Part 14 (1/2)

Because most of all, Donovan was mad at herself for letting Derek McKenzie, a night gone wrong, and her past control her. She was mad because she'd let someone like Cooper Simon dictate her future.

She thought of what Sabrina had said, and she was ashamed because the woman was right. And because Donovan James was in the 'settling for less' club. h.e.l.l, she was the president of it. Jack Simon was the love of her life and for the first time, she began to question all of her choices. The ones that had led to her breaking it off with him, because she thought it was for the best.

At the time, it had been because she thought it was best for Jack. But really, with the long lens of time behind her, she knew she'd done it because she was a coward, and that it was not so much about Jack as it was about Donovan.

What did that say about herself, that she was willing to throw their love away? Did it mean that her love was so great she was willing to sacrifice all just to save him? Or was it to save herself? And if so, from what?

And what did it say about that night...that night she couldn't exactly remember? The night she'd been so heartbroken over her fight with Jack. The night she'd had more wine than she should have?

The night Derek had taken her to his bed and then taped the whole d.a.m.n thing? He'd used her, and she'd let him.

She groaned, more confused than ever, and slowly made her way up to her bedroom. She undressed and slipped under the covers, not bothering with a nights.h.i.+rt.

Coco jumped onto the pillow beside her and there beneath the moonlight that streamed in from her window, the little dog was the only one to witness her tears.

Tears for Sabrina, Brett and their kids.

Tears for Jack and what might have been.

Tears for the girl she'd been and the woman she'd become.

It was a long time before she fell asleep. So long that she was aware when Jack came back. He was obviously drunk, and she heard him curse more than once as he banged into things on his way upstairs. She froze when she heard his steps heading not in the direction of his bedroom, but toward hers.

She bit her lip, eyes on the door when she heard him on the other side and she slid up onto her elbows, moistening lips salty from her tears.

”Jack,” she whispered, heart suddenly beating out of her chest. She would make things right. She would tell him everything. She would...

But his steps retreated and she jumped when she heard him slam his own door shut.

Donovan James stared into the darkness for so long that everything blurred. Everything melted together and became this thing that was so intimidating she didn't want to think about any of it.

She'd do that tomorrow. Maybe.

Donovan burrowed back into the covers and fell asleep.

Chapter Seventeen.

Jack woke up with one h.e.l.l of a hangover.

s.h.i.+t.

And he had no one to blame but himself. The bottle of scotch seemed like such a good idea at the time, but as he stumbled into the shower he was re-evaluating his thought process. His head hurt like h.e.l.l, his mouth was disgusting and the pain that was rolling across his forehead was the kind of pain he'd not felt in a long, long time.

He was too old for this s.h.i.+t, and he reminded himself of that again when he caught sight of his bloodshot eyes in the mirror as he was taking care of the disgusting mouth thing.

Outside, the sky was blue and the sun was s.h.i.+ning and when he glanced at the clock beside his bed, he swore, his already foul mood, darker. It was later than he would like, and he pulled on a pair of black board shorts, slipped his feet into worn sandals and scooped up a white T-s.h.i.+rt from his suitcase. He was surprised that Harry and Morgan weren't already knocking at his door.

Just thinking of the kids made his gut turn, and he made his way down the stairs, surprised to smell cinnamon-burnt cinnamon but cinnamon nonetheless...

”I guess h.e.l.l froze over when I wasn't looking,” he said walking into the kitchen. ”You made French toast?”

Donovan was at the sink scrubbing furiously. She didn't answer him, and he crossed the room wincing as a fresh wave of pain kicked around inside his head. Reaching into the cabinet for some pain meds, he grabbed the orange juice container from the fridge and downed the entire thing, taking the pain meds along for the ride.

”You look like s.h.i.+t,” Donovan said, tossing a green and yellow scrub pad back into the sink.

”Yeah,” he replied, eyeing her up. Couldn't say the same about her, because Donovan looked d.a.m.n good.

A pair of jean cut-offs, a plain white T-s.h.i.+rt and the florescent lime green strings peeking out the top were enough to make him pay attention. He wondered if it was the same bikini she'd had in Belize. The one that had d.a.m.n near driven him to distraction.

He took another look. Yep. d.a.m.n good.

Too d.a.m.n good.

”And yes I made some French toast, but I burnt more than I was able to save and even then, well.” She threw up her hands. ”I have no idea why it's so darn hard to make food. G.o.d, my grams used to make the best biscuits ever and her pie crust? To die for. I have no idea why those particular talents weren't pa.s.sed along to me.”

Jack glanced at the pan. He needed grease and he needed it now.

”Have you eaten?”

She shook her head. ”Not yet. I was trying to get the stupid pan clean so that I could take another stab at it.”

”I'll make us eggs.”

”But...I wanted to...I was going to try to...”

”Do we want to starve or eat?”

”Eat,” she grumbled.

”Make me a cup of coffee, and I'll get some food into you.”

Jack got busy making a couple of omelets. He was the king of eggs and had always found cooking to be a stress reliever. Right now, he only wanted to think about food. He didn't want to dwell on Brett and a future that was never gonna happen. Didn't want to think about a guy who'd been robbed. He didn't want to think about Sabrina and the kids alone.

And he sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to think about Donovan and their own unique situation. f.u.c.king life. It was always throwing curveb.a.l.l.s and not all of them were strikes.

Once he was done, he set a plate down in front of her while she pushed a mug of coffee his way. They ate in silence, and right now it was what he needed. Silence.

His eyes fell on Donovan.

He watched her pick the green peppers out of her omelet and push them to the corner of her plate. h.e.l.l, that was a memory he'd forgotten. Donnie didn't like green. She hated peppers, broccoli, and peas.

An image of Donovan wearing nothing but one of his old Harvard T-s.h.i.+rts, leaning against the counter in his beach house as she picked all the greens off a piece of pizza floated in front of him.