His to Love (Fireside #1) Page 4

  “Hello, Father,” I said.

  His eyes dipped to my robe and then he lifted his eyes to mine. “You’re not dressed.”

  I took a step back, waving him in. His scorn wasn’t surprising. It just hurt. It had been a decade since he’d laid eyes on me. He’d chosen never to travel to Colorado with my mother when she made her bi-annual vacation, and the first words out of his mouth dripped with disdain.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I said with a smile. I caught his eye roll as he walked past me and into the small living room. “I must still be on Denver time.”

  It was a lame excuse, and I shouldn’t have bothered. He despised them.

  Jimmy Galecki’s presence sucked the oxygen out of the room, and I fought the shiver that rolled down my spine as my father inspected the place. I noticed that he didn’t seem to have aged a bit in the years I had been gone. His black hair was just as shiny and styled the same, parted on one side and flopped over his forehead. His shoulders were broad and he still stood extremely tall. I didn’t get my height or my personality from my dad but the hair and light blue eyes were two things he could claim he gave me.

  That and money.

  I was a raised a Galecki, and he commanded respect by a simple look. I gave that to him, allowed him to look his fill, and forced my gaze not to fall on my closed bedroom door.

  “Your trip was good?” he asked when he finished.

  “It was.” I tightened the belt at my waist and refused to fidget. He hated fidgeting and any show of nerves possibly more than he hated excuses. Not wanting him to see my trembling hands, I quickly made my way to the small kitchenette and began preparing a cup of coffee. “How are you?”

  The little girl inside me pleaded for a loving look from him. Something kind in his eyes, something to show he was glad to see me. It wasn’t that he hated me, but showing any weakness in his world was deadly and that included showing affection for his only child.

  “Your mother wants to see you today.”

  Holding an empty coffee mug in one hand, I looked down at my robe. My hair had to be a matted mess, and the remnants of last night’s alcohol and poor decisions were pounding at the base of my skull.

  “Now?”

  The way his lips curved said it all. “Whenever you can manage to pull yourself together.”

  I took the insult like I had taken all of them—with a simple nod.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And there’s something else I need to talk to you about while you’re at the house today.”

  “Mom?”

  “No.”

  Something pressed itself against my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I knew it. I freaking knew that his allowing me to not move home when I came back to Detroit would bite me in the ass. He hadn’t been allowing anything at all. He had chosen to wait for a more opportune time to manipulate me into doing something he wanted. He didn’t have to say it. I had lived that life for eighteen years, always under his thumb and direction. The glacial look in his eyes said it all: He had a plan for me, and he wouldn’t allow me to get out of it.

  Damn it.

  “Oh?” I asked, and he shook his head.

  Sliding his hands into the front pockets of his suit coat, he stalked toward me. It was how he moved. My dad didn’t walk or wander, he strode with purpose every moment of his life.

  It was probably one of the things that had kept him alive. That and his armed guards.

  He dipped his chin when he reached me at the entrance to the small kitchen and smiled. It was fleeting, disappearing before the little girl inside of me could cling to the hope that her dad really did love her.

  “It’s good to see you, Gabriella. Your mother and I are pleased you’re home.”

  I smiled hopefully. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  With another nod, he slid past me, and paused at the door.

  “Make sure you’re dressed appropriately for your visit.”

  My smile fell along with my shoulders.

  Then he was gone, and the door shut behind him. It echoed in the quiet room, along with my heart, which was beating against my ribcage.

  I turned back to the counter and filled my mug with steamy goodness, knowing that delicious coffee wouldn’t erase the sting of his visit.

  “I see he hasn’t become any less of an asshole,” Tyson said, walking into the living room with the grace of a panther. So similar to my own father, really.

  They were both tall, masculine, and broad-shouldered. I had no idea what Tyson had been up to since college, but I could tell by the way he moved and spoke that he was successful.

  And his body said he didn’t miss very many bowls of Wheaties.

  “I’d offer you coffee, but you should probably go.”

  He grinned and walked straight up to me, taking my mug right out of my hands. His hand engulfed the simple black mug and I watched, slack-jawed, as he brought it to his lips and took a sip. He curved his lips over the rim of the mug and all I could think was, lucky freaking cup.

  “Kicking me out so soon?”

  “I need to go. Things to do today.”

  Surrendering the mug for good when he took another sip, I reached for another and poured my own cup.

  “What’d your dad want?” he asked, and leaned his hip against the counter.

  It was unfair that he looked so good after just waking up. His clothes were even unwrinkled, like he had taken the time to iron them while he was hiding out in my room.

  Which I was grateful for. World War III didn’t need to happen in my hotel room. Besides, cleaning up blood and guts was messy.

  But it was a seriously cruel joke that Tyson could wake up and look completely put together, while I still felt like a complete wreck, from my messed-up hair to the wrinkled robe and faded yoga pants. Even my toenail polish was chipped.

  “Nothing.” I shook my head and moved to the kitchen table. “Just to welcome me home.”

  To remind me to go visit my dying mom. As if that wasn’t the whole reason I was home, anyway.

  I slumped in my chair and stared out the windows in the living room. Detroit wasn’t a pretty city. Certainly nothing like Eleanor’s farm in Colorado, where there was always the beauty of mountains and air that smelled so fresh you could practically feel it feeding your lungs. In Detroit, everything was loud and muggy. The humidity was horrendous and the smog from the automobile plants seemed to leave a film over the city that refused to burn away even on the brightest and hottest days of summer.

  Tyson slipped into the chair across from me, coffee mug again pressed to his lips. His Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed, and I couldn’t pull my focus away from his dark eyes. Or his tanned skin. Or his muscles. Or…pretty much anything about him.

  For the second time I thought about how absolutely perfect he was. Physically, anyway.

  I couldn’t be around him right then. I was too raw from the visit from my dad and the reminder of why I came to town in the first place. As long as my dad was around, the only thing I had to give Tyson was some torrid affair where we still had to hide and slink around in the darkness.

  I was tired of hiding. And I wouldn’t ask for Tyson to do it again, either.

  “Aren’t you going?” I asked, arching a brow. My foot began tapping a staccato rhythm on the carpeted floor.

  He returned the look. “We really need to work on your morning-after manners.”

  “I…we…” My teeth clamped closed and I watched him fight a laugh. Scowling, I said, “This is no morning after. I don’t even know why you’re here…or why I let you in.”

  “Didn’t have much choice when you passed out in the hallway.”

  My eyes widened. “I did not.”

  “Did so.” He nodded seriously and set the mug on the table. “You leaned right up against the wall, started singing ‘Roar,’ said it was your new life-anthem or something like that, and then you just sort of…stopped.”

  No amount of foundation could have covered up th
e heat burning on my cheeks. “I didn’t.”

  “You did. I have it on video if you’d like to see…” He reached for his back pocket, and I lunged over the table.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “Relax.” He laughed and held up his hands, surrendering.

  I slid back into my seat. I would have preferred to sink into the floor and forget the last twenty-four hours. A do-over had never sounded like a better idea.

  “I didn’t take a video, but your voice needs work.”

  “Anything else you need me to change for you?” I asked, but my voice carried a sting of anger, lacking the teasing tone I had intended. I blamed my father’s visit for making me so high-strung and oversensitive. All my life I’d been forced to be someone I wasn’t. Forced to pretend and act perfect at all times. Tyson had been my solace from it, yet after one small conversation with my father, I was back to feeling like I’d never measure up to anyone.

  His smile disappeared. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Blue.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Why? You don’t like it?”

  “No.” I stood up. I did like it. Too much. It reminded me of blissful ignorance and pathetic dreams. “I don’t even know why you’re here, or why you stayed.”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Argh. Those muscles. I looked away. “Figured if you were going to throw up, it’d be nice if you weren’t alone.”

  “Well thank you, then.” I flashed him a look and walked into the kitchen. Then I poured myself another cup of coffee and stayed there. Being too close to him was deadly. I was getting all swoony and girly and lusty and that wasn’t me. “Then you should be relieved that your vomit-watch is over now.”

  His lips twitched. He slowly pushed his chair out, swung his leg over the back, and then pushed it back under the table. And damn, his butt looked good in those jeans. I caught just a glimpse before he turned away and walked around the table, heading straight for me.

  Instinctively, I took a step back. And then I froze. I wouldn’t cower away from him.

  “You should really get going.”

  “I probably should.” He took another step closer. I rolled my shoulders back.

  “Good.”

  “Yup.” Another step forward. He was close enough that I could smell him, and he didn’t smell like stale alcohol and un-brushed teeth. He smelled like sunshine and sex. “I’ll see you later.”

  I shook my head and gripped the mug in front of me like it was a lifeline. To what, I had no clue, but I needed something to hold me steady. Keep me sane. “Probably not a good idea.”

  “Oh, I think it’s a great idea,” he murmured and leaned forward. And I was done for.

  I was completely lost as he brushed his lips against my cheek. That damn lip-brush was going to be the death of me. My breath hitched in my throat.

  “I still have questions and you still owe me answers.”

  He moved toward the door, opening it and glancing back at me over his shoulder. “See you soon, Blue.”

  The door clicked shut behind him, echoing all over in the silent room, and I was left alone.

  Just like always.

  “Shit.”

  —

  I scrubbed my hair with shampoo and tried to calm my mind. When my father had called and requested that I return home, I had only been concerned about my mom and her health.

  Running into Tyson had thrown me for a loop and as I showered, washing my hair and massaging my temples to eradicate my hangover, I couldn’t help remember one of the hardest conversations he and I had ever had.

  —

  “That’s wonderful!” I jumped up and threw myself into his arms.

  The piece of white paper in Tyson’s hand crinkled as I pressed my chest against his.

  “I’m so proud of you, Tyson.”

  Tyson squeezed me and then let me go. His hands curled over the top of my shoulders as he looked down at me, his thick brow furrowed in that way they did when he was really concentrating. In two years of dating, I had seen a lot of his looks. His serious look was the least common, and I worried my lip between my teeth.

  “What?”

  “Central is almost two hours away, Blue.”

  I frowned. “And?”

  “So how we gonna stay together?”

  My eyes widened. “This is what you’re worried about? Us?”

  Tyson shook his acceptance letter from Central University in front of my face. The paper made a harsh snapping sound and I could tell he was frustrated, but I was fighting back a giggle.

  I placed my hand against his cheek. “We’ve got cars, Tyson. We can see each other whenever we want.”

  “I thought you’d be upset. Or sad because you’ll miss me.” His lips thinned and he ran his hand through his hair. “Shit, I’m turning into a girl, aren’t I?”

  My giggle slipped free. Tyson shot me a scowl but I saw his shoulders lose some of the tension.

  “It’s four years, Tyson. Four years of us following our dreams. That’s what relationships are about—helping the person you love go after their dream. Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

  “I don’t like the idea of you being far from me, with other guys not knowing you’re mine.”

  I rolled my eyes. This, his possessiveness, I knew well. Our school was small, but Tyson still walked with me in that way that silently told all the guys around us to back off. I teased him frequently about just getting his name tattooed on my forehead.

  “You’re crazy.” I rolled onto my toes and kissed his lips before I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

  He copied the move, and lifted me until my legs wrapped around his waist.

  “I love you Tyson Blackwell. I always will. Four years is nothing compared to the rest of our lives together.”

  He heaved a heavy breath and pressed his lips against my ear. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go, anyway. No matter what happens, it’s you and me, Blue, and it’ll be that way forever.”

  —

  I slapped off the water faucet and reached for a towel. It wasn’t until I had finished drying off that I realized my cheeks weren’t still wet from the shower, but from my tears.

  We had made so many promises to each other. We had made so many plans together.

  Now, ten years later, I had no idea if it’d ever be possible to get past the lies between us.

  I did know that even though Tyson left me in my hotel room just an hour ago, I already missed him like crazy.

  —

  “You look good, Mom.” I kissed her cheek after lying through my teeth.

  “I look like crap,” she said, and laughed.

  It wasn’t her laugh, though, and it killed me a little bit inside. Her skin was pale, her eyes were sunken, and the dark circles under her eyes were more apparent today than when we spoke over FaceTime just last week.

  She really did look like shit, but I couldn’t admit it to her. Luella Galecki was the strongest woman I knew. She had fought this cancer twice already, once when I was ten, and again when I was sixteen. When she went ten years without a single scare, it finally convinced all of us it wasn’t coming back.

  It was all an evil mindfuck to get us complacent, though, because eleven months after her ten-year checkup she started feeling tired all the time. Then she stopped being able to eat. And when the vomiting began weeks later, and I learned about it during a phone call, I knew deep down in my gut that this fight wasn’t going to be the same.

  “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  She smiled, allowing the lie. She probably needed to believe it as much as I needed to say it.

  “Tell me what’s new with you. What you’re going to do now that you’re home.”

  I squeezed her hand lightly, needing to touch her. In contrast to the aloofness and coolness of my father, my mom was different. She was light and airy and kind. Even when she corrected me, tried to discipline me, or force me
to behave in a way representative of the Galecki family, I always knew her heart was in the right place.

  “I’ll find a job,” I said, “and an apartment. I have a few appointments lined up this week.”

  “Detroit?” she asked, hesitancy making her jump over the one word. As if I was leaving her now.

  “Mostly.” I smiled, but I was distracted.

  Detroit was never where I wanted to be. I preferred the farm to this bedroom. Goats and chickens to my mother’s body that was wasting away in front of me. I could practically smell death coming to take her. It was that same smell that made you wrinkle your nose in a hospital. Medicinal and cold.

  I swallowed, fighting back emotions that I didn’t want her to see. The last thing I wanted was for her to see me crying over her. She had always been too full of life—too exuberant and joyful—to waste time with tears.

  Once I was sure I could speak without my voice cracking, I began telling her about what jobs I was looking for. Not that I was qualified for much of anything, but I knew my family’s name would open doors for me. And even though I generally hated relying on it, sometimes being a part of the most feared family in Michigan had its benefits. Not that I would take too much advantage. I wanted a job in event planning, even as an assistant or secretary. I didn’t care if it was with a private company or a hotel. I would answer phones or organize calendars and do just about anything to get a job doing what I had always wanted to do and finally had the chance to pursue.

  As I was telling her about an apartment I found in Latham Hills, a small borough on the north side of Detroit, she started coughing. At first she covered her mouth, trying to hide it, but I quickly reached for a nearby bucket. She waved it away, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. With a cool rag, I followed her hand and cleaned the sweat lining her brow.

  “Your father wants to talk to you,” she said with a raspy voice.

  “He told me.”

  “He’s not a bad man.”

  “I know, Mom.” I smiled and nodded because it was expected. But really, he was a bad man; she was just too blinded by her love for him to admit it. Ever.

  “He needs a favor and I need you to listen to him.” Her expression turned serious, and she pulled my hand off her forehead, taking the cloth from my grip.