Chapter 20 #2
along well, I think. As I grew up, Dad was the glue that held all three of us together.” She hesitated. “He was so warm. So
outgoing and open.”
Well . . .
She said it before he could. “Yes, yes, I know. He wasn’t really open. But I didn’t realize that back then, and I was a total daddy’s girl before . . .” With a swift circle of her wrist,
a loose thread from his tee wrapped around her finger. She let it unwind, then repeated the process. “Before.”
He had no idea what the hell to say. “I’m so damn sorry, Molly.”
“He truly seemed to adore both of us. With all his heart.” Wind. Unwind. Wind. Unwind. “After a trip, he’d swoop into the
house and shout, ‘Where are my best girls?’ Then he’d lift us up and swing us in the air while he went on and on about how
badly he’d missed us and how much we were going to love his gifts.”
He stroked her hair until her fidgeting stilled and her body relaxed against his again. And when a small wet spot formed on
the shoulder of his tee, he let her pretend it didn’t exist.
“So yeah, it hurt.” Because she was a consummate actress, there was no hint of tears in her voice.
Just matter-of-fact pragmatism. “And maybe it would’ve hurt less if we’d stayed in contact with him.
But by the time I was willing to hear what he had to say, he’d given up trying to reach out months before.
I decided to just let it be. If he wanted to contact me, he would. ”
Karl couldn’t help but wonder whether talking to the man might bring her some necessary closure, even now. Or whether having
her father back in her life might feel good, if both she and her dad wanted that. But a possible reunion wasn’t—would never
be—Karl’s decision. Molly knew herself far better than he did. She could determine the bounds of her own life, her own heart,
for herself.
In his opinion, the idea of closure was often a goddamn lie anyway, the search for it an excuse to delay accepting the inevitable.
And far too often, even honest answers wouldn’t satisfy anyone. One more conversation, one more look, one more explanation
wouldn’t do anything but dredge up old grief from where it’d been laid to rest.
Or maybe that was just the self-justification of a cowardly man who avoided difficult conversations whenever possible.
She laid her head against his upper arm and finally let her red-rimmed, weary eyes meet his. “Today’s your lucky day, Dean.
Want another super-special double-bonus secret?”
“Always.”
Whatever she’d give him, he’d take. Because this was what trust—enough to undergird their future, enough to either keep her
in Harlot’s Bay or bring her back here—looked like. Had to be. Right?
When he smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she tried to smile at him. “That summer after high school, I cut things
off with you because I thought you had a girlfriend and were looking to cheat on her with me.”
He sighed. “You thought I was a two-timing asshole. Like your father.”
That was the part he hadn’t understood before. The missing piece of Dearborn’s confusing-as-hell puzzle.
“I also thought I was feeling far too much for a guy who’d already committed to someone else.” She tapped his chest, right
over his stupid besotted heart. “And yeah, that reminded me of my dad. Which is why cutting you off was such a knee-jerk reaction
and why I couldn’t bring myself to ask for the truth.” She hesitated. “I wasn’t sure I could bear to hear it, Karl. Not then.”
He’d known she was attracted to him back in high school. Hadn’t realized her feelings had run deep enough, even then, to scare
her. Just like his own emotions had terrified him.
He pressed a fierce kiss to her palm. “Understood.”
When she exhaled slowly, he cuddled her closer and rubbed her back some more. After a minute, her breathing slowed, her arms
looped around his chest, and she looked more asleep than awake. But her lips were still pressed thin. Still downturned.
Finally, he shifted beneath her. “Any other secrets to share?”
“No.” She snorted faintly. “Thank heavens.”
“Hurt to talk about all this shit?”
Another faint sigh. “Yes.”
“Help if I make you come?”
She straightened in his lap, suddenly looking way less tired. “Obviously.”
Gently, he tumbled her to the side, onto the sofa cushions. By the time she regained her equilibrium, he was already tugging
off her boy shorts, pushing her knees apart, and kneeling between them on the floor.
She gazed down at him, eyes bright, lips tipped in a pleased smile. “If I’d known talking about my quasi-bigamous father would earn me head, I’d have confessed twenty years ago.”
“Wasn’t as good at this back then.”
Enthusiasm, he’d had. Experience? Not a whole hell of a lot.
Her hand flicked, a graceful gesture he could’ve watched a million times over. “I’d have taught you what felt good for me.”
“Yeah.” He lifted that strong hand. Placed it on his head, a silent demand for guidance. “You can teach me now too.”
Her fingers slowly curled into a fist, and his dick twitched at the tug on his scalp. “It would be my pleasure.”
Yeah. It would.
He’d make damn sure of that.