Angel of Redemption (77 page)

“That easily?”

“Who said it was easy? I may have had to sell my
soul to get this place.”

“To whom?”

He laughs. “I’ll tell you when we get there. You
go and have fun on Friday. We’re heading out at eight thirty Saturday morning.
We should be able to get there before dinner. There’s your hint.”

“That could be anywhere,” I complain.

He ignores me. “I’m hungry. What do you want to
eat?”

* * *

The club is already a madhouse
by the time we get there on Friday night. It’s in an old brick building that
used to be a firehouse, and there’s a line out the door. We have to wait about
half an hour before we get in. But it’s a gorgeous, warm night and Warren is in
one of his entertaining moods. He not only keeps us from realizing how long we’re
standing there, but he amuses everyone around us with his dance moves.

Once we’re inside, we’re lucky enough to grab a
table as a group of barely-legal girls head toward the dance floor. I’m trying
hard not to be a downer, but I do wish Dean were here.

“Come on, Kayla,” Warren moans. “You gotta keep
up.”

“I’m trying,” I say, gulping down the last of my
Jack and Coke.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you both are getting
old and domesticated. I’m gonna have to get some new
muchachas
to
play with.”

“Oh, shut up!” Sara and I say at the same time,
giggling and calling the waitress over for another round.

We sit for the next hour. We don’t talk about
relationships and we avoid work as well, unless we’re gossiping about who’s
dating whom or the fact that Candace Shannon is four months pregnant even
though her husband has been in the Middle East on deployment for almost six
months. Eventually, we make our way to the dance floor. Sara and I sandwich
Warren, grinding and moving to the music. The alcohol makes it easier for me to
let loose, and I laugh when Warren dips me back unexpectedly.

We dance, sweat, drink some more. The longer the
night goes on, the more dazed and numb I become. It feels good, but I’m still
missing Dean. I keep dancing, even though Sara and Warren have left me to go
get another drink. I can see them standing at the bar, so when I feel a hand on
my hip and breath on my neck—a body swaying against mine—I tense. I’m
about to tell the asshole to back off when I look down and see his tattooed hands.
I whirl around.

“What are you doing here?”

Dean smirks that incredibly sexy smirk.
“Dancing.”

“I thought you didn’t dance.” I grin at him as he
pulls me closer, bowing his head so that his mouth is close to my ear.

“I don’t. In my head, I’m doing something
entirely different.” I feel his lips on my neck, and I tilt my head.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” I pull back and widen my eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Warren’s gonna
be mad at you.”

“Who do you think called me?”

I look over and see Warren still at the bar. He
lifts his glass to me. Next to him, Sara is practically humping my brother. I
pull Dean behind me as I push through people to get to my friend.

“I thought you said no SOs?” I ask Warren suspiciously
when I reach him.

“You looked like you needed him,” he answers, his
eyes darting to the side. I turn and see the real reason why he invited the
guys. A gorgeous man is staring at him from across the room. He’s wearing tight,
leather pants and a dark-gray shirt that shows off thick, strong arms and pecs.
His light-brown hair is streaked with electric-blue highlights. He’s got a
tattoo peeking out of his V-neck.

“You cheater!” I shout.

“Are you complaining?” he asks incredulously. I
look over at Dean, who’s ordering a drink from a waitress with big tits and a
Marilyn piercing. She’s eyeballing him. He laughs at something she says, and I
feel a twinge of jealousy. But as if he feels me watching him, he glances my
way. He winks and the twinge disappears.

“No.”

“Good, ‘cause that one looks feral and I’m dying
to find out what other treasures he’s hiding.”

I laugh and acquiesce. “Fine. Go play, but be
careful.”

I have no idea how much longer we’re there, but
at some point, Dean drags me out into the cool night air and puts me into his
car. I’m not that drunk, I don’t think, just really tired. I doze off and on
all the way home. My mouth feels sticky and when I jerk awake, I’ve got drool
dripping down my chin. So sexy. I rest my head against the window and start to
doze again. When I feel the car stop, I can’t bring myself to open my eyes.

“Come here, baby.” I hear Dean chuckle when he
opens my door.

“Are you taking me to bed?”

“Uh-huh,” he says, helping me into the house.

“What are you gonna do to me?”

“Hmmm. Let me think,” he teases. “I’m gonna lay
you down.” I feel a lazy smile spread across my face. “I’m gonna strip your
clothes from your body.” The moan I let out sounds wanton and desperate. “And I’m
gonna let you sleep.”

“Huh?”

He laughs. “We’ve got all weekend. And you’re
tired. And the last time I tried anything when you were like this, you passed
out on me.”

“I won’t, I promise,” I whimper as he sets me
down on the bed. Except I probably will. I don’t even want to move. Dean takes
off my clothes and climbs into bed behind me.

“Sleep, sweetheart. You’re going to need your
energy.”

I hum and lean back into him. “Dean?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.”

He pulls me against him so tightly, I don’t know
where he ends and I begin. His fingers thread through mine. I’m not sure if he
responds or not as I fade into a deep sleep.

Dean

I wake in the morning long
before the sun rises. Kayla’s snoring softly against my bare chest, her hand
resting precariously close to my dick. It twitches with need and I almost wake
her up to get a little attention, but she still looks so exhausted.

Instead, I slip out from underneath her and sit
up. She stirs and shifts, sliding her hand underneath my pillow, and then
settles back into sleep. I check the time on my phone
—4:36 a.m.
Setting it back down on the nightstand, I rest my elbows on my knees and scrub
my hands over my face. This blows. I hate waking up so early and not being able
to fall back asleep.

I look back at Kayla; her back is rising and
falling with her breaths. I want nothing more than to just wrap myself around
her like a boa constrictor, but that would wake her up, and then we’d start
kissing, and then we’d have sex. As good as that sounds, I really don
’t
want her to be tired this weekend.

Standing up, I head toward the bathroom. It’s
hard for me to believe just how much I’ve moved in. My razor, shaving cream,
and aftershave sit on the counter. My toothbrush is in the holder next to Kayla’s.
My shampoo and soap are sitting on the shelf in the shower. I’m not sure I’ve
ever even felt this comfortable in my apartment. And as much as I love Wyatt
House and the kids, I’ve never really lived there. For the first time since I
was sixteen years old, I have someplace that I can call home.

Stepping into the shower, I let the water roll
over my body and think about my therapy session. I was really fucking nervous
as I sat in the waiting room on Monday afternoon. My knees bounced up and down
uncontrollably. More than once, the urge to bolt caused me to get up and walk
toward the exit, only to return to my seat. It was something I had to do.

“Dean?” The blond receptionist calls. I nod and
stand, wiping my sweaty palms against my jeans. She smiles. “You can go on in.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, moving past her toward
the door. Turning the handle, I walk in. The room reminds me of my office at
Wyatt House. There are shelves of books behind a dark wood desk. The walls are
covered in photographs of what appear to be trees.

“I have an obsession with trees,” a voice calls
from behind me. I turn my head to see a guy closing a door on the far side of
the office. “That’s the bathroom if you need it.” I eye him up. He
’s
about my height and build. His dark hair is graying, but he can’t be much older
than fifty. He lifts his arm to point to a photo, and I spy ink under the
sleeve of his shirt.

“From a distance, they all look the same, but if
you get up close and really study them, each one has its own story. Each one,
no matter how ravaged, is so beautiful, so perfect. My wife thinks I’m crazy,
but she indulges me. It’s a much healthier addiction than some others.
”
He reaches out his hand. “Colin Mooney.”

“Dean Wyatt.”

“Have a seat, Dean. Tell me, what brings you in
today?

I do as he instructed and sit down on one of the
plush couches. He sits down across from me, crossing his ankle over his knee.

“Uh, well. I guess I’m here to heal?
”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Colin asks.
I shift uncomfortably, unsure how to answer his question. He smiles at me. “I
don’t need an answer, but I want you to think about it.”

We go over my paperwork and confidentiality. He
tells me he doesn’t take notes, but he does record, which is okay with me. It’s
hard enough for me to talk about myself and my feelings without competing with
the scratching of a pen. Once he’s gone over his procedure, he leans forward.

“What I’d like to do with the rest of our time
today is get a basic overview of why you’re here and what you are looking for
out of our sessions.”

“I just want to be normal.” I frown.

“Normal can mean so many different things, Dean.
What does normal look like to you?”

I shrug and shake my head. “I honestly don’t
know.”

“Well, let’s start with something else. Why don’t
you give me a little history of you?”

“My wh
—?” I cough, embarrassed when
my voice cracks, and try again, lower and deeper. “My whole life?”

“Whatever you feel is significant.”

I
’m a little agitated. I just want to get
to the fucking point, but I’m not sure what he wants to hear. After a few
minutes of complete silence, I give up hoping he’ll elaborate.

“All right,” I star
t. “My life was fucking
perfect until I killed a man, his wife, and their little boy while drag racing
when I was sixteen. I got sent to juvie, met a girl who turned out to be a
crackhead hooker, married her because I thought I could save my soul by saving
her, and then got screwed over when she planted meth on me. I took the blame
because she told me she was having my baby. I found out it was actually her
pimp’s kid when I got out of prison three years later. I’ve spent the last
seven years of my life feeling guilty, worthless, and jaded. There you go.
Those are the significant moments in my life.” I do what I always do when I
tell the story—disconnect myself from the emotions.

He nods, a reserved look on his face. “So what changed?”

I stare at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You said you’ve spent the last seven years
feeling guilty, worthless, and jaded. People who feel that way rarely seek help
on their own. And yet
…you did. So what changed?”

I take a deep breath and let it out. “I met
someone who doesn’t see me that way.”

“How does this person see you?” I notice he
avoids using a gender. For some reason, I f
ind that amusing and chuckle
before answering.

“She loves me for who I am, regardless of how
fucked up I may be. She’s patient and understanding.”

“That tells me how you see her. How does she see
you? If she were sitting next to you and I asked her to describe you, what
would she say?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s something I want you to think about
before our next session.”

“That’s it?” I ask. I look at my phone and see
that it
’s already been an hour.

“For today, yes. From what we’ve discussed, there
are a lot of different layers to why you’re here. You said you’re here to heal.
That’s not something that can happen overnight.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“That’s up to you.”

“That’s a bullshit answer,” I grumble.

Colin smil
es. “Maybe, but it’s true. We
can keep having sessions as long as you want, but the ball is in your court as
to whether or not you get anything out of it.”

I understand what he meant, but it’s frustrating.
I want to be fixed. I don’t know how Kayla sees me, and, short of asking her, I
have no idea how to figure it out.

Once I
’m done taking my shower, I pull on
some pants and make my way to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. I watch the
sun rise while checking my email and answering a few that I’ve been putting
off. When I can’t distract myself with that anymore, I turn on the television
and numb my brain with financial news.

After checking the time on my phone for the four-hundredth
time, I finally get up, pour a mug of coffee, and head into the bedroom. Kayla’s
barely moved. I sit down on the edge of the bed, and her eyes flicker open.

“Good morning, baby.”

She sits up and stretches her arms above her
head. The comforter falls to her waist and the black tank top she’s wearing
rides up. “What time is it?” she moans.

“Seven thirty.”

“You really let me sleep?”

I chuckle and hand her a cup of coffee. “Yes.”

She frowns. “You didn’t try anything?”

“I tried, but every time I attempted to slip it
in, you started giggling and telling me it tickled.” Kayla stares at me, trying
to figure out if I’m serious or not. I smirk and shake my head. “No,
sweetheart. I kept my hands pretty much to myself all night. I might have
cupped a boob.”

“Oh, I know you cupped a boob. I woke up at three
to go to the bathroom and you had a death grip on my right side. Look!” She
pulls her tank top down, exposing her breast. I let out a very slow and
controlled breath. Her skin is pink and perfect. She’s baiting me. Taking her
coffee from her before she’s even had a sip, I set the cup down on the
nightstand and place my hands on either side of her hips. I lower my mouth,
ghosting my lips over hers and keeping my eyes wide open.

“Your tits are beautiful. I promise I’ll examine
them thoroughly later. Right now, I need you to get up and get ready to go. It’s
a long-ass drive and I really want to get there before the sun sets.”

She sticks out her lower lip, and I bite it
gently before backing away and leaving the room.

About twenty minutes later, she joins me in the
kitchen, her hair wet. I lean against the counter and watch her hands as she
twists it up and wraps a hair thing around it.

“How long have you been up?” she asks, walking
toward me.

“Awhile.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Her fingers rake over my abs as she lifts up on
her toes to kiss me. “That’s because you didn’t take advantage of me.” She
sighs dramatically. “I could have worn you out.”

“I know you could have, but then we would have
gotten a very late start. How long will it take you to pack?”

“Depends on where we’re going. Am I going to be
wearing clothes?”

“At some point, yes.”

She looks at me with sad, puppy-dog eyes, jutting
out her lower lip again before smiling. “Ten minutes.”

“Good. My shit’s already packed. Let me put on a
shirt, and we can get outta here.”

* * *

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we
—”

“Kayla?”

She turns to face me with an innocent look on her
face. “Huh?”

“If you ask me that again, I’m going to duct-tape
your mouth shut.”

“That sounds kinda kinky,” she muses seductively.
I raise an eyebrow and glance sideways at her. She grins. “Seriously, though, I
gotta pee really bad.”

“I told you a thirty-two-ounce slushy was a bad
idea.”

“I was dehydrated. I needed the electrolytes.”

“We’ll be there in about forty-five minutes. Can
you hold it?”

She adjusts herself so that she’s sitting on one
of her feet. “Uh, yeah. I think so.”

A few minutes of silence pass before she starts
talking again. “Did you see that YouTube video of the couple having sex while
driving?”

“What?”

“That video where the girl is in the driver’s lap,
and they’re going at it while driving down the freeway?”

“No, I must have missed that one.” She shifts
again. “You okay over there?”

“I’m trying to distract myself. I have to pee,
and I’m kinda horny, and the two things together are going to make me
spontaneously combust.
” She wiggles and frowns. I laugh and rest my hand
on her thigh. “That’s not helping with the horny part,” she complains, lifting
my hand and threading her fingers through mine.

“Do you want me to pull over? To go pee?” I add
when I see the mischievous look on her face.

“No, I’m fine. Just drive.
”

Over the next hour, I consider pulling over for
more elicit activities. I think about it more than once. But I have to force
myself to hold back. I really want to get to where we’re going.

I smile widely when we pull up to the little blue
house. It’s unassuming from the front, but it’s obvious that it’s on the beach.

“What is this place?” Kayla asks, getting out of
the car quickly.

“It’s my Aunt Charlotte’s.”

“Does she live here?”

“Off and on. Mostly in the summer.” I grab our
bags out of the trunk and walk toward the front door.

“Oh. Is that who you called the other night?”

“No. Charlotte’s in Italy for the next few weeks.
I called Mita to see if she was planning on coming down here this weekend. She
wasn’t, so I asked if I could pick up the key.” I set the bags down and reach
into my pocket, pulling out a Michigan keychain with a silver key dangling from
it.

“Oh. Cool. Hurry please,” she begs, dancing up
and down. I snicker and pretend to have trouble finding the key, regardless of
the fact that there’s only one. “Dean!” I can hear the warning in her voice.

“All right. Here, bathroom’s immediately to your
right.” I get the door open, and Kayla bolts in.