Better (Stark Ink Book 2) (4 page)

The drugstore wasn’t too far, just a few blocks down off Taylor and Washington. As he made his way there, he realized it was technically the bridge between their two planes of existence. Dalton on his lower-income part of town and Zoey in her parents’ neatly trimmed neighborhood with German imports in the driveways instead of American steel. They hadn’t even gone to the same high schools. Zoey had gone to a private parochial school on the North side of town, while Dalton had attended public high school. They’d met at a party after graduation.

Zoey was in college, earning an Accounting degree. Dalton was learning how to wire buildings to code during the week and telling old football stories on the weekends. Zoey had approached him, two beers in hand, and had sat down directly on his lap while he relived the State Championship game for a group of younger ballplayers.

“I’m concerned for you, Dalton,” she’d said with a smile.

He’d grinned back at her. “Oh, yeah. Why’s that?” he’d asked her. “And what’s your name?”

“You were a linebacker, right?”

“Yes…” he prompted.

“Zoey.”

“Zoey. I like that. Yes. Yes, I was.”

“So, my concern is whether or not you actually know where the end zone is. Since you’ve never scored.”

From the minute they’d met, Zoey hadn’t been anything like he’d expected. Instead of a shy, sheltered private school girl, she was brash and sexy and knew what she wanted when she saw it. They’d dated off and on the first few years, keeping it casual since she was in school. When she’d graduated, though, they rarely spent time apart.

Her parents had never liked him, but that was nothing new to Dalton. He was a tough-talking, blue-collar, big-ass man who said and did whatever he wanted. It was a given that he fit in only so many places. But he fit with Zoey and for a long time that was all that had mattered.

He gunned it to the store, only narrowly making a few of the lights. Even as he tore ass to see her, he told himself to stay calm. Reading too much into it would do no one any good. It was just a coincidence that he’d read Mom’s letter about Zoey just minutes before he’d gotten the call. In fact, he read that letter to himself all the time. Tonight was just the first night he’d read it to anyone else. It was an opportunity, though, to leave things better than he had with her and he was going to take it. She was a good woman who’d been in a terrible situation and she deserved anything he could give her, no matter how small.

He turned off the road into the parking lot and killed the engine. His heavy boots barely hit the blacktop as he practically flew to the front doors. He spotted Pop’s car in one of the spaces. Ava must have borrowed it. The doors slid open and he stepped into the store’s warm interior. He didn’t take any time to adjust to the change in temperature; instead his eyes scanned the store for familiar faces.

He spotted Ava and Zoey off in a corner, whispering to each other in earnest. Sienna, Ava’s best friend, was just a few feet away, looking unsure what to do. Zoey’s back was to him, but he could recognize that dark, flowing chestnut hair anywhere. God knew he’d run it through his fingers enough times.

As Dalton strode toward them, his brain went on overdrive trying to decide what to say and in what order. He could start with an apology, though it seemed only polite to congratulate her on her engagement first, much as it would pain him to do so. Maybe he would play it by ear, instead. As much as he wanted to speak to her, perhaps she wanted to speak to him, too. Or yell at him. He deserved it, he knew. Zoey hadn’t wasted any time with arguments and accusations on the day she left. She had just gathered up her things while he’d been at work and walked out the door. If she had anything to say to him, any names to call him, he vowed he would listen. He owed her at least that.

He slowed as he approached them. Zoey must have realized from the look on Ava’s face that he’d made it, because she suddenly stopped talking. She didn’t turn to face him. Ava looked upset, though. Dalton immediately forgot the introduction he’d been piecing together. He moved to the side as he came up next to them. Zoey still wouldn’t meet his gaze, not that she could. She was wearing sunglasses. He frowned. Rapid City wasn’t exactly Mayberry. It wasn’t as though Zoey needed to be in disguise to go shopping, but then again Ava
had
stopped her. He glanced down at the basket Zoey had in her hands and his frowned deepened.

Dalton hadn’t gone to college, this was true, but he did not consider himself a stupid man by any means. He’d made choices based on what was best for everyone around him, or at least he used to. So while he didn’t have a degree, he could have earned one. That said, it took several moments to piece together exactly what he was looking at. Once the picture was fully formed in his mind, he felt a rage like no other rising inside him. Instead of speaking, he reached into his front pocket and pressed the coin between his thumb and fingers. Thankfully it wouldn’t break or bend since Dalton needed something solid to ground him right about now.

God grant me serenity
, he thought to himself.

After a long, incredibly tense moment, he said, “I didn’t know you were in town.”

Zoey worried her bottom lip nervously. “I just got here tonight,” she finally said quietly.

He looked down into the basket again. “Guess you left in a hurry.”

She shivered under the weight of his gaze, even though she was wearing a heavy wool coat and they were all indoors. Dalton carefully took the basket from her and handed it to Ava. Then he reached into his back pocket and dug out his wallet. He counted out several bills and handed them to his sister. “Go pay for this,” he ordered. Ava nodded and scurried off.

Zoey watched her go and bit her bottom lip again. "Dalton-"

"You want to talk about this here?"

“No,” she whispered.

His tone had been sharper than he meant for it to be with his anger threatening to boil over at any moment. He took a few seconds to calm down before holding out his hand. She hesitated. "I'm not him," he reminded her.

It was tempting to say, "I'm not me, either." He'd changed and he wanted her to know it. In fact, he’d come here with the sole intention of telling her this, but seeing her now made it obvious that it wasn't the right time. Making anything about him right now would be a douche move. He gently took her arm and ushered her past Sienna and toward the front doors. Once in the parking lot, he walked her toward his truck and the street lamp that was next to it. In the dim light, he stopped, turned, and raised his hands. Zoey didn’t fight him as he took off her sunglasses.

The bruise was pretty dark and Dalton judged it to be a few hours old.

“Where is he?”

“Home. I... left.”

“You left,” he repeated.

She didn’t elaborate.

“And you didn't bring anything with you,” he surmised.

She shook her head. “There wasn’t time. I was going home. To mom and dad's, but...” She gestured to her face as a tear slid down her cheek. She shivered again and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'll take you to my place," he told her.

“Dalton-”

"Just until you calm down, maybe fix your face." Dalton knew he'd like to fix the asshole's face, but there was a time for that as well and it wasn’t right now. Zoey needed him more, but she hesitated at his offer.

He sighed. "You don't have anywhere else to go, Z."

D and Z. Adam used to tease them all the time about it. For a while Dalton pretended to be irritated by it, but he’d grown to like it. Hearing it now, she took a deep breath and seemed to relax just a little. She finally nodded and he surprised her by reaching for the door handle of the truck. He helped her climb inside.

"Give me your keys. Ava can drive your car to my place. Which one’s yours?"

She pointed out a Mercedes near the door and handed him the keys. He shut the passenger door, sealing her off from the cold. Ava and Sienna came out with a plastic sack and his change. He took the makeup, but left the cash with Ava.

"Take her car," he said passing her the keys. "Fill it up and bring it to my place, okay?"

Ava nodded.

"I thought I saw her in the parking lot," Ava told him. "We came in to say hi." She glanced at Zoey sitting in his front seat. "What happened?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out. Take your time filling the tank, okay? And have Sienna take Pop’s car."

Ava nodded and he knew she understood. "Okay."

He watched Ava get into Zoey’s Mercedes and waited for her to start the car before he turned back to the truck. As he rounded the front and headed for the driver’s seat, he fumed silently. He’d been wrong, he thought bitterly. There was another, even worse way, to drive a woman out of your life, though Dalton couldn’t understand it at all. How could a man raise a hand to his woman?
To Zoey?
It was unbelievable.

As he reached for the door handle to his own truck, he knew two things for certain: that he would find out exactly how something like this had happened and that he would do whatever it took to make sure it never happened again. He slammed the door, harder than he meant to, causing Zoey to jump.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he stuck the key in the ignition, but only because it was a thing you said. Zoey wasn’t afraid of him. She’d never had to be. He wanted to reach out and touch her now, to comfort her, but he couldn’t and that only made him more pissed off. With his left hand he patted the pocket of his jeans and reassured himself with the coin. He needed it all right now: Serenity, Wisdom, and Courage. Everything but Acceptance. This, he would never accept.

As they drove, Zoey looked around, confused. “What happened to the Ford?” she asked.

“I don’t have it anymore,” he replied curtly. He really didn’t want to get into how Adam had been forced to sell it over the summer to pay for Dalton’s stint in rehab and Pop’s day program at the nursing home. Once Dalton had gotten out, he’d bought the Toyota outright because it was cheap and he could pay cash for it. Every dime he made now went to his modest rent and to pay back Adam who’d been forced to sell his own Harley, too, when a marker had been called in on a debt Dalton owed. Dalton had borrowed a considerable sum of money from some bad people, the kind of people you didn’t want to piss off by not being able to pay it back in a timely manner.

But Dalton
had
pissed them off. He’d been too far inside the bottle to realize he hadn’t made a payment in a while, and although he’d technically still had some time to pay back the loan, every day that he spent drunk on his couch and not at work saw the possibility of getting clear of it slip further and further away. They’d come looking for the cash, but they’d gone to the wrong address. They’d roughed up Adam instead, tore up Stark Ink, and threatened to do worse if they didn’t get their money. Dalton had a long list of people that he’d screwed over when he was screwed up, and Adam’s name was at the very top. Dalton was steadily working his way down it.

Tonight he was starting a new list though, a shit list, and the only person on it was named Patrick Grant.

“You sure he’s at home?” Dalton asked, glancing in the rear view just in case.

Zoey nodded. “I’m sure.”

Dalton gripped the steering wheel tightly. As fast as he’d driven to get to her, now he kept it slow and steady, for her sake. “What happened?”

She didn’t answer.

He sighed. God forbid that fucker had cheated and God help him if he had and then hit Zoey over it. Dalton thought he might actually kill the man. Even as he thought all of this, in the back of his mind he was totally aware how hypocritical it was to be so pissed off if Grant had stepped out on her. Either way, whatever had happened, they had to be done. Zoey wouldn’t stand for this. She might not have been capable enough to stop it from happening in the moment, but he knew she wouldn’t put up with this bullshit.

“So,” he said cautiously out of concern for her, “does this mean the wedding’s off?”

Zoey’s head turned and she stared at him.

“What?” he asked. “Zoey, he hit you. You can’t stay with him. You can’t marry a guy who’d-”

“We
are
married,” she said quietly.

Dalton’s jaw dropped. He shook his head, unable to come up with anything to say.

“We got married in June.”

June. He would’ve been in that little white room at that point, puking and shaking and asking God or the Devil (whoever would answer faster) to make it all stop. Mom had already been put in the ground. Zoey’d gotten married and he hadn’t even known it. Every day felt as though she had just left, he guessed because he hadn’t ever really moved on. When he thought back, he realized she’d been gone nearly a year. Ten months and twenty some odd days. He’d counted the days, weeks, and months of his sobriety meticulously, but had never done the same with their breakup, it had just… existed— past, present, and future all rolled into one.

Zoey had been gone, was gone, and would be gone forever. Except she was here now, but for all the wrong reasons. Feeling overwhelmed, he decided to just focus on driving instead. He turned twice and waited for two lights in silence before he finally pulled into his own driveway. Zoey seemed nearly as distracted as he was. She suddenly looked up and out the window.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“My place. My
new
place. It’s closer to Pop’s house,” he replied.
And I don’t have any memories of you making pancakes in the kitchen.
He briefly wondered if he’d have to move again after this. Even one night with her under this roof would be tough on him, to tell the truth, especially since nothing was going the way he wanted it to.

He unlocked the front door and let her inside. He turned on the lights revealing his (mostly) bare apartment. He had a couch and a television and a dining room table. The table he’d made— before the accident— and it was his favorite piece of furniture. He was building a coffee table in the garage with plans for an entertainment center to match, but it was slow going these days because it was just him, though, he didn’t mind.

Zoey looked around, not saying anything. He’d tossed a lot of stuff in the move: an old chair that had seen better days, barstools he’d gotten on sale but had grown to dislike. He was down to just the bare essentials now, having decided it was better to build his own furniture, slowly and with care, than to keep wasting money on cheap particle board.

“There’s a guest bathroom down the hall,” he told her. “First door on the right. After that’s the spare bedroom, if… if you want to stay.”

Zoey didn’t move. She simply stood in his entryway looking tired. There were dark circles under both eyes that nearly matched the bruise.

Dalton wasn’t sure exactly what to do in this situation, so he stuck with the obvious. “Do you want to call the police?”

That seemed to jolt her back to him. “What? No!”

“I think you need to. You need to file a report and-”

“Dalton, no!”

“I know an ex-cop,” he told her. “I can give him a call. It doesn’t have to be hard. He can-”

“I can’t do that,” she insisted. “I don’t want that.”

“What
do
you want, Zoey? What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I just don’t know how things got this bad.” Her voice broke at the end as her bottom lip began quivering. Dalton didn’t know how things had gotten this bad, either. Zoey was strong and sassy, not this withered, worn out woman before him.

“Why don’t you stay?” he finally suggested. “Just for tonight. I have the extra room. You can get some sleep. Maybe things will look different in the morning. It’s late. You don’t want to deal with your parents right now. You look tired.”

“I
am
tired.”

“Alright,” he said, as though that settled it. “Take off your coat and I’ll make you some tea.” He still had her old teabags, unable to throw them out in the move. He hoped they didn’t go stale.

She put her hands on the buttons of her coat, but they remained there, unmoving.

“Zoey, it’s late. You’re tired. I’m not… nothing’s going to happen tonight. You’re safe here.”

She looked up at him with caution in her eyes. Then, much to his relief, she finally nodded. Slowly her fingers worked the large buttons of her coat, but her bottom lip never stopped quaking. Dalton waited to take her coat and hang it up for her. Maybe she could go to the bathroom and pull herself together while he made her tea. She looked… brittle.

The last button came undone and, ever so slowly, she opened her coat. She watched him carefully as she slid it down her arms. Dalton forgot that he was supposed to reach for it.

“Oh, Zoey.”

The quivering lower lip finally cracked. She burst into tears. Dalton had always hated it when she cried. It aroused every instinct he had to protect her and make whatever was bothering her go away. Despite their estrangement and the past that still haunted them both, he reached out and took her arm. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. Her head rested against his chest and her hands gripped his hips, desperately holding on to him. Her heavy, rounded belly pressed against him.

“Oh, Zoey.”