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All of a sudden, I’m conscious that I don’t want Cary to leave. I don’t want him to give up on me so easily.
“To sleep on the fucking couch!” he yells.
What did I just do?
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I don’t wind up on the couch. What I do after storming down the living room is roll the king-size comforter into a lousy ball and throw it, not caring where the heap of fabric lands. Then I grab my cell and keys and find myself sitting in a booth at the Wafflehaus at ten o’clock at night across from Dusty of all people.
I feel like a shit grumbling about Holly, but I need Dusty’s advice. They were friends first, and that’s why I called him.
It’s gotten so bad that Holly won’t even let me buy Bhod a pair of shoes. She wants to take care of everything herself, and it’s killing me. I have lawyers and resources at my disposal. I could find a way of making this all go away. But Holly won’t let me.
I unload all the stuff I’m taking care of unbeknownst to Holly; From the wedding surprises I have planned to how Laurel and I are in cahoots.
We’re only splitting time staying at Laurel’s when Emory isn’t with her dad, Bennett. Holly still watches her niece each afternoon before she goes to work at Sweet Caroline’s. The shuffle contributes to Holly’s exhaustion, and her reluctance to move before we find a home of our own is driving me nuts.
One of the reasons Holly keeps giving me about waiting until after the wedding to move is that she doesn’t want her sister stuck with daycare bills or on the hook for the condo’s full monthly mortgage payment. Laurel has actually tried to persuade her that the kids are better off at Davina’s after school. They’ll have a bigger yard to play in and, more often than not, my mom is around.
Holly’s douche ex aside, she and I haven’t been together long enough to understand how either of us would react to the big changes we’re going through. I can live with Holly being stressed. But tonight she intended to cause a fight.
“What’s bugging you is she’s nnot acting like herself.” Dusty sums it up succinctly when I finally stop dumping every stupid detail of her recent change in behavior on him.
“Yeah.”
“Hol-ly is what I’d want my Bbeth to be if-f we’d never met.” His stutter, which I’m rarely tuned into, is thick with emotion talking about Sylvie’s mom.
Dusty lost Beth a few years back in the same car wreck that gave him the TBI that affects his speech. Not only was Dusty not married to Beth at the time of the accident—they were waiting to do so, taking into account other people’s feelings, and trying to appease Sylvie’s paternal grandmother—he’s also Sylvie’s real dad through an adoption that happened this year.
I have hella respect that while recovering from a major auto accident Dusty never wavered, let the court of public opinion sway him, bowed down to the legal red tape, or other family member’s grief when it came to claiming his daughter.
This is a guy I want on my side. A man I want to show Bhodi he can be like.
Dusty pauses, forming his thoughts so he can speak them clearer. He backtracks when he begins talking again.
“When I worked for Jake and Carver, the guys ribbed me that Holly and I should get together.” He puts his hands up, stopping me from getting defensive. “We got along because we both had kids. Morgan, and the others our age, don’t.” He motions between us. “They don’t get it… I stand by my comment before. Holly’s w-what I’d have wanted Beth to be for Sylvie Rhys if she’d been all alone. But, because of that, Holly’s not my dream girl.” He scratches his brow. “Mine was shaking her ass up on stage. I watched like an asshole. Thinking Cece only wanted me for my dick. Pissed when she didn’t act the way I wanted her to and forgetting she had her own baggage to unpack.”
“Holly’s is unpacked.”
“Is it? Sure seems William is taking her on a nasty trip down memory lane.”
I toss my palms up so Dusty will enlighten me.
“You’re pissed she manages everything—except putting herself first. Let me ask you this: How many guys do you think Holly dated that never got introduced to her kid?”
My tongue presses into my lower lip, pushing it against my teeth. I don’t think about Holly and other men who may have been around Bhodi. They’re mine. What’s more, my fiancée doesn’t let shit-for-brains near my son unless she’s got a fucking court order taking her choice away.
Dusty takes my concentration on my water glass as an answer.
“The woman does two things well. Protecting the people she cares for.”
Dusty speaks slowly. However, this time he pauses long enough I’m uncertain he’ll keep going.
“And?”
