by Jordan, Skye
She appreciated the space. Sort of. “What ducks are those?”
“The ones we need to get the renovation started.”
“You’re still holding on to that idea?”
“That idea is going to pay off your medical school loans. So, yeah. I am.”
Emma unzipped her Tyvek suit, pulled off her glasses and gloves. “Fine, I could use a break. But before we sit down to talk about it, I need to pee. Badly. And I’m not up to facing that bathroom.”
She stripped out of the hot suit, but her shoulder caught, trapping her arms. “Goddammit.”
Dylan was just grinning at her.
“It’s not funny,” she told him.
“Oh, yeah it is. It definitely is.” He chuckled and reached for her. “Okay, hold still.”
She turned away. “I can do it.”
She walked in a circle, fighting with the suit until her arms burned. Dylan just stood there, arms crossed, smiling like an idiot.
Embarrassment and fatigue won the battle. She stopped struggling and leaned her forehead against the trunk of a cherry tree. “I’m such a loser.”
“Can I help now?” His voice was right beside her, and despite all the pain he’d caused her, she longed to turn into him.
She was grateful he didn’t wait for her answer. Just reached for her, turning her toward him and working the suit loose from her shoulder.
“There you go.” His voice was sweet and calm. His hands smoothed over her shoulders, stripping the hot suit down her arms and pulling the sleeves off her hands.
“Okay, I’ve got it.” She took a step away, shoved the suit down her hips, her legs, and got her foot caught. She lost her balance, hopped on one foot a few times, then tilted.
She squealed just as Dylan caught her by the waist. Again. This time, her shirt rode up, and his hand burned a print on her skin. Intense desire blindsided her. One she hadn’t felt in years. One that made her brain short out, giving her body the opportunity to take the lead.
Only, she wasn’t that impulsive kid anymore. She forced her mind into gear. But the battle took a toll on her emotions, weakening her walls.
Dylan dropped into a crouch and pulled the suit down her legs. She lifted one foot so he could pull it off and put a hand on his shoulder to balance.
“You’re still as stubborn as ever,” Dylan said.
“My mom said the same thing a few days ago.”
He looked up at her, and his grin created sparkles in his eyes. The sight moved a mountain of resistance inside her, shoving it out of the way.
He was so handsome. All his boyish features had hardened and sharpened. His experience had whittled a few lines here and there. The beard he’d barely been able to grow back then had come in full and dark and created a shadow of stubble on his jaw. New scars cut a line through his left brow and jutted across the right side of his chin. She wanted to know how he’d gotten them, making her realize how much of his life she’d missed.
“How are your parents?” he asked.
“They’re good.”
“I should go by and see them.” His smile faded. “Guess I owe them an apology too.”
She didn’t realize she was staring at him until his smile died. He dropped his knees to the ground and reached up, cupping her cheek. “Baby?”
He stroked a thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. Emma closed her eyes and turned her face into his hand. Just for a second. Then another. Then forced herself to step back.
“I’m fine.”
He sat back on his heels and pressed his hands to his thighs. “You always were.”
“Damn right.” And she had to keep it that way.
“You should probably pee before you wet your pants.”
Emma laughed. He was probably the only man who could say that to her and make it funny, not insulting.
She gladly left Dylan at the house and stopped at the nearest gas station to use the facilities before picking up lunch on her way back. All while talking herself into an emotional reset, rebuilding her walls.
“Charming doesn’t solve problems,” she told herself on the drive back to the house. “Handsome doesn’t pay the bills. Love. Alone. Is. Not. Enough.”
She forced herself to remember the endless, deep heartache that had crippled her for so long. The soul-shredding sensation of being rejected. How she’d had to handle every mountain for the last eight years on her own. How alone she’d felt every time she achieved success, because he wasn’t there to share it with her.
By the time she returned to the house, she was steady again. Emma pulled into the drive. She didn’t see the old truck he’d been driving last week and wondered if he’d left. Then a black trash bag flew over the side of the dumpster. He’d put himself to work. The sight softened another notch of resistance. Liam wouldn’t touch the house. He’d only half-jokingly suggested they burn it down and sell the land.
She’d been carrying so much on her shoulders by herself—her debt, her studies, her work, her finances, this house. While she was with Liam, she’d chosen to view his lack of interest in her struggles as something that only made her stronger. But seeing Dylan pitching in with something that wasn’t even remotely his responsibility to pay a debt that wasn’t even his made her realize how much she’d missed having someone to lean on.
She grabbed the food and made her way down the drive to the backyard. Dylan came out of the house holding a kitchen garbage can. He was wearing the mask but none of the other protective gear, and he tossed the plastic bin into the dumpster before pulling the mask down.
And he smiled. Smiled like this was the most fun he’d had in months.
It was no wonder he’d stolen her heart. The man had been able to find fun in any situation. Had always helped Emma lighten up. He’d both brought her joy and taught her how to find joy in the most unexpected places. And right now, he looked so much like the guy she’d married, it made her heart heavy. Dylan had always been resilient, but seeing just how well he’d recovered from an accident that tore his life apart and killed three other men was nothing short of a miracle.
He rested his hands at his hips in a familiar stance she’d always found so sexy. “Hey.”
The movement drew her gaze to his arms. He’d pulled off the long-sleeved Henley he’d been wearing, exposing a simple black T-shirt. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the healed burns. Everywhere fire had touched him, scars created various shapes of distorted, discolored skin. Some areas were deep, some shallow. Some had healed on the darker side, some on the lighter side.
“And overcoming his physical limitations after that accident…” her mother’s words replayed in Emma’s head. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”
“What’s wrong?” Dylan followed her gaze. “Oh.” He waved it away like it was nothing. “I know, they’re ugly, but they don’t bother me much anymore.”
Something snapped inside her. She felt it as clearly as a sharp slap on her skin. Pain soared. Anger surged. “Bullshit.” She knew better. Much better. “You can’t have burns like that and not suffer nerve damage.”
He held his hands out and glanced at his arms. “It’s not as bad as—”
“Stop it. Stop fucking minimizing it. You did the same thing in the hospital. Tried to tell me you would be fine. Right up until the day you took a one-eighty and told me you didn’t love me anymore. Told me to get out and never come back.”
“Emma—” He dropped his arms and took a step toward her.
“Don’t.” She put up a hand, but that didn’t stop him. He followed her retreat until he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Dylan, don’t. Please.”
“Shhh.” His arms were strong, his presence steady. “I’m not trying to minimize anything. I’ve found ways to deal with the pain over the years. I’m okay, Emma. I’m not the kid I used to be, but I’m much better than anyone ever believed I could be.”
“I believed.” She fisted her hands and
pulled her arms into her body, trying to create some kind of barrier between them. She couldn’t seem to maintain any kind of control over her emotions around him. “I believed, but you didn’t. Not in yourself. Not in me. Not in us.”
“You’ve always been able to look into the future better than I ever could. You’ve always known me better than I knew myself. I didn’t have your vision or your faith. I’m so sorry.”
The pain felt like it was consuming her. She pushed against his chest, but he didn’t let her go. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.” He kissed her hair and rocked her, a slow, side-to-side motion. “You’re a fucking warrior princess. You’ve been through so much worse. Breathe, Emma. Slow your mind down and breathe.”
God, he knew her so well. Knew her mind was spinning out. Knew exactly how to calm her. Tension uncoiled from her muscles, and she closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, then did exactly what he suggested and breathed. His familiar scent filled her head, and, despite all the turmoil inside her, she relaxed into him.
“There you go,” he murmured, lifting one hand to stroke her hair. “You’ve got this, baby. We’ve got this.”
Against her better judgment, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. Her tension faded. The pain transformed into sadness. All the years they’d lost drifted in. All the pain she’d suffered. And the reality that it could never be the same between them again.
“What did you bring us for lunch?”
His question broke her thoughts. Emma eased away and looked at the bag that had been crushed between them. “It was Mexican. I’m not sure what it is now.”
He lifted the bag. “Teresita’s? Are you serious? They’re still in business?”
Emma used both hands to wipe her face. “The daughter and granddaughter are running it now.”
His smile was radiant. She really didn’t have the strength to keep fighting her feelings for him. She was exhausted. “I’ve got drinks in the car.”
She turned away, but he caught her hand. “I’ll get them. You sit. I cleared off the picnic table.”
9
Dylan’s heart felt tight as he picked up the drinks and brought them to the table. Emma hadn’t unpacked the food. She sat straddling one of the benches, her gaze unfocused.
He put the drinks on the table, then sat opposite her, straddling the bench the same way.
She’d been crying beyond the tears he’d seen a few minutes ago. The traces were barely there now, but after his accident, when she’d cried all the time, he’d learned to read the signs. The inner rims of her eyes were still tinged red, and for some reason he’d never been able to understand, her eyes always looked big and green after a jag. Intensely green.
Knowing he’d brought her more pain was a double-edged sword. It meant she still cared, but it also meant he was doing the opposite of what he’d come to do.
He let his gaze wander. Her hair was down and straight, tucked behind one ear and shimmering in the sun. Her lashes were long, casting spiky shadows over the pale freckles on her cheeks. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d traced her face with his fingers.
She was wearing those old jeans with rips showing him flashes of skin on her upper thighs, and another humorous T-shirt clung to her tight torso. The front read Trauma Queen. If you want my attention, try bleeding. Dylan would have commented on it, but she didn’t look like she was in the mood.
When minutes passed and she still hadn’t spoken, he took her hands in his.
Her gaze ran over his arms. “Can I touch them? Or will it hurt?”
“Yes, you can touch them, and no, it won’t hurt.”
She took one of his hands and turned it over. With her other hand, she traced the path of puckered skin and scars. Her touch started a low buzz in his body.
“You must have neuropathy,” she said.
“Some, yeah.”
“How bad?”
“It varies. Depends on what I’m doing, how long I’m doing it, how I recover.”
“Limited range of movement?”
“Not too bad. I did PT for years.”
She released one hand and picked up the other, stretching out his arm. “Are you on pain management?”
“Just gabapentin,” he told her. “I rejected the opioids.”
“Smart.”
“With my mom’s history…” He shrugged.
“You’re staying in shape.” Her fingers traversed the puckering skin across his biceps that always reminded Dylan of a map of a river and all its tributaries.
“Helps my skeleton stay in alignment—”
“And reduces pain and fatigue.” Her fingers slid away. “You must be a metal detector nightmare with all the plates and pins in your bones.”
“I am.”
“And I suppose you’re not going to mention the deep aches and pains that plague you.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
She thought a moment. “Vanderbilt has done extensive burn research. They’ve had really good results with laser treatments. They’ve discovered it drastically reduced pain in patients with burns like yours.”
“That’s interesting. What does it cost? How long does it take?”
“It’s pretty expensive, but I may be able to get you into one of their research studies. Then you’d get it free.”
“It’s all in who you know, right?”
A faint smile lifted her lips. “But it may take a while. The treatments are spaced apart to allow the body to heal in between. So, I wouldn’t want to put your name in the hat if you’re just going to—”
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She searched his eyes. “If you didn’t know about the house, what really brought you home?”
Dylan’s mind darted to Amir, and his heart hurt. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, but he wasn’t going to lie either. “It’s hard for me to admit this, but the intensity got to me. I suffered one too many tragedies. The kind that make you realize all you have in life and all you take for granted. I needed to come home and spend real time with Gypsy and Miranda. And I’ve needed to apologize to you for years. I know it’s wrong that it took such a tragic situation and such a shitty place for me to realize all I have at home, but I’ve always had a hard head.”
A sad smile tipped her lips. “We both do.”
He found himself on yet another cliff ledge. “I knew I had a lot of unresolved feelings for you, but the second I saw you…” He shook his head remembering how the sight of her punched heat through his chest. “I knew we had to try again.”
She pulled her hands from his and rubbed her palms down her thighs. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. You crushed me. Absolutely crushed me. I could never put into words how completely you ruined me.”
The words hit him like a kick to his stomach.
“Not only did I lose the love of my life, I lost my best friend. I lost my entire future. When I got home, I was so depressed, I wouldn’t get out of bed for days. I worried my parents sick. I had to go on medication for depression and anxiety just to get outside the house. And when I managed that, I had to suffer all those pitying looks and whispers behind my back from people who knew what happened. All the judgment and I-told-you-sos over getting married too young.”
Dylan curled his hands into fists. He hated himself for doing that to her. Hated others for punishing her for his mistake.
“The worst part of the whole thing was that you took away all my control. You kept me from taking care of you and supporting you. Those were my privileges as your wife. Parts of the marriage I absolutely loved. Things that gave me purpose. You robbed us of the strength we would have built getting through your rehab together. You stole all the memories we would have made during those eight years of growing together and loving each other. I took you for better or worse, but you didn’t.”
He wanted to argue. Wanted to plead his case. But he couldn’t. She was right. Sh
e’d always been right—from trying to dedicate herself to him to filing for divorce. All her moves had been the right ones.
A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away before he could. “We’re different people now, and we’re not trying again, Dylan.”
Panic burned a path through his body. “We’re not that different. We’re older, more mature, more experienced, but we’re not fundamentally different people. And we still have memories. Lots and lots of memories of growing together and loving each other.” He took her face between his hands. “And there are so many years to create more.”
He leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were warm and soft and moved with his as if they’d never been apart. All it took was a few slow kisses for Dylan’s rational mind to evaporate. He broke the kiss, gripped her hips and pulled her into his lap.
“Dyl—”
He kissed her quiet and pulled her chest flush with his. When she pulled back, he let her, but didn’t release his hold. Her eyes were heavy lidded, her lips wet. She stroked her hands down his face, slid them around his neck, tilted her head, and kissed him again.
Fire surged through Dylan’s blood. He slipped his hands beneath her T-shirt and slid his hands over the smooth skin of her back. Dylan moaned into her mouth, moved his hands back down to her hips and pulled her against his hardening erection. A sound purred in the back of her throat, lighting Dylan on fire.
He broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down her neck to catch his breath. Synapses crackled and connected, but he wasn’t thinking. Just feeling. He leaned away and stroked her flat belly. Slid his hands up her body, cupping her breasts, sliding his thumbs across her nipples beneath the silky material. She shivered.
God, he’d missed her. So many nights, he’d lain awake, thinking of what it would be like to hold her again. Touch her again. Now, he couldn’t think about anything but loving her again. Learning every inch of her new body. Pushing deep inside her and returning to the only real home he’d ever known.
Her head rested against his, her hands cradling his face. “Dylan.”