Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(29)

Having Luke out of the house is making me bold. It’s just us and what feels like an endless stretch of land behind me. “Truth or dare, Cade?”

He takes a swig, eyes almost coal black in the night. “Truth.”

“Where are my panties?”

His lips slope up, a sly expression hitting his face. “In the garbage.”

I giggle, tipping my head up to stare at the stars overhead. “Good. Your turn to ask.”

A deep rumble hums in his chest, and my eyes drop to the definition in his pecs. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” No way am I picking dare. He’ll dare me not to talk for a week or something.

“Why did you have underwear in your purse?”

I push forward to snag the glass of bourbon out of his hand. My knee brushes his, but this time he doesn’t move. I take a small sip, eyes shifting to meet his. “Honestly, I don’t like wearing underwear.

They’re uncomfortable, they ride up, they leave panty lines that I hate. They’re just a nuisance, so I carry a spare pair.” I point at him. “Clean ones. Just in case of emergency.”

“A panty emergency?”

I shrug, pressing the glass back into his fingers and giving them a squeeze around the glass to make sure he doesn’t drop it. “You just never know,” I reply as I move to his bench rather than across from him.

It will make sharing the drink easier.

That’s what I tell myself.

“Why do panty lines matter? If people know you’re wearing underwear, is that . . .” His face scrunches kind of adorably. “Is that a bad thing? Everyone wears underwear.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s true. I guess it shouldn’t matter.” I hold up an imaginary drink in his direction for a fake cheers. “Thank you, patriarchy.”

“You know I’m right.”

“You might be right, but I still hate them.”

His lips work against each other like he’s really chewing on something. “Every morning when you text me you’ve put them on, are you lying?”

“You just had your turn, Eaton. Don’t be greedy with the questions. I thought you didn’t like playing games?”

“Fuck my life,” he mutters, taking another long pull of the alcohol.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What’s the story with Luke’s mom?”

The blank stare he gives me is unnerving, but I don’t back down. I’m probably being snoopy, but I also spend all day with this kid. I’m supposed to attend a birthday party with him. It seems like something I should know. The bare bones of it, at least.

“Did I go too far?”

“No. It’s fine.”

“Her and I knew each other since high school. She was always around. I knew she liked me. Hell, everyone knew. She wasn’t subtle about it. My mom died when I was eight—giving birth to my little sister—and Harvey struggled with losing the love of his life, having a newborn and three little boys to raise all on his own. So I stepped up. I grew up fast and did more than most eight-year-olds should ever have to do. I look at Luke . . .” His eyes trail away, past me, out into the pitch darkness behind me. “I wonder how the hell I did what I did. How everyone just let me. I did school, pitched in around the ranch, cleaned, cooked what I could, and helped everywhere possible. Because that just seemed like what needed to be done.”

My chest aches uncharacteristically. Our fun, playful game took a more serious turn. I try to imagine a little Cade. A boy not really getting to mourn his mother’s death because he just threw himself into doing what needed to be done rather than doing what he wanted to.

“I spent years living that way. It’s a hard role to shake off. And I don’t know that I would have if I could have. And then one night Talia was there. She was willing. I was drunk and so damn tired of being responsible. And that was all it took. One little plus sign and I did what needed to be done. I went from rolling my eyes at her antics to get my attention, to irrevocably stuck with her. We got married. And while the chemistry was lacking, I’ll admit I liked having her around. The company. I guess I was so busy working the ranch that I missed the part where she was miserable. Where she was off sleeping with other people.”

He chuckles now. “Or maybe I noticed and just didn’t care.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. Because I don’t think this man has ever strung so many words together and directed them at me. I don’t think he’s ever told me anything personal, and then he goes and unloads all that. And I soak it all up raptly, loving getting to know this man who’s been a mystery wrapped up in an enigma. Loving that he feels comfortable enough to share it all with me.

“And then she left. I came home from working one night and there was a note. Luke was with my dad. And that was that.”

“How old was Luke?”

“Two.” He takes a deep swig, the column of his thick throat working as he swallows.

“Does she ever visit?”

“Whoop.” His index finger pulls off the glass, and he points at me. “You’ve already asked two questions in a row, Red. My turn.”

My lips press together and I nod. “It’s admirable, really. Everything you’ve done for your family.”