Page 77 of Heart Over Heels

I wasn’t ready for the silence that would follow him out the door. My house had never felt so lived-in, and I already dreaded how empty it would be once he was gone. I would almost certainly avoid it by heading over to the VFW Post to catch up with Jack and Earl and explain things better than I had during last night’s hasty departure.

Or maybe I could deal with the thoughts I’d been chewing on since before breakfast. I couldn’t change the fact that Darby was a demon, but I could brace for the fallout. Get ahead of it. Be proactive instead of reactive. And that meant calling Rachel.

On our way to the garage, I scooped up Darby’s cum-stained clothes and tossed them in the laundry hamper, promising to drop them off clean at the club when I came in tonight. Then we loaded up the toaster oven and piled onto the Victory.

The ride across town was cozy, but the entertainment came when we arrived at the club. My phone got a workout, calling not one, not two, but three different dancers trying to find one who was awake enough to answer the door. Ultimately, Oz was the early bird who peeked out in a sleepy daze, only to be greeted with Darby thrusting the toaster oven at him. Oz accepted it with silent, sleepy gratitude.

Then came the awkward pause—the split second of wondering whether I was allowed or expected to give my date a kiss goodnight.

Or was it good morning?

I’d barely begun to deliberate, nerves warring harder than want, when Darby solved the matter for me. He caught me by the shoulders, tugged me close, and planted a kiss on my cheek like an X marking the spot for blush to fill. Then he rocked back with a grin.

“See you tonight, Mercy.”

With a wag of his tail, he turned and vanished into the building.

Oz lingered in the doorway long enough to wave. He was apparently too drowsy to be surprised by the fond farewell.

When the door shut, an errant thought struck me.

Maybe it wasn’t surprising to anyone but me. Darby was an escort for hire. Maybe this was just what he did.

I tried not to dwell on it, but jealousy had already seeded itself deep in my gut. I knew what it was like to have Darby’s focus, to be centered in the beam of his attention, and I knew people paid for that privilege. They paid sums I couldn’t hope to match.

Simply put, he was out of my league.

I did my best to shove the thought aside and assure myself that what we’d shared last night had been real. Darby hadn’t been onstage. He hadn’t been working. He’d beenmine.

Still, an uncomfortable weight sat on my shoulders the whole ride home. After I pulled into the garage and killed the motorcycle’s engine, the silence rang out louder than the roar that had come before it. I took off my helmet and stowed it with my gloves, then simply sat for a long moment.

I was putting a hell of a lot on the line chasing Darby, and I didn’t want to get caught thinking this was bigger than it was.But I didn’t want to downplay it by pretending it was less than what I wanted it to be.

Ultimately, it was a matter of bravery. A quality I used to think I had, but that belief had been called into question over the past year. Now I shied from conflict where I used to charge into it. Now I surrendered things. Like my daughter. Like myself. And regardless of what happened between a certain little demon and me, those behaviors needed to change.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over the screen before selecting Rachel’s number. Making the call should have been as easy as breathing, but I struggled to dial, put the phone to my ear, and wait.

Two rings, three, then Rachel’s voice came across the line.

“Hello?”

As time went by, I’d resigned myself to texting. It was easier. The inevitable refusal was cushioned by not having to hear it out loud. Since I was calling, she no doubt thought something was wrong. But maybe this was right.

“Hey. It’s me.” My throat went tight around the words, and I cleared it before adding, “Mercer.”

I almost hung up. Almost.

“What do you need?” she asked. Suspicion threaded through the weariness in her tone.

I dismounted the Victory and got my feet under me, then forced out a deceptively simple statement. “I think it’s time we talked.”

I could hear her breathing on the other end, and I strained to listen beyond it, hoping to catch the distant sound of Molly’s voice or laughter.

“About what?” Rachel asked.

“About Molly.” My grip tightened on the phone, a small effort to steady myself.

Be brave.