the horror on her face, Mia’s mother’s gaze kept dropping down over his, uh, very naked body. Her father just looked about ten ways pissed.
Great. So much for easing them in. There was no help for his modesty, so he took a moment to open the back door, where Mia was standing swathed in the sheet. “Your parents are here.”
“That’s not funny—you’re not kidding, are you?”
He gave her a forced smile. “Wish I was.” Then he turned to the pair still standing agape near the door. “Excuse me.” While I slip into something more uncomfortable. Then again, nothing could be more uncomfortable than that moment.
He heard their footsteps crossing the room as he ducked into the bedroom to retrieve his clothes. And Mia’s shorts. At least she had a shirt out on the deck. The harsh whispers from the living room were unintelligible as he quickly dressed and returned to stand by her side.
“I knew we shouldn’t have left you here,” her mother hissed. “You have no sense where that boy is concerned. None!”
Mia’s mouth was a tight crease, her crossed arms bunching up the T-shirt. “He’s not a boy; he’s a man.”
“Yes, I saw that,” Mrs. Wentworth murmured, her neck flushing bright red.
“And I’m a grown woman,” Mia continued, her eyes moving to Raleigh as he discreetly handed her the shorts. Luckily, the shirt fell to mid-thigh, and Mia simply dropped the shorts to the floor. “Loving Raleigh makes a lot of sense.”
Her father grunted. “The punk who caused you no end of pain. Who left you scarred for life.”
Raleigh wanted to punch her father for mentioning her scars, but he held back. Let Mia handle her parents. He sure as hell didn’t want to cause more problems for her.
“Raleigh didn’t leave me scarred. The jerk who caused the crash did. Raleigh saved my life at his own risk. And he’s not a punk, Father. He’s been supporting himself since he was fifteen years old. Working his ass off, saving money—”
“As a grease monkey,” her father interrupted.
Raleigh bristled at the moniker, but Mia came right back with “As an in-demand high-performance-car mechanic. People bring their cars to him from all over, because he’s good.” Her gaze slid to him, and he wondered if she could read how her defense gripped his heart.
Her mother’s eyes widened, and she tugged on her husband’s sleeve. “She said ‘loving.’ Loving Raleigh.”
“Which just proves that you have no sense when it comes to that…young man.” Her father visibly held in some other word.
“You’re living in a fantasy,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “Trying to recapture a time that’s gone. Lost.”
“I thought I was.” Mia slid her arm around Raleigh’s. “But all the good things he is, the reasons I fell for him when I was seventeen, are still inside him. He’s smart and kind and gentle. He respects me. And he’s never once pushed me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with. Including riding in his car that night. Or…anything else we’ve done. Is that why you came down? To do some kind of intervention?”
Her parents traded a look that confirmed that was exactly why they’d come.
Mrs. Wentworth gestured toward the two of them. “I should have stayed. I should have—”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“It’s our job to protect you.”
“I’m twenty-four. I’m not that sickly girl anymore. Or the burned one. I appreciate all that you’ve done, but I need to be a grown-up now. I need to make my own decisions, and if they’re mistakes, they’re my mistakes.”
Her mother was about to argue that point. Did they still see Mia as their needy child?
“You’re naïve, honey,” her mother said in a soothing voice. “You’ve only been in love twice.”
“Once. I liked the man I met in the survivors’ group, but I’ve only been in love with Raleigh.”
Raleigh slid his arm around her shoulders. “I love your daughter. Even through all those years we were apart, I never stopped. I promise to keep her safe, to cherish her, and to help her make the best decisions for her future.”
“Then let her go,” Mr. Wentworth bit out. “That’s the best decision for her future. What can you offer her? No college education, a prison record.”
“I can offer her my love and devotion. And I can be a good provider. People respect my work and trust me with their cars. All I ask is that you trust me with your daughter.”
“A car is far different than a person,” her father said.
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I’m just saying