Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(37)

His frown deepened. He could feel it. He looked at the four coins in his palm. If what Ash said was true, and it sure sounded logical, then Charlie was really, really messed up. Evan had vowed to be with Rae until death, through sickness and health. He had loved her, still loved her, without fail until she took her last breath on that carpeted hallway on East Level Road.

When he had to care for his three-year-old, motherless son on his own, he had done that as well. It wasn’t easy telling a young kid his mother had gone to heaven, explaining why they couldn’t see her in this world ever again, but Evan had done that, too. It hadn’t been easy working and finding care for his son while running his tattoo shop—a vocation that drew judgment from the other school moms on PTA night—but he’d done it. And it sure as hell hadn’t been easy dating again when he was ready, knowing how some people looked at him—namely Rae’s friends, who one-by-one wandered away—like he should be ashamed for going out on Rae who’d been gone nearly two years.

And now Charlie? Who he thought understood him and Lyon and what they’d endured. But, no, she was judging him in much the same way as Rae’s “friends.” Keeping vigil for Rae instead of exploring what he knew she felt for him. Denying herself, denying him what they could have if she responded to that kiss instead of painting a red A on her chest and running home in shame.

He tossed the coins into the fountain in a series of plops and splashes, then turned for his SUV parked on the side of the road.

“Where’re you going?” Asher called.

“Charlie’s. Let Gloria know I’ll call her later.”


*


Charlie and Lyon walked across the beach, Lyon toting his iPad and the photos she’d printed that he’d taken today. Turned out he was a natural—yes, he was seven, but he’d taken some decent shots by any standard. And seeing the world through his eyes fascinated her; a totally fresh perspective on the surroundings she looked at every day.

He was proud of his photographs, and she loved sharing that pride with him. He’d taken some really honest shots and she couldn’t help being excited for Evan to see them—proof he’d passed down some of his artistic talent after all.

At the back door, Lyon let himself in and dumped his stuff on the kitchen counter. She was certain Evan wouldn’t let this fly, but since he wasn’t in the kitchen, she did what he’d warned her not to and took care of it. Yes, Lyon should put his things away, but he was also on summer break and she knew one only got so many summer breaks before growing up and having to work year-round.

After hanging his bag on a hook by the door and draping Lyon’s damp trunks and towel over the railing on the deck, she heard the side door open. Evan strode out, cell phone to his ear, looking smoking hot in very thin, worn jeans and a navy tee. He finished his call with “sounds good” and pocketed the cell, stuffing both hands in his pockets. She took an unashamedly long gander at his biceps.

Yummy.

His eyebrows were down as he squinted into the distance.

“Everything okay?” she asked, sensing it wasn’t. Or he could be in need of a pair of sunglasses. It was hard to tell with him sometimes.

“That was Patricia.”

Rae’s mom.

“How is she?”

“Good. She and Cliff want Lyon to visit. I invited them to the Starving Artists Festival. They’re going to come and take him home with them after.”

“Oh, that’s great. I haven’t seen them in ages.” Too long. Guilt speared her. She saw the occasional post on Facebook, but other than a “like” or a brief comment, hadn’t truly connected with them in a while.

“She asked about you,” he said, his face softening.

She knotted her fingers together. “That makes me feel bad.”

Untangling her fingers, he took her hand in his and stepped closer. “I’m getting that about you, Ace.”

He kissed her hand and stroked her thumb with his. She watched with a sort of out-of-body amazement. Except when his lips touched her hand and her thighs tingled. That was very in body.

And so was when he tilted his head toward hers. But when she thought she’d get a kiss, or maybe hoped was the right word, he stopped short of her lips and said, “I’m pissed at you.”

The words were an electric shock, shooting through her fingers and her toes. She felt the sting in her face like her cheeks were reddening… or like she was having a stroke.

“Sorry?”

He kept hold of her hand. “I thought we were friends.”

“We… we are.” Her heart pounded harder. What had she done wrong? Was it the photos? Did he see Lyon’s work and not like it? Did he not like that she’d let him have the camera—or maybe Evan would have liked to teach him instead?

“You don’t get to judge me, Charlie, because of some messed-up ideas you have knocking around in that head of yours.”

Heart pounding faster, she could do nothing but blink at him for a few silent seconds.

“I don’t know what you mean.” The words came out in a whisper because she could not find the voice to give to them. When did she ever judge anyone? And why would he think he wasn’t her friend?

“Dad, I’m hungry.” Lyon stepped outside, shutting the door with a bang!

She tried to pull her arm away, equally relieved to get space from Evan as she was disappointed for the interruption.