The Debra Dilemma (The Lone Stars Book 4) (15 page)

“Do you miss him?” His eyes flipped to hers.

She thought about it for a second. “Honestly, no. How sad is that? I don’t miss him and I hardly ever think of him. When his attorney finally tracked me down over a week after he died, I was shocked to find that he left me everything. When I walked out of my father’s house for the last time, I fully expected that I was done with him, but he had a way of lingering. His money allowed me to screw my way through your football team.”

She tried not to sound so matter-of-fact, but she could finally look at the situation for what it was. Time and distance had given her perfect hindsight.

They needed to talk about the Lone Stars’ elephant in the room and they needed to talk about her sins. She was into facing things these days.

“That really wasn’t his fault, but hey, he was a bastard so why not dump more blame on him. He’s certainly guilty of more wrong doing than I know about so…” She shrugged. “Now, I try to only use his money for good. In some way, I hope it makes up for all of the Covington family’s wrongdoing.”

She was proud of that. True, she’d bought this condo with his money, but she made sure to deposit the amount of money that would have been a mortgage payment into the Safe Place account every month. She supported herself, and independence felt good. Working to earn the money that she used to live felt good. No one gave her anything, which was exactly as it should be.

Warren stopped using the album as a bridge between them, set it on the coffee table, and purposefully laid his hand on her thigh. “It wasn’t his fault, that’s on me.”

“Don’t be silly. My sexual vendetta was all me.” She shook her head and laughed. “It’s so clear to me now that the only one I was hurting was me. You didn’t care in the slightest who I spent my time with. As revenge goes, I’d say it was an epic fail.”

Her stomach growled again and she stood. She was past due for that grilled cheese sandwich from earlier. If memory served, she still had some roasted chicken lunchmeat, so a chicken grilled cheese it was. Hadn’t he said something about ham?

Gently, Warren laced his fingers through hers. “It worked…really well.”

She glanced down at their linked fingers. “What worked well?”

“Your revenge.” His hand tugged hers as he stood. “It was a huge success. Every time I saw you out with someone else, I wanted to kill them and you.”

She mashed her lips together to keep from laughing. It wasn’t funny and it was inappropriate, but the irony was perfect. “And this morning, you almost got your wish. If only you’d remembered my food allergies before…you could have made it look like an accident.”

With his free hand, he tunneled his fingers through his hair. “I am so sorry about that. I can’t think of an apology that’s strong enough.”

She busted out laughing.

“It’s not funny.” He ruined the chastising tone with a smile.

“It’s funny and it will be even funnier when you kiss me again and I grab my throat and pretend to faint.” No one knew better than her that anaphylaxis was no laughing matter, but the mood was so heavy and her bizarre sense of humor being what it was…it was funny.

“Kiss you again, are you kidding? It’s taken all of the courage I could work up just to hold your hand.” The look on his face said that in spite of the grin that he was being perfectly honest.

“Really?” Now that she thought about it, she could see his point. “Hold onto your hat.”

She unlinked their fingers, slid her arms around his neck, and kissed him softly on the mouth. His lips parted letting her in. Tentatively, his tongue slipped inside her mouth and did some really delicious things. Gently, he pulled her into him as he deepened the kiss. Heat zipped through her and she was reminded how much fun it had been when his boy parts played with her girl parts.

He broke the kiss and stepped back. His eyes went wide and he grabbed his throat coughing and then fake choking. “I’m allergic to your toothpaste.”

Debra laughed so hard that she doubled over. “Now, that’s funny.”

This was the old Warren…the playful one and not the stiff version she’d seen for so long. Hopefully playful Warren would stick around, because she’d missed the hell out of him.

Debra should kill Warren for what he’d done to her, and it seemed—he rolled his eyes—was still doing to her, what with the anaphylaxis and bringing in the Christmas tree, but right now, she was making him a grilled cheese sandwich.

It completely defied logic. He had an innate ability to screw up her life. Everyone has a talent, and his was doing the wrong thing around Debra.

He looked down at the picture of her holding their child and wished it came with smell along with the image. He stared down at his baby boy. There had never been a more perfect human being. With his thumbnail, he pried up a corner of the clear plastic film holding the picture against the page and gently pried up the photo.

This was his baby…his son. Strangely, he felt connected to the little bundle and yet not connected at all. This baby was a dream…something that had been tangible, but was now nothing but a picture.

He had a son. His name was AJ and he was beautiful and perfect and tiny and precious and…gone. He felt foolish mourning a person he’d never met, but here he was thinking that they’d missed out on so much. All of the firsts in life, walking, talking, the first day of school, his first girlfriend. He’d wanted a family for so long and he’d had one for all of a minute and he hadn’t even known. He tried to remember back to what he’d been doing on December fourteenth, ten years ago. He shook his head. He had no idea. To him, it had probably been just another day.

But it hadn’t been. On that day he’d become a father, and Debra had become a mother.

He studied her image. With his index finger, he traced her jawline. She’d been young, and the look on her face was a combination of heartbreak, love, pride, and total desolation. She was both beautiful and heart wrenching.

He hated himself so much that he never wanted to look himself in the mirror again. What kind of cold, unfeeling, monster left the woman he loved to face a loss like this?

And yet, she was only a few steps away from him, flipping a grilled cheese in her kitchen. It had gone unsaid, but she’d left him alone so that he could grieve their son in private. If he had any backbone whatsoever, he’d get down on his knees in front of her and beg for forgiveness, but he knew that some things were unforgivable. He’d done so many things to hurt her, and if he had an ounce of decency in him, he’d get up right now, slip out the door, and never bother her again.. She deserved a much better man. His fingers went to his pocket and found the wedding band. He rubbed it for luck.

He loved her, and that love wouldn’t let him take the coward’s way out. He wanted a life with her, which meant that he would stay here and take whatever punishment she dished out. Nothing she could ever come up with would come close to the pain he felt right now. He traced her jawline again. For the rest of his life, he’d remember the look on her face as she stared down at their son and even if it took ten lifetimes, he would make it up to her. Never again, did he want to see sadness in her eyes.

“I didn’t know if you like tomatoes, but I put them on anyway and also some herbs de Provence.” She set down two plates on the coffee table. Each plate had a giant crunchy sandwich and a small bowl of cut strawberries.

She should make him eat dog food because of all that he’d done to her. If there was any justice in the world, the sandwich would be poison. It really said a lot that part of him wanted it to be true.

She plopped down on the sofa next to him. “My plan is to feed you high allergen possible foods until I find one you’re allergic to.”

He guessed that anaphylaxis was a kind of poison.

She grinned and picked up one of the plates. She folded her right leg under her and balanced the plate on her lap.

“Always with the ulterior motives.” Gently he placed the photo album on the sofa next to him. “I admire a woman with a plan.”

“Food allergies can start up at any time. It’s best if I cover all of my bases.” She nodded to the plate. “Strawberries and tomatoes are high allergy foods.”

He shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not allergic to anything.”

“That is disappointing.” She grinned.

His heart stuttered. She looked like the innocent girl he’d once known. It was good to know that she was still in there, and that he hadn’t killed that part of her.

“You could just take me to the roof and throw me over the side. I’m sure that would result in lots of swelling.” He picked up his plate and settled it in his lap.

She sized him up. “Yes, but it sounds like a lot of work. You’re what…six four and weigh one-ninety?”

He was creeping closer to two hundred what with all his stress eating lately. “Yes.”

“Too much work. I’d settle for a Krav Maga handshake.” One corner of her mouth was still turned up in a mischievous smile.

“That doesn’t sound too bad and I am owed some bodily harm.” Actually, he was due lots. “What’s a Krav Maga handshake?”

“I kick you in the balls.” She popped a strawberry in her mouth.

He blanched. “Can we go back to you throwing me off the roof? That sounds so much better.”

He picked up his plate and used it to shield the target of a Krav Maga handshake and picked up his sandwich. He bit into it. It was crunchy and gooey and perfect. He swallowed. “This is really good.”

He didn’t remember her knowing how to cook. For that matter, she’d been so sheltered she hadn’t known how to do anything. One of his delights back then had been showing her how to do new things…like change a tire and put gas in the car. He looked around. She’d made a life that didn’t include him or for that, matter need him. But he did have one thing he could give her. He set the plate on the table. “I forgot, I have something for you.”

He stood and went to the fridge. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she first tasted the hot chocolate. At least he could give her something that would make her smile. He’d stowed the thermos of hot chocolate in there hours ago. He pulled out the thermos. It looked all plastic, so he unscrewed the lid, hit the button that opened the microwave, stuck it inside and closed the door. Five minutes should do it, he figured, so he set the timer, hit start and walked back into the living room. “You’re going to love it. I have something special for you.”

She was going to be so excited. He couldn’t wait.

A popping noise like popcorn dancing in a kettle of hot oil came from the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t see anything.

Debra sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

She set her plate next to his on the coffee table and sniffed around trying to find the origin of the scent. After she determined that it was coming from the kitchen, she made a beeline for it.

Warren was hot on her heels.

“Holy crap.” Debra opened the microwave and flames shot out. She picked up a potholder and tried to beat the fire out, but the potholder caught on fire. She dropped it, catching a roll of paper towels beneath it on fire, which in turn caught the curtains framing the little window above the sink on fire.

“Fire extinguisher under the sink.” Debra pointed to the sink while she used a dishtowel to swat at the flaming paper towels.

He threw open the small double doors under the sink, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and turned it so that he could read the directions. The big white sign on the front said, “PASS which stood for pull the pin, aim at the fire, squeeze the trigger, and sweep back and forth.”

He pulled the pin, aimed at the curtains, and squeezed the trigger. A high-pressured white foam shot out and he managed to coat the curtains, microwave, counter, and Debra’s lower half. The good news was that the fire was out. The bad news was that Debra’s kitchen was a huge mess.

“What did you put in the microwave?” She fanned smoke out of her face and to the stove turning on the fan. She opened a drawer, pulled out a handful of dishtowels and wiped foam off of her thighs.

“A thermos of hot chocolate.” As he surveyed the devastation, he was willing to admit that it had been a bad idea.

“You mean the kind that are lined with metal?” To her credit, the “you idiot” was implied.

He glanced through the melted microwave door at the smoldering volcano of plastic and metal. “I thought it was all plastic.”

Around her, it seemed everything he did was wrong. Not only was the Universe telling him to leave her alone, it was knocking him over the head with the idea. He squared his shoulders. He wasn’t a quitter, and the Universe could get behind the idea of the two of them together or not, but either way, he and Debra were going to be together.

Maybe the Universe was putting him through all of this humiliation to teach him something? Humility? Or maybe his loyalty and love were being tested? Well, he wasn’t giving up so whoever thought he was going to fail these tests could give up now.

“It’s been a tough day.” Debra stood on her tippy toes and pulled down the now black curtain above the sink. From the cabinet below the sink, she pulled out a white trash bag lined black trashcan and used the curtain to mop up the foam and then sweep it into the garbage.

“You don’t have to ask me, I’m going.” But he’d be back.

“Going where?” She wiped the curtain on the side of the trashcan.

She didn’t want him to leave? That was the first ray of hope in what had turned out to be a dismal day. “Nowhere.”

If he were her, he’d ask him to leave, then again, if he were her things would be weirder than they were now.

“Aunt June made this right before she died.” She held the ruined curtain out.

Could anything be worse? He wanted to use it to strangle himself. He figured he’d just save her the trouble.

“I’m not sure exactly how to apologize for that and,” he swept his arms out wide, “the kitchen.”

“Sucker.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “I totally bought this at Target.”

She looked around.

“I’ve always hated this kitchen. Now I have to get a new one.” She sounded resigned more than mad. Debra was definitely different today, and she seemed to be okay with giving him as many second chances as he needed.