“I don’t want you here,” she said.

He held his hands out, palms up in a gesture of surrender. “I know. I don’t blame you. I thought about coming to the bar, but I wanted to talk to you in private.”

Fragments of white-hot anger whipped through her. “You didn’t seem to care when you brought that girl into My Place,” she tore out. “You wanted to make a point? Fine. You did. But it’s still my damn bar, and I don’t want you there any longer. Stay away from me.”

His face looked ravaged. A mixture of misery and grief shone from his ocean-blue eyes. “I’m so sorry about that, Raven. You have no idea how sorry I am. I’ve been in a bad place these past few weeks. There’s no excuse for what I did, except that I was a fucking asshole, and really mixed up. I convinced myself you manipulated and lied like your father. I’ve been stuck in the past, just like you accused me of, and all I wanted to do was strike out and hurt you like I was hurt.”

“You did well,” she said softly. “When you walked away from me that night, saying all we had was sex, I lost a piece of myself. Why? Do you hate me so much?”

His eyes shone with wetness. A muscle worked in his jaw. “No. I don’t hate you. I love you. When you told me this whole thing was a setup, I panicked. I figured out a lot about myself these past weeks. I’ve been carrying around a bunch of crap that has no place in the present or my future. And that girl? She’s a casual friend who means nothing. I was using her to convince myself I didn’t love you.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself, Dalton? Games. Lies. Fear. I’m tired of it, and I can’t have it in my life anymore.”

“I’m begging you for another chance.”

She fell silent. The breeze whispered through the trees, and birds sang. She realized this was what she had wanted so badly since the night he’d left. But now, it had changed. Too many words and deeds. Too much hurt. The trust had been broken between them, and Raven didn’t think they’d ever be able to recover.

“It’s too late, Dalton.” She raised her head and stared into his beloved eyes. His golden hair fell against his cheeks, emphasizing his square jaw, full lips, and scruff hugging the lines of his face. “I think we’ve managed to destroy everything good between us. Funny, it started with sex, didn’t it? And that’s exactly where it ended.”

He took a step forward. “No, don’t say that. It wasn’t just sex. I loved you, but I was too fucked-up to see it and admit to myself I needed you. I needed you more than I needed to hate your father, or my mother, for running away. I’m asking for forgiveness. Another chance. Please.”

Her chest tightened, but she already knew the answer. “I’m sorry. See, I can forgive you, Dalton, because I know the man you really are inside. The man I fell in love with. But I can’t forget the cruelty. The way you deliberately tried to hurt me because you felt trapped. What if it happens again? I can’t trust you anymore.”

“It won’t happen again. I’m not scared of what I feel for you any longer.”

“I’d like to believe you, but I can’t take that chance. You deserve my forgiveness, but not my trust. No longer.” She paused. “I need you to leave, Dalton. Please.”

Odd, how quiet it was. She expected to hear one of their hearts shattering like tinkling glass, but even the birds had hushed, respecting the moment.

“I understand. I won’t bother you again.” He walked to his pickup and drove away.

Raven went inside the house and told herself over and over she had done the right thing. The only thing.

It still tore her apart.

chapter twenty-eight

Look at this! Remember this picture?”

Cal gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. And I remember the last thirty pictures you showed me. We’re supposed to be boxing things up, not spending hours on the floor with old photo albums.”

Tristan shot him a look and took a sip of coffee. “You’re just pissed I found the evidence from that Halloween party.”

Cal ground his teeth, cheeks flushed. “I did not fucking put on a Snow White costume. I was just fooling around with Dalton, trying to get him to laugh.”

Dalton pressed his lips together. “Sure, Cal. Whatever you want to believe.”

“Fuck you.”

Dalton laughed, sharing a look with Tristan. It was rare that Cal was the butt of the jokes, being the oldest. Dalton had been the easiest target, always following his brothers around and trying to get their attention. The natural domino effect in the household always ruled. Cal tortured Tristan. Tristan tortured Dalton. And Dalton dealt.

He looked over Tristan’s shoulder, sucking in his breath as he turned the page.

His parents’ wedding photo.

He reached out to gently touch the images. His mom and dad looked so happy. Joyful smiles and unlined faces, hands clasped together like they were united against the world. So optimistic about the future that lay before them.

“Damn, they were a good-looking couple,” Tristan muttered.

Cal stomped over, then knelt to peer closer. “Dad looks relaxed. And he’s showing teeth when he smiles.”

“Mom could’ve been a model.”

They stared together in silence, each caught up in his separate memories. Dalton might never know what had happened between his parents to cause them to change, but somehow, falling in love with Raven showed him there were no guarantees. You took your shot with the person you loved, and sometimes it didn’t work. Sometimes it did. Dalton realized in that moment he doubted his mother ever had regrets, because she’d gotten a beautiful family and she’d gambled on love.

It was more than he’d ever done.

Cal cleared his throat and stood up. “Dudes, I’m serious. We still have the closet and we’ve only gotten through half of the drawers.”

“Fine, fine, stop the bitching.” Tristan shut the photo album and pulled open the bottom drawer of the bureau. “It still feels weird going through Dad’s stuff. He was so damn private. I feel like he’s yelling at us from up in heaven. Or—”

“Don’t say it,” Cal said.

Dalton laughed. His father had been cold, but there were still memories he treasured. Not of the business owner who ran an empire or the disciplinarian who demanded obedience, but of the man who’d loved his sons and enjoyed his life before he grew bitter. The man who played catch in the yard with them, or made his famous omelets on Sunday mornings when he was feeling creative. The man who hung their drawings in his office and taught them to ride bikes and hugged them when they fell, even as he pushed them to try again. There were good times, and that’s what Dalton intended to hang on to.