Page 13

TWELVE

Damon

I’m staring at the older couple on the porch, pieces clicking into place as I spot an RV parked at the curb.

But I don’t so much as get a word out before the man, maybe early sixties with the beginnings of a beer belly and a handlebar mustache that doesn’t fucking quit, barks, “Who the hell are you?”

I open my mouth again, but I don’t get that out either.

Because the woman, petite and curved and wearing army green hiking pants, a cream long-sleeved tee, a sweater tied around her shoulders, looks beyond me and cries, “Josephine! My beautiful girl!”

Then she’s pushing by me, hightailing it into the house like the ten feet between her and Joey is the best hike she’s ever conquered, and the way she sweeps Joey into her arms for a long hug has our conversation flowing through my head again—knowing that she even keeps distance from these people who have love for her, who are protective.

Damn.

I don’t have time to sit in that, though, because the man—who I figure must be the firefighter who saved her all those years ago—is showing his protective side.

He clears his throat, mustache twitching, cold eyes on mine. “I believe I asked you a question, son.”

Immediately, my spine goes up.

I’ve never had patience for old codgers like this, who think their shit doesn’t stink and that they’re owed an explanation on their terms. My dad, when he popped back up in my life looking for a handout, had exactly the same demeanor and presumption.

But the reason this interaction doesn’t send my rage spiraling is because this is the man who saved her.

Who protected her.

The man she clearly cares about.

So, I bite back the urge to snap back and just extend my hand. “Damon Connors.”

His bushy brows pull together as he shakes it. “The GM?”

I nod. “Yes, Joey and I work together on the Sierra.”

Instantly, his puffed-up demeanor melts away and he pumps my hand a few more times, mustache twitching again, but this time because he’s smiling instead of scowling. “Joey speaks very highly of you, and we especially appreciate the quick action you took last season.”

“Hiller is not only an asshole,” I mutter, rage slicing through me, “but he’s a fucking predator who deserves every bit of shit that’s been shoveled onto him, and a whole lot more.”

His smile grows and he breaks the handshake, clapping me on the shoulder. “Damn straight, son. Damn freaking straight.”

He moves by me, walking down the hall, pausing by Joey and pulling her into a hug.

It doesn’t last much longer than me closing and locking the door, and by the time I reach them, he’s drawing back. “Good to see ya, sweet pea.”

“You too, John,” she murmurs. “You?—”

“Oh look!” I hear Beth cry. “Chinese! You don’t mind if we join you guys, do you? I’m starved.”

Joey glances at me, worry creeping into her eyes.

It’s all empty.

My lungs go tight.

How are you going to make it better for her?

They go tighter.

Then all of that tightness just…relaxes.

Because there’s yearning in Joey’s eyes. She wants them her. She wants me here.

And…this is part of how I’m going to make it better, part of how I’m going to fill in that emptiness.

Simple as that.

I move into the kitchen, head straight for the cabinet with the dishes and pull out a couple more plates and bowls. “It might need a reheat,” I tell Beth as I hand over one of the plates.

“That’s okay, honey. It’s been ages since I’ve had a meal I haven’t had to cook in an RV kitchen. Just popping this plate into the microwave is a treat.”

“Woman,” John grumbles as he takes the other plate I hold out, “we just ate at that little Italian place you were begging me to stop at.”

I set the bowls next to the container of soup and pause to take in the show.

Because Beth has dropped the spoon back into the rice and turned, plunking her hands on her hips. “That was two weeks ago!”

John starts scooping up rice, adding more to Beth’s plate before heaping some onto his own. “Two weeks is an age?”

I glance up, see that Joey is having the same reaction I am.

The corners of her mouth are turned up.

I wink at her, watch as that tempting mouth curves up further.

Then I turn back to the show of John and Beth.

“When you’re the one cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner in a tiny RV kitchen then you’ll know exactly how long two weeks is, dear.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s fourteen days, honey bun.”

“Okay”—she takes the fork I hold out without breaking stride—“then I’m off cooking duty. You fend for yourself.”

A shrug. “So long as you empty the septic.”

There’s a blip of quiet. Then she lifts her chin, takes her plate to the counter, and turns to Joey. “We watched the game last night.” She reaches out, snags Joey’s hand. “Great job, honey.”

“Notice she doesn’t commit to emptying the tanks,” John says in a stage-whisper.

I decide it’s probably best to not comment on that. Instead, I nod toward the fridge. “What can I get you to drink? A beer?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, taking his plate and sitting beside his wife.

The moment his ass hits the stool, Beth glares at him, but he ignores it, leans close, and presses his lips to hers. “Quit bitching,” he mutters. “And I’ll take you out for breakfast at the place you like in the morning.”

“The one with the apple fritter pancakes?”

He nods. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get.”

I’m watching them.

But I’m also watching Joey.

Seeing the softness in her face, the lightness in her smile, and…the longing in her eyes.

It’s all empty.

How are you going to make it better for her?

I can’t look away from those green eyes, from that naked longing, from…

What it calls to inside me.

I want that. I want to give her that. I want?—

Panic slices through me.

Fuck. I can’t do this.

I fucking can’t.

“Son?” John calls and I jerk, my gaze tearing free of Joey. I glance over at him and he flicks up his brows. “You going to get me that beer?”

No. I’m going to get the fuck out of here, do everything in my power to take Joey and me back to how things were before.

It’s all empty.

How are you going to make it better for her?

Those words slap hard across my consciousness, hard enough that I’m able to shove the panic down.

I inhale. Exhale.

Then I nod.

Turn to Beth.

“Would you like a beer too or something else to drink?”