Glancing back toward my truck, I pull out some of the bar supplies I’d picked up earlier in the day. I can’t blame her for being gone. Apparently, she needs a new dress to wear on our first date, tonight. It might be our last if dinner goes the way I think it will. I plan to explain my past, after we eat our meal together, and to also explain why I’ve been hot and cold with her.
Hearing a car pull up as I return for the third trip to my truck, I turn and feel the air rush out of me. My mom sits behind the wheel of the car and a huge grin sends alarm bells ringing through my ears. This is going to turn my day to hell. Her grin widens as she walks toward me, and the air claws at my lungs as I try to expel it. Fear rips through me and I cast another glance toward the street. My mom needs to be out of here before Dahlia shows up, but hearing another car, I realize I’m not going to be so lucky.
Up until now, I’ve managed to keep my past just that, but my mom isn’t known for her tact, which means within five minutes Dahlia is going to know everything there is to know about me before I’m able to tell her myself.
My mom reaches me, and throws herself into my arms. I try to hide the shock and fear on my face as I watch Dahlia climbing from Mara’s car.
“It’s good to see you,” she says, squeezing the life out of me.
I’m still in shock at finding her on my doorstep and can’t form a reply.
What the hell is she doing here?
“I can see I’ve surprised you.” She pulls away and looks me over. “You look good.” She places her hands on her hips and I watch as her smile slips. “Ryder, for goodness sake, say something.”
“Um . . . You never visit. What are you doing here?”
She rolls her eyes and turns back toward her car. “You haven’t visited in a while so I wanted to see how my youngest son is doing,” she mumbles, but Dahlia’s approach has snagged her attention. She looks back at me before turning back to watch Dahlia.
Her brain is probably going ten to the dozen wondering what’s going on.
Over my mom’s head, I meet Dahlia’s gaze and my heart drops to my feet when it hits me like a brick that she’s never going to be with me. I shouldn’t have let her see my attraction for her over these past months because I need to keep my hands to myself. There is no way Dahlia will accept me with the baggage I have. Loss stabs at my heart and I clutch my chest briefly in an effort to stop the pain. I’m never going to be able to have what I want the most.
As soon as she finds out about my past, and the reason why I’m constantly pushing her away, she’ll be gone, and I’ll be left trying to pick up the shredded remains of my heart. I’ll be more alone than I’ve ever been in my life.
Since I’ve become friends with Dahlia, she’s given me a reason to get out of bed every morning. She’s made me want to go on.
What do I have if she walks away from me? Nothing.
Dahlia
“I’ll see you later,” I mumble to Mara as I climb out of her car, but then I hesitate as she pulls away and down the street.
Maybe sending Mara back to Donovan isn’t one of the best decisions I’ve ever made and I have a feeling I’ll need some support. As I approach Ryder and the older woman, fear trickles through me and settles like a rock in the pit of my stomach.
Who is she?
Something tells me she’s about to burst the bubble I’ve been riding and bring it all crashing down around my feet.
Since the carnival, when we kissed, our relationship has started to head in a new direction. Ryder hasn’t kissed me on the lips since, although he’s always pulling me into him for a hug and kissing me on the top of my head. We spend practically all of our time together and for the past week, I’ve been living above Kix with him. We have separate bedrooms, but I’m starting to get frustrated, and I think he is as well. Sometimes he looks at me as though I’m the only one he sees, which fills my heart with hope.
Now as I’m approaching him, he looks as though his best friend has died, which causes a hitch in my step, as I draw close.
“Ryder? Who is this?” the woman asks, looking me over.
Ryder clears his throat and looks damn uneasy. “She’s a friend,” he finally answers, but doesn’t make a move toward me.
“Well, if she’s a friend, don’t you think you should introduce us?”
“No,” he replies. The word is clipped and a tick has appeared under his right eye . . . he is definitely pissed.
Why is he being so rude?
The woman shakes her head and holds her hand out toward me.
“I’m his mom, Ellen. And you are?”
His mom. Oh God!