Never Let You Go (Never #2)

by Monica Murphy

  “A lot has happened since I last saw you,” I mumble.

  “Clearly.” She takes a deep breath. She can also clearly sense my hesitation. “So. Why did you choose to do another interview?”

  I launch into my explanation, starting with reconnecting with Ethan, picking out Molly the dog, agreeing to the interview, going with him to San Francisco, spending the night with him in my hotel room . . . all of it. Every bit. My internal struggle. The sex. The proclamations of love, yesterday’s argument, and that I haven’t heard from him since.

  “It’s a mess,” I conclude miserably.

  “One that can be fixed,” Sheila points out.

  Her optimism is usually appreciated. Not so much right now. “I don’t know about that. We . . . struggle. A lot.” And that’s an understatement.

  “You were each hurt by the same person, and that unites you both.” She makes us sound so romantic. To the outside observer, maybe we are. But our story is more like a romantic tragedy.

  “It also divides us,” I murmur.

  Sheila tips her head. “True. But the connection you share is so understandably intense. What happened to the two of you was a life-changing event. It’s formed who you both are, and how you behave with others. It’s natural that you’re drawn to each other and you want to be together.” She pauses, and I know to mentally prepare for what she says next. “You say you love him—and I believe you do, but I’m wondering if sometimes you love the idea of him more than the real him.”

  Her words hit home. And they scare me. What if that’s true? What if I’m in love with the idea of my hero, Will, versus the man who he really is, Ethan? “I want to know the real him,” I tell her. “The lines were blurred these last few days. He became Will to me—the adult Will, not young Will. Ethan seemed to disappear.”

  “And so that’s why you started calling him Will.” Sheila nods as she taps away on her iPad. I would hate to see my file. I’m sure it’s full of all sorts of cryptic observations.

  It always surprises me, how astute she is. “That’s exactly why,” I admit. “And at the end of our trip, he didn’t like it. He even corrected me. And that . . . hurt.”

  “Did you ever think that it hurt when you called him Will? He’s tried to rid himself of that name. Down to the point where he had it legally changed. That’s a pretty big step for him to take,” Sheila points out.

  “He said he didn’t mind that I called him Will. He told me that multiple times.” Should I feel guilty for pushing it? Maybe . . .

  Probably.

  “But he didn’t like that you called him Will after you told him you thought he was moving too fast,” Sheila points out.

  “He was moving too fast. I’m not ready to live with him. I really don’t even know him that well.” Moving in together means getting engaged, means getting married and eventually having children. I just . . . I don’t know if that’s possible for us. “I’m only twenty-one. He’s my first relationship ever. He’s moving so fast that he’s overwhelming me.”

  “Have you told him this? Have you explained all of this to him?”

  I shake my head. I’m afraid he’ll shut me down and not listen to me. Or worse, think my fears are nothing but excuses. I’m terrified he’ll end up shutting me out and leaving me first.

  “You should. Communication is key,” she suggests gently. “If you really want this to work, then the two of you need to sit down and talk. Don’t hold back—tell him how you really feel. And then you need to listen to him as well.”

  She’s right. I know she’s right. But that means I have to reach out to him and I don’t know if I’m ready yet. I’m still hurt and mad and . . . scared.

  “How do you feel about last night’s interview?”

  “Not great.” I sigh. That’s the understatement of the year. “We shouldn’t have done it. I see that now.” Lisa made him look terrible. She made me look terrible, too. Last night was all about Aaron Monroe. If I didn’t know any better, if I hadn’t experienced his monstrous acts firsthand, I’d almost believe all the crap he says. He can talk a good game.

  But I already knew that. He convinced me to go with him so easily. Put on an innocent face and chose his words carefully, persuading me with such charm. I was so young, too. I believed there was only good in the world. That evil couldn’t touch me. I lived in a protective little bubble until Aaron Monroe entered my life.

  Easygoing coercion—that was his tactic. And it worked. It still works.

  The minute he gets you alone, though, the mask comes off. And the monster comes out.

  “What about your family?”

  I startle out of my thoughts at her words, my stomach twisting into knots. Their seeming abandonment of me during a tough time in my life hurts the most. I called Mom and let her know about the interview, and she expressed her disappointment both with words and with silence. I texted Brenna, and I could feel her frustration with me through her carefully worded reply. I never heard from either of them after the interview. Nothing from them this morning, either.

  “They’re mad at me.”

  “Because of you seeing Ethan again?” she asks gently.

  I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. It just automatically shoves its way back in there again.

  “They’re just worried about you,” she starts, but I interrupt her.

  “That’s all they’ve ever done, worry about me. I’m tired of it.” I am. Oh, how I am. “I’m a grown woman who can make her own choices. They can’t seem to realize that.”

  “They have always feared for your safety, ever since you were twelve. Your mom and your sister’s roles are to protect you.”

  “Brenna acts like she hates me. The last time we talked she said all sorts of terrible things. She’s so full of resentment toward me.” That still stings—and surprises me.

  “Understandable. You became the center of your family’s attention.”

  “I didn’t want to be!” The words burst out of me, making my lungs ache. “I never asked for this! I told Brenna that, but she wasn’t listening to me.” I leap to my feet and start pacing around her tiny office. “If I could take this all back I would. Lately I’ve made some mistakes, I know that. But I always had good intentions. Always.”

  “No one is accusing you of being bad or evil.”

  “My mother and sister act like I’m doing the devil’s work by spending time with Ethan.” Will. God, I can’t figure out which one he is anymore and it’s making me crazy.

  “In their eyes, he’s the son of the devil. That association is too close for comfort.”

  I sag back into the couch, leaning my head back so I can stare up at the ceiling. The words repeat over and over in my brain, sending a chill down my spine.

  That association is too close for comfort.

  In some way is that true for me, too? I don’t know.

  I sit in my car waiting for Katie’s return while parked in front of her house. Molly isn’t having it, though. She whines. She paces the backseat of my car—how that is possible, I’m not sure, but she does it. When she licks my ear and drools on my shoulder, that’s the final straw. Hooking the leash onto her collar, I exit the car, taking Molly along with me.

  “You’re back.”

  Turning, I see Katie’s neighbor Mrs. Anderson sitting on her front porch, her keen gaze glued to me. Does she recognize me from when I first came here to spy on Katie? I hope to hell not. “Hi.” I throw my hand up in a quick wave.

  She slowly rises from her chair and starts for me, one step at a time from the porch, tottering carefully down the sidewalk until she’s standing just before me on the other side of the waist-high white picket fence. “You’re Katherine’s friend.”

  We’ve waved at each other before when I’ve come over. Always briefly; we never really talk. I avoided her. Didn’t want her to realize she’s met me before.

  “I am,” I agree, sending Molly a stern look when she appears ready to leap over the fence and lick the poor old la
dy to death. “Katie’s told me all about you.”

  Her silvery-white eyebrows go way up. “Katie, is it? Sounds like you two are real familiar.”

  “We knew each other a long time ago,” I admit.

  “Back when you used to live in her house? Oh so long ago?” I gape at her, excuses clogging my throat, but she just carries on like it’s no big deal. “I got you all figured out, you know. Recognized you from the start.”

  Well, shit. What do I say to that? I have no excuse. “I can ex—” I start, but she holds up her hand to silence me.

  “Whatever you do is your business. I don’t like to butt in. Though I do make it my job to watch over this neighborhood. I watch over Katherine, too. She’s a young girl, living all alone in that house. Lonely, too. I like seeing her with some male company.” Her shrewd eyes seem to see right through me. “As long as your intentions are true, I’m going to let our very first meeting slide.”

  Relief fills me and my knees go a little weak. “Uh, thanks.”

  “Who’s this?” Mrs. Anderson steps closer to the fence and reaches over to pat Molly’s head. “She’s a cutie.”

  “Her name’s Molly.” She gives a little bark in greeting, her ever-present tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. “She’s very friendly.”

  “She looks it. A real killer, isn’t she?” Mrs. Anderson pats her head some more. “Katherine could do well with a dog.”

  My sentiments exactly. I took Molly to training yesterday and this morning, and she’s already catching on to a few things. I’ll be taking her all next week, too. It’s eating into my work time and the training isn’t cheap, but in the end, I think it’ll be worth it.

  “A big, ferocious dog, like a Rottweiler or a pit bull,” Mrs. Anderson continues on as she keeps petting Molly. The dog’s eyes are closed, meaning she’s totally blissed out. “Something to protect her.”

  “You think she needs protection?”

  “I know she does,” the old woman says with a fierce nod. “Girl feels vulnerable enough in her own head. Spooky things have been happening in those woods behind us lately. I don’t like it.”

  My interest picks up at the words spooky things. “What are you referring to?”

  “Oh, I thought I saw someone sneaking around back there a few nights ago. I even called the cops, though they did a search and came up with nothing.” She shakes her head, her tone bitter. “They never take me seriously.”

  “Did you tell Katie?”

  “I asked her if she’d seen anything and she said one night, she felt like someone was out there, watching her. Though it was dark and she couldn’t see anything, so she claims she imagined it. I got real mad at her for not calling the police. Or at the very least, she should’ve been calling me.” Mrs. Anderson makes a harrumph noise that would have made me smile any other day, but not now.

  Not if Katie’s at risk.

  “I appreciate that you’re so concerned with Katie’s safety,” I say with the utmost sincerity. “It’s reassuring, knowing she has someone so close who’s always looking out for her.”

  “I’m nosy, I can admit it. I like to know everything that’s happening around here,” Mrs. Anderson says, waving her hand. “I’ve seen some shady dealings. Couple people have gotten robbed, but only because they’re damn stupid, leaving their windows unlocked or a back door. Who does that? Maybe forty years ago we could get away with that kind of carelessness, but definitely not now.”

  I glance around. Katie’s neighborhood is quiet. Older but clean, most of the homes have been renovated, with decent yards and nice cars parked in the driveways and garages. Kids’ bikes dumped on the lawn. Fall flowers waving in the breeze, trees slowly losing all of their leaves. It’s your typical middle-to upper-class neighborhood where a person could be lulled into a false sense of security. I’m always aware of that false sense, the ability for someone to barge in and smash it to bits. So is Katie.

  “If something ever feels off or wrong around Katie’s, would you mind calling me? It could be the littlest thing—I don’t care. Just . . . can I give you my phone number?”

  “Of course.” She whips a phone out of the pocket of her cardigan sweater, an iPhone 6s Plus, which makes me want to laugh. The woman may be old, but she’s got the latest and greatest technology. “Give me your name and number and I’ll text you whenever I see something fishy.”

  She’s going to text me. I love it. “That would be great.” I give her my number and she looks up at me when she finishes tapping it in. “What’s your name again?”

  I hesitate for the slightest moment. “Will,” I say softly, shocked at how easily the name slips out. “It’s Will.”

  I’m sitting on her front porch when Katie pulls into the driveway about a half hour later, her garage door slowly creeping up. Molly flies from the porch, barking excitedly and following after Katie’s car as it enters the garage. I don’t get up from my perch on her front steps, almost afraid to approach for fear she’ll tell me to get the hell out of there.

  Not that I can blame her. Yet again, I’m in the wrong and I need to ask for her forgiveness. How many chances do I get to fuck up before she’s done forgiving me? I hope I didn’t already lose my last chance.

  So I wait anxiously, tapping my foot against the concrete step, straining to catch her voice when I hear the car door open and slam shut. She’s talking to Molly, petting her, and the dog is eating it up.

  I’d be eating it up, too. Any bit of attention from Katie makes me feel like I can take on the world and conquer it all in one try. She’s practically cooing at Molly, telling her what a good girl she is, how pretty she is, that her fur is so soft. Her voice draws closer, gets louder, and then there she is, exiting the garage, Molly at her heels, Katie’s expression hesitant. Wary.

  But I see it, the slightest hint of joy in her eyes. She’s glad to see me. She’s just pretending that she’s not. There’s irritation, too, and I get it. I didn’t warn her, call her, or text her that I was coming by. I just sprung myself on her. Bringing Molly with me wasn’t an accident. I knew the dog would soften her.

  “Hi.” Katie stops a few feet away from me, about midpoint up the walkway that leads to her front porch. “Um, what are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d stop by. See if we could talk,” I say easily, ignoring the rapid pounding of my heart.

  “Stop by? You live an hour away. There’s no stopping by for us.” Molly hops up on her hind legs, licking at Katie’s hand, and she immediately pets her.

  “Where were you?” I snap my fingers for Molly to come over here but she ignores me, too enraptured with Katie. Guess I can’t blame her.

  “At an appointment.” She sighs and approaches the porch, climbing the stairs and settling on the top one, right next to me. Close enough that I could reach out and touch, but not close enough that I can feel her body pressed to mine. “What are you doing here really?” She sounds weary. Looks it, too. There are dark circles under her eyes and her skin is pale. Her hair is in a sloppy ponytail and I swear she looks like she might have been crying.

  If I was the reason—and I bet I was, shit—I hate that I’m the one who causes her tears. “If you want me to go, I will,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to upset you. I know you’re mad at me.”

  “I thought you were mad at me.” She sighs again and leans her head against my shoulder, staying there. I turn and automatically kiss her forehead, breathing in her fresh, flowery scent. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move away from me, and I take that as a good sign. “I was at my weekly therapy session, unloading on her everything that’s happened,” she murmurs, so low I almost didn’t hear her.

  I stiffen but otherwise say nothing. Just wait for her to continue.

  “We’re kind of a mess, you and me. You do realize this, don’t you?” Molly comes up the steps, nosing her way into Katie’s lap, and she doesn’t push her away. Just pets her like she belongs there.

  “I know,” I agree. “But I missed you, K
atie. I’m even more of a mess when I don’t have you by my side.”

  She lifts her head to stare into my eyes, hers full of so much pain it almost hurts to look at her. “You say things like that and I can’t stay mad at you.”

  “Good.” I lean in, my lips hovering above hers. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was frustrated and worried over that stupid interview and I acted like a dick.” I kiss her before she can say anything in reply. A too quick, soft kiss that I pull back from reluctantly.

  “Did you watch it?” She winces, as if afraid of my answer.

  I nod, exhaling slowly. “It was a complete shit show. Totally sympathetic toward my father—I don’t doubt he gained some new fans and believers.” The words sound bitter because they are.

  “She made you look awful,” she agrees.

  “You didn’t look much better,” I add.

  A watery laugh escapes her. “I know. What a mistake.” She shakes her head, her hand gentling on top of Molly’s head. “I’m sorry I pushed you to do it.”

  “You didn’t push me. We pushed each other. There’s nothing to apologize for.” I slip my arm around her shoulders and pull her in close. She goes willingly, molding into my side and fitting perfectly, like she was made for me. “It’s not going to be easy, this relationship. As long as we’re aware of it, that’s all we can do.”

  “I suppose. Or maybe . . .” She lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine once more. “Maybe we’re not supposed to be together at all. When it’s this hard . . .” She starts to look away but I stop her.

  “Everything’s a struggle, especially relationships that are worth fighting for.” I slide my fingers beneath her chin, not letting her escape. “The struggle makes the victory in the end that much sweeter.”

  “Do you really believe that?” she whispers as she reaches up and circles my wrist with her fingers, holding on to me as if I can anchor her somehow.

  I feel the same way. She’s my anchor in this swirling storm that’s our life. I don’t want to imagine navigating through all of this without her. I need her. I think she needs me. We can survive this together, but not if we’re butting heads all the time.