“Maybe, but it will get me a house.”
The soft rattling of ice in the background has my ears perking up.
“Speaking of houses, I’m curious why you need one to begin with…” I let the thought drift like chum in the water.
He scoffs. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I pause to listen for any other clues about his location. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re competition or not.”
“If I wanted to compete with you, you’d know it.”
“So that only leaves one other reason.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” Ice rattles again at his end of the call.
“You can’t run for mayor without actually being a taxpaying citizen, can you?”
Blissful silence greets me.
Who knew Lorenzo was capable of such a thing?
“One more. Please.” Dahlia’s plea is followed by a rough voice I’d recognize anywhere.
“I’m cutting you off,” Henry replies in that serious tone of his.
I hang up the call and head toward the one place I’m kicking myself for not checking.
“Dammit.” Dahlia’s plastic cup clatters to the floor while Lorenzo lands his perfectly on the first flip. The speakers blare a female singer’s voice, making my ears ache.
“What the hell is going on here?” The door slams shut behind me.
“Julian?” Dahlia turns on her heels so fast that she loses her balance.
Lorenzo reaches out to stabilize her.
“Get your fucking hands off her.” I practically snarl the words.
He lets her go. “Would you have preferred for me to let her fall?”
“I would have preferred for you not to take advantage of a woman. Period.”
Henry knocks his hand against the counter. “Hey. I was here the whole time watching them. Lorenzo did nothing but keep Dahlia company.”
Lorenzo places a hand over his heart. “Henry? Are you defending me right now?”
He looks away with an eyeroll.
“I’m touched. Truly.” Lorenzo taps his fist against his chest.
My patience snaps. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”
“Nope.” Dahlia returns to flipping her cup and failing miserably.
Lorenzo must possess at least a quarter of a brain because he doesn’t return to his part of the game.
“What’s wrong? Keep going.” She points at his cup.
“I think it’s time you go home.”
“You suck.”
“Hey.”
She pouts. “I thought we were friends.”
“You’re not,” I answer for him.
Lorenzo scowls at me. “That’s not for you to determine.”
“Yeah.” Dahlia crosses her good arm against her chest.
“You’re drunk,” I add.
“I’m barely tipsy.” She taps her nose and spins in a circle like that means anything.
“Either way, it’s a bit early to be drinking, don’t you think?”
“You sound like Lorenzo.”
“Over my dead body.”
Lorenzo covers his smile with a fist.
Cabrón.
I situate myself between him and Dahlia as I pass their cups to Henry. “Get rid of these. And him while you’re at it.”
Lorenzo’s gaze flickers from Dahlia to me. “I’m the one who called you, asshole.”
“What? Why?” Dahlia whines.
Nice to know she feels so strongly against being around me at the moment.
She’s obviously struggling, so don’t take it personally.
Lorenzo frowns. “Henry recommended it.”
Henry holds his hands in the air at the sight of Dahlia’s glare.
“Henry?” She frowns. “How could you? You know he’s the enemy.”
Back to square one. Fantastic.
“Why’s that?” Lorenzo leans against the bar.
“Because if he hadn’t pushed me away all those years ago, I would have never fallen for Oliver’s shit.”
Co?o.
Henry and Lorenzo’s eyes bulge as they swing from her to me.
I clear my throat. “We need a minute. Alone.”
“Take all the time you need, kid.” Henry hauls Lorenzo out of the bar after flipping the sign from Open to Closed.
“Hey.” I turn her around, but Dahlia doesn’t look up from her feet.
I tuck my hand under her chin and lift. Someone could drown in her watery eyes, and I already know that someone will be me. “What’s wrong?”
A single tear slips down her cheek. “Everything.”
I’m quick to wipe it away, only to watch another follow a similar path.
“Dahlia.” My voice cracks, along with something in my chest.
“I don’t want to cry in front of you.” She wipes at her cheeks with a frustrated growl.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She shoves me away when I reach for her. “Anyone but you.”
I keep my face blank despite the slice of pain tearing through my body. “I want to help you, cari?o.”
She unleashes the most heart-wrenching sob. I act on instinct and impaired judgment as I tug her against me and wrap my arms around her, right before her legs give out.
Having a front-row seat to Dahlia’s breakdown nearly drives me insane with an urge to pummel something, although no one would be able to tell with the soothing way I caress her back.
Neither of us says anything, but I don’t need her to.
Cari?o: Sweetheart.
Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.
Whoever hurt her, I’ll ruin them.
And whenever she needs someone to lean on, I will be there.
The final thought rocks me to my foundation. Somehow, I went from fearing how Dahlia could hurt me to wanting to stop anything and anyone from hurting her.
I’ve always cared about her well-being, that much became painfully obvious after how I reacted when she broke her arm, but there is an undercurrent of something more.
I know I will never be good enough for her, but if I can help her heal and protect her from any more assholes, then I’ve served my purpose.
It takes her ten minutes to calm down and for her tears to relent.
She snuggles deeper into me. “Can you play some music?”
I pull out my phone and search for a playlist before placing it on the bar. The soft strumming of a guitar paired with the melodic voice of her favorite artist fills the air.
At one point, we both begin swaying to the music, our bodies in perfect harmony except for a mishap when I step on her foot. She looks up at me with a small smile that acts like a release valve for the pressure building in my chest.
I cup her face. “I hate to see you cry.”
Her eyes focus on something over my shoulder, but I draw them back with a caress of my thumb across her cheek.
“Tell me what happened.”
Her chest rises and falls from her shallow breathing. “Oliver got married.”
“Come again?” Of all the things I expected her to say, that didn’t even make it into the top thousand.
“He had an impromptu ceremony in Vegas.”
“Who’s the unlucky bride?”
She half laughs, half sobs. “His high school girlfriend, Olivia.”
“Should I send a sympathy card on our behalf?”
“Do they make one that says, ‘I’m sorry you married him for an inheritance he will always value more than you’?”
My mouth falls open.
Her gaze drops to the floor. “There was a reason he broke up with me.”
“I thought we already established that he is an idiot.”
“Yes, but that’s not the reason he broke things off. At least, not the only one.”
“Then why?”
“Because his inheritance is contingent on getting married.”