by Karin Tabke
Izzy hurried back to her room, not giving him the opportunity to argue or explain himself, because it wouldn’t matter. She wanted something from him he wasn’t able to give her: the guts to try.
Chapter Twenty-five
By the time she closed the bedroom door behind her, Izzy couldn’t decide exactly how she felt. Hurt? Absolutely. Like there was a hole in her chest. An emptiness she couldn’t fathom. Rejection hurt like hell, especially after you laid your heart at someone’s feet like she just had. But she could take some satisfaction from standing her ground. She hadn’t settled for being Flynn’s fuck buddy. She wasn’t like her father or mother in that regard. She honored her feelings even though she guarded them like a momma grizzly guarded her cub. She’d end up despising herself if she settled for anything less than what she deserved: a man who cared enough about her to accept her good, bad, and ugly, who was willing to go all in. She wasn’t asking for the fairy-tale happily ever after. She wasn’t sure it existed. But she knew she wasn’t fuck buddy or mistress material. So she was back to where she had always felt the safest: Alone. And here she would stay.
Straightening, Izzy pulled the shirt over her head and unclasped her bra, tossing both onto the bed. She was brave, too. Stripping her pants and panties off, she gave herself a mental pat on the back. She’d taken a chance and lost. Damn if she didn’t take it. That was saying a lot more about her character than Flynn’s. He just refused to take one step in her direction.
Now she needed to find a way to move on and not continuously look over her shoulder. Choking back a laugh, she wondered how one erased feelings from their broken heart.
Izzy took a quick, cold shower and dressed in her running attire. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the doorknob. Rolling her neck and shoulders, she opened the door and with a bounce in her step she didn’t feel, she headed down the hall and then trotted downstairs. Flynn was waiting for her at the front door. He’d changed into a white, Dri-FIT tee that had the faded words Federal Property across the chest. The material accentuated each ripple of his chest, arms, and back. His black running shorts matched his black running shoes. Swallowing, Izzy wished there was a way she didn’t have to be subjected to his hotness in such an in-your-face way. His scent wafted toward her. Why did he have to smell so damn good, too?
Putting her ear buds in, Izzy cranked up her archaic iPod and stepped out onto the front porch, where she began her stretches. Taking her time, she didn’t rush through them. She couldn’t afford a pulled muscle in her line of work.
The slow beat of “Earned It,” came on, the song she had lap-danced to the night she met Flynn and his cronies. Closing her eyes, Izzy let the music sink into her soul, and as it filled her, she slowed the cadence of her movements. In her mind’s eye she saw herself dancing seductively for Flynn the night she met him. He had been so virile. So receptive to her. God, how her body had blossomed for him. There in front of his friends and later at her house.
He had made her feel things she never thought she would ever feel. Didn’t know existed. It wasn’t fair that he took all of that away from her! Was he a sadist? Her muscles tightened as she opened her eyes and caught his hot stare riveted on her. Smugly, she turned away from him, bending over and touching her toes, giving him a nice view of the ass he’d never touch again. When she stood, she reached high over her head, clasping her hands and stretching.
From the disruption of the shade behind her, she knew Flynn had moved closer to her. Turning she caught her breath as his chest nearly collided with hers.
He reached up and took one of her ear buds from her ear. “Flash that sweet ass of yours my way again, Pink, I’m going to slap it.”
Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me.” It was a challenge she so wanted to take.
“And hand over the goodies?” She snatched her ear bud from him. Putting it back in her ear, she said, “Not on your life.”
Not waiting for Flynn to follow, she jogged down the sidewalk to the street. Once she hit her stride, she took comfort in knowing that Flynn was just two steps behind her. He could probably run circles around her, but he kept to her pace, ever diligent.
As the tension began to leave her, she let the music take her away. If she could have closed her eyes and just run, she would have. Running was the one place she could totally escape.
Her pace picked up. She wanted to run away from everything and everyone. From Flynn. From her life. Anger churned within her. Anger at Flynn for not being the guy she desperately wanted him to be. She hadn’t lied when she told him she wished she’d never met him. He’d totaled her. She didn’t know how to make the longing go away. With that truth, the truth about her mother dawned. Finally, Izzy got it. Now she understood how hard it must have been for her. To live under the same roof with the only man she had been intimate with. The only man she loved, would ever love, right there within reach, but untouchable. Except when he went to her. And her father had gone to her mother over the years. Giving her hope only to snatch it away.
Her mother was beautiful. Sweet, loving, and she never turned Izzy’s father away. It didn’t matter to Izzy that her father wasn’t worthy of her mother’s love, it only mattered that her mother loved him. Unconditionally until the day she died. Understanding her mother’s feelings a little better, now that she had experienced them herself, Izzy didn’t feel so harshly about her choice.
Unlike her mother, Izzy didn’t have to rely on the benevolence of others to make her way. Izzy had options. She was a citizen, she was educated, and she’d learned several harsh life lessons early. From the day her mother died, Izzy had not depended on anyone for anything. She was an island. Or she had been until Flynn had dropped anchor on her shore.
As she turned left on Bellevue, she stumbled. Tension tightened her muscles. Just down the street on the left was the house where she had spent the first eleven years of her life. The house where her father still resided. The house Alex still called home.
Her pace slowed as the imposing iron gates leading to the Chastain estate slowly opened. She felt Flynn’s presence much closer to her now, his shadow running alongside hers.
A blacked-out black town car rolled out from behind the gates. As it decelerated near the street, Izzy slowed so as not to collide with it. Her eyes were riveted on the open back passenger window.
Anxious tension constricted her heart, causing her to gulp for breath.
From the inside of the car, her father’s handsome face stared at her. As the car turned right, coming her way, he continued to stare.
“Daddy,” she whispered.
“Don’t,” Flynn said, taking her arm, pulling her away from the man who stared blankly back at her.
When recognition sparked behind the sea colored eyes she had inherited from him, hope swelled in Izzy’s heart. She reached out, moving toward the car.
Her father looked forward, dismissing her as he had all those years ago. The window slowly closed as the car accelerated and was gone.
Gulping for air, Izzy bent over, feeling nauseous. God, it hurt. Why had she stopped? She’d made peace years ago with the fact that she would never be more than a dirty secret to her father. That there was no place in his life for her. There never had been. There never would be. She hadn’t meant to reach out to him. She despised him! Why had she done that only to be rejected? Again.
Flynn’s big hand slid across her back and up between her shoulder blades. “I’m sorry.”
Still gasping for a deep breath, Izzy shook her head as anger seeped deep into her. Not at Flynn or her father, but herself. She was a fool to think even for one second that her sperm donor would give her the time of day. She’d been foolish to think Flynn would, too.
“Are you okay?” Flynn asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, gasping for breath. Nausea rolled through her again, the acid of the coffee rising in her throat. “I just need to catch my breath.”
The firm soothing pressure of Flynn’s hand on h
er back, as he rubbed her tense muscles in an effort to comfort her, made her want to cry for completely different but oh so familiar reasons.
Rejection stung.
Why she had opened herself, exposing her gooey vulnerable self, stymied her. Had she become her mother? The thought instantly gut-checked her. She could almost hear the clank of the metal walls as they dropped down around her heart. It would be a long time before she allowed anyone to get as close as Flynn had. Maybe never. The pain that followed was too steep a price for the precious little time that felt good.
She needed to suck it up. Get back on track by focusing on herself and finding Alex. Once she was found, Izzy could sleep at night knowing she had done the right thing, even if she never saw her sister again.
Fortified with new determination, she straightened and swiped away the mingled sweat and tears from her cheeks. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she managed a big smile. “Let’s wrap this up. I’m hungry.” She took off, leaving Flynn to catch up. When he did, he ran beside her stride for stride. By the time they made a full circle, she was emotional and physical toast. Burnt toast. No good for anything except pigeon feed, and even that was being optimistic.
Mustering some bravado as Flynn held the front door open for her, she said, “I’m going to jump in the shower.”
Wordless, he nodded when she passed by him. Minutes later Izzy stood beneath the hot spray. Putting her arms out, she placed her palms against the smooth cool tile and let the pressure of the water work the pain out of her muscles and the ache from her heart. When she found herself crying, Izzy didn’t fight the tears. She let it go. All of it. The yearning of a little girl for her father. The years of longing for the sister she loved to love her back. Her mother’s death. Reliving the day she was taken from the tiny Oakland apartment as the coroner zipped her mom up in a black body bag had been horrific.
Sliding down the shower wall, Izzy pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek against them. Her time as a ward of the state had been a blur. She’d been placed with strangers who, while they were polite, weren’t family. They didn’t even try to be. Those first weeks were terrifying. She’d found solace in reading and school. The day she turned eighteen, she walked out the front door, not bothering to let anyone know she was leaving. She doubted they ever noticed she was gone.
Here she was six years later, still struggling to define herself when everyone connected to her either died or rejected her. Who was she? What did she want?
Hell, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure she wanted a law career. Her motivation had been to flip her father the bird by saying, ‘Look at me, I can get into your alma mater, Stanford Law, too, and I didn’t need my rich parents to grease the wheels.’
None of it mattered, she realized, because no matter what she did from this day forward, she was going to do it for herself. No more trying to prove herself worthy of the Chastain name. She was a Fuentes, and it was time she owned it. She’d survive today and tomorrow because she was a survivor. Damn if she wasn’t going to survive well.
Raising her head to rub her swollen eyes, Izzy froze. Flynn stood on the other side of the open shower, his stormy eyes catching and holding hers. He was still dressed in his running attire, the material clinging to his sweaty body so tightly she could see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.
Without so much as a word, he grabbed the towel she had set aside, reached above her head and turned the rain shower faucet off, knelt down and wrapped her in the thick fluffy towel. He took her into his arms and carried her like a baby into the bedroom.
“He doesn’t deserve one tear, Pink.” He settled her onto the bed. “You’re ten times the individual he could never be.”
She sucked back a sob as fresh hot tears burned her eyes, damn it. Where was her strength? Why, when Flynn touched her, did she melt? “I’m a fool for hoping for something that will never happen.”
Taking her face into his hands, he forced her to look at him. “You’re not a fool, you’re brave. With a pure heart. Always willing to see the good in people when they are inherently bad.” He smoothed back her damp hair. “We could all take a lesson out of your playbook.”
It took all she had not to press her cheek into his big warm hand. This Flynn was the Flynn she had fallen for. “My mom loved him with every ounce of her being. His name was the last word she spoke before she died. He used her up, and let her die of a broken heart.”
Pressing his lips to her forehead, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too,” she murmured. For so many things.
With the adrenaline spike Izzy had experienced when she saw her father now fully subsided, a deep-seated exhaustion stole over her. So much had happened in such a short amount of time; her ability to cope with it all wavered. “Let me sleep,” she murmured, closing her eyes, and finally—with no thought of what he would do or feel—Izzy melted into Flynn’s strong capable arms, deciding to savor this last stolen embrace.
Chapter Twenty-six
Several hours later found Flynn pacing a culvert into his kitchen floor. Pink had slept the day away. Was she sick? She had to be hungry. He’d showered and eaten twice since he tucked her into the big bed, nearly breaking his jaw to keep from pressing his lips to her smooth, creamy body as he pulled the sheets over her nakedness.
He stopped his incessant pacing. Clasping his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, Flynn cursed. She had been through the wringer. Why should he be surprised she’d mentally checked out? Sleep was a great way of ignoring one’s reality. And Pink’s was pretty shitty at the moment. “No thanks to me,” he muttered, feeling like the guy who had kicked the kitten when he should have been the guy who picked it up, loved and protected it.
He could give himself some credit. He had picked her up and brought her here. To his house. Not home, because it was just a place he crashed. But here, she was out of harm’s way.
As for loving her? He didn’t know how to. Didn’t want to learn. He’d witnessed firsthand the backlash of that emotion. Many years ago, Flynn had made the conscious decision to lock his heart and swallow the key. He wasn’t willing to put himself out there. The minute a woman even looked like she was going to suggest they become more than what he wanted, he bolted. His heart, his rules. It worked for him. He had no regrets. Except with Pink.
His protection track record wasn’t that great, either. He couldn’t protect his mother from his father or his sister from that asshole she insisted on marrying. Under his watch, Pink had been two steps from being kidnapped. Now she was an emotional train wreck and he had been the one to derail her long before her father had this morning. He didn’t know how to undo what he had done without giving her hope. And that he couldn’t do. Not after last night.
Glancing at his watch, Flynn decided she had slept long enough.
“Pink,” he called from the hallway.
When she didn’t answer, Flynn nudged the door open with his foot and stopped at the threshold. She was still in bed, wrapped up tight in the sheets like a butterfly in a cocoon, sound asleep.
His heart made a weird thump against his rib cage. Setting the tray with the lunch he had made for her down on the dresser, Flynn moved around the side of the bed. Her long black lashes glistened with recent tears. She made a sound like a baby did after a hard cry. Somewhere between a sob and a sigh. His heart squeezed with emotion he could no longer deny.
She did something to him. Caused an ache so deep in him it kept him awake at night. How was that possible? He’d known her less than a week. It felt like he’d loved her a lifetime, though.
When she’d called him out this morning after telling him how she felt about him, he had never been more miserable. He should have been elated. Jumping for joy because damn it, he felt the same way. All those hours sitting outside of her house, he had nothing but time to think. About Pink and how much he wanted to be a part of her life. He had come to the decision that when this case was closed, he would pursue her until she could
n’t run from him anymore.
That had all changed last night, when he’d come around Pink’s side yard and saw the kitchen door open. He’d never experienced the paralyzing fear that he had at that moment. He panicked when his imagination ran wild with visions of what the intruder would do to her. He’d seen it before. Vicious, bloody crime scenes. He couldn’t bear thinking of what could have happened if he hadn’t gotten to her in time. Thank God he had.
That panicked fear, that loss of control, that brutal pain of possibly losing Pink still ate at him. If this was how it felt when she survived, how would it feel if she didn’t? How would he feel in thirty years if he lost her after she had become his everything? He didn’t want to find out.
It was that ache that fortified his determination not to get further involved with her. If he touched her, he’d cave. It killed him not being able to take her into his arms and comfort her when that prick of a sperm donor rolled up his window on her. Fucker knew who she was, too.
Flynn felt like a colossal dick when he realized he’d done the same thing to her as her father had. For different reasons, true. That didn’t make it right.
Grabbing the chair from the small desk in the corner, he sat down in it and let out a long sigh. He’d never felt so out of sorts or so unsure of himself. If he was half the man she needed, he’d fess up and step up. Fear paralyzed him.
Her soft breathless voice, roughened from crying, called out for him. He moved to her side, realizing she was still asleep. He brushed the pink tips of her bangs away from her face, marveling at the softness of her hair and skin. His body warmed as the desire to touch her more intimately took hold of him. Not ravage her, but hold her close to him, caress her. Kiss her. Protect her. Each one of those urges was new to him. He’d never felt any of them for a woman.