Never Let You Go (Never #2)

by Monica Murphy

  But we can’t. Reality waits.

  “We should get out of bed and get going,” he suggests, as though he can read my mind. He doesn’t move a muscle.

  I don’t, either.

  “Do we have to?” I finally ask, sounding a little whiny.

  “Unfortunately, yeah.” He kisses my cheek, his lips lingering. “I have a suggestion.”

  “What?”

  “Take a shower with me.” He whispers the words close to my ear, his voice full of promise and making me shiver. “I’ll get you nice and clean.”

  I duck my head into my shoulder, trying to stop him from kissing my ear again. “Stop. That tickles.”

  “Come on, Katie. I’ll wash your hair,” he offers. “And give you a head massage. I’m pretty good with my hands.”

  My cheeks heat at the implication of his words. “You are very good with your hands,” I murmur. I should know.

  “Then come on.” Those skilled hands are still touching me everywhere he can reach. And he can reach pretty much every part of my body. “Let’s go hop in the shower. Together.”

  “You don’t have your clothes. Your . . . stuff.” We stayed the night in my room. His bag is back in his hotel room.

  “I can throw on my jeans and grab everything from my room after the shower. Don’t worry about that.” He pinches my butt, making me yelp. “Come on, woman. Let’s go.”

  He exits the bed and I immediately miss him. I roll over to find his hand in my face, his fingers waving for me to get out of bed. I gaze up at him, admiring how comfortable he is being naked in front of me. I’ve never been one to drool over a guy’s naked chest, but Will’s chest is . . . drool-worthy. Lean and firm, not an ounce of fat anywhere, and with the most intriguing patch of dark hair in the center and an interesting trail of hair that runs from his navel to his . . .

  My cheeks go hot just thinking about it.

  “I’d give millions to know what you’re thinking at this very moment to put that blush on your cheeks,” he says, pushing me out of my thoughts.

  I blush even harder. “You do not want to know.”

  “Oh, I definitely want to know. Get out of bed, sleepyhead. We gotta get going.” He rests his hands on his hips and I’m tempted to giggle.

  If I had even an ounce of his confidence, I’d be strutting all around this room without a stitch of clothing on. I’d wear heels and work it like I was walking on a runway.

  No way can I ever see that happening. I can’t imagine ever being that brazen.

  “You coming or what?” He raises his brows.

  I swing out of bed and take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. His gaze immediately falls down the length of my body, lingering on all the parts that are normally covered up, and my skin prickles with heat.

  Throwing my head back, I feign confidence and tug on his hand, taking the lead as we head toward the bathroom. “You’re really going to wash my hair?” I ask innocently, glancing at him from over my shoulder.

  He grins. “I’m going to wash you everywhere,” he drawls, hitting the light switch as soon as we enter the bathroom. “And I swear I won’t miss an inch.”

  From the promise in his tone and the heat I see in his eyes, I know he’ll make good on his claims.

  The drive home speeds by way too fast, and we pick up Molly at the kennel before we head to my place. Will encourages me to go into the kennel with him and so I do, thankful for the chance to stretch my legs as we both pace, waiting anxiously in the lobby for the employee to bring the dog out to us.

  Molly bursts through the door with a lolling tongue and a welcoming bark, lunging for Will but held back by her leash. I start to laugh and kneel down to give her a pet on the head and she licks my face, her tongue sliding over the corner of my mouth.

  Gross, but I forgive her enthusiasm. I’m just as happy to see her.

  “She did pretty good,” the employee is saying to Will as she hands Molly’s leash over. “We started on her training this morning. You’ll bring her back tomorrow, right? It starts at ten.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here,” Will tells her as he takes hold of Molly’s leash. He gazes down at the dog, his voice full of affection as he says, “Ready to go home, girl?”

  Molly barks in response, as if she knew what he said, and seeing the two of them together warms my heart, I swear. He needed this—something to love, something to focus on, and not just me. I can’t be everything in his life. He has his job, but I don’t really think he has many friends.

  He’s lived a solitary life, much like me. But at least I have my mom and sister.

  Not anymore you won’t. Not if you stick with Will.

  The realization scares me. I’ve relied on Mom and Brenna for so long. And truly I don’t know Will that well. I do but I don’t. I want to know more, but we have to move at a slow pace. I can’t just jump into a full-fledged relationship. I’m still worried about my family.

  I need Mom’s approval. She’s been everything to me all these years, especially once Dad grew distant. And Brenna, too. We haven’t really talked—I’m still not happy that she went to Will and basically threatened him, then got angry at me, as if what Aaron Monroe did to me were somehow my fault. I know she has her own issues she’s trying to work through, but I need them both.

  Worse, and it’s one of my secret fears—maybe it is wrong for us to be in a relationship. He may have saved me, but it was his father who almost killed me. When you put it in the most basic terms, I’ve only been with two men—Will and his father. I can’t count the rape as a real sexual encounter, but it was my introduction to sex.

  And that is all sorts of messed up. To the point where I know exactly what I’m going to be talking about when I have my appointment with Sheila tomorrow.

  “You okay?” he asks just before we leave the lobby.

  He’s attuned to my every mood. Most of the time, I like it. Right now? I’d rather keep my thoughts where they need to be—in my head.

  “Fine,” I say as I smile, giving his hand a squeeze.

  We walk outside into the parking lot hand in hand, Will clutching the leash with his other hand as Molly tries to drag him toward the car. A steady wind blows, bringing with it fast-moving, ominous clouds and a chill in the air.

  “What training was she talking about?” I ask as we approach his car.

  “The basics, with a little guard-dog training thrown in for good measure,” Will says. I absolutely cannot think of him as Ethan anymore and yeah, that might be messed up but I can’t help it.

  He releases my hand and pulls his keys out of the front pocket of his jeans, hitting the remote so it unlocks the car.

  “Guard dog?” I go to the passenger-side door and open it, staring at him over the car as I wait for his response.

  He shrugs, his gaze skittering away from mine. “Hey, she’s small but she’s mighty. I thought a little fierce training could do her some good.”

  I climb into the car and turn to glance at the backseat as the door swings open and Molly leaps in. She’s not what I would call a little dog, but she’s not big, either. And fierce? The way she’s watching me with those warm brown eyes and that giant pink tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, she looks like she’d rather lick someone to death versus bite his face off.

  “She doesn’t look very fierce,” I point out when Will climbs into the car. “She’s a little too friendly if you ask me.”

  His gaze meets mine, hands resting on the steering wheel. “That’s why she’s getting trained. And I’m doing this more for you than for her, Katie.”

  Shock makes my mouth pop open. “What do you mean, you’re doing this more for me?”

  “I wanted to get her trained so she can guard . . . you.” He doesn’t say anything else. Just starts the car and backs out of the spot, pulling onto the road.

  “Guard me how?” I ask when he still hasn’t spoken.

  “I want Molly to spend more time with you,” he says, never taking his eyes off the road. “W
hen I can’t be there, Molly will be. And if she has some guard or attack-dog training, then I’d feel even better about leaving her with you.”

  “But she’s your dog.”

  He glances at me quickly. “She’s our dog.”

  Oh. I guess she sort of is. As if on cue, she pokes her head between the seats and nudges the back of my upper arm with her cold nose. I can feel it even through the thin sweater I’m wearing. Like she’s saying, Hey, you belong to me. “You really mean that? That Molly’s ours?”

  “Well, yeah. What’s mine is yours, Katie. We’re together. I’m in love with you. That didn’t happen overnight. I’ve cared about you for years. When it comes to us and making this work, I’m all in.” We pull up to a stoplight and he grabs hold of my hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the back of it. “We’re not going to just see each other casually. A dinner date here, a night spent over at one or the other’s house there—that’s not what I want. If I had my way, you’d be moving in with me right now. Today, even.”

  I can only gape at him. Move into his house? I can’t imagine it. I finally feel confident enough to live on my own and now he wants us to live together. I declared my love for him last night and it’s like he wants us to get engaged or married or something.

  Just thinking about moving into his house makes my heart race and my palms sweat. I recognize panic when I see it. I’ve been going to therapy for years. I don’t think I’m ready. I need time. Lots and lots of it.

  And maybe he doesn’t realize it yet, but so does he.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I turn my head sharply at his question to find him watching me, his gaze narrowed. I feel like he can read my mind and I don’t like that. Not now, when I’m thinking such . . . not-so-positive thoughts. “I don’t know. You’re giving me a lot to think about.”

  “You haven’t been thinking about it already?”

  Sort of. Not really. I haven’t been giving it much thought at all. I’ve gone from falling for him, to devastated and hurt, to declaring my love. All in a matter of what, a month? Six weeks? It’s happened so incredibly fast I’m surprised my head isn’t spinning. “I don’t think I’m ready to move in with you yet. That’s just—moving too fast.”

  The light turns green, yet he hasn’t hit the gas. “Moving too fast? I thought we were on the same page here.”

  A horn honks behind us. “I love you, Will, but I can’t move in with you. Not yet. I need more time.”

  “Don’t call me Will.” His tone is sharp, making me flinch. “I don’t like it.”

  “You were fine with it last night,” I point out, hurt that he would say such a thing. He basically gave me permission and now he’s taking it back?

  “I just want to make you happy, but sometimes . . . I got rid of that name on purpose. I don’t like the reminder of who I used to be.”

  His words sink in as another horn blares. He mutters something under his breath, hitting the accelerator so hard the car jerks forward, sending Molly toppling backward, grunting when she hits the backseat.

  “Fine, then,” I say coolly, “I won’t call you Will.” What can I call him? Ethan doesn’t feel right, either. This is such a jumbled-up mess, I don’t know what to do, what to say. So I remain quiet.

  “You really don’t want to move in with me eventually? I can’t fucking believe this,” he finally mutters, shaking his head.

  “What do you mean, you can’t believe this? What did I do wrong?” And why do I automatically think I’m the one at fault? I try to tamp down my frustration, but why is he acting this way? Doesn’t he realize he’s pushing me too hard? I don’t like feeling out of control. And his insistence that we move in together is making me feel that way.

  I don’t like it.

  “I thought you understood what I wanted.” His voice is flat, his expression grim, as he stares at the road in front of him.

  “You need to tell me what you want. I can’t read your mind, Will.”

  “I’m ready for the next step.” He frowns. “And I already asked you not to call me Will. My name’s Ethan.”

  I press my lips together, dropping my head so I can focus on my clutched hands in my lap, not the fact that he just corrected me. I’m frustrated that the name slipped out so easily after I said I wouldn’t call him that. But he’s not Ethan. At least, he’s not to me. He’s Will. He will always be Will—Will is the one I’m in love with.

  Ethan is like a ghost. A man who swept into my life just so he could play tricks on me. When I think about Ethan, I start to get mad.

  “Christ, Katie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just . . .” He sighs, and I glance up to catch him shaking his head. “I’m tense thinking about that interview tonight. I don’t want to watch it.”

  “We have to,” I start, but he shakes his head again, cutting me off.

  “You might have to, but I don’t. I’d rather not.”

  “So, what? You’re going to pretend it never happened?” I’m incredulous. Why wouldn’t he want to watch it? He’d rather live in denial?

  He shrugs. “I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I figured you felt the same way. And I definitely don’t want to see how Lisa makes me look like an idiot. There’s no point in watching it. What’s done is done.”

  “The media might want to talk to you afterward, you know.” He doesn’t say anything and I sigh in frustration. “You’re just going to avoid them, aren’t you.”

  “You’re damn right I am. I really don’t care if they want to talk to me or not. They don’t know who I am or where I live. They won’t find me. If I go to your house to watch it they’ll definitely know where I am, and then all hell will break loose.” He glances at me again and I can see the pain in his gaze, mixed with frustration. “I won’t watch the interview, Katie. You can’t convince me otherwise.”

  I’m hurting, too. Funny how we can come together so beautifully and less than twenty-four hours later, it completely falls apart. Thanks to reality. “Then take me home.” I turn my head to stare at the passing scenery, not wanting to talk about it any longer. We’ll just go round and round—and that’s our biggest problem.

  “I don’t like the thought of you there alone.” His voice is low, his pain obvious. But I can’t give in. I have to stand up for myself, and he needs to know I don’t agree with pretty much anything he’s saying right now.

  To give in would be giving up control. And I can’t do that.

  Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I keep my gaze locked on the window. I don’t want to look at him. If I do, I’ll cave in. Or worse, feel bad that he’s suffering. I need to focus on myself. I care about him—I love him. But there are certain things I have to stand up for. Keeping myself informed is important. And slowing him down when he’s dying to speed us up is important, too.

  “I have Mrs. Anderson next door,” I tell the window. I’m acting like a child, but I just can’t face him right now. “If anything weird happens, she’ll be sure to call the police first thing.” Not that I’m worried. My biggest threat is locked away in a maximum-security prison.

  “Having that little old lady as your neighbor isn’t reassuring me,” he says dryly, but I ignore him. I’m too mad.

  Too hurt.

  Too disappointed.

  Maybe—God, I hate even thinking this, but—maybe this thing between us won’t work after all.

  I ended up watching it.

  And I was right. Lisa made me look stupid. Like I was some reckless idiot who didn’t care about the girl. The horrible son who didn’t care about his father. I was the guy who stormed off the set in a fit of rage after he was accused of doing something he claims he didn’t do—and the girl rushes to my defense.

  Like always.

  The camera cut to Lisa after that particular moment, her expression somber, her voice hushed, as she shared almost intimately that Katie and I had a long history of doing the same exact thing over and over again. Whenever someone accuses me of being a
possible partner in my father’s crimes, Katie denies it vehemently. It’s a known pattern. To the point that many are starting to wonder—why does Katherine Watts always defend Will Monroe so quickly?

  Direct quote.

  Doesn’t matter that the police couldn’t find an ounce of evidence to hold me—to even try and charge me with anything. There’s not even any circumstantial evidence. But the truth doesn’t matter.

  Nothing matters. Only ratings, only views. Only getting as many hits on social media as possible. Let’s titillate America and talk to the murderer.

  My father sat there on camera and implied that I was involved.

  “The boy was helpful,” he said, that smug smile on his face filling me with dread. Nausea. God, I hate him.

  “How so?” Lisa asked eagerly. “What did he help you with? Did he assist you with the abductions of the girls?”

  Christ, she would be balls to the wall and ask him such a blatant, horrific question. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the TV screen as I watched my father make an irritated face, tipping his head, a little sound falling from his lips when Lisa asked him those questions.

  But he didn’t say a word, the bastard. No denial. No confirmation, either—thank Christ—though that wasn’t reassuring. The damage was done. His expression was enough to set suspicion into motion yet again. Even after all these years.

  Katie was wrong. I should never have done that interview. It’s only made things worse.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Sheila smiles at me.

  I settle into the couch and scowl at her in return.

  She shifts in her chair, leaning forward, her hands clasped in front of her. “I saw the interview.”

  I still say nothing. I’m not mad at her. More like I’m frustrated with myself. I just need to figure out exactly what I’m going to say. The entire drive to her office I ran through a multitude of things I could tell her. None of them sounded good.

  If I’m not going to believe in my own words, how do I expect her to?

  “I was surprised that you did it.” She pauses. Waiting for me to say something? So am I. “Surprised even more that you didn’t tell me about it.”