"My parents aren't a mess."
His statement was pure instinct but after the words left his mouth he had to wonder if they were even true. When he was younger, he would have said that they were.
"Naw, they're just better at hiding it than most people. Just like you are. Do you honestly think that they didn't doubt themselves when they were younger and raising two kids? I bet they did, but they didn't want you or anyone else to know. They probably lost a night or two of sleep wondering if they were making the right decisions."
"I can't even imagine it."
"Can't you? Really? Do you honestly believe that your parents just know what they do is right and never have any doubt at all?"
It did sound rather far-fetched. Humans had doubts.
"I guess I've just never seen it."
"Because they didn't want you to. Especially when we're young, our parents want us to think that they know everything and can fix everything. It's when we become adults that we realize that our parents aren't perfect. But we love them anyway. Assuming, of course, that they haven't been abusive or anything. I'm talking regular, run of the mill parental units here."
Ryan had never considered his parents run of the mill or ordinary. To him they had always been almost superhuman, definitely above average. The fact that they made him crazy didn't change that.
"I do love my parents. They can just get under my skin."
"Because they don't act the way you want them to."
He was too ashamed to agree out loud, but Mariah had to know that she'd spoken the truth.
"You wanted them to be different," she continued on. "You wanted them to be huggy, emotional parents that made brownies and helped you build blanket forts."
"I didn't even know what a blanket fort was until you told me. I think I was thirteen or fourteen at the time."
"That's not child abuse, Ryan. They loved you." She stepped back and her gaze swept around the room. "Look at your bedroom. It's a shrine to your childhood. They haven't changed a thing. Not one thing. It's like a time capsule here. Do you think they didn't change it because they're lazy or didn't have the cash to redecorate? No, they did it because they love you. They love you and I bet they think about your childhood a lot. I bet when they're alone they reminisce about funny stuff that you and Liza did when you were little. It's just not their way to do that out in the open. I know you want it to be different, but you need to accept them as they are."
"They don't accept me," Ryan shot back. He remembered too many arguments with his mom and dad about him becoming a cop. "They hate my job."
"Are you doing your job to get your parents' approval or are you doing it for you?"
"For me."
"Then it doesn't matter, does it? If you're not going to change your job then the whole conversation is moot. Yet, you still let them get you all wound up about it. Ryan, they don't expect you to change your career. When was the last time they bugged out about joining the family business? How long has it been?"
Years. He couldn't really remember the exact time.
"A while ago. But they weren't thrilled about my latest job change," he protested. "They weren't happy about that."
"They were just disappointed. They'd hoped you would come home if you took a new job." She moved right in front of him, and he could smell the teasing scent of her perfume. They were close enough that he could feel the heat from her body penetrating the thin cotton of his shirt. "I was disappointed that you didn't come home."
That hit him in the chest - right in the spot where his heart resided. He'd thought about her so many times even when he hadn't wanted to. That she had thought about him too made him...glad.
"Chicago isn't home anymore," he admitted honestly. "But I did think about you, Mariah. More than I should have."
He'd gotten blind drunk the night of her wedding. He'd told himself it didn't have anything to do with her, he'd simply wanted to go out and have some fun.
He was a lying sack of crap.
"More than I should have," she echoed. "Yes, that's true for me. It seems like you were always around, everywhere I looked."
"I know the feeling. You're in every nook and cranny of this room," he said, keeping his voice low. For some reason they were whispering as if they were confessing deep dark secrets and someone had their ear pressed against the door outside. "I have so many memories of you and me here."
Almost all of them were steamy, and some downright filthy. Sure, there was plenty of hanging out and watching television, but to be honest he'd been the stereotypical horn dog teenage boy. Just having Mariah in the same room with him was enough to turn even the most innocent of meetings into a hot make-out session. They'd had issues when they were together, but their physical intimacy wasn't one of them. It had always been so good with her.
She had to be having the same thoughts because the temperature in his old bedroom had risen at least fifty degrees in the last five minutes and he was beginning to sweat on the back of his neck. His heart was beginning to bang against his ribs as well, the blood pumping through his veins. It was amazing that this woman could get him like this without even trying, but then it had always been that way.
She was...special. There would never be another woman like Mariah. It was time he admitted that to himself.
Fuck, it was time he admitted a hell of lot of things to himself. He'd been lying and almost believing it for far too long. Time to strip away all of the bullshit and come clean.
"Mariah, I–"
The words stuck in his too-tight throat. He didn't know what to say because he barely knew what he was feeling. Was this nostalgia or something more? Something...new? In the last few days he'd been blown away by the sheer magnificence of this woman before him. She'd always been formidable, but now? She was amazing.
It was more than just her looks, although she was incredibly gorgeous. It was the way she stood up to him, not letting him get away with anything. She wasn't in the least impressed with him and yet he knew that she had feelings for him as well. He could see it in her green eyes, currently bright with unshed tears.
She felt it, too. This riptide of emotion that was almost pulling him under with its undeniable force. He could only do one thing.
He reached out and pulled her into his arms.
She didn't resist. Quite the contrary, she pressed herself against him, every curve tucked neatly against him. His head spun as her scent filled his nostrils. It wasn't flowery because that wasn't Mariah. This aroma was something akin to witchcraft. Musky, but subtle, with hints of spice. His hands slid down her spine as he pressed his face into the hollow of her shoulder and inhaled deeply into his aching lungs. If he lived to be a hundred and fifty, he'd never forget the heady way she smelled. Blue jeans and t-shirt or expensive evening gown, it was always the same.
Mariah.
"Ryan," she whispered when his lips found that spot at the base of her neck that he knew drove her crazy with need. Her fingers tightened on his biceps as he nibbled at the velvety skin. "More."
She never needed to ask. He'd give her anything she wanted.