Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(38)

As a kid, he’d been the same way. Know thy enemy.

He’d picked up his father’s patterns. Knew what mood the old man was in by the sound of his footfalls. Slow and stumbling meant he was lit. Quick and shuffling meant he was pissed. Donovan knew when to wall up, stay silent, not provoke him. He knew when to slip out the upstairs window and shimmy down the maple tree.

He squeezed his throbbing fingers into a fist and, instead of growling a string of curse words, blew out a breath through his nose. Dog had been through enough trauma in her life—no way was he causing her to slink away, repeating the pattern her dipshit owners had started.

“Gertie! Give me that!” came Sofie’s playful voice from the hallway. Another bark, this one muffled, rang into the air.

Donovan held his bleeding hand to his chest and ambled to the doorway. Dog, with a strip of long purple material in her mouth, was backing down the hallway playing tug-of-war. Sofie, hunched at the waist, was following each of Dog’s backward steps, holding the item gently.

“Give it back, girl,” she said softly. “Come on, Gertie.”

“Dog.”

Dog lifted her head and looked at him, teeth still clamped around what looked like a pair of stretchy pants.

“Drop it,” he told Dog.

She wagged her tail left, then right.

He watched her.

She dropped it.

He smirked at Sofie, who screwed her delicious lips to one side.

“Wow. Color you the dog whisperer.”

“You’re wowed easily.”

“Am not.”

His hand began to throb. Ah, hell. Blood ran down his wrist. He held out a palm to catch the next drop before it hit the floor.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine.”

Sofie raced over to him and wrapped his hand and wrist with the pants. “Bathroom. Go.” She shoved him until he obeyed, lurching toward the adjacent half bath reluctantly.

Just as reluctantly, he allowed in a memory of Caroline. Back when she’d been his grandmother’s live-in chef. He didn’t remember her ever not being there for him.


The cottage at the rear of the mansion was Caroline’s home and had become Donny’s haven on many nights. Nights when his father was drinking and his heavy steps paced the halls. Most of the time he ran to Caroline’s to avoid a beating, but on this particular night, he’d gone there after one.

He came home late when he was supposed to be grounded for what, he couldn’t remember. He guessed his father was waiting on him; had known it in some deep, dark place in his gut. Donny strode boldly through the front door anyway. Now that he thought about it, he wondered if he’d done that on purpose. Daring his old man to lay into him and give him a reason—as if he needed another one—to leave for good.

Caroline had put in her notice. She was leaving Pate Mansion, leaving Gertrude’s employment, and in a way, leaving him, too. Moving to New York now that her son was out of the military. Once Caroline left, Donny had no reason to stay.

None at all.

He entered her cottage without knocking, head down, hair obscuring his face.

“Hey, kiddo.” She looked up from a book she was reading, her bobbed silver hair swinging, and pinned him with a smile. A smile that faded the moment he brought his chin up.

“Oh my heavens!” Dropping the book, she hustled him into the bathroom, dragging him by the wrist. He was a foot taller than she and twice as strong, but he let her. “Another fight, Donny? What did I tell you about that?”

She didn’t know the truth. He’d never told her.

Pushing him down onto the closed toilet seat, she wet a towel and pressed it to the wide split in his mouth. It’d been numb on the way over here, but now it was hurting like a son of a bitch. He had no idea what possessed him to say what he said next. Maybe he needed someone to know. Maybe he felt like he could finally share with her since she was leaving.

“Dad’s class ring,” he muttered, wincing as she dabbed his bloody face.

Her hands stilled, one on the side of his face, the other wrapped around the towel. His eyes found her worried ones behind a thick pair of glasses.

“How long?” she whispered, her voice frail.

As long as he could remember. He shrugged one shoulder and looked away, ashamed. “Few times.”

“Donny.” She cradled his face with both hands. “No.” She swallowed and he could see the pity well in her eyes. Which shamed him more. “You can stay here. I’m calling the police.” She released him and stood. “You should have told me sooner. I would have protected you. No matter the cost.”

Cost. As in personal cost. He knew she would have protected him. Would have stood against his father and grandmother, lost her job, lost her home. Donny wasn’t about to be the cause for destroying Caroline’s life. She was the best person he knew.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was a helpless kid. He was sixteen; he could fend for himself.

Wrapping a hand around her arm, he stopped her from walking away. “Don’t.” He begged with his eyes, the word “please” unspoken on the tip of his tongue. “I’m leaving. Doesn’t matter if you call the cops or not. I won’t be here.”

“Leaving?” She pressed the hand holding the towel to her chest. “Where are you going to go?”