Capturing Peace Read online

“Look, I know you were burned, so you’re cautious now; but not everyone has a hidden agenda.”

  “I’ve never seen you before in my life, and then I see you three times within a week? Keegan tried to get me to come out and have a beer with you. He admitted he was trying to set me up with you. Then out of nowhere, you’re right behind me in Starbucks, I see you two days later at lunch, and not even a week later you’re at the park that I spend a lot of Fridays at with Parker? Excuse me for not believing you.”

  “Wow, really?” I laughed and rubbed at my jaw. “Okay, yeah, I get it. But I’d also been in the army for the last six years and had just gotten out when I ran into you. I have a studio not even five minutes from that Starbucks and have been going there for years. Your brother is one of my best friends, and he owed me lunch for losing a game, as I told you. I just woke up and decided to run on the same path I’ve been using every day since I moved into my place early this week, and this is where it led me. Granted, I hadn’t been this far yet, but I can assure you, Duchess, I didn’t come this far for you. I haven’t talked to Hudson in a ­couple days . . . and before your crazy mind starts coming up with other shit, I don’t know where the fuck you live.”

  Her hazel eyes narrowed and she took a step closer. “Did I ask if you knew?”

  “You sure as shit were getting there with all the other bullshit you’re accusing me of.”

  “Do you realize you’re standing on a playground, surrounded by little kids, and you keep cussing?”

  “Do you realize your holier-­than-­thou attitude to hide what you’re really thinking and feeling makes you look like a bitch?”

  Her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth opened with a soft huff.

  “I know you’re careful, I told you, I get it. But nothing during the times I’ve seen you has made you come across as someone who’s independent and wanting to keep her life private. With the shit you’re spouting off, swear to God I would think you’re the most vain person I’ve ever met if I didn’t know any better. The world doesn’t revolve around you, and ­people don’t make it their mission in life to make yours a living hell.”

  “I never said they did,” she gritted out.

  “Really? I complimented you, and you immediately took it as something your brother must have set up. Because, heaven forbid, someone compliments you, and actually means it.”

  “After everything else you just said about me, do you really think I would trust any compliment from you?”

  Closing the distance between us, I bent my head so I was whispering in her ear. “That’s exactly my point. I compliment you, and you think it’s bullshit. I tell you that this mask you’re wearing makes you come off as someone I’m sure you’re not, and say that if I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re vain; and you automatically come to the conclusion that’s what I really think about you. You hear what you want to hear because it helps you keep up your guard.”

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Who’s cussing now?” Her hand came up to my bare chest, but instead of putting pressure against it, her fingers subtly curled against my skin. I moved so I could see her face, and had to bite back a smile when I noticed her eyes were zeroed in on her hand and my chest. Her breathing got heavier, and each breath brought us closer together again. “Drop the front, Reagan. The tough, uncaring act isn’t flattering. I don’t know you, but from the few glimpses I’ve seen when you’ve dropped your guard, and what I’ve heard, this isn’t you. You’re protecting yourself and you don’t trust guys—­understandably—­but we’re not all bad.”

  “Coming from the guy who said I act like a bitch,” she said, and looked up at me. Her face would have been unreadable if it weren’t for her eyes, which were bright with amusement.

  “I was proving a point, and you were acting like a bitch. Sorry if you don’t like honesty, but if you give me shit, be prepared to get it right back.”

  “You’re a real charmer, you know that? And why do you say that like we’ll see each other again? After this lovely encounter, I’m pretty sure I’ll be avoiding you and your arrogant mouth at all costs.”

  “There you go acting like you don’t care again. Don’t forget . . . I did hear your friend refer to me as ‘the hot Asian.’ ”

  Her cheeks went red again, and just as she opened her mouth to respond, a small voice came from beside us.

  “Mom . . . ?”

  Reagan quickly pushed away from me, and we both turned to see two boys standing there. One with blond hair just like his mom’s.

  “Hey, honey, what’s up?” Reagan asked, her voice shaky.

  He looked over at me before looking back at his mom. “Who’s he?”

  She had a lost look on her face when she glanced at me, and I just raised an eyebrow waiting for her response. “He’s uh . . . he’s Uncle Keegan’s friend. His name’s Coen.”

  His chest puffed out as he crossed his arms and glared up at me. I had no doubt he’d perfected that look by watching his mom. “Are you being mean to my mom?”

  I couldn’t help it, I barked out a laugh and bent down so I was eye level with him. “No way, bud. Because I’d be too scared of you coming to kick my butt if I were.”

  “Oh God,” Reagan muttered, and I wondered if “butt” was a bad word for a kid his age.

  He watched me for a few more seconds, like he was trying to figure out if he should still try to save his mom from me, before he relaxed his stance and pointed at the arm that was fully sleeved. “I like your arms. The stars are cool,” he said, and tapped one of three stars on my forearm.

  “Yeah? Well maybe we’ll have to get you one.”

  “Really?” he asked excitedly at the same time Reagan groaned. “Are you kidding?”

  I stood and looked at her. “What? It would wash off after a few days.”

  “Seriously, Coen?” She rolled her eyes at me and shook her head.

  “Do yours wash off too?”

  Looking back at the boys, I bent down again to talk to them. “No, but that’s ’cause I’m older.”

  “How old until mine won’t wash off?”

  “Never,” Reagan said at the same time I shrugged and said, “At least eighteen. So what, you have about two . . . three years left until then?”

  Parker and his friend laughed. “I’m only six!”

  “Six? Really? Hmm.” I clicked my tongue and made a face. “Guess you’ll have to hold off for a while then, yeah?”

  “Oh my God, this isn’t happening,” Reagan huffed.

  I shot her a wink as I stood back up. She returned it with a glare.

  “Parker, what’d you come over here for? Are you ready to go home?”

  “Oh! Mom, can I stay at Jason’s tonight? He already asked his mom and she said I could, so can I? Please, Mom?”

  If I hadn’t been watching her, I wouldn’t have seen the look of panic that crossed her face before she could cover it with a smile. “Wow, um, you sure you want to?”

  “Yes, Mom, please!”

  “Well, let me go talk to Jason’s mom, and I’ll let you know, okay? Go play.”

  Parker seemed to take that as a “yes” because he high-­fived his friend before running back to the jungle gym.

  Looking back at Reagan, I noticed the panic was back in her eyes and walked closer to her. “First sleepover?”

  Her head turned quickly to face me, and her hands went to play with the ends of her hair. “He’s only ever stayed at my parents’ house before.”

  “Does he know the Jason kid well?”

  “Yeah, they were in the same class last year, he’s his best friend. I’ve only met his mom a few times, but she’s really nice.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine, and if he’s not, he’ll call you and you can pick him up.”

  “It’s not Parker I’m worried about, it’s—­wait, why am I e
ven discussing this with you? For some reason I doubt you have kids, which means you have no idea what this is like. And you’ve only known my son and me for five minutes, you don’t have a say in any of this.”

  Touching her arm, I turned her so we were facing each other and closed the distance between us. Her breathing started picking up pace again, and I waited for her to drag her eyes from my chest until she was looking up at me. “No, I don’t have kids. I just remember what it was like being that age. And I know I don’t have any say, and I’m not trying to. But anyone could have seen how close you were to freaking out, so I was trying to help you by getting you to talk about it instead of keeping everything inside.”

  “I really hate how you act like you know me.”

  “Never said I did, but you’re not hard to read, Reagan.” Leaning closer, I stared at her hazel eyes and whispered, “I also never said I didn’t want to know you.”

  She inhaled softly, and neither of us moved as we continued staring at each other. Our faces were close enough that I could smell the mint from her gum, and I had to lock my body so I wouldn’t pull her closer so I could see if her lips were as soft as they looked. This is bad. She’s Hudson’s sister. She also had over six years’ worth of baggage that came in the form of not trusting any man.

  Swallowing hard, I looked away and said, “You should probably go talk to Jason’s mom.”

  When I glanced back at her, she was blinking slowly, like coming out of a daze. Then again . . . she also said Hudson had been trying to set us up . . . She didn’t say anything as she turned away, so I pulled her back.

  “If you do let him go, and you don’t want to be alone tonight, your brother will know how to get ahold of me.”

  “Don’t wait around for that to happen.” I couldn’t hold back my smile at the way her voice came out all breathy.

  “I’ll see you tonight, Reagan,” I assured her as I took a few steps back.

  “I said don’t.”

  “I know what you said. Have a good rest of your day.” With a wink, I turned and started the run back to my condo.

  She didn’t make any more protests, and I didn’t stop smiling the entire way home. From what I’d seen of her, I wouldn’t put it past her to ignore me just to spite me. But I’d also seen her reaction to me, and because of that, I spent the rest of the day doing nothing but thinking of her, and waiting for a call.

  Chapter Three

  Reagan—­August 20, 2010

  I PACED AROUND my apartment for thirty minutes after I’d dropped Parker off. It wasn’t my first night without him, but it was the first he’d be with someone other than my parents. And even those nights were rare. I was seriously considering going back to pick him up, but he’d been so excited to go . . . I couldn’t do that to him.

  I so did not want Parker growing up having me as his only friend. Those mom-­and-­son pairs who were so close the guy ended up not dating when he got older because he was such a momma’s boy were creepy, and I didn’t want that for my son. I loved having our nights alone at home, but I wanted him to have a fun life, I wanted him to have friends like Jason, and girlfriends later . . . way later. I just hadn’t realized he was old enough for this stage yet.

  Sitting on the couch, I turned on the TV and stared at it, not paying attention to what was on, as my legs continued to bounce up and down. Glancing at the clock, I groaned when I saw it was only five. This was going to be the longest night ever.

  My eyes kept darting to my phone sitting on the coffee table, and I tried to think of someone to call. Anyone. Well, anyone other than Coen.

  I didn’t need to call Keegan to get Coen’s number; Keegan had sent it to me early this week. His text had said it was in case of an emergency, but I wasn’t dumb, I knew why he’d sent it to me. I just hadn’t considered using it.

  Until now.

  Standing quickly, I walked into my kitchen and stared into the pantry, and then the fridge, looking for something to make for dinner. But I wasn’t seeing anything. I was freaking the fuck out because my son was having his first sleepover! Slamming the refrigerator door shut, I went back to pacing around my living room for another few minutes as I nervously played with the ends of my long hair.

  I considered calling my mom for about five seconds before I realized how ridiculous that was. I’m twenty-­two. I have a free night for the first time in a long time, and I want to call my mom? When did I turn into an old lady?

  Walking to the coffee table, I bent and grabbed at my phone, determined to call one of my friends. But instead I was opening up Keegan’s texts and scrolling up until I reached the number. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pressed the number and hit CALL.

  “Hello?”

  “Distract me,” I blurted out.

  There were a few seconds of silence, before his deep voice asked, “Duchess?”

  Goose bumps covered my body, and I swear to God I had to stop myself from whimpering. This morning replayed through my head, the way his lean, muscled body had been covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The way his chest had felt under my hand. His tattoos.

  I hated tattoos. Hated them. But I’d wanted to trace every one of his. I’d wanted to study every picture and word covering his arms and chest. I’d wanted to see what the letters on his fingers spelled out. I’d wanted to watch his tattooed hands as they touched me.

  Bad. Bad. So bad. Calling him was the wrong thing to do.

  Clearing my throat, I tried to put force behind my words, but I failed miserably. “I’ll hang up if you call me that again.”

  He laughed softly. “Reagan.”

  “Yes?”

  Another laugh and I had to sit down on the couch when my legs started shaking. “You’re the one who called me. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

  “Oh, um. I need you to distract me.”

  “Parker go to his friend’s house?”

  I made some sort of affirmative noise, worried that if I said it out loud, I’d start freaking out all over again.

  “Do you want me to come pick you up?”

  “No!” I shouted, and scrambled to find something to say. “I—­I just—­can I just come over?”

  I didn’t want him in my apartment. This was my place with Parker, and having Coen here didn’t seem right. If he came over, if he got comfortable being here, that would be a step in the direction of letting him into Parker’s life as well. I didn’t care that he’d met Parker . . . I was already over what had happened this morning; but I wasn’t ready for him to be here yet. And if we went out and happened to run into my parents or their friends, I would never hear the end of it. My mom would start planning a wedding the second she knew his name. Or maybe when she got over me actually bringing someone into Parker’s life.

  “Sure . . . ?”

  “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to go out.”

  “Okay,” he said carefully. “Well, yeah, you’re more than welcome to come here. Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “All right, we’ll order something when you get here.”

  I stood there playing with the ends of my hair for a few seconds before I said, “This isn’t a date.”

  “Of course not,” he said, his tone amused. “It’s a distraction.”

  “Right.” A very, very bad distraction.

  He gave me his address before we hung up, and I ran into my closet. A part of me told me to go in my yoga pants and shirt, since that’s what he’d seen me in earlier and I didn’t want him to think I’d dressed for him. But another wanted to look like more than a tired mom when I was around him.

  After going through three outfits, I settled on a pair of short black shorts and a light gray off-­the-­shoulder shirt. Casual, and comfy . . . and hopefully I didn’t look like I had tried as hard as I did to look both. With a quick touch-­up to my makeup, I grabbed my phone, purse, and
keys and left my apartment before I could talk myself into staying there instead.

  During the ten-­minute drive there, I tried to make myself turn around the entire time. Even as I walked up to his condo, I kept chanting to myself how bad of an idea this was, and how I needed to go back home. When he answered the door in low-­slung jeans and another black shirt, I almost turned around and walked away.

  Such a bad idea.

  “You look beautiful.” His dark eyes slowly raked over my body before resting on my face again.

  “This isn’t a date,” I reminded him again, and he laughed.

  “And you still can’t take a compliment.” Opening the door wider, he stepped back to give me room. “Come in, I’m starving.”

  I stood there for a few seconds before barely turning back toward his driveway. “Maybe I should—­”

  Coen grabbed my hand and pulled me into his condo before shutting the door behind us. “Stop second-­guessing everything. You wanted a distraction, and I’m hungry. So we’re going to have our it’s-­not-­a-­date-­it’s-­a-­distraction night, and you’re going to learn how to relax.”

  “I know how to relax.”

  “You sure about that?” he asked, the rise of one eyebrow challenging me to argue.

  I couldn’t.

  HOURS LATER, WE were full on pizza, and had been watching movies on Coen’s TV. I’d laughed more tonight that I usually did in a week’s time, and as the hours had passed, I’d slowly felt myself relaxing into him. Something about his easygoing laugh, his no-­bullshit attitude, and mesmerizing eyes had left me leaning into him more, and enjoying his company . . . and being terrified of that.

  “I shit you not”—­he pointed at the screen and leaned forward so he could look at me—­“that’s Casey from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

  I laughed and grabbed the remote to rewind Shutter Island before pausing on the man in question. “That? No, that is not Casey. I would know because I thought he was so hot in that movie.”

  Coen looked over at me with a look of disgust. “That’s gross. He’s old. Obviously,” he said, pointing at the TV.