Chapter Ten
Dalton tapped his thumb on the steering wheel as he waited for Blakely to join them in his truck.
“I play soccer,” Chase offered, filling the empty space.
“How’s that going for you?” Dalton asked, unsure what the hell to say to a seven-year-old.
“I don’t like it when I score and the other team cries,” Chase said, like scoring a goal brought down the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Do you like kicking the ball?” Dalton asked.
“It’s okay.”
“Have you thought about playing a different sport?” Dalton asked.
“Yeah,” Chase admitted without enthusiasm.
“Or an instrument?”
Chase’s face lit up. “Like guitar?”
“Sure,” Dalton said, unsure if he’d just opened a can of worms. No one would accuse him of being a good parent.
Or of being in a position to give advice to a kid.
There was a reason he didn’t spend much time with anyone under the age of twenty.
He didn’t have the first idea what to do with them or what to talk about with them. “Why not?”
“That would be awesome,” Chase announced. “Do you think I can quit soccer?”
“What does your mother say?”
“That I can do whatever I want after I finish the season,” Chase recited.
“Sounds like good advice right there.” Dalton wouldn’t argue with teaching a kid to follow through on his commitments.
“What about my friends?” Chase asked in earnest. “Won’t I be letting them down if I quit?”
“A real friend would want you to be happy,” Dalton said after a thoughtful pause. “Would you want your friend to stay on a team if they weren’t happy?”
“No, course not,” Chase responded. His eyes widened when it dawned on him. “And they wouldn’t want me to play if I wasn’t happy.”
“Real friends will be there no matter what,” Dalton said, wondering when the last time he could say that about another human being had been. Growing up, he’d been close with his family. Now, he had the occasional poker night with a few folks from work and not much else.
His life had never felt empty until thinking about it in those terms. Until now.
What was he going to do about it?
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement at the front door. Blakely stepped out, looking more beautiful than she had a right to.
After she joined them, he set out for the closest substation.
“What are all the policemen doing at your house, Aunt Blakely?” Chase asked. His innocence deserved protection.
“They’re helping,” Blakely said without hesitation. “Do you remember how we talked about how important it is to look for the helpers if something goes wrong?”
“Uh-huh,” Chase said.
“Your mom had an accident, so a lot of helpers showed up to take care of her,” Blakely explained. Dalton couldn’t think of a better way to explain a stressful situation to a kid. She had a knack for parenting whether she realized it or not. An image of her holding their child stamped his thoughts.
Where the hell did that come from?
* * *
Blakely took a deep breath. After giving statements while Chase played in a witness room and driving to the hospital, she fixed a second cup of coffee while waiting for her brother-in-law to show.
Dalton circled the waiting room a second time in a matter of minutes as they waited for word from the doctor.
All they knew so far was that Bethany had lost a lot of blood and was in stable condition.
The doctor wanted to speak to Blakely before allowing any visitors.
Her mind kept snapping to wishing she could head to her chambers to check out her files.
The identity of the bastard determined to kill her must be hiding in those documents.
She flexed and released her fingers a couple of times to work off some of the frustration. No one got to make her afraid anymore. The exception was this sick sonofabitch coming after her sister or nephew. Of that, she was scared beyond reason.
“Hey.” Dalton’s calm voice, his deep timbre, brought light to the darkest places inside her. “Bethany is going to be fine, and we’ll find the bastard responsible if the law doesn’t do it for us first.”
She glanced over at Chase. “I’m more worried about him right now.” Another dark thought struck. “And what if he comes back for Bethany? You heard the person we talked to at the substation. There aren’t enough resources to monitor my sister’s room twenty-four-seven.”
“True,” he agreed, and she appreciated him not trying to Pollyanna the situation. “I’ll speak to the floor nurses and see if they’ll keep an extra eye on your sister’s room.”
“Thank you,” she said. She’d been planning to do that herself but didn’t want to leave Chase in the waiting room until his father arrived. She checked her watch. Where was Greg?
Speaking of her brother-in-law, the man came zipping into the waiting room looking rough. His jeans and a button--down, collared shirt were the only casual things about him as he rushed into the room.
“Daddy,” Chase exclaimed.
Blakely was careful to watch their interaction this time, making sure Chase felt comfortable with his father.
Greg shot an apologetic look in Blakely’s direction before making a beeline to his son, who met him halfway across the room. Greg knelt down and embraced his son as a woman in her early twenties stood at the door, looking like she’d rather walk on hot coals than enter the room.
Did Greg bring his mistress to pick up his son from the hospital where his wife lay in a bed after being shot?
Blakely walked straight up to the hovering woman. “I’m Blakely Adamson. Bethany’s sister.”
The large-busted blonde stood a couple of inches shorter than Blakely’s five feet seven inches. Her face flushed hot pink, matching her lip tint. “It’s good to finally meet you. I work for Greg as his receptionist.” Blakely picked up on the fact she’d said his instead of his company’s receptionist.
Was she reading too much into it? Or did Greg bring his affair to the hospital? Because she couldn’t imagine him doing that to Bethany, or Chase. It would mean she had no idea who this man was anymore.
“And your name is?” Blakely asked. She wanted a name.
After a pensive glance in Greg’s direction, she responded, “Charlotte, but my friends call me Lotte.”
I’ll bet they do.
Blakely exchanged insincere pleasantries before turning to Greg. “Speak to you in the hall for a minute?”
His lips compressed, forming a thin line. A flicker of something that looked a whole lot like shame passed behind his eyes before he told Chase to stay put while the grownups talked.
Blakely didn’t wait for him to finish before walking into the hall to wait for him. Toe tapping on the sterile white tile, she waited near the elevator bank so Charlotte would be out of earshot. The woman stuck to the waiting room door like glue.
“I know what the fight was about,” she whispered to Greg as he joined her. “Is that…?”
“No,” he defended, but she could see the real answer on his face in the way his eye twitched when he said the word. Clearly, he wasn’t ready to admit it, and it wasn’t her business.
“I told her to consider forgiving you, Greg.” She shot him a glare that could refreeze Antarctica. “Are you going to make me regret it?”
“You did?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” she asked, planting a fisted hand on her hip.
“I just thought…you and Bethany are so close… I didn’t—”
“What? Think I don’t count you as family too?” She didn’t hide the disappointment and hurt in her voice. “That’s where you’re wrong. Because I consider you my brother.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a wave of shame. “I let everyone down, and I can’t make it right.”
“Be the husband Bethany deserves, and the father Chase can look up to,” she said. “No matter what happens in your marriage. You can still be a good partner and dad.”
Red-rimmed eyes stared back at her.
“I’ll try,” was all he said. She’d never seen him look so beaten down in all the years she’d known him. How had she missed this?
“Call me if you have questions about Chase’s schedule, okay?” she asked, figuring he got the point.
“I will,” he promised.
“Do you want to wait for the doctor?” she asked after explaining no visitors were allowed yet.
“I better take Chase home,” Greg said, once again surprising her. Wouldn’t a husband want to see with his own eyes that his wife was going to be okay? Maybe the marriage was dead. Or maybe he couldn’t face Bethany.
Either way, Blakely’s heart was breaking for her sister. Bethany might have gotten caught up in a big house and driving a fancy car, but she’d loved Greg very much at one time.
Was all love eventually lost?
Greg excused himself, retrieved Chase, and then left with his son and the receptionist as Blakely made her way back into the waiting room.
“I’d hate for my sister to wake up only to find herself alone,” Blakely said as she walked over to Dalton.
In a surprise move, he hauled her against his chest and held on to her.
As he whispered calm reassurances in her ear, tears trickled down her face.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had a good cry.
Maybe she was overdue. Because the other option, the one where she felt at home in Dalton’s arms, wasn’t something she was ready to face.
“Do you want to stick around?” he asked.
“I want to,” she admitted. “Except that staying here means not making progress on figuring out who is responsible for all this.”
“There’s no wrong answer,” Dalton said, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of her neck as she looked up at him.
The move might have been a mistake, but she couldn’t regret it. Her gaze dropped to his lips—kissable, thick lips that broke over straight white teeth when he smiled.
“Would you kiss me?” she asked.
The question barely left her lips before his grazed hers.
He feathered kisses on the corners of her mouth, the dimple in her chin, before covering her lips in a kiss that made her understand the term weak in the knees.
She brought her hands up to his broad shoulders to steady herself against the wave of desire that slammed into her, sending heat swirling in her belly and on the tender skin of her inner thighs.
Bringing her arms up to loop around his neck caused her full breasts to press against a wall of muscle as sensations lit up her body like a pinball machine.
No matter how many days and weeks passed, she hadn’t been able to erase Dalton from her thoughts. She’d dreamed of seeing him again. Although, to be fair, not under these circumstances. He was here now, causing her body to hum with anticipation as need welled up, a squall forming in her chest.
A man like Dalton could shred her.
The thought was the equivalent of a bucket of ice water being thrown on her. She pulled back enough to break their lips apart, instantly missing the way his had felt moving against hers.
“I’m sorry,” she heard herself say, breathless. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Am I complaining?” came the response, and she could feel his smile as it spread sunshine over her. The fact he was breathless too shouldn’t make her want him more. But she did. She’d never wanted anyone more than she wanted Dalton Remington right this minute.
Realizing she’d crossed a professional line—though was it, considering they’d already made love?
—she took a step back to put some space between them.
This close, she couldn’t trust her fingertips not to smooth over his chest and back, mapping every muscle and scar, memorizing every curve and line on a perfect body as she had that weekend.
“We should go,” she managed to say, clearing her throat to ease some of the dryness.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
Tempting. Because she knew exactly what her real answer would be. Him. And that was out of the question.
Or was it?