappeared inside, and two nurses exited. They walked slowly, not paying much attention to anything. They leaned up against the side of the desk, and he listened.

He was sitting in a stupor, forgotten by the corridor of nurses passing by and the occasional visitor moving around. He wasn’t supposed to hear that Bailey was doing fine, and she was stable. He was relieved more than he could articulate at the moment. He was desperately relieved . . . but he also wasn’t supposed to hear her blood alcohol level. His eyes snapped up to the two nurses still standing at the desk. Another had joined them, and they were talking quietly. They hadn’t realized he was sitting there as quiet as a mouse, waiting for something to happen.

“She was nearly twice the legal limit. When are these kids going to learn? They’re not invincible. It’s just so avoidable.”

“Detective’s been waiting to talk to her for a while, but she’s not gonna be leaving without handcuffs. Two more lives ruined. One in a grave, another in jail.” That’s when they saw him. He was just staring at them. Their eyes glanced furtively away from him, and he returned his eyes to the floor.

Drunk. Avoidable.

He was numb. He didn’t know how to process it. Bailey was drunk. She hadn’t seemed at all drunk when he’d left. She’d been drinking earlier in the evening, but drunk? She had done this—his Bailey. He had to be upset at her—didn’t he? He was supposed to—wasn’t he? He didn’t have any clue how he was supposed to feel. Relief that Bailey was doing okay felt wrong, but he was. He was relieved. He cared too much about her not to be relieved. But she’d done this.

“Darren . . . Darren.” His head was swimming in some other place, and he was having a hard time responding. It was his mother, and he needed to lift his head. His hands were cramping as he held his head in his hands, and the places on his knees where his elbows rested were painful. His back ached as he forced himself to sit upright. He hadn’t been asleep, but he also hadn’t been conscious. His brain had been zoned out as he’d replayed his whole day.

It was a surreal thing remembering their morning, talking to Jess and Bailey. He hadn’t had a clue his sister would be dead by the end of the day. How could he? And yet, it was such an odd thing to think he didn’t. How could Jess just be gone? How could Bailey be responsible? He didn’t realize just what that meant at first. He hadn’t much questioned why the detective was there. Of course there would be questions, but he figured out quickly this wasn’t just some little thing. There wouldn’t just be questions; there would be charges.

He didn’t know how to feel about that, either, and after sitting in the hallway for too long, watching the detective come and go from Bailey’s room, he stood and walked back into Jess’ room. His parents were sitting vigil. The word “vigil” almost assumed they were waiting for something to happen. Nothing was going to happen. Jess was going to be the eternal vegetable or his parents were going to agree to allow her organs to be harvested. He knew what their choice would be, and there was no disagreement to be had. It was what she’d want. How many times had he either been told that or thought that in the last eight hours? Odd, he’d never had to consider such a thing before. Of course it was what she’d want! But it didn’t mean she wanted to die.

“Darren?” His mom rested a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her. He didn’t need her to tell them it was time. They’d sat with her for a while, and the transplant team was ready. The coordination was crucial, and his parents had given their consent. His mother’s eyes were puffy; his father’s lips were pursed tight. It was how he showed pain. He clamped his lips tight against the tears. Darren did the same thing . . . most of the time. But he didn’t even try now. He closed his eyes, and his shoulders started to hitch and lurch as the sobs overcame him. His mother leaned over him and clasped his shoulders as her tears fell again. His father cleared his throat a few times until it became useless, and he ended up sinking into another chair, bracing his bowed head with a hand to his forehead.

This was hell. He’d always dreaded the passing of his own parents. It was something every child thought about, he supposed. It was usually the order of things, and however cliché it was to say Jess had died too young, or that she wasn’t supposed to go before her own parents, it didn’t much matter. It was just the truth. It was supposed to be the way of the world—the natural order of life. He stood and walked to the door. He looked back once. It was the last time he’d see his sister living, and he just stared. He’d been nearly desperate to escape the room only moments before, but now, he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. He was too old to find death a mystery; he was too old to find this experience surreal. He’d experienced loss before. He understood it just fine, so why the fuck couldn’t he wrap his head around this one?

The swelling and abrasions on the side of her face were the only sign of the train wreck inside her head. She was a beautiful young woman who was supposed to be just waking up after a night out on the town—just like every other twenty-one-year-old woman on spring break. She looked completely peaceful; of course she had no worries anymore—at least none her brain was able to process. She didn’t know her life was getting ready to end, and the people in the world who loved her most were being forced to confront that fact—still so alive, but already dead.

He finally gritted his teeth, his head dropped, and he forced himself to walk away.

Chapter Thirteen

Now

He was just glaring at her. It was about the only reaction she could expect from him at this point. He liked to glare at her about as much as he used to like to smile at her . . . or smirk . . . or wink. “I’m moving away.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, but he didn’t react to her words at all. His eyes remained on her, and the only reaction she could sense was something unfathomable when she saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed. It meant something—the tightness in his neck muscles—but his expression remained cold and calm.

She got tired of waiting for a response, and since she had no idea what to make of his silence, she continued. “My mom has decided to move to Memphis. In a couple weeks. Most of the galleries that show her work are closer to Memphis than they are to Savoy. My parole office approved the transfer, and the parole office there has agreed to the transfer of jurisdiction.” She cleared her throat. She was stalling for some reason. “I just think it would be better.” And then she looked away. This was a hard conversation. It shouldn’t be. She was likely making his day, but it was hard because it was painful.

Her mother had been absolutely right when she’d said Bailey wanted to be close to Darren. It didn’t seem to matter that he hated her. It didn’t even matter that he was more than willing to show her just how much he hated her. It was funny because her need to be close wasn’t some self-destructive action that she was inflicting on herself—though any shrink in the world likely wouldn’t believe her if she said it. She just really and truly needed to know if he could ever forgive her. He’d given her no reason to think he could, but he’d also not completely given her reason to think he couldn’t. Not completely.

He’d touched her. He’d shown desire where he should have none. He sought her out, and it wasn’t to hurt her. She could understand his need to lash out, to be angry, but there was more there than that, and whether he intended to show it or not, he did. Even now, he was just watching her, seriously and coolly, but he was giving her no real reaction beyond that. What he wasn’t doing was making it clear he agreed with her decision. He wasn’t saying good riddance. He was just watching, glaring, staring, and intimidating her with his dark eyes. But he said nothing. What that meant for Bailey was a load of regret. She was used to regret, but this regret was for an action she’d not yet taken. She was going to move away, and she’d likely never get an answer to her question as a result. Could he ever forgive her?

“Darren, I’m sorry if my coming back here caused you more pain. I don’t want that, and I hope my leaving will help.” She was saying exactly what she didn’t want to believe, and still, he gave her nothing. If he would only agree, if he would only show her, tell her just how much he detested everything about her, then she could walk away and that damn question would be laid to rest, but he was a rock. Not a strong, time-withstanding rock of surety, just a quiet, distant, unfathomable, and hard creature. Perhaps this was her payback, and he knew his silence would send her packing with more questions and regret than she already had.

“Please say something.”

She watched as his Adam’s apple rose and fell again; the tension in his shoulders and neck was visible in the set of his body. His nostrils flared as he inhaled a deep breath, and when she finally gave up and turned to return to her bike, he grabbed her elbow. His hand clamped down tight as she paused midstride. “Coward.” His teeth were gritted as he spoke, and his jaw was tight.

Her eyes filled with tears. He had no idea what this was truly about for her. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” She could barely stifle the sob that was welling up in her throat, and as his grip loosened on her elbow, she pulled away and walked to her bike.

He stared at the ground as she moved her bike out of his way, and he ignored her entirely as he pulled out before her, leaving her staring after him. When she arrived back at her cottage, she settled into the chore of packing her life up. She didn’t have much choice but to leave with her mom, and when her mom had called a week before, it didn’t take her more than five minutes to make the decision. Just because the decision was an easy one did not make it a welcome one. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she also just didn’t want to be face-to-face with the fact that she was hurting him every day.

There was no escaping him here, and she didn’t want to. That was the kicker. He might want to be away from her, but she didn’t, hell couldn’t, feel the same way. She also couldn’t let him leave his life in Savoy because of her. He’d earned his place there a hell of a lot more than she had, and she simply wasn’t going to be responsible for it. The fact she was broke and couldn’t even pay her utility bills at this point helped her make the decision. She just had no choice at this point.

Her phone rang, and she collapsed on the couch exhausted. There were boxes strewn about. Some were full, some were half empty, some were still completely empty. She had little time. Her mom had made the decision on the spur of the moment, something her mom was quite prone to. Her lease had run up a few months before, and she was paying month-to-month on the place. It was time. Her mom knew the landlord would show up with another lease, expecting her to sign and lock herself in for another year, and what Bailey’s mom knew was that she didn’t want to be there for another year.

So, Bailey was left with less than three weeks to pack and get her parole officer on board with her plan. Fortunately, the sweet old man seemed to like her enough to be on board with about anything she wanted. She couldn’t support herself at this point, and seeing as no one really wanted her there anyway, it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Oh, hon, this is going to be good for us. You know that? We need a new start. I sure know I do, and baby, it’s time for you too.”

“I know, Mom. I’m looking forward to it.” Her voice didn’t sound very convincing. In some ways she was looking forward to it, but in another way, one she was struggling to ignore, she was dreading it. But her mom was right. It was just time to move on and forget her old life. Her life had hurt people, and it was continuing to do so even now. Time to cut her losses and run.

“It’s not a bad thing to look forward, Bailey, and stop looking back. I know this is hard for you. I also think it’ll be easier in the long run, happier even.”

“Well, since they’re disconnecting my electricity the Monday after next if I don’t pay the bill by then, and I haven’t a penny to pay them, I’m taking it as a sign from God that I’m supposed to be Memphis bound. ’Sides, it’s too damn hot in Arkansas in the middle of summer to go without electricity.”

Her mom chuckled. “So, Michelle is going to sell your furniture for you in her garage sale next month?”

“Yeah. The store has a delivery truck, so she’s going to send it over next weekend and have them move my furniture to their warehouse until next month. She keeps telling me she’s going to send me the money, and I keep telling her to keep it since she’s the one who gave me all the furniture anyway.”

“She’s a good friend to you, Bailey. I know you’re going to miss her.”

Bailey said nothing. She was choked up at nothing more than the thought. This place had been her home once upon a time too. She’d been a good student; she’d won a few awards in writing, and she’d been one hell of a swimming competitor too. People not only knew who she was, they knew her for the right reasons. People still knew her plenty well, and they also knew her for reasons she couldn’t run from. Her fall from grace had been ugly, and people had long memories in these parts. So, why was this so hard?

Part of her really did wish Darren had said good riddance. It would have helped. If she knew for sure she was doing the right thing for him, at the very least she could rely on that getting her through this decision, but he’d been so damn stoic. He held his emotions and opinions close to the chest around her in a way he never used to. He truly wasn’t her Darren anymore. He was a shell of the man she used to know, and this had to be the best thing for them both. It had to. She’d give him the distance he needed, and maybe someday he’d remember what an amazing man he could be. Maybe someday he could move past what had happened and find some shred of peace in his life. He deserved that.

Michelle arrived later with some old pictures of Jess, Michelle, and Bailey. They’d spent all their time together, and the only reason Michelle wasn’t with them on that fateful spring break was because her college’s spring break didn’t coordinate with theirs. There were more pictures than Bailey recalled having ever taken, and they pored over them for hours. They giggled, they laughed, and they cried. A lot. It was hard for Bailey to look at pictures of Jess’ vibrant eyes and then remember the dead ones she’d seen looking back at her in the wreckage of the car. It was hard to see so much life in her best friend’s image and know she was responsible for taking it away. At the same time, she couldn’t help but laugh at some of the pictures.

Jess had always been the star of a room. Bailey had been plenty popular too, but Jess was just the type who commanded attention. She was beautiful, but at the same time, she could be loud and brash, and she wasn’t afraid to make a fool of herself. That meant there were plenty of pictures of Jess being a complete and utter dumbass, and there was no way of looking at those and not laughing. By the end of the night, Bailey was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open.

She woke the next morning, and Michelle was gone. She would be at the furniture store by now, and Bailey would be spending the day packing again. On the coffee table was a picture Michelle had left. It was of Bailey and Jess. They were suntanned and standing on the beach at the lake, but they weren’t wearing skimpy bikinis or trying to look like women. They might enjoy the attention they got when they did, but they also knew how to get dirty, and that was obviously what they’d been doing on this day.

Jess wore an old, tattered T-shirt with the arms cut off, and the front of the shirt was covered in mud. Her long, dark hair was tangled and held off her forehead by a bandana. Her arm was slung around Bailey’s shoulders and Bailey’s was likewise slung around Jess’. Bailey was wearing a black halter top, and she was covered in as much mud and sand as Jess was. She wore jogging pants that had been cut off into shorts, and her hair was up in a high, messy knot on the top of her head.

Bailey couldn’t remember the day for sure, but she knew they’d been out traipsing through the woods around the lake. They’d catch painted turtles before setting them loose after a while; they’d give the dead fish that washed up on the shore a proper burial by tossing their carcasses back into the water; they’d pretend they were in another world while they explored the thick and humid woods. And in the end, they’d show back up at the beach looking like two homeless beach bums, smelling of dead fish and lake water.

They’d no doubt been camping and boating during summer break, and Darren was most likely nearby laughing at their absurdity while he rolled his eyes. Their smiles were genuine and carefree. They weren’t posing to look good. They really didn’t give a shit if they did or not. They were just being young and fun. They had their whole lives ahead of them to be serious and grownup after all.

Chapter Fourteen

Four Years Before

“Honey, I have some bad news.” Her mother’s eyes were already tearing as she looked at Bailey through the glass. The tears were nothing new, but the announcement of bad news was. Bailey gritted her teeth and braced herself for it. She could do nothing else but wait for it. “Your dad is sick. Lung cancer.” Bailey’s face must have looked panicked because before she could respond, her mother rushed on. “He’s seeing an oncologist in Little Rock regularly, and he’s doing well. The chemo is taking a lot out of him, but we’re really hopeful, honey.”

Her mother had that nothing-can-get-me-down sound to her voice, and it terrified Bailey to no end. It was a contrived inflection, and she was trying to convince herself as much as she was Bailey. “Then why isn’t he here? You can only make this trip once every couple months, and he’s never missed yet. Why isn’t he here?”

Her mother didn’t respond right away. She looked like she was pleading with the world to open up and swallow her. Bailey understood. It couldn’t be easy to have this conversation through a glass window with your daughter who was sitting in jail and had been for over a year and would be for at least another four even if she behaved well. “Just a bit under the weather’s all. He’ll bounce back, baby. He’s a fighter. Don’t you worry ’bout your daddy. You know he wouldn’t want that.” Bailey nodded, but she was barely hearing her mother’s words.

Her ears were buzzing, and she knew there was so much to say, but she was failing to figure out what exactly. “Well . . . well . . . I mean . . . what are the doctors saying? Has it spread, how big is the tumor? How . . . well, I thought he’d quit smokin’. How . . . I just don’t understand.”

“Well, he smoked for years, and. . .” Her mother’s eyes flit away for a moment. “Well, he’s been smokin’ a bit more . . . lately.”

Bailey’s face fell. She could feel it in the slack muscles around her mouth. “You mean since his daughter was sent away to prison for ten years?”

Her mother didn’t even respond to that one. “Baby, the docs say he could have been sick for a while and no one knew. He smoked for years. You can’t blame—”

“Like hell I can’t.” And then she was crying. Living in a prison wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Hell, she didn’t mind the food, she didn’t mind the mattress, she didn’t even mind some of the other women there, but it was this. The helplessness of what this place did to a person. She was supposed to be with her family right now. They needed her, and she couldn’t be there. She deserved this type of punishment, but they sure as hell didn’t.

That was lesson number one she learned: your punishment is a far-reaching thing that destroys more lives than just your own. Her parents didn’t deserve this, Bailey did. She sat sobbing like a child as her mother tried to hold it together for her. That pathetic image of the loved one with their hand on the glass wasn’t just some overused cliché picture. It was Bailey’s life, and it was exactly what her mother was doing at the moment.

Her mother was standing bent over the table of the small booth she was sitting in with her hand pressed to the glass as though she could get to her daughter if she just pushed hard enough—as though she could send her support and love through the glass with just enough force. “Please, Bailey. You can’t think of that right now. He’s going to be fine. He really is. Stay strong, okay? Your daddy expects to see you when you get out, and he’s not going anywhere.”

Bailey stood, nodding her head. She told her mother she loved her and asked her to tell her dad too. Then she hung up and staggered away. The guard that escorted her from the visiting room didn’t bat an eye. She didn’t act as though a sobbing prisoner was anything at all to concern herself with. That’s all Bailey was. One of thousands of prisoners with a sob story. Hers was no better and no worse than any other. They didn’t give out awards for being the saddest creature in this place.

Bailey lay on her bed, and she stared at her ceiling. She spent a lot of time doing that. She knew every crack and crevice up there. She knew where a cobweb had made its home, and she watched it every day for signs of life. But there was no one home. Even the spiders were allowed to leave and move on from this place. Someday Bailey would too, but it would be many years from now. She couldn’t help but wonder what her life would look like then. Would she be happy again? Could she be happy again?

Chapter Fifteen

Now

It was a week after Bailey had told him she was leaving, and he was sitting in his car outside her home, staring at his steering wheel. He didn’t know how to do this, and he wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. But he was absolutely going to fucking do it.

He knocked, and he waited. He could hear her feet padding to the door, and his heart pounded. When she pulled the door open, he watched as her lips parted, and her chest instantly stilled as she held her breath.

“Stay.”

She stared as he spoke, dumbfounded.

“Don’t leave.”

She shook her head as though she could make sense of what he said if she could rattle her gears back into place. “What? Why?”

“I need you here!” His lips trembled as he spoke. “Because I know if you leave, then this is the place I’m going to be for the rest of my life.” His hands were trembling and his chest was tight. He felt as though he were breaking apart.

“Savoy?” She didn’t understand.

“No. This.” He shook his head in frustration. “This! Us. I need to deal with this. I have to, or . . . or I swear to God, it’s going to kill me.” He could feel his eyes tearing. “I hate you. I really and truly hate you.” He looked over her shoulder, seeking understanding that he just couldn’t wrap his head around. “But . . . I still . . . Stay. Convince me not to hate you because . . . because hating you is the end of me.”

She started crying then, and he stood forcing his diaphragm to work, trying to calm his emotions—the emotions that had been running rampant since he’d heard her say she was leaving and his heart had lodged in his throat. It made no sense at all. He’d been prepared to leave, and yet, hearing her say she was leaving was painful.

“Darren, I. . .” She was going to say no, and that damn panic hit again. He grabbed her, pushing her against the wall. She gripped his waist, and he groaned quietly. She had to stay. He meant every word of what he said. He could feel it in his core, though he couldn’t rationalize it to save his life.

He dropped his forehead to hers. He was so close to her, and it soothed him in a way he didn’t want to admit—in a way he recognized from another lifetime. “Please stay. Please.” He was almost whispering, but he could feel her head nodding even though he couldn’t see her. He relaxed for the first time in days, and he sighed. Her fingers were still gripping the sides of his waist, and he could feel their tension release as he relaxed, but she didn’t pull her hands away, and he was so infinitely glad she didn’t.

She held her place, and she let him keep her against the wall. It was far too intimate, but everything they did, even what they did in anger, seemed to feel intimate—always had. He needed to walk away, but he couldn’t. He also couldn’t give her more than this. He wanted to. He wanted to collapse against her, pull her into his arms, crumple to the floor with her in his lap, but he wasn’t lying when he said he hated her. Or maybe he was. He didn’t have a fucking clue anymore. He wanted to hate her. That much he knew. He wanted to hate her because it felt right, and it felt powerful even through the helplessness. But he was no longer sure he was capable of hating her.

He still couldn’t figure out why he needed her to stay, but the words he’d said to her were the God’s honest truth. He knew he had to deal with this if there was ever a hope for him. When he was planning on moving away, he was secure in the knowledge that she would be here in Savoy. He could find her when he needed to, when he was ready to. But her leaving, that was intolerable. She could disappear forever, and he wasn’t ready for that. It felt as though his very last chance at redemption and sanity was dissolving, and he just couldn’t handle that.

“What am I supposed to do here? My mom needs to go to Memphis, and I’m not going to ask her to stay. But I have nothing here.” Her voice cracked for a moment.

“I can’t help you with that. Your life is your own. What you do with it is too. Just don’t run away. That’s all I’m asking. I promise I won’t run, either.” She nodded. Her eyes were wide, terrified if he were guessing, and he didn’t quite know what that meant. Was she really afraid of him? Was she afraid of what would happen between them? If she was, then she wasn’t the only one. He was afraid too. There was something so incredibly tantalizing about her. To him, she’d always been the most captivating creature in the world. She still was.

“What does this mean for us?”

“Nothing.” He focused on her eyes, studying her reaction. He knew it hurt her feelings to hear him say it, but it was the truth. He didn’t know what to expect from any of this, and he certainly didn’t intend to make up and play nice with her.

“Then why should I stay?”

He leaned to her ear. He could smell her incredible scent. She smelled of subtle shower wash. Not flowery or fruity but warm and sweet like oatmeal and honey. He was guessing it was something like that. He almost stayed there too long, just inhaling against her neck. “Don’t you at least want a chance at redemption?” He pulled back from her.

“Yes.” She nodded, and he finally backed away from her.

“Well, this should be interesting, shouldn’t it?” He could feel his lips pulling up in a smirk. Then he turned and walked away, out her door, and down to his car. He sat for a moment, a bit stunned at what he’d done and infinitely relieved that he’d had the balls to do it. He was right. This promised to be interesting.

Chapter Sixteen

Three Years Before

“I was worried you wouldn’t make it. Thought you said you didn’t want to come today. Or you just didn’t want to come with your father and me?” He just looked down at Jess’ headstone as his mother spoke. “I’m worried about you, Darren.”

“Why?” His voice was cold, stubborn, unemotional. He recognized it, but he’d lost the ability to control it. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I’m going to graduate at the top of my class with honors and on time for that matter—regardless of—”

“Regardless of the fact you lost your sister three years ago?”

“Lost? Why do people always say that? Lost suggests something can be found. She’s dead, Mom. Try saying it out loud for a change.” She just watched him. She was so calm. Very little rattled the woman, likely what being a school counselor did for a person’s composure.

“Why do you try to make your academic standing sound like a badge of mental health? Do you think I believe you’re okay just because you’re going to graduate with honors? Is that what it means to be okay?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Being okay isn’t a requirement.”

“Oh, come on, Mom. You’re a school guidance counselor, not a fucking grief counselor. Save the psychobabble bullshit for someone else.”

“The fact you just said the f-word to your mom tells me I’m right on the money, hon.” She smirked. “Graduating on time and at the top of your class is only impressive to someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do. Your education has become a smokescreen for what’s really going on with you.”

“Are we really going to have this conversation in a cemetery?” He looked to his father, who shrugged his shoulders. This was his mother’s party, and he was going to let her have whatever conversation she wanted to have in the cemetery. “Fine. And what’s really going on with me, Mom?”

“You haven’t moved on. You’re clinging to your anger as though it will somehow honor your sister’s life. You’re using it to block out the pain. Would you like me to continue?” Darren’s father stood stoically by watching their interaction. He wouldn’t interrupt her, and Darren knew that.

“You’re not angry? You don’t wake up every day knowing that your child is dead in the ground? You don’t wish more than anything that you could go back and do things differently? Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel like your life has been destroyed?” She just watched him calmly with tears sitting on the lower rims of her eyes. “Well, I’m happy for you then. Because that’s how I feel every day—every . . . fucking . . . day.”

He turned and walked away. “You can’t go on like this, Dare. Jess wouldn’t want this for you.”

“Let me guess, I should forgive Bailey too. Is that what you’re going to say next? You sound like some train wreck of a reality show on TLC.” He tossed his rudeness over his shoulder without stopping or turning around.

“Since you brought it up . . . do you think hating Bailey honors Jess? Do you think it helps you in any way? Do you think it’s what your sister would want?”

He stopped, staring at the ground for a moment before rounding toward her slowly. “I think hating Bailey feels really good.”

He turned away again, but before he’d even taken one step, his mother spoke again. “Or, is hating her a good way to torture yourself?” He froze again, refusing to turn around this time. “I know you feel guilty. You shouldn’t, but I know you do. And I also know you well enough to understand that hating Bailey could never make you feel good. It is a very effective way to hurt yourself, though.” He didn’t look back or respond; he walked away, leaving her staring after him.

His drive back to Little Rock was long. Plenty long to let his mind wander and get lost. He was still on track to graduate on time. It really was a damn miracle. Actually, it wasn’t a miracle at all. He’d refused to let Jess’ death slow him down in the least. He threw himself right back into his schedule, barely taking off a full day for the funeral. He knew it was wrong. It was so wrong, but he couldn’t face it, and disappearing into his text books, into the hospital, into his long hours of training, gave him the means to pretend life was grand. And that was how he’d spent the few years since her death.

Other medical students struggled to keep up, struggled to focus in their exhaustion. Not Darren. He thrived on the distraction, and as a result, he was a veritable pinnacle of medical student success. They just couldn’t see the train wreck on the inside. He knew he was fucked up, but he didn’t know how to do anything different than keep pushing forward, hoping one day he could master the art of convincing himself he was okay.

His apartment was silent and empty when he finally got home. His parents had bugged him for months to take the day off and come home for the anniversary of Jess’ death. It almost sounded like a celebration. He’d dreaded it, and now that he was back in his apartment, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Everyone knew why he’d taken this day off, and he didn’t want to deal with the sympathetic bullshit at the hospital if he decided to go in and work. It was the last thing he needed, so instead, he drank himself into a stupor.

When he was drunk enough to cope with being around another person, he called Candace. Candace was the girl he was pretending to date at the moment. In truth, they fucked, and that was about it. He didn’t have time for more, and she didn’t care. She legitimately did not care that their relationship was going nowhere. Darren didn’t have a clue why she was as jaded as he was, and, well, he didn’t care.

Within an hour, he was buried in her body, pounding into her from behind as his hands gripped the spindles on his headboard. She was groaning, and he tuned it out, annoyed she was making it difficult for him to disappear into another world while he plowed into her. He came loudly, and she did too. He lay panting beside her, not even bothering to talk to her, touch her, or acknowledge her in any way.

“Who’s Bailey?” Her voice broke the silence, and his focus flashed to her.

“What?” How the hell did she know about her?

“You said the name Bailey. Or I should say you moaned it. When you were coming? Care to tell me who she is?”

Candace didn’t look the least bit upset, and Darren knew she wasn’t. At the most, she might be offended, but it wasn’t a personal affront to her. They just didn’t care about one another enough to care if the other wanted to cry out some other person’s name during sex. The odd thing wasn’t that she didn’t appear to care in the least he had called her another woman’s name, it was that he didn’t even realize he’d said it. Of course, he was still drunk as a skunk.

“She’s no one,” he muttered, hoping she’d drop it. He wasn’t so lucky.

“Doesn’t make any difference to me. I’m just curious. I mean, you love her.”

“No! I don’t love her.” He was getting annoyed, and it showed in his voice.

“You said, ‘Bailey, oh God, Bailey. I love you.’” She almost sounded like she was making fun of him as she said the words with mock inflection.

Darren stood, walking toward the bedroom door. He stopped and looked back at her. “You can show yourself out.” He didn’t bother making any excuses for what he’d said; he didn’t bother trying to explain. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with her, and he didn’t owe her an explanation. He wasn’t sure he could explain it if he tried anyway.

He heard the front door of his apartment close as he stood in his shower. He was dizzy, and he braced himself against the wall of the shower, wondering if perhaps he wasn’t too drunk to be showering in a hot steam of water that made the dizziness even worse. He thought of Bailey a lot, and apparently that included drunken fuck sessions with his casual fuck partner. Thinking of Bailey was painful . . . and at the same time, it was incredible. He had too many ridiculously arousing memories of her for it not to be incredible.

He stood letting the heat of the shower beat down on his shoulders, thinking about her. He was blocking out the anger and rage that she incited, and he was focusing on the feel of her. Her skin was soft, and he could remember the shiver that would run over her skin whenever he touched her. She likely didn’t know he noticed it, but it was hard to miss. It had always left his cock hard and his own body tingling in need. Now, he was hard again, but the tingles were guilt, and he fought his brain to let her go, so he could quiet the emotions in his mind that he just didn’t want to deal with.

Chapter Seventeen

Now

Her phone ringing startled her out of her focus. It was Monday morning two days after her mother left for Memphis, and she knew without looking it would be her mom.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, baby. How are you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”

“You know you can come to Memphis anytime. I have room in my apartment for you.”

“I know.”

“Okay. Well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am.” They disconnected quickly, and Bailey returned to scouring the newspaper in front of her. The help wanted section was sadly short, and she was losing hope.

The newspaper was spread out over the kitchen table, and her coffee was holding one corner. It was a bit ridiculous that Bailey was drinking coffee when it was over a 100 degrees in her cottage. Her power had been shut off, and she was trying like mad to figure out what she could pawn to make enough money to have it turned back on. How the hell she was going to support herself until she could get an income was becoming a desperate worry. Did it stop her from jogging to the nearest coffee shop for the biggest coffee her change jar would buy her? Hell no.

The heat was oppressive, and she was sweating. She was wearing a loose sundress. The idea of putting a bra and underwear on over her sweaty skin made her cringe, and so she was going commando under her baby-doll sundress that was practically see-through thanks to the thin white material.

The next interruption came when someone knocked on her door. She’d heard the car pull up through her open windows, but she’d ignored it, not wanting to move. Every time she moved, sweat trickled down her skin under her dress. When she pulled the door open, Darren was standing in front of her. He was wearing a pair of plaid cargo shorts and a casual T-shirt and didn’t appear to be drenched in his own sweat at all. Bailey was suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. He didn’t wait for her to invite him in before he moved past her and into her small entryway.

“Jesus, Bailey. You know you could die of heat exhaustion in here.” She said nothing. She wasn’t about to admit she couldn’t afford to have the power turned on. “Why the hell don’t you have the air on?”

“It’s not . . . working.” She turned to walk away and froze mid-step when she heard the very recognizable sound of the light switch being flipped. She turned slowly toward him, her cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. His eyes seared into her, but he said nothing. She didn’t bother trying to explain or make excuses. At the moment her tongue was in the way, and she couldn’t have spoken anyway. She was just too embarrassed. Rather than try to communicate with him, she turned back toward the kitchen, and he followed her. Bailey sank into her chair at the table, closing the newspaper quickly, but not before she caught Darren glancing down at it.

She watched as he moved to the counter, searching the drawers until he came across a washrag. He ran it under the cold water faucet. She was a bit dumbfounded and had no idea what he intended to do short of washing the dishes for her, and she certainly wasn’t expecting that. When he turned back to her, she just stared.

“Stand up.” He approached as she stood, and he set the rag on the table for a moment before he reached for her neck. She flinched, and he did to. “Relax, Bailey. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was quiet, and she had a sudden stab of guilt. He sounded offended. His hands scooped her long hair up the back of her head, pinning it to the crown of her head. “Hold your hair up.” Her hand fumbled with his as she replaced his to hold her hair in place. He watched her the entire time, calm and focused.

She was so focused on his eyes she almost missed the sight of his hand grabbing the rag again. He folded it over twice before slinging it around the back of her neck. She sighed before she could stop herself as the coolness of the water relieved the agony of the sweltering heat. She let her eyes close, and she relaxed against the pressure of his hand. Her sigh wasn’t the only unwelcome reaction she gave him. She moaned quietly as his hand gripped and massaged the cool rag across her skin, and her eyes flashed open instantly to see him watching her. His free hand moved to clutch her waist. His fingers squeezed gently, and hot liquid heat settled in her groin.

He ran the rag around her neck to the front of her chest, and everywhere the wet material touched her skin, it was instantly soothed. He moved slowly, gently caressing over her exposed collar bone. She almost let her eyes close again, but then he abruptly stopped, and when she looked to his eyes, she saw his studying her pebble-hard nipples through her sundress. There was no embarrassment when his eyes found hers again. He studied her calmly as though being caught staring at her tits meant nothing to him.

“I have a proposal.” She cocked her head to the side. “Macy needs a house sitter. I need a house sitter. My neighbors spend a lot of time with Macy, but they’re traveling back home to Louisiana for the next couple months to see their new grandchild, and Macy’s not used to being home alone when I’m at the hospital. I could use some help around the house too. Cleaning, cooking, laundry.” He seemed unsure for a moment, but then he reached for her hand, grabbing it and putting the wet rag in her hand. “Ten dollars an hour? It’s better than any entry-level position you’re going to find around here. Thirty to forty hours a week.”

She just stared for a moment. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck, and his eyes flashed to the trail it ran. He reached out, brushing the wetness from her collar bone. Then his eyes shifted lower to her still-hard nipples. “Impressive your nipples can get so hard in this scorching heat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were aroused. Is that it, Bailey? Are you thinking about fucking me?” He waited calmly for a reaction, and her heart raced. He enjoyed her discomfort. “Don’t worry. I’m not hiring you to be a sex slave. Just to be my housekeeper. I can get sex on my own.” Then as he brushed past her, he glanced down at the tabletop again to the newspaper. “From the looks of it, you’re in no position to turn me down. Can you come to my place tomorrow morning? Six fifteen? My shift starts at seven.”

“Yes.” Her voice came out as a whisper.

He turned from her again and headed for her front door. He said nothing as he left, and she didn’t have the nerve to say anything, either. She sank down in her chair at the table again, pushing the newspaper away. She stared at the tabletop and zoned out. She was going to work for the man. She was going to be answerable to him on a daily basis, wrapped up in his life to some extent. It was terrifying to consider . . . it was also intriguing. She hadn’t even figured out why he’d asked her to stay in Savoy yet, and now she had a new riddle. Why the hell would this man want her working for him?

Her stereo suddenly came on, belting out the local radio station she’d been listening to before the power had gone out. Nearly every light in her house came on too, and she shrieked in surprise as her house came alive again. She was already on her feet. She’d shot up out of her chair in shock, and then she started looking around, turning lights off, and finally silencing the stereo. When she looked outside, he was there, leaning up against the side of his car. She pulled the door open, stepping out onto the porch.

“Darren—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He climbed in his car without letting her finish, and then he was gone.

Chapter Eighteen

Two Years Before

Dear Bailey,

I’m sure you’re not expecting to hear from me, and I hope my letter won’t upset you in any way. I don’t intend for it to, I assure you. Brent just told me about your father’s health problems, and I wanted to let you know how very sorry I am to hear about it. It can’t be easy for you to cope under the circumstances, and I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you and your family.

I hesitated writing this letter, but I think I’d have regretted it far more if I didn’t than I will for deciding to reach out to you after four years. You were a daughter to me, and I don’t care if that phrase is overused, it’s true. You and Jess made me so very happy, and seeing the two of you together always left a smile on my face. You were absurd, you were funny, you were ridiculous, and just plain fun, and I miss you both.

My daughter loved you, and you made her a better person. There’s no doubt of that in my mind, and I always saw that in you. Being angry at you isn’t easy, holding you so responsible for our loss isn’t either. Everyone always thinks a person doesn’t forgive another because they don’t want to. As though forgiveness is something I could want to withhold from you for my own benefit. But I need you to understand that is simply not true. I’ve always wanted to forgive you, because my daughter would have wanted that and because being angry hurts.

Jess would never have blamed you for that night. Never. And I know it could have been her behind that wheel just as easily as it ended up being you. I could have a daughter in jail, and your parents could be enduring the loss of their only child. The only thing separating us from that existence rather than the one we find ourselves in is one small decision. I make wrong decisions every day, and I’m an adult who’s had years to figure out just how little slack life can cut you at times. You were little more than a child then, and were the situation reversed, I would want my daughter to be forgiven as well.

So, there you have it. You have and always will have my forgiveness. But with that comes a request—a very important one on behalf of someone who can’t make the request herself, but would absolutely want me to make it for her. You need to forgive yourself, and you need to move on. You need to have a life, and not just any life, a good life, a happy one. Jess wouldn’t want it any other way, and if she could be here fighting this battle for you, I have no doubt she would. She always fought for you. She always stood up for you and protected you fiercely. It was her best and most admirable quality, and you brought that out in her like no other.

I’ll be praying for your family and your father’s health. I’ve found that letting go of the past and all the things that could have been has been a process that I have to work at every day. For you and myself as well, I suppose, I promise to continue that process. I’m sure we’ll see one another someday, likely many years from now, and I hope that when we do, I’ll be able to greet you in the way Jess would have wanted—with open arms and an open heart. Until then, take care of yourself and be kind to yourself.

Always,

Jillian Cory

Chapter Nineteen

Now

Bailey was standing on his porch wearing a pair of mid-thigh, white deck shorts, a navy-and-white-striped tank top, and a Kelly green cardigan. Her shoes were white deck shoes, and he took his time looking at every inch of her. He didn’t care that she was nervous, and given the fidgeting movements of her hands as she stood in front of him, she was most definitely that, if not downright frightened. He was a bit terrified too. What the hell did he know about employing someone? For that matter, what the hell did he know about employing someone he professed to hate with a vengeance for killing his sister—they didn’t make instruction manuals for such things.

Macy broke the tension when she bounded out the door, practically pummeling Bailey’s small frame to the ground. Well, Macy obviously didn’t share his attitude toward the woman. She scratched Macy’s ears as Macy’s entire body wiggled and wagged. He just watched. It was odd having her in his home the one other time he’d brought her here; now he was going to have to cope with it nearly every day. It was just as odd seeing his dog, who would literally climb inside his body to be closer to Darren if she could, making nice with Bailey. Hell, if a dog could like her, couldn’t he?

“Hi.” She righted her posture and widened her stance as Macy continued to push into her thighs, threatening to push her over.

“Come in.” He knew saying hi to her in response would be more appropriate, but it was amazing the simple words he couldn’t seem to utter to her. He turned, and she followed him into his entryway. He picked up the spare key from the entryway table and handed it to her. “You’ll need this.” And then he continued toward the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, and he reached into the cupboard for another coffee cup for her as well, letting her pour her own.

He spent the next fifteen minutes showing her where the cleaning supplies were, how to start the washer, dryer, and dishwasher, and where Macy’s food and toys were. His house was immaculate thanks to the cleaning lady he’d just fired the day before so he had an excuse to employ Bailey. There was actually little for her to do at the moment other than entertain his dog, which was thankfully a full-time job in and of itself.

Her eyes took in everything around her, and he studied her as she studied his life. She blushed when she looked at his bed. He knew her blush, and she couldn’t ever hide it. He also knew she hated just how transparent it made her to people. When she caught him looking at her, the blush darkened to an incredible crimson. He was caught with a smirk on his face, and when she noticed the subtle lift of his lips, she looked away shyly. A sudden rush of arousal passed like a wave through his body, and rather than fight it in front of her, he turned and left the room.

“This is a twelve-hour shift for me, so I won’t be home until seven this evening. You don’t have to stay that long if you don’t want. As long as you’re here until midafternoon, Macy will be fine. Same goes for the mornings. If you’re not able to be here when I leave, it’ll be fine. Midmorning is good enough. I’ll leave a note if there’s anything in particular that needs to be done, otherwise, just use your best judgment.” He paused midstride at the irony of that statement, but then regaining himself, he continued back to the kitchen.

He sat at the large kitchen island to finish his coffee, and he checked his emails. She sat across from him, and he fought to focus on reading and not on her. “Darren.” Apparently concentrating just wasn’t going to happen. He looked up. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

He closed the laptop and stood from the counter, emptying his coffee cup in the sink before he turned back to her. “Make sure you keep track of your hours. I work anywhere from four to six days a week, depending on scheduling. I’ll post my work schedule on the refrigerator tonight, so you know when you’re expected, and I’ll pay you once a week. Like I said, you don’t have to be here first thing in the morning or when I get home at night. As long as Macy is taken care of and the house is clean, I don’t much need anything else.” He left without another word to her.

* * *

He might have blown her off that morning, and pretty much every other time he’d seen her lately, but it didn’t mean he could stop thinking about her. That was the worst part about it. He literally couldn’t go five minutes without thinking about her in some respect or another. Sometimes the image of her face floated through his mind. Other times memories from years ago popped up. It was always distracting . . . and it was always intense too.

When he left the hospital, he found himself driving faster than he ought to. He hadn’t told her she had to leave before he got home, only that she could if she wanted. He had no idea if she’d still be there or not when he arrived home, and for some damn reason, he wanted her to be. She was staying, and he didn’t have to fear her running away anymore, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. He wanted her to be there, and when he pulled into his driveway and her charming little fat tire bike with its cute woven basket was gone, he was disappointed.

She didn’t have a cell phone that he knew of, but it didn’t take him long to find the phone number of her cottage thanks to information. “How was Macy?” Again he’d failed to give her any sort of proper greeting. He was using those little refusals to punish her, and he knew she wasn’t missing his little passive-aggressiveness. He also hated that he was acting like such a dick.

“She was good. She’s a happy dog.”

“Yes, she is.” He said nothing for a moment, and she waited for him to continue. “Uh . . . do you still run?”

“Yeah, not as much as I used to. I’m out of practice, but I try to do a couple miles a few days a week.”

“There are a lot of good running trails through the woods and around the lake. I’ll be home earlier tomorrow night. If you bring your running shoes, I’ll show you how to get to the trails. Macy enjoys it, and she can go forever.”

She was silent for a moment, and his heart pounded in his chest. “Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks, Darren.”

“Yeah.” He apparently no longer said you’re welcome either.

“Good night, Darren.” She didn’t wait for him to respond. She knew better at this point.

Chapter Twenty

Two Years Before

“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve endured, Darren. I am more sorry than you will likely ever know. So, please take no offense now when I say that you will leave my daughter in peace when she comes home.” Daniel’s complexion was pale and sallow, and his voice was weak. His words, however, were strong and full of conviction, regardless of how frail his body appeared. “I will not be here to protect her, and I will not go to my grave knowing she is to be tormented by someone she cares so much for. I am a parent just like your own, who loves his daughter just as yours do. She has suffered enough, and you will not make that worse for her. If you hate her, hate her—just do it from a distance. You let her live her life. I assure you, she will suffer plenty at her own hands.” Daniel’s hands trembled as he rested them on his stomach, and his whole body seemed to relax painfully back into the hospital bed once he was finished speaking.

Darren was now sitting outside Bailey’s father’s hospital room. The words were still echoing through his mind, though it had been nearly an hour since they’d been spoken to him. Daniel had asked for him. He’d been admitted, and there was little hope he’d be going home this time. Darren was still shocked when his nurse paged him to the room.

He was plenty nice to Darren, surprisingly nice considering, and when Bailey’s mom had returned from grabbing a bite in the cafeteria, she was kind as well. It was awkward as hell, and when Daniel had lectured him about just how he expected Darren to treat his daughter when she finally got out of prison, Darren had wanted to run. He knew coming home and taking the attending position here would come with memories, ghosts in the closet, and even the occasional run-in with people he might not be ready to see, but this was . . . well, shocking.

Daniel had ended his lecture by apologizing again. “I really am sorry, Darren.”

Daniel did leave the hospital again. The very next day he passed away, and the funeral home collected him a couple hours later. Like most things in life anymore, Darren didn’t have a clue how to feel about it. He imagined Bailey getting the news. He wondered who they’d send. Perhaps one of the staff counselors or social workers. Or would her mother simply call the prison and ask to speak to her daughter. Maybe they’d grant her a special phone privilege reserved for situations such as these. What the hell did he know about prison life?

He saw her crying. He imagined the pain he felt losing Jess, and then he applied it to Bailey. She was going to suffer. He knew that, and he knew what it felt like. It was going to be severe, and she was going to be alone. If ever there was a time when fate was getting its comeuppance it was now . . . but it didn’t feel nearly as good as he thought it would. He really thought he wanted her to suffer, and when he imagined it, there was a sickening feel of pleasure to it, but it was painful too. He felt the pain he thought he wanted to bestow on her, but imagining her suffering hurt him too—even as he felt the grotesque satisfaction. It all left him feeling guilty, monstrous, and completely broken. He couldn’t even enjoy his retribution.

That night he dreamed of her. Actually, he dreamed of the time she’d comforted him when Scott had died, but this time it was reversed. They were in his bed, and his arms were around her. He was stroking her back, shushing her quietly with his lips to her ear, and she was crying quietly, letting her tears drop to his chest. He squeezed her tighter, held her closer, and he vowed to never let her go. He was going to protect her from every ounce of pain the world might throw at her, and when he said it, he meant it.

He woke with a start and quickly reached for the light on his nightstand. He was gasping, trying to slow his heart rate. He looked around the dimly lit room of his small Savoy apartment. He’d just broken ground on his new house, and there was no turning back now. He’d only accepted the position in Savoy a few months ago, and in that time, he’d witnessed the passing of Bailey’s father already. He was going to face her someday. He didn’t know when, but it would happen. It wasn’t an easy decision, moving back to Savoy. Building a home was like saying, Yeah, I’m local, and I’m not going anywhere, but now . . . he was starting to realize what that really meant. There were just so many ghosts in this place.

She’d no doubt gotten the news by now, and that meant she was in hell dealing with the loss of her father. He stared at the ceiling above him, imagining it again and still feeling conflicted about whether he could enjoy such pain. He didn’t want to be the type of monster who could enjoy another’s anguish, but losing his sister had taught him he was capable of being pretty damn cruel when he was hurting.

He fell asleep again with images of her crying in his mind. They were his images, but he knew it was all true. She was in pain, and it left him feeling the stabs of it as though it was his own pain, but he could feel the pleasure of it too.

Chapter Twenty-One

Now

He looked entirely too good in running shorts and no shirt. He’d ditched the shirt after mile one, and it was nothing but a distant memory wadded up in his hand as he led her through the winding, hilly terrain surrounding the lake. Macy was leading the charge, circling back around, and making them both look lazier than slugs. She barked, bounced, and then bounded off into the woods.

Bailey was struggling to keep up, and she’d fallen behind him. She wasn’t complaining. The behind-him scenery was just lovely, and she could almost pretend she had a place in this man’s life at the moment. He wasn’t glaring at her, saying rude things to her, and he’d almost smiled at her when he’d seen her lacing up her old running shoes—the very ones she’d had when they used to run together in college.

“Recognize those. Might be time to invest in a new pair, especially once you’ve been out on these paths a time or two. No nice, level, paved running trails here.” And there it was. The smirk that was almost a smile. She smiled, even if he didn’t or wouldn’t or couldn’t. Her lips pulled up, and while she didn’t bare her teeth to him, it was a real smile. Perhaps he’d catch on.

Now he was making her work her ass off to keep up with him. They took a breather when they reached a high bluff overlooking the lake far below. It certainly wasn’t the largest lake in the Ozarks—not by a long shot—but it was beautiful and clean. The Army Corps of Engineers didn’t allow for building on the lake, and it kept the waters crystalline clear. That was not to say it wasn’t populated, and homes could be seen speckled around the lake, sitting a ways off the shore and buried in the thick trees. The lake was maybe a mile at its widest and twenty-five or so miles long, winding and curving its way through the hills.

“I need to rest. Please.” She was panting and gasping pathetically as she came to a stop on the rock outcropping.

He stopped, and his hands moved instantly to the top of his head as his chest rose and fell. His T-shirt was still wadded in his hand, and after he’d caught his breath, he walked up behind her on the large rock she was standing on. It occurred to her that if she fell off, she’d be a goner down the long, rocky incline that slopped steeply, nearly vertically, away from them. The fact that her biggest enemy in the world was standing right behind her didn’t escape her attention, either. But he didn’t push her.

He reached for her waist, clasping his hand on her side, and pulling her closer to him and away from the edge. “Makes me nervous when you stand so close to the edge. Eight-year-old girl went over just last year when she was goofing around with her brother. Hardest case I’ve had to deal with. She didn’t make it. Massive brain injury.”

She turned toward him, standing directly in front of him. He looked down at her, but he didn’t back away. He stayed close to her body. She was sweating—her face, her neck, her chest. She’d worn short running shorts, and a fitted tank top, but it was hot as hell out, and there was no escaping the sweat. He lifted his T-shirt to her neck, patting along her skin down to her chest. Her nipples were hardening by the second. He’d already called her out on her ability to nip out even when it was hot, and she wasn’t sure her nerves could handle another call out on the subject. But he remained quiet. That was not to say his attention didn’t stray to her breasts.

She shivered and her skin popped with impossible goose bumps as he openly looked at her. When he licked his lips and his nostrils flared, her barely contained nerves started dancing a jig, and she swallowed over a lump in her throat. She could only stare at the middle of his chest. Of course, given the incredible definition of his pecs and abdominal muscles, the sight did nothing for her nerves but elevate the jig to a schizophrenic seizure of emotion.

She watched his hand as he reached to her, letting the back of his middle finger brush down across the peaked nub of her nipple through her tank top. She gasped, and her eyes flashed to his as his attention snapped to her as well. His lips parted just slightly, and he hummed a nearly inaudible warm groan.

“Darren—”

“We should head back. The sun’s going down.” He looked away from her out over the water to the distant shore. The sun was hanging lower over the trees than it had been, and the day was fading fast. He turned from her and headed back down the path from the direction they’d come. He let her go in front of him and set the pace, and he followed the entire way back to his house. It was a bit anxiety-inducing to have him behind her, especially after the nipple grope. There was little doubt he wouldn’t notice she had an ass on the many-mile journey back, and she had to focus hard on her feet rather than her absolute self-consciousness.

When she finally saw his tall house slowly materializing in front of them, she almost burst into tears. It was farther than she’d run since before she’d been in prison, and she was going to be paying for it. She’d be lucky if she didn’t puke when she finally stopped running. He rounded her and hopped up the steps to his house two at a time as she tried to pretend she wasn’t ready to collapse.

“I’m going to change before I leave if you don’t mind.” She could barely get the words out. She was trying not to pant, but her face was burning hot and sweating, and her limbs felt like Jell-O. Never mind the very visible tremor in her fingers as she snatched her tote bag off his entryway floor. She ducked into the half bath off his kitchen and collapsed against the sink, stifling the groan that so desperately wanted to come out.

She stripped down to nothing and stood over the air conditioning vent, letting it push cool air up along her body, and then she flushed her face with cold water. Finally, once the sweat on her skin had dried, her face was a more normal shade of pink, and she no longer looked like she was going to stroke out. She put more deodorant on and dressed.

She found him sitting on his deck with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He’d changed into a tattered old pair of jeans, but he was still shirtless. He held an open and half empty bottle of beer in one hand, and a full, unopened one in the other. When he heard her, the hand holding the full beer moved up to offer the bottle to her, though he didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to see her.

She took the beer and moved in front of him, leaning against the deck rail, facing him. He looked wasted. He looked distant and dazed, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what had changed since she’d gone into the bathroom. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“I never intended to see you when you came home. I made a promise.” She was confused for a moment, but she kept her mouth shut and watched him. “To a dying patient who loved his daughter as much as I loved my sister.” The confusion lifted, and her father’s image settled into her mind. Her eyes teared, and his focus shifted up to see her. “Why can’t I stay away from you?” He looked lost, and she whimpered. “I’ve never been able to stay away from you.” He shook his head as his gaze moved off to some distant place in the woods.

She kneeled in front of him. She was shaking, but she was so afraid of losing him again that she couldn’t stand where his words might lead. “Please don’t push me away. I stayed for you. You promised you wouldn’t run away.” He looked at her again, and his eyes looked glassy, but completely restrained.

He nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.” She sighed and sank back to sit in front of him, leaning against the deck rail again.

She tried to open the bottle he gave her, but every muscle in her body felt like mush. He reached out for the bottle, taking it from her hands and opening it for her. And then they settled into silence, drinking their beers. She stared at his naked stomach, lost in her thoughts, and he stared at her face. She knew he was studying her face because every time she managed to look up from his stomach, his eyes were locked on hers. She was relieved. She was also scared. She had no idea Darren had seen her father before his passing, and she couldn’t say that surprised her.

Most of her interaction with her father had been by phone once he became sick, and their conversations didn’t revolve around Darren. They revolved around Bailey’s future. It was something her father seemed obsessed with as his life winded down before he was ready for it to, and every last conversation they had touched on it in one way or another. His very conversation with Darren apparently revolved around her future too, and her father had seen fit to make sure Darren wasn’t going to be a part of her life. He must have suspected it could get ugly for them, and ugly it had gotten. But it wasn’t at the moment, and the last thing she wanted was to lose him. She knew their interaction could kick her ass and blow up in her face, but she wanted to see it through. God bless her father for caring so much, but she needed Darren to disregard what he’d said. Promises or no.

She was in no hurry to finish her beer, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous. Not a word was spoken between them as they sat on the deck, and he continued to watch her. Macy was running around like a lunatic, still burning off energy no human could ever match. Darren set his empty beer bottle on the arm of the Adirondack chair he was sitting on, and she swigged down the last of her bottle. He stood, offering her his hand and pulling her up to stand.

“When did my father speak to you?” She hadn’t intended on perpetuating this conversation—mainly because she was afraid of what the outcome would be. But as she stood in front of him, she simply couldn’t seem to help but ask. He’d seen her father at a time when she couldn’t, and she wanted to know.

“The night before he passed away. He was admitted to the hospital, and he asked his nurse to contact me.” She nodded, but there wasn’t much to say. “He loved you very much.” She nodded again. Her throat was constricting, and she was fighting the tears. He stepped out of the way, and as she passed by him, his hand met her lower back, and he walked with her into the house.

“Good night.” She responded the same, and then she left.

Chapter Twenty-Two

One Year Before

My dearest Bailey,

I hope enough time has passed since my death for this to be a little less painful for you to read. I asked your mom to save it for a time when the end was near. Not my end, that’s long past by now, but your end, and end is perhaps not the best word. Beginning. Your time is approaching—that time when you’re going to get the chance to live your life again.

Jess’ death was hard enough on its own for you to endure, suffering this punishment multiplied your pain tenfold. I have no doubt you believe you earned it, deserved it. You’ll understand if I disagree. I get it. Actions, consequences. It’s just the way it works, but to see my little girl sent to prison for a crime that on its own was punishment enough, well, let’s just say that’s a difficult pill for a dad to swallow.

Stay strong. Be brave. Don’t let the world tell you what you’re worth based on the last few years of your life. A life is a long thing. Perhaps mine wasn’t quite as long as we’d have liked, and many can say the same, but you understand my point. Five years in comparison to the whole of what you’ll accomplish. You can surely appreciate that it shouldn’t take over your life when it spanned such a short period of it. Perspective is a hard thing to keep sometimes, and you’re going to need to hold onto yours tightly. The world will want to take it away.

I love you more than this life that is slipping away. I’m not afraid of dying, child, but I am afraid for you. A parent wants the world for their child, and I want to leave this life knowing you’re going to be okay. You are going to be okay. But you may not believe that for some time. Just hang on, cut yourself some slack, and be patient. You’ll find happiness again. I promise.

All my love from this world and the next,

Dad

Chapter Twenty-Three

Now

He came home a week after their jog to a house smelling of smoke, and not only smelling of it but filled with it as well. He yelled for her, worried at first, until he realized the smoke had a decidedly Italian smell to it. At just that moment, she emerged from the cloud with an oven mitt on one hand and her other hand waving smoke away from her face. The grimace on her face was priceless, and he almost started chuckling before he could stop himself. Here he’d thought he might ask her to take a run. Apparently she had burning his house down in mind.

“Sorry. Your oven is . . . complicated.”

“Is it?” He studied her for a moment, deciding if he wanted to smile or not. He settled on a smirk, and she bit her lower lip. “So, what’s on fire in my kitchen?”

“It was supposed to be lasagna. But it’s . . . black.”

He nodded slowly. Now he was just toying with her. Of course she was nervous. It wasn’t her house or her kitchen that she’d filled with smoke, and she didn’t realize at all that he didn’t give a shit.

“How ’bout you help me open the windows.” He brushed past her and headed into the smoke. When the windows were open and the smoke had cleared, he met her back in the kitchen. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Well, since you destroyed dinner, you’re going to have to feed me.” The blush on her cheeks left his cock hard. He turned from her before she could notice just what the simplest of things could do to him when it came to her. “Don’t worry, I’m paying.”

She followed him outside, and when she grabbed her bike and started to climb on, he paused a moment before grabbing the bike from her and putting it in the back of his SUV. Of course it made sense to take her bike seeing as she didn’t live with him and had no reason to return with him after dinner, but it was a letdown nevertheless.

He pulled into Harry and Sally’s a few minutes later. His brain was running on autopilot at the moment. He wasn’t letting it go anywhere near the emotions that usually cropped up when he was around her. He’d done the same on their jog a few nights before. Hell, he was starting to do it anytime he was around her. He just didn’t want to feel any of it anymore. All he wanted to feel was how good she could make him feel. And she could.

The electricity that coursed through him when he spent time with her was intense. The arousal that grabbed his dick and didn’t let up until he’d come, moaning her name when he was alone in his shower, was a distraction if nothing else. The fact he didn’t want to run away from any of it was a mystery he’d failed to solve. He was keeping this particular mystery to himself at the moment. He wasn’t ready to acknowledge just what he was doing with the girl he was supposed to hate. Of course, eating with her at Harry and Sally’s, the busiest little restaurant in their town, wasn’t going to go unnoticed. How could it? There was no such thing as none of your business in this town. People felt they deserved to know anything and everything they wanted to know about their neighbors in this place, and there was little doubt their interaction would raise a few eyebrows.

He opened the door for her, and as the bell attached to the door rang out their arrival, a few heads peered up from their tables. Within moments, the few pairs of eyes turned into every eye in the small dining room. Some people just blatantly stared, others whispered to one another, and you could see recognition passing people’s faces as it sank in just what they were looking at. They were a damn spectacle.

“Dr. Cory. Good to see you, and . . . um. . .” Sally’s eyes took in Bailey beside him, and Sally was suddenly speechless—a rarity. “Well, then . . . table for two?” He nodded, and they followed her to a booth along the back wall. It hardly offered any privacy, but the booth was at least tall, so they could pretend they were alone without the eyes of the entire town watching them.

Sally took their drink order, and they were finally alone. “So, what possessed you to try to cook for me?”

Her cheeks were pink again as she tried to figure out how to respond. She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. ’Spose I just thought it would be nice.”

“I see.” He looked at her for a moment, saying nothing. “Tell me about prison.”

She knocked over the ketchup bottle she was moving from between them, and she looked like she’d choked on her tongue. “Oh . . . uh.” She shook her head, a bit dumbfounded, while he watched her steadily. “You know, lots of cinder block walls and bars. Not much to say.”

“Bullshit. There’s plenty to say. You just don’t want to talk about it.”

She sighed. “Can’t we talk about something else?”

“Okay.” He leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on the table between them. He wasn’t going to make this easy on her. “How long’s it been since you’ve been fucked?” He refused to look away from her eyes as hers bulged in mortification.

“That’s personal.”

“I’m aware of that. Answer the question.”

Her mouth was still gaping, and the second Sally set her ice tea in front of her, she started sucking it down. Darren cocked his head, refusing to let her off without an answer. He was trying to make her uncomfortable, but he also wanted to know. “Since before the accident. A few months before, I suppose. Hard to date when no one likes you. I’m not very popular in this town anymore.”

“Huh, imagine that.” He was being sarcastic, but in truth, he was relieved to know she wasn’t fucking about with anyone—not that he expected she was. He just found it as painful to imagine now as he always had in the past.

“And you?” Now she was trying to play his game.

“Well, it hasn’t been five years. Nowhere near.”

“That’s not an answer.” She was challenging him.

“Fine. A couple weeks.” Her focus dropped to his hands, her cheeks paled as he watched, and she swallowed over a lump in her throat. He knew exactly how she felt. It had always been painful imagining Bailey with other men, and he was guessing she struggled with it too. Odd they should still struggle with it. But he knew he would too were the situation reversed.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“Seeing someone.” He repeated her words, suddenly feeling ashamed, and he was the one who looked away this time. Of course she would think fucking and being in a relationship were synonymous. “Not seeing someone. Just fucking.”

She looked hurt, and she tried to force a casual smile to her lips, but it was an utter failure, and she ended up looking out the window, her brow flinching. He couldn’t have hurt her more with words, and that same painful need to cause her emotional pain boiled under his skin. It was painful because he desired it so much, but it brought him just as much gut-wrenching heartache as her. He could feel the rejection she felt right now. He could feel it like it was happening to himself, but it was still satisfying. It was like scratching poison ivy. It hurt and burned like hell when you scratched, but it was still relief. God, he was a fucking asshole.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Her voice was whisper quiet.

“So, prison is off limits; fucking is too. What’s left? Wanna talk about the day you killed my sister?”

She stared at him with her wide blue eyes that he’d always loved looking at. Her eyes glossed, but no tears fell. She was completely restrained, and he got goose bumps just looking at the cool control she was exhibiting. He’d hit a limit of hers he didn’t know existed, and he waited for her response.

She grabbed her clutch off the table, but she didn’t stand. “You think I hate myself enough to let you torture me. I can’t for a moment imagine what this is like for you, but if you think I’m so self-destructive that I’d let you destroy me, keep this in mind. I made a promise to my father too, and unlike you, I intend to keep mine.” She stood then, still holding his eyes harshly, and when she finally turned from the table, it was right into his parents, who had magically appeared at the side of their table. “Oh! Oh. . .”

“Bailey.” His mom’s voice was shocked and shaky.

“Mrs. Cory.” He’d never in his life heard her call his mom Mrs. Cory. “I . . . I have to go. I’m sorry. I just. . .” She turned and bolted quickly for the door as they watched her leave. He also watched as she opened the back of his SUV and grabbed her bike, flashing one last look toward the restaurant before she pedaled off.

When his parents’ attention shifted back to Darren, they were glaring. They scooted into the side of the booth Bailey had just vacated, and the glare was held on him. “What was that all about?” His father’s brow was flinched in a harsh line.

“Well, it was supposed to be dinner, but things got . . . strained.”

“And you’re having dinner with Bailey why?”

“And here I thought you’d be happy I was trying to cope with her.”

“If I thought you were doing it for the right reasons—”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Mom?” She was passing judgment she had every right to pass. She’d witnessed his spiral into anger over the past years, and she didn’t trust his intentions with Bailey.

“You didn’t tell us you were spending time with her.”

“I also didn’t tell you I was employing her just so I could get her to stay in Savoy rather than following her mom to Memphis, because I thought I was going to lose my mind when I found out she was planning to move there.” The admission came out in an emotional and angry rush, and his mom gasped. “I didn’t want her to leave.” He looked at his parents, whose expressions were now completely concerned, not to mention confused. “I’m also not sure I can deal with her here.”

His mom put her hand on top of his, and they said nothing. He said nothing, either, and he stared at the tabletop. Sally showed up to take their orders, and they sent her away empty-handed, him still just staring at the tabletop.

“Darren, how do you feel about her?” His mother again.

He sat silently for a long time, trying to figure that one out. “Six years ago. . .” He looked out the window, not sure this was a conversation he wanted to have with his parents. He finally shook his head and looked back to them, deciding to hold his tongue. He wasn’t willing to lay his heart on the table in front of them right now. He shrugged. “We were friends once. And now. . .” He shrugged again. What he wasn’t saying was how in love with her he’d been six years ago—how obsessed. Of course, he’d never told anyone that.

“We know that. But why do you want her here—”

“I don’t know.” He was lying, or at the very least he wasn’t being completely honest.

It was silent for a while, and when Sally arrived again, they managed to order their dinner that time.

“What are your intentions with Bailey?” His mother was all business now.

He shrugged.

“You need to figure it out.” He was a child being chastised again, but they were right. “And if you can’t treat her with respect and move past this thing, really move past this, then you need to let her move on with her life.” Her words hit like a fist to his gut, and his breath left him in a rush at nothing more than the thought alone. Panic was welling up inside him again, and he could barely take a breath. All he could do was nod.

Their dinner was utterly silent. The dinner crowd hadn’t stopped looking at him, but he ignored it. He was used to the attention, and he was too busy thinking about Bailey to care if the fine folks of Savoy wanted to study him. He said good-bye to his parents after dinner and drove home. His house still smelled of smoke, and she’d completely destroyed a casserole dish with her disastrous dinner. He smiled as he gave up and chucked the whole dish into the garbage.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Six Months Before

“She’s getting out in a couple months, Darren.” His parents were sitting across from him at the restaurant table. It was their Sunday dinner, but this wasn’t what he’d expected to hear them say.

“What happened to ten years?”

“Out early for good behavior. We assumed this would happen. It’s not really a surprise.”

“Is she coming back here?”

His dad shrugged. “I don’t know. Her mother is all she has left, and she still lives here, so I would assume so.”

“I wish she would just stay away forever,” he muttered as he set his fork down.

“Well, there’s a good chance she won’t. And that means there’s a good chance you’re going to run into her at some point. You’ve struggled with your anger toward her—”

“I’ve struggled with a lot of things, but my hatred for Bailey isn’t one of them. I hate her. It’s really pretty simple.”

“You two were friends. That comes with a lot of baggage in a situation like this.”

Friends with Bailey. Yeah. She’d been everything to him, inappropriate or not. Her friendship had meant more to him than just about anything. But there wasn’t a chance in hell of reclaiming that. Not the friendship, not the desire, not his feelings for her. He wasn’t conflicted in the least. He just plain hated her, and he hoped she knew just how much.

“As long as she stays away from me, we’ll be just fine. I have no interest in seeing her. She’s nothing to me anymore.”

“You sure about that?” His mother was being incessant. Hell yes, he was sure.

He was finally at a place where he could tolerate his life. He was in his own home at last. It was peaceful, and he could escape there and ignore the world. He was busy at the hospital, but it was a far cry more manageable than the time constraints of residency. He was at a point where his life was finally not a painful chaotic thing that felt like it was two seconds from unhinging and throwing him into a tailspin. Sure, he was still angry. He focused on it far more than he ought to, but it wasn’t all-consuming anymore. There were even times when he felt like the man he’d been before his sister’s death. He thought about his future—a real future with a wife and children someday. A real life. Maybe real happiness too. He was close, and there was no chance in hell she was going to fuck that up for him. He’d fought through the past few years of his life, and that was her fault. He wasn’t going to fall apart again.

Bailey Trent was nothing but a bad memory, and he wasn’t going to see that memory take him down now.

“Yes, Mom. I’m sure. Bailey’s nothing to me.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Now

She’d avoided him for the last week by showing up after he left in the morning and leaving before he came home at night, but it became impossible when the hospital was down a doctor.

“Hi.” She hadn’t heard his voice since their almost-dinner at Harry and Sally’s the previous Wednesday.

She’d instantly gone home and called Michelle, who showed up at her door less than fifteen minutes later. “So, I’ve said nothing about the fact that you accepted a job offer from the man, but this? Bailey, what the hell?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Duh. How about setting yourself up for pain. You don’t deserve that.”

“I know. It’s not that. I know it may seem like some self-destructive decision, but it’s not. I can’t explain it to you other than that.”

“You don’t have to. Listen, if you think this man is going to forgive you for Jess’ death, profess his undying love and devotion, and then you’re going to ride off into the sunset together in his fucking expensive SUV, you’re kidding yourself. This ain’t no Danielle Steel novel, Bailey. He’s just not the same Darren he used to be.”

“I know.” Did she really? She kept searching for her Darren in him, and the occasional glimpse of him she got kept her going, kept her in Savoy when logic said it was time to move on.

“I’m glad you stayed in Savoy, Bailey. I really am, but I’m also not sure why you did.” Bailey didn’t even try to answer that question, and now it was a week later, and she still wasn’t sure why. She was avoiding him after all.

But now there was no avoiding him. His voice sent a shiver through her body, and she sucked in a quick breath. This was why she’d been avoiding him. He affected her, and she was never quite sure if the effect would be painful or feel good. “Hi.”

“We’re short a doctor tonight. I may have to pull a double. I just don’t know right now. Can you stay?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll call when I know what time I’ll be leaving so you can get going.”

“Okay.”

She took Macy for a jog, not nearly as far as Darren had taken her, but far enough she was sweating her ass off by the time they returned. When she tried to find shampoo and conditioner and even soap for that matter in the spare bathroom, she struck out. It was utterly empty. He obviously didn’t entertain company often. She debated not showering, but one whiff of her armpits, and she decided there was no chance in hell she wasn’t going to get clean. She stopped cold as she stood in his master bathroom doorway. This was an invasion of his privacy. Not that she didn’t have permission to be anywhere she needed to be in his home, but that was limited to putting away the towels, wiping the faucets, emptying the trash. This was not the same, and as she stripped out of her smelly clothes and left them on his bathroom floor, she covered her breasts as though he was watching her.

His shower was large, and she spent an overly long time standing under the hot water. His shampoo smelled like him. Duh. The not so duh part was she was instantly wet, and her groin was pulsing at nothing more than the scent she associated with him. She finally finished, blasting herself with cold water to calm her arousal before stepping out. It did little good, and once she was dry, she found herself walking around his bedroom. She looked at the artwork on the walls; she studied the pictures of his family. She fought the tears as her eyes lit on a picture of him and Jess that sat on his dresser. She turned from it quickly, and her attention fell to his nightstand. She knew what side of the bed he slept on because he didn’t always have a chance to make his bed, and there was always one side still made for the most part and the other not. Perhaps he just thought he should give her something to do since he was paying her.

This had been one of those days when she’d made his bed, and she sat on the side of his bed where earlier in the day she’d pulled up the sheets and remade the mess of blankets. She’d never snooped in his nightstand, but she was reaching for the drawer before she could stop herself. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to see his private business, but in her current hot and horny state, it’s exactly what she wanted to see.

The half empty box of condoms left pain in her gut, and she instantly regretted opening the drawer. The tube of lubricant was a double-edged sword. Her arousal intensified at the sight of it, but her guts clenched again. She really shouldn’t have gone snooping. But then her eyes caught on an edge of paper. It was up against the side of the drawer, and all she could see was the backside of it. It was a picture. She reached with trembling fingers to the paper. She wasn’t sure why she was afraid to see it, except that it wasn’t out for a reason. She grabbed the corner, lifting it to look, and the tears she’d stifled moments before started falling pathetically.

It was a picture she knew from years ago. It was high school graduation, and she was standing next to Darren. His arm was around her, and he was looking at her as she laughed. She remembered the moment like it was yesterday. She’d been talking to Darren after the ceremony, and Jess had asked them to take a picture. He’d wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and hers was draped across his lower back, gripping his waist. What you couldn’t see in the picture was that moments before Jess snapped the picture, he’d reached his free hand behind his back and pinched her hip. She’d busted out laughing in surprise, and he’d smiled at her. She loved this picture. It used to be up in Jess’ dorm room, and she hadn’t seen it since the morning they’d left for spring break six years ago.

She put the picture back as she found it, straightened the bed, and took the cordless phone to the spare room so she wouldn’t miss his call. It was late, and she was tired. She opened up the windows and listened to the rain as it started to come down. It was warm, but the storms coming in were cooling the weather. She fell asleep as Macy hopped up on the bed and snuggled in beside her.

* * *

She woke when Macy hopped down from the bed, and when she returned and the bed shifted again, she groaned and reached back to give her a pat. What she didn’t expect to touch was a fabric-covered thigh with hard muscle underneath. She yelped, but the moment she started to sit, his arm clutched her close from behind her body.

Her eyes fluttered as he pulled her backside closer to his front side. He was aroused, and he was doing nothing to hide that from her. She was curled up, lying somewhere between her hip and her stomach, and her top arm was stretched out and angled up toward her head. She’d redressed in her sleeveless, casual, cotton sundress after her shower. It had elastic along the top, and then loose fabric down to the elastic waist. It had inched down as she slept, and while still covering her breasts, it was close to leaving her exposed. As it turned out, there was no need to worry about such things. He reached to the top band of elastic that sat by her armpit and pulled it down below her breast. She was panting, holding her body rigidly in place. He groaned quietly as he pulled himself up to lounge on his elbow so he could look down on her side at her exposed breast.

His palm scooped under her breast, squeezing the mound of sensitive flesh. After he’d kneaded her, his fingers brushed gently over her naked nipple, and her stomach muscles started dancing. He pinched her nipple, and he held the pressure until she whimpered. His lips on her shoulder sent hot, wet heat from her innervated and sore nipple straight to her sex. His mouth moved, tickling her skin with his lips as he kissed a featherlight trail up to her ear.

“You’re going to let me do this, aren’t you?” It didn’t sound like much of a question. More a command that he expected her to comply with.

She nodded as she panted. She shouldn’t do this, that much was clear, but she’d be damned if she could say no to this. His mouth moved back down to her shoulder, and he nipped her skin, biting gently before releasing. His fingers clamped down on her nipple right as his teeth released their bite, and she groaned, but he gave her no relief as he ground his arousal into her bottom and moaned in her ear.

He was toying with her, pinching her nipple, groping her breast, nipping her shoulder, and always making sure she could feel his hard erection against her bottom. His mouth moved, kissing trails along the back of her neck, just to settle somewhere new and nip into her skin again. She cried out each and every time as the pressure of his teeth mounted, being released quickly as his teeth released her and his tongue soothed her.

His hips started humping against her as his mouth moved, nipped, and laved, and his fingers pinched, caressed, and then groped and squeezed. His moaning was the most arousing part of it, and every time she reacted to his touch, and he heard her cries and whimpers, he’d groan in response and push his hard length against her.

When he reached for her hand, he pinned it to the bed at her shoulder. He used his chest to push her body onto her stomach, and then he started tormenting her with his teeth again. He moved down her back, clamping his teeth down and pulling small mouthfuls of her skin between his teeth. The pressure was controlled but intense, and he took his time, kissing, sucking, biting, and licking his way down her back. He yanked the back of her dress down to her waist, and when he reached her lower back, he pushed the skirt of her dress up and swiftly pulled her underwear down her bottom. His mouth found the round cheeks of her naked bottom, and she cried out as his teeth sank into her skin there too.

He pulled her cheeks apart, and she tried to wriggle away from the exposed position he had her in. He nipped again, and she yelped before he started laving the spot with his tongue. She was flooding with wetness, and her body was bouncing between fear that he’d bite too hard and desperation for him to keep going. He kept going, and she let him. He moved to the side of her, and his fingers stroked around to the front to tease and toy with her hip bone. He moved slowly back up her body, letting the hard bulge in his pants touch and rub against her skin, finally settling against her bottom as his mouth returned to her ear.

“Did I hurt you?” He was tracing his finger along the skin of her shoulder. It felt slightly bruised and still slick from the trail his tongue had been running.

“No. Sorry to disappoint.” He froze in place for half a second before he pushed off her and stood from the bed. When she rolled to see him, he was raking his hands through his hair, and he looked annoyed. She pulled her dress quickly over her breasts as he rolled his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His hands were on his hips.

“I don’t know what to think.”

His jaw clenched tight in response, and he turned to the door. When he reached it, he paused and then turned back to her. “I’m off the next couple days, so I guess I’ll see you in a few days.” He didn’t wait for a response, and she heard his bedroom door close shortly after that. She wanted to go after him, but she also needed to get away from him. She was telling the truth when she said she didn’t know what to think. She didn’t have a fucking clue, especially now. What the hell had just happened?

Five minutes after she walked through her front door, her phone rang. It was three-thirty in the morning, so there was little question who it was. “You’ve been avoiding me.” He didn’t bother even greeting her when she answered the phone.

“Is that why you didn’t call me to tell me when you’d be home from the hospital tonight? So I couldn’t leave?”

“You’re goddamn right!” Then he hung up on her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Four Months Before

Her mother wrapped her tightly in her arms as Bailey emerged from the door. She assumed there was some hidden side door where they let criminal graduates leave—some secret hidden passage, but no. It was the front lobby and front door that ushered Bailey out to her waiting mother. The day was warm for early January, but then, it was southern Texas. It was sunny and warm, and the second Bailey stepped out into the open, she started to panic.

What if there was a mistake? What if they’d accidentally screwed up her paperwork? What if they’d just changed their minds? Were they going to catch her before she made it to her mom’s car to tell her they’d made a mistake? Would it be wrong to run? God, she just wanted to get away from here before something ended this all-too-good moment. But her mom had a giant bear hug waiting, and while Bailey was falling apart in happiness and tears, she couldn’t shake the paranoia that the nightmare wasn’t over.

“Mom, can we please just go? I’m sorry, I just really want to get away before they realize they made a mistake.” Her mother looked at her with concern showing in her eyes. Maybe she thought her daughter was cracking up after five years behind bars.

“Sure, hon. Let’s hit the road. Long way to go before we’re home.”

Home. What did that even mean anymore?

Bailey fell asleep quickly as her mom held her hand. It had been a sleepless night before—hell the entire last week. She’d never been so paranoid in her life, but with the end of this nightmare so near, there was no other word for how she felt. Paranoid.

When she woke, her mom was pulling into a little roadside hotel. The nine-and-a-half hour trip from Texas back home was too far to travel in one day when she’d not been released until early afternoon, and as Bailey sank into the small bed with her mother by her side, she fell instantly back to sleep.

She woke early. Her mom was still sound asleep, and given the slight pink tinge to the night sky, it was only just breaking dawn. She retreated to the bathroom, running a deep bath in the bathtub. She didn’t even like baths. She was a shower sorta gal, but after years without this, she just wanted to sink into the deep, warm water. She let her ears submerge, and she listened as the water filled the tub around her. Her eardrums tickled as the water slowly filled her ear canals. She soaked, she washed, and she stayed until the water cooled. When she climbed out, she stared at herself in the mirror.

She’d gained weight since going into prison. Not something you’d expect to hear, but three squares a day and no more daily running, and she’d put on fifteen pounds. She was small to begin with, and as she stared at her slightly curvier look, she studied her body. Her boobs were bigger. Her hips contrasted her small waist more than they used to, and her ass was definitely rounder. She actually liked her post-prison bod. Though she needed to get back to jogging if her curves weren’t going to turn to jiggly Jell-O. So far she was still toned and fit, thanks to plenty of time to exercise. Didn’t mean she felt much like doing it as much as she ought to in that place, but it could be worse. She combed her long auburn locks, before pulling them back in a ponytail, and then she returned to the bedroom to find her mom.

Coffee was percolating in the small coffeemaker, and her mom was just pulling a sweatshirt on. “Ready?”

Bailey nodded. “Just have to call my parole officer and let him know our status.” She fished the contact information from her pocket, and she borrowed her mom’s cell phone. It took little more than a minute to assure the man they were headed to Savoy. She’d been paroled there rather than someplace in Texas, and the journey home left her out of touch with the parole system for longer than they appreciated.

Soon they had disposable coffee cups filled, and they were back on the road. She started recognizing landmarks a few hours later, and that was when the anxiety hit. She started fidgeting; she started taking big, gulping breaths of air to calm the nerves. It didn’t go unnoticed by her mom, and soon her mom’s eyes started flitting to Bailey in concern.

“Bailey, you’re going to be fine.” She nodded but said nothing. She wasn’t at all convinced. “Um . . . Darren is working in Savoy. In the hospital somewhere, I think.” Bailey’s heart skipped a beat.

“What? You mean, he’s not in Little Rock? I thought . . . I don’t know. I just thought he’d want to stay. He wasn’t planning on coming back to Savoy once he was through residency.”

“I didn’t know that. He told you that, I assume.” Her mom was watching her curiously. “Yeah. Long time ago. Well, fuck.” It just slipped out. She wasn’t really used to having to watch her tongue.

“Bailey! Language.”

“Sorry, Mom. Shit.”

“Not much better. I take it you weren’t considering having to deal with him?”

“No.” The anxiety started ratcheting up a notch with every mile that took her closer to Savoy. She wasn’t sure she could deal with this. She’d assumed he’d be in Little Rock or somewhere else, but not Savoy. This was going to be bad.

The last five miles were the hardest. She could barely sit still in the seat, and she caught her expression in the side mirror once just to see a full-on grimace. Her mother reached for her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Bailey.” Her voice was quiet now, and she kept her eyes on the road as she wound them through the hilly curves slowly getting closer to home. “The rest of your life starts today.”

Bailey breathed steadily as she watched one curve in the road disappear after another. “What if I can’t do this? These people hate me.”

“This isn’t going to be easy, but I know how strong you are. You can do this.”

Bailey stared straight ahead. She refused to look around, though she recognized everything now. She was too afraid to look. She wanted to curl up on the floor and hide like a child. Could she really come back to this place after so long? Her family had fallen apart; she was responsible for destroying another family as well. However recognizable this place might be, everything was different. And he was here.

Somewhere he was near. Could she handle that, knowing he was so close? She couldn’t conceive of seeing him again, and she closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn’t. He must hate her, and there was just no getting past hate like that. She knew in her gut that friendship was gone. That respect and admiration had been destroyed. He could never see her as anything other than the cause of his sister’s death. It was hopeless. How could it not be?

Part II: Into Unknown Waters

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Now

Her bike was in the driveway when he arrived home a few days later. He hadn’t expected her to stay, and now he was nervous. His heart started pounding, and he sat in his car for a moment before finally climbing out.

When he opened the front door, she was already there. She looked about as nervous as he was, but she had a small smile on her lips that hurt like a stab to the gut under the circumstances.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” At least he could return a greeting at this point.

“Um . . . I was thinking I could make dinner.” She tried for a nervous smile again, and his heart fell. “I owe you after the disaster—”

“I have a date with Veronica Gregson.” Her smile froze on her lips for a moment before her face fell. Her nostrils flared as she tried to breathe, and he could see the tightness in her throat muscles. “I have to jump in the shower.” He walked away from her, leaving her staring at the floor in the entryway. He felt like an asshole. He was doing it again. Hurting her.

In truth, he hadn’t expected to throw it in her face. Had he wanted to use this to hurt her, he certainly could have, but that wasn’t his goal. He’d said yes to a date. He’d said yes because after the way things had ended the other night with Bailey, he was confused, and he needed to unconfuse things. He couldn’t be with Bailey. He just couldn’t. A man didn’t date the woman who killed his sister. It was socially unacceptable. Fuck, it was just absurd.

She didn’t trust him, and he didn’t blame her. He didn’t deserve her trust, and since there was no hope of a future for them, there was just no sense perpetuating this flirtation. That was all it was. A flirtation. He’d gotten swept up in the moment. He’d always been attracted to Bailey, and now was no exception, but he wasn’t doing either of them a favor by letting this go on. But he hadn’t meant to throw it in her face. He truly hadn’t.

He’d run into the lovely and tall Dr. Veronica Gregson, who had fired his little flirtation thanks to a bit of leaked information on his part, of course, at the gas station the morning before. She’d picked up her own flirtation right where she’d left off in the vet clinic lobby three months before. Had it really been three months since he’d first seen Bailey again?

He agreed to the date on the spur of the moment, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d decided there was no reason to continue confusing things between him and Bailey, and he thought a distraction was in order—at least that’s what he was telling himself. The distraction was beautiful, and he hoped she would do the trick. Now though, he wasn’t convinced. He stood in his shower, imagining the hurt on Bailey’s face. It destroyed him to see that hurt, and he sat on the built-in bench in his shower for nearly ten minutes as he came to terms with what he was going to do.

There was a knock on the door five minutes after he jumped out of the shower. He’d given Veronica his address. Her house was twenty minutes outside town, and he’d suggested she just stop by once she was finished up at her clinic. She wasn’t exactly sure when that would be, and for the five free minutes he had after showering, he started hoping it might be never. But alas, the doorbell rang. He ran his hands quickly through his hair, and he bounded down the stairs for the entryway.

“Hi.” Her greeting was seductive, and for some reason he hated it. He liked Bailey’s tentative one. The one that said she cared more than she should about what was going on in his head. Veronica’s greeting said she’d rather fuck him than know him, and he was going to do just that, but it was one hell of an empty feeling coursing through him at the moment.

“Come in. I’m about ready.” He turned from her, but he paused when he heard her voice.

“Thought we could just stay here. I rented a couple movies and brought a bottle of wine. I’ve had a long day, and I was hoping for something a bit more intimate than a night out in Savoy.” Her voice was still seductive, and when he turned back to her, he saw that her expression was too as she held up the bottle of wine.

“Sure. Let me take that for you.” He grabbed the bottle of wine, and she followed him to his kitchen.

“I love your home, Darren. It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.” He was struggling to keep a conversation going already, and he hoped she’d be ready to watch a movie soon so he could ignore her for a while.

He moved to the kitchen drawer, not finding the wine opener where it should be. He ran into this problem constantly. Bailey had only worked for him for a little less than a month, and she didn’t quite know where everything went yet, and he was forever finding utensils in the wrong drawers. He smiled for a second before the moment passed, and he realized he was nowhere near Bailey.

He found the bottle opener in the silverware drawer, and he set about opening up the wine bottle. He didn’t expect to feel Veronica’s hand snake up under the bottom of his shirt from behind him and work its way around to his stomach. She caressed, and he gritted his teeth. Her lips next met the back of his neck, and she moaned as she rubbed her breasts against his back.

His breath lurched, and he groaned. It wasn’t a groan of pleasure but of absolute desperation. He couldn’t have what he wanted. How the fuck had he gotten back to wanting Bailey again? What the fuck was wrong with him? This woman he could have. He could have her, and he could replace the need he felt for Bailey with this woman. She was beautiful, and she wanted him. She was the type of woman he was supposed to be with—not the ex-con responsible for his sister’s death who had no education and no real future outside of cleaning his house and entertaining his dog. This was a fucking no-brainer, and he was going to see it through.

He turned to her, attacking her mouth as she groaned loudly. She thrust her tongue between his lips, and he broke away from her mouth, moving down her neck just to get her tongue out of his mouth. He was panting, and she likely thought it was arousal driving his gasping and lurching breaths. Hardly. But he yanked the straps of her slinky top down her shoulders, sucking on the skin of her neck. She tasted like perfume, and he wondered for a moment if he could get drunk off her skin.

“Oh, God, Darren. Please fuck me.”

He was absolutely going to fuck this woman.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

She showed up the next morning, dreading walking through his door. Her night had been filled with nothing but pain, and she was kicking herself for letting her mind go to a place where she and Darren could actually be something more than enemies. She’d not expected him to ask her out or anything, but she sure as hell didn’t expect to come face-to-face with this part of his life.

What the hell did she expect? Did she think the man was celibate? No! He’d not hidden that fact. The half box of condoms and the tube of lube in his nightstand said it clearly enough. He’d all but kicked her out after the other night. She’d challenged him on his intent with her, and he hadn’t appreciated it. Why the hell would he? There was an empty wine bottle in the sink and two glasses. The house otherwise looked fairly normal . . . that was until she walked into the bedroom.

The bedding was in disarray, and it was quite obvious two bodies had slept there. The sight of his bed alone caused a gut reaction that she couldn’t stifle. She sank to the side of the bed and started to cry. It had always hurt to know what he did with other women because she’d always wanted to be the woman. But they didn’t have that relationship, and that was as much her unwillingness to go there as it was his to some extent, but this was different. They obviously still didn’t have that relationship, but it wasn’t for lack of want, at least not on her side. He knew damn well she wanted him, and the fact she didn’t have him obviously still had the power to hurt like a razor to the skin.

She cried like a pathetic child until her pain had turned to anger. When he suddenly walked through the bedroom door, he gave her anger an outlet he likely hadn’t bargained for. She stood, the tears still sitting on her lower rims and more streaked and drying on her cheeks. He glanced at her, and his brow flinched in what looked like pain for a moment. It couldn’t possibly be, seeing as he’d left his bed this way for her to see. He walked casually to his dresser, grabbing his wallet that he’d obviously forgotten, and by the time he turned back around to leave, her face was a scrunched-up snarl of fury.

“Good morning, Bailey.” He spoke casually as though she wasn’t standing in front of him with tear-streaked cheeks. His expression was cool and calm, though there was no escaping the tension in his jaw.

“Fuck you.” She was seething as she spoke through her snarling mouth.

“No, I don’t think so.” His voice was taunting, and he walked casually by her toward the bedroom door. “Wash the bedding, please.” To say those words hurt was an understatement. They stabbed so hard she had to force her throat to relax enough to get air, but then the fury hit again, and she regrouped. This man was not going to destroy her.

“I want to play a game.” Her voice was lower than normal. Her head was only lifted high enough to keep her eyes on him. She looked like a ravenous animal ready to attack; more than that, she felt like a ravenous animal ready to attack. He rounded toward her, still expressionless.

“Still think I owe you some words, do you?”

“I don’t give a fuck about your words, but I’ll be damned if I don’t share mine.” She was practically spitting as she spoke, and when she took a step toward him, she shared the only thing she had left to give. “Utterly cruel. . .” She took another step. He watched her with an almost amused expression on his face, but he couldn’t control the tension in his jaw, and it gave him away. “Hateful.” Another step, and she watched as the tension spread to his neck. “Pathetic.” Another step, and now she could see his jaw clenching and releasing over and over. His nostrils flared, and the muscles of his neck were strained so hard she thought they might snap. His face was still cold and completely controlled, but he was losing it, and she didn’t need him to say a word to see it. “Hollow.” She was standing right in front of him now, peering up into his now livid dark and dangerous eyes. “Dead.”

“I hate you.” He looked like he could barely speak through his gritted teeth and tight jaw. She wasn’t offended by his words. She’d already hit her offense limit for the morning, and he was only saying it because she’d won.

“Well, then, you and I have something in common.” His brow flinched in confusion before he could stop the reaction. “We’ve both been on the receiving end of your hate. Whadya say? I’ll forgive myself if you forgive yourself. Dare ya.” He stared at her. He was panting, and his eyes glossed as he looked at her. He swallowed over what looked like a golf ball he couldn’t get down, and then his breath left him in a pained rush.

He turned from her and walked away, saying nothing. She’d gotten to him, there was no question. But he’d not given in. His defenses were locked in place, and after she heard him drive away, she crumpled to the floor and sobbed again. The entire encounter had exhausted her, and she ended up falling asleep on his bed for an hour before she finally climbed up, stripped the bedding, and tossed it in the wash.

She called Michelle and gave her the blow-by-blow while Michelle locked herself in her office. She occasionally hollered to some unknown interruption that she was on an important business phone call and to leave her alone.

“Girl, you have got balls as big as the state fair grand champion-winning bull or pig bull or the pig equivalent to a bull or whatever . . . That was a fail, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was a fail. But I saw the largest bull exhibit once, and them are some big ass balls. So, I got the meaning, and I’ll take that as a compliment.” Her tension was finally melting to some degree. She was hurt. More than hurt, but she’d stuck up for herself, and God, she needed that.

“Listen, I gotta go. Apparently the business stops running when I lock myself in my office for an hour. Oh, hey, we have a cashier spot opening up soon. It’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh, Michelle. I’ll think about it, but honestly, I think I would hate working for you.” She was actually a bit serious when she said it because in truth, she didn’t want any strains on the only friendship she had. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t think about it. But then, she was starting to think about Memphis too. She hadn’t agreed to stick around so she could be emotionally tortured by him, and promise or not, after the night before and the morning she’d had, she didn’t feel like she owed him much of anything.

“Okay. Don’t forget about the Summer Kick-Off Festival this Friday. We’re going.”

“Tell me again why we celebrate a completely made-up holiday in the middle of June by setting off fireworks three weeks before the Fourth of July?”

“Surplus in the budget? I don’t know.”

“I’ll see you then.”

She took Macy for a long run that afternoon. She pushed through more miles than she likely had any business going, and when she got back, she fed Macy and left for the day. There was no way in hell she’d be sticking around to see him today. There was actually no way in hell she’d be putting herself in his path at all anymore. She really wanted to reach him, soften him, see if there was any way he could ever forgive her. But she was giving up, and that was a sad thing to admit.

“Jess, your brother is one stubborn, stubborn man.” She spoke to the quietness around her as she sat on her steps after arriving home, and in her mind she saw Jess smirking at her. It was the same smirk Darren had.

I think Dare has a crush on you. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.

She could still see Jess’ smiling face looking at her from the passenger seat of Darren’s car. She could hear her voice too, just like it was yesterday. Yes, Darren had a crush on her once. But that was gone. It simply didn’t exist anymore—not the chance of it, not the hope of it. It was just a memory, just like Jess’ sweet, smiling, always mischievous face.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

There was no denying he was looking for her. He’d run into Michelle, and she’d given away their plans for Friday night, though when she realized it, she quickly tried to backpedal and then resorted to threatening him to stay away from Bailey. Nice to see she had one friend who cared about her. He was stopped constantly by townsfolk to chat. He was used to it.

He’d been upset with Bailey when she’d verbally kicked his ass all the way across his bedroom. He’d been livid for half the day, and he’d used that emotion to plunge headlong into his work. He was good at functioning through misery. In fact, he became a rock star professionally when his personal life was turning to shit. He’d just learned to use his work as a coping method. But that night when he’d gotten home, there was nothing left to pacify him.

He’d nearly gone to her place to talk to her. Nearly. He’d never struggled so much in his life to get out of his own way. He was so pathetically conflicted when it came to her—so much so that he couldn’t ever keep his feet going in a straight line. One second, he wanted her so powerfully he was ready to forget every awful thought and feeling that passed through his mind. The next moment something happened, and he wanted to unleash his anger on her. He was all over the place with her emotionally, but in truth, he was only really happy when he decided to stow the anger and pain for a while and just let them be. He just couldn’t seem to maintain that mindset.

It was now days later, and he didn’t simply want to see her, he needed to see her. She’d said nothing wrong to him at all, and when she rattled off her words, every last one was true. He had no idea what he wanted to say to her now, but something needed to be said, and he was tired of feeling anxious, waiting until he could see her.

He moved through the throngs of blankets spread out on the high school football field. Everyone was getting ready for the fireworks show. They were the only town in the world that set off fireworks in mid-June, but hey, who didn’t love fireworks. He finally found them sitting with their legs stretched out in front of them on a large blanket. He watched her as he approached from a distance. She was stared at constantly by everyone around her, and he couldn’t imagine what it must be like for her—always being the center of attention for all the wrong reasons.

When he approached, she looked at him, and her lips parted. Michelle eyed him venomously and cussed under her breath.

“I need to talk to you.” She just stared up at him. She didn’t look at all interested in coming with him. He crouched down to her level at her feet and tried again. “Please.”

She looked to Michelle for a moment, and Michelle cocked her head to the side. She was definitely not on his side. Bailey finally nodded, but her face remained leery. He stood and offered her a hand. As fate would have it, Veronica spotted him from fifty or so odd feet away, and she instantly hollered and waved to him. He had no intention of going to see her, but he didn’t need to. Within moments, she was by his side, only just then taking in his company.

Bailey was suddenly rigid at his side, and when he glanced to her, she looked like she was in hell.

Veronica took in Bailey and sneered. “Oh . . . you’re that girl I fired. Betsy, or whatever your name is.”

“Her name’s Bailey. Listen, I’m kind of busy right now. Maybe we can talk some other—”

Veronica’s face fell, and she looked between him and Bailey with utter confusion. “Oh . . . yeah, sure.” She wasn’t taking the hint very well. “Well, I just wanted to say I was sorry we had to cut our date short the other night.” She reached for his arm with a cruel glint in her eyes aimed squarely at Bailey. She was trying to make Bailey jealous, and because Bailey had no idea there was no reason to be jealous, it was working. “Sorry, you weren’t feeling well. We’ll just have to try again some other time.” She caressed his arm, and he pulled away.

Bailey looked at him, her eyes wide. He didn’t look away from her when he responded to Veronica. “I don’t think so, Veronica. Sorry, I’m just not interested.” Bailey’s lips pursed and her brow flinched before she looked down to his chest. Veronica was huffing beside them, and when he glanced to her, she was staring incredulously back.

“What? Because of her?” She was indicating Bailey beside him. “You’re the one who told me she was a convict. A convict!” She was starting to cause a scene, not that anyone surrounding them didn’t already know she was a convict. The only reason Veronica hadn’t was because she wasn’t local.

“Like I said, I’m sorry, but it’s not going to happen.” And then he looked back at Bailey, ignoring Veronica until she finally left. “We really need to talk.” She just nodded. “Michelle, I’m stealing her.”

“So long as you return her in one piece.” She was threatening him with her eyes, and she was pretty damn good at it. About as good as Jess used to be. Bailey sure inspired fiercely protective friends. He’d been one of them once.

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait until tomorrow to find out because I’m keeping her for the night.”

“Darren . . . I came with Michelle. I really shouldn’t. I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Michelle stood then. “It’s okay. You go. I’ll be fine.” She shot daggers at him again but eventually sighed. He pecked her on the cheek, and she patted his shoulder. She might want to protect Bailey from him, but she had never been his enemy. Not ever.

“She’ll be fine.” Michelle nodded, and he pulled Bailey along with him toward the parking lot.

“You didn’t—” She was talking from behind him.

He stopped and rounded toward her. She nearly careened into him. The eyes of the crowd were still following them, picking up new onlookers the farther they waded through the sea of blankets. “I didn’t.”

“But your bed was—” She looked humiliated that she was asking.

“Exactly as it always is when I don’t sleep well.” He was reassuring her. He was protecting her feelings in exactly the same way he always had when they were young. And it felt fucking amazing.

“I was so cruel to you the other morning. . .”

“No more so than I am to you. I can handle it.”

He took her hand and started for his car again, ignoring the tennis-court eyes that followed them. When they reached his car, he turned to her again. He was struggling. He needed to say something, and it had been so damn long since he’d let his guard down with her that it was hard to plead. “Don’t give up yet.” He studied her eyes and then decided to humble himself even more. “There are times when I’m with you that I feel more at peace than I have in so long. I’m not asking you for anything more than time. And perhaps a bit of an open mind.” Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Open mind for what?” She sounded suspicious.

He pulled her up next to him and turned her around to face his car. He didn’t move in on her body, but he clasped and held her hands to the side of his car as he leaned to her ear. “Open mind to just let go for a while. Give up the expectations and assumptions.” He was hard and aroused as he spoke, and while his words weren’t entirely about that, he wasn’t going to deny that part of what he wanted was very sexual. He wanted her to feel how aroused he was, and before he had a chance to rationalize that the parking lot likely wasn’t the best place to show her, he pushed his groin against her lower back, and she dropped her forehead to his driver’s side window. “We work so hard against one another. I’m tired of the fight. It’s exhausting, and it doesn’t feel good. Not like this does.” He bit the side of her neck gently and lashed his tongue across her skin.

The first of the fireworks started exploding in the sky behind them. He kissed her neck, and he waited for a response. “Okay.” He pushed against her again, and she whimpered. He reached around her to her breast, slipping his hand beneath the low-fitting neckline of her shirt. He lifted her breast up above her bra, and he squeezed and groped the soft, supple skin.

“God, I want to taste these.” He dropped his free hand down along her side to her waist. He pulled her hips back to him, opening up the space in front of her just enough for his hand. He cupped her sex through her jeans, and she gasped. “And more than that, this.” He squeezed her through her jeans, and she pushed her bottom back into his groin, and it was his turn to groan. “Come home with me.” His voice was breathy, and he was terrified of what she’d say. She nodded, and he sighed.

“Yes.”

* * *

They were silent as he drove, and he kept his hands to himself, though his fingers were twitching to touch her again. There was no hatred at the moment, no pain, no blame, just want. He was going to set himself free with her to do things he likely had no business doing and that she had no business allowing. It might well be a mistake, and he suspected it was, but he hoped like hell it wasn’t. He just had to know.

He let Macy out quickly, and Bailey stood by the kitchen island, looking nervous. He was nervous too, but he was so damn turned-on he didn’t care. She followed him to his room, and he stripped out of his T-shirt. Her eyes traveled the length of his torso, and her lips started trembling. When he approached her, she jumped at his first touch. He peeled her T-shirt up and over her head and reached back to unclasp her bra. He’d thought her breasts were perhaps slightly larger than they’d been six years ago, and now with her standing topless in front of him, he was certain of it. He loved the new fullness just as much as he’d loved her small tits before.

He was staring, and when he finally touched, he lost all sight of what he was getting into, who she was, what she had done. He just sank into what he was doing, and he let the rest fade to the background. Her skin was warm and soft as silk. Her nipples were tight, light pink peaks against her pale skin. When he sucked that hard nub between his lips, she cried out, and he backed her to his bed, with his head still lowered to her chest. He released her long enough to get her onto his bed, and then he was on top of her, pulling her other nipple into his mouth.

She was panting, and he listened to the sound of her arousal as he lashed his tongue across her skin. He clamped gently down on her with his teeth, and her whimper caught in her throat. He had no idea why he liked to bite her and nip at her skin, but he loved the sudden tension that ran through her body whenever he did. He loved even more the release and groan she emitted when he relaxed his jaw.

Her hips were writhing gently beneath him, and he reached to undo the button and lower the zipper. He pushed his hand roughly past the waist of her underwear, and the second he managed to get his fingers between her soaking-hot lips, he plunged his middle finger deep into her. It wasn’t a whimper or a cry that time. She shrieked at the invasion, and he released her nipple to watch her face. He thought at first he’d hurt her, and she was certainly tight enough around his finger to think it was possible, but her expression wasn’t pained in the least. It was desperation. She pushed down over his finger, sinking him just that much farther into her warmth. If ever there was a woman who could make him come just by touching her, she was the one.

He used his free hand to start pulling her pants down her hips, but he refused to pull his finger from her pussy. She lifted her hips, using her own hands to wriggle out of her jeans, and when he stripped her out of them, he gaped at her. She likely thought he’d lost his mind, and he may have. He was staring at his finger buried knuckle deep inside her, and she was watching him. Her sex was glistening as she seeped her wetness around him, and even his finger looked huge against her small, pale lips. He pulled his finger from her, watching the slick, wet-coated skin emerge, and when he started pushing another finger in too, her heels dug into the sheet, and she groaned.

He stretched her open as he pushed, and her fists twisted in the sheets at her hips. The sight of her body slowly taking his fingers made him think of nothing but sinking his dick into her body. It sure as hell wasn’t a new fantasy, but finally seeing her body take the thickness of his fingers gave him a whole new perspective and left him stunned in utter need for her. He pulled gently from her again, and then pushed in once more. She was so slick with arousal, and her stomach muscles trembled as he started thrusting. He plunged in and out as she whimpered and writhed, and when he leaned to her sex, she stilled, frozen as a statue.

He used his free hand to part the lips of her sex. The inside lips of her pussy were distended around him, and he licked from the top of his fingers up to the hood of her clit. He pushed it back with the tip of his tongue, and pushed gently against the hardened nub of nerves. She bucked against his mouth, and he smiled against the hot, slick skin. He lashed, he licked, he sucked, and he laved until her body was trembling and quivering from head to toe, and then he sucked hard, pulling the nub into his mouth. She exploded around him. Her entire body tensed and then convulsed as her orgasm worked through her body.

He licked her slowly through her release as her stomach muscles twitched. He traced her lips with his tongue, kissing her pussy just like he would her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered, and he watched as she relaxed again. When he sat up between her legs, he rubbed her thigh with one hand, and he caressed her belly with the other. Her hands were now behind her head, and she seemed nervous again. He caressed down to the mound of her sex, and he rubbed gently without parting her lips.

When he stood from the bed, she assumed he expected her to return the favor, but it wasn’t his intent, and as she sat and reached for the waist of his jeans, he stilled her hands with his own. “Please don’t.” She looked stunned, even hurt perhaps. He had no idea why he wasn’t ready for this. He was a man, he was always ready, and God knew his body was more than willing, but he just wasn’t . . . ready. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back in a few minutes.

Her eyes followed him as he walked to his bathroom, and he knew she was confused if nothing else. He stared at his dick once he was in the shower. He was so agonizingly hard, and the cure for that was in the other room wanting to be with him. Instead, he stroked his cock, imagining it was her touch, her mouth, her need that was pleasuring him, and he came with gritted teeth and a stifled moan.

When he returned to bed, he crawled naked in next to her and pulled her into his arms before she even had a chance to roll over and see him. She stilled for a moment before relaxing into his arms. He kissed her neck, and he stared over her shoulder at her delicate hand stretched out in front of her on the bed. He’d noticed her hands before. They were so small and her fingers so elegant and graceful compared to his. He knew what the smallest details of her body looked like, barring the ones he’d only just been introduced to.

He’d watched her so closely for years, and he knew that her pinky popped out when she lifted a glass to her lips. He also knew she was powerless to stop it, and they’d laughed at her inability to control her fingers when she held a cup before. He knew that she was ticklish, and the very spot that most sent her into spirals of laughter that would likely end with her wetting herself was right by his hand under her arm.

He could see the scar on the side of her neck that she’d gotten when Jess hooked her with a fishing lure, and he remembered the day so clearly. She’d had blood dripping from her neck, but they were still laughing like idiots to the point of having tears in their eyes. He’d been the one to wriggle the hook loose from her skin as her hands gripped the sides of his waist. It made concentration difficult for sure. Every inch of her was a memory to him, and they were really good memories—the kind you built a life around.

He touched the scar, and she arched her neck. He trailed his fingers out along her shoulder and down her arm to her hand. His larger fingers wound through her thin feminine ones, and he clasped her hand, pulling it up to her chest and tightening his hold on her. The smell of her shampoo was what he fell asleep to, but he jolted in a start when he heard himself tell her he loved her. For a moment he thought he might have said it out loud, but she was breathing steadily beside him, and when he leaned up, her eyes were closed, her chest was rising and falling slowly, and her lips were parted just slightly.

He closed his eyes again, settling in beside her warm body, and he imagined it. Loving her.

Chapter Thirty

She was alone when she woke. She was still naked, and she was still tired. But she wanted to find him. She tossed her T-shirt back on and her underwear, and she took a quick look at herself in the bathroom mirror. The hall outside his bedroom smelled of coffee, and she followed it downstairs. She could hear birds chirping outside, and when she looked toward the French doors that led to the back deck, they were standing wide open and a breeze was ruffling the drapes.

He was already in the kitchen, standing at the coffeepot and pouring himself a cup. When he turned to her, he stilled, and he watched. He didn’t smile, he didn’t frown, he just looked. He was already dressed for the day in slacks, dress shirt, and tie. He looked quite incredible in the very intimidating professional sort of way, and as she stared right back at him, she shuddered.

“Hi.” Seemed like an appropriate thing to say after the night before.

“Coffee?” She nodded, and he poured her a cup as she approached him. They reached for the creamer at the same time, and he pulled back quickly as though her skin were radioactive. She had no idea why or if she should be offended, and when he cleared his throat nervously, she peered up at him. His jaw was tight, and his body was tense. It was not as if she wasn’t struggling to stay calm around him too, but shit, she’d not expected this level of discomfort.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m just running late.” He set his coffee on the counter without even taking a drink. “I should go.”

She reached for the side of his waist, and the moment he felt her touch, he released a huff of breath and pulled away, walking toward the front door. “Sorry.” She muttered the word under her breath, and he stilled in place for a moment.

He didn’t stop when he reached the front door, and she watched his backside as he turned the knob, pulled the door open, and pulled it closed behind him without ever turning back to her. “What the fuck just happened?” She spoke to no one at all, but Macy suddenly perked her ears up from her place on the kitchen rug. She tilted her head to the side, watching Bailey inquisitively. “You’re dad’s a weirdo, Mace. Wanna go for a walk?” Macy knew that word well, and she bounced off the rug, following Bailey around the house until she was dressed and ready to walk out the door.

Bailey didn’t bother with her running shoes. They walked down the steep incline to the water’s edge far below, and it was a good hour and a half later before they returned. Macy didn’t stop moving the entire time, and when Bailey let her back inside, she lapped up the whole bowl of water on the mudroom floor. Bailey might not have jogged on her trek with Macy, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t sweaty as hell. It was just one of those humid days that felt more like a steam sauna than summer. She fed Macy, grabbed her running bag, and started heading for the door when the phone rang.

Caller ID said it was Michelle, and it was only then that Bailey realized she should have perhaps checked in with her worrisome friend. “Hey, Michelle. Sorry, I should have called you this morning.”

“Yes, you should have. But you can make it up to me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Let me bring you lunch. Salads from the deli. I can be there in twenty minutes. I need to get out of here for a while. My dad’s driving me crazy with inventory problems.”

“Well, I was just running out the door to head to my place for a bit. I don’t have any clean clothes.”

“No clean clothes, meaning you spent the night?” Bailey didn’t respond. “Never mind. You can fill me in later. I’ll swing by and pick you up, and I’ll get the salads on the way. I can drop you back off there after. Deal?”

“Deal.” She sank back down to sit on the sofa and twiddle her thumbs for twenty minutes, and Macy ended up sitting her sixty-pound ass on top of her like a large, overgrown child. She had to push the dog off her just to answer the door when Michelle finally arrived, and the moment she closed the door behind her, Macy started howling. She wasn’t happy about being left midday.

“Soooo. . .” Apparently drawing out the word was supposed to be Bailey’s hint to spill the beans.

“So.” She didn’t take the bait.

“Oh, come on. I got ditched last night for a man. A man you have a somewhat sordid history with, and you don’t think you owe me an explanation?”

“I’m sweaty, you promised me a salad, and I’m not talking until I’ve eaten and showered.” She smirked at Michelle. She was really just stalling. She didn’t really want to have this conversation. Not because talking sex with Michelle was off limits, but because this particular conversation was difficult, and she wasn’t sure she really knew what was going on, let alone whether she could put it into words or not.

But her salad and shower, not to mention sex talk, took a backseat when they pulled into her driveway. Her home, normally plain and boring, was anything but at the moment. There was spray-painted lettering covering the open spaces between the windows, there was shoe polish on the windows themselves, and her garbage cans had been overturned, spilling garbage at her front door. If that weren’t devastation enough, she was forced to read the words that very much reeked of hate mail.

ROT IN HELL

KILLER

DRUNK

MURDERER

LEAVE SAVOY

NOT WELCOME

Bailey sat in stunned silence as Michelle sat quietly beside her. Michelle quiet was not a normal thing, and it spoke volumes. It was many long seconds before she could collect herself enough to deliver some sarcasm. “Ah, sweetie, you gots yourself a fan club.” Her eyes flashed around to the mess, the disdain evident on her face. “Fucktabulous!”

Bailey grunted or groaned or something close to the sound a zombie makes. Her tongue didn’t seem to remember how to get out of her mouth’s way, and she moaned an incoherent response. She stumbled from the car, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do.

“I think we need to call the police, Bay.” Bailey just nodded and let Michelle call from her cell phone. They didn’t bother going inside and instead, sat outside on an old garden bench eating their salads, reading, and then rereading the messages someone thought necessary to write to her. Fucktabulous was right.

“I should call Darren and let him know I might not make it back over to his place today. Can I use your cell?” She handed it over, and Bailey stood as she dialed. He didn’t answer, and she was hit with a moment of relief. Their morning had been entirely too strained to not be nervous about talking to him. “Hi . . . it’s Bailey. Umm . . . I’m not sure I can . . . well, I ran home to get a change of clothes and to shower, and somebody vandalized my house—spray-painted the siding, shoe-polished the windows, garbage everywhere. I don’t know what . . . I have to stay here, but I’ll . . . I guess I’ll try to reach you later.” She hung up abruptly, not knowing what else to say, and she returned to Michelle’s side to wait.

“What are you doing, Bailey?”

“Waiting for the cops with you?”

“Come on, Bailey. You know what I’m talking about. You and Darren?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“No.”

“But something happened.”

“Something.”

“I see.” She was quiet for a moment. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“And you think he wants to hurt me?”

“Not your body. It’s your heart I’m worried about. You’ve been through enough.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“Who made me swear I’d look after you.”

“Of course she did.”

“All I’m saying is, be careful. The old Darren would have risked his own life to save you from a burning building.”

“And you think this Darren would lock me in the burning building, toss some gas on it, and let me burn?”

“No.” Michelle looked at her seriously, and she sighed. “He’d risk his life rescuing you and then blame you for accidentally knocking over the candle that started the fire.”

“Impressive imagination.” She muttered it as a police car finally made its way down her long, winding, and overgrown driveway.

The two officers glared at Bailey venomously as they climbed out of their cruiser, and Michelle glared right back on Bailey’s behalf.

“Can’t say I’m surprised, what with your homicide MO.” The taller of the two, a man she vaguely recognized, was sneering while he spoke.

“Do you even know what MO stands for, Jim Thornton? Lord, how ’bout you treat this like an actual crime and not your personal roast of Bailey Trent!” Michelle was obviously in Bailey-defense mode.

“How ’bout you pick better friends, Shell?” the short, stocky officer retorted as Michelle shot daggers at them both with her eyes. “We’ll take a look around, and we’ll file a report, but other than that, ain’t a lot we can do here.”

“How about fingerprints? CSI shit? Don’t y’all know nothin’ ’bout how to do your jobs, or should I just do it for ya?” Michelle was obviously not a fan of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.

The tall one snapped some gloves on his hands, grabbed what Bailey could only assume was a fingerprint kit, shook it in the air tauntingly at Michelle, and headed for Bailey’s front door. Moments later, Darren came rolling in looking intimidating as hell in his aviator sunglasses, his dark hair perfectly mussed, and his trim-cut slacks and dress shirt.

“Oh boy. . .” was all Michelle could say to that one, and when he climbed from his SUV quickly, he looked up to her house, and he stilled. His focus took in every last ounce of her shame spelled in red, blue, and black letters, and then he shook his head and turned toward her. He ignored the officers when he approached her, and Michelle planted her hands on her hips. “Gee, good of ya to show up.” She was apparently on a roll, and even Darren was going to get a dose of her attitude.

He turned to her as he stood in front of Bailey, tossing his own attitude right back at her. “Well, I wouldn’t have to be here if you answered your damn phone, Michelle. I’m on shift, and I’ve been trying to reach you for the past twenty fucking minutes!”

Michelle fished her cell phone out of her pocket, now glaring at him, and when she glanced to her phone, she shrugged her shoulders. “Well, look at that. Ringer’s off.” She walked away to her car, and leaning up against it with her arms crossed, she started glaring at the officers who were standing knee-deep in garbage to dust Bailey’s doorknob for prints.

Bailey returned her attention to the less than enthusiastic man standing in front of her. “When you leave a message, how about leave it with a bit more detail. I thought you were here alone! I thought whoever did this could still be here! Dammit, Bailey.” She just gaped at him incredulously. Their morning had been bad enough, and this wasn’t helping any.

“Well, I wasn’t alone, and I’m fine!” She was talking too loudly, and as he exhaled deeply, she shook her head. “I didn’t know you were trying to reach me.” They both stared at the ground between them for a moment.

“Guess not everyone’s thrilled you came home.”

“Including you?” She was just in a defensive mood.

His failure to answer right away resulted in her crossing her arms and glaring. He saw it and finally decided to respond. “Am I treating you as though I’m unhappy you’re here?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact! Or . . . no. I don’t know! You’re treating me as though you want to fuck me and nothing else.”

“And yet I haven’t.”

“Yes, and why is that?” This was not the time, but apparently she wasn’t willing to let the opportunity slip her by. After his rejection the night before and his less than amicable behavior that morning, she was in no mood to guess just exactly what was going on in his head.

“Because I’m not sure I want to.” His voice was suddenly far quieter.

“Want to. . .”

He fidgeted for a moment, but it wasn’t nervousness, it was angst and irritation, and finally, he raked his fingers through his hair and growled at her. “Listen, I don’t have time to stand around and argue about fucking right now.” He turned and started walking back to his car, leaving her staring after him.

“Yeah? Well, it’s not like I asked you to come over.”

“Sorry for worrying. I won’t bother again.” He tossed the words over his shoulder, and when he passed Michelle, he said her name curtly, and she did the same. Then he was gone, and Bailey joined Michelle at her car.

“Do me a favor. If you’re going to argue with him, at least do it closer to me so I can eavesdrop a bit easier. What the hell was that about?”

“Nothing that has anything to do with this, oddly enough.”

They stared for a good ten minutes as the officers finished up, and they ignored Bailey like she was toxic as they left with nothing more than “We’ll call you if we get anything. Get this shit cleaned up. We have a public ordinance about garbage in people’s lawns. Hate to have to cite you for that too.” No, they wouldn’t.

Bailey grabbed Michelle’s wrist, quieting her quickly when she opened her mouth to respond. They watched as the cruiser backed out of her driveway, and then Michelle turned to her. “Bailey, my dad’s gonna have a cow if I don’t get back. You leave this shit until tonight. I’ll be over right after we close, and I’ll help you get this squared away. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

Bailey shook her head. “I can handle it.”

“Don’t even say that. I’m coming over.” Bailey gave up the fight, and she waited for Michelle to leave before she started collecting garbage and tossing it back in the garbage cans. It took her nearly an hour just to get the garbage collected, and she collapsed on her front steps in exhaustion once it was cleaned up. She didn’t get to rest long before a truck ambled down her driveway and pulled to a stop. Ted’s Handyman Service was stenciled on the side panel, and she stood, meeting a man she presumed was Ted as he got out of his truck.

“Doc Cory sent me over. Said you had some cleanup and painting that needed to be done. Said I should come right away.”

“Oh, no. I can’t let you do—”

“Said you’d say that too, and pardon the language, miss, but he told me to tell ya to shut up and let me do my job.” He smiled sweetly. She didn’t recognize the man, and that was likely why he didn’t seem to hate her. She tried to offer to help him, but when he started to sound annoyed after he told her no for the fourth time, she gave up and went inside. She took a cool shower, and when she was done and dressed in clean clothes, she called Michelle quickly to tell her not to bother coming over, and she fell asleep on the sofa.

She didn’t wake until midevening, and she only woke then because her phone was ringing. “Darren, thank you. You didn’t have to do that, but . . . I appreciate it.” She wandered outside with the cordless phone as she waited for him to respond.

“Is Ted gone?”

“Yeah.” She looked back up at the front of her house. Her windows were clean, the graffiti was gone, and the entire front of her house had been repainted—not that it was a big house by any means, but she was impressed. “Wow, it really looks good. Can I pay you back? Or can you take it out of my pay?”

“No. I don’t pay you nearly good enough to cover his cost. He’s going to come back and paint the rest of your house later this week, but I wanted to get the mess taken care of first.”

“You realize I don’t even own this house.”

“You realize your landlord probably doesn’t want his property vandalized. You can’t just paint the front side of a house. At least this way, you’ll get your security deposit back when you decide you hate me and want to run away.”

She didn’t have a clue what to say to that, and so she was silent for a moment. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to offer to come to him, change things, change the awful way this day had ended up going; basically she wanted to be near him, but at the moment, she was feeling just a bit too protective of her heart to say any of that. Perhaps some of Michelle was rubbing off on her. Instead she thanked him again and told him goodnight.

Chapter Thirty-One

He didn’t see her for the next three days, and he hated it. He was anxious and uncomfortable all the time. He was also certain she was angry at him, and why the hell wouldn’t she be? He was a dick. He’d gotten remarkably good at being a dick, and it was exactly what he was being.

When he was feeling exceptionally self-destructive, he’d mentally put himself in her position, and he’d let himself imagine what he’d put her through over the past few weeks. He’d asked her to stay, then he’d let her think he’d fucked Veronica, then he’d asked her to come home with him, he’d eaten her pussy, and then refused to let her touch him. Why? Because he didn’t want her to touch him? No! He was dying to feel her touch, but he was terrified. It should just be fucking, but it was never just fucking with her. It was never just touching, kissing, sucking, fucking with her. It couldn’t be. And he didn’t know what that meant and wasn’t at all sure he was ready to find out, but rather than say that, he was a dick to her.

He practically ran away from her the morning after, and again, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be with her. He was literally the king of confusing botched signals with her. One would have thought he’d been furious with her when he’d gone to her home after he couldn’t reach her. In truth, he was nearly in a panic. The second he’d listened to her message, he had visions of her being attacked because some lunatic was there waiting for her.

The three days apart weren’t helping matters, and he was ready to be done with it. She had no idea he was leaving work early the next day thanks to being owed a few hours from one of the other ER attendings, and he had no intention of telling her. She’d avoided him enough.

He was already thinking about seeing her that morning when he ran into the coffee shop to grab a coffee on the way to the hospital when he heard a very familiar voice.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite friend who hates my other friend but wants to bone her anyway and screw up her life because he’s a twisted, disturbed asshole.”

He rolled his eyes as he turned to see Michelle stepping into line behind him as he waited for his coffee. “Tell me how you really feel, Shell.”

She studied him with a smirk firmly planted on her face for a moment. “Okay. You need to end this thing with her before I have to scoop her lifeless, emotional soul off the highway after you’ve run it down with your Mack truck-sized anger issues.” The smirk was gone, and she was studying him quite seriously. He was caught off guard too, for a moment. End it? He wasn’t even sure there was anything to end, but he was sure as hell not going to end it—whatever it was.

“Sorry you feel that way.”

“I’m guessing that means you won’t be taking my good advice?”

“I’m smacking your good advice upside the head and telling it to butt the fuck out of my life.” He smiled as he said it, but her eyes narrowed.

“It’s her life too, and that means a hell of a lot to me. Try to remember you’re fucking about with a living, breathing human with a soul, will you? You’ll answer to me if you hurt her.” She said nothing else, and he grabbed his coffee, pecking her tauntingly on the cheek as he skirted around her. She was a feisty brat for sure, but he understood that protective nature well.

His half-day crawled by, and when he finally pulled up in front of his house, her bike was there, and he breathed a sigh of relief. When he approached the house, he could hear music and barking. He was intrigued. When he entered, the hip-hop got louder and so did the barking. When he finally made it into his living room, his heart nearly stopped. She was dancing with Macy. She was holding Macy’s front legs up as they both bounced and bopped to something that sounded very Beyoncé-ish. He stood there just watching. It was kind of heaven watching her this way. She looked happy, she looked young, and he knew the woman acting like a lunatic in his living room so well in that moment that he almost felt her happiness.

She looked up, shrieked, and dropped Macy’s paws. She ran to the stereo, turning it off quickly as Macy started racing around the room in an excited buzz. They both stood panting in front of him, and he forced the smile that was tugging at his lips to calm.

“Why are you here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Want to? You sure? You weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to do the other day with me. Seems you have a hard time making up your mind.” She was still panting.

It was hard to take her bitterness seriously when she was standing in short exercise shorts, the sleeves of her T-shirt shoved up over her shoulders, and her hair in a high ponytail. “Well, right now, I want you to take a run with me, then I want you to stay for dinner, then I want to play with you.”

“Play?”

“Stop asking questions and go get changed.”

She nodded, but just as she grabbed her running bag from under the entryway table in his foyer, she turned back. “So, are you going to be rude to me again after we . . . play?”

He walked to her calmly, leaning to her ear. “I said I’m playing, you’re coming, and if there’s any question what I mean by coming, I’m referring to that incredibly tight pussy of yours trembling while all those amazing little nerve endings in your clit explode in pleasure.” He pulled back, watching her cheeks blush her beautiful shade of pink. “I’m not intentionally being rude to you. I’m trying.” He turned. He didn’t want to give her defenses a chance to react. He dressed quickly, meeting her back at the front door. Macy bounced between them as they left.

Chapter Thirty-Two

She hated it when he let her take the lead. All she could think about was how big her ass looked in her running shorts and just how much more jiggle there was now than there was when she was young. When she made the mistake of glancing back at him, she was mortified to see he was focusing on exactly what she was hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Turn around before you run into a tree.” He smirked. She took his advice as he edged up beside her. “Would you like me to take the lead so you can stare at my ass?” It was her turn to smirk. He passed her and took off, pushing her just a bit harder than the pace she’d set.

He was remarkably better at ignoring her, and he charged on, not the least self-conscious of where her eyes might be roving. She made the mistake of thinking she could handle the pace and check out his ass at the same time. She learned quickly, she couldn’t. She stumbled over nothing at all, and as the pace of her feet fell behind the pace of her upper body, she started falling forward. She pumped her feet, barely getting them back under her in time to keep herself from going down.

He looked back, catching her stumble, and as soon as she was righted and moving the right direction, she could hear him chuckling in front of her. She kicked her ass into gear, gaining on him slowly, and when she passed him, she smacked the incredibly nice ass that had nearly caused her to fall on her face. She didn’t bother looking back, partly because her little victory would lose something if she did, and partly because she didn’t want to tempt fate. Knowing her luck, she’d run smack into a tree and give herself a concussion.

By the time they reached the rock outcropping, she thought she might pass out. She walked in circles with her hands on the top of her head, and he did the same. She was sweating like a pig, and her face was on fire. It took a good ten minutes for her heart rate to slow and for her face to cool. When she felt his hands on her waist, she panicked. She was wet. Every ounce of fabric on her skin was saturated in sweat, and she could imagine no worse time to be touched by a man.

“Darren, I’m so sweaty.” She was still breathing deeply as she spoke.

He leaned to her neck, pulling his body up close to hers, and when he pushed his groin against her bottom, she groaned. It was half pleasure, half mortification. When he licked her neck from her shoulder up to the incredibly sensitive spot behind her ear, the half-mortification turned to all-out pleasure. “I’m not worried about a bit of sweat. Take a walk with me.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Down to the water.”

He led her down the steep hillside, winding them through thick trees until they came out at the water’s edge. It was a cove, small and quiet, and it was surrounded with a sandy beach. The cove was a hidden gem on this lake, and she was guessing few knew about it. There was no real access except for the water or the fairly impassable path through the woods.

“You do remember you’re an exceptional swimmer, right?” He was behind her again, crowding against her body enticingly as he spoke against her ear. “I used to enjoy your swim meets as much for your ass in a swimsuit as the actual swimming itself. Now how about you show me that ass? Take your clothes off.”

Her heart raced and her body coursed with warm need that far exceeded the heat of the day. “Not sure you aren’t going to grab my clothes and take off so I’m forced to run home naked.” She was stalling.

“Taking off implies I’d be in front of you, and stealing your clothes would only be fun if I got to watch you run home naked—a difficult thing to accomplish if I’m ahead of you. Now, take your clothes off.” His voice was warm and seductive, and she was very easily falling prey to his moves.

She slipped her shoes and socks off, and he took them from her hands, tossing them farther up the beach so they were well away from the water. She did the same with her shirt, sports bra, running shorts, and eventually, though she stalled for a moment, her underwear.

When she was finally standing naked in front of him, her back to him, he ran his hands slowly down her back to her hips and then over the cheeks of her bottom. He caressed, gently at first, and then he gripped and groped, and she listened as he groaned.

“I have to say, these are a bit rounder than I recall.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I was paying you a compliment.”

“Well, in that case—” He nipped her neck as she spoke, and she yelped.

“I’ve always liked your figure, and it suits you. You’re not a kid anymore, so you shouldn’t be built like one.”

“I’m feeling a little awkward being the only naked one here.”

“Still worried I’m going to ditch you?”

“Maybe.” She was almost serious.

She could feel the fabric of his shirt brush past her back, and she listened to the rustling of fabric as he undressed and tossed his clothes and shoes up by hers. He pulled her bottom back to his groin, grinding his pelvis into her butt. She could feel the hard length of him settling between the very top cleft of her butt cheeks and her lower back. He was toying with her.

“Is that better?”

“Yes.” Her voice was getting that pathetic breathiness that only popped up when she was falling apart.

He nuzzled into her neck for a moment before passing her, grabbing her hand, and leading her into the water. Her feet sank into the sand as she waded through the cooling water. He was slightly in front of her, denying her the view from the front. She was starting to think it was intentional. Soon they were chest deep, and she lifted her feet, forcing herself to tread water. She let herself sink into the water, wetting her hair and cooling her face. She surfaced, and he was five feet away, watching her.

She swam to him, and he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. She was forced to feel his arousal with her body without the benefit of sight or touch, but when she tried to run her hand down his stomach to touch him, he grabbed her hand, and his eyes seared into her.

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

“How about you let me go at my own pace?”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“If I let you touch me, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”

“Because you want to stop?”

“Are you asking my dick or my brain?”

She pulled back, needing to put some space between them. It felt like a rejection, though the rock-hard length of him held tight between their bodies said otherwise. But he didn’t let her pull away. He stilled her where she was.

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. I don’t want to do something either one of us will regret.”

She did manage to pull away that time, and he let her. She swam away from him into deeper water, speaking over her shoulder. “How about you speak for yourself and stop making decisions for me. If you don’t want to do this, then fine. Stop touching me.” She kept swimming, and when she finally turned around, he was walking up the shore.

She watched, even in her disappointment and unease, as he walked. He was so stunning and intimidating to see. He was the perfect height, and his body was all strength. He was fit, but not bulky. He was so perfectly balanced. His ass was round and strong, and his legs lean and powerful. He dressed quickly without turning back to her, and when she swam back to shore and walked toward him, he watched her just as intently.

She reached down for her clothes, but he caught her forearm. “You think I’m trying to fuck with you for my own vindictive pleasure. Is that it?” She shrugged. “Let me explain this to you. Relationships end for me. They always end. Now couple that with the ridiculous notion of you and I being in any sort of relationship. I’m supposed to hate you. Or I’m supposed to forgive you. What I’m not supposed to do is be romantically involved with you. Is that the man you want fucking you? That’s two big fucking strikes against this little arrangement we have.”

“And here I thought you wanted to be open-minded.” She yanked her arm from him, and he growled in irritation. She ignored it, dressing quickly.

The swim felt amazing; putting clammy, sweaty, and sandy clothes on over wet skin was torture, but it gave her something to focus on rather than her irritation at him. Irritation just seemed to be the way of things for them. There was nothing he said that was actually unrealistic. She got it. A man didn’t fall in love with the woman responsible for killing his sister! Duh! But, if that was so definite, so set in stone . . . then what the fuck were they doing and why was she allowing it?

He took off up into the hillside, and she let her anger at him push her up the steep incline and the few miles back to his home. It was a miserable run back, and if she wasn’t so pissed, she wasn’t sure she’d have made it through. When she reached his steps, he was still ignoring her, and when he opened the door, he didn’t wait for her to pass through. She didn’t ask his permission to use his shower, and as she bounded up the stairs toward his bedroom, he cracked open a bottle of water and watched her from the kitchen.

She stood under cold water, letting it cool her overheated skin. It was likely stupid given how loose and stretched her muscles were, but she needed the shock to her system. When she finally got out, he was sitting on his bathroom counter waiting. He hopped down as she wrapped a towel around herself. He dropped his shorts just as he stepped into the large stall, and she left, collapsing on his bed. She had no idea if she was welcome to plop her overly round ass on his bed, but she didn’t care.

Sadly, her relaxation didn’t last, and moments after she heard him turn the shower off, muscle cramps seized her legs, and she ended up gripping her calves, crying like a fool at the agony. She tried not to call for him, but after a good minute of nothing but seized-up muscles that ran from her calves up, she gave up on stubbornness and yelled. She couldn’t even stand to get herself to him, and so she cried out for him.

It took him little less than a second to emerge with a towel wrapped around his waist, and he climbed onto his bed beside her. She barely got the words “muscle cramps” out of her mouth, and he grabbed her calves, pulling them out straight. He gripped her muscles tight, holding the pressure. It was painful, but it seemed to disrupt the seizures working through her legs. She was still crying, and there was no reining in the tears.

“Relax.” His voice was deep and soothing, and if only she could will her muscles to pay attention to his voice, she might survive this. “You have to relax.” He kept gripping her calves, squeezing painfully tight but massaging the tension until it finally started to release. She was gulping down breaths of air by the time the pain subsided, and her tears eventually stopped falling too. He leaned down to her, kissing her gently on the cheek. “You’re probably dehydrated. Stay here. I’ll get you some water.” He brushed her tears away and kissed her forehead before he stood and left the room.

She flexed and stretched her legs slowly, trying not to overdo it, and he returned a few minutes later with a large glass of water. He handed her the water, leaving her for a moment to snatch a pair of underwear out of his chest of drawers and slipping into them quickly. They were dark-gray briefs, and they hit low on his hips and bottom. She watched him return, wishing her body wouldn’t respond to him the way it did. She wasn’t sure her muscles could handle it any more than her nerves.

He sat, taking the water from her and downing some himself before setting it on the nightstand. He pulled one of her legs across his lap, and he slowly started kneading her muscles. He was gentle now, and he took his time, working his way up one leg and then the other. He didn’t stop at her knee, but he traveled up her thighs too. He squeezed and caressed, and her body betrayed her some more. She barely had the towel wrapped around her at this point after writhing around on his bed like a fool, but it didn’t mean she expected him to pull it away entirely when he finished with her first leg.

She was still gasping in shock at her sudden nakedness when he pushed her thighs apart and practically attacked her wet sex with his mouth. His tongue instantly thrust between the lips, and all she could manage to say was “Oh, God” five times in a row. That was, until the doorbell rang. He looked up at her, refusing to stop tormenting her with his tongue for a moment, but he eventually pulled back, her wetness coating his lower lip and chin.

“Pizza.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

She came down the stairs, walking slowly, just as he closed the door. Her long hair was soaking wet, and she had nothing but the towel wrapped around her body. He’d managed to grab a pair of shorts before he ran down to meet the delivery guy, but that didn’t mean he didn’t prefer her naked. He struggled to take his eyes off her now as much as he always had in the past, and there was no denying his attraction to her was just as strong.

She was quite exceptional—the way she moaned quietly, the way her silky wetness felt on his fingers, the way she smelled, her taste. It was all just as incredible as he’d always fantasized about, if not more so. His mind had always had limitations her body easily managed to supersede. One-sided foreplay was turning out to be far more satisfying than he ever imagined it could be. Typically, foreplay was quid pro quo for him. He was giving exactly what he expected to get in return, and what he did was as much about the payoff for him as anything else. Selfish to say the least, but then . . . he dated quite shallow and selfish women for just that purpose. With Bailey, he wanted to give and give and give, and the payoff was the incredible sounds she made when she was aroused, the sound she made when she was coming, and that incredible taste of her on his lips. He wanted more, there was no denying it, but he loved this enough to be patient.

He carried the pizza box to the living room and set it on the coffee table, and she grabbed a couple of paper plates from the pantry before settling in next to him. She hummed when he opened the box, and she saw her favorite. “Half normal pepperoni pizza for me, half weird-ass white sauce and onion for you. I will never understand your taste in pizza.”

She smiled, and he calmed. She was smiling again. “Onions are good for you.”

“Yes, they are. About the only healthy thing about this pizza. ’Course, they’ll give you onion breath from hell.”

“Thanks for giving me something to be self-conscious about.”

“Much like your lovely round ass?”

“Which is far jigglier than it used to be.”

He couldn’t stop the laughter that incited, and she looked at him sheepishly. He could literally see her regretting those words. She had an exceptional ass. Always had, and this version of her was certainly no more jiggly than it ought to be. Firm, tight, perky, and round was how he would describe it. “I assure you, there is nothing at all to be ashamed of in regards to your bottom. And jiggly is not the word I would use to describe it.” He watched her for a moment, stuffing a bite of pizza in his mouth. “Why do women assume their bodies aren’t supposed to change after high school? I mean, I remember you very clearly up to twenty-one, and you looked then as you did at seventeen and eighteen, but you were only barely finished growing. Once a woman, or a man for that matter, hits their early twenties, they’re going to change.”

She shrugged, but then she spoke around a large mouthful of food. “Some women stay the same size. I suppose they make the rest of wish we could too. Take Michelle. She hasn’t gained an ounce of weight since she was seventeen years old. She’s slim, she eats like a horse, and she’s tall.”

“Bay, you’re like, five feet four at most. You’re not going to be getting any taller, and you’re not built like that. You have curves, and they’re nice curves—very nice curves, perfectly proportioned to your body. You’re fit, you’re healthy, you’re exactly the right size for your figure. I can’t imagine wanting something different than what you have.” He was being a bit of a chick at the moment, and he was being exceptionally and gratuitously nice to her too, but what the hell. She was stunning. Small waist, tight round bottom, athletic legs, and tits that were perky and full. She was insane to think there was something better than that.

She smiled at him shyly, but she said nothing else, and they finished their pizza in silence. All the talk about her body, though, had his on high alert, and arousal was coursing through him. He acted patient, but he wasn’t at all, and once he’d let Macy out, he pulled her upstairs.

“What’s the chance you have an extra toothbrush I could borrow?” She looked hopeful.

“I’m sure I can find something.” She followed him into his bathroom, and he rooted around his linen closet until he found an unopened toothbrush. She leaned over the sink as she brushed, and he watched for a moment before he grabbed the towel wrapped around her and pulled it from her body. Her eyes flashed to him in the mirror, and she smiled a sudsy smile.

He grabbed his electric toothbrush from its holder and started rinsing it under the faucet of the other sink in hot water. He was watching her, and the more he took in the sight of her body, her breasts as she leaned over, her bottom bent over the sink, the harder he got. He was definitely going to play with her now, and he was really hoping she was up for it. He held his toothbrush under the faucet until the water was so hot it was steaming, and her eyes kept glancing to what he was doing.

She finished, and as she stood at the sink watching him in the mirror, she bit her lip. “You have a germ phobia?” He shook his head but said nothing. She seemed nervous, and why wouldn’t she be? He was acting a bit weird. When he was done with the toothbrush, he laid it on the countertop to cool, and he quickly stripped out of his shorts.

“Sit on the counter.” She pulled herself up to sit, holding her legs tightly together and trying to salvage her modesty, but he shook his head, tutting as he did. “Spread your legs, please.” She watched him for a moment, and her cheeks flushed pink, but she did as he asked.

He slid his hand down under the waist of his underwear, pulling the band of elastic away from his body and letting his hard cock spring free. She gasped, and his dick twitched at nothing more than the sound. He was standing about two feet in front of her, and she watched as he tucked the waistband of his underwear under his testicles. It tightened everything in his groin, and his dick started pulsing in engorged need. Her eyes staring at his arousal didn’t help his state.

He ran his hand up the shaft, rounding his palm over the head and then back down, and her lips parted. He started stroking, letting her watch as he pleasured himself in front of her. He was falling apart quickly, his teeth gritting and his jaw clenching. His stomach muscles were clenched tight, and the head of his cock was throbbing. When she swallowed harshly over a lump in her throat and moaned, he stopped. It was nearly impossible given his state, but he wasn’t ready yet.

He approached her, panting quietly, waiting for his arousal to calm slightly so he didn’t explode on her. He stood perhaps six inches from her, letting his dick touch and tickle her stomach, and he used his hands to push her knees out even farther. When he leaned to kiss the side of her neck, she shivered and moaned, and he picked up the toothbrush. “Are you wet?” He whispered it in her ear, and he could feel her nodding as much as see it. “This is going to feel intense, so I need you to tell me what feels good and what’s too much for you.” She pulled back, her brow wrinkled in confusion for a moment. Then she caught sight of the toothbrush in his hand, and she gasped again.

Her entire body tensed as he ran the toothbrush lightly over the skin on her chest. He taunted her pebble-hard nipples as he worked his way down, and when he slipped the bristly head between her lips, she jumped. She was exceptionally wet, and it moved easily over her skin, prickling its way over her clit. She jumped again, grabbing his upper arms. “Keep your hands on the counter.”

She moved her hands back to support her body with her palms planted behind her hips, and he pulled the toothbrush from her skin, looking to her eyes. She looked terrified. When he flipped the switch, the toothbrush whirred to life, and her large blue eyes widened as she studied it. He was still standing, and he reached his free hand to her pussy, parting her lips and stroking gently over her fully engorged and peaked nub. She moaned, and she watched as he lowered the head of the brush and gently started the vibrating bristles at the top of her cleft. She let out a strangled cry, and her mouth dropped open. She looked as though she was crying out but the sound wasn’t there, and then her stomach muscles clenched and her entire body started to twitch.

This was definitely pleasure. Her hips were moving, lurching and twitching as the bristles moved on her skin. He pushed a finger from his free hand into her scorching hot entry, and he held it deep and still as he felt those muscles constrict around him. He lowered the toothbrush, inching closer to her clit, and the trembling in her body intensified. He watched her closely, looking for pain or discomfort, but it was all need and arousal. Her lips started trembling when he lowered the bristles right to the swollen skin above her clit. Her teeth were damn near chattering, and he slid a second finger in with the first.

She clamped down hard on his fingers, and he groaned as he focused on her. When he brushed the bristles down over the peaked top of her clit, she shrieked. “Too much, too much!” She could barely get the words out as her body tried to pull forward, and he instantly pulled it back up to the swollen skin above her clit. Her nerves ran up above her clit just under the skin where he was at, and he let the brush head run gently over that skin, sliding easily through her wetness.

He started thrusting his fingers into her, and before long, her entire body was vibrating, her eyes were glassy and the lids fluttering, her mouth trembled, and she was panting. He glanced at her stomach muscles dancing and twitching, and though her palms were still planted firmly behind her, her shoulders were rounding forward around her stomach muscles that were contracting inward. She finally succumbed, and with a curse, she let her body pull forward, wrapping around her orgasm as it worked through her. The soles of her feet were contracting inward, her knees were partially raised from the counter top, and she eventually had to pull her palms from the countertop, gripping into his upper arms as she collapsed into his chest.

He pulled the toothbrush from her skin, but he kept his fingers buried inside her. Her sheath was trembling around him, and he could feel her cum dripping down his hand. She could only pant against his chest, taking lurching breaths and her body twitching occasionally as his fingers moved. He’d never quite watched such an intense orgasm before, and it was making his own need for release painful. She finally sat up straighter, breathing deeply as he looked down at her, and he popped the toothbrush in his mouth as she gasped and then started laughing.

“That was. . .” She panted for a moment. “Lovely.”

“Yes, it was.” He spoke around the toothbrush in his mouth. “Now, lean back, so I can come on you.”

She leaned back, resting against the mirror, and he pushed the length of his cock against the wet, slick cleft of her pussy lips. He ran his hand along the top of his dick, letting her slippery skin caress the underneath, and he thrust gently as she watched. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were wide as she focused on what he was doing, and she instantly started tightening her groin and pushing toward him harder. It brought his already starved dick to climax quickly, and as he came on her stomach, she watched. She touched the pearly cum he left on her skin, and it made his dick twitch to see her fingers coated with his seed. Fuck, she was so incredible.

He wiped her stomach clean with a washrag, and then he carried her to bed, planting her gently on the sheets. He ran his fingers between the lips of her pussy. She was still soaking wet, and every place he touched caused lurching spasms to rack her body. She was well and truly oversensitive at the moment, and he enjoyed the way her body responded as he worshipped her tits for a while.

When he pulled her back to his front and wrapped his arms around her, he reached back quickly, turning the light out.

“Was that playing?”

“Yes, Bailey, that was playing.” She fell asleep moments later, and he did too.

Chapter Thirty-Four

He apparently was just an early riser, and when she opened her eyes and yawned, she found herself alone again in his bed. She wanted coffee, she needed coffee, and thank God for her, he was a coffee drinker. She still had no clean clothes, and those that she’d dropped just outside his shower the afternoon before were inexplicably missing. She padded downstairs naked, hoping like hell he didn’t have company, and she found him sitting in the same Adirondack chair on the back deck he’d been in after their first run. As she rounded the chair to see him, she found his eyes were just as distant and unreadable as they had been on that day too. But there was one difference. He was completely naked.

His strong thighs were parted, and his testicles were large and heavy. His penis was intimidating even in this relaxed state, and as her eyes roved over him, he hardened and lengthened to a terrifying size—also a quite intriguing size. She was trying to lean casually against the deck rail a few feet in front of him, but as she leaned back, she misjudged the distance and staggered back into it. He smiled for a moment, and she did too. If only she’d known all she had to do was humiliate herself to get a smile from him.

She gave up trying to act casual and kneeled in front of his parted thighs. She knew there was a better than good chance he’d stop her if she tried to touch him, but she liked to test limits on occasion. His testicles were exceptionally masculine, and his erection was high on his stomach. She kneeled up and leaned to him as his eyes seared hotly into her. He watched as she reached for him, and she paused, waiting for him to grab her wrist or reprimand her in some way. He didn’t. She proceeded to wrap her hand around the thick, smooth shaft, feeling the weight of him in her hand for the first time. She still expected him to stop her, but he made no move to. His lips parted, and he sucked in a quick breath. When she leaned to him, his teeth gritted, and his hands fisted, but the best was the strangled cry he emitted when her lips parted and sank down over the head of his cock. He cursed, and she sank lower, pulling and sucking. He made no attempt to still her.

She was slow as she started moving up and down along his length, and she stopped to trace a rigid, hard vein with her tongue. It wrapped around the shaft like the root of a tree, feeding his engorged arousal. He gripped the arms of the chair, knocking his empty coffee cup off to shatter into hundreds of porcelain pieces beside them. She pulled back at the sound of the breaking cup, and he looked at her. He reached for her mouth, brushing the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. If that was the permission she was looking for, she was past needing it. It had been years since she’d touched a man, and she was terrified, but he’d withheld himself from her, and he was finally letting her in.

Instead of continuing with her mouth, she reached up and stroked a soft trail over the seam of skin on his testicles. They were so tight, but their size was a very masculine reminder of the power inside him. Her hand gripped his erection again, and she stroked up and down as he started to grunt and groan. When she took him in her mouth again, his groan intensified, and his hand grasped the top of her head, twisting in her hair. He set the pace as he gripped and forced her movements. He was gentle, but there was little question who was running the show.

Her eyes flashed to his just to see his dark ones looking back at her. His lips were parted, he was panting, and the quiet grunts that escaped his mouth were completely involuntary. He was on the brink of losing it, and his focus was locked on her. She could feel the tremor in his thighs, and soon his cock was thrusting up into her mouth as he clenched his bottom to drive himself upward. She closed her eyes and the moment she did, his husky and broken voice interrupted her. “Look at me.” She did, and the moment before he came apart completely, he spoke again. “Don’t swallow.”

He cried out as he came, tightening his buttocks hard and thrusting up powerfully. She let him come in her mouth, and she sucked gently on him as he grunted and groaned out his release. He stared down at her as she kneeled between his legs. She could feel his seed on her tongue, and the sensation made it hard not to swallow him down, but she sat still, waiting for him. He reached a hand down to her, pulling her up to straddle his hips.

“Open up.” She froze for a moment, but he watched her steadily. She parted her lips, and he groaned as his focus moved to her open mouth. His finger thrust inside her mouth through the creamy cum, and he groaned again. She sucked on his finger as he thrust it into her mouth, and when he was done touching, he withdrew his finger and leaned to her ear. “Swallow.” He pushed her head back, kissing and sucking his way down the front of her neck as she swallowed the salty, thick liquid.

He clutched her body to his with a strong hand on her back, and his other snaked between them to part the wet lips of her vagina. He settled his still engorged cock between her lips, and he slid between them, back and forth as he rocked his hips against her, holding her tight. Her hips were tightening and rolling against him too, and as her wet flesh rubbed a slippery trail along his arousal, he bit down on her shoulder. She loved his bites. Always controlled, always intense, and always just as much as she could handle.

He eventually replaced his dick with his fingers, and he sank two inside her to his knuckles. He thrust as she gripped his shoulders and buried her head against his neck. He pushed and pulled, and when his thumb started circling and swirling around her clit, her legs trembled and turned to rubber. She came, reaching back to grip his knees even as her stomach muscles tried to pull her inward and around her guts. He watched for a moment before he sank his teeth into the plump skin of her breast, biting down gently. He sucked hard on her skin and then her nipple, and his fingers still gently plunged into her.

They stayed collapsed together on the chair for many more long minutes, breathing deeply against one another’s neck. Their skin was clammy and damp with perspiration, and after he stood her up on her feet, he pulled her away to his shower. They were silent as they showered and were back to watching one another curiously, nervously. At least she was nervous. He seemed lost again, but he reached for her hips, pulling her up against him and nuzzling into her neck, and she relaxed.

She curled up on his bed and watched him move naked around his room. He wasn’t in a hurry, and she studied him as she hugged a bunched up pillow in her arms. He looked like the old Darren. He looked like her Darren. He didn’t smile the way he used to, but there were times . . . Occasionally he seemed to forget that he hated life, and his lips relaxed. It was then that he was so much like her Darren that it choked her. She’d give anything to have her old Darren back, and if she could mix him with what they’d just done last night and this morning, all the better.

Remembering the man he used to be wasn’t just painful; it was like coping with the grief of losing someone you loved. It seemed wrong to liken it to the loss of Jess or her father, but she struggled to put it in any other terms. She felt like Darren had died that night too, and this was a sad ghost of the man she had known. The ghost of him was forced to spend eternity reliving his death over and over again until he was insane or figured out some way to move beyond it all. He just bounced between the past and present continuously, and she hated it.

Was that why he needed her to stay? Did he think she was the key to setting him free in some way? Helping him leave the past behind permanently? She . . . the disaster who’d wrecked her life just as it was beginning and destroyed everyone who’d loved her. She couldn’t help him. She would give her life if she thought she could save him, but she knew she couldn’t. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t stay for him. Wait for him. Pray for him. She owed him that much if nothing else, and she owed herself too. This wasn’t a spiral into self-destruction. It was her penance. It was her redemption. And because she’d loved him once, or loved him still, it wasn’t even a question.

He sat on the side of the bed, slipping his shoes on. He was no longer naked, and she’d lost track of what he was doing as she’d zoned. Hell of show to miss . . . He turned to her, and he leaned over her. She thought for a moment he might kiss her—seemed the least he could do after the past many days, but he didn’t. His thumb brushed along her lower lip, and then he pulled back.

“Your clothes are drying in the dryer. This is my last shift for a few days, so I’m sure I’ll see you sometime next week, I guess.” That wasn’t a man asking to see her. It wasn’t a man who wanted to make plans to see her again. It was a man content to run into her whenever the occasion arose. The pain was swift. She suddenly felt like a whore, though she guessed she had no idea what that actually felt like.

She sat up and stared at him as he stood. “Next week sometime?”

“What?” But he wasn’t dumbfounded; he was defensive.

She threw the covers back and stood up. Stomping away from the man to his bathroom and slamming the door was probably a bit juvenile, but that was exactly what she did. She stood at the sink, staring at her idiot self in the mirror, and she waited for him to leave. It didn’t take long, and when she heard his car backing out of the driveway, she emerged. She downed a cup of coffee and paced in his living room for thirty minutes, mumbling to herself. The phone rang just as she was starting the dishwasher, and she cringed when his cell number popped up on caller ID.

“Care to tell me what that was all about?”

“No.” Her voice was flat.

“Please tell me you’re not offended I’m not asking you to move in with me after a few nights of foreplay.” His voice was sarcastic and mean, and that’s all it took. She hung up the phone on him, and when it rang again, she ignored it, grabbed her running clothes from the dryer, changed quickly, and bounded out the door with Macy in tow. If she was to suffer doing his dirty work today, she’d rather suffer the Macy part of it, not his fucking house chores. Fuck him and his emotionally constipated bullshit.

Chapter Thirty-Five

He cursed as he pocketed his phone again. He’d tried calling her three times, and he wasn’t going to waste any more time trying to get her to act like an adult. Who was he kidding? He’d been the child. He recognized the hurt on her face the instant the words were out of his mouth. He was losing his ability to enjoy her pain—in fact he detested it—and yet, he seemed powerless to maintain decency with her emotions. He was out of practice being human with her, and every time he tried to let his guard down and be vulnerable with her, his hackles rose. He felt emotionally threatened by her, and he didn’t understand it.

This wasn’t how the day was supposed to start. The night before had been incredible. He was relieved when she’d stayed for dinner after their somewhat strained time on the beach. He was also relieved he’d finally loosened up enough to be at least marginally honest and humble with her, and he’d been completely and pathetically overwhelmed by her after that. It might have been his show last night, but he’d been powerless to stop with her, and he never imagined she could be so satisfying. He was almost shocked, given how much he struggled to handle his emotions around her, that he’d still been so ravenous with her. His desire now equaled what it used to be, and that was a bit surprising to say the least.

He could still remember the warmth of her wetness and the incredible tightness he’d forced his fingers into as her body convulsed violently through her release. It was intense for her, that was certain, but it was also exceptionally intense for him too. He’d woken up thinking about nothing but his desire for her, and when she’d found him on the deck, all he thought about was how much he wanted her. He didn’t care about anything else, and it was such a relief, such a reprieve to just focus on this part of their relationship.

What he hadn’t intended to let happen was for things to crumble because his dumbass mouth couldn’t help but get him trouble. Again. He’d struggled to figure out what to say to her as he was leaving, and like some aloof, foolish kid, he’d played it cool—way too cool. He didn’t feel cool at all; he felt desperate, but those fucking hackles had risen, and he couldn’t get himself to be so vulnerable. He was stepping on his own damn toes and then again when he called her. She’d called him out on his behavior, and he’d acted defensively. When the hell had he gotten so emotionally immature?

None of it meant he wasn’t pissed she was ignoring his calls, and the second they were caught up and he was able to get out of the hospital for a while, he went home. He wasn’t sure he should trust himself to be civil, but he wasn’t going to watch her hide from him. He was forcing himself out of his comfort zone, and he didn’t need her defensiveness.

He found his house empty of both dog and girl, and when he checked the dryer, her running clothes were gone and her day clothes were folded neatly on top. He found her tennis shoes gone as well. He didn’t think she’d be up for a long run today, given her muscles had to be sore from not only the leg cramps but the paces he’d put her through last night, and so he waited. He waited as long as he could to speak to her, but he couldn’t wait all day, and when he’d been pacing for nearly forty minutes, he finally scribbled a quick but impolite message to call him on a notepad he kept by the phone, and he left.

Focusing on his afternoon got him through the wait to hear from her, but once his day slowed back down and he got ready to hand off his patients, he started fidgeting. He tried to reach her a few more times, but the phone did nothing but ring.

He finally arrived back home again. It had been a few hours since he’d run home midday. He wasn’t expecting to find the house empty again, and when he oddly found her street clothes still neatly folded on the dryer and her tennis shoes still gone, he started to panic. She’d not been back. There was no sign whatsoever that anyone but him had been in the house, and as he threw on a pair of shorts and his running shoes, he was cursing under his breath. This was not a panic he liked to feel. This was the desperate kind that left his guts clenching. He was downright terrified.

He took off down the path that winded through the trees, and he started yelling for her as he ran. He was running too fast to keep the pace for long, and he had to force himself to slow his gait. He had no idea how far she could’ve gotten, and he needed to get as far as she could possibly be. Yelling didn’t help his energy level, and he was getting winded quicker than he should. The panic coursing through his veins was likely sucking his stamina too. But he yelled her name, charging forward as his lungs started to burn, and his voice became hoarse. He’d not gone far, not more than a mile, but in his current state, he was fading fast.

He pushed forward, yelling, panicking, and trying like mad not to lose his mind. All he could see was the damn bluff of rocks that fell away steeply below. Shit. That was a good three and a half miles on unsteady terrain, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the fear of what he might find for that distance. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She had to be okay. She simply had to be okay. He rounded a curve in the path, grunting as his muscles burned and his lungs did too, and then she was there.

He stopped, relief washing over him, but then he saw the blood, and he bolted toward her.

“Bailey!” The blood on her face was dry; she was leaning against a tree with one foot held up to rest with just her toes on the ground. She had another dry, bloody trail down her leg. She leaned her head against the trunk of the tree when she saw him.

When he reached her, he ran his hand down the side of her face. He wasn’t sure what to touch, what hurt, or how much pain she was in. “Darren.” She breathed his name out on a sigh of relief; he pulled her gingerly into his arms.

“Bailey, you have to tell me what hurts. What happened?”

She sighed into his chest as she snuggled up to him. “I lost my footing up near the rock outcropping, and—”

“You fell from there!” He sounded horrified.

“No. I was near there, and I was making my way up the path. The ground was muddy, and I lost my footing. I fell down the embankment. My ankle twisted pretty good, and I jarred my hand, but it feels all right. My knee’s torn up, and I hit my head on a tree.” She peered up to him. “But hey, your dog’s okay.” She tried for a small smile.

Macy was racing in circles around them, and Bailey sank against his chest again. Darren was more relieved than he thought he was capable of. “You hit your head?” He could see the scuff on her forehead, and blood had dripped down the side of her cheek. “Look at me.” He pulled back, holding her at arm’s length. He studied her eyes, looking for any abnormal movements or responses. “Any blurred or double vision?” She shook her head. “Fatigue?”

“Hell yes. I feel like I’ve been hobbling for hours.”

“If this happened at the outcropping, then you likely have. You’ve made it halfway home from there. When did you leave the house?”

She glanced away for a moment. She looked embarrassed. “This morning?” It wasn’t a question, but her voice certainly sounded as though it was. “I ran a few miles farther than the outcropping. I was actually on my way back when I fell.”

“Jesus, Bailey, that’s a long way for someone who’s out of practice and who had muscle spasms like you did just yesterday. What the hell were you thinking?” His voice caught in his throat. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Actually, she probably wasn’t thinking at all—she was seeing red when she’d taken off with Macy in tow. “We need to get you to the hospital. You need some X-rays.”

“Darren, I don’t have insurance anymore, and—”

“Well, thank God you know the doctor.” He smirked.

“I’ve really only made it halfway back from the rocks?” She looked disappointed.

“Sorry. Hop on.” He turned and lifted her to straddle his waist. It took nearly an hour to get back, and that was resting occasionally. She could put some weight on her foot, which was at least encouraging, but after twenty feet or so of trying to walk, the pain would become too much, and he’d lift her again. When the house finally came into view, she sighed.

He ran Macy inside while Bailey waited in his car, and then he took her to the hospital.

Chapter Thirty-Six

They didn’t spend much time at the hospital at all. He slipped her into radiology quickly, and she sat on a stool in one of the empty X-ray rooms as he reviewed the images on a large monitor. He toggled between the different views of her ankle, and he took his time. His face was serious, his concentration evident, and she was mesmerized at the sight of him in his world.

“Well, there’re no breaks. Sprained all to hell, but you’ll be fine.” He turned to her as he flipped the monitor off, and then his face scrunched up in concern. She was still a bloody mess, and as she watched him, he reached out and stroked his thumb across her chin. “You shouldn’t have done this. You pushed yourself too far, and the only reason you did it was because you were mad at me.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have pissed me off.” She wasn’t upset at this point, though she certainly still felt hurt by his comments that morning.

He sighed, and he studied her face for a moment. He grabbed the ACE bandage he’d placed on the counter earlier, and as he lifted her ankle to his lap, he started to speak. “Listen . . . I wasn’t trying to boot you out my door this morning. I wasn’t telling you to get lost. I wasn’t saying I hate you. I wasn’t saying anything.” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what this means or what it doesn’t mean. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, and I don’t have a fucking clue how to figure it out. But I’m here, and I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just don’t know how to do this anymore.”

“This?”

“Us.” She wasn’t sure why it hurt to hear him say it. Probably because it was an acknowledgment that things were different between them. She knew that, of course, but she’d also found it very easy to let herself feel close to him after the night before.

He sat silently for a minute longer before he stood. “Stay here. I’m going to run to the pharmacy, and then we can go home and get you cleaned up.” She nodded, and when the door closed behind him, she stared at the floor, feeling confused and antsy.

He wasn’t gone long, and he came back bearing Vicodin—only a few doses worth to get her through the next couple days. Soon they were on the road, silently sitting next to one another. “Are you taking me to my house?”

He glanced to her, looking perplexed. “Of course not.”

“I can take care of myself, Darren. You can just take me home.”

“Why don’t you want to come to my place?”

“A bit of foreplay is no reason to assume I’m welcome in your home, now is it?” She was being a cheeky brat, and he glared at her for a moment. “I don’t need to come over. I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.”

“Odd you chose to come back to Savoy, then.” He was starting to match her irritation with his own, but then he exhaled deeply. “You’re coming over. I want you there. You’re going to be there. End of story.”

She relented, staring out the window for the remainder of the drive. He helped her into the house and up to his master bathroom, settling her on the side of the large bathtub. He started the shower, and he returned to undress her and unwrap her ankle. She watched as he stripped out of his clothes, and when the shower was warm, he led her into the large enclosure to sit on the built-in bench. He kneeled at her feet, pulling her foot onto his lap so he could gently start cleaning the grime and dirt from her knee. She hissed as the soapy washrag he was using grazed over the sensitive raw and open skin, and his eyes flashed to hers.

He was serious again, in that incredible concentration as he worked. It didn’t mean his body wasn’t fully aroused, but he ignored the erection jutting up on his abdomen, and he focused on her knee. When he was finished, he pushed her knees apart and kneeled up, bringing himself closer to her face. He used the rag to clean the abrasion on her forehead, and she tried to ignore the way his rigid cock tickled her tummy. He was still ignoring it, but she’d be damned if she could.

He pulled her up to her feet, and he held her steady under the shower as she washed her hair. He washed her body, pausing over her sex to toy with her while her breath lurched. He ran the washrag over the mound of her sex, but then slipped his middle finger between the lips. He tickled her clit until she was gripping his waist harshly. He abandoned it, turning the water off and looking down at her. He was expressionless, but there was a slight tugging at the corner of his lips.

He dried her off and then himself and helped her onto his bed. He made no move to get her clothes, and when he pulled her mangled leg onto his lap, he slowly started massaging her calf. He was gentle when he neared her ankle, but he manipulated it, stretching the painful and tight joint. They were silently watching one another as he caressed and gripped her muscles, and after he rewrapped her ankle, he stood.

He was still as naked as she was, and he was still as aroused too—though he couldn’t hide it nearly so easily as she could. He gave her a small smile when he caught her staring, and then he turned toward his bathroom. “Would you mind lending me a clean T-shirt to put on?” He stopped and turned back to her slowly, pausing in the door of the bathroom.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Then why are you so worried about clothes?” He smiled again and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing moments later with his discarded pants in his hand. He pulled something from the pocket before discarding his pants in the dirty laundry hamper, and he walked back to her, fully erect, stunning, and impossible to ignore.

When he reached the bed, he sat at her hip, and she glimpsed the syringe in his hand. He wasn’t hiding it, and she was suddenly confused. He’d said nothing of needing medication other than the Vicodin, and yet he was holding a slender syringe. She wasn’t the world’s biggest fan of needles, and this one was no different.

“Would you go on birth control?”

She could feel her eyes bulging at his question. “Why on earth would I do that?” Her eyes flashed back to the syringe. “What’s that?” Now she was suspicious, but he only gave her a mischievous smirk. “Jesus, you’re going to sterilize me.” That earned her a chuckle.

“No. Well . . . only for a few months.” He feigned innocence with an expression that could melt a nun’s heart.

“Because you intend to sleep with me?” Saying the words alone left her groin pulsing with warm heat.

“Sleep is what you do when you’re done fucking.” He was turning on the seductive voice she remembered from long ago, and he was so very good at it. He studied her for a moment, taking in her reaction to him. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t know.” He shook his head in frustration for a moment. “But I’d at least like the option of fucking you and not worrying about getting you pregnant.”

“You want to stick me with that ‘just in case’ you decide you want to sleep . . . have sex with me?”

He shrugged mildly. He was back to full-on seductive.

“Do horses push carts in your world too, Darren?” He laughed, showing his white teeth that were ridiculously straight and perfect.

When he leaned to her, bringing his face up close to watch but far enough back to let her take in his expression, she gasped. “Horses fuck in my world.” His eyebrows shot up. “Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes hard, sometimes gentle, sometimes from the front, sometimes from the back, sometimes sitting up, sometimes lying down.” He licked his lips, and she did too as wetness built between her legs. “And sometimes in secret little tight naughty places they’re not supposed to want to fuck. And of course, sometimes when their nag is laid up with a nasty sprained ankle.”

“And apparently never with condoms.” She was going for sarcastic, but her voice was breathy.

“Always with condoms . . . just not with you. I’ve never once had unprotected sex, not once. And if I know you well enough, I’m guessing you haven’t either—the few times you actually got laid.” She rolled her eyes. He’d nailed her on that one. “Never mind the fact you’ve been out of the game . . . or let’s say, off the horse track . . . for six years now.”

She couldn’t seem to stop biting her lip or licking them for that matter. He eventually set the syringe down on the night stand. “Not very sexy, I know—propositioning you with a needle. But the idea of feeling your wet pussy around me . . . You liked touching my cum. Don’t you want to feel it inside you? Now that’s sexy as hell.” He stood then, and he took a deep breath. “It’s up to you. I’m running out for food. Try not to hurt yourself while I’m away.”

She was stunned after he was gone, and she stared at the syringe on the nightstand. What the hell were they doing? It didn’t take the question long to exhaust her to the point of slowly but surely drifting away to sleep. Her body ached terribly, and she was ready for escape—even from him. Her brain was fuzzy and confused—pretty much exactly as it had been for weeks. But sleep would help. Sleep always helped.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

She was asleep when he came back. She was on her side, nearly on her stomach, still as naked as he’d left her. Her bandaged knee was pulled up, and he stripped out of his clothes just to make his cock more comfortable. She certainly did something to him, and it was a very physical and instantaneous reaction. He wasn’t kidding himself; there was a hell of lot more to it than that, always had been, but fuck, the sight of her prone bottom and the small pale lips of her sex between her thighs, and he was ready to drive straight to her core and pound until he could find relief.

He was carrying a bag of takeout Chinese, which he promptly abandoned on the floor to free his hands for her, and once he pulled his body up behind her, he slid his hand down her bottom and between her legs, parting her lips and pushing a finger into her before she even had the chance to wake. It didn’t take her long to rouse, and he thrust gently in and out of her until she was moaning and writhing against his hand. God, he just couldn’t get enough of this.

He loved the sounds she made. She whimpered quietly, self-consciously, her breath caught in her throat as she came close to her threshold, and when he heard the wet smack of her cum as he fucked her with his finger, he groaned. It was by sheer willpower alone and the delicious smell of Chinese food that he was able to extricate his finger from where it wanted to be most, and as he leaned back casually to watch her, she rolled over, glancing sheepishly at him.

“Chinese. Mongolian Beef to be specific.”

“My favorite.”

“I know.” And he did. He knew that and so much more about her. “Picnic in bed.” He snatched the bag of food off the floor and set it between them. “How do you feel?”

“Sore as hell. Everywhere.”

“Get some food in your stomach, and then you can take some of the Vicodin.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Not until you get something—”

“No, the birth control.” He had no control over his lips as they pulled up. He stuffed a bite of food in his mouth to hide his smile. “I don’t like needles.”

He spoke around his mouthful of food. “And if I eat your pussy afterward? Would that make up for it?”

Her cheeks burned bright red at his completely blunt words, and he gave up trying to hide the smile. “I suppose.” Her voice was quiet.

She handled the injection fine, and he kept his promise. She passed out quickly after she took the Vicodin, and he took the leftovers downstairs and set Macy free for a while as he sat on the deck. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing or if it would ultimately end up kicking them both in the ass, and he was terrified. When he looked at her, he was instantly ravenous, and if he was being honest, he’d felt it from the moment he’d seen her in the emergency room months before. Feelings of some sort, some intense and arousing and some painful and debilitating, had taken him over at that very moment. He’d focused on the anger and the hatred that had been with him for years. But now, it was slipping away. Sadly, he couldn’t count on it to stay away. His feelings about her seemed to course through him in waves that peaked and crashed depending on the day, the hour, his mood, her mood—hell, what she was wearing, what she smelled like, just how much she reminded him of his past. When he imagined fucking her, he felt like his body was pulling apart at the seams, and whatever ugly feeling might be trying to invade his mind faded to the background. It was what he’d meant when he’d told her he felt more at peace with her at times than he had for years. She was the source of his anguish, but she was also the source of quieting it. No wonder he was confused all the time.

He woke her early in the morning when it was still dark out. She’d actually woken him whimpering and groaning in her sleep. She was a walking bruise at the moment, and he wasn’t surprised to see she was still in pain. He gave her another dose of Vicodin, and soon, she was purring contentedly beside him—humming her comfort as she snuggled into his body. He fell asleep too, determined to sleep in late with her.

It didn’t happen. The knock on his door woke him far sooner than he was ready. She was sleeping soundly, too drugged and relaxed to hear the knocking. He tossed a pair of jeans on and headed downstairs just to see his mom peering through the window that ran the length of the side of his front door. She didn’t look thrilled. Summer breaks gave her entirely too much time to meddle in his business, and this wouldn’t be the last time she showed up unannounced.

“Bailey’s bike is here? I thought you had the day off.”

“I do have the day off.”

“Then what’s she doing here?”

“Sleeping at the moment.” He watched her coolly. It was the only approach to take when she was being nosy.

“She comes over to sleep? What are you doing, Darren?”

“Taking care of her. She fell yesterday and got banged up pretty good.”

“And you decided to take care of her?” Now she was just being rude.

“What should I have done, Mother? Leave her nearly two miles out in the woods to see how long it took her to crawl back?”

Her face softened. “And she’s going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Well, perhaps I should check on her.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“And why not?”

“I doubt she wants you to see her naked.” He stared at her, and she glared. He was being a jerk, but he didn’t appreciate having his own mother treat him as though he was a damn criminal because he had a woman in his bed—one he’d not even had sex with.

“You’re sleeping with her?” Her voice was suddenly venomous.

“It’s none of your business what I’m doing with her.”

“Well, I’m making it my business. I’m not going to watch you hurt this girl.”

“And why do you care?” His own anger was matching hers, and his goal instantly became defense, not rebuttal. “Does she suddenly deserve your concern? Do you really give a shit if I hurt her feelings, break her heart, take advantage of the poor little murderer?” His voice was cruel and cold. He was simply fighting at this point.

“I care! Yes! And I’m not going to watch you destroy her!” It was turning into an entryway shouting match.

“I’ll ask you again, why do you care?”

“Because your sister would be ashamed of me if I didn’t!” She shook her head. She was livid, and he was fuming. “And she’d be ashamed of you too.” Her voice cracked.

“Would she? Save your shame for that fucking bitch upstairs who took her away! She doesn’t deserve shit from me, and if I feel like dragging her worthless ass through my hell and destroying her, then so be it!” He was raging, and even as he spit the words out, the shame did sink in.

His mother shook her head in despair. He could see it in her expression. Utter sadness. For him, for Bailey, for Jess. They were all interchangeable at this point. She started to turn away, but she paused. “Whatever you may think she deserves, it will take you down too. You’re not capable of hurting that girl without destroying yourself. I’ve watched you fade away for six years. I don’t want to watch you disappear altogether. If you can’t treat Bailey with respect, then you cut her loose. Give her back her life.” And then she was gone, and he felt all the shit he was.

It was not as though they’d never argued. They’d argued plenty; it was just the family he’d been raised in. No one worried about biting their tongue. It wasn’t considered disrespectful to speak your mind in his world, but he’d be damned if he hadn’t been disrespectful. He felt challenged the second she opened her mouth, and for a man who was having a hard enough time wrapping his head around what was going on, he’d reacted poorly. He should have defended his actions, his intent, his ability to be decent to Bailey. Instead, he threw her concern for Bailey in her face, and he ultimately proved his mother’s point beautifully for her to see.

He made coffee, wanting to be asleep beside her but unable to settle down enough. He didn’t expect to hear another knock on his door less than fifteen minutes later. He also didn’t expect to see Michelle standing in his doorway with her head cocked to the side.

He’d known Michelle as long as he’d known Bailey, and she was quite the firecracker. They’d gotten along just fine when Bailey had been away, but now was a different story. She was Bailey’s friend first and foremost, and while it was ridiculous to regard her as his enemy on that fact alone, especially given the new dynamic between him and Bailey, there was no doubt Michelle was suspicious.

“Where is she?” No “Hi.” No “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too. Coffee?”

“Darren, where is she?”

“Sleeping.”

“Then how the hell did she call me ten minutes ago?”

Fuck.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

She was too hurt to cry, or maybe she was too angry to give a shit she was hurt. She was a trapped animal with her damn ankle, but it didn’t stop her from hobbling to the bathroom, throwing on her clothes as she fought not to teeter over onto her ass. She re-wrapped the ACE bandage to the point of cutting off the circulation just to get the support she needed to walk. She was gonna fucking walk out of this damn house if it killed her.

She made it out onto the upstairs landing that overlooked the large great room and kitchen, and she caught Michelle’s comment just as she grasped the railing. Darren’s eyes flew up to her, and Michelle’s did too. Darren looked shocked, terrified even, and she ignored the hurt feelings and focused on the rage.

“How dare you.” She was seething, and he just stared. His face was slack, and he looked defeated. Since she felt defeated by him, it seemed appropriate. “How dare you touch me. Why don’t you tell this worthless fucking bitch what she deserves, huh, Darren? More heartbreak, more pain, or maybe just a fuck and fuck off. Is that it?” She was practically spitting her rage at him. Her voice was strong, her will adamant, but her tears were falling.

He just stared. His nostrils were flaring as he breathed. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever known and likely ever would. But he was toxic. He’d earned his venom after years of pain, but she couldn’t let him take her down. It was only a marginal amount of self-respect that she’d managed to hold onto, but it was enough. She took the first step down, pain radiating up her leg, and he moved toward the stairs but stopped in his tracks as Michelle passed him.

Michelle helped her slowly hobble down the stairs, and Darren did nothing but stare at the floor. He gave her little reaction at all as she left, and Michelle looked back once to defend her. “Stay away from her.”

Bailey sank into the seat of Michelle’s car, letting her head drop back against the headrest. She owed Michelle an explanation, and she wasn’t looking forward to giving it to her. But she did, speaking a hundred miles an hour on the way back to her cottage. Michelle’s shocked expression was flashed to her every time she could safely take her eyes off the road, and by the time they pulled up to her house, she had to take a deep breath just to keep herself from screaming.

“So, you slept with him or no? Sorry, you were speed talking, and I heard some stuff that sounded questionable about birth control and penises and toothbrushes, but I got lost.”

“No.”

“Well, thank God for that much, right?”

“Yeah.” But as Michelle’s door slammed and she rounded the car to the passenger door, Bailey’s heart sank. She’d wanted to. So much so. She thought he did too, really did. Not just the sex, the physical act, but them. She thought his desire to make love to her had meant something. Something important, something other than the pain from their pasts. She’d dreamed of giving herself to that man from the moment she figured out what sex was. She didn’t want to think that was one life experience she would have to live without. But it was no doubt safer for her heart.

Her anger got her through Michelle’s short stay, but the moment she left to return to the furniture store and Bailey was faced with her empty cottage and empty heart, the hurt caught up to her again. She sat on the floor of her shower with the water raining down on top of her and cried. She couldn’t let herself think there could ever be anything but pain between them—regardless of the mixed signals he might give her. Sex was just sex, and it certainly didn’t mean anything beyond the physicality of it to him.

But truly hating him wasn’t possible. He was incapable of being anything but hurt by their past, and she understood that. He’d wanted to move beyond that or, at the very least, see if he could. She believed that. His intent hadn’t been malicious, even if his feelings about her were. He’d wanted more, but it just wasn’t in him anymore.

She talked to her mom for an hour on the phone, filling in the details of her most recent catastrophic decisions, minus the juicier bits.

“Oh, hon. Please come to Memphis, baby. There’s just no reason for you to be there.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You tried. You gave it a shot. You can walk away knowing you’re not the one who gave up on him. That has to be enough to give you peace. I know how much you cared for him.” Care. “But he’s gone.”

She sighed. It was overly long and overly loud. Her mom was right. There was just nothing left to stay for. “Okay.” Her insides clenched tight, and she heard herself moaning in pain in her head. It hurt. But staying would hurt more.

They decided on a week and a half later. Her parole officer was going to think she was insane. But the decision was made.

* * *

The next time Darren had to work, Bailey asked Michelle for a lift to his house. They hadn’t spoken, and she wasn’t going to assume she was no longer expected. She let herself in, cleaned up the kitchen, tossed some laundry in, including her own from her abandoned bag of clothes, and hobbled around aimlessly after that. She found herself in his bedroom, staring down at his bed. It’d taken her a ridiculously long time to get upstairs, and there was no real pressing reason she needed to be up there. But she’d gone up anyway.

His bed was made and the nightstand drawer was ever so slightly cracked. A rush of jealous pain stabbed her, and she instantly pulled the drawer out. It was pathetic that she was studying the box of condoms to see if it had been moved, and it was even more pathetic how very relieved she was to see that it was in exactly the same position it’d been in when she’d gone snooping before.

But once her heart rate returned to normal and the anxiety and paranoia faded, she noticed something else. The picture wasn’t wedged up against the side of the drawer as it had been before. It was lying face up in the middle, staring at her. The Bailey and Darren in that picture were taunting her with their smiling, carefree, and happy existence.

She picked up the picture, caring not at all that he’d know she was rifling through his nightstand, and she started the slow trek back downstairs. She could walk again, but it didn’t mean it felt very good, and when she finally made it to his dining room table, she collapsed exhausted into the chair. She started writing him a letter.

Darren,

I’m going to be leaving for Memphis the Friday after next to be with my mother. It’s time. I’ll continue to take care of Macy until then, and I hope that will give you time to make other arrangements for her care. She’s a peach, and I’ll miss her. As for us, I hope someday you can remember us as we were and not what we became. There was a time when everything you did made me smile. You’ve changed so much since then, but there’s still so much good in you. My words have changed too, and while I miss the old ones, you should know there’s no shame in the new ones. Hurt. Heartbroken. Sad. Strong. And I hope someday soon: Healing.

Yours always, whether you believe it or not,

Bailey

She set the picture by the letter, and after reading it over, nearly destroyed it, but then changing her mind and deciding it was perfect, she finally left, biking herself home slowly and awkwardly. He didn’t call that night, and it hurt that he gave her no acknowledgement, but she supposed that was just easier for him. Whatever he needed was what he should get. He’d suffered long enough.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Crying wasn’t something he enjoyed doing or that he’d done in front of anyone for more years than he could recall, but it was exactly what he did when he found her letter. She was so right to leave, but it felt like an utter failure. He’d been so certain that he needed her near. He hadn’t been sure why, only that nothing else felt right.

It’d taken a while to sink in after she’d left him that day, but she was right. His mother was right. Hell, Michelle was right. He had no business touching her, no business trying to be close to her. All he did was cause her pain. But to think nothing had changed since she’d returned to town and he was still bitter and angry at the world wasn’t entirely true either. He cared. He couldn’t pretend he wanted to hurt her or that he relished her anguish in anyway. Just thinking about her in pain caused him grief. He might not be able to quiet the past enough to put it away yet, but he’d learned not to hate her. How could he ever have? She was his Bailey.

He sat at the dining room table, holding that fucking picture and reading her letter over and over again. He had tears on his lower eyelids for some time before they finally fell, and when they did, it was silent. He stared back in time at where they’d come from and let himself feel the pain of losing her all over again. Knowing the woman he loved was responsible for the most devastating loss a person could endure had broken him. He’d learned to push it away and to let the pain feed his anger and hatred, but he didn’t feel any of that now. He just felt the sadness, and he soaked it in. It was at least honest. Anger had just been a façade that hid the hurt for him. He needed to feel the hurt, and so he did. He sat there, remembering every last amazing memory he had of her, and he let the grief of losing his sister and then Bailey wash over him. He gave himself over to it in a way he never had before, and when he finally pulled himself up from the table, he found his way to bed and collapsed in a stupor to stare at the ceiling for half the night.

* * *

She avoided him her last week in Savoy, and he let her. He didn’t communicate with her in any way, though he was dying to. He stayed away from her and tried to deal with the fact that very soon it wouldn’t even be difficult to stay away from her. She’d just be gone—likely forever. There was nothing at all keeping her in Savoy at this point, and he made sure not even he could. He wasn’t going to ask her to stay again. It had been an impetuous and selfish mistake to ask to begin with. None of it made him feel better about what he’d done.

“Darren, you’re making the right decision to stay out of her life.” His mother hadn’t given up her opinions on the matter, and she really didn’t care that they were already on the same page. He knew she was trying to make him feel better. She’d come over a few nights after they’d fought, nearly in tears, and he’d been civil this time. He didn’t hold much back from her when he brought her up to speed on exactly how Bailey had ended up naked in his bed with a sprained ankle, and his mother’s anger faded quickly when she saw just how distraught he was.

“I know. I know you think I want to hurt her. It’s my fault. I let you think that, but it’s not true.” He owed her more of an explanation than that. “I was in love with her six years ago.” His mom froze in place. She stared wide-eyed at him as he tried to hold her gaze. “Maybe if she’d just been some casual acquaintance, even just a friend, I could have just hated her the way I thought I was supposed to.”

“You say hate like it’s this requisite thing. Why are you so certain that’s what you’re supposed to feel? No one’s setting some expectation that you despise her. And frankly, you’re not doing a very good job of it.” She smirked, and it was the first break in the tension.

“All I do is hurt her.”

She reached to his arm, and her face saddened. He braced for it. He knew what she was going to say before she even said it, and she was right. That was the hard part. “Then you need to let her go.” He just nodded his head numbly. He wanted to fight it. He wanted to refuse to accept it, but then he saw Bailey’s face standing on the landing at the top of his stairs, pinning him to his spot with her glare. The glare he could handle. But it had been her tears that destroyed him.

“She heard our conversation the other morning. I thought she was asleep. The bedroom door was closed. I just thought she was too far away to hear, but she wasn’t.”

“Oh, Darren.” His mother looked as guilty as he felt.

“Well, the letting go part happened whether I wanted it to or not as a result. She left, and I didn’t stop her.”

His mom just stared at the tabletop between them. Her eyes teared as he watched, and then she dashed them away. When she looked back up to him, her eyes were glossy but resolved. She took his hands in hers. “Losing your sister was hard enough. Losing the woman you loved at the same time. . .” She just shook her head. “You endured so much on your own by keeping that secret.” He nodded again.

To say a weight was lifted was accurate to a point. For the first time since he’d realized how he felt long ago, he wasn’t hiding his feelings for Bailey—what they had been, what they hadn’t been, what he’d wanted them to be. But as liberating as that honesty felt, he was still weighted down by the pain of what he’d done to her, and worse than that, what he’d likely continue to do to her if she stayed for him. He had to let her go.

Chapter Forty

He didn’t once call her or show up at his home while she was there with Macy over the next few days, and before she knew it, she was packing up her life again. Every time her phone rang, she expected it to be him, but it never was. He wasn’t going to try to stop her from leaving, and sad as that was, it didn’t much matter. She was going whether he asked her to stay or not. She’d learned her lesson. She’d learned it painfully.

Michelle called her every day and tried to talk her into bailing on her job at his home, but she couldn’t do that. He worked through Wednesday of that week and then wasn’t back on the schedule until Saturday, so that gave Bailey all day Thursday and Friday to pack and be depressed. She wasn’t going to see him anyway, so his schedule was a non-issue, but she sobbed on Wednesday afternoon when it was time to leave his home for the last time. Macy bounced, slobbered, and barked while Bailey cried, and after she’d sat on the floor and cuddled with the blonde, curly-haired girl, she finally stood, put her key on the table, and left.

She came home to see the two large garbage cans she’d filled while packing had been emptied at her front door again, but at least they’d left her new paint job and windows alone. She sat, still straddling her bike, just staring at the garbage. She didn’t need this. Perhaps she should see the silver lining—they were making it easier to see moving away as a really good thing . . . but all she saw was a shit load of clean-up that she didn’t have time for. Assholes.

There was a note on her door this time, and she was guessing it was going to be from her secret admirer. She didn’t want to read it, but how the hell does one not read such a thing. Once she’d waded through the heaps of garbage, she snatched the paper that was stapled on the door, and then she read.

Not much she didn’t already know people thought of her—just a reiteration of what had been scrawled across her walls last time. She was a killer, and she was a drunk (not true), and how dare she come back to this town. Fucking assholes!

She called Michelle, and ten minutes later she pulled in. Her face was scrunched up before she even climbed out of her car. She climbed out and grimaced, but she stowed it quickly and turned to her, winking. “Oh, Bailey. I’m gonna miss you. Look at you.”

“I’m lookin’. Don’t see much right now.” She smirked, but the moment she reached down to grab a rumpled-up bill she’d chucked in the garbage a couple days before, Michelle caught her arm. “Well, I do. One of the strongest bitches I ever met. And I’m allowed to call you bitch because I take the cake on bitch, and I mean it with the respect it deserves.”

“I’m not strong. You are. Jess was too. You were the strong ones. I was the sweet one.” Her eyes shifted away for a moment. “How did this happen to me?” She looked at Michelle and smiled. It was a legitimate question. She’d tried to figure out the answer to that question for years, and she knew she wasn’t going to be solving that mystery today.

“You made a mistake, doll. You proved you weren’t as perfect as everyone thought you were. It happens.” Bailey nodded. “But guess what?

“Hmm?”

“I still think you’re pretty perfect. Always have. And regardless of any of it, I still love ya.” She winked again.

“I love you too. And I’m going to miss you too.”

“And Darren too, I s’pose?”

Bailey sighed and smiled. She was smiling a lot given her somewhat odd state. She wasn’t happy to be moving, but there was relief to some extent. It was a bizarre, painful relief. So much pain and sadness and yet still relief. The past few months had been a fight. A battle against something she had no hope of conquering. And whether she was sad to be leaving or not, that fight was being put to rest.

Michelle ran out to get them a pizza after the garbage was collected, and they spent the evening eating and reminiscing.

When Bailey woke the next morning, she decided it was time to pay her oldest and dearest friend in the world a visit. She’d avoided it up to this point, but it would be wrong to drive away into the sunset without having ever done this.

Jess’ gravestone was simple, but large. The plot was adorned with flowers left over from Memorial Day. It had occurred to Bailey that she should visit on Memorial Day, but she couldn’t bring herself to face the crowd of other people who would be visiting their own loved ones in the cemetery. Bailey had visited her father’s headstone, but it had been a few days after the holiday.

Now the cemetery was silent, and she was alone. She stood looking; there was really little else to do in a cemetery unless you were willing to talk out loud to dead people. The most Bailey managed was a “Sorry, Jess.” It came out choked up with tears, and when she turned to leave, he was there. He was watching her, his eyes glossy but restrained, and she watched as he swallowed over a lump in his throat.

“I stopped by your house and drove by the furniture store. Didn’t know where else to look but here.” He almost managed a smile, but it fell flat as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. What I said the other day . . . Well, it doesn’t really matter why I said it. It was wrong, and more than that, I don’t feel that way. Not anymore.”

“Please don’t ask me to stay, Darren. I can’t say no to you, but I. . .” Her voice was choking up.

He shook his head. “No, I know. You have to go. I understand.” He studied her for a moment longer before shrugging his shoulders. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked miserable. “I just wanted you to know how sorry I was for . . . everything.”

“Me too.” He nodded and took a deep breath.

“Oh, here.” He pulled a folded check from his pocket and offered it to her. “Last payment.” She nodded, pocketing the check quickly. “I better go.”

She wanted to beg him to stay, but she nodded instead. That was what this was going to be like for her. She’d want him, but she’d walk away anyway. He lifted his hand in a casual gesture, and when he said bye, she managed to respond in kind even though it hurt to breathe. He walked away, and she watched him. And when he had driven away, she turned back to Jess’ headstone. “Good-bye, Jess. I love you.”

Chapter Forty-One

He couldn’t sleep that night, and it was a damn good thing he had the next day off because he could barely think straight. He met his parents for coffee midmorning, and his dad instantly sighed when he took in Darren’s appearance. His mother was less subtle.

“Darren, you look awful.” He supposed he did. But he was only out of medical school and residency for a few years, so to say he looked like hammered shit based solely on the fact he hadn’t slept at all the night before was a stretch. His body knew how to do no sleep; his body did not know how to do losing her again. “So, she’s leaving.”

“Yep.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He looked at his mother, and then his gaze drifted over to his father, who was studying him with concern as well. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. And I’m not entirely sure I even know how to put any of it into words anyway.” They just watched him as Sally poured coffee. The poor woman spent every waking hour in this restaurant, but at the moment, he was ready to snatch the coffeepot away from her and down it—he was damn glad Sally was there to make her ridiculously strong coffee.

“You don’t have to talk to us about anything you don’t want to talk about. We just worry.”

“Have I changed so much?” The words tumbled out more than they were deliberately spoken, and he instantly wished he could reel them back in.

“Oh, Dare.” His mother’s face was all sadness, and he looked away rather than torment himself with it.

“I guess that answers that question.” He muttered as he shook his head for moment, lost in thoughts and visions of Bailey being hurt by him. “People die all the time. I’m a doctor. I see it constantly.” He forced his eyes up to them. “So, why couldn’t I handle it? You two did. You were devastated. No doubt, but you didn’t . . . you didn’t change. You didn’t degrade into something . . . someone you were never meant to be. There are times when I feel like I’ve turned into an absolute monster. I don’t even know myself anymore. I don’t want this.” He shook his head again, and his mother’s eyes watered while his father put his hand on hers.

“It was different for you, Darren.”

“Why? I’m logical. I understand death. I get it. I can even rationally say that I’m not responsible for the decisions Bailey made that night. I know that were it my child in my shoes, I would never want them to blame themselves for what happened, or Bailey for that matter!” He was speaking passionately, emphatically. “I just. Want. Peace.” He was struggling.

His father finally spoke then, and it stilled them all. “Darren, your sister doesn’t want this for you. We don’t, either. But you have to make the decision to let it all go. And you have to let go of the notion that letting the guilt and pain go is letting Jess go. It isn’t. All you’re doing is disrespecting her memory. It’s not intentional, and I know beyond a doubt that she isn’t watching you with anger or regret but with love and hope for your future. It’s what she would want, it’s what your mother and I want for you, and it’s what you need. We can’t do this for you, Darren.” His face, always so stoic and hard, was just as fragile as Darren’s felt at the moment. He was a parent watching his child hurt himself and unable to fix it.

“Are you going to see her before she goes?”

“No. I’ve done enough damage. She needs to get away from me and stay away from me, because I’m afraid I’ll take us both down.” His mother nodded, and his father just watched him.

They said little else, and as he was leaving, his mother wrapped him in a tight hug. His father hugged him as well, a rare gesture for him. Fuck, life must surely be grim at the moment.

He took Macy for a run, and he walked up to the tall outcropping of rocks, staring out over the lake far below. It was so stunningly beautiful, and for a moment, he felt as though his life was a very small and insignificant thing. It wasn’t a depressing notion in the least, but a comfort. Death was just a small part of any person’s journey, and it wasn’t the end of the world, even if it felt that way. Perspective was within his grasp for a fleeting moment as his eyes took in the lush hills and the shimmering water. He wanted so much to hang on to it. That feeling that all was right in his world, Jess’ too for that matter. It was calming as it passed through him, and it stayed until he turned back to the path.

He walked down the trail, and his eyes caught on where Bailey must have lost her footing. There was a skid that ran off the trail, and the ground was scuffed and the foliage torn and trampled for a good twenty feet down the steep terrain. Panic hit for a half second as he imagined her falling, and he remembered just how panicked he’d been on that day when he’d realized she was missing. The same panic had hit like a shock blast to his body when he saw her standing hunched over on the trail, and the relief when he finally had his hands on her was the only thing that soothed that blinding fear.

That fear wasn’t something he knew outside his personal life. He was incapable, even, of feeling such strong and debilitating terror in his profession. He didn’t know why. It was just his perspective. His perspective that worked for everyone except those that mattered the most to him—his mother, his father, at one time Jess, and . . . her. She’d almost always been a part of his life, and from a time even before his feelings had turned intimate, he’d felt that way. He loved her as much as he loved anyone. Too fucking bad he was so incapable of forgiving her or forgetting about their pain.

He was panting when he reached his house, and he jumped in the shower, standing under cold water that shocked his skin into tight goose bumps. He collapsed on his bed after and stared. He must be losing his mind because he could nearly swear he could still smell her scent on his sheets. He was certain she’d changed the bedding sometime in the last few days, so it couldn’t possibly be true, but she was just surrounding him.

The need for her was so painfully strong, he groaned out loud at the emptiness. He had to let her go. But, God, it hurt.

Chapter Forty-Two

She was done. Nothing left to do but wait for Michelle to come the next morning to take her to her new life. She cracked open a beer and plunked her tired and sweaty ass down on the couch. Her boxes were stacked by the door—very little really, but it had still taken time to sort all her stuff out and pack it neatly away. Her furniture would remain here, and Michelle still had enough time to get it into her garage sale.

She would be staying with her mother in her small two-bedroom apartment until she was ready and able to get out on her own. Her parole officer, Harold, had eyed her curiously when she’d told the poor man she wanted to move away to Memphis again, but he’d put the original jurisdiction transfer back into place.

She should get a good night’s sleep, but she really wasn’t sure that was even possible. Instead, she sat on her porch stairs drinking her beer, staring around her, and trying to ignore the sadness. She eventually grabbed another beer; it was her limit. She wasn’t at all an alcoholic, but she kept a tight rein on what she was willing to consume. Maybe it was respect, maybe it was fear, maybe it was just shame, but she didn’t cross her limit anymore.

She stripped out of her old, tattered jean shorts, leaving her T-shirt in place. She’d not left pajamas out, and the only clean clothes not packed were the shorts, tank top, and clean underwear she’d set out for the morning. There were only sheets on her bed, and she had a large empty duffle bag sitting beside her bed to toss her pillows and remaining bedding in the next morning. She’d shut the air off. The clouds were coming in, and it was going to cool down enough to have the house open once the rain hit.

She wandered around, looking for anything she’d forgotten, and when she was sure she’d removed every trace of her existence from the small cottage, she crawled into bed, watching the ceiling fan above her. Her eyes tried to follow the rotation, but she gave up after five minutes, letting herself get dizzy as she watched the whir of the blades.

And then there was a knock.

Her body lurched, and she sat nearly straight up as she heard it. There was a chance, outside at best, that it was Michelle. She wasn’t expecting Michelle until the next morning, and there was no reason to think she’d stop by. That really only left one other person that might pay her a visit, and that one other person left her heart racing. Her throat was suddenly dry, and she sat staring at the wall in front of her for a moment before she could get her legs to work.

By the time she made it to the front door, her fingers were trembling, and when she pulled the door open, she held her breath.

“Hi.”

She just stared. Her mouth was hanging open, and she knew she should close it, but she’d be damned if she could figure out how. She lifted her hand in greeting once she’d given up on her mouth. This wasn’t supposed to happen right now. Twelve hours until she was leaving. She couldn’t do this.

“I’d have called, but you already had your phone disconnected. If you don’t want to invite me in, I’ll understand.” Darren was watching her, and while he normally regarded her coolly and calmly, his expression wasn’t either of those things at the moment. He looked confused or maybe worried, but there was nothing cool about him.

“Why are you here?”

He instantly started chewing on the inside of his cheek, also not normally a reaction she associated with him. “I needed to see you. I thought I could do this . . . without seeing you . . . but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“You promised you wouldn’t ask me to stay.”

“No . . . no. I won’t.” He was holding his hands up as though he was worried she’d toss him out on his ass. He actually hadn’t made any move to enter. He was just standing on her porch, waiting for something. She had no idea what to say, and so she just looked at him. She eventually got her feet to move, and she stepped away from the door, letting him pass.

He stood in her entryway, fidgeting for a moment. “I was thinking . . . Do you remember the time I ran into you at the library? We ended up going back to your dorm room to watch a movie. Your roommate was supposed to be gone for the evening, and neither of us felt like studying?”

Her lips pulled up slightly. She remembered it well. It was a night filled with nerves and arousal—just like most nights she spent with him. “Yeah. Basic Instinct. Should not have grabbed that movie.” She shook her head for a second at the memory.

“I’d seen the movie. I pretended I hadn’t because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to watch it, but . . . I had seen it.” She’d picked a movie that had a ridiculous amount of nudity, sexual situations, and all-out smuttasticness. She and Jess would have loved it, but with Darren beside her, she’d gotten humiliated quickly. “I knew it would embarrass you . . . among other things.” He looked at her mischievously. It had gotten to her, sitting beside him on her small love seat sofa in her dorm room, unable to put even a marginal amount of space between them as they watched one panty-melting scene after another. She’d shifted around uncomfortably next to him, and eventually, he started chuckling. “I spent the entire movie trying to decide if I wanted to hit on you or not.” He smiled. His tension was finally starting to ease, and hers was too. “I wanted to. And under the circumstances, alone, completely turned on—hell, even single, I really contemplated it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He smiled. “Because your roommate came home.” She inhaled deeply. “That was the only thing that stopped me that night. It was always hard to keep my hands off you. And I was always tempted, but never so tempted as I was that night. I was decided. I was going to push our relationship to that place, and I was going to deal with the fall out.”

“Thank goodness you didn’t, huh?” She didn’t actually think that at all, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

“See, and I was going to say, too bad I didn’t.” He studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read her face.

“Yeah.” She couldn’t keep the breathiness from her voice.

“I was only thinking about what I wanted to do to you. There was nothing else. I wasn’t even letting myself consider what it would be like after. I normally found it impossible not to consider what the outcome would be if we ever made love, but not then.” She was breathing deeply as she watched him. She wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but her heart was pounding, her groin was pulsing, and she was trying to hide the panting. “If I could go back . . . that’s one change I’d make. I’d have made love to you that night. I’d have kicked your roommate out or taken you back to my apartment, but I wouldn’t have let that opportunity slip by me. Our lives were so much simpler and easier then. Our relationship was so different too. You trusted me. I trusted you. It was perfectly simple and balanced. Now it’s so complicated, and I hate that that moment is passed and we missed it before things fell apart.”

“I’m sorry.” She had no idea what to say. She understood exactly what he was saying, but she was clueless how she should respond.

“Don’t say that. I’m not asking for an apology.” He walked up to her then but didn’t touch her. He was close, and it was almost more uncomfortable to not be touched when he was standing so close than it would be if he’d just reach for her. “But I’m asking for something else.” Her heart was suddenly in her throat. He’d moved past his own nerves, and his dark eyes were searing into her. It wasn’t seduction, regardless of what he was proposing. It was an intense question that had sucked the air out of the room and left them both frozen in place.

She said nothing for an uncomfortably long time, and he kept his composure impossibly and perfectly. The moment she tried to get her diaphragm to move, her breath left her in a rush, and he chuckled very quietly for a half a second as his nostrils flared and he inhaled deeply. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.” He watched her, likely gauging just how possible it was to avoid her discomfort. But this was an odd discomfort. The kind that was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.

“You want to sleep with me?” Why did her voice sound so quiet? It was already quiet in her cottage, and her voice should make some impact on the dead silence, but her voice was so whisper soft that it could have been drowned out by nothing more than the whir of a fan.

“Sleep.” His face was almost amused, but he seemed a bit too serious to pull it off. “I want to make love to you.” Then as she watched, he released a sigh and he shook his head. “I don’t want to pass it by again. I’ll accept it if I have to, but I refuse to think we could really live a whole life and not have that between us.” He seemed as dumbfounded at the thought as his words suggested he was, and she understood. “But I don’t . . . maybe it will just complicate things more. You’re leaving, and I understand that. I respect that, and I know why, and. . .” He was rambling. “I don’t want to do more damage—”

“I don’t think that’s even possible at this point.” He stilled as she spoke. He knew she was right. They’d fucked up their relationship beyond recognition. “We can’t hurt this anymore than we already have.” She couldn’t believe she was reassuring him that this was a good idea, but she understood very well, and what she was saying was true. They’d destroyed this. They had little to lose but this. This she could have. One night. One last decent and good memory to add to the few she had stored up of them. There was just too much pain, but this would not be pain.

Or would it? Would she be able to let go? Would he be able to stow the anger that popped up so easily? Her face had fallen; she could feel it in the slackness of her muscles, and she could see it reflected in his own expression. He reached for her cheek, and she flinched inadvertently. It was as much from surprise as it was from fear. He’d never physically hurt her in her life, and she trusted he never would, but there was just so much baggage, and he was more capable than any of destroying her emotionally. This couldn’t become that or it would end her.

His face looked stricken, shocked that she’d flinched, but then her eyes teared, and he pulled her into his arms, shushing her quietly with his lips to the top of her head. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered. “Just remember how we used to be. That’s all I want for us right now. Just the two of us. No pain.” She listened to his words, and she did exactly that. She remembered. His gentle touch. The way he was always just a bit too close. The way she let him invade her space. The trust. The warmth. The protectiveness. She closed her eyes, and when he scooped her up in his arms, she remembered his smile.

She held tight to him, burying her face in his neck, and she blocked out everything that hurt in her life, and she remembered everything that had felt so good once. He laid her on top of the sheet that was still on her bed, and she watched as he undressed silently. She was still completely shocked she was going to do this, but there was no saying no to this. Right or wrong, she couldn’t walk away without it, not when he was so ready.

His body was such an impressive thing. He was strong and lean, and his height wasn’t towering, just commanding. His stomach muscles were toned and tight, and as she looked at them, they danced and twitched. Her eyes flashed to his, and he was watching her closely. She wasn’t sure how she’d managed to ignore his cock that was standing high on his stomach, but the moment her attention shifted back down, that’s where it stopped. Her lips parted, and she sucked in a quick breath before she could stop herself. As she watched, he gripped that impressive breadth, and he stroked slowly up, rounding the head, and then sliding back down.

She sat up, pulling his hips to her, and when she touched the pearly bead of cum on the tip of his penis, she trailed it down the length of him as he watched. He uttered her name and brushed his thumb along her lower lip. She licked around the head as he hissed, and when she parted her lips and pulled him into her mouth, he groaned. She set a slow rhythm, rising and falling, letting him push to the back of her throat, and then pulling her mouth back along the length of his shaft. He was moaning, and his grunts were choked out as she moved. He stopped her quickly, dropping to his knees and placing his hands on her legs.

She was still dressed in a T-shirt and underwear, and he slowly trailed his fingers up her thighs and then worked her underwear down her hips. She lifted her bottom as he slid the fabric down her thighs, and once he’d pulled them from her ankles, he looked back to her eyes. “Take your shirt off for me.” She reached for the waist, pulling the shirt up her chest and off over her head. His eyes zoned in on her breasts, and he kneeled up, latching his mouth to her nipple. He pulled hard, and she whimpered at the incredible suction. He released the pull, and he kissed, sucking her nipple gently into his mouth and releasing it quickly this time. It soothed the ache, and when he moved to the other side, she waited for the same. The pain of his initial suction was swift, but he quickly replaced that incredible tension with a soothing, laving kiss; she melted at the contrasting sensations.

“Spread your legs wider.” He kneeled back on his heels, and her legs trembled as she slid them apart. He lifted one heel, planting it on the bedrail. Then he lifted the other and did the same. It propped her knees up high, and when he asked her to scoot to the edge of the bed, he watched her seriously as she moved forward. He pulled her hips to teeter on the side of the bed, and she looked down at him. She leaned back on her hands and just watched.

He kissed first, parting her lips with his fingers. He pulled her clit between his lips, sucking and toying with the hardened nub, and he kept his eyes on hers the entire time. She just whimpered, unable to stay quiet as he tormented her arousal. Next he licked, and she watched as his tongue trailed slowly up from her entry to the hardened peak. Then he sucked hard. He pulled her clit into his mouth, lashing across it swiftly with his tongue. She was trembling, gasping, and groaning, and when he abruptly stopped, she thought the world had ended for a moment.

She stared down at him, gasping for air, and he smiled. “Not yet.” She was wet, and she could feel that wetness seeping from her, running down between her lips. His fingers explored then, pushing through her wetness, plunging into her sheath as it clenched around him. She could feel the wetness trickling down over her bottom, and when he pulled his fingers from her sex, he looked. It felt practically gynecological, and she wondered if this position was rather procedural to him. If it was, it was a damn good procedure to use in the bedroom.

His eyes followed the trail of her cum, and he licked his middle finger before reaching to her once more. She assumed he was going to continue the invading thrust, but he didn’t, and she felt his finger running gently over the puckered skin of her anus—gently spreading the wetness before he pushed into her bottom. The invasion was completely unfamiliar, and her feet slipped from the bedrails as her legs tightened. “Relax.” His voice was warm, and the seduction was there. Her feet hung in the air until he used his free hand to help her find the rail again, and when her feet were planted, he pushed in farther.

“Darren.” She didn’t even mean to say his name, but it tumbled out as she felt his finger slide deeper into her bottom, and he shifted his focus to her eyes. Her eyes were tearing, but it wasn’t pain—hell it wasn’t even fear; she was just falling apart, and she was trembling from head to toe. He stood in a flash, and he leaned over her, easing her back onto the bed. His finger stayed still within her between their bodies, and he hovered low to her face, watching her eyes.

“I won’t hurt you. Tell me to stop and I will. But if you relax and let me go deeper, you won’t regret it.” She nodded, and he did too. He licked his lips, and when he leaned to her mouth and kissed her, he moaned into her mouth. He pushed his tongue past her lips, and she closed her eyes. She knew his kiss. It had been years since she’d felt his tongue in her mouth, tasting, exploring, and licking every ounce of her mouth, but she remembered it as if it was yesterday. His middle finger pushed farther as his tongue ran over hers, and his lips stifled the cry she couldn’t contain. It was a good cry, though, and he knew it. He was sliding his long, masculine finger deep into her bottom, slowly pushing and slipping through the wetness to her depths, and all she could do was whimper into his mouth.

He licked and kissed as his finger started pulling and pushing, over and over, and she relaxed to the sensation. She loved it. It was an intimacy she needed him to have, and when he pulled back from her mouth, it was to watch her as his finger thrust. He studied her reaction to his invasion, and every time she gasped and whimpered, she could feel his cock flexing and twitching against her stomach.

His thumb stroked over her clitoris, swirling around it, and the ecstasy pulsed through her core, but when his thumb passed down over her clit and then found her entry, pushing gently inside her vagina, she stilled and clenched tight. The fullness was staggering for a moment, and she didn’t know how to make her muscles relax. He lowered himself back down between her legs. “Sit up. Watch me.” She pushed herself back up to sit. “Now relax.” He moved his fingers slightly, gently pulsing them inside her, but not thrusting. He was waiting for her to relax, and as she watched his fingers and watched him studying what he was doing to her, the wetness built again, and she relaxed around him. “There you go.”

He leaned to her, latching to her clit again, and as he sucked, lashed, and licked her into a state of insanity, he started thrusting again. At first the movement was slow, but it built slowly to an intensity she wasn’t sure she could handle. He slipped easily into her, his middle finger still plunging into her bottom as his thumb plunged into her pussy. The trembles returned, and she was gasping as though she might pass out at any moment, but she watched. She watched his eyes, and he refused to look away from her, and then with one powerful push of his tongue up against her clit, she came.

She cried out loudly, and her feet slipped off the rail again as she fell back onto the bed. His fingers still invaded, but the speed was slowing, and then it stilled. He slipped slowly from her, leaving her feeling empty and hollow, but it didn’t last. He pushed her thighs back with his hands as he kissed her passionately again, licking around the still tight nub of her clit, and then he stood, leaning over her body and back to her mouth. But he didn’t kiss her this time. His mouth touched hers, and he spoke, letting the vibration tingle an incredible caress across her lips.

“You’re so delicious. Taste my lips.” She did. She licked along his lower lip as he breathed into her mouth, and she tasted the subtle musky flavor of her own body. When she pulled his top lip between hers, he groaned, and she sucked. She could still feel his hard length against her stomach, and she shuddered as it touched her skin.

She released his lip, and he chuckled as he looked down at her. He looked so much like her Darren she almost cried. He smiled gently, seductively, and he either could feel no pain from her or he simply wasn’t willing to let it touch him. But he was there, smiling, enticing, and toying with her. It took nothing but the glint in his eye, the arc of his brow as he waited for her response. She nodded like an idiot. Her brain was saying I love you over and over again as she stared at him. But her mouth wasn’t working, and even if it would, she couldn’t say that to him. She didn’t have a clue what to do, and so she stared, she nodded, she gulped down air, and she just plain tried not to fall apart in front of the man she loved and whom she was going to leave in the morning to save them both.

Chapter Forty-Three

Deciding to make love to her and agreeing on it didn’t make it any easier to take that step. He loved what they’d just done. He loved it because it was her, and she was everything. She consumed him in the best possible ways and in the worst. Right now, it was all about the best of her, the best of him. He’d wanted to make love to her for as long as he could recall. It was literally always there in his mind. The desire, the need, and in many ways, the understanding that they would. They had to. It wasn’t possible not to. They were just fucking supposed to.

She was lying next to him on her side, watching him as he watched her. They did a lot of watching. They always had. They liked to look, study, stare . . . hell, even glare—a lot lately especially, though it hadn’t always been that way. But it didn’t really matter how they looked, just that they looked, constantly, incessantly, obsessively.

He loved her lips. They were angelic, sweet, delicious. He hadn’t kissed her until tonight, and he suddenly had no idea why he wouldn’t have before. He’d eaten her pussy, she’d sucked him off, he’d toyed and played with her, and yet, he’d withheld it. He wasn’t even sure if it had been intentional or not. But it was subconsciously cruel if nothing else. Now he couldn’t stop. He leaned to her mouth, he licked her lips the way she’d licked his, and he slipped his tongue between them. She tasted of very faint beer, and for a moment his brain almost went somewhere he didn’t want it to. She’d never been a drunk, not ever, regardless of what her graffiti-covered home had said, but that alone reminded him of something. He buried it as he pushed his tongue deep into her mouth.

He focused on the memories of where his fingers had gone shortly before. The sudden tension that was trying to set in slipped to the background of his mind, and he could focus again. She looked nervous when he finally released her lips, but he wasn’t. Or maybe he was, but he was so ready for this, he didn’t give a shit about his nerves. “Why do you look so frightened?”

“I suppose because I’m terrified.” She smiled shyly, and he smiled broadly. He liked this. He’d always enjoyed toying with her and knowing how she’d respond. She always responded. He always responded.

“I want you on top of me.” He said it seriously and calmly, but his cock was flexing at nothing more than the idea. He wanted to make sure she felt comfortable. He wanted her to be in control, or at the very least to feel in control. He wasn’t one to let a woman lead, but he’d let her do whatever she needed to feel secure. He just needed to be inside her.

“Right now?” She suddenly looked petrified.

“Yes.” He rolled to his back, looking over at her and winking. He was still hard as hell, so yes, right fucking now for sure. “Come here.”

She pushed herself up on her elbow, and her eyes traveled down to his groin. She inhaled deeply. “It’s been a really long time.”

His guts clenched at her vulnerability, and he reached for her cheek, pulling her mouth to his. He didn’t stop there. He snaked a hand between her legs, and he pulled her top leg across his body and lifted her to straddle his hips. He pulled her lips back to his, but he didn’t kiss. He spoke. “I know. Time to get back on the horse.” He smirked, and she smiled . . . finally. “Do you want this?” She nodded. “Okay then, up on your knees.” She pushed up to kneel over him, and he looked down to her small, pale lips. His cock was jutting up on his stomach, and he held it up from his body as he stroked the head through her wetness. She trembled as he touched her clit, and once he was covered in her cum, he nudged at her entry. “Push down. Slow.”

She pushed back down toward his lap, and he could feel his cock popping past her entry. He felt her warmth parting around him, but the tightness was intense as she sank lower and lower. Her eyes bulged at the pain, and her lips parted in a silent cry. He stilled her with his hands on her hips. She looked at him, and he sat up to face her. She was still hovering. She’d only managed to take half of his length, and her face looked shocked.

“Slow down.” He whispered it in her ear, and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder and nuzzled against him. She might be wet, but she was so incredibly tight. He was so incredibly aroused he was struggling to keep himself from driving up into her. He lifted her hips, almost completely leaving her body, and then he gently eased her back down his length, sinking farther. He paused, letting her adjust, and then he pulled her down again. She grunted as he pushed deeper, and after he paused again, he lifted her slightly. Every time he sank farther, she groaned, and he did too, and when he pushed the last final inch, he kissed her. She was sitting on his balls, and he was two seconds from losing his mind.

He pulled his mouth from hers, holding her face inches from his with a hand to each cheek, and he froze, panting. She was the center of his universe whether he wanted her to be or not, and at the moment, he so completely wanted her to be. He’d needed this, he’d dreamed of it, fantasized about it, obsessed about making love to her, and he was buried balls-deep inside the only woman he’d ever been so completely in love with. He wasn’t sure he could even handle the notion of it. They were back to staring, panting, frozen in shock at what they were doing, and his body was pulsing with a shiver that didn’t end.

She moved first, tightening her pussy around him. He didn’t know if it was inadvertent or completely intentional, and his dick didn’t give a shit. He groaned, letting his head fall back. She kissed the base of his neck, finishing it with a flick of her tongue. “Tighten on me again. Just like that.” She responded, clamping down tight, and when she let up again, he sank back to her bed.

She looked stunning as he looked up at her. He held still and she did too. His eyes studied every inch of her skin. Her breasts were so supple now, yet her nipples were still small and petite, pink and tight. He followed her body down. Her waist was such an incredible sight. Her stomach muscles were tight and her waist small. He wondered just how far up into her gut he was seated at the moment, and as her sheath trembled around him, he about lost it.

He clenched his butt cheeks, driving deeper into her, and she gasped, doubling over toward him. He grabbed her hands, pinning them above his head, and as he met her eyes again, she bit her lower lip. “Ready?” She nodded, and he clenched his buttocks, driving in again. She cried out, and he stilled for a moment. He pulled back and then drove in deep again. She was pinned on top of him, and he was using his hips and his ass to fuck her. So much for giving her control.

He could feel her nipples brushing through his chest hair, and her attention stayed on him as he pounded up into her body. He watched, looking for pain, looking for her threshold, looking for anything at all that said he was pushing it too far for her. She just watched. She breathed erratically, and he occasionally lunged for her lips, pulling one into his mouth, clamping down gently and then releasing her.

When he rolled over, taking his place above her, he ground hard into her before he pulled out completely. She looked shocked and then disappointed. He understood that. He already missed that wet, hot silk on his skin. He loved how wet she could get when he touched her. He also loved how tight she felt around him. Her legs were spread wide with her knees up. He pushed them farther, and he invaded her again. This time he moved tightly but easily to her core, and when she wrapped her legs around him, clinging to his body, he started thrusting.

It didn’t take long for the pace to quicken to a nearly violent speed. As he thrust, her hips were lifted from the bed. She was clutching his shoulders, and he was biting into hers. She spasmed around him, and he pushed as deep as he could over and over. When she came, he pulled back, watching the pleasure course through her veins. He could almost see it traveling under her skin. Her body wriggled and writhed as one pulse after another left her stomach muscles twitching and clenching. Fuck, she looked stunning.

He fell apart then, pushing one final deep stroke to her center and holding it as he came. Every muscle in his body was rigid as he spent his seed inside her body. He’d never in his life made love without protection, and he couldn’t imagine it any other way with her. He wanted her to feel his cum inside her, dripping from her body. He wanted her to be constantly reminded of where he belonged—not to mention how much he belonged to her too.

He stayed buried in her, not wanting to leave her, damn near terrified to. But eventually he did, pulling away from her, lying down beside her, and wrapping his arms around her. Her . . . her . . . her. His her.

Chapter Forty-Four

She woke in a start, crying out into the darkness. He tightened his hold on her and she stilled. Her heart stilled, her nerves stilled, and her panic stilled in an instant. “Hush,” he whispered against her ear.

The clock said it was after two, and her body was aching and sore from him. She’d guessed it would be. It’d been over six years since she’d been with anyone, and her anyones had paled in comparison to Darren—never mind there had only been three of them. Did this actually happen? She didn’t think she’d lost her mind, but how did this happen? Oh yeah, he’d asked, and she was powerless to say no. Now she had to say good-bye. Fuck.

He rolled away from her, letting go of his hold on her body, and when she rolled to see what he was doing, he was sitting naked on the side of the bed. Her Darren. He was her Darren—at least at the moment. He was all the Darren he used to be. Calm, patient, seductive. But when he turned to her, her Darren was gone. His eyes were expressionless and distant. He shook it away quickly, forcing a smile to his lips. “I should probably go.” She felt her face falling, and his did too. The completely contrived smile he’d flashed her slipped away, and he stood.

“You don’t have to go yet.”

He took a deep breath, and his brow flinched. “We’re not making it any easier if I stay.”

“And here I assumed it would be hard no matter what.”

“More than hard.” His eyes shifted to the ground. He snatched his clothes from the floor, slipping on his jeans and zipping them quickly. He didn’t bother buttoning his pants; hell, he’d not even bothered putting his underwear on. Instead, he was fleeing, and he was wasting no time doing it. She stood as he left the room, and she followed him out. She didn’t have a clue how to do this. Say good-bye to him? What did that mean? She wasn’t ready. He paused at the door, holding his remaining clothes in his hand, and he shook his head.

“Bailey.” He whispered her name, and he let his head sink as his eyes closed. “Fuck, Bay.”

“Not yet.” She didn’t want to plead. She just wasn’t ready.

“When? How long do you want to put this off? Until I break your heart again? Until I hurt you in some way that not even you can forgive? I don’t think you understand how much it destroys me . . . and yet . . . how hard it is to just let it all go. I don’t have to want to hurt you to do it. It just happens.” He waited for her to say something. Argue with him, something. But she didn’t have anything to say. “I wouldn’t trade making love to you for anything in the world, but you made the choice to leave for a reason, and you made the right choice. You know that. You deserve better than my anger and hurt and mess. I want you to have better.”

She walked to him, leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing him. He held his lips closed for a moment, but then he groaned, and his lips parted. He kissed her harshly, pushing her to the wall, and then he fell apart. He slid his zipper down at nearly the same moment he lifted her, pinning her to the wall. She felt the large head of his cock nudging against her sex, and then it was over. He lowered her as he thrust hard up into her body, and she grunted as the pain stabbed her womb. She clutched his shoulders, begging her body to relax, and he buried his head against her neck, not moving, just holding her still.

He was gasping, and she was fighting back the tears. It wasn’t the pain. That was fading, but it was the real pain. The kind that didn’t go away just by breathing, relaxing. This pain wasn’t going anywhere. It was going to break her heart, and at the moment she couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist. She couldn’t focus on the pleasure buried deep inside her. He’d only moments ago been inches from walking out her door, and she could feel that hurt coursing through her. She wasn’t kidding herself. He could feel it too. The anguish in his voice, the desperation in his touch, there was no hiding it, and he wasn’t trying to.

Her hair was stuck to her lips, and as he pulled his face from her neck, he reached to brush the hair from her mouth, and then he attacked her lips. He latched on to them, thrusting his tongue within her mouth. He stumbled with her back to the bedroom, and she clung to him as he lowered her to the bed. His eyes were such a savage, sensuous thing to see. He’d made her weak in the knees for years, and having that dark depth watching her intently as he used his body to pleasure her was enough to make her fall apart.

He rolled his hips between her parted thighs, refusing to give her body even one ounce of space. He stirred the deep throbbing need in her groin, and then he stilled. He didn’t move a muscle, just inhaled and exhaled, studying her eyes.

“Over on your knees.” He sat up, pulling himself from her body, and she rolled away from him, pushing herself up to her knees. He was behind her then, and she waited for the touch. He gently parted her lips, and then she felt him again, pushing steadily in. He pulled her hips back to his groin with a jolt, and he started working her hips forward and backward. She was Jell-O by the time she came again, and when she collapsed, he pinned her hands to the bed and humped her. Her knees were spread like a frog as she lay nearly paralyzed under his weight. But nearly paralyzed wasn’t paralyzed, and what she needed to feel she could.

He pushed against her bottom, rolling his hips. It was seductive whether she could see him or not, and his hands held hers tight as he breathed in her ear. The arousal in that lurching and shuddering breath made her muscles quiver and contract around him, and when they did, he groaned, driving her building need for more just that much farther. She couldn’t possibly be aroused again, least of all when she wasn’t even sure her muscles could work, but when his breathy moans became coherent thoughts, her body started begging her to let go again.

“Fuck, Bay . . . You’re the only one I ever wanted.” He was speaking on a lurching and gasping breath, and his words were broken and guttural as he plunged into her body over and over again. He came as he ground his hips harshly against her bottom, and he was uttering her name, dropping his forehead to her shoulder.

He panted for a moment, and she turned her head, letting him nuzzle into her neck below her ear. She listened to his body calm and relax, and just when she thought he intended to say nothing more, he spoke quietly. “I’ve wanted you forever.” He let his lips touch her earlobe.

“Oh, God.” Her voice was practically whimpering as her non-response response tumbled out. There was just nothing better to say, nothing more, certainly nothing she could devise. He pulled on her earlobe with his teeth, gently tugging. He didn’t bother pulling from her body, and he was deep and still within her. He was bracing himself on his elbow, and she knew the second his weight left her, she’d feel empty and alone.

“Incredible.” His lips were tickling her earlobe again, and she thought it was nothing more than a blissful utterance until he spoke again. “Stunning. Intelligent. Sweet. Loving.” She was the one panting now. “Arousing. Consuming.” She started trembling around the length of him inside her again, and his voice caught in his throat as he felt her tighten. “Exceptional.” It came out on a whisper, and she had no idea if it was another word for the list or simply a reaction.

She assumed he was finishing the game they’d started forever ago. The words he’d denied her that fateful night that would destroy every chance they ever had of being something amazing together. “I wish you could feel that for me now.”

He paused. His chest stopped moving as he held his breath for a moment. “I was referring to now as much as then, though I left off my favorite one. It didn’t apply then, and now, it impresses me more than anything else about you.”

He finally moved from her body, and she felt a deep ache in her groin as she rolled over to look up at him. She was sore, but she was more sated than she’d ever felt. Her brow furrowed. He studied her eyes, and she waited. She wasn’t sure he was going to tell her, but then he reached to brush the hair from her forehead, and he leaned down and kissed her nose. “Forgiving.”

She didn’t need to say anything. She was stunned into silence at that, and he smiled gently, running his finger across her cheek. She shook her head in confusion.

“You’re still here, aren’t you? I certainly haven’t made it easy for you.” His voice was quiet, and his expression was sad. But he kept trailing his finger across her cheek. Then down to her chin. He stroked across her forehead, and he watched as he touched. “You would never be so cruel to me as I have been to you. You’re far too strong to let yourself decay and devolve like I have. I envy that in you.” His eyes were tearing though his voice was calm, and a small smile was on his lips. Bailey was mere seconds from sobbing, and she could feel a tear trickle down her cheek. He wiped it away, nodding in what appeared to be reassurance. “Jess would be so proud of you. You’ve had to be so strong.” He kissed her mouth. It was gentle. It was sweet, and her heart was breaking because she knew what was coming. “You’re going to be happy. I promise.” He kissed her again, and then he said the words she didn’t want to hear. “It’s time.”

Pain. Blinding anguish. So much so, the breath left her lungs, and she felt an imaginary fist twisting her guts into knots. He crawled from the bed, pulled his pants back on, and she followed him to the door. Her ears were buzzing, and though the pain should mean tears, there was nothing to cry. She stood there, waiting for it to be over, dreading it, and at the same time, just wanting it done. And then it was.

There was a point. A point where seeing his face, his beautiful features, his intense stare, simply ended, and he became a haunting memory. Just like that. He’d kissed her; he’d touched her chin. “You will always be my world.” His lips trembled as he said the words, and her tears fell. Then he’d kissed her again and turned away. Gone.

Part III: Running Away

Chapter Forty-Five

The first week was a nightmare. It was a maddening hell that felt endless. He woke up aroused from the most erotic and intense dream he’d ever had of her. But there was no having her anymore, and the moment that understanding set in, hell took over.

Every day was a routine. He got up, he got ready, he sat at the dining room table looking at the picture of them from her graduation as he drank his coffee, he read her letter, he went to the hospital, he came home, he stared at his ceiling, he finally fell asleep, he woke to either a nightmare about her or an amazing dream about her that turned sour fast when he realized she was gone, he got up, and he did it all over again. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

He stopped taking days off and threw himself into his work even on his days off. People were starting to stare at him when he showed up at the hospital when he wasn’t scheduled, but he didn’t care. Anything to cope. There was part of him that was happy, though. Or perhaps not happy but relieved. Not that she was gone, but that he was—at least for the most part. The he that had turned into a venomous monster who hated her over the past six years. He didn’t hate her. It was hard to imagine how he ever had. But he wasn’t sure he could forgive her, and if he could, there was no chance he could ever forget the pain, and that’s what had ended them. But at least he wasn’t a monster. She’d given him his humanity back. She had refused to walk away until he’d truly given her no reason to stay, and he’d made it so emotionally painful for her. Such an amazing, quiet strength.

One day, nearly two weeks after she’d left, he broke his routine for the first time. He didn’t go to the hospital. He intended to. He was dressed, driving toward the hospital when he passed Taylor’s Furnishings. And at just that time, Michelle Taylor, heir to the Taylor enterprise herself, stepped out of her car. He pulled in beside her before he even knew what he was doing, but he didn’t get out. He lowered his window as Michelle regarded him curiously, if not a bit wearily.

“Coffee?”

She said nothing for a moment. She was deciding. She looked toward the building and then back to him, and her eyes narrowed. “I s’pose I have time.”

“Well, aren’t I the lucky man. Hop in.”

The moment she was in his SUV, he relaxed. It was as if being close to Michelle was like being close to Bailey. He felt close to Bailey for the first time in two weeks, and it was calming. Not in the attraction sort of way. He wasn’t at all attracted to Michelle, never had been. She was just Michelle, and if anything, she reminded him of Jess, but she was as close to Bailey as anyone, and frankly, she was his only link to her.

Michelle’s uncertainty stuck with her until she was seated across from him at a small picnic table outside a little coffee shop on Main Street. “How are you, Darren?”

He nodded for a moment. It answered nothing, but it seemed like the thing to do. “Okay, I guess. You?”

She smiled. “Well, personally, I miss my good friend, Bailey, but otherwise I’m just grand. I assume that’s why we’re here? To talk about her?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at her for a moment. She’d always been a cheeky brat, and he liked her just fine for it, but she wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “Okay, yes. How is she?”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“What? Wanting to know how a woman I care about is doing now that she’s moved away? Seems like a legitimate question to ask.” He could be as cheeky as she was.

“She told me something.” Now she was taunting him.

“Such as?”

“Such as you slept with her on her last night here.” Now chastising.

But it was enough to get his sarcasm fired up. “You girls and your cute little words for fucking.” She suddenly smirked, and he was instantly reminded of Bailey. After growing up together, Michelle, Jess, and Bailey had adopted many of the same mannerisms. He’d noticed it before, but right now it was like looking at a piece of Bailey sitting in front of him. Michelle’s smirk was missing the incredible crimson cheeks that Bailey would have at his use of the word “fucking” in front of her. He loved her blush. He missed her blush.

“Fucking is such a brash word.” Still smirking.

“And yet, it’s so damn much fun. Are you going to tell me that you’re pissed at me for fuck-ing”—exaggerated enunciation—“her when she was leaving the next day?”

“No. I’m pissed that she was still crying about it when I arrived the next morning.” His face fell and his eyes did too, to stare at the tabletop. Their brief amount of sarcasm and levity had been much needed, but it was surely over now. “I’m sorry.” She must have caught the change in him. Not too hard considering he was suddenly catatonic with pain. She sighed loudly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shook his head. She’d just been serious. Apparently making love to Bailey had caused her enough grief that she’d still been upset even a couple hours later. Should he have expected anything less? Hell, he’d been wallowing in self-deprecating misery himself for two weeks.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”

“I know. She knows. I didn’t say she regretted it, only that she was upset. She was upset about leaving you.”

“You do know it was her decision to leave, right?” Michelle nodded, but she didn’t look very convinced.

“And yet, you did nothing to try to get her to stay.”

“She was right to want to be away from me. Michelle, I was really pretty awful to her.” He studied her for a moment. “’Sides, thought you’d be happy she was away from me.”

She harrumphed at that. “Did I ever tell you I used to have a crush on you?”

His brows shot up in interest. She had most definitely never mentioned it. “Why, not you, Michelle Taylor. I can’t believe it.”

“Don’t get cocky, asshole. I said used to. And it was me and about every other girl in school.” She smirked again. When her face suddenly turned serious, he stowed his sarcasm and decided this must be important. “See, the thing is . . . you didn’t seem to really notice anyone except her. Not ever. Hell, not even with a girlfriend on your arm. You still watched her.” She smiled at him. “If she was in a room, you were next to her. And vice versa. You two just found your way to one another. She held your attention in a way no one else could.” He looked away then, but she wasn’t done speaking. “You two were supposed to be together.” She shrugged then. “It’s sad that you can’t be. But I get it. How do you move past something like this?” She studied him for a moment, and then she stood. “But wouldn’t it be quite a thing if you could?” She walked away to the garbage, tossing her napkin away. He stared after her, unable to formulate a response at all.

He didn’t say a word to her as they walked back to his car, and when she was sitting beside him, he finally turned to her. “How is she really?”

“How do you think she is? She walked away from everything she needed because she was afraid what she needed would end up destroying her in the end.”

“She was right to leave.”

“No, she wasn’t.” His eyes snapped to hers in shock. He’d not expected that response. “And you weren’t right to let her. But the two of you have never quite been able to figure out how to be more than friends. Chickens, both of ya.”

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Then don’t.” She shrugged. “Simple.”

Chapter Forty-Six

“Can I get you folks anything else?” The man ignored her, and his wife followed suit. Assholes. She cleared her throat . . . and then she cleared it again. Eventually, he looked up at her and sneered. He shook his head as though she was an idiot for even asking. She tore the ticket from her pad and set it on the table. He eyed it as though she might have cooties, and she rolled her eyes as she walked away.

She’d managed to land the job within a week of arriving in Memphis. The gig had started out in the kitchen, prepping food, washing dishes, and bussing tables five weeks before. But she’d made the mistake of mentioning she’d waitressed before in high school, and that meant the first time someone called in sick, she was recruited. She shouldn’t complain. The money was loads better, but with a piss-poor attitude that she’d not had the last time she’d been a waitress, it was just no longer her cup of tea.

She was entirely too young to be wearing orthopedic shoes. She was also entirely too young to be wearing a food-service dress. Yes. The very one that came to mind when a person thought about any diner in any town in any country in the world—a mustard-yellow monstrosity with white cuffs. She was an English major once, for God’s sake. She’d spent hours debating authors she failed to even remember now. She’d had opinions, strong ones at that; she’d had tastes, distastes. She’d once wanted to write herself. Tell a story. Create a story, a world, a feeling, something, anything at all that could resound in someone’s heart. Now . . . well, now she waited tables in Memphis, nowhere near Beal Street, but rather a dingy hole-in-the-wall diner that was open twenty-four hours a day. She met with her new parole officer once a week. He didn’t like her nearly as much as her old one did. Harold had always treated her like a misguided child who needed nurturing and support. This one, he treated her like the criminal she was.

He’d already shown up twice at her mom’s house demanding to search her room. For what? She’d driven drunk . . . once . . . when she was twenty-one. Given the suspicious look on his face, he thought she was hiding cocaine in her booty for a Mexican drug cartel while turning tricks, knocking over convenience stores on her break, and then moonlighting as a hitman for the Mafia on her days off.

She’d made the mistake of “duh-ing” one of his more ridiculous comments the second time he’d shown up.

“You getting smart with me, girl?” She almost said duh again to that one. Not too hard to get smart with a man who had the IQ of her mattress—which happened to be halfway off her bed thanks to Mr. Duh-mmy Parole Officer and his amazing smart detector. Rather than respond to the man, she recited her favorite Dr. Seuss book in her head, imagining the man was saying the words while dancing the jig in front of her. In reality, he was lecturing her, and she was hearing nothing.

“You better keep your nose clean. You got me?” She nodded. She had no idea what that meant. Soon her PO was gone, and her mom was helping her straighten her bed.

“Well, honey, I don’t guess I right know why that man hates you so much.” Her mother smiled at her own sarcasm, and Bailey laughed. She didn’t know, either.

“I don’t know why he doesn’t want to be my friend, Mom.” She gave her best puppy-dog sad eyes, and it was her mother’s turn to laugh.

“Well, I’m your friend. And this friend wants to take her favorite daughter—”

“Only daughter.”

“Only daughter out for dinner. It is your birthday after all.”

“So long as we don’t visit a particular diner three blocks away.”

Her mother nodded her head, grabbed her purse, and pulled Bailey by the arm toward the door. But just as they were headed out, the phone rang. They were likely the only people in the world who didn’t have voice mail, but their digital answering machine worked just fine.

“Umm. Hi . . . Bailey . . . Uh . . . Michelle gave me your number. I hope you don’t mind that I called, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. I hope you’re doing well. Michelle said you found a job at a restaurant. Umm . . . Well, I’m guessing it doesn’t compare to being covered in Macy drool every day.” He laughed nervously. She was just standing in the doorway, clutching the door frame. She stared at the answering machine, not knowing if she should answer it or not. Her mother was watching her, and she looked petrified. “I should . . . I should probably go. Probably best that you weren’t home to answer . . . I guess.” He cleared his throat, and she was hurting just listening to how hard it was for him to speak. She thought again that perhaps she should answer, but she couldn’t seem to let go of the door frame. “Okay . . . Happy birthday, Bailey. I hope you’re doing okay.” Click.

Her breath left her in a rush. She’d been holding it since she heard his voice, and it wasn’t until he was off the line that she could breathe again.

“Bailey, are you okay?”

“Hmm? What? Uh . . . What?” She was staring at her mom as though her question had been unintelligible.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh . . . no. No, I mean, yes . . . Yes, I’m okay.” She was definitely the unintelligible one.

Her mother drove them to a restaurant. A small rib joint that had them both covered in barbecue sauce within fifteen minutes, but hey, when a gal wasn’t out to impress, she didn’t much care if her face was wearing her dinner.

“So, Darren. . .” Well, if that wasn’t a leading intro, Bailey didn’t know what was.

“So. . .”

“Wanna tell me about that?”

“That would be an inappropriate conversation to have with your mother.” She waved a rib bone in her mother’s direction to drive the point home.

“I see.” Interest. Not disdain, outrage, or any other reaction one might expect when such secrets are divulged to a parent, but then, she was twenty-seven after all—strike that, twenty-eight—and her mother couldn’t possibly think she was a virgin at this point. “Well, that couldn’t have made leaving any easier.”

“No. It didn’t.” She bit her lip as she looked at her mother.

“Honey, why did you choose to come here? Ignore the fact that I’m thrilled you came or that I asked you to come, but why did you agree to come?”

“I love him.” She spit the words out before she could think of some way to rationalize them.

“Huh . . . I fail to see that as a logical reason to leave him.” She spoke slowly as though trying to whittle it out in her head as she spoke. She was confused. Join the crowd.

“He doesn’t love . . . Okay, well . . . actually, well . . . maybe he does.” Given the utter confusion on her mom’s face, Bailey wasn’t clearing things up for her in the least. “So . . . hmm . . . Well, the funny thing is . . . it turns out it’s hard for a man to get over the loss of his sister when he cares for the one responsible for her death. Causes all sorts of conflict for him, less than kind behavior on occasion, really downright cruel behavior at times.” She was being sarcastic, but there wasn’t an ounce of lie in her words.

“I see.” She was still talking slowly, but now her eyes were squinted. This was Bailey’s favorite type of conversation—masking seriousness with sarcasm. She and her mother were good at this. “Sorry, I don’t see. Explain.”

“He hurt me. For every step forward, he knocked me back two. When I thought we’d passed some hurdle, I was reminded swiftly that those hurdles weren’t going anywhere. I don’t think . . . there will ever be a time when we can move past Jess’ death. And how could we? I mean, it’s ridiculous to even think it could be possible.” She shook her head. When she actually said it out loud, it truly was ridiculous. “You don’t fall in love with the person responsible for your greatest loss. And God help you if you do.”

Her mother was still nodding, but the sarcasm was gone from her expression. It was gone from Bailey’s too. That was until a gaggle of waiters showed up with cake singing the country western version of “Happy Birthday”—which was pretty much like the regular version with a few knee slaps tossed in and a yeehaw or two for effect.

“Gee, Mom, you shouldn’t have.” She forced a smile to her lips, which was remarkably easy given the cheesy, excited look on her mother’s face. “Like you really, really should never ever do this to me again.” She kept smiling, and her mother laughed, slapping her own leg.

“Oh, how I love to humiliate my daughter. I love you, Bay. And if Darren can’t figure out how to love you even with all the baggage, then you’re better off without him.” She was serious when she said that, and the level of cliché had Bailey smirking.

“Is it like a subsidy or something that the government gives parents to say things like that? I mean, are you literally required to say I’m better off without him or you lose your social security?” She was back to sarcasm, and it felt damn good.

Her mom started giggling, and before long, Bailey had joined her. She was twenty-eight years old; she’d spent five years of her life in prison for vehicular homicide in the death of her best friend; the man she loved was a threat to her emotional well-being; her PO hated her guts because he thought her nose was dirty or she had cocaine up her butt; and she was sitting in a Memphis barbecue pit giggling like a fool with her beautiful, broke mother. Life couldn’t be better. Of course that was a lie. It could be better. But certain things were possible, and other things were not. This life was possible, and she was starting to think . . . livable. She could get over him. She had to. Jess would want her to be happy, and she finally believed Darren would want her to be happy too—even if he didn’t know how to give that to her. She was going to be happy.

* * *

The shift was never ending. She was absolutely never going to work a double shift again. It was almost five thirty in the morning, and she was dragging. She had to make it until seven. How the hell was she going to make it until seven? Coffee. Coffee was the only way.

Naturally, the coffee in the pot smelled burned, and she wasn’t about to torture herself with burned coffee when she could make fresh. She rubbed her eyes and yawned as she dropped the pre-filled filter into the basket, and then she held her head in her hands as she listened to it percolate. Her eyes were swimming in a dizzy pool of sleepiness, and she nearly fell asleep holding her head as she propped her elbows on the counter, but then the bells on the door jangled. Time to wake up and be a waitress.

She yawned again as she stumbled out the kitchen door to the dining room. All she could think about was her bed. And on a giant yawn she opened her eyes. Two cops stood before her. They looked stern, intimidating. Her brain started running through her past week. Had she seen her PO? Had she ignored any messages from him? She hadn’t.

“Are you Bailey Trent?” She felt pale and weak. What the hell had she done wrong?

“Yes.” One of the cops read off her address, confirming that in fact they had the correct Bailey Trent. She was freaking out more with every second. No one was holding handcuffs, so she thought that was at least a good sign, but seeing as she was the only criminal she knew and two cops were looking for her, she wasn’t holding out hope this was just a pleasure visit.

“Ms. Trent, we need to speak with you about something very serious.”

“Why? I just talked to my PO two days ago. I’ve been checking in with him constantly; you can ask him. I have his card in my purse. I don’t . . . I mean he even does home visits and searches, and he’s not found anything. I swear, I haven’t done—”

“Ms. Trent, it’s about your mother. There’s been a car accident. I’m afraid she didn’t survive.” She listened to every ounce of air in her lungs leave her. It was expelled in a slow whoosh as she sank onto one of the counter stools. Her ears started buzzing, and her brain was coursing with electric pulses that she could hear vibrating in her ears. Her world was slowing, threatening to fall from its axis into a void. And then her world stopped. It turned to blackness, and she felt her body slipping off the stool to the grimy linoleum floor.

Chapter Forty-Seven

He was trying to drive the speed limit, but it was admittedly hard—even given the reason for his trip. He’d left in a hurry, and poor Macy watched in utter confusion as he rushed her through her potty time and then ran out on her.

He hadn’t found out the right way. Not that there was a right way, but hearing the bad news from the town dickhead in the middle of the cereal aisle at the supermarket was most definitely the wrong way. “Hear ’bout Bailey Trent’s mom? Got herself dead in a car accident this morning. Looks like Bailey finally got what she deserved, huh?”

His gut reaction had been to slam Tim Blotke into the shelves next to them, and that was exactly what he did. He didn’t even have time to fully process what the asshole had told him. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him into the shelves as cereal boxes were jostled and tipped over. “What the fuck did you say?”

“Fuck, dude, get off me! What the fuck! Thought you’d be happy, Doc. Jesus!”

He was panting as he glared at Tim. Tim was as much an asshole now as he’d been in high school, and Darren hated him as much now as he did then. “Sorry.” He muttered it under his breath. He wasn’t at all sorry. “What . . . what are you talking about?” He was trying to be calm, but the words were starting to sink in, and all he could think about was Bailey.

“I was dropping off a flower order at Jepson’s Funeral Home, and Bill Jepson was on the phone with some hospital in Memphis talkin’ ’bout body transferrin’ and shit. When he got off the phone, I asked. Celia Trent died in a car accident this morning in Memphis. Make no mistake. ’Parently, Bailey ain’t got no money to have the body sent back, so Bill’s tryin’ to figure out what he can do. Like I’s sayin’, bitch’s finally getting what she deserves.”

He had no more patience the second time Tim said it than the first, and this time Tim ended up on the floor under a pile of cereal boxes. Now it was three hours later, and he was trying to get himself to Baptist Hospital in Memphis in one piece. He wasn’t even sure she’d be there, but he didn’t have anything else to go on. He’d managed to get the name of the hospital from Bill Jepson, and he knew Celia’s body couldn’t be transported until the following day due to the autopsy schedule. Jepson was curious, if nothing else. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know their history. Hell, he’d handled Jess’ funeral arrangements six years ago.

Darren wasn’t entirely sure what the hell he was doing. He only knew where he needed to be, and he hoped like hell she’d be okay with him showing up unannounced. The hospital was a busy place, and after asking an information desk attendant and two different nurses for directions, he managed to find his way to the morgue—far quieter than the rest of the building.

She was sitting on a bank of chairs in the hallway in a stupor. Her eyes stared at the floor in front of her, seeing nothing. He stood thirty feet down the hall just watching her for what had to be five minutes. She was sitting in a drab, yellow dress and orthopedic shoes. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and she looked entirely too pale. She held a Kleenex knotted in her hands, but there were no tears. He knew that feeling well. He’d been in her place once. He’d felt just how numbingly devastated a person could get, and he remembered it like a bad dream.

A person could be in so much pain they felt nothing but the absence of everything. They hurt, and yet they couldn’t get a grasp on the pain enough to actually truly feel it. That was by far the most anguishing human emotion in the world. At least from his perspective. He watched her, knowing just how she felt, and he felt it. He felt every stab of it as if it belonged to him. He was so responsible for her at this point whether he’d ever intended to be or not. He most definitely wanted to be.

When he finally moved toward her, she glanced up at him. Her lips started to quiver, and her fingers clenched tight in her lap, and she let out a quiet cry. His throat was suddenly constricting, and he couldn’t swallow. He sat next to her, wrapped an arm around her, and she sank into his side. He said nothing to her, and she didn’t attempt to speak to him, either. They just sat silently, and he held her.

She finally took a deep breath. “Why did you come?”

He ignored her question. “You know what one of the hardest parts of losing Jess was?” He didn’t wait for her response. “Not having you there to support me when I needed you. I’d like to think you need me as much as I’ve always needed you.” She looked up to him, her large blue eyes glistening. “I think it’s why the past six years have been such a disaster. I don’t cope very well with life when I don’t have you in it. Admittedly, I’ve struggled to figure out your place in my life since Jess died.”

They returned to silence for a while, and he went back to holding her. When she spoke again, it pulled him out of a trance. “Do you think I deserve this?”

He turned to her quickly, holding her cheeks in his hands. He studied her eyes. There was a time when he’d have crucified her with this question. God, how things had changed for him. “No. No.” He shook his head as her eyes teared. “I don’t think life works that way. Things just happen.” He trailed off as he shook his head. “No.” He studied her. She looked pale and weak, and he was crumbling. “Let me take you home.” She sat quietly for a long time before finally nodding, and he helped her stand.

They walked slowly through the hospital, and once away from the morgue, the chatter and busy commotion picked up. They were like two people walking in slow motion as the world sped by them. Bailey looked two seconds from collapsing, and he supported her weight with an arm around her. He didn’t want to stop touching her. He’d been deprived of the feel of her skin for six weeks, and he just wasn’t ready to give it up yet, but when he helped her slide into his passenger seat, he finally loosened his hold on her. She looked up at him with her glassy, beautiful eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Bailey.” He meant it. He’d take it all away if he could. He’d endure it for her if it was possible. He hated her pain, and there wasn’t a single ounce of him that thought she deserved this. She nodded, and he leaned to her mouth. He stalled for a second, unsure if this was what she’d want, but then he decided he needed to find out. He kissed her mouth, and when he pulled back, she reached up to his lips, running her thumb across his bottom one. He kissed her again.

“I’m so tired.”

He stroked her cheek, and he pulled her seatbelt across her lap, buckling her in.

“When I said let me take you home, I meant my home.”

Her barely open eyes widened at that, and she forced herself to sit up straighter.

“No! I have to be here. She’s here, and I have to be too.” Her voice was lurching, and she was coming apart in a panic.

“No. Your mom is being transferred to Jepson’s tomorrow afternoon. We’ll discuss the burial with Bill then.”

“No. I was going to have her cremated here. I couldn’t. . .” She broke down into sobs. It was guilt. He didn’t need her to say she couldn’t afford to bury her mom because he already knew that, and he wasn’t going to force her to say it, either.

He shushed her, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s taken care of.” He held her face in his hands again, and he studied her eyes until he was sure she understood him. “She’ll be buried next to your father.” Her sobs started again, but these weren’t guilt. It was relief, and it was the best he could hope for under the circumstances.

She stared out the window for a while before she drifted off to sleep. He’d made the mistake of asking how long she’d been awake, and he nearly yelled at her when she told him. She’d been awake since the morning prior, and it was midafternoon when they left Memphis. He was glad she was finally sleeping, but he understood well it would help nothing when she woke and realized it wasn’t just a bad dream. She’d likely feel that way every time she woke for a good two weeks or more if he remembered correctly. It was going to be a long road to peace and happiness again. He wanted to be part of that journey, but he wasn’t sure he should be so hopeful.

He called Michelle when he neared Savoy. She’d already heard the news; it tended to travel quickly in their parts, and she’d been frantically trying to reach Bailey at the hospital, not knowing how else to get in touch with her. By the time he pulled into his driveway, Michelle was already there waiting for them. He circled to her side, and he brushed his lips across her forehead as he murmured her name to wake her. Michelle eyed him curiously, and when Bailey woke, she looked at him in confusion for a moment before her face went slack.

“Hi, sweetie.” Michelle wrapped her arms around her as she stood from his car, and Bailey instantly started sobbing. Her shoulders hitched and shook as waves of emotional torture hit her. He walked ahead of them and opened the door, and Michelle led her to the sofa. He excused himself and called his parents from the office that sat off the dining room.

“Your father talked to Bill. Where are you?”

“I’m home. She’s here. Michelle’s here too.”

“Okay. What can we do?” His mother sounded as concerned as he felt, and he was relieved. He wasn’t sure what to expect. He already knew they’d far surpassed him in their Christian duty to forgive her, but it didn’t mean they’d support his choice to bring her home.

“I don’t know yet, Mom. She’s pretty . . . I don’t know. Catatonic. Celia’s body is being transferred tomorrow midday to Jepson’s, and we’ll need to set up a time to meet with him.

“Will you let her know that I’d like to go with her to Jepson’s to discuss the arrangements? She shouldn’t be alone—”

“She won’t be alone. I’ll—”

“I’d really like to go with her.” His mother was silent after that. He didn’t quite understand the conviction in her voice, but he supposed he didn’t need to.

“I’ll let her know, but I’m guessing she’ll probably be okay with that. I’ll let you know tomorrow for sure. I’m assuming there won’t be too many people that come to the funeral. Maybe something small at the cemetery itself rather than a visitation and service if she’s okay with that? More personal, intimate. The day after tomorrow will be too soon, but the day after that, perhaps.”

“Yes. I’m on my way to Rotary Club right now, and I’ll spread the word. A lot of the women there have known Celia for years, and they’ll know who should be notified of the funeral arrangements.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Give her our best.” His mother disconnected, and he stared out at the darkening woods beyond the window for a moment before returning to the living.

Bailey stood just as he approached. “I’m going to bed.” Her voice was as catatonic as her expression, and Michelle hugged her before she stumbled away. They watched her climb the stairs, and when she was out of sight, they sat.

“Michelle, I hate to ask, and if there’s someone else that can go, that’s fine. Hell, I’ll go if you tell me where. But we’re going to have to find a burial dress for Celia, and. . .”

“I can go. I’ll leave tomorrow morning. Bailey will need some clothes anyway. I’ll grab her key from her purse.” Michelle stood and turned toward the door, but she stilled and turned back. “What are your intentions with her?”

He thought for a moment before responding. “That’s more up to her than me at this point. I want her here. And not just Savoy here. Here. My home here.”

“What’s changed?”

“What hasn’t?”

“Her mother dying shouldn’t be the reason you want her to stay.” He didn’t even try to respond. It wasn’t something he was even willing to try to wrap his head around at the moment. She grabbed the keys quickly and let herself out. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and entered his bedroom, ready to curl up next to her. He didn’t intend to find his bed empty. He checked the bathroom before he returned to the hallway. He found her curled up in the spare bedroom, staring at the wall. He wasn’t happy she’d chosen to come in here rather than his bed.

He sat beside her, and she peered up to him. “Please come to my bed.” Her brow wrinkled, but she didn’t argue. She stood, and he led her silently to his bedroom. He crawled in next to her, and she faced him. He kissed her lips, and she kissed back. It was the most response she’d given him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.” Her voice was lurching, and the tears in her eyes were so desperate it hurt. It was panic. She was just lost, and she didn’t know how to find herself. “What do I do now?”

He wanted to say move in, be with him, let him take care of her, but he had no idea how far to push it with her. “Right now, you rest. You don’t need to figure anything out tonight.”

That seemed to pacify her for the time, and she snuggled into his chest. She fell asleep, and he watched her. He brushed the hair away from her face and kissed her brow. He studied every ounce of soft, pale skin on her face. She moaned quietly in her sleep, and he ran the palm of his hand down the side of her face, feeling the smooth, unblemished skin glide like corn silk under his hand, and then he said it. He meant it, but he was also trying it on for size. “I love you.” She murmured incoherently in her sleep, and he closed his eyes, drifting away with her.

Chapter Forty-Eight

When her eyes opened, he was there beside her, breathing quietly as he slept. It was sunny outside, and Macy was sitting beside the bed staring at her. She reached over Darren’s body and scratched the top of Macy’s head. When she pulled her hand back, his eyes were open.

“Hi.” Her voice was hoarse and her throat scratchy from crying the day before. He kissed her on the lips.

“Hi. How about I start a bath and make us some coffee.” She nodded. He climbed from bed still fully dressed, and she realized she was too. She was a bit foggy on everything that had happened the day before. Her mother had died. That was about all she knew with concrete certainty. He walked to the bathroom, returning moments later as she heard the bathtub faucet start. He left the room, and she sat on the side of the bed for a couple minutes, staring at the floor. She felt like a statue. She felt nothing at all at the moment. She knew it wasn’t true. Her heart was breaking, but at the moment, she just felt numb. She should probably enjoy it while it lasted. She wasn’t stupid enough to think the pain wouldn’t come back.

He returned with a couple cups of coffee, and she followed him into the bathroom. He set them both on the wide rim surrounding the large soaker tub, and when he turned to her, he reached for the top button of her dress. He undid each one and pushed the dress off her shoulders to pool at her feet. As he reached around her to unclasp her bra, she looked up to him. They stared at one another for many long seconds, and it wasn’t until her eyes dropped to the floor between them that he finished unclasping her bra. He finally slid her underwear down her hips before helping her into the bath. She was back to silence.

He undressed quickly and sank in across from her. He watched her as he started kneading the soles of her feet. His touch was so perfectly gentle, and she stared at his chest as her body relaxed into his touch. There was nothing at all sexual about it, though his body was aroused. It wasn’t difficult to see through the still water between them, and when he caught her looking, he cleared his throat. She sipped her coffee, and she stared. She had no idea what else to do with herself.

“My mom would like to take you to Jepson’s this afternoon to meet with Bill. Are you okay with that?” He watched her. He seemed nervous. “Michelle is going to Memphis to pack some clothes for you and to find a burial dress for your mom.” She wasn’t responding, and she knew she should. He looked so uncomfortable, and who wouldn’t be? This couldn’t be an easy conversation to have with anyone. “We were thinking a graveside service, perhaps the day after tomorrow.” Her eyes sank to his enlarged arousal, and he cleared his throat again. She just stared, imagining what it was like to make love to him. She wanted that. Something that felt good. Something that hurt in the right way. “Bailey, please answer me.”

She finally looked up to his eyes, and she nodded. “Thank you.” Her emotions were out of reach, and she couldn’t seem to connect what she was supposed to be feeling with how she was behaving. She pulled her feet from him, and he looked at her hesitantly. He seemed so nervous, and she really didn’t intend to make him feel that way. She crawled into his lap, and when he scooted forward and wrapped her legs around his waist, he sighed and nuzzled his mouth against her neck.

She lost track of time, but when he finally drained the tub, she was a prune and the water was cool. She lifted her head from his shoulder, and he smiled gently at her. It was a small smile, and she tried to return it, but her mouth hurt.

“Tell me what you’re thinking?”

She looked at his mouth as it moved. His lips and the shape of his mouth reminded her so much of Jess. It was a pretty mouth. His teeth were straight and white, and she could barely see them past his lips as he spoke. She touched his mouth, trailing her fingers across his lips. He liked to touch her lips. He’d done it many times since her return, and she thought she knew why. There was something incredibly intimate about a mouth. His lower lip was tugged slightly to the side as her finger passed over it, and she watched. She could feel his arousal flexing and twitching between their bodies. He’d made no move to touch her in that way, and she wasn’t sure what to think about it. Of course, she couldn’t seem to figure out how to feel about much of anything at the moment.

“Bailey?” Her eyes flashed to his. He’d asked her something, but she had no idea what. “Sweetie?” Her brow was wrinkled in confusion. She could feel it pinched up as she tried to remember what he’d asked.

“What?”

“Just talk to me. Please. Tell me what you’re thinking. Anything.”

Her eyes moved back to his lips, but then she forced her attention back up to his eyes. “I don’t know. I should know.” She shook her head. She wasn’t sure what to say.

He didn’t push her any further. He helped her from the bath, dried her body, and helped her dress in one of his T-shirts and nothing else before leading her downstairs. She was starting to feel like an invalid, but she was more grateful than she could express that he was just letting her be. He opened the front door but kept the screen door closed. He also opened the French doors to the back deck, again leaving the screen doors closed. It was raining lightly outside, and it was thundering in the distance. Her skin prickled as a cool breeze moved through the house. This was her favorite weather, and she wished she could enjoy this the way she normally would.

He pulled her down to the corner of the large sectional sofa in the living room, and he settled her between his legs, letting her lean back into his chest. He grabbed the quilt from the back of the sofa and pulled it over her legs. She didn’t move a muscle until that afternoon. She slept some of the time. She simply stared at the high ceiling above other times. She listened to him breathe, feeling the rise and fall of his chest behind her. His hand was under the T-shirt she was wearing, splayed over her stomach, gently massaging her skin. His other hand was flipping through a magazine that was lying next to them on the sofa. This was supposed to be her heaven—him, her, quietness.

Michelle stopped by sometime while she was sleeping and left her a large bag of clothes on the entryway floor. Apparently Darren didn’t even rise for that, and it wasn’t until his mother came at three in the afternoon that either of them really moved much. They were facing the front door and entryway, and the moment Jillian materialized at the door, Bailey sat up. She was suddenly nervous. But Jillian smiled warmly at her as she entered, and Darren sat up behind her, nuzzling into the side of her neck before whispering “Relax” in her ear.

She stood and left the room to dress quickly, and before she knew it and before she was prepared for it, she was standing in a room full of coffins at Jepson’s with Jillian on her arm. Jillian used to drag Jess and her around the streets of Eureka Springs on their shopping excursions. She’d link their elbows with hers and drag them from one shop to another, laughing and chatting the entire way. There was no laughing today, and Jess was long gone, but the feel of Jillian’s arm linked with hers was a bizarre sort of nostalgia that left Bailey fighting the tears.

She spent no more than five minutes looking at the coffins before deciding on a sterling silver-colored one. Every time Bill Jepson started giving her details on the coffin, she walked away. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate just how airtight the coffin would stay for how many years, but she could barely handle knowing her mother’s body was going to be in one of these boxes, let alone that there were actually airtightness ratings for such things.

“How much is it?” Jepson just looked at her.

“Dear, he’s been given explicit instructions not to answer those questions. You don’t need to worry about it, and I think it’s a lovely choice.” Jillian squeezed her elbow. Bailey couldn’t help but shake her head and sigh, and the moment she did, Jillian spoke again. “He wants to do this. Don’t feel bad about that.”

“It’s an odd thing feeling grateful and guilty at the same time.” She spoke as she trailed her fingers over the hard sterling surface.

Jillian stopped in her tracks and turned toward her, smiling. “I’m sure this isn’t the time, but it’s important. I want to tell you thank-you.” The confusion must have been quite obvious on Bailey’s face, because Jillian wasted no time continuing. “Thank you for coming home. You may not realize it, but you’ve given Darren back to us.” Her eyes were filled with tears, and Bailey’s suddenly were too. “There was a time I wasn’t sure I’d see him again, but you found him.” She pulled Bailey into a tight hug, also very familiar from years past, and they cried in the middle of the coffin room while Jepson stood by awkwardly.

The rest of the meeting with Jepson floated by in a haze. Jillian answered many of the questions for her, and what questions Bailey did have to answer usually consisted of a one- or two-word response. Jepson showed them the dress Michelle had chosen. It was a cream-colored, flowing fabric dress with a sterling silver crocheted tunic that went over it. The crochet was loose but structured, and the cream-colored fabric beneath showed through beautifully. It was one of her mother’s favorites, and it was perfect. The perfect dress for her uniquely perfect mother to be laid to rest in. She wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. Her mother was already at rest. She was gone to some better place to be with her father. That was all Bailey could allow herself to think.

Darren met them as Jillian pulled into the driveway, and he helped her from the car. Her large bag of clothing was gone from the entryway floor when they came inside, and it wasn’t until she excused herself to go to bed a few hours later after sitting like a statue on the couch all evening that she found her clothes neatly hanging in his closet. She ran her hand over the fabric of her shirts and right onto his shirts—just as though they belonged there. But this wasn’t her home, and warm as it made her insides feel to imagine a life with him in it, she couldn’t quite believe that was possible yet.

There was a nagging question, a suspicion she wasn’t yet willing to put into words. How much had really changed for him? He felt sorry for her. That wasn’t enough. Under the sympathy, they were still broken.

He caught her touching their clothes, and she jumped when she finally realized he was standing there. He walked up behind her—his favorite place to be, she often thought. He reached around her shoulder, pulling out a robin’s-egg blue summer dress. It was fitted on top, and the skirt was slightly pleated. Her mother had bought it for her no more than three weeks before.

“This would look nice for tomorrow,” he murmured against her ear, and she nodded. He hung the dress on the back of the closet door, and she watched as he hung a light-gray plaid suit with a fitted cut on the hook as well. He pulled out a white well-fitted dress shirt, a blue-knit skinny tie, and a pair of black ankle boots. He was going to look stunning, and again, she wished she was in the right frame of mind to actually appreciate it.

She fell asleep a short while later, curled into his body as he read. The rain continued to fall, and he’d opened the French doors that led onto the balcony. It was still light out, but the sky was gray and dreary. Her mind felt that way—like the light was on, but it was a muddled and dull light that made it hard to focus, feel, and think straight. She needed to get out of this cloud, but she knew from experience it would take time.

Chapter Forty-Nine

He watched her. He watched her shower, shave, and wash her body. He watched her blow-dry her hair and brush some lip gloss on her lips, and when she sat on the side of his bed dressed in only underwear and a bra, he watched as she ran lotion up her legs. Her face hadn’t changed the entire morning. Even when her eyes would fill with tears and they’d start to fall, her expression still remained blank. She was beautiful even through her pain. She ended up back in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror before pulling her hair back in a loose bun at the back of her head. She stared at herself some more before chucking the brush into the sink in frustration.

He walked up behind her, gripping her upper arms and shushing her with his lips to her ear.

“I look stupid.”

“You look beautiful.”

Her eyes met his in the mirror. “My hair is a train wreck, I missed a strip of hair on my leg, and I broke the strap on my sandal.” She was speaking with tears in her eyes like a sullen child, and he smiled gently. At least this he could help with. He grabbed her razor and shaving cream and led her to the side of the bathtub. She pointed out the narrow strip of prickly skin on the back of her calf, and he had the completely unnoticeable patch of skin smooth as a baby’s butt in two seconds flat. He pulled out a pair of silver flat sandals from the floor of his closet, chucking the broken tan sandals in the garbage. He stood her back up in front of the mirror and kissed her neck.

“Your hair looks beautiful, but if you complain about it again, I’m going to get your curling iron out and do it for you. I’ve never in my life used one, and I can pretty much guarantee you’ll regret it if I do.” She gave him a small smile, laughing even through her tears at that. She nodded. He nodded.

The rest of the day was very similar to their morning. She was stoic, and he watched. He watched and watched and watched. The funeral was small, and as far as funerals went, perfect. She cried, sobbing silently as they lowered her mother’s casket into the ground, and he brushed his own tears away at nothing more than the pain of seeing her hurting so much. He stood beside her, letting Michelle support her with an arm around her waist as he waited for her to need him. Michelle walked away to greet someone she knew, and Bailey turned toward him, gripping the side of his waist harshly and desperately. She didn’t touch him other than that, and it seemed all she was capable of doing to let him know it was okay to touch her.

He pulled her into his arms, and she let him hold her. Her hand found his lower back under his suit jacket, and he stroked the back of her neck. His parents were there, and his mother smiled through her tears at them. His father squeezed her hand, and after they both hugged her and patted him on the shoulder they were gone.

Walking away from the gravesite was the hardest part for her. She kept looking back. She couldn’t seem to stop looking, and it took them nearly ten minutes to reach his car. She was crying quietly by the time he got her into the car, and she was sitting in a silent stupor by the time they pulled up in front of his home. She sat on the deck for hours that afternoon, and it was dark when she finally came inside. He was trying to give her space, but it wasn’t what he wanted. She sat on the couch next to him, and she laid her head in his lap.

“You’re going to get through this.” He stroked gently over her forehead as she looked up to him. She nodded slightly, but she remained quiet. He’d not heard her voice for hours, and it left the silence in the house unbearable.

She fell asleep eventually, and he carried her upstairs to bed. There was nothing to do but fall asleep when she was like this.

* * *

The next five days were the same. She woke. She slept. She ate. He’d try to talk to her, but he didn’t get much response—one or two words at most and then silence. She snuggled up close to him every night, and it was about as much emotion as he saw. He worked when he was scheduled, and Michelle came over every day to see her, bring her lunch when he wasn’t there, and stay for hours sometimes. She’d sit on the back deck with Bailey and just wait for her to show some sign of life. He’d arrive home from work and join them.

The first night she showed any improvement came on day six after her mother’s funeral. Michelle was over, and they were grilling salmon on the back deck that night. As they sat at the patio table having dinner, they were reminiscing about growing up together in Savoy. Jess came up, and Michelle started talking about the time Jess punched one of the football players for telling Bailey he wanted to “hit that.” He was referring to Bailey’s ass, and he was referring to fucking it. But apparently the phrase “hit that” wasn’t one Jess knew, and she assumed the player was being an asshole. The player was being an asshole, just not the kind of asshole Jess thought he was being. It earned her a one-week suspension at school, and the suspension earned her a one-month grounding at home.

Darren was in college at that point, and he could still remember talking to her on the phone as she railed on and on about the unfairness of life. He’d tried not to laugh at her, but it was hard. He’d instantly called Bailey after he’d hung up with Jess, and he’d ended up staying on the phone with her nearly all night. He used to get hard just talking to her, and there was no limit to what he was willing to do to his body if he happened to be alone while he was talking to her. Some of his best masturbatory orgasms were while he was on the phone with her. She simply didn’t realize it.

Bailey looked up and smiled, laughed quietly as they remembered Jess and just what a spitfire she could be. Both he and Michelle gaped at her sudden smile and laughter, and then they stowed their shock quickly, not wanting to scare her sudden bout of contentment away. Michelle left shortly after that, but her step was lighter, her smile easier as she hugged Bailey good night.

Over the course of the next five days, she made steady improvements. At first it was just a random smile about something, but soon her voice came back, and she started talking again—really talking. He was relieved. Michelle was too, and after dinner one night, after Michelle had left for the evening, he pulled Bailey down to sit between his legs on one of the loungers.

“Kind of nice to see you smile.”

She hummed as she contemplated that. “Why haven’t you touched me?”

Her question took him a bit by surprise. He swallowed, his body already responding. “I didn’t know you wanted me to. You’ve been a bit difficult to read.” He kissed the back of her neck.

“Will you touch me?” Her voice was hesitant and quiet.

“What does it mean to you if I do?” He didn’t need to be told he sounded like a chick when he said that, but he needed to know where things stood with them, and he didn’t like that this was so up in the air.

“Does it have to mean anything? If memory serves, you were the king of meaningless sex.” She didn’t intend to hurt his feelings, but those words cut to the bone.

He stood, walking away as her eyes followed him. He went to bed early, still fully clothed, and fell asleep to bad dreams. She hadn’t followed him, and he was avoiding her because he didn’t want to argue with her.

“Please touch me.” Her voice whispered against his ear, and her hands were in his pants, already touching and stroking him. He was still dressed, but she was naked, and he could feel the warmth of her pussy against his cloth-covered thigh. Her hips moved, and she was pushing herself so greedily against him.

If he hadn’t been hard when she started, he was by the time he woke to her breathy and frustrated voice in his ear. “Bailey.” He mumbled her name as he woke up, and then her lips met his. Her tongue pushed past his lips, and he groaned. He’d needed her touch from the moment he saw her again in the hospital—hell, since the moment she left Savoy—but he wasn’t at all sure this was a good idea under the circumstances. She’d been virtually catatonic for days, and now she was trying to ravish him in the middle of the night after offending him with the truth earlier in the evening.

“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Her hand was stroking his rigid arousal, and she was being rough, desperate. “Stop for a second.” He waited for her to slow the stroke of her hand, and when she was panting beside him, he pulled her hand from him and slid it down between her legs. She parted her thighs, and he guided her fingers between the lips of her sex, letting the moisture coat them both, and when he pushed her own finger in with his, she cried out. His hand was on top of hers, and his finger was buried deep inside her next to her own. He stroked the top of her middle finger with his as he plunged through her silky wet cum.

“This isn’t meaningless. Say it.”

She groaned before she could respond. “This isn’t meaningless.”

“Never with us.” He let his lips brush against her temple. He didn’t expect her to repeat that, but she did. Her voice was breathy and aroused, and he pushed another finger inside her pussy. She was quivering around their fingers, and he pushed slowly as the breadth distended and stretched her.

She started whimpering, her hips writhing as he plunged their fingers in and out. Her stomach and chest rose and fell quickly as she panted and her body readied. And when she finally came, she bit into his shoulder. She lay panting, and he stared down at her, finally seeing a small glimpse of her.

When she reached for the buttons of his shirt, he watched her slowly undo one after the other. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, and before it had even fallen to the bed, she was working on the button and zipper of his pants. She climbed up, pulling his pants and underwear down his legs as he stretched out, and then she straddled him. He could feel the soaking wet moisture of her sex coating his cock as she moved into position, and he rested back with his hands behind his head to watch.

She rocked her hips, sliding the cleft of her pussy along his length, and he groaned at the heat. When she reached the head, she leaned over, planting one hand above his shoulder and using the other to guide his dick to her entry. She slid back down slowly. He could feel that heat enveloping his cock as she pushed deeper and deeper. Her nipples brushing across his chest were just added torment, and when he was fully embedded in her, she pushed down even farther and tightened around him. He cursed, and he hissed, and she watched his reaction. He let her move up and down his length a few times, becoming entranced by her rhythm and her slow, gentle pace, but then he sat up, bringing his face right up to hers. She started to wrap her legs around him, but he stopped her.

“Keep your knees on the bed.” She searched his eyes for a second, but she did. “Lean back, all the way to the bed. Arch your back.” She looked incredible as she arched her back and came to rest with her shoulders and head on the bed between his calves. It stretched out her torso, and he ran his hands along her flat, smooth belly. “Grab my ankles, and use them to push back to me.”

He gripped the sides of her waist, pulling her pelvis tight over his engorged cock. He tightened his buttocks, pushing himself deep, and he used her hips to fuck him. When he leaned over her to pull her nipple into his mouth, she cried out, but her hips started working on their own as he sucked, nipped, and licked the hard, pink peak. He moved to the other side, and by the time he was done there, she was gasping and panting, wriggling against his body. He sat up straight so he could look down on her body, and he turned his attention to her sex. It was the most perfect view of her parted lips and his buried dick. There was a slight swell to her belly where his dick was seated, and he ran his hand over it, pushing down slightly and feeling it on the head of his penis.

When he massaged his way down to her clit, she let out a strangled cry, and her sheath tightened around him. He used one thumb to pull the skin above her clit back, exposing the swollen little nub all the more, and when he licked the pad of his other thumb, she watched. Her hands were tightening on his ankles, and when he touched her clit, her nails dug into him painfully. She started pushing back to him, and he started clenching and releasing his buttocks in rapid succession as he watched his dick sink farther and then pull back. His cock was glistening with her wetness, and as he rubbed gently across her clit, her sheath clenched and trembled around him. As their speed quickened, his finger swirled around her nub, and he used his free hand to push down gently on the swell of her stomach.

Her face looked nearly panicked in her need to explode, and when she did, she screeched and released his ankles, twisting her hands in the sheets. Even stretched back, he could see her taut stomach muscles contracting under her slim waist, and just as her release started to subside, he gripped both her hips, jerking them down hard on his groin as he clenched his butt and drove deep into her. He held the depth as he came, and he crumpled over on top of her, resting his cheek on her chest.

He listened to her heartbeat as it gradually slowed, and when she could move again, she stretched her legs out from their cramped, bent position. She lay stretched out, panting, and he was still bent at the waist over her body as he regained his own breath. He peered up to her face, resting his chin between her breasts, and she tucked her chin down as she looked back at him. He stretched his hand up, running his fingers down her neck and caressing gently across her skin. She sighed, and the sound was so replete he almost sighed himself at just the contentment. When he’d caught his breath enough to sit upright again, he spent many long minutes caressing over the skin of her chest and then farther down to her stomach. He was still inside her, but he was relaxed, and when he caressed over her belly, the swell was gone.

He didn’t want to leave her body, but he finally pulled away. He stood and stretched, and she watched him as she stretched too. She had to be sore, or at the very least stiff. It was a hell of a way to fuck, and he was exhausted. He crawled in next to her, pulling her back to his chest, and rested his hand across her throat, feeling her swallow occasionally. He drifted away.

Chapter Fifty

“Bailey, we need to talk about your plans. Your PO in Memphis is getting antsy, though I suspect he’s always that way. I’ve smoothed things over for the time being, but he expects to know soon if you’re staying in Savoy or moving back to Memphis.”

“How soon does he need to know?” She’d been lying with her head at the foot of Darren’s bed, watching him as he stood naked at the bathroom sink shaving, but when the cordless phone on his nightstand rang and caller ID said it was her old PO, Harold, she had to give up the view—very reluctantly. Now she was lying with her head in the appropriate place, and she was glad. This wasn’t really a conversation she wanted to have with Darren in the room, but she knew if she left, he’d notice, not to mention be offended. It didn’t mean she was going to advertise their conversation, either.

“Soon, Bailey. I know this is hard with your mom just passing away, and I’m sorry that you have to make these decisions, but it’s important that your parole jurisdiction be assigned correctly. Are you wanting to stay in Savoy? If you do, I’ll work with him to get the jurisdiction transferred back here.”

She was listening to the sounds from the bathroom. She recognized them like a long-lost memory from her past. She’d hear the scrape of the razor that sounded more like a coarse brush being run over skin. Then she’d hear the water stir in the sink. Last would be the tap as he cleared the water from the razor before doing it all over again. She didn’t need to see him to imagine what it looked like. Didn’t mean she didn’t miss the profile of his naked body. Her imagination didn’t make up for the sight of his tight, trim stomach, round bottom, and the strong muscles of his arms as he lifted his hand to his face.

“Harold, I don’t know what I want to do.” She said it quietly, and he had to ask her to speak up. “I just don’t know what I want to do.” There was suddenly silence from the bathroom. She’d heard the razor passing over his skin and then nothing. She stared at her naked lap as she waited for him to move again.

“How about I come over and we can talk about it this afternoon? I haven’t seen you since you returned, and we can discuss it more then. Say three o’clock?”

“Sure.”

“You’re still at the address you gave me last week when you called?”

“I am.”

They disconnected, and it was only after he heard her say “good-bye” that he started shaving again. When she walked into the bathroom, he watched her closely. He was still shaving, but his eyes followed her as she grabbed the toothbrush he’d put in the holder for her. She couldn’t shake his gaze, and every time she peered up to him, he was either looking at her or his focus moved quickly to her.

She hopped in the shower, assuming he’d be gone by the time she finished. It wasn’t that she wanted him gone, but he was off in some way. She was too, thanks to the phone call. She didn’t know how to answer Harold, and she didn’t know how to figure it out. Of course she wanted to stay in Savoy, but she also wanted to know there was reason for her to stay. She simply had no idea if things had actually changed since the last time she left. He felt sorry for her, and that was nothing to build a relationship on.

When she stepped out of the shower, he was there, sitting on the counter, naked, aroused, with his gaze searing into her with his dark eyes. She jumped, and he gave her no reaction. He looked entirely too serious given the state of his body. He hopped from the counter, reaching out for her hand. She gave it willingly as he pulled her to the counter, turning her around to face it. His silent, cool demeanor was both intimidating and arousing, and when he reached around her upper arms, pinching her nipples between his fingers, she let out a strangled cry and wet heat flooded her sex. He still remained quiet.

She could feel his arousal against her back when he closed the space between their bodies, and with a hand on her shoulder, he leaned her body forward. Not to the counter, just enough to push her bottom out but keep her upright. There was a throbbing wave of need coursing through her now, and when he reached between her thighs as he leaned down and bit her shoulder, she yelped. He pushed her thighs apart with his hand, and then his fingers were toying with her. He ran them between her lips, tickling and taunting. She was wet, and he hummed in her ear as he massaged the folds of her pussy.

“Aren’t you going to be late?” She didn’t really care if he was, so long as he didn’t leave her in this state.

“No.” Warm breath against her neck as he spoke heightened the intense warmth that was seeping from her body. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No.” He thrust his finger into her just as she said the word, and it came out on a gasp of breath.

“What do you want me to do to you?”

She whimpered. He was going to make her beg. “Fuck me.” Again it came out rasped through a groan as he plunged another finger inside with the first.

“Such language for a sweet little thing like you. Try again.”

“Make love to me.”

“Now, that I like.” He pulled his fingers from her, and when he started rubbing his cockhead through her moisture, he leaned to her ear, watching her closely in the mirror. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the sound of the word fuck when you’re moaning it as I pound into you.” He moved to her other shoulder, kissing it gently before looking back to her in the mirror. “But I’m concerned you may be confused on exactly what it is we’re doing together.” His voice was deep, slow, and simply oozing with masculine control. “Keep those palms on the counter.” She nodded, and then she felt the pressure.

He was pushing into her, distending her and slowly forcing his way up into her body. There was nothing quite like the filling sensation as he entered her body. She just watched him in the mirror over her shoulder. His hands were on her hips, and her palms were on the counter. His grip was tight, and he was holding her in place as he moved up into her.

She was quite certain she had no business allowing this to happen when she was so thoroughly confused about her place in his life, but with his erection planted firmly in her gut, there was no denying him. His eyes were intense, his expression was likewise, and as he pulled out, almost leaving her, his expression didn’t change. This was calculated torture—blissful torture.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?” He pushed slowly into her again as he spoke.

She groaned. “Harold. My PO.”

“What were you talking about?” He slid gently back out again. She said nothing for a moment, and he sank back into her core. “Answer me.” He pushed marginally deeper, and it ached as he pushed her limits.

“Darren!” It was strangled as it came out.

“Tell me.” He froze in place, waiting. The fullness was almost painful but so incredible.

“He asked if I was returning to Memphis.” Darren’s lips twitched in a snarl for a moment before he pulled out of her entirely. His teeth nipped her earlobe, and she started panting. She was empty, and she hated it. He was trying to drive her insane, and he was doing a damn fine job at it.

“And what did you tell him?” He pushed just the head in, teasing her entry.

“Please.” She wasn’t begging him to stop questioning her; she was begging him to fuck her, and she expected he knew it perfectly well.

“No. What did you tell him?”

“I said I didn’t know.” She forced herself to hold his eyes. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.

“Don’t you?” He inched in as he studied her and waited for a response.

“No.” He pulled her hips back as he ground his pelvis against her bottom.

He stilled, studying her, and she watched as he swallowed over a lump in his throat. She had no idea what he was thinking, but after he stared at her for a few moments, he gave up whatever the fight was, if one could call it that, and he started plunging, pounding, and forcing himself up into her. She kept her palms in place, and he used one hand to tease and rub her clit, while his other gently gripped the front of her neck, holding her body still with his chest to her back. He watched her in the mirror, never looking away from her eyes as he humped. She could feel his breath against her neck as his breathing sped and lurched. Hers did too, and when his jolting thrusts put her over the edge, and his fingers that were stroking her sent her mad, she collapsed against the countertop, spasming in torrents of pleasure. He thrust hard to her center one last time, and with gritted teeth and a pained look on his face, he came inside her.

He was bent over her collapsed body, breathing against the back of her neck. She could feel his chest rising and falling against her back, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart as he relaxed.

“Stay.” He stood, stepping away from her and moving beside her, clutching the edge of the countertop in his hands. He stared at his own reflection as he waited for her to say something. He looked horrified or maybe terrified. Whatever it was, it wasn’t happiness.

She righted her posture. She hated this. She loved him. She wanted him, and he was asking her to stay. She could have what she wanted. He was standing there, watching, waiting for her to give in, but there was no ignoring what wasn’t being said.

“Do you forgive me? Have I suffered enough to make up for what I took from you?” Her voice was shaky, and she could barely look at him. She swallowed over a lump in her throat, and she could feel her brow wrinkling. She waited, knowing this was going to hurt.

“I. . .” He shook his head as though he were stunned, confused. “I’m not angry . . . anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. I just. . .” His voice was lurching, and he was breaking her heart. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear—what she needed to hear. She hadn’t expected it would be.

“No, it’s fine. I understand. I shouldn’t have asked.” Her words were rushed out quietly as the knot in her stomach left her wanting to double over in pain. But rather than share her pain, she stood beside him for a moment. His body was rigid, and she was chewing viciously on the inside of her cheek to keep her reaction calm. “It’s okay.” She turned and walked out. It wasn’t okay, and it was never going to be.

She tossed a T-shirt on, and she escaped downstairs. Soon she had coffee brewing as she stood stunned and disheartened in his kitchen. He’d not come down yet, but she knew he wouldn’t be long. He was cutting it close to get to the hospital on time, and when he finally appeared, he looked as awful as she felt. He approached her as she stood at the counter. He fidgeted for a moment, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he looked at the floor.

“Will you be here tonight?” He’d never once asked her that question since he brought her back here. It was assumed, and he didn’t question it. She nodded, but she was struggling to look at him. He kissed her forehead quickly before he turned and walked away.

She had Michelle on the phone the moment she heard him start his car.

“What is wrong with me?”

“You’re fabulous. You have, however, been through a lot lately, so if you’re expecting me to rail against you and pick out all your flaws, you picked the wrong friend to call.”

“You’re my only friend. My options were limited.”

“Honey, I’m thrilled you’re so conscious after a week of being a zombie, but I hate what you’re asking. I love you. I think you’re amazing, and I can’t imagine where this is coming from.”

“Darren and I—”

“I should have known.” She groaned.

“He wants me to stay, and he’s been amazing this past week. But . . . well, I just had to ask. And now I’m miserable.”

“Ask what?”

“If he’d forgiven me.”

She listened to Michelle inhale deeply, and it was many long seconds before she responded. “Do I want to know how he responded?”

“I wouldn’t be miserable if he’d said yes.”

Michelle groaned in frustration. Bailey understood how she felt. “I don’t understand that man! He loves you so much. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind, but he is just . . . just—”

“Hurting.”

“I was going to say in denial. And hurting, I suppose.” She was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Bailey.”

It was Bailey’s turn to be silent for a moment. “Michelle, I can’t stay without it.” Her eyes teared as she said it. She hated what she was saying.

“I know you can’t.” Michelle’s voice was quiet.

“I can’t wonder when he will, if he will. I can’t spend my life hoping he can find it in himself to. It’s not a matter of whether I deserve it or not. I just can’t live like that. If I stayed, I would just be waiting for it to fall apart. And knowing us, it would fall apart in a spectacular disaster.”

“You shouldn’t have to go through that just because you love him. What are you going to do?”

“Harold is coming over this afternoon at three. I’m going to tell him then that I intend to go back to Memphis.”

“You don’t have to go back to Memphis. You don’t have anyone there. Move in with me.”

“If I’m here, I’ll see him. If I see him, it’ll torment me. I can’t.”

There was little else to say, and by the time they hung up, Michelle sounded as sad as Bailey felt. Time to run away again. Nothing had changed. They were still destined to destroy one another. How could nothing ever change for them?

Chapter Fifty-One

“Are you prepared to lose her today?” He stood stunned, still with a stethoscope to old Jerry McHenry’s chest as Michelle tore the curtain back. “Well? Are you?” Her voice was shrill, and her arms were crossed on her chest. She stood there tapping her foot on the floor as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

“You realize this is restricted access? How did you get back here?”

“I told the nurse I felt faint.”

“And do you feel faint?”

“Yes, now that you mention it, I do.” It wasn’t Michelle. Jerry was a frequent flyer. He was also the world’s biggest hypochondriac. Darren could suggest just about any malady to the man, and he’d be certain he was dying of it within five minutes.

“Jerry, you came in concerned that a splinter was gangrenous—which it’s not, by the way.” Then turning back to Michelle, he cocked his head, waiting for some sort of explanation as to why she was barging in on him.

“Fine, I’m not faint. But I will be if you are this stupid!” He studied her, refusing to feed her crazy until she started explaining herself. “Her old PO is coming over at three this afternoon, and she’s going to tell him she’s going back to Memphis! And do you know why she’s going back to Memphis?”

His face dropped, and he muttered, “I think I have an idea.”

“Well, is your idea that you’re an idiot? ’Cause guess what? You’re an idiot!” Michelle suddenly harrumphed, turned on her heel, and stormed away from him.

“I think that girl might have been crazy, Dr. Cory. Is she from the mental ward?”

“We don’t have a mental ward, Jerry, but she is most definitely crazy.” He struggled to get through the next thirty minutes with Jerry as his splinter issue turned into concerns that he might have West Nile virus, or Ebola, or hell, anthrax poisoning. And once he’d discharged the man, he escaped to the doctor’s lounge, grabbing his cell phone and flopping down on the couch.

“She’s leaving. She’s leaving because I don’t know how to forgive her. Hell, what does it even mean anyway? I care about her. I love her. I want her to be happy, and safe, and cared for, and not one ounce of who I am now wants her to suffer or feel guilty. Why isn’t that enough?” He was speed talking, and his mother was letting him.

“Oh, Darren.” She sounded sad. Of course she sounded sad. Her son was acting like a child again who couldn’t figure out how to function in the world.

“What do I do? Tell me because I can’t lose her again.” He was pleading for help. He was lost, and he felt as though his life was crumbling from beneath him.

“Darren, what makes you think you haven’t forgiven her already?”

“Oh gee, I don’t know. The fact that I acted like an ass when she asked me if I had. I started stuttering like a fool, and I couldn’t figure out what to say. I’d say that’s a good sign I’m not ready to forgive her.”

“You need to understand something. Forgiveness isn’t an emotion. It’s an action, and it’s a choice. It’s the choice to not let the past affect how you feel about her. If you’re waiting for some emotional epiphany, it’s not going to happen.”

“I love her—as much now as I ever have. That’s how I feel about her.”

“Then what makes you think you haven’t already made the choice to forgive her? You know, your forgiveness of her isn’t linked to your own healing. You’re still healing, and frankly, you’re a bit behind schedule because you weren’t willing to deal with any of it until she came back.” There was a sarcasm to her voice that had his mouth pulling up slightly. She was oh so very right about that. “You’re sad when you think about your sister. I understand that. It doesn’t mean you’re not able to forgive Bailey. It doesn’t have to affect the way you feel about her.”

“It doesn’t—not at all. I believed it did. I thought it was supposed to, but . . . it just doesn’t. I can’t stop loving her even when I try.”

“Sometimes I feel like you’re waiting to stop hurting—like your pain makes you think you’re incapable of forgiving her. You’ve linked these things as though you can’t have forgiveness for her until you’re whole again. The two just aren’t related, Darren.”

“I want to forgive her.” His voice was quiet.

“Then I’ll ask you again, what makes you think you haven’t already? Seems to me you have this forgiveness thing in the bag. I mean, you’ve gone from loathing her to loving her in a matter of months, and while it’s been rocky, you’re still here fighting for her, and she’s still here too. You need to give yourself more credit, and you need to work on your self-awareness skills.” Sarcasm again, and he let himself smile that time.

He chuckled for a moment. His heart was thumping, and the tension was tight in his chest. The one thing he needed in life was being threatened, and he felt as though he might lose his mind if he lost her again. But he just wasn’t sure he could do this. Love her, piece of cake. Forgive her, it was apparently a concept he was still trying to understand.

Chapter Fifty-Two

“Oh, Bailey. It’s good to see you, dear.” He hugged her warmly, and she ushered him into the living room. “One of my favorites, you know that?”

“Is that your professional opinion, Harold?”

“Oh, heck, girl. I’m too close to retirement to worry about the professional part of my job. You’re a good kid. You’ve been a joy.”

“You realize I’m on parole for vehicular homicide, right?”

He chuckled for a moment. “You realize I cheat at golf every time I play, and I have a shit short game. No one’s perfect. We do the best we can.”

“Harold.” He peered at her, and he must have seen the seriousness in her expression because his face suddenly looked concerned. “I think I need to go back to Memphis.”

“You think, do you?”

She nodded. “I know. I think maybe being alone will be good for me for a while. Self-sufficient, independent.”

He smiled, but he shook his head. “People say that about relationships when they break up, not in reference to isolating themselves in a town where they know no one.”

“It’ll be an adventure.” She was trying to sound convincing.

“That it’ll be for sure.” He wasn’t buying it, given the look on his face. “You realize your PO there isn’t your biggest fan. Don’t know what you did to piss him off, but boy, does that man dislikes you.”

“I think I said ‘duh’ at an inopportune time.”

He chuckled. “So, you know I’ve seen your file, right?” She nodded. “And you know it’s my job to look into things like where you’re staying and whose phone number it is you give me to reach you at when you arrive in town. You can’t possibly think I missed whose name is on the mailbox.” Her eyes instantly teared, and he looked guilty. “Is that what you’re running from?” She shook her head. It was a lie. Of course she was running from him.

“Crazy to think we could be friends. Crazier to think we could be more.” She glanced at him, looking for the incredulity, but there was nothing but a sweet smile.

“Not a crazy bone in your body.”

She stared at the couch between them, and she fought the emotion roiling under the surface. She didn’t want to face the world alone. She wasn’t ready to accept that her mother was gone. She wasn’t ready to walk back into their apartment and deal with her memories. But then, she’d never been ready for any of the bullshit that had happened in her life. Instead of fighting the emotion, she gave up, letting the tears sit on the lower rims of her eyelids.

“You’re decided, huh?”

She nodded her head as her nose scrunched up to fight the tears. “Afraid so.” She could barely get the words out, and she looked away as her tears fell.

He took her hand and held it. He said nothing for a long while, and she stared out the window, letting her tears fall with no restraint.

“Like I said, one of my favorites.” He patted her hand, and she turned back, forcing a teary-eyed smile to her face. “So now, what’s with the clothes? Looks like you’re ready to run a marathon?” He was trying, and he usually succeeded, to lighten the mood.

She laughed. “Marathon? No, not me. A good jog can do wonders for the brain, though.”

“So I’ve heard. As I’ve mentioned, I prefer to burn my calories cheating on the golf course.” He had her laughing again as they stood. She walked with him to his car with Macy in tow. He hugged Bailey tightly, and she was left fighting the tears again. Before he pulled away, he tugged the ponytail that was holding her hair back. “For the record, no one’s better off alone.”

She stood back as he climbed into his car—her contradiction-in-terms parole officer who treated her more like a grandchild than a convict. She watched as his car rolled away from her down the long driveway, disappearing into the thick woods.

“Come on, Macy. One last run. Just you and me, girl.” Macy barked, bounced, and bounded into the woods and down the trail.

Chapter Fifty-Three

He slammed on the brakes as he rounded a bend in his lane and came bumper-to-bumper with an economical-looking sedan with an older man behind the wheel. He didn’t need to meet the man to know who he was. He’d left the hospital as early as he could, but it wasn’t early enough, and now here was the man he’d been trying to catch up to. Not him so much as her before she could get to him.

They jockeyed their cars around on the narrow lane to pass one another, and when they were side-by-side, he stopped and rolled his window down. The man had a kind face, and from what Bailey had mentioned to him of her PO, he was good to her—far more so than he’d been.

“She’s leaving?”

“This really isn’t a conversation I should be having with you.”

“Does it really matter at this point?”

The man studied him for a moment, and he finally smiled. “How about you talk her out of it for us both. Hate to lose my favorite parolee.” He winked at Darren and nodded his head before he rolled his window back up without another word. His car ambled down his lane, and Darren watched him in the rearview mirror for a moment before he put his SUV back in gear.

He hollered for her the moment he got inside. He was terrified of having this conversation, but he was more terrified of losing her. His home was empty, and her running shoes were gone. He dressed quickly and took off down the path. It was hard not to think about the day he found her bloody and hurt on the trail, and he focused on his legs, moving forward and getting closer to her. He didn’t know if she was upset or not. He didn’t have a clue what to expect at all.

The run had never taken so long in his life, though his pace was likely faster than usual. He was just desperate to get to her before the decision she’d already made was concretely set in her mind. He couldn’t allow himself to believe her mind was made up. Not when there was so much yet for him to say, and so much she needed to understand.

When he came into the clearing at the outcropping, she was there. She was sitting still as a statue near the edge of the outcropping where it fell away below. Macy sat next to her, quiet and calm—not at all Macy’s style.

“Bay.” He panted as he came to a stop ten feet from her. Her eyes flashed to him, and he saw the tears. They were beautifully restrained. She wasn’t crying, she wasn’t shaking in hitching sobs at all. She was just sitting. Her expression was distant and oddly calm. She smiled weakly at him, and his heart melted.

“Can I tell you a story?” Her voice was strong, and he just watched her. “About a little girl who had a crush on a boy once—a very, very special boy.” She smiled again through the tears that had started to trickle down her cheeks. He was having a hard time not joining her. “She told her best friend once she was going to marry him someday.” She was lost in a recollection he knew nothing about, and her face was peaceful as she talked. “Her best friend was excited because that would make them sisters. Of course, they were only twelve and that was a big deal to them.” Her tears started falling freely then, and his eyes watered.

“Bailey—” It was all he could manage, but she cut him off quickly.

“But that little girl made a mistake—the most unforgivable mistake, and she destroyed the only man she’d ever loved and had ever wanted to love.” Her breath hitched, and then she let out a sob. Just one sob that she couldn’t rein in.

But that’s all it took for him. “No! She didn’t screw up. He did.” He closed the space between them, dropping to his knees beside her and pulling her face to look at him. “I did.” He was looking for her understanding. “I did. Me.” He stared at her as he waited for something, but she just looked back, her tears falling to her cheeks.

When he sat down facing her side, he pulled her onto his lap to straddle him. His hands found her cheeks again, and he held her still, looking at her, pleading with her to understand what he was saying. “Stay.”

“Darren. . .” She shook her head, and his guts clenched.

“Stay.”

“I can’t.” Her voice was hitching.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t think you want this for the right reasons.”

“I love you. What’s wrong with that reason?”

“You don’t love me.”

“I. Love. You.”

“No! You used to love me.”

“I love you still. I love you again. I just love you. I’ve always loved you.” He was speaking passionately, and he wouldn’t release her cheeks.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yes. This is not some memory. I’m not reminiscing. I loved you then, and I’ve fallen completely in love with you all over again. Stay. Please. I’m begging you to give me a chance.”

“Darren . . . I’m scared you’re going to hurt me.” She was sobbing, and the words she spoke were the most painful words he’d ever heard in his life. His insides knotted in desperation.

“I know you are.” His voice was the one lurching and stuttering in barely stifled emotion this time. “I’ve withheld what you’ve needed most from me, and I’ve been so wrong to do it.” She watched him, her brow furrowed, and her lips pursed. “I forgive you.”

He studied her eyes, and she shook her head. “No, you don’t. You can’t, and I understand—”

“I forgive you. I do. And I will do whatever I have to do to convince you of that. I will never let our past stand in the way of our future. I promise you. Whatever it takes.” His own tears were threatening to fall, and he watched as her shoulders shook as she cried. He pulled her body to his, clutching her in his arms. “I forgive you.” He kept repeating it, thinking it had to sink in. She had to understand. And when he pulled back to look at her face, her stunning eyes glistened, and she touched his lips, but he had more to say. “There was a moment, the day you stood on my second-floor landing, and you showed me just how ugly I’d become. And in that moment I was so ashamed of how I’d spoken about you, and I realized I hated the person I’d become, and more than that, I didn’t feel any of that—not one ounce of the cruel things I said were a reflection of how I felt about you; it was a reflection of how I felt about me, about who I’d become, about my life, about everything . . . everything but you. I’ve figure something out, and I’m not going to forget it. I’m allowed to forgive you. I know that now. It just took me some time to figure it out.” He tried for a smile, but as his cheeks tightened, a tear fell down, and her lips trembled. It was a start.

Her fingers trailed gently over his lips again, and he waited. They were sitting on top of the world with the beautiful hills and lake and trees surrounding them. It was their world, and they belonged in it together.

“I love you.” She whispered it as she looked at his lips.

“Then stay.”

She swallowed, and her brow flinched. He could feel his lips trembling, and his cheeks were wet with his own tears. But then she nodded, and her head sank to his shoulder. His arms tightened around her, and he breathed deeply for what felt like the first time in years.

Part IV: Finding Peace

Epilogue

Most couples don’t start out their relationship in therapy, but it was exactly how they started out theirs and quite intentionally. Every week they would meet with a counselor together. He was long overdue in coping with the loss of his sister, and she was long overdue in forgiving herself just as much as he was. He never once went without her, and she never went without him. They certainly had their own personal needs, but there wasn’t an ounce of what he struggled with that he didn’t want her to know about and be a part of.

Months and months of talking, laughing, remembering, forgiving, and loving one another, and he still felt like he learned something new about them constantly, and he loved the added depth that came with time. What he also learned was that there was no question that he belonged to her, and she belonged to him too. She always had. He always had. His love wasn’t something that could fade, and there was no threat of his anger and his pain destroying them anymore. He worried at first, and he knew she did too, but with time came peace.

He’d learned he was more than capable of being furious with her and not going or even wanting to go to his past to find ammunition to hurt her. She’d made the mistake one day, six months after she was officially a Savoy resident again living with him, of stopping her bike on the side of a winding bend in the road to look for a doe that had darted in front of her. She’d only just hopped off her bike and taken a few steps toward the woods when a truck flew around the bend, driving entirely too far on the shoulder of the road and smashing into her bike.

She hadn’t even bothered calling him, likely knowing he’d be upset that she put herself at risk, and when he’d seen the mangled mess of metal sitting by their porch stairs when he returned from work, he’d panicked. She was inside, pacing nervously back and forth. He yelled for ten minutes straight, and she’d watched him, breathing deeply and calmly. Perhaps yelling was wrong, but what wasn’t wrong was why he was upset. He was upset for the right reasons, and he didn’t go looking in their past for a reason to be angry. He never wanted to anymore. He spent the rest of the evening making up with her and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

They were still gawked at occasionally when they were seen together, and since they usually went everywhere together, it was a regular occurrence. He didn’t like the cloud that hung over her in this town, but they’d decided they’d stay for a few more years—at least until she was finished with parole. Instead of spending his time worrying about the odd onlooker who liked to study them, he preferred to give them a show. Grabbing her ass in public was a good way to raise a few eyebrows, but his favorite was a passionate kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. As it turned out, people found it hard to stare directly at a woman when she had a man’s tongue in her mouth.

A year after she moved in, he was ready. Or perhaps to say he was ready wasn’t quite the right word. He’d always been ready to marry her. What had changed was that he was at a place where he trusted himself with her completely. He knew he could give her what she needed, and he knew she believed in him too. They sweated their asses off on a run to the outcropping, and when she was walking in circles trying to catch her breath, he pulled the ring from his pocket. It was the most appropriate place he could think of to ask her. It was where he’d given her what she needed to stay, and it was where he’d given himself what he needed to heal. Forgiveness.

He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and holding his hand up for her to see. The ring barely fit on the tip of his index finger, and when she saw the diamond sparkling at her as it picked up and radiated the sun that was still high in the sky, she gasped and started to sob.

She touched it, running her hand up the palm of his. He bit the side of her neck gently, and her breath lurched. “Marry me.” He whispered it in her ear, and she turned toward him, smiling as her tears kept falling. Her face was pink and flushed from the run, and she was still panting, but she nodded, and then she nodded some more. Macy bounced and barked her way in circles around them as he held her in his arms. “I love you, Bailey. Always have.”

Now, he watched her sleeping in their bed as he tried to concentrate on a book. It was impossible. He was almost twelve hours away from marrying her, and he was anxious. This wasn’t bad anxiety, though; it was absolute impatience to make her officially his. His vows were written, nothing more than a list of words—his best words for her, their game. She was the other half of his heart, and he knew with her as his partner, he’d be whole.

He watched her as she slept peacefully. He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t want to wake her, and so he abandoned his book and lay down beside her, rolling to his side to study her face. He smiled as she purred contentedly, a warm humming sound that reminded him of making love to her.

He reached for the nightstand lamp, pausing when his eyes caught on the picture of them. It had once been hidden away in the drawer, a reminder of her that he tried to ignore but never could seem to. Now it was framed and sitting under his lamp. He looked at it. It was impossible not to smile now when he saw her laughing face and his mischievous grin as he looked at her. He’d been so enamored by her, even then. They were once again the couple in that picture. They smiled, they laughed, they loved one another the way they were supposed to, and they remembered their past without letting it destroy them. Jess’ picture was beside theirs, and he studied it for a moment too. She smiled at him, and he could hear her laughing in his mind.

He flipped the switch on the lamp, and he curled around Bailey’s body as she murmured.

* * *

“I think I’m gonna marry Matt Damon someday.”

Bailey turned to Jess, trying not to giggle. “Why Matt Damon?”

“I feel like maybe he’s my soul mate. Like Sonny and Cher or Simon and Garfunkel.” Now there was no stopping the laughter, and Bailey rolled to her side as Jess hit her with a pillow. “I’m serious!”

“Hmm . . . Well, I’m going to marry your brother someday.”

“Eww! Not my brother. That’s so gross.”

“It’s supposed to be gross because he’s your brother. He isn’t my brother.”

“Oh! Then you’d be my sister!” She squealed, and Bailey laughed.

“Yes! And Matt Damon would be my brother!” They giggled as they lay on the floor of Jess’ room staring up at the life-size poster of Matt on her ceiling, and they stared as their laughter died until the door was suddenly pushed open.

“What are you two giggling about?” Darren stood in the hallway with his arms crossed on his chest, but he wasn’t mad. He was never mad at her. Jess, sure. But Bailey, never. He smiled at her, shaking his head as his eyebrows shot up in amusement.

“Nothing.” Her voice was quiet. It was always quiet when he was around.

“It’s a secret, Dare. Get lost,” Jess muttered from her other side, but Bailey’s eyes were glued to him.

He rolled his eyes, but then he was smiling at her again. “Well, I can hear you two laughing from the family room.”

“Sorry.” Again, she couldn’t seem to talk above a whisper.

“No, she’s not. She’s not sorry at all.”

“Love ya, sis. Good night, Bay.”

“Good night.” He watched her for a moment.

“Love you too, Dare. Now get out!”

He flashed one more beautiful smile at her, and then he was gone. She was serious. She was going to marry him someday.

She sat bolt upright in bed, gasping as she woke, and he instantly pulled her into his arms. “You’re okay. Bad dream?”

“No. Really, really good one. Memory, actually.”

He flipped on the nightstand light, and Macy perked up. She was curled up at the foot of their bed, and knowing her crazy ass, she’d be up holding her leash in her mouth in no time expecting a run. The clock said it was two thirty in the morning. There would definitely be no running.

He kissed her. She loved his kisses. They could get out of control quickly with them, but there were times when it was just a kiss—perfect, sweet, loving. His hand moved up the inside of her thigh. This was apparently not going to be the innocent kind of kiss. She was still naked from their previous bout of kisses-gone-awry. Just the touch of his fingers moving gently over her skin, and she was wet within seconds. He slipped his finger between her lips, and she dropped her knees out.

“That’s my girl.” He was murmuring against her temple, and he pushed a finger inside her body, groaning as he nipped at her neck.

“Wait!” His eyes flashed to her, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this before the wedding.”

“Maybe we should have made that decision two years ago when we started making love rather than the night before our wedding.” He smirked, and she smiled.

“Please.”

He groaned, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But if I have to give up making love to my fiancé one last time before she becomes my wife, then I get to play instead.” She quivered around his fingers at the thought. “God, I love how beautifully expressive your body is.” He hummed as he leaned down to kiss her again. “I’ve loved you forever.” His eyes were dark and serious.

“I love you too.” They watched one another for a moment. “She’d be happy for us, right?” She knew the answer to that question, but she still liked to hear the answer from him.

“More than happy. There isn’t a doubt in my mind. Now are you going to tell me about this really good dream of yours?”

“It’s a secret.” She smiled shyly at him.

“Girls and their secrets. Very well. We’ll see if I can’t get it out of you.”

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back as his mouth moved down her neck, and his fingers started to explore. She listened to the giggles of two young girls from another lifetime, and she smiled. She was going to marry this man—the man she’d loved forever.

About the Author

Elizabeth Finn is an Iowa native, where she lives with her husband and son. Elizabeth loves all things romance and enjoys immersing herself in the world of writing contemporary erotic romance stories. Look for more to come from Elizabeth Finn.

http://www.elizabethfinnfiction.com

Taliesin Publishing thrives on introducing you to new authors and stories. If you enjoyed this book, please continue reading for excepts of other stories releasing soon we think you’ll love. And if you do, please spread the word.

Taliesin Publishing

Where great stories give birth to legends.

Content

Unforgiven
by
Elizabeth Finn

Part I: Falling from Grace

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Part II: Into Unknown Waters

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Part III: Running Away

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Part IV: Finding Peace

Epilogue

About the Author