Sipping my coffee, I look over at him. “Was Xander feeling okay?”
He quickly glances my way and answers, “Yeah. He looked wrecked but nothing some sleep won’t cure.” He takes a sip of his coffee, then continues, “I asked Garrett to take him home last night. I guess he stayed at Garrett’s, and on their way back to Beverly Hills this morning they stopped by to check on you and drop off my guitar.” Pointing to the bar, he adds, “And your jacket and purse.”
“That was really nice.” Then I laugh a little. “Shit, I don’t even remember leaving my stuff there. I guess since you gave me your jacket, I never thought of mine. At least my purse was still there. That would have sucked to have to cancel everything.”
I notice he doesn’t laugh at my swearing like he usually does. Instead, he nods at me then says in a very flat tone, “Well your mind was elsewhere. I would have grabbed your stuff when I stopped to talk to Garrett, but I forgot it was even there. At least I grabbed my jacket or you would have been frozen.”
For some reason the whole conversation seems strained, awkward even, and I sense it’s because of my behavior last night. I’m sure he’s uncertain about my feelings and upset about what I said.
Needing to rectify the situation and make amends for my bitchiness to this man who now, in my sober state, I believe with my heart never meant any foul behavior, I stand up and walk over to the bar. Setting my coffee down, I turn and move toward him.
His eyes rake my body as I approach him. I feel like this one little move on my part, a sign of my forgiveness, has put his mind at ease and by the look in his eyes, I know he’s back. Tears sting my eyes as I sit on his lap. His arms instantly surround me and a soft sigh meets my ear.
“I’m sorry,” I cry as I throw my arms around him.
He sighs again and pulls me as tightly to him as he can. My head is in the crook of his neck and he inhales before sighing again. Shifting me so that I fit perfectly into his lap, he whispers into my ear, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I know I should have.”
Pulling back, I sniffle a little and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. He gives me that grin I adore then shifts me again to lift his shirt, using it to wipe my tears and my nose.
Resting my forehead on his I ask, “Is your family really okay with me, with everything that happened?”
Cupping my cheeks, he nods. His face is now the epitome of seriousness and sadness combined. “The accident had absolutely nothing to do with you, Dahlia. Call it coincidence. Call it bad judgment. But, Bell getting in that car could've happened even if I was the one who said I would bring her home. She was determined to meet some guy at her place and she wasn’t waiting.”
His eyes flash to mine, filled with concern, as I continue to listen. “I left that night and went straight to her place. When I got there, no one was waiting for her.”
“No one,” I say, saddened that his sister left in hopes of meeting someone that obviously never showed up.
Shaking his head, he moves his hand to my head and pulls my elastic band out. “If your head hurts you don’t need this pulling on it,” he says tossing the band to the ground before continuing. “Who knows what happened to the frat boy, but he wasn’t there waiting for her. He never bothered to visit her and he never knew. After the accident she never mentioned him again.”
Tightening his jaw, he spits out, “And I’m glad she never did. I’d have killed him.” Hanging his head, he relaxes his jaw. “A guy planning to meet a chick at her place so late after going out with his buddies is just not cool. We didn’t even know everything until after.”
Unraveling myself from him I start to say something. “What do you mean by every . . .”