Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(121)

She barely stopped herself from flinching at his flip response.


“So then this mortician asks if we want to see him, since there wouldn’t be visitation.”


“What’d you say?”


“Brandt turned green like he was gonna pass out. Tell shook his head. But I…” He swallowed hard. “I said yes.”


Oh, baby, no.


“Sounds f*ckin’ horrible, but I had to see him for myself. That he really was dead, not just playin’ some big goddamned joke on us, to see if we’d mourn him when he was gone. And how f*ckin’ pathetic is it that’s even a possibility? That he’s such a mean bastard he might actually do something like that?” He took a breath and exhaled with frustration. “So I followed the guy back to the viewing room or whatever the f*ck it was. And it smelled…” Dalton shuddered again. “I don’t even wanna talk about or think about that. Anyway, there he was, on a steel table, just like on TV, with a sheet covering him. Only part of him I could see was his head. And even though I felt like I was gonna throw the f*ck up, I got close enough to look at him. Really look at his face. His skin was this pasty gray, but it was him. The only thing I could think of was he carried that goddamned sneer of his into death. So I got the hell outta there. I don’t even remember what I said to Brandt and Tell. I just know when they dropped me off the first thing I did was crack open the scotch.”


“I think it’s good you got a final look at him. You’ll never have to wonder.”


“Except wonder what the f*ck is wrong with me.”


“Dalton—”


“I felt nothin’ when I looked at him, Rory. Nothin’. Not sadness or anger or even relief. What kind of cold bastard does that make me?”


Her heart was breaking for him but she managed to keep her voice from cracking. “Sweetheart, you’re in shock, okay? Give yourself a break. It’s only been about twelve hours since you found out.”


“So this next stage. Am I supposed to cry?”


Tread lightly. “I think so. Why?”


“What if I don’t? Does that make me an unfeeling bastard? Especially when after Luke died and all that shit went down I swore the man would never make me cry again.”


“Everyone grieves in a different way. You won’t grieve for him like you did your brother. And your brothers won’t grieve the same way you do either.”


He remained quiet, but tense. The way he rubbed her back fluctuated, too, between lazy and fast. Then he quit touching her entirely.



“I didn’t expect my mom to be upset,” he said after a bit. “Brandt called her and he said she started crying so hard he couldn’t understand her. I guess Dad’s girlfriend had a hard time too. Then she asked if she could sit with the family during the service and how the hell are we supposed to make that decision? My mom was married to him for forty years. By all rights she should get the goddamn sympathy from people, not some do-gooder chick Casper picked up in church. So see? I hear myself say shit like that and I feel like an *.”


“Dalton. It doesn’t make you an * if that’s how you feel.”


“And I really don’t wanna talk about this. I don’t. Knocking back the scotch did shut off the goddamned voices in my brain. I just wanted to pass out. Wake up hung-over as shit tomorrow because then at least I’d feel something.”


Rory placed her fingers over his lips and tilted her head back to look at him.


But his eyes were squeezed shut.


“Maybe we should down that bottle of scotch.”


He smiled slightly and her hand fell away.


Then those blue eyes were open, open in so many ways.


“Screw the scotch. I’ve got you. You’re more potent than a barrel of any booze.” Dalton pushed her hair behind her ear. “And when I drink you down, you fill me up. You don’t leave me feeling empty.”


A weird booze analogy but she’d take it. He kept staring at her. “What?”


“I need you.”


“I know. That’s why I’m here.”


“No. That’s not what I meant. I need you to take me to the place where it’s only us. Where no one else can get in. Where nothin’ exists but you and me.”


“I can do that. I’d love to do that. But I have to be sure you won’t use the fact we made love on the day your dad died as another mark against yourself today.”


“I won’t.”


“Promise?”


“Promise.”


She touched his face. Outlining his jaw. The wide-set cheekbones. The pillow of his lips. “Okay.” Rory turned her head so his mouth connected with her cheek. She didn’t have to say anything, he just seemed to know that she needed the connection of his lips on her skin.


He trailed soft kisses down the side of her jaw, adjusting the angle on the way back up so he was kissing her neck. Then he retreated and his fingers were tugging and twisting her hair. “Bedroom.”


They undressed quietly, separately.


Dalton wrapped his arms around her and lowered them onto the bed. He held onto her for the longest time. She wondered what he was thinking about, if he was already regretting this, but she didn’t want to break the moment. Then he stretched his body on top of hers. “I love you. So f*cking much.”