Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(14)

Bonner’s skin was pale over the harsh ridge of his cheekbones. “I told you to keep him away from here.”

She rushed forward, her exhaustion forgotten. “Put him down! You’re scaring him!”

“You were warned. I told you not to bring him here. It’s too dangerous.” He set him to the ground.

Edward was free, but he stood frozen in place, once more the victim of a powerful adult force he could neither understand nor control. His helplessness cut her to the quick. She retrieved Horse, then scooped up her child and hugged him to her chest. The toes of his sneakers banged into her shins as she buried her cheek in his straight brown hair, which was still warm from the sun.


“What was I supposed to do with him?” she spat out.

“That wasn’t my problem.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never had responsibility for a child!”

He went absolutely still. Seconds ticked by before his lips moved. “You’re fired. Get out of here.”

Edward began to cry as he wrapped his arms around her neck. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I tried not to let him see me, but he catched me.”

Her heart pounded, and her legs felt like rubber. She wanted to rage at Bonner for frightening him, but that would only upset Edward more. And what was the use? One look at the blank canvas of Bonner’s face told her his decision was final.

He pulled a wallet from his back pocket, peeled out several bills, and extended them toward her. “Take this.”

She stared down at the money. She’d sacrificed everything for her child. Did she have to give up the last ounce of her pride, too?

Slowly she took the money and felt a little part of herself die.

Edward’s chest heaved.

“Shh . . .” She brushed her lips over his hair. “It’s not your fault.”

“He seed me.”

“Not for a whole day. He was so dumb it took him a whole day to find you. You did just fine.”

Without a backward glance, she carried Edward to the playground where she gathered up their things. Blinking against the tears, she clutched her meager possessions in one hand and her son in the other. What kind of man would do something like this? Only one who had no feelings at all.

As she left the Pride of Carolina, she wanted to fall off the end of the world.



Gabriel Bonner, the man with no feelings, cried in his sleep that night. He jolted awake sometime around three in the morning to find a wet place on his pillow and the awful metallic taste of grief in his mouth.

He’d dreamed about them again tonight, Cherry and Jamie, his wife and son. But this time Cherry’s beloved face kept changing into the thin, defiant face of Rachel Stone. And his son had held a bedraggled gray rabbit as he lay in his coffin.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and for a long time he did nothing but sit with his shoulders hunched and his face buried in his hands. Finally he pulled open the drawer in his bedside table and took out a Smith & Wesson .38.

The revolver felt warm and heavy in his hands. Just do it. Put it in your mouth and pull the trigger. He touched the barrel to his lips and closed his eyes. The cold steel felt like a lover’s kiss, and he welcomed the click of it against his front teeth.

But he couldn’t pull the trigger, and, at that moment, he hated his family for keeping him from the oblivion he craved. Any one of them—his father or mother, his two brothers—they would all put a dog out of its misery, but they wouldn’t be able to bear it if he killed himself. Now their stubborn, unrelenting love kept him shackled to an intolerable world.

He shoved the gun back in the drawer and withdrew the framed photograph he also kept there. Cherry smiled back at him, his beautiful wife who’d loved him and laughed with him and been everything a man could want. And Jamie.

Gabe caressed the frame with his thumbs, and in his chest, his heart seeped. It wasn’t blood that escaped—that had been shed long ago—but a thick, bile-like fluid that ran through veins that had become rivers of pain carrying a bottomless cargo of grief.

My son.

Everyone had told him his grief would be easier to bear after the first year, but they’d lied. It had been over two years now since his wife and son had been killed by a drunk running a red light, and the pain had grown worse.

He’d spent most of that time in Mexico, living on tequila and quaaludes. Then, four months ago, his brothers had come to get him. He’d sworn at Ethan and thrown a punch at Cal, but it hadn’t done any good. They’d brought him back anyway, and when they’d dried him out, he had no feelings left. No feelings at all.

Until yesterday.

A vision of Rachel’s thin, naked body swam before his eyes. She’d been all bones and desperation when she’d offered herself to him in exchange for a job. And he’d gotten hard. He still couldn’t believe it had happened.

He’d seen one other woman naked since Cherry had died. She’d been a Mexican whore with a lush body and a sweet smile. He’d thought he could bury some small part of his anguish inside her, but it hadn’t worked. Too many pills, too much booze, too much pain. He’d sent her away without touching her and drunk himself into a stupor.

He hadn’t even thought about her again until yesterday. An experienced Mexican whore hadn’t been able to make him respond, but Rachel Stone with her scrawny body and defiant eyes had somehow managed to penetrate the wall he’d built so solidly around himself.