Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(101)

Maybe she had saved him. From his anger, his unhappiness. From his haunted past.

Then why didn’t he stay?

“But he left.”

Her father hummed in the back of his throat. “Is he worth the extra mile?”

She thought of Donovan’s cautious smile, the way it felt to be held against him, to be lifted into his arms. She thought of the stories he told her—stories he’d never told anyone. In a way, he’d gone the extra mile with her. Had trusted her more than he’d ever trusted anyone.

I’ve never loved anyone.

But he loved her. And told her as much as he slid into her body, held her tight, and kissed her lips. Another tear tumbled from her eye.

“Yes,” she answered. “He’s worth it.”

“Even if he doesn’t come back to Evergreen Cove? Even if he breaks your heart again?”

“Still worth it.” She swiped the tears from her cheeks. Nothing could hurt more than the way she hurt now. Nothing could make things any worse.

“It’s okay, you know. It’s okay to look like a fool. It’s okay to hope against hope. It’s okay to put yourself on the line, go the extra mile, even if it is futile. It’s okay to see potential where everyone else sees failure.”

He pulled her closer. Sofie rested her cheek on his shoulder, her eyes unseeing on the flickering television screen.

“I wouldn’t take back one minute of sleep I missed to sit up and watch over your doomed bird,” he said.

“Because it meant something to me.”

“Arguably, losing that little bird made you who you are today.”

“Because I tried.”

“Because you believed. Not enough believers in this world, you ask me.”

He unmuted the Golf Channel and together, she and her dad watched the screen.

She thought of the bird. The waterfall. Gertie.

But mostly, she thought of Donny.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE




Donovan learned a long time ago drinking didn’t solve problems. Especially his problems. Drinking, women, smoking… none of the vices worked. Which was why he’d adopted the “straight through” approach. Straight through was the only way to erase the pain.

Erasing the pain of losing Sofie wasn’t an option, so he’d have to settle for dulling it.

He emptied the liquor into his glass, his vision going blurry. His living room—Aless’s living room, technically—was furnished with cheery beach furniture and white wicker. Huge, looming white shelves filled with books Donovan had never read took up an entire wall. The kitchen was eat-in, the bathrooms tidy, the sunroom too bright in the mornings.

Nothing about the cheery rooms, the pastel colors, the modern furniture, was Donovan’s. Nothing here was him… except, well, him.

“Yay, me,” he growled, chucking back the last shot.

Up until tonight, he’d been enduring. Enduring hadn’t worked. So now he was drinking. He was relatively sure the drinking wasn’t working, either, but luckily he couldn’t tell with his vision swimming in and out.

And anyway, who the f*ck cared? Who cared what he did to himself? About how blind stinking drunk he got? About his beach-vacation décor? About the fact he sliced his finger open building Bill Yost’s brick fire pit yesterday. Not a big deal. Until he’d excused himself to bandage it and thought of Dog’s sliced paw. Then he thought of when he sliced his finger open on the great room’s fireplace. Then he thought of Sofie trying to patch him up.

That had sent him to the kitchen where he’d dug a half a bottle of rum from under the sink and started in. He didn’t have any fight left in him—no more pragmatic arguments cooked up to appease his inner tormenter. And so he decided to wallow until he couldn’t feel anything. Or maybe he’d wallow and feel way too much… which was what stage he was in now.

Gertie. He let out a dry laugh. Sofie thought it was sweet to name the mutt after his grandmother. Because Sofie was sweet. Sofie…

God.

Sofie.

His Scampi. The girl who’d seen more in him than anyone else ever bothered. The girl who gave him her virginity, held on to him tight while he slipped into her tightness. The girl who found a way to forgive him. Seven years later, she let him haul her into his arms and make love to her on the washing machine.

He’d wanted to turn her inside out. She turned him inside out instead.

Why? Why the hell did she let him do anything with her after the way he’d treated her the first time? Who in their right mind would let him that close? Would practically move in with him when she knew he was leaving?

That last thought brought about the memories of lying skin to skin with her. Donovan never thought of himself as a cuddler, but whenever Sofie was next to him in bed, he wanted her touching him. He wound his arm around her and pulled her against his side, her breasts smashed up against the infinity tattoo on his ribs. She’d sleep there, her hand over his heart, her leg draped over his while he basked in the quiet between her breaths, not caring if his arm went dead, or if his shoulder cramped. He wanted her close. And she stayed close.

She loves you.

Correction. She loved him.

Past tense.

No way did she love him now.

He frowned at the liquor bottle, wishing there was more rum, thinking in Captain Jack Sparrow’s boozy accent, Why is all the rum gone? and earning himself a drunken laugh that faded and faded fast.