that they never had a say in when or if I received the trust fund. When I turned thirty, it was mine to do with as I pleased.” An ugly, bitter snort comes from my throat. “The sad thing is that I never cared about the money. I was obedient and biddable because I wanted their love and approval.” I swipe at a tear that slides down my face. “Is that a good enough reason for you?” I can’t help the challenge in the words.
He completely ignores my testy delivery and nods his head, but not in agreement, more like he’s processing the information. “And Brad?”
“It was the final straw for him. He filed for divorce the next day.”
“Bastard.”
I shrug. “We were living on borrowed time since I’d gotten back from Guatemala. I’m just glad Brad never wanted to have kids.” I cut my eyes to him. “He didn’t want me to get fat.”
“I take it back. Bastard isn’t a bad enough word for that guy.”
I laugh. “I have quite a few names for him, each worse than the other, that you can borrow anytime you want.”
“He’s inconsequential in this story. You’re the star.” He rests his arm along the lip of the hot tub and turns toward me. “Tiger Lyons, you’re kickin’ ass and takin’ names.”
Yeah, I’m pretty much a goner.
Thirty-One
Cash
The image of Tiger big and round with my child charges into my brain. What the hell? That’s not me. I’m not the guy who wants kids and a family. I’d only screw it up just like my dad did. But damn if the picture isn’t as real as life. I turn away from her to get my head on straight and attempt to change the subject. “So, what did you do with the money?”
The expression on her face communicates so much happiness, contentment, and surety that it steals my breath. “I split it into thirds and set up a scholarship for girls who need help going to college through Ryder High. Another third went to the aid group I worked with in Guatemala. And the last third…” She clears her throat and adjusts her position on the bench. “The last third went to Hope’s Refuge.”
“What?” The contents of my gut take the punch of her words. Hope’s Refuge holds such a weird place for me. On one hand, it saved my mom’s life, and I’m forever grateful to them. Hell, I’ve donated to them too. But on the other hand, it’s another terrible reminder of who and where I came from. “Did I tell you about Hope’s Refuge?”
She shakes her head. “You told me about confronting your dad and driving your mom to safety, but your mom’s the one who told me the name of the shelter.”
“When?”
“She came to talk to me after the homecoming incident.”
The hits just keep coming. “I didn’t know she’d spoken to you about that.”
“It was a few months after, and we ran into each other in town. She thought you’d apologized.” I don’t miss the side-eyed look. “When she found out you hadn’t, she … didn’t exactly make excuses for your behavior, but more tried to shed light on where you’d come from. She told me during that conversation.” A soft chuckle falls from her lips. “I think she didn’t want me to hate you.”
I’m not sure how I feel about my mom talking to Tiger about me. “She probably didn’t sway your opinion.”
The full force of her stare lasers in on me. “You’re wrong. I never forgot that story, so when it was time to pick a nonprofit that did good work, I automatically thought of Hope’s Refuge. I wanted to give my money to a place that helped a scared boy save his mother’s life.”
All the words I could say are wiped from my mind by the honesty in her beautiful face. In a roundabout way, she did this for me. And almost without my knowledge, my arms go around her and I bury my face in her neck. She holds me to her and her bikini-clad body melts into mine. We stay in that grateful, platonic place for about a half a second, then her warm hands slide up my back, while mine tunnel into her hair.
The moan she releases opens the floodgates on emotions too big to identify. They crash into me, demolishing any reserve I have about getting involved with her. My lips skim the sweet skin beneath her ear. Her response is to extend her head to