Reckless (Blue Collar Boyfriends Book 1) (6 page)

“No. Haley did.” She filled the coffeemaker with water. “She wants us to spend some time together. Can’t you see that? Can’t you come out there and be social? She just wants to see her mom and dad get along.”

“Fat chance.”

She measured out the coffee. Somehow she managed
to infuse the sound of grounds hissing into the filter with irritation. She flicked the switch, then turned to him with hands on her hips. “Why are you always on such a short fuse with me? We fight more now than we did when we were married. I hope you rein in that temper when you’re with Haley. If anyone knows the damage an angry father can cause, it’s you.”

The pressure in his lungs spiked. He couldn’t contain it any more. Keeping his back to her so he didn’t really lose it and start yelling, he gripped the counter. “If you think I would ever raise a hand to my daughter, you’re out of your mind. Yeah, I’ve got anger issues. But I’m not my fucking father.”

“I didn’t say you were. God, Derek, I just meant anger has a strong effect on kids. I don’t want Haley growing up with that kind of emotional baggage.”

“Stop.
Just fucking stop.”

“Derek.” Her quiet, calm voice took his rage to the next level.

His knuckles turned white as his hands curled into fists on the counter. “No. Stop treating me like a goddamned idiot. I might not be the world’s best father, but I’m sick of you implying that I’m the worst. You fucking judgmental bitch.”

“Derek.” Her voice was sharp enough to make him turn around.

Haley stood in the kitchen doorway. Her big eyes filled with tears while he watched.

“Haley-girl.”

She spun and ran for her room.

“I tried to tell you she was there.”

He pointed at Deidre. “Don’t.” He shook with fury and shame. Even though he’d let the rage out, he still had that tight-lungs feeling. “Don’t say a word.” He’d made his Haley-girl cry and his fucking ex-wife had baited him into it.

Deidre narrowed her eyes at him. “You step outside and cool off. I’ll go calm her down. And then you are going to apologize and tell your daughter there is no excuse for that kind of language.”

Always fucking telling him what to do.
Never a fucking hair out of place, never a fucking ruffled feather in those perfect fucking wings.

He didn’t trust himself to speak. He went outside, but not because she told him to. He got in his truck and drove away.

Dream girl.
It was the closest thing she had to a name. DG for short. She’d take it and be thankful she had any identity at all. Someone knew her. And liked her. Even if he only liked her in a carnal sense, it meant something.

Actually, it meant everything. He was everything to her in the most literal way.

And she’d only been able to run and make him doubt himself. She wanted to give him so much more, and she wanted to accept whatever he could give to her.

No more being cautious. No more worrying about conseq
uences or obsessing about her purpose. If she ever got out of this fog again, she wouldn’t waste another second.

Time dragged, but she didn’t despair. Determination replaced the lost feeling that had reduced her to tears last time she’d been trapped here. At long last, the fog billowed away to reveal his semi-darkened room.

She scanned it eagerly, but found it empty. Disappointment swallowed her relief at being released from her prison.

On the up side, the door was wide open, revealing a brightly-lit hallway, the only source of light in the bedroom besides the street lights shining through the bare window. The other times she’d been in this room, the
door had been cracked, but not open enough for her to slip out. Now, nothing stood between her and the rest of the house.

Except her own hesitation.
What if Haley saw her roaming around and got scared? What if she left this room and couldn’t get back in?

Enough.
No more what-ifs. No more bowing to caution and ending up with regrets.

She squared her shoulders and strode into the hall, pausing to listen. The house was utterly still. A pang of loneliness tried to sink her spirits, but she refused to let it. An empty house was better, after all. She had the freedom to learn as much as she could about the man.

The open door directly across from the bedroom led into a black-and white-tiled bathroom. She took in the aqua green toilet and tub. The sink was newer, a white porcelain pedestal model with sleek, modern fixtures. Tan and navy towels hung from the rods. There were no child things. No second toothbrush, no barrettes or hair ties, no bubble bath or shower soap the likes of which Haley might use. She must live with her mother most of the time and visit her dad for short periods.

Which meant he lived alone.
But at some point he had probably shared domesticity with a woman. A wife, possibly?

Jealousy made her jaw twitch.

A snoop in the second bedroom confirmed her suspicion. Light from the hallway reflected off a silver frame sitting on top of an enormous metal desk that looked like it had been reclaimed from a 1950s schoolhouse. The frame held a five by seven picture of the man, Haley, and a stunning blond woman. All three knelt in the sand with white-capped ocean waves behind them and their blond locks, different shades, from the man’s dark honey to the woman’s smartly-layered corn silk, tangled in the wind.

Haley had been a couple of inches shorter, her cheeks rounder, dating the picture to two or three years ago. The man and woman both had wedding bands on. The woman also wore a gigantic diamond on her elegant, French-manicured ring finger.

Everyone was smiling. The man looked so happy, it took her breath away. His warm expression made a stark contrast to the seriousness she’d grown accustomed to. She wanted to be the one to put that smile back on his face.

Sighing, she forced her gaze from the picture and took in the rest of the room. Besides the desk, there were some filing cabinets and a big futon
piled high with stuffed unicorns and teddy bears. This would be where Haley slept. She probably loved looking at the picture of her mom and dad and her. Or maybe it made her sad.

None of my business.

Learning the man’s name probably shouldn’t be any of her business either, but that didn’t stop her from scanning the desk for mail. Eureka! A pile of haphazard envelopes and mailers cluttered the corner. She reached for the pile, only to find the paper hard and unmoving.

Argh! She couldn’t pick up the mail or even shift the letters to reveal an address label.

The generic one on top read
Resident,
along with an address in Redding, California. She waited for some spark of recognition, but none came. Her personal history remained blank as ever.

Well, at least she had a name, sort of. And she didn’t need to know the man’s name to know the sight of him heated her blood. The sight of a smile on his face when another woman had put it there made her want to grind her teeth.

Leaving the office, she headed down the hall into a spacious, sparsely-furnished living room strewn with plastic shopping bags and colorful fabric. A simple ceiling-fan chandelier lit the space, and a framed doorway offered a glimpse into a craftsman kitchen with butter-cream-yellow tile countertops and mismatched appliances. The maroon front door had a brass thumb latch instead of a doorknob. Beside the door, a three-paneled window dressed with blinds looked out onto a front porch lit up against the night. At the base of the radiator below the window lay a long pewter rod with decoratively-pitted glass bulbs on either end. The strips of fabric all over the place must be curtains. The thought of the man and Haley hanging curtains together warmed her heart.

As she headed to the kitchen to continue her exploration, the jingle of keys in the front door made her freeze. Her body tensed to flee back to the familiar shelter of the bedroom, but she held her ground. No more being timid. No more reason for regret. If her instincts could be trusted, it would be the man at the door, and he would be alone, likely having returned Haley to her mother’s house. And he probably wouldn’t see her, anyway, since she wasn’t on the bed.

He shouldered through the door, and a flutter of desire tightened her tummy. But something felt off. He lumbered forward and missed the peg with his keys. They crashed to the floor.

He cursed and wiped a hand down a face that looked even more serious than usual. His army green t-shirt was rumpled, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair stood up in all directions like he’d just finished vacuuming it. When he walked past her to the kitchen, Jim Beam fumes stung her nose.

Her joy at seeing him morphed into outrage. What was he thinking, getting drunk as a skunk? He was a father. He had responsibilities. Oh, no, he hadn’t just driven drunk, had he? She dashed to the window and peeked out to see an empty driveway.

Well, that was something. A cab must have dropped him
at the curb. And Haley wasn’t around to witness him like this. Still, disappointment flattened her earlier enthusiasm. Who wanted to be dream girl to a drunk?

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered.

She cautiously stepped into the kitchen to find him leaning with one hand on the counter, guzzling a glass of water.

“Shit,” he said when he’d drained the glass. He wiped a hand over his face again. “I’m shitfaced.”

At least he had no delusions.

He weaved toward her and she sidestepped to let him into the living room. He stood with his
hands on his hips surveying the mess of curtains. He made a strangled noise.

She came up beside him, shocked to see his eyes moist and his lips pinched in distress.

“I’m so sorry, Haley-girl.”

Her heart broke. Something bad had happened tonight, and drinking had been his way of
dealing with it. For a second, she worried something had happened to Haley, but the look on the man’s face wasn’t grief. It was regret, an emotion she knew all too well.

He scrubbed a hand over his face again and a look of determination replaced his sadness. He walked deliberately down the hall, only needing to brace himself on the wall once, disappeared into the laundry room, and returned a few minutes later with an orange extension cord coiled around one shoulder and a power drill dangling from his hand.

She watched in anxious helplessness as he spent the next hour hanging curtains in the living room, office and his bedroom. Using power tools didn’t strike her as a healthy activity for the inebriated, but he operated the drill like it was an extension of his hand. The task seemed to sober him. By the time he had a set of silver blinds hung over his bedroom window and elegantly masculine sheer navy curtains draped to the floor, he seemed almost back to his usual self.

She suspected at any time she could climb up on the bed and let him know she was there, but she didn’t. She simply stood in her usual corner right next to the window and watched him work. He said things under his breath that made her think he’d had a fight with his ex-wife. He’d muttered “judgmental bitch” a few times, but each time, the words held less venom and more thoughtfulness. Sometimes he paused in his work and shook his head as if angry with himself.

“I hear ya, buddy,” she said. “Sucks to want a do-over, doesn’t it? Well, life doesn’t give do-overs. Trust me. I know. You just have to make it right going forward.”

She would take her own advice. As soon as he started
dreaming, she’d live up to her name and give him something to smile about.

* * * *

Derek was a shithead.

He’d messed up his marriage. He’d upset Haley. He’d pissed off Deidre. And now, he’d stayed up so late he was going to be worthless at work tomorrow. It was almost one in the morning, and he’d have to get up at five instead of his usual five-thirty so he could walk back to Brick and Mortar and get his truck. He couldn’t believe he’d made it the whole mile and half from the neighborhood bar back to his place on foot last night. He didn’t remember a single step of the walk. Oh, wait. He remembered pissing in a shrub. Jesus, he hoped nobody saw him.

Shithead
was too mild a word. He was a disgusting drunk.

He’d turned out just like his father.

He ought to crawl into bed and never get out. The world would be better off without him. Haley would be better off without him.

The thought made his jaw clench. No, she wouldn’t. She was his Haley-girl.

He loved her, and he made sure she knew it. He told her all the time, and that by itself made him a better father than Dan Summers.

But Haley deserved even more from him. He didn’t want to be merely better. He wanted to be the best.
The best protector. The best provider. The best supporter. The best dad.

Good dads need sleep.

He wiped a hand over his face for the fiftieth time that night. If Deidre were here, she’d scold him for it.
Stop doing that. You’re going to give yourself wrinkles.

“Judgmental bitch,” he grumbled, but he’d lost his angry steam. Yeah, Deidre was a piece of work, but she was a good mom, and that was all that mattered to him these days.

Shit. He needed to apologize to her. And to Haley.

“Too late now,” he said as he glanced at his bedside
clock. Seeing the rumpled bed reminded him of the comforter Haley had picked out. It was still in the kitchen. He went to get it, dropping the drill and extra wall anchors in the laundry room on the way.

Back in his room, the sight of the new blinds and dra
pes made him smile despite his exhaustion. His little girl had picked out the perfect colors. The blue looked sharp against the off-white walls. The tight muscles in his neck began to unwind as he stared at the sheer fabric.

Beautiful blue eyes swam in his memory, eyes so deep
and calm they reminded him of the ocean when he chartered with the guys and went way out, looking for marlin.

“Frigging ghosts,” he muttered, pulling the old, tan comforter from his bed and replacing it with the puffy dark gray one with navy blue patterns on it. “Kid’s got some imagination.” So did
he, apparently, because he could picture those eyes with the kind of crystal clarity he’d never known from any dream.

He snorted.
Just the bourbon talking. He’d worked off most of his buzz, but there must be some fumes lingering, making him remember things that didn’t make sense, like the scent of melon on his pillow this morning after he’d scared his dream girl away.

He looked down to find the comforter bag crushed in his fist. He made himself relax his grip and noticed the pillow covers still inside. They didn’t go on the pillows he slept on. They were decorative. He remembered that much from living with Deidre. Since he only had two pillows, not the sea of puffy, frilly things he used to have to toss on the floor before getting in bed, he shoved the bag, pillow covers and all, in the closet. He didn’t want a million pillows on his bed again, but maybe after he made up with Haley, she could help him pick out some new sheets to match the comforter. He wanted some in that soothing blue color, like the curtains.

Beyond exhausted, he hit the lights, stripped to his briefs, and fell into bed. The nightmare seemed to start immediately. He couldn’t catch a break. His subconscious should have moved on a long time ago, but he was still reliving that frigging accident.

So he’d witnessed a bad car accident. He hadn’t been
involved in it or anything. He should be over it by now, definitely not letting meaningless dreams reduce him to unmanly hysterics.

He whimpered as the airbag punched his face and pain lanced his head. Fear crashed over
him like breakers on the shore. He couldn’t catch a breath. Until the pain and terror surrendered to darts of pleasure.