Steady Rain

by Tymber Dalton

  Oh, sure, she could see the pattern now.

  It was time for her to quit thinking she was ever going to find a guy who could just fucking be honest with her for a change.

  Here she was, thinking she’d found not one, but two Doms of her dreams.

  I’m a fucking idiot.

  Right now she wasn’t even angry, more numb and heartsick.

  Instead of going home, she headed over to Michelle’s. She needed to pick up Stanley anyway. When her phone rang, she sent it to voice mail without even looking at the screen because it was Tristan’s ring tone.

  No. I’m not going to let them tell me a pack of lies and hook me in again.

  Talk about touching a stove.

  Felt like she’d shoved her entire heart into a furnace and it’d been charred beyond recovery.

  * * * *

  Kyle didn’t bother knocking when he walked into the bedroom. Tris lay on their bed, staring at the ceiling, his phone in his hand.

  “She’s gone,” Kyle said.

  “I should fucking hope so.” He sat up. “I mean it. Not enough room in this relationship for Marilyn.”

  “She’s aware of that.”

  “Is she? Because her bullshit out there says otherwise.”

  “I told her I’m with you and Jess. I guess Dillon really did keep quiet about the three of us. She didn’t know anything about you and me or us and Jess.”

  “Obviously.” Tris thumbed in another call on his phone and put it to his ear, but it must have gone right to voice mail. “She’s not answering her phone.”

  “What’d she say before she left?”

  “I was trying to hold the door closed and talk to her, and she said red. So I let her go.”

  Kyle chewed that over. “We need to give her a little space, then.”

  “Dude, I do not agree with that. I think we need to straighten this out. Now.”

  “I’m going to move the coupe.”

  Tristan stared at him. “That thing’s in pieces. You can’t move it today.”

  “I know. I’ll get the chassis finished, get the body bolted on, find a storage unit, and have a rollback come move it and my toolbox and stuff.”

  “How long?”

  “Three weeks at the most. Less than that. She safeworded, Tris. That means she wants space for right now.”

  “Shit, I am not waiting three weeks to talk to Jess.”

  “No, I don’t mean that.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “We can try to talk to her, but I think if she won’t talk to us, we wait to go to her until I get it moved. Then I can honestly tell her look, she’s gone, she’s out of our lives.” He looked down. “And I’ll cut off contact with Dillon.”

  Tristan didn’t respond at first. “Fuck!” He fell back on the bed. “That goddamned bitch. Marilyn, not Jess, duh. It’ll kill Dillon if you do that.”

  “Like you’ve said, he’s not my son.”

  “You love him. And he loves you.”

  “What’d I just say?”

  “Stop.” Tris rolled to face him. “You can’t do that to the kid. Marilyn’s a bitch, but don’t make Dillon pay. Jess knows how much you love him.”

  “But you said—”

  “Yeah, I know what I said.” He checked his phone, tried to call again…voice mail. “Dillon needs you. But Marilyn isn’t allowed here. You do the driving, or keep her ass outside. I mean it. Especially if we get Jess to forgive us.”

  “When.”

  “No, if. You aren’t sure you can get her back, because I’m damn sure scared shitless right now.”

  “Yeah, I am. And I will. We can’t lose her.”

  “Not exactly your call if she won’t listen.”

  “She’ll listen when I can show her I’ve taken steps. And if Jess says no more Dillon, that’s it.”

  Tris shook his head. “We should go after her. Go to the apartment and wait for her.”

  “She safeworded. What’d we always promise her?”

  Tristan glared at him. “Fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair. “That we’d never violate her consent.”

  “Yeah. And showing up there right now, under these circumstances, is violating her consent. Period.”

  “Goddammit.”

  * * * *

  When Jess reached Michelle’s, she set her phone to silent mode and left it in the truck before heading inside.

  No way in hell could she talk to the men right now.

  She was too…hurt, angry.

  Ashamed of how she’d been suckered again.

  Hearing ghosts of her parents’ voices in her head telling her how less-than she was.

  Remembering all the lies Brad had told her, all the gaslighting.

  Nope.

  It was still raining, so she scurried up the walk but didn’t bother taking her rain slicker or umbrella. She knocked before opening the door and calling out. “Anyone home?”

  Michelle’s dogs started barking, along with Stanley. All three of them came tearing out of the kitchen to greet her with wags and happy jumping while Michelle followed.

  “Hey, sweetheart. I didn’t expect you this early.”

  “Rained out.” She knelt down to play with the Doxies. “So here I am.”

  “Did you want to stay for dinner?”

  “I really need a shower.” She’d remained slightly circumspect about how things were going with the men. Michelle had proven she wasn’t judgmental. Except now it seemed Jess had been right not to get too detailed. Michelle knew she was doing photo shoots for the guys, and had had dinner with them, but she’d held back the fact that they’d been in “a relationship,” even though she’d told Kel.

  Mostly as a safety net in case something happened.

  “Are you all right, honey?”

  “Yeah, just a long day. Tired.”

  Michelle crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at her in that way.

  The mom.

  The true mom in her life.

  She didn’t realize she was crying until Michelle had gathered her up and herded her over to the couch. The story tearfully spilled out of her—all of it.

  “Please don’t tell Kel,” she said. “I need to calm down and then I’ll talk to the guys. I need to maintain a working relationship with them if I want to rebuild my photography business.”

  “Maybe you need to talk to them to let them explain themselves.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Been there, done that. This was the universe reminding me to work on myself.”

  “Is it possible they were telling you the truth and that this is just a misunderstanding?”

  Jess felt her heart trying to seize exactly that explanation so she could slide back into the comfortable, snuggly blanket that was what she’d had with the men.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m obviously not ready to have a relationship yet. Especially not a poly one.”

  “I thought Kel and other friends had vouched for them?”

  “They…did. But that was as Tops, not as boyfriends.” Jess wiped at her face and sat up. “Please don’t tell Kel any of this.”

  “Why? He’ll want to know.”

  “Because he doesn’t need that stress in his life. I’m a big girl. I can deal with this. I’ve dealt with worse. He needs to focus on Mal, not me. I’m sure my problems will be here long after Mal comes home. Please?”

  Michelle didn’t look like she agreed, but she finally nodded. “You’re an adult, and I’ll respect your wishes. Can I ask you to please at least talk to your guys?”

  “I will. After I calm down and can be…professional.”

  They had a great rep. They could ruin her in the Sarasota BDSM community, despite Kel and all the Collinses being firmly in her court, before she could even lift a finger.

  She hoped the guys weren’t like that, but she’d be the bigger person. No way in hell would she even let the hint of drama taint her.

  She’d hold her head high, forge on, and deal.

  Even if her heart lay shatt
ered in her chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  No cars sat in Marilyn’s yard when Kyle drove up Wednesday afternoon after getting out of work early.

  Good.

  It’d been over a week since Jess had walked out, and she was still ignoring them. He was willing to give her some space, yes, but there would have to be a resolution. Either they’d win her back, or she’d tell them to their faces to go fuck themselves.

  But he wanted to stack the deck and cut ties to Marilyn before he faced Jess.

  That meant moving the coupe.

  It was drizzling rain, but he was working in the garage and not out in the open. He needed to get the chassis finished on the coupe. At least finished enough he could bolt the body onto it and roll it onto a trailer to move it and all his tools and shit into a storage unit somewhere until he could figure out what to do.

  It’d suck for Dillon, but Kyle could plainly see this arrangement wasn’t going to work out long-term with Marilyn.

  Not with how she could barely mask her anger over Jess.

  And Jess was his girlfriend, not Marilyn.

  If they could convince Jess they hadn’t been playing her.

  It wasn’t his fault Marilyn couldn’t handle the truth.

  Worse, Jess still wouldn’t answer their calls or respond to their texts or voice mails. Other than showing up at her apartment and sitting there to wait for her, he wasn’t sure how to fix this.

  Maybe I can ask Kel to intercede. He’s friends with her.

  Except that thought made him feel like an even bigger shit, to drag someone into their drama when the man had enough problems going on in his own life to deal with.

  The best thing to do would be to finish this stage of the coupe—ten hours or less to get it rolling by his estimation—and move everything, then tell Marilyn sorry, but no more.

  Then he could go to Jess with his hat in his hands and beg her to give them another chance. Prove to her that he’d put her first. Be able to show her how much she meant to him.

  Even at Dillon’s expense.

  Which also made him feel like a shit, but hey, there came a point when a guy needed to figure out his life and paddle his own canoe instead of trying to do for everyone else first.

  He’d thought he’d been doing the mature thing, the kind thing for Dillon, but Marilyn had fucked things sideways.

  The only way Jess would ever believe he and Tris weren’t fucking around on her with Marilyn was for Marilyn to permanently be out of the picture. Even then he wasn’t sure, considering the bullshit Jess had been through, if she would come back.

  He had to try.

  He was still working when he heard a car roll up in Marilyn’s driveway, and his gut tensed. When he saw it was Louis, the current loser louse, he relaxed and resumed working. The guy would leave him alone.

  At least, he had in the past. Today, Louis apparently had other plans. About an hour after he’d arrived, the guy walked through the backyard and the lightly drizzling rain and stood in the garage’s large doorway, just under the overhang, so he didn’t get rained on. He didn’t say anything at first.

  Louis and Louisa. Fucking figures they’re both pains in my ass. Although Louisa had been more an annoyance, up until the very end. And Tris had painlessly exorcised her from their lives.

  Note to self—no more people in my life whose names start with Lou.

  Kyle finally broke the uncomfortable silence but didn’t stop working, much less look at the guy. “You need something?”

  “Dillon said you worked on Marilyn’s car.” He took a swig from a nearly empty bottle of beer he held—it was that action that finally caught Kyle’s attention and made him glance at Louis. He was swaying a little on his feet.

  “I haven’t worked on her car.”

  “I had to check the oil for her and saw the new battery and Dillon said you did it. You saying the little shit’s lying to me?”

  Kyle’s grip on the socket wrench tightened, but he willed himself to remain still and not punch the guy for insulting Dillon. No wonder the poor kid hates Louis. “What, exactly, did Dillon tell you?”

  “Said they broke down grocery shopping and you worked on it for her.”

  He’d forgotten about that. “That was, like, over two months ago. I jumped her battery and followed her to the auto parts store to make sure she got there okay. She bought a new battery. I didn’t exactly work on it. They replaced it for her for free.”

  “So why the fuck’s that a secret?”

  Now Kyle turned and gave him his full attention. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  The asshole stepped inside the garage. Kyle had an inch on him in height, but the guy had about fifty pounds of flab to the greater.

  “Dillon said it was a fucking secret. Why’s it a secret you’re working on my girlfriend’s car, huh?”

  “Did he say it was a secret, or did he say it was none of your business?”

  “What fucking difference does it make? You’re working on my girlfriend’s car and I don’t know about it.”

  Kyle mentally swore at Marilyn for making this infinitely worse than it had to be. “For starters, I don’t know who said it was a secret, because I told Marilyn I wouldn’t lie about it. I never said it was a secret. Secondly, she told me you were at work that evening when it happened, which is why she called me. I guess if you were a real man who didn’t want her calling other guys to help her, you’d fucking buy her an AAA membership, and she wouldn’t have to call me.”

  Kyle turned his back on the guy and leaned over the chassis to continue working.

  He wasn’t sure what hit him. He heard glass breaking as pain blossomed in the back of his head. He fell forward, where he smacked his forehead on the coupe’s frame rail, while additional pain exploded in his right knee as his leg twisted at a weird angle, his foot caught on something—

  Fade to black…

  * * * *

  Tristan had just finished the last of his parent conferences that afternoon when his cell phone went off. It was Marilyn—which he didn’t understand, because why the hell would she need to call him?—so he thumbed it to voice mail and started packing his stuff.

  Then a second call immediately after.

  And a third, minutes later. No messages left, though.

  What the fuck?

  He’d had enough of her shit. If it wasn’t for her, Jess wouldn’t have walked out.

  He could only hope that they could win Jess back. He had reluctantly agreed with Kyle’s plan to move the coupe first, as much as he hated to wait.

  If only Jess hadn’t safeworded…

  But yeah, Kyle’s plan was sound, even if it grated on Tris to sit back and do nothing for right now.

  Meanwhile, he’d kept his hope alive and purchased Jess a stainless steel necklace with a small, round tag on it, with his and Kyle’s initials engraved on the back and an enameled purple heart on the front. She loved purple…

  And she was their heart.

  It was a small chain, but sturdy enough she could wear it while working and not have to worry about it.

  He only hoped they got to give it to her. And that meant getting Marilyn out of their lives.

  Tris called Kyle to have him deal with whatever it was Marilyn wanted, but didn’t understand why Marilyn answered Kyle’s phone.

  He let her have it. “Okay, why the fuck are you on Kyle’s phone?”

  Her voice trembled. “Tristan…he’s at Proctor-Collins Medical Center.”

  “What?” Ice filled his gut, sliding down into his balls and crushing his heart, all impossibly at the same time. “What happened? How is he?”

  “I…I don’t know. I came home, and Dillon found him out in the garage. I think…” She sniffled. “I think Louis attacked him. I called 911 when Dillon ran in screaming for me, and—”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, how is he?”

  “He’s in the ER. They won’t let me back there with him because I’m not…” More sniffles.
“He told them I’m just a friend. Said you or Jess only.”

  Tristan sucked in a deep breath. Because Marilyn isn’t his girlfriend. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Of course it was raining when he grabbed his shit and ran out to his SUV, because, of fucking course.

  He turned on the traction control and made it to the hospital in nine minutes. He was desperately glad there weren’t red-light cameras on some of the lights he took at more than a stale yellow along the way. When he ran into the waiting room, he found Marilyn there, Dillon clinging to her and crying.

  She looked like she’d been crying.

  She held Kyle’s phone, and without thinking, Tristan snatched it from her hand. “Where is he?”

  She pointed at the desk. “You need a visitor’s badge. Then they’ll let you back. I told them you were coming.”

  He didn’t wait to see if she had anything else to say. Three minutes later, he had his visitor’s badge and was running through a set of secure double doors they’d buzzed him through and he was trying to find Kyle’s ER cubicle.

  He burst into the room to find a nurse and another woman he assumed to be a doctor, from her scrubs and lab coat, working on Kyle.

  And his eyes were open.

  “Oh, thank god.” He rushed over to Kyle’s side. He had a large lump on his forehead that apparently had a gash on it, from the bandage there, plus more gauze was wrapped around his head. He was dressed in a hospital gown and his right knee looked swollen to about three times its normal size.

  Kyle’s eyes looked full of pain. “Hey.” His voice sounded weak.

  Tristan leaned in and kissed him, held his hand. “What the hell happened?”

  “Fucking Louis showed up. He was drunk, and we had words. I think he sucker punched me when I turned my back to him. Maybe hit me in the back of the head with his beer bottle. Looks like I fell and hit the coupe’s frame with my head, and my right foot slid under my toolbox when I went down and it jacked my knee against the frame.”

  “And you are?” the doctor asked.

  “His fiancé.” Tristan didn’t take his eyes off Kyle. “You’re not allowed to fucking scare me like this, dude. Didn’t I tell you that rule?”