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“I don’t know how to explain it to you, Skylar.” He shot his eyes to her briefly before staring back up at the ceiling. The tears in her eyes nearly shattered him, and he couldn’t handle that. “I don’t know; just if I take the jobs, maybe one less married vet has to.”
“No one is forcing them to take the jobs, are they?” she asked.
“No.”
“And there are tons of other jobs that those same people could apply for?”
“Yup.”
“So, how does you taking one of the jobs, take away from them?” She waved her hand in front of him as she tried to understand what he was saying.
He dragged his gaze back to her, really looking at her. Her curled blonde hair was in disarray; she was sitting so close to him that he could feel the heat of her body against his side. He didn’t want to admit how sexy she looked in his shirt or that he’d think about this image of her for years to come. None of that helped him at this moment, trying to explain to her why everything in his life just came in conflict with one another after one stupid, drunken night. “Because if it had been me over there instead of Jax, he would still be alive. He would still be with his wife and kids.”
“You don’t know that. He could have taken another job and had the same thing happen, or he could have stayed at home and been in a car accident and died. You don’t know, and you can’t control it.” She placed her hand on his arm, sympathy written on her face.
Dyllan grunted in response, looking back up at the ceiling.
“Whatever,” Skylar sighed. “I guess that will be a discussion for another day, husband.”
“Whatever you think, wife,” he bit back.
“Shoot!” Skylar exclaimed as she jumped up from the bed, frantically grabbing her clothes off the ground and throwing them on the bed behind her.
“What?” Dyllan shot up, looking around for the imminent danger that had her on edge.
“I’ve got to go. I’ve got to meet the girls for our spa day in half an hour, and I can’t show up like this,” she said, stuffing her feet into her high-heeled shoes.
Dyllan looked at the clock on the nightstand and groaned. “I’ve got to meet the guys for the BMX track.”
“I can’t believe you got Brody to agree to that,” she said, not looking up from moving the sheets around, picking up items and putting them back.
“Why?” He raised an eyebrow at her, tracking her movements.
“Because he doesn’t seem like the dirt bike-riding type,” she answered, continuing with her search.
“He’s a country boy. Of course he’s the dirt bike-riding type,” he replied. “What are you looking for exactly?”
“My purse,” she said as she walked into the bathroom. “Ha!” She walked out, holding a small blue purse in her hand as she put it on the bed and picked up her dress.
“What do you think you’re doing with that dress?” Before he could think about what he was doing, his hand shot out and grabbed the dress from her hand.
“What do you think you’re doing? I need to get dressed to get back to my room.” She pulled on the fabric, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Not dressed like that; you aren’t. No wife of mine is going to wear dresses like that.”
Her eyes opened wide as she tugged hard on the fabric. “And no husband of mine is going to tell me what I can and can’t wear, you Neanderthal!”
He stood, towering over her. “Where’s your room?”
“What?” She looked up at him, defiance written all over her face.
“Where. Is. Your. Room?” he ground out.
“Down the hall.” She didn’t look away from him; in fact, she straightened. It didn’t close any of the gap between them, but he admired her for not backing down to him.
“I’ll give you my shorts, and you can wear those.” He turned, opening his carry-on bag.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dyllan. In the time you’ve spent fighting with me, I could’ve had the dress on and been to my room.” She took a step closer to him.
