Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(69)

In the waiting room again, Charlie wrung her hands, and Evan dropped his arm around her shoulders. He noted she shied away from him when the Mosleys returned with cups of coffee for themselves. If he had to guess, he’d say it was thirty percent what he’d said in the car and seventy percent the fact she didn’t want Rae’s parents privy to the fact he and Charlie were “together.”

Both points miffed him.

The scan came back normal, after an ungodly amount of waiting resulting in Lyon eating a terrible hospital lunch Evan helped him finish. Pat, Cliff, and Charlie went to the cafeteria to have what Charlie assured him was an equally terrible lunch there.

When Lyon was finally released, Evan had to remind him not to run and endure an argument about why he couldn’t play the iPad for twenty-four hours. “To be safe,” the doctor encouraged. “No television, computer, or any electronics.”

“It’ll be cool,” Charlie had said. “We can read.”

Lyon did not think this was cool.

Pat and Cliff insisted he stay at their house. Pat, somewhat tearfully, apologized again and Cliff and Evan both assured her that accidents happen. As rambunctious as Lyon was, none of them should come down on themselves for him getting hurt.

This was a lot easier to say now that Lyon was whole and intact, Evan had specific instructions, and his kid was in sight sitting next to him on Patricia and Cliff’s deck, chattering about everything under the sun.

After dinner—Pat’s pork chops and baked beans and kale salad were legendary—Evan and Charlie stayed on the deck with their drinks and Pat and Cliff excused themselves to go inside. Evan was sure this was to give him and Charlie some time alone. Pat insisted on reading to Lyon and Cliff had bustled off after she’d angled a very pointed glare at her husband.

“They haven’t changed a bit,” Charlie commented, sipping her iced tea.

Evan was drinking scotch. Cliff and his dad and their damned horrible liquor. He swallowed the end of it and winced.

“Not a big fan of scotch, huh?”

“You had it?” he croaked, throat dry. “Awful. The drink of old men and my oldest brother.”

“Landon’s a scotch drinker?”

He made a show out of taking a drink of her iced tea and swishing it around his teeth. She laughed. It was good to hear her laugh. Either she’d forgiven him or was pretending to be okay. Unfortunately, he thought it was the latter.

“He is. Landon is a millionaire. He could choose any drink he wants.” He gestured to his glass. “And he chooses this.”

She chuckled again.

They sat in silence, watching the low light of the summer evening bounce off the pool’s surface. Lyon had been bummed he couldn’t swim anymore. Figures. That kid was fearless sometimes.

A shiver climbed Evan’s spine.

Charlie noticed. Turned her head.

“Coulda lost him, Ace.”

Her hand closed over his forearm. “But you didn’t.”

“I lost Rae.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. Five, six minutes later. Gone.” There was nothing like the feeling of watching someone lose their hold on life.

He’d witnessed it and to this day didn’t grasp it. She looked like her, felt like her, her body warm and still, her face beautiful. But she was gone.

Surreal.

Hot tears burned his eyes, and in a breath, he was back on East Level, frantically shouting into the cell phone on the floor. Shouting at Rae.

Baby, wake up. Dammit, Rae! Breathe!

Those shouts would forever be burned in his head. As would the chest-caving sobs that rendered him unable to stand when the paramedics got there.

Charlie’s hand squeezed his arm, bringing him back to present.

He blinked back the tears. “Thank God for Pat and Cliff acting fast. What I said earlier about them having a pool…”

“I know.”

“This isn’t their fault.”

Her grip tightened. “I know.”

He turned to her to find her giving him a tender smile, tears trailing down her face.

“Ace.” He lifted a hand and brushed her tears aside.

“I remember that phone call, Ev.”

She meant the phone call when he’d told her about Rae. He remembered he’d called her, but didn’t remember what he’d said. Not even a little.

“You sounded like that today over Lyon,” she said in a whisper. “Scared me.”

“Baby.” He turned his body toward her, moving his hand from her face to her neck, but she backed away before he could get a firm hold, her eyes cutting to the kitchen window.

He clenched his jaw. He knew it. She was worried about Rae’s parents seeing them together.

Dropping his hand to his lap, he said, “Guess now’s not a good time to tell you I didn’t mean to be insulting when I said I wanted to get into your—”

“Evan!” She sought the window again, lowered her voice. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. The important thing is that Lyon is okay. And that you realize you are not a bad father because you needed a break to paint.” Conveniently, she’d left herself out of the equation.

He felt his eyes narrow and steam began to build behind his ears. Everything wasn’t fine. They had entered some sort of alternate universe where she didn’t want him touching her. That was new.