Page 81 of Boss of Me
“Is that where she’s from?”
“Yes.” He’s still staring into the fire, the flames casting shadows over his face. “Her parents welcomed us back with open arms. They never approved of their daughter running off with some redneck from a podunk town. Even though Dad was a rising star at Chevron, he didn’t have the right pedigree for the Billingsleys.”
“Your mom’s family is rich?”
Gunner nods. “They’re old Dallas money. My great-grandfather raised thoroughbred racehorses before reinvesting his fortune in banking and insurance. Mom was a beauty queenand a debutante. She wasn’t supposed to marry someone like Dale Ransom.”
“How did they meet?” I ask with fascinated curiosity.
“Mom was participating in a parade at the Fort Worth rodeo. Dad was visiting friends for the weekend. As the story goes, when Mom came out on the parade float, Dad took one look at her and said, ‘I’m gonna marry that girl.’ When his friends laughed and told him she was out of his league, he took it as a challenge to prove them wrong. He finagled an introduction and then wooed her, showering her with attention and expensive gifts. They had a whirlwind courtship and were married within three months despite her parents’ strong objections. Dad bought her a big house, furs, jewelry—all the trappings of wealth she was used to. They were madly in love . . . until they weren’t.”
I watch his expression darken, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “When did he start cheating?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t know.” His voice is hard. “But it wasn’t just the cheating that ruined their marriage. He also had a serious gambling addiction. He gambled away our money and pawned all the family valuables. We lost damn near everything but the clothes on our backs. But even then, when we were on the brink of bankruptcy, he was too proud and stubborn to seek help from Mom’s parents. They’d practically disowned her for marrying him, so he refused to accept one dime from them. That was one of the many things he and Mom argued about. Sometimes their arguments got so ugly, my brother and I would intervene before they came to blows.”
I stare at him in horror. “Your father hit your mom?”
“No,” he says darkly. “Maverick and I would have killed him, and he knew that. But Mom had a pretty nasty temper. When she slapped him, he usually just stormed off. But whenever he got really drunk, there was no guarantee he could restrain himself. Unfortunately, he was drunk more often than sober. SoMaverick and I were always on edge, prepared for anything and primed for the worst.”
My heart breaks at the pain in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Gunner,” I say softly. “No child should ever have to go through that.”
“I agree.” His chest rises and falls as he drags in an uneven breath. “After the divorce, Dad followed us to Dallas. Mom had full custody, but she honored Dad’s visitation rights. That was probably a mistake, in hindsight. He couldn’t keep a job or stay sober, and his gambling got worse. When Mav and I left home for college, our grandparents filed a restraining order against Dad to keep him away from us. He ignored it, of course, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to turn our backs on him. So we gave him money whenever he came sniffing around, and we believed him every time he promised to stop drinking and get his shit together.” Gunner’s jaw tightens. “For the past twelve years, we’ve taken turns bailing him out of trouble. It’s an endless fucking cycle.”
I lick my lips, almost afraid to ask. “Where is he now? Is he still in Dallas?”
“No,” Gunner says coldly. “He’s here in Austin. Two years ago, he totaled his car and got arrested for drunk driving. It was his third DWI, so the judge revoked his license and sentenced him to rehab instead of prison. Once he was released, he refused to come stay with me or Mav. He said he needed his independence. We knew we couldn’t leave him to his own devices, so we put him up in a senior living community for recovering addicts. He has his own private bungalow, and the property is staffed with the best medical professionals and round-the-clock security. He can’t leave the premises without getting our permission first.”
“Wow,” I say quietly. “I’m really sorry it has to be that way. But he shouldn’t be drinking and driving. My father was killedin a hit-and-run, possibly by a drunk driver. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on any family.”
Gunner squeezes me gently, offering silent comfort.
“Your father is very lucky to have you and Maverick. You’re saving lives, including his.”
“Which is more than he deserves.” Gunner rakes his fingers through the mussed locks on his forehead, his bicep bulging with the movement. When I reach up and cradle his cheek, he turns to look at me. His eyes are shadowed, his jaw tight.
“Thank you for opening up to me,” I say softly.
He turns his face into my palm and kisses the center of it, staring into my eyes as a tremor passes through me. “I don’t want to be a stranger to you, Marlowe. I want you to know who I am, where I’ve been and how far I still have to go.”
My heart squeezes at his words. “This is a good start,” I whisper to him.
He studies me intently, his eyes roving over my tousled hair and makeup-free face. Just when I’m starting to feel self-conscious, he rolls over on top of me, settling between my legs in a way that sends heat rushing through my body. I stare up at him as he stretches my hands above my head and pins them to the floor, his strong fingers shackling my wrists.
My heart rate thunders in my veins. “Gunner?—”
“I’ve never considered myself a jealous man,” he says in a low growl. “That changed the moment I watched you climb into that motherfucker’s car. The thought of him sitting close to you, touching you, breathing the same air—it drove me fucking crazy. I had to find something to do to distract myself, or I would’ve torn the city apart looking for you.” His eyes darken in the firelight. “Please don’t put me through that again, Marlowe.”
I smile slowly. Reveling in my power. “What are you saying, Mr. Ransom?”
“No more dates with other men.”
“What about study dates with male classmates?”
His eyes narrow. “No.”
“Seriously?”
“Mixed-gender study groups are fine. One-on-ones with guys? Not a fucking chance.”
