Until I Knew Myself (Bentwood Book 1) Read online

  Tyler huffed out a laugh. “No, I’m not going to propose. We have too much we need to fix first. But that is the end game.”

  Beck stared off into the water. “It still kind of blows my mind when I think about the two of you… married. Having children one day.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. You and Journey don’t always make sense on the outside.”

  Tyler could see that. They were from different worlds. She was all softness and compassion. Loved people and talking about her feelings. Whereas he had been hardened over time, hated the idea of emotional intimacy and often had a quick temper. But they pushed each other. Made each other better people. Or at least they had at one point.

  “Truth be told, I was shocked when she agreed to a date,” Beck said.

  That was news to him. “But you gave me permission to pursue her.”

  “Well yeah, because I thought she’d say no.”

  His jaw went slack. “You dog. You set me up.”

  “No. I just didn’t stand in your way.” Beck glanced at his feigned outrage. “Come on, Ty. You know Journey couldn’t stand you most of the time we dated. I used to have to beg her to let you come along.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that extreme.” Though when he thought about it, he remembered how Sean would call her smashed tomato because Tyler would get her so riled up she’d turn ten shades of red. He couldn’t help it back then. She was easy pickings and no one ever pushed her. They treated her like a fragile doll and she was more than that. “Doesn’t matter. I won her over eventually.”

  “That you did.” Beck smacked his neck and grumbled as he stepped up the rock bank and away from the water. He wasn’t what you’d call an outdoorsman.

  Tyler followed, hopping over an exposed tree root. “Oh, before I forget. Do you think you could find somewhere else to go tomorrow night?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to make her dinner and I’d prefer to do it privately.”

  He stopped walking. “You’re seriously kicking me out of my own house?”

  “No, I’m asking for you to work late, like you always do, only on purpose this time.”

  Beck clasped his palm around the back of his neck and Tyler knew immediately the request was going to cost him. It wasn’t often that Beck pushed back, the man was generous to a fault, but he’d seen that look in his eye before—the one that usually came right before a negotiation.

  “Okay. The house is yours tomorrow—on one condition. Caroline is moving on Tuesday and I want you to come with me to help her.”

  Tyler pointed at his friend. “Ha. I knew it!”

  “Shut up.” He shook his head but an amused grin slipped out.

  “It was the way your voice cracked the other day. I knew you had the hots for her.” Tyler’s celebration was excessive, but anytime he could read through Beck’s brooding vibe, there was cause for accolades.

  “I don’t have the hots for her. I just like her. I always have.”

  “What do you mean? I thought she just moved here.”

  “She did. But we met once as kids. The day Britani was born. I don’t even think Caroline remembers it, but even back then, I don’t know, I just wanted to be around her.”

  Fair enough. “So that fiasco with Terri didn’t scare you away from inner office relationships?”

  Beck snorted. “Terri’s a psychopath.” No kidding. The girl shredded papers all over his desk and prank called him for two months after. “Caroline’s nothing like her.”

  “They never are. But there’s something about dating you that tends to send girls to crazy town.”

  “Funny,” he said, his voice ripe with sarcasm. “Do you want the house tomorrow or not?”

  “Yeah. I want the house. But I really don’t see why you need me anyway.”

  “Because I’m different out of the office, and I need her to see me relaxed, cool, you know, more than the boss’s overzealous son.”

  “She’s not interested, is she?” The deepening scowl on his friend’s face said it all. Beck Kinder had struck out. More than once it seemed. Had Tyler ever witnessed such a phenomenon?

  “She’s interested. I can tell. She’s just making me work for it.”

  “Okay, I’ll be your wingman.” Watching Beck help Caroline move was suddenly at the top of his wish list. “What do you need? Flattery? Or maybe I can stand by with a comb so your curly locks are never out of place?” He shot to his left, dodging as Beck attempted to put him in a chokehold. “Need me to feign weakness so you can be the big, strong—” Tyler couldn’t finish, he was laughing too hard. His eyes watered as he sidestepped another failed grab.

  “You act like you’re two years old,” Beck said, his breath coming out faster and more labored.

  Tyler’s daily cardio the past six months had certainly given him an advantage that was rare between the two of them. “And you act like you’re forty.”

  “That’s because I’m forced to,” he shot back.

  The humor slipped from Tyler’s face. He wasn’t sure when it happened, but Beck wasn’t playing around anymore. He’d shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at their cars parked along the side of the street.

  “Sorry. I was only messing with you.”

  “Nah, I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his thick hair. “It’s just this Pierson deal. It’s a six hundred thousand dollar account.” Tyler knew that. He’d been the one to sweet talk George Pierson nearly two years ago. “I can’t go negative the first week I’m the chief. It’s like hanging a failure sign on my door.”

  “No one is going to hold you responsible.”

  “They will. They already think I got the job because I’m Harold Kinder’s son.”

  He did get the job for that reason, not that Tyler would say so. Beck was an extremely hard worker with a solid sales portfolio, but so were a lot of guys in his division. As far as Tyler knew, no one else was even considered.

  “Who cares what anyone thinks? Kill it at your job and no one will even remember.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Beck let out a long sigh. “Come on, I’m starting to sweat through my shirt.”

  Chapter 6

  The buzz from the oven timer did little to drown out the manic beat of his heart. Journey had texted ten minutes ago that she was on her way, and he’d felt every agonizing second of the wait.

  Tyler stirred the bubbling tomato sauce, chiding himself for being so nervous. They’d been together for years, had more dinners than he could count. There was no need for all the worry.

  His phone shook on the counter. The lawyer again. Tyler had researched his firm and after verifying that it appeared legit, he’d called him back, only to get his voicemail. Since then, they’d played phone tag and it wasn’t about to end. He’d just call him back tomorrow.

  With a quick click, he silenced the call and slid his phone into his back pocket. Nothing was going to spoil this evening for them.

  Tyler grabbed the pan of bread and slid it into the pre-heated oven, determined to fight another wave of nervous energy.

  The house was too quiet. He wiped his clammy hands on his jeans and pressed play on Beck’s outrageously expensive built-in sound system. Soft jazz infiltrated the room from hidden speakers and calmed his building anxiety.

  The doorbell echoed through the vaulted ceiling and his heart jumped. He took three calming breaths, forcing his pulse to settle. Journey would spot his agitation in an instant.

  He swung open the door and there she stood. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder casually. A scarf tied to create some kind of headband seemed to fuse with the strands intermixing blue, sliver and white among her golden waves. His eyes trailed down her exposed neck and shoulders to a long, flowing dress that ended at her ankles. Strappy sandals exposed bright red nails and two toe rings.

  Good thing he’d borrowed a pair of hiking boots and jeans from Britani. Journey walking through his overgrown plot in that outfit would likely dampen the
joy of his surprise.

  “Are you going to invite me in?” she asked when he continued to scrutinize her shoes.

  “Yes, sorry.” Backing up a step, he let Journey breeze by him with a grace unmatched by anyone he’d ever met. “You look beautiful,” he said, shutting the door behind her.

  “Thank you.” She shifted her dress back and forth, her flirtatious eyes sparking more than one fire inside of him. “Dinner smells amazing. Let me guess, your mom’s famous homemade spaghetti sauce?”

  “Of course. It’s the only thing I know how to cook.”

  “Still?” She set her massive blue purse on the couch. “How did you survive in Dallas all this time?”

  “Take out and frozen dinners.”

  “Oh Ty. That’s just sad.”

  He stared at her steadily. “Yes, I was.” And he never wanted to feel that kind of loneliness again.

  Color brightened in her cheeks. “Me too.”

  He stepped close, took her hand in his and guided her to the kitchen. “Tell me what you’ve been doing these last few months.”

  “Mostly the same thing I was doing before you left. Teaching today’s youth there is more to life than cell phones and video games. Although I have to say, this new class is really enjoyable. One of my girls is extremely talented. We already have two pieces put aside for the art show.” Journey slid onto one of the stools in front of Beck’s massive six-foot island and ran her finger along the polished wood. “She reminds me of myself at that age. The intensity she has behind the easel, it’s almost chilling to watch.”

  A long beat of silence stretched across the kitchen. Tyler could feel her pain through the unspoken words, the silent plea for someone to fix what her father had so completely destroyed. He gently touched her fingers. The nails were long, polished. No hint of paint residue. “You’re still not painting, huh?”

  She again studied the grains in the wood. “No. Just what’s required for the class.”

  Journey without art was like a field without flowers. Functional, but so much less than she could be. “Art is a big part of who you are. One day you’re going to have to embrace that piece of yourself again.”

  “I will. I just need to feel…I don’t know, safe, I guess.”

  He brushed his lips over the top of her head, taking one long inhale. “You will. I promise.”

  Tyler checked the bread and reset the timer for two more minutes.

  “How is your grandma doing?”

  She shrugged. “The same, though it’s been over a month this time since she’s recognized me.”

  Journey’s grandmother had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s five years ago, progressing to the point that she now needed full time care. He’d been there to move her in, had been the one to hold Journey’s hand when she’d buckled under the stinging guilt.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” Her tight smile implied she didn’t want to discuss it further. “Can I help with dinner?” She jumped off the stool and reached for the tongs on the counter. “Here, let me drain the noodles.”

  “No way.” He snatched them just before she had them in her grasp. “You always take them out too soon.”

  “No, I don’t. I take them out when they’re al dente. Not piles of mush like you like them.” She lunged for the utensil again, and he quickly hid them behind his back, moving toward the sink.

  She followed, lunging and reaching between spurts of giggling. He switched them from one hand to the other, laughing at her futile attempts.

  “Stop. Come on. Let me check the spaghetti.” She pushed him into the corner and the movement caused her chest to graze his.

  Tyler’s blood grew hot and suddenly his fingers became all too aware of her soft body. Instinct took over. He slid his arm around her waist and spun, trapping her where he’d once been. She smelled like honey, always, though he had no idea how. It was in her hair, her skin, her lips. “What do I get for these?” he whispered.

  Her teeth toyed with that bottom lip, blue eyes boring into his. Soft fingers grazed his cheek, while her breath came closer.

  The oven timer squawked, apparently offended by their moment.

  “You better get that.” But she didn’t move and neither did he.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I don’t want you to either.”

  And with the most obnoxious sound blaring in the background, Tyler pressed his lips to hers, gentle, because this was more than a moment. It was the last beginning they’d ever have.

  She slid her arms around his neck, leaned into his body like the touch was a relief. And it was. They’d made it back to each other.

  Tyler pressed his forehead to hers, even though his body thrummed with anticipation. No need to rush. They had all the time in the world. “I take it you dumped Winston Carter III?”

  She chuckled. “I let April do it. She needed the entertainment.”

  “Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose and quickly grabbed the tongs before she remembered her earlier goal. “’Cause that’s only a glimpse of the fabulous evening I have planned.”

  His nerves settling, Tyler mashed the timer button and pulled the bread out of the oven, humming along with the saxophone solo in the background. He lifted the interior pot of noodles, letting water drain, and felt a smile surge through his whole body. Piles of mush. Never.

  “As usual…perfecto.” He kissed his fingers for effect, but Journey was no longer interested. Her eyes were locked on her hands, both fiddling with the silky material of her skirt.

  A sixth sense within him stirred. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  A familiar rumble of frustration rolled through him. Journey used to tell him everything. She used to be open and loving and free. Now, she too seemed to be clinging for air.

  He turned all the burners to off and walked back toward her. “Hey, that isn’t going to cut it this time. We have to start being completely honest with one another.”

  “I know.” She swallowed. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Her glassy eyes finally met his. “Something I’m not sure you’re going to be able to forgive.”

  Again, her insecurity was pulling at their stitches. If Tyler could wring her father’s neck, he would and never let go. “We’re going to get through this. You and me. We’re going to fix whatever we have to, because being without you isn’t an option for me.”

  She pressed her forehead against his chest. “I really want to believe you.”

  He knew what she needed to hear, what he felt, but those three words did not come easily for him. They meant vulnerability and reliance. They meant surrender.

  But he was determined to do whatever it took to get back what they’d lost.

  He cupped her head, lifting it until he could see her face. “I love you.”

  She lifted on her toes and kissed him with a fury that felt as much like desperation as it did need. He gripped the back of her dress, silently begging for a closeness they hadn’t shared in too long to count.

  And the blasted phone in his pocket started its incessant buzzing again.

  He cursed, breaking contact, and Journey giggled. “I think your butt is vibrating.”

  “It’ll stop,” he growled, but she was already pushing him away.

  “Go ahead and answer. It will give us a chance to cool down and talk.” She ran a hand across his chest. “We really do have important things to discuss before… we get too distracted.”

  She was right. He knew she was right. He just couldn’t seem to get his body to agree.

  “I’m going to sneak into the little girl’s room for a second. I won’t be long.” She kissed his cheek and slid past him.

  Frustrated and in need of a cold dose of water, Tyler jerked the phone from his pocket before it went to voicemail again. “Tyler Mitchell.”

  “Oh good. I half expected to get your voicemail again.” The voice on the other line was crisp, aged and succinct. The same one that had left him
two messages.

  “Nope. But I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Of course. I won’t keep you too long,” he said.

  Tyler leaned against the counter and rolled off the tension in his shoulders. This guy had no idea he’d just ruined the best moment Ty had had in months.

  “I’m calling to discuss your grandfather, Norman Mitchell’s, estate. You are listed as his sole beneficiary and he requested—.”

  “Mr. Stein, I’m about to save us both a lot of time here. I don’t have a grandfather.”

  “I’m not surprised that you feel this way, considering the circumstances, but I assure you, you are the one Norman Mitchell listed in his will.”

  “Circumstances. What are you talking about?”

  “The nondisclosure your grandfather signed. It has made tracking you down a little tricky.”

  He and Tyler were obviously having two different conversations because nothing he was spouting out made sense. Or maybe Beck had been right and all this was all an elaborate scam. “Let’s get to the punch line. I’m not going to give you my social security or my bank account.”

  Tyler heard a shifting of papers through the earpiece.

  “I can tell you’re a skeptical man. That’s totally understandable. So why don’t we do this. I’ll give you the information and you simply confirm?”

  A novel approach. Not that he was buying it. He was curious, however, what all this guy had on him. “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Okay, you’re Tyler Anthony Mitchell, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Raised in Bentwood, Texas?”

  “I guess, if you don’t count the first fourteen years of my life.” Tyler saw Journey coming down the hall. He rolled his eyes and pointed to the phone. Scam artist, he mouthed.

  Hang up, she mouthed back.

  He shook his head, not yet.

  “My records indicate that you’re the son of Ian Mitchell and Cassidy Merchant?”

  That gave Tyler pause. People knew his mother’s name, but rarely did they know his father’s. “Yes,” he answered with much less humor.