Never Let You Go (Never #2)

by Monica Murphy

  Especially because William Monroe hasn’t been found—until now.

  “I know what they say. But none of it is true.” I lean forward, desperate to get my point across. “He saved my life. I don’t know how many times I can say that. The only reason I’m here, that I’m alive, is because of Will Monroe. And I will only do this interview if he participates. Otherwise, it’s not going to happen.”

  The dirty martini is set in front of Lisa and she thanks the waiter before he leaves. She reaches for the olives skewered on a toothpick, pulling them out of the glass and popping one in her mouth. She’s contemplating me. Possibly trying to make me feel uncomfortable with her interview stare—we’ve all seen it on television at one time or another, but it’s different to actually face it.

  But I’m not falling for her tactics. I’m standing firm on wanting Ethan involved in this interview. I don’t know how he’ll feel about taking part in it, but I don’t really care.

  He needs to be there.

  Last time I saw him I pushed him away, yet here I am, dragging him back in. There’s a method behind my madness, though. A plan to set into motion, and I hope it works. I think it will, but as always, I’m unsure.

  When does anything ever work out in my life?

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Lisa says after she swallows the olive. “I’d love to have both you and Will participating in this interview. It would be the coup of a lifetime.”

  Her blatant admission doesn’t faze me. I rise from my chair, my purse slung across my shoulder once more as I smile down at her. “Call me and let me know how it pans out.”

  I start to walk away when she calls my name, halting my progress. Slowly I turn to find her coming toward me, right there in the middle of the restaurant, seemingly not giving a crap whether anyone recognizes her or not. Me? No one knows who I am. It’s amazing how even after appearing on a national network, no one seems to recognize me. Ever.

  I prefer it that way.

  “Do you realize that he doesn’t live that far from you? Will,” she says when I look at her blankly. “That’s really why I’m here. To chase the both of you down.”

  Her honesty is admirable. I purposely keep my expression as neutral as possible. “One down, one to go?” I ask.

  “Exactly.” She smiles, pleased that I’m not upset, I’m sure. “I’ll give Will a call, tell him you want to see him. That you want to thank him for all that he did for you.” Lisa pauses, gauging my reaction no doubt. “Do you mind if I say that?”

  I’m frozen, unsure of how to react, what to say. Come on too strong and I look suspicious. No reaction at all and she’ll suspect something’s up, too. “I don’t mind. But tell him . . . tell him that I miss him.”

  Lisa tilts her head to the side, contemplating me. “Rather strong words, don’t you think? Were you really that close to him? You spent what, a couple of hours together total? Almost ten years ago, during a very traumatic and life-altering time of your life. How can you even remember him?”

  She’s already digging. But she’s always digging, so I shouldn’t be surprised. “I’m closer to him than anyone else I’ve ever met,” I tell her before I turn and head for the front door of the restaurant.

  Lisa doesn’t follow, doesn’t say another word, and I make my escape, thankful for the fresh breeze that washes over me when I emerge outside. My plan is in place.

  Now I can only hope that Ethan will agree.

  The restaurant is small, a breakfast house that’s mostly empty because it’s close to noon. They serve lunch, too, but that’s not what people come here for.

  Not that I have an appetite. I’m too damn nervous to consider eating.

  I walk inside, see her in the last booth that bumps against the wall, sitting so she faces the doorway. She lifts her hand in greeting, but otherwise there’s no expression. She looks stiff. Worried.

  The slightest bit annoyed.

  I make my way toward the back of the restaurant and slide into the seat across from her, my head turning when the waitress stops before us, her gaze on me and a silver pitcher covered with condensation clutched in her hand. “Something to drink?”

  “Just water, please,” I tell her, and she pours me a quick glass before she takes off.

  “You’re late.” Her voice is sharp, accusing.

  I meet her gaze. “By only five minutes.” I’d left fifteen minutes early but was delayed by unusually bad traffic, not that she deserves to hear my excuse. She’d just shit on it anyway.

  “I thought you weren’t going to show up.” The smile she flashes me is brittle. Fake. “You have a bit of a reputation for disappearing at times, according to my sister.”

  Brenna Watts faintly reminds me of Katie. Same face shape, same eyes. Even their voices are similar, but otherwise, that’s it. There’s an edge to this woman that Katie doesn’t have. A sort of weariness hangs over her, implying that she’s tired of . . . everything. “What did you want to talk about?” I ignore her dig, which I’m sure infuriates her further.

  She leans across the table, her bluish-gray eyes steely. “You need to stop trying to contact my sister.”

  I raise a brow. I haven’t reached out to Katie since our messed-up meeting at the coffee shop, and that was days ago. I was trying to let her cool off. Trying to get my head straight. “Are you dictating who she can or cannot see?”

  Brenna slaps the edge of the table, the sound so loud the both of us jump. “You don’t get to ask any questions. You don’t get to act like you know what’s best for her or that you care. You continually tear her heart out and rip it to shreds, and I hate the way you toy with her. Leave. Her. Alone.”

  Taking a sip of my water, I try to calm my own racing, bruised heart. I don’t want a screaming match to explode between us and I can tell she’s dying for one. Once that happens, Brenna will run and tell Katie everything. I’ll look even more like a bad guy. “She’s an adult. If she wants to see me, she’ll see me.”

  “Please. Katherine doesn’t know what’s good for her half the time. She’s lived scared for most of her life and doesn’t know how to do it any other way. Her blind decision to start a relationship with you proves that her judgment isn’t sound. She came to me crying about you and she was such a wreck. She told me everything, all that you’ve done to hurt her. Betray her. Yet I don’t think she’s over you, even after everything that’s happened. I’ve had enough. Katherine’s had enough.” Brenna pauses, her gaze never flickering away from mine. “You’re nothing but a monster, toying with her emotions, her body. Her heart.” Another pause. “You’re just like your father.”

  The insult is a direct hit, stabbing me in my already battered heart, and I have the sudden vision of myself bleeding out all over the chipped Formica table between us. Taking a deep breath, I let my head hang for a moment, my arms propped on the edge of the table. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know exactly what I’m talking about, you prick. Your father destroyed my family. Ruined my sister, devastated my parents, and turned me invisible.” I lift my head to find her glaring at me, her eyes full of fire. “Then you come along years later and it happens all over again. My father’s dead. My mother doesn’t know how to help her and no one gives a shit about what I think. What sort of sicko are you?”

  “I’m in love with Katie,” I tell her, my voice low. Quiet.

  Brenna gapes at me for a moment, just before she starts to laugh. Though the sound isn’t filled with a lick of humor. “I don’t think you know what love is. How could you? Look who raised you.” I part my lips to answer but she cuts me off. “You’re obsessed. You’ve been obsessing over her since you two first met, when you were both children. It’s messed up.”

  “No one else has experienced what Katie and I have,” I tell her vehemently. “The trauma we suffered together bonded us.”

  She raises a brow. “I sometimes can’t help but wonder if you did participate in her kidnapping. Did you hold her down while your father
raped her? Did he let you abuse her, too?”

  Anger penetrates my skull, white hot and nearly blinding. “Take that back.”

  “Katherine’s denied it all along but there are too many unanswered questions, especially with you back in her life, sniffing around her.” Brenna’s gaze turns dark. Heavy. “Did you want another taste? Was that it?”

  Clearly she’s trying to provoke me. I refuse to take the bait. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You’re damn right, I wouldn’t understand. I can’t fathom why you would want to reconnect with Katherine. Date her. Kiss her. Have sex with her—to the point you’re now claiming that you’re in love with her.” Brenna tilts her head to the side. “What did you see next, hmm? If this would’ve worked between you two, did you really envision a future with her? Did you see marriage? Babies?”

  Swallowing hard, I reach for my water glass and drain it. I have no answer. And I have a feeling I know what she’s going to say next.

  “Don’t you think you’ve fucked with her head enough? A future with you is impossible for Katherine. Marrying the son of the man who raped and almost murdered her is insane. Having his babies is even worse. Aaron Monroe would be their grandfather. Can you imagine?” Brenna grimaces. “That’s disgusting. Your children wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Her words chip away at my soul, one by one, bit by bit. Worse, she’s saying things I’ve already thought myself. I may be in love with Katie, but what’s the point? How can we carry on when everything between us is so fucked up? “Is that what Katherine thinks?” I ask tightly. I need to know.

  “What?” Brenna frowns.

  “Is that what Katherine thinks about us? About our relationship.” I curl my fingers around the edge of the table, so tight I’m afraid I could snap it right off. “Does she think I’m a monster?”

  Brenna leans back in her seat, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Well. You’re the son of one.”

  I’m paralyzed, waiting for the rest of her verbal attack, but nothing else comes. Deep down inside, I know I deserve to hear every horrible thing she has to say to me. About me. Brenna Watts will gladly tear me down. Tear me apart.

  But she says nothing more. And it’s in those deathly still minutes when I realize her single statement hurts far more than anything else she could have said.

  You’re the son of one.

  I can’t change who my father is. I’m stuck with that burden no matter how much I try to ignore it. I can change my name, change my looks, and move to another country, but the fact still remains.

  I’m the son of a monster.

  “Is that all you wanted to say, then?” I ask when she remains quiet.

  She blinks, seemingly shocked. “Yes. I suppose so.”

  I slide out of the booth, Brenna never taking her gaze off of me. Like she expects me to make some random threatening move toward her and she needs to be on the defensive. “Then we’re done,” I tell her before I exit the restaurant, never once looking back.

  It’s not until I’m outside in the parking lot, rounding the driver’s side of my car, that the nausea crushes me in its grip. I bend over, retching back up the water I drank, my throat raw, my eyes watery. I walked in with an empty stomach and the muscles spasm, trying their damnedest to expel nothing. Resting my hands on my thighs, I hang my head, spit onto the ground, and close my eyes against the onslaught of Brenna’s horrific words still spinning in my head.

  The truth is hard to face. Everything Brenna said is true and I can’t deny it. When it’s stated so boldly, laid out before me in all of its unflinching glory, her worry for her sister is validated, as is her disgust.

  Memories come at me, one after another. The memory of when I first found Katie. When I ran from her. When I came back and she didn’t believe I wanted to help her. The fear I saw in her eyes, the hesitation. She didn’t trust me. In her eyes I was a monster.

  I’m still a monster. I’ve just taken on a different form. I don’t hurt her physically, just emotionally. And how fucked up is that?

  There’s nothing else I can do.

  I need to leave Katie alone.

  He said no.

  I stare blankly at the email Lisa Swanson sent me. Subject line: Interview. One sentence within the email and that was it.

  He said no.

  Hitting reply, I type out my response and click send, hoping that’s it, once and for all.

  Then I refuse to participate.

  And what would be the point? What would it get us? What did I believe I’d gain by forcing Ethan to participate in this interview? It’s not like I could spill the truth and confess our darkest secrets. Baring my soul to the millions who’d watch us on national television would be the dumbest move ever.

  Even I eventually realized that.

  My refusal won’t make Lisa happy, but I really don’t care. Mom and Brenna will be relieved. They regret standing by my decision to do the original interview in the first place. It’s brought me nothing but trouble and heartache since it happened, and I regret it, too.

  But why did Ethan say no? I grab my phone from where it sits on the side table and stare at the screen, tempted to text him.

  Tempted to tell him that I miss him.

  Closing my eyes, I wait for the decision to come to me, but it doesn’t. I’m hopeless. Helpless.

  Lost without him, as much as I hate to admit it.

  There’s a quick knock on my front door before it opens and Brenna breezes in, a smile on her face, her hair streaming behind her as she whirls around and shuts the door, snicking the lock into place. “What are you up to?” she asks as she heads toward the couch and plops down on it.

  I knew she was coming over—she’d called earlier this morning to let me know. For some reason she’s not at work today and I don’t get why. Seeing her now, she seems agitated. Anxious, and that’s totally unlike her. She’s my calm, cool older sister. The one who can manage a classroom full of rowdy children and never bat an eyelash. I have always envied her calm.

  “Homework,” I say, closing out my email program, keeping my laptop open. “I’m behind.”

  “Why? Because you let what happened with that asshole mess with your head?”

  I blink at her, surprised at the venom in her voice. “Excuse me?”

  Brenna rolls her eyes and sinks deeper into the couch. “Don’t give me that innocent act, Katherine. I’m talking about Will Monroe. Or Ethan—whatever the hell his name is.”

  I unloaded the entire sordid story on my sister because she’s truly the only friend I have, the only one I can trust. Mom just worries, not that I can blame her. Brenna offers sound advice and a shoulder to lean on. What more could I want?

  But my anger fueled hers. To the point that mine has eventually dimmed while hers is still burning bright.

  “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t talk about him,” I murmur, closing my laptop and setting it on the coffee table in front of me.

  Just the mention of his name upsets us both, for different reasons.

  “I talked to him today.”

  The sentence is like a bomb that’s been dropped into the center of the room and detonated on impact. I gape at her, my throat dry, my brain scrambling to come up with the right words to say in response.

  “You talked to him?” I finally say breathlessly. “When? Where?” Why?

  She shrugs and glances down, plucking at an invisible thread on the inside seam of her jeans. “I sent him a text and asked him to meet me at a restaurant. He agreed. I saw him earlier and let him know how I feel.”

  My mouth is still hanging open and I snap my jaw shut. How did she find his number? Did she somehow . . . sneak into my phone and get it? “I don’t understand.”

  “I warned him to stay away from you.”

  That’s all she says. I still can hardly wrap my head around the fact that she actually went and talked to him. “And what are you going to do if he doesn’t?” I ask carefully. I’m so torn. I want to see him. Then I d
on’t. I hate him. I love him. But mostly, I love him. I just hate what he did, how he kept his secrets. Those secrets hurt.

  They’re also the reason I was so drawn to him, why we share such a deep connection. He’s embedded in my heart, in my soul. I’m so conflicted. I don’t want him to go. I want him to stay. I’m driving myself crazy.

  Clearly, I’m driving my sister crazy, too.

  “Call the police. Then tear his balls off with my bare hands.” My God. She sounds so . . . furious. No wonder Ethan turned down the interview. I’m assuming Brenna scared him away from me.

  “The police? He hasn’t broken the law, Brenna. You didn’t have to do that,” I start, my voice small, but she cuts me off before I can say anything else.

  “Oh, but I did. You’ve told me everything, Katherine. Just because you’re not talking to him now doesn’t mean he won’t try and reach out to you eventually. You’ll start talking to him again. Or worse, you’ll meet him somewhere, he’ll ply you with lies, and the next thing we know, you’re having sex with him.” She visibly shudders. “You can’t let that happen. You can’t continue to be weak your entire life. You’ll only end up being taken advantage of, again and again.”

  “You think I’m weak?” There’s an unfamiliar hard edge to my voice. “You think I let people take advantage of me?”

  “I know you’re weak, Katherine. And I know people take advantage of you on a constant basis.” She touches my arm and I flinch, her hand falling away. “You want proof? I have three perfect examples. First, when you let Aaron Monroe take you out of the park. Next is when you let Lisa Swanson somehow convince you it was a good idea to do that stupid interview. And now we have Will Monroe, who somehow wormed his way into your life and into your bed.”

  “Brenna!” I’m shocked by her words, at the anger behind them. “Are you implying that I asked for all of this?”