And that was for the best. He wasn’t good enough for her.
Okay. She was back on the “dislike him” train.
Rather than falling into bed that night, she painted her nails and dragged her sorry butt to the Scratching Post. She needed a distraction. Brock was at a table in back, drinking beer, a woman balanced on his knee.
Dorothea ignored him, staying at the counter with Ryanne and Lyndie.
“You look sad, and I don’t know why. Men suck, and you’re free,” Ryanne said as she wiped down the bar. “I bet Daniel didn’t even meet five of the ten commitments.”
To be fair, he’d met a lot of them. Then the storm had happened.
Lyndie lifted a shot glass. She’d had several drinks already and was well on her way to Drunkville. “Here, here.” She drained the contents, then burped quietly in her hand, her gaze returning to Brock for the hundredth time. “He’s so wrong for me. I mean you, Dorothea. Daniel is so wrong for you.”
“Did something happen between you and Brock?” Dorothea asked her.
“What? No! Never. He’s a man-whore, and besides, he scares me. He has a temper, and one strike from those meaty fists would kill me.”
“He wouldn’t—”
But Lyndie wasn’t done. “Even if he was the calmest person ever born, I’d say no if he asked me out. Because, do you want to know the benefits of dating me? No, because there aren’t any!”
Low self-esteem could strike anyone, Dorothea realized, even beautiful strawberry blondes. “The benefit of dating you is that he will be dating you. I could go on, but I’m pretty sure I’ve already made my point.”
Lyndie gave her a small smile. “You know a man like Brock doesn’t just enjoy sex, he needs it.” She peered into her drink, the smile long gone. “I probably shouldn’t admit this aloud, but I hate sex with the passion of a thousand suns.”
Dorothea patted her hand. What the heck had her husband done to her? “You haven’t liked it in the past, honey. Every man is different. The right one will be gentle and caring, or whatever you happen to need. He could change your mind.”
Ryanne wiped the bar with more force. “I love you guys and only want the best for you. Whatever I can do to help, let me know and it’s done.”
“Love you, too,” Dorothea and Lyndie said in unison.
“And right back at you,” Dorothea added. “You know what? We’re going to drink tonight. Maybe exorcise our demons.”
“Good idea.” Ryanne poured the three shots.
They clinked their glasses and drained the contents. The amber liquid burned going down but settled sweetly in Dorothea’s stomach.
“I loved him,” she said, “but he didn’t love me back and didn’t even like me enough to fight for me. I have to let him go.” She held out her empty glass, and Ryanne refilled it. Then she nudged Lyndie’s shoulder. “Your turn to tell us what demon you’re exorcising.”
“Well. I…I stayed with a man who… He hurt me.” Lyndie chewed on her bottom lip. “I was afraid of what he’d do to me if I left again. I was afraid of everything. Am afraid.”
Dorothea hugged her close, aching for her.
Ryanne took Lyndie’s fragile hand and flattened it above her heart before refilling their glasses. “My mom slept with not one but two of my boyfriends, so I learned early on never to trust anyone enough to actually have sex,” she admitted, and her cheeks darkened. “Then I met the dirtbags here—” she gestured around the bar “—and that was that. Total body lockdown.”
What! The roughest, toughest girl in town was a virgin?
Dorothea smiled at her. Her first smile since her breakup. “I’m in shock.”
“I know,” Ryanne grumbled. “I’ve worked so much I haven’t even dated, all to save up for my ’round the world travels.”
Ever since they were little girls, the beautiful brunette had wanted to travel to other countries. “Are you hoping to change your virgin status before your first trip? With anyone in particular…like, say, Jude Laurent?”
“No! Of course not.” A soft sigh. “Maybe. He’s rude, but he’s hot. He’s quiet, but protective. And he never looks at any other woman but me… I admit I get weak in the knees every time our eyes meet.”
“If you decide to go for it, let us be your wingwomen,” Lyndie said. “We’ll help you nail him good. Or very, very bad.”
Ryanne laughed. “To nailing our men, either in bed or to an anthill!”
They held up their drinks and clinked the rims, then drained the contents. Again Dorothea experienced a burn and a sweet settling. Her inhibitions began to melt away, her head hazing.
“So what do we do now?” Lyndie asked.
“Yeah,” Ryanne said. “What do we do?”
“Now,” Dorothea told them, “we dance and sing and live stream it on my webpage. We deserve to be happy, dang it, and we’re going to show the world!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DANIEL SAT AT the desk in his bedroom, sober for the first time since his breakup with Thea. The dogs were asleep on his bed, and his dad was out on a date with Carol Mathis, of all people. He doubted the date had anything to do with romance, though. The two were probably plotting ways to get Daniel and Thea back together.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t be second place in her life while she was first in his.
Is she really first?
Yes!
Since their breakup, he hadn’t slept and he’d barely eaten. Fatigue and hunger had hounded him. He’d drunk, and then he’d drunk some more, trying to keep his mind off his girl.
Not my girl. Not anymore.
His PTSD was back in full force, his mind a wealth of land mines, always ready to blow.
Earlier Thea had texted him about wanting to see the dogs, but he had yet to respond. Every time he’d tried, he’d started writing in all caps. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO—
He rubbed at the ache above his heart, hating her, hating himself. His life had gone to hell in a handbasket.
Jessie Kay wasn’t speaking to him. His dad only ever sighed at him, and Daniel had begun to worry about his health. Virgil often rubbed at his chest, as if pained. The only people who’d remained normal around him were Jude and Brock. Jude was as grumpy as ever, and Brock was drinking too much. As evidenced by the call Daniel had received half an hour ago.
“You by a computer?” the guy had asked, anger crackling in his tone, even as he slurred his words. Music played in the background.
“I am.” His laptop had been only an arm’s length away.
“Check out Dorothea’s webpage.”
Just hearing her name made his internal pain worse, and he’d cursed. But he’d also hung up and obeyed. And then he’d watched as Thea had the time of her life with her friends. He was still watching.
She laughed. She drank. She danced. Then she laughed, drank and danced some more.
Fury brewed. He didn’t like his life without her, while she clearly loved hers without him. She’d already moved on. Her nails were purple; she was determined.
Why hadn’t she started her new job in the city?
Why hadn’t she hired a new employee?
Again and again, Daniel almost swiped up his keys and drove to the Scratching Post. He craved her. His eyes wanted to see her live and in person. His mouth wanted to taste her. His hands wanted to touch her. His ears wanted to hear her voice.
But he stayed where he was. There was a hollow sensation in his chest. One he’d battled many times before, after his mom died and every time he’d lost a friend in battle.
Deep down, he understood why he had to deal with it now. Thea hadn’t died, but their relationship sure had. She’d chosen the fucking weather over him. The weather! Daniel Porter couldn’t compete with a tornado.
&nbs
p; So this is what true rejection feels like. This was what she’d endured most of her life.
The contents of his stomach—what felt like barbed wire, buckshot and broken glass—churned together.
On the screen, as a strobe light flashed, a man came up behind Thea, hoping to dance with her. Daniel slammed the laptop shut before he did something stupid. Like break speed records to get to the bar and beat the man to death.
Actually, why not? Releasing a little steam might do him some good. He leaped to his feet and grabbed his keys. Careful not to wake the dogs, he sneaked out of the house. But as soon as he was enclosed in his truck, the engine running, he slammed his fists into the steering wheel, going nowhere fast.
A car pulled up to the curb, and Brock basically fell out of the passenger seat. The driver—a woman—begged him to stay with her, but he shut the door midsentence and headed toward the house, a six-pack in hand.
“Daniel!”
Daniel rolled down the window. “Over here.”
Brock changed directions. He stumbled a bit, but eventually managed to settle into the cab with ease. “Came home to help you.” He lifted the beer. “Here. Drink.”
“I’m trying to sober up.”
“Now isn’t the time for that kind of nonsense. Why did you let Dorothea go, anyway? She’s your preferred vice, yeah?”
“I think she was my salvation.” The words left him before he could think, before he could decide if they were true. Of course, they weren’t. He relied only on himself.
“Then again, I gotta ask. Why did you let her go?”
Good question. One he didn’t want to answer. “Does it matter? You’ll support me, whatever the reason.”
“Do you know me at all? I will never blindly support anyone, not even you and Jude. You make a stupid decision, and I’m going to call you on it. So I ask for the third time. Or is it the sixth? I’ve lost count. Why did you let her go?”
“Because I’m stupid.” He punched the steering wheel so hard the top bent backward. “Because I’ll lose her one day anyway. Either she’ll walk out on me or she’ll die.”
“Uh, hate to break it to you, buddy, but I’m going to die, too. So is Jude and your dad and everyone you know. Did no one tell you death is hereditary? It’s going to happen to all of us at some point or another. None of us are getting off this planet alive.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes at him. “Is this the part where you tell me I need to overlook my fears and focus on the here and now?” Once, he’d proudly boasted about having conquered all his fears. What a fool. “That I need to enjoy life while I can?”
“Hell, no.” Brock finished his beer and crunched the can into a small ball. “Haven’t you heard? Misery loves company, so I happen to like you just the way you are.”
Daniel snorted. “Speaking of miserable company, where’s Jude?”
“Investigating something to do with the bar about to be built across from the Scratching Post.”
He wished his friend would watch over Thea and prevent her from going home with some random guy. She had needs, and she was single. She could do whatever she wanted, with whomever she wanted, and there was nothing Daniel could do about it. “Tell me something to make me feel better about the choice I made,” he said, rubbing his chest. The ache was worse.
“Easy. A woman is a woman is a woman. They are all the same. You’ll meet someone else. Tonight, if you want. I’ve got the number of a real hot—”
“I’m going to stop you there, because you’re an idiot and you’re wrong. A woman isn’t a woman isn’t a woman. They are different.” Thea was unlike any other woman he’d ever known. She was a soothing balm to his wounds. She was sweet to his sour, kind to his grumpy, soft to his hard. She was the light to his dark, and when he was with her, life made sense. He had a purpose.
“Do you love her?” Brock asked.
Love. The word echoed in his mind. Was this love? He hadn’t let himself wonder before. Now he couldn’t stop.
He loved his dad and the dogs, Jude and Brock, but what he felt for Thea was so different. Much more intense. “Maybe. Probably. Lord knows I’ve tried not to.”
“That’s because you’re stubborn like Jude.”
And unhappy. Jude used to whisper a prayer as he’d knelt over his dying brothers and sisters. Right there on the battlefield while enemy fire still rained, he’d held hands and cried, as if every life was precious. He hadn’t prayed or cried since his wife and twins had died. He’d shut down in so many ways.
What would Daniel do if Thea died in a storm?
Actually, she could be hit by a car. Or struck by an illness. Fall to a random act of violence. He could lose her any number of ways, whether they were together or not. So why not spend what time they had left together?
But none of those ways were purposely sought out. And that was the word he couldn’t get past. Purposely.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Daniel sat outside Style Me Tender as his dad and Anthony played checkers, the dogs running around their table and chairs. The sun was shining brightly. The town had done a good job of cleaning up after the tornado, and the publicity the storm had brought had only helped the economy. People from all over the state and even other states were flooding in for the spring festival, which kicked off tomorrow.
The inn must be overrun. How was Thea handling the excess work? Just fine, if last night was any indication. She hadn’t seemed stressed at all.
His hands fisted.
Virgil sighed wistfully and made his next move on the board.
“Dad,” he said. “Cheer up. Please.” If his heart problems worsened because of this, guilt would kill Daniel. This was what he’d hoped to avoid.
“Thought you’d wise up by now and go get your woman,” Virgil grumbled. “But nooo. I had to go and learn I’d raised a boy so dumb he couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.”
Anthony said, “I think he’s remained single because he’s afraid of disappointing you.” His dark eyes landed on Daniel. “You aren’t the only one who watches and learns, kid.”
“Well, he needs to get over it.” Virgil moved a red checker across the board. “I can handle a little disappointment. What I can’t handle is seeing my only son destroy his life.”
“It’s not destroyed,” Daniel grated. Was it? “Dad, you didn’t think I belonged with Thea. Darkness and light can’t coexist or some shit?”
“Who says you and Dorothea can’t both be light? She made you happy. You did the same for her. Why don’t you buck up and deal with it.”
Daniel rubbed his chest. The pangs had been coming more frequently.
He began to pace in front of the table. As minutes ticked by, men and women passed him. No matter their sex, they shook their heads, tsked or whispered about his stupidity.
Broke our sweet Dorothea’s heart, he did.
Damn it! She had broken his heart. Why couldn’t they see that?
The thought brought him to a screeching halt. His heart. The very thing paining him. She had broken it, which meant he had fallen in love with her. Not maybe, not probably, but definitely.
He loved her. Loved her madly, passionately and completely. She had become his everything. His reason for waking up every morning. His reason for smiling. His reason for breathing.
His reason for being.
And yet he’d let her go. He’d practically pushed her away.
What was he going to do about it? What could he do?
He needed to clear his head. To think. “I’m taking off, Dad. Gonna take a little time.”
“Great. But before you go, son, do us all a favor and pull your head out of your ass.”
Nice. “I’ll do my best.” Daniel called the dogs, but they ignored him in favor of tugging at
his dad’s shoelaces.
He loped down the street all by his lonesome. When he turned the corner, his chest started aching again. Thea! She was jogging toward him.
This was his first real-time sighting since the breakup, and his body reacted without a command from his brain. His legs stopped working, his muscles going from lax to clenched in point two seconds. Thea stopped, too. Even across the distance, he could see the dark circles under her eyes—eyes that were filled with a hundred different emotions. The front-runners were regret, sorrow, anguish and hope. Her skin was pale, and there were tangles in her hair. Her nails were bare again, and the lack of polish bothered him.
Only a second passed, but at least ten different scenarios about how this could play out whisked through his mind. His favorite? She threw her arms around him, covered his face with kisses and promised never to chase another storm.
Her dark curls were pulled back in a ponytail, and her beautiful curves encased in a tank and running shorts. Loyal Thea, as faithful to her run as her mailman was to delivering her mail. Come rain, sleet, hail or sunshine, she’d be trekking the sidewalks.
Thea didn’t approach him. Instead, she raised her chin and kicked back into motion.
His hope withered to ash.
Say something. Tell her you love her. Win her back!
And send her off during the next storm?
He moved forward at a clipped pace, his heart desperately trying to leap from his chest…and passed her without saying a word.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE FIRST DAY of the spring festival arrived. As a kid, Dorothea had awoken on this day with a smile, knowing she would soon be enjoying fried desserts of every kind and hopefully winning a giant stuffed toy. Today, she hadn’t awoken at all because she hadn’t gone to sleep. She’d stayed up all night crying.
Daniel had finally been spotted, and he hadn’t cared enough to even say hi. He’d washed his hands of her.
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