He observed his mother for a few minutes, pondering the advisability of dumping his life’s mess into her lap. She’d been through so much since he’d come home shattered, depressed, and unemployed until his high school alma mater principal had taken pity on him and hired him as a temp teacher. He had no business worrying her over something only he had the power to repair.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, keeping his gaze averted. “Sorry.” He impaled a potato with his fork, put it in his mouth, and chewed without tasting it, meeting Dom’s gaze across the table, as they sat in their old configuration by habit. His brother’s expression remained flat, as if he were studying a science experiment gone wrong shaped like his older, redheaded brother.
Like that asshole could talk—with a kid in New York that no one knew, thanks to the baby mama getting so mad she’d run off at nine months pregnant. I am all kinds of normal compared to him.
His mother patted his shoulder then shot her husband a worried look down the long, oak table. On cue, Kieran’s knee sang out in agony when he bent it, reminding him of his failure, living here in Lucasville, Kentucky and not in Florida in his not-quite-a-penthouse condo, with a willing chick at his door every night, working like mad for playing time.
Within two games, he’d gotten that time only to sustain one of those grotesque, freakish injuries with no real explanation that had been shown in nauseating repeat. It had been so god-awful, one of his teammates had puked on the bench, some lady in a seat nearby had fainted, and finally the sports channel had been convinced to stop showing it, out of deference to its horrific nature.
White-hot frustration shot down his spine. He clenched his jaw, determined to contain it, not to be more trouble to his parents, since his siblings provided enough of that for three or four families.
Ignoring the pain, he pushed away from the table. “I need another beer. Anyone else?”
The entire Love family plus the punk in his sister’s panties looked at him like a bunch of baby birds in a nest. Infuriated, he whirled away and stomped into the kitchen. One of his brothers’ brats chose that moment to let out a loud wail of dismay, matching his mood perfectly.
He turned to stare out the window, wondering how to spin this to his fiancée, dangling a beer bottle from his fingers. Closing his eyes when he sensed someone behind him, he took a long drink and let the alcohol drown out the clanging sound of failure between his ears.
Chapter Four
Kent opened her car door and helped Cara out into the oppressive night air. The dinner had been stuffy and boring, and she’d had one-too-many gin and tonics. But she’d charmed the wives as she’d been asked to do, and he’d been positively glowing with excitement by the time they’d parted from the other two couples at the country club doors. He’d babbled on about the future of his real estate development all the way to her small apartment building while she’d stared blearily out the window, ignoring him.
“Babycakes, you were amazin’,” he declared guiding her toward the slightly off-kilter door to the building. Taking her hand, he spun her around under his arm then held her close, planting a kiss on her that made her already-spinning head even less stable.
She stumbled when he let go of her to open the door, then slumped against the doorjamb, acknowledging he looked great as usual, his trim, five-foot-eleven frame filling out his suit to perfection. Truth be told, Kent wore her out with his firm belief that she wanted all this social acceptance claptrap as much as he did.
“I’m gonna go out for a bit longer,” he said, making her relieved and pissed off all at once. “Need to talk some more business and I know you hate that stuff.”
Unable to give breath to the strange go-but-don’t-go feelings churning in her gut, she hesitated. Kent tugged her once more into his embrace. “I love you. We’re gonna be a great couple.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“You’re okay with me going out, right? You told me you were tired.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just remember you need to make a deposit for the video guy and the final payment on the....”
“I got all that, babe. One thing you never have to worry about with me is managing the money stuff. I have your spreadsheet and my deadlines and the checkbook.”
Sighing again she contemplated him a moment. Not worrying about the money stuff after living just this side of the poorhouse with her mother provided more relief than she knew how to express, although the low-lying disappointment she always sensed when visiting his family’s house never really went away. Even his mother’s overenthusiastic, never-ending insistence that she couldn’t wait to have Cara in the family always rang somewhat false.