Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(109)

The cat dug claws into his thighs, reminding him he had more to answer for.

“He’s an asshole, Mom. I hate him!” The words he’d yelled made his stomach twist. He’d acted like…like the five-year-old brat across the street. Anytime she didn’t get her own way, she’d be all I hate you.

Poe stared at him.

“I don’t hate Holt. It’s just…” Mom liked him. And knowing it made Carson feel weird.

Other kids’ parents got divorced, and the moms sometimes got boyfriends. A couple of his classmates even got new fathers. Stepfathers.

Was Holt Mom’s boyfriend now? He really liked Mom. Or he had. Only now…Mom’d been mad at Holt and kicked him out.

Carson’s eyes started to burn. He woke up last night…and heard her crying. Because he’d been such a loser an’ maybe because he’d screwed everything up with Holt, too.

Over at the duplex, Holt’s side was still dark. The Harley was gone.

Maybe Holt hated both of them now.

And Mom had cried.

Tomorrow. Somehow, he’d make it all right tomorrow.





Chapter Twenty-Six





Holt rolled over in bed and yawned. He’d finished his usual twelve-hour ICU shift yesterday, and then, since the flu had left the unit short-staffed, he’d agreed to stay on and work the night shift, too. Because if he’d been home, he would’ve gone next door to have it out with Josie.

A glance at the clock said it was afternoon, so he’d gotten a few hours of sleep once he’d unwound enough to sack out. It’d been an ugly night. A head-on car crash had filled the last two ICU beds. With luck, the toddlers would stabilize. Thank fuck children were so resilient.

Damn vehicular accidents. Whoever’d invented cars should’ve been shot. Made a guy want to return to primitive times.

Rolling out of bed, Holt headed for the shower, even though he’d taken one last night. As he stepped under the hot water, he snorted. Primitive times would mean giving up hot water. No nurse in the world would go for that concept.

And four-legged transportation wasn’t safer than cars. He smiled, remembering a western clothing ad he’d done as a kid. They’d tossed him onto a horse, and he’d been terrified. Eventually, he’d had fun…after getting past how far away the ground was.

Would Josie enjoy a western vacation? Maybe he could take her and Carson to a working ranch. It’d give him a chance to have some guy time with Carson.

Assuming the boy ever stopped hating him.

With a sigh, Holt finished his shower, pulled on a pair of jeans, and headed for the living room. His pretty redhead’s time was up. They needed to talk. She’d overreacted…but he’d screwed up, too.

He picked up the package on his coffee table and headed to Josie’s house. Using the bright gold ribbons, he hung the box on her front door handle. “Okay, subbie. The ball’s in your court.”

What would she do?

Fuck knew. She’d always admitted if she’d screwed up. But this time, it’d been Carson’s screw-up.

Back in his duplex, Holt downed a quick sandwich, then grabbed a Dew and went out to his comfortable chair on the patio. Feet up, he drank the ice-cold liquid and tried to relax.

Josie’s car was under the carport, but there was no noise from her house. No one in her backyard. He sighed, breathing in the sweet fragrance of Stella’s blooming frangipani tree.

His Josie was sweet, too. And fucking stubborn. Was she still angry? Had she talked with Carson about the classroom fire?

His mouth tightened. His captain had agreed to give Josie time to get through to her son. After all, they had no real evidence aside from a vague description of reflective tape.

But Holt knew—and Josie knew—the boy was involved. Somehow. Dammit. He could help if she’d let him. If she’d trust him.

Was she going to give up on them and not even try? Holt scowled as the dismal thoughts circled his brain. She wanted him. Dammit, she loved him. But if there was a conflict between what she wanted and what her son wanted, she might just dump her relationship with Holt.

“There doesn’t have to be a conflict,” he muttered.

“What?”

Holt turned to see Josie on the other side of the fence, her forearms resting on the top of the wooden slats. She started to smile at him and faltered. “Um. You’re home.”

“That’s right.” Rising, he stalked toward her. His hands ached with the need to grab her. Hold her.

Her eyelids were swollen; her eyes, red. She’d been crying.

Hell. Remorse stabbed him. Maybe he shouldn’t have given her so much time.

“I was fixin’ to come over and apologize. To talk. To…” She bit her lip. “Um. I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me, so if you don’t, then….”

He curled his fingers around hers. She had a sturdy hand, yet it was so very fragile. Much like her. Tough on the outside, vulnerable on the inside. “Josie, I wanted to see you the second I walked out your door.”

Her expression brightened in a slow sunrise of hope. “Really?”

“I figured you needed time but, sweetheart, your time is up. Have you opened your front door lately?”

Her confused frown said no.

“Go look.”