The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) (13 page)

Dean wanted it to be possible—the idea that they could give something new a shot.

He stood up. Paced around the room. Stared at the floor and rubbed his hand over the back of his head.

“I want to discuss adding restoration as a new arm of the business,” he said.

No reply. Dean continued to pace.

“I know what you’re going to say, but we need to offer something that will set us apart. The only way we’re going to survive is by doing things the chains can’t, and this is it. You can’t take your 1932 Ford Model-B Roadster to Walmart for a cleanup. You’ve got to bring it to someone who knows how to tune those parts, and that’s us. We can’t compete on price, but
this…
this we can do.”

The silence was deafening. Dean couldn’t take it any longer. He dragged his eyes up.

His father had his chin lifted, and was regarding Dean with an expression that looked like respect.

“This is why I knew I was doing the right thing in planning to hand the business down to you,” he said. “Because you’ll run it better than I ever have.”

It was the closest he’d ever come to saying he was proud of him.

They talked for a while longer, a new kind of accord between them as they hashed out ideas. It was after midnight by the time Dean finally got back home, but it could’ve been noon for how charged up he was. The future in front of him didn’t feel like a dead end anymore. It felt like an open road.

And the first person he wanted to tell was Jamie.

But she wasn’t his to tell, wasn’t his to call in the middle of the night and share good news. The reality of how things were between them punched a hole right through him.

Dean went into his bedroom and looked at his camera bag. It was sitting in the corner, where he’d dumped it when he got home on Sunday. All the photos from the weekend were still on it—the cars and Jamie at the fair.

Her body, gorgeous and naked in their hotel room.

She inspired him, not just as a stunning subject to be photographed, but in life too. He never would’ve summoned the guts to talk to his father about all this if it weren’t for her.

How many things would he never have tried for, if it weren’t in the pursuit of her smile?

He probably would’ve walked straight out of that art class and never looked back.

Moving on instinct, Dean went to his closet and gingerly extracted his portfolio. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he balanced it on his lap, taking a minute to finger its rich, grained texture. Then he dragged the zipper around the sides until it fell open.

One by one, he paged through the plastic sleeves, looking at his work. A black-and-white shot of the tree line by the high school baseball field. A self portrait he’d taken in the side-view mirror of his truck. A close-up of a shiny bumper from when he’d experimented with macro. Gray waves freezing as they crossed over the sand one extremely cold day in winter. They were all moments that had struck him in some way, ones he had to find ways to capture.

Like when he’d photographed Jamie at the wedding.

The same feeling that hit him like a club that day sucked the air out of his lungs again, but Dean realized there was more to it than a desire to claim her. What he really wanted was to be on the other side of the lens, her hand warm in his, a heavy piece of silverware between them as they sliced through their own wedding cake.

He wanted a future with her. To have her in his bed every morning, wake up to her smile and know it was for him. To clean gutters in their first house and jump in leaf piles they’d spent hours raking. To see all the ways she could figure out how to dress a belly swollen with his child.

He’d been in love with her his whole goddamn life. She was his best friend, not to mention the best sex he’d ever had. She
knew
him in a way no one else did, but he’d pushed her away over and over again because he wanted her to find someone on her level.

He’d never entertained the idea that he could actually be that someone.

She had, though. She’d given him so many opportunities to see that over the years, but he’d been too mired in his own crap to realize it. He thought he was protecting her, shielding her from the only future he could offer her, but that future was changing now.

He was changing into the man he wanted to be.

Dean closed the portfolio, went back to his closet and rifled through the hangers. He’d spent a lifetime not going after what he wanted, telling himself to be content with the status quo. But he deserved a better life than the one he was living.

And he didn’t want to live without her in it anymore.

Chapter Thirteen

Jamie pushed through the doors of the community center and blinked in the brilliant wash of midday sun. The weekly Sunday farmer’s market was set up on the street, the cobblestones alive with tables and tents. Harvest vegetables made squat piles on bales of straw, the air laced with the scents of apple cider and cinnamon. Some of her students waved from the crowd. She waved back happily and breathed in deep.

A massive weight had been lifted. She’d turned down the assistant director job.

Her boss had been disappointed, but Jamie explained it would’ve taken her out of the water too much. Being in the pool, teaching kids how to achieve, and eventually, surpass her skill level—that was where she belonged.

She hadn’t wanted to commit herself to the position either, when there were some possible changes coming up in her future.

Zipping up her parka, Jamie nearly skipped toward her car. She hadn’t needed the aid of an outfit this morning to bolster her courage. Her high-heeled boots, dark slacks, gray ruffled shirt and matching sparkly scarf just made her feel good—clothes that reflected how confident she was on the inside now.

The change made her smile.

Her grin sagged when she reached the parking lot. Dean was in the front row, leaning against the grill of his truck, one foot hiked up on the bumper behind him. He stood up when he saw her and squinted in the sunlight, his hair turned to gold in its rays.

Jamie’s legs went numb. She couldn’t seem to move from the curb.

“What are you doing here?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked at the ground and laughed. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Talk. A funny thing to want to do when this time last week he was breaking her heart.

“How’d you know where I was?”

Dean laughed again and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. “I kind of…went to your house and asked your mom.”

He lifted his gaze to hers and offered her a sheepish grin. The half smile was an ice pick to her sternum.

He’d probably run out of women to call and was hoping for a quick hit. Or maybe he wanted to see if she’d be willing to make a habit out of last weekend’s events. Pencil her in for one day a week on his constantly rotating calendar. Whatever he was here for, she didn’t care. She wasn’t riding that roller coaster again.

“We have nothing to talk about, Dean. Go home.”

She strode past him, and was halfway past his truck when he called out, “I thought you said we were good.”

The words nailed her to the spot. Jamie’s blood ran cold.

“I lied,” she barked, her hands clenching into fists as she whipped around to face him. Dean took a half step backward. “Don’t look so shocked. Did you really think we were okay after that?”

It took him a minute to find his voice. “No,” he admitted. “I just…hoped we were.”

“Why?” she asked, then thought better of it. “You know what? It doesn’t matter what you say, because I know all you’re going to do is walk away again. It’s all you
ever
do. You don’t actually care.”

Dean pinched his brows together in confusion, little wrinkles imprinted between them.

“Of course I care,” he uttered softly. “More than you know.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

“It’s not,” he said. “I can’t walk away. I never could. I just knew I wasn’t right for you.”

Jamie narrowed her eyes, all her muscles tense. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He sighed and shook his head.

“I’ve never fit into your world, Jamie. You’re beautiful and talented and you’ve got the whole world in front of you, and me—” He cut off his words with a shrug. “I’ve been some grease monkey. Nothing more than a small-time mechanic.”

Hurt and anger welled up inside her. “I’ve never thought of you that way. Not once. I can’t believe you’d think that I would.”

“I know you don’t.” He moved toward her, then inched back, hesitant. “
I
thought of me that way. That’s why I acted the way I did. I wanted you to find someone else. Someone who was worthy of you.”

“So you put me on some kind of pedestal?” She stepped back to him, close enough to hiss, “Someone you could fuck, but never actually be with?”

He recoiled slightly. “That’s not true.”

It was. She’d seen the proof of it, in a glossy four-by-six on her kitchen table.

“It is, Dean. This has never been about anything more than sex to you. You’ve made that pretty damn clear.”

She started to move away, but he followed after her.

“Jamie, please. I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t want this life for you.”

“What
life
?”

“The only one I could’ve offered you. One that was never going to be anything more than bargain basements and cutting coupons.”

She gaped at him, so frustrated she could’ve torn her hair out. “So you made the choice for me?” she shouted. “What gives you the right to do that?”

“I thought—” He sighed again and kicked at the ground. “I thought it was the right thing to do. That eventually you’d figure out you didn’t belong here and move on.”

He was waiting for her to figure things out, just like her parents. Except for Dean, it was only a method for pushing her away.

Years of wounded pride bubbled to the surface. She pointed a finger at him.

“You don’t get to decide my fate for me, Dean. You can’t tell me what kind of life to have, where I should live it or who I should spend it with. I can make those decisions for myself.”

He started to talk, but Jamie spoke over him, because she was done listening.

“At least I tried with what I wanted. At least I gave it a shot. You threw your hands in the air and gave up. That’s the only difference between us. Any others were all in your head. But if you can’t see that, then I have nothing more to say to you.”

Jamie spun around and stomped away, rifling through her purse for her keys.

“You’re right,” Dean called out, but she kept walking. “You always have been. I see that now. And that’s why I quit.”

She stopped her in her tracks and turned around slowly. “You quit your father’s garage?”

“I did,” he said with a shrug. “Well, quit and then agreed to come back with conditions.”

He stood up a little taller when he said it too. He crossed the pavement to meet her and moved in close. Too close for her to think properly.

“Have a cup of coffee with me,” he said. “And I’ll explain everything.”

Jamie eyed him warily. A different Dean was standing in front of her. It took her a second to realize he was out of his usual uniform, his jeans and Henley traded for a leather jacket and khakis, shoes instead of boots. He didn’t look like he was hiding though, or trying to be someone else. The collar of his shirt was low enough to reveal a taste of ink, that perpetual scruff forming a fine line over his jaw.

His clothes, his demeanor—it was like he’d shed a skin, and then grown into himself, somehow.

“Since when do you drink coffee instead of beer?” she asked.

Dean chuckled softly. “Since I started trying to do things right.”

Jamie wasn’t ready to trust him yet, but his eyes pleaded with hers, and this new version of him was too intriguing for her not to at least hear him out.

They walked to the coffee shop on the corner, ordered drinks and found a table by the window. Their spoons made music against the ceramic cups, a thick silence in the air between them.

“I suck at this,” he said.

“You do,” she replied matter-of-factly “You’re used to women throwing themselves at you.”

Nervous laughter was followed by him rapping his knuckles against the table. He was uncomfortable, but she liked seeing him like this, some of that suave exterior flayed away.

“I did try, you know,” he said. “With the whole college and photography thing. But when my dad said he needed me in the business, I knew that was it for school, and for…us.”

He looked up at her. Green eyes glittered.

“It was right after our night by the cove when he told me that,” he said.

Some of the anger Jamie had been harboring melted into regret—sadness for the teenager who’d been so excited over a possible future, only to have it dashed before his eyes.

“That’s why you said it was a mistake.”

He nodded. “I didn’t want to hold you back.”

One by one, the pieces started falling into place. The words “we still good” had never been a dismissal. They were his way of checking on her, of making sure she’d stay in his life in some small way even when he wanted her to find someone else.

“Explain that picture you took at the wedding,” she said. “The one of me by the cake.”

Dean sighed. “You were gorgeous that day. I almost couldn’t concentrate on anything else. But I felt like, the way my life was, I could never be more for you than the hired help. The guy who got you out of a bind.”

The idea made her heart hurt. He didn’t see himself the way she did—the artist beneath the gruff exterior, the playboy with the beautiful soul inside. She reached over, tentative at first, then took his hand in hers and threaded their fingers together.

“You’ve never been that guy to me.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile, one that lit her up from the inside out. “You’ve always believed in me. Now I’ve got to believe in myself. I don’t want to be that guy anymore, which is why I told my dad I was quitting, unless he agreed to let me change things.”

“And he’s going to?”

“Yes. Everything we talked about in New Hampshire and more.” Dean’s excitement was tangible.

“That’s amazing,” Jamie said. “I’m so proud of you.”

He beamed, then looked down at their joined hands.

“I knew you would be,” he said softly. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, then swallowed and inhaled a shaky breath as his eyes found hers again. “I’ve been an idiot, pushing you away. I should’ve said this sooner, but you have to know it’s not just sex with you, and never has been, because I love you.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeated. “I have since I was sixteen years old. And all I want out of life is to find some way to make my family’s business succeed, take some pictures and wake up next to you every day until I’m a hundred.”

Jamie couldn’t reply at first, her emotions so thoroughly tangled she couldn’t tell what she was feeling. She opened her mouth, hoping she could find the right words, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.

“Don’t say anything yet. Let me finish.”

She nodded, and then Dean’s face darkened. His brows pressed low, lips pinching to a thin line.

“I can’t offer you much now. I think down the line I can, but Jamie, I meant it when I said you deserved an amazing life. I know you wanted to be in New York, and if I’m the reason you never—” His words dropped off. He cleared his throat. “My parents broke up because my mom got stuck here. No matter how I feel about you, I don’t want you to stay here for me. You’ll end up hating me, and I couldn’t live with that.”

There was so much hurt in his eyes. So much insecurity and fear. Jamie had always combated those kinds of emotions with humor. She waved a casual hand in the air.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I already made my decision. I’m not sticking around Portland for you.”

He drew in an unsteady breath. “So you are leaving, then.”

She paused for a moment, just to mess with him, then said, “Nah. I actually kinda like it here, and there’s a fashion design program at the Maine College of Art I’ve been thinking of applying to. I’m going to give that a shot.”

His eyes went wide, that childlike hope she hadn’t seen in years shining out of them.

“That would make you happy?”

“Yes. I can go part-time if I get in and keep my job at the center too, because I don’t want to give up swimming either. I’m pretty good at it.” She shrugged and grinned, folding her other hand around both of theirs. “The best of both worlds, without the expensive Manhattan rent.”

He laughed and leaned toward her until their shoulders touched. Jamie studied their entwined hands, the curls of ink peeking out from under his sleeve.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” she said.

“Told you what?”

“That you love me.” She took a breath. It was a heavy moment, one that definitely required more air. “Maybe if you’d told me the way you felt, it wouldn’t have taken me so long for me to figure out that I love you too.”

All the tension rushed out of him, the sheer emotion in his eyes making full impact on Jamie’s chest. She had more to say though, more he needed to hear about how she truly felt, so she kept talking.

“You’re the person I’ve compared everyone else to over the years. The reason I ended every relationship I’ve been in. And it wouldn’t have mattered to me if you were a mechanic or a photographer or a doctor.”

Dean closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“I’ve always belonged to you,” she said, her voice cracking. “Since that night in your truck, I’ve been yours.”

He lifted his head on an exhale and kissed her. It wasn’t rough or hard, not fueled by desperation or lust. It was soft and sweet, a tender brush of lips, a stroke of his mouth over hers that soothed all the scars of the past six years.

Dean pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. “Say it again.”

“Say what.”

“That you love me.”

Jamie smiled. Brought her lips to his ear. Whispered, “I love you” and chased her teeth along his earlobe. Dean shivered, wove his free hand into her hair and kissed her again. The tug of his fingers and quick slip of his tongue against hers stole her breath.

Panting, she peeked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, then gave him a sultry look from beneath lowered lashes. “I don’t want you making decisions for me again, okay? There’s only one place I want you doing that.”

His eyes blazed. A low groan sounded in his throat.

“Not in my life,” she said. “Just in your bed.”

He pulled her hair a little harder. Jamie’s eyes drooped shut. When she opened them, his gaze was fiercely trained on her. Still watching her, still taking her in.

“What is it with you and watching me?”

Dean half laughed, half winced. He let go of her hair and ducked his head down, cheeks coloring.