Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

She forced herself to remember the endless, deep heartache that had crippled her for so long. The soul-shredding sensation of being rejected. How she’d had to handle every mountain for the last eight years on her own. How alone she’d felt every time she achieved success, because he wasn’t there to share it with her.

By the time she returned to the house, she was steady again. Emma pulled into the drive. She didn’t see the old truck he’d been driving last week and wondered if he’d left. Then a black trash bag flew over the side of the dumpster. He’d put himself to work. The sight softened another notch of resistance. Liam wouldn’t touch the house. He’d only half-jokingly suggested they burn it down and sell the land.

She’d been carrying so much on her shoulders by herself—her debt, her studies, her work, her finances, this house. While she was with Liam, she’d chosen to view his lack of interest in her struggles as something that only made her stronger. But seeing Dylan pitching in with something that wasn’t even remotely his responsibility to pay a debt that wasn’t even his made her realize how much she’d missed having someone to lean on.

She grabbed the food and made her way down the drive to the backyard. Dylan came out of the house holding a kitchen garbage can. He was wearing the mask but none of the other protective gear, and he tossed the plastic bin into the dumpster before pulling the mask down.

And he smiled. Smiled like this was the most fun he’d had in months.

It was no wonder he’d stolen her heart. The man had been able to find fun in any situation. Had always helped Emma lighten up. He’d both brought her joy and taught her how to find joy in the most unexpected places. And right now, he looked so much like the guy she’d married, it made her heart heavy. Dylan had always been resilient, but seeing just how well he’d recovered from an accident that tore his life apart and killed three other men was nothing short of a miracle.

He rested his hands at his hips in a familiar stance she’d always found so sexy. “Hey.”

The movement drew her gaze to his arms. He’d pulled off the long-sleeved Henley he’d been wearing, exposing a simple black T-shirt. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the healed burns. Everywhere fire had touched him, scars created various shapes of distorted, discolored skin. Some areas were deep, some shallow. Some had healed on the darker side, some on the lighter side.

“And overcoming his physical limitations after that accident…” her mother’s words replayed in Emma’s head. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

“What’s wrong?” Dylan followed her gaze. “Oh.” He waved it away like it was nothing. “I know, they’re ugly, but they don’t bother me much anymore.”

Something snapped inside her. She felt it as clearly as a sharp slap on her skin. Pain soared. Anger surged. “Bullshit.” She knew better. Much better. “You can’t have burns like that and not suffer nerve damage.”

He held his hands out and glanced at his arms. “It’s not as bad as—”

“Stop it. Stop fucking minimizing it. You did the same thing in the hospital. Tried to tell me you would be fine. Right up until the day you took a one-eighty and told me you didn’t love me anymore. Told me to get out and never come back.”

“Emma—” He dropped his arms and took a step toward her.

“Don’t.” She put up a hand, but that didn’t stop him. He followed her retreat until he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Dylan, don’t. Please.”

“Shhh.” His arms were strong, his presence steady. “I’m not trying to minimize anything. I’ve found ways to deal with the pain over the years. I’m okay, Emma. I’m not the kid I used to be, but I’m much better than anyone ever believed I could be.”

“I believed.” She fisted her hands and

pulled her arms into her body, trying to create some kind of barrier between them. She couldn’t seem to maintain any kind of control over her emotions around him. “I believed, but you didn’t. Not in yourself. Not in me. Not in us.”

“You’ve always been able to look into the future better than I ever could. You’ve always known me better than I knew myself. I didn’t have your vision or your faith. I’m so sorry.”

The pain felt like it was consuming her. She pushed against his chest, but he didn’t let her go. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” He kissed her hair and rocked her, a slow, side-to-side motion. “You’re a fucking warrior princess. You’ve been through so much worse. Breathe, Emma. Slow your mind down and breathe.”

God, he knew her so well. Knew her mind was spinning out. Knew exactly how to calm her. Tension uncoiled from her muscles, and she closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, then did exactly what he suggested and breathed. His familiar scent filled her head, and, despite all the turmoil inside her, she relaxed into him.

“There you go,” he murmured, lifting one hand to stroke her hair. “You’ve got this, baby. We’ve got this.”

Against her better judgment, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. Her tension faded. The pain transformed into sadness. All the years they’d lost drifted in. All the pain she’d suffered. And the reality that it could never be the same between them again.

“What did you bring us for lunch?”

His question broke her thoughts. Emma eased away and looked at the bag that had been crushed between them. “It was Mexican. I’m not sure what it is now.”

He lifted the bag. “Teresita’s? Are you serious? They’re still in business?”

Emma used both hands to wipe her face. “The daughter and granddaughter are running it now.”

His smile was radiant. She really didn’t have the strength to keep fighting her feelings for him. She was exhausted. “I’ve got drinks in the car.”

She turned away, but he caught her hand. “I’ll get them. You sit. I cleared off the picnic table.”