Never Let You Go (Never #2)

by Monica Murphy

  “Aw, Katie.” He makes a face and shakes his head. “I was young and stupid and listening to my lawyer, who said it wouldn’t look good if I were in contact with you. I was stupid enough to tell him that we talked. I just . . . I felt bad. Figured you didn’t need me in your life anymore. I was just a reminder of what happened to you.”

  He was the only good thing to come out of that entire situation. “It hurt, how you just cut me off.”

  “It hurt me, too. I thought I was doing what was best, but I was just a kid,” he admits. “I never wanted to bother you again.”

  “But you sought me out again, all these years later,” I say weakly, uneasy with the way he’s looking at me. Not in a bad way. I’m aware of the attraction between us, the quiet need to feel his hands on me. I want to fight it. I need to fight it.

  It’s so hard.

  “I couldn’t resist.” His voice is low, his gaze direct. “When it comes to you, I’ve discovered I can never resist.”

  “Yet now, you never found an opportunity to tell me the truth,” I point out. I want to hear his reasons for not telling me. I need to know why he kept that secret.

  “I always told myself, just one more time. I’d see you, talk to you, spend a few minutes with you just one more time and then I could walk away. But it was never that easy. The more I was with you, the more I started to fall for you.” His gaze is locked on mine, intense and almost pleading. “I know we can’t be together. It will never work out for us, Katie. I realize that. But for that tiny amount of time that we were together and happy, it was the best time of my life. I need you to know that. Nothing I’ve ever done was meant to hurt you, and I’m sorry that I did. I’m sorry that I lied, that I misled you.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. I want to hug him. I want to offer up my forgiveness and tell him I’ll be there for him no matter what. I want to be his rock. He needs to know I care.

  But I say none of those things. I just stare at him for a quick, agonizing moment before I bow my head, too overwhelmed by the chaotic emotions swirling within me.

  “I know we can’t start over,” he murmurs. “But I have no one else. There’s no one I can talk to about this. I don’t want to put this on you or make you feel guilty, but—I need you, Katie. And I realize I’m asking for too much. You can tell me to go to hell if you want. I’d deserve it.”

  He’s already suffered in hell for years. How can I turn him away now?

  Somehow she finds the courage to read the letter. She sits on the couch, holding it far away from her, as if she’s afraid my father can leap from the page and attack her face. Her hands shake, the paper rattles in her grip, and she takes plenty of cleansing, fortifying breaths.

  That I asked her to read this means I’m a complete dick. But I need to know if my overactive imagination is at play or if I’m interpreting his words correctly. I sit in an overstuffed chair, wrenching my hands together, anxious as hell. I’m almost scared to hear what she thinks.

  The moment she’s finished, she sets the letter onto the coffee table in front of her, her head averted, like she doesn’t want to look at me. She rubs her arms up and down, warding off an imaginary chill, and a trembling exhale escapes her. “It feels like he’s threatening you,” she starts, then hesitates.

  Exactly what I was thinking. “Go on,” I urge.

  Katie lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine. “I think he wants to use you to look like the good guy. As if your acceptance of him abolishes every horrible deed and crime he’s committed. I don’t doubt that Lisa put him up to writing this letter, either. It might have been her idea in the first place. She’s all about the ratings. The both of them will want as much attention on his upcoming interview as possible.”

  “We’re thinking along the same lines,” I murmur. She can’t begin to understand how much it means to me, that she feels the same way I do. “I don’t like the veiled threats.”

  “I wouldn’t, either.” She glances toward where the letter sits, drawing up her legs and curling into herself. Trying to get away from that piece of paper as much as she can. “It’s eerie how he can sit in a maximum security prison and we can still feel him as if he’s in the same room with us.”

  “It’s how I feel every time I receive a letter from him,” I admit.

  The sorrow in her eyes cuts deep. Reminds me that she’s suffered so much, too. More than I ever have. “Has he ever tried to call you?”

  I shake my head in answer.

  “Do you want to do the interview?”

  I shake my head again, more vehemently this time. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

  “I don’t want to do it, either. I don’t want to do any of this.” Her face crumples and then she’s crying. Tears slide down her cheeks, her eyes closing just before she covers her face with her hands. “All my interview did was bring us more heartache and pain,” she says, her voice muffled by her hands.

  Ah, hell. Her tears kill me. I never want to see her in pain. I will always do my damnedest to make sure she’s safe. Happy. That’s been my job since I was fifteen fucking years old and though we’ve been apart for most of those years in between, I vow I will never allow her to be hurt by my father again. No matter what.

  Rising from the chair, I go to her, my steps tentative, my intentions true. I only want to offer comfort. Though I want more from her, too—I can’t lie—but not in this moment. She needs to know I’m here for her. Just like she came running to be here for me.

  “Katie,” I whisper, but she shakes her head, turning to press her face into my couch as she cries harder.

  And breaks my heart more.

  I sit next to her on the couch and pull her into my arms. She tries to resist at first, bracing her hands out like she wants to push me away, but I don’t let her. I need to hold her. She needs to be held. Slowly she melts into me, her head against my chest, her hands curling around my shoulders. She clings to me and cries hard, ugly tears. I smooth my hand over her hair, circle my other arm around her back, but say nothing. She just needs to get it all out.

  Molly comes trotting into the living room, cocking her head at me like she’s confused. I say nothing as she approaches us, stopping to rest her chin on top of Katie’s thigh. Katie reaches out and pats Molly’s head, sniffing loudly as she withdraws her hand. Molly will have none of it, licking Katie’s fingers and making her laugh.

  It’s a nice sound, watery with tears, but still a laugh.

  “She licked me,” Katie murmurs.

  “She likes you.”

  “I like her, too.” She lifts her head to look up at me. Her eyes are red, as is her nose, and I reach out, brush the tears away from her face with my thumb. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For comforting me. I’ve . . . cried a lot of lonely tears over the years.” She smiles again and shakes her head. “That rhymed. I could probably write a perfect country song, what with everything I’ve gone through.”

  “Me too,” I admit with a chuckle. I brush her hair away from her forehead, any excuse to touch her. “What are we going to do, Katie?”

  She frowns. “About what?”

  Shifting, I lean in close, my mouth hovering above hers. My heart is racing. Surely she can feel it beneath her palm. The way she’s touching me, wrapped all around me without any inhibitions . . . I’m pushing my luck but damn it, I can’t seem to resist when it comes to her. “About this. About us.”

  Her gaze drops to my mouth and she licks her lips. I close my eyes briefly, searching for a shred of control to cling on to, but it’s hard. So damn hard. “I’m still mad at you,” she admits.

  “Understandable. I’ll respect your boundaries.” I touch her jaw with just my fingertips, drifting them under her chin. “But don’t you see how the moment we get too close, it’s like we’re naturally drawn to each other?”

  “Chemistry means nothing,” she says, her voice shaky. “That’s all this is.”

  “Chemistry is everything,” I say
vehemently. “You of all people should understand that.”

  “I’m afraid.” She pauses and I wait patiently. When it comes to Katie, I can be forever patient. “I’m afraid we’re not good for each other,” she whispers. I lean in and press my mouth to her cheek. Her breath hitches at the first touch of my lips on her skin. “In the end, all we’ll do is cause each other pain. I don’t know if I can stand that again. The pain. Always so much pain in my life.”

  My heart aches. I’ve suffered way too much pain, too. It’s all I know. Except for these few stolen days and nights with Katie. “But won’t the moments when we give each other pleasure be worth the burn?”

  She says nothing. She doesn’t resist, either. I’m taking it too far. I’m pushing too hard, but I can’t help myself. When I’m with Katie like this I can’t resist her. The smell of her skin, her taste. The way she feels in my arms. It’s too much.

  Too perfect.

  I’m about to kiss her when her eyes crack open, bright blue and shining. “I don’t know what to call you, who to think of you as. Are you Ethan? Or are you Will? My brain . . . it’s all a jumble. I want to call you Will, but I know you won’t like it. It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

  I stare at her and heave out a breath, my mind drawing a blank. I have no response. None. Instead I shift away from her, her body slipping out of my arms, past my fingers, and just like that, there’s a vast, yawning distance between us.

  And I’m scared as hell that I’ll never be close to Katie again.

  I wake up early, pushing past the sadness that I’m alone. For one brief, hopeful moment yesterday I thought I might give in to my baser needs and let Ethan do whatever he wanted to me. I wanted it, too. I felt the need to be with him, in the closest way two people can be. But then my mind got muddled and I wanted to identify him as Will. My Will. The boy who saved me, who never gave up on me, until one day he just . . . did.

  That’s who I wanted to be close to. The one I wanted to kiss. Not Ethan. I adore Ethan, but now the name almost feels fake when it falls from my tongue. Because it is fake. I don’t care if he legally changed his name. It doesn’t feel real.

  And that’s me being completely unfair. He’s shed his old self, yet I want that boy back. He’s trying to escape his father, yet his father found him anyway. We’re both trying to escape our demons, but reality continues to thrust them in our faces and we can’t avoid it.

  So in the end, we didn’t do anything but talk through the letter, discuss a strategy on how to best avoid Lisa, and walk Molly through the neighborhood. Anything dog related has become neutral ground; it’s like we need her to feel normal.

  I drag myself out of bed and start the coffee, turn on the TV. It’s tuned to a national morning show and I listen to the talking heads drone on. Potential political candidates, a random sniper on the loose in another state, a funny video of a disastrous wedding ceremony that has gone viral.

  And then, a name. A name so familiar, so dear, that when I hear it said by the morning show host, the mug I just grabbed from the cabinet slips from my fingers and shatters once it hits the floor.

  “Sources say William Monroe, the son of convicted serial killer Aaron Monroe, has been residing in the very town his father terrorized, living under an assumed name and trying to escape the notoriety of his father’s crimes. For more on that story, here’s Lisa Swanson.”

  I touch my cold lips with shaky fingers, standing amid the broken shards of my favorite mug, stunned as I hear Lisa’s voice talk of the upcoming interview with Aaron Monroe, the fact that his execution date is drawing closer, and catch a quick glimpse of footage from said interview—she’s always the tease, Lisa—and then grainy shots of a tall man leaving his house, climbing into his black car, which is parked in the driveway in front of his garage.

  Ethan. Will.

  “Since the moment kidnap victim Katherine Watts was delivered to the police station by William Monroe eight years ago, the then fifteen-year-old was a suspect in Watts’s kidnapping and rape. Despite his father being found guilty in the Watts case and the murders of four other young girls, suspicion has lingered throughout the years in regard to the younger Monroe’s involvement, specifically with the Watts case. Now, in my upcoming interview with Aaron Monroe, he tells the full story of what exactly happened all those years ago. And he shares with us the extent to which his son was involved in those crimes.”

  Her sensationalizing tone grates. She may as well have said that Will stood right next to his father and they divided the murderous duties between them.

  “Ohmygod.” The words are strung together, one horrified whisper. My phone starts to chime from where it sits on my kitchen counter and I step gingerly, avoiding the broken pieces of the cup on the floor before I grab my phone.

  A text from Mom.

  Call me when you get this message.

  Another ding. This time it’s a text from Brenna.

  Are you up? Watching the morning news?

  I text Brenna first.

  I saw it. None of it is true.

  She responds before I get a chance to call Mom.

  We don’t know what Monroe says in that interview. For all you know, it could be true.

  Thanks, Brenna, for having faith in my life choices.

  I don’t bother answering her. Instead, I call Mom, my gaze stuck on the mess in my kitchen. The mug shattered in what looks like at least a hundred pieces, though I know I’m exaggerating. I dread having to clean up that mess. I’m up early because I have to work on a paper that’s due tomorrow. A paper I was supposed to work on over the weekend, before I got distracted.

  “Katherine.” Mom’s voice is brisk. Efficient. She’s trying to be the strong one right now and I appreciate that. “I don’t know if you saw the news yet . . .”

  “I did,” I say, cutting her off. “She’s invading his privacy, Mom. It’s not right, trying to out him in order to promote her interview.”

  “Regardless, he’s been put on national news, though thank goodness they didn’t reveal his other name.” She goes quiet, and I say nothing, either. It’s a waste of my time to defend him, so right now I don’t. If she knew I spent the weekend with him, she’d flip. “It’s good you discovered the truth when you did, so you didn’t get caught up in this mess.”

  “You’re right,” I say with a sigh. And she is. If I’d found out he was Will this way, via a morning show broadcast? I would have been beyond devastated. “Though I feel terrible that he’s being exposed like this. She’s only doing it to gain interest in her interview.”

  “And perhaps to get him to participate? She doesn’t want you involved, does she?” Mom sounds anxious.

  I never told her that Lisa’s been trying to convince me to talk to her again. “She does,” I admit. “She’s tried to convince me to respond to—his interview.” That I can hardly say his name after all these years drives me bonkers. I need to get over it.

  “Oh, Katherine. You can’t. You just . . . I don’t want you involved in this sordid mess. It’s only going to get worse. More networks and gossip sites will pick up the story. And you know how they are. They’ll try to twist it into a giant mess, and that’s something you don’t need. Haven’t you had enough of that? You’re trying to straighten out your life, not make it worse.”

  “I know, Mom,” I say wearily.

  “Please tell me you’re not going to do this.”

  If she’d asked me last night, I would have promised her I wouldn’t. Even when I first woke up, I wouldn’t have been tempted to agree to anything Lisa wants.

  But now? After seeing her try to ruin Ethan’s reputation and expose him to the public when she knows just how private he is? That he purposely and legally changed his name so he wouldn’t have to be linked to his father ever again? I want to rush to his defense and protect him. The only way I can do that is if I speak on his behalf.

  It’s risky and I’m scared of what Lisa could ask me, but I think . . . no, I know I have
to do it.

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do, Mom,” I say, hoping she stays calm. “But what she’s doing, it’s not right.”

  “So you’re going to what? Defend him? Don’t forget he lied to you. He tricked you, Katherine, so he could worm his way into your life and manipulate you. And it worked. You should hate him for what he’s done.”

  Mom definitely hates him for what he’s done to me, but I can’t. Yes, I’m still hurt. I care about him too much, though, to hold on to the anger. “I can’t hate him. Not after I discovered who he really is.”

  “You’re a fool, Katherine.” She spits the words out, almost as if it hurts to say them. I gasp, shocked that she would say such a thing to me. “I’ve tried to help you. I’ve stood by your side throughout the years and did my best to ensure you were safe. But if you want to put yourself into a perilous situation again and again, I can’t stop you. You’re an adult. So go ahead, spend time with the son of the man who almost killed you. Defend his lies. Stand by his side and make a fool of yourself on national television. Just know that if you support him, I can’t support you.”

  She ends the call before I can say anything else.

  I’m numb as I absently sweep up the mess in my kitchen, dumping the broken mug pieces into the trash. I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet, so I pour myself one in a new mug, adding creamer before I take a much needed sip.

  My mother is making me choose sides. She won’t stand by and let me support Ethan. If I do, I’m on my own.

  I’m sure Brenna will rush to her side, too. She’s already let Ethan know exactly how she feels about him.

  For this battle, I’ll be going it alone. No family support.

  And the realization is terrifying.

  I try my best not to call or text Katie, but by mid-afternoon I’m tempted to give in. I told myself I could handle this new crisis on my own. And I did. I contacted a lawyer and met with him at eleven. He told me I really didn’t have much to stand on. Lisa didn’t reveal my address, didn’t show my face, and the footage that was broadcast was grainy and distorted at best.