I know I should distance myself from Dee before she gets hurt by any of this. But I also know that I won’t. Fifteen years of living without her was like sleepwalking through darkness and rain. She’s the air that I need to breathe, the sunlight I need to bask in if I’m to be more than the shadow of a man I was.
I’ll destroy O’Malley before I let his greed and ambition harm her.
Picking up my phone, I scroll down and tap the private number.
My call is answered on the first ring.
“Stiles, it’s Mick. I have an urgent job for you.”
IOPEN THE FRONT DOOR to Mick, and my heart does a loose somersault. Absent the cap, Mick’s hair is wind-mussed, and although I can’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses, I know that I’d find them crinkled at the corners from the smile curving his mouth. It’s not the flash of white he wears for the cameras, but his real smile, which fills his face with warmth and humor.
“Hi,” he says, leaning in for a brief, teasing kiss.
“What’s all this?” I ask, indicating the two enormous paper bags he’s carrying by the handles.
“Food.” He enters my house and deposits the bags on the kitchen counter.
I follow him in and while he removes his shades and jacket, I peer inside at the array of groceries, from staples to cold cuts, bacon, expensive cheeses, and bread to caviar and steak. “I thought you said you were just picking up lunch.”
“You have nothing in your fridge.”
For reasons I haven’t told him about. As someone who’s struggled through addiction, Mick might be able to understand this hate-love relationship I have with food, but I don’t say anything for fear he will see me as damaged.
After washing his hands at the sink, seeming as comfortable in my kitchen as he was in his own, Mick begins unpacking.
I step beside him and we fall into a smooth rhythm of him unloading groceries and me putting them away. I’m once again struck by the alternate ease and nerves I feel when I’m with Mick. Comfortable yet exciting.
Over my favorite music playing in the background—Bocelli nestled between modern jazz and old Motown, he tells me about practice and the kids being pumped for Friday’s game. I ask about Dwayde and hear he was in good spirits. I suspect that’s because the Franklins have been incommunicado. It’s a false sense of security, but Dwayde’s entitled to a break from the constant state of worry he’s experienced for nearly four weeks.
We talk about the progress Mick’s made onDark Angel. I discuss my ever-growing workload and my hesitation to hire an associate. He understands my reluctance to give up total control over my cases but also points out that not only would it be better for me to have more balance in my life, I could help more children.
When we finish, I lift up on tiptoes and press my mouth to his. “Thank you for the groceries.”
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me back as if we’ve been apart for days rather than hours. I can feel the intensity in his hands at my waist, in his lips against mine. It thrums off his body in waves of heat that burn through my silk robe. When we come up for air, I blink up at him.
It’s a little frightening just how much Mick has come to mean to me so soon. How much I’m coming to depend on his smiles, his touch, his presence, the warmth of his body, and the security of his arms.
I’ve been with other men. A couple in law school, a couple more while I was working at the law firm, and one lukewarm relationship I squeezed in while building my own practice. But none of them left a lasting impression.
Only Mick.
Once we cleared our way through the murky depths of our past, I fell again—the way I had before—in one fast, hard tumble. There wasn’t a gradual move from dating and getting reacquainted to maybe slowly, carefully, cautiously letting the feelings strengthen. No, rather than a gentle fall, I’ve plunged headlong into a love affair with barely a safety net. It’s as if my self-preservation switch won’t turn on where Mick is concerned.
Growing up the way I did, I learned not to trust in happiness or love. Both could be snatched away in the blink of an eye. So despite my reckless heart, I have to hold a little back. Keep something for myself in the reserve tank, just in case.
Putting space between us, I move to the far cupboard, where I store empty bags for recycling. Mick follows and cages me in. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his finger tracing the pleat of my brow. “Why did you pull away?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry, Dee. I want to know what I did wrong to make you doubt us again.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Mick. Being with you is incredible. That’s what scares me,” I confess.
“Why?”
I breathe through my hesitation. “Because happiness has always been my bad luck charm. Whenever I’ve felt happy in the past, something has come along to ruin it.”
“Nothing bad is going to happen this time, Dee. I won’t let it.”
