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“Don’t you like living with Deanna?” Evan asks after a moment. “She’s great fun.”
“She’s always working.” Melissa pouts. “Besides, I prefer staying with you.”
Aw man. Evan has to tell her. He should be with his little girl, and she should know he’s her dad. She should know that Deanna isn’t her mom, but her aunt.
Would it make a difference? Would she be loved any less? I honestly doubt it. But here’s the thing: in her shoes, I’d have liked to have known the truth. Finding out who my dad was when I turned eighteen was such a shock. I wish I’d known sooner.
Why is life so complicated sometimes?
* * *
“Are you guys heading back tomorrow?” Evan asks as we clear the table. He insisted on helping, but Matt glared at him until he sat back down. He looks exhausted, smudges of purple under his eyes. He’s cradling his broken arm to his chest with his good one. “Back to St. Louis?”
“Yeah. Can’t stay away from the shop or my kids any longer.” Matt is elbow-deep in sudsy water, but he glances at Evan over his shoulder. “Why? If you need help with something else, you just have to say, man. You know I’ll find a way.”
“I know.” He’s frowning at a stain on the table top—or maybe something I can’t see. “Yeah, I know.”
But he doesn’t say anything else.
“Actually, we’re leaving Tuesday early in the morning,” I say quietly, and look at Matt.
His brows rise. “Why?”
“We’re going to pick Ross up from the prison before heading out, bring him here, home.” I swallow hard. “I thought you agreed.”
He holds my gaze, an unreadable expression on his rugged face. “Tay…”
I shake my head, busy my hands with the container of mac and cheese I’m covering with plastic wrap to put into the fridge. “Please, Matt. It’s important to me.”
Evan is staring. “Why you wanna do that? Since when do you wanna be friends with scum like Ross?”
“He’s my brother.”
“And Jasper’s your father, but I don’t see you wanting to get in any family time with him.”
“Of course not.” I shudder at the thought. “Ross is different.”
“He’s a bully. He’s in prison.”
“You don’t understand.” I glance at Melissa who’s playing with her dolls in the corner of the kitchen, a fort of pillows around her, on the carpet. “I need to see him. Talk to him.”
Matt wipes his hands on a towel and turns to face me, muscular arms folded over his chest. He says nothing, watching me closely, his dark eyes warm and concerned.
And it’s that look that convinces me to speak out.
“I have been having this dream,” I say, and God, now I wish I’d told Matt about it. “Of Ross.”
“That why you were crying yesterday?” Melissa asks, and I turn to find her watching, too.
Great.
I nod. “Yes.”
“You were crying?” Matt’s expression darkens. He looks torn between hauling me into his arms, and going out to find Ross and beat him up for making me sad in my dreams. “What’s the dream about?”
“It’s just… It starts with a bad feeling, the feeling something bad will happen, you know? The way it is sometimes in dreams?” I close the fridge and lean my back against it. “I’m driving through Destiny, in your old truck, and I’m going fast, trying to outrun someone or something. Merc is riding shotgun, and he’s talking to me, but I can’t make out the words. I know he’s scared, and so am I, and he keeps saying Ross’s name. I know he’s telling me Ross is in danger, even if I can’t really hear more, and that we have to get there in time to save him. But suddenly we’re off the road, rolling and Merc’s head hits the dashboard…” I draw a shaky breath. “Blood is running down his face, into his eyes. I keep seeing Merc… Merc dying, and then his face changes into that of Ross. That’s when I wake up.”
Silence greets my words.
