And going head to head with her surprisingly did not suck. It got his blood pumping. It pissed him off. It made him feel.

He’d been going through the motions of life for so fucking long—covering Rhiannon’s ass, getting shot of her, doing what he could to look out for his kids—he forgot what it was like. He forgot how it felt to be so into a woman, when she was quiet and sweet, he had to fight the urge to pull her in his arms and kiss her. When he saw her in pain, he had to fight the urge to curl her close and do what he could to take it away. And when she was stubborn and a pain in the ass, he had to fight the urge to shove her against the wall and fuck her senseless.

Not to mention Amy’s tits, that ass, those legs.

But his head was so far up his own ass because the woman was fucking loaded and he’d been burned so bad, he’d protected himself by putting her off then lost control and backed her against a wall in a hall when she was on a date, for Christ’s sakes, then demanded she get shot of his ass.

And she did.

For him.

For a shot at them.

Then she’d gone all out for his son and he’d walked over there and kicked her in the teeth.

“Fucking shit, I fucked that up,” he bit out.

You’d already given me everything I’d ever need just letting me sit at your dinner table with your family.

She hadn’t lied.

That was all Amelia Hathaway needed.

“Fucking shit,” he whispered to the trees. “I fucked that shit up.”

He downed the rest of his beer, walked into his house, slid the sliding glass door shut, locked it, put the pole in the tracks, dumped his bottle in the recycling bin and walked through the dark house to his empty bed.

Chapter Thirteen

Wreck You

I walked toward the security door at Dove House, hand in my purse, looking for my phone.

“Amelia.”

I looked left and saw Mr. Dennison in an armchair, hand up, finger crooked to me.

I pinned a smile on my face and headed his way.

“Need something?” I asked.

“Closer,” he answered when I stopped at his side.

I crouched so he could look down and I was looking up, something he couldn’t do often considering he was stooped and further, had to walk with a Zimmer frame.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He studied me with his fading blue eyes.

“Mr. Dennison,” I called. “Can I get you something?”

Finally, he focused on me. “You ever need to talk, love, my ears are old, but they can still hear.”