Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(143)

He heard her footsteps behind him as he strode back to the drive-in. The boy’s voice carried on a current of air.

“Now, Mommy? Now are we gonna die?”

Pain sliced through him. He’d been numb inside, just the way he wanted it, but the two of them were cutting him open all over again.

He walked faster. She had no right to barge into his life like this when all he wanted was to be left alone. That’s why he’d bought this damned drive-in in the first place. So he could go through the motions of living and still be left alone.

He made his way to his pickup, which sat in the sun next to the snack-shop door. The truck was unlocked and the windows rolled down. He jerked the door open and set the emergency brake, then turned to watch them approach.

As soon as she realized he was watching, her spine straightened, and she marched right toward him. But the boy was more cautious. He moved slower and slower, until he came to a stop.

She bent to reassure him, and her hair tumbled forward in a tangled flame curtain. A gust of wind shaped the worn fabric of her dress around her thin hips. Her legs looked frail in contrast to those big men’s shoes she was wearing. Despite that, his groin stirred unexpectedly, adding to his sense of self-loathing.

He shot his head toward the truck. “Get in, boy. You stay here and keep out of trouble while I talk to your mother.”

The boy’s bottom lip began to tremble, and pain clawed away inside him. He remembered another little boy who’d sometimes lost control of his bottom lip, and for a terrible moment he thought he was going to collapse.

But Rachel wasn’t collapsing. Despite his hostility and all that had happened, she stood squarely on her feet shooting him a dagger-sharp glare. “He’s staying with me.”

Her defiance was suddenly intolerable. She was alone and desperate. Didn’t she understand her powerlessness? Didn’t she understand she had nothing left?

Something dark and awful twisted inside him as he finally acknowledged the truth he’d been trying to ignore. Rachel Stone was tougher than he was.

“We can either have our conversation in private or in front of him. Your choice.”

He watched her bite back the obscenities she wanted to throw in his face. Instead, she gave the boy a reassuring nod and a gentle prod toward the truck.


Jamie would have bounced onto the seat in one joyous motion, but her kid had a hard time pulling himself up. She’d said he was five, exactly the age Jamie had been when he’d died, but Jamie had been strong and tall, with glowing skin, laughing eyes, and a mind for mischief. Rachel’s son was frail and timid.

His heart spilled bile, and he couldn’t push away the ugly comparisons.

She shut the door of the truck and leaned into the window. Her breasts pressed against the side panel, and he couldn’t look away. “Stay here, honey. I’ll be back for you in a few minutes.”

He wanted to weep at the apprehension on the boy’s face, but that would mean more pain, so he distracted himself with malice. “Stop mollycoddling him, Rachel, and get inside.”

Her spine straightened and her chin shot up. She was furious, but she didn’t even glance in his direction. Instead, she swept into the snack shop as grandly as a queen, leaving him trailing in her wake.

Like a maggot, his malice ate away at the parts of him that were still healthy. She was beaten, but she wouldn’t admit it, and that was unbearable. He needed to see her defeated. He needed to watch the last glimmer of hope fade from her eyes until her soul was as empty as his. He needed to stand by and watch her accept what he’d already discovered. Some things in life couldn’t be survived.

He jerked the doors shut and threw the lock. “You’re turning that boy into a sissy. Is that what you want? A sissy boy who’s never going to leave your side?”

She spun on him. “What I do with my son is none of your concern.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Everything you do is my concern. Don’t forget that I can put you in jail with one phone call.”

“You bastard.”

He felt an unfamiliar heat in his chest and knew that his malevolence had begun to char the borders of his heart. If he didn’t leave her alone, his heart would burn away until nothing was left but a pile of ash. The idea tantalized him. “I want my money back.”

“What?”

“You haven’t earned it, and I want it back. Now.” He didn’t care about the money, and one chamber of his smoldering heart imploded. Good. That meant there were only three more to go.

She reached into the pocket of her dress and threw the small stack of bills at him. They fluttered to the ground like broken dreams. “I hope you choke on every penny.”

“Pick that up.”

She drew back her arm and slapped him as hard as she could.

What she lacked in muscle, she made up for in passion, and his head snapped to the side. The sting sent fresh blood pumping through his body, fresh blood he didn’t want. It renewed his charred cells, undoing what he needed to accomplish and releasing a torrent of new pain.

“Take off your clothes.” The words, born in the dark and empty place where his soul used to be, came unexpectedly. They sickened him, but he didn’t take them back. All she had to do was show fear, and he would let her go. All she had to do was crumble.

But instead of crumbling, she was angry. “Go to hell.”