“I’m trying to explain myself here.”
“Excuseyourself is more like it.”
“I’ve apologized for my behavior. But I’m not going to pretend that I understand or defend the way you left. But neither do I want our past to stand in the way of you helping Dwayde.”
“Do I need to remind you again that you have no authority to hire me, and given that Victor doesn’t want my help—”
“That’s changed. Victor’s wife wants to hire you.”
For a second I don’t breathe. My convenient road block has just been removed, and I can feel myself heading straight into the danger zone.
“I didn’t tell Isabelle or Victor that you hadn’t quite agreed,” he says without a trace of contrition, “but I assume you will now.”
That gets me breathing again as I consider the gall of this man. “In other words, you backed me into a corner to get what you wanted.”
“Just listen before you fly off the handle. There’s no time to waste. Dwayde’s grandparents have threatened to get a—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” I raise my voice, cutting him off. I’m mad now. Furious. Scared and shaking with it. “I didn’t give you any indication that I would take this case. On the contrary, I told you I was busy with a full caseload.”
“I assumed when you said that, it was your defensive position, not fact,” he says and I hear the frustrated breath that follows. I can practically see the muscles straining in his jaw and his fingers raking through his hair.
“You assumed wrong,” I retort with a petty desire to provoke him further.
“Are you telling me that nothing I said yesterday made a difference to you?”
It made the biggest difference. I just can’t afford to let it. “What I’m telling you is an unequivocal no.”
“You’re a coward, Dee.” His accusation scorches me. “You’re so afraid to face your past that you won’t help a boy who has much more to lose than you do.”
“I’m not afraid of facing anything.”
“Then prove it when Isabelle calls.”
FUUCK!JAW CLENCHED; READY TO blow, I plow my hands through my hair and prowl the expanse of the living room. No other woman has ever evoked such strong emotions in me. With Dee, my feelings have run the gamut. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve gone from regret, to lust, to outrage, and back again, more times than I care to count.
And on top of that, the goddamn memories won’t shut off. They keep flashing in my head like movie clips. Replaying the scenes I’ve tried so hard to forget. The first time I admitted to myself that I was drawn to her golden-amber eyes, sexy tumble of curls, and soft, bountiful curves. And the first time I realized that it was more than an undeniable physical attraction: I’d fallen in love with her.
My treads across the hardwood grow more agitated as I struggle against the memories. But last night’s dream, still fresh in my mind, takes me back to that afternoon…
I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH time passes before my father stops kicking me and leaves me balled up on the floor, groaning. The sun is no longer shining, and each move I make shoots stabbing pain to my ribs. With effort, I drag myself to my feet, using the corner of the desk for leverage, and make it into the hall. I rest there a moment, and my eyes glimpse my reflection in the mirror. The right side of my face is swollen and caked with blood. Red stains are crusted on my neck and spot my white T-shirt. I look like something out of a horror show.
Resuming my labored movements, I hold my breath when I reach my old man’s room. Springvale’s finest is passed out on his bed. I eye the gun lying on the end table beside the empty whiskey bottle, and for a split second I think to pump a round into his chest, to end this shit.No. Six more months, I tell myself. I’ve done hard time for eighteen years. I can make it another six months until NYU.
Creeping through the house so I don’t wake him, I slip out the back. In only a T-shirt and jeans, I lumber across the snow-crusted yard to the white bungalow and use the spare key hidden beneath a loose plank on the deck to open the door. I can breathe here. The quiet of my safe haven envelops me as I stand inside the Torreses’ kitchen for several moments, clutching my ribs.
The clock on the stove reads 1:57. No one will be home for the next hour and a half. That will give me time to clean myself up, get my head together, and manufacture a story. I amble down the hallway toward the bathroom. All the bedroom doors are open, except for Dee’s. I hear the low rustle of movement inside and pause outside her door, wondering why she’s not in school. Then I remember that today’s Thursday, and she doesn’t have a class last period.
I can’t let her see me like this. I pick up my pace and grit my teeth against the pain. The old wooden floor creaks under my weight, and the sound of Dee’s door opening reaches me just before her voice does.
“Gawd, Mick! You scared me.”
I stop but don’t turn around. “Sorry.”
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Calc now?”
“Uh…yeah.”
She’s coming up behind me, and I have two choices. Make a sprint into the bathroom or make up a fast lie. The sprint isn’t an option. “Don’t freak out, okay? I just had a little accident.”
