One to Save (One to Hold 6)

“I’m watching her for you. She’s safe.”

Gratitude warms my chest. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Either way, “Thanks, partner.”

“She won’t talk to me either if that makes you feel any better. Apparently, I’m in the dog house, too.”

Another sip and I rub my forehead with the back of my hand. “It doesn’t make me feel worse.”

“I think it’s a good sign. She’s mad, and being mad means she loves you. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t give a shit.”

It’s a good theory. Of course, then I remember her face at the birthday party, the tears in her eyes and the words she kept saying. Leaning back against the sink, I take another long pull. “I hope you’re right.”

* * *

The light of a few lamps casts a dim glow across my dark wood floors. My eyes trace the lines of my mahogany furniture. Stainless accents dot the interior, and an enormous flat screen television hangs dark on the wall in front of me.

When I bought this place, I was alone. Allison had died, taking with her my dreams of a home and a family. I was broken and empty, dark and angry. I had plenty of money to buy the ultimate bachelor pad, yet I had no intention of doing anything with it. I chose to be alone.

Then Melissa came. Then Dex. My life became so much more than I ever imagined when I moved in here. I had another chance at my dreams.

Now I’m back in this elegant cave by myself. Dex’s cries are still in my ears, and the sight of Melissa refusing to look at me as she demands her key back...

I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and even then, I didn’t have much. An empty bottle of vodka is beside me, and anger twists in my chest. My fingers tighten around the crystal tumbler I’m holding, and I want to break it. I’m ready to smash every piece of elegant glass in the whole goddamn place.

The front door opens, momentarily interrupting my internal firestorm, and Star walks in with Cammie. The little girl is crashed out on her shoulder, and my thoughts travel to Dex. He’d be asleep on Melissa’s shoulder right now.

Star deposits her daughter in Cammie’s sleeping quarters then goes to the kitchen. I hear her digging in a crinkly plastic bag, and she’s headed my way.

“Mariska said Walt knows all the best take-out places in a ten-mile radius.” Her voice is too cheerful for how I feel. “I’m convinced. This is the best Thai I’ve had in... possibly ever!”

She sits on the coffee table in front of me, a plate of noodles in her lap. “You need to eat something.”

My head is heavy, and I take in her appearance. Tonight, she’s wearing tight jeans and a fitted, white long-sleeved sweater with thin black lines across it. Her long light-brown hair is loose and swept over one shoulder, and her face is more natural than I’ve ever seen it.

“What made you stick with this?” I say, lifting my hand to gesture to her outfit. “I thought you preferred rocker chic.”

“I don’t know,” she smiles and glances up through dark lashes. “I guess I feel prettier this way?”

Nodding, I sit forward. “You look like Melissa.”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she takes the glass from my hand, replacing it with a plate. I lift the fork and take a bite of pad Thai. It’s good, so I take another.

“You’ve been driving a lot. Do you feel stiff?” She stands in front of me.

“I feel like shit.” Instead of going back across the hall this evening, I’d sent my full-disclosure text to Melissa. As per usual, she didn’t reply. All the vodka later, I’m twisted in my thoughts, trying to find any way back inside, through the wall she’s built around her heart. It’s killing me.

Star is on her knees, climbing behind me on the couch. “Mariska knows massage therapy.” I feel her hands on my shoulders. “She showed me some touches. That’s what they call them. Touches.”

She pushes and squeezes my muscles, and warm relaxation moves through my neck, into my arms. “Feels good,” I say, leaning forward to put the plate on the table, resting my elbows on my thighs.

“It does, right?” Star climbs around m

e and scoots the plate aside, sitting in front of me. “Check this out.”

Her voice is soft, but my insides are toast. All I want is one thing... one thing 850 miles away. My head is right at her chest, and she slides cool palms to my temples. Slim fingers go behind my ears into my hair. Gentle but intense pressure on my scalp, her thumbs move to my forehead, and the pain eases.

Her voice is different, lower. “Like that?”

“Mm. It’s nice.”