Page 33 of One Mistake

He didn’t speak, only continued to sip intermittently from his bottle of beer.

“Dad…”

He set the bottle down. “Ryder, this is between your mother and me. I hope I can count on your discretion. And in return, I’ll continue to bring money from your account as often as I can.” Something about my dad asking me to lie for him made my stomach churn.

I couldn’t do it. No matter what she was or wasn’t, she was my mom. She’d given birth to me. Loved to talk about the hours of labor and the scar giving birth to me had left behind. And by talk, I meant complain and throw up to me, but still.

“Can I count on you, son?” He dropped a hand on my shoulder. A meaningful squeeze. An earnest look. Fuck. He was my dad.

I nodded, but the whole thing made me sick. My skin was too tight for my body and my mind too small to hold everything I knew. But I would lie for him because as much as she was my mom, he was my dad. He was the guy who’d kept the monsters from under my bed and the one who taught me how to throw a football. He was the guy who protected me from Mom’s wrath when I was a kid and shielded me from as much as he could as I got older. I owed him this.

“But you have to stop, Dad. If she finds out…”

He chuckled. “Divorce would embarrass her far more.” He sighed. “That’s what she worries about. Embarrassment. Having her good name tarnished with the society ladies or in the circles she controls, anyway.” The wind had been knocked out of him enough times he knew what mattered to her, learned it in order to protect himself and others—to protect me. Now it was fair that I returned the favor.

13

Reese

Just think about it. And I would’ve been fine, had the great and too beautiful to be resisted Ryder Kennedy not added, please. Now it was all I could think about. It consumed my every waking moment. Especially since he asked if he could come back later on so we could talk about it, and I’d swallowed every ounce of pride I’d ever had and nodded like a fool.

Now, I sat across from him, takeout cartons open between us, empty plates beside unused silverware at the appropriate place settings.

“Thanks for dinner.” I could be gracious. Even if I sounded constipated.

He nodded. “No problem. I thought you might be hungry.”

Wow. Small talk was not our strong suit. I tapped my finger against the end of my fork. Not the business end so it didn’t do more than make a tinking sound against my nail. A distraction. Not a good one, though.

“Did you get everything accomplished you wanted to?” He hadn’t shared his plans with me, but he had left quickly enough.

“No. Today goes down as a failure for me.” He didn’t elaborate. Just watched my finger tink tink tink against the silverware. I didn’t really notice the level of annoyance the sound induced until he covered my hand with his. “How was your day?”

I couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked me that. The last time anyone had cared. Even Mom, a very compassionate person who could read me before I spoke, never asked about my day unless she sensed something was wrong.

“It was…okay.” Did he really want to know that Mom’s washing machine had shot craps and I’d sat on the floor in the basement for an hour bawling because her old Maytag finally gave up and she would’ve mourned it so I felt I had to also? Or about the ham and cheese sandwich I’d coupled with Doritos and added to a citrus soda for lunch? Maybe the bag of chocolate candies I’d found and eaten during a who’s the daddy kind of talk show? Probably not.

“Did you happen to talk to the bank?”

I flipped my gaze up. Maybe I should have called Larry at First Federal but I couldn’t bring myself to make a decision. Even though I knew time was…important. “No.”

He nodded and sat back. “So, you’re giving up the house.” It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer. I watched him instead. His grip on the armrests of the chair. His eyes, flicking back and forth over the top of the table. The vein throbbing in his temple. The slight nod as he shoved his chair back and stood, walked out the patio door to stand on the back deck. Mom’s beat-up barbecue grill sat against the rail, leaking ash from a hole in the bottom with every step he took.

After a few steps, he stopped, crossed his arms, and stared at the backyard. The door stood open behind him and the sun put him in silhouette. Silhouette Ryder was as attractive as fully-lit, half-darkened, and lit-by-candle Ryder.

I stood and walked to stand just behind him, close enough I could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off him. And because he made me weak and pathetic, I wrapped my arms around his waist and laid my cheek against his shoulder blade.

Nothing about hugging Ryder Kennedy was bad. Every ridge and valley of his body, the warmth, the thump of his heart, every breath that rustled his shirt felt…right under my hand. “Ryder…” I wanted him again. Like maybe I could indulge enough to hold me over when I went back to California and tried to resume my normal life.

He covered my hands with his but didn’t turn and so I might’ve misheard his whisper, but it certainly sounded like, “I don’t want you to go back to California.”

I kissed his spine, just below the nape of his neck. “I know.” But I didn’t have a job. Or the money to save the house from foreclosure. Maybe not even the will to come back and face falling back into the desperation and need I’d felt before and that was creeping back into my blood with every minute I was here.

Finally, he turned, pulled me close, stroked my throat with his thumb, and held me with his other arm. “So, we’re enjoying now?”

I grinned up at him. “God, I hope so.” My fingers tangled in his hair, and I tugged him down for a kiss. Soft, Tentative. Waiting for him to take it over, and when he didn’t, I pushed harder. Swiped my tongue over his lips. And this time, when I ground my hips against his and he didn’t respond, I was the one begging. “Please, Ryder.”

Whether it was the softness of my voice, the plea in my tone, or the flex of our relationship muscles, it didn’t matter. He used his arm to lift me off my feet and hold me against him, to deepen our kiss with his body. If I had to pick my favorite of all his special skills, this was the one—my number one draft pick.