Wait for It

Josh had just walked up to the mound to pitch when my mom decided to lean into me. “He’s hitting better?” she asked like he hadn’t already been hitting awesome before.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the eleven-year-old on base. Almost two weeks had passed since I’d gotten home from visiting Vanessa in California. I’d been busier than hell. This was supposed to be my weekend off with the boys, but I’d needed to catch up on appointments I’d had to cancel while I was gone, and the Larsens had offered to pick up Josh and Louie that morning so they could take him to his tournament, leaving me to work. When my last client of the day called and cancelled at the last minute, Sean and I made the executive decision to close the salon an hour early. The tournament Josh’s team was playing that weekend was luckily only a half hour drive, and I’d gotten back fast enough so that they had only played—and won—against two teams after their pool games. This was the first time since I’d gotten back that I’d been able to make it to anything baseball related; I’d been having to stay late to catch up with all the clients I’d had to reschedule.

The Larsens had stayed through the first four games before heading out when I’d shown up, with my parents showing up immediately afterward. This was also the first time I’d gotten to spend more than ten minutes with my parents in over a month, too. Things were still weird between my mom and I. She would never admit she had taken something too far, and I wasn’t going to back down from my feelings. I didn’t regret or feel bad about going to visit my best friend and her baby, no matter what she said or thought.

“Yeah. His batting coach is great and the coaches have been working with him a lot during practice, too.”

The coaches. I couldn’t help but kind of glance over at a specific coach standing by third base with his arms over his chest. I hadn’t seen much of him since that night he’d come over when I got back. He’d come inside with me and drank the last beer in the fridge while I’d told him about visiting my best friend. He hadn’t been able to believe whom she was married to. While I checked on Josh first, Louie had come out of his room and invited Dallas to sit with him while I told him his daily Rodrigo story.

“Who are the coaches again?” my mom asked, dragging me back to the present and away from the mental image of my neighbor sitting on one side of Louie’s bed while I’d been on the other as I told him about the time my brother had thought he’d lost his phone but had left it inside the refrigerator on accident.

I side-eyed her and somehow managed not to shake my head. My parents didn’t come to as many of Josh’s games like the Larsens and I did, but they had gone to enough so that she should know more. The thing was, when Josh had first started talking about playing sports, both my parents had complained. Why not soccer? So I’d said, “Because he doesn’t want to play soccer.” After so many years, you would figure they’d get over it and accept that he was a natural at baseball, but these stubborn-asses I’d been born to hadn’t.

I pointed at Trip first, who was standing by first base and then slowly, more than a little resigned, at the big man standing closest to us.

“Why does he look familiar?”

I eyed her again, not fooled by her question. “You met him at the party.” This woman had the memory of an elephant; she didn’t forget shit. She still brought up things I’d done when I was a kid that, for some reason or another, still made her mad from time to time.

“Oh.”

I didn’t like the way she said “oh.” So I waited.

“The one with all the tattoos?” she asked in Spanish.

All the tattoos? They only went to his elbow. “Si.”

She said it again, “Oh.”

If I didn’t know my mom the way I knew her, I’d assume she was indifferent about Dallas. But I did know her. And for some reason, her “oh” while referring to him didn’t sit well with me.

In front of us, Josh got into position on the base and hit the ball straight between third and second, jetting way into the outfield so far I jumped up to my feet to cheer him on. Vaguely, I noticed my mom raise her hands in the air and start clapping. But it wasn’t until I sat down as Josh’s feet hit the third base that she finally said what I should have known she would say.

“I don’t think all those tattoos are good to have around kids, no?”

I groaned. “Tattoos don’t jump out and attack people, Mamá.”

“Sí pero… ve lo.” She huffed, the tip of her chin pointing at Dallas who had his hands on his knees as he talked to Josh. “He looks like a gangbanger.”

I hated when my mom did that stereotypical crap, especially while she talked about a man who had been pretty damn kind to me and the boys. It was unfair of him to get judged by his buzz-cut hair and a face he’d been born with. I had to grit down on my teeth to keep from saying something I’d regret. “Ma, he’s not in a gang. He’s great with the kids. He’s great with everyone.”

“Ay. Maybe, but why does he have to have all those tattoos?”

“Because he wants them,” I said in a snappier tone than normal.

Her upper body turned to face me, those black, black eyes narrowing. “Why are you getting mad?”

“I’m not getting mad. I think you’re being mean judging him. You don’t know him.”

She huffed. “¿Y tú si?”

“Yeah, I do. He was in the navy for twenty years and he owns his own business. He coaches little boys because he likes to be there for them. He’s—” I just about said almost but managed to keep it inside “—always been nice to Josh and Louie and me.” Before I could stop myself. Before I could think about the people sitting around and consider that they might be listening in, I said, “I think he’s great. I like him a lot.”

The long and drawn-out inhale that she sucked in seemed to suck up all the air within ten feet of us. “¿Qué qué?” What?

“I like him.” Was I egging her on? Maybe a little, but I hated, hated when she got like this on me.

“Why?”

“Why not?” We seemed to have this argument every time I liked someone who wasn’t Mexican.

“Diana, no me digas eso.”

“Te estoy diciendo eso. Me gusta. He’s a good person. He’s handsome—” She scoffed. “And he treats everyone well, Mamá. You know the day after the party? He came over and helped me and the boys clean for hours.” I really hadn’t believed him when he’d left my house that night, assuring me that I should leave the mess alone because we could all tackle it the next day.

But he had. Time and time again, he’d done things he didn’t have to. We were nothing to him, but he’d done what other people hadn’t.

If that wasn’t friendship, I didn’t know what was.

“Not him, Diana. Not again.”

God help me, sometimes I wanted to strangle my mom. “Oh my God, Ma. Calm down. I’m not telling you to love him. I’m just telling you I like him. We’re not getting married. He doesn’t even like me like that. He’s just… nice.”

The woman who had given birth to me faced forward again. I could see her hands clenching the material of the long skirt she had on. “For now!” she basically whisper-hissed.

Oh hell no.

“You don’t know how to pick them,” she said, her gaze still forward.

I couldn’t look at her either, so I shifted to watch the next batter get a strike. “Mom, I love you, but don’t go there right now,” I whispered.

“I love you too,” she said softly, “but someone has to tell you when you make stupid decisions. Last time I kept my mouth shut and you know what happened.”

Of course I knew what happened. I had been there. I had lived through what I lived through. I didn’t need a reminder of how dumb I’d been. I would never let myself forget it.

Yet here we were again with her telling me what to do with my life and what to do differently. Sometimes I thought, if she hadn’t been so strict with me as a kid, I would take her “suggestions” more seriously, but she had been strict. Too strict. And I wasn’t in the mood for it anymore, no matter how much I loved her. “Mom, Rodrigo had tattoos. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

She acted like I shot her. Her hands went to her chest and her back when ramrod straight. My mom gulped, and I’m pretty sure her hands started shaking.

Jesus. I hated it when she acted like that.

“Don’t talk about your brother.” I barely heard her.

I sighed and rubbed my eyebrow with the back of my hand. Every single time with her. God. We could never talk about Rodrigo. Ever.

With a sigh, I tried to keep my attention on the game, only paying about half my attention to it while the other half bounced back and forth between thinking about Rodrigo and Dallas. I thought my brother would have liked him. I really did.

The game nearly ended before my mom finally spoke again. “You can be friends, but nothing else.” She made this delicate sound in her throat that I don’t think I’d ever be able to imitate.

Why could she never let things go? Why could I never let things go and tell her what she needed to hear? Rolling my eyes, I snuck my hand under the cap I’d put on, Dallas’s, and scratched at this spot that had been itching for a day or two now at the back of my head near the crown. I hadn’t washed my hair in a few days, it was probably time.

“Did you hear me?” she asked quietly.

I slid her a look before focusing on the game again. “Yes. I’m just not going to tell you what you want to hear, Ma. Sorry. I love you, but don’t be like that.”

The breath she let out would have scared me back when I was ten. At twenty-nine, I didn’t let it bother me a tiny bit. At the end of the game, my dad showed up with Louie in tow, sweaty and tired from their time at the playground. I didn’t exactly go out of my way to give my mom space, but it happened. When the next game started almost an hour later, I made sure to sit beside my dad with Louie on my other side as a buffer between us. The Tornado won that final game of the day—which was always bittersweet because that meant the boys would have a game the next day and I’d have to wake up extra early for it since the salon was closed on Sundays.

We followed my parents out to their car to say bye, and my mom and I just gave each other a quick kiss on the cheek. The tension was so thick my dad and Louie glanced between both of us before they got into the car. On the way to our car, I spotted a red pickup parked five spots down from me. By the bed, busy throwing a bag into it, was an even more familiar sight. Dallas.

Standing a few feet away, talking rapidly, was Christy.

Josh noticed what I was looking at because he asked, “Are you gonna ask him to eat with us?”

It was that obvious to him? I lifted a shoulder. “I was thinking about it. What do you think?”

“I don’t care.”

Giving him a cross-eyed look, I led our crew over to the pickup just as Dallas closed the lip. He either heard us coming over or sensed us, because he looked over his shoulder and stood there. Christy, who was facing us, scowled just enough for me to notice, but I stopped paying attention to her. Louie was holding on to one hand and Josh was next to me with his bag trailing behind him. The smile that came over Dallas’s face as he took us in was genuine.

“I’ll get back to you on the fundraising. There’s no rush for it,” my neighbor told the woman to his right without meeting her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Christy’s eyes darted from Dallas to me, and she let out a deep breath that I would bet an ovary had some cuss words mixed into it. She said something to the coach, shot me another look, and started walking off.

I waited until she was a decent distance away before lifting my chin at him and asking, “We’re having hot dogs for dinner, Lex Luthor. You want some or what?”

* * *

“Lou, what’s wrong with your head?”

Louie, who was sitting on the couch playing a video game against Josh, had suddenly dropped the controller into his lap and started scratching the shit out of his scalp, wincing. “It itches.”

I frowned over at him. “Make sure to wash your hair tonight then, nasty.”

He said, “Uh-huh,” just as he grabbed the controller again, focused on the fighting game he was currently playing against Josh.

We had finished eating dinner a half hour ago, and since then, the four of us—Dallas included—had rotated playing what I would have called Street Fighter when I was his age. I had no idea what the game was really called. I’d lost the last match against Josh, and Louie had taken my spot.

Adjusting myself on the couch, I pulled up my knee and accidentally hit Dallas’s in the process. His attention had been on the screen until then, and he turned to give me a small smile.

“Do you want another hot dog?” I asked. “We ate all the fries.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m stuffed. Thanks.”

I wasn’t surprised; he’d eaten four already.

Another spot on my head started to itch, and I reached up to scratch at it with my index finger. Louie wasn’t the only one who needed to wash his hair. When I glanced back at the man sitting one cushion down on the couch, he raised his eyebrows in question and I raised mine right back.

“Ugh!” Josh shouted out of nowhere, his remote flying across the floor as both of his hands went up to his hair, scratching the hell out of his head. “It itches so bad!”

What the hell was going on?

Out of the corner of my eye, Louie started doing the same, except with only one hand. It looked like they were both trying to get blood. I’d barely thought that when another spot on my scalp started to itch, and I went to town on it.

“What the hell is happening?” I asked, scratching.

The only sound in the room was the sound of us raking our nails across our scalps. Then, Dallas said, “Louie, turn on that lamp.”

Louie did what he was told with his free hand.

“Do we have bed bugs or something?” I asked, hoping he might have an idea.

Dallas was too busy bouncing his gaze from one boy to the other and me; his expression was thoughtful. He gestured at Lou to come toward him and the boy did. I was still scratching as Dallas parted Louie’s hair with those big hands, his face dipping forward really close to take a look at his head. He didn’t say a word as he drew his hands back and then moved his palms to a different spot, doing the exact same, his nose coming inches away from Louie’s scalp. He did it a third time, too.

I glanced at Mac asleep on the floor and asked slowly, “Do we have fleas?” I gave him his flea medication on the same day every month.

Dallas sat up and pinched his lips together, and somehow managed to say calmly, “No. You have l-i-c-e.”

“L-i-c-e?” Josh muttered the letters under his breath.

“Li-cee?” That was Louie.

I still had a hand on my head as I wrinkled my nose. “What—Oh my God. No!”

* * *

There are only a handful of things in the world that I’d been embarrassed to buy. When I was a teenager, I’d purposely only buy pads and tampons at stores that had a self-checkout lane. In my early-twenties, I started buying condoms online because I was too embarrassed to buy them at the store. There was also itch relief medicine for that time I had a yeast infection, and lubricant that I had bought for Louie when he’d been a baby and needed to get a thermometer where no thermometer should ever have to go.

And then the lice happened.

Lice. Lice. Fucking lice.

Vomit crawled up my throat each time I thought about the eggs and little critters covering my head and the boys’.

Buying three boxes of medication and a gallon of bleach at the twenty-four-hour pharmacy went on the list of things I was ashamed to buy. When I was a kid, we had gasped over the nasty kids who’d had lice. And now I had three of them in my house, one of them being me.

“You really don’t have to do this,” I had told Dallas the second it clicked that I needed to be at the pharmacy five minutes ago and claimed we needed to leave right then.

Standing in front of me and in between two freaked out kids that had yelled, “THERE’S BUGS IN OUR HAIR?” all he had done was blink and stay cool, and then he’d plucked my car keys from my hand. “I’ll drive. You look up what you need.”

Well, when he put it like that, I swallowed my “I’ve got this.” There were eggs in my hair, in Josh’s hair, in Louie’s. Oh my God. It was disgusting. Really, really disgusting. I swore my head felt even itchier after Dallas had confirmed what the hell was on us. For one moment, I thought about calling my mom, but after we’d ended the night, the last thing I wanted was for her to find a reason to blame me for the boys getting lice, because she would. Forget that I knew for sure I’d gotten it once in elementary school—my entire fourth grade class had gotten them—but it would be a whole different situation if it happened on my watch.

Like Dallas suggested, I spent the ride looking up what I needed to buy and do. He stayed in the car with the boys while I ran in and bought what was needed, the clerk only side-eyeing me a little when he rang me out.

“You do their treatment and I’ll help with the sheets,” Dallas said in that crisp, no-nonsense tone of his as we pulled into the house.

“Really, you don’t have to do that. It’s already almost twelve.” Fuck, it was almost midnight? From the instructions I saw online, I was going to be up all night, washing sheets, clothes, and vacuuming. We were going to have to wake up early too, for Josh’s next game.

I was going to be sick. I could handle blood. I could handle the boys when they were sick and threw up all over the place. Diarrhea and me were old friends… but this lice thing crossed a line into a territory I couldn’t deal with. Bugs and I were not friends meant to have a close, personal relationship together.

I caught him glancing at me briefly before turning his attention forward again, but his hands flexed across the steering wheel. I’d put a grocery bag over the headrest for him because I was paranoid. “I know I don’t have to.”

“I have fleas!” Louie hollered from the backseat.

“You don’t have fleas. You have lice,” I corrected him, crying a little on the inside at the reminder.

“I hate lice!”

“Lou, do you even know what lice do?” I asked.

Silence.

I snickered and laughed a little despite it all. It was for the best that he didn’t. “Okay, which one of you borrowed someone’s hat?”

There was a brief moment of quiet before Josh let out a groan. “I used Jace’s hoodie last week.”

Son of a bitch. How many times since then had we all spent time on the couch together or had I hugged one of them, pressing our heads together? Louie had slept with me and shared my pillow twice the week before. I knew for sure he had slept with Josh one night also.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

“It’s okay, J. It happens.” I hoped it never happened again, but it wasn’t like he’d gone out of his way to get infected, or whatever it was considered.

“I was at sea once when a lot of people got lice,” Dallas piped up not two seconds after I finished talking. “I’ve never seen so many adults cry in my life, Josh. We’ll get it all sorted out, don’t worry.”

Why did he have to be so nice? Why?

“You were in the army?” Josh asked.

“Navy.”

The eleven-year-old scoffed. “What? Why didn’t I know that?”

I could see Dallas’s mouth form a grin even as he kept his attention forward. “I don’t know.”

“For how long?”

“Twenty-one years,” the man answered easily.

The noises that came out Josh’s mouth belonged to a kid who couldn’t begin to comprehend twenty years. Of course he couldn’t. He still had at least seven more years before life started bowling right by him. “How old are you?”

“Jesus, Josh!” I laughed.

So did Dallas. “How old do you think I am?”

“Tia Di, how old are you? Thirty-five?” he asked.

I choked. “Twenty-nine, jerk face.”

Josh must have been joking to begin with because he started cracking up in the backseat. Without turning around, I was pretty sure Louie was cracking up too.

“Traitor,” I called out to the little one. “I’m going to remember that when you want something.”

“Mr. Dallas, are you… fifty?” Louie blurted out.

Oh my God. I couldn’t help but slap my hand over my face. These kids were so embarrassing.

“Thanks for that, Lou. No, I’m not fifty.” Dallas chuckled.

“Forty-five?”

The man behind the steering wheel made a noise. “No.”

“Forty?”

“Forty-one.”

I’d known it!

“How old is Grandpa?” Louie asked.

By the time I confirmed that Grandpa Larsen was seventy-one, Dallas had turned the car into my driveway. We hadn’t even made it into the house before our neighbor said, “You three shower, and I’ll take care of the sheets.” He already had the container of bleach in his hands.

“You’re sure?” If I was him, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about being in a house full of people with lice.

Dallas blinked those beautiful hazel eyes as he waved me toward the house. “Yes. Go. I need to grab something from my house, and I’ll be right back.”

As I unlocked the door and led the boys toward their bathroom, I didn’t even think about Dallas going into my bedroom and how I’d left a bra hanging off the doorknob.

I shut the door, with the three of us crammed into their tiny bathroom, and clapped my hands. “I have to put this stuff on you and wait ten minutes before you can shower. So get naked, you dirty monkeys.”

Louie groaned, “But I took a bath yesterday.”

While the other one—God help me—yelled, “You’re a pervert!”

* * *

It was three in the morning by the time we were done with the showers… and the picking… and the combing.

Since the boys had been born and especially since they’d come into my life full-time without my brother, I’d been thrown up on, I’d cleaned poop and cleaned up pee off the floor and on underwear more times than I could count. I’d been mentally preparing myself for the day that Josh started balling up his sheets, socks, and underwear. I’d even started taking down notes for what I’d have to say to him the day we had to have the talk about a boy’s bodily functions. Somehow, some way, I would survive saying the word “penis” in front of him.

But combing eggs out of a child’s hair was almost my breaking point. What kept me from complaining was, when I’d brought the boys into the living room after fighting with them the entire time it had taken me to massage the treatment into their hair and help them rinse it out, how Dallas had come out of the laundry room and asked, “Ready?”

And I’d asked, “For what?”

“To comb the nits out.”

I started to open my mouth and tell him he didn’t have to do that, but he frowned and gave me an exasperated expression. “I know you can do it by yourself, but I’m here. Let’s do it.”

So we did it. I shoved Josh, who had shorter hair, to him, and I took Louie to the dining room, the only room in the house that still had seats. Dallas had stripped the cushions off the couch, and I could only assume he was washing those too. I was never going to look at fine-toothed combs the same way again. As I sat in the dining room chair, I saw Dallas reach toward his chest and bring something up to his face.

It was glasses.

He was putting glasses on. Narrow, black, thick-framed glasses. Shit.

He must have sensed me staring because he gave me a goofy face. “Reading glasses. I’m farsighted.”

Reading glasses? More like sexy glasses. God help me. I forced myself to look forward as I let out a breath through my mouth.

We were all quiet as we combed and combed and combed, and I snuck a couple more peeks at the man in the chair next to mine.

Eggs. Goddammit. I would take vomit any day.

One blown-up air mattress later, because the sheets hadn’t dried and I didn’t have extras, the boys were on the bed, and I was falling asleep standing up. My head had started itching even worse over the last couple of hours, but I was pretty sure that was only because of what I saw on the boys’ heads. With both of them tucked in, I headed back into the living room to find Dallas shaking out washed, twin-sized sheets in the kitchen.

I couldn’t help but let out a big yawn right in front of him, my eyes stinging. “Thank you so much for your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you tonight,” I said the second I was able to.

He looked so tired, too. There were bags under his eyes. He took his glasses off and rubbed his forearm across his eyes as he said, “Hurry up and shower so I can do your hair.”

Oh God. My face must have said what I was thinking because he gave me a yawn, just as big as the one I’d given him, and a head shake.

“Shower, Diana. You’re not gonna get any sleep with bugs crawling all over your head.”

When he put it like that, how could I not do the treatment? As I washed out the medication and soaped up, I thought, I could pay him later. I really didn’t know what I could or would have done without him. I’d probably be in tears right now.

By the time I got out, I could barely keep my eyes open. I was yawning every five seconds. Tears were coming into my eyes each time I did it.

I was practically a zombie.

Pouring bleach all over the bathtub and tiled walls because I was paranoid we’d have some mutant lice that could survive without warmth and blood, I opened the bathroom window and closed the door behind me. I’d clean the crap out of it tomorrow. I found Dallas sitting on the same dining room chair he’d used to do Josh’s hair with his head propped up on his hand, his eyes closed. I’d barely paused between the living room and the dining room when he sat up and blinked sleepy eyes in my direction and patted his knees. “Let’s do it, Eggs.”

His nickname was so unexpected, I forgot he’d patted his lap, as I laughed.

Dallas smiled at the same time he spread his thighs and slid the chair back, showing me a folded towel on the floor. “This’ll have to be good enough for you to sit on for a while.”

“My head is going to be a lot harder than Josh’s,” I warned him.

He flicked his fingers. “I can do it.”

“We have to leave for the boys’ games in three hours.”

“Don’t remind me. Get over here.”

I blinked. “Do you do this for all the single parents on the team?”

He smiled weakly, but more than likely it was just exhaustion. “Only the ones who feed me. Come on before we both fall asleep.”

I wanted to fight with him, but I really didn’t have it in me. Before I knew it, my butt was on the towel between his feet and my shoulders were wedged between his knees. Soft pressure on the back of my head had me hunching forward.

“I’m going to start in the back and work my way to the front,” he let me know in a soft, sleepy voice. “If I stop moving, give me a nudge, okay?”

I giggled, so tired it sounded more like a groan. “If I fall on my face, feel free to leave me there.”

His laugh flowed over my shoulders at the same time I felt what could only be his fingers parting my hair in the back, flipping most of it over. “What time did you wake up today?”

I felt something brush over the nape of my neck. “Six. You?”

“Five thirty.”

“Ouch.” I yawned.

The sides of his fingers brushed against my ears as he continued combing. “I’ve been through worse in the military.”

“Mm-hmm.” I leaned forward to prop my head on my hand, elbow on my knee. “You were really in the navy for twenty-one years?”

“Yes.”

“How old were you when you enlisted?”

“Eighteen. I shipped out right after I graduated high school,” he explained.

“Whoa.” I couldn’t remember what the hell I’d been doing at eighteen. Nothing important, obviously. I hadn’t gone into beauty school until I was nineteen, once I’d decided going to college wasn’t for me and made my mom cry a couple of times. “Why the navy?”

“My dad was in it. My grandfather was too during World War II.” He made a low noise in his throat as he parted another section of my hair. “I always knew I’d enlist.”

“Did your mom freak out?”

“No. She knew. We lived in a small town in central Texas. There was nothing for me there. Even before I turned eighteen, she was going with me to talk to recruiters. She was excited and proud of me.” There was a pause, and then he said, “It was Jackson that lost it. He’s never forgiven me for leaving.”

“I thought you said you’d had some neighbors or family members that were there for you afterward?”

“They were there. For me. Jack…. They used to take me fishing, camping… my neighbor would take me to work with him for a long time to keep me out of trouble. He did tiling. That’s how I learned to do handyman things around the house. Jackson was never interested in going or doing any of those things. Me leaving was a betrayal.”

“You couldn’t have taken him with you.”

“I know.” Then why did he sound so sad admitting that?

“Does he try to use you as an excuse for why he got into drugs and all that?” I asked, still looking at the floor.

There was a slight pause and then, “Basically.”

“I don’t mean to call your brother a little shit—”

Dallas’s chuckle was really light. “He’s older than you are.”

“—but what a little shit. I understand why you help him out so much, I really do, but don’t let him make you feel guilty. You were a kid when your dad died. He wasn’t the only one who lost his dad, and look at you, you’re one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.” I shrugged beneath him. “And I don’t know of anyone who hasn’t made a stupid fucking decision at some point in their life. You just have to own up to it. He can’t blame you for anything.”

Dallas made a sharp noise before chuckling. “I used to tell him the same thing: if you fucked up, admit it, learn from it, and move on.”

“Exactly. It’s embarrassing and it sucks, but it would be worse than being an idiot twice.”

He agreed and went on combing through my hair. I could hear both of us breathing deeper, the urge to sleep getting worse and worse until I started taking deep breaths to stay awake.

“I’m falling asleep,” I warned him. “So, why did you leave the navy?”

“It’s tough moving every few years for half your life.” His finger brushed the shell of my ear and I felt a zing go up my spine. “I was ready to settle down. My retirement isn’t bad, and I like working with my hands. I always did. It isn’t fancy, but I like doing physical labor. It helps me sleep at night and pays the bills. I couldn’t handle working in an office. It would drive me nuts. I’m done with uniforms and small spaces.”

He likes working with his hands. I wasn’t going to make that statement into something more. Nope. No way. I also wasn’t going to imagine him in that cute white hat and collared uniform I’d seen men in the navy wear. So I changed the subject. “And you came to Austin because you have family here?”

“Yeah.”

“Miss Pearl?”

He hummed his yes. “We’ve always been close, and it worked out that the house I’m in now went on sale about six years ago, and I got it for a dime.”

“I had no idea you were related.”

“Forty-one years,” he murmured, sounding amused and sleepy. “I never thanked you for cutting her hair and helping her with her water heater a while back.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It wasn’t a big deal.” I yawned. “Do you see her often?”

“I’m over there all the time. We have dinner together almost every night.”

Shit.

“We watch some TV, I do things for her around the house, play some poker, and I go home at nine most every night we don’t have baseball,” he explained. “Once a month, I meet up with this guy I work with sometimes at Mayhem, and I go visit my family back home a couple of times a year for the weekend, but that’s my exciting life. I like it.”

He did things for his grandma around the house, played poker, and watched TV with her. Fuck. My. Life. In. Half. I had to squeeze my eyes closed because I didn’t want to watch myself lose my shit on the floor of my dining room.

Didn’t he know he wasn’t supposed to be this damn… perfect?

I wanted to cry at how unfair the world was. But I already knew that and I didn’t have any business being surprised by it.

“Your brother doesn’t go over there with you?” I asked him, fully aware he’d already mentioned to me in the past that his nana had had enough of his shit, and how he was the only one left who Jackson still had.

“No. About ten years ago, he got in trouble with some motorcycle club in San Antonio and he…” Dallas blew out a breath like he didn’t want to tell me, but he did anyway. “He stole some of Nana’s jewelry. She’s never forgiven him since.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

No one had a perfect family, but that was something else. All right. I needed to change the topic. “Where does your mom live?” I paused. “I’m so nosey, I’m sorry. I’m falling asleep and just trying to get you to keep talking to me so I don’t keel over.”

His laugh was soft behind me, more warm air over my neck. “You’re keeping us both awake. I don’t have secrets. My mom moved to Mexico a couple of years ago. She met this man old enough to be my Pawpaw. They got married and moved there. I see her once every couple of years. More now than when I was in the service.”

Something about that made me snicker. “As long as she’s happy….”

“She’s happy. Believe me. She busted her ass for us. I’m glad she’s found somebody. Old as fuck, or not.”

“He’s really that old?”

“Yeah. His name’s Larry. He has a grandson Jackson’s age. My ma asks for grandkids from time to time, and I have to remind her she already has a few,” he said, amused.

“You don’t want to have kids?” I asked before I could stop, immediately wanting to slap myself in the face.

His fingers brushed the shell of my ear again, and I had to fight the urge to scratch my scalp. “I want a few. I like ‘em. Can’t have them by myself though.”

“Your wife didn’t want any?” I blurted out.

It was that question that had him clearing his throat. Except for the time in the restroom, neither one of us had ever brought up his marriage, but fuck it. He was combing things out of my hair. We were pretty much BFFs by this point. “She already had one when we met.”

I waited. I already knew this information courtesy of Trip.

“Her ex had been in the navy, too. I didn’t know that when we started seeing each other. She didn’t like to talk about him much, but I figured they’d gotten off on bad terms. It turned out he was on the same base as I was.” He sighed, moving more of my hair.

Something close to anger flared up in my belly, and I fought the urge to glance at him over my shoulder, but I asked anyway, in practically a whisper, “She cheated on you?”

There was a hesitation. A hum. “No. Not then. We’d met through a mutual navy friend. She worked at the PX on base, and I liked her—”

I would die before I ever admitted to getting jealous that he’d liked the woman he eventually married. But I did.

Oblivious, he kept going. “She was nice. We… fooled around for a while. I was being deployed. About a month before I was set to leave, she told me had found a lump in her breast and that she was worried. She didn’t have insurance, her aunt had had breast cancer…. She was scared.”

Why did my stomach start hurting all of a sudden when it wasn’t jealousy-related?

“I really did like her, and I felt bad for her. I remember what it was like for my dad when he was sick, and nobody needs to go through that alone. I had already been thinking about retiring when my time was up in a year and a half. One night, I told her we could get married and we did. She’d have insurance, and I liked the idea of having someone at home waiting for me. I thought it was fine. I thought we could make it work.”

I felt like throwing up. “What happened?”

“She waited about two months before she went to the doctor because she was worried about the insurance not covering her, and it was benign. She was fine.”

“And then what?”

“You sound awake again, hmm?” His fingertips tickled the sensitive skin south of my earlobe for one moment in time. “Thing is, Peach, you can shoot the shit with someone and have a good time, and have that be the one and only thing you have in common. That was the same thing with us. She wasn’t the great love of my life. I fucked up thinking I knew this person I’d only met a few months before we married. I didn’t miss her while I was gone, and she sure as hell didn’t miss me while I was away. I’d e-mail her and two weeks would go by before she’d reply. I’d call her phone, she wouldn’t answer.

“I found out from one of my COs that she had been all in love with her ex. I’ll never forget how he looked at me like he was surprised I hadn’t known she was hung up on him when we got together. Everyone who knew her knew that. He was the great love of her life. I was just this asshole she had used for insurance who was a fill-in for somebody else whose shoes I could never fill, no matter how hard I tried.”

His hands paused in my hair for a moment as he let out a breath. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t try that hard. Not even close. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder if there’s nothing there to begin with. By the time I got back, a year later, things were not close to being right. That happens a lot to people in the military when they’re deployed, you know. I moved back in to our house on base, with her and her kid, and we made it two months before I packed up and left. She told me out right one day that she didn’t love me and never would.

“The last thing I told her was she was going to waste her life away waiting for somebody who didn’t love her enough to want to be with her. It was the wrong fucking thing to say to a pissed-off woman.” He kind of chuckled almost bitterly. “And she said to me: You don’t know anything about love if you aren’t willing to wait for it. Wait for it. Like I was just killing time for her. I didn’t see her again until… a few months ago. Right after you moved in.”

Yeah, I knew what he was talking about. I’d overheard that conversation. Awkward.

“You didn’t try to divorce her?”

“I’ve been trying. She wanted half of my shit, and I wasn’t going to agree to that. She’s been drawing it out for almost three years. When I finally saw her again recently, she asked me to sign the divorce papers, that she didn’t want anything from me anymore. I heard from a buddy still in the service that her ex had split from the woman he’d been married to, and that they were getting back together.” He let out a disbelieving noise. “I wish them the very fucking best. I hope they’re happy together after all the shit they put so many people through. If they wanted each other bad enough, they deserve it—fucked-up love and all.”

I tried to imagine all of that and couldn’t. It was unbelievable. “Your life sounds like something out a soap opera, you know that?”

Dallas laughed, loud. “Tell me about it.”

I smiled, cheek still on my hand. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Is that why you were so weird with me there for a while? You thought I was going to do the same?”

“The same? No. I’m not that fucked up. I know my ex was a special case, and if she wasn’t, I’ll pray for the son of a bitch who gets stuck with another woman just like her. I’m tired of being used, Diana. I don’t mind helping somebody out, and I never will, but I don’t want to be taken advantage of. It’s easier to do things on your terms than on someone else’s. I don’t want to give anyone the power over my life any more than I’ve already given her. I should’ve known better than to do what I did, but I learned my lesson.”

“Don’t marry someone unless you know you love them a whole lot?” I tried to joke.

He tugged on my hair a little. “Basically. Don’t marry somebody unless you’re sure they’ll push you around in a wheelchair when you’re old.”

“You should make a questionnaire with that on there for any woman you end up with in the future. Make it an essay question. How do you feel about wheelchairs? Specifically pushing them around.”

Dallas tugged again, his laugh loose. “I just don’t wanna be with a woman who doesn’t care about me.”

I ignored the weird sensation in my belly. “I’d hope not. That seems obvious.”

“Spend three years of your life married to someone who doesn’t know your birthday, and you learn real quick where you fucked up.” The knees on the side of my shoulders seemed to close in on me a little. “I’m ready to move on with my life with someone who doesn’t want to be with anyone else but me.”

I told myself I wasn’t going to be that sap who sighed all dreamy, imagining herself being that person. And I wasn’t. I wasn’t. Instead, I made sure my voice wasn’t whispered or anything like that as I told him, “You have a point. I hope you get your divorce settled soon. I’m sure you’ll find someone like that eventually.”

Saying those words killed a little part of me, but they needed to be said.

Dallas didn’t agree or disagree. His hand was gentle in my hair and on my ear as he moved one to the side. “I’m waiting until the divorce is official. I’ve never gone back on my word or my vows, even with someone who didn’t deserve it. I’d want that person I end up with to know they don’t ever have to doubt me.”

I already hated this imaginary person. With a passion. I was going to pull the plug out of her tires.

His next words didn’t make me like his imaginary next wife any more either. “I always figured I’d grow old with someone, so I need to make the next one count since it’s for keeps.”

My heart started acting weird next.

And he kept going, signing her death warrant without even knowing it. “She wouldn’t be my first, but she’d be the only one who ever mattered. I think she could wait for the time to be right. I’d make sure she never regretted it.”

There seemed to be this pause in my life and in my thoughts as I processed what he said and what my body was doing.

Was this a fucking joke? Was this really happening to me?

Was my heart saying, You’re perfect, you’re amazing, and I love you?

Or was it saying it was going to kill this bitch before she ever came around?

It sure as hell wasn’t saying the first, because I told my stupid heart right then as I sat on the floor with my eyes squeezed shut, Heart, I’m not playing with your shit today, tomorrow, or a year from now. Quit it.

Dallas…. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. It wasn’t happening.

It wasn’t fucking happening.

I wasn’t in love. I couldn’t be.

I also couldn’t be upset over him wanting something wonderful in his life. He deserved it. No one had ever deserved it more.

Somehow I found myself tipping my head back far enough so I could look him in the eye and smile, all wobbly and slightly on the verge of wanting to pull a tantrum even as my heart kept singing it’s stupid, delusional song. “I said it before and I’ll say it again, your wife is a fucking idiot. I hope you know that, Professor.”