Page 24 of Beat of Love
And shit, the tears brimmed over, running down her peaches and cream cheeks. He wanted to be angry at her, but women, especially crying ones, were his kryptonite. “Now, now, darlin’,” he soothed, closing his own hand over hers. “Don’t you cry. I won’t have it.”
But a sob escaped, and before Rafferty could think, he drew her into his arms and soothed his hands over her back. If anything, she only sobbed harder. Aware of the gathering crowd, he simply scooped her up and strode back into the diner.
Aunt Marlene rushed over as he scooted into the booth he’d just vacated. “I’ll fetch some water,” she said, clearing his plate from the table. She pushed the napkin holder closer.
“Tea, Aunt Marlene. I reckon a nice pot of hot tea to go with her pretty English accent is what this young lady requires.”
The tea had calmed her down, and after Peter King arrived to lift the Volkswagen off his bike and haul the damaged Harley into the auto shop (her vehicle only had a scratch on the rear bumper), they’d sat in the diner and talked until late afternoon.
He had discovered her name. “It’s Charlotte,” she had said. “But it’s such a stuffy name.” She had wrinkled her nose and aimed a playful grin at him. “I prefer Charlie.”
He’d also learned that Charlie was taking a gap year touring the USA in her iconic camper van after completing her schooling in England, unsure what to do with her life.
She had ended up studying physical therapy at the University of Delaware, and over the following years, they corresponded via email and texts. They had become best friends, confiding their greatest desires and worst fears.
He’d found out the truth of her identity during that time.
Charlie (formerly named Rose Brown) had been born in Bulwark, but her mother had fled with her two young daughters when her husband turned his abuse on the girls.
In a different life, he and Charlie would’ve been childhood friends.
Would they have ended up as a couple? He’d like to think so.
Their relationship had only become physical when he started a short undercover stint in Baltimore with the Irish mob and she had been interning at a medical facility in Annapolis.
The biggest mistake of his life —dragging Charlie into that pit of hell with him.
With a muffled curse, he stepped from the water and strode to his bike. Not the Harley Charlie had damaged (that he’d sold years ago), but the old Yamaha dirt bike he’d ridden as a teenager.
Bare footed and helmetless, he jumped on and roared away, not caring if he crashed and killed himself.
*
Rafferty entered the kitchen forty minutes later, showered and dressed for a day of hard labor on the ranch. Aidan sure picked the most grueling of tasks for him. Setting aside the pang of disappointment regarding his brother’s continuous disdain, he sniffed appreciatively. Ma was loading dough into bread pans, and from the smell permeating the air, it was the second batch of the day. He scanned the room, finding the cooling loaves near the open window. “Your bread was one of the things I missed the most.”
She looked up, studying him closely.
Would she ever look at me without suspicion and sadness in her eyes?
He held her stare, answering her unspoken question. “I was at Rock Lake.”
“Rock Lake?”
More wariness.
“Charlie.”
“Char—” Her gaze flew to the calendar above the chalkboard. There was a large C in today’s block. “Oh, Raffie. I forgot.” Shewiped her hands on the dishcloth and hurried to his side. “I am so sorry, son,” she murmured, wrapping him in a hug.
He placed his arms around her. “It’s okay.”
But they both knew it wasn’t okay.
There was nothing okay about his mother never having met his wife.
There was nothing okay about him being alive and Charlie not.
And now was not the time to be a fucking crybaby.
