CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The phone rang, and rang, and rang.

But then, if he were her, he probably wouldn’t answer either. Tossing the phone onto the counter, he grabbed his cup of coffee and downed a hearty gulp.

Honestly, he shouldn’t even have called her so early. He should let her sleep. She’d probably been up celebrating last night, anyway. He’d looked up the results online and pumped a fist in victory over her team’s win. He was proud of her and sad that he’d missed it.

Sadder still over the notes he’d sent.

He leaned back against the steel fridge and closed his eyes. What had he been thinking? But that was the problem—he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been feeling and letting all those stirred-up, messed-up, mixed-up emotions from meeting his long-lost brother rule over him.

He’d simply reacted. Matchstick fast, like he did in sports. When he went bungee jumping, he didn’t let himself think. You don’t give yourself any space to contemplate the decision. You just jump and free-fall. Same as snowboarding the black diamond back trails—just push off and attack the moguls with ruthless speed.

That kind of split-second fearlessness came in handy in his pursuit of adventure sports. But it could be the death knell for a budding relationship.

“Shit,” he said, cursing at himself as he drank more of the caffeinated brew, then set the nearly drained mug on the counter. He’d already logged some time on the lake this morning, on top of last night’s epic two-hour row club workout. The bookends to his midnight and dawn had worked—they’d kept him on the straight and narrow. He’d been tempted last night—the pull of the one sure way to wash away his woes had been potent. But he’d stayed strong, so at least he had that victory.

Now all he wanted was to see Elle and make sense of what had gone down. But it was too early, so he grabbed his keys and sunglasses, left his house, and headed to visit the two people he knew would be up at this hour on a weekend—his dad’s two best friends, Sanders and Donald. That was the cool thing about older dudes. They could be counted on to be wide-awake at dawn.

He drove over to the Golden Nugget and found them where they always were on a Saturday morning. Sanders usually joined Donald at his table for a few final rounds with his favorite dealer before Donald’s overnight shift ended. They’d cap that off with eggs and bacon, then meet their wives for coffee.

Donald dealt cards at the Golden Nugget and had for years, and Sanders was a mechanic at the limo company where Colin’s dad had worked. Colin had known them growing up, before and after his dad’s death. Sanders was a salt-and-pepper haired fellow with a bad back from working on cars his whole life, while Donald was a balding, skinny guy with an ever-present glint in his eyes that seemed to draw crowds to his tables whenever he worked.

At this hour on a Saturday, Sanders was the only one at Donald’s table, so Colin caught them up on the latest news from the detective about the drug dealing, as well as yesterday’s shocker.

“Is that not the craziest thing you’ve heard?” Colin said, as he finished the story and perused his cards.

Donald blew out a long stream of air, capping it with a low whistle. “If it’s not the craziest, it’s damn close. She was a real piece of work, that woman.”

Colin huffed. “Yeah, that’s for sure. Did my dad even know about the stuff she was up to?”

Sanders shook his head. “Hell no,” he said emphatically. “He knew she was getting into some bad shit and running into trouble with money. But being pregnant? No way. He’d have told us for sure.”

“He would?”

Sanders nodded as he studied his cards, exchanging one for a new card. “We were all pretty up front with each other. He told us some of what was going on at work. Like when there was some trouble at the company for a spell and he was trying to make heads and tails of it. Told us, too, what was happening at home with Dora and the fights they had about money, then stuff about you guys. Teaching Mike to drive and Shan to play pool. Hell, we all heard the story of that hickey you got,” he said with a wink, darting out his index finger to tap Colin’s neck as if he were twelve again.

Colin lifted his palm as if he were in a court taking an oath. “I solemnly swear it was an accidental scratch.”

Donald nodded and adopted a too-serious look. “Yeah, that sixth-grader at your school dance had some sharp nails.”

Colin chuckled, remembering when he’d made up that elaborate tale to avoid saying a girl had given him a hickey at a middle school dance. He’d been twelve and wildly embarrassed by the black and blue amoeba-shaped mark on his neck, so he’d concocted a crazy fable when his father had picked him up. His dad saw straight through it and teased him about it. Evidently his dad had told his best buddies, too. That warmed his heart.

He returned to less amusing topics. “What about the cheating, though? Did my dad know about Luke?”

“He was suspicious,” Donald said as he doled out two more cards to Colin.

Colin arched an eyebrow. “He knew she was fooling around?”

“He didn’t have any evidence, but a man just knows these things,” Donald said, setting down the deck and parking his hands on the green felt of the table. “He could tell from her behavior. That’s what he told us—that she’d been spending more time out of the house. More time unaccounted for. But you know, it was different back then. People didn’t have cell phones and email, and didn’t walk around with cameras, snapping pics of people having affairs. It was way easier for her to get away with it.”

Colin’s gut churned, and his shoulders tensed with simmering hate. He detested everything his mom had done to his dad. Every single thing. “Did he care? Was he bothered? Was he in love with her still?”

Sanders tipped his chin at Donald. “What do you think, Don? Did Thomas still love Dora?”

Donald ran his hand over his smooth head. “Ah, hell. How can I answer that? We weren’t fond of your mom, kid. We didn’t like her way before any of the real shit went down, because she was fucking around on him. So I don’t want my dislike for her to cloud the answer. But I think he cared for her. And more than anything, he cared about you kids. You were the center of his world. The four of you—man, that’s what he loved most. Being your dad. He was as good to Dora as anyone could be to a woman like that, and he cared about her because she was the mother of his children. He showed her respect. Because he loved you and your brothers and sister.”

As Donald picked up the deck, Colin stared distantly at the sparse morning sprinkling of gamblers at slots and tables, blinking away the tears that threatened to well up. His father had been gone so long, and most days he honestly didn’t think about him that much. Not for lack of love, but because time has a way of soothing the pain. The years made the hurt of missing him recede into the horizon.

But the time that passed would never take away the good things his father had passed on to him—love, respect, and truth. Colin might have spiraled after his dad’s death, but he’d picked himself up since then. He’d apologized for his mistakes. He’d become a better man—the man his father had taught him to be.

That man needed to see one woman now.

* * *

The blanket fell to the floor.

Elle rustled herself from the couch, sitting up straight as she yawned. The light shone brightly through her living room window. She glanced around, getting her bearings, then she spotted a note on the coffee table. From her mom, it was written on a yellow piece of stationery with a cartoonish fox in the corner. “Hey sweetie, I picked up Alex this morning. You were sound asleep. I’ll take him for the day. Get your rest, my love.”

She grabbed her phone to check the time. It was after nine. She’d been conked out since before midnight. Those pills must have worked brilliantly. She hadn’t even heard anyone leave. She never slept this long. She wiggled her thumb gingerly, and it didn’t hurt anymore.

She wished she could say the same about her heart. She’d need super-duper strength pills to numb the sting of the barrage of notes from Colin. He felt so deceived by her. She understood why, and she’d tried to prepare herself for this moment, but there was no true way to be ready for a reaction to something that huge.

She’d just have to take her lumps like a big girl and move on from him. He clearly wanted nothing to do with her.

As she placed her phone on the table, a memory boomeranged front and center. An odd Facebook comment from last night. Something strangely…menacing. She clicked on her app and scanned the post on the team’s wall. But whatever she’d been remembering was now gone. The post only included comments from her derby teammates, fans, and friends.

Weird. She shrugged, figuring the pain pill had made her a little loopy.

She padded to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and took a quick shower. When she was through, she pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, headed to the kitchen, and punched in the 90s channel on her satellite radio. She hummed along to a Pearl Jam tune as she hunted for eggs and bread in the fridge.

The music was interrupted by a knock on the door.

With one hand gripping the open fridge door, she made a wish. She couldn’t help it. She hoped against hope that it would be Colin. A foolish, ridiculous wish.

After all his notes, there was no way he’d be here this morning. She’d need to rid him from her mind. After breakfast, she’d tackle the Forget Colin project.

She headed to the front door, peered through the peephole, and squeaked when she saw that dark hair, that sandpaper stubble, and those yummy lips. That man.

She burst into a grin.

Wait.

Prickles of worry tripped across her skin. What if he was still pissed? What if he’d come here to tell her he never wanted to see her again? And what the hell? Had that dumb pill made her forget that he’d been kind of mean to her?

She inhaled deeply, letting the air fill her chest, and gathered her strength. Whether he was mad or not, whether she was hurt or not, she needed to say her piece. She opened the door, ready to finally explain that she’d been bound by her ethics not to say a word.

He was faster. He locked eyes with her. “Hey, so I’m an asshole, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

The grin returned to her face, and she shook her head. “No, you’re not,” she said quickly, needing to reassure him. “Not at all. But do you want to come in?”

He nodded and walked inside. She shut the door behind him, and they stood in her tiny entryway. He wore cargo shorts and a blue T-shirt that revealed his strong biceps without being showy. A part of her wanted to run her hands along his arms, but that was not what this visit was about. There were things to be said. So many things. And though she was happy to see him, her heart still hurt from his messages, and from the weight of the secrets she’d had to keep.

“Colin,” she said, starting with her own mea culpa. “You have to know how sorry I am. If there were a way I could have told you, I would have. I desperately wanted to. It was so hard for me not to say anything. I hated keeping it from you. But I couldn’t do that to Marcus.”

“I know. I swear, I know,” he said, relief and frustration in his voice as he dragged one hand through his hair. “And I should have known better. I was so blindsided, and then a million times more shocked to learn you had been helping him. But instead of sitting down and talking to you to try to understand the situation, I just lashed out.” He stopped to take a quiet breath. “And that’s not the kind of person I want to be. My ex did that to me, and I don’t want to be that guy. That guy who sends those messages.”

“Then don’t be that guy,” she said matter-of-factly. She understood that he’d been knocked to his knees by news he couldn’t have prepared for, but she also wasn’t going to be on the receiving end of his anger. “Be the guy who gives me a chance to explain and work it out. And be the guy who treats me with respect even if you’re upset.”

“I will. I promise I will,” he said, his voice a plea for forgiveness. “That’s not how I want to treat you. I was just so stunned by everything that I stopped thinking.” He rocked lightly on his heels as Eddie Vedder sang on the stereo in the kitchen. “It was all so out of the blue. There I was, talking to Ryan about how he’s planning to propose to Sophie—”

A full dose of glee raced through her veins. “He’s going to propose?”

He smiled. “See? There I go again, just saying what’s on my mind. Don’t tell her, okay?”

She rubbed her hands together. “Ooh. Another secret. But this one is the good kind to keep.”

“So he’s telling me about the trip, and his plans, and his dog is jumping in the car, and, Elle…” He stopped to look her in the eyes, letting the enormity of the moment register. “My fucking half-brother appears, takes off a cape, and says ‘Ta da!’ It was beyond surreal. And he talked for a long time, and then he told me you’d been advising him. And boom.” He smashed one palm against the other. “It was like hitting a wall. I just didn’t know what to think, and I snapped back. I was too honest. Too direct. I should have filtered myself and taken some time to process this news. Instead, I processed it with you. Over a text message. And I just typed everything that came to mind, rather than talk to you.” He downshifted to a gentler tone, meeting her eyes and doing what she’d asked. “So talk to me.”

At last, she was free of the burden of the secret. “I just want you to try to understand that I didn’t want to keep this secret from you. But he asked for my confidence before he told me he was your brother, and I was torn apart knowing that. But it would have been so wrong for me to tell you.” She reached for him, running her fingers gently across the tanned skin of his arm, wanting contact.

“Wrong? Elle, that’s not what I—” Then he stopped and gestured to her thumb with the splint on it. “What happened?”

She shrugged it off. “Nothing. I crashed during the match.”

He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss onto the small splint. Her heart fluttered. Maybe this wasn’t the end of them.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Everyone is making a big deal of it. It was just a dislocated thumb, and evidently it’s relocated now,” she said with a small smirk as she wiggled her thumb. “It’s not like I broke a tibia crashing off a sheer rock wall or something. But it did hurt like hell yesterday. They even gave me some pain meds.” She gestured to the bottle on the coffee table. He followed her gaze, and she wondered if he was tempted. Perhaps she should have tucked them away. But then, as she searched his eyes looking for a sign of longing, she was glad to find none.

“Did they help you?” he asked, his tone one of concern for her.

She nodded. “I feel much better.”

“Can I still hold your hand, though?” he asked, lifting his hand to hers then gently sliding his fingers through, lacing them together. Her heart danced a crazy jig. So much for that momentary panic. Now, the organ in her chest was engaged in a full-blown tango of joy.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He stepped closer, tenderly clasping her hand. “I’m sorry I said all those things. I didn’t mean it when I said I don’t know how I feel about you. Maybe for a few seconds, or a few minutes, I didn’t know which way was up or down. But then when I thought about it, I knew exactly how I felt about you.”

“And how do you feel?”