He was finished with the bastard.
Pushing from the truck, he was stomping around it when Dawg’s hand shot out and clasped his shoulder.
Not to restrain him. Not to argue or disagree, but in sympathy. Something no one had done; even after the death, during the funeral and burial, Doogan had stood alone.
“I’m sorry, man,” Dawg said again. “Clear to my fucking soul, I’m sorry.”
He forced himself to swallow, to breathe. “Yeah, so was I,” Doogan said then, breaking the contact and heading for the stairs. “So was I.”
—
Zoey covered her lips as she stood in the dark entrance from the storeroom beside the garage. The narrow, shadowed gap between a tall shelf and the wall was a perfect doorway to the rest of the garage, so she’d just left it.
When she’d heard Doogan and Dawg talking from where she’d sat amid the boxes and discarded furniture, she’d used it to hear what they were saying.
What she heard destroyed her. How had he borne it? And why did he take such blame for it on his shoulders?
“Eavesdropping, sis?” Of course, Dawg would know she was there.
Holding back her tears wasn’t easy. Moving into the garage, she stared up at her brother, her grief for Doogan’s loss tearing at her heart.
Dawg sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as she met his gaze. “I wanted you safe, Zoey. That’s all.”
Her lips trembled. “There’s no way to tell him.” Her voice shook. “It wouldn’t have mattered if he had taught her to ride the bike or not. Until she realized her mother was taking her away from her father, and that her father was her real security, she wouldn’t have fought. That was her mother.” Her breathing hitched. “I would have given Chandler a chance, even then, if he’d found a way to convince me he truly wanted one. A little girl always believes it’s her fault when a parent doesn’t love her, Dawg.” A single tear slipped free, because that had been her belief until she came to Kentucky, until she learned what a monster Chandler had actually been.
“Hell, Zoey.” His arms went around her and he pulled her to his chest just like he always hugged his daughter. Close to his heart. “I’d kill him all over again, myself if I could, sweetie.”
“I know.” She nodded, barely holding back the rest of her tears. “And if I could give Doogan back his daughter, I’d do it, Dawg, just because I love him that much.”
He stilled for a second, and then a heavy sigh passed his lips. “That wasn’t who I picked for you,” he groaned. “Damn, Zoey, Eli was the perfect match.”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Dawg,” she laughed, though she knew the weariness in the tone wasn’t very well hidden. “And for that one, you owe me.”
“You want us to leave, don’t you?” he asked. “You think because I actually like the bastard, I should let him live now?”
She listened to her brother’s heartbeat; it was strong, steady, just as he was. “Yeah, I do,” she agreed. “It’s time to let go, Dawg. It’s time to let me grow up.”
“Hell no,” he objected immediately. “Nine or ninety, it’s all the same in my eyes, little girl. It’s time to let you learn how to ride your bike, though. I can do that. And when you skin your knees, if that asshole doesn’t make it all better, then I get to kill him.”
She didn’t say anything; she couldn’t. The knowledge that Doogan had lost so much had changed something inside her as well.
“Do you know what Rowdy said when he found out what I was doing and agreed to help me?” she asked her brother then.
“What’s that, baby girl?” He petted her hair, stroking it gently, like he stroked his daughter’s. “He said he was only helping me because he didn’t want the adventure to hurt me. And that he knew, one day, I’d find the adventure I was really looking for.” She looked up at him, sniffing, realizing she’d actually lost the battle with her tears. “I found the adventure I was looking for, Dawg.”
“Yeah, I think I already knew that, sis,” he sighed. “Hell, I’m not stupid. But I still say Eli was better.”
“Because he’s your narc.” She gave him a watery laugh. “That’s why you like Eli so much. He’s scared of your ass.”
“’Course that’s why.” He grunted, giving her a look of mock surprise. “I’m no dummy, honey.”
He made her laugh. She couldn’t help it. No matter how mad he made her, no matter how many times she swore she was leaving Somerset because of his or the cousins’ antics. At the end of the day, she loved him.
Just as he loved Rowdy and Natches.
And she loved Doogan. Doogan was her adventure; she’d just had to be there to find him, or for him to find her.
“Well hell, let’s go upstairs then and tell the family we’re leaving,” he sighed. “But you have to stay safe, Zoey. Stay safe. You’re too damned important to lose.”
“We’ll lose you first,” she snorted. “You’ll worry yourself to death.”
He chuckled at that. “Gotta hang around a while longer, girl,” he promised her. “Who else is going to keep those little pricks you girls keep marrying in line? Now my sweet little Laken done promised her daddy he could pick out her husband all he wanted to.”
Satisfaction filled his voice, but Zoey stared at him in horror.
“She was five when she made that promise, Dawg,” she burst out, horrified. “Oh my God, you can’t hold her to that. Besides, you made her promise.”
He shot her a mild glare. “Promise is a promise,” he told her gruffly. “Laken knows that.”
“No, Dawg . . .” He moved quickly up the stairs at her protest. “No, listen to me. That doesn’t count . . .”
Poor Laken.
—
It was almost dark when everyone left.
Checking the clock on the wall, she frowned, realizing Doogan was still in the gym. He’d gone down just after she and Dawg had entered the living room, and he’d no doubt realized she must have been downstairs somewhere.
He hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t spoken to her, just disappeared down the front stairs, the most direct route to the gym. And he was still down there, no doubt furious with her for eavesdropping on him and Dawg.
But if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have known. She would have never known how he’d lost his daughter, or the wife she thought he loved had betrayed him. Of course, the fact that she hadn’t known was telling. If he’d intended to stay, if he meant for her to be a part of his future, he would have told her, wouldn’t he?
She’d known when she let him into her bed that he wouldn’t stay, that her time with him would be limited. She’d warned herself of it more than once. And it hadn’t helped. She hadn’t been able to keep him out of her heart, no matter how she tried. And she had tried. She had fought it, she had told herself it wouldn’t happen, refusing to admit it already had. It had happened six years ago, at a time when having him was impossible.
Stepping into the gym, she stood in the doorway watching him at the punching bag. The way his fists slammed into the heavy weight, the sound of power smacking into canvas. Sweat gleamed on his naked chest and shoulders, beaded on his face, and ran in rivulets down his powerful back to the band of his sweatpants. His expression appeared to be one filled with concentration until she glimpsed his eyes, glimpsed the pain and rage that filled them, darkened them.
Leaning against the door frame, she watched somberly. He knew she was there. Was he hoping she’d just leave? That she wouldn’t be here, hoping to make that bleak pain she’d heard in his voice go away?
Straightening, she kicked off her sandals. He saw the action, his gaze flicking to her shoes before he turned his back, his fists still striking the bag. Moving into his line of sight once again, she unbuttoned her jeans and shimmied out of them, before leaving them discarded at the edge of the mat.
He paused this time, his gaze going over the brief tank top and white panties she wore.
“Panties or shirt next?” she asked, the throaty tone of her voice filled with hunger.