Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

As I walked into Caelan’s tattoo parlor two weeks later, the scents of ink, leather, disinfectant, and wood polish greeted me. I’d never been there before, but I’d glimpsed the interior many times through the front window. Though there were no bright colors, the place didn’t have a gritty vibe. More of a barbershop-meets-art gallery feel.

The color palette was a mix of red, cream, and shades of brown. Walls the color of brandy were lined with tattoo sketches, artwork, mirrors, pictures, licenses, and decal logos.

The reception counter looked much like a small bar, except there was office equipment rather than bowls of complimentary nuts.

I went straight to the counter and smiled at the brunette standing behind it. “Hi, I have an appointment with Caelan.” When he’d heard I was thinking of getting a new tattoo, he’d offered to do it for me, making it extremely clear that he’d be offended if I went to anyone else. Since he was shit-hot at what he did, I wasn’t about to turn down his offer.

The receptionist’s lips curved. “You must be Dax’s wife, then. It’s cool to meet you. I’m Eva. If you’ll just take a seat, he’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks.” I crossed to the crimson sofa, flashed a quick smile at the woman seated at one corner of it, and then sank into the leather cushion.

The parlor felt surprisingly relaxing. It was busy, but not hectic. Music played low, not quite overriding the buzz of tattoo guns or idle chatter.

A merchandise area was off to the left of the reception area, featuring jewelry, metal art, aftercare products, and promotional items such as mugs, decals, and t-shirts.

The three tattoo stations were almost identical, all featuring a recliner, mirror, framed tattoos, and several shelves.

At his own station, Caelan was applying a bandage to the leg of a well-inked middle-aged guy. Jag and a female tattooist who I presumed was the girlfriend Alicia had mentioned were also busy with clients.

Along with a drawing area, there was a little spot at the rear of the parlor that had a sink, autoclave, and hand towels.

Deciding to pass the time by answering some work emails—the fact that it was a Saturday didn’t stop any clients from contacting me with queries—I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. I’d responded to only a few emails when Caelan called out my name. I looked up, and he waved me over to his station.

I dropped my phone back into my purse, pushed off the sofa, and strode across the large space. As Jag glanced up and met my gaze, I gave him a friendly smile, which he returned with a nod. My eyes then clashed with those of the sole female tattooist. She gave me a look that was somewhat unfriendly. Huh. Whatever.

Caelan tapped the top of the deep-mahogany brow leather recliner. “Take a seat.”

I did, and damn it was as comfortable as it looked. His station was pretty tidy. The mirror was clean, and the shelf beneath it was neatly lined with everything from inks and needles to ointments and bandages.

He sat on a stool beside the recliner and held out a few pieces of paper. “I sketched three drafts for you to look at. Any grab your attention?”

I took the sheets of paper and scanned the drawings carefully. I’d told him in advance that I wanted to have a dragonfly tattooed on my inner wrist—nothing incredibly fancy or highly detailed, more like someone had drawn the image with a calligraphy pen.

Each sketch was beautiful and exactly what I’d pictured, only better. One in particular stood out for me.

I pointed at the drawing on the top sheet. “This one. It’s perfect.” I gave him a winning smile. “You’re my favorite brother-in-law. I don’t know if I’ve told you that.”

His lips kicked up. “You have. But you’ve also said the same to Drey.”

“I have not,” I denied, going for indignant.

Caelan snorted. “Sure.”

I waited in silence while he readied everything he’d need, washed his hands, pulled on disposable gloves, and then cleaned my inner wrist in preparation for the tattoo. Once he returned to his stool, he placed the transfer over my skin, checked I was happy with the placement etc., and then immediately got to work.

I went very still as the feel of the buzzing tattoo gun hit me. People seemed to experience the sensation in various ways. For me, it felt like I was being continuously scratched by hot cat claws.

It took me a few minutes to push past the discomfort and begin to relax. Only then did I ask Caelan, “What’s the craziest tattoo you’ve ever been asked to do?”

“There’ve been loads of crazy ones,” he replied without meeting my gaze. “A guy once came here asking if I could tattoo squid features onto his face. Said he thought he might have been a squid in a past life.”

I blinked. “Oh. Well.”

“Yeah, I had nothing either.”

“Have you been up to anything interesting this week?”

“Other than work, not really. You?”

“Not much. But my week was instantly brightened when my brother gave me an ultrasound picture of his baby.” I beamed just thinking about it.

“Everything look good with his fiancée and the baby?”

“According to the Ob, all seems good so far.” We were all crossing our fingers and toes that nothing changed in that respect.

He carefully repositioned my arm slightly with a gloved hand. “Have you seen any more of Felicity or Grayden?”

“No. I don’t know what Dax did, but it seems to have worked. I don’t suppose you know, do you?”

“I asked. He answered in monosyllables.”

“At least you got monosyllables,” I muttered. “When I asked, he just stared at me.”

“My brother says very little about a lot of things. He plays his cards close to his chest.” Caelan paused. “Someone stole my car once. This was years ago. I mentioned it to Dax. Four hours later it was back in its parking spot—I still have no clue who took it, who brought it back, or how Dax handled it. He never said. He always handles shit for those under his protection, but he never makes a big deal out of it.”

“What you’re saying is I shouldn’t be offended that he hasn’t enlightened me, because this is just how he is—no one’s an exception.”

“Basically, yes.”

That didn’t make me feel much better. It wasn’t that I expected to be an exception to Dax’s rules, but I had hoped that we could get beyond superficial conversation and share important things. As yet, nothing had changed between us.

We still had a good dynamic. We made time for each other, communicated well, and had a healthy sex life. Though we had the occasional debate, we didn’t argue. But we also still couldn’t be described as friends.

Dax and I might talk about this or that, but never anything deep. More, it was really a chore on his part. He didn’t really want to speak with me about stuff.

Small and casual things that would be harmless to share—that he went to visit his parents, that he’d made plans with his friends, that he was considering buying a new car—I’d find out from others. Why? He simply wouldn’t think to tell me.

I got the sense that it didn’t even occur to him to do so, just as it wouldn’t occur to him to tell a work colleague. As such, I made a point to ask more questions about his day; wanting to get across that I was more interested than he seemed to assume; wanting it to become natural for him to share such basic things.

However, nothing had changed in that respect. He still gave me vague answers. He also still didn’t accept my invitations to spend the sort of time together that would allow a friendship to develop. And I’d steadily reached the conclusion that he didn’t truly want it from me; that he didn’t want me to want anything from him.

“He’s good at making a person feel shut out,” said Caelan. “But he doesn’t do it on purpose, Addison. He’s a good guy. People talk like there’s something missing in him. There isn’t. Never was. He just doesn’t let it all hang out.”

I knew what Caelan was getting at. Being a self-contained person didn’t mean Dax was an incomplete person, or that he was deliberately acting like an asshole. It was simply that parts of him were locked up tight.

“I know he’s a decent man, Caelan. I wouldn’t have married him if I thought differently.” Curious as to why he’d feel the need to make such a point, I asked, “Are you worried I’ll bolt or something?”

“Maybe not bolt, but … too many women from his past gave up on him.”

Dax and I weren’t really “in” an actual relationship, though. At least not in the truest sense. That made it different. I tilted my head a little. “Why did they give up?”

“Different reasons. In some cases, they tried to change him. ‘Fix’ him. Thought if they loved him hard enough, he’d become someone different.”

I frowned. “If you’re not happy with a person as they are, if you feel the need to shape them into somebody else, you don’t love them.” I might want to change that Dax kept me at arm’s length, but I didn’t want to change him.

“Exactly. But they didn’t see it that way. It happened time and time again. And when loving him hard didn’t ‘melt’ him or some shit, they’d decide he couldn’t love; that he lacks what makes a person a person.”

Pausing, he dabbed at my partially done tattoo with a sterile cloth to soak up the blood there. “Don’t get me wrong, there were a few who didn’t want to change him. They truly cared for him. He just didn’t feel the same way, so they walked. I don’t blame them. But I do think they gave up on him too quickly. Only Gracie was different.”

“Unlike them, I’m not trying to win his love. I know I won’t get it, so you don’t have to worry that I’ll walk because of that. I can’t promise you the marriage will last—life surprises us in lots of ways. But I have no plans to give up on it or him.”

Staring me right in the eyes, Caelan tipped his chin. “I believe you. And it’s good to hear, because he wouldn’t let you go easily. He might not be head over heels for you, but he considers you his. You’d have a major fight on your hands if you tried to leave him, and I’d be surprised if you won that fight.”

I snorted. “If I wanted to leave, I’d leave—there’d be nothing he could do to stop me.”

Caelan’s lips curved. “It’s cute that you believe that.”

I felt my brows lift. “Cute?”

“Seriously cute.”

“I’m not scared of your brother.”

“You don’t need to be. He’d never harm you. Dax is no angel, but he’s no monster either. Still, he has a way of getting whatever he wants. He convinced you to marry him, didn’t he? That’s evidence of it right there.”

Point well made.

∞∞∞

Entering the villa later on, I stopped in the doorway of the living area as I clocked Dax sitting on the sofa, a hardcover in hand, with Gypsy curled up against his thigh. Both man and animal looked up at me. Gypsy did no more than blink at me before again closing her eyes. Dax, however, focused on me in his usual intent way.

“Hey,” I said, flicking his book a brief glance. I’d learned he was well-read. He largely stuck to works of non-fiction, though he did enjoy horror novels. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be home.” Mostly because he’d left before I woke, and I hadn’t heard from him throughout the day.

“I’ve only been back an hour. I …” He trailed off as his gaze fell to my bandaged wrist, and his face darkened. “The fuck?”

“I didn’t hurt myself,” I quickly assured him when he shot to his feet. “It’s just a tattoo.”

His brow denting, he placed his hardcover on the coffee table. “A tattoo?”

“Yeah. Caelan did it for me.” I crossed to Gypsy and scratched her head. “He wouldn’t accept payment,” I complained, “so I’m going to have to sneak money into his wallet the next time he’s here. He says hi, by the way.”

“You went to his shop hoping he could squeeze you in?”

“No. I had an appointment. I made it last week.”

There was a beat of silence. “You never said anything about it.” There was an accusatory note in that otherwise flat statement.

I double-blinked. “You’re never interested in what I’m doing.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Was he serious? Because he looked it. Which was weird, considering … “You communicate it well.”

He arched a questioning brow. “How, exactly?”

“Whenever I told you in the past that I was going here or there, your only response was a hum. Half the time, you didn’t even look at me. I got the hint that you didn’t care to hear where I’d be going or what I’d be doing.” I gave him an easy smile. “It’s fine. I’m not upset about it.” Disappointed, maybe. Even a fake friend might ask if you had plans.

“What you do is of interest to me,” he stated firmly.

“I’m not saying you don’t wish to hear about it at all. You listen when I later tell you how my day went. I’m saying you don’t wish to hear in advance what my plans are. If you did, you’d ask. You never do. And like I said, it’s fine.”

Pausing, I tipped my head to the side. “Your brothers didn’t mention my appointment to you? Drey said you had lunch with them a few days ago. I suppose they just assumed you knew about it.”

“How did Drey know?” Dax asked, his eyes going flinty. Someone was feeling left out, apparently.

“I bumped into him when I went to see Harri at her doggy day care center—he was there with Sabre who, on another note, is in fact a complete nut. Anyway, Drey asked if I’d be working this weekend. When I said no, he asked how I planned to spend my time off.”

It was nothing short of sad that his brothers showed more interest in my life than Dax did. And maybe he was considering that, because his lips pursed in thought and his gaze turned inward. Right up until the doorbell rang.

I felt my brows meet. “Are you expecting anyone?”

He gave his head a small shake and strode out of the room. I slowly trailed behind him, wondering if maybe it was Rafael Cabello—the guy was a regular visitor. I heard the front door creak open a mere moment before I reached the living room doorway. From there, I watched as a figure practically launched themselves at Dax with a squealed, “Hi!”

I halted, taken aback as slim arms looped around his neck. Slim, feminine arms. An ugly lance of dark emotion stabbed my chest.

From this angle, I couldn’t see the woman’s face—it seemed to be pressed against his chest—but I already wanted to slap it.

I also wanted to slap him. He was letting her touch him … why? Had he forgotten he was married? Did how I might feel about this not matter?She’d better be a freaking relative of his or I was gonna make that motherfucker bleed.

“God, it’s been ages,” the stranger continued.“How are you?”

“Good,” Dax stiffly replied, disentangling himself from her.

She dumped an overstuffed duffel on the floor. “I tried calling you, but you never picked up or called me back. What gives?” She angled her head as she stared up at him, and the move gave me a good view of her face.

I sucked in a breath. A carbon copy of Gracie stood right there, smiling brightly at him.

Yeah, Gracie had an identical twin. I didn’t know Mimi any better than I’d known her sister, but I knew enough to be aware that they were complete opposites. Whereas Gracie was sweet and laidback, Mimi was mouthy and rebellious.

Once upon a time, Mimi had also done her best to set herself apart from her sister in terms of her appearance. Not nowadays. There was no dark eyeshadow, no black lipstick, no facial piercings, no hair dye.

Maybe it was to honor her sister or in some strange effort to keep Gracie “alive,” but Mimi seemed to have adopted her “look.” She wore a minimal amount of makeup, most of which was focused around her slanted brown eyes—a thin coat of mascara, a subtle use of black eyeliner, and a gentle shade of gold eyeshadow. Her mocha-brown hair fell around her oval face in choppy layers. She’d put on a little weight in the right places, giving her some sensual curves.

The only thing that hadn’t changed about Mimi was her edgy clothing style. She wore a ragged tee, ripped jeans, a thin leather jacket, and wickedly cool knee-high boots.

As if she sensed the weight of my attention, her eyes shifted to me. The light in her gaze dimmed, and her grin slipped. She looked back at Dax. “Who’s this?”

Uh, apparently, she had no idea he was now married.

I sidled up to Dax and flashed her a friendly smile. “I don’t think we’ve ever officially met. I’m Addison.”

Her eyes narrowing in recognition, she pointed at me. “You’re one of the Davenport sisters. The oldest.”

“That’s right.”

Dax slid me a dark look. “You were a Davenport. Now you’re a Mercier.”

Intrigue gleamed in Mimi’s gaze. “Oh, you married into the family? Who to? Caelan? You look his type.”

Dax cleared his throat. “Not my brother. Me. She married me.”

Mimi’s eyes snapped to his. “You …” She trailed off, her brows slowly sliding together. “I’m sorry?” The picture of lost and confused, she bounced her gaze from me to him. Mimi then looked down, arrowing in on his ring finger. She blanched, her mouth going slack.“No,” she breathed, taking a step back.

Thrown by the horror and pain warring for supremacy in her eyes, I fought a frown. Dax didn’t look surprised by her reaction. He didn’t look anything—his face was utterly vacant.

Wildly shaking her head in denial, Mimi fixed him with a cold, direct glare. “You can’t be married. No way.”

He didn’t correct her. He merely stared at her, his gaze unreadable.

“It isn’t true.” She dug the heel of her hand into her breastbone. “You wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t get married. You wouldn’t.”

Uh, why not? Was she under some impression that he’d never commit fully to another woman after having lost her sister? She’d be right to an extent. I had no emotional commitment from him.

“This is”—she sharply swept out her arm—“I don’t know … Some kind of sick joke.”

Why would it be sick, even if it was a joke? I was missing something here.

She clenched her fists. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

“If I did that,” Dax began, cool and composed, “I’d be lying.”

An angry flush reddened her face. “You are fucking unreal,” she hissed, her fists clenched, the definition of spitting mad.

He sighed. “Mimi—”

“I cannot believe you’d do this. What in the hell is going on with you?” she demanded, her voice becoming louder and shriller. “Why would you take a dump all over Gracie’s memory this way?”

A slight frown briefly pulled at his brow. “I don’t view it as disrespecting her memory in any sense of the word. I’m not certain why you do.” He winged up a brow. “Wasn’t it you who said she’d want me to get on with my life, not grow old alone?”

Mimi pressed her lips tight together and jabbed a trembling finger at him. “You said you didn’t want to bind yourself to another woman!”

“No, I didn’t,” he argued, still calm. “You decided that I must feel that way when my relationships kept failing. You accused me of sabotaging them on purpose. I told you that you were wrong. You waved that away, so sure you were right. You weren’t.”

Her expression crumpling, she took another step back. The distress plastered all over her face would have made me feel bad for her if it wasn’t for one thing: There wasn’t simply shock and anger in her eyes. There was something I wouldn’t have expected to see.

Jealousy.

A hot, bitter-edged jealousy.

Well, shit. She had a thing for the guy who her deceased twin had loved. And I would bet my life Dax was well-aware of it. What a mindfuck that must be for him. And for her, actually.

I stilled as a question slapped me: Had they slept together?

It didn’t seem like something Dax would do, but people often sought comfort in the form of sex when grieving. He could have done it while his head was a mess.

Hell, they could even have slept together more than once. It would explain why Mimi had turned up here with an overnight bag, so sure of her welcome. It would also account forwhy she was in such a state—she’d had some hope that he’d commit to her one day.

The lines of upset in Mimi’s face smoothed out as her expression morphed into something ugly and sour. “How long?” she bit out, glaring at him. “How long have you been married?” She spat the latter word like it was a curse.

“Five weeks,” he replied.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Fuck.” Her breathing growing fast and noisy, she inched up her chin and snapped her eyes open. “Well, now I know why you’ve been dodging my calls for the last week.”

Wait, she’d been calling him? And he’d said nothing of it to me?

“You didn’t want me to know,” she accused. “You didn’t want to admit to me what you’d done because you’re ashamed.”

Dax’s brow pinched. “I feel not one bit of shame. I have no reason to. And I refuse to stand here and justify marrying Addison. If you don’t like it, it isn’t my problem.”

She dragged in a pained breath. “God, you’re a bastard.” She slammed her blazing eyes on me. “I feel sorry for you. I don’t know what sweet little words he gave you, but he’ll only ever love one woman,” she taunted, her tone derisive. “My sister. You’re second best. Always will be.”

Wasn’t she a sweetheart?

Much as I wasn’t fond of her snark—or of her evident crush on my husband—I felt a pang of sympathy for her. You couldn’t control who you loved. And I doubted someone would choose to fall for their dead sister’s boyfriend. “How about you sit down and I’ll—”

“How about you fuck off!” she blasted.

Well. My sympathy vanished in an instant.

“Enough,” Dax cut in, the single word a cold demand.

She sneered at him. “This is bullshit. You betrayed Gracie, you—”

“Did what she would have wanted,” he finished. “I moved forward.”

A bark of humorless laughter came from her. “Moved forward?” she scoffed. “You’ll never let Gracie go. You don’t know how. And I don’t think you even want to.” Again, her gaze sliced to me. “Seriously, are you fucking stupid marrying someone who’s hung up on a ghost?”

Dax smoothly inched forward in a fluid, menacing movement. “Careful how you speak to Addison.” He hadn’t raised his voice, he’d pitched it low. But it rang with enough authority to make her snap her mouth shut. “Think what you want. Disapprove all you want. But don’t turn your anger on her—I won’t like it.”

Her cheeks flamed. “Kiss my ass, Dax.” She snatched her duffel from the floor and scowled at me. “Good luck with this one,” she sniped, tipping her chin in his direction. “You’re going to need it.” With that, she stormed out.

Exhaling heavily, he let the door swing shut.

Admittedly miffed that he’d kept me in the dark, I turned to him, a hardness forming in my gut. “You didn’t tell me Gracie’s sister was trying to contact you.”

Dax gave a slight shrug. “It wasn’t relevant.”

It wasn’t relevant? I stared after him as he walked off—yes, walked. Off.

Every cell in my body bristling, I followed him into the kitchen, where he was pulling open the fridge. “So you wouldn’t want to know if Lake’s relatives were reaching out to me?” I challenged, keeping my voice level, not wanting this to turn into an unnecessary fight.

He went still, his jaw tightening.

“We promised each other honesty.”

Sighing, he retrieved a beer from the fridge. “We did,” he conceded, closing the door. “I apologize for not mentioning it. It didn’t occur to me that you’d want to know, but I shouldn’t have made that assumption.” Such a carefully worded statement.

And utter bullshit.

He’d known that I would want to be informed of such a matter. He’d chosen to instead hide it. “Do you keep a lot of things from me, Dax?”

A line briefly appeared between his brows. “If you’re asking if I hold back things that I feel you should be made aware of, no. This was a one-time occurrence.”

I folded my arms. “Answer me this question, then: Why would Mimi turn up here with a duffel expecting to be allowed to stay the night?”

“She’s a free-spirited sofa surfer,” he replied, grabbing a bottle opener from a drawer. “She does it to lots of people, skipping from house to house until she moves on to yet another city. She rarely sticks around for more than two weeks at a time.”

I squinted, studying his expression. “Have you slept with her?”

Even as he removed the bottle cap with a hiss of sound, his gaze flicked to mine. “No.”

I did not like just how much relief that brought me; didn’t like that a black jealousy had been hovering close, ready to slice me if his answer was anything else. “But she made a pass at you, didn’t she?”

His jaw clenching, he looked away.

“How many times did she do it?”

“A few.” He dumped the cap in the trash can. “She was blitzed.”

“I don’t think she only came onto you because she was drunk. I don’t think you believe that either.” He was too perceptive to have missed what I’d sensed.

He set the bottle opener on the counter with a short sigh. “What does it matter? How she feels and what she wants makes no difference to me.”

“Why did you dodge her calls, then? Wouldn’t it have been easier for you to break the news over the phone? Or, knowing she’d be jealous as hell, were you trying to put-off hurting her for as long as you could?”

“I didn’t tell her because it simply isn’t her business,” he stated, the ring of truth in his voice. “I’m not required to tell her anything, regardless of what she might wish to believe.”

He resented that she thought differently, I realized. He hadn’t been trying to protect her feelings by delaying the inevitable. He just refused to cater to them.

“How could she not have already heard that you got hitched?” I asked, unfolding my arms. “Wouldn’t her parents have told her?”

“Her parents moved away years ago, so they likely don’t know about it. She’s not in contact with them anyway. They distanced themselves from her and anything else that kept Gracie’s loss feeling too fresh, me included.” Dax closed the drawer and then guzzled down a mouthful of beer. “Are you in contact with Lake’s relatives?”

“I was at first. But the contact got less and less over time. It might have been different if they lived locally, but they’re in Colorado.” Recognizing that he was attempting to shift the topic onto another, I backtracked. “There are enough gossips in Redwater who could have passed on the information to Mimi. Why would they not have?”

“Mimi has burned a whole lot of bridges. There aren’t many people in Redwater who’d do her any favors—not even the few relatives here she has. They’d prefer for her to find out the hard way.”

“Does that include you? Is that why you avoided taking or returning her calls?” If he resented how she felt, it wouldn’t be surprising that he’d acted in such a way.

He shook his head. “I missed her initial call. She left me a voicemail. I didn’t like what I heard; saw no sense in returning the call.”

“What did you hear?”

He knocked back more beer. “She let me know she’d be coming to Redwater soon and said she hoped we could catch up.”

“And that’s bad because …?”

“It’s not bad. What made me disinclined to respond is that she was either having sex at the same time or faking it. All the appropriate noises could be heard,” he added, slowly stalking out of the room.

“Jesus.” I followed him along the hallway and up the stairs. “She did it to try to make you jealous.”

“She failed. All it did was irritate me. I have no patience for such petty mind games.”

“Has she done it before?”

“Yes. Twice. I didn’t respond on those occasions, either. That evidently didn’t deter her from doing it again.” Tossing back more beer, he prowled into our bedroom.

Propping my hip against the doorjamb, I remained silent as he pottered around—setting down his bottle, removing his wristwatch, emptying the pockets of his slacks and placing the contents on the surface of his dresser.

The hardness in my gut from earlier was melting away, because I felt bad for him. If Lake had a twin that not only made it clear he cared for me but pulled silly stunts to get my attention, I’d be seriously conflicted. On the one hand, I wouldn’t want to hurt the brother of the man I’d loved and so I’d prefer to dismiss his behavior—even if only because Lake wouldn’t have wanted us to be at odds. But at the same time, I’d be so goddamn angry that they’d persisted in their advances.

Would I have been uncomfortable sharing that with Dax? No. But we were different kinds of people. Maybe too different to ever really be friends.

I pushed away from the doorjamb and walked into the room. “You have a choice to make here and now.”

His eyes flew to mine as he took another swig from his bottle.

“I don’t like that you kept Mimi’s calls from me. But I can’t force you to be open with me—you have the right to keep stuff to yourself if it’s really what you want. And if it is, I’ll respect that. But it’ll have to be a two-way street, Dax. That’s the only fair way to do this. Either we’re both honest even when we don’t want to be, or neither of us are expected to be. Choose.”

Again, he set his bottle down on the dresser. “I already chose. I want honesty between us.” Rubbing at his jaw, he crossed to me. “I should have told you that Mimi tried to contact me.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You would have asked why she’d do that. Would have asked why I hadn’t called her back. Would have guessed the situation I’m in with Mimi.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You don’t like to admit out loud that she wants you,” I clarified.

His nostrils flared. “I don’t like that she won’t accept nothing’s ever going to happen between us. I don’t like that she doesn’t respect how I feel and, more, how I don’t feel. I don’t like that she makes a point of looking so much like Gracie in an effort to manipulate me.”

Mimi might think the latter would instead make her more attractive to him, but in reality it would only serve to remind him of what he lost. “The whole thing is messed up. Selfish. Cruel, too.”

“And pointless. I made that clear. Repeatedly. She always nodded, smiled, apologized, blamed the alcohol. But then she’d do it again.”

I suspected he wouldn’t have tolerated it from anyone else. He’d given her chance after chance because she was the sister of the woman he considered the one. For Gracie, he’d held back, hoping Mimi would stop.

“Now that you’re married, she’ll surely give up. I mean, she’ll assume you care for me.” I felt my brow pucker as something occurred to me. “Then again, she’s also convinced you’ll never let Gracie go, so she might not take your commitment to me seriously.”

His shoulders lifted and fell. “There’s no telling with Mimi. Personally, I think there’s a good chance she now hates me enough to walk away and never come back.”

Maybe. But considering she’d been so persistent all these years in trying to wangle her way into his affections, I wasn’t certain she’d let marital bliss stop her. Cocking my head, I asked, “Was it really so hard to share all that with me?”

He hesitated. “It’s not something I do.”

“I get that you’re not much of a sharer. But we said we’d be friends. As things stand, we’re not. We don’t need to be besties. I’m not asking you to devote lots of your time and attention to me. I’d simply rather we weren’t bed-buddies occupying the same house, you know?”

His brow furrowing, he inched closer, eliminating the tiny bit of space between us so our bodies now touched and his scent blanketed me—inadvertently making my belly flutter and my pulse get all excited. “I don’t think of you as a bed-buddy, Addison.”

“You don’t treat me as anything else, whether you realize it or not,” I gently pointed out. “It may not be your intention, but that’s how things currently are. Unless you want them to stay that way, we need to build some level of friendship.” Otherwise, all we had was sex.

A long, shallow sigh eased out of him. “I’ll work on it,” he eventually relented.

My snort was soft. “Don’t be too enthusiastic about it.”

“It isn’t in my nature to befriend people.”

“I’ve noticed. But you’re tough. You can handle it.” Flashing him a small smile, I added, “I might even get you a ‘friends forever’ necklace as a reward.”

His lips quirked. “A ‘friends forever’ necklace?”

“It’ll give you something to look forward to. A little added motivation. And if you’re really, really good at the friendship thing, I’ll also get you a matching bracelet.”

“Thoughtful,” he deadpanned, humor glinting in his gaze.

“That’s me. A total giver. You don’t know how lucky you are to have me standing here offering you a friendship branch, but you’ll soon get it. I have a feeling we’ll be good pals. We’ll be braiding each other’s hair in no time.”

His shoulders shook with a silent chuckle that chased away the last of the shadows in his eyes. But those shadows would likely be back—and soon. After all, the poor guy had had a hell of an evening.

Being face-to-face with the mirror image of Gracie would have been incredibly difficult. And hurting her sister—though said sister had thoroughly exhausted his patience at this point—wouldn’t have been easy, especially since witnessing Mimi’s pained expression would be like seeing Gracie in pain.

“Want some space tonight?” I offered.

“Why would I want that?” An idle question. His focus was on the fingers he began to run through my hair—the move slow, careful, entitled.

“Well … you kind of got slapped by your past just now.” His mind had to be a mess. “And the scene that played out wasn’t fun.”

He only let out a distracted hum, preoccupied with rubbing the ends of my hair between the pads of his fingers.

“I won’t be offended if you’d rather be alone for a little while.”

His eyes slid back to mine. “Thought you wanted us to be friends.”

“Part of being friends with someone is knowing and respecting when they need some time on their own,” I pointed out.

“True.” His gaze lazily moved down to my lips, hovered there for a few seconds, and then skated back up to meet my eyes once more. “But I don’t need or want any space from you.”

I swallowed. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” He slowly dipped his head, pressed his nose to the hollow beneath my ear, and inhaled deeply. “Wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.” The quiet words fanned over my sensitive skin, making a shiver ride my spine.

Feeling my mouth begin to dry up, I placed a hand on his chest for balance, worried I’d otherwise sway into him. “Okay.”

Dax lifted his head. “Glad we’re clear on that.” He slowly edged his face closer to mine. Stopped. Stared. Refused to let me look away. “Now,” he whispered, “get on your knees.”