The Good Luck Sister Page 4

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Only because I knew it should come from him, not me. I knew he’d want to tell you he was back himself.”

  Tilly laughed in disbelief. And hurt. And anger. “And what about what I would want? Or doesn’t that matter?”

  “Tilly—”

  “No, Quinn. No. I’m your sister. You know what he did to me, you know how I felt after he deserted me.”

  Quinn bit her lower lip.

  “What?”

  “He never deserted you. He went away to give you the chance for a good life.”

  Tilly stared at her. “Are you kidding me? You know this how?” When Quinn opened her mouth, Tilly put up her hand to stop her from speaking. “No, never mind. Don’t talk. I don’t want to hear you talk right now.”

  “Tilly—”

  She turned and got in her car. As she pulled out of the driveway, she caught sight of her sister standing on the sidewalk looking ten years pregnant, her arms wrapped around herself, and Tilly had to squash a flash of guilt to maintain her righteous anger.

  She drove around for a bit, unsettled. Unhappy. Seeing Dylan, talking to him, had brought back a bunch of feelings from when she’d been a silly kid with silly hopes and dreams.

  She’d been so naive.

  Did he see her that way too?

  She finally ended up at Mason’s place. They didn’t hang out as much as they used to but he was still a good friend. He lived in an apartment complex filled with mostly college students and shared a three bedroom with four other guys. He answered the door with a smile on his face, which faded quickly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Everything.”

  “I’ve got a good way to solve your pain.” He waggled a brow. “Naked, of course.”

  “We no longer soothe our collective pain,” she said. “We agreed about a year ago to stop doing that.”

  “You agreed,” Mason said. “I’m just respecting your wishes.”

  It was true. She hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. But though Mason was very attractive, she wasn’t feeling men right now.

  Liar, a little voice inside her whispered. You’re feeling Dylan.

  “The bar,” Mason said, reading her expression, taking her rejection good-naturedly, which was one reason he was such a good friend. “We’re going to the bar.”

  “I’m broke.”

  “My treat,” he said.

  “You’re broke too.”

  “There’s always money for a beer.” He put her into his car and off they went.

  The Whiskey River Bar and Grill was the only game in town for nightlife. Which meant it was packed. Tilly was surprised to see that they’d even cleared some tables and put up a makeshift dance floor, which was rocking tonight.

  “It’s the owner’s birthday,” Mason said. “Boomer wanted a dance party. Want to dance?”

  Tilly heard him, but her gaze was caught and held by someone at the other end of the bar.

  Dylan.

  He was with Ric and Penn, but he broke away from them and came toward her until they stood toe to toe. “Sorry,” she said to Mason. “I can’t dance. I have to yell at someone.”

  Mason divided a look between them, lifted his hands, and backed away, but not before muttering “good luck” to Dylan beneath his breath.

  Dylan didn’t take his dark, serious eyes off Tilly.

  “You talked to my sister,” she said. “You didn’t talk to me, but you talked to Quinn.” Having heard enough, she turned to leave, but Boomer took the mic.

  “Everyone on the dance floor,” he said. “I want to dance with my wife and have you all with us.”

  Tilly turned to leave but Dylan reached out and snagged her hand, moving slow enough that she could have easily evaded him if she wanted to. But apparently she didn’t want that because she let him wrap his warm fingers in hers and lead her to the dance floor, when he pulled her into his leanly muscled body. She opened her mouth to say something, not really even sure what that might be, but he put a finger to her lips.

  “I can’t go back and change things,” he said. “And to be honest, I’m not sure I would. I didn’t have a single say about my life back then, no control, no power, nothing, Tee. I was helpless, and . . .” He shook his head and pulled her in even closer so that she could no longer see his face. “I hated that most of all. Hated too that you saw me that way.”

  She flashed back to those long-ago nights when he’d crawl in her bedroom window bloody and bruised, and felt her heart clutch hard. “I wanted to kill him for you,” she said fiercely. “I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.”

  A long exhale escaped him and he pulled her in closer. “I didn’t think I was capable of love back then, and I wasn’t. Not until you. I loved you, God I loved you, but I had nothing to offer you.”

  “Don’t you get it?” she asked, tilting her head up to his. “I didn’t need you to offer me anything but you.”

  “Tee.” His voice was low, husky, and he kissed her. It started out sweet and gentle but didn’t stay that way for long. By the time they broke free, they’d generated enough heat to raise the temperature of the entire room. Time seemed to stand still as they stared into each other’s eyes. Tilly didn’t breathe, and was pretty sure he didn’t either.

  Then the song ended and the music changed to a fast song, and still they stood there, eyes locked. Finally, Dylan shook his head slightly as if to clear it and reached for her.

  “I’ve gotta go,” she whispered, and pulling free, walked out into the cool night and gulped in some desperately needed air.

  Chapter 5

  How long are you supposed to go between gym visits? Six months? A year? Just trying to get it right the first time I go.

  —from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”

  Ten years prior:

  It’d been days since Tilly had gone to Dylan’s dad’s house and she hadn’t heard from him until he finally sent her a text to meet him at the park.

  Tilly climbed out her window and found him, a lone dark shadow sitting on a swing, his foot down and anchoring him to the sand beneath.

  Feeling shaky with relief, Tilly sat next to him. She wanted to soak him up, but instead mirrored his position, head tipped back, staring at the stars.

  “Tilly . . .” He blew out a sigh and she heard him shift and felt the weight of his gaze. She didn’t look. She was very busy counting the stars.

  “Tilly,” he said again, voice low. Tense. Anguished. “I’m sorry.”

  Her heart squeezed. Dammit.

  “I hate that you saw me like that,” he said roughly. “I hate . . .” He paused and when he spoke, the words sounded like he had to drag them over shards of glass. “I hate that you know what my life’s like.”

  Now her heart seemed swollen, unable to fit in her rib cage, and she turned to him, reaching out for his hand.

  He hesitated and then took it in his bigger, callused one.

  “And I hate it for you,” she whispered.

  They sat like that for a long time, just watching the sky.

  Dylan woke up before the crack of dawn the next morning. Actually, that was inaccurate. You couldn’t wake up if you hadn’t slept. Instead, he’d spent a good amount of the dark hours reliving the kiss he’d laid on Tilly. He’d actually forgotten how explosive their chemistry was.

  Good to know that some things never changed.

  But the darker the night got, the darker his thoughts got as well. Their chemistry hadn’t changed, but he had. Maybe too much.

  Giving up on sleep, he got out of bed. Growing up, he’d gotten pretty good at functioning on low to no sleep, a skill he’d further honed in the military. It’d been a way of life for a long time.

  Funny how fast a guy could get accustomed to relative safety and not having to spend every living waking moment worried about watching your own six.

  He showered to clear his head and left, knowing he was way too early for his first fl
ight. But he had a pit stop to make. And thanks to an angry spring storm, he was going to do it in the pouring rain.

  He parked in the cemetery lot, noting that he was the only one there as he wound his way in the pouring rain through the graveyard.

  As he’d never been here before, it took him forty-five minutes to find the right grave, and by the time he did, water ran off him in rivulets. He squatted in front of the gravestone and paused. “Sorry, I haven’t been.” He shook his head. “No, scratch that. That was a lie. I’m not sorry. I intended to never come, but apparently you’re still haunting me.” He took in a deep breath, let it out. “You were an asshole, Dad. But you’re dead and you can’t shape my life anymore. And you know what else? I forgive you, you sorry sack of shit. I forgive you.”

  And with that, he rose to his full height and walked away, not feeling any lighter for it.

  He skipped class and walked into the airport, his wet shoes squeaking with every step, and both Penn and Ric stood up from behind the front desk and began clapping.

  Dylan stared at them. “Are you guys still drunk?”

  “No,” Ric said. “We’re clapping because that was some kiss you laid on Tilly last night. Do you kiss all of our business associates that way? Because I’ve gotta admit, I’m feeling left out.”

  Dylan flipped him off and headed to the Bell 206. Of course the idiots followed.

  “You guys getting back together?” Penn asked.

  Dylan thought of how Tilly had walked away last night. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “No questions before caffeine,” Dylan said.

  Penn went to the corner where they had a coffeepot for clients, poured a cup, and brought it to Dylan. “You still haven’t told her why you left town?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  They all whipped around at the sound of Tilly’s voice. Penn had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. Ric merely poured another cup of coffee. This one he added milk and sugar to, and brought over to Tilly.

  She gave him a long look, rolled her eyes, and then took it and sipped. “Thank you.” Then she looked at Dylan. “Don’t let me stop you. Please, continue your conversation.”

  “We were done,” Dylan said.

  “Were you? Because it seems to me like maybe you were about to answer a question that Penn asked you.”

  “I don’t think so,” Penn said, trying to look innocent, Dylan’s best friend to the end.

  But Tilly wasn’t buying the bullshit Penn was selling. She didn’t take her eyes off Dylan. She wanted answers, that much was clear.

  But before he could say anything, Leo broke loose from Tilly and scrambled for purchase on the smooth concrete floor. For a moment he looked like a cat on linoleum, but he got his footing and headed straight for Dylan, barking his fool little head off the whole time.

  “Arf, arf, ARF!”

  Dylan held his ground, thinking how much damage could a six-pound rat do anyway? When Leo got to Dylan’s feet, he stopped short, snarling and growling menacingly.

  “Leo, stop!” Tilly said.

  Leo did not stop. “Arf, arf, ARF!”

  Dylan decided enough was enough. He squatted down to get eye to eye with the dog. “Only one of us can be the alpha,” he said.

  Leo stopped barking for a moment to take this in and the silence was heavenly but short lived as he started in again.

  “Arf, arf, ARF!”

  Shaking his head, Dylan rose to his feet. Lost cause and he knew when to cut his losses, on both the girl and her dog. He turned to walk away and felt Leo clamp his teeth onto his pants leg. “You serious?” he asked.

  Leo growled, not letting loose.

  “Things to do, little man,” he said and headed toward Tilly, towing Leo along with him as he went. “I’ve got something of yours.”

  “I’m sorry. Leo!” She bent to scoop the puppy up and he immediately stopped barking and panted happily at Tilly, licking her chin. She kept her eyes on Dylan. “You were about to explain some things to me.”

  “Is that why you’re here?” he asked, hoping to divert.

  “No. I’m here because . . .” She avoided looking at Penn and Ric. “Because you missed class.”

  “You wanted me to drop your class.”

  “Yes, but not because . . .” She hesitated. “Of a kiss.”

  “I had a flight I couldn’t miss,” he said. “Would the teacher like a note?”

  “Nope,” she said. “I’d like that explanation.”

  Dylan sent a long “leave” look to Penn and Ric, both of whom were standing there like two middle school boys hoping for gossip. Neither of whom left. Dylan cleared his throat and jerked his head toward the door.

  “The short version of the story,” Penn said to Tilly instead of leaving, “is that he acted like a dick, but he did it for you.”

  Ric wrapped an arm around Penn’s neck and slapped a hand over the guy’s mouth. “Ignore us,” he said to Dylan. “Pretend we’re not even here.”

  “And the long version?” Tilly asked Penn.

  Penn tore Ric’s hand from his mouth. “He went into the military so you’d take your art scholarship. He did it so you’d move on and not look back. He did it so you’d have the life you dreamed of having. And he tried to not look back too. But then when he nearly got blown up and landed in the hospital at death’s door—”

  Tilly gasped.

  “No, it’s okay,” Penn assured her. “It was four years ago now. He lived.”

  Tilly turned on Dylan. “You were hurt? And you didn’t tell me?”

  Dylan opened his mouth, but Penn beat him to it. “He forced himself not to keep up with you, so we all looked you up on Facebook to see what you were up to. And you were seeing someone, so he refused to let us get in touch with you—”

  “Wait.” Her mouth fell open. “You decided from a Facebook post to not to contact me?”

  “Never said our boy wasn’t stubborn,” Penn said. His smile faded. “But it was really bad, Tilly. He wasn’t in a good place to make decisions, you know? In the end, we respected his wishes and bullied him back to the land of the living with the carrot of starting our own business flying for hire.”

  “Okay,” Dylan said tightly. “Out.”

  Tilly turned to go, but he snagged her hand. “Not you.”

  “Right,” Ric said and picked up Leo before dragging Penn toward the offices. “We’ll dog sit.”

  Penn twisted back to Tilly. “If you’ve got any other questions, just ask him. If after hearing his story you’re not punched in the feels and inclined to forgive him, you might want to check your pulse.”

  Tilly waited until Penn and Ric were out of sight and it was just her and Dylan. She had so many emotions swirling through her, she could hardly breathe, and questions too. So many questions, but he was drenched. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked. “Do you need to change?”

  He took her by the hand and tugged her along with him down the hall to an office. He shut the door and went straight to the duffel bag on the desk, pulling out a change of clothes. She expected him to excuse himself to another room. She did not expect him to begin stripping out of his clothes.

  He kicked off his athletic shoes first, then his socks, which hit the floor with a soggy “smack.” He pulled off his windbreaker, which had been suctioned to his chest and back and made a very wet pop as he freed himself of it, like the nylon didn’t want to let go of him.

  She kinda knew how it felt.

  Before she could get annoyed at herself for the thought, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and then his hands went to his jeans.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” For the record, she hadn’t looked away, but let her eyes soak up his bare chest and abs.

  One hundred percent, the too skinny teenager had filled out in all the right places.

  He glanced up. “I’m changing out of my wet clothes into dry ones.”

  “Here?”

  Instead of answering, he turned
to rifle through the duffel bag and then shoved his jeans and boxers down and off, leaving him buck-ass naked.

  With a shocked squeak, she covered her eyes, but when she heard his soft chuckle, she peeked out between her fingers.

  “You’ve seen it all before,” he reminded her, pulling on a pair of black knit boxers before shaking out a pair of jeans.

  “A long time ago!”

  He looked amused as he pulled up the jeans and adjusted himself. “Nothing much has changed that I know of.”

  That wasn’t true. He’d gone from boy to man, and his body reflected that. Utterly unable to stop herself, she moved toward him and ran a hand over the sleek, smooth muscles of his back as they shifted with his movements.

  At her touch, he froze. Still turned away from her, he tipped his head back, eyes closed, and said her name in a low, husky, desire-filled whisper.

  Swallowing hard, she watched her fingers trace a line down his spine, stopping only when the waistband of his jeans blocked her path. He’d left to give her a life, misguided and stupid as that was, not because he’d stopped feeling for her. He’d been hurt, badly . . . almost died.

  “Keep doing that,” he murmured, still not moving, “and we’re going to break in my office with your bare ass on my desk and me buried deep inside you.”

  She let her hand slip into the back of his jeans, loose since he hadn’t buttoned them.

  “Tilly,” he said, his voice soft but the warning was clear. “Use your words. Tell me what you want or stop touching me.”

  She knew what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to be warned away. She was tired of thinking. Tired of feeling . . . empty. She wanted to feel something, and the last person to make her really do that was Dylan. It felt right, and so did the handful of taut ass she squeezed.

  He turned toward her, his eyes dark with desire as he caught her hands in his and drew them up and around his neck. “Say it, Tilly. I need to hear you say it.”

  “I want you.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. “Again.”

  “I want you, Dylan. I always have.”