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“Yes, you did.” He started the car and we made it back to the hospital garage within a few minutes. He walked me to my car door, though I told him it wasn’t necessary.
“Welcome home, Dean.”
He didn’t say a word as I stood facing him, my back to my door. He grabbed my hand after a moment then kissed the back of it. The years melted away one by one as we watched each other. We were on dangerous ground. The pull was impossible and if I stood staring into his crystal depths much longer, I wouldn’t be able to resist him.
“Maybe I don’t know you anymore, but I knew you Dallas and I made damn sure you knew me.” He leaned in close, leaving me breathless at his scent alone. He smelled like a mix of wood and sea and it consumed my senses. In an inescapable fog, he inched closer, and I was in sensory overload with the bright blue of his eyes beckoning me like they always had. I whimpered and wet my lips as his came closer and—He was engaged. Engaged. Engaged!
“Engaged!” We both jumped at the sound of my voice, breaking our daze.
He didn’t say a word as I opened my car door. I sat in my seat fuming, mad at myself and at him. “I’m with Josh and you are getting married. Go home, Dean.”
I shut my door then started my car. He stood near my door briefly, brought his hand up, pressed two fingers to his lips and then to the glass on my door before he turned and walked away. The recognition of that gesture had my chest burning in seconds.
I watched him drive away and sank in my seat as more memories of Dean came flooding back. I thought I had closed that door, sealed it, and he had blown it all to hell in a matter of days.
“Did you meet her at Columbia?”
“Yes, my first year.”
For years, I had waited for the answer to that question. I hated my answer.
I had to stay away from him, especially if he was inclined to make our past more present. I had come too far, gone through far too much when it came to him. I was a fool to think I could play civil when my heart had waged war on him so long ago.
I couldn’t believe he had almost just kissed me. I also couldn’t believe how bad I wished I had let him. What the hell was he thinking? And what did he really think of me to try something like that? How the hell could I possibly entertain him after what happened? I needed a man with a solid foundation, preferably without Helena, and who hadn’t torn my heart to shreds.
Dean was a liar.
I needed someone more like…Josh.
You don’t love Josh, Dallas.
But I did love him, maybe not in the way that felt like forever, but in a way that was far healthier than what I had experienced when I thought I had had that forever kind of love.
Josh was exactly the type of man I needed.
I was hit again with the look on his face when he saw me with Dean. I would have been equally just as hurt if the tables were turned.
I dialed his number, knowing he wouldn’t answer, and left him a message.
“Josh, you were right about tonight. Please forgive me and know I’m sorry.” I had never been good at anything personal in my life. He deserved so much more than the hurt I had just put him through. I had never given him any reason to not trust me…until now. He deserved better than me and the small piece of my heart that I had given him.
The only part left that Dean didn’t own, and he was doing a damn good job of trying to claim it. Only one thought raced through my head as I drove home: I had to stay the hell away from Dean Martin.
Dean
Then
“Get the lead out, Martin. You’re off by a full second!” Dallas roared at me as I pushed through the last quarter mile.
“Time,” she shouted as I crossed the finish, but not before handing my ass to me. “This won’t cut it Saturday.”
“Let’s see you do better, Whitaker,” I snapped, covered in Texas heat and gasping for breath.
“I didn’t sign up for this crap. If you are going to compete, do it to win,” she scolded, recording my time.
We were constantly at the track and she timed me and kept up with the best times of the runners I would compete against. Dallas fueled me, motivated me to push myself harder than I ever thought possible. She never cut me any slack and would often ride me harder on my off days, bringing out the angry Spaniard in me.
“Would it kill you to throw in an encouraging word once in a while or maybe a ‘Way to go, Martin’ when I’ve done well?” She ignored me as I went on. “Shouldn’t I be enjoying myself and in it for the sport?” I mused as I approached her. Her demeanor was all business as she looked over my time sheet for the last few meets.
