by Morgan Blaze
Her mood dulled a bit as she dragged her feet through the mulch beneath the swing set, first slowing and then stopping. “You’re not swinging,” she said.
He gave a slow shrug. “I’m working up to it.”
“Come on,” she said. “You can’t have fun if you don’t even try it.”
“I am having fun.”
“Seriously, Mark. Just try it.”
His hands tightened around the chains, and he stared at the ground. “I don’t know how.”
“To have fun?”
“To swing!” He breathed out slowly, still not looking at her. “I don’t know how to swing, okay? I’ve never done it.”
You’re kidding. She resisted saying that out loud—because she could tell he wasn’t, and he was mortified about it. Her heart went out to him. “Well, it’s never too late,” she said. “Let me show you how.”
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. But he turned toward her, and said, “I guess if you really want to…I’ll try.”
“I’ll try, too,” she said with a smile. “I’ve never taught anybody how to swing.”
“Yeah, well, good luck teaching me. Graceful is not my strong suit.”
“It’s not about grace,” she said. “It’s about momentum. Like in physics.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Trust me. You’ll get it.”
She talked him through the process, explaining how to pump his legs to get started, to lean back and push on the way forward, and straighten and pull going back. After a few wobbling half-starts, he was flying almost as high as her.
The look of sheer wonder on his face brought tears to her eyes.
She couldn’t help watching him discover the simple joy of swinging. Eventually he closed his eyes and leaned back, losing himself in the motion and the moment. She’d bet his brothers would love to see him like this. But the experience was hers—and she was grateful for that. Maybe it was greedy, but she didn’t want to share it right now.
His eyes opened, and he looked over at her. “Quick question,” he said.
“What?”
“Um. How do I stop?”
She laughed so hard, she almost fell off the swing. “A little at a time,” she said. “Let your legs dangle, and drag your heels on the ground while you’re going back.”
“Okay.” Doubt edged his voice, but he managed to slow himself gradually and stop.
She stopped pumping and let the swing slow a bit. “Check this out,” she said. When she’d gone to about half-height, she timed her release from memory and jumped out as the swing moved forward. She even managed to land on her feet, with a slight stumble. “Whew. Used to be able to jump from a lot higher.”
Mark grinned. “Showoff.”
“Hey, you were great for a first-timer.” She walked over to him as he stood from the swing. “You okay?”
“I’m good. Really good.” He smiled. “Thank you for that. It was…fun.”
“Well, I’m glad,” she said. “I had fun too.”
“So…” He glanced around the playground. “What should we do now?”
“I don’t know. What else is fun?”
His sudden, hungry expression made her pulse race. “I can think of something,” he said, reaching out to trace her jaw with his fingertips. “But it’s not playground appropriate.”
She groaned softly. “My place?”
“Meet you there.”
“Hurry,” she said.
Flashing a smile, he bent and kissed her. “Five minutes, tops.”
They headed for their separate cars, and Aubrey wished they’d come here together. Because right now, five minutes was way too long to have him out of her sight.
* * * *
Mark reached Aubrey’s place about a minute behind her, and only because he’d been a little distracted on the way over. The desire was a flame burning in him, fueled by something a lot more than physical.
He never would’ve believed that he’d find his happiness on a playground. But there it was. Something in him had changed, lifting the weight he’d been carrying for longer than he could remember. And it was all because of a swing, and a Monroe.
No—not a Monroe. He no longer thought of her that way, his family against hers.
It was because of Aubrey.
She let him in, and they headed for the bedroom without speaking. He intended to take his time, to fight his frantic need and tend to her pleasure first—but her passion blazed just as hot, and waiting was out of the question.
They came together like a storm, intense and furious, escalating quickly to an explosive peak. At some point he called her name as she clung to him, back against the headboard, eyes half-closed and fluttering. Her shuddering climaxed fueled his own, momentarily blinding him to all but sheer sensation.
Spent and aching with pleasure, he lay down and drew her to him, cradling her body as she rested her head on his chest. He stroked her hair with near reverence, and murmured, “Have I told you how incredible you are today?”
“Mmm.” The small sound vibrated through him, warm and comforting. “Tell me again.”
He laughed softly. “You’re incredible.”
“Right back at you.” She sounded as deliriously sated as he felt. “Hey,” she said. “We should try swinging naked.”
“I think that might be a little too much fun.”
“No such thing as too much.” She shifted slightly and looked up at him, suddenly serious. “Mark…I’m going to tell them.”
His brow furrowed. “Tell who, what?”
“My family. About us.”
He stilled as a tangled swell of emotions flooded him. Hope and horror, love and fear. One caught his attention above the rest—love.
He loved her. And he never wanted to see her hurt…which would happen if she told her family.
“You can’t,” he said.
“I knew you’d say that.” She lifted her head without moving away from him. “But I’m going to,” she said firmly. “Yes, they’ll be furious. And maybe one of them will try something stupid, or maybe they’ll write me off for good. But I’m done toeing the Monroe line.” She reached for his hand, twined her fingers through his. “My life, my choice,” she said. “And I choose you.”
“God, Aubrey,” he rasped. “You really want to…”
She nodded. “I don’t want to keep us secret.”
“Neither do I.” A smile broke through his reservations, and he allowed himself to hope they could be together. No risk was more worth taking. Maybe it would mean losing his business, if the Monroes decided to retaliate—but he’d finally realized that he’d rather have her. “Listen, do you want me to be with you?” he said. “When you break the news, I mean.”
“No. I wish you could, but I’ve got to do this myself.” She squeezed his hand briefly. “I’m supposed to have lunch with them tomorrow,” she said. “That’s when I’ll tell them.”
“If you’re sure…”
She smiled. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“All right. Then I’ll tell Gage and Luka.” He smirked. “Jonah already knows, because he’s a meddling bastard.”
“Wow.” She let out a shaking breath. “We’re really doing this. Romeo and Juliet, together at last.”
“Er, let’s not be Romeo and Juliet,” he said. “They died.”
“Oh, right. It’s been a long time since twelfth grade English.”
“Yes,” he said, closing his eyes against a rush of emotion. “An eternity.”
But the eternity without her was over now.
Chapter 13
Lunch was going exactly as Aubrey had expected. Horribly.
She’d dropped the bomb a minute ago, and so far there’d been nothing but frozen silence. Her father wouldn’t even look at her. This was the right thing to do, and she was determined to stick to her guns—but they weren’t going to make it easy.
Jason was the first to speak. “This is some kind of sick joke,” he said. “Ri
ght?”
“I’m not joking,” she said. “Look, you don’t know anything about him. Both of you have spent your whole life judging him, and his family, on something that none of them had any control over.” She clenched her hands together hard beneath the table. “I know you’re upset, but how is that fair?”
“Fair has nothing to do with it.”
Roger spoke in a hollow, guttural tone, unlike anything she’d ever heard from him. His fury was a living thing prowling the room. “What is it, then?” she said. “Revenge? Settling the score? If you’re playing some kind of game, then we win by default. Because they lost twice.”
“So they should get you to make up for it?” Jason said. “I don’t think so.”
“Listen to me,” she said. “This is not a game, and I am not a prize. I want to be with Mark. He’s a good man, he works hard—and he doesn’t make decisions for me.”
“Your mother would be mortified,” her father said. “Running around with the worst scum in town. How would she feel if you—”
“Dad,” Aubrey cut in sharply. “Mom is dead, and she’s not coming back. Let go of her.”
Roger rose slowly from the table, pinning her with a red-eyed glare. “I don’t know who you are,” he said in that haunting, gutter-rough tone. “But you’re not my daughter anymore.”
“Dad…”
“Don’t speak to me.” He turned and left the room.
Before she could react, Jason snarled, “Get out.”
She stared at her brother. “Do you even know how crazy you are, the two of you?” she said. “It was never their fault. This was all on one man, and he’s dead.”
“Aubrey. Get the hell out of our house.”
“Fine.” She pushed back and stood, her throat tight with sorrow and rage. “But just so you know, if I walk out that door, I’m not coming back.”
Pure hatred filled his eyes. “Good.”
She couldn’t stand another minute. She made her way out, breathing shallowly to stem the tide, but she broke down sitting in her car. How could this be the family she’d known all her life? They were more irrational than she thought possible—they simply refused to accept logic and reality. They weren’t going to change, even a little bit.
Eventually she calmed down enough to drive to her apartment. She’d expected bad, but this was worse. Her father’s reaction had scared her the most—and she knew he had a gun. What if he decided to use it again…this time, with bullets?
She showered, made some tea, and tried to relax and think things through. This was probably a huge mistake. At the least, she should have waited a while longer to tell them. But it was done, and now the only option was to minimize the damage.
She couldn’t let anything happen to Mark.
By nightfall, she’d made a decision. She would go back to her father’s house and do whatever it took to calm them down, appease them enough so they wouldn’t take things out on him. She’d wear them down over time, get them to see reason—but until then, she had to divert the wrath of the Monroes. And before she went, she had to talk to Mark.
She called him. He answered on the second ring, sounding happy and hopeful as he said, “Hey. How’d it go?”
“Not so great.”
“I figured as much,” he said. “What’s the verdict…my head on a platter?”
Oh, God. She wasn’t sure she could do this. But she reminded herself that hurting him now was a better option than seeing him ruined, or dead, and took a deep breath before responding. “They’re going to need some time,” she said. “A lot of time.”
“Figured that too. Does this mean we’re back to midnight on the playground?”
“Mark…I don’t think we should see each other for a while.”
Her heart shattered in the stunned silence. “I see,” he said at last. “Care to explain why?”
“Because I can’t let anything happen to you,” she said. “They’re worse than I’ve ever seen them, and I wouldn’t put it past either one of them to…”
“Kill me?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“Well, then.” He paused, and she could practically feel the phone freeze in her hand. “I guess I’ll see you at work.”
“No, you won’t,” she half-whispered, making another decision on the spot. “I won’t let them destroy your business. You’ve worked too hard. So…I’m quitting.”
After another long pause, he said, “Fine. Have a nice life.”
And he was gone.
She lowered the phone slowly, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Nothing was fair, nothing was right—and she couldn’t change any of it. Except what her family would do to exact revenge. That, she could stop.
It might be the last thing she could ever do for him.
* * * *
Aubrey rang the doorbell at her father’s house, steeling herself for an explosion. She waited a few minutes, but no one came, so she rang it again. Another few minutes, and still nothing.
Her finger hovered over the doorbell when the door opened, and Roger peered out with haggard features. “Aubrey?” he croaked. “You…you came back.”
“Yes. I just wanted to tell you—”
He stepped outside and pulled her into a rough embrace. “I am so sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I never meant to say those terrible things. Please, forgive me.”
Momentarily stunned, she leaned back and looked at him. “Which terrible things?”
“All of them. Well, most of them. I…” His breath shuddered from him as he regarded her with moist eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “Your mother is dead, and nothing will ever change that. And I have held on too long.”
“Dad, I—”
“Wait. Let me finish.” He gave her a sad smile. “You’re my daughter, and I love you more than I can explain. I’ve always wanted the best for you. And I didn’t want you to grow up, but…you’ve gone and done it anyway.”
“I guess I have.” A wild spark of hope took root in her. “But what about…”
“The Dawson boy.” He sighed deeply. “Tell you the truth, I can’t wrap my head around it. I’ll always love you, no matter what. Him, though…” He shook his head. “Let’s just say I’m not adding him to my Christmas list yet. But I’ll try to reserve judgment.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. This time she hugged him. “Thank you so much, Dad.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Just…please tell me we’re not at the grandkids stage.”
She laughed as she wiped away tears. “Not even close.”
“Thank God.”
She drew away smiling, but her newfound happiness took a swift turn. “What about Jason?” she said.
“Your brother is…not taking this well, I’m afraid.” Her father made a weak gesture. “Part of that is my fault. Lord knows I’ve encouraged this feud long enough.”
“Where is he?”
“In the guest house. He’s pretty much moved in there, so he can entertain his lady friends.”
“Oh.” There was an image she didn’t want—her brother and sex. “I have to talk to him,” she said. “But I’ll come back up so we can spend a little time together, make up for lunch. Okay?”
Roger nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“See you soon.”
He went back inside, and she headed around to the guest house. She hadn’t seen the place since she got back. There was a light on in the front room—and when she reached it, she realized the door was cracked open.
Frowning, she knocked. “Jason? You in there?”
No answer. She pushed the door open and called louder, but didn’t hear anything. Maybe he was in the bedroom—hopefully alone. But even if she was interrupting something, she had to talk to him now.
She made her way to the back of the guest house, checking the rooms as she went. The bedroom door was cracked too. “Jason?” she said. “Can I talk to you, please?”
Silence replied.
After a
brief hesitation, she opened the door onto darkness. “I’m turning the light on,” she said, reaching in for the switch.
The room was empty, but the closet was wide open. And what she saw inside chilled her to the core.
The floor of the closet was heaped with tools. Hammers, nail guns, drills, levels, hand and power saws. Far too many for one person, and Jason had never built a thing in his life. He had been the one to sabotage the job site. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Three lengths of pipe, blackened and burst in the center. Homemade pipe bombs. He must’ve been testing them. “Oh, Jason,” she whispered, feeling the bottom drop from her stomach. “What are you doing?”
She rushed out and sprinted around the front, checking for what she should have noticed in the first place.
Jason’s car was gone.
She climbed into hers and started the engine, dialing Mark’s number just before she drove off. There were two places her brother could have gone, but she was betting she knew which one. The job site. She knew how he thought—destroy the job, destroy the one thing Mark could never get back.
She only hoped she wasn’t too late.
* * * *
The first thing Mark did after Aubrey ripped his heart out and stomped on it was turn off his phone. If she tried to call back, he didn’t trust himself to speak to her.
The next thing he did was drink. But halfway through his second shot of Highland Park, he found himself staring at the bottle and remembering what happened on the couch he was sitting on. How the first time with her had been like coming home.
And the second time. And the swinging lesson. Hell, even the fights. She was everything he’d never dreamed he could have, but he’d actually had it. For a while.
He wasn’t giving up this easy.
Glad his brothers weren’t here to stop him, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He’d take the fight directly to the source—Roger Monroe. And if the old man tried to shoot him…well, he didn’t want to live without Aubrey anyway.
It didn’t take long to reach the Monroe house. He parked behind the white Lincoln that had nearly run him down eight years ago, strode across the lawn and up the porch steps, and jabbed at the doorbell. Then he waited, hands stuffed in his pockets.