Things We Never Said: A Hart’s Boardwalk Novel

by Young, Samantha

  His father scrunched up his face in disgust, his voice loud when he answered, “You’re on the news. My fuckin’ waste-of-space son is on the news. And everyone is asking me why the fuck my son is in this pissy little town pissing away that detective badge he’s so fuckin’ smug about.”

  “Jesus,” Cooper muttered behind him.

  Michael’s neck grew hot and he bit back the urge to lash out at his father. Was he so sick in the head, he’d come all this way to berate his own son? “Lower your voice.”

  Aengus curled his lip. “I know why you’re here.”

  Before Michael could respond, his evening went from bad to worse as Cooper’s door flew open, and Dahlia rushed in with Bailey at her back.

  Jesus Christ.

  His father turned to see what had grabbed his attention as Dahlia spotted him. The look of relief on her face turned to confusion when she recognized Aengus. She stepped toward them.

  “And speak of the fuckin’ devil.”

  “Dad.” Michael grabbed his arm, jerking him back around. “I’m on duty right now, so let’s step outside. You can say what you came here to say, and then you’ll get the fuck out of my town.”

  “Your town?” He guffawed loudly, and the bar went silent.

  Michael pinched the bridge of his nose as if it would somehow stop his headache and make his father disappear at the same time.

  “You move to this nowhere little shithole on the sea for that piece behind me—”

  “Watch it,” Michael warned.

  Aengus smirked as Dahlia got closer, his eyes flickering to her with malice. “And your mom tells me this girl doesn’t even want you. You always thought you were better than me, but you’re not better. You gave up a job I could be proud of you for to chase some tail down the East Coast, only to fumble on a fuckin’ murder case. I’m here to talk sense into you. Come back to Boston, Mikey. Stop making a fool of yourself and make your old man proud for once.”

  Before Michael could even formulate a thought, Dahlia was in Aengus’s face.

  “How dare you?” she spat.

  He sneered, opened his mouth to say something, but she put her palm inches from his face to shut him up.

  “My turn. This is my town. And you do not come into my town, berate and insult the man I love, a man who is working his ass off. Do you hear me? You’ve never known what it means to be a good man so how could you possibly recognize it in anyone else? You have no honor. And you have no right to demand anything of Michael considering the shit you’ve put him through. Never mind whether you’re proud of him … what have you ever done to make him proud of you?”

  Still reeling from hearing her tell his father—his father, not him—that she loved him, Michael’s reaction time was slow. His father had already grabbed Dahlia around the wrist, to spit a retaliation in her face.

  One second his father was in front of him, touching Dahlia, the next his face was slammed down on the bar top and Michael was clipping him into cuffs. “You’re drunk,” he said loudly enough so the patrons would understand why he’d gotten physical. His heart hammered with rage. “You can spend some time in county jail getting sober before you get your ass in your car and leave.”

  Then he leaned down to whisper darkly in Aengus’s ear, “You ever touch what’s mine again, and that includes Mom, I’ll fuckin’ end you.” He pulled him up, and his dad struggled against his hold.

  “Want me to hit him?” Cooper looked like he’d take great pleasure in it.

  Michael smirked, but he knew it was more of a snarl. “How about just letting me put him in your office until I can get a deputy out here. I need to get to that trailer.”

  Cooper nodded, and Michael shuffled his dad, who fought all the way down the hall. He shoved him inside, and Cooper locked the door behind him. His dad’s drunken yells followed him down the hall.

  Fuck, he was shaking.

  “You okay?”

  “What? Him?” Michael shrugged and then lied, “I stopped letting him get to me years ago.”

  “No, I meant Dahlia.”

  He glared at the door that would lead him back out to her. “Woman fucks me up.”

  Cooper was sympathetic. “Been there.”

  Bracing himself, he walked back out into the bar and tried to ignore Dahlia’s big, concerned eyes. In fact, he brushed right past her and out the door. He didn’t think he could talk to her without yelling. Plus, everyone was gawking.

  Everything Dahlia said to his dad was great, but she should’ve said it to him. Which made him question the validity of it.

  Was it pity?

  Did she say that all out of fuckin’ pity?

  “Michael!”

  He kept striding down the boards. There was too much pain he needed to stay locked up right now, and Dahlia had a habit of opening the door to it.

  “Michael.” She grabbed his arm, and something split open inside him as he spun to face her. Her beautiful face was taut with anguish. “Talk to me.”

  “About what?” he bit out. “About that awful fuckin’ scene in there? About you facing off to that drunken dickwad because you felt sorry for me?” He bent his head to growl his ire in her face, “I don’t need your fuckin’ pity.”

  She was aghast. “It wasn’t pity. It was the truth.” She grabbed at him, but he shrugged her off. A mulish expression fell over her features. “I realized today that what I said to you this morning … it’s … I have to fight it. I was just tired of always feeling guilty, and I thought to be with you would mean always feeling that way, but I need to let that go. I know I need to let that go. Michael, it hurts more to be without you. So much more.”

  Everything she was saying should’ve meant everything to him. It was what he wanted. But his dad’s voice was ringing in his head, and now the last few weeks looked different than they had yesterday. What had been a determined pursuit of the woman he loved seemed more like a dog scratching at the door for scraps.

  Now he questioned everything.

  Did she love him like he loved her?

  Would it always be a struggle to be with her, to get her to open up to him?

  Would she always make him feel like he was failing … like his dad made him feel?

  “I have to go,” he muttered. “I’m on duty.”

  Michael was a little woozy, a little light-headed, as he turned to walk away, but he knew she’d let him go. He knew she wouldn’t fight.

  “Michael.”

  He faltered, hesitated at the plea in his name.

  “I know what he said hurts. I understand better than anyone, so when the pain of that awful scene fades away, when you can see me clearly again, I’ll be here. This time forever.”

  The words wrapped around him, almost like she’d put her arms around him and rested her head on his back. Was it enough? Could he trust that tomorrow she wouldn’t wake up and remember that she was supposed to pay some kind of screwed-up penance to Dillon?

  Exhausted, weary beyond measure, Michael walked away.

  He had a job to do.

  A killer to catch.

  That was at least something he knew he could do.

  All the rest would have to wait.

  For once, she would have to wait for him.

  I had a tight grasp on my panic as I parked my old Mini in my parking spot and got out of the car. What a day. It seemed never-ending. Between my morning with Michael, Jessica’s heartbreaking revelations and the much-needed lightning bolt of perspective they’d given me, the encounter with Aengus Sullivan, and then Michael’s dejected anger, I was a mess.

  After Jessica’s story, I went home to shower and change. I’d paced my apartment, going back and forth on how I should approach Michael, what I should say, and eventually decided to go to him and tell him I loved him. I’d gone to the station, only to discover Michael had taken a call at Cooper’s. The deputy had muttered something about Michael being popular that day, and it all made sense when I turned up at Coop’s to find Aengus Sullivan berating his
son.

  The rage I’d felt.

  Oh, man. I’d never wanted to hurt someone the way I wanted to hurt Michael’s father.

  How dare he! My blood was still hot from the encounter as I let myself into my apartment block.

  And Michael was so mad at me. I didn’t blame him. Even when I wanted to yell at him, I couldn’t. Because I got it. I absolutely understood. When a parent went off like Michael’s dad had, it didn’t matter how old the child was. It stung, and it locked a person inside his own head for a while.

  But he’d come out of it. He would.

  We’d work this out.

  For the first time, I had hope.

  Honest.

  I wasn’t panicking. I wasn’t—

  A muffled shout from my left intruded on my thoughts as I climbed the stairs. Eyebrows drawing together, I turned my head toward Ivy’s apartment and cocked my ears to listen.

  A loud shatter followed by the deep baritones of a male voice from inside the apartment sent a chill down my spine.

  Ivy.

  Goddamn it. This day really was never-ending.

  Slipping back down the stairs, I quickly untied the ankle strap on my shoes so I could move without being heard. I winced at the cold tiles underfoot and scurried across the hall to Ivy’s. Pressing my ear to her door, I could hear the muffled voice again. The guy’s words were louder but unclear. Still, there was more than a hint of agitation in his tone.

  Thinking it was better to be yelled at for being nosy than to ignore the gut feeling that told me Ivy was in trouble, I tried the door handle and held my breath when it opened with a soft click. Pushing it ever so slightly, the voices came to me loud and clear.

  “Stop fucking around,” a male voice whined. “I know you got money. That dead boyfriend of yours must have left you a shitload too.”

  Horror filled me.

  I knew that voice.

  It was Freddie Jackson.

  Ivy sounded emotionless as she responded. “Even if I had it, transferring that kind of money doesn’t happen overnight. There’s a ten-grand transfer limit for online banking.”

  “Then you must have something I can pawn. Jewelry. Anything. I need money to disappear.”

  For a moment, I wondered how someone who had evaded arrest and a subsequent police hunt could be this stupid? Panic and desperation turned people into morons.

  The thing was, it also made them dangerous, and Freddie had already killed.

  Fear crawled over me at the reminder.

  Ivy was in there alone with a killer.

  Pushing the door open carefully, I slipped inside the apartment. Ivy’s floor was covered with deep-pile carpet that masked my steps as I slid along the wall. The apartment opened from the short hall into a living room, like mine.

  I swallowed past the lump of apprehension in my throat, heart hammering. I ignored the cold sweat gathering under my arms, and forced myself to peek around the wall.

  Freddie stood in the center of the room in a shirt and jeans that looked too big for him. A baseball cap was drawn down over his head.

  And he was pointing his gun at Ivy.

  Ivy didn’t look as emotionless as she sounded. There was fear in her dark eyes as she stood before him in her sweatpants and T-shirt. Shattered glass lay along the tiled hearth of the fireplace at her back.

  “You give me the money, and I’ll leave. You don’t give me the money, I’m going to fuckin’ shoot you in the head. And I will. I got nothing to lose.”

  “I-I-I can call my bank manager,” Ivy said, nodding slowly. “It might take a few days.”

  “Are you listening, you dumb bitch?” He cocked the gun. “I don’t have a few days.”

  Instinct took over.

  One second I was behind the wall, the next I was diving at Freddie Jackson without any thought but to stop him from shooting Ivy. We slammed into the ground, Freddie’s expletives filling my head. The gun fell into the thick carpet.

  Adrenaline crashed through me as I lunged for it, my hands colliding with Freddie’s. We started to wrestle. The little shit was stronger than he looked. I screamed in rage, pouring all my strength into the fight and—

  BANG!

  Agonizing pain tore through my shoulder, and I slumped, curling into myself. Fire streaked up my neck and down my arm, and I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Dahlia McGuire.” A wet glob hit my cheek and the realization I’d been spat on cut through the pain.

  Furious, I turned to look up at him, feeling something warm and wet trickle down my shoulder. Blood.

  The bastard had shot me.

  He straddled me, the gun pointed at my face.

  “Does that make you feel like a man? Murderer,” I spat back at him, teeth gritted in agony.

  His face crumpled in on itself with temper. “This is what happens to—” Surprise slackened his features. His eyes rolled.

  And then he slumped over me and slid onto the carpet, unconscious.

  Blinking in shock, I stared up at Ivy, brandishing an Academy Award statuette.

  “Did … did you just kill him with an Oscar?”

  I didn’t hear Ivy’s response. Black dots spread across my vision. Lots and lots of black dots … until there was nothing but black.

  * * *

  An irritating beeping noise filled my ears, bringing me out of sleep. Consciousness was followed by unbearable pain. I groaned, pushing my eyes open to see what the hell was burning my goddamn shoulder. Michael’s face, fuzzy, appeared before me.

  Michael?

  My eyes slammed shut without my say.

  “Dahlia, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay,” an unfamiliar voice said. “We’re on our way to the hospital. Just hold on.”

  I forced my eyes open, wanting to tell the unfamiliar voice that someone had set fire to my shoulder and could they please do something about that. But the words couldn’t make it past the pain. Michael’s face appeared again. Closer.

  Something squeezed my hand.

  Michael?

  He leaned over me. “I’m here, dahlin’. Don’t let go, okay? Don’t ever let go.”

  I wanted to mumble “okay,” but the darkness pulled me back under before I could get the word out.

  There was that beeping noise again. Jesus Christ, it was irritating. This time as I swam up out of unconsciousness, the pain in my shoulder wasn’t so bad. Not at all.

  My eyelids were heavy, and it took me a couple of tries, blinking against fluorescent lights, to get them to stay open.

  When they did, the first person I saw was Michael. He sat sprawled in a seat beside me, his eyes closed, his face pale beneath his natural tan. I wondered what he was doing in my bedroom. Then I processed how high my bed was.

  And the beeping.

  Christ, the beeping.

  Without moving my head, I took in the room around me and realized I was in a hospital bed.

  A needle with a drip was stuck in my hand.

  The beeping was from the monitors above my head.

  What …

  A loud bang ricocheted in my ears, and I winced.

  It was a memory. Just a memory.

  Freddie Jackson shot me!

  Indignation caused movement, and pain blasted down my arm from my right shoulder. Son of a bitch!

  Michael jerked awake. His eyes were wide and haunted as he looked at me.

  “Hey,” I whispered.

  Then something happened I’d never witnessed before.

  Michael Sullivan bowed his head over my lap and started to cry.

  Distress flooded me. I reached out with my good arm and sank my fingers into his hair to soothe him. “Baby,” I hushed, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

  He shuddered beneath my touch, and I felt him fight to control his emotions. Then he sat up, rubbed his hands hard down his face as he gazed at me with dark eyes still shiny with tears. Then he stood, braced himself over me, and kissed me.

  I could taste the salt from his tears on my tongue.


  When he broke the kiss, he sounded haggard. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  I reached for his face, cupping it in my hand. “I love you.”

  Watching as he struggled to hold back more emotion, I fell even deeper in love. How that was possible, I had no idea.

  “I love you too,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “So fuckin’ much, I swear it’s going to kill me.”

  I laughed and then winced as pain flared up my neck. “I got shot,” I said, sounding as indignant as I felt.

  Michael’s face clouded over. “That little fucker will pay for it.”

  The memory of Ivy smacking him across the head with her Oscar came to me. “Ivy didn’t kill him?”

  Michael smirked despite the hum of fury I could feel vibrating off him. “That statuette weighs over eight pounds, and it gave him a nasty concussion, but it didn’t kill him. Unfortunately. He is in custody now, though.”

  “Shouldn’t you be there interrogating him?” I trailed my fingers over his mouth. He curled his hand around them.

  “I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Jeff is leading the interviews. I do need to call him—I promised I would let him know as soon as you woke up.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  “You went straight into surgery.” He glanced at the wall behind me, presumably at a clock. “It’s been a couple hours.” He kissed me softly again. “I need to go tell a nurse you’re awake. And I’ll track Bailey and the girls down. Cooper and Vaughn forced them all to go to the cafeteria because they were driving me a little crazy.”

  I gave him a tired smile. I could only imagine.

  “I called your dad,” he said. “He’s on his way.”

  Oh God, my dad. “He’ll be worried.”

  “Of course, he is. He’s your dad.” Michael kissed me. “Okay,” he whispered over my lips, “I’m going.” But he kissed me again.

  “Michael …” I tried to soothe him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

  The muscle in his jaw flexed. “What I said to you on the boards … I didn’t mean it.”

  “Ssh. I know. But I did mean it. I’ll wait forever for you, Michael Sullivan.”

  He shook his head. “No waiting required. I’ve been yours since day one.”