The Hustle (Irreparable #4) (24 page)

I want what they have. I’ve always wanted the love they share. I used to believe it was Tori I wanted, but it’s the unwavering love for each other I crave. Someone I can playfully smack on the ass and raise kids with. Someone by my side at my son’s birthday party. If I wasn’t so ridiculously stubborn, I could have it. Instead, I let Peyton slip away, because when I get right to the root of it . . . I am a coward. I’m a chickenshit. I’m afraid of failing . . . of succeeding, and of living. Because each day presents a new set of problems and I’m too scared to ask anyone to face them with me.

The kids eat as Brady and I lean against the wall observing them. You can already tell what kind of adults they’ll be. I spot the one kid who will surely be crushing beer cans on his head when they’re all in high school. He’d be the one arousing laughter as he intentionally blows snot bubbles. It’s amazing to me that any of us make it to adulthood.

“Damn . . . when did we get so fucking old?” Brady asks.

I laugh and then go rigid when Liv enters the theater. Her eyes are swollen and the typically chipper smile she usually ruins my day with is nowhere to be found. She walks directly into my arms. I hold her close, looking over at Brady who shrugs.

After a few minutes, she finally let’s go of me. She swipes under her eyes with her fingers. Since I said yes to give her away, she’s been over the moon with obnoxious wedding planning bliss. I’ve wanted to barf seeing her surrounded by glitter and unicorns in her land of make believe, but watching her in pain is a new kind of frustration. I know what she’s going to say and I fight to keep my composure.

“You were right,” she says as tears puddle in her eyes. “The wedding’s off. Are you happy?” That’s one of those questions you’re fucked if you answer. Hell yes, I’m happy. I’m elated in fact. “I’m so lame.”

“No you’re not.” I wipe a stray tear from her cheek and smile.

She shakes her head. “No, really, I am.”

Tori comes over, taking in the scene and hugs Liv. “Were you right?”

Liv nods, sending me a worried look.

“Right about what?” I ask.

“Harrison never called it off with Del,” Tori answers. “They’ve been seeing each other the whole time.”

“What?” Brady and I shout in unison.

It’s Brady that makes a move to exit, but Tori catches him by the arm. I feel the anger trying to control me too. Going after Harrison would afford me the chance to release a ton of stored-up aggression, but it’s my son’s birthday. And I’m trying hard to be a man different than his father.

“I don’t want either of you to go after him.” Brady and I exchange glances before looking at our sister. “I knew. I just wanted to deny it. All those late nights at The Center. Come on, I could have asked Rodrigo, but I didn’t because I didn’t want to fail. I wanted us to get married and have kids because I believed mom fucked me up so badly that no one else would ever love me. But it wasn’t until I realized pretending made me exactly like mom that I finally called him out. There’s someone out there who will love me and not because they feel obligated to. Harrison was there for me and he helped me through a horrible time in my life but I don’t think he ever fell truly in love with me.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” I say with my teeth gritted, ready to break any promises I made about being a man who didn’t cave to his anger. I could easily justify beating the shit out of Harrison for breaking my sister’s heart.

“No . . .” she kisses my cheek. “I make it okay by loving myself enough to tell him to pack his shit. By not loving a douche bag my obnoxiously over protective brothers can’t stand.” My sister is so much stronger than I ever gave her credit for. I hug her, promising to leave Harrison alone because it’s the right thing to do, and under the rage is the guy who’s trying. “Now where’s my nephew? I have a birthday gift for him.”

She strolls away to the group of kids who welcome her, mostly because she has candy offerings. There’s a loud rumble at the table where Andrew sits.

I make a face, looking at Tori. “Did he just . . .”

“Shit? . . . Yep.” Tori laughs, smacking Brady on the shoulder. “And it’s your turn, dad.”

“No way, it was my turn last time,” Brady argues.

“Nice try,” she says, shoving him toward their son. He grumbles loudly until Little A gives him a smile that turns him to a pile of mush as he coo’s about how, “Daddy loves him more” and “Mommy’s a big meanie.”

“Guess I should be grateful I missed the shitty diaper phase with Javier,” I say, taking a seat at one of the tables.

“It’s not too late,” Tori says as she fills the seat next to me.

That look on her face is the one I get every time she’s about to meddle in my life. So I do what I do every time, deflect with humor. “Uh . . . if the boy starts shitting his pants now, he’s going back. That kid can clog a toilet.”

“Stop.” She laughs, shoving me in the arm. “You know what I mean.”

I rub my face with my hands, attempting to wipe away the frustration. At every turn, this woman pushes me. “I don’t know, Tor.”

“She hasn’t left yet.” The words sit between us for a moment as I refuse to fully accept them. As far as I knew, Peyton left yesterday and I fought going to her the entire day. I don’t think I have the strength to do it again. “She called me last night. She was getting new tires on her car to make the trip. It took longer than she expected and her car won’t be ready until four.”

I release a long drawn-out sigh, keeping my head down. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Aidan Hunter, you’re so incredibly thickheaded. Jesus, I can have a set of tires put on my car in a dozen places in a couple of hours and so could she. She called me because she knew I would tell you. She’s giving you one last goddamn chance to stop her and if you don’t do it then I may very well kick your ass myself.”

“I . . .” I’m stunned and when I open my mouth to argue, laughter erupts from inside of me. I laugh until I nearly cry. I laugh until I feel something close to happiness and then I realize . . . I don’t want Peyton to go. I have a chance to really get to know her and not just because I want her to ease my pain or fill a void. But because I want to experience falling in love with her again for the first time.

T
elling Tori that crap about tires was pathetic, but sitting in my car at five after four, convincing myself Aidan only needs five more minutes is an all-time low. I have to be the most hopelessly desperate woman on the planet. I’ve given him three weeks, and not a single damn word, yet I’m clinging to this next five minutes like my last breath.

Make that four minutes left while I sit in the driveway, staring at myself in the mirror on the visor as I try to think of another way to convince him to want me. The hum of the engine reminds me I’m wasting my time. That my future is in Shingle Springs with a man I’ve yet to meet. Someone normal, without a Dateline Exclusive past. A man who doesn’t hate himself and is willing to love me.

The madness has to stop. I can’t keep torturing myself. Aidan isn’t coming.

“You can’t hang on to the past.” My mother has said this to me a dozen times, but it’s only now I agree with her. Aidan’s stuck in a dark place, where he doesn’t wish to escape. I’ll never reach him. I can’t force him into the light and sitting in the car, rambling like a madwoman won’t change anything. For the sake of my own happiness, I have to move on.

My hope finally transitions to anger as I shift into reverse. Relieving the built-up stress comes in the form of a scream as I slam my palms into the steering wheel. I mumble under my breath about being a loser and how foolish I am as I hit the gas.

The sound of crunching metal echoes around me before I realize I hit something. My ears ring as I try to focus on what I see in the rearview mirror. I can’t decide if I’m thrilled or angry as I step out of the car.

Aidan obviously isn’t hurt as he stands next to the mangled front end of his Porsche, but I have no idea what to expect when he finally speaks. His hands rake through his thick brown hair as he surveys the damage, grumbling profanities.

Maybe I should speak first, but he did make me wait three long weeks. Three weeks that turned me into a woman distraught enough to back out of a driveway without looking because I was too busy talking to myself. He finally came for me and in a moment of crazy, I crashed into his car, which if it didn’t so utterly define our relationship, I’d be horrified about.

As the sexy smirk I’ve come to adore crawls up the corner of his mouth, I don’t care what he says, as long as it’s not good-bye.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, half laughing.

“That pissed at me, huh?”

His playful teasing gives nothing away because Aidan often uses humor to distract from things that make him uncomfortable. Like when he may need to tell a mentally unstable woman to take a hint and get lost. No matter what he’s here to say, I’ll keep myself together and be strong.

“I didn’t exactly expect someone to be parked in front of my driveway.”

“Really?” In the two seconds it takes him to close the gap between us, his expression transforms from humorous to dead serious. It takes everything in me to hold my ground and maintain his gaze, knowing there’s a chance he’s going to rip my heart out all over again. “Because I thought you were expecting me.”

Actually I was begging and praying and groveling with every force in the universe for him to come, but . . . I wouldn’t say I expected him.

“Yeah, well you’re late.”

“Better late than never.”

The little shit knows I’m not mad, but I still want to make him work a little harder to win me over. Like three weeks of genuine hell crammed into the next five minutes. But who am I kidding? Waiting five more minutes is only bound to drive me further insane. Maybe even land me in the nuthouse. “I guess that depends on why you’re here.”

When his hand reaches up and caresses my cheek, I know he was worth every minute, every tear, and every restless night of sleep. And that I’d probably wait a lifetime for him.

I hold his hand close to my cheek, closing my eyes as he says, “I’m here to take a risk.”

“B
etter late than never,” Peyton mocks me before she lifts up on her tiptoes and plants a quick peck on my lips.

It’s not a proper kiss for a reunion of this magnitude. And I make sure she knows it, by grabbing both sides of her face and holding tight as I bring her lips back to mine and kiss her long and deep until she’s panting for air. I take my time tasting her and relishing in the sensations rippling through my body as I finally give in to my feelings.

Expressing how I feel with words would never convey my feelings for Peyton. All I can do is show her I’m ready to try by continuing to kiss her, while I massage her neck and back as if I can somehow force how I feel through her skin and into her heart. She attempts to pull away, but I hold her tight, not wanting the moment to end. Not wanting to look into her eyes and see how much I’ve hurt her.

Her hands press flat against my chest, pushing until she finally breaks the kiss. “I had to come up for air,” she says, laughing.

When I do look into her eyes, I don’t see a woman hurt and angry. I see something I’ve never seen before, not with Tori or Maria. Something unconditional; love and happiness and devotion, and all the things I don’t deserve from a woman I’ve toyed with. I’m just selfish enough to take what she wants to give me because I want to feel straight again. It’s wrong . . . because I’m not sure I can ever love her the way she loves me.