All Summer Long (Fool's Gold #9)

“Because I’ll fall for him, but he’ll never fall for me.”


Truth, Charlie thought. She would be the one in danger. Except their relationship wasn’t about her heart.

“You don’t understand men like him.” Dominique’s voice was gentle. “You live in a small town. You don’t have the experience.”

That was more true than her mother knew, Charlie thought, trying to find the humor in the situation. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“By telling me I’m not good enough?”

“By being honest. Chantal, really. Look in the mirror. You could do something with yourself, but you don’t. Those clothes, your haircut. Clay has been with some of the most beautiful women in the world. I’m sure he can’t walk into a store or a restaurant without stunning girls begging him to sleep with them. Everywhere he goes, women want him.”

The question hung in the room then turned slowly and slapped Charlie across the face. In that second, she had what could only be described as an out-of-body experience. She could see herself clearly from the outside. She was aware of being too tall, too big-boned, too muscled. Her mother was right—she wore no makeup and had been known to take scissors to her own hair if it started to bug her.

She dressed for comfort and had always told herself that if people didn’t like her appearance then they were shallow. That beauty was meaningless.

Only Clay had spent his adult life surrounded by beauty. The world’s obsession with it had rewarded him handsomely. He was the kind of man who turned heads and made hearts beat faster.

Under normal circumstances, he would never have seen her, let alone wanted her. She was part of the invisible ordinary. The only reason they had any contact was because she had gone to him and asked him to help her.

Humiliation blended with shame as she grasped what she had done. What must he be thinking of her, of what they were doing?

“Oh, God,” Charlie whispered.

Dominique nodded. “Better to face it now, while you can still get out. I’m sure you can find someone else. Someone with whom you have more in common.” She paused. “I don’t say this to be cruel. You’re my daughter and I care about you. But we both know that Clay would never be interested....”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but then she didn’t have to. Charlie rose. “That’s your motherly advice? Get out because he would never want someone like me? Are you even human?”

Dominique flinched. “Why are you angry? I’m simply telling you the truth.”

“Right. Like you did after the rape. I believe that time your great advice was to not lead on men. That there would be consequences. A guy like him had expectations.”

Anger joined shame as Charlie remembered how the hits had kept on coming. First the police hadn’t believed her, then her own mother had chided her for not playing fair.

“I’d been raped. Do you get that? Do you understand anything that doesn’t involve you?”

Dominique stood. “You don’t need to yell at me. I’m trying to help. Reality can be unpleasant but is best faced head-on.”

“Okay, Mom. Here’s your reality check. I don’t want you here. You and I have nothing in common, which I could live with, but there’s more. You’re a selfish bitch who has only ever been disappointed in me. You don’t want to be a parent—you want to be the lead dancer in a production. Well, that time is over. Take your AARP discount and get the hell out of here.”

Charlie felt her eyes burning. Dammit, she hated to cry.

“You’re throwing me out?” Dominique seemed to shrink. “But why? I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help and I sure as hell don’t need a mother like you.”

Dominique remained in place for another couple of seconds, then nodded once. She crossed to the table by the door, collected her purse and let herself out. Charlie walked into the kitchen and turned off the pot of simmering sauce, then she sank onto the floor and dropped her head onto her knees.

Determined not to cry, she ignored the burning in her eyes and the moisture trailing down her cheeks. She was strong, she reminded herself. Tough. She’d been through worse and she would get through this.

The problem seemed to be, she wasn’t exactly sure what “this” was.

* * *

CLAY STARED AT the drill tower. Today it was benign enough—a seven-story frame of metal and brick. Openings where windows would normally be. Stairs led to the roof. During actual training, recruits would have to find their way through smoke, with victims on different landings and tucked into corners. Fire would add to the heat and chaos.

But that was for later. Today he simply had to climb seven stories of stairs, first on his own, then carrying a hose.