Busted (Barnes Brothers #3) (5 page)

Single fatherhood was nothing if not a lesson in patience . . . and repetition.

*   *   *

Usually, seeing that head of buttery gold curls brought an instant smile to her face.

Today, though . . .

Ressa curled her hands into a fist, her nails biting into her palm as she saw CD walking with his little boy across the parking lot, long rangy strides shortened to accommodate his son’s shorter legs. CD—her personal nickname for the man who haunted her dreams.
CD
—as in Clay’s dad.

In time, Clayton would be just as tall as his father, she suspected. He seemed small for his age, but she could see the long limbs. It would just take time.

“Saying good-bye sucks, huh?”

Glancing back over her shoulder at Farrah, she lifted a brow. “Ya think?”

“Well, since ya never got around to getting Mr. Yummy Pants’ name, I figured it wouldn’t be
too
bad . . .”

“Saying good-bye to Clayton is going to break my heart,” she said, painfully aware of the sulk in her voice, and unable to do anything about it. She didn’t
want
to do anything about it. “I had to tell too many kids good-bye this week. I’ve only been here two years. How can it hurt like this?”

“Hey . . .” Farrah moved in and wrapped an arm around
Ressa’s waist. “You know, you’re
not
moving to Tokyo. You can come visit, drop in on your days off. Visit the kids then.”

“I know, I know.” Ressa shrugged away, out of sorts and still . . . aching inside. “This just sucks.”

“You said he wasn’t here last week.”

She looked up and caught sight of the two males just as they cleared the top step and the ache in her chest expanded. “No.”

A small, cowardly part of her kind of wished they wouldn’t have come here today either. If they hadn’t then she would have been spared this.

Didn’t that just make
her
a coward?

Her heart twisted as the boy came rushing up to her a few minutes later. He was all smiles as he flung himself at her for a hug and she caught him, held him close.

“Aren’t you looking handsome today, Mr. Clayton,” she said, looking past him to see his father linger, just for a minute. Their gazes connected—he wore his trademark dark shades, but she could still feel that jolt.

His mouth parted and maybe it was ego—or just because she wanted so badly to believe it—to believe that he felt it, too.

She didn’t look away.

Not that very second.

She should have. She knew that.

But she only had today left, right?

“Hey, um—”

“I was wondering if—”

They both started to speak at once, and then, they stopped, a nervous laugh breaking out between them. He gestured for her to speak and she linked her hands together, looking around. “I just . . . well, I want a few minutes with you . . . with Clayton after we’re done. If that’s okay?”

*   *   *

An hour later, Trey had less than five hundred words on the screen and his mind kept spinning back to the way she’d met his gaze earlier.

I want a few minutes with you
.

He’d been about ready to just walk away, forget asking her out.

Terror and nerves had turned his gut to knots.

Unlike his brothers, he seemed to have missed out on that inborn charm—most of the family, on both his mother’s side and his father’s side, from his cousins, to his uncles and aunts, to his brothers—they all practically
breathed
charm and confidence.

Not Trey.

But then she’d said she wanted to talk to him and he’d felt something relax inside.

That hadn’t lasted long, because immediately, his memory, always such a visual thing with him, had started to feed him back an instant replay of how she’d looked at him, her lips parted, the irises of her eyes spiking as she met his gaze.

No wonder he hadn’t gotten shit done the past hour.

He heard the rise in voices that signified the end of the reading program and he saved his work, a dull pain throbbing in his wrist. After putting away the laptop, he grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen and tossed a few back dry.

Clayton was sitting at his desk studiously coloring away while the rest of the kids gathered around Ressa.

Both of them heard the words at the same time—

Good-bye . . .

We’ll miss you—

Clayton’s head jerked up.

Trey’s hand clenched into a fist and he shifted the bag from one shoulder to drag across his chest as dread creeped through. Dread and . . . disappointment.

I want a few minutes with you . . .

Son of a bitch. With him . . . so she could tell Clayton bye.

“Why do you have to leave, Miss Ressa?” one of the older kids asked, his voice plaintive and loud, carrying through the entire library.

The crayon in Clayton’s hand snapped and his gaze darted all around the room before landing on Trey with wild desperation.

Before Trey could reach the table, Clayton was up on his feet, practically running toward him.

“Let’s go, Dad.”

Clayton’s small hand caught his, started to tug.

Yeah. He could get on board with that. But . . . “Wait a minute, Clayton.”

“No!” He burrowed in against Trey, his voice already wobbling. “I want to go now. And I don’t like this stupid lib’ary no more. I never want to come back. Can we get dinosaur egg oatmeal at the store? I want some for a snack. Let’s go.”

Eyes closed, Trey reached for some sort of fatherly wisdom to offer up. He came up short, as always.

“Clayton.”

At the sound of her voice, Trey tensed.

Clayton tucked himself closer to Trey.

Slowly, Trey looked up.

Ressa knelt down next to the boy and in her hand, she held a book. “Clayton, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t want you to hear that way. I . . .” She offered them both a smile. “I was actually going to see if you’d maybe let me buy you lunch or something and we could talk then. I . . .”

Clayton shoved his face against Trey’s leg and sniffled. “I don’t want no lunch. I’m not hungry. I’m not ever going to be hungry.”

Well, shit.

*   *   *

“Come on, buddy.”

His voice was low and soothing, while one hand rubbed up and down Clayton’s narrow back.

Ressa tried not to focus on that part as CD spoke to his son. Clayton didn’t want to look at her and she felt foolish . . . foolish and cruel and out of place.

“You’ve got a lady waiting to talk to you, Clayton. Come on, don’t be rude. Just—”

“I don’t care!” Clayton shouted. “She’s leaving and she didn’t tell me and I don’t like her anymore.”

Ressa managed to hide her flinch and she pasted a smile on her face. “Look, I’ll just—”

“Wait.” It was a command, plain and simple.

She narrowed her eyes at the stark order, but before she could say anything, he’d peeled his son away.

“Listen to me, Clayton,” CD said, tugging off his glasses.

She managed, just barely, not to react when she saw his eyes.

His son had his eyes—a beautiful, surreal blue green. The kind of blue green you saw in pictures of the tropics—an impossible sort of color, but she had no doubt that amazing color was completely natural.

Swallowing, she forced herself to be still, to not move, to not
stare
as he continued to speak. “Now, I know you’re upset, but you don’t speak that way to people. You know that. You’re angry and you’re sad, but there’s no reason to be unkind.”

Clayton’s lip poked out and he tried to curl in toward his father once more.

“You need to say something,” his father said, shaking his head.

Clayton shot her a look. Then, as one fat tear rolled down his cheek, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She opened her mouth to say, “It’s okay.”

She managed “It—”

And then Clayton hurled himself at her, wrapping thin arms around her neck. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said.

Break my heart, why don’t you
?

“Oh, sweetheart.” She rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t really want to either. It’s just . . . well, sometimes we just have to do things we don’t really like.”

“But why are you leaving?”

Easing him back, she reached up and wiped away a tear. “You remember my cousin? The little girl I’ve told you about?” At his nod, she said, “You know how I’ve said I’m the one who takes care of her, right? Neeci starts school this year and things aren’t going to work with me being at this library. So they are moving me to a different branch. It’s closer to where we live and the school she’s going to attend. I hate that I have to leave you kids, but I’ve got a little girl to take care of. And they’ve got good people here who will take over.”

She waited for the next question—others had asked it when she put in for the transfer.
Why can’t her mama take care of her? Why do you gotta go?

But with her cousin, Kiara, that just wasn’t an option.

All Clayton did was lean in and rest his head on her shoulder. “I’ll miss you.”

“Oh, honey. I’ll miss you, too.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw his father and her pulse sped up.

He reached out and hooked a hand over Clayton’s shoulder. His fingers brushed her bare upper arm and she almost gasped as that light contact sent a jolt through her.

His eyes flew to hers and for a moment, they just stared at each other and her heart raced, so hard. So fast.

“Okay,” Clayton whispered. “I’ll . . . I’m gonna miss you.” He dashed a hand under his nose and said, “I still like you, Miss Ressa.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She stroked a hand down his hair. “I like you, too.”

He nodded and then moved to his dad, leaning against his leg.

Then, as Clayton turned away from her, she awkwardly rose to her feet. It was better this way, and not just because she needed the change to work things out with Neeci and school. She’d miss the son, but it was probably a good thing that she was getting away from CD.

The man just wasn’t good for her state of mind.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she met his gaze, felt her heart trip up as those intense eyes met hers. “Did you still need to speak with me?”

*   *   *

One hand curled into a fist as she stared at him.

Trey knew, without a doubt, that he had been right.

She felt it, too.

But his son was leaning against him, still shaking, still crying, although he tried so hard not to. His fingers were kneading into Trey’s legs in the way he always did when he was the most upset, like he just couldn’t get enough physical contact.

The doctors had said it probably had something to do with a need for the stimuli. Clayton had spent weeks on a vent, and then the first eight months of his life in and out of the hospital. He’d made strides like whoa and damn as he caught up, but he’d missed out on so many things that a young baby was supposed to have. Instead of being hugged and held by his parents at any given time, getting that vital physical contact, he’d been
under lights, hooked up to tubes and wires, while Trey stood at his side, holding his little hand and talking to him. Talking, instead of holding, stroking a hand instead of rocking.

And now his son needed him again.

“Not a good time, I guess,” he said gruffly. Ducking his head, he scooped Clayton up and Clayton’s arms came around his neck, clutching tight. “Man’s had a rough day. I’ll just . . . never mind. Good luck at your new library, Ms. Bliss.”

He nodded at her, and as he walked away he focused on the soft, shaky breaths of his son.

“I don’t want her to go,” Clayton whispered.

“Yeah.” Trey hugged him tighter. “I kinda don’t want her to either.”

Try to relax . . . and if you can’t relax, have a fucking drink—then relax.

The handwritten note left in his room made Trey smirk. Relax?

His agent knew him.

He ought to—he’d been working with him for coming up on five years now.

Which meant Reuben Mancusi ought to understand that one thing Trey wasn’t going to be doing was
relaxing
. Not while he was here in Trenton, New Jersey—at a writer’s conference, fuck him—and not while his son was in Orlando, oh, hey what was it? Over a thousand miles away. If he could get on a flight, in an emergency, he could be there in a few hours, but . . .

“You’re going to make yourself sick thinking like that.” He shook his head, then read the note over again, and then crumpled it up, shot it off to the side. It went straight into the trash can.

He barely noticed, too busy studying everything in the basket.

It was, without a doubt, customized just for him. Or the him he’d once been. Some of those interviews he’d done a lifetime ago had loved to ask questions like . . .
favorite drink, favorite book to read . . .

Glenlivet had been the one hard and fast answer.

The book had almost always changed, because books changed with whatever mood he was in.

Hardly anybody knew that he’d stopped drinking. He had to admit, he was mildly surprised there wasn’t any Valium in there, though. Or maybe he just hadn’t looked hard enough.

Eying the bottle of Glenlivet, he pulled it out, turned it to the side and watched as the light glinted off green glass. Thoughtfully, he carried it with him as he hunted down a glass.

Curious, he cracked the foil, splashed some into a glass—

And the smell of it turned his stomach. The sense of smell was a powerful thing. For the first couple of years, even the smell of whiskey had been enough to send his thoughts flying back to the hospital, where he was flat on his back, while that pain clawed his brain matter out and then he slowly remembered, all over again, that he’d just lost his wife—that he’d almost lost his son. Those first few years, he’d almost lost himself.

He wasn’t there anymore, but the smell of alcohol was still enough to turn his stomach.

He pushed the glass back and turned away.

So maybe he wouldn’t have a drink, but he would try to relax, lie down for a little while. He was exhausted. He’d been up early and hadn’t slept much the night before. Too busy thinking about Clayton’s face after he’d put him on the plane with his father yesterday.

Dawn had only been a thought when he gave up trying to sleep and it was coming up on six now. At six thirty, he was supposed to be downstairs.

For tonight, at least, he had plans.

His old friend Max was waiting for him.

Max was the one who’d nudged his agent into calling Trey, and Max was the one who’d called him every few days, all but holding his hand as he got ready for this.

He was doing a speech for a group of librarians and he
was speaking on a couple of panels. Then there was a separate signing. All in all, it would take up maybe eight hours of his time.

He could do that, right?

The annual conference in Trenton was a low-key one, a mix of both readers and writers, but it wasn’t anything that had people lining up for days.

He could do this.

Maybe.

Abruptly, he felt a keen longing for that whiskey and he wondered just how sick he’d get if he gave it a shot. But he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

The absolute last thing he needed was to end up puking his guts up.

Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to just empty his head. That worked for all of fifteen seconds. He started going through the talk he had to do instead and was 99.8 percent certain he was going to sound like a doofus. Maybe he should rewrite—

His phone started to buzz.

It wasn’t a call, though.

As much as he sometimes hated technology, this was one of those times when he loved it.

Within seconds, he found himself staring at Clayton Braxton Barnes. Clayton was the one bright spot in the time that signified a hell for Trey, but that bright spot was all he needed to push the shadows back.

That bright spot was marred, in a way. Lately Clayton was all caught up in one idea.
Can we maybe find Miss Ressa and ask her to my party?

As much as he’d been tempted, Trey had pulled the distraction and hedging game that parents seemed to learn pretty much at the birth of the very first child. It wasn’t wise, he’d already figured out.

He didn’t know where she worked or where she lived, and it was better that Clayton just let her go.

Now, as Clayton grinned at him from the screen of his phone, Trey found himself amazed all over again at how much they looked alike. From the blue eyes to the shape of his nose
and mouth and his ears. The only thing that wasn’t his was that mop of messy blond curls. Those came from his mother.

“Hey there, man,” he said as Clay grinned, displaying the two teeth he’d proudly lost within two weeks of each other.

“We went to Disney World!”

“Did you?” At the obvious happiness on his son’s face, tension drained away—for real this time—and he rolled over onto his stomach. With the phone on the bed in front of him, he focused on Clayton.

For the few minutes he was in here, talking to his son, he could pretend they were both back in Norfolk and Clayton was only a few miles away, instead of that gut-twisting one thousand.

“I saw Darth Vader.” Clayton’s big blue eyes focused on the monitor, wide and avid, as he waited for his father’s response.

“Did you kick his butt?”

Clay cackled and proceeded to tell Trey about his trip to Disney. In great detail. And Trey listened, hanging on to every word.

When the call ended, he flopped back onto his back.

Just a few more days and he’d be back in his house. Back with his son.

And he knew, down in some part of his soul that he was still hobbling along. Brooding, he thought about the notebook he carried with him, with the little list—and the item at the end.
Start living
 . . .

A pair of wide, dark eyes swam through his memory and he blew out a breath.

Start living.

How the hell was he supposed to do that when the one woman he’d actually wanted to take a chance on was probably the woman he most needed to stay away from?

Ressa could maybe be good for him—she could definitely be good for Clayton. But on the flipside, all it would take is for things to
not
work out and Clay would be heartbroken.

You’re a fucking coward, Trey
.

The problem was, the one time he’d wanted to really reach out and maybe
try
to live again . . . well, life had just gotten in the way.

Or maybe that was just an excuse.

*   *   *

“My registration confirmation is right here.”

Ressa Bliss put the hard copy down in front of the volunteer, tried to remind herself how many times she’d been the one sitting on the other side of the desk, and how unpleasant it was when people started snapping at her over issues that were out of her control.

Frankly, it sucked.

But this was ridiculous. She’d
paid
to attend this conference and she’d damn well attend.

“Ma’am. You’re not registered,” the volunteer said, not even pretending to be polite. “I’ve checked. You’re not in the system.”

“Then there is an error in the system, because I have my confirmation. I also have proof of payment.” She pulled up the receipt in her e-mail and showed it to the woman—her name tag read Beth.

Beth didn’t even give it a cursory glance. “I can only go by what the system says. Now, if you’ll step aside, I have other people to get checked in.”

“I’ll step aside when you find me somebody who can help straighten this out. I’m moderating several panels and helping with two booths. I’m registered. People are expecting me to be here and I’m
going
to be here.” She folded her arms across her chest and met Beth’s glare with one of her own.

She was
so
not in the mood to be dismissed.

“Look, sister—”

“Sister? Ex
cuse
me?” Ressa demanded.

“Hi.”

Before Ressa could explode, a new woman approached, a cool, but polite look on her face. She had a volunteer badge on—her name was Lynda and her plump face had that tired but friendly look to it—the kind that said she could do this all night if she had to.

As Lynda looked between them, Ressa sucked back her temper and forced herself to level out.

“Is there something I can help with, ma’am?” Lynda asked.

“Yes.” Her professional, polite smile firmly in place, Ressa handed over her registration confirmation. “I signed up not
long after the event opened to registrations, but I’m not showing up as registered. Can you help me out? I’m moderating two panels, helping out with a couple and volunteering with several booths.”

“Well. That is a problem.” Lynda’s smile twisted into a grimace. “Give me a minute . . . I’ll get you sorted out and get you a name tag and everything.”

“Lynda, she’s not in the system—”

“I’ll handle it, Beth.” Lynda gave the other woman a polite smile, but it somehow managed to speak volumes. Then she looked over at Ressa. “I know your name. Actually, I was told to keep an eye out for you—we’re short two people on the lit track and we need a sub. You were suggested by one of the panelists . . . Max Hartfield?”

“Max?” She smiled, although inwardly, she wanted to curl up into a ball and beg for mercy. She was going to throttle him.

“Yes.” Lynda gave her a quick and ready grin. “He told me to tell you that he’d buy you a drink if you said yes and saved him.”

Ressa laughed. “Fine. Who do I need to talk to? I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do—
if
it doesn’t conflict with anything else.”

“Bobby Spears handles the lit track—trust me, he’ll make it all work out.” Lynda gave her another grin. “Bobby is new to the event this year, but so far, it looks like he can make just about anything happen.”

Well, so much for talking Max into wings and beer at some dive. She’d kind of been looking forward to something easy and fast.

“That sounds good.”

“Come on.” Lynda gestured to the side. “Let’s move down here and I’ll start getting this straightened out.”

Her phone started to ring as she worked her way in and out of the throngs of people, trying to get to the end of the table. Recognizing the ring tone, she answered, keeping her voice low, “What in the hell is the matter with some people?”

“Ah . . . something in the water? Rabies? Solar radiation?” Farrah sounded way too cheerful in Ressa’s opinion, but Ressa had been up since before four that morning. She was sleep
deprived, caffeine deprived, and now, she was pissed off to boot, but if she really unloaded, she’d end up looking like an ass.

Farrah’s prompt response made her laugh, though, and that helped undo some of the knots in her neck.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” Farrah asked. “Was that drive that much of a pain in the ass?”

“Flying in would be just as awful.” Getting to Trenton from any of the airports that were remotely close was a nightmare. “But no, it wasn’t the drive. I’ll explain later. When I’m in my room, with a big ol’ glass of wine.”

“Please don’t tell me they lost your hotel reservation again.”

“No.” Ressa mentally said a prayer of thanks over that. “Not much better, though. There was a system glitch or something—my event registration disappeared. They’re working on it.”

“Well, that’s fixable . . . I was worried you’d already met
him
and that he was a total dick.”

“No.” Ressa laughed softly, not bothering to ask which
him
Farrah was asking about. There could be only one, after all.

The
him
was the same
him
they’d tried to get into the library a hundred times. He lived in Norfolk, he was local, he was a
huge
name and from everything they’d been able to tell online, he was personable. At least, when anybody could get him to talk. Over the past few years, he’d gone into a cave so deep, nobody seemed to be able to pull him out.

Farrah probably knew more about him—she stalked the man, and if life was fair, she would have been here at the writers’ conference, but it just went out six weeks ago that he was attending and Farrah needed her vacation time for her upcoming wedding.

So Ressa was here instead, and if she went by what Farrah said, she’d just look for the
hawt
-est guy around.

An image flashed through her mind. Overlong hair, falling into a lean, almost too lean, face. Blue green eyes. A mouth too perfect to be real.

The way he’d looked lingeringly at her that last time.

It had been two months since she’d seen him.

Two months, and she still dreamed about a man whose name she would never know.

And then there was Clayton, that little darling. She missed him in a way that didn’t really make sense.

“Hey . . . you’re drifting on me again,” Farrah said, pulling her back down to planet earth.