A Not-So-Perfect Past

by Beth Andrews

  “He deserved it.” Dillon sat and pulled on his work boots.

  “I thought you were at the pageant thing.”

  The guy yanked his laces so tight, Kyle thought they’d snap in two. “I was.”

  “You got into a fight at the Christmas Pageant? Bet that livened things up.”

  Dillon got up and put his coat back on. “Go. Home.”

  Kyle stood in the kitchen, staring at Dillon’s back as he walked away. Just like that. What was it about him, Kyle, that made it so easy for people to just walk away?

  To give up on him?

  His chest tightened. He flew down the stairs, the cold air blasting his face. He caught up with Dillon at the back door to the bakery and swung him around.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, riding my ass about disappointing Hayley? How do you think she felt about you beating on her old man?” Dillon flinched. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  “I screwed up.” Dillon shrugged as if it didn’t make a difference. “And don’t worry about working tomorrow. You’re off the hook.”

  Kyle began to shake. Just the cold, he told himself. “What are you talking about?”

  “I shouldn’t have given you the impression that if you worked hard enough to show remorse you’d be forgiven. That if you played by the rules you could have everything you wanted.” The wind blew Dillon’s hair. But it was as if nothing, not even the cold, could penetrate his tough exterior. “Life doesn’t work out that way for guys like us. Yeah, you’ve got it good with the Roberts, but so what? You’ll just screw it up. Hell, you already have. Think they’ll give you another second chance? How much longer until they get tired and kick you to the curb?”

  “Go to hell,” Kyle spat, his fists clenched.

  “Already on my way there, kid.” Then he stepped inside and shut the door in Kyle’s face.

  He rubbed at his burning eyes. He hadn’t cried since he was four; he sure wasn’t going to bawl over some loser like Dillon Ward turning his back on him.

  He shivered. And realized he’d left his favorite hat in Dillon’s apartment. Halfway up the stairs, the queasiness in his stomach returned with a vengeance. He bent over the banister and threw up. When his stomach was empty, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and continued up the stairs on shaky legs.

  In Dillon’s kitchen, he searched through the cupboards until he found a clean glass. Got some water from the sink and rinsed the nasty taste out of his mouth. His head pounded. He couldn’t stop shaking.

  He wanted to go home.

  Except, he didn’t have a home, did he? He’d never had a home. Just a series of bedrooms in a series of houses. Each one sucked more than the last. They were never really his. Just as the foster parents weren’t his parents. Weren’t his family.

  Except Joe and Karen.

  What if he’d screwed up the best thing that’d ever happened to him?

  Before he could change his mind, he picked up the phone on the table. Karen answered on the first ring, her voice laced with worry.

  “It’s me,” he said. He used the heel of his hand to rub away the single tear that slid down his cheek. “Can you…could you come get me? I want to come home.”

  DILLON STORMED through the bakery’s kitchen and into the dining room. He headed for his tools but tripped over an empty paint can—a can he’d told Kyle to toss in the Dumpster yesterday. He cursed and viciously kicked the can across the room. It hit a chair with a loud crack and spun on its side.

  He tipped his head back. Attempted to get his anger and his breathing under control. But it was no use. He wanted to kick the can again. Or the wall.

  Or somebody’s ass.

  Kyle needed something—or someone—to shake him up. The kid was un-freaking-believable. And so like Kelsey as a teen—rebellious, unrepentant and way too cocky—that Dillon couldn’t believe he’d come to hope Kyle would be okay. That he’d straighten his life out before it was too late.

  One more hope shot all to hell.

  He’d taken it upon himself to try to give the kid a hand, to help him out of a bad situation, but he’d learned his lesson. Again.

  The only person he was looking out for from now on was himself.

  He yanked the corner of a drop cloth up and whipped it over to the opposite edge. He folded it in half, crouched down and folded it again when someone entered through the back door. He froze, alert. His pulse racing.

  Because only one person would show up there in the middle of the night. The last person he wanted to face.

  “You don’t want to be here,” he told Nina.

  “Yes. I do.” She stepped farther into the room. “I’ve been so worried. I stopped by the police station but they said you’d been released.”

  He laid the drop cloth on top of his lockbox and began folding the next one. As per his shitty luck, Jack Martin witnessed Dillon breaking Trey’s nose and, in his capacity as chief of police, had arrested Dillon for aggravated assault.

  He flexed and clenched his sore right hand. At least Jack hadn’t handcuffed him. Not that his night could’ve gotten much worse—not after Nina turned her back on him.

  When he didn’t speak, she said, “I didn’t know what to do so I called Allie—”

  “You told Allie?” he asked, making the mistake of facing her. She was so damn beautiful it hurt just to look at her.

  “I thought maybe she could help,” Nina said uncertainly.

  Allie had helped. She’d saved him from his worst nightmare—being locked up again. Even if it would’ve only been a night in the local jail.

  Too bad he couldn’t find it in himself to be grateful.

  “When I was at the station,” Nina continued, “I told Jack what happened, what Trey said—”

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  She flinched. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m packing my stuff.” He tossed his paint trays and rollers into the lockbox and shut the lid. “Hire someone else to finish the painting or do it yourself. Either way, I’m done.”

  “What? No. Dillon, please, listen, I—”

  “Save it.” He tucked the drop cloths under his arm and picked up his toolbox. “I’m not interested.”

  “I realize you’re angry,” she said, walking backward and blocking his way as he tried to cross the room. “And I don’t blame you but when I left, it wasn’t because of you. I had to get the kids out of there. I didn’t want them to see—”

  “You don’t owe me anything.” He moved to the right but she blocked him. “Least of all an explanation.”

  He should’ve left weeks ago when she kicked him out of the apartment. Instead, he got sucked into caring about her and her kids and Kyle. Which just proved he shouldn’t care about anyone. They just let you down.

  He faked a move left, which she fell for, and then slipped past her on the right.

  “I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you,” Nina repeated, following him through the kitchen. She pushed in front of him and plastered herself against the door. “But if you’d stop running away from me, from any problem we might have, maybe you’d see my side.”

  The flash of temper in her eyes made him pause. “Your side?”

  “I asked you to walk away!” she cried.

  “Because you were afraid of what I’d do to him.”

  For a moment, she looked like she wouldn’t mind punching Dillon in the nose.

  “Because I didn’t want you fighting my battles for me. Because I want to be with a man who listens to me and respects my wishes.”

  “Of course I respect you,” he said, truly appalled.

  “But not my decisions. Any time I don’t act just as you think I should, you get pissed and walk away. I’m willing to accept you for who you are—why can’t you do the same for me?”

  He couldn’t. Even though he knew she was right.

  He scowled at her. “You’re in my way.”

  The scowl had no effect. “I’m going to stay in y
our way until you listen to me. Dillon, I…I care about you.”

  He stepped forward. He didn’t really want to scare her and he’d die before he’d physically hurt her, but if it took intimidation to get her to move, then he’d use his size and his anger to do it.

  She stood her ground. “We both know Trey baited you into that fight. Why on earth did you fall for it?”

  “I lost control.” His fingers flexed on the handle of his toolbox. “Just like the night I killed Glenn.”

  “You were protecting Kelsey—”

  “I killed a man. And no one, least of all me, is ever going to forget that.”

  He couldn’t let himself forget. Or forgive.

  “What happened tonight is different.”

  “Then why didn’t you want me to protect you?” he asked, feeling as if the words were ripped from his throat. He dropped the cloths and toolbox, which clanged against the floor. Nina jumped, her eyes wide. She opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. “I’ll tell you why. You were afraid of me. Afraid I’d lose control.”

  “No. God, no. That had nothing to do with it.” Her eyes welled with tears and she blinked furiously. “I wasn’t afraid of you. But maybe I was…I hate to even admit this but…I was worried about causing a scene. Worried about what people would think.”

  He snorted. “I used to believe in doing what’s right, too. I spent half my life toeing the line, trying to protect my mother, staying after Kelsey to keep out of trouble but none of it did me one damn bit of good when it mattered.”

  She nodded. “The police in your hometown let you down.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about it?”

  “I…I called Kelsey tonight. I had to know,” she rushed on when he swore. “I wanted to understand what happened that night.”

  “What’s to understand? I lost control.”

  Tears streaked down her face. “No. You protected your sister from being raped. You saved yourself and her.” She stretched her hand out to him but he stepped back, out of reach. Hurt, she slowly lowered her arm. “But the judge who sentenced you didn’t know that, did he? He was never shown pictures of Kelsey taken after the attack. Never heard Kelsey’s statement.”

  “You think I got an unfair sentence, cupcake?” he asked fiercely as he once more closed the distance between them. “You think I should’ve been let go after what I did with that bat?”

  He grabbed her by the upper arms and yanked her up onto her toes. She gasped but didn’t try to pull away from him. “You feeling sorry for me because my own mother wouldn’t testify on my behalf? Because she not only blamed me for taking her husband but she turned her back on me like she always did, even when I was protecting her from Glenn?”

  Nina, sobbing openly now, pressed her hands against his chest. “Like I turned away from you tonight. Oh, Dillon,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I’m so very sorry.”

  No, damn it. He didn’t want her pity and he sure as hell didn’t want her apology. He wanted to be free of her.

  “You don’t get it.” His throat hurt. “I don’t deserve pity or apologies. I spent five years in prison. Five years that turned me into a man I didn’t want to be. And tonight just proves I’m still that same guy, minus the prison uniform. I have no hope. No control.” His voice broke. “I have nothing.”

  “That’s not true.” She lifted his face until their eyes met. “You have me.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DILLON SHOOK HIS HEAD and let go of her. He tried to step back but Nina clung to him. No way would she let him go. Not now. Not ever.

  “Listen to me,” she demanded, “you do have me. I admire your strength and patience and sense of honor. Even if you don’t believe in yourself, in your worth, I do.”

  She rose on her toes, pulled his head down and kissed him, pouring everything she had, everything she felt for him, into the kiss. His mouth was unyielding under hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him. Nibbled gently on his lower lip before stroking the seam of his lips with her tongue.

  He groaned, shoved his hands in her hair and held her head while he took over the kiss. Her immediate relief was replaced by mindless passion when Dillon yanked her sweater down and kissed her neck. She let her head fall back against the door. His other hand went under her shirt to cup her breast. He rubbed his work-roughened palms across her nipples until her thigh muscles weakened.

  Frantic with need, with love for him, she slipped her hands under his shirt and returned the favor. Scraped her nails lightly over his nipples. He moaned into her mouth, pressed his hips against her.

  They tore at each other’s clothes. She knew nothing other than the sensations roaring through her body and her desperate need for him. While she fumbled with the button on his jeans, he shoved her clothes down her legs. Took off her shoe and pulled her left leg free. She managed to get his jeans unbuttoned and he made quick work of his zipper. Kicked his clothing aside while she stroked him.

  He hissed out a breath and kissed her again while he gripped one of her thighs in each of his hands. She guided him to her opening, swirled the tip of his erection around her moisture. His fingers dug into her skin as he entered her in one smooth move.

  The feel of Dillon inside her, stretching her, felt so delicious, so incredible, she arched her hips in an attempt to take him deeper. He lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. She crossed her ankles as he pumped into her, banging her against the door with each powerful thrust.

  She squeezed her thighs together as the tension built and coiled through her system. Her shirt stuck to her skin, her hair damp with sweat. He shifted his hands to her butt, bent his knees and increased their already frantic tempo. Her orgasm built, fast and intense, overtaking her body and her senses.

  Dillon pressed his face into her neck, dug his fingers into her rear and emptied himself inside her with a low moan.

  She unlocked her ankles and lowered her legs. Luckily, he still supported her as her muscles had disintegrated. She laid her head against his shoulder, inhaled his scent.

  And couldn’t help but smile.

  Everything would be okay. She knew it now, was as certain of it as she’d ever been of anything in her life. She and Dillon were meant to be together.

  “I was thinking,” she said, running her fingers through his hair, “since you said you didn’t have plans for the holidays, you could come to my parents’ on Christmas Eve. My mom does this whole big dinner with everyone at the house. Turkey, the works and—”

  Dillon cursed. A chill racked her body as he let go of her and pulled his pants up.

  She pushed aside her worry as she got dressed. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m not going to be here for Christmas Eve,” he said flatly. He yanked his zipper up and buttoned his jeans. Picked his keys up off the floor. “Nothing’s changed.”

  Her mouth popped open. “Of course things have changed. Starting with me.” She grabbed his keys out of his hand and strode to the middle of the kitchen. “And by God, you’re going to stay right here until I prove it.”

  She dug her cell phone out of her purse and dialed the familiar number. Listened to it ring. It was past time Dillon had someone stand up for him.

  And when she was done standing up for him, if he still wouldn’t listen to reason, then she’d just have to stand up to him. Even if it meant knocking some sense into his thick head.

  DILLON KNEW he should leave but short of wrestling his keys away from her, he was stuck.

  Plus, his damn curiosity got the better of him.

  “Mom,” Nina said into the phone. “It’s me.”

  His head snapped back in surprise.

  “No, no. Everyone’s fine,” she said. “I’m sorry to call so late but I wanted you to know I’m with Dillon.” She took a deep breath. “And I plan on being with him. No matter what.”

  Tears filled her eyes and he turned away. It killed him to see her upset, to know he was the cau
se of it. Why did she have to be so stubborn?

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Nina said and he glanced at her. She held the phone so tightly, her knuckles were white. Her eyes were on him as she said, “Yes, I know you’re worried about me but, Mom, I’m…I’m not a child anymore, okay? You have to trust me. Trust my decisions.” She used the back of her hand to wipe away a couple of tears. “Even if you don’t agree with me, I need you to trust me.”

  There was a pause and then Nina shook her head and, in a show of emotional strength that shook Dillon, she said, “Then I guess there’s nothing left to say.”

  She cut the connection and carefully set the phone on the table.

  “Why’d you do that?” he demanded.

  “I wanted to show you I meant what I said.” Her voice was unsteady and she kept blinking.

  “Alienating your family isn’t going to change my decision. All you’ve done is made things worse.”

  “No, I haven’t. Not for me—things are going to be much better. I stood up for myself.” She cleared her throat. “I’m strong enough to live with regrets. And I’m ready to start living for myself.”

  His frustration—at her family, at her for not letting well enough alone and at himself for letting his guard down in the first place, for wanting her as much as he did—threatened to boil over. “Damn it,” he exploded, his fists clenched, his arms shaking with the effort it took to not punch a hole in the wall. “Now do you see that this…thing between us is only going to hurt you?”

  “No. All I see is that it’s past time my family trusted me to make the right decisions for myself and for my kids.” She closed the distance between them and he had to force himself not to back up, especially when she took his hand in hers. “And no matter whether my parents like it or not, I know what I want. You.”

  The emotion in her voice and the warmth in her eyes made it impossible for him to speak.

  “I want to be with you. I care about you. And I trust you—with my kids and—” she laid his hand over her breast “—with my heart. Dillon, I love you.”