Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(95)

He looked like both Rae and Evan in this picture, but it occurred to her as she studied the way he pressed his cheek against hers, that he also looked like he belonged with her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, hoping Evan didn’t make out the emotion filling her throat. But why did Lyon bring her this photo? To remember him by? She sought Evan’s face for answers.

“Tell her what else, bud.” Evan’s eyes were on her but he spoke to Lyon.

“We’re having a bonfire at our house. Can you come over?”

Carefully, she slid the photo back into the envelope, wanting very badly to ask Evan if the invitation was so he could break up with her for good, and if he needed her to take anything out of his house she may have left behind.

How this would work with her being two doors away? Would they remain friends? Would he— “Ace.”

Her scratchy, red eyes found his. She darted them back down to Lyon. Like she could tell this kid “no” to anything. Evan must have known that.

“Sure, honey. Let me grab my shoes.”

Lyon bounded down the stairs but Evan remained, warning his son “not to go too far,” then rerouting his eyes until they found hers.

“Be over in a few,” she mumbled, backing into her house and wanting to stay there. “Need me to bring anything?”

“Yeah. A bag.”

A bag? She swallowed thickly, dread pooling in her belly. She was right. He needed her to get her things.

“Did I leave much over there?” Her voice was hollow. But it made the most sense for Evan to let her come over, hang with Lyon, make nice. He was a decent guy; he’d never take his son away from her completely. What he would do was make this an easy transition, because he loved Lyon with all his heart.

Evan pushed off the pillar and turned his head to check on Lyon, who had obeyed, going no farther than the edge of dark beach in the front of her yard.

He took the porch steps without hesitation while she watched in wonder.

One.

Two.

Three.

When he got to her, her fingers wrapped around the edge of sliding door—the only thing holding her up.

“The hell are you talking about?” He sounded as unhappy as he looked.

She lowered her voice even though Lyon was too far to hear. “I’m assuming I left things there you’d like me to pick up. That’s why the bag?”

Without warning, his arm lifted and he palmed the back of her neck. Then he stood way, way too close. He pulled her out of the doorway and into his chest until she was flush against him. Her hands landed on his solid torso, her body flooding with relief, her eyes closing. He was touching her.

It felt way too right to be wrong.

Evan’s fingers threaded into her hair. She felt him watching her. “Something you need to get off your chest, Ace?” His voice rumbled through his body and against her palms.

She tipped her head back on her neck to meet his eyes, needing to clear this up. If for no one else but her. “Are you…” She swallowed, then continued, “… ending things?”

Wow. That hurt to say out loud. She had no idea they could, but his eyebrows actually went lower. His thick lashes narrowed, obliterating his eyes.

“What part of ‘not going anywhere’ is unclear to you?”

Blinking at him, she said, “Sorry? I mean, pardon me?”

The corner of his lips twitched and repeated, “Not going anywhere. Not giving you a break. Not giving you an out.” His hand ruffled into the hair at her nape. “Sound familiar?”

It did sound familiar. Those were his words to her while they stood in Rae’s old bedroom at Patricia and Cliff’s house.

“The bag”—he tipped his head closer to hers—“is because I’m not letting you sleep without me tonight.”

He’d come for her.

Again.

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, her heart filling with hope.

“Yeah.”


*


Lyon had insisted on s’mores followed by hot dogs over the fire. Evan had indulged him. After they’d all eaten that abominable—but no less delicious—late-night snack, Evan left Charlie on the deck to tuck Lyon into bed.

She watched the flames, feeling… something. Foolish? Contented?

Unsure.

What she felt was unsure.

She’d brought a packed bag and put it in the bedroom. Evan had sat close to her while they readied their food for roasting over the fire bowl. But with little ears around they hadn’t been able to clear anything up… and there was more to say.

More from her.

She didn’t have a speech in queue. Didn’t have any idea of an elegant way to explain what a mess she was. Other than to say she was sorry, a word she knew he didn’t like to hear from her.

Such was her state when he came back outside after tucking Lyon in: no speech, sorry, and having no clue how to elegantly say it.

He collapsed into the chair next to hers with a sigh. His lip was slightly swollen from Russell’s sucker-punch, but the small bump in his nose was not from Russell. That one Evan said he’d had since Donovan had socked him in the face one summer at the Cove.

Boys.

She turned her head. “How’s your face?”

Gosh, he was beautiful. Stole the very breath from her lungs. Messy bedhead, honest turquoise eyes, lips she’d kissed over and over and still hadn’t had enough of. He hadn’t kissed her tonight at all, come to think of it.