as uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Allaire shot him a curious glance. “Why not? You’re almost a Horatio Alger story—a kid who went to seek his fortune in a big city, apprenticing, then discovering he had a real knack for the restaurant business.”
Honestly, D.J. considered his success to be a bit ludicrous, his swollen bank account obscene. He’d never thought making so much money doing something he loved to be possible. But he’d paid a price, and the cost had been losing touch with the woman he’d secretly loved.
“Honestly,” he said, “I’m still not used to it all.”
She smiled, more to herself than him, really. “That’s not surprising. You were never flashy.”
Not like Dax.
Though the thought went unsaid, it was there, a solid specter.
She seemed to realize it, too. Flipping the subject, she said, “I’ll bet you have to pinch yourself every once in a while as a reminder that you can afford fine things, huh?”
She’d hit the nail on the head, as usual. No one else had ever come close to understanding his every thought. Still, she would never guess that he wished he could use his money to fulfill all those dreams Allaire had treasured in high school: moving to Paris to study the exhibits in the Louvre with all the time and care this would require, setting up an easel on the banks of the Seine to paint the sunset over the water.
But none of that mattered anymore. It couldn’t. Hell, even if D.J. ever summoned the courage to tell her how he felt—or, he told himself, how he used to feel—about her, he would always wonder if she was seeing him as the runner-up to the dashing Dax.
D.J. didn’t want to be her consolation prize, especially since he’d spent a lifetime being second best to his sibling—with Allaire, and even with D.J.’s own dad.
When they reached the cafeteria, which was locked for the night, she peeked through the windows, clearly not recognizing that she was tearing D.J. apart.
“Come here.” She waved him to her side.
He hesitated, then obliged her. Her scent filled him up, made him dizzy.
“They put in a food court,” she said. “Don’t you wish we’d had something like that way back when?”
D.J. didn’t give a hang about the cafeteria.
He must’ve taken much too long to answer, because she peered up at him, her soft lips shaped as if to ask a question. Yet she stopped before a sound came out. Then, almost imperceptibly, she put distance between them. It wasn’t even physical space: it was far more devastating because it was mental, emotional.
“I wish you hadn’t gone to Atlanta,” she finally said.
What could he say? I left because, at your wedding, I wanted to die, Allaire. I couldn’t stand to see you pledging yourself to Dax when I should’ve been the one standing with you at the altar instead.
But voicing that wasn’t in anyone’s best interests. However, there was another reason he’d left, one he’d never told her. Maybe now was as good a time as any to do it since the anguish wasn’t so immediate anymore.
“I’d had enough here in Thunder Canyon,” he said. “Enough of a lot of things.”
“Like…what?” She looked as if she regretted bringing up the subject, but there was something about her that seemed to egg him on, too, as if she wanted him to come clean.
Hell, that was probably just a wish begging for fulfillment.
“When we were kids,” he said, “you might’ve noticed that Dax and I weren’t that close. I’m guessing it became even more obvious after you married.”
Allaire turned to lean against the cafeteria window. At the same time, she kept a chasm between them.
“I suspected that you two weren’t bonded. I never knew why, though.”
“That’s because we never enjoyed what you might call a ‘buddy-buddy’ relationship.”
Allaire frowned, processing something in that quick mind of hers. He’d missed watching her think.
“See,” she said, “I would’ve expected you two to be close after your mom died when you were so young.”
Maybe it should’ve been that way. When Mom had gotten in that accident out near the bypass, Dax had been eleven, D.J. ten.
“It happened the opposite way,” he said, noticing that his voice held a note of latent pain. Maybe this was all much closer to the surface than he’d thought. “Instead of bonding with each other in the aftermath, we went into our own personal caves. I became studious, Dax became interested in his motorcycles, just like Dad. They would work together, night after night, not saying anything, but you could tell it made them feel better. It gave them solace.”
“And that put you out in the cold. Oh, D.J., I never realized that.”
“I never told you. Besides, it’s all in the past.”
The lie tasted foreign on D.J.’s tongue, and he realized that he’d never graduated from the profound sense of isolation that had resulted from being ignored by his dad and brother. He wasn’t about to admit that their bond had made him envious. He’d worked too damned hard to overcome it, and just because he was willing to let Allaire in on some explanations didn’t mean she would get any others.
It was best to hide his resentment toward Dax for stealing their father’s attention when their mother had so recently been snatched from their lives, too. D.J. didn’t even like to recognize this acrimony in himself, and his unwillingness to face it had caused the hard feelings to escalate, then fester when Dax had won Allaire’s affections.
D.J. had been the odd man out in so many ways, but he’d always tried to master the complex. All the same, he kept hating himself for never having the bravado to step up and claim the woman he loved, just as he should’ve stepped up to claim his dad’s attention, also. What made things so much worse, though, was that D.J. knew that he—and he alone—was responsible for all this fruitless pining.
So that’s why he’d tried to become a new man.
A person he could be proud of again.
Chapter Three
Allaire watched the emotions play across D.J.’s face. His cheeks, leaner and hungrier than when he was young, tensed as he clenched his jaw. His eyes were dark and unreadable.
This didn’t feel right, his shutting her out.
“I think I get what you’re saying about your relationship with Dax,” she said. “No one wants to be stranded to fend for themselves emotionally. It wasn’t fair that they cut you out of their inner circle after your mom died, but I’m sure they didn’t realize what was happening.”
“You’re right.”
His tone was weary, and she didn’t sense bitterness as much as acknowledgment. And when he sighed,
