Wait for It

The thing about being neighbors with your nephew’s coach and your boss being related to said neighbor/coach was that if something happened to you, everyone they knew was going to find out your business.

And that was exactly what happened to me.

In those couple of days after the fire, Trip called and came by the house. A few of Josh’s friends from baseball found out, and their moms dropped off food. I got text messages from other parents on the team who had never given me more than a wave, letting me know that if I needed anything to give them a ring. Doing a good deed didn’t go unnoticed. Maybe I wouldn’t have money to pay the cable bill, but I’d have people willing to watch the boys or mow the yard. It was an outpouring of love I wasn’t familiar with that came at us—this time from people who were practically strangers.

Which was fine, because when I’d called my parents to let them know about how I’d burned myself—because I knew how much worse it would be if they found out another way—my mom had passed off the phone to my dad. I was used to her calling me an idiot, but the silent treatment was worse. The last person who needed to bottle things up was that woman.

I spent those first couple of days going to the salon to reschedule my appointments and talk to Ginny about what she could do while I was out for a while. A while. Best-case scenario seemed to be three weeks. Come hell or high water, I was going to be back at work in three weeks. I couldn’t afford to take off a week, but I absolutely couldn’t take off more than three.

When I wasn’t at the salon or moping around at home, holding my burned hand up high and cussing at it, I went to visit Miss Pearl at the hospital, who was being held there because of all the smoke she’d inhaled and she’d gotten a few burns too.

“How are you doing, Miss Pearl?” I asked the elderly woman after I’d set the vase of flowers I’d bought her at the grocery store on the table in front of her bed.

In a faded mint-green hospital gown, and with her hair limp and flat against her scalp, she’d blinked those milky blue eyes at me and sighed. “Half my house burned down, but I’m alive.”

Well, that wasn’t the positive statement I’d been expecting to get.

But she’d kept going. “You saved my life, Diana, and I never told you thank you—”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I do. I’m sorry for messing up your name. You’re a good girl. Dal says I’m bored and like to push people ‘cause of it. I don’t mean any harm.”

Damn it. Sitting down in the chair beside her bed, I reached up and placed my hand over her cool one. “I know you don’t. It’s okay. I’m pushy too.”

That had the old woman smirking. “I heard.”

Before I could ask who she’d heard that from, she continued on. “Dal left, but he’ll be back by Wednesday, he said. That’s when they’re letting me out of this joint.”

He’d already warned me of that on Saturday when he’d woken up at my house and then went ahead to spend half the day with the boys and me, hanging around before he took off to visit Miss Pearl at the hospital.

But he hadn’t told me where he was going, and so I kind of snuck in, “Is he okay?”

You’d figure I would know you can’t bullshit a bullshitter, and Miss Pearl had a lot more experience bullshitting than I did. By the smile she gave me, she knew I was fishing, and the old woman said, “Oh, he’s fine. Just great.”

And that was all she’d given me. Damn it.

So a couple of days later, when I was lying on the couch with a glass of milk on the table and a smores Pop-Tart in one hand, watching television and wondering how the hell I was going to survive two more weeks without working, I was startled by a lawn mower roaring to life.

It took a couple of seconds for me to realize that the loud sound was coming from close by. Really close by. Was someone at my house?

Swinging my legs over the edge of the couch, I peeked over the back of it to look through the window at the side of the house. I saw nothing. I checked my phone as I stood up to make sure my dad hadn’t called and said he was coming over, but there were no missed calls.

Pulling up one single blind on the window, looking out toward the front lawn, I paused, let it drop, and then raised it again. At the same time I was doing this, goose bumps broke out along my spine.

Because on my lawn wasn’t a stranger, especially since he’d let me just about bawl my eyes out in front of him more than once. It also wasn’t just Dallas cutting my lawn like it was no big deal.

It was Dallas on my lawn with his shirt off, pushing his lawn mower.

It was Dallas on my lawn with his shirt off.

More goose bumps rose all over my body. He wasn’t sweating yet, but even that wouldn’t have made him more attractive than he looked in that moment. He didn’t need anything to look more attractive than he did right then and there. A thong or nudity was absolutely not necessary.

Because my eyes saw everything they needed to see; what they had last seen months ago. Everything they would ever need to see. They took in the faint V-shape of muscle right where the elastic band to his sweat pants rested. They took in those cube-shaped, ridged muscles above his belly button that extended into neatly stacked rectangles. Then there were those shoulders that were just perfect. And those arms and forearms.

I loved forearms. Loved them. Especially his. I could even see the veins lining his from my window.

Most of all though, I took in every single inch of tattooed skin covering him. This was my payment for burning the shit out of my palm from the looks of it.

The brown ink I’d seen by his elbow was part of a wing that wrapped around his entire biceps, stretching out onto his chest. Right between his pectorals was the head and beak of an eagle. Another wing seemed to sweep around his opposite arm, almost a perfect mirror of the first one I’d seen.

God help me. The view was even better the second time around.

Was I going to go out there specifically to catch an up-close look of the details of the eagle’s wings? No way in hell.

But was I going to go out there to offer him a glass of water despite the fact he could easily walk across the street to get a drink from his own house? I damn well was.

For one brief moment, I thought about putting on something other than pajamas, but… what was the point? It would be obvious if I did, and despite him being a wonderful friend, person, and neighbor, he was married. Getting a divorce. Same thing.

And he’d disappeared for days somewhere.

There was no harm in using my eyeballs on him. Repeatedly. I just wouldn’t look at his butt or junk. That was crossing the line. Anything from the waist above was fair game, I reasoned.

Leaving my hair loose around my shoulders, I opened the door and stepped out just as he finished a pass down the lawn away from me, turning the mower at the last minute. I must have caught his attention immediately because he looked up from his focus on the grass to gaze at me, and I waved, smiling too wide at someone who wasn’t mine and couldn’t be.

When he didn’t shut off the machine, I made a drinking gesture toward my mouth and he shook his head.

Okay. What was I supposed to do now?

I watched him for a moment, noticing there was something different about him, but I couldn’t figure out what. His lawn mower was bagged, but he had to empty it out. By the time I heard the motor putter to a stop, I had already made it out to the shed to grab a couple of the big, black bags we used for the leaves and opened the gate that led to the front. Dallas was busy taking the bag off the back of the machine when I came up to him.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, telling my eyeballs they better not backstab me right then and there by straying somewhere they had no business going.

“Morning,” he said in that low voice. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” I used my chin to point toward the bag in my hands. “I can hold it with one hand, can you pour and hold the other side of the bag, too?” He nodded and did it, setting the attachment back to the mower while I shook the clippings so they settled at the bottom. “So, can I ask what exactly you’re doing?”

“It’s called mowing a lawn,” he informed me, his attention still centered on the red-painted machine. “I’ve seen you do it before.”

And people thought of me as a smart-ass. “I’m being serious. What are you doing, Professor X? I was planning on laying a guilt trip on the boys so they would do it on their own.”

He eyed me with those golden-brown irises before focusing back on the trash bag in front of him. “I have hair, and your lawn needed mowing. Your hand is fucked. I just got back and don’t have any work scheduled for today.”

“You didn’t have to do anything—”

He stood up to his full height and stared me down. “Accept the help, Diana.”

I blew out a breath and kept watching him, still trying to see why he looked different.

He crossed his arms over his chest, and it took every single ounce of strength I had to not glance at the eagle head. “Is it everyone or just from me?”

Pinching my lips together, I brought my hand to my chest and watched as he glanced at it. I’d swear a tendon in his neck popped. But I told him the truth. “You, mostly. I don’t want to take advantage of you. I’m not shy about asking for things.”

“I didn’t think you knew how to be shy.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not taking advantage of me. We talked about this already.”

“Fine, but I don’t want to make you feel weird either.”

His reply was low and steady. “I’ve seen you in your underwear and combed nits out of your hair, baby. I think we’re past that.”

I focused on one thing and one thing only.

Baby?

Me?

I was still thinking about his word choice when he asked, “How’s your hand?”

What hand? There was something wrong with my hand?

“Your burned hand,” he said, raising both his eyebrows, a slight smile playing at his lips.

Jesus Christ. I’d lost it. I swallowed. “Same old. It hurts. I’m taking some pain medication when it gets really bad, but not a lot. I have to rubber band a bag around my hand to shower. I cut myself shaving. I haven’t shampooed my hair in five days. It takes me longer to do everything with this thing, but I’ll live.” Poor and in pain, but it could be worse. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Nope.”

“Really. I can help. I have one good hand, and I’m bored out of my mind. It’s only been a few days, but I don’t know how I’m going to make it being stuck at home.” That was putting it lightly. I’d gone to help my mom at the store she worked at, but only made it three hours before her comments about my intelligence—because who goes into a burning house?—got to be too much and I left.

Those hazel eyes were on me for a couple of seconds before his mouth twitched. His hands went to his hips and I told myself, Don’t fucking look, Diana. Don’t look down.

The question was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “Are you really patriotic or do you just like eagles?”

His eyebrows went up and with a straight face, he glanced down at his chest before focusing back on me. “My dad had this tattoo on his arm.” Then, like what I’d asked was no big deal, he asked, “You need something to do?”

I nodded, telling myself to let the tattoo go.

“You sure? You’ll only use one hand?”

Why was the first thought that popped into my head a dirty one?

And why did my face turn red as I thought that over?

“Cross my heart.”

Dallas tipped his head to the side. “You didn’t start on Louie’s quarterpipe while I was gone, did you?”

There it was. Another reminder he’d gone somewhere. Hmm. “Nope.”

“Then you can help me build it.”

The “shit” came out of my mouth before I could stop it and he smiled.

“Or I can do it alone.” He paused for all of a second before saying, “If you tell me you can do it by yourself—”

I rolled my eyes. “No,” I mumbled. “If you insist on helping, we can do it together, and by together, I mean you’re going to be stuck doing most of it because I only have one hand, but I’ll try my best.” I shrugged. “It would be nice to surprise him tomorrow. He’s spending the night with the Larsens today. You think we can get it done?”

The small smile that came over Dallas’s mouth was like a roman candle straight to my heart. “We can try our best,” he offered with all that patience and easygoing nature that cried out to me.

What I wouldn’t do for the best of Dallas Walker. But all I said was, “Okay. I’m ready when you are.”

“Give me fifteen so I can finish up here and get this thing across the street,” he compromised.

I nodded. “I’ll meet you in the backyard.”

It didn’t take him the full fifteen minutes to make his way over. I’d grabbed my gardening gloves from the shed while I waited and slipped one on, and after thinking about it for a moment, got my toolbox out again too. I still didn’t understand what had come over him that other night, but he hadn’t brought it up, and I wasn’t going to either. The only thing I wanted to talk about was where he had gone to, but I made a promise to myself I wasn’t going to ask. I wasn’t.

Dallas had come prepared too from the looks of it as he opened the gate and closed it behind him, giving Mac—who was outside with me—a rub on the head. Unfortunately, or I guessed fortunately, he’d put on a T-shirt. It was one of his threadbare shirts that he usually worked in from the stains all over random places on it.

“I know they’re old.”

I raised my eyes to his and frowned. “What?”

“My clothes,” he said, giving me his back as he went straight toward one of the crates, his hammer in his hand. He went ahead and pried the lid off with the claw side of the hammer. “I hate shopping.”

Straightening up, I kept frowning at him, suddenly embarrassed that he’d caught me looking at what he was wearing. “They’re fine,” I told him slowly. “The whole purpose is not to be naked, isn’t it?”

He “hmmed” as he moved to the corner of the box furthest away from me.

“I don’t buy new clothes that often either,” I tried to offer him. “If I didn’t have to dress up for work, I wouldn’t, and I’ve had all those for years now. The boys grow so fast and tear up their stuff so easily, they’re the only ones who get new things regularly in our house.”

“Nana’s always giving me grief over them,” he said, quietly or maybe he was just distracted, I wasn’t sure. “She says the ladies like a well-put-together man.”

That made me laugh. “Maybe for an idiot. I went on a few dates with this one guy a few years ago who dressed better than I did, and you know what? He lived with his parents and they still paid his car insurance. I know I’m not one to talk because it took me forever to get my shit together—and even now, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing half the time—but everyone should have some priorities in life. Trust me when I tell you, clothing isn’t everything.”

Dallas briefly glanced up at me as he moved to another corner with his hammer. “One of the only things I remember about my dad is that he never matched unless he was in his uniform. Ever. My mom laughed at how much effort he didn’t put into his clothes.” I could see the corner of his mouth tip into a smile at the memory, and just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared. “When I tried living with my ex for those two months after I got back on land, she wouldn’t let me go anywhere with her unless I changed. She said I made her feel poor.”

Now I wasn’t just going to have to kill his future wife, I was going to have to kill his ex, too. God. My question came out more gritted than I’d intended. “And did you? Change?”

“For a few days.”

“You shouldn’t have had to try in the first place,” I told him, and he glanced up, a small smile on that bristly face.

“I should have if it really mattered to her that much, but I didn’t care enough. I’ve never been with anyone longer than a year, you know. Long-distance relationships don’t usually work, and I never tried one until her, but every couple I know who did it and survived, always compromised. You have to care about the other person’s feelings enough to not always be right or have your way. I don’t regret not trying to make it work, but if I’d loved her, I should have.”

Was it rude for me to think I was glad he hadn’t?

Before I could think about that too long, he threw out, “Now I know for next time.”

I was not going to sabotage any future relationships of his. I wasn’t.

Then what the hell was I going to do? I wondered. Move somewhere else? Find a boyfriend to maybe be half the man he was and hopefully he’d keep my mind off the one who lived across the street from me who I had all these… feelings for?

What the hell had I done? Why had I done this to myself? I knew better. I knew better than to like Dallas. And yet, I couldn’t help but ask, “Have you… had a lot of girlfriends?”

This man glanced over at me with a funny expression on his face before facing the crate again. “I’ve never been one of those guys with a new girl every week or every month.”

That still wasn’t an answer, and at the risk of sounding like a crazy person, all I did was mumble, “Hmm.” Either I was dying inside or this was what a serial killer felt like when he or she needed to get another fix. It could have been either or.

That was enough for him to look at me again with that weird facial expression. “I’m forty-one, Diana. I’ve had girlfriends. Except for my ex, I never lived with any of them. Never proposed to any of them. The only girl I’ve loved was my high school girlfriend, and I haven’t heard anything about her since I broke up with her to join the navy. I’ve never looked any of them up online, talked to them on the phone, and I can’t remember most of their names or what they look like. I was at sea a lot.”

Of course I knew he’d had other relationships in the past, but him acknowledging them still made my stomach roll in jealousy and maybe a little hatred too. Bitches. Not trusting myself to not call all of his exes sluts, my brilliant fucking response was another “Hmm.” And then, as if I was trying to make myself feel better, I told him, “I’ve only had four real boyfriends in my entire life, my ex not included. If I ever saw any of them again, they would probably run the other way.”

How did Dallas respond? With a “Hmm” that had me eyeing him.

Was he using too much force to pry the nail out or was I imagining it?

“Thanks for going to see Nana,” he commented suddenly, changing the subject and making me keep looking at him. He walked toward the corner right by me before glancing over in my direction, his eyes going to my pink, puppy toolbox for a brief second. He glanced away from it almost immediately.

I groped for the change in subject. “Yeah, of course. She told me she’s going to be staying with you until her house gets fixed.”

“Yeah.” He positioned his body directly to my side, his butt inches from me. I looked away. “She wants her own place back, but she’s gonna be stuck with me for a while, no matter what she says.”

“She doesn’t want to stay with you?”

“She doesn’t want to stay with anyone. She keeps telling me that she hasn’t lived under somebody else’s roof in over seventy years and she’s not gonna do it for any longer than she needs to. She offered to go stay with her sister who lives in a retirement community to ‘get out of my hair,’ but I’m not gonna let her live with anybody but me until her house gets fixed. She’s my grandma. I’m not about to pawn her off.”

I did not like this man as more than a friend. A passing acquaintance. He was just a nice guy and it made perfect sense to admire someone with his type of loyalty.

I did not like him. I didn’t. And I sure as hell wasn’t falling in love with him a little. No way.

While I was busy repeating to myself that, yes, I thought he was super-hot, and yes, his heart might be made of the finest silver in the land, but there were plenty of men like that in the world.

I didn’t even believe myself.

Dallas shoved the lid off the top of the crate and took a step back, eyeing me once before glancing back to the contents inside. “The motorcycle club is having a cook-off at the shop where Trip works to raise money for Nana’s house this weekend.”

Shit. I really had no business spending money on things while I couldn’t work. The flowers I’d bought for Miss Pearl had to be my one and only splurge for a long time.

He kept going. “This is the boys’ weekend with their grandparents, isn’t it?” I nodded and he did the same. “Come. I’ll buy you a plate.”

“You don’t have to—”

That big hand reached over to tap the back of my hand, his face tipped down and serious. “Are you ever going to accept me trying to be nice without arguing?”

I pressed my lips together for a second. “Probably not.”

He smiled. “Come.” He touched the back of my hand again. “Trip will be there.”

Why was my first thought, As long as you’re there, it’s fine with me? What was wrong with me? I was asking for a mess. For pain. For heartbreak. For having to move one day.

And even knowing all of that, like an idiot, I didn’t say no, but I did sigh. “If you’re paying, Mr. Clean….”

* * *

“DIANA! MY HERO!”

Even surrounded by what looked like at least 100 people hanging around the lot of the mechanic shop right by the salon, I still managed to pull that one familiar voice yelling out of the air. Smirking, I glanced around from face to face until I found the one I was looking for in the crowd, pushing his way through. The big smile on Trip’s face was obviously the result of being a little drunk.

“Hey.” I waved at him, trying to see if I recognized anyone else at the cookout Dallas had invited me to.

Trip tossed an arm over my shoulder as he pulled me into his side, giving me a side hug. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Better.” I held up my bandaged hand. The blisters had finally started to go away, leaving tight, red skin behind. A couple of days ago, for some reason I was beyond understanding, I’d looked up burns online and almost lost my lunch. Things could have been a lot worse; I wasn’t going to complain about my injury after I’d seen that.

“Looks like shit to me,” he stated, inspecting my hand but keeping his arm on my shoulder and the other at his side. “What do you wanna eat? I’ll get you a plate. Where the boys at?” He was leading me through the people, and I took in the leather vests of the motorcycle club and the other dozens of people who looked like a mash-up of early twenties women to mid-thirties men, to forty, fifty and sixty-year-old people in jeans, layers, and more leather vests.

I thought about asking where Dallas was, but I kept it to myself. I needed to quit with the Dallas thing. “They’re with their grandparents. What did you try already?”

He hummed. “Brisket is pretty good. The ribs are pretty good. Steaks aren’t as good as yours—”

“Remember arguing with me over making them on the cast iron?”

Trip squeezed me to his side as he chuckled. “Yeah, I ‘member. I bought a cast iron skillet last time I ran to the store. I was gonna check up on you during practice on Thursday, but we get so busy with all the parents wanting to talk about how their kid needs more play time.” He made a grunting noise.

I snickered. “Don’t worry. I know we’re friends.”

“We sure as fuck are, honey,” he confirmed as we came up to three big barbecue pits lined up nearly side by side. “What are you in the mood for?”

I told him what I wanted: brisket and grilled corn on the cob. When the pretty girl helping the thin, elderly gray-haired man at the barbecue pit scooped some potato salad onto my plate, Trip whistled. “You’re a doll, Iris.”

“Fuck off, Trip,” a tall man who had been standing off to the side with a toddler strapped to his back and a baby wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms snarled. I looked once at him and then one more time before glancing away. There were tattoos up to the man’s neck and he had the grumpiest frown I’d ever seen on anyone, but that didn’t change the fact that his face alone could have impregnated some woman.

“Yeah, yeah.” Trip ignored him, winking at the girl helping to serve.

“Trip,” the tattooed man barked again.

This blond snorted as his eyes met mine and he whispered, “You ever had someone you just love fuckin’ with?”

That man didn’t look like someone I’d love to fuck with, but what did I know? Even with two kids in his arms, I didn’t want to look at him for too long. I whispered back, “Yeah.” That had been my brother for me.

Trip snorted and, with my plate in his hand, led me toward one of the many tables set up along the closed bays of the shop. So many people were standing up, there was more than enough room to sit, and he took the spot across from me, setting the plate down. “I forgot to grab you a drink. What do you want? A beer?”

“I’m driving. Whatever soda you have is fine.”

“You got it.” He grinned before disappearing on me.

With my fork in my left hand, I took in the meat on my plate and cursed. I should have gotten the ribs instead. Since burning myself, I’d been settling for making food I could eat with one hand safely, which was mostly soups, but I hadn’t put two and two together with the meat. There was no way I could use a knife. Hell, I could barely wipe myself with my left hand. So, with my fork on its side, I started trying to break up the meat, but it wasn’t going so well.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” a voice said from behind me a moment before someone dropped onto the chair beside mine.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Only one man had that hoarse, raspy voice. It was Dallas.

And the smile that took over my face to see him inches away had me dropping my fork to pivot in the chair. “I didn’t know you were here already,” I said, noticing the can of root beer in his hands. In dark jeans and a gray fleece pullover hoodie, he looked great.

“I was busy talking to my uncle when I spotted you getting food,” he explained, those long fingers moving the can around in his hand until he had it the way he wanted it. He flipped the tab, opening it for me, and setting it beside my plate before scooting his chair over, leaving him so close his body heat was unavoidable. He leaned over, directly in front of me, blocking my view of my plate as he asked, “You want anything else?”

“No, I’m all right. Are you cutting the meat for me?” I joked, smiling even though he couldn’t see it.

“Yes,” he said, continuing on with his back inches from my face.

There was something wrong with my heart. There was something seriously wrong with my heart. I stuttered, “You really—”

“Let me do it,” was all he said.

I sighed and leaned back, trying to make it seem like it was some kind of bullshit he had the nerve to cut my meat for me when my hand was messed up. I was going to need to go to a heart specialist. Pronto. First, I needed him to stop doing whatever it was he was doing to make this happen to me. “Dallas,” I whispered. “You really don’t owe me anything. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“None. Stop wasting your breath.”

Did he stop what he was doing? No. He didn’t.

“You are so fucking stubborn,” I said.

“Pot meet your kettle.” He straightened in his chair, propping the knife on the edge of the disposable plate before handing over the fork he’d been using.

My kettle? It didn’t escape me he’d cut the meat into perfect square shapes. I sighed again and took the utensil from him. Quit your shit, heart. Quit it right now, I tried telling it. I don’t have time or the emotional reserves for this. “Thank you,” I said to Dallas.

His blink was the second most innocent thing I’d ever seen after Louie’s. The corners of his mouth went up just a little as he said, “Anything for you.”

Oh my God. Why was he doing this to me? Why? Why? He wasn’t the type of person to string someone else along for the fun of it. I knew that. But why did he have to be so nice? And why did I have to be so fucking dumb?

Fuck me.

If I hadn’t been so hungry, I would have taken my time eating, but I was. I’d skipped lunch, expecting to stuff myself this afternoon at the cookout. I’d texted Ginny to find out if she was coming after work, but she’d said she would only get a chance to run by during a break; she had a lot of last minute things to do for her wedding coming up in two weeks. I had honestly completely forgotten about it.

I finished my food silently, meeting Dallas’s gaze from time to time as I chewed, but for the most part, I kept my attention focused on my plate and on the people hanging around the mechanic shop. The second I finished wiping my mouth off, I asked him something that had been bothering me for a while now. “Why aren’t you in the motorcycle club?”

Dallas set his elbow on the table as he shifted his body in the seat to face me, his temple propped on his closed fist. The side of his knee touched my thigh and didn’t go anywhere. “The club’s more of a legacy. Father to son kind of thing. My dad wasn’t in the MC. I told you he was a navy man.” He was watching me with those hazel eyes as he whispered and pointed in the general direction behind him. “But this is a big family at the end of the day. Look at it. They’re all here for Nana Walker, and she isn’t related by blood to anybody here.”

Huh. I guess he had a point.

“You don’t mind not being in it?”

Dallas shook his head. “I haven’t known any of these guys except my uncle and Trip my entire life. It’s different for me. I had a lot of friends in the navy. I’m not missing out on anything.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You ever had a motorcycle?”

He chuckled deep and shook his head. “No. I like AC just fine.”

“You got that right.” I grinned.

“Bikes aren’t really my thing.”

I was not going to give him squinty, flirting eyes, damn it. I wasn’t going to do it. I made sure to keep my eyelids normal as I asked, “Do you have a thing?”

“I have a thing. I have a big thing—” Dallas immediately closed his mouth. His ears went red.

He blinked at me, and I blinked back at him.

And we both started laughing at the same time.

“Someone’s cocky.” I cracked up.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He chuckled in that low, loose way that sang straight into my crippled heart.

“I know. Me neither. I’m just busting your balls,” I told him, reaching over with my bad hand to touch the top of his.

His eyes met mine; we were both smiling at each other. And in that moment, it was the most connected I’d ever felt to anyone. Anyone ever.

God help me. It hit me. It hit me right then.

I was crazy in love with this motherfucker. I really, really was.

The realization had just entered my brain when a plate dropped onto the table in front of me, forcing us both to look over, shattering the moment into a dozen pieces. It was Jackson. Jackson who was already partially snarling as he pulled the chair out and dropped into it, carelessly, sloppy. I didn’t have to physically see the man next to me to know he had tensed. What I also didn’t have to witness with my own eyes was the hand that settled into the space between my shoulder blades, calming and steady. Dallas’s entire body shifted from how he’d been sitting facing me to suddenly facing forward, his attention on his brother.

“Where have you been?” was the first thing out Dallas’s mouth.

His younger brother picked up the plastic fork that had been on top of his plate of food and pecked at the portion of beans on it, his green-eyed gaze locked on Dallas. He seriously had the face of someone who had definitely been a little shit in his younger years and hadn’t outgrown that fucking attitude. “Around,” was his vague, muttered response.

The man who had been so at ease with me seconds ago, parked the elbow furthest away from me onto the table. He leaned forward, the palm on my back not moving an inch. His chest filled with a breath before he said, “I tried calling you a dozen times.”

“I know.”

I could feel Dallas’s tension skyrocket. “That’s all? You disappeared on me after the fire at Nana’s house and you can’t even answer your fucking phone?” the normally calm man growled.

I wasn’t imagining his face getting redder by the minute. It was definitely getting redder by the second, and it had nothing to do with us joking around.

Jackson stabbed his fork straight into his food, letting it stand, and glared forward. “Why do you act like you give a shit when you don’t?”

Dallas’s head cocked to the side. I could see him breathing hard; I’d never seen him react that way, but then again, siblings had this way of getting you right where it hurt. “Are you ever going to drop it? Twenty years later, you still can’t forgive me? We gotta keep talking about this?”

Oh no.

Jackson shook his head, his attention going down to the plate below him. When his attention was up again, he watched his brother as he angrily scooped food into his mouth, chewing with a mouth half open. He was trying to be an asshole. Really trying. What the hell was wrong with this man? As I looked through my peripheral vision at Dallas, I could see the muscles in the forearm resting on the table were flexed. I could see how tight his jaw was, and I hated it. This was the nicest man I’d ever met, and he lived with this stupid sense of guilt for no reason, all because of this prick in front of us.

Sensing me judging him, Jackson flicked his eyes in my direction, his expression an ornery one that drew his eyebrows low. “What? You got something to say?”

The palm between my shoulders slid up to drape over the shoulder furthest away from Dallas. He gave it a squeeze, and I knew it was a warning. The problem was I didn’t give a shit. “Yeah. You’re acting like a prick.”

Jack reared back like he was caught off guard or offended at what I’d said. “Fuck you. You don’t know me.”

Dallas squeezed my shoulder tight, his entire body going tense—more tense. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that—”

I cut him off, my gaze stuck on his brother. “Fuck you too. I’m glad I don’t know you. You’re a grown-ass man acting like a little kid.”

When Jackson dropped his fork and leaned forward onto the table, his hands grabbing hold of the sides, I didn’t flinch.

“Jackson, back up now,” Dallas growled, already shoving his chair back.

He didn’t move and neither did I.

“Jack,” Dallas repeated in that bossy voice of his, getting to his feet.

The youngest Walker didn’t move an inch, the expression on his face said that he wanted to hit me. I’d seen it on another man’s face before, and I knew it for what it was. Violence. Anger. The difference was that I wasn’t the same person I’d been before. The difference was that I cared about the person this jackass was constantly hurting. Maybe Dallas felt so guilty he wouldn’t tell it to his brother like it needed to be, but I wasn’t afraid to.

“You don’t know shit, you Mexican bitch,” the man spat, staring at me with those eyes somehow so much like Dallas’s and so different at the same time.

“Say one more fucking word, and I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.” Dallas’s voice was so low, so purred that I couldn’t catch my thoughts for a second.

But once I did, I raised an eyebrow at Jackson and tipped my chin down in an “oh really” face, my hand going to rest on Dallas’s forearm. “My brother died two years ago. I know that I would do anything to have him back in my life, and you have one in yours who loves you and puts up with your bullshit even though you don’t deserve it with the way you act, jackass. I miss mine every single day of my life, and I hope one day you don’t regret pushing yours away for something he did twenty years ago that doesn’t require forgiveness.”

The leer on his face should have warned me he was going to take his assholeness to a different level. I really should have known. But I wasn’t prepared for Jackson snorting as he dropped into the chair and leaned against the back, his expression a horrible one.

“Get the hell outta here,” Dallas told him. “Now.”

But like most younger siblings, he didn’t listen.

The younger Walker snarled. “What’d your brother do? Kill himself eating too many tacos?”

It was easy to remember when you weren’t angry that people say things they don’t mean when their feelings are hurt. It wasn’t so easy when you were a breath away from taking a butter knife and using it to stab someone. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realized that Jack didn’t know anything about me and my life, or me and my family.

By some miracle, out of the corner of my eye, I caught two big hands gripping the edge of the table, I caught a “Jack” out of Dallas’s mouth that didn’t sound human. It didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to figure that Dallas was on the verge of flipping it. It could only be that extreme love you could have for someone who had come out of the same womb as you—or been born from someone who had—that could persevere in a situation like this. I couldn’t blame him. He loved this jackoff, asshole or not.

But I’d learned over the last few years that the only person who could fight my battles was me. And even though I was sure I would later regret him not defending my honor and taking this matter into my own hands, I brushed Dallas’s forearm with the back of my burned hand before reaching over to grab a cup of something red with ice that Jackson had brought to the table. Dallas’s eyes met mine even as this sickening feeling filled my belly at his brother’s thoughtlessness.

His hands loosened a moment before I faced Jack again and tossed the liquid inside the cup at his face, watching the red go everywhere—his face, ears, neck, and shirt. His mouth dropped open like he couldn’t fucking believe it.

Good.

“He had a traumatic brain injury, you insensitive, immature asshole,” I spat out, wishing there was another cup of red liquid to throw at his stupid face again. “He slipped on some ice, fell, and hit his head. That’s how he died. There weren’t any tacos involved, you prick.”

Fuck it, I wish there was a Slushie so I could toss that at him instead.

Angrier than I’d been in a long time, the muscles in my arms and neck were tight and my stomach hurt.

“Oh, hey, Diana, let’s go see what Ginny’s doing, what do you think?” a voice asked from behind me as two hands settled on my shoulders and literally yanked me back. “I got her. Dallas, deal with him.” Trip’s voice was right by my ear.

I was mostly numb as Trip steered me through the crowd that had been watching what had happened so quickly. I didn’t like being the center of attention, but if I’d had to do it again, I would. Damn it, I wanted to do it all over again.

It wasn’t until we were halfway to the salon that my poor hand gave a dull throb, reminding me that I’d used it to grab the cup. “Damn it,” I hissed, shaking it, like that would do something to help the pain.

“You all right, honey?” he asked, looking down at my hand.

“I used the wrong hand.” I shook it again and gave that wrist a squeeze with my good hand. “Oww.” It had been getting better, but I had gripped the cup too hard.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. “One minute, I saw you sitting there with Dal, gigglin’ like a girl, and the next, you’re both standing up, you start yelling at Jackson and throw Hawaiian Punch at his face.”

“What happened is that he’s a spoiled little bitch. That’s what happened.”

Trip laughed that laugh that made me do the same. “Spoiled little bitch. Got it.”

“Dallas’s brother or not, he’s the worst. I don’t understand how two people can be so different,” I grumbled as we made it to the door of Shear Dialogue. Trip opened the door for me, and I went in first. “He’s lucky I didn’t grab a chair and go WWE on his ass.”

Trip laughed even louder.

At her station, Ginny had her back to us as she cut a client’s hair, tossing over her shoulder, “We’ll be with you in a minute!”

“It’s just me,” I called out. “And Trip.”

Over at my station, there was a woman I’d met a couple of times in the past who had worked with us before when someone went on vacation. She was a nice lady who was a stay-at-home mom who took jobs here and there. Recognizing me, she waved and I waved back. In the seat in between my station and Ginny’s was Sean. I settled for holding up a hand, and he did the same right back. According to Ginny, he was mad I had taken three weeks off work. Like I could control how quickly I healed.

Ginny didn’t reply as she kept up what she was doing. By the time she finished blow drying her customer’s hair, I had led Trip into the break room and we’d taken seats at the table. I was calm again. She took one look at me and asked, “What happened?”

“Your cousin happened,” Trip snickered as he took a sip of Pepsi.

“What did Dallas do?” she asked, confused.

“Not Dallas,” Trip replied before I could.

Her features dropped into a blank mask. “Oh. Him.”

Cradling my hand on my thigh, I leaned back on the chair and watched my boss. “I should have asked why you always made faces every time his name was brought up. Now I know.”

“He said something stupid?”

How did she know? “Uh-huh.”

Ginny shook her head before making her way to the fridge and pulling out a glass bottle of water, taking a slow drink. “It’s what he does best. I don’t think there’s a woman he’s related to he hasn’t insulted at some point or another, even Miss Pearl. What he say?”

“Something about my brother,” I told her, not in the mood to replay what the hell had come out of his mouth exactly.

She winced. “He called me a slut when I was pregnant with number two because I wasn’t married. And maybe about six years ago, he said I was an old bitch.” Ginny’s smile was grim. “Good times.”

That asshole. “Now I definitely won’t feel bad about throwing Hawaiian Punch at his face.”

Ginny howled, settling her bottle of water on the counter, which made me smirk. “What happened? Where’s Dallas?”

“At the shop,” I told her.

“My best guess is that he’s telling Jackson to fuck right off,” was Trip’s input.

“He should,” Ginny scoffed, her gaze meeting Trip’s as they exchanged a look I didn’t understand.

“What was that about?” I asked.

She was trying to be innocent, but it wasn’t working. We’d known each other too long, witnessed each other want to kill people while plastering smiles on our faces. “What?”

“That face you made at each other. What is it?”

“Nothing—”

The chime of the front door opening had, by instinct, Gin and I both glancing at the television in the corners where images of the security camera were shown. On the screen, the body I would always recognize as Dallas’s appeared.

“He’s not here looking for me,” Gin commented.

Getting to my feet, I shook off the rest of my bad mood and made my way out of the break room toward the front, leaving the two cousins inside to go over whatever little secret they were harboring between each other. When Dallas’s eyes landed on me, I was torn with what to say or how to act. He tipped his head in the direction of the door behind him and I nodded, following him outside.

The door had barely closed when he said, with his attention aimed at the sidewalk, “Diana, I’m sorry.”

Sorry? I couldn’t help but poke him in the chest, right in the center of his pecs. “What do you have to be sorry about? You didn’t do anything.”

“Jack—”

I poked him again, waiting until his gaze was drawn from the ground and landed on me. Those brown and gold eyes looking ashamed and remorseful made me feel awful. “What he does is not your fault. I’m not mad or hurt by you.”

His irises moved back and forth from one of mine to the other, as if trying to search for the truth I had just said out loud.

“I’m sorry I’m not sorry for butting into a conversation that wasn’t mine to get into, and I’m not sorry for throwing that drink on him, either,” I whispered for no real reason at all. “You don’t deserve that, and neither did I.”

That handsome, handsome face didn’t crack with the seriousness burned into every line of it. “I’m sorry for what he said,” he whispered back.

I raised my eyebrows. “You didn’t say it or make him say it. I’m not mad, and I hope you aren’t mad at me either.”

“Why would I be?” The corners of his mouth drew up into a smile I wasn’t positive he even knew he made.

“He’s your brother. I don’t want to come between you two, but I can’t sit there and let him talk to you like that either.” I blinked. “Was everything okay after I left?”

In the blink of an eye, Dallas’s entire body language went back to an angry one. “We had some words and he left. I don’t care what he does right now, but I’ve had it.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. I didn’t want to come between his family.

He tipped his chin toward me, those pretty eyes focused on my face. “You and me are good then?” He used the same words I’d used on him so many months ago.

“We’re good, Lord Voldemort.” He made a snickering sound that had me smiling. There was something about him standing so close to me, looking down that touched me in a way I wasn’t willing to put words to. “You want to hug this out or is it against the rules? No one’s watching.” Except maybe Ginny and Trip, I realized after I said it.

Dallas was still looking down at me as his arms went around my head without another word, pulling me into his warm, tall body. My cheek found a spot between his pectorals as I wrapped my arms around the middle of his back, feeling long, hard muscles under his clothes. As much as I didn’t want to accept it or believe it, the truth was, I was in love with him. Completely. It was pointless to want to think otherwise.

And, as if he could read my mind, the arms around me tightened and he hugged me like… I wasn’t sure what. Like he’d missed me. Like he didn’t want to let me go, now or ever.

Like he felt the same thing for me that I felt for him.

Before I could stop my big mouth from running, I told him the truth bouncing around in every cell of my body. “This is nice.”