A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2)

by Jennifer Probst

  “Really?”

  He shoved the rest of the scone into his mouth. “Yeah. With garlic bread. Might as well throw in some of those nice gravy bones for the mutt. He may like them.”

  “I really appreciate your willingness to help, Patrick. But I have great news.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “I finally found a place for the dog. I can take him back now.”

  Patrick stared at her, a touch of panic lighting his features. “What do you mean? You said he had nowhere to go!”

  She shrugged. “We got a shelter to agree to take him. It’s really too bad, though. Lord knows what will happen to him there. Wanna pack up his stuff?”

  As if he sensed danger was near, Charlie picked up his head and sniffed the air. Regarded his new owner with those big brown eyes. Ophelia swore if her practical joke didn’t work out, she’d bake all the chicken parm Patrick wanted to make him keep the dog.

  “Wait a minute. He can’t go to a shelter. They’ll kill him!”

  Harper only dealt with no-kill shelters, but there was no reason to tell Patrick that.

  She gave another shrug. “They’ll do their best to get him a home before his time expires. At least he’ll finally be out of your hair. I appreciate you taking him.”

  “So you’re just gonna let him die? For no reason other than he’s old, a bit broken, and has no family who’ll claim him? Just lock him in some cage for the last few days of his life and hope for the best? That’s your solution?”

  Fascinated, she watched a rare bubble of emotion spill over Patrick’s usually tightly contained facade. She wished Kyle were there. This is what he needed to see—that Patrick still held the vulnerability of humanity—and that it didn’t have to come from lashing out or drowning in drink.

  “Well, you could keep the dog. It’s the only way to ensure his health and safety, but I understand if it’s too much for you.”

  He spun away, cursing.

  Charlie let out a whimper, jumped off the couch, and limped over to nudge his master’s leg. It had only taken a short time for Patrick to break down the dog’s barriers and allow himself to try and love again. Ophelia held her breath and hoped.

  “Fine. I’ll take him,” Patrick said, distractedly patting the dog’s head.

  She let out her breath. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Does this mean no chicken parm?”

  She crossed her arms and regarded him suspiciously. “Only if I’m asked and not blackmailed.”

  He didn’t even look sheepish. “Of course. I really do like chicken parm. And Charlie likes the bones you use for your gravy.”

  “I may be able to manage that. Also, they have a great dog park in town. Charlie may like it.”

  She emphasized the dog’s name, but Patrick just shrugged. “Had to call him something. Seemed like a good enough name.”

  She smiled, her heart light. “I’ll drop by with dinner tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Has Kyle asked about me?”

  She froze, but told the truth. “I tried to ask him to come visit you once, but he refused. He’s stubborn. He needs some time to think of you as someone other than a parent who hurt him.”

  Patrick nodded. “I get it. There’s something I want you to give him, though. Something important.”

  He trudged into the dining room and picked up a cardboard box. “Tell him I should’ve given this to him a long time ago. Tell him it was all my fault. Okay?”

  She blinked, then swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ll tell him.” She took the box, called out a goodbye to Charlie, and left the dog and man in the house behind her.

  When she got back to the inn, Kyle was waiting for her. He took the box from her arms and set it on the table. “Ethan and Mia want to go to Bea’s Diner tonight for dinner. You up for a burger and fries?”

  “Sounds perfect. What time?”

  “Around seven. Do you need me to bring this box somewhere?”

  She shrugged off her coat and squeezed his hand. “It’s for you. From your dad.”

  He blinked. “You went to see him again? Why?”

  She let out a breath. “Remember that dog Harper couldn’t find a home for? I mentioned it a few weeks ago?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your dad took him in for me.”

  Those forest-green eyes hardened. “Why the hell would he have done that? Patrick’s not great with animals—or kids. Hell, he’s not good with humans. He can barely take care of himself, let alone a dog.”

  She gave a small laugh. “I promised it’d only be a few days, but it ended up being much longer. Let’s just say I bribed him with some home cooking. Anyway, I found him playing with the dog in the backyard. They’ve obviously formed a bond. Patrick was smiling.”

  Kyle tightened his lips. “He doesn’t smile.”

  “He was. He was laughing. I told him I was there to take the dog to the shelter, just to play a joke on him. Sure enough, he agreed to keep him permanently. It was sweet.”

  He turned away from her. The line of his shoulders stiffened. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  She reached out and rubbed his arm. “After the last time we talked about your dad, I figured you wouldn’t want to know. But he asked about you again. He wanted me to bring you this box and tell you he was sorry, that it was ‘all his fault.’”

  He spit out a curse. Glanced at the box. “There’s nothing he can give me that will take back what was done.”

  “I know. But talking to him may help give you some closure.”

  “How many times did I hide at your house because I was afraid to go home? Afraid that in one of his drunken tirades he might actually beat the crap out of me instead of just giving a slap here and there? How about the time he found me in the basement looking at pictures, desperate to see a photo of my mother? Do you remember that?”

  Anguish filled her, but his pain was his right. She nodded. “I do.”

  “He ripped them away from me. Said there’d be no reminder of her any longer because she was dead. She was dead because of me. And then he burned them. I have only one picture of my mother that I was able to steal. I hid it under my pillow every night, terrified he’d take it from me.”

  She stepped into his arms, offering him warmth and comfort. He took it. Buried his face in her hair and held her tight. The years ghosted away, and she was back to her real home—in his arms—where everything made sense and nothing else was needed.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He trembled slightly, and she pressed kisses over his rough cheek, stroking the scruff hugging his jaw, offering comfort with her body and open heart. His lips found hers, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue thrusting sweetly inside her mouth. She arched up, going on tiptoes, trying to get closer to his warm, muscled strength. Then they both fell into the embrace in a slow, glorious, emotional slide of pleasure.

  He lifted her, took her into her bedroom, laid her gently on the quilt, and tugged off her clothes with a quiet intensity. She ran her hands over his sleek, heated skin, pushed his jeans down over his hips so he lay bare to her touch.

  Whispering her name like a prayer, his gaze delved deep into hers. He held her under his spell as he slowly pressed deep inside her. The stretching, glorious heat ripped a moan from her lips. She half closed her eyes, but he gripped her chin, forcing her to lift her lids, forcing her to share every iota of pleasure he wrung from her body.

  The ride was slow and sweet, intense and wild, a crazed combination of soft and hard. The carnality of flesh slapping against flesh, the driving piston of his hips, the panting of breath against damp lips, the musky scent of sweat, sex, and spice lingering in the air. She twisted her fists in the sheet as her orgasm drew near, then shattered her. She refused to close her eyes and hide. She gave him what he’d always had.

  Everything.

  He came, spilling his seed, jerking helplessly as he gripped her with ferocious need. They fell back on the pil
lows, still entwined, the afternoon light streaming through the windows—adding to the decadence of their intimacy.

  “Best vacation week ever,” he drawled, his arm splayed out by the headboard.

  She laughed, stretching luxuriously in the tangle of damp sheets. “You still have to make your word count,” she pointed out.

  “Tyrant.”

  “How is the screenplay going?”

  He propped himself up on his elbow and brushed the hair from her cheek. “It’s different from anything else I’ve tried to do,” he said. “Did I tell you I’m writing it as a novel first? I’ve never done that before, but it’s working well. I’m scared out of my mind, but I’ve never felt better about the work.”

  “Is it—strange? Writing our story all over again?”

  He traced the line of her cheek, his gaze tender. “Yes. And no. Allowing myself to remember the way we loved each other has given me hope. And by finally seeing the missing pieces from your point of view, I understand now how things went so wrong. How I got so caught up in myself that I had nothing left for you.”

  She smiled and kissed his palm. “Do you have producers and a director attached to it yet?”

  A flash of worry glinted in his eyes. “No. My agent is lining up a team who may be interested. It’ll be hard breaking out of the regular action stuff I’ve been typecast into, but my goal is to amaze them with the content so they decide it’s worth taking a chance on.”

  “And if they don’t want to buy it?”

  “They have to,” he said lightly, nibbling on her fingers. “I don’t have a plan B.”

  She pondered his comment for a while. If she knew Hollywood, they didn’t like change, especially when an established formula was working.

  “Don’t let them take away your belief in the story,” she finally said. “You have such emotional depth in your writing. I think you’re so much more than a car crash or bank robbery.”

  “What about the hostage situation in Captured?”

  “Even better than that.”

  “Aliens?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Tell me you did not write a movie about a UFO invasion.”

  “I didn’t. I was asked, but refused. I just couldn’t do War of the Worlds again, or Independence Day—no matter what the pay.”

  “Good.” She kissed him and rolled out of bed. “I have a good hour of computer work, and then we can enjoy the evening. I’d suggest you get back to your writing.”

  She grabbed her panties and added an oversize sweatshirt. Her jeans were nowhere to be found.

  “How am I supposed to work when I know you’re strutting around like that?”

  She threw him a cheeky smile. “Call it inspiration.”

  “I think I need one more round.”

  Her eyes widened at his impressive erection. “Are you trying to cripple me?”

  “Just looking to be inspired by you.”

  She laughed, backing out of the door with her hands up. “Down, boy. I have work to do and . . . No . . . Kyle!”

  He leaped from the bed naked, catching her as she giggled, pressing her against the wall while his hands roamed freely. “Come on, baby. You did your job—I’m inspired!”

  “What the hell are you doing with my sister?”

  They froze. In pure horror, Ophelia stared at Ethan, framed in the doorway, with Mia behind him.

  Holy shit.

  Slowly, Kyle lowered her to the ground. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to realize he was naked. He took a few steps behind her in an attempt to block the full view of his family jewels.

  “Ethan, it’s not what you think. I need you to calm down before you lose your shit so I can explain,” Kyle said.

  “Explain that you’re banging my sister?” Ethan practically whispered, body vibrating in fury. He took a step toward them. “Explain how I fought to let you stay here so you could betray my trust?”

  Ophelia felt as if she were trapped, like her namesake, in some sort of Shakespearean play. She had to remind herself that who she took to bed wasn’t her brother’s business.

  “Look, I appreciate the medieval-style protection and all, but Kyle hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m a full participant. How about I make a pot of coffee and we chat?”

  Mia sensed disaster looming and quickly jumped in front of Ethan, babbling a mile a minute. “Babe, take a breath. I know it looks bad, but let’s just calm down and talk like adults, okay? Ophelia’s not in any trouble. Let them put some clothes on, and we’ll have some nice scones.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  They all collectively released their breath.

  Ethan grinned with a touch of evil. “After I beat the living shit out of him.”

  It happened so fast, she had no way to stop it.

  Ethan jumped right past her and threw Kyle against the wall. Mia yelled and darted after him, but Ophelia staved her off because her brother had her lover pinned with his hand over his neck.

  “Don’t kill him!” Mia screamed.

  “Dude, don’t you think this is a bit dramatic?” Kyle tried to reason, one hand protecting his penis. “Or, if you want a fair fight, let me put on some damn clothes.”

  “You’re acting like an ass, Ethan,” Ophelia said, pushing at his body to get him off Kyle. “I am so pissed at you right now.”

  “Well, I’m pissed at him for taking advantage of you. I thought you hated him! You refused to let him stay here, and now you’re naked with him. How did he seduce you?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, we’re not in some romantic drama,” she shot back. “He did not seduce me!”

  Kyle shot her a hurt look. “Yes I did. Are you going to deny me my skill?”

  Ethan muttered a curse and shook him hard. She got the impression Kyle was allowing him to get some of his aggression out in the hopes he’d calm down.

  “Go back to your Hollywood hit list and leave my damn sister alone. She doesn’t need you using her. I should’ve listened to her. I should’ve never let you get near her again.”

  Kyle had reached his limit. He shoved Ethan hard, and her brother stumbled back. “I’m not using her, you idiot!”

  “Oh? You’re not gonna leave her behind while you make your big movies? If you wanted some ass on the side here, I could’ve set you up!”

  “Don’t talk that way about your damn sister!”

  Kyle charged. Ethan dodged, then slammed him to the side.

  “I’m going to call 911!” Mia shouted.

  “What makes Ophelia different from the others?” Ethan yelled.

  “’Cause she’s my wife—and I still fucking love her!”

  Ethan’s jaw dropped. Mia gasped. Ophelia stared at her husband in shock, the words echoing in the air like the aftermath of a bullet.

  “What did you say?” Ethan asked, confusion soaking his words.

  Kyle sighed and rubbed his head. “We eloped in Vegas ten years ago and decided not to tell anyone since we were only eighteen. When she left we filed for divorce, but it never went through. So we’re still married to each other. I’d never use Ophelia. I’ve always loved her.”

  Ophelia held her breath, stunned at Kyle’s admission—and by the feeling of relief at finally having the truth revealed. She’d been stupid to keep it from her family and to try to guard her pain like a secret that had to be shrouded in silence.

  Ethan blinked. Took a step back. Then he glanced over, pinning her with his gaze. “Is that true?” he asked slowly.

  “Yes. It’s all true.”

  Ethan nodded. Regarded Kyle for a long time. And finally spoke. “Then you sure as hell deserve this.”

  Ophelia opened her mouth to cry out and stop him, but it was already too late.

  He drew back his fist and punched Kyle in the face.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bea’s Diner was exactly as he remembered. Down to the cracked red vinyl booths, impressive pie display, and black-and-white checkered floor. The place was still packed,
and the scent of burgers, fries, and grease filled the air with temptation. Voices clamored in chatter, and an antique jukebox played oldies from the corner. Kyle tossed away the menu, already knowing what he was going to order.

  “That’s the second time Mia’s seen you naked,” Ethan growled in warning. His gaze blasted him from across the booth. “One more time, and I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

  “Think you already did, dude.” He touched his swollen eye while Ophelia cooed and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, taking a good hit. The sympathy and coddling were pretty damn awesome. “But it was still a cheap shot.”

  “You still deserved it.”

  Kyle shrugged. Yeah, he did.

  After he’d crumbled embarrassingly to the floor, Ethan had helped him up and announced his need for a very strong cup of coffee. Spiked.

  The women had taken a while to calm down, but Kyle was relieved the truth was finally out so he didn’t have to lie to his best friend anymore. He’d gotten a bag of frozen peas for his black eye, and sat down to try and explain their complicated past without giving away too many intimate details. Ophelia had been firm with her brother about one thing: Ethan was required to stay out of her love life and let them work things out on their own.

  Mia had backed her up until Ethan agreed to lay off.

  Mia shook her head in feminine frustration. “I just don’t understand men. If Ophelia and I settled our differences by beating the crap out of each other, how would you feel?”

  Ethan grinned. “Catfights are hot.”

  Mia elbowed him, but he just laughed. “Absolutely hopeless,” she muttered, obviously trying hard not to grin. She closed her menu, stared longingly at the case full of fresh pies. “I guess I’ll have a salad.”

  Ethan frowned. “You had a salad for lunch. What about the tuna on whole wheat? Bea makes it with carrots, celery, and onions.”

  “Okay, that’s reasonable.”

  “Then you can have a bite of my pie,” Ethan said, pressing a kiss to her open palm.

  Mia stared at him, eyes wide with longing. “The coconut cream?”