He stiffened in her arms. “Yeah?”
She drew back enough to meet those fathomless eyes, stroking a hand along his jaw. “Take me to bed.”
Palpable relief jolted through him, and he pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, eyes closed, lashes dusting his cheeks, before he tangled their fingers and drew her toward the bedroom.
Chapter Fifteen
The world held worse things than spending a day hanging out with D. Slumped in one of Mama’s pristine Adirondack chairs, Colt eyed the plume of smoke drifting from the smoker-grill. His daddy didn’t really need him for this, but wanted him around.
Colt couldn’t deny that was one hell of a nice feeling.
D’s hand appeared over his shoulder, a fresh cup of coffee dangling from long fingers that were an older version of Colt’s own. Colt wrapped a grateful hand around the warm crockery. “Thank you.”
With a groaning sigh, D settled in the chair next to him. “So how was your dinner last night?”
Covering his cringe with a sip of hot coffee, Colt shook his head. “It was good.”
Until the last fifteen minutes or so because, like always, that mess he’d pulled was right there, waiting for him. He’d been so damned grateful for Holly after, the new normalcy of making love to her, although he’d been shaky and uneven and probably shit in bed. If so, she hadn’t said anything, arms about him afterward, stroking his hair and nape, pressing a kiss to his throat.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. He’d hated having that instability in bed with them, but the emotional mess lived in him and it didn’t take much to bring it to the surface. Dropping his hand, he chafed his damp palm over his knee. They were talking about having kids, and how was he going to be some boy’s daddy, try to model ethical behavior when he’d cheated one of the men he loved best?
How was he going to be some girl’s daddy, try to elevate her when he’d taken advantage of a girl who was upset and inebriated?
Boy, just because a girl has been drinking and isn’t herself doesn’t mean you have permission.
Someone blackout drunk can’t consent.
His fingers trembled atop his knee, and he stiffened them before D saw. He didn’t deserve to be anybody’s daddy, didn’t deserve to be Holly’s husband—
He pulled himself back from that. All the stuff on the Internet said to curtail the negative self-talk. Holly talked about finding someone, but he couldn’t make himself call a therapist. The idea of opening himself up like that with a stranger made him feel sick, like preparing to jump at the lime mine. Instead, he read self-help articles like he’d once read for Mr. Davis, intensely and repeatedly, looking for meaning and understanding.
So he’d done something wrong, something reprehensible. He recognized he was wrong, that he couldn’t go back and change anything, and he tried to do better every day. He had a couple of the steps of self-forgiveness underway.
Last night hadn’t helped, but it wasn’t fatal.
Now, tonight? Facing Tick after more than a year?
That might kill him.
“You’re deep in thought over there.” D’s steady voice cut across his reverie.
“What?” Steadying his mug, Colt jerked a glance sideways to find Daddy’s gaze fixed on his face. “Oh, yeah.”
A gentle smile flitted over D’s face and disappeared, leaving solemn concern in its place. “Want to tell me about it?”
Shit, no. He recoiled, then concealed the reaction in a gulp of coffee, burning his tongue in the process. Throat closed up, he shook his head, a sharp negative.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he ignored it. Probably Wally again — he’d been reaching out all day. Colt wasn’t in the mood for him, wasn’t ready for that, either.
He scrubbed his palm over his knee. If he didn’t know Sue would have a fit, that her feelings would be crushed, he’d find a way to dodge tonight, then stay out of Tick’s way all weekend.
Except the damn Internet said he had to face up to what he did, that at some point he needed to try talking to Tick again, apologize, make things right.
Bile curled up in the base of his throat, burning, making it hard to swallow.
“What’s got you het up, son? Something off with you and Holly?” D’s hand landed on his other knee, warmth and comfort in the weight. “Or whatever went wrong with you and Tick all that time ago?”
Aw, fuck. Colt swiveled a horrified look at his father, meeting nothing but calm sympathy in the dark eyes that might as well have been his own because he looked that much like D.
