by Beth Andrews
“Dad won’t let you do that. He’ll let me play.”
Brandon was right. Greg would probably want to come up with some other form of punishment. She and Greg were still a team when it came to their son. Thank God. Because when it came down to just her and Brandon, she’d been giving in too often.
Was afraid if she didn’t, she’d lose him.
“What you did was wrong,” she told Brandon. Glanced at Walker who witnessed how truly inept she’d become as a mother. “Very wrong. And neither I nor your father are going to let you get away without some sort of consequence. It doesn’t matter what Dalton said to you, there’s no excuse—”
“He said you were hot,” Brandon spat, his hands fisted, his chest rising and falling heavily. “He said he wanted to screw you.”
Tori went hot and then cold, her fingers going numb. “I…I’m sure he was just trying to get a rise out of you.”
But she didn’t sound sure. She sounded as if someone had just hit her in the stomach.
“He meant it,” Brandon said, now close to tears. “They all do. They love talking about you. How you look, how you dress. The things they’d like to do to you.”
Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it. “Honey, they’re just—”
“It’s your fault,” he said, his voice rising. “You dress like you’re a teenager and you’re always flirting and laughing with them. And I have to listen to them all the time about how pretty you are, how sexy. Sometimes they say it when I’m not around but it always gets back to me and sometimes, like today, they say it to my face. How you looked standing out there, jumping up and down in your tight jeans, how you hang on any man that talks to you.” He sniffed but didn’t let the tears in his eyes fall. When he spoke again, his voice was whisper soft. “Why can’t you be a normal mom?”
Tori was shaking. She couldn’t seem to stop. “That’s enough,” she said but her voice was weak. “Wait for me in the car.”
Brandon’s lower lip quivered. “I want to go to Dad’s.”
She could do that. He was to spend the night with his father anyway. She could drop him off early, let Greg be the bad-guy parent, let Colleen fuss and soothe her son. It’d be easy, so frighteningly easy for her to walk away from her son when he acted this ugly toward her.
After all, she did so take after her mother.
But not in that way. Never in that way.
“Go to the car,” she told him, steeling herself against the anger in his eyes, the hatred. “Now.”
“No. I’m going to Dad’s.”
“Your mother told you to wait in the car,” Walker said in his commanding tone. “Do as she says.”
Humiliation swamped her, had sweat forming at the small of her back. She wanted to tell Walker to mind his own business, that she could handle this on her own, she didn’t need to lean on him or anyone else to get through this.
God, but she was a liar.
Finally Brandon turned, swiped up his duffel bag and headed toward the parking lot. Her head aching, her body sore as if she’d been the one fighting, Tori watched him until he turned the corner of the school.
Walker came up behind her and she waited for one of his condemning, judgmental put-downs about how she’d handled—or mishandled—that scene with her son.
“You okay?”
At his low, rough question, tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back but couldn’t force herself to face him. “No. Not really.”
She walked away before any more truths could come out. She should have given him one of her snappy quips or, better yet, flirted a bit. Instead she was the one on edge, wondering how much more she could take before she lost her hold and fell off.
* * *
“WANT TO catch the rest of the game with me?” Ken asked, holding out a beer for Anthony. “Last I checked, the Sox were up by one, bottom of the fifth.”
“Can’t.” Anthony let out the dishwater in the sink and dried his hands on the towel hanging on his shoulder. “I already made plans with J.J., Matt and David.”
He reached for the beer but his dad retracted it. “You driving tonight?” Ken asked.
“Matt’s picking me up.”
“He’s not drinking tonight?”
“He’s the DD. Designated driver,” Anthony explained.
“I know what the DD is,” Ken said, finally handing the beer over. “I wasn’t always middle-aged.”
“You have been ever since I’ve known you.”
“Your son’s a real comedian,” Ken told Astor as she came into the room.
She didn’t seem to hear him as she made a beeline for the bottle of wine on the table. Anthony exchanged a raised eyebrow look with his dad as she poured a generous glass and gulped half of it down.
“Something on your mind, honey?” Ken asked, a laugh lacing his voice.
“This wedding,” she said, “is going to be the death of me.”
She took another long drink.
“It’s not too late to hire a wedding planner,” Ken said, taking the bottle from her and pouring more into her glass.
“And miss out on the joy of planning my own daughter’s wedding?” she asked, as shocked as if he’d suggested she put that same daughter on the white slave trade market. “Not on your life.”
Ken sat. “If I remember correctly, your mother drove you nuts while we planned our wedding.”
“How could you even say such a thing?” Astor asked, her eyes wide, her hand over her heart. “I am not driving Erin crazy. All I’m doing is offering my help, guidance and opinions on what’s best for her special day.”
“Just remember, you had a wedding and got everything you wanted.” Ken tugged her onto his lap. She squealed, holding her wineglass out so it didn’t spill. “And I got everything I wanted on the honeymoon.”
Anthony choked on his beer. “Jesus. Is that necessary?”
His parents laughed and Astor hooked her free arm around Ken’s neck. Leaned her head on his shoulder. “Sorry, honey. Dad and I will pretend we don’t like each other if that makes you feel better.”
“You can like each other fine,” he muttered, “as long as it’s platonic.”
Ken brushed Astor’s hair off her shoulder, settled his hand on the back of her neck. “We’ll do our best.”
But their eyes were locked on each other and they kissed. Ken murmured something into Astor’s ear. She smiled and they kissed again, longer this time.
“You do realize the mental anguish I’m suffering right now, don’t you?” Anthony asked.
They pulled apart. Thank God. “We’ll pay for any therapy you might need,” Ken promised.
“I’m holding you to that.”
Not that he was really all that freaked out. His parents had always been loving and demonstrative with each other and their kids. He’d always respected their relationship, had looked up to them and knew he wanted that for himself someday. A woman who’d be his lover, his partner and his friend. Someone he could spend the rest of his life with.
Finishing his beer, he wondered if that was even possible. He’d never been in love, not really and the only time he’d thought he’d come close, it was to find out it was all a lie.
“I’m so glad you could make it home for Brandon’s game,” Astor said, getting to her feet and crossing to him. “You’re a good man.”
Anthony shrugged. “I promised him.”
His mother’s mouth thinned. “I hope it wasn’t too…awkward with…that girl…being there.”
That girl. Jessica.
Anthony lifted his bottle, but it was empty. He’d seen her. She’d been with that floppy-haired kid she’d been dating since summer. They’d kept their distance from him, only coming close once when they told Layne they were leaving.
Anthony had had to turn away.
“It’s fine, Mom,” he lied.
“I hope so. Your father and I are proud of the way you handled the whole situation.”
He’d handled it the only way he could. Even if he forgave her
for lying, she was a kid. They couldn’t be together.
“Are you and Mackenzie still seeing each other?” Astor asked.
“Yeah.” He and Mackenzie had gone to high school together and had hooked up a few weeks after the situation with Jess. Mackenzie was smart, beautiful and, best of all, twenty. “She couldn’t come home this weekend, had some sorority deal.”
“Honey,” Astor said carefully, “we’ll understand if you don’t want to come back for any more games since that girl will be there.”
“She has a name,” Ken pointed out, looking over the top of his glasses as he checked something on his laptop. “And it’s Jessica.”
“I know her name.”
“She made a mistake,” Ken said. “It happens to the best of us.”
“It does but she hurt my son and that’s a little tougher to get past.”
“I’m sure you have it in your heart to do so.”
It was true. Anthony’s mother was forgiving. Accepting. Tolerant.
Usually.
“I don’t want you to hold a grudge against Jess because of me.” He also didn’t want to talk about her, to think about her, but that seemed to be out of the question. “It’s over. I’m not hung up on it and neither should you be.”
He wasn’t hung up on Jess.
Ken slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the right attitude.” He pulled Astor in close to his side. “Besides, I’m not sure our marriage would’ve worked all these years if your mother didn’t have the ability to forgive.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You can say that again.”
Anthony watched them walk out of the kitchen, their arms around each other’s waists. They’d probably hang out in the study, watch a movie. They’d be in the kitchen tomorrow when he woke up, his sister, too. After a leisurely Sunday brunch, he’d head back to school, his mom giving him enough food to last four people a month, even though they had actual grocery stores in Boston.
He was lucky. He knew that. Appreciated it. He had parents who loved him and, maybe just as importantly, loved each other. And while he’d been too embarrassed to talk to them about what had happened with Jess, he knew they were there for him. They always would be.
Even if he told them he was reconsidering law school.
It wasn’t his passion, and he was afraid it never had been, that he’d made a huge mistake in thinking it was. Yeah, they’d be there for him, would support him in whatever decision he made, just like always.
But they’d be disappointed in him.
So he needed to suck it up. He’d made his choice and his life was good. Hell, it was great. He did well in school, would graduate in the spring and then move on to law school. He had a beautiful, smart, classy girlfriend in Mackenzie. Life was great. Just great.
It would be perfect as soon as he stopped thinking about Jess.
* * *
TORI CROSSED HER arms as she stepped onto the sidewalk and headed toward room 114 of the Tidal Pool Motel. At the door, she rubbed her fingertips against her palms. Her stomach quivered. She felt guilty. Panicked.
Like she was cheating on her husband.
She chewed on the inside of her lip. Then knocked on the door.
She didn’t have a husband. Still, she felt as if she was doing something wrong just by being there. As if she was betraying her family. Stupid, she told herself, shifting her weight from her left foot to her right, resisting the urge to knock again. She was there for a damned good reason, not to spill family secrets.
The door opened. Her eyes widened.
Oh, no.
Walker frowned at her, his faded jeans hanging low on his hips, his T-shirt proclaiming she should Trust Me, I’m a Jedi. His feet were bare. One side of his hair stuck to his head, the other stood on end. He held a paperback in his hand, his finger marking the place.
All of that she could’ve handled with skill and ease. But there was more. He had on glasses. Wire-rimmed.
Seeing him so deliciously mussed and enticing only reminded her that she’d been divorced for months now, that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time.
Damn him.
“Mrs. Mott,” he said, his voice deeper, huskier than usual. “What are you doing here?”
He got right to the point, a trait she appreciated despite that she rarely did. She preferred to keep so many things hidden.
“I’d say I was in the neighborhood but that would be a lie.” She waited but he just stared down at her. “Well,” she asked softly, “aren’t you going to invite me in?”
He wanted to say no. She saw the refusal flash in his eyes. He didn’t want her there.
And what the hell was that about? Men didn’t deny her. Period.
Finally he stepped aside and she entered, making sure to oh-so-subtly brush against him.
“Nice place,” she said of the cramped space. The bedcovers were rumpled, one half of the mattress covered with scattered papers and files. A military documentary flashed on the TV. His laptop was open on the nightstand next to the bed, the screen blue.
He hit the book against his thigh. “Is that why you stopped by? To see my room?”
Feeling unsure and awkward, she faced him, her high heels sticking to the nubby carpet. She took great pleasure in being able to keep other people on their toes. Keep them guessing. But with him, she was never sure where she stood.
“Actually,” she said, “I wanted to thank you for breaking up the fight between the boys today. And for smoothing things over with the Nashes.”
“You’re welcome.”
That was it? She edged closer. His expression remained unchanged, his gaze curious and wary, watching her as if she was potentially dangerous, possibly lethal. “Let me take you out, buy you a drink and thank you properly.”
He tossed the book onto the bed. “That’s not necessary.”
“I think it is.”
“It’s not a good idea,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes slightly. She should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy. Walker seemed to make everything more difficult than it had to be.
She shouldn’t find it so interesting.
Luckily Tori had ways of getting what she wanted. Her peach top clung to her breasts, the bright color accentuating the remnants of her summer tan and contrasting with her dark, tight jeans. The glossy black ankle boots with the pointy heels and open toe added three inches to her height, elongated her legs and were worth every blister she’d have by the end of the night. Her makeup was perfect—smoky, lined eyes. Glossy lips.
She looked hot. Sexy.
If he didn’t notice he was either blind or a liar.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ll go to the Yacht Pub. Dale York’s old stomping grounds.”
The place where Valerie had worked, where she’d flirted with the customers and had started the affair that would end her marriage. And her life.
“It’s not a good idea for us to form any sort of…personal relationship.”
Picking up the book he’d tossed aside, she smiled at him. “It’s a drink or two. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that. Unless you’re concerned it could turn into more?”
In her experience, most men couldn’t resist a challenge. Certainly not someone like Walker who solved puzzles for a living.
“Not interested,” he said.
She laughed but the sound came out bitter and self-deprecating. “Really? Then you’re the first man I’ve met who isn’t.” Shaking her head, she dropped the book onto the corner of the bed. Her face was hot, her chest so tight it was all she could do to keep breathing. “You know what? Never mind. Forget I ever came here.”
She crossed to the door when his voice stopped her.
“What are you really doing here, Tori?” he asked.
Hearing him say her name in his low, rumbling voice made her stomach flip. She turned slowly. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“Like I said, I came to thank you. I thought you might like to
take a break from all of this—” She gestured to the papers on the bed. “Have a drink since you’re new in town and obviously alone.”
“Are you?” When she looked at him quizzically, he added. “Is that why you’re here? Because you’re alone?”
Something inside of her shifted, cracking the hard shell she kept around her heart. She was alone. Increasingly felt alone. Was afraid that was exactly what she deserved. “Look, I just…”
“You just what?”
“I thought we could hang out,” she admitted.
Brandon was at his dad’s and as she sat in her empty house, she’d become increasingly antsy. Anxious. Walker was right. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. But coming here when she was keyed up and restless and, most frightening of all, feeling so needy and reckless, was a mistake.
She was always making mistakes.
“But since you’re not interested,” she continued, giving him a sharp grin, her nails digging painfully into her palms, “I’ll have to go see if I can find some man who is.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
TORI YANKED THE door open and Walker stepped back in time to save himself from a broken nose. Before he could grab her arm, hell, before he could even figure out why he would want to try to stop her, she was gone, her long legs eating up the distance between the motel and her car.
Good. It wasn’t up to him to keep her from doing something she might regret. He was nobody’s savior. Had no desire to be.
Walker leaned against the doorjamb, his ankles crossed, gooseflesh rising on his bare arms as she cranked the engine and drove away. He wasn’t one of those cops who needed to save everyone, even from themselves. He did his job, found the truth, made sure justice was served and then moved on. Tori Mott and whatever had sent her to his room weren’t his problems.
But he could still smell her, he thought as he shut the door. Her intoxicating, sexy scent lingered in the air, colored his intentions. He could still see her standing next to his rumpled bed and it was easy, way too easy, to imagine her in it. Imagine them in it, her golden skin a contrast against the whiteness of the scratchy sheets.
He kept remembering how crushed she’d looked when her son had yelled at her after the game. How she’d seemed almost vulnerable standing at his door.