Dare (3 page)

Joey grimaced again briefly. Then he shook his head. “He can hardly wait for grandbabies. Luckily, Gina and Vincente’s baby is due in February.”

“Everyone must be excited.” She remembered her mom and the D’Angelo women, especially Joey’s mom, knitting for the babies at church, and those in need. No one had been there to knit for Layla. She’d started booties, but Luis had thrown away all her knitting. She rubbed her hands on her hips and strode to the trunk of the car, grabbing the backpacks. She shifted her feet then strode forward hurriedly.

Joey took the suitcases, not seeming to notice her jumpy movements. “Oh, yeah. I thought the pressure’d be off, but it seems like these weddings just encouraged the family matchmakers.”

“Your mom hasn’t found you ‘the one’ yet?” She hoped her tone sounded as light as she’d tried for, but she couldn’t tell with the rush in her ears. They walked through the kitchen. It was brightly lit and hadn’t changed much. Still warm, smelling of bread and herbs. This was Marcella’s domain. Her stride slowed and her limbs remembered her tiredness.

He shrugged. “Not for lack of trying, but no. How about you? I guess you and Layla’s dad aren’t together anymore?”

“He’s dead. Just me and Layla now.”

“Sorry.” He opened the door to the hall and waited while she passed.

Being so close to Joe and his woodsy scent made her limbs awaken, tingling a little, as if she’d already been asleep and had woken up abruptly. “He wasn’t worth any sadness.”

“Who was he? What happened? Are you okay?” He paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced at her, his gaze searching her eyes.

She looked away, up the grand, curving staircase. “Guess you’re ready for that talk?” She walked up the stairs.

“I know I said ‘Let’s enjoy.’”

“And I know you’re persistent. Let’s just say my taste in men didn’t improve after Brent.”

He shrugged, an angry gesture, like someone would make before throwing a punch. Not that she’d ever seen Joey fight with anyone.

“You sure you want to hear this?” she asked. Her legs ached.

He passed her in the hall, leading her to the east wing. He stopped at one of the doors. “I’m not sure, but I want to know who you are now.” He opened the door and waited for her to enter. His eyes held something akin to tenderness, but only for a moment. Then his jaw set again, and he glanced into the room.

She walked in and set the backpacks down. Joe placed the suitcases near a small sofa that stood in front of the empty fireplace. She sat on the sofa, facing away from the bed. “His name was Luis Morales. We met when I was just starting law school, right out of college. I see now he was a lot like Brent—from a wealthy family, friendly, smooth, stylish—but I didn’t connect it then. I was still so young and I got pregnant with Layla. We married. During the divorce, he died—one of his associates shot him.” She closed her eyes. She’d been so young and stupid. “That was three years ago.” After two years running from town to town, first in shelters, then in tiny apartments or a rented room. “Layla doesn’t really remember him. She was sixteen months old when I left him.” After he’d hit her once while she held Layla. It hadn’t been the first time, but it was the time that made her leave. He’d endangered her baby. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt her baby. She pulled her legs up into her chest and rubbed her calves.

Joe leaned against the armrest of the chair near the sofa. “His family?”

“His mother tried to get custody of Layla, but I won. They were powerful, but Luis had been abusive.” She held her ankles for a moment.

Joey gripped the armrest, his knuckles whitening. He let out a long breath. “I’m sorry you went through that. You didn’t deserve that, any of it.”

She closed her eyes again for a moment. Hadn’t she, just a little? She’d made so many bad choices. No, she hadn’t deserved abuse, but…

“I wish…” He shook his head.

“Me too.” She didn’t know what he wished, but his tone sounded regretful, like she felt. She wished things had been different. But there was no changing the past. “All that’s done. I got through. I’m home to start again.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“It wasn’t. But now it can be.” She wanted it to be, simple, straightforward—that was Joey.

“I like simple.”

“I know.” She studied him for a moment, his strong jaw, his coarse, dark hair and blue-green eyes, his muscular build, all made her hug her arms around her legs, to keep in the tingling, the awakening.

He glanced at her. “Your favorite movie still
The Wizard of Oz
?”

“Yes, why?” He’d remembered. Not only was he sexy, he was sweet.

“Just want to feel like I still know something.” His tone was slightly bitter, like hotel coffee.

“There’s no place like home. Took me a lot longer than Dorothy to realize it.”

“Dreams coming true, though?”

“Not quite, but I hope so.” Her career was on track, and she had Layla, and they were home. “You?”

He shrugged. “You look tired. How about I go get Layla and bring her up here?”

Chapter Three

Joey jogged downstairs. He stretched when he reached the bottom, trying to relax some of the tension that had constricted his limbs when Ariella had described what she’d been through. He shifted his feet, as if he were in the boxing ring. He’d have to go work some of this out on Vincente’s punching bag later. And pretend it was Ariella’s ex’s face.

He rolled his shoulders and walked to the living room. Grandpop was just leading Layla out.

“Where’s Mommy,” she said in a thin, tired voice.

“Upstairs in your room. I’ll take you to her.” Joey took her small hand in his.

Grandpop kissed Layla on the top of her head. “Goodnight, sweet girl. See you in the morning.”

“Okay, Grandpop.” She gave him a little wave.

“Joe, meet me back here.”

Joey nodded, but Grandpop had already turned back into the living room. He exhaled. Layla pressed into his leg, stopped.

“You want me to carry you?” he asked.

She nodded. He lifted her light body into his arms. She leaned into his shoulder, wrapped her tiny arms around his neck. Her scent was sweet, like the cookies she and Grandpop must have put out. How could any man betray his little girl by abusing her mother? Because he wasn’t a man. He tightened his hold on Layla as they started up the stairs.

“Is Santa really coming?”

“Yes, sweetie. He wouldn’t miss you.”

“But he has. Mommy said he couldn’t find us. We moved a lot.”

He swallowed hard. “He didn’t miss you. He left everything here for you, because he knew you’d be here one day.”
You idiot, Joe, where are you going to get a bunch of toys after midnight on Christmas Eve?
Shit, he’d break in somewhere and leave money for the toys he’d take if he had to.

Layla sat up in his arms and looked at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You’ll see in the morning.”

Her lips quirked upward, but then she frowned. “Santa can’t get me what I really want.”

“What’s that?”

“A daddy.”

His back tensed and he stopped on the landing. If he really cared about Ariella, he’d leave her alone, let her find someone who’d marry her, be a father to Layla. They deserved that, and more. But he wasn’t that man. He and Janetta had both vowed never to get married. Love wasn’t enough, marriage and children damaged relationships.

“Are you a daddy?”

“No. And you’re right, Santa can’t bring you a daddy. Not this Christmas, anyway. Does your mom know you want a daddy?”

“No. It’s a secret. No telling?”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He held out his pinky. She hooked hers on his. He kissed her forehead. “And until you get a daddy, I’ll be around if you need anything.”

“Mommy said you’re a policeman?”

“Yes.”

She nodded and leaned on him again.

“So I’ll protect you and your mommy. But you’re safe here.” He rubbed her back, her breathing steady and deep. Continuing up the stairs, Layla’s breath on his neck eased some of the tension in his back. Ariella and Layla were here. He could be a friend to them. When it had come down to the time she’d really needed him, he’d failed to be Ariella’s friend nine years ago. This time he wouldn’t fail.

He walked to the room, the door open. Ariella had turned down the covers and had a couple of nightgowns out on the bed.

“Is she asleep?” She walked over and looked at Layla.

Warmth flowed into his veins at the three of them so close together, like a family. “Maybe.” He went toward the bed, to put Layla down.

“Mommy?” Layla stirred, her voice sleepy.

“I’m here.” Ariella leaned toward him, wrapping her arms around Layla.

Ariella was so close her hair brushed his chin, her arms against his chest. Only for a moment. He swallowed and ran his hand over his hair. One moment was long enough to draw flames up through him, flickering, ready to blaze. She stepped away.

“Thanks, Joe.”

He glanced toward the door. His body wanted one thing, his mind another.

Ariella picked up a nightgown and walked Layla toward the bathroom.

“I want a story, Mommy,” Layla whined.

“Brushing teeth now, then right to sleep.”

“Nooo. I want the special book! You promised.” She wriggled, trying to get out of Ariella’s arms, and looked at Joey. “I want Joey to read to me.”

He nodded, though his head told him “No.” “If it’s okay with your mom.”

Ariella kissed Layla’s forehead. “You’re right, I did promise. Joe, can you wait a bit?”

He’d waited nine years to see her again. “Sure.”

Layla nestled on Ariella’s shoulder again. Seeing Ariella like this reminded him of the Madonna and child. She was a loving mother. He had to make sure they had whatever they needed. He paced toward the cold fireplace and tugged his brows together.

Taking care of Ariella and Layla wasn’t his place. He glanced at the closed bathroom door. Ariella’s voice drifted to him, singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Maybe it could be his place. Marriage was working fine for Vincente and Lorenzo. Even his parents were fairly happy now.

He studied the empty hearth. But putting kids through the strife his parents had, and his uncles, Sal, Frank, and James had with their families—that wasn’t right. Love was about protecting, caring. Better to be like Uncle Max and Jim, his cousin, both confirmed bachelors, both cops like he was—someone who was there for all his friends and family, someone who protected and served others without the complications of marriage.

He wouldn’t dare to dream about marriage. Dreaming about being with Ariella again was enough. Being her friend was enough.

Ariella walked back in, Layla in her arms. She tucked Layla into bed and got a thin picture book out of a princess backpack. Joe met her by the bed. Now he met Ariella’s gaze, her eyes searching, questioning.

“Sit here,” Layla said to him. “Please.” She yawned and hooked her doll under her arm.

Ariella handed him the book and he sat on the bed facing Layla. He read the book,
This Is the Stable
, in a quiet voice. Layla’s lips quirked when he read about the mother and her husband. He rubbed his eyes quickly and finished the book, watching as Layla’s eyes closed and her arm dropped to the side, showing she was asleep.

He stood, touching the blanket near Layla’s foot. His chest ached, similar to the feeling he got responding to domestic calls where there were children. But this ache wasn’t tight and angry, but warm and sad. Sadness that he wasn’t Layla’s father, Ariella’s husband, here to protect them, care for them.

“Joe?” Ariella touched his arm.

He glanced at her and set the book on the bed. Her face was soft in the low lamplight, a crinkle of concern across her brow.

“You must be tired.” He attempted a smile, but it felt lopsided. Like the feelings had been between him and Ariella. He bowed his head then rolled his neck and turned, going back to the door.

“Let me walk you out.” Her tone had flattened.

The ache in his chest unrolled into his arms. She needed to be held, told how beautiful she was… But he’d done that nine years ago, and she’d walked out. Whatever else he felt, he didn’t want her to run away again.

He stopped outside the door. Ariella stood near, the door ajar. He grasped her hand and she met his gaze. “Promise you’re staying,” he said.

“I promise. We’re home.” She touched his cheek with her fingertips.

He curled her fingers in his hand and brushed his lips across her wrist. She opened her hand to him. Stepping close, she rested her other hand on the side of his face. Her hands were warm, smooth. Tipping her chin up, he pressed his lips to hers. Her soft, full lips met his exploration with a sigh of release. He twined his fingers in hers and pulled her into him, deepening their kiss. His head swirled, like he’d had a few too many down at Gianni’s. He drank her in, needing more. She pulled away.

“I’ve got to get back to Layla.” Her cheeks flushed red.

Dropping her hands, he nodded. “You need sleep.”

She hugged her arms to her chest. “Think I’ll read for awhile.”

“Grandpop’s waiting for me. Sorry for overstepping.” His arms hung loose at his sides.

She closed the distance between them. “Joe, I wanted you to kiss me. None of this is your fault. None of what happened nine years ago was your fault. I wanted to be with you.” She touched his arm.

His limbs sparked to life again. “Why did you leave? I would’ve done anything for you.”

“That’s what scared me.” She rubbed her arms. “I wasn’t ready. I didn’t feel I deserved your caring.”

“You deserve more.” And more questions shot off in his mind. He rocked his neck.

“I better let you go.”

He frowned. “Yeah.” She was good at letting go, of him, anyway.

“Can we talk again tomorrow?” she asked.

He nodded and watched as she raised her hand to him and went back into the bedroom. He jogged downstairs and walked into the living room. Grandpop stood, munching one of the cookies for Santa. He finished and rubbed his hands together. “How are the girls?”

“Fine. Layla’s asleep. Ariella said she’s going to read awhile. Layla needs Santa to come.”

“She’s a good girl. Smart like her mother,” Grandpop said.

“Yeah.” His tone packed all his bitterness about the past into that one word.

“Joseph, forgiveness. Ariella’s choices weren’t about you. And Janetta has moved forward with Lee. You and your sister aren’t doomed to repeat the family drama.”

Easy to say. He didn’t want to risk it—bringing a child like Layla into a situation where she might be exposed to yelling, tears, separations…. He rolled his shoulders and studied Grandpop. Sounded like he knew more than Joey’s issues—he knew about Ariella’s choices.

“
Andiamo
. Santa has work to do.” He clapped Joe on the shoulder and led him to the closet under the stairs.

“It’s Christmas,” Grandpop continued as he opened the door. Packages were lined up and stacked around the space.

“The day after that it won’t be. I need to know.”

“Know what? That I have houseguests and I won’t tolerate you, or anyone, interrogating them. Or me.”

He gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders. “I didn’t say—”

“You don’t have to say.” Grandpop handed him a box. “I see your doubts and questions all over you, and I’m sure Ariella does too. Leave it. You’ve wanted to see her for years. Here she is. What else is there?” It was one of Grandpop’s non-questions.

“Honesty. Answers.” He shifted the box, ready for Grandpop to hand him another. He stared down Grandpop, not that it ever worked.

“You young people. There’s time for all that. Better without your pushing, Officer D’Angelo. Think of your grandma and my Teresa. What would they say?”

Joey closed his eyes, the images of Grandma Angela and Aunt Teresa smiling and hugging away boyish tears, praying, and cooking… Grandpop might be pushing his own agenda, but he had a point. He opened his eyes. Grandpop handed him another box.

“Okay,” Joey said. “Patience. Forgiveness.” He hadn’t forgiven himself. But patience, he had patience.

They carried the boxes to the living room. Grandpop patted his shoulder and squeezed it. His grip was that of a younger man. “Take a chance, Joseph.”

“I take chances every day, Grandpop.” He followed Grandpop back to the closet.

“
Sí
. You’re brave. But not with this.” He pointed to Joey’s heart.

“Didn’t Becca say something about her dad wanting to rent his flat across the square? That might be good for Ariella and Layla.”

“She did. We’ll mention it another day. Or Becca can. She’s here for another week.”

He nodded. Becca was the kind of girl that people, especially his mom, expected him to be with. They also expected him to get married and have a family. He didn’t bother to correct their wrong assumptions. It was simpler not to argue. But Grandpop was right. He didn’t risk his heart. He’d done that once with Ariella, and he wouldn’t again. Risking his heart had made him want to protect Ariella, but his protection had meant almost beating Brent to death, and that hadn’t accomplished anything. Vigilante justice like that wasn’t like the man he wanted to be. He rubbed his forehead. So, what was he playing at, even looking at Ariella?