Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(71)

“Bullshit.” He pushed the door wider, and her out of the way with it, and came inside. Here, in Rae’s old bedroom, in a very skimpy pajama outfit with Rae’s husband…

Oh Lord.

This was bad.

Like, bad bad.

He shut the door until it clicked, making bad worse.

Her heart pounded and she covered it, along with her nipples, with crossed arms. “Lyon is across the hall,” she pointed out.

“We’re not sneaking around behind his back, Ace.”

Well. Evidently, he had no intention of wrapping up their affair, or sneaking around once Lyon came home. News to her.

She took a step away from him and tried a new tactic. “Pat and Cliff are light sleepers.”

He shook his head, his gaze intent and focused on her.

“Yes, they are,” she argued, though she doubted the headshake was Evan denying that factoid.

“You and I are gonna talk.”

“Not tonight we aren’t.” She put her arms down and walked for the door, only to be stopped. He pulled her back to stand in front of him, gripping her upper arms firmly in both hands. She tipped her chin to look up at him. “Let me go. I have to sleep.”

“Not until we talk.”

“Evan.” Suddenly, she was fatigued.

“You think I need to grieve, Charlie? You kidding me?”

Uh-oh. This was what he wanted to discuss? She thought he’d come in here to talk about them staying together, which she would have argued against. Then again, it hurt he’d so readily accepted that part, arguing instead about his denial over his grieving Rae. Shifting mental gears, she shrugged out of his grip.

“Fine.” She plunked down on the tiny twin bed by the window. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the chair at the sewing table.

He ignored her suggestion and sat next to her on the bed.

But of course.

“You need time to yourself to mourn her.”

“Mourn her.” He sounded as angry as he was this morning—or at least close. “You gotta be kidding me,” he said again.

She softened her voice. “I’m not kidding.” She put a hand on his arm and offered a gentle smile like she had on the deck. Connected by touch, but her mind disconnected from what he was to her. This was for him, for Lyon. Charlie knew how to console someone who’d lost someone close.

After the loss of her mother, she’d experienced plenty of consolation: grief counselors, pastors, and friends of the family. She’d help him through this. This was what she had mentally promised after Rae passed, wasn’t it? She’d vowed to watch out for Rae’s boys.

Better late than never.

“You don’t take the time to be quiet long enough to miss her,” she observed. His brows went from angry to furious. Swallowing back her trepidation, she pressed on. “You’ve been running the tattoo shop, running a household, playing the role of two parents since she died. You lost your mother a few years back; another woman in Lyon’s life. Gone. What did you do? You kept working at the shop, parenting for two, and then you jumped into your artwork with both feet and pursued publication. It’s been a wild ride, honey.” She patted his arm, hoping he was getting what she was telling him. He needed a break, and now that he lived in Evergreen Cove, she could help him take a break. “You need to take some time to really feel this.”

His nostrils flared, teeth clenched as he continued seething.

She tore her eyes from his, unable to take that furious gaze locked on hers and regarded the room instead. “This was Rae’s room.”

His sharp laugh cut into the tension between them. It wasn’t jovial or pleasant, just a dry huff of air scratching his throat.

She wasn’t sure if this was part of his process or if he was ticked at her.

“I know this was Rae’s room, Charlie,” he stated. “We made love on this bed.” He slapped the mattress.

She felt an ice-cold blade of regret slice into her chest.

“Well, not this one. It was bigger. But it was in this room.”

The pain radiated to her limbs.

“Ace.”

She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to hear any more about Rae, her lost best friend and Lyon’s mother, or any reminder that she and Evan had been intimate in the past. Silly, she knew, but she was too fragile right now to— “You’re full of crap.”

She blinked up at him. Most definitely, he was ticked.

“You don’t know what I’ve done to grieve Rae.”

She blinked again, a new sensation fanning across her chest. Still painful, but hot, not cold. A warning she’d overstepped her boundaries. Angered him in a way he wouldn’t brush aside.

“You weren’t there in bed with me after she was gone,” he said. “Didn’t see me wake up in the middle of the night, pain like an anvil crushing my chest. A fear so palpable I couldn’t breathe. Pain so powerful it kept me from expanding my lungs.”

He leaned into her and she froze.

“Know what happens when you don’t breathe, Ace?” He didn’t wait for her response. “Your body freaks out. Your diaphragm”—he poked her below her rib cage, where, she guessed, her diaphragm was—“seizes up. Adrenaline dumps into your system. Then you hyperventilate; have a panic attack.”