Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2)(7)

“Sarge came home for Christmas and kidnapped my best friend. Took her to Los Angeles,” she said. “Made her a member of his band.” She tightened her ponytail. “What are you doing here?”

“Adeline has some of my uncle’s things in a box.” The man who’d been forced to raise Vaughn after his parents cut out had lived above the town stationary shop, before leaving Hook some time ago. All that was left of Vaughn’s upbringing could apparently fit in an Adidas shoebox, which was the description he’d been given by the choir director. “Came to collect the stuff.”

“Oh, I’ll leave you to it, then.” River tried to bypass him, but he blocked her path, a knee-jerk reaction he couldn’t help. They were alone. His reservoir of missing River had overflowed years back and continued to do so by the minute, flooding his insides. “If you don’t have Jasmine, Sarge, or your parents in Hook anymore…who’s been helping you, doll?”

“Vaughn.” Her eyes flared, then cooled. “It’s not for you to worry about.”

“I’m trying to be patient with you saying things like that, Riv. I really am.” His gut turned over, once, twice. “Will you just talk to me about how it’s been…doing this alone? I’m just hanging here.”

She’d always been a compassionate soul, and that clearly hadn’t changed, because his truthful words caused her visible distress. “I have a babysitter—my neighbor, Helen—and she’s wonderful. She watches Marcy after nursery school, until I get off at the factory. Sometimes her grandchildren are there, too, and Marcy loves them. They call her Mars Bar.”

“Huh,” he breathed. He thought of River carrying a little girl up the house’s stone pathway, a smile on both of their faces over the nickname, and he barely managed to swallow. “What about when you used to work at the Kicked Bucket?”

“Used to?” she echoed. Yeah, okay, he’d said the wrong thing. But he’d die a slow death if she ever set foot in that establishment again, so they’d best get her lack of a night job out in the open. “As far as I know, I’m still on the payroll.”

“Guess I’ll be making another appearance tonight, then.”

Bristling, River stepped into his space, head tilted back, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to incite her further. With a kiss. A kiss that would lead to more. They’d always f*cked the hardest when one of them was bent out of shape. He would lay odds on that fact still being truer than a nun swearing on a Bible.

“I didn’t look for you, Vaughn. But I know people did, long before my brother sent that letter. Adeline. Duke.”

Duke Crawford was his old army friend, who now worked at the local factory, like River. It came as news that he’d been looking for Vaughn, but the pain of River not caring enough to seek him out overshadowed his surprise, as irrational as it was.

“You obviously didn’t want to be found,” she said. “And I understand. I understand wanting to be free of Hook and…your life here. It wasn’t ideal.”

She took a long breath, and Vaughn found himself mimicking the action, just to feel in league with her somehow. Not ideal? Not ideal? I had you.

“We were young, and we got pregnant,” she continued. “It happens all the time. I wouldn’t change the outcome, though. And I’m not bringing a man who has a habit of leaving into my daughter’s life. You left me for the army. You left me for God knows where.”

The axe swung down, even though she hated being an executioner. Vaughn could see it, written all over her, the conflict of regret and determination.

“I won’t allow Marcy to get attached then have you pull the rug out. You’d kill her. Same way you killed me.”

“River,” he wheezed, wet cement pouring down on his head. I killed her. Fuck. How could he survive with that knowledge? “I would have come back if I’d known. I’m back now to make this right.”

“I don’t want your consolation prize. We don’t want it.” Her shoulders sagged as she walked toward the door. “I’m sorry, Vaughn, but there’s no place for you here. There hasn’t been for a long time.”

His insides were scraped raw as the office door shut, sealing him off from River. As if he hadn’t done that himself, years ago. You’d kill her. Marcy. Was that true? Had coming back to Hook been a huge mistake for River and Marcy? He’d never been good for River, and he still wasn’t. Possibly even worse now that he’d spent years numbing himself while she busted her ass to raise their child. Was it worth trying to convince River—and himself—that he could stay? Or was history doomed to repeat itself?

Hadn’t he bailed just like his own parents?

With that ugly thought knocking around his skull, Vaughn reached toward the desk, batting off the top to the Adidas box containing his uncle’s possessions. His pulse lurched when he spotted a picture of himself and River right on top, as they’d been when she still attended high school. God, the way she used to look at him. As if a cape were all he needed to be some powerful superhero. The opposite of how she looked at him now.

Did it have to be, though? Maybe he’d never earn back that pure, perfect trust. But even a sliver of that former belief she’d had in him? Fuck, it would make life worth living. To have that trust from his child, too, would be the stuff of dreams. Dreams he’d never been aware of having. Until now. And after so much time devoid of feeling, that hope was addictive.