Page 11 of Should Have Been Me

The one thing that hadn’t changed, though, was his smile. He’d always smiled like whatever brought it on was the best thing to ever happen to him, which was how he was looking at me. His blue eyes that matched my own were full of life and happiness at the sight of me.

“My boy,” he crowed, throwing his arms open and waiting for me to walk into them for one of his signature back-slapping hugs. “Damn good to see you, son. Damn good.”

I blinked away the sudden and unexpected burn from the backs of my eyes and lifted an arm to return his embrace with a much less enthusiastic pat. On top of the fact he felt much frailer than I recalled, I wasn’t much of a hugger and stood tall after only a couple seconds, taking a step back to break the connection.

“Good to be here,” I said, my flat tone revealing that statement to be a lie. Truth was, I would have rather been at home using these few hours to get more work done. It was never ending, after all.

I caught a look on Hershel’s face when he pulled back, a puckered brow of confusion. “You smell like coffee, son. Is that... a new cologne or something?”

For the second time today, I had to beat back the desire to smirk. “Um, no. Had a spill in my car earlier, and the smell is still lingering,” I answered as my mind darted back to that morning, to that stupid, suit-destroying cat—but mostly, to its radiant mahogany-haired owner.

I couldn’t put my finger on what the hell had happened after she finally managed to pry that rabid animal’s claws out of my shoulders, but that first sight of her twisted my stomach up like a sailor’s rope and made my blood feel like a soda can that had just been shaken up. She was gorgeous, no two ways about it. Knock-you-on-your-ass-and-steal-your-ability-to-think gorgeous. Her features had been feminine and delicate, from her full, pink cupid’s-bow lips to the slightly upturned tip of her nose. The very picture of sweetness as she blinked those wide, innocent eyes up at me, and something roared to life inside me at the very first smile she graced me with. This wild, possessive desire to take all that sweet and filthy it up.

She was tall for a woman, and one of my very first thoughts was how I wanted to feel those long legs of hers wrapped around my head, her thighs squeezing so tight around my ears they blocked out all sound as I feasted on her sensitive pink flesh. I wondered what I’d find if I slid her panties down her legs. Would there be a tiny patch of curls the same russet brown as her hair, or would her skin be bare and glistening?

The intensity of those thoughts had slammed into me like a freight train, throwing me off balance, so I’d reacted the same way I always did when I thought my control was slipping—or worse, being stripped away from me. I lashed out.

Like the asshole I truly was.

But instead of getting emotional, she’d gotten pissed. It was impossible to miss. It was in her deep gray eyes, like thunderheads swirling and churning with a building storm. I knew right then and there I needed to get the hell away from her, because whatever had drawn me in from that very first glimpse only got stronger, stirring deep inside me and sending all the blood in my head straight to my dick.

This wasn’t just any woman. She was the kind you took home to your parents. The kind you uprooted your entire life for. She was the kind of woman who could derail a man’s carefully crafted world.

No fucking thanks. That had happened to me enough for two lifetimes. Never again.

Millicent came up next, shaking me from my thoughts of the stunning beauty with the dickhead cat. She may have been a tiny thing, but her embrace was even tighter than Hershel’s.

I hadn’t been sure what to expect when she and Hershel had started dating a couple years after my mother took off, but she’d never been anything but kind to me. Even after they had Leighton, I was never made to feel like the odd man out. That was part of the reason being forced to leave had been so jarring. I’d gone from being a member of a family unit to nearly complete isolation. I’d hated it at first, until I eventually came to appreciate being alone. That had become my normal. Now, as much as I remembered about my time here, I couldn’t help but be a little unsettled. It was like stepping into a skin that didn’t fit quite right because it belonged to a different person.

“Oh, look at you,” she cooed, taking a step back to cup my cheek in her hand. “Even more handsome than I remember. So good to have you home.”

I barely had time to brace against the impact of that word. Home. This place might have been that for me at one time, but it didn’t feel like that anymore. Just like with my mother’s house, this place felt more like a temporary stopover than my home. I wasn’t sure I’d felt at home anywhere since I was thirteen. Even the big house on the mountain or the penthouse in Denver lacked that feeling. They were only the places where I caught a few hours of sleep between working.

“This is just a simple family dinner, son,” my father said. “There was no need to dress up.”

I looked down at the suit I’d put on after discarding my ruined one. “I didn’t,” I stated plainly.

They both blinked at me, and I didn’t miss the look they shared before clearing their expressions and pasting the smiles back on their faces.

“Well, we’re glad to have you back either way,” Millicent shared. “Come on in. I’ve got potato salad in the fridge, some ranch-style beans, and your father’s been smoking a brisket all day. Smells like heaven.”

I followed them through the house to the kitchen, feeling like a stranger in the place I once called home. “Thank you for having me,” I said stiffly, lifting the bottle of wine I’d picked up on the way here. “I wasn’t sure what you drank, Millicent. I hope this is sufficient.” I tried to make up for my lack of knowledge by purchasing the most expensive bottle the corner market had in its very limited stock.

A tug of discomfort tightened my chest at the realization that I didn’t even know what my own stepmother preferred to drink. Shame crept up, and with it, my need to shut down grew deeper. It was going to be a miracle if I didn’t come out of my skin by the end of the evening.

“Please, just Millie,” she insisted, taking one of my hands in both of hers affectionately. “No need to be so formal. We’re family, after all.”

If only it were that easy.

7

VAUGHN

They asked about work, about relationships and hobbies. Question after question in an attempt to get to know the person I was now, and all I could give them were stilted answers in return. I tried returning the sentiment and asking about their lives here in Pembrooke, but it came off more awkward than interested.

When the hell had I gotten so bad at small talk?

I could talk business with colleagues I knew the bare minimum about, discuss political affiliations or investments with people I had no interest in other than how we could potentially help scratch each other’s backs. I could be whatever the situation called for, from brusque to intimidating, and, if the occasion arose where I felt the need to find a woman for the night to take the edge off, even charming. But when it came to my own flesh and blood, I couldn’t find my footing.

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