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He found Jack in the empty living room, his fingers stuffed in his back pockets. “I heard her screaming,” he said, gazing out the window. “It looked bad.”
“Hell, I’m just glad you finally got around to remembering you left her alone. Good job, Jack.”
“I know when I fuck up.” Jack turned, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m feeling my way with her, and sometimes I get it wrong—like tonight. When that happens, I do my best to fix it.”
“Admirable. Very admirable. I’m humbled.”
“You never did anything wrong in your life?”
“Hell, yes. I threw seventeen interceptions last season.”
“You know what I mean.”
Dean hooked his thumb in the waistband of his jeans. “Well, I’ve got a bad habit of picking up speeding tickets, and I can be a sarcastic son of a bitch, but I haven’t left any old girlfriends pregnant, if that’s what you’re driving at. No bastard kids running around. I’m embarrassed to say it, Jack, but I don’t seem to be in your league.” Jack flinched, but Dean wanted to annihilate him, and he needed more. “Just to make sure you understand…The only reason I’m letting you stay here is because of Riley. You’re nothing but a sperm donor to me, pal, so keep out of my way.”
Jack wouldn’t back off. “No problem. I’m good at that.” He moved closer. “I’m only going to say this once. You got a raw deal, and I’m sorrier about that than you could ever imagine. When April told me she was pregnant, I ran as fast and as far as I could. If it had been up to me, you’d never have been born, so factor that in the next time you let her know how much you hate her.”
Dean felt sick, but he refused to look away, and Jack sneered. “I was twenty-three, man. Too young for responsibility. All I cared about was music, getting high, and getting laid. My lawyer was the guy who looked out for you when April couldn’t. He was the one who made su
re there was a nanny on duty just in case your mother snorted too many lines or forgot to come home after she’d spent the night entertaining some glam rocker in gold lamé pants. My lawyer was the one who kept track of your grades. He was the one the school called when you got sick. I was too busy forgetting you existed.”
Dean couldn’t move. Jack’s lips curled. “But you have your retribution, pal. I get to spend the rest of my life seeing the man you’ve become and knowing—if it had been up to me—you’d never have drawn your first breath. How cool is that?”
Dean couldn’t handle any more, and he turned away, but Jack had one last missile to toss at his back. “I promise you one thing. I won’t ever ask you to forgive me. I can at least do that.”
Dean rushed into the foyer and out the front door. Before he knew it, he’d reached the caravan.
Blue had just fallen asleep when the door of her peaceful habitat blew open. She fumbled for her flashlight and finally managed to flip it on. He was bare-chested, and his eyes glittered like midnight ice. “Not a word,” he said, slamming the door so hard the wagon shook. “Not one word.”
Under other circumstances, she would have taken issue, but he looked so tortured—so magnificent—that she was temporarily struck speechless. She eased up into the pillows, her comfy haven no longer feeling quite so safe. Something had deeply upset him, and for once, she didn’t think it was her. He cracked his head on the caravan’s curved roof. A blistering blasphemy split the air followed by a gust of wind that shook the wagon.
She licked her lips. “Uhm, it’s probably not good to take the Lord’s name in vain until the weather’s a little calmer.”
“Are you naked?” he demanded.
“Not at this precise moment.”
“Then hand it over. Whatever ugly piece of crap you’re wearing.” The slivers of moonlight coming through the window carved his face into blunt planes and enigmatic shadows. “The game’s gone on long enough. Give it to me.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he said flatly. “Hand it over, or I’m coming in to get it.”
If another man had talked to her like this, she’d have screamed her head off, but he wasn’t any man. Something had cracked his shiny facade, and he was hurting. Even though she was jobless, penniless, and homeless, he was the needy one. Not that he’d admit it. Neither of them played the game that way.
“You’re on the pill.” Last week, he’d initiated a pointed discussion about blood tests and sexual health, and he already knew this.
“Yes, but—” Once again, she had to keep herself from admitting she took it more for her complexion than for her sex life. In the meantime, he walked over to the cupboard, slid open a built-in drawer at the bottom, and pulled out a pack of condoms she hadn’t put there. She didn’t like his premeditation. At the same time, she appreciated his common sense.
“Give me that.” He pulled the flashlight from her fingers, tossed the condoms down, and whipped back the sheet that covered her. The beam of light hit her BODY BE BEER T-shirt. “You’d think by now I’d have lowered my expectations, but I keep hoping.”
“File a complaint with the fashion police.”
“How about I take the law into my own hands?”
She braced herself—hoped for?—some bodice ripping, but he disappointed her by dragging the flashlight beam along her bare legs instead. “Very nice, Blue. You should show these off more often.”
“They’re short.”
