Law Man (Dream Man #3)(92)
Then he shook his head and his lips twitched before he said, “Sweetheart, do you not see that shit’s whacked?”
“No,” I pointed out the obvious.
“Well, it’s whacked,” he returned.
I leaned deeper toward him and looked him straight in his fathomless, beautiful eyes.
“Two weeks ago, you walked through a window to my world and you lost your mind, Mitch. You took one look at Bill and the state of Billy and Billie’s lives and you lost your mind. That is my family. That is my life. And you don’t understand this because it isn’t your life but there is no way to escape it. There is no way. Because it haunts you. It’s your cousin in jail and facing prison if he survives to his trial. It’s his kids in your house, one worried about her Daddy when he’s done nothing to deserve it, the other worried about everything when he should be worried about getting to the next level on some video game. It knocks on your door and shouts the unit down so your neighbor has to confront it in the breezeway. It’s a beautiful, kind man looking into you and finding you have a juvie file. It never goes away. It’s always there. It isn’t history. It’s in my blood. It’s me.”
“No, Mara, two weeks ago, I walked into your cousin’s house. I did this after I had dinner with a beautiful woman and two really good kids and I lost my mind because that assclown didn’t give a f**k that his kids ran away and hadn’t had anything to eat all day. His house was a disaster and he was drunk and stoned and he didn’t even flinch when his kids saw him that way. I lost my mind because their clothes didn’t fit and their shoes were comin’ apart and he had vodka and smack and smokes. And I lost my mind because he didn’t apologize to you that you had to drop everything and look out for his kids and you did it in a way that I knew you were a practiced hand and I knew you were a practiced hand because he’s an assclown.”
I stared at him as he lifted our hands, unlaced our fingers but kept hold of my hand, tight, palm to palm, fingers wrapped around and his eyes locked with mine.
“But it was three and a half weeks ago I walked into your world. A clean apartment, nice furniture, flowers on your bedspread and I found out you only own a hammer. I found out you have no clue that men buy mattresses and beds from you because you wear tight skirts that show off your great ass. Because you got legs that go on forever. Because you pin up your hair and all this makes them stand by beds and mattresses and they buy them from you because all they’re thinkin’ is that they want you with your hair down, their hands on your ass and those legs wrapped around them in that bed with them. That bed could be made of nails and they wouldn’t give a f**k. They’re all about buyin’ a fantasy and you rake in your commission but have no f**king clue.”
Ohmigod. Did he seriously think that was true?
“Mitch –”
“And I found out you have great taste in music and the reason you’d barely look at me for four years is that you’re pathologically shy.”
“Mitch –”
“And it’s cute.”
“Please, Mitch –”
“And this was great f**kin’ news because you bein’ shy meant you were into me which meant I finally was open to make a play.”
“Stop it,” I whispered.
“But it was seein’ those two kids respond to you and how you responded to them that made me understand it was worth the effort to take on what I knew would be the frustrating task of extracting your head outta your ass.”
“Stop it.” This time I said those two words on a hiss.
“I already knew you looked great in shorts, great in a bikini, you were a great cook, worked hard and your friends love to spend time with you.”
All thoughts flew from my head and I blinked at him, mortified. “You’ve seen me in a bikini?”
He ignored me. “So I made my play.”
“When have you seen me in a bikini?”
“And now we’re gonna make a deal.”
I blinked again and stiffened. “What deal?”
“We’re gonna go back to the place I got you this last week. You’re gonna loosen up, come out of your cocoon, for good this time, and give me a shot. And I’m gonna take that shot and use it to convince you that you are not what you think you are but instead what everyone else knows you to be.”
I yanked at my hand in his but he only held on stronger.
“Let my hand go,” I requested on a demand.
“No,” he denied. “Agree to the deal.”
I stared at him then reminded him, “You do know that you taking that shot comes with two kids, a f**ked up cousin who has the Russian mob after him and whatever Mom and Lulamae dream up. They might be functional alcoholics and over the years they may have killed an alarming number of brain cells through a variety of mood-altering methods but when they’re on a tear, it can get ugly,” I paused, “or, uglier.”
“Mara, baby, open your eyes for long enough to remember I’ve been livin’ this alongside you the last week. I’m totally clued in, sweetheart, it’s you who isn’t.”
That was when it hit me.
He had been. Mitch had been living this with me the last week.
No, that wasn’t exactly true. He hadn’t only been living it with me; he’d been taking care of things for me and for the kids. I’d been too busy, too tired and too freaked out to realize the fullness of his assistance. For over a week, without Mitch, I would never have made it. I’d had a very short taste of going it alone and it exhausted me in a way I knew would seep into my bones. I’d have had to take time off. I would have had to load up a sick Billie and wake up her brother so I could go to the drugstore to get her Tylenol. In fact, I wouldn’t have even known to get her some Tylenol.