don’t want to break me out of here?”
“I’m sure. But I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning, and I plan on spending the whole day with you. You’ll get sick of me fast.”
“Thank you, son,” Mike said as Conroy and Preacher came back into the room. He pulled Justin closer again and whispered, “Bring cookies, will ya? Or a chocolate chip muffin. Yeah, a muffin.”
He’d bring Mike whatever he wanted, because the thought of that man lying in a hospital bed tonight slayed him.
When they left the room, Reba wrapped one arm around Justin, the other around Tank. She was only about five three, with shoulder-length mahogany hair, the same shade as Madigan’s, and eyes that saw right through just about everyone. She had a knack for knowing who needed a little extra mothering, and Justin wasn’t ashamed to be one of the ones to receive it tonight.
“He’s okay, sweethearts,” Reba said soothingly. “He’ll be coming home tomorrow.”
Tank grumbled something incoherent.
“Yeah, I know,” Justin said, trying to hide his concern.
“Listen, boys. I know how hard it is to see Grandpa like this, but he’s not nearly done with us. He comes from good stock. Well, strong stock, anyway,” she said as they followed the others out of the hospital. “I’m around tonight if either of you wants to come by and talk.”
Tank pressed a kiss to the top of her head and said, “Thanks, Aunt Reba. I’m cool.” He lumbered off toward his bike.
“I’m good. Thanks, Mom.” Justin hugged her.
She held him for an extra moment and said, “I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too.” It had taken Justin years to say he loved Reba, or anyone else for that matter. She’d been the second person in his life to hear him say those three words. He remembered saying them to his birth mother, but as far as he knew, he’d never once uttered them to his biological father. Calling Reba Mom had come years later. But when he’d finally taken those steps, he’d felt like his whole world had changed for the better once again.
“Hey, Ma,” Blaine said as he joined them. “Take care of Dad? I don’t want to interrupt him and Con.”
“Of course, sweets.” She hugged him and said, “You boys be safe tonight.”
“Always,” they said in unison.
After she walked away, Blaine said, “You coming by my place with the guys?”
“Maybe later. I’ve got something I need to take care of first.”
CHLOE AWOKE TO the ding of a text. She reached for her phone and sat up on the couch. Given how amped up she’d been earlier in the evening, she couldn’t believe she’d dozed off. The lights from the television illuminated her dark living room. She glanced at her phone and saw a message from Justin. Her pulse quickened. She’d been irritated by his abrupt departure, but Gavin had seemed worried. She was in such a hazy state of lust when he’d left that she’d noticed he looked a little something, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly enough to decipher what that something was.
She opened and read his text. Hey, heartbreaker. You awake?
It wasn’t unusual for her to get a late-night text from Justin. They were usually flirty, or in cases when there was bad weather—like when the storm had hit—protective, asking if she was okay and if she needed anything. She thought about their dirty danceathon and how hot and bothered she’d gotten from his touch, and his mouth.
Heat burned through her with the memory.
She curled her legs up on the cushion beside her as she responded. Yes. What happened tonight?
She heard the roar of a motorcycle and flew to her feet. He was here? Her eyes darted to the light hitting her front window as he pulled into her driveway. Shit. She looked down at her silk sleeping shorts and tank top, cursing herself. He probably thought the way she had danced with him had meant she wanted to sleep with him.
Which she did, but that was her little secret. Her Wicked fantasy.
She wasn’t going to actually do it!
Her phone dinged with another text, and she clutched it tighter. What had she done? She had been doing such a good job of keeping her distance, or at least she’d tried to keep a virtual wall between them for all this time, and she’d blown it all with one dance.
It was his fault, unleashing all that raw masculinity on her, like he’d had X-ray vision and had seen her deepest desires. What did she