Dash pushes to his feet and catches my hands. “I know. It’s all about trust, which I’m going to do a better job of earning. Let’s go back to the hotel. If you want to. Or we can stay here.”
“No. I don’t want to stay here. I didn’t like feeling like this was home again.”
His hand slides under my hair and he eases my gaze to his. “You have common sense, baby. I didn’t want to have common sense. I didn’t want you to be here, where you could stop me from fighting. But home always meant being with me.”
“If you send me away again—”
“I will never be that foolish again.” He captures my hand and kisses it. “How about a pizza, New York style?”
And just like that, Dash shuts the door on further conversation about his father. I know that’s a problem. I’m sure he knows it, too. But I let it happen with good reason. I think it’s just all too much right now: too much drama, too much pain, too much fighting, just too much.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Once we’re back at the hotel, Dash and I stuff our faces with pizza and without much ado, crash into the bed and each other. And how can we not? This Saturday has felt as if it lasted a week, not twenty-four hours. We wake Sunday morning, our bodies melded together, rain pitter-pattering on the window and my cellphone ringing. I groan and grab it from the nightstand to find my mother calling. “Mom?” I answer. “Why are you calling so early?”
“It’s Sunday. You always get up early on Sunday.”
Dash kisses my neck and says, “I’ll order coffee.”
“Tell Dash I said hello,” my mother offers, as if him being in bed with me is old news.
“My mother says hello,” I say, over my shoulder.
Dash calls out, “Morning, Mom,” and rolls out of the bed.
Mom.
He called my mom, Mom.
“He called me Mom,” my mother says. “Sounds like a man who plans on marrying you. Is there something I should know? You do need to get busy on making me some grandkids.”
I sit up and watch Dash disappear from the bedroom into the living area in only a pair of pajama bottoms, naked from the waist up, muscles from here to Texas. “Let’s not put the cart before the horse, Mother,” I say, forcing my attention back to the call, and adding, “Your saying, not mine.”
“All right then. How about Thanksgiving? Can I count on you both to be at our house?”
“I’ll talk to Dash.”
“Perfect. He can help put up the tree. Your stepfather’s back is not what it used to be. How was the signing?”
“The fans love Dash,” I say, avoiding the explosive parts of the day and night. “That was fun to experience.”
“Was his father there? Did I read that? Did you meet him?”
“Yes. He was.” I soften my voice. “Bad topic. He ranks right up there with my father.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that. What about his mother?”
“He lost her at a young age. She was the owner of Alice Home Shopping Network.”
“What an interesting family, but oh my. A dad like yours but no mother to love him.”
“He has a sister, Bella, who I’d like to invite to Thanksgiving as well.”
“Please do. I’d love to meet her. All right, now I need to go make breakfast. When will you be home?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”
By the time we disconnect, Dash is in the bathroom brushing his teeth. I glance at my messages to find several from Bella: How is Dash?
How are you?
Hello.
Hello?
Allie!
I reply with: All is well. More later, probably when we get back. But we’re okay. He is okay.
Thank God, she says. Thank God. When will you be back?
I’ll let you know when I know.
I set my phone aside and join Dash, claiming my toothbrush. Once our breath is fresh, Dash drags me between him and the counter to face him and he kisses me thoroughly before saying, “Yes to Thanksgiving. Where you go, I go. And as for Bella, I’m sure she’ll say yes. And since she left me three messages, I’ll call her. Do you want to ask her or me?”
“Maybe I should so she knows it’s sincere?”
“I think she knows that already, but I think it would mean a lot coming from you.”
“She’s worried about what went down with your dad, Dash.”
“I know, baby. Believe me, I know.”
“What are you going to tell her?”
“The truth, as much as I dare tell her.”
“She knows we had a fight, but nothing about the fight club.”
His cellphone rings on the counter. He eyes the caller ID. “Speak of the devil herself.”
I push to my toes and kiss him. “Talk to her.”
I walk back into the bedroom and my phone is buzzing on the nightstand. So many calls, too little sunlight. I glance at the nine AM hour and decide it’s still way too early for this. I pick it up and read the message, only to go cold. This is your father. I know you’re in the city. I think we should talk about Dash Black, among other things. I’ll be at that little coffee shop you like at three o’clock.