Let me love you, p.13
Let Me Love You, page 13
“Guess I forget I don’t look like a student anymore,” he adds dryly, assessing his odd choice of clothes compared to everyone else around him.
Yeah, no. Not even close. The guy might not be a student anymore, but he’s aged like a fine fucking wine. I started paying attention to the Buchanan name when I found out Evelyn Buchanan, Henry’s little sister, was dating my father’s killer. Well, technically, two men were arrested for my dad’s murder, but still.
Thankfully, the Buchanans weren’t involved in my father’s disappearance. However, their names were still dragged through the mud, thanks to Henry’s dad running for Senator at the time.
After the police made the connection, the Buchanan name hit the newspapers for weeks. Henry was friends with the guy too. Troy McAdams. The frat boy asshole who became friends with the lowlife loan shark who killed my dad and asked Troy to help him cover his tracks.
And what would you know? I ended up having Professor Buchanan, Troy McAdams’ friend, as a teacher at LAU a few years later.
It’s eerie how small the world feels sometimes.
Then again, I could’ve moved across the country to escape from it all. I could still move across the country to escape from it all.
But I won’t.
Because what little family I have is here in this small town, including my friends, and I doubt they’re going anywhere.
“Missing the good ol’ days, Professor?” I quip. “When you’d blend in with the rest of the students at SeaBird instead of sticking out like a sore thumb?”
Apparently, Henry Buchanan attended LAU too. Rumor has it this is the same bar where his little sister met her husband, Jake Jensen. And it’s a good thing she found such a perfect fit for her snooty-tooty family because the guy’s a software nerd who took over B-Tech Enterprises after Henry passed along the responsibilities and decided to become a professor instead.
Henry’s full lips press together as he scans the bar, barely sparing me a glance as he reminds me, “You’ve graduated. You don’t need to call me Professor anymore.”
“And what would you prefer I call you? Professor? Daddy? Doctor Buchanan?” My sultry voice hangs in the air as my mouth pulls into a shameless grin. But I can’t help it. The guy’s grumpier and more guarded than a rhinoceros. He’s always had his guard up high around me. Which is fine. My guard’s high around everyone. But it does make me want to poke at him for it.
“Henry’s fine,” he grunts, refusing to give in to my teasing.
“All right, Henry,” I purr. “What can I get ya?”
The guy scans the bar again, not bothering to look at me. “Whiskey. Top shelf.”
I turn around and stand on my tiptoes, reaching for the nicest bottle SeaBird owns. I pour two fingers of the caramel-colored liquid into the freshly cleaned glass tumbler.
“So, what brings you in tonight? Looking for another chat with Theo and Colt?” I ask, setting the drink in from him.
He doesn’t answer me as he shoots the liquid back and places the glass on the counter. With a dark look, he waits for me to refill it, so I do.
“Or maybe you’re looking for your girlfriend?” I add.
His gaze narrows. “Has she been in here?”
“Yup.”
“Was she with a guy?” he grits out.
And damn. I can see why he’s such a shark in the business world. The hairs along the back of my neck raise as if he’s daring me to lie. To withhold what he wants. To push him when he’s clearly not in the mood to be pushed.
I know the look. The look telling me he already knows the truth without needing to witness it firsthand. The look showing me he’s already seen the red flags but wants proof. More proof. But he won’t get it here. Not when I have less faith in the opposite sex than I do in aliens or God.
“She was out with her friends,” I lie. I shouldn’t. He deserves to know the truth. But it isn’t my place, and I don’t know the full story. Hell, maybe Henry’s had someone on the side for months now, and his girlfriend found out and is looking for revenge. Maybe they already broke up, and he’s stalking her. I doubt he’d do it, but… I cock my head, examining his tight jaw and the vein throbbing in his neck. Actually, scratch that. Professor Buchanan definitely looks like someone who isn’t afraid to dirty his hands in order to get what he wants.
“So, she left?” he demands.
“Yup.”
His ever-perfect posture slumps slightly, and he turns to me fully, giving up on his search as he takes a sip of whiskey from his glass. “How’s your mother?”
My expression sours. Not because I hate my mother, but because Henry’s the one asking about her.
“She’s fine.”
“And your uncle?”
“Fine,” I repeat.
Henry Buchanan knows me too. Mia Rutherford. The girl with the murdered daddy. To be fair, most of Lockwood Heights knows me. My face was splashed all over the news for weeks after my dad’s body was found like the Buchanan name was. If I was smart, I would’ve moved away. But I didn’t want to give the assholes who took my father from me the pleasure.
“You find a job yet?” he questions.
Sometimes I hate the way he keeps tabs on me. Hell, he’s worse than Uncle Fen. Part of me wonders if it’s because he feels guilty. For knowing Troy McAdams. For being friends with him. For not spotting the red flags or how dangerous his friend was. I don’t blame Henry. I’ve fallen for a wolf in sheep’s clothes on more than one occasion.
“No,” I answer.
“Why not?”
Resting my elbows on the counter separating us, I steeple my fingers in front of me and hold his dark gaze. “Because I started selling pictures of my body on the internet to make ends meet, and now every doctor’s office and hospital within a hundred-mile radius knows about it and wants nothing to do with me.”
I don’t know why I tell him. I shouldn’t. It’s none of his business, and shining a light on the mess of my life probably isn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t help it. Wanting to shock the impenetrable bastard in front of me. Wanting to see him flinch. To see him feel. Something. Anything. Even if it’s only disgust.
His dark, flinty eyes dip to my low-cut black tank top, traveling south along my waist and hips, leaving me squirming.
I’m used to being checked out.
Call it a blessing or a curse, but it is what it is. I’m pretty in an emo, untouchable, this-girl’s-got-daddy-issues kind of way. Add in the fact I’m a bartender who looks like she enjoys getting freaky in the sheets, and I’ve been hit on more times than I can count.
But being checked out by Henry Buchanan? It’s new. And I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Eyes up here, Professor,” I warn.
His nostrils flare as his eyes meet mine again, and he tips the rest of his drink back. The glass clinks against the bartop once he’s finished. “Selling pictures of your body on the internet was a poor decision.”
“One of many,” I point out.
Without a word, he pulls out a small stack of bills and sets them on the counter. “Keep the change.”
Then, he walks out of the bar without a backward glance. When the door closes behind him, I pick up the bills, my jaw dropping.
Five hundred bucks.
His tab was maybe a hundred.
Sometimes, I hate his pity.
Always, I hate his charity.
And lately? I’ve hated how he gets under my skin whenever he’s around.
21
ASHLYN
We haven’t spoken about Jaxon in days.
I’m not sure if it’s because Colt thinks I’ll spiral as soon as he does or if it’s because I actually will spiral if I bring him up. But after our conversation in the car where I asked Colt to think about his future and what’s best for everyone, including him, me, and his potential son, I’ve been sitting on pins and needles, waiting to find out his response while being terrified to know out what it is.
Colt has enough on his plate. I don’t want to add to it, but I don’t know how to disappear from the entire situation, either. Which makes me feel terrible.
It doesn’t help that we can’t seem to catch a break from the spotlight. Someone snapped a photograph of all of us leaving the laboratory the other day and sold it to a few websites. The articles painted me as the homewrecker trying to split apart Colt’s estranged but happy little family. It doesn’t matter that Colt and I are the ones in a committed relationship. I’m still the bad guy for tearing his family apart. It’s so messed up, it’s not even funny, but there isn’t a thing I can do about it.
We’ve tried to ignore it. Colt and me.
But it’s hard when it feels like it’s hitting us from all sides.
And even though we’ve still snuggled together at night and have tried to find a semblance of normalcy, I’m afraid the onslaught of drama and red tape surrounding any topic involving Jaxon has left us both in a weird limbo neither of us knows how to escape. And honestly? I’m not sure if there is an escape. Not until we get those damn test results.
After the NHL draft last week, things have been relatively finalized from the Lions’ perspective, and Buchanan invited everyone in the organization to a team dinner tonight.
But it feels weird.
Shopping for a pretty dress.
Getting ready.
Doing my makeup.
Matching my heels to the champagne-colored fabric of my gown.
Buchanan’s secretary insisted the event required formal attire, and I’ve never felt less like myself than at this moment.
I run my fingers along the silky fabric as a shadow flashes in the mirror.
Colt’s resting his shoulder against the bathroom doorjamb, watching me.
“I like your dress, Sunshine,” he murmurs.
His words hit like a ton of bricks, but I force a smile and look back at the fabric stretched along my curves, unsure what to do with my hands.
“I remember the first time I saw you.” He shoves away from the doorjamb and stalks closer to me. His touch is gentle as he runs his fingers along my bare arms and pushes my wavy hair over one shoulder. “You were wearing a gray T-shirt and were messing with the radio or something.”
“I was fiddling with the heater.”
“Of course you were.” He chuckles, watching my skin pebble beneath his touch. “I’d just gotten off the phone with my mom. She’d been begging me to sit down with Coach Sanderson for a chat. I snapped at her.” His eyes hold mine in the mirror. “I didn’t want anything to do with hockey. Didn’t want the reminder of my dad and all the good times we’d had together. He taught me how to skate. How to hold a stick. How to do everything. She told me he’d want me to be happy, but I hung up on her. Because I didn’t think I deserved happiness after I was the one behind the wheel when he died. And I felt like shit as soon as I hung up because”—he shrugs one shoulder—“you know my mom.”
“She’s the sweetest person on the planet,” I admit. And she is. Becca Thorne has been more of a mother to me in the past year and a half since I started seeing Colt than my own mom was during my entire childhood. She even sends me daily texts to see how I’m doing and if she needs to smack her son upside the head for anything. The thought makes my chest hurt.
“I’d been a dick to her,” Colt continues. “I felt so low, Ash. But I was used to the darkness hanging over me. I was so numb I barely felt anything. Even the guilt from hanging up on my mom was nothing compared to the guilt I carried for disappointing her every single day after my dad’s death or the guilt for his accident in the first place.” He shakes his head as if fighting off the memory. “And then, what do you know? I look up and see the most beautiful girl in the car beside me. A girl who looked like the perfect distraction. A girl who looked like she could take the weight from my shoulders even if it was only for a little while.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, then turns me to face him fully and lets his hands rest against my lower back. “And you have. You’ve taken the weight, Sunshine. And here you are, continuing to take it.”
My chest squeezes. Because the weight he’s talking about? It’s so damn heavy I feel like it could crush me entirely. But I wouldn’t go back and change it. Not for anything. No matter how cumbersome it is.
“But I gotta confess something, Sunshine,” he continues.
“What?”
“You were a pretty shitty distraction, making me face my demons and shit.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I’d say I’m sorry, but…”
His thumb skates across my lips, quieting me. “Don’t you dare. You’re good at shining a light on scenarios, Ash. Good at making me see things from different perspectives. But I think it’s my turn.” He swallows thickly and drags his thumb against my cheek. The rough calluses tickle my skin, but I stay rooted to the spot. “Look at this from my perspective, Sunshine. The girl of my dreams is standing in front of me, looking sad. And all I want to do is make her feel better. Make her happy. I know my hands are tied. Words aren’t enough to prove how much I love you. But I’m afraid my actions wouldn’t be taken seriously right now if I got down on one knee and tied you to me forever. So what do I do? How do I make this better?”
“Not sure if you can,” I admit. “Not until we get the results from the paternity test.”
“The results shouldn’t matter.”
“The unknown is killing me, Colt,” I murmur.
He nods. “I get it. But since it’s out of my control, maybe I can distract you for a night. How does that sound?”
“Sounds pretty perfect,” I reply.
His smile tugs at my heart as he leans closer and presses his lips against mine. I savor the taste. The feel of his lips. The softness. The way they make me feel. The comfort something so innocent brings. I want to wrap myself up in him and never leave this room. I want to block the outside world and keep him to myself. Away from the drama and his ugly past and our unknown future.
“You really do look beautiful.” The words skate across my lips as he pulls away, causing me to smile while reminding me of our history. Of how we wound up together in the first place. Of how he promised he’d always notice me. How he’s always made me feel worth noticing.
“You always say that,” I murmur.
“Because it’s always true. And your dress?” He whistles, taking a step back, grabbing my hand, and twirling me around. “Damn, Sunshine. Pretty sure I won’t be able to take my eyes off you.” My heart pitter-patters away at his simple compliment and how it makes me feel. Like I’m worthy. Like I deserve the world. Like we can get through this.
“Come on.” He tugs me toward the bedroom. “The limo’s here.”
“Limo?”
“I promised I’d distract you for the night, didn’t I?”
“You only voiced the promise a few minutes ago. How did you plan for a limo?”
“Guess it proves how well I know what you need, huh?” He quirks his brow and presses his hand to my lower back. “Now come on. I’m tempted to mess up your dress and makeup.”
Buchanan wasn’t kidding. If this isn’t a formal party, I don’t know what is. Apparently, he flew out the newest recruits after the draft and invited a bunch of press to cover the Lions’ event.
Trays of hors d'oeuvres are balanced on caterers’ arms as they weave through the throngs of people. An open bar is set up along the back wall, and a stage is on the opposite side, along with a small stand and microphone used for speeches.
It’s weird being here. Like everything is normal. Like the upcoming season is the main thing on our minds instead of the life-altering paternity results hanging over our heads.
But I should enjoy this. This moment. I should soak it up, committing everything to memory. The cream-colored table cloths. The crystal chandeliers overhead. The soft music. It took a lot to get here, but he did it. Colt did it. He really did it.
I look at Colt and smile, cherishing the moment. His hair is pushed away from his face as if he’s been running his hand through it as he orders our drinks from the bar across the room. Once we arrived, Blake demanded Theo and her brother get our drinks, then carted me to our table. Thankfully, our assigned seats are next to each other. Macklin and Kate are also here, but they’re at a different table, surrounded by other staff members and their significant others.
“How are you doing?” Blakely asks me as I stare at my man across the room.
“Kind of an emotional wreck,” I admit with a dry laugh. “How are you?”
“If I say good, will you be mad at me?”
I laugh a little harder and shake my head. “Not at all.”
“Good,” she replies. “You look hot, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I look down at my dress and turn back to Blake. Her slinky black dress shows off her curves and toned shoulders, making the rest of us look like couch potatoes. But her smile? The rosiness in her cheeks? She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. “You look hot too. And happy.”
Blakely practically preens and sits up more in her chair. “I do, don’t I?”
With another laugh, I reach for the glass of water on the table and take a sip as a couple of strangers approach our table.
“Hey, chickadees,” one of them greets me. She’s gorgeous. With shoulder-length pink hair, brown eyes, and tattoos covering both arms, I’m reminded of Mia and decide I’m going to like her almost instantly.
“Hi,” I return.
“I’m Melissa. Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Blake replies. The man beside her leans in and kisses her cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute. Gonna grab our drinks from the bar. Do you want a Coke Zero?”
