Holding Strong
Page 88
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“I don’t like it when you’re quiet this long,” Pamela said. “It usually means you’re thinking horrible things about me.”
“Wrong. I don’t think about you at all.” He turned and walked to the open door, giving her his back. “I was just wondering what Dad will think of your invite. He might not thank you for asking me back.”
Her hand touched his shoulder, making him stiffen in revulsion.
“He misses you, Denver. You should know that.”
Yeah, that’s why he called so often. How long had it been? Going on five years now. Long years.
He shook his head—and shrugged off her hand. “Paws to yourself, Pamela.”
“It was a commiserating gesture.”
Laughing, Denver turned to look at her. She wore the perfect expression of remorse mixed with hope. He marveled at it, saying softly, “If I didn’t already know what a lying...witch you are, I would almost be convinced.”
“Witch,” she repeated, her facial muscles drawing tight despite her effort to hide emotion. “I appreciate the censorship on that one.”
“We both know the truth, no reason to belabor the point.”
Tensed to strike him, Pamela barely held herself in check.
He almost hoped she’d do it. Then he could tell her to fuck off and be done with it.
Instead she drew a deep breath, shook back her hair, and stabbed him with her rock-steady gaze. “I can guarantee you that he wants you there.”
“Just like you guaranteed me no one would ever know if we fucked?” He straightened. “The way you guaranteed me that my dad would never get hurt?” Growing anger took him one step forward. “The way you guaranteed him of your innocence?”
Her chin quivered. “You’re scaring me, Denver.”
“Lady, a fucking typhoon wouldn’t scare you.”
She ducked around him and into the open hallway leading back to the gym.
Smirking, Denver took a step out, wanting her to run, hoping she’d run all the way back out of his life.
Voice shaking, she whispered, “People change, damn you.”
“You?” he asked with caustic humor.
She gave a sharp nod.
Bullshit. “Does that mean you’ve told my dad the truth?”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “I love him.”
Not for a second did he buy into the weepy desperation. “You aren’t capable of love.”
Pretending he hadn’t spoken, she insisted, “I love him and I want my marriage to work.”
“You want the perks of what he gives you.”
She actually stomped one foot in temper. “You could repair your relationship without this ever having to come up again!”
“Dream on.” There were times when he still heard the cold fury in his father’s voice during that awful time. Disgust. Disappointment. Blame. He’d made one mistake, and it had irrevocably changed his life. “Dad is never going to forgive what you made him believe.”
Trying a new tact, she pleaded, “Denver,” and in a rush, stepped up to him again, this time daring to put her hands on him.
Rage all but blinded him. He clasped her wrists, meaning to toss her hands away from him—and just then Cherry and Armie dashed in through the front doors, followed by a loud clap of thunder.
They fell against each other laughing, a puddle forming around their feet.
After saying something to her, Armie struggled with an umbrella that had gone inside out.
Grinning, Cherry pushed hair from her face and removed a sodden windbreaker.
Denver’s eyes flared.
A long skirt was glued to her hips and thighs, and her pink shirt stuck to her breasts like a second skin, showing the darker bra beneath. Thanks to the bra, nothing actually showed through, but given her rack and how everyone looked at her, that didn’t matter.
Irritation—at the situation with Carver, the way Cherry cut him out, Pamela’s appearance and now this—all coalesced into a red-hot fury.
“Denver?”
Dismissing Pamela and her small plea, he set her aside and strode purposefully toward the door.
“Denver, wait!”
He barely heard Pamela with the rush of his heartbeat sounding in his ears.
With all eyes on Cherry, no one else noticed his approach. He watched as Armie tried to stuff her back into the windbreaker.
As she laughingly smacked his arm.
As drips of rainwater fell from her hair to slowly track over her boobs and into her cleavage.
Two steps from them, he growled, “What the fuck is this?”
“Wrong. I don’t think about you at all.” He turned and walked to the open door, giving her his back. “I was just wondering what Dad will think of your invite. He might not thank you for asking me back.”
Her hand touched his shoulder, making him stiffen in revulsion.
“He misses you, Denver. You should know that.”
Yeah, that’s why he called so often. How long had it been? Going on five years now. Long years.
He shook his head—and shrugged off her hand. “Paws to yourself, Pamela.”
“It was a commiserating gesture.”
Laughing, Denver turned to look at her. She wore the perfect expression of remorse mixed with hope. He marveled at it, saying softly, “If I didn’t already know what a lying...witch you are, I would almost be convinced.”
“Witch,” she repeated, her facial muscles drawing tight despite her effort to hide emotion. “I appreciate the censorship on that one.”
“We both know the truth, no reason to belabor the point.”
Tensed to strike him, Pamela barely held herself in check.
He almost hoped she’d do it. Then he could tell her to fuck off and be done with it.
Instead she drew a deep breath, shook back her hair, and stabbed him with her rock-steady gaze. “I can guarantee you that he wants you there.”
“Just like you guaranteed me no one would ever know if we fucked?” He straightened. “The way you guaranteed me that my dad would never get hurt?” Growing anger took him one step forward. “The way you guaranteed him of your innocence?”
Her chin quivered. “You’re scaring me, Denver.”
“Lady, a fucking typhoon wouldn’t scare you.”
She ducked around him and into the open hallway leading back to the gym.
Smirking, Denver took a step out, wanting her to run, hoping she’d run all the way back out of his life.
Voice shaking, she whispered, “People change, damn you.”
“You?” he asked with caustic humor.
She gave a sharp nod.
Bullshit. “Does that mean you’ve told my dad the truth?”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “I love him.”
Not for a second did he buy into the weepy desperation. “You aren’t capable of love.”
Pretending he hadn’t spoken, she insisted, “I love him and I want my marriage to work.”
“You want the perks of what he gives you.”
She actually stomped one foot in temper. “You could repair your relationship without this ever having to come up again!”
“Dream on.” There were times when he still heard the cold fury in his father’s voice during that awful time. Disgust. Disappointment. Blame. He’d made one mistake, and it had irrevocably changed his life. “Dad is never going to forgive what you made him believe.”
Trying a new tact, she pleaded, “Denver,” and in a rush, stepped up to him again, this time daring to put her hands on him.
Rage all but blinded him. He clasped her wrists, meaning to toss her hands away from him—and just then Cherry and Armie dashed in through the front doors, followed by a loud clap of thunder.
They fell against each other laughing, a puddle forming around their feet.
After saying something to her, Armie struggled with an umbrella that had gone inside out.
Grinning, Cherry pushed hair from her face and removed a sodden windbreaker.
Denver’s eyes flared.
A long skirt was glued to her hips and thighs, and her pink shirt stuck to her breasts like a second skin, showing the darker bra beneath. Thanks to the bra, nothing actually showed through, but given her rack and how everyone looked at her, that didn’t matter.
Irritation—at the situation with Carver, the way Cherry cut him out, Pamela’s appearance and now this—all coalesced into a red-hot fury.
“Denver?”
Dismissing Pamela and her small plea, he set her aside and strode purposefully toward the door.
“Denver, wait!”
He barely heard Pamela with the rush of his heartbeat sounding in his ears.
With all eyes on Cherry, no one else noticed his approach. He watched as Armie tried to stuff her back into the windbreaker.
As she laughingly smacked his arm.
As drips of rainwater fell from her hair to slowly track over her boobs and into her cleavage.
Two steps from them, he growled, “What the fuck is this?”
