Better Than You (The Walker Family Series Book 3) (29 page)

She didn’t have time, because his long legs brought him right up to the car and he leaned down, his face filling the open driver’s side window. She could just make out the glimmer of his eyes in the dark, the shape of his face.

“Did Jo really bring you? Or is she lying?” he asked. She thought there was a tense note in his voice that could have been hope.

“I came,” she said, and his face pulled back, the latch lifting with a click as he opened the door and slid down into the driver’s seat…tried to anyway.

“Holy shit,” he cursed as he whacked his head and sank awkwardly behind the wheel, his knees jacked up to his chin. “Damn midget,” he grumbled, and Delta heard the whine of the tiny motor as he found the seat-back button and moved the sea
t all the way back. She bit down on a sudden, giddy smile as he finally managed to gain enough room for his long legs and stretched them out, closing the door and sealing them in.

“You okay?” she asked
.

“She’s too damn short.” He braced his hands on the wheel and blew out a loud breath. She could see the nervous tension in
his arms, even in the shadows. His head turned toward her, his eyes shiny spots in the dark of his face, and Delta held her breath.

He regarded her a long moment while her pulse thrummed in her ears, rapid as a hummingbird’s. Her palms tingled and her chest ached and suddenly, there was too much to say, and not enough words to express it properly.

Finally, Mike cleared his throat and his gaze swung out through the dash. “I’m going to tell you something,” he said, “that you can’t repeat to anyone.”

She nodded,
then realized he probably couldn’t see her. “Okay.”

“It’s his story to tell, not mine, but I need you to understand, so…”

A shiver went up her spine and left gooseflesh across her body.

“Tam’s mom died this morning,” he said, and she made a sympathetic sound. “And that’s the best part of this story…”

In his typical, inelegant fashion, he painted her a picture with bold strokes, not bothering to leave certain points to suggestion. He’d met Tam in middle school, Walker and Wales sitting one behind the other in homeroom. Tam had been, in Mike’s thirteen-year-old mind, “cool,” and a little shy, and a little too hungry at lunch. Raised as one of a whole litter of children, Mike had been used to sharing, and the more he’d gone out of his way to include Tam, to grant him even the smallest of kindnesses, the more loyal, the more steadfast Tam had become. Beth had, after the first few of Tam’s visits, pulled Mike aside, tears in her eyes, and explained to her son what it meant to have a home that wasn’t a home at all, and she’d hugged Mike and cried over what she’d called his “sweetness.”

Delta had a lump in her throat as the tale progressed, as Mike told her about Tam’s big father, and his big hands, and the unspeakable things he’d done with them. Told her about Melinda Wales and all her many, many weaknesses, about the ways in which Tam was solid steel, and the ways in which that steel cut so unforgivingly into other parts of his psyche.

Delta was batting lashes heavy with tears when he reached Ireland, and he tried, with difficulty, to keep his big brother side at bay as he admitted that his mother was right, that Tam couldn’t be left to fend for himself anymore, and that more than any of them, he needed Jo.

“I didn’t know,” she said in a choked voice. “I had no idea, I…”

With his profile limned by the softest touch of the streetlamp, his smile seemed sad. “No one ever does. And he’s not exactly easy to get close to these days. I should have told you, I guess.”

But he hadn’t, because he was loyal to his friend. Because he was that kind of guy.
Because the traits that the scumbags of the world had long since forgone were so deeply ingrained in him. Because he was more than a little bit extraordinary.

His gaze came to her face, searching through the shadows. “You
wanna go inside?”

“Yes.”

38.

M
ike’s phone rang at the bottom of the stairs and he answered it with a tired-sounding, “Yeah?”

Delta toed off her pumps and set them neatly beneath the coat rack in the foyer while he had a short conversation with whoever was on the other line, gave his thanks, then hung up.

“Mitch,” he explained. “His brother’s in insurance and I needed to get an address.”

She nodded, not wanting to press for info that was clearly none of her business.

He rubbed the back of his neck, expression reluctant. “Tam and I hafta take care of something tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

He watched her and she realized that he was waiting, wondering which one of them would initiate the painful series of apologies that needed to be spoken. He would, his wounded green eyes told her, submit to her and come groveling if that’s what it took. But she knew, as she tried again to swallow the lump in her throat, that she didn’t want him to do that. She didn’t want to hear what a hero he was and then force him to beg. He was a caveman – her caveman – and she didn’t want to take that away from him.

“Can we go upstairs?” she asked and hoped like hell she succeeded in lowering her shields, letting him see how much regret she carried.

He saw; the planes of his face softened and he extended a hand that she slipped hers into, towed her up the staircase. They paused at the top and he cast a glance down the empty, shadowed hall. Tam and Jo were down there, she felt sure, and he was still struggling with the notion. She pressed her free hand against his back and gave him a little push, and he turned into the master suite, pulling her with him and closing the door. There was a finality about the click of the latch; she suppressed another shiver as she faced the daunting task of laying her heart at his feet for the last available time. She paced to the foot of his bed, left him at the door, and turned to face him with a deep breath…

Only she couldn’t say anything. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of wax pine that was her dressing table, out of place amid the black and gray of his bedroom. “My furniture,” she said stupidly, meeting his gaze. “It’s all still here?”

“The stuff smells like you,” he said, lip curling. “It’s driving me nuts.”

But he hadn’t thrown it
out on the curb.

“How’s your face?” she asked, eyes tracing the faint pink lines her claws had left.

He shrugged. “Fine.”

She had relived the memory at least a hundred times: her hand flashing, fingers angled so her nails would do maximum damage. She’d tried to tell herself that she’d just wanted him to turn her loose – and she
had
been gripped with the fear that he’d hurt her – but she’d scratched him with vicious intent, not just self-preservation. Because she was cold and unfeeling and she’d wanted to punish him for making her vulnerable.

“Oh, Mikey…” her voice cracked, tears filling her eyes again. Her chest gave a big squeeze, and then another as he start
ed toward her. “No, wait.” She dashed at her eyes and tried to smile. “Gimme a sec. I need to say my piece.”

His hands closed over empty air, he leaned toward her, but he stayed his ground. She needed the space between them because once his arms slid around her, she wouldn’t be able to speak, and he
needed
to hear what she had to say.

“Do you remember,” she asked with a deep breath, “how you asked me if I’d ever been in love with anyone before?”

He nodded, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. In his face, she read that he remembered that moment exactly: on the edge of her bed, his ring on her finger, her heart in her throat.

“It wasn’t because the opportunity never presented itself,” she said. “It was because I never
could
love anyone. Because they didn’t deserve it.”

What he wanted to say in response wouldn’t be held down, apparently.
“That thing in the closet, in Ireland, babe – ”

“You don’t have to
– ”

“No, I
do
.” His expression was pained, earnest. “I
know better
than to…do what I did. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I am, I - ”

“I know you are.” S
he heard the emotional strain in her voice and decided not to fight it. What she wanted to tell him hadn’t changed, but his apology left her even more certain, if that was possible. “You didn’t hurt me,” she assured. “And it wasn’t like I didn’t…enjoy myself.” She felt a blush come up her neck and creep across her cheeks. “But it just scared me a little.”

He took a step toward he
r and she held up her hand, knowing she couldn’t keep him back, grateful he stayed back anyway.

“I don’t want to pretend Ireland didn’t happen,” she said, feeling too logical, “because I think it would be stupid not to remember our mistakes and learn from them.”

He nodded.

“But I don’t…” She swallowed.
“I don’t want it to wreck us, because…” How could she pride herself on apropos quips and then be so speechless now? She was, she knew, so spot-on with cutting remarks that she’d lost the skill to wield sweetness, even when she so desperately wanted to. She reached up with her right hand, brushed her fingers across the crown she wore at her throat, and watched his eyes follow her movement. Watched his spark of gladness. “Because…” The words started lining up like dominos; all she had to do was give them a little push to get them going. “I’m done pretending,” she said, and felt a welcome flush of confidence.

His brows lifted in silent question
and one foot slid just a fraction closer across the carpet.

“I’m tired
of wanting,” she went on, “all those inconsequential things I’m supposed to want. I wasted so much time worrying about pleasing my parents, about the legacy I’m supposed to leave – but it was the wrong kind of legacy. It was superficial and heartless. And I didn’t know any better because I had no idea what it really, truly was
supposed
to be like. You have
ruined
me for anyone else, Mike,” she said, and clutched her hand around the charm. “If we can’t fix this and I walk out that door…I’ll be a miserable old spinster the rest of my life.” Giving him that kind of power was terrifying, but it was true and necessary.

He inched toward her again; she saw the tension in him, how hard he was working to maintain the distance, and knew she was fast running out of time.

She took a deep breath that hitched in her chest, felt the tears threatening to overflow her lashes. “I still can’t believe you love me. You are kind and you are good, and…” she found his eyes with hers and locked on tight, “you make me smile, and make me laugh, and make my heart beat faster. You make me feel like
the safest, prettiest, most perfect girl in the world and no one – not anyone in my life – has ever, nor will ever, do that better than you.”

It was the sort of big, heavy,
hard to hold statement that hit like a sack of hammers. But Mike was tall and broad and strong, and he took it without faltering. His smile was unsteady, but his voice wasn’t. “Are you done?”

She nodded.

“Is that as close as you’re ever going to get to really telling me you love me?”

“No.” She swallowed hard. “I
love
you.” And then she stole from Tam with a shaky smile of her own: “More than you even know.”

Nothing had ever been as welcome as the way he charged her and snatched her up, lifted her feet off the ground as he crushed her against his chest and pressed his face into the hollow of her throat.
She clung to him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and wasn’t sure which one of them was shaking. Probably both of them.

**

She was still wearing her ring; as she slid her hand up the back of his neck, fingers threading through the supershort hair at the back of his head, he felt the cool, smooth band against his skin. Even with her fragile and trembling inside his arms, he wanted confirmation. He wanted to ask her if she’d still marry him, if all this stupid crazy drama could be over so they could just live their lives together. But he knew what he needed to do instead; he tangled a hand in all her thick, dark hair and eased her back away from him a fraction, far enough so he could look down into her face. Her eyes were wide and warm and swimming with tears.

He withd
rew his arm from around her waist so he could reach up and cradle the side of her face with his other hand, smoothed the pad of his thumb along the high ridge of her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he told her again, and waited to see her tiny smile and her nod before he ducked his head and kissed her.

Mike took his time, thinking about the night in the coat closet, wanting this to replace that memory in her mind. He eased his lips against hers, waited until she responded before he pushed them wider
, let her invite his tongue into her mouth, let her sigh and lean into him, her jaw cracking wide. Still he didn’t rush, but walked them through a slow reacquainting, making out like teenagers trying to wring every last sensation from just a kiss.

Delta was the one who
broke away and pulled back, stepped out of his arms. Breathing a little heavy, all reticence gone from her expression, she watched his face as she plucked down the straps of her sundress and smoothed the dark blue cotton down her waist, over her hips, and let it drop to the floor. Her hands went to the clasp of her bra and he loved the way her spine arched, the way the lamplight carved shadows along her ribs and the sleek contours of her stomach. Her bra hit the floor, then her panties, and then she was in front of him, naked and spectacular and beckoning him to her.

His hands and hers worked in a frenzy to strip off his clothes, and then he eased her back across his bed, braced over her on his arms. Her eyes were glittering dark coffee watching him with a sort of rapturous attention he hadn’t seen in her before; it sent a welcome rush of heat blasting through him.

With the lights on, he made up for the night in the dark of the ballroom coat closet, and did his best to live up to
no one does that better than you
.

**

Morning’s arrival was a painful reality. Delta cracked her eyes to the blinding vista through the picture window and groaned to herself. She didn’t want to get out of bed, or, worse, slip from beneath the heavy arm Mike had draped across her waist.

But Mike and Tam had plans this morning, and she had a driving urge to mak
e her man – and his very messed-up friend – breakfast. With regret, she sat up and eased his arm away, smiled when he stirred and wiped at his eyes like a child.

“Where…?” was the closest he could come to forming a real
question.

She leaned over and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “I’m
gonna make breakfast before you guys have to leave.”

He mumbled something unintelligible.

Stacks of labeled cardboard boxes shoved along the wall beside his dresser were full of all the clothes she’d moved over before leaving for Ireland, but as she left the haven of the sheets and his warmth, she didn’t want any of her own things. She found a t-shirt and basketball shorts that swallowed her whole, but having his fabric against her skin was the next best thing to rolling over in bed and plastering herself to his side.

Downstairs, fresh sunlight lay in silver stripes across the floors, finding spots to shine in the kitchen. There was something soothing and domestic – in her life, forbidden even – about being the only one awake in the house, cooking and humming to herself, acting the little missus. She’d worked in Mike’s kitchen enough to know every corner of it, to work as efficiently as a gourmet chef in it. Absorbed in collecting things from the fridge and lining them up on the counter, she didn’t hear Jo, but suddenly saw her, small and disheveled, standing in the threshold.

She tried and failed to hide her startled reaction, and they regarded one another a long moment. Yesterday hadn’t made them friends. Delta still didn’t know how to work around the girl, but she was going to have to learn, she guessed, if they were going to be sisters-in-law. It was an effort she hadn’t made before, a lack of a willingness to try that had been one of so many pre-Ireland mistakes.

“Do you cook?” she asked, and thought Jo’s always-ready hackles smoothed. “I’m making eggs.”

“Not even a little bit,” Jo admitted, which wasn’t a surprise.

“Can you work the toaster?”

“Yes.”

The Walkers were not going to be swept under the rug and forgotten. They didn’t love her – God knew if they ever would – but Delta needed to love them.
For Mike.

**

They went looking for Tam’s father. The address Mitch provided took them to the slum apartment Hank Wales was renting, but his landlady informed them he’d disappeared one night. They checked his favorite haunts, talked to sketchy losers leaning up against dumpsters, but the trail had long since run cold. Mike accepted their strange morning for what it was: the sort of unsavory errand he didn’t ever want his friend to endure alone. He carried Delta’s accepting half-smile in his pocket and chose to think about Jo in the only way he could at the moment; she was probably the only other person who could help him deal with the snakes in Tam’s head right now.