Better When He's Bold
Page 107

 Jay Crownover

  • Background:
  • Text Font:
  • Text Size:
  • Line Height:
  • Line Break Height:
  • Frame:
“Race is a good man. He’s in a tough spot right now and making some really difficult choices, but he’s always been a lot softer at his center than Bax. His dad was a piece of shit, a murderer and a goddamn oily son of a bitch, but when it hits him, when it really settles, he’s gonna need a hand working through his old man being gone.”
I tilted my chin up a little defiantly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
I went to go get my golden god when he suddenly came out of the office, Bax and Dovie following behind. Bax had Dovie folded into his side, and even though her eyes were dry, she was way paler than normal and she was clutching Bax like he was what was keeping her tied to the here and now. Race looked like he always looked. That beautiful dimple flashed at me, his blond hair glimmered like gold, and when he reached me he put both hands on my cheeks and gave me a sweet kiss. If I didn’t know him as well as I did, I would have thought he really was okay, but there were fine lines of tension bracketing those evergreen eyes, and even with the dimple flashing, I could see the way his teeth were clenched together behind the smile. He grasped my hand in his and started to pull me toward the front door before I could even ask Dovie if she was okay or offer her up a hug.
Race didn’t look directly at me, he just said softly, “I have some stuff to take care of. I’ll meet you back at the house later, okay?”
I looked at his face, saw all that darkness and moodiness moving behind the green, and wrapped him in a tight hug. “As long as you promise to come home tonight.”
His eyes shifted away from me and I could see he wanted to argue that point.
“Seriously, Race. Come home.”
After a minute he nodded his agreement, dropped a hard, stinging kiss on my mouth, and walked away toward the Stingray. I watched him until he got in the car and raced out of the parking lot. I muttered a few choice words under my breath and was going to head in the opposite direction where the BMW was when I was stopped by Bax’s heavy hand on my arm. Dovie gave me a lopsided grin and rubbed her cheek on Bax’s side.
“He’ll be all right. He just has to work through it.” His tone was gruff. “I’m glad it was someone else, because I would have killed the guy if I ever got the chance.”
I shuddered at that and watched as Dovie looked up at him under her rust-colored eyelashes. She huffed a little and shifted her gaze to me.
“Don’t let him try and turn this into his fault, because he will.”
I nodded and told her, “Call me if you need anything.”
She nodded. “I’m fine. I have what I need.” She curled farther into Bax as he guided her down the steps and off to that wicked chrome-and-black monster of a car he drove. I swore when he started it up the engine sounded like a million demons roaring for release from their prison underground.
I wasn’t in the mood to go to class, but I had no excuse to skip when I had already missed so many, so I went, and found myself checking my phone every five minutes. Each time it came up blank it made my heart hurt. I didn’t have to work that night, so I went back to the condo, helped Karsen with her homework, made a simple dinner, and texted Race no less than five times to see where he was and to find out how he was doing. All went unanswered. I was worried, but I was also starting to get pissed. I watched some stupid reality dating show with Karsen, gave myself a pedicure, and paced back and forth until midnight came and went. I stared at my phone and at the zero calls and zero messages and decided enough was enough. I had no doubt Race was at the garage, he was suffering alone, and I wasn’t going to stand for it.
I knocked on Karsen’s door and told her I was leaving for the night. She just gave me a knowing look and then went back to whatever she was doing on her phone. I think the poor thing had had enough of everyone else’s drama to last her well into her own adulthood.
I got to the garage and punched in the code on those steel security gates, relieved to see the Stingray in the spot where the Mustang used to sit. I opened the side door and practically ran up the metal steps into the loft. When I entered the big, open space I almost tripped over Race, who was sitting in the center of the floor, a half-empty bottle of Scotch in his hand, and his green eyes hot and glassy. I sank down to my knees next to him and took the bottle out of his hand.
“You promised to come home.”
His chest rose and fell and his tongue darted out to run along his lower lip. Even drunk and moody, he was the prettiest man I had ever seen. I reached out to cup his cheek in my palm and his eyes drifted shut and he turned to nuzzle into the touch.