Things We Never Said: A Hart’s Boardwalk Novel Read online

  No matter what he’d discovered today, he would always feel abandoned by me. After his parents’ abandonment came mine. Then Gary’s. It didn’t matter if he learned to let that go, I wouldn’t.

  I would live with all kinds of remorse, that feeling sharpening every time I looked at his handsome face.

  The thought exhausted me.

  I loved him.

  God, did I love him.

  But at some point, I had to start loving myself too.

  My tangle of emotions wouldn’t go away overnight, and I knew it was the same for Michael. “Do you blame me?”

  Michael turned, studying me, and I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding. “I understand better now.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I can get past it.” He sat up, determination hardening his features. “To be with you, I can get past it.”

  Wrong answer.

  Because while he was attempting to get past it, there would be more moments that would throw up our history, that might lead to arguments. And Michael had proven he could gut me worse than anyone.

  I loved him. So much.

  But as much as he blamed me for leaving, I knew there was a part of me that blamed him for not coming after me.

  Too much blame.

  Too much hurt.

  And something more. Guilt I still kept buried deep that wouldn’t release me from its grasp.

  When Michael wasn’t around, I didn’t feel it. And I didn’t want to feel it.

  A ball of grief filled my throat as I realized I would have to say goodbye to Michael Sullivan for good. Pushing myself to my feet, my fingers clenched around the hem of my sweater as I attempted to keep myself together. Needing to be courageous because I hadn’t been in the past, I bravely met his gaze and whatever he saw in mine caused him to snap to his feet and reach for me.

  I retreated from his touch.

  His vexation was obvious. “Don’t do this to me again, Dahlia.”

  “I’m … There’s too much pain here, Michael.” I gestured between us. “Aren’t you tired of it? Of all the drama and pain?”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way. We can work through it.”

  “Can we?” I retorted, disbelieving. “I don’t think you can work through that kind of bitterness and blame. I left. I’m sorrier than I can ever say for that. But the truth is”—I grabbed my purse and let out a shaky exhale—“as irrational as it may sound, I blame you too. I blame you for letting me go.”

  Michael was stunned. He looked like I’d slapped him. Hard. Or punched him in the gut. Either way, I caught him so off guard, he let me go again.

  “Goodbye, Michael.” I almost choked on the words.

  He didn’t respond.

  He didn’t come after me as I crossed the room to the front door.

  Even as I stood out in the dark of the early morning, I didn’t hear the door opening behind me.

  A sob crawled up inside me, but I forced it down. My God, it hurt. I walked, huddled into myself, wondering how my life could be filled with so many regrets when I’d promised myself as a kid that I’d never have any.

  I’d lied to Michael. To protect him. To protect me. Yes, there was an irrational part of me that blamed him for letting me go, but I’d lied when I’d used it as the main reason to leave him again. That reason was buried deep, a splinter that had never worked its way out.

  Sometime later, I don’t know how long afterward, I heard footsteps behind me and then a strong hand pulled me around and out of myself. I blinked stupidly up into my dad’s face, confused and discombobulated.

  “Dad?”

  He put his arm around me and led me to his car that idled at the side of the road. I glanced around, wondering where I was.

  “Michael called and told me to come get you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled as he helped me into the car.

  My teeth chattered.

  I was freezing.

  “It’s okay.” Dad shut the door and rounded the car. When he got in, he turned to me. “You’ll be okay.”

  I nodded numbly. “Yeah.”

  I had to be.

  Michael let himself back into his apartment and wearily moved into the kitchen to make a coffee to warm himself up. It had been freezing outside, and he’d chased after Dahlia in only sweats and a T-shirt. Keeping his distance as she walked down the street, hunched into herself, and seemingly wandering with no destination in mind, Michael had called Cian. He’d followed Dahlia and given Cian the directions he needed to pick her up.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to go to her himself. Of course, he did. However, her words kept going around and around in his head. They made sense, but they didn’t, and Michael was left with the unnerving feeling that there was more to Dahlia’s reasons for walking out on them again than what she’d admitted to.

  Yet, he also knew she wasn’t lying when she said she blamed him for letting her go.

  He had, hadn’t he?

  He’d thrown away everything he knew to be true about the girl he loved when he decided she’d selfishly left him. The truth was, she hadn’t. His fist clenched around the coffee pot handle as he remembered the scene with Dahlia earlier. What her mother had said and done to her that drove her away from them all.

  “Do you blame her?” he’d said when she commented about her mother erasing her from her life.

  Fuck. He rubbed at the ache of regret in his chest. Michael had assumed that Dahlia couldn’t deal with Dillon’s death and she’d started her life over somewhere else. It didn’t mean she shouldn’t have come back to him … but would he have? If it had been him, and Dahlia hadn’t bothered to go after him, to figure out what went wrong, would he have come home?

  Michael knew the answer to that.

  And for the first time in nine years, he acknowledged it was his fault too.

  He let her go.

  So he wasn’t the one to put her in his car and take her home because he knew there was nothing he could say to change her mind.

  Closing his eyes, she was there. He could hear her breathy gasps, feel her skin beneath his fingers. Being with her, moving inside her, feeling her all around him, it was the best moment of his life. It wasn’t just fantastic sex. It was phenomenal because it was her. Because he had Dahlia.

  And she wanted him to let her go again.

  Michael’s eyes snapped open, and he glared at the bare space around him. Circumstances with Dahlia had never been easy. It had been one long drama for eleven fuckin’ years. Yet he couldn’t say he ever felt more alive than when she was with him. She woke him up in ways difficult to explain.

  He knew what his life without Dahlia looked like. Bare walls, a difficult job in a tough city, and more bare fuckin’ walls. Life with Dahlia? Oh, he knew it wouldn’t be easy at first, but he remembered what it was like between them before everything went to hell. A lot of laughter, a lot of affection. And never feeling alone. She’d made him feel like he wasn’t alone anymore.

  She’d felt like home.

  Michael wanted that back.

  Determination washed away any tiredness he’d been feeling.

  It looked like he had some calls to make.

  Because there was no way he was letting Dahlia McGuire slip through his fingers a second time.

  After a few hours of restless sleep, and by restless, I mean a sleep of Michael-filled dreams, I’d joined my family and Bailey in the sitting room that afternoon. My best friend was full of questions about what had happened, and I promised to tell her everything when we were traveling home.

  “I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “I thought we were doing a good thing.”

  “I think it was,” I assured her.

  “And just so you know, Nina is only an acquaintance. She’s gay.” A little hue of red crested Bailey’s upper cheeks.

  “Liked herself a little bit of cherry, did she?” I teased.

  “Somehow she missed the gigantic rock on my finger and propositioned me.�
�� She shot me a round-eyed look. “I’m popular in Boston. Let’s just say Nina doesn’t beat around the bush.”

  I opened my mouth to pounce on that one.

  She shook her head. “Don’t.”

  Straining not to laugh, we settled in with the snacks that Dad had laid out before dinner. The TV was on in the background for the game later. We were sitting around, snacking and chatting. No one mentioned Michael or last night, and my nephews hopped from relative to relative for attention.

  Davina was telling me, Bailey, Astrid, and Krista about this foul colleague at her work who constantly tried to undermine her, and I was vaguely aware of my dad and Dermot grilling Darragh about the tickets he’d be able to get for next year’s baseball season.

  It was Bailey’s gasp, her eyes on the TV, that drew me out of our conversation. She launched across me for the clicker on the coffee table and jabbed it at the TV. The news story flooded the room, and I read the news banner along the screen: DIRECTOR OLIVER FROST FOUND DEAD.

  “Sources say his fiancée screenwriter, Ivy Green, found his body early this morning,” the newscaster relayed, and my heart sank. Worried, I looked at Bailey who was pale-faced watching the news. “Reports are circulating that Frost has died from a drug overdose, although authorities have not yet confirmed the cause of death.”

  “Isn’t that the guy who made that film about the guys in Boston? You know, the one about the foster brothers who go after the guys who killed one of their kids?” Dermot asked the room.

  “Yeah, that’s him.” Bailey turned to me. “We need to go home.”

  I laid a hand on her arm. “Our flight is early tomorrow. And there’s nothing we can do right now anyway. I’m sorry, Bails.”

  “What am I missing?” Dad’s brow creased in concern.

  “Ivy is Bailey’s friend,” I said. “They were best friends growing up. You’ve heard me talking about Iris and Ira? Ivy’s their daughter.”

  Dad nodded. “I remember you mentioned their kid was in Hollywood.”

  “Wait, what?” Davina asked.

  “Iris and Ira Green own the pizzeria on the boardwalk,” I explained. “They’re good friends of ours. And Bailey grew up with their daughter, Ivy. Who is … was engaged to Oliver Frost.”

  “Oh, wow.” Astrid patted Bailey on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Bailey gave her a pained smile, then turned it on me. “I’m going to call Vaughn for an update.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  The news shadowed my last night in Boston. I could feel Bailey’s concern even though she pasted on a smile and tried to make conversation at the dinner table. Vaughn didn’t have much news for her; however, he promised to stop by Iris and Ira’s place to find out more.

  After dessert, Vaughn called and told Bailey that Iris and Ira were flying out to California to be with Ivy. He’d passed on Bailey’s words of support, but I knew that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to be there for them in any way she could.

  Her inner brooding was put on pause when my family departed. Levi and Leo were tired, and it was well past their bedtime.

  My heart was full to bursting when I got hugs from them both, and Leo asked me if he could come to stay with me. Of course, I said he was welcome anytime, and I was excited for when Darragh and Krista would let my nephews stay with me. I’d spent only a few weeks with the boys, but it was amazing how quickly I’d fallen in love with them. I would miss them.

  Krista hugged me, kissed my cheek, and whispered tearfully how glad she was to have me back and that she’d see me soon. However, it was Darragh who almost brought me to tears. Mostly because he didn’t say anything. He hugged me, tight, his chin resting on the top of my head, and he wouldn’t let go. Krista murmured to him about the kids, and he reluctantly pulled away.

  “See you soon, baby girl.” He gave me a little chuck under the chin like he used to when I was a kid.

  I grinned, “giving him my dimple” as he called it.

  Davina was pissed about my leaving. “You better come back at Christmas,” she’d ordered with a bite in her voice. Then she’d promptly enfolded me in a hug, and her breath hitched as I clutched her.

  More swallowing of the tears for me.

  I waved her and Astrid goodbye and then turned to Dermot.

  His hug wasn’t as long, but it was brutally tight. “I’ll call you soon,” he said. “Finally have you back for girl advice.”

  I smirked. “Dermot, if you’re still dating girls, I’m going to guess that’s part of your problem.”

  “Smart-ass.” He punched my shoulder gently and then turned to Bailey. “As for you, let me know if you decide to get rid of your fancy businessman.”

  Bailey gave him a quick hug, but as she pulled back, she replied, “It’s doubtful.”

  My brother laughed, bid my dad good night, and walked down the porch steps. I waited for him to get in his car and drive off before I closed the door.

  Saying goodbye was emotionally draining. Yet it was good knowing that this time it wasn’t permanent. Not at all. For the first time in many years, the pieces of me that had been missing slotted into place. They fitted differently than before, but they still plugged the hole in my chest.

  There was still two missing pieces. Two wounds.

  But for the sake of holding onto the peace that my family had brought me these last few weeks, I ignored those pieces. Time and distance. Maybe time and distance would heal all wounds.

  At least this time.

  * * *

  Our flight was early the next morning and as was usual with early flights, I couldn’t sleep through the night, knowing I had to get up in a mere few hours. Lying in bed, it was all too easy to fall into the memories of last night. To feel Michael’s hands and lips. To remember what it was like as he pushed inside me. I flushed hot, writhing in my sheets with frustration. Being with him was a kind of ecstasy I wouldn’t ever be able to explain or understand. It was also an addiction because as I laid there, I berated myself for not taking more from him while I had the chance.

  Now I’d never feel that with him again.

  An hour before my alarm was set to go off, I left Bailey sleeping in the other guest bed in my brothers’ old room and went downstairs to have my first coffee of the day. As soon as I walked down the last few stairs, I knew my dad was awake. Light filtered through from the kitchen. My dad had always been particular about switching off lights as we moved from room to room and he always made sure all the lights were off at night.

  When I walked into the kitchen, he was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper with his hand tight around a coffee mug.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Dad gave me a tired smile. “I knew we had to get up soon. My body clock woke me up.”

  “Thank you again for driving us to Logan. You know we could have called a cab.” I puttered around the kitchen, making myself coffee and grabbing some Scottish shortbread Dad had bought yesterday. He’d been buying it from the British import section in the supermarket ever since I sent him some after my trip to Scotland a few years ago. Over the years, as business had gotten better, I’d been able to afford vacations. I usually took one a year, either just before or after the summer season. A few times Bailey and I had vacationed together, but being alone for so long had made me independent. I didn’t mind traveling by myself, and I’d been to some wonderful places. I’d fallen in love with Scotland. And shortbread.

  Now I knew Dad had too. We already had cookies like shortbread in Massachusetts but nothing as good as the imported stuff I munched on as I waited for the coffeemaker to beep.

  “I want to take you to the airport.”

  “Have you got work tonight?”

  “You know I do.” He leaned back in his chair. “Who’s picking you up from Philadelphia?”

  Our flight was a little over an hour between Boston and Philadelphia. There were no commercial flights into the small airport in Wilmington, but Philadelphia was pretty c
lose to Wilmington anyway. No matter what, we were looking at an almost two-hour drive to Hartwell from the airport.

  “Vaughn.”

  Dad nodded. “He a good guy? Does he deserve Bailey?”

  I smiled, pleased that my whole family seemed so taken with my best friend. “I’m not sure any guy deserves someone as special as Bailey. I can tell you that Vaughn is usually taciturn, sarcastic, and aloof, but as soon as she walks into the room, he changes.” I shook my head in wonder. “He’s charming and affectionate, and he looks at her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. Moreover, he wouldn’t drive two hours there and back for just anyone.”

  Grinning, Dad nodded. “I’m pleased to hear it. She’s a good girl.”

  Coffee in hand, I sat down at the table and shoved the plate of shortbread toward him.

  Dad raised an eyebrow. “That’s not exactly a nutritional start to the morning.”

  I shrugged and took the piece he didn’t want. He shook his head, but his smile was full of affection.

  My prolonged study of him, however, caused him to frown. “What?”

  Worry consumed me. It happened when you loved someone as much as I loved my dad. “I don’t want to leave until I know you’re okay. Bailey can go back. I could stay.”

  Dad shook his head. “You depend on the income from that Thanksgiving festival, and I’m a grown man, Bluebell. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I don’t mean it like that, Dad.”

  “I know you don’t. But it’s not your job to worry about me. It’s my job to worry about you.” His stare was pointed.

  I sucked in a shaky breath. “Are you talking about Mom or Michael?”

  “Both.”

  Cupping my hands around my mug, I leaned forward, gazing straight into his eyes so he’d recognize my sincerity. “I’ve found more peace about Mom since coming home than I could have hoped for. Did we forgive each other? No. Is our relationship in tatters? Yes. It’s not a perfect outcome, and I’m not pretending to be nonchalant about it. Of course, it hurts. But I understand her better now and having everyone else back has made it easier to let go of that relationship. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to deal with it as well as I am if I didn’t have you. If I hadn’t always had you.” A happy shimmer brightened my eyes. “Have I ever told you how much I adore you?”