“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I stood, trudging to the kitchen, maintaining a calm exterior while internally freaking-the-fuck out. She made it sound so simple. Be myself? I was fucked.Without her sunshine, I’d let the darkness win. It shrouded me in shadows of nothingness while I spent years pounding my fists against a wall of grief that refused to budge. Her loss changed me. Hardened me. How could I be myself when I didn’t know who I was anymore? I’d have to figure it out. There wasn’t an alternative.
Grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair, I beelined for the front door. Halfway there I reversed course, moving across the living room, resting my forehead against hers.
“Thank you.” I breathed the words like a prayer.
“For what?”
“Surviving.”
Taking a chance, I brushed my lips lightly over hers. Once. Twice. Not wanting to push my luck, I didn’t go for round three. Her body swayed, a whimper of disappointment leaving her mouth when I pulled away. It was good to know I wasn’t alone in my feelings, but neither one of us was ready for where another kiss would’ve led. We had to rebuild the trust between us before we gave into our more carnal desires, no matter how much my dick protested otherwise. I had two hands for a reason.
“Soon, Sunshine.”
I turned, forcing one foot in front of the other until my ass hit the driver’s seat of my Jeep. Good thing I could’vedriven home with my eyes closed, considering my mind was too busy making plans for the future to bother with things like yellow lines and traffic signals. Taking a left onto my property, I had to stomp the brakes to avoid slamming into the navy-and-silver Ford Mustang blocking the driveway. I rested my head against the steering wheel, knowing immediately who’d decided to pay me a visit.
Shayne Black.
“We can do this here or in your house, where we’ll both be a helluva lot more comfortable. Your choice, Palmer.”
My day of reckoning had arrived in the form of a blonde with the body of a pixie and the attitude of a heavy-weight fighter. She had zero qualms about calling a spade a spade, and if I had to guess, she was about to shovel right through my shit. Hell, I should’ve known it was coming. Better to get it over with quickly.
Rolling down the window an inch, I hollered, “House. But you damn sure better not have shown up empty-handed.”
She scoffed, pointing to herself. “What do I look like? An amateur? I got your favorite. Dunkin’ for Duncan.”
“Goddamn smart-ass. Move your ride out of the way.”
Five minutes later, sitting on opposite sides of my dining room table, the inquisition was set to begin. Or so I thought.
“I figured someone would call you daddy one day, just didn’t think it’d be an actual kid, let alone two of them.”
“Fucking hell, Shayne.” I choked on the coffee I’d just taken a sip of.
“What? Not your scene? That’s cool too.”
“We’re not going there.”
“Party pooper.” She stuck out her tongue.
“What are you doing here at the ass-crack of dawn, other than wanting to discuss my sexual preferences?”
“Obviously, Way filled me in on the drama.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m pissed off at you, Duncan Timothy Palmer.”
“Timothy’s not my middle name.”
“You’re not getting the point.”
“Do you even have a point?”
“You know”––her nostrils flared and her hazel eyes narrowed into slits––“this conversation would go much quicker if you’d zip it.”