Darcy pulled back, realizing she’d been leaning into Reed, her knees almost touching his. The man had a gravitational pull that should have been limited to planets. And yet again, his taunting and teasing had sucked her into his vortex.
“Brad and I have decided to go and see a movie,” Cynthia said. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m ditching you, Sis? There’s this silly comedy on and we both were planning to see it.”
“Of course.” Darcy waved her sister’s concern away.
Truth was, the less time she had to sit here in the midst of this awkwardness, the better. She hadn’t totally warmed up to Brad after meeting him—he seemed immature considering his age. And the longer she had to listen to him speak, the more likely she was to let her facade of the nonjudgmental big sister slip. Though, if what Reed had said was true, she hadn’t been hiding her opinion too well after all.
As the waitress stopped by with the bill, Cynthia turned the full force of her angelic smile onto Reed. “I don’t suppose you have a car, do you? Darcy and I caught the subway and I don’t like the idea of her having to catch it all the way back on her own.”
“Uh, since when?” Darcy didn’t have a car, so the subway was her MO. She gestured to the front of the restaurant, where the glass door showed that the sun was still hovering above the horizon. “It’s still light out.”
But her dastardly sister didn’t give a shit about safety—at least not in this particular situation. The falsely innocent expression on her face told Darcy she’d gone into matchmaking mode.
Oh, hell to the no.
“I’ll be fine on my own,” she said, holding up a hand to stop any further discussion. “I’m a big girl. I can ride the subway by myself.”
“Nonsense.” Reed pushed his chair back and tossed a few bills onto the table. “I’m parked on Eighty-Third and I’m heading back to my dad’s place in Red Hook. It’s no trouble.”
“Sounds like you don’t even need directions.” Cynthia threw her arm around Darcy’s shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “He’s really cute,” she said in a not-so-subtle stage whisper.
Damn her. Was the whole family trying to marry her off?
Brad stuck his hand out and she shook it. “It was nice meeting you,” she said.
To his credit, Brad looked relieved. “You too. You should come along more often. We’re not used to having an audience.”
“Sure.” She nodded politely.
“The extra attention is good for most of us.” He chuckled as he shook Reed’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll be fine next time, McMahon.”
Reed grunted a response, but it wasn’t audible over someone shouting at a screen a few feet away. The Yankees were down and the ninth inning was about to start.
“Come on.” Reed pressed his hand into her lower back. “Let’s get out of here before the crowd gets any messier.”
“You don’t want to stay for the end?” If he did, she could excuse herself to go and put some much-needed distance between them. A country’s worth is what she needed to let her feminine parts calm down, but a borough would have to do. “It’s fine. I really don’t need a lift.”
Cynthia and Brad were waiting for them to follow, his arm slung around her shoulders in a way that made Darcy’s heart twinge. She may not have picked the guy as a good match for her sister, but he did seem to like her. And they’d already developed an easy connection she’d never managed to share with anyone.
That’s because you don’t open up to people. Hard to build a connection if you keep everything locked up inside.
But Darcy had spent her childhood keeping her emotions tucked away for fear of inciting an outburst—or further encouraging criticism—from her overly emotional mother. And when you’d done something like that for so damn long, it was a hard habit to break. The last year had made her wonder more and more if that’s how Ben had managed to keep his secret for so long. Darcy didn’t like questions about her feelings, so she tended not to ask them either.
“Let’s go,” Reed said. “We’ll have you home in no time.”
Chapter 17
“If there is one thing I’ve realized by dating men like Reed, it’s that a guy who can’t talk about his past is more damaged than I want to deal with. I’m not looking for a fixer-upper.”
—LadyGotham
“What do you know about Brad?” Darcy asked as they climbed into Reed’s car. Which, surprisingly, was an older BMW X5. She’d expected something a little smaller. Sportier. “Should I be worried?”
Reed tossed his sports bag into the back seat and then took his place behind the wheel. The car rumbled to life at the turn of the key. “I know he plays baseball and he’s a mechanic.”
“That’s it?” She looked at him incredulously. “How long have you been teammates? That’s all you know?”
“Well, I do know something else.” He placed his left hand behind Darcy’s headrest and looked over his shoulder as he backed the car out of the parking spot.
The action brought his face closer to hers and she found herself staring at him again. She had to stop that. Not that she could blame any woman for staring at Reed—the guy looked like he’d been created with every woman’s fantasy in mind. The scent of yesterday’s aftershave and something earthier, manlier, sent a tremor through her.
She sucked in a breath and turned to look out the windshield. “What’s that?”
“That it’s always a bad move to get involved in other people’s relationships.” He swung the car around using only one hand on the steering wheel.
Darcy huffed. “I’m looking out for my little sister, not trying to meddle.”
“It’s a fine line,” he replied. “Honestly, there isn’t much more to say. I don’t know him that well.”
“Do you like him?”
He let out a throaty chuckle. “That’s a loaded question.”
“No it’s not. I’m asking for your opinion.” She watched him closely as he pulled up next to the garage’s ticket taker. “Though I’m taking your reluctance to answer the question as an answer itself.”
“He’s not a bad guy.” Reed flicked his gaze over to Darcy. “Would I want him dating my sister? I don’t know about that.”
“You have a sister?” Her ears perked up at the possibility of learning more about Reed’s personal life.
“No. I was speaking hypothetically.”
Darcy leaned back against the plush leather seat and let the sun streaming in through the windshield soothe her as they exited the parking garage. “Do you know she got his name tattooed on her thigh?”
“I had heard that.” He paused. “Not that you’re one to judge about that kind of thing.”
“Of course I can judge. You don’t get people’s names in permanent ink.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Especially not some guy you’ve been seeing for five minutes. Hell, I wouldn’t even get my own mother’s name tattooed on me.”
She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. Not because she didn’t mean them—she absolutely did—but she feared they said just as much about her as they did about Marietta.
“What I mean is that tattoos should have a connection to you as an individual—whether it’s a symbol that means something or because the artistry inspired you. The second you tie it to someone else…” She swallowed the rest of the sentence because it hurt too much. “Forget it.”
“Who was it?”
His question felt like two hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing and squeezing until her lungs burned. “Who was what?”
He glanced at her as they stopped at a red light. “The person whose name you got tattooed.”
“I’ve never had anyone’s name inked on me because I know it’s a bad idea.” Okay, so that wasn’t the whole truth. She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“Someone talk you out of it?” he asked softly.
She’d been so angry that she’d stormed out of his shop, cursing and swearing she’d never speak to him again. The plan had been for Ben’s name to be her something blue on the wedding day. She’d even drawn the design herself—it was small, tasteful. Blue and black ink with scrolling letters that would live just below the crook of her elbow, because that’s where he always tickled her. It’d been pure luck that all her favorite artists had been booked up for the month before the wedding and she’d refused to try out someone new for the sake of getting it done prior to the big day.
To Darcy’s horror, tears pricked the backs of her eyes, barely giving her warning before the fat drops fell onto her cheeks. Oh God, she could not be crying in front of Reed Lady Killer McMahon. So. Freaking. Embarrassing.
“Whoever he is, he’s a dick.” Reed reached across the center console and grabbed her hand. “All men are. Don’t take it personally.”
She wasn’t really angry at Ben. Not anymore. With time to think after all the drama had died down, she knew he had been dealing with demons of his own. And while he shouldn’t have broken their promises by cheating on her, coming out to his religious family must have seemed impossible. From what she knew, Ben and Mark were still together. And although she’d continued to ignore his calls and attempts to make amends, she hoped he was happy. That they were happy.
But that didn’t stop the shame that rolled through her whenever she thought about that day—shame that she’d been totally blind to who he really was, shame that she’d been in a relationship with someone who wasn’t attracted to her. Shame that her own mother had tried to convince her to “marry him anyway” because she may not find someone else.
Like her mother had more confidence in her being able to live a lie than convince someone else she was worthwhile.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks and steeled herself. Chances were, Reed would make some excuse to drop her off at the nearest subway station just to get himself out of this awkwardness. “It’s personal stuff and I’m sure you’re very bored.”
His silence ripped through her chest. God, she was making a fool of herself. He probably thought she was one of those girls who acted like they were in a relationship because they’d had sex.
“Do you want to come with me to visit my dad?” he asked out of nowhere.
* * *
The question slipped through his lips before he had the chance to give it proper consideration. But Darcy had stirred something in his chest, a niggling sense of empathy that he hadn’t experience in so long he wasn’t quite sure what it was at first.
Must be phantom pains.
“I usually visit my dad on Sunday nights after the game to see how he’s doing,” he explained. “He’s always nicer when I take a friend.”
She smiled, her pale skin tinted pink around her eyes. He’d never been one to find crying attractive, but somehow her eyes looked even bigger and bluer. The vulnerability was a stark contrast to her all-black outfit and the spike in her ear.
“I’m not really dressed for dinner.” She smoothed her hands down her stomach.
“There are no airs and graces in the McMahon household. No dress code either.”
She nodded. “Okay.” Her voice sounded lighter. Happier. “I’d love to.”
By the time they arrived at his father’s house, Darcy’s mood had improved considerably. But Reed was spiraling into a black hole of confusion about why the hell he was breaking his primary rule about women—don’t let them into your personal space.
He’s already met her and you’re right about him being nicer when you have a friend with you. This way you won’t have to hear him bitch you out for trying to help him.
But that opened up a whole new can of worms. Friend? Since when?
He couldn’t come up with a single thing to counter that thought. Hanging out with Darcy wasn’t too far from hanging out with Gabriel—they ribbed one another and she wasn’t trying to impress him, that was for damn sure. The major difference, of course, was the annoying fact that he was still attracted to her. Sleeping with her hadn’t dulled the feeling like it usually did. If anything, he’d found himself increasingly occupied with thoughts of her.
“This is it.” He pulled the car to a stop in front of his father’s place and killed the engine.
The sun sat fat and low, resting on the horizon like an overweight cat—lazy and round.
“Did you grow up here?” She pushed the door open and stepped out.
“Yeah, no way my dad is going anywhere else unless a doctor orders him to.” Reed snorted. “Probably not even then. He’d be happy to die here.”
The comment, which had meant to be light, settled like a rock in his stomach. Since his dad’s trip to the hospital, the old man hadn’t been himself. Every time Reed called, his father made an excuse to hang up—the game was on, he was eating, he needed to go to the bathroom. The withdrawal worried Reed, because he hadn’t been like that in years. Not since Reed’s mother had left.
What had caused the spiral? If only it were possible to ask a question like that. But Reed knew the answer would be a sharp request for him to mind his own business—probably with a few expletives thrown in for good measure—and a swift change of topic. Like father, like son.
Reed locked the car and headed up the path to the front door, Darcy in tow. He climbed the stairs quickly and jabbed at the doorbell, which screeched into the quiet evening.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here?” Darcy asked. “I don’t want to cut into your father-son time.”
“Trust me, you’re here as my buffer.” He shot her a rueful look. “It’s been a long week and I can’t deal with him at full tilt tonight.”
“Still problems with the Bad Bachelors thing?” She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it back and forth.
“Yeah, but other stuff too.” There was a thump inside followed by a string of curse words and then the door flew open.
“I told you, Reed: you don’t—” Adam stopped abruptly. “Now who is this?”
“Dad, you remember Darcy from the hospital,” Reed said, pulling open the screen door and holding it for her. “We thought you might want some extra company tonight.”
“It’s nice to see you again, my dear.” Adam McMahon was suddenly all smiles and fatherly charm. He stuck his hand out and gallantly helped her into the house.
“You too, Mr. McMahon.”
“Please, call me Adam. You probably can’t tell from looking at my son, but we didn’t grow up with silver spoons in our mouths here.”
“I’ll try to be less fancy,” Reed quipped, glancing down at his sweats and sneakers. “Good thing I left my gold-lined sweatpants at home.”
Darcy laughed, her cheeks rosy pink. The splotchy patches and tears had gone away, leaving her looking like her usual self. But Reed couldn’t shake the image of her quivering lip. He’d hated seeing her like that.
“How’s your head?” she asked, her brows crinkled with concern. “Reed said you didn’t have a concussion in the end.”
“Not that they could tell. But who can trust those quacks?” Adam grunted.
“The millions who visit hospitals every year,” Reed said under his breath. “Normal people.”
Adam shot him a look but didn’t engage. He motioned for them to head into the living room, and Reed let Darcy have the side of the couch without wayward springs. The place looked messier than usual—there were half-empty coffee cups on the table, a pile of newspapers teetering beside Adam’s chair. A plate sat in the middle of his coffee table, which now had a new sheet of glass, and contained the remains of an apple that had turned a nasty shade of b
rown.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said, moving to pick up the cups.
“It’s all right, Dad. I got it.” He bent down and inspected a spill on the table—dark liquid, probably coffee—which had dried into a tacky puddle. “When was the last time Donna came by?”
His father grunted. “She’s been sick.”
“That’s right.” He nodded. She’d called him a few days ago to let him know. “She said the agency was sending a replacement.”
“You mean they sent some stranger.”
Reed sighed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought Darcy here tonight. It sounded as though he needed to have it out with his dad, to set him on the straight and narrow. Weariness wound its way through his body, making the cups and plates seem even heavier. He wasn’t the kind of guy to let the world drag him down, but the last few weeks were starting to take a toll. His energy was flagging and he wanted to hole up in his apartment and pretend life was fine and dandy.
“I’ll give you a hand.” Darcy shot a winning smile in his father’s direction. “How about I put some coffee on? Would you like a cup?”
Who was this girl? Darcy had never been like this before, at least not in his presence. But the second she laid a soft hand on his father’s shoulder, the old man was about to melt like ice cream on a hot day.
“You don’t have to do this,” Reed said as they walked into the tight kitchen area. More dishes were piled up in the sink, and something smelled a bit funky. He checked the trash can and recoiled, tying a knot at the top of the liner to keep the smell in.
“What, make coffee?” She emptied out the remains of the pot into the sink and rinsed it clean. “I may not be a rocket scientist, but I am capable of basic hospitality.”
“Should be us showing you hospitality,” he grumbled. “That’s how it works when you invite someone over.”
Except here they were, standing in the beginnings of a pigsty. What the hell was going on with his father? Not that his place normally looked like Better Homes and Gardens by any means, but Adam McMahon was a proud man. He kept a tidy home as best he could. Reed made a mental note to check in with the agency about the replacement. Given his father’s appetite had waned in recent months, this didn’t look like only one or two days’ worth of dishes.
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