Built (Saints of Denver #1)(33)

While I could admire and appreciate the beautiful art that covered so much of their skin and could listen endlessly to the tales of motherhood and relationship trials and tribulations, it wasn’t anything I could relate to. I couldn’t even imagine how that kind of body modification would have gone over as I was growing up, and now, as an adult, I was so deeply entrenched in my professional world that I couldn’t see a place for it. Not to mention those kinds of permanent colors were terrifying to a person who was only brave enough to hide them on her toes and then cover them up with nude pumps.

I also had no clue what it took to raise a child while working or going to school full-time, to give of myself so fully to someone else while trying to still be successful and happy. To me, Salem and her friends were superwomen, and I was so lucky they included me and seemed to genuinely like me. It also tugged at my heart how they had all rallied around Poppy and tried to guide her gently, yet firmly back into life. Their concern and kindness went well beyond the fact that she was Salem’s sister and could be attributed to the fact that they were all simply amazing women who wanted another woman to heal and be healthy.

Then there was the way they were with their men. All of them, Salem included, had fallen for strong, difficult, complicated men. They all had spouses and lovers who took some work and yet they never complained or asked for anyone easier. I think that was what drew me to them the most. I couldn’t get enough of listening to the way they talked about the challenges and rewards they had in loving the men they did. It was beautiful. It was special. It was heartbreaking because I doubted that I would ever have someone be as passionate or as willing to fight for me through the chilly walls I had erected to keep myself safe and insulated for most of my life.

I thanked Salem for the invite but declined mostly because I didn’t want to do my hair or put on real pants to go out. We chitchatted for a few minutes and I could tell she was just as emotional and just as hopeful as I was that Poppy had not only left the house but had done so on her own with a man. We shared a moment of sappy love over how wonderful Rowdy was and I dropped a hint that was as subtle as a sledgehammer that my brother would make a wonderful father. She laughed but there was an extra sparkle in her voice even over the phone, and if I was the betting type I would put down good money that I would have a beautiful little niece or nephew to dote on in the near future.

When I hung up I was suddenly faced with a house that was far too quiet and a mind that was far too noisy. The idea of someone fighting for me, being passionate and invested in me, of course meant I started thinking about Zeb. If I had been infatuated with the man before, there was no stopping the precipitous and out-of-control slide of my feelings into something deeper, bigger, and more layered as I watched him get to know his son. Seeing the tender and careful way he handled the little boy was way too much for my heart and my ovaries to take.

It didn’t matter that he was Hyde’s biological father, or that the boy was smitten with him, the court had a procedure to follow and questions were already being asked about Zeb’s criminal record. We were scheduled to have our first hearing in front of a judge on Monday, and I knew he was a nervous wreck about it. There was nothing he could do to change his past and it seemed entirely unfair that it was going to have such a huge impact on his future. He needed me to be at the top of my game, to have my legal ducks all in a row to fight this fight for him. The idea of failing Zeb and little Hyde ripped at me, and now it was the possibility of not coming through for the green-eyed duo that kept me awake at night instead of sweaty, sexy dreams.

While the professional distance was necessary and should have been in place from the beginning, it didn’t stop me from wishing things were different and longing for the date that now seemed like nothing more than a collection of empty words. My father had hammered into me over and over again that the only thing I should strive for was perfection, for flawlessness in my schooling and then in my business. To him, that was where my value had always been, in tangible and external manifestations of success. Wanting something or someone for myself on a personal level was frivolous and selfish and I had denied myself that luxury over and over again. It was one of the reasons I was no good with men. I didn’t know how to be with one just because I wanted him.

My entire life I had sought out partners whom I could take home and who could withstand my father’s scrutiny. They had to look right, act right, and come from the right background. How they made me feel, how they treated me, how we were together when the lights went out were all secondary to how my father would perceive them. It was all show and never an actual relationship. Nathan was the prime example of that. The one time my father seemed to approve of anything I did was when Nathan put a ring on my finger. It didn’t matter that we bored each other silly and lacked any kind of passion or heat.

As though my intense and swirling thoughts had pulled Zeb into the vortex of self-pity I was lost in, my phone vibrated in my hand with a message from him as I wandered aimlessly through the empty rooms.

I shivered at the sight of his name and then silently scolded myself for having such a powerful reaction to only his name on the screen. His message was simple but for some reason it felt full of more meaning and emotion than the three words staring up at me indicated.

Can you talk?

I bit my lip and decided how to answer. I didn’t talk to my clients after office hours were done for the day and I was already having a really hard time keeping the professional and personal lines clear where he and this case were concerned. I sighed and tapped out: