Page 7 of One More Kiss

“Because…”

“Because you’re embarrassed you slept with me?” I couldn’t help the hurt that crept into my tone. Her mouth was set in an unforgiving line…until she saw my face. She sighed and shook her head, her gaze softening.

“No, Steve. I don’t regret that night. It was…”

“Beautiful. Perfect. Like you.”

A blush stained her cheeks as she forced a chuckle. “I think you hit the eggnog too hard.”

I gripped the countertop on either side of her. She’d refused Cam’s offer to redo her kitchen, so it had Formica tops. They were worn but always neat.

“I haven’t had any.”

She returned her focus to me. “I’m too old for you.”

“No, you’re not.” That argument caused restlessness to dance over my skin. “And I hate that you do that.”

Levi squawked, clearly annoyed to have suddenly woken. Nash rose from the couch, clasping his squirming, crying baby to his chest as he crooned.

I stared, as I always did, shocked by the ease with which Nash showed his affection. If I’d done that with him when he was a lost teen, Nash wouldn’t have turned toward drugs and alcohol. If I’d known how to show him even an ounce of the love bubbling inside, he would have had much happier teen years. But I hadn’t known he was my boy—and I still didn’t know how to love properly.

“Stop that.”

I blinked, glancing down at Jasmine. “What?”

“Brooding. You and I both know you can’t change the past.”

I swallowed the too big pill as I nodded.

“Plus,” she said, pulling out a cutting board and pointing toward some vegetables sitting in the colander, washed, and waiting to be cut. I took the hint and started chopping.

“Plus?” I asked when she remained silent.

“If things had gone different then, they might not have the love they do now. And what these kids found is worth its weight in gold.”

I nodded again, knowing she was right, but still unhappy with my choices. Why did expressing emotion have to be so hard?

I shuddered, the steel blade of the chef’s knife coming close to my fingers. I pulled back and heaved a breath, needing a moment as I tried to force images of my father’s abuse from my mind.

I felt her hand on my arm, the warmth seeping through the cold that tried to encase me.

“You okay?”

No. I hadn’t been okay in years. Maybe ever. That’s why I signed up to join the Army before I was eighteen, desperate to get away from the suffering and pain. “Yeah, sure.”

“Steve—”

I shrugged off her hand. “It’s nothing. And you’re right. I won’t push anymore.”

I was a broken man. I didn’t know how to love. I didn’t know how to form attachments or have a relationship. I barely kept my head above water with my son—and that was because Aya ran as an intermediary between us often. Too often.

Fuck. My throat squeezed shut, the memories of my father’s fists, the slice of his belt buckle, the burn of his cigarettes fresh somehow, even after more than twenty-five years. The sensations jittered over my flesh, heat followed by icy coldness.

She lowered her eyelashes but I saw the flash of hurt. This was why it was better for me to stay away.

“Need some air,” I mumbled, gaze zeroing in on the back door. Get out, calm down. Don’t mess it up for anyone else.

Get outside…

I shoved through the door and inhaled the tang of freshly turned earth and mown grass. My shoulders loosened, but I gripped the railing hard. I dropped my head down until my chin touched my chest.

Keep those emotions reined in. You can’t let them out.

I wanted Jasmine but I couldn’t have her. Opening myself up to her was so much harder than filling the role Nash needed. Aya asked so little of me. And Levi was just a wide-eyed gummy-smile of sweet baby chubbiness. But Jasmine…she deserved intimacy.

Not just love but full-on sharing of feelings—a meshing of lives and pasts. And I never talked about mine.

Ever.

Except once with Nash, briefly. Besides my son, no one knew what I’d experienced or how my father’s actions broke me. That was done. Unchangeable. And I had no intention of telling.

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