Damn Wright: The Wrights

by Jordan, Skye

  And she’d been right—they were late. In fact, they were the last two to show up. And the sight of everyone sitting at the table together made the developing relationship between her and Dylan even more real. Real enough to shoot nervous tingles across her skin.

  At a large table in the back of the restaurant, all the members of both immediate families sat talking. Her mom and dad, Miranda and Jack, Gypsy and Cooper, Marty and Elaina. They all seemed to have hit it off, their conversation animated as Cooper was passed between family members to be ogled and spoiled.

  Before sitting, Emma greeted both her parents with a kiss and shook hands with Marty and Elaina. But she was wishing she’d refused this dinner. She felt like she had a boulder sitting on her chest. She moved around the table to the chair Dylan was holding out for her. He sat next to her just as a waitress came by and asked for Dylan’s and Emma’s drink orders. Dylan ordered two bottles of champagne for the table, and Emma’s nerves twisted a little tighter.

  Dylan grinned at everyone around the table. “Looks like everyone’s met.”

  “Long time coming,” Gypsy said.

  “Very true,” Dylan admitted.

  Before he could go on, the waiter was back, opening both champagne bottles and filling glasses.

  Once the waiter left the table, Dylan raised his glass. “To family.”

  “To family,” everyone echoed before clinking glasses and sipping. “Thank you for coming.” Dylan set his glass on the table. “I’ve only recently been able to accept the reality of how much I’ve hurt all of you. You’ve all been so accepting and forgiving, and it means the world to me. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed everyone until I got back.” He looked directly at Emma. “It’s about time I made it up to everyone. And to do that, I need to be here.”

  The words didn’t sink in. They seemed to make as much sense as a toddler’s garble. She darted a glance at each face around the table, looking for clarification. But his sisters looked as surprised as Emma felt.

  “What do you mean, exactly?” she asked. “You mean until you finish the house?”

  He smiled and slid his hand across her shoulders and hugged her tight to his side. “No. I mean permanently. At least for the next two years. His gaze lingered on Emma. “I took a new job.”

  “Wow.” Gypsy was the first to react. The idea evidently made sense to everyone else. Miranda and Jack looked thrilled. Emma’s parents looked surprised, but happy. “That’s amazing. Tell us about it.”

  “I’ve been talking with a competing network,” Dylan said, “and they offered me a position that will allow me to stay in the States.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Miranda said. “What’s the new position?”

  “It was between being a network anchor and an investigative journalist. The anchor position required me to live in New York, but the investigative journalist position allows me to live wherever I want within thirty minutes of an airport, so I took that one. There will be travel, but only short trips. I’ll be home most of the time.”

  Emma’s gut sizzled with that familiar blend of excitement and fear.

  Dylan’s gaze met Emma’s again. “And just to make it clear that I’m all-in, I signed a two-year contract.”

  Shock swirled in the pit of Emma’s stomach. Two years. The same amount of time she needed to commit to Vanderbilt.

  Was this another sign they should be together, or just one more mountain for her to climb to reach her goals?

  Her father raised his glass, his face light and open with happiness. “To fresh starts and future success.”

  Everyone drank and peppered Dylan with questions. But Emma felt like she slipped into a time warp, going through the motions of participating in the conversation while struggling to stay present.

  This was more of a shock than she wanted to admit. This news came straight from her fantasies. For so many years, she’d hoped and prayed she and Dylan would reunite somewhere somehow. But those fantasies had never taken into account all the complications, all the emotions.

  Lingering fear blossomed into irrational terror. She felt trapped. If she said yes to the Somalia mission, she’d be throwing away this second chance with Dylan. If she stayed, she risked not only her heart, but her dreams. There was one lesson that had been hammered into her time after time after time, the one that reminded her there were no guarantees in life. If she gave up on her dreams now, there was no guarantee she’d get another shot. An idea that turned on her like a cobra, reminding her that theory applied to Dylan as well.

  Her mind floated back to the torture of losing him the first time. To the pain that devoured her from the inside out, leaving her a cracked, hollow shell. To how long it had taken her to put the pieces back together. But if she allowed her mind to go back even further, she remembered having her best friend as her lover and her husband. Remembered the perfection of them as a couple.

  While everyone chatted excitedly around the table, sweat broke out along the back of Emma’s neck. Her heart knocked against her ribs. Her fingers started to tingle. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Her brain numbed around the edges, and she couldn’t think straight.

  This was too much. All too much. She needed space. She needed safety.

  Without having to think about it, Emma searched through her purse for her phone. She glanced at the face, murmured an apologetic, “Sorry, it’s the hospital.”

  She extricated herself from Dylan’s arm, stood, and wandered a few feet from the table with her other hand covering her opposite ear, blocking the restaurant noise as she also pretended to take a call.

  And now her mind was clouded by the lie she was about to perpetrate. Despite the fact that she’d never been particularly good at lying, she thought she did a damn fine job of pretending to talk to someone else on the other end of the dead line.

  She returned to the table and lifted the strap of her purse from the back of the chair. “I’m so sorry, but there’s been a multiple-car accident, and we have several victims coming into the ER.”

  Dylan pushed to his feet. “I’ll take you.”

  “No, no. There were a couple of cabs out front when we came in. I’ll grab one of those. Enjoy your family. Celebrate. Congratulations, Dylan. I think this is a really amazing direction for you.”

  At least that much was true. After all he’d been through, Dylan deserved to soak in the love and support of family. The same way, after all Emma had been through, she deserved to live her dreams.

  18

  Emma dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and pulled an open bottle of chardonnay from the fridge door.

  She plucked a wineglass from the dishwasher and poured. “For an ER doc,” she told herself, “you didn’t handle that crisis well at all.”

  Why was it that she could juggle anything that came through the ER doors, yet freaked out when it came to any kind of commitment?

  She took a deep drink of the wine and closed her eyes, trying to corral her emotions. It was just all happening at once—Liam pushing to get married, Vanderbilt requiring a commitment, Dylan flipping a one-eighty, her dream job offered at the eleventh hour.

  Emma finished the glass standing at the counter, set it down with a clip, and refilled it. This one she took to the sofa, where she tried to unravel the mess in her head and her heart. This wasn’t rocket science. She should be able to figure it out.

  Pound, pound, pound. The knock on her front door made Emma jump. Her heart kicked against her ribs, and adrenaline surged through her chest. She cut a look at the cuckoo clock and realized she’d been lost in her thoughts for almost an hour.

  “Emma, I know you’re in there.”

  Dylan’s voice made her cringe. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “Shit.”

  “Come on, baby. Let’s talk about this.”

  She hadn’t made any progress in her tug-of-war.

  “Emma,” he said, his tone endlessly patient and reasonable. “Please come to the door.”

  Sh
e exhaled heavily and answered the door, but stood in the doorway to keep him outside.

  He wore an affectionate smirk. “You never were any good at it. I know you didn’t get called in.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I blindsided you again. I’m sorry.” He reached out and cupped her face. “I just got the news, and I thought you’d be happy.”

  Emma blew out a breath and turned away, returning to the kitchen to pour another glass of wine. “You’re like a cyclone. You blow into my life and tear everything up.”

  He followed her into the kitchen and leaned back against the cabinets, hands braced on the countertop, his shirt stretched across a strong chest and ripped abs. And he remained maddeningly silent and attentive. As if nothing existed outside this apartment.

  She leaned against the counter across from him and crossed her arms, then they just stared at each other.

  After a long second, she shook her head. “I still can’t fucking believe you’re here. I feel like I’m going to wake up any second.”

  “I know.”

  And she knew he’d signed the contract for that very reason. To put something solid beneath her feet, because he knew how she hated feeling up in the air about her life. “I meant what I said. I think this job is perfect for you right now. It’s a healthy, exciting career move.”

  “I didn’t do it just for me.”

  “I know.” All her air whooshed out. Thoughts swam around her head like goldfish. But they all came down to one issue. “I’m…”

  “Scared,” he finished in a soft tone. All the humor had faded from his expression, leaving him sober and raw. A state of mind that brought back the months after his accident, while hope slowly leaked from their lives. “I am too.”

  His vulnerability fisted her heart. All those years ago, he’d hidden his fear from her. Never admitted to losing hope. Not once until he pivoted on a dime and abandoned her.

  “I’m not a kid anymore, Em,” he said. “I’m two hundred percent committed to you. Every day for the rest of my life.”

  God. That was all she’d ever truly wanted. All her other dreams—of becoming a doctor, of traveling, of helping others—had all come second. Now he was standing in front of her offering her everything.

  And he might not be a kid, but that didn’t mean he was any more capable of following through now than he was then. And she wasn’t nineteen anymore. She didn’t have another decade to lose.

  He offered an outstretched hand. Emma stared at it for a few long beats. When she took it, Dylan drew her in, wrapped her up. “I love you, Em. So much.”

  She circled his waist and fisted her hands in the back of his shirt. Pressed her face to his chest and breathed him in. They stood like that, holding each other, for a long time.

  As her fear calmed, desire rose.

  When he tilted her head back and searched her eyes, Emma felt exposed to the very depths of her soul. He seemed to recognize her resistance and her fears. Seemed to accept them. He was a smart man, now far more self-aware then he’d once been. He knew what she was fighting against and why.

  He lowered his head and kissed her. He tasted like champagne and promise. His body was so hard, so strong, so warm. So real. God, she needed him. Even if she couldn’t commit to him, or even tell him she loved him, she still needed him. Couldn’t ever remember a need so fierce.

  She pushed his blazer off his shoulders, then pulled the tail of his shirt from his jeans and slid her hands underneath. The scarred muscles of his back drifted beneath her fingers before she worked the buttons of his shirt open. This was one thing they’d always done well. A part of him she could have even if it didn’t quite bridge the gap still between them.

  His hands slid low, cupped her ass, and pulled her against him. He moaned into her mouth, and she broke the kiss to push the shirt off his arms and run her hands down his abdomen.

  Emma had seen a lot of deformities. Everything from remnants of abuse to limbs chewed up by machinery. But she’d never seen a man as ravaged as Dylan had been return to such virile condition. His scars wrapped his muscular body in an almost-smooth roadmap. She found it beautiful in the deepest, most moving way.

  She kissed his shoulder as she worked the button of his jeans open, his chest as she worked the zipper.

  “God, baby.” Dylan’s voice was rough. He gripped her waist and lifted her off the floor.

  Emma wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed her face to his neck, kissing him. He moved to the sofa and laid her down. Hovering over her on one knee, he pressed his hands to her thighs, fisted her dress, and lifted it up and over her head. He tossed it aside, and his gaze swept down her body with desire so hot, Emma grew wet.

  She pushed at his jeans. “Need you,” she told him in a breathless rasp. “I need you.”

  “I’m right here.” Dylan hooked his fingers in her panties and pulled them down her legs. He pushed his jeans down far enough to give her exactly what she needed, then sank between her thighs.

  While Emma reached between them to position him, Dylan unfastened her bra. He drew the fabric down her arms and covered her breast with his mouth even while he dropped the fabric on the floor. And with one unexpected thrust, he filled her, driving her body up the sofa. She cried out and arched. So good. So fucking good. No one could complete her like Dylan. No one loved her like Dylan.

  He moved in slow, deep thrusts until he was completely embedded inside her, until their bodies met, then stilled and caught his breath.

  All the noise inside Emma quieted. All the worry drifted away. All her fears ebbed. Loving Dylan brought her heart and her soul into sync. She never felt as complete or alive as when Dylan was loving her. There wasn’t anywhere she’d rather be.

  Dylan was panting when he gripped one of the cushions on the back of the sofa, yanked it up, and tossed it over the side, then did the same with the other two. He wrapped one arm low on Emma’s waist and drew her back to the center of the sofa.

  “There.” He combed the fingers of one hand into her hair and braced himself up on his elbows. His own hair fell across his forehead. “Now we’ve got room. Because we’re gonna need room.”

  She framed his handsome face with her hands and lifted into him, moaning at the feel of him sliding inside her. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

  He kissed her. “You’re not dreaming.”

  She searched his eyes. Tried to memorize this moment. This utterly perfect moment. “Tell me we can make this work.”

  His eyes closed, and an expression of painful joy crossed his face. “We can absolutely make this work.” When he looked at her again, he must have seen the doubt still hiding in the shadows. “I love you, Em. I love you so much.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s always been you.” Looked into her eyes again. “Will forever be you.”

  Then he kissed her lips, tasted her slowly, patiently. His weight was reassuring. Thrilling. He reached over her head, braced one hand against the arm of the sofa, and started moving in long, deep, deliberate thrusts.

  That was all it took to allow the present to come into complete focus and let the joy only Dylan could provide swamp her.

  19

  Dylan let himself float in a sleepy, half-conscious state. He wasn’t ready to wake up. Wasn’t ready to face the day. Face reality. The reality that winning Emma back was going to be so much harder than he’d expected. That he might not be able to do it.

  Emma had been up at sunrise, sneaking out of bed and into scrubs. She would have slipped out of the apartment without saying goodbye if he hadn’t rolled out of bed and caught her at the front door.

  The look in her eyes still unsettled him. It had been a strange combination of disappointment and resignation, as if she were thinking that it was too bad they wouldn’t last. He understood her distrust. He knew he’d have to earn it back. But he also didn’t feel like she was giving him the chance to do that. She might let him have her body, but she hadn’t offered up any part of her heart. Not even a
corner of it.

  He rolled to his back and rested his forearm across his eyes with a groan. Dylan had no idea how she would manage a shift on as little sleep as they’d gotten last night. The memories strolled through his head and hardened his morning wood. But there was a pain in his heart, a dull, annoying ache like a rock in a shoe.

  He sighed, lowered his arm, and stared at the ceiling. She hadn’t told him she loved him once since he’d been back. Not during an intimate conversation. Not during the most intense moments of sex. And not after either.

  Doubt took on weight and darkened his mood. It made him sick to think there might be too much damage for her to open up again. That they couldn’t overcome the mistakes he’d made. He’d tried so hard to reach her last night, but no matter how much pleasure he brought her body, he hadn’t seen the same ecstasy in her heart.

  He’d thought his commitment to the job would have elicited her trust. Show her he was going to stay and follow through on his promises with the house, his promises to her. Maybe after the weight of her debt had cleared, maybe once she saw him return from assignments again and again, her trust would grow. Maybe then, she’d let him in again.

  Dylan rolled to a sitting position, propped his elbows on his knees, and ran all ten fingers through his hair. That felt like a long time to wait, but wait he would. He didn’t have any other option. She was The One. Always had been. Always would be.

  His phone pinged with a text message. He reached over to pick it up from the nightstand and found the drawer open an inch. He and Emma had probably bumped it at some point last night. Damn, they’d been fire between the sheets. His whole body tingled with the memory.

  The message was from the kitchen contractor, confirming their meeting at the house in an hour. Dylan responded affirmatively and dropped the phone on the nightstand again. He lowered his hand to close the drawer, but found himself opening it instead. His conscience niggled in the back of his head, but that didn’t keep him from lifting the top of a thin wooden box at the front of the drawer.