Soaring (29 page)

“You better, and just saying, you ever try to blow me off again without telling me what’s on your mind, you won’t win me back so easy.”

I absolutely knew that to be true.

I moved to the door quickly and said, “I wish I could tell you how happy I am you made this time easy, but Mickey’s here.”

“Hot guy at your door. Every woman knows that takes precedence over pretty much everything. But I’ll expect a report.
Soon
,” she told me.

I unlocked the door saying, “You’ll get it. ’Bye, honey.”

“’Bye, sweetie.”

We disconnected as I opened the door and looked up.

My “hey” froze on my lips at the look on Mickey’s face.

Oh no, what did Rhiannon do
now
?

I moved back when he pushed in but I closed the door and turned to him to see he’d stopped four feet away and was facing me.

“Everything okay?” I asked tentatively.

“Oh yeah,” he replied, for some reason sarcastically. “My son is all good now, seein’ as he’s got an Xbox and about five hundred fuckin’ dollars’ worth of paintball shit.”

I stared at him, mystified as to why this was what it was obvious he thought was a bad thing.

“Is that bad?” I asked when he didn’t continue.

“Fuck no,” he answered, crossing his arms on his chest. “It isn’t, seein’ as it reminded me why this shit isn’t going to work.”

On his “this shit” he threw a hand my way and then crossed it back on his chest.

And when he did that, my insides squeezed.

“This…shit?” I queried, sounding out of breathe because I suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

His big body shifted, like he was settling in, and he asked, “You know how much of a hit my parents took sellin’ that house to Rhiannon and me?”

My head twitched in confusion at this odd question. “No.”

“Seven hundred K and I
still
paid two hundred grand more than I could afford, and now that’s a whole lot
more
than I could afford, gettin’ shot of Rhiannon, who was not much but at least the bitch made a decent paycheck.”

“Mickey—”

“And we don’t have coastal property,” he spoke over me. “That road I cross to get to your house, you know it, babe, is like crossin’ tracks from houses that cost a whack to houses that cost fuckin’ five million dollars
and
you got a deal because those assholes that lived here before you fucked themselves.”

“I’m not certain why we’re talking about this,” I noted hesitantly.

“You don’t buy my kids, Amelia,” he stated bluntly.

I shook my head agitatedly, again confused, asking, “I’m sorry?”

“You spent more on my kid for his birthday than I did,” he bit out.

“But, he—”

“You didn’t ask,” he clipped. “You went out and laid that load on him and what?” he asked angrily. “What’s next? You and I start somethin’, they get used to a woman in their life who’s drowin’ in money, you handin’ them the world. Shit happens and it doesn’t work out between us, how do they get used to not havin’ someone hand them the world?”

I was seeing his point and realizing my decision of earlier that day wasn’t a good one. We hadn’t even started and I was making the same mistakes I made with my kids but now with Mickey’s.

So I started, “You’re right. I should have—”

He again didn’t let me finish.

“I had one woman who I wasn’t enough for her. The family we made wasn’t enough for her. She needed somethin’ else, found it, fell into it and it became more important than all of us. Now, you move in across the street and here I am again thinkin’ about startin’ something with another woman, no way in fuck I can give her what she needs because she doesn’t fuckin’
need
anything, because she can get whatever the fuck she wants bankrolled by her family.”

He was four feet away.

He’d still just slapped me across the face.

“So thanks for the shit you gave my kid,” he clipped ungraciously. “Made his night. He’s over there dressed in paintball gear, playin’ games on his Xbox, havin’ the time of his life, totally forgettin’ his drunk of a mom is off somewhere drowning in a bottle and hasn’t even been around to drop off his present. But this is not happening.” He flipped his hand between us again. “I don’t need that shit again and my kids sure as fuck don’t need it.”

“You’re right,” I whispered. “This shit isn’t happening.”

He nodded in agreement, slicing right into me, making me bleed.

“It’d be good you don’t come over,” he told me.

I stepped out of the way of the door. “It’d be good you returned that favor.”

He nodded again, once, moved to the door, yanked it open and prowled through it.

I moved behind him, grabbed the edge of the door and called his name.

He turned back to me.

I looked right into his beautiful blue eyes.

“You have absolutely no idea what I need,” I whispered. “And the sad part about that is that you didn’t notice you’d already given me everything I’d ever need just letting me sit at your dinner table with your family.”

And on that, I closed and locked the door.

* * * * *

Mickey

Mickey stood at his back deck, staring at the shadows of the trees, his house quiet and dark behind him.

He sucked back a pull off his beer.

You’d already given me everything I’d ever need just letting me sit at your dinner table with your family.

He felt his jaw get tight.

She hadn’t been lying.

He knew by the wounded look in her big hazel eyes, Amy said those words and she hadn’t been lying.

His gaze dropped and through the dark he saw the light of one of Cill’s Frisbees lying in the backyard.

The Calway Petroleum heiress lived right next door and she spent her days with an old lady who thought she was a Nazi and came over to his house, ran around the backyard and played Frisbee with his kids.

Rhiannon had not pulled her shit together enough to bring her son a present.

Amy had hustled her ass to a store she probably had no clue existed until she had to find it so she could rain goodness down on his boy.

Before he kicked her out, Mickey had not had sex with his wife for eight months because at night she’d be passed out before he could try, and he didn’t have the stomach to touch her any other time just remembering that shit.

He’d kissed Amy once and she’d been so hot for him, he knew he could have yanked up the skirt of that amazing dress, yanked down her panties, fucked her against the wall and they both would have got off on it.

Huge.

And something was up with his girl and when he’d phoned Rhiannon months ago to see if she’d noticed anything or could find a time to sit down and talk to her, Rhiannon had told him she had no idea what he was talking about. And when Mickey pushed it and his ex made a lame attempt to see if there was anything there, she’d reported to Mickey that all was fine and they had nothing to worry about.

Amy studied Ash in a way Mickey knew she saw it too; it just wasn’t her place to do anything about it.

“Fucking shit, I fucked that up,” he murmured.

Mickey had no idea why Amy didn’t have her kids.

But he knew not having them was bringing a slow death and she was fighting with all she had to stay alive and kicking.

And she was into him; she’d made that clear from almost the start.

And
fuck
, he was into her. Those eyes, Jesus, they said everything. He could look into them for hours and know every thought that crossed her brain and better than that, the woman she was, he’d be interested in it.

And going head to head with her surprisingly did not suck. It got his blood pumping. It pissed him off. It made him
feel
.

He’d been going through the motions of life for so fucking long—covering Rhiannon’s ass, getting shot of her, doing what he could to look out for his kids—he forgot what it was like. He forgot how it felt to be so into a woman, when she was quiet and sweet, he had to fight the urge to pull her in his arms and kiss her. When he saw her in pain, he had to fight the urge to curl her close and do what he could to take it away. And when she was stubborn and a pain in the ass, he had to fight the urge to shove her against the wall and fuck her senseless.

Not to mention Amy’s tits, that ass, those legs.

But his head was so far up his own ass because the woman was fucking loaded and he’d been burned so bad, he’d protected himself by putting her off then lost control and backed her against a wall in a hall when she was on a date, for Christ’s sakes, then demanded she get shot of his ass.

And she did.

For him.

For a shot at
them
.

Then she’d gone all out for his son and he’d walked over there and kicked her in the teeth.

“Fucking
shit
, I fucked that up,” he bit out.

You’d already given me everything I’d ever need just letting me sit at your dinner table with your family.

She hadn’t lied.

That was all Amelia Hathaway needed.

“Fucking shit,” he whispered to the trees. “I fucked that shit up.”

He downed the rest of his beer, walked into his house, slid the sliding glass door shut, locked it, put the pole in the tracks, dumped his bottle in the recycling bin and walked through the dark house to his empty bed.

Chapter Thirteen

Wreck You

I walked toward the security door at Dove House, hand in my purse, looking for my phone.

“Amelia.”

I looked left and saw Mr. Dennison in an armchair, hand up, finger crooked to me.

I pinned a smile on my face and headed his way.

“Need something?” I asked.

“Closer,” he answered when I stopped at his side.

I crouched so he could look down and I was looking up, something he couldn’t do often considering he was stooped and further, had to walk with a Zimmer frame.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He studied me with his fading blue eyes.

“Mr. Dennison,” I called. “Can I get you something?”

Finally, he focused on me. “You ever need to talk, love, my ears are old, but they can still hear.”

Well, that answered that. I was not hiding the fact that I was still bleeding from that scene with Mickey last night even if I’d finally pulled myself together enough to call Robin back, tell her all about it through silent crying hiccups and listen to her ranting about how men were all jerks and I was better off knowing sooner rather than later, like I’d learned with Conrad.

She was not wrong.

But somehow, what happened with Mickey hurt more than Conrad’s betrayal, even when recent news could make it fresh.

I had no idea how this could be. Except for a shining twenty-four hours that held the promise of him, he and I never were.

It still destroyed me.

But this time, older, wiser, maybe stronger, but definitely tired of this crap, I thought I was letting it do it quietly.

Mr. Dennison didn’t agree.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Maybe we’ll have a gab over a cup of tea when I’m back.”

“You bring some bourbon, you’re on,” he told me.

I didn’t need to bring bourbon. He had a stash his son augmented every week when he came to visit.

I smiled at him and gave his hand another squeeze. “See you later, honey.”

He squeezed me back. “Later, love.”

I walked to the security door, punched in the code, pushed on the bar, walked through but stopped in the vacant reception area to pull out my phone.

I activated it and scrolled through the notifications.

Bad news: another call from Boston Stone.

Good news: my attorney in California had called me back.

Unbelievably great news: Pippa had texted me.

Flowers are pretty. Thanks.

I was grinning like a fool (inside, outside, after the Mickey thing, I still couldn’t do it), as I poked at the screen and sent a text back to my daughter.

Glad you got them. Chin up, kiddo. Hope you know how much your mother loves you.

I sent that, poked the screen again and put the phone to my ear. I listened to it ring, got his secretary, and considering my last name, she put me right through to my attorney.

Only then did I again start walking.

“I got the message, Amelia,” Preston Middleton said in my ear. “Are you sure about this information?”

I pushed through the front door. “Not really but I’m sure enough I’d like to invest in being absolutely certain.”

I walked down the sidewalk to my car, eyes to my feet, as Preston replied, “I can set a private investigator on it.”

“Consider this the go-ahead to do that,” I told him, looking up.

My step faltered when I saw Mickey in his hot guy dusty construction outfit leaning against my driver’s side door.

Really?

What now?

What could he possibly have left to use to destroy me?

I kept my gaze on him as I made my way right to him and stopped just off the curb by my bumper.

“Is there something you’re thinking in having this information?” Preston asked in my ear.

“I want my children back,” I answered, gaze to Mickey, seeing his eyes in his impassive face flare at my words.

“Full custody?” Preston was sounding enthusiastic and I envisioned him rubbing his hands together and not only because of the billable hours but because he liked to get his teeth into a good fight.

“I’ll not be greedy,” I replied. “Every other week. My children love their father and I don’t want them to lose something they love. I need some time to see where the kids are, but when I’m ready, this time I don’t intend to lose. And I don’t care how much it costs. I want every woman he had sex with while he was married to me contacted, deposed and ready to testify should Conrad push this to ugly.”

Mickey’s body slightly straightened at my “had sex with” but mostly he stayed leaned against my car, his gaze on me.

“I’ll talk to my investigator,” Preston said.

“Thank you,” I replied.