Starts With a Bang (Redemption Ridge #7)

Chapter Four

Dom

“J ust do it.”

Talking to myself—out loud, no less—had to be a sign that I was as pitiful as Kerry had described me two years ago. In his defense, he hadn’t used those exact words when he interrupted the sexiest kiss I’d ever had just because I was experiencing it with his brother.

Parked in front of Kerry and Sven’s parents’ house, I tried to work up my courage to go inside and make my move on Sven. I’d been waging this war ever since I woke up and was no closer to finding the bravery the situation required. Our random hookup had developed into one of the most beautiful and meaningful relationships I’d ever experienced, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more, and that scared the hell out of me. But why? Sven had made his feelings abundantly clear, and yet my legs bounced hard enough to shake the van.

What was I afraid of? That I wouldn’t have enough time to dedicate to a relationship. Look how many movie nights I missed. Just thinking about it made my stomach cramp. I lived for Sven’s colorful commentary each week because my life felt dull without it. His flirty texts made me feel sexy and desired and alive. Sven was ready to take the leap and explore the crazy chemistry between us. I came close to surrendering on a few occasions but managed to pull back in time. What would happen if I gave in? “I could hurt him. I could disappoint myself. And I could ruin my friendship with Kerry.”

The DJ rolled out of the commercial break with Thanksgiving Day football scores. When the opening strands of a popular Christmas song came through the speakers, I turned the radio off with a savage growl. “Thanksgiving Day isn’t over yet!” And now I was yelling at the radio.

A silhouette in the big picture window caught my attention. I knew exactly who it was, and I begged the universe to throw me a bone. Please don’t let Sven part the curtains and see me hiding in my van in front of his parents’ house like a coward. He might come outside to see what was going on, and I would be tempted to pull him inside and do very wicked things to him. My phone rang, and I jumped at the shrill intrusion. How dare someone disrupt my pity party. I expected to see Kerry’s or Sven’s name on the caller ID, but a photo of my smiling mother greeted me instead.

I accepted the call and held the phone to my ear. “Hi, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving!” The volume of my parents’ combined voices made me cringe. They thought they needed to shout to be heard through the speakers. I could tell them it wasn’t necessary until I was blue in the face, or I could hold the phone away from my ear.

“How’s Arizona?” I asked.

“Beautiful!” Mom yelled.

“Perfection!” Dad added. A wet, smacking sound came through the phone, and I knew he’d just kissed his fingertips. The gesture was as familiar as my own face.

“He can’t see you, dear,” my mother said. “This isn’t one of those face-to-face calls.”

My parents were only sixty-two years old, but they sounded one hundred and two when they talked about technology. And it never failed to make me smile. “FaceTime.”

“Whatever,” Mom replied. I didn’t need video call to know she waved off the reminder like a pesky fly.

The name of the technology didn’t matter to her. She only cared that I used it often to stay in touch with them. My parents had moved to Arizona a few years after I graduated high school. Dad had received an incredible career opportunity in Phoenix, and my folks were tired of Colorado winters. Not once in twenty years had they expressed remorse about their decision, and I flew to visit them during holidays whenever I could.

“I added a chef’s kiss,” Dad explained.

“I thought maybe you kissed Mom after calling her perfection,” I said.

“She is absolutely flawless, and a kiss sounds like a damn good idea.” Smacking lips and giggles came through the phone, and I cringed.

“Okay, you two,” I said. “Save that for later.”

Mom giggled, and Dad cleared his throat. There was so much I respected about my folks, and their love for one another topped the list. They remained best friends and allies, no matter what life threw at them. They didn’t see eye to eye on everything—no couple would—but my parents remained respectful and listened to one another’s point of view. In times of trouble, they turned toward each other instead of away from one another. Little moments like this twisted the screws on my shame for not being able to make my marriage work after the loving example they set for me. I knew it took two people to make or break a marriage, but I couldn’t help feeling that I could’ve— should’ve —tried harder. I didn’t miss my ex-husband, not with the way our marriage imploded in the end. I just regretted the cynical residue that lingered in the aftermath. It was like the glitter bomb from hell. Every time I thought the mess was gone, I’d find a shitty little reminder when I least expected it.

The curtains fluttered, and I wondered if Sven, the patron saint of pity fucks, picked up on my glum mood. Maybe I emitted those kinds of vibes instead of pheromones. Did Sven have a radar that detected the downtrodden and pitiful? I didn’t want to be a pet project, though I’d sacrifice many things, my dignity being the first to go, for another chance of sex with Sven. Damn, the man’s tongue and body did the wickedest things to me, and we’d barely passed second base.

“Dom, are you still there?” My mom’s voice cut through my fantasy like a chainsaw.

I cringed, then cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m still here. What are you guys doing for dinner?” I asked.

“A bunch of us are gathering at the community center for a potluck dinner,” Mom said.

They’d sold their spacious home when Dad retired and moved into a senior community. It sounded like a glorified nursing home when they first mentioned it to me, and I’d been skeptical about their enthusiasm. I quickly changed my mind once I’d thoroughly investigated the place. The community offered many accommodations, from single-resident dwellings to assisted-living care, meeting my parents’ needs for the rest of their lives. The younger residents formed a traveling group to visit places all over the world, and I got tired just from reading the monthly activities available on the event calendar. These people ran circles around me, and I would’ve felt ashamed if I could muster the energy.

The conversation turned to the food everyone was bringing to the potluck, and my stomach growled. I’d had a bowl of cereal for dinner when I got home at eleven thirty the previous night. Dad shared his buffet strategies as if I didn’t already know them.

“You gotta get those high-demand items first,” he said. “Or else you get stuck with the food no one wants.”

“You didn’t come up with that idea on your own,” Mom said. “You copied that from Grace Adler.”

“Who?” Dad asked.

“The stunning redhead from Will it was permission I gave myself to kiss Sven like I’d wanted to every day since he stepped out of my van two years ago.