Chapter Sixteen

CC didn’t know how many tequilas she’d drunk when the knock came on her hotel door. But the bottle had been full a few hours ago and now it was half empty.

For damn sure she was drunk.

Ignoring the knock, she poured another one. She could still feel all her fingers and toes and the brick sitting against her chest, so she wasn’t drunk enough for her liking.

She wanted to be numb all over.

The knock came again. “Go away, Joey,” she yelled in the general direction of the door. Her brother had been knocking every twenty minutes or so for the last few hours. “I told you I’m fine.”

And she threw back the shot, squinting as the fiery liquid hit the back of her throat.

“CC?” Another knock. “It’s me. Wade. Open up.”

Wade? CC’s stupid heart leapt in her chest. Wade had come? Then she frowned. Wade had come?

Why?

Damn it, she shouldn’t have said anything to Ronnie. But her motherly concern had thrown light into the well of grief and darkness, and it had felt good to tell someone oblivious to her family history. Who could console without careful choice of words.

“Go away, Wade.” She wasn’t numb enough to face him.

A dog barked. “I brought George with me. He’s missing you.”

CC frowned. George? Wade had brought George? Tears blurred CC’s vision, and she blinked them away as she leapt up from the couch. Or as nearer an approximation of leaping as a woman who’d consumed a half bottle of tequila could make. Concentrating on her footsteps, she crossed to the door in a reasonably straight line.

It wouldn’t pass a sobriety test, but it got her there.

Grabbing the door handle, she yanked it open. It stopped dead as the chain pulled taut and jarred through her arm. Swearing under her breath, she fumbled with the chain and fingers that were number than she’d realized, maneuvering it off, encouraged by the soft whining of George from the other side.

Finally, the chain slipped free, and she pulled the door the rest of the way open. George entered enthusiastically, wagging his tail, barking and turning around and around, gazing up at her adoringly.

“Georgie porgie.” CC was so damn happy to see him she dropped to a knee to give the dog some love, petting him and telling him he was a good boy, kissing his snout and scratching behind his ears as he nuzzled her neck.

But all the time she was excruciatingly aware of the man standing patiently in the doorway, and it was inevitable that she turn her attention to him eventually.

He looked her up and down as she straightened, George leaning against her leg, staying by her side. It was only then she remembered that she wasn’t exactly dressed for company. She’d stripped down to her tank top and underwear as she’d settled in for a little oblivion in the safe hands of Jose Cuervo.

Sure, she was wearing more clothes than most women wore on the beach these days, but way fewer clothes than he’d ever seen her in. Way fewer clothes than Wade, who was looking like the answer to every sad, desperate, drinking-in-a-motel-room-alone woman’s problems. Those soft jeans cupped everything, and his T-shirt stretched across a chest her nipples still remembered in intimate detail.

Yep—definitely wasn’t numb enough to forget that.

Heat suffused her face both at her state of undress and the memory, but she was a little too drunk to care, and in her current state of inebriation it only made her snippy.

“How’d you know I was here?”

He held up his phone, showing a little dot with her face in it over their location. “The app.”

Yes of course, that stupid app. “I meant which room.”

“I ran into Joey in the bar.”

Wade had met all of her brothers at one time or other. She’d gotten them tickets to Broncos games over the years, and Wade had always invited them back into the locker room and introduced them around. As far as the Morgan men were concerned, Wade was a freaking superhero.

CC made a mental note to rip Joey a new one.

“Can I come in?”

“Why?” CC may not have been thinking very straight, but even three sheets to the wind, she could still hear her better angels screaming danger, Will Robinson.

Not even Señor Cuervo drowned those bitches out.

“Because your brothers are worried about you, and so am I.”

CC scrubbed a hand over her face, her eyes were gritty from the crying—so much crying—and God alone knew what state her hair was in, given all the finger-twisting she’d done. It probably looked like rats were nesting in it, while Wade’s looked as perfectly messy as always.

“Brothers schmothers,” she said belligerently.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you drunk?”

CC tried to coordinate her thumb and forefinger apart an inch to indicate just a little, but gave up instead. “Not nearly enough, no.”

She turned on her heel—George sticking close—back to the couch to continue her journey into oblivion. She vaguely heard the door click shut and lock behind her as George made himself at home on the couch, resting his chin on CC’s leg.

CC felt Wade’s gaze on the back of her head and then its slow sweep as he took in the coffee table, the half-drunk bottle, a trash can full of wadded-up tissues, the printed order of service from the funeral, complete with a picture of her father on the front.

She reached for the bottle.

“Maybe you’ve had enough.”

Maybe she was going to have to drink the whole damn thing if he kept standing there judging her. “Nope.” A little tequila sloshed over the side of the shot glass as she poured.

“How about I make some coffee?”

He looked around for a kitchen as CC picked up the glass and saluted him. “You can drink whatever you want. George and I—” George thumped his tail. “We’re sticking with the hard liquor.”

She giggled then, thinking about the other kind of hard liquor, which took her to Wade going down on her, which took her to the kiss, which stopped the giggles abruptly, and she threw the shot back.

Wade rolled his eyes. “I’ll get us some food.”

“No.” CC’s stomach turned as she shook her head vehemently.

Food reminded her of the wake she’d had to endure while a bunch of people she didn’t know talked about her father as this warm, loving family man, and the children who weren’t even his grieved about the great man that had raised them.

Dainty sandwiches had stuck like glue in the back of her throat, and she’d wanted to leave, but her mother, bitter to the end, had insisted they all stay. She’d wanted every person in that room to know that the man they were all lauding wasn’t so great after all. That he’d abandoned a family—a wife and six children—and CC had been too empty to fight about it.

“Fine.” He sat beside her then, and CC’s equilibrium, already hinky from a half bottle of tequila, lurched.

The couch was only a two-seater and hardly a generous one at that, especially with George also taking up room. The entire side of Wade was smooshed against the entire side of her. Given that most of those parts involved her bare skin, everything from shoulder to knee flared with heat.

Levering his hips off the couch slightly, Wade reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a packet of Nerds. CC automatically held out her hand as he gave them his usual comforting shake and flipped the lid.

A small pile of Nerds was poured into the palm of her hand, and for the first time ever CC threw them all back, desperate for a sugar hit. She shut her eyes and let the rush take her as she chewed and swallowed, absently petting George’s head as some of the candy dissolved on her tongue.

“Wiburta’s missing you.”

CC’s eyes flew open. “Your mom said she’d feed her for me.”

“She is, but the damn pig fusses like a sack full of cats, takes her forever to drink her bottle.”

“She likes having her left ear stroked while she suckles.”

George thumped his tail as if he knew they were talking about his nemesis in CC’s affections, but the truth was, she loved her new babies equally and was going to have to find a way to get them both to California. The silence stretched as she considered the logistics—no easy feat with a pickled brain.

But then Wade broke the silence with the verbal equivalent of a sledgehammer.

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

It was soft and gentle but struck like a blow, and CC swallowed hard before opening her mouth to say she wasn’t sorry but closed it again. So many of her feelings toward the man who had given her life revolved around years of her mother’s bitterness, and that was so hard to separate out, she didn’t know how she felt about him anymore.

It had been a shock to feel as devastated as she had. And whether she liked it or not, there were two stepsiblings who, through no fault of their own, were grieving the loss of the only father they’d ever known tonight, too.

“You could have told me, you know.”

CC’s eyes flicked open. “Yeah.” She didn’t know why she hadn’t. She could easily have put it in the note. Or returned any of his dozen calls or texts these last few days.

But it was…complicated.

“I was going to tell you when I got back.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

Maybe it was the booze, but that okay sounded judgey. “You wouldn’t understand, Wade. You have two parents who’ve been together forever. That still love each other, that nurture and champion and look out for each other. That’s not my experience.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for that. I know how lucky I’ve been. You deserved better than that. Every kid does.”

Hot tears scalded the backs of CC’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Damn straight she deserved it.

She held out her hand again, and Wade poured in more Nerds. Once she’d thrown them back, she leaned forward and poured herself another shot. “I don’t have another glass,” she said, peering over her shoulder at him, “but you’re welcome to the bottle if you want to join me?” She held it up and raised an eyebrow at him.

His lips lifted in a ghost of a smile as he shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly deprive you.”

CC shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She knocked the shot back, wincing as the fire hit her esophagus and spread heat through her chest. She slammed the glass back down on the glass top of the coffee table. George, who’d drifted off to sleep under the rhythmic stroke of CC’s hand, startled.

Wade didn’t say anything, just offered her more Nerds, which she refused. The mix in her stomach was not sitting well.

He bent his knee and anchored his foot on the coffee table. It was exceedingly distracting. Denim pulled taut across his quad, and CC followed it all the way up to his knee. She didn’t know why it should be so damn sexy. She’d seen those quads bare more times than had been good for her sanity.

But there was just something about Wade in denim that was hitting her in all her lady parts since moving to Credence.

She blamed farmer porn.

“Is that a good likeness?”

CC dragged her gaze off his leg to find him pointing at the order of service with his booted toes. It was a recent picture of her father. She knew that because he looked older than she’d remembered. Grayer. His face more lined than the last time she’d seen him, which had been just before she’d started working for Wade.

But that wasn’t what Wade was referring to. She’d defaced the image with a sharpie a few hours ago. Back when she’d still been sober enough to coordinate her fine motor control. It had felt good drawing a moustache and beard and devil’s horns, but now it just seemed petty and sad.

Great. She was the full pissy cliché.

“I hate him.”

It wasn’t the question he’d asked her, but the emotion welled in her chest as she looked at her father again and the words just fell out, her heart aching with the heaviness of their truth.

CC was pretty sure it wasn’t some kind of mortal sin to hate your father. But to admit it out loud on the day he was buried in the ground seemed especially sinful.

“That’s understandable.” He picked up her hand and intertwined their fingers, plonking their joined hands on his thigh. It was such a simple thing, but her heart felt a little lighter just looking at them, and its warmth was an instant comfort.

“He never told me he loved me. Not once. Not ever.”

Wade nodded. “But you loved him anyway, right?”

Tears welled in CC’s eyes again, and she didn’t try to quell them this time. “Yes,” she whispered. “I don’t understand how I can hate him and love him at the same time.”

“Because love isn’t rational, CC. Hate can be quantified and reasoned out. Love, particularly for family, just…is. Whether we like it or not.” He squeezed her hand. “But, for what it’s worth, I’m sure he loved you, too. He probably just wasn’t very good at saying it.”

“No.” CC shook her head, sniffling as her nose started to run again. “He didn’t. I was supposed to be the baby that saved their marriage.” She turned anguished eyes on him. “I had one job, Wade.”

He smiled at her so gently her heart cracked a little. “You were three years old, CC.”

She glanced away. He was right, of course, but it still hurt, like a big, purple bruise right in the center of her chest. “I was a reminder of his failure.”

Tears slipped down her face. Christ, she was thirty-two years old, and this was ancient history, and yet still it cut like a knife. Her brothers, at least, had memories of a man who had played with them, laughed and hugged and kissed their boo-boos better. All she had was memories of a distant man who could barely look at her.

No wonder she’d shied away from a relationship with a man when the most important male role model in her life had left her. Her father had taught her that men leave. Taught her it was better all round not to give them the chance. And working for Wade in this very demanding job had provided her with the opportunity to stay unavailable.

She dashed the falling tears from her face, sniffling some more. Wade squeezed her hand, and George roused to give her leg a lick.

“Everyone knows having a baby to save a marriage is a truly stupid idea and never works. The breakdown of your parents’ relationship is not your fault, CC. That’s on them. They were the adults. Your only job was to be adored.”

CC had no idea why those words should be the ones to make her break, but they did. Adored? She’d felt a lot of things where her parents were concerned—blamed, scapegoated, and fought over. How amazing would it have been to be adored? Like he and Wyatt had been.

Her face crumpled. If she’d been sober and in her right mind, she’d have been mortified, but she was neither. So she fell apart instead, sobbing deep, wrenching sobs, her nose streaming, her face red and blotchy, her expression twisted into an ugly mask of grief.

And Wade was wonderful, letting her hand go and lifting his arm to put around her, tucking her into his side. He didn’t try to worm away or placate her or pass the buck like he usually did with crying women. Although it was probably difficult to do that, given she was usually the one he passed the buck to.

Her and a downtown Denver florist.

She didn’t know how long she cried for, but she was aware the whole time of the press of his chin against the crown of her head and the warmth of his arm around her shoulder. It was hard to believe it was Wade, but he felt solid and real.

And safe.

Crying on her boss’s shoulder—literally—was risky. Also occupationally stupid. Just like the kiss had been. But he didn’t feel like her boss right now. Like Wade “The Catapult” Carter, famous ex-quarterback with Super Bowl rings in his safe and abs on billboards all around Denver.

He was just Wade. The man who’d been by her side for almost every day of the last five and a half years. It felt…natural, even if it wouldn’t have a few weeks ago.

He didn’t say anything as she silently shed her last tears, sniffling to bring her emotions under control, breathing in and out to clear the thickening at the back of her throat. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel any more sober, despite the loss of what felt like a pint of tears. Her head spun, her tongue felt thick, and a lethal mix of booze and Nerds churned in her stomach.

Wade leaned forward, lifting his arm from around her and grabbing a tissue from the box. “Here,” he said as he handed it over.

“Thank you.” Her voice was raw from crying as she dabbed at her eyes. She probably looked a fright. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I—”

“Really,” he interrupted, his voice brooking no argument, his face serious. “It’s fine, Cecilia.”

“Oh God.” CC groaned as her arms prickled with goose bumps and her nipples stiffened beneath her tank top. He was looking at her with his sexy blue eyes, and the way he said Cecilia, kinda stern, kinda husky… Sweet baby Jesus. “It’s bad enough you called me Cecilia in the sex dream. Must you do it to my face, too?”

He stared for a moment and then half laughed as his eyes widened. “What?”

Every muscle CC owned snapped frozen. Except for her heart—it was beating fit to explode. “Crap.” She swallowed as he continued to look at her incredulously. “Did I say that out loud?”

He chuckled. “Oh yeah.”

Mental note—never drink tequila around Wade Carter. “Well…fuck.”

“You had a sex dream about me?”

CC shook her head. All she had left was denial. “No.”

He laughed, the kind of laugh that called bullshit. “Oh yes you did.”

CC’s cheeks were so hot she worried they might burst into flames. It certainly didn’t help prove her innocence. Although being drunk made it slightly less mortifying. And her slightly more candid.

Who needed truth serum when there was tequila?

“Okay, okay fine, I did. But it was only once. And ages ago. I barely remember it.”

CC prayed that God was done with smiting people this week as she lied through her teeth.

“And what did we do in this sex dream?”

Hell no. If she could have stood without falling over she would have. She settled for wriggling as far away from him as she could on the small couch. “I told you I barely remember.” She’d take that shit to the grave with her. “But you weren’t very good.”

It was a desperate attempt to deflect, to throw a dart at his overinflated ego. It failed.

He chuckled. “Oh honey, I think we both know that’s not true.”

CC shut her mind to just how good he had been and lurched to her feet despite the uncoordinated state of her legs. George’s tail thumped as she glared down at Wade. He was looking so full of himself. Like he knew that even in her dreams he was a total sex god. Arrogant damn jock. She should have never opened the door to him.

Standing, however, had not been the best move at this point in her tequila journey. Too much alcohol and Nerds were finally making themselves felt. A sudden roll of nausea cramped through her gut.

“I’m going to be sick.”