Atonement (The Protectors #6)(12)

Since I would leave the contents of this room to the movers I'd hired to pack up the house, I closed the door and then turned to go to Jenna's room to close the door. A bitter chill invaded my body as I neared the room, but all that turned to white hot anger when I saw Dante step out of it. His eyes connected with mine and then shifted back to the bedroom. "I was just doing a sweep of the house … "

The violation of having my privacy invaded burned through me, but I managed to keep from putting my hands on Dante. I reached past him and yanked the door shut, not even looking into the room for even a moment. I didn't need to … I knew every nook and cranny of that room from the light green paint, the artsy, girly decorations, the pages torn from fashion magazines that covered the walls and the countless pictures of Matty taped to the mirror above the dresser. Hell, I even knew about the small, purple toiletry bag hidden behind some boxes on the top shelf of the closet that Jenna had always stashed her needles in.

"This floor's off limits," I bit out. "The couch in the den pulls out," I snapped as I went to the closet at the end of the hall and grabbed a blanket and pillow and shoved them into Dante's arms. I knew my behavior was over the top, but I was too damn raw to care. I strode past him and down the hallway to my own room and slammed the door shut behind me. I made it to my bed before my knees suddenly felt too weak to hold my own weight. I managed to hold back the tears that desperately wanted to fall.

Tears are for girls and sissies, boy. You either one of those things?

The sound of my grandfather's voice had me automatically shaking my head. I barely managed to stifle the urge to say, "No, sir."

Many had considered J.D. DuCane a tough, man's man kind of guy and he'd garnered a nearly infamous reputation among his fellow Rangers for his uncompromising dedication to the job. But to me, he'd been equal parts intimidating and inspiring. I'd wanted to be just like him in so many ways, but I'd learned early on that my grandfather didn't accept failure in any form. Age hadn't been an excuse for weakness, and shared blood didn't mean you got a pass if you didn't measure up to his strict standards. My father had been proof of that.

The relationship between my father and grandfather wasn't something I'd really understood when I'd been little. I'd been inwardly defensive of my father in the early years when my grandfather had called him a disappointment and berated him for everything from his blue collar job painting houses and doing construction work, to his choice of brides. I'd been too young to recognize the way my grandfather had slowly broken my father down until he'd had little choice but to lose himself in a bottle night after night. All I'd seen was proof everything my grandfather had said about my father was true as he'd lost job after job, blew every penny he'd managed to earn on alcohol, and had ultimately take his self-hatred out on me and my mother. 

My mother had eventually escaped.

I hadn't.

I'd hidden the bruises at first, afraid that I too would be deemed weak in my grandfather's eyes, but as my father's hatred had been fueled with more and more alcohol, there hadn't been any hiding. Ironically, the man who'd driven my father to the breaking point became my savior. But within six months, the safe haven I'd found with my grandfather was gone after his sudden death and I'd been sent back to my parents. With my grandfather gone and my mother walking out three months later, my father hadn't exactly embraced his role as the parent in our household. No, that had become my job.

Before my age had even reached double-digits, I'd taught myself to cook so my father and I wouldn't starve while he drank himself into a stupor every night. I'd learned how to stretch every dollar I'd managed to swipe from him after he'd cashed his monthly disability check and immediately bought booze. I'd even managed to arrange a deal with the guy who owned the liquor store on the same block as our street to return most of the bottles of liquor my father bought right after cashing his check. Luckily the guy must have felt sorry for me or something because he'd given me every penny back for every unopened bottle I'd brought back after my father had passed out in a drunken haze on the couch. I'd take the money and hide it in our apartment building's boiler room behind the furnace. The only cost had been the beating I'd get the next day when my father would ask where his booze was. Once he'd sobered up enough, he'd believed the lie I'd told him that he'd drunk everything he'd bought. He'd still always managed to somehow get alcohol between checks, but I'd never asked how he'd accomplished it. All I'd cared about was that I'd had enough money to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies until the next check came and the cycle started all over again.

Living with my grandfather even for those six months hadn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination, but I'd thrived on the discipline and order he'd instilled. He'd never once raised a hand to me, choosing instead to drive home the need for me to be strong, fearless and always in control of myself, no matter what. He'd been a hard-nosed son of a bitch, but he'd been everything my father hadn't. Ironically, it was the sense of duty he'd instilled in me that had kept me living in hell for years after he passed. Even when I was old enough to tell my father what would happen if he ever laid a hand on me again, I didn't leave him.

Not because I loved him. No, those feelings had died a million deaths every time his fists had connected with my body. I'd stayed because I'd been the strong one. I'd stayed because the man was still my father, even if he'd stopped playing the role.

Because I hadn't stopped playing my role.

Seven long years later, I'd been freed from my self-imposed prison when my father's liver finally gave out. Within a couple of years, I'd taken on the new roles of husband, father and dedicated law enforcement officer.



       
         
       
        

I'd failed at two out of three.

Exhaustion settled in my limbs as I looked around my bedroom. My eyes focused in on the empty nails on nearly every wall. I couldn't even remember the day I'd taken down all of the pictures of Matty and Jenna. Just like my daughter and grandson, they'd been there one day and gone the next.

Movement outside the window caught my attention. My room overlooked the back of the property which included a small barn and two large pastures. I let my gaze travel over Dante's body as he approached the closer of the two paddocks. His hands were in his pockets and his shoulders were hunched … a far cry from the cocky way he typically carried himself. I regretted my harshness earlier. The young man hadn't deserved to be the target of all my frustration and hurt. He'd simply been doing his job.

I got up and went to the window so I could see him better. Both horses had started walking up from where they'd been hovering near the doors that allowed them to go in and out of their stalls as Dante had neared them. He stopped just short of the fence and I wasn't surprised when my horse, Ace, stuck his head over the top rail and extended his neck towards Dante. The big sorrel gelding was a ham and craved attention, whereas his stablemate, a gray mare named Dolce, hung back.

Dante held back for several long seconds before he finally reached out to stroke Ace's face. My horse was pushy and clearly wanted more because he bumped his face against Dante's hand until his chest was pressed up hard against the fence. Dante finally seemed to get the message and stepped forward. Ace nuzzled Dante's pockets, looking for a treat, and then settled for pressing his face against Dante's armpit. I couldn't see Dante's expression, but I saw him tentatively reach his arm out to wrap around Ace's muzzle before he slowly dropped his cheek to Ace's forehead.

The sight of Dante reveling in the quiet comfort the horse was offering fucked with me big time.

Because I was actually jealous of my horse.

I shook my head in disbelief. I had no idea how to reconcile all the emotions this man brought out in me. Not to mention the physical reactions I had whenever he was near. Hell, he didn't even need to be around for my body to respond … all I had to do was think about him and my insides drew up tight while my skin grew hot and itchy. Images of Dante with the nurse in the hospital parking garage and the catering guy at the wedding assaulted me on a regular basis, though I never considered the other party in either scenario … just Dante. And the wrongness of him being with those other people had nothing to do with the fact they'd been random or inappropriate hook-ups, but I absolutely refused to consider the truth about why they still bothered me so much.

I needed to hang on to my delusions for a little while longer. 

I had to believe that my reaction to him last night while he'd been with the two women in our hotel room, along with my subsequent, mind-altering orgasm in the shower afterwards, had been related to the stress I was under.

As for today when I'd watch Dante tease Jeff with the seemingly random comment about Jeff's sturdy desk … shit, I had no explanation for my sudden desire to bend Dante over said desk to test his theory.

I actually felt my cheeks heat when Dante suddenly looked up at me. From the distance, I knew he couldn't see my face, but I still felt like he knew I'd been thinking about him, because his eyes stayed on me for a long time. As much as it went against my nature, I was the one to look away first. I would have like to say I just had other shit to do, but the reality was I didn't want to be reduced to jacking off again in the shower in a desperate attempt for relief. And since my cock had thickened in excitement the second Dante's gaze had connected with mine, that was exactly the direction I was headed.