Kneel Down Page 4

  “He’s sponsoring a new crew for a show he wants to produce.”

  I cocked an eyebrow when Gin moved closer to him, a champagne flute held between her fingers and a half smile working over her full lips. She looked…bored? Or maybe that was my hope.

  Maybe I was inventing shit that wasn’t there and never would be.

  “Thought Kiel said his in-laws were going legit.”

  “No,” Kane said, motioning his empty beer at a waitress across the room. “He said his father-in-law was retiring. The Carellis will be working their hustles forever.”

  “And that includes renovation shows on cable?”

  “They’ve got their hands in everything. Guess they wanna branch out.”

  I nodded, waving off the waitress when she handed Kane another beer and offered me a fresh Jack. Liquor wasn’t what I wanted, not even when Gin stood closer to Johnny and the man leaned down, whispering something in her ear that made her blush.

  “So…” Kane started, eyes going a little wide when I failed to hold back the low, frustrated grunt that left my throat. He stepped closer, tilting his head like he wanted a better look at me. “Man, you all right?”

  Another grunt. This one coming when Gin let Carelli kiss her cheek. It tore me up to see that shit even though I hadn’t done anything to prevent this. All this—her staying mad, her bolting the second the Portland gig came her way, her being here with Johnny Fucking Carelli, that was all on me.

  It happened because I was a chickenshit.

  It happened because I couldn’t admit what I wanted.

  It happened because I wasn’t man enough to tell her how I felt.

  “Yep,” I finally answered Kane, grabbing my cell when it vibrated in my pocket. I didn’t bother looking at the screen before I threw out a quick, “Gotta take this,” to Kane and moved out onto the deck, answering the call just to give me something to distract myself from my brewing temper.

  Didn’t work just like I wanted it to.

  “You got exactly thirty seconds before I hang up.”

  “Dale. Oh, thank God,” Tony said. His voice was little more than a gravelly sound. That thick New Orleans accent was there—he’d never lose that if he could help it—and some part of me was glad. It made me a little homesick.

  “Twenty-eight seconds.”

  “Man, I know. I know you think me calling is all bullshit. I know I’ve fucked up. I know it. But, Dale, you’re my big brother…”

  I spotted Gin grinning at some other bullshit Johnny said to her, and then the band kicked off their set. Carelli tugged her to the center of the dance floor, moving Gin around like she floated above the floor.

  She let him.

  That shit pissed me off.

  “Oh, now I’m your big brother?” I asked Tony. I kept my attention on the dance floor and each torturous movement of Gin’s supple, sweet body. “Wasn’t your big brother when I tried putting your ass in rehab the four times…”

  “I know that, man. I do, and I’m sorry…”

  “Memory serves,” I told Tony, nostrils flaring as Carelli rested his palm too damn low on Gin’s back for my liking. “You told the DA the shit they caught you with was mine.”

  “Dale…”

  “And I told you then I was done, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but this time…”

  “Told you, little brother, that I was done saving your ass when you land in shit. I told you I wouldn’t help you out again just so you could steal my shit and swipe my ATM card.”

  “Man, I know. I said I’m…”

  Carelli bent low, whispering something right against Gin’s ear that made her laugh loudly. Her fingers brushed against his face, and I knew then, no amount of Jack would keep me calm. Not even the training I had was going to help this week.

  “All this shit, Tony, I’ve told you. I’m done with it. Gravy train has left the station.”

  “I’m…sick, Dale.”

  Something cold filled me up from the inside. It prickled and scratched in my chest when Tony spoke. It made my blood run cold enough that I watched Gin and didn’t see much of her. I saw my kid brother crying for me to help him as the NOPD led him away in handcuffs. I saw the wad of cash, my cash he’d stuffed in his shoe when he thought I wasn’t looking, when he had two of the dealers he owed money to sucker-punch me in the gut and knock me against the dirty wall of the crack house I’d tracked Tony to.

  Spent three days busted up in the hospital after that attack. I’d been sick then. I was sick now watching Carelli hold Gin, seeing how she didn’t seem to hate the attention. That idea made me feel so nauseous that I almost missed the sound of Tony’s hacking cough.

  “How sick?”

  “I just… I need to get clean, man.”

  I inhaled and shut my eyes to clear away the memory of Tony at nine. He tried like hell to keep up with me when we played a game of touch football with Nita’s brothers in a city park. He’d been a scrawny thing but held his own. I’d respected his hustle.

  “Please, Dale. I…I need to not be sick.” I heard the sharp inhale he took and braced myself. I knew what was coming before he said a word. It was the buildup he always used. The plea he thought I couldn’t refuse. “If you can come get me…maybe let me dry out on your sofa. Maybe…I dunno, man, are there good places there in Seattle?”

  “There might be,” I told him, fingers squeezing my cell when Gin looked up, her gaze right on me as I held that phone against my ear. There was a lot she said in that look. It was the slip of emotion I spotted as she watched me. How she looked like she didn’t know if she wanted to hate me or forgive me one more time.

  I could relate to the emotion.

  Tony had done a lot to hurt me.

  I’d done a lot to hurt Gin just by never giving her what we both wanted.

  The thin lines of love and hate, of stubbornness and forgiveness, get thinner when you start lying to yourself.

  I’d done that for years.

  “I’m not in the second chances game anymore, little brother.” Gin stared at me a half second longer before she blinked, pulling her focus from me. Something snapped inside my head. Something that had me forgetting that I once knew how to forgive.

  “Dale, please. There’s something I have to…just. Please, bro.” The plea in his voice made me frown, but it didn’t take away the memory of all the times he’d lied for a fix or robbed me blind to get it. “Haven’t you ever done anything you regret? Haven’t you ever had to beg for forgiveness?”

  I hadn’t. Not once, but as Gin let Carelli dance her away from the window, his arm tight against her waist, I thought it might be time I started.

  2

  Gin

  Damn. This would be easier if Dale looked like shit. A little paunch around the middle, maybe a double chin that hadn’t been there when I left Seattle, that might have done enough to keep me from watching him through the busy crowd.

  “You good, bella?” Johnny rubbed the tip of one finger down my bare bicep.

  “I’m good.”

  He took that reassurance and nodded toward the waitress he’d been trying to call over for ten minutes. I grinned as he hustled away from me, weaving through the wave of people crowding the bar in search of another rum and Coke. I took the opportunity to breathe.

  And to not look at Dale for the thirtieth time.

  He’d always been beautiful. Always seemed ready to rebel against any military standards the second he was able and wore his hair on the long side—black as coal and just touching his jaw. It was a little longer than it had been a year ago and flopped a bit on top, but he kept it neat, pushed off his face, and clean. There was more scruff around his angular, square-jawed features, but it suited him. A little too damn much.

  The son of a bastard had put on a good twenty pounds of solid muscle. It showed in his trim waist, accentuated by the tailored jacket and dark jeans he wore. Just a small curve of his defined chest could be spotted through Dale’s white, open-collar button-up, and h
e stood outside on the balcony, expression hard, jaw flexing as he watched me while Johnny moved me around the dance floor.

  Utterly unfair for him to be that beautiful.

  “We see you looking,” Neva said when I stood next to her and Lexi.

  The women had spent most of the past hour fawning over Johnny, asking him the most inappropriate questions.

  * * *

  “Is The Godfather based on anyone in your family?”

  “Are you a made man?”

  “Is it true what they say about Italian men?”

  That one, he answered.

  “Yes, ladies,” Johnny promised, taking both their hands in his to kiss their knuckles, gaze moving between each of their shocked, blushing faces as he held them. “We’re exceptionally well hung and fantastic lovers.”

  “What do you think I see?” I asked, ignoring the grin Neva wore as she stood at my side, watching the crowd like a lioness scoping out which antelope looked like the easiest mark.

  “Dale Hot Damn Hunter.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Lexi agreed.

  It was impossible to ignore the pair as they watched Dale. Their attention quiet but focused as he left the balcony and walked ten feet away, passing women in his wake who stopped and watched him.

  No one was immune to the sight of him. From Kit’s approving nod as he winked at her, to Cara, who was heavily pregnant but, apparently, not remotely blind. Each low mutter of “’scuse me” and gentle brush of elbows and arms, every weave of his wide, angular body through the crowd caught attention.

  Dale, though, didn’t seem to notice anyone but the bartender when he motioned for another drink.

  “Keto and hot yoga,” Neva said, the last word elevated.

  “Girl, hell no. CrossFit.” Lexi’s assertion came out on a wistful sigh.

  “Maybe,” Neva answered, head tilted toward her friend.

  Dale nodded a thanks to the bartender and turned to face the crowd, his eyebrows shooting up when a group of gawking women quickly turned away from him. They were all caught staring and clearly embarrassed that they had been too. Dale seemed to take the attention in stride, inhaling behind his drink.

  “Or it could be the influence of all those hot Navy friends of his he’s been hanging around.”

  “What Navy friends?” I asked.

  When I lived in the city, none of Dale’s SEAL brothers were here. They were either still deployed or living in other parts of the country.

  “Whole big group of them, half a dozen or so,” Lexi said, turning to smile at me like the thought of a group of Navy SEALs made her happier than a two-for-one sale at Sephora. “Big bunch of them went off active and relocated. The ones who can make it all meet up at this new gym out off 1st Ave.”

  “Belltown,” Neva clarified. “At least, that’s what Asher said anyhow.”

  “Asher?” I asked.

  “Oh, that little intern has gotten his shit together. He listens now.” Lexi nodded to a couple making their way to the bar.

  The pair moved closer, and I stepped away to give them room to order a drink when the waitress near us changed direction and they missed their chance for a refill.

  “Asher runs between Dale and Kane on set, gopher-ing things for them or filling in when someone on the crew is sick. Anyway, Asher told Lydia, our intern, that Dale leaves the set every afternoon and heads for the gym. I’ve seen him first thing in the morning running the trail around the development where we’re shooting. That man just doesn’t stay put.”

  For as long as I’d known him, Dale always kept himself up. It was never with anything quite so focused as being in a gym. He liked being outdoors, kayaking or running trails, sometimes mountain climbing. Always something that kept him outside. He never overworked himself. If he was doing that now, it was for a distraction.

  Unable to help myself, I glanced at him as Kane stood next to him. Dale nodded when Kane spoke, shrugging now and then, but otherwise not speaking. That had changed too.

  Dale had always been quiet but never rude. He’d never been closed-lipped, and sometimes that bothered the hell out of me.

  “Whatever the hell he’s doing,” Neva said with her attention back on Dale, “damn if it ain’t paying off. Look at him. I mean, Lord!”

  That last word came out loud enough that several people turned, catching more stares than I guess Neva had expected, but the makeup artist loved the attention. I did not.

  Dale turned as well, watching Neva and Lexi as the two women laughed among themselves, then shifted his gaze to me. As he looked me over, his features shifting and softening, his mouth quirking into something resembling a smile, my heart sped up quick.

  I wanted to hate him. I’d managed to do that very thing for the past year, but it was exhausting and damn near impossible when he looked at me the way he did then. The same way he looked at me the night at Kane and Kiel’s cabin, right before the damn fool got himself shot and everything fell apart.

  Dale kept his thoughts guarded, locked down tight. You only knew what he was thinking when he clued you in. I guessed he was shifting between being maybe not so irritated to see me, possibly a little miffed that I’d taken off for Portland and didn’t say goodbye, and what, to me, looked like a touch anxious for a conversation I damn sure wasn’t ready to have with him. Especially not when a wave of lust flushed my skin as the memory hit me of Dale kneeling in front of me, his mouth over my throbbing pussy, his grip greedy and tight. I managed not to let it overwhelm me, though I had to keep my attention away from the man in question.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed Dale taking a step toward me. That small, twitching half smile dropped when I left the bar. I maneuvered through the crowd, hoping to get enough people between my ex-best friend and me. But Dale moved faster than I did, his movements stealthy and slick. He knew how to bypass stragglers. How to avoid drunk, sloppy dancers when they managed to get in my way.

  I was nearly to the balcony when I spotted his reflection just behind me. That tall, looming frame like a shadow at my back.

  “Gingerbre…” He stopped himself, swallowing down the nickname before it fully left his mouth.

  It hurt to hear, but I pushed that sting down. Just like I had all my memories of Dale. All the good and bad I tried to tell myself I had to forget about. There was no future in a past with roots so firmly planted in yesterday. Dale’s past would never leave him, and he had no interest in tomorrow.

  The last time I saw him, he ran from his truck and into my Craftsman bungalow. It took more strength than I thought I had to watch him tear through that empty house trying to stop me from leaving. But I was already gone. I’d been gone the second I realized he could never tell me what I needed to hear from him.

  The moment I knew he’d go on pretending nothing had happened between us that night in the cabin.

  But now, I had no choice. I had to face him. Tomorrow afternoon, I’d stand at his side, practicing walking down the aisle. The day after that, we’d do it for real. I couldn’t pretend I hated him anymore. I couldn’t go on lying to either of us.

  He stepped back when I turned, dropping his hand to his side. I held my breath, wishing I’d kept lying to myself, kept pretending. Jaw tight, lips parted a fraction, Dale moved his gaze over my face like he wanted to check for himself if I’d changed. Each glance he made over my features told him he marked the differences, like he wondered if there were new lines on my face, maybe a new color in my hair.

  There weren’t any.

  Nothing had changed.

  And everything had.

  I looked right back, spotted one or two grays around his temples that hadn’t been there before. It suited him. The scruff on his chin was still all black, and his handsome face, though rugged, was mildly weathered. He was still perfectly imperfect.

  Damn.

  He was even more beautiful two feet away from me.

  “Gin,” he said, nodding. It was an inflection I recognized as Dale’s nervous tone. He used it when
he was unsure of himself, something he rarely was. Something I’d only heard from him twice in all the years I’d known him.

  “Dale.” My tone was no better than his. I swallowed, hoping that whatever nerves had stuck in my throat would get dislodged before I spoke again.

  It was awkward and unusual to be standing in front of him. I had a million thoughts. A million wishes and not one sentence to string together. Not the slightest pulse of courage to let any of those things come out. I still wanted to hit him. And kiss him. And tell him I missed him. And tell him he hurt me. And tell him I had to move on.

  Mainly, I wanted to stay angry.

  Just then, right in that small moment, for reasons that made no sense at all, I wanted to cradle my irrational anger and let it warm me. It was what had held me up since I’d left for Portland. It shouldn’t have mattered that seeing Dale had wrecked my resolve inside of ten minutes. I still wanted to hold on to that familiar anger.

  “How…” He cleared his throat like he didn’t like the way his voice had cracked. Like he wasn’t sure who’d just tried speaking for him before he tried again. “You all right?”

  “I’m good.” I let that anger circle back. Let it stiffen my spine a bit, keeping me from relaxing too much around him. “You?”

  Dale looked me over again. This time, his appraisal was slower, calculating, like he knew what I was doing and just looking long enough, hard enough would fracture whatever anger I used to keep myself protected. Gaze working over my face as I stared off to the side, pretending to look for Kit or Cara or even Johnny, my date. Dale went on watching me, his attention like a laser scanning over my body, examining, appraising until I had to look back.

  Dale squinted, his features hardening before he licked his lips, as though something had occurred to him and he found it funny. “Yeah. I’m making it.” He stepped closer, head tilted to the side because, I guessed, he knew that sweet, half-smile, head-tilt thing he did affected me. He’d used it a hundred times to get his way from me. Dale might be a grizzled SEAL who lacked social graces, but when he wanted something, he knew how to get it. He was best at getting me to agree to things I’d never believed possible.