Caged (Mastered, #4)(91)
No. He’d really been there. So had she. He’d watched her for an hour before she’d noticed him.
And he hadn’t imagined the flash of pleasure in her eyes at seeing him. It’d been brief, but it’d been there. So he had the foolish hope that all wasn’t lost with her.
Still, he held his breath when he pushed on the door. It opened, the bell jangling to announce his arrival.
Molly wasn’t waiting for him, but he heard her rustling around in the back.
Probably looking for her Taser.
The sick thing was? He’d let her tase him if it’d start them talking again.
Nervous, he paced in the reception area.
Molly sauntered past him without a word, relocked the front door and reset the alarm.
Although she still wore her party clothes—a low-cut western shirt that showcased her rack and a frilly skirt that hugged her ass—she’d kicked off the pink and army-green camo combat boots.
Seeing her relaxed stance, her feet bare, her hair up in a ponytail, almost had him falling to his knees. This was his Molly.
“I thought we could talk out here. The couch is more comfy than the office chairs.”
Deacon doubted he could calmly sit and discuss the total destruction of his life as he’d known it. “I don’t even know where to start.” He rested his hands on the top of his head and blew out a long breath. “Fuck that. I do know. What’d you tell me to do the first time I f*cked up and couldn’t remember what to say? I needed to hit the high points?”
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything you ever say to me, babe. So . . . here goes. I’m sorry for bein’ an * to you at the restaurant. I’m sorry that I embarrassed you in front of Tag. I’m sorry that you felt you had to run from me. I’m sorry that I said bullshit. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry that I had to wait five f*cking days before I could talk to you.”
“Why did you wait?”
“Besides Amery and Ronin forbidding me from coming here or approaching you at Black Arts? I had to get up the courage. Fee told me about Katie’s party and dared me to crash it.”
“And you can’t resist a challenge.”
“I can’t resist you. You are the only reason I went. I wanted a chance to make this right.”
“Why?”
Because I f*cking love you.
“Because I lost everything when Dante died and I ran away.” Deacon found the balls to look at her. “I realized I was about to lose everything again, and this time I’m staying put.”
“Deacon.”
“I’ll tell you everything. Even things I’ve never told anyone.”
“Not even Ronin?”
“Not Ronin. Not my dad.” Before Molly could ask, Why are you telling me? he said softly, “Some of it is so ugly I didn’t want to think about it, let alone tell anyone about it.”
She didn’t say anything to that—but what could she say?
So he soldiered on. Take a deep breath. You can do this.
“The condensed version is when I was fifteen I was in a car accident that killed my twin brother and also my girlfriend. I was driving. It permanently f*cked up my life to the point I left home.”
When Molly remained quiet, he knew she was letting that sink in before she spoke. “Is that why you changed your name?”
“No. That’s another part of it. Just . . . I need to start at the beginning.” Deacon faced the window, bracing his hands on the ledge. “I don’t know what the hell my parents were thinking, naming identical twins Deacon and Dante. No one could keep our names straight, let alone our personas. Then again, most of our life we didn’t have separate identities. We had a singular moniker—the Westerman twins.”
“Did that bother you?”
“Not that I remember. We were a package deal until high school. Dante was a f*cking brain and got into all the advanced-placement classes. I was a jock. He claimed he lifted weights and ran with me because he didn’t want to be seen as the weaker twin, but the truth was we preferred spending time together. We were more than brothers; we were two halves of the same whole. But we were always competitive. So it pissed me off that smooth-talker Dante kissed a girl before me. The smug f*cker bragged about meeting her under the bleachers for make-out sessions. Since few could tell us apart, I showed up pretending to be him.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did. For a week after that, everyone could tell us apart since I had a black eye. He ensured I wouldn’t be kissing any girls either, since he also gave me a fat lip.”
Molly laughed softly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, but you deserved it.”
Deacon allowed a smile because the sharp pang of loss was bearable for a change. “True. Dante wasn’t a fighter, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to throw a punch.”
“So you two together were the brains and the brawn of the Westerman family?”
“Tag told you that our granddad started the family oil business. Granddad expected his sons to learn the ropes from the ground up. Our dad expected the same from us. The summer after our freshman year, we were sent to our uncle Jesse’s ranch. He had a dozen working oil rigs on his place, so we learned to read them like real oilmen. Dante was more interested in the science side of the oil business—engineering and the geological aspect. He studied. I did the dirty work and ran wild. I raced dirt bikes, cars, horses, tractors, you name it. Even then it was obvious to everyone in the Westerman family that Dante would head up JFW Industries—which is now JFW Development—one day.”