Private Practice (13 page)

Frank banged on the door again.

“I’ll go have a chat with him,” he said, reaching for his jeans. He didn’t know how Frank would react to him answering Ellie’s door, and he really didn’t give a flying fuck. Father or not, the guy was out of line showing up in the middle of the night, yelling and cursing.

“No, don’t.” She got up and retrieved her robe from the hook on the bathroom door. “Nothing personal, but you going out there will only make things worse. Do me a huge favor and just stay here.”

He yanked his jeans up and opened his mouth to tell her even a lap dog wasn’t
that
submissive, but then he saw her face—a heartbreaking blend of misery and mortification—and knew whatever he did to insert himself into the situation with Frank would add to her embarrassment. Maybe he shouldn’t have cared, because Ellie’s pride-saving preferences didn’t trump keeping her out of harm’s way, but he remembered too well the humiliation of having Big Joe show up somewhere, drunk and on a tear. About now she desperately wanted Frank to shut up and go home, with as few witnesses as possible. He understood.

Because he did, he waited until her big, reluctant eyes met his, and said as gently but firmly as he could manage, “Go tell him I’ll be out in a minute to drive him home.”

“Tyler, please…stay here.”

“Not a chance. I don’t know how he got here, but he’s not staying, and he sure as hell isn’t going anywhere under his own steam in his condition.”

“I’ll take him home.”

“Guess again. You think you can force him into your car if he doesn’t want to go?”

She parted her beautiful, kiss-swollen lips, clearly gearing up to argue. He didn’t intend to give her a chance. “Honey, you driving him home amounts to throwing kibble at the dog for pissing in the corner. He wants your attention right now. Give it to him and you train him to follow his worst instincts. None of it’s your fault,” he added, because he remembered spending too many hours of his life wondering why he couldn’t learn to stay the fuck out of Big Joe’s crosshairs. “But if you want a couple of minutes to talk to him before I come out and put him in my truck, better take them right now.”

To soften the words, or maybe to distract himself from the defeated look in her eyes, he traced his finger along her jaw.

“Tyler,” she sighed, infusing his name with a universe of pent-up emotion.

“Ellie,” he replied calmly, keeping his tone matter-of-fact, but unwavering.

She stared at him for another moment while she analyzed her options, and then turned and strode out of the bedroom without a backward glance.

He dressed fast, one ear on the conversation out front. Frank started into a rant about her telling Rawley’s not to serve him. Ellie denied telling anyone not to serve him, and suggested perhaps they refused his business because they were sick of dealing with him at times like this, when he was drunk and belligerent. She told him he’d feel better if he went home, ate something, and got some sleep.

The lower and cooler Ellie’s voice went, the louder and more agitated Frank became. By the time Tyler approached the door, Frank had resorted to shouting grievances. He didn’t need her checking up on him and telling him what to do. She disrespected him, walked around like she was better than everyone just because she had a few letters after her name.

Tyler stepped onto the porch and let the screen door bang shut. In the copper glow of the porch light, he watched Frank’s head swivel around and his squinty, bloodshot eyes try to focus.

“Time to go, Frank.”

It took a minute, but awareness finally dawned across the older man’s features. Then his attention bounced back to his daughter. His gaze raked over her disheveled hair, bare feet, and bathrobe. “You’re not better than me,” he yelled. “You’re nothing but a—”

“Get in the truck,” Tyler interrupted, out of patience. Frank didn’t move, so Tyler gripped the man’s withered bicep and walked him down the porch steps.

“Take your hands off me,” Frank growled.

He tried to jerk free, but stumbled instead. Tyler quickly had his hands full keeping them both upright, and took a fist to his jaw for his efforts. His head snapped back. He heard his teeth click together a second before he tasted blood.

“God
dam
mit,” he cursed.

“Come on,” Frank challenged, jaw jutting while he staggered around on the tether of Tyler’s arm like a muleheaded prizefighter. “Take a shot.”

Ellie rushed over and stepped between them, proving muleheadedness ran in the family. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” she said, and angled his head down so she could examine his jaw.

“Stop.” He turned, forcing her to his other side, using his body to block her from Frank’s reach.

She stuck to him like a spider web, wincing as she eyed him. “You’re bleeding.”

And hoping like hell to be the only one, so for God’s sake, back the hell away from the punch-throwing drunk.
Instead of barking the words at her, he took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then, in a pissy-sounding voice he couldn’t believe came from his own throat, he said, “Don’t doctor me.”

She opened her mouth to object, so he pointed a finger at her. “You, go inside. You”—he swung the finger Frank’s way—“in the truck.”

They both blinked at him.

“
Now
.”

That got them moving. Frank clambered up into the passenger seat of the truck. Ellie retreated to the porch. Satisfied things were going to resolve without further bloodshed, Tyler pulled his keys from the front pocket of his jeans and got behind the wheel.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said to Ellie, and slowly reversed out of her driveway.

Chapter Fourteen

Ellie closed the door, rested her forehead against the smooth wood, and let tears burn their way down her cheeks. There were worse catastrophes than having her father show up drunk and punch the man she was sleeping with. None sprang to mind, but realistically, she knew they existed.

A few other thoughts did spring to mind, though. Thoughts like, she didn’t know how to handle Frank anymore. Their relationship remained as dysfunctional as ever, but now, with the added bonus of the diabetes and an escalating drinking problem, her old “do your duty” approach no longer worked. She needed a new one, but unfortunately, short of hiring round-the-clock caretakers—a solution he’d never accept and she couldn’t afford anyway—she had no ideas.

Sniffing back tears, she trudged down the hall to her bedroom. Big mistake. The ridiculous, hot-pink vibrator lay on the bed, reminding her of the excitement, passion, and plain old
fun
she and Tyler had shared earlier in the evening. A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob hiccupped from her throat. She pressed her fist over her chest and faced facts.

She’d be lucky if he ever spoke to her again, much less laid a hand on her. Even if he did call her, what on earth would she say?
Sorry about my dad. I promise it won’t happen again?
Right. Pretty clearly she couldn’t deliver on such a promise. If she had the power to make Frank behave the way she wanted, tonight never would have happened in the first place.

She crossed to the bed, tossed the vibrator into her nightstand drawer, and faced another fact. The ache in her chest stemmed not from the permanent derailment of her master plan, or from losing her tutor, but from losing
Tyler
. That loss hurt the most, which didn’t even make any sense, considering their deal had been temporary by design. But somehow, whenever she spent time with him, he managed to fog her brain, sweep her off her feet, and make her lose sight of her plans.

He shouldn’t have been able to do any of it. Her mind came equipped with automatic defrost to prevent dangers such as fogging. She always kept her sights on her goals, and she never, ever got swept off her feet.

A balled-up crumple of purple lace sticking out from the corner of one pillow mocked those contentions. She picked up her underwear and stuffed it in the pocket of her robe. Forget about feet, Tyler swept her right out of her panties with startling regularity.

Why do you suppose that is?
a worried voice in the back of her head questioned.

Because he’s been separating females from their panties since high school
.
He’s good at it, which is why you wanted him as your tutor
. Too bad tonight had undoubtedly sent him running for the hills. Thanks to her inability to handle her own father, she’d never learn how to seduce Roger. Good-bye golden-haired tykes pedaling little red bikes in front of a brick Tudor on Riverview. Good-bye Sundays in pew four.

Maybe she ought to consider tonight a wake-up call. She probably wasn’t cut out to be part of a large, supportive family any more than she was cut out to be a wild woman, she thought grimly as she plopped down on her bed.

Immediately restless, she shot up again and stalked to her closet. Sitting at home talking to herself did no one any good. Driving out to check on Frank at least put her medical training to use.

Fifteen minutes later she made the turn from the old highway into the subdivision she’d called home for her first eighteen years. A black pickup truck coming from the opposite direction flashed its headlights at her.

Tyler.

She pulled over. The side of the road was as good a place as any for him to officially cancel the rest of their classes. Her heart thumped hard in her chest as he approached, creating an anxious backbeat to the crunch of his boots on the roadside.

He crouched by her window and looked at her.

She looked back, throat tightening as she inspected his abused jaw. Her fingers twitched to inspect the area, make sure he was okay. Through sheer force of will, she kept her hands on the steering wheel. Still, he must have read her thoughts, because he said, “It’s fine, Ellie.”

Something about his low, calm voice cracked a dam of anger inside her. She watched in shocked detachment as her hands fisted and slammed against the steering wheel. A voice she barely recognized erupted from her throat. “It is
not
fine. My father hit you. You’re not fine. He’s not fine.
I’m
not fine!”

He had her out of the car and wrapped in his arms in the next instant, her face pressed against his chest so she felt the sure, steady beat of his heart under her cheek. She shivered uncontrollably despite the hot summer night and the warmth of his body surrounding her. Worse, she sobbed like a deranged banshee.

Tyler just held her, patient and silent, as if they weren’t standing on the roadside at midnight, and let her cry herself dry. It took a while. Finally, light-headed and raw in the throat, she raised her head back and rubbed the heels of her hands over her burning eyes.

“Oh, my God. I’m sorry.” She looked at the huge soggy spot in the center of his T-shirt. Tears and sweat and God only knew what else. “I think I owe you a shirt.”

“I owe you a pair of panties. We’ll call it even.” He tipped her chin up and inspected her face. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.”
If humiliated counts as better
. She drew away from him until she stood on her own two feet. “Again, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize. What happened with Frank tonight? It’s not your fault.”

“He drinks too much.”

“Not your fault.”

“He’s angry because…well…” She sighed. “He’s always angry.”

“He’s angry at God, fate, the world. That’s also not your fault.”

The bone-deep certainty in his words made her want to cry again, so she forced her lips into a weak smile. “So what you’re saying is, this is not my fault?”

Tyler smiled back. “Something like that, yeah.”

She looked away. “That’s nice of you to say, but father-daughter relationships probably aren’t your area of expertise.”

“You might be surprised to hear this, but my expertise isn’t limited to sex.”

His dry tone drew her attention back to his face. She didn’t know what she expected to see in his expression, but it wasn’t the reluctant look of someone about to discuss something he clearly preferred not to talk about. The impression strengthened when he lifted the hem of his shirt and pointed to the scar running down his side.

“You asked me once how I got this. Still wanna know?”

She nodded.

“When I was twelve, Big Joe took a swipe me with the claw end of a hand ax because I didn’t stack the firewood right. He’d been drinking, because he always drank, and he’d been pissed off already, because he was always pissed off. It wasn’t the first or last time he let me know in no uncertain terms he wasn’t happy with me.”

A vision of Joe Longfoot formed in her mind: large, intimidating, with quick, hard eyes, and a mouth twisted into a permanent sneer. Unable to stop herself, she stepped close and gently touched the scar. Tears stung her eyes, picturing Tyler at twelve, defenseless against his own father, who should have protected him, taken care of him…loved him. “That’s awful,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He took her hand and squeezed gently. “When your mom drops you off on the first day of kindergarten and never comes back, and your dad knocks the crap out of you every time you screw up, you start to wonder if maybe you’re the problem.”

Outraged that he could even think such a thing, she blurted, “Of course you weren’t the problem.
They
were the problem. You were an innocent victim.”

His pointed look cut her off.

She shook her head. “My situation is different.”

“It’s not. Not one damn bit. I wasted years trying to figure out what I’d done to deserve being abandoned by my mother and knocked around by my dad. Eventually I realized my parents’ issues had nothing to do with me. My mother lit out because she couldn’t take my dad’s temper anymore. She sacrificed me to save herself because I think she figured if she took me and left him with nobody to knock around, he’d come after us. Maybe she was right, but right or wrong, I could have been the best kid in the world and it wouldn’t have changed her decision. Same with Joe. I didn’t turn him into a big, mean son of a bitch. He’d been one before I came along and he stayed one ’til the day he died.”

Her rational, logical side understood his point, but some weak, emotional part of her balked at drawing a parallel between Tyler’s family and her own. There were differences. Big differences. Her mother was gone. Nothing could change that. His might be alive and well, grappling with regret, hoping to reconnect with the son she’d abandoned.

“Your mom…has she, or have you ever…?” She couldn’t get the rest of the question past the lump in her throat.

“No. I haven’t heard from her or seen her since she left.” He said the words quietly. “I’ve never tried to find her.”

“Do you hate her?”

“Hate’s the wrong word. At this point in my life, I can see her situation a little more clearly than I did as a kid. She was only twenty-three, and stuck in a love-hate relationship with a man who was probably going to be the death of her if she stayed put. So she ran. I understand why, but I can’t quite forgive her. She’s never looked me up, and I’m not hard to find considering I’ve always been pretty much right where she left me, so I figure she’s not desperate to reconnect. For me”—he shrugged—“it’s done. I don’t really need a parent anymore.”

“I do.” Admitting it made her understand why she needed to claim some responsibility for the problems with Frank. If she owned part of the problem, she could own part of the solution. Otherwise, Frank controlled everything, and he might never reach out to her.

She looked up at the moon and blinked fast. “Stupid, I know.” From the corner of her eye, she caught his sympathetic look and her heart twisted. “I never admitted this to anyone, but the main reason I came home to open my practice was because I thought I could fix things between Frank and me. I told myself he needed me now, because of the diabetes. I’d help him, and in doing so, prove I’m no longer an unwanted responsibility my mom left behind when she died. He’d be grateful, admire the grown-up me, and want us to be a real family—”

“He might.”

“Yeah, right. He hates when I come around, tells me I’m lecturing him when I try to help.”

“Yeah, but he’s always there, isn’t he?”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“People can change. You’ve shown him what’s at stake by coming back. Maybe now it’s time to back off and see whether he can get his act together and make the changes?”

“I should go check on him, test his glucose.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“He could be—”

Tyler’s unwavering stare stilled her tongue. “Frank’s okay. He had a bite to eat and then we had a little heart-to-heart about his options. He needs some time alone to think things over and decide what he wants to do.”

“I don’t understand. His options?”

“I told him I’d keep those between us. He’ll tell you if he wants you to know.”

“This is…” At a loss, she thumped her tire with the sole of her flip-flop. “You expect me to just…get in my car and drive away?”

“You’re going to stop by tomorrow evening anyway, right? He told me you bring groceries on Saturdays.”

“Yes, but—”

“Tomorrow’s soon enough. What are you doing afterward?”

“Excuse me?”

“What are you doing tomorrow night after you stop at Frank’s?”

“Um…nothing.”

“Want some help doing nothing?”

…

She looked so stumped by his invitation he nearly laughed. “C’mon, Ellie. It’s too late to tell me you have to wash your hair. How about you come by my place after you stop by Frank’s?”

“You want to get together again? After everything?”

“Seems like this evening’s lesson ended prematurely.” As soon as he said the words, he wished them back. Yes, he wanted to see her tomorrow, but not so they could finish lesson whatever-the-hell number they were on. He should have asked her to dinner or a movie…a real date. He wasn’t an expert at telling a woman “I’m falling in love with you,” but he suspected the words were supposed to be accompanied by a few romantic gestures, and an orgasm probably didn’t qualify. But when Ellie responded to his comment with a big, cheek-dimpling smile, he knew he’d dangled the right bait. Disappointing, but he’d use whatever worked to keep her coming back until she finally realized she wanted more from him than wild sex.

“Seven okay?” he asked.

“Seven is perfect. I’ll bring dinner.”

A cozy dinner at his place had “real date” potential. Could be she already thought he might be good for something besides wild sex.

“Afterward,” she went on, “maybe we could—?”

“Anything you want.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, Doc. Anything you want to do.”

…

“You really want to do this?” Tyler asked, letting his tone convey his reluctance, which he’d already expressed straight-out, multiple times.

Ellie dropped her forehead to her forearms. “For the umpteenth time, yes.” Lifting her head, she turned and stared over her shoulder. “You promised.”

His dick didn’t want to argue. The sight of her kneeling on all fours in front of him, naked and dewy from the rain-heralding humidity, had that particular part of him straining to comply, but his brain kept interfering. “You don’t know what you want. You’ve never done this before.”

“I know I want to try, because the book says men love chapter 13. It gets five stars, for crying out loud.”

“I’ll bet in the book on how to drive women wild, it gets zero stars.”

“If you ever take lessons on driving women wild, you don’t have to pick this. Look, nothing’s wrong with my power of speech. If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you to stop, okay? I trust you.”

He scrubbed his hand over his face. How could he argue with trust? “You win. Where’s the lube?”