Dream Maker (Dream Team 1)

She stopped talking then whirled to Mag, and her eyes were big.

Cute.

Mag ignored other things about her face, including the fact one of her eyes couldn’t get as big as it should when she made that face, and he focused on that cute.

Strike that.

He latched on to it like it was a lifeline.

“You did?” she asked with unhidden surprise. “I-I…really don’t know what to say. But I think this is good. It probably doesn’t feel good, and I know she’s my mom, but you deserve better.”

When she stopped speaking, Mag wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught her mouthing He left her.

“What?” she asked into the phone. “Yes. But not tonight. I know you’re worried but I’m really all right. I’m with Danny and he’s,” she ducked her chin, “proven adept at taking care of me.”

Mag felt some tension release in his neck and instantly his shoulder felt better.

It wasn’t the Fireball dousing the burn inside.

It was those last words Evie said.

She turned a little away and spoke again into her phone.

“Maybe we can set that up sometime later. I do want you to meet him but right now he’s not a super big fan of my family so maybe we can give him a little time, I’ll work on that with him and we’ll figure something out.” Pause then, “Yeah.” Pause and, “That means a lot, Rob. Truly, it does. And you being how you’ve been through all of this means a lot too. I’m sorry it led to what it did between you and Mom, but sometimes things happen for a reason.”

She looked to Mag as she ended it over the phone with her stepdad.

“Me too, Rob. Thank you. Love you and talk to you later. Try to get some sleep.” Pause and, “’Bye.” She dropped the phone from her ear and announced, “He left Mom and he wants to meet you.”

“You’re right, I’m not a super big fan of your family, so I’m all in to break bread with Gert, who digs you and shows it, but that dude’s gonna have to wait,” Mag replied.

“Gotcha,” she mumbled.

Mag poured another shot and downed it.

Evie watched.

When he was done, she suggested, “Maybe we can lie down and watch a little TV.”

“I was vacuuming.”

Her head ticked.

“Sorry?” she asked.

“It was not a priority to vacuum. It was a priority to cover your ass. And I was vacuuming. Not covering your ass and look at you.”

“Danny,” she whispered.

But he couldn’t escape it no matter how hard he tried to block it out with her voice and her hair and her cute that he was learning could transcend almost anything.

Except that purplish-red along her cheekbone that was swelling upward and partly closing her left eye and the striated grazes that were already scabbing over that ran about an inch long under her right eye.

He poured another shot, saying, “You were probably out of your mind scared.”

“I was, that he’d hurt you.”

In surprise at these words, his gaze lifted again to hers.

“Please, sweetheart, let’s stretch out in front of the TV.” She shot him a grin. “I’ll watch Anaconda.”

“She lands on her feet,” he muttered.

“What?”

“You land on your goddamned feet!” he thundered, turned, and sidearm-threw the shot glass with such force, it embedded itself in the drywall opposite, liquor splashing a thin stream the entire way, fire searing through his shoulder as he did it.

He then pivoted back to her.

“It’s my job,” he thumped his chest, ignoring the new throb of pain that sent through his shoulder, “to keep you on solid ground.”

He stood there, his chest rising and falling, and each time it did, a nag of pain shot through his wound.

His arm was in a sling and he was staring at the woman he was set to make his, who looked like she’d followed her heart in the wrong direction and hooked up with O.J. Simpson.

Christ.

Christ.

And as she stood across from him, staring back, not speaking, he knew he’d really blown it by letting his fucked-up lack of control get the better of him.

Again.

She’d already seen it once that day.

Christ.

That was, he knew that until she asked, “Do you have a TV in your room?”

His chin jerked into his neck.

“Say again?”

“Well, I’m not about to get carried away in shenanigans that might tear your stitches, but you’d promised alternate sleeping arrangements tonight and I don’t want to be alone, I want to be with you. I also want you to lie your ass down and get some rest. So, do you have a TV in your room?”

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Right then, I’m gonna go put my pajamas on and you are not going to take that shirt off without me helping so don’t even think about it. I’ll do your boots and socks too. But you can do your jeans. And I hope you have ice cream, because I was too stuffed for sopapillas, but now I need something sweet, and I want ice cream.”