Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2) Read online

  Her body blocked the computer, so he sidestepped to get a better look, jabbing a finger at the screen. “Who’s that?”

  “I’m her brother, shit stick.” Sarge’s voice crackled over the bad connection. “Nice of you to show up.”

  “Sarge?” The green-eyed monster loosened its strangle hold around Vaughn’s neck. And when he peered closer, recognizing a second face from his past, confusion clouded in. “Jasmine Taveras? What are you two doing together? And why aren’t you wearing clothes, man?”

  “Uh. Call you guys back later,” River said quickly, hitting a few buttons and making the screen darken. “They’re getting married,” she explained quickly, wetting her lips and clearly trying not to look at his chest, which was sending a jolt of heat to his groin area. The girl never could keep from checking him out, and hell, they shared the same affliction. But after a sleepless night where he’d thought of nothing but River’s words—I hate you—the bags under her eyes took focus.

  “Sarge came home for Christmas and kidnapped my best friend. Took her to Los Angeles,” she said. “Made her a member of his band.” She tightened her ponytail. “What are you doing here?”

  “Adeline has some of my uncle’s things in a box.” The man who’d been forced to raise Vaughn after his parents cut out had lived above the town stationary shop, before leaving Hook some time ago. All that was left of Vaughn’s upbringing could apparently fit in an Adidas shoebox, which was the description he’d been given by the choir director. “Came to collect the stuff.”

  “Oh, I’ll leave you to it, then.” River tried to bypass him, but he blocked her path, a knee-jerk reaction he couldn’t help. They were alone. His reservoir of missing River had overflowed years back and continued to do so by the minute, flooding his insides. “If you don’t have Jasmine, Sarge, or your parents in Hook anymore…who’s been helping you, doll?”

  “Vaughn.” Her eyes flared, then cooled. “It’s not for you to worry about.”

  “I’m trying to be patient with you saying things like that, Riv. I really am.” His gut turned over, once, twice. “Will you just talk to me about how it’s been…doing this alone? I’m just hanging here.”

  She’d always been a compassionate soul, and that clearly hadn’t changed, because his truthful words caused her visible distress. “I have a babysitter—my neighbor, Helen—and she’s wonderful. She watches Marcy after nursery school, until I get off at the factory. Sometimes her grandchildren are there, too, and Marcy loves them. They call her Mars Bar.”

  “Huh,” he breathed. He thought of River carrying a little girl up the house’s stone pathway, a smile on both of their faces over the nickname, and he barely managed to swallow. “What about when you used to work at the Kicked Bucket?”

  “Used to?” she echoed. Yeah, okay, he’d said the wrong thing. But he’d die a slow death if she ever set foot in that establishment again, so they’d best get her lack of a night job out in the open. “As far as I know, I’m still on the payroll.”

  “Guess I’ll be making another appearance tonight, then.”

  Bristling, River stepped into his space, head tilted back, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to incite her further. With a kiss. A kiss that would lead to more. They’d always fucked the hardest when one of them was bent out of shape. He would lay odds on that fact still being truer than a nun swearing on a Bible.

  “I didn’t look for you, Vaughn. But I know people did, long before my brother sent that letter. Adeline. Duke.”

  Duke Crawford was his old army friend, who now worked at the local factory, like River. It came as news that he’d been looking for Vaughn, but the pain of River not caring enough to seek him out overshadowed his surprise, as irrational as it was.

  “You obviously didn’t want to be found,” she said. “And I understand. I understand wanting to be free of Hook and…your life here. It wasn’t ideal.”

  She took a long breath, and Vaughn found himself mimicking the action, just to feel in league with her somehow. Not ideal? Not ideal? I had you.

  “We were young, and we got pregnant,” she continued. “It happens all the time. I wouldn’t change the outcome, though. And I’m not bringing a man who has a habit of leaving into my daughter’s life. You left me for the army. You left me for God knows where.”

  The axe swung down, even though she hated being an executioner. Vaughn could see it, written all over her, the conflict of regret and determination.

  “I won’t allow Marcy to get attached then have you pull the rug out. You’d kill her. Same way you killed me.”

  “River,” he wheezed, wet cement pouring down on his head. I killed her. Fuck. How could he survive with that knowledge? “I would have come back if I’d known. I’m back now to make this right.”

  “I don’t want your consolation prize. We don’t want it.” Her shoulders sagged as she walked toward the door. “I’m sorry, Vaughn, but there’s no place for you here. There hasn’t been for a long time.”

  His insides were scraped raw as the office door shut, sealing him off from River. As if he hadn’t done that himself, years ago. You’d kill her. Marcy. Was that true? Had coming back to Hook been a huge mistake for River and Marcy? He’d never been good for River, and he still wasn’t. Possibly even worse now that he’d spent years numbing himself while she busted her ass to raise their child. Was it worth trying to convince River—and himself—that he could stay? Or was history doomed to repeat itself?

  Hadn’t he bailed just like his own parents?

  With that ugly thought knocking around his skull, Vaughn reached toward the desk, batting off the top to the Adidas box containing his uncle’s possessions. His pulse lurched when he spotted a picture of himself and River right on top, as they’d been when she still attended high school. God, the way she used to look at him. As if a cape were all he needed to be some powerful superhero. The opposite of how she looked at him now.

  Did it have to be, though? Maybe he’d never earn back that pure, perfect trust. But even a sliver of that former belief she’d had in him? Fuck, it would make life worth living. To have that trust from his child, too, would be the stuff of dreams. Dreams he’d never been aware of having. Until now. And after so much time devoid of feeling, that hope was addictive.

  Vaughn’s step was purposeful as he left the office, shoebox wedged in the crook of his elbow.

  Chapter Four

  Vaughn watched River from across the street, wondering why the hell she was eating lunch by herself. Could have been worse. She could have been sharing a homemade sandwich with a man. As had been proven that morning, jealousy was the kind of emotion that didn’t give a damn about rights. On days when coping with memories of being overseas, memories of River, got too thick and bunched up around his neck, sometimes demons crept in. One such demon in particular was the image of her in the arms of another man, almost as if his subconscious wanted to push him that final inch into madness.

  Dangerous. Dangerous to think of River as his. When he’d left her crying out for him forty-nine months and four days ago, he’d relinquished any claim on her personal life. A fact that needed remembering.

  There were several reasons why he’d left River behind, one of them being his fear he would keep her from reaching the potential she’d been born with. Staying in Hook after her high school graduation, wasting two years attending night classes and working at the factory… Staying in this second rate town for him. The guilt had driven him crazy.

  He’d joined the army after her twentieth birthday in the hope—which he could see now had been subconscious—that River would see reason and go make a better life in the time he was gone. Go to a real college. Hell, she’d had the grades, the tuition money set aside by her parents. What had been holding her back?

  Vaughn. Him. A fist-fighting, vehicle-boosting delinquent turned part-time mechanic. Not worth her time. Not even worth her notice. And all that…all that had been before he’d come back from overseas with a head full of screams a
nd bomb blasts. Before the army, he’d been beneath River. But after serving, he’d been cancerous.

  I’m not bringing a man with a habit of leaving into my daughter’s life.

  If he wanted the chance to become a father, he would have to backburner his feelings for River. Hell, he had zero business trying to recapture their relationship anyway. None. God, on top of ruining her youth, he’d left her high and dry as an adult. If she allowed him the chance to break the cycle his parents had created, he’d need to be grateful. Wanting more and being denied would be murder.

  Unfortunately, the man who’d been compelled closer, always closer, to her in high school—the man who’d dared to touch her magic—felt hollow and restless watching her eat alone.

  “Shit,” he muttered, climbing out of his truck. From her perch on the hood of her car, River jolted, then grew very still when she saw him approaching—the exact opposite of the circus performance happening live in his stomach. Goddammit, even in her factory jumpsuit, goggle marks on her forehead, she was sunshine breaking through storm clouds. Had it only been a matter of hours since they’d parted ways? “All the popular kids must be sick today for the class president to be eating by herself.”

  River set her sandwich down on the plastic bag in her lap. Carefully, gently, the way she’d always done everything. Until they got kissing, he silently amended. Nothing careful or gentle about what happened when their mouths met.

  Stop fantasizing about something you can’t have and never deserved.

  “I’m not class president anymore,” she said after a beat. “Anyway, I like the quiet.”

  “You used to hate it.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I hated it when you were quiet. When I couldn’t figure out what you would do or say next, or what you were thinking about.”

  “You.” He swallowed, berating himself for the slip but unable to hold everything inside when she—the one who haunted him every moment of the day—was right there. “It was always about you.”

  River shot him a stormy look, before unfolding her legs and sliding off the hood, making it necessary for Vaughn to swallow a groan. Hadn’t he taken her once on that hood? Yes. He had, but she’d been facing the windshield. Jesus. “Why are you here, Vaughn? I already said everything that needed to be said this morning.”

  Hell if I can stay away. I never could. “I didn’t like how lonely you looked sitting here.” Based on her startled expression, he’d said way too much. Again. “Just thought I’d give you some company.”

  A car passed behind them on the street, music blaring through the rolled down windows, while River watched him. “I meant, why exactly are you in Hook?” She lifted a hand and let it drop. “Coming back here…what are you hoping to accomplish?”

  There was too much history between them. Good, bad, and ugly. Lying was useless where River was concerned, and with her raising their child alone, the respect he’d already felt toward her had increased tenfold. “I heard you loud and clear this morning. About my leaving. I’ll own that. But I’m Marcy’s father, and I deserve the chance to meet her.” He stepped closer, a ruthless shot of pain spearing him in the chest when she edged away. “On your terms, River. Your terms.”

  Her nose started to turn red, a sure sign she was getting upset. Lord, he hadn’t considered the prospect of her crying. The last time he’d made her cry, forty-nine months’ worth of nightmares and cold sweats had been born. Please not again.

  “What am I supposed to tell her? Who are you?” She blew out a breath. “If I tell her the truth, she’ll be crushed when you go away.”

  When, not if. She’d really been stripped of all her faith in him. “I can just be a friend.” He would have said anything in that moment to avoid seeing River cry. Anything. And it was too soon to let her know he wasn’t going any damn where. As soon as he’d left the church this morning, he’d called his employer and given notice.

  “A friend,” River repeated, her brow furrowing. “I want to say no, but…I can’t imagine never knowing her. I hate being the one standing between you and the best part of my life.”

  “I know that, doll,” he managed through his tightening throat. “I know.”

  She rolled her lips inward, wetting them. “I just need to think about it.”

  His fingers shook with the need to tuck a stray blonde hair back into her ponytail, so he shoved them into his jeans. “All right. You know where I’m staying.”

  Blue eyes went wide. “The motel?”

  “There’s only one in town,” Vaughn returned softly, loathing the haunted quality of her voice. “I’m not in our room, though.”

  “Our room.” She sounded distant, her attention on something invisible over his shoulder. “I went back there once, when I was pregnant with Marcy. It sort of…I don’t know. I felt you in the room. I assumed you would just know about the baby after I’d been there. Isn’t that dumb?”

  An invisible rope tried to rip his heart out through his mouth. Especially when River seemed to realize what she’d said out loud, both of her cheeks flaming bright pink.

  “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, that wasn’t dumb. You’ve never done anything dumb in your life, except getting hooked up with me.”

  She gave him that reproving look he remembered so well. The one that had always flipped his self-loathing on its head because at least River saw his worth. But it must have been muscle memory or reflex, since it faded from her features just as quickly as it appeared. “I…” She visibly shook herself, moving around to the car’s driver side and opening the door. “I have a picture. Of Marcy. That’ll have to be enough for now.”

  Pulse pounding in his ears, Vaughn watched through the windshield as she lifted the console compartment and took something out. When she climbed back out of the car, Vaughn had moved without realizing it to meet her.

  And when River placed the photograph in Vaughn’s hand, the ground shifted beneath his feet.

  …

  Don’t cry. God, whatever you do, don’t cry.

  This couldn’t be the monumental moment she wanted it to be. Maybe if Vaughn had come back to Hook when she was pregnant, or when Marcy had been an infant, River could have allowed this moment, this presenting of a child’s image to her father for the first time, to mean something important. But it was far too late now. She’d wept her tears and pined for Vaughn’s return. She’d seen the bottom of despair, and it was a painful, lonesome place.

  But, God, Vaughn made it hard not to react with her entire shipwrecked soul. His eyebrows went up, breath hitching once before coming out in a huge rush, fluttering the edges of the picture, in which Marcy was dressed like a pumpkin for Halloween. He shook his head, like maybe until that moment, he hadn’t really believed they’d created a tiny human being together.

  Vaughn let the picture fall to his thigh, the opposite hand coming up to drag down his open mouth. “Ah, doll. She looks just like you.” He tried to clear his throat, but it was obvious from his voice he hadn’t succeeded. His boots scuffed on the black pavement as he paced away and returned. “Christ, River. We had a baby?”

  His words sent her back to the day she’d gone into labor, the way she’d gotten through the ordeal by imagining him there, substantial and reassuring. Real. “Yes.” She had to look away from the gravity in his eyes before it sucked her in. “We made a baby.” In her periphery, River saw Vaughn lift the photograph again. She knew every detail he took in. Knew that while Marcy took after her, she’d inherited Vaughn’s devilish smile. “You can hang on to that. I have to go back—”

  Vaughn entered her personal space without warning, bringing River’s back up against the car, dropping her pulse into a tumultuous downbeat. His bottomless brown eyes ran over her face, intense, so intense. Which she might have been able to resist, if it weren’t for the vulnerability lurking in their depths. “What was it like?” His attention drifted down to the space between them, that regard burning her alive. “Did you…have an easy time, Riv?”

 
; His tortured tone pinned her to the car, rendered her feet incapable of carrying her away. “She was a C-section.” A need to ease the pressure in her throat had River trying for levity. “I have an ugly scar now. I’m not your flawless class president anymore.”

  Vaughn crowded closer. So close she could feel his breath pelting her lips. Had his hand just grazed her hip? “Let me see it.”

  River’s head was too busy spinning to make sense of his request. He’s touching me. He’s touching me. “See what?”

  She almost moaned when his knuckle traced down her belly. “Show me the scar.” They met eyes when his hand slowly flattened on her stomach, his thumb applying just a bare amount of pressure, but it might as well have been a full body rub the way her senses went crazy, and crazier still when his upper lip grazed hers. “It’s too late for me to be there for you. It’s so fucking late, doll. But I need to see what you went through. I need to pretend for just a second that I was a part of it.”

  If for no other reason than to insert an object between Vaughn and her heart, River wedged a hand in at the top of her jumpsuit zipper. With a deep breath, she dragged it down, down, exposing her blue cotton T-shirt, a Giants logo at the center. Vaughn eased back just enough to reach out, his fingers shaking as he gripped the T-shirt’s hem. He lifted the material and tugged her jeans’ waistband down to reveal the thin red scar running low and horizontal on her abdomen.

  His pained sound dotted the air between them.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” she felt compelled to say, but it didn’t seem like he heard her because one second he towered over her, and the next, he’d fallen to his knees. “What…”

  His mouth landed on top of her belly button, filling the indentation with warm breath. Lips, so familiar and so new at the same time, moved lower—too low—kissing along the scar with painstaking tenderness, left to right. River’s legs dipped, her back sliding a few inches down the car door. Had she moaned out loud? Yes…she had. When was the last time someone had touched her? Really touched her, skin to skin? Vaughn, ages ago, inside a stale motel room while a cheap clock radio played static-laced Snow Patrol.