by Sydney Logan
Angelina sighed. She hated the thoughts of him giving up anything just to stay in Maple Ridge and take care of her.
“Hey,” he whispered, tilting her face toward his. “I want to be here. There’s no place else I’d rather be. Never doubt that.”
His voice rang with sincerity, and she smiled before leaning in, kissing him tenderly. When she pulled away, she rested her hand against his chest.
“Your heart’s racing.”
“Your fault.”
Angelina giggled.
“I’ve missed your laugh, baby.”
“I’ve missed laughing.”
Dylan kissed her forehead. “Why don’t we go see Maddie? Talking about the wedding is sure to brighten your mood.”
“You brighten my mood every single day. Never doubt that.”
Dylan smiled.
Over the next few weeks, their lives slowly returned to a somewhat normal routine. Celia began her treatments, and as Dr. Campbell predicted, the chemo combined with the medications kept her sick most of the time. Despite her desire to spend every moment by her mom’s side, Angelina had reluctantly returned to work at the shop. David Murray had offered to stay with Celia, and he would check in with Angelina throughout the day. Dylan began his freelance work with the newspaper in Knoxville and found a tiny apartment in town. Maddie was knee-deep in wedding plans, and with the ceremony only a week away, she kept Angelina distracted with her maid of honor responsibilities.
The distraction worked, until the evening Angelina returned home to find Celia slumped over the sofa, retching into a garbage can.
Dylan was right by her side, holding her hair.
Sadly, watching her mother vomit wasn’t anything new, but seeing Dylan taking such good care of her mom brought tears to Angelina’s eyes. In that moment, she was finally grateful for the magic spell that had brought such a wonderful man into their lives.
The next day, Dylan dropped Angelina off at the store before heading to the coffee shop. As he stood in line, he tiredly rubbed his face and wondered how a man’s life could change so dramatically in such a short period of time.
How long had he been living in Maple Ridge? He was too tired to do the math, but he was sure it had only been a couple of months. And in that time, he’d lost his job, been tossed into jail, and had fallen in love with the woman of his dreams.
Dylan smiled every time he thought of her, and he knew without a doubt that this was where he was meant to be. He was tempted to find a tattoo parlor and have the artist fill in the rest of his heart.
His life no longer felt incomplete.
Dylan was still smiling when his cell vibrated in his hand. Glancing down at the screen, he noticed it was an email from Beth, his editor at the newspaper, asking Dylan to come by the office the next day. The paper’s editor-in-chief—a guy by the name of Chuck—had apparently been impressed with Dylan’s freelance work and wanted to offer him a full-time position.
Excited for the opportunity and steady paycheck, he quickly typed out a reply, promising Beth he would be there at ten, just as Chuck had requested.
He couldn’t believe his luck. Knoxville was only an hour away, and it was another sign that moving to Maple Ridge was the right decision.
Dylan was excited to have some good news to share with Angelina and her mom because the past few weeks had been rough on all of them. Celia’s body was still adjusting to the treatments and medications. She was trying to be strong for Angelina, and it had finally taken its toll. Angelina had cried all night long, and he’d held her close, whispering he loved her, and that he would be by her side through it all.
But he couldn’t deny he was tired.
So tired.
And his exhaustion was making him irritable, so when he overheard two guys in the coffee line talking about the pretty owner of the music store next door, he found it difficult to keep his temper in check.
“We dated back in high school,” one of the guys said. Dylan recognized the man’s face but couldn’t remember his name.
Angelina’s first date. Kyle something?
“Oh yeah? What was she like?” his friend asked.
The man didn’t even bother to whisper.
“Hands down, the best sex of my life.”
The guys paid for their coffee, and they were still laughing as they walked right past him on their way to the door.
Dylan was tired and cranky, and the last thing he needed was to hear some asshole spreading bullshit about the woman he loved.
Caffeine was no longer important.
He didn’t even think about the consequences of his actions. Didn’t even consider that this was probably a very bad idea.
He didn’t think at all.
Dylan turned on his heel and followed the men out the door.
Angelina gazed across the water, watching the sun dip just below the trees. Cash was by her side, snuggling close. Each time she was sure she was all cried out, a fresh wave of tears would fall.
What was he thinking? Isn’t life chaotic enough without him getting into another brawl—and this time, in the middle of town?
She had refused to bail him out this time. Despite that, the thought of him sitting in a cold jail cell was more than she could bear. On the phone, he’d begged her to forgive him. Pleaded with her to understand. But all she could see in her mind was his fist connecting with Kyle Dobb’s jaw, and that visual brought to mind another boyfriend who couldn’t keep his rage under control.
Angelina couldn’t live that way again.
She wouldn’t.
It was nearly dark when Cash’s ears perked, and Angelina knew she had company. Minutes later, she felt his arm brush against hers as he joined her on the grass.
Angelina’s eyes remained on the pond. “Who bailed you out?”
“Maddie.”
Angelina nodded stiffly.
“I know you’re mad at me, but in my defense, you don’t know what he said about you.”
Angelina closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “My mother has cancer.”
“You think I don’t realize that?”
Angelina turned to face him. “If you realize that, then you should also realize I don’t give a shit what Kyle Dobbs says about me. Kyle Dobbs is not important to me. My mother is important. Maddie is important. You are important. Kyle Dobbs—and what he says about me—is at the very bottom of my list of important things.”
Dylan stared down at his hands. “I know it was a stupid thing to do, but I love you. I am always going to be protective of you. I won’t apologize for that.”
She shook her head. “I can’t handle this level of protectiveness. I can’t keep waiting for a call from the sheriff to come bail you out of jail because you’ve punched someone in the face for saying something about me. People are going to talk, Dylan. They’ve talked about my family for generations.”
Dylan scrubbed his face. “The last thing I want to hear while I’m waiting for coffee is that asshole telling his buddy how good you are in bed.”
Angelina laughed. “Which you know is a lie because you know I’m a virgin! Don’t you see? You got into a fight over nothing. You got tossed into jail—again—over nothing! I lived through one possessive boyfriend, and I won’t do it again. I won’t.”
Dylan’s jaw clenched.
“Don’t compare me to him. I am nothing like Adam McDonald. I would never hurt you, Angelina. Never.”
She knew, deep in her soul, Dylan would never raise his hand to her. She knew that. But his anger still scared her, and until he found a way to control his temper . . .
“I need some time to think,” Angelina whispered shakily.
He closed his eyes. “How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
“Angelina, don’t do this. I’ll . . . work on my temper. I’ll try. Just don’t shut me out. ”
She climbed to her feet.
“You’re welcome to stay out here as long as you like. I’m going to go check on my mom.”
Dylan bowed his head, and with her dog by her side, Angelina made her way back to the house.
Chapter 15
The next morning, Dylan sped along the interstate on his way to Knoxville. He was thankful it was early and state troopers seemed to be few and far between. He was irritable and exhausted, and this was the absolute worst day to have an interview, but this job opportunity was too important to pass up.
Angelina was mad at him now, but that didn’t weaken his resolve. His life was in Maple Ridge, and he needed to secure a steady job close to home if he had any chance of building a future with her.
If she ever forgives me.
He spent the hour drive contemplating how he was going to convince her to do just that, and by the time Dylan stepped into the offices of The Knoxville Times, he was crankier than ever.
The friendly receptionist smiled at him. “Good morning. May I help you?”
“Good morning. I have a job interview with the editor-in-chief.”
“Your name?”
“Dylan Thomas.”
The young woman giggled as she checked her computer screen.
“What a coincidence. You even look a little like him. Must be the eyes. Who knows? Maybe that’ll help you land the job.”
Dylan had no idea was she meant, and he was in no mood for riddles.
The receptionist pointed him toward the elevators. He thanked her as he walked away.
“Now I know what she meant by a coincidence,” Dylan muttered under his breath as his eyes lingered on the editor-in-chief’s name on the door.
Charles Thomas.
Chuck.
Charles.
It was, without a doubt, the biggest coincidence in the history of the world.
He hoped.
Because if it wasn’t, and if the man sitting behind that desk was indeed Charles Thomas—the same Charles Thomas who’d left Dylan and his mom without a penny to their names all those years ago . . .
Dylan didn’t know if he’d be able to control his temper.
How many times can one be arrested in a twenty-four-hour period?
Before he completely lost his nerve, he took a deep breath and gently rapped on the door.
“Come in.”
There was nothing familiar about the man’s voice, but that did little to quell Dylan’s anxiety. After all, his father had left when he was three. He wasn’t sure he’d even recognize the man’s face, let alone the sound of his voice.
Dylan took a deep breath, turned the door knob, and stepped inside.
The man behind the desk lifted his head, and Dylan found himself staring into a set of deep brown eyes.
His brown eyes.
“We do look alike. Patti said you were a carbon copy of me when I was your age, but—”
Dylan let the door slam behind him as Charles quickly rose to his feet.
An eerie silence filled the room as father and son examined each other for the first in twenty years. Charles Thomas’s hair was streaked with gray, but there was no denying the person standing behind the desk was Dylan’s father. The eyes were the same. The height was the same. Even their posture was the same. Both men were standing with their hands fisted at their sides.
“Is this a joke?”
Charles looked puzzled. “A joke?”
“I’m waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I’m being punked.”
“I don’t think he hosts that show anymore.”
“Like I give a shit what you think.”
Charles sighed heavily and dropped back down into his chair. “Look, son—”
Dylan snorted. “You didn’t seriously just call me your son, did you? Because you gave up the right to call me anything the day you walked out on me and my mom.”
“I know you hate me, but if you’ll just sit down and let me explain—”
“I don’t want your explanation!”
“Maybe you don’t want my explanation, but you want a job, don’t you? I can help you with that. There’s no money in freelance. I spoke with your mother a few days ago.”
“Yeah, she told me. You can stop calling her, by the way. She doesn’t want to listen to your crap any more than I do. And why all of a sudden are you so interested in me? You haven’t been for the past twenty years, and I’ve done just fine without you.”
Charles rubbed the back of neck. “That’s . . . actually what I want to talk to you about. I need to make it right. I need to fix it before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late. You left my mother without a dime to her name. You left me without a father. I have absolutely nothing to say to you, and I wouldn’t work for you or your newspaper if you begged me.”
The two men stared daggers at each other.
Dylan knew he should turn on his heel and walk right out the door, but something was keeping him rooted to his spot. Maybe it was the sheer shock of coming face-to-face with his dad after so many years. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity.
“I’m in a position to help you,” Charles told his son. “You’ll starve doing freelance for this paper. You’re a good writer, Dylan. I’ve seen your articles. Your future in journalism could be very bright.”
Dylan’s hand was already on the door knob. “Could be? Meaning, if I don’t accept your help, I don’t have a chance at all?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Charles muttered. “Give me five minutes. Forget I’m your father for five minutes and listen to what I have to say.”
He laughed. “Forget you’re my father for five minutes? Shouldn’t be too hard. After all, you managed it for twenty years.”
Charles exhaled a noisy sigh.
“Five minutes, Dylan.”
“Fine.”
Dylan dropped into the nearest chair.
Charles cleared this throat, and suddenly, he was all business.
“First of all, let me say your writing is impressive. Your freelance pieces have received some wonderful feedback from our readers. Your editor, Beth, says you have a killer work ethic, and you come highly recommended by Steve Jenkins. While you left him in a tight spot when you refused to write your feature, he says he couldn’t help but be impressed that you stood your ground. He didn’t go into detail as to why you quit, and I didn’t ask. Maybe that’s a story you’ll tell me someday.”
Dylan said nothing, although it was nice to hear that Steve didn’t hate his guts.
“We need a columnist. Someone who likes to write human interest stories. From what I’ve gathered, that’s your strength. People share their stories with you because they trust you. They have faith that you’ll be professional and honest.”
Dylan glanced down at his watch.
Three minutes.
“It’s my understanding you’ve fallen in love . . . with this area of the state,” Charles remarked, smirking a little. “Your mom is under the impression you’d like to live close to the mountains. A full-time position here would allow for that. There would be some travel involved, obviously, but it’d be local. Perhaps some regional, depending on the season, but you’d never be far from home. How does that sound?”
Despite his aggravation—with both his father and his chatty mom—he couldn’t deny it sounded pretty good. He could live in Maple Ridge, write full-time, and build a future with Angelina.
Dylan couldn’t believe this messed-up, twisted universe. His first solid job opportunity, practically his dream job, and it was being offered to him by the man he hated most in this world.
“I can’t believe you’re the editor-in-chief of this newspaper.”
Charles grinned. “I can’t believe you’re a writer. You know what they say. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and Dylan jumped to his feet, his eyes flashing with anger.
“I am in love with an amazing woman, and I can’t stand to be away from her for more than a few hours at a time. You had a wife, and you deserted her. I am nothing like you.”
And
with that, Dylan stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
So much for controlling my temper.
Once he was back in his car, he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and tried to control his breathing.
Dylan never expected to see his father ever again. He had hoped, of course. Every birthday. Every Christmas. Dylan had spent most of his childhood wondering if this would be the year Charles Thomas returned to the family he had left behind. But years passed, and Dylan had accepted that his father was never coming back. With acceptance came a sense of peace that had followed him all these years.
And now that peace was shot to hell.
Dylan fished his cell phone out of his pocket. He knew she was mad and would probably let his call go straight to voice mail, so he sent her a text instead
I need my best friend.
When Angelina arrived at the house, she was surprised to find her mother sitting outside in her rocking chair. Dylan’s SUV was parked in the driveway, but he was nowhere to be found.
How dare he send me some mysterious text message and scare the crap out of me!
Angelina ran toward the porch. “Where is he?”
“He took Cash down to the pond,” Celia replied. “I know you’re upset with him, but he needs you. He’s stood by you—by us—so many times. It’s your turn.”
“Is he okay?”
“He will be.”
Angelina couldn’t handle any more cryptic messages, so she turned and sprinted toward the pond. Dylan was there, sitting on the grass. Her dog was lying next to him with his head perched in his lap.
He looks okay, she thought, and she felt her body relax, just a little, as she approached the water.
“I think you love this pond more than I do,” Angelina said as she sat down next to him.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hey.”
Dylan gazed across the water as he ran his fingers through Cash’s coat. “I do love it here. You can sit and listen to the birds and watch the water ripple with the breeze. It’s serene and calm. And that’s what I want. I want peace and tranquility in a world that is so completely screwed up.”