“Jesus, man.” Paul reaches across the table and whacks me on the side of the head. That gets the attention of a guard, who starts toward us with a frown. I wave him off.
“It’s cool,” I assure him. “Brotherly love, not assault.”
The guard shakes his head. “Watch it.”
“Roger that.” I salute him, then turn back to Paul. “What is your problem?”
“You, dumbshit.”
He’s the only person who can call me that and not have me take it personally. Am I an asshole for being so touchy about that? It’s just a word, after all. Words aren’t exactly my strong suit.
Paul is still talking, so I order myself to pay attention. “What is it with you, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“You always have to come up with the worst-case scenario. You know what your problem is?”
I sigh. “No, but I figure I’m about to learn from a guy doing six years hard time for robbery.”
“Yeah, well sometimes the people who’ve screwed up the most have the best lessons to offer.”
Okay, he has a point.
“Can’t argue with that,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over the spot where my chest has started to ache. Has been aching for the last twenty-four hours. “Fine. What is my problem?”
“You can only see the worst-case scenario. There’s no happily-ever-after as far as you’re concerned.”
“So?” Not a very mature response, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Why’d you and your chick split up?”
“Because she’s a high-society snob who thinks I’m worthless and stupid.”
Paul rolls his eyes. “Did she actually say that? Did she tell you, ‘Dax, I’m a snooty socialite who’s too good for you, and oh, by the way, you’re too dumb to pour piss out of your own boot?’”
I fold my arms and try to stare him down. “Not in so many words, no.”
Paul shakes his head again, but he’s starting to look mad. “You jackass. You’ve got every chance in the world right now to have everything—the cool job, the money, the smart, hot girl.”
“I never said she was hot or smart.”
“Please,” Paul mutters, studying my face so intently that I want to glance away. “You wouldn’t be this broken up about her if she were a dog-faced idiot.”
I grunt again to concede the point, so Paul keeps talking. “You’ve got everything going for you, and you’re going to piss it all away because you’re too fucking chicken to believe you could have any of that. To believe you deserve it.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. Is there any chance he’s right? That my jailbird thief of a brother has a point?
I swallow hard, not liking that direction of thought. Not wanting to admit I might be wrong.
I also don’t like the words on the tip of my tongue, but I say them anyway. “I’m scared,” I whisper. “So fucking scared, man.”
It’s the first time I’ve said those words out loud to my brother. Maybe to anyone, ever. I expect him to laugh out loud, but instead he reaches across the table for an awkward sort of fist-bump.
“I know,” he says. “Believe me, I know. We lost Mom, then Pop, then Dana. You think I don’t know how much it sucks to make up your mind that you’re gonna care enough about someone that it’ll rip out your fucking guts to lose them?”
I nod, swallowing back the tightness in my throat. He knows. My brother might be a criminal, but he’s pretty damn wise. “I guess.”
Paul sighs and leans back in his chair. “Look, man. You’ve got to at least try. Maybe you can’t have it all, but maybe you can. You sure as fuck have opportunities I’ll never get. You’ve gotta make something of that shit.”
As pep talks go, it’s not the most eloquent. It’s nothing you’ll hear in a self-help seminar, but those words resonate with me. Or maybe it’s Paul’s encouraging expression.
“You think I could fix things?” I ask. “Maybe have another shot with Lisa?”
This time, he does laugh. “You’re asking for love advice from guy who’s been showering with a bunch of other dudes for the last three years?” He shakes his head and cracks up at his own joke, but then his expression softens. “Yeah, man. I do. I really do.”
It’s enough for me. That hope, that stupid nugget of hope. Seeing it laid out before me on this battered table is like the best gift I’ve ever been given.
“Thanks, man,” I tell him. “I really hope you get out on appeal soon.”
“Why, so you can hit me up for love life advice all the time?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll sit around drinking coffee and talking about our feelings.”
“Maybe form a book club,” he adds, and we both bust out laughing again.
As the guard signals us to wrap things up, I stand. So does Paul, and we embrace each other in one of those awkward bro hugs that’s only permitted at the end of a visit.
“Now go on,” he mutters, slapping me hard on the back. “Go out and get your girl back.”
I nod and look him in the eye, determined to do whatever the hell I can to follow his advice. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lisa
“Is that a hickey on your neck?”
Missy sits down beside Cassie in the steam room and gives our baby sister her most judgmental, older sister stare.
Cassie blushes and touches a hand to her neck. “Maybe? It was our nineteen-month dating anniversary last night.”
I fight back a twinge of unwelcome envy as Cassie looks between us with a love-dazed puppy dog expression.
Missy rolls her eyes. “What are you, sixteen?”
“Hey, don’t judge a girl for getting laid.” Sarah adjusts herself on the bench across from them, tucking the corner of a fluffy white towel so it’s wedged between her boobs. “I think it’s great she’s marrying a guy who makes her look all googly-eyed and satisfied.”
“Or a guy who springs for a girls’ getaway like this.” I squeeze Cassie’s hand. “Seriously, this is the sweetest birthday gift I’ve ever gotten from someone who wasn’t even my official brother-in-law yet.”
“You’re welcome.” Cassie’s smile falters just a little. “Sorry your birthday month has been a little rough.”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter, even though my heart squinches up like a raisin in my chest. “It’s for the best. Besides, I wouldn’t have gotten to do this if I were still doing The Test.”
“Really?” Missy frowns. “Was Dax such a hard-ass about not letting you do stuff like this?”
“No, that’s not it at all.” I stretch out my bare legs to admire my new pedicure, my heart twinging again when I remember the time Dax nibbled my toes in bed, making me giggle so hard I almost passed out. “He was never a jerk about things. He didn’t make rules about what I could and couldn’t do. Just steered me in a different direction sometimes, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s over,” Missy says. “Back to the old Lisa again.”
Cassie looks thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t think so.” She studies me for a long time, those green eyes so intense I feel like a soil sample under one of her high-powered microscopes. “You’re different now. More centered.”
“I agree,” Sarah says. “More balanced. Regardless of what a jerk Dax turned out to be, I think we can thank him for that.”
“He’s not a jerk.” My reply sounds weak, and hearing his name makes my throat hurt. I ignore it and focus on adding a few drops of lavender essential oil to the contraption next to the steam vents. “It’s fine, really. I’m doing okay.”
“Of course, you are.” Cassie pats my hand, and I know what she’s thinking. She and Simon went through a rough patch like this before they got together for good.
But it’s different for Dax and me. There won’t be a happily-ever-after for us. If he hadn’t made that clear in the alley during the Diamonds and Opals event, he’s sure as hell made it clear with his silence in
the week since then.
I wish that didn’t sting so much.
“Well, anyway,” Cassie says. “I love that you’re volunteering at the dog place now.”
“And that you did karaoke with us the other night,” Sarah adds.
“And your recipe for homemade marshmallows is out of this world,” Missy adds with a little less enthusiasm. “Even if you did make us assemble that filthy fire pit instead of roasting them indoors like civilized people.”
I smile at the compliments, proud of how far I’ve come. They’re right, of course. I have changed, at least a little. I’m still me, obviously. Still fussy and pretentious and way too focused on appearances.
But appearances are my business, so I won’t apologize for that.
I will, however, embrace some of the things Dax introduced to my life. Laughter and bravery and the ability to take myself less seriously. I owe him a debt of gratitude for that.
Thinking about him again has my throat pinching painfully, so I change the subject. “Isn’t it just about time for our massages?” I glance at my watch before remembering I left it in the pocket of my robe outside the steam room.
“Yeah, we should probably get out,” Cassie says. “Our appointments are in a couple minutes.”
“I do hope they can do a good Shiatsu massage,” Missy says.
“I suppose this isn’t the sort of place that does a happy ending massage?” Sarah jokes. “I’m having a dry spell right now.”
We all stand up and file out of the steam room to fold ourselves into the big, plush robes provided by the resort. I adjust the chignon at the back of my head, eager for an hour of feeling good.
You know who else made you feel good?
“Shut up,” I mutter to my subconscious as four attendants walk in wearing crisp white polo shirts bearing the resort’s logo. A pretty brunette consults her clipboard and steps toward me. “Are you Lisa?”
“That’s right,” I say. “You’re Annabelle?”
“Yes, I’m your massage therapist today. If you’ll follow me this way.”
I cinch my robe a little tighter and move behind her down the plush-carpeted hallway filled with soothing Enya music. At the end of the hall, Annabelle turns and points me through a small door. Her expression is a little odd, but I don’t think much of it as I step into the waiting area that separates the couples’ massage suite from the treatment room for hot stone massage.
“Right in here,” Annabelle chirps as I walk through the door.
I take two steps and freeze. There, on the bench between the rooms, is a familiar figure. A huge familiar figure with tattooed arms jutting out of the sleeves of his too-short robe. He wears a shaky smile and socks that clash horribly with the plush robe, and he’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.
“Dax,” I choke out when I finally get air in my lungs.
He stands up, looking big and uncomfortable, but determined. He glances at me, then at Annabelle, who hovers nervously by my shoulder.
“I hope this is okay,” she whispers. “Your sister told me—”
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
“Oh, good,” she breathes. “I—um, I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
And with that, she pivots and hustles through a door. As soon as it closes behind her, I turn back to Dax. We’re alone in a waiting area filled with flickering candles and ferns. A small fountain bubbles in the corner, and he takes a step forward.
“Lisa.” His voice is husky, and he’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before.
Maybe he hasn’t. Not without makeup. “Hello.”
“Lisa. God, you’re beautiful.” He takes a shaky breath. “Wait, let me start over. This isn’t about what you look like.”
He steps closer, almost close enough now to touch me. But he doesn’t, and I’m glad. Not that my whole body isn’t screaming for it, but it’s his words I want most right now. Why is he here?
“Look, I fucked up.” He clears his throat. “As apologies go, I know that’s pretty piss-poor.”
I smile a little at that. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay.” He rakes his hands through his hair and shakes his head. “I got so hung up on bringing you into my world that I didn’t stop and think about how selfish that was. That I owed you the same damn courtesy.”
His words touch me, but I keep my shoulders squared. I don’t want him to see how hurt I still am. “You don’t owe me anything, Dax,” I say softly. “We were clear from the beginning how things would be.”
“That’s just it.” He shakes his head again and reaches out to touch my hand. “Things changed. For me, anyway. I don’t know when I realized I was falling in love with you, but it scared the holy living shit out of me and I panicked. I panicked and said stupid things, and I’m sorry.”
“Wait, what?”
I replay his words in my head, trying to figure out how we got from I fucked up to I love you. Is that what he just said? Or was it loved, past tense, as in he doesn’t anymore—
“I can see the wheels turning in your brain, and it’s one of the sexiest things about you. Your brain, I mean.” He smiles and squeezes my fingers. “Don’t look so shocked,” he adds. “Yeah, I love you. I fucking said it.”
There’s a defiant expression on his face, but something vulnerable, too. Like he’s daring me to argue, to laugh at him, to walk away.
I do none of those things. I twine my fingers through his and squeeze hard enough to keep the tears at bay. “Dax—”
“I love you,” he says again, and I realize I could never tire of hearing those words. Not from him, anyway. “I love the Lisa Michaels who goes camping and sings karaoke, but I also love the Lisa Michaels who hoards handbags and knows the difference between a crudité and charcuterie.”
“The veggies and meats and cheeses play off each other nicely, so it’s best to have both.”
Shut up, Lisa.
Dax just laughs. “And that’s the other thing. I love that you’re smart. Though the fact that you spent a month sleeping with a dumbshit like me calls that into question.”
“You’re not dumb, Dax.” The passion in my voice is so fierce, even he looks surprised. “Anyone who can start his own company from scratch—who can overcome barriers like poverty and loss and dyslexia and—”
“You know?” His eyes widen, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him look totally unsure in this conversation.
“About the dyslexia?” I nod and tighten my grip on his fingers. “Yes. Sarah figured it out,” I say slowly. “And it doesn’t make me think less of you. In fact, it makes me love you more.”
It takes him a second to register what I just said. When he does, his whole face breaks into a grin. He pulls me close, his chest warm and solid through the terrycloth of our robes.
“Yeah, I fuckin’ said it,” I murmur, doing my best to imitate his earlier line as his lips find mine. “I love you, too.”
His kiss is deep and dizzying and leaves me tingling all the way to my toes. When he draws back, we’re both a little breathless.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I got scared and ran. But if you give me another chance, I promise my days of being a chickenshit are over. I’m in this for the long-haul.”
“Me, too.” I clasp his hands tighter, breathing in his familiar smell. “And I’m sorry, too.”
“What the hell for?”
“For treating you like a tour guide to the seedier side of life,” I say. “For making you feel devalued.”
“You didn’t.” He shakes his head, his expression adamant. “You never did. I’m the one who let myself get caught up in that bullshit story.”
I tip my head back to study him, in awe of this man standing in front of me. He’s the same Dax I fell in love with, but there’s a rawness there I never saw before. A bravery and openness that steals my breath away.
“What do you say?” he asks. “Want to give this a shot?”
“You and m
e, you mean?” I grin and nod. “Definitely.”
“Then let’s get Annabelle back in here.”
I raise an eyebrow, not sure if he’s suggesting some crazy threesome thing to cap off The Test.
But as soon as he opens the hall door, Annabelle bounds in and smiles at us. “I take it you decided to do the couples’ massage class?”
I look at Dax. “Couples’ massage class?”
“Yep,” he says. “I want us to learn something new together. Something that’ll make us both feel good for a long time to come.”
I smile and stroke a finger over his palm. “One of many things,” I murmur as we turn and follow Annabelle into the couples’ suite.
Epilogue
Dax
“Would you like a gourmet s’more, sir?”
The tray appears with a flourish in front of me, but I’m more interested in the woman holding it.
Catching Lisa by the waist, I pull the s’mores tray from her hand and set it on the workbench behind me. The scarred wood surface is covered with a linen tablecloth and a vase of lilies, but it’s a workbench all the same.
Three well-dressed art enthusiasts skirt around us, helping themselves to a s’more en route to the next cluster of sculptures on display.
Lisa giggles as I press her against the wall for a kiss. “Did I ever tell you that you look fucking sexy in an apron?”
“Sir!” She pretends to be appalled, but the flush in her cheeks tells me she loves it. “We’re at a gallery opening!” she scolds with mock indignation. “What sort of savages would engage in carnal relations at a sophisticated event celebrating arts and culture?”
“The kind of savage who holds his own art gallery opening in a steel fabrication warehouse,” I growl, kissing her again before I let her go. “And the sexy woman who came up with the idea in the first place.” I give her butt a fond squeeze. “Thanks again.”
She beams and glances around at the crowd. “I’m really impressed by the turnout.”
“Me, too.” I survey the room, a little dumbfounded by the number of people who showed up to gawk at steel art constructed by some no-name welder who just happened to make a wolf sculpture. And a tiger. And then a dancer and enough other random objects that Lisa finally said it was a shame to keep them cooped up in a warehouse where no one else could see them.
The Test (The List series) Page 15