Dirty Thoughts (18 page)

He wanted to answer this phone call, get back to Jenna, and find out what the hell she was going to say.

The way Dylan’s lip was curled, the way he looked down his nose at Cal, chafed Cal’s skin like sandpaper, but he held firm.

“So how will your relationship end this time, huh? Because we all know it will.”

Cal sighed.
This conversation is already starting off well
. “I’m not doing this with you.” He made to walk past Dylan, but the guy sidestepped to block his path. Cal clenched his fists and counted to ten.

Dylan was so close, Cal could smell the rum on his breath and a hint of his expensive cologne.

“It’s so easy for her,” Dylan snarled. “All she has to do is come back to town, wave a wand, and everyone falls for her. She gets the job and the man.”

Cal tried to let the words go in one ear and out the other, but his blood was beginning to boil. He didn’t care what Dylan thought of him, but he did care if he was disrespectful to Jenna. “Did you ever think about how that happens because she deserves it? Because she works hard and people notice?”

Dylan’s nostrils flared. “And everyone’s talking about you coming here on her arm, how sweet it is that you two are back together. Everyone forgets the Paytons don’t belong here, especially not at the country club.”

Cal threw his arms out to his sides. “Honest to God, Dylan. What the fuck is your problem with me? I couldn’t care less about you. I don’t care that you exist, so why the fuck do you give a shit about me?”

Dylan turned blazing eyes on Cal. “I’m tired of everything always being about her!” He shoved Cal in the chest with both hands, and since Cal was unprepared, he stumbled back a foot.

Cal clenched his fists and rolled his jaw, because what he really wanted to do was take Dylan’s block off, put a fist through his face. Break his nose just like he did ten years ago.

“I wish everyone could see what you’re really like.” Dylan’s voice was full of barbs. “And then they’ll see she’s not so perfect.”

Cal’s shoulder twitched, his whole body wanting him to throw a punch, but he thought back to half an hour ago, when Jenna danced in his arms. They weren’t eighteen anymore. Cal wasn’t a hothead. He’d walk away, because punching this guy at the country club would only make everything worse.

“Cal?” Jenna’s voice filtered through the music.

Dylan’s eyes widened. He glanced over his shoulder, and then he turned back to Cal. In two strides he was in front of the bathroom door. And Cal watched in horror as Dylan pushed the door open, then grabbed the handle, and slammed the door back into his own face.

“What the
fuck
?” Cal roared.

And Dylan screamed a high-pitched wail as he held his nose, which was now gushing blood.

Voices came closer, reaching the end of the hallway, as Cal watched Dylan bend at the waist, howling like a banshee.

Everything was in slow motion then. Jenna’s dad was screaming for security. His wife, with a blanched face beside him, looking like she was going to faint. Dylan clutching his bleeding face, pointing at Cal. “He hit me! The asshole hit me!”

There were men around Cal, jostling him, grabbing his arms. He stared at his knuckles, scarred from labor, and wondered how the hell he was going to prove he hadn’t touched Dylan. Who was going to believe him over the son of the company’s owner?

Time froze when Jenna appeared at the top of the hallway. She was backlit from the lights on the dance floor, so her hair was a dark wavy mass around her face. Just a moment ago, he was there, floating on a high in her light. And now, not five minutes later, everything was back to fucking black. The contrast stung his eyes and pierced his heart. Cal stared at her, shaking his head, unsure what to say. “I didn’t—” he began, but Dylan started wailing louder, drowning out Cal’s assertion of the truth. Cal could probably take out the guys holding him with a couple well-placed elbow jabs, but how would that look? That would only make him look guiltier. So he didn’t fight. He’d have to explain later, if he even got the chance. He allowed himself to be dragged down the hallway toward a back door.

Away from Jenna.

She stood there among the chaos. Motionless. Staring at him.

He hadn’t known the knife of disappointment could flay him alive. He knew now.

F
IVE MINUTES LATER
, his mind wasn’t on what had happened in that damn hallway of the country club. Because his phone rang again, and Gabe was hysterical with apologies, and Cal was doing ninety on the way to the hospital, thinking he wasn’t sure he’d make it through seeing another brother lying on one of those beds.

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
HIS WAS DÉJÀ
vu to Cal. It was Max all over again—when he’d been attacked on his college campus, pistol-whipped in the back of his head.

Cal had nearly gone out of his mind when he saw his youngest brother on that hospital bed, a bandage around his head.

And now . . . well . . . now it was happening again. Except this time, it actually
was
his youngest brother, the one he didn’t know existed, lying on the white-sheeted mattress, a bandage on his head, his broken arm in a brace. The nurse said they’d cast it later.

Cal had shown up at the hospital to find a crying Julian and a hysterical Gabe, who apologized profusely. Cal hadn’t said a word as they led him to Asher’s room. Their words were nails hammered into his brain—how Gabe had given Asher a ride on his motorcycle around the yard. The bike had backfired, and Asher had fallen off, cracking his head on the driveway and breaking his arm.

Jesus fuck. He’d kept Asher in Tory to keep him safe. And he’d done exactly the opposite, suffering through a fucking party he didn’t even want to be at, while the kid fell off a bike and landed in the hospital.

He’d been so busy with Asher and Jenna, he’d completely forgotten about fixing Gabe’s bike. It just . . . slipped his mind.

Asher had been sleeping when Cal arrived at the room, so Cal talked to the doctors to find out that Asher was mostly fine, but he was being monitored for a concussion. While feeling like he was going to vomit in the fake plant outside his brother’s room, Cal had called his mom to tell her what happened. The hospital needed insurance information. Cal had expected a guilt trip from her. He’d expected something¸ but all she’d said was to have Asher call her when he woke up.

Fucking ridiculous.

And now he sat on a bench outside Asher’s room while the kid slept, telling himself to breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. He had his head between his legs, his hands laced behind his neck.

This is exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. This was why he’d spent ten years shutting himself down. Because this fucking hurt, to be so worried about someone else, to not have control. It made him want to gather everyone he cared about and stick them in a bubble where he could watch them and protect them all the time. He’d told himself he’d try this whole family thing all over again, and it hadn’t taken long before it all got fucked up. Hadn’t taken long before Cal realized he wasn’t strong enough to deal with all of this again. Even right now, he was sick to his stomach, one step away from a mental breakdown. He’d tried this—the whole responsibility thing—and he’d failed.

His fists clenched, his chest constricted. He needed to get his shit together before Asher woke up.

He kept his phone off, having told Jill to call Asher’s phone if she wanted to get in touch. Because he didn’t want to hear the disappointment in Jenna’s voice that would mirror that look on her face—the same one she’d give him a decade ago.

So he was done. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, reaching for this elusive dream of Jenna and a family.

Because right now, while Asher slept, his face pinched in pain, Cal couldn’t remember why it was worth it. Not now, while Jenna’s disappointed expression ghosted in front of his eyes everywhere he turned. Not now, when his vision was blinking between Asher and Max, injured.

Maybe he wasn’t strong enough. Maybe he’d reached the limit now. The reserve was gone. He was dry.

He was that eighteen-year-old kid again, wishing for things that would never happen. Fuck this shit. He was done. Life wasn’t complicated back when he lived alone and kept everyone away with a scowl. He wanted that back.

He needed a shower. He needed a drink. He needed anything to get rid of these bugs crawling under his skin.

And he really wanted to burn these clothes.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Cal looked up, expecting a doctor or nurse, but instead it was Brent. Cal frowned. “How’d you get here?”

Brent held two cups of coffee and two muffins. He handed one of each to Cal. “I drove.” He sank down on the bench beside Cal and took a sip of his coffee.

“I mean how’d you find out about Asher?”

“Gabe called me. Said he thought you looked homicidal.”

“I’m not homicidal.”

“Well, he said you needed me, so here I am.”
You needed me
. Cal filed those words away to deal with later. “Doctors say he’ll be okay?” Brent asked.

“He’ll be okay.” Cal rotated the cup of coffee in his hands and watched the tendrils of steam lick the air. He told himself to keep his mouth shut, but Brent’s quiet presence beside him loosened his tongue. “I feel like I failed him.”

“Who? Asher?”

“I told him he’d be safe here and—”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Cal glared.

“No, seriously. You’re pulling that martyr shit again, and I’m not listening to it. It was an accident, Cal. Both Gabe and Asher knew better than to ride that shitty motorcycle around their house.”

“I should have remembered to fix Gabe’s bike. I shouldn’t have put Asher off and taken him for a ride already. I told him I’d take him tomorrow, and so I know he was excited—”

“Right. Asher was excited. And he’s a teenager and made a shitty decision. Gabe’s just an idiot all the time.”

Cal snorted.

Brent leaned down so he caught Cal’s eyes. “Don’t do this. You’ve done so much for that kid.”

“I’m worried he’ll blame me.” Would he even want to stay here after this?

“He’s not going to blame you.”

Cal fell silent. He stood up and peeked through the window of Asher’s door to see large round eyes in a pale face staring at him.

“He’s awake.” Cal pushed the door open, with Brent following at his heels. Cal went right to the bed, peering down at Asher’s dark hair flopped on the white sheet. “How ya feeling?”

Asher’s stared at him for a minute, and then his lower lip trembled. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no need to cry.”

Small sob sounds spilled from Asher’s chapped lips. “I’m so sorry, Cal!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Cal pressed on Asher’s shoulders, stilling him, because the kid was squirming and probably making his head and arm ache more. “It’s okay. Don’t get yourself worked up.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten on the back of Gabe’s bike, but he said he wouldn’t tell anyone and that he wouldn’t go fast. And then the bike jerked, and I wasn’t holding on tight enough, and—”

“Kid, take a fucking breath,” Brent said in exasperation from the other side of the bed.

Asher stopped talking, but his eyes were wet, with small tears trickling from the corners.

Cal sank down into a chair beside the bed. Asher’s eyes followed his every movement. Cal gripped Asher’s good arm. “Take it easy. I’m disappointed you got on that bike, yeah. And I’m going to fucking kill Gabe. But you know it wasn’t the right thing to do. So I’m not going to nail ya for it. Lying in a hospital bed is punishment enough, yeah?”

Asher nodded, and color returned to his face. “Yeah.” He turned his head to Brent and then back to Cal. He licked his lips and tried for a small smile. “Thanks for being here.”

“ ’Course,” Cal said.

“I hope I didn’t make you leave the party early.”

Cal snorted. “Nah, you didn’t.”

“Really?” Brent asked.

Cal waved an arm at him. “I’ll tell you later.” To Asher, he said, “Look, I called your mom so the hospital has your insurance information. She wants you to call her.”

Asher swallowed. “She’s not coming, then, I guess?”

Cal gritted his teeth. “Don’t think so, buddy.”

Asher shrugged, but it was forced.

Cal stood up. “Brent and I’ll wait out in the hallway. Why don’t you give her a call?”

After placing Asher’s phone in his hand, Cal followed Brent outside of the room, and then Cal proceeded to tell him everything about the fight with Dylan.

Brent’s eyes were huge. “So he’s just jealous of his sister?”

Cal ran his tongue over his teeth. “I think . . . it’s a lot about his pride. And that, for a man like him, is something he can’t get over.”

“That is fucking crazy.”

“Yep.”

“He actually smashed his own face against the door.”

“Yep.”

Brent started laughing.

“It’s not funny, Brent.”

His brother was doubled over, hands on his knees. He raised a finger as another gasp of laughter overtook him.

Cal crossed his arms and glared. Brent finally raised his head with watery eyes. “He smashed his own face! What fucking lunatic does that?”

“Can you stop swearing? We’re in a fucking hospital!”

And that sent Brent into a whole other gale of laughter. When Cal realized what he’d said, he began laughing too. Although he sobered quickly when he remembered Jenna scolding him for swearing in the grocery store.

When Brent caught his breath, he said, “What did Jenna do?”

That sobered Cal up quickly. “Believed him, I guess. I don’t give a shit.”

Brent frowned.

“It’s my word against Dylan’s, and it was in front of her whole company. What choice does she have?” His heart felt like it was being tugged out of his body, piece by fucking piece. He’d had her for a whole month. A month that had been the best of his life since she’d left him the first time. He wished he could go back to that time on the dance floor, when he told her he loved her, when he’d handed her his entire heart. “If she still thinks I’m just like that eighteen-year-old kid, then what the hell are we even doing being together, you know? Maybe I should have just punched him.”

“You think he’ll press charges?”

Cal ran his hands through his hair. “Shit, didn’t even think about that. I won’t let her bail me out this time. I can afford to defend myself.”

“Don’t worry about that now. Let’s get Asher taken care of, first.”

Cal pushed the MacMillans to the corner of his mind, back to where he couldn’t see them and where they couldn’t affect him, and he opened the door to visit his brother in the hospital bed.

J
ENNA’S WHOLE BODY
felt numb.

Dylan was whimpering about how Cal had punched him in the nose. Her mother was fanning herself on a chair someone had brought over as she twisted her necklace nervously, eyes skittering around the room like a hunted deer. Her father was comforting Dylan, checking his eyes, nose, and teeth like her brother was a stud horse.

The employees who had heard the commotion were standing around talking in hushed whispers, trying to hide their pointed fingers and accusing looks.

This party had been perfect. It’d been the culmination of hard work and perfect planning and in one fell swoop, the walls had crashed down around her.

The country club employees were ushering people back into the main room, and Jenna could only hope that most of them had imbibed enough for this whole thing to be a little fuzzy.

She swallowed, took a deep breath, and walked toward her brother.

Her mother’s feeble voice called her name, but Jenna ignored her, her eyes on the two men in her life who screwed everything up once, but over her
dead fucking body
would they do it again.

She’d seen the blood smear on the bathroom door, but she wasn’t sure if her father had seen it or had chosen to ignore it.

She’d also seen the look in Cal’s eyes. The flare of defiance before a grim acceptance.

What she didn’t see were cut knuckles. What she didn’t see was the look of a Cal who’d lost his temper. Cal had changed. He wasn’t the same man he’d been back when he’d broken Dylan’s nose. He was passionate without the anger. He had more control. She had to believe that, because if not, they didn’t have much of a future.

And dammit, Cal loved her. He
loved
her. She clung to that like a life preserver.

Then there was the mystery of how her brother had a bloody face. Cal, she believed in. Her brother, she did not.

Dylan must have heard the click of her heels, because he raised his head and narrowed his eyes above his swollen nose. “Look what your white-trash boyfriend—”

She slapped him. Right across the face, his skin blooming white at the impact.

Her palm stung, and she shook it before wiping it on the side of her dress.

“Jenna!” her father said, a hand on Dylan’s shoulder but eyes blazing at her. “What on earth—”

“What really happened, Dylan?” She refused to look away from her brother, wanting to be witness to the guilt washing over his face.

“I told you, he—”

“See, no. I don’t think Cal had anything to do with what happened to your face.”

“He punched me before. You think he wouldn’t punch me again?”

“Tell me why there’s a smear of blood on the bathroom door.”

Her father strained his neck to look at the door behind him, but Dylan kept his eyes locked on hers. “What are you, CSI?”

“Dylan.”

“Well, he shoved me—”

“You said he punched you.”

“H-he did both.”

The fire in her belly was starting to rise up her throat. “Try that lie again without stuttering.”

Dylan’s eyes clouded. “You think I—”

“I’m not sure what to think. What’s going on in my mind is pretty disgusting. So how about you tell the truth?”

Dylan stayed mute.

Her father turned to his son with a furrowed brow. “What’s going on?”

“Tell me how your nose got bloody. Tell me, Dylan. Because I don’t think Cal did it.”

Dylan opened his mouth but then shut it again.

Her father dropped his hand from Dylan’s shoulder and stepped back, eyes wide. “Tell your sister the truth.”

“I’m going to ask one more time,” Jenna said. “Did Cal hit you?”

Dylan swallowed. She expected him to start up the accusations again, but something flickered in his eyes, a little bit of regret mixed with embarrassment. And then, he shook his head, just once, confirming what she already knew.

“Dylan!” her father said sharply.

“Did you injure
yourself
?” Jenna asked.

Dylan clenched his jaw. “The truth doesn’t matter. Everyone thinks he did it, and that’s what matters. Now everyone sees you’re not so
perfect
.”