Bringing Home the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching for his arm.

  “Cried into that pillow more than once. Latched on to it with both arms.” She felt the muscles in his forearm go taut where she’d rested her palm. “Pillow wasn’t what I wanted, Ace. Wanted my wife. My living, breathing, laughing wife.”

  Her stomach tossed.

  “No amount of wailing, praying, yelling, bartering, or breaking every one of those stupid crystal figurines she collected brought her back.”

  She covered her lips with her fingers, feeling the sting of fresh tears in her nose. He’d told her he had donated Rae’s figurines to charity. But instead he’d… broken them? Broken them because his heart was breaking for a wife he couldn’t get back no matter how much he wanted to.

  She felt a tear stray from one eye and raised her hand to his face. Hating he’d gone through this. Hating she hadn’t known. “Ev,” she said on a broken whisper. When he pulled away from her touch, she realized she’d used Rae’s nickname for him, and wondered if she shouldn’t.

  He held her eyes. “Four years, Ace.”

  “I know.” She wound her fingers together and dropped her hands in her lap.

  “Four years of uncertainty. Of pushing through when I felt like grabbing that anvil and taking it to the river. Of not having the time or luxury for a mental breakdown. Hell, a break, period. Of having an anxiety attack at a PTO meeting, for God’s sake, where I knew I didn’t fit in. I didn’t.” He shook his head and mumbled almost to himself. “Rae did that stuff.”

  She could picture him, nervous, hands in his pockets while he tried to talk with teachers and other moms. How come he’d never told her about any of this before now?

  “Whenever Lyon stayed here or with Dad, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I worked my fool head off, tried to get ahead, tried to distract myself. Terrified if I let that hold go, I’d lose my mind.”

  “Honey.” More tears streaked down her face. She couldn’t fix it. There was a time she could have, but she hadn’t known. He’d never told her. Then she thought of Russell and thought, maybe if she had known, it wouldn’t have mattered. He wouldn’t have liked her taking off to care for Rae’s husband. Evan had to go through it for himself.

  And he had, she realized suddenly. All by himself.

  “Tried to bury it, ignore it, blame myself for it.” He gestured at nothing with slightly shaking hands, then held his palms up in front of him. “I’m out.”

  She blinked at his hands, searched his eyes.

  His voice got quiet. “For the first time since I lost her on the hallway carpet—carpet she insisted was ‘salmon’ but I’m telling you as I sit here, Charlie, it was fuckin’ pink.”

  A surprised laugh stuttered from her lips at his ridiculous, and true, statement. The carpet was pink. But Rae, knowing Evan would not stand for pink carpet, spent every year she lived there insisting it was “salmon.” It so wasn’t. And everyone knew it.

  He smiled, but now the smile faded. Hers followed.

  His voice softened, along with his gaze. “For the first time since I held her in my arms while she died on that salmon-colored carpet”—he grasped Charlie’s arms—“I know what I want.” One hand moved to cup her jaw. “I’m where I belong.”

  More tears fell from her eyes.

  He swiped her cheek with one thumb and his eyes left hers briefly before returning. Then they didn’t move. “You’re trying to fix a problem I don’t have, Ace. I think that problem’s yours.”

  “Wuh-what?” She pulled away from his palm to blink at him, confused.

  “You lost your mom. Your dad bailed. Your sister’s distant. Your past is full of unresolved grief.”

  She felt her head shaking. But she was okay… wasn’t she?

  “If you’d let yourself get through that—get through the Rae part, at least—you and I just might have a shot at something real.”

  He pulled his hand away.

  “You want to turn what we’ve been doing into… something real?” she asked numbly.

  He sighed. “Baby, it is something real. You don’t see that?”

  Her mind was spinning. Her stomach sick. Nauseous and angry and confused. And—

  “I want this to be more to you than a handful of orgasms,” he whispered, his fingers returning to tip her chin. “Something involving you living in my house, working out of yours, coming on vacation with Lyon and me to Osborn to see Dad and Aiden, or to Tennessee to see Angel, or to Chicago to see Landon.”

  His family. His entire family. Her mind blurred along with her vision.

  “Something that looks a lot like a family when we’re home. With you in the role of mom, me in the role of dad, and us sitting Lyon down someday to talk to him about sex, and college, or let him know he’s got a brother or sister on the way.”

  Time stopped.

  Had Evan implied he wanted to have a child with her?

  And now her head was spinning.

  He poked her under the ribs. “Diaphragm, Ace. Breathe.”

  She breathed.

  “Scares you to death, doesn’t it?”

  Lying, she shook her head. It did. It scared her in a way she couldn’t understand. Scared her silly.

  When she stood, he stood with her, grasped her upper arms again, and turned her gently toward him. “Can’t fix that part for you,” he stated. “The scared part, you not dealing with your fears part.” He lowered his head and met her again-watering eyes. “But I promise, I’ll be here when you come around.”

  She shook her head again. She wasn’t the one who needed to come around. She—she… she’d lost her train of thought. Lost it on all the words he’d spoken since they’d curled up in her heart like a litter of purring kittens.

  … you living in my house, working out of yours, coming with Lyon and me on vacation…

  … you in the role of mom, me in the role of dad…

  … talk to him about sex, and college, or let him know he’s got a brother or sister on the way…

  “Not going anywhere.”

  She looked up at Evan, his expression serious.

  He shook his head for emphasis. “Not going anywhere, baby. Not giving you a break. Not giving you an out. Including tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Wasn’t in your bed one night and I hated it. Not gonna give you a break until you know I’m here for good. Here wanting you, wanting us, wanting this every single day.”

  This… was too much to process.

  “Charlie, baby, I’m not letting you hide from this the way you’ve been hiding from all the things in your life that have hurt you.”

  “I—”

  “Kiss me.”

  The bedroom door was closed, but she could imagine Pat and Cliff, and Lyon, on the other side of it. Eyes filled with judgment, concern, confusion… “They could find out.”

  “I know, Ace,” he said. Unbelievably. “And that’s okay.”

  “But this room—”

  “Rae’s room. Pat and Cliff’s house. Almost too much for you, isn’t it? One kiss and I’ll take you back to my room.”

  “You’re sleeping on the sofa,” she said, pretty sure she’d slipped into a parallel universe, her brain unable to connect incoming thoughts to her current reality.

  “I’m sleeping in the bedroom across the hall. Lyon wanted to sleep in the family room.”

  “Evan—”

  “I sat up with him and we read and talked and I tucked him in. He’s out. Feelin’ no pain.”

  “Evan.”

  “Kiss me, Ace.”

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she said, “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  “I can’t.” With weak hands, she shoved him.

  He stood firm. Closed his hands over hers. “You will.”

  Hearing his smile, she opened her eyes. Sure enough, a sexy curve sat on his lips.

  “All we’ve been through, you don’t trust me? Don’t think I’m putting your needs ahead of mine? Can�
��t see that’s what I’ve been doing since I got here?”

  She hadn’t thought about it that way.

  “Wine for Charlie.”

  “Turkey burgers, Ace.”

  “Let go, baby. Take it.”

  “You deserve it.”

  “I have another remedy, guaranteed to make you feel better.”

  He was right. Everything he’d done, he put her first. He was the one pulling her along, patiently waiting for her to catch up.

  “Ace,” he prompted again.

  This time she didn’t hesitate.

  Looping her arms around his neck, she kissed him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  And Evan had thought seeing his kid’s heart break had broken him.

  Watching Charlie realize not only that she hadn’t grieved Rae, but also hadn’t dealt with the loss of her family, hurt him to watch.

  Much as he hated to, there was no way he couldn’t point that out. His future with her depended on it.

  A future with Charlie was the only future worth considering.

  He wasn’t sure when he’d decided, but it was there. Cemented in his gut—in his heart—in Lyon’s hopeful expression when she’d walked into the hospital room today.

  He hadn’t been sure he’d get her over this hump—the one where she’d dumped him on the Mosleys’ deck—but given the way she moved her lips against his now, he had a pretty good guess she’d let him back in a little.

  A little isn’t enough.

  Hands sifting into her thick, blond hair, he slid a palm to the small of her back and pressed her womanly hips against his. She mewled in the back of her throat and he squeezed her ass and pressed into her again.

  Another mewl.

  The sounds she made lit him on fire, and if that didn’t do it, the way she stroked his tongue with hers, while standing on her tiptoes—practically climbing him like a cat on a tree—yeah. That would do it.

  About the time her fingers moved to thread into his hair and he cupped her breast, a knock at the door pulled them apart. He turned his head but held her close.

  She squirmed. But not in a sexy way, in a nervous way. “Oh no.” Her hands pulled from his neck.

  “Lyon,” he guessed.

  “Knocking?” she whispered frantically, attempting to disentangle her arms and legs from around his.

  “Probably not.” The rap came again, soft knuckles. Patricia. Had to be.

  Charlie buried her face in her hands and dropped her forehead to his chest. He let her go, moving her aside to answer the door.

  When he pulled it open a crack, Pat was outside the door, one thin eyebrow lifted in suspicion.

  * * *

  Nightmare.

  Charlie was having a waking nightmare. This was like being caught by a parent. Only worse. Because this was Rae’s parent.

  Patricia had caught Charlie and Evan making out in Rae’s old bedroom.

  Oh, this was so, so much worse.

  Ack! Sorry, Rae.

  “I heard crying,” Patricia said from the hallway. Evan had one arm braced on the door frame on his right, the other palm holding the door open a crack. A crack he filled with his body.

  It was the wrong time and place to appreciate the way his worn jeans cupped his amazing butt, or the way the dark T-shirt, wrinkled from a day’s wear, skimmed along his shoulders and back and made her want to peel it up, but Charlie did appreciate it. Until appreciating it was interrupted by Pat speaking again.

  “I came to check on Charlotte. Make sure she’s all right.”

  He looked over his shoulder, gave her a wink, then turned back to Pat. “She’s good.”

  Then, to Charlie’s mortification, he let go of the door and pushed it open, revealing Patricia in a fuzzy pink bathrobe, a very “Momma is not happy” scowl on her face.

  Pat’s gaze raked down Charlie’s barely dressed body. “I see,” she said tonelessly. Charlie promptly covered her breasts with her crossed arms. “I thought I heard crying.” Her eyes snapped back to Evan. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  Charlie opened her mouth to say she was crying, and further explain why—because they’d been discussing Rae, but he spoke before she could.

  “What brings you to this half of the house, Pat?” He crossed his arms, too, but not in a protective gesture, more in a combative one. If he planned on taking on Patricia Mosley, Charlie needed to find a window to climb out of.

  “Originally?” Pat crossed her arms now, as well. “Lyon woke wanting to eat and I wake up and eat this time of night anyway. I came to find you and make sure a midnight snack was okay, when I heard”—her eyes tracked to Charlie—“something coming from this room.”

  “Mom.” Evan unlooped his arms. “You don’t have to check with me for things like that. I trust you to make the right decisions for my son.”

  Her face turned from scorning mother to guilty grandmother. “I thought that, too, before the accident. I turned away for two seconds, tops. I never—”

  Reaching out, he pulled Pat into his arms. “Come on, Mom, what’d Cliff and I say?”

  Pat wasn’t crying but she clasped on to Evan tightly enough to make Charlie think she was struggling not to. After holding on a few seconds, she patted his back with both hands, pulled away, and gave him a tight-lipped smile. Keeping it together. “Today frightened me so very much. I was right back to four years ago when you called us about Rae—”

  Oh gosh. Rae. Evan not only had to call Charlie, he had to call Pat and Cliff that day. There was another thing she’d never considered. She had underestimated what he’d gone through.

  Completely underestimated him.

  Holding Pat’s hands, he listened while she talked about Rae, about Lyon falling, about the frightening trip to the ER. Then Pat directed her gaze to Charlie.

  “Sweetheart, there’s another robe of mine on the other side of that closet. Feel free to borrow it.”

  That was it? Pat found Charlie mid-clinch with her son-in-law, her late daughter’s husband, and all she had to say was feel free to borrow her robe?

  “Are you two hungry?” Pat asked. “Since we’re all awake, this calls for eggs.”

  “Ace?”

  She blinked at Evan, the dynamic in the room confusing her.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Um…”

  “Eggs are good,” he told Pat. “Meet you out there.”

  Pat nodded her head and turned down the hallway as he shut the door. Charlie smacked her palms to her face and groaned.

  She heard a low chuckle as he grasped her wrists.

  “She thinks I’m a horrible person,” she whispered. He removed her hands and lowered his face to look at her.

  Cupping her jaw in his palms, she watched as a thoroughly amused tilt took over his lips. “You’re okay, baby. Let’s eat.”

  “How can you say that?” she whisper-screamed, if that was a thing.

  Continuing to look at her with that same immovable smile, he stated simply, “You’re a grown-up. I’m a grown-up.”

  “She caught us… almost kissing!” she hissed.

  He shook his head, annoyingly amused. “We weren’t dry-humping in the hallway, Ace.”

  The sound she made was sort of a choke and a laugh. He took it for the latter.

  “That’s my girl. Grab that robe.”

  She did as instructed, surprised when he took her hand and walked down the hallway with her. At the kitchen table, Lyon was awake and smiling, and Charlie noticed he’d noticed their linked hands.

  “Hey, bud.”

  “Hi, Dad.” His eyes went to his father’s face, then their hands again. She pulled away.

  Evan let her, but then put his hand on her back and pulled out the cushioned, rolling kitchen chair that had been a part of the Mosleys’ dining room for as long as she’d known them.

  Similar to the outdated dinette set were the flowered curtains over a sheet of lace at the kitchen window. Pat must not have had a chance to sew new ones for out here,
yet.

  “What’s the ruckus?” Cliff, also in a bathrobe, scuttled down the hallway.

  He clasped his chest, feigning shock at the gang inhabiting his kitchen, then kissed his wife, who was cracking eggs into a large iron skillet, no doubt laced with pork fat from the chops.

  “Eggs, baby?” Pat asked him.

  “You know it,” he answered.

  Charlie smiled at the exchange. She and Rae had often talked of wanting that kind of enduring, forever love. Her smile fell. Evan and Rae had lost their forever.

  Evan leaned into Charlie’s frame of vision, interrupting her thoughts. One of his hands flattened on the table, the other wrapped around the arm of her chair. “Coffee?”

  “It’s nearly one o’clock,” she said quietly, alarmed by his nearness to her lips.

  “I have decaf,” Pat called, making it known she could hear and see every last thing happening between them.

  Charlie cringed.

  “Decaf it is.” He winked, leaned closer, and said against her temple, “Relax, Ace.”

  Then he kissed her. Briefly, but thoroughly, and at the very moment Cliff sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Welllll,” he said as Charlie tried not to cringe. His large, rough hand came across the table to rest on top of hers. Evan moved away to make coffee. Cliff patted her, gave her a genuine, loving smile, and turned to Lyon. “What will we have for breakfast if we have eggs now?”

  Lyon’s smile was alert and alive, even this late. “Pancakes!”

  Cliff chuckled and slid Charlie a look before patting her hand again. “Pancakes it is.”

  * * *

  “After dinner,” Evan repeated for the tenth time.

  That’s how many times she’d heard Lyon ask to play his iPad game on the drive home. And they weren’t home yet.

  They’d packed up and left the Mosleys’ house late afternoon since they’d been up since two in the morning eating food that should definitely only be eaten at two in the morning if they’d all been on a bender.

  Pat made pancakes for breakfast and after, Charlie showered. She’d just finished making the bed when Pat rapped on the door and poked her head in. As it turned out, Charlie didn’t go back to Evan’s room last night. He’d let Lyon crash on the pullout sofa in the spare bedroom. She’d been relieved. They may be adults, and Evan may not mind everyone knowing about them, but her sleeping in the same bed with him under Rae’s parents’ roof was a stretch.