by J. Lynn
He grinned. “You know, Kristen and I were together for a long time, but we really weren’t in the same place often. You really don’t know each other—know their wants and desires until you’re spending a lot of time with them. Things change then.”
“So . . . you two didn’t get along?”
One shoulder rose. “I don’t think we did. Not really. She didn’t see it that way.”
I wanted to ask him what was it about Kristen that made him propose marriage to her if he didn’t think he knew her, but there was no way I could ask that question without it sounding incredibly bitter.
“What about you and that guy you dated?” he asked.
“There isn’t much to tell.” I tucked my hair back as I gazed out the window at the endless concrete of the turnpike. “We met at Shepherd. He asked me out, and I . . .”
“What?” he asked after a moment.
The reason why I’d gone out with Ben and stayed with him was embarrassing to admit, but since it was caring and sharing time, I forced out the truth. “I was just . . . I was just lonely. I wanted to be with someone and he was interested in me.”
Brock was quiet for so long that I had to look over at him. His profile was stoic, made of marble and ice. “Did he treat you well?”
I squirmed. “That’s a weird question to ask.”
“You never brought him home to your parents.”
“That’s not an indication of how he treated me,” I pointed out.
“Did he want to meet your parents?”
I looked away. “Not really.”
“So did he treat you like you deserved?”
Uncomfortable, I folded my arms. “Most of the time it wasn’t bad or good. It was just . . . somewhere in the middle. I don’t regret the relationship. I learned a lot from it.”
“Like what?”
“Like not to ever settle again.”
* * *
It was close to eleven when we pulled up in front of my parents’ house. My stomach was full of knots, but I was relieved to see there weren’t five hundred cars in the circular driveway. At least we wouldn’t have to deal with all my uncles and their wives and their herd of children.
I stared up at the double doors, excited to see my family, but also anxious. They could be . . . overwhelming at times.
Brock killed the engine, and a second later I felt his fingers curling around my chin. He guided my gaze to his. Leaning into me, he closed the distance and kissed me softly. It was a tender and sweet kiss, one that held infinite patience.
“You ready to head in there?”
Realizing he sensed the hesitation, I drew back and stared at him. I wanted to thank him. I wanted to kiss him again.
Rhage meowed pitifully from the back seat.
Laughing, I sat back and unbuckled my seatbelt. “I know who’s ready.”
We climbed out, and before I could grab the carrier, Brock already had it in his hand. Rhage was probably loving that. We’d walked up the driveway, leaving our bags to grab later.
The door opened before we reached it and out came my mom, a flurry of long brown hair and big eyes. One second I was standing on the porch, arm raised, and next Mom was wrapping her arms around me, squeezing the living daylights out of me.
“Mom,” I gasped, hugging her back. “I can barely breathe.”
“Deal with it.” She hugged me tighter.
I coughed out a laugh and then she pulled back, smoothing a hand over my hair, pushing it back from my face. Her eyes were watery as she smiled, then her gaze moved to Brock, and I winced in sympathy as she enveloped him in an equally suffocating hug. Somehow, he managed to hold onto Rhage’s carrier. Brock laughed at her exuberance and returned the hug with one arm.
“Hon, let them get in the house.” Dad’s voice rang out from inside the house. “They’ve been in the car for hours.”
“Hush it.” Mom let go of Brock and then looped her arm through mine as we started inside. “You’d think by now he’d expect how easily excited I am.”
“You’d think,” I argued dryly.
Mom laughed.
Warm air greeted us as we stepped in the foyer, and I saw Dad striding across the scuffed hardwood floors. His hair was more salt than pepper since the last time I’d seen him and the lines around his eyes had increased, but the man was still fit as a fiddle.
“Hey, Dad.” Slipping free of Mom, I met him halfway.
Dad’s hug was just as intense, but it didn’t feel like I’d have cracked ribs afterward, so that was great. “Have any trouble driving up here?”
“No.” I stepped back.
“There was a little traffic when we got close,” Brock told him, placing the carrier on the floor. “But nothing too bad.”
Mom stared down at Rhage. “You just had to bring Satan with you, didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t leave him at home.”
“He’s staying in your room,” she warned.
“Of course.”
“Am I seriously the only person this cat likes?” Brock asked as he dipped down, bravely sticking his finger through the holes.
Mom’s shrewd gaze bounced between us, and I was sure she was wondering exactly how often Brock was around the cat. “Yes,” I answered. “You are pretty much the only person.”
Dad kept his arm around my shoulders as he eyed Brock. “It’s good, real good to see you two together again.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Brock replied as he looked up, his gaze straying to mine. “Because Jillian and I are together.”
Chapter 26
Well, at least now I knew where Brock and I stood; however I’d wished he hadn’t quite dropped the bomb like that. I would’ve liked it to be in private, so I could’ve done a happy dance. And I wish it hadn’t been in front of my parents, because things got a little weird after that.
Dad appeared smug and patted Brock’s back like being with me was equal to him winning a tough match. Then Dad crossed his arms and nodded sagely as if he had always known this was how it would turn out.
And Mom . . . Good Lord, Mom looked about ready to cry, and not just a few tears. Oh no, she looked like she was about to sob like somehow Brock had discovered the fountain of youth and was about to give her directions on the location.
Truth was though, I was . . . I was pleased they were happy, and they really were. I had to look away, focus on the new painting in the foyer of a sandy golden beach and sky at dusk, vibrantly catching the blue and pink hues, so no one saw how shiny my eyes were getting.
Especially when Brock draped his arm over my shoulders and pulled into my side while Mom continued to gush on about how happy she was. It was a big deal to her. We were here for Thanksgiving, and tomorrow would be the first true family dinner in a long time.
And it . . . it really would.
Brock leaned in and whispered in my left ear. “You okay?”
I nodded and then looked down at the cat carrier. Rhage was hissing and carrying on in his carrier while my Mom stared all googly-eyed at Brock, probably already planning the wedding invitations while baby booties danced in her head.
Rhage withdrew from my finger and I sighed. “I’m going to take Rhage upstairs. He’s getting—”
The front door swung open and a swarm of small people rushed in, a literal sea of tiny humans. I blinked, losing count once I saw the sixth dark-haired child, and I knew it was Uncle Julio, because he could seriously fill out an entire baseball roster with his own children.
I straightened before I was knocked over by the wave of children. Brock shifted closer and his arm went around me again.
Julio’s wife came through, carrying the youngest on her hip, and miraculously she didn’t look pregnant. “I told you Brock was here,” Heather yelled over her shoulder. “That was his car out front.”
“I know that’s his car,” my uncle shouted back.
“And Jilly is with him!” Heather drew up short, her gaze moving from my face to his and then to the arm around my sh
oulder. “And Brock has his arm around her!”
My brows rose.
Brock chuckled under his breath.
Beside me, Mom practically buzzed with eagerness to explain. “Oh Heather, dear, Brock and my baby girl are together.”
“What?” yelled Julio. “Woman, they haven’t . . .” His voice faded off, and I heard a childish, girlish squeal.
“Together?” Heather cocked her head to the side, and the small child, a boy or a girl, I had no idea, tugged on her long, blonde hair.
“We’re seeing each other,” Brock explained while I stood there like an idiot.
Mom let out a little squeak that sounded like Beaker from the Muppet Babies, and then Heather was hollering, “Brock and Jilly are seeing each other!”
“Oh my God,” I murmured.
Brock squeezed my shoulders.
A second later, what I guessed was the last of their kids came running through the open doors. It was Hannah—I think—and she made a beeline for Rhage’s carrier, cooing as she dropped onto the floor, sticking her little fingers toward the cage.
“I wouldn’t do that—” I reached for the child.
“Don’t let that damn cat out,” Julio griped, and my gaze flew to the open door. “You remember what happened last time, Hannah-Banana. Nearly took off your finger and the cat got out. Took us half a day to catch him.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” I said dryly.
Julio looked like he had the last time I’d seen him—a younger version of Dad. Still no graying hairs or skin creasing in the corners. He was a little taller, a few inches above me, and he was dressed like he always was, in black track pants and a Lima shirt. That was all. It was forty degrees outside and windy as hell, and that was all he’d wear.
“Look at you two.” My uncle grinned as he strode across the foyer, managing to navigate the children as they appeared to be climbing all over everything—furniture, Mom, Dad, the walls. Julio stopped in front of Brock and patted his chest. “Name your first kid after me.”
“Oh my God,” I said again.
“I’m sure they’ll name their first kid after me,” Dad chimed in, grinning as his dark eyes sparkled.
“But what if it’s a girl?” Mom asked quite seriously as Heather shuffled forward, giving Brock and me a one-armed hug. The kid on her hip ended up in my hair and it took four seconds to untangle the poor child.
“Can we not talk about having babies?” I asked, wrangling the last strand of hair free from the small child’s death grip. “We really aren’t at that stage.”
“I want kids,” Brock announced, glancing down at me, and the air stalled in my lungs. “Maybe not an entire soccer team like some.”
“But you’ll have fun making that soccer team.” Julio grinned.
Heather turned her head to me. “But you will not have fun delivering said soccer team.”
“Okay,” I said, stepping away from Brock. My face was on fire. “I need to get—”
The child at the carrier fell back and Rhage flew out of the cage in a flurry of brown and white fur. Claws rapped off the wood floor as he shot into the living room. Mom shouted. Kids squealed and ran off.
“Damn it,” I muttered, exhaling heavily as something somewhere in the living room crashed to the floor. “Not again.”
Dad laughed as he walked up to my side and kissed my temple. “Welcome home, Jilly.”
* * *
Later, after Brock caught the damn cat hiding in a bushy fern in the sunroom and brought him up to my bedroom, I sat on the corner of my old bed and waited for Brock. He was in his old room, getting ready for the evening.
We all had an early dinner and then Julio and Heather packed up the kids. They’d be back tomorrow with everyone else, and I was sure that would prove interesting. Or overwhelming. Brock and I planned on discussing the option of converting the space either Thursday evening or Friday.
I’d showered and curled my hair so it fell in loose waves down to the center of my back. I hadn’t parted it like I normally would; instead I let it part naturally, straight down the middle.
I wore a thin V-neck sweater in deep red, because I knew it would be warm in Mona’s, and a pair of dark jeans tucked inside the same boots I’d wore the night I’d first saw Brock in Martinsburg.
Getting ready had reminded me of that night so long ago, but as I sat on this narrow bed that would barely fit two people and gazed around my room, I couldn’t help but think about how so much had changed since that night—how much I’d changed. Sometimes it felt like I was still that same girl who got dressed up one Saturday night, full of girlish hope, and other times I didn’t even recognize her.
Though as my gaze roamed over the hundreds of books lining my bookcase, I didn’t feel like I wanted to be far from this room. There was no slicing pain in my stomach or pressure in my chest. There were memories, but they didn’t haunt me.
One side of my lips tilted up as I thought about tonight. A flutter started in my belly and spread upward. I was nervous, but in a . . . a good way. I was going out tonight.
I was going to Mona’s.
I was going to see my friends.
That was a flutter of excitement.
A knock on my door drew me out of my thoughts. “Come in.”
The door cracked open and Brock popped his head in. “Is it safe, or is Rhage going to make a run for it?”
I glanced to the open closet door. “He’s hiding in the closet. Just shut the door in case he decides to make another run for it.”
Brock slipped in, quickly closing the door. As I got a good look at him, the flutter in my belly increased until it felt like a swarm of hummingbirds.
The beard was gone.
His jaw was bare and the hard, chiseled line was on full display. So was the faint scar on his lip. I wanted to touch it—kiss it. He wore a black Henley and a pair of jeans, and somehow he looked like he belonged in his own personal jet. He wore those clothes. They didn’t wear him, and he looked amazing.
“Really loving that top,” he said, and I blinked, drawing my gaze back to his. He’d been checking me out as I’d been doing the same thing. He walked over to me. His finger skimmed along the collar of my sweater, over the swells of my breasts. “I really love this shirt.”
“Perv,” I murmured as I reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. “You shaved.”
“Yeah, figured it was time. You like?”
“Like it either way.” Biting down on my lip, I dragged my hand along his jaw. The skin was impossibly smooth.
Brock dipped his head and my hand slid back to the nape of his neck. The kiss was sweet and felt different since the beard was gone. “You sure about tonight?”
A faint smile tugged at my lips as I lowered my cheek to his shoulder and inhaled deeply.
“I mean, we can stay in.” A hand slipped over my lower back and down the curve of my rear. “Wait until your parents go to bed, then I can creep into your bedroom like we’re both teens. Keep you to myself.”
I laughed. “I’m sure. I want to go.” I looked up, searching his face as a seed of doubt blossomed. Maybe he didn’t want to go . . . to go with me. “Do you want to go with—”
“Babe.” The grip on my ass tightened. “If you’re about to ask if I want to go with you, I might turn you over my knee.”
I raised my brow. “I really would like to see you try that.”
“I bet you would really like it.”
Maybe, but that wasn’t the point. I inhaled deeply. “If you want to go and so do I, then what are we waiting for?”
His grin was slow. “Then let’s go.”
* * *
My stomach churned as I climbed out of the car, the cute Coach wristlet dangling from my wrist. The parking lot was full. Not entirely surprising since it was the night before Thanksgiving and many would have the next day off, which meant many would spend Thanksgiving hung over.
But I wasn’t thinking about drinking and spending the next day with a massive
headache. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and without wanting to, without even trying, I found myself staring toward the side parking lot, where the Dumpsters were and where the staff usually parked. It wasn’t that well-lit back there.
It was where I parked the last time I’d been here.
Cold wind whipped through the parking lot, lifting strands of my hair and tossing them around my face.
Ice settled in my veins and my stomach wiggled with a nest of snakes. I wanted to look away. I wanted to walk straight into the bar, unaffected by being here, but I couldn’t.
“Jillian?”
I jerked to my left, not realizing Brock had joined me in front of his car. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Yellow light from the overhead lamp fell upon his face. Concern filled his steady gaze as he took my hand in his. “What are you thinking?”
My mouth dried. The door to Mona’s opened and laughter spilled out into the parking lot.
“I’m thinking about that night.” Brock squeezed my hand as he brought it to his chest. “I think it makes sense. It’s okay if you are.”
I wet my lower lip and then nodded slowly. “I never . . . I never drove past here again. I didn’t come anywhere near here. I just . . .”
Brock circled his other arm around the nape of my neck, drawing me close. For several moments we stood there in silence and he said, “You know, I haven’t gone by the place I grew up since I was . . . hell, in my early twenties?”
Surprise flickered through me. “You haven’t?”
He shook his head. “Not once since then.”
All I could do was stare. Brock rarely talked about his past. He’d always been that way. “I thought you’d gone back.”
“Just that once. Saw my father.” He let out a heavy breath. “He was still drinking and he still wanted to do nothing but talk with his fists.”
“You never told me you saw your father.”
He raised a shoulder in a slight shrug. “There was nothing to tell. The man barely cared that I was even there, standing in front of him and alive. All he saw was that I was wearing nice clothes and driving a nice car. He saw me and saw his next bottle of whiskey.”