My gut insists there’s nothing to think about.
I’m tempted to call Dean and ask for his advice, but I force myself not to. I’m so used to running my decisions by my boyfriend. I did it with Fletch, Sean, Dean. But nobody else can make this decision for me. It’s all on me.
Honestly, I’ve enjoyed being on my own these past couple weeks. It’s nice to just think about myself for once. But I miss Dean. I really, really do. I know he’s doing well, because I’ve been harassing Hannah for status reports. She said he’s working with the Hurricanes again. He’s gone out to Malone’s with the guys a few times, but only had a few beers, as far as Hannah knows.
There aren’t any pictures of him on Instagram or Facebook making out with other girls, but a part of me still worries about it. Dean is the most sexual guy I’ve ever met. I’m praying he’s jerking off a lot, because I don’t know what I’ll do if I find out he slept with someone else. I didn’t bring up the subject at the coffeehouse because I just assumed he’d keep his pants zipped while I took this time to clear my head.
That was selfish of me, maybe. But I love him, and if I hear that some chick tried to put her hands on him, I’ll beat her senseless. He’s mine. And I’m finally ready to claim him. The time apart succeeded in centering me, but now it’s time to get my man back.
The only problem? Dean is in New York visiting his parents for the night. Hannah mentioned it earlier, which triggered a flash of concern, because it’s weird that he would fly to Manhattan for only one night.
My ringing phone interrupts our coffee chat, and I’m even more concerned when I see my dad’s number.
A second later, his voice rumbles over the line. “I don’t want you to worry,” is how he starts, and oh my God, who says that? Now I’m worried!
I slam my mug on the kitchenette table and stumble to my feet. Hannah eyes me in alarm.
“What’s wrong?” I demand. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I just told you not to worry, didn’t I?” God, sometimes I really want to kill my father. “I took a little spill this afternoon, that’s all. Thought I might have broken my arm, so I called an ambulance.”
Fear pummels into me. “Oh my gosh. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he says firmly. “It’s just a sprained wrist. No broken bones, I promise.” A sarcastic note creeps in. “I can ask the hospital to send you copies of my X-rays if you’d like.”
I clench my teeth. “Don’t be a jerk, Daddy.”
He sighs heavily in my ear. “I’m sorry. I just knew you’d overreact when I told you. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m fine. My wrist is a little sore, but I have my pain meds.”
“How did you get home from the hospital?”
“Taxi. And now I’m lying on the couch watching the Hawkeyes game.”
I inhale a slow, calming breath. “Okay. Don’t walk around. Don’t try to lift anything heavy. Please, Dad, just take it easy for a couple days.”
“I will. Love you, AJ.”
“Love you too.” I hang up and turn to Hannah, who instantly asks, “Is your dad okay?”
I nod. “So he says.” But Dad was a hockey player. Hockey players always say they’re okay, even when they’re bleeding from their ears and spitting their broken teeth at your feet.
I take another deep breath. Then I pull up Dean’s number and press send.
*
Dean
Joe Hayes answers the door with the biggest, meanest scowl I’ve ever seen on another human male.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! She sent you over to check on me?”
I gently touch his shoulder to move him out of the way. God knows he won’t be inviting me in. “Yup,” I confirm. Then I walk inside and look around.
Fortunately, nothing seems amiss. I glance at the stairs—Allie told me over the phone that Joe had taken a “spill”. There’s no blood on the hardwood, no broken floorboards. That’s good. And he’s not sporting any bruises or visible injuries. He’s using the cane, but he looks steadier on his feet than the last time I saw him.
“Please don’t tell me you got on a plane and flew all the way here just to give me the onceover,” he mutters.
“No. I was already in the city visiting my folks and brother.”
Mr. Hayes settles on the sofa and proceeds to ignore me.
I take off my jacket and drape it over the back of the armchair. Then I sit down.
He balks. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable.” I raise a brow. “Didn’t I mention? I’m spending the night.”
“Like hell you are!”
His outrage makes me chuckle. “Come on, sir. I thought we already established that arguing with your daughter is pointless. She asked me to stay the night and keep an eye on you, so that’s what I’m doing.” Because I will do anything that woman asks. I’d sell my soul to the devil himself if Allie told me to do it.
“I don’t like this,” Mr. Hayes grumbles.