Dirty Thoughts - Megan Erickson Page 0,8
who’d lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.
For ten years, he’d been sure that kid was gone. Done. Buried with a tombstone. Covered over with a neat, orderly, simple life where Cal kept a lid on his emotions.
But he hadn’t anticipated the one wild card in his life to come back and dig up old wounds and feelings. Jenna still saw him as that same angry, hot-tempered teenager, not trusting him with the knowledge that the Charger belonged to Dylan.
And the worst part was, that bothered him. It dug under his skin like a splinter, painful enough to feel the need to set her straight.
Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? He was good at that—the not-talking thing.
Except around Jenna. Around her, he’d always lost control. Spilled his guts. She’d been everything to him once, in a way no one had been before or after. Other than his family, no one could get extreme emotions out of him. He liked it that way. It was safe and comfortable.
He’d been in Jenna’s presence for ten whole fucking minutes, and the body of their past was already dredged up to the surface. He’d felt exposed, like he’d rolled over and shown her his tender belly. That wasn’t safe. That was the exact opposite of safe.
He squeezed his eyes shut and gulped down his beer. When he looked over at Brent, his brother grimaced.
“So maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” Brent muttered.
“Ya think?”
“I didn’t know that there was still—”
“There’s nothing!” Cal raised his voice, and Brent flinched. Cal took a deep breath and steadied his voice. “There’s nothing still. Okay? I don’t know why Jenna’s in town, but I’m sure she’ll be going back to wherever she came from after I fix her brother’s car. It was nice to see her and all of that, but that’s about it.”
Brent swallowed. “What if she’s in town . . . for a while?”
“She’s not.” She couldn’t be. He was sure of it. This wasn’t meant to be anymore, her here in Tory. Single.
Not with him.
Jenna had always wanted a family. A husband and kids and cats and all things that he didn’t want. At least, not anymore.
Back when he’d been with Jenna, he’d thought about having those things with her, and he might have done it, if she hadn’t ended things.
Cal’s dad had pretty much checked out after his mom left, so Cal had been responsible for his brothers for a long time. He wasn’t eager to fill that dad role again. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Now he wanted to come home from work in silence and drink his beer and eat crappy food and not have to answer to anyone.
So he’d made his decision, and he was nothing if not stubborn. He had his inner circle of family, and it was a firm boundary. He didn’t want the same things he’d wanted at eighteen. In fact, he wanted just about the opposite of what that impulsive kid had wanted. He’d committed to bachelorhood now, and it would take an act of God to shove him off course.
Although, Jenna MacMillan had always been an act of God in his life. Just the sight of her had brought back a lot of those feelings of a bright, family-filled future. And he wasn’t eager to pay those feelings any attention.
Cal sighed. “Can we drink and watch the game now, please?”
Brent pursed his lips. “Okay.”
The silence lasted five minutes before Brent started talking about the girl he’d taken out last week, and Cal decided he was definitely getting his brother a puppy for Christmas.
Chapter Three
FAMILY. IT WAS always fucking family that made him grit his teeth and clench his fists and feel that white-hot bolt of anger deep in his chest. At least he’d learned how not to let it manifest physically. “You know I have the certifications. I don’t understand why you’re so against this.”
His father didn’t even bother turning around from the tool drawer he was rooting through. “Already explained it.”
“Yeah?” Cal said. “Well, explain again, please.”
His dad turned around and stared at him. Sometimes, after Cal showered in the mornings, he wiped away the condensation from the mirror and stared at his eyes, wondering if they looked like his dad’s. He’d inherited the slate-gray irises from him, but Cal wondered if he’d also been passed down the chill they caused.
“I told ya. I’ve had this garage for almost forty years, and I ain’t fucking with it. And if