One More Step

by Colleen Hoover

  I inconspicuously wrestle with the ropes at my wrist as I keep my eyes on the two of them. Maricel shows no signs of relenting her position, yet Gil speaks with her as though he can convince her to. He’s soft… gentle. The same way he’d been with me when I was dealing with problems in my marriage. I could see his words were causing her to take pause, even if she hadn’t intended to. I could also see how much she loved him—I was sure it was because she had no one else, and I was just as sure it was because she didn’t want to lose her meal ticket.

  I free myself from one of the ropes and then move frantically to the other, hoping Gil can keep his crazy bitch-of-a wife occupied long enough for me to make an escape. I still can’t believe I’ve gotten myself caught up in this. And over what? Dick? No dick is worth my life. Okay, if I’m being honest, I have to admit it’s more than that. It’s for the promise of everything I never had. That’s how I ended up here. In Boston. In an apartment that isn’t mine. In a position I’ve only seen in the movies. There’s only one reason for it all—Gil. He was the lure, the promise of everything missing in my life. And he was the hope of a future that apparently I would never see.

  I manage to release my other hand and then, with trembling fingers, I go for my ankles, easily untying the haphazard knot on the left, but struggling with the other. Dammit. I’d tied the knot at my right ankle tighter than I should have, and my fingers were not cooperating. I lift my head to determine Gil and Maricel’s proximity, hoping my presence has fallen to the background of their thoughts. When I’m confident I’ve been temporarily forgotten, I go back to fidgeting with the rope and cursing myself for being in this fucked situation. I never considered myself naive or gullible. I was always one step ahead; always analyzing and questioning things others wouldn’t think to. I was the one who advised other women on maintaining strength and clarity; not the one who fell prey to the games men played. At least that’s what I’d thought... until him.

  I try to maintain focus on the two of them, and more importantly, on the gun. When it appears Maricel has relaxed enough to see reason, Gil reaches for the weapon. And, to my surprise, she releases it. I let out an audible breath, and then she glances my way. Hurriedly, I sit upright and place my hands behind me as though I’m still tied to the chair.

  “Look at me,” Gil says to her.

  Maricel slowly turns away and meets his gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “This is not Nia’s fault. It’s mine. Take this out on me. Not her.”

  “You’d give your life for hers?” she asks, the stench of betrayal coating her words. “You really do love her, don’t you?”

  The incredulity of her tone was irrefutable—she found it unfathomable that her husband could feel something for me that he’d never feel for her.

  “I’m doing this for you—for us,” Gil says. “Do you realize what will happen if you do anything to hurt her? You go to jail—for the rest of your life. I don’t want that for you. I want you to be happy.”

  A vulnerable expression flashes over Maricel’s face, but she quickly recovers, replacing it with the rage she’s displayed since my arrival. “You’re just saying these things so I can let her go. You don’t give a damn about me. All you care about is her!” She lunges for the gun in Gil’s pocket, shoving her hand inside.

  “Don’t do this,” he says.

  “Those are words you should have said to yourself,” she replies as she scrambles for the weapon.

  I somehow finally loosen the knot and free myself, and then scan the place for my purse, remembering I’d placed it on the table in the entrance to the apartment. As I stand, a loud noise sounds, and I look over to see Gil and Maricel on the floor wrestling for the gun. I take their rumble as my chance to get the hell out of here. I make it as far as the door when the unimaginable happens. The gun sounds and something hits the floor with a loud thud.

  Seconds pass. Quietness rings out. Everything dissolves into blackness.

  Maybe Maricel was right. If I’d applied the same time and effort to my marriage as I’d applied to Gil, perhaps I wouldn’t be here. As quickly as that thought enters my head, I shoot it down. My marriage was over long before I ever met Gil, and any efforts to revive it would have met the same end as all my efforts in the past. I’d tried everything—threatening to leave, talking until I was out of words, crying until my head hurt, and counseling that never seemed to stick. I’d done it all—for years, and nothing changed. If anything, our relationship worsened with each anniversary.

  Yes, it was a sham of a marriage—but at least I was still among the living.

  • • •

  Are you curious as to how Nia’s search for love started? What about the conclusion of her tempestuous journey? Get the entire story as

  NIA FITSON’S JOURNEY CONTINUES

  IN THE SEQUEL

  LOVE DOT COM

  DID YOU KNOW…

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  Happy Reading,

  Lilly

  BOOKS FROM LILLY WILDE

  The Untouched Series

  Untouched

  Touched

  Touched by Him

  Only His Touch, Part One

  Only His Touch, Part Two

  Forever Touched

  The Untouched Series Spinoffs

  Dancing In The Dark (Spring 2020)

  Before His Touch (Summer 2020)

  A Raine Family Christmas (Winter 2020)

  No Longer Broken Duet

  Shattered Beginnings

  Salvaged Hearts

  Standalones

  Rendezvous Dot Com (Summer 2020)

  Love Dot Com (Summer 2020)

  INTERCEPTION

  * * *

  SANTANA BLAIR

  ONE

  Kenadi

  ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death.

  It wouldn’t come from the Spanx she wore or the stupidly expensive, gorgeous pair of shoes currently cutting off the circulation to her toes.

  No, one more step would put her face-to-pecs with the sexiest man alive and the object of all her fantasies over the past two years.

  Caleb Kennedy.

  With her brother’s recent trade to Caleb’s team, it seemed like everything in the universe was finally aligning towards the moment Caleb would notice her and subsequently fall madly in love.

  Tossing her waist-length braids over her shoulder, she tried to shake off her nerves. Unlike her brother, she hadn’t inherited the confidence gene.

  She never resented him for it, though.

  She’d dealt with mean girls targeting her for the extra weight she’d carried around through high school and the nearly constant diet suggestions from her mother based off whatever TV doctor she’d decided to listen at the moment. If it hadn’t been for Quentin, both things would have probably broken her.

  College had been her escape. The distance had given her the space and ability to figure out how to start liking the girl she saw in the mirror every day. When she’d graduated recently, she’d walked across the stage as a forty-pounds-lighter, slightly more confident version of Kenadi Russell.

  But now was her chance to be Mrs. Kenadi Kennedy.

  Kenadi forced her eyes to stop gawking at him and took a nervous final step.

  It was now or never. Carpe hottie.

  “Hi, Caleb—” The words barely left her mouth before the impact. Her shriek lodged in her throat as the pool water engulfed her.

  She broke the surface, looking for her assailant, her vision half-blurred by the loss of a contact lens.

  Cash Latham.

  He was tall, tatted, and bearded. Not as beautiful as her Caleb, but handsome—and the reason she wasn’t on her way to becoming Mrs. Kennedy
right now. Freaking Cash.

  She slapped the water, doing her best to aim it straight at the stupidly obnoxious grin he wore. Then, turning her back on him and the rest of the party, she awkwardly moved toward the pool steps, the embarrassment clinging to her skin tighter than her now-soaked dress.

  CASH

  Growing up, he had always been told there was never a bad time to play football. But his dad was probably at home tonight, polishing his Super Bowl rings while Caleb was standing in the middle of a pool wearing a custom Tom Ford suit.

  It wouldn’t be the first or last time listening to his dad’s advice had gotten him into trouble.

  Between the tequila and his teammates goading him, Cash decided it would be fun to find a football and relive one of his career-best catches. The moment he saw the ball’s terrible wobble as it went airborne was when he should have backed off the attempt, but his ego told him otherwise. Already committed to the sprint when she stepped into his path, it had been too late for him to do anything other than try his best to soften the blow.

  One look at those dark, angry eyes told him it was going to take one heck of an apology to smooth things over. She’d stormed off before he could pull it together enough to speak.

  He pushed himself up and out of the pool.

  “How are you going to sweet-talk your way out of this one?”

  The amused chuckle came from his best friend and teammate, Caleb. The two of them had come to this party with the intention to kick back. One of them had succeeded; the other was him.

  “I keep Jacoby on call for these situations.”

  “You have an on-call jeweler?”

  “You don’t?” He grinned easily.

  Caleb shook his head in amusement. “Tread lightly with this one. The girl you just sacked and nearly drowned is Quentin’s baby sister.”

  Great.

  Quentin Russell might have been recently traded to their team, but he had veteran playing experience and a field reputation Cash couldn’t wait to witness in person. More importantly, he was the host of the evening’s party. Cash would guess he wouldn’t be too happy if his sister got to him before Cash had a chance to explain it was a simple accident caused by Asher’s drunken aim.

  He had to find her.

  For the most part, he just followed the trail of water. Once inside the house, he asked the first friendly face he met where she’d dripped off to.

  He ended up in a quiet hallway. While the party raged outside, he caught his first real look at her through the partially open door of the laundry room. The lights were low, but enough. Braids covered most of her face as she bent over and unstrapped the shoes from around her ankles before carelessly throwing them across the room with a guttural grunt.

  She stood, making quick work of capturing her braids into a bun.

  Before he could blink, the black dress she wore had been peeled off, laying in a soggy heap around her feet. He couldn’t seem to pry his eyes off her body, even though he knew looking was wrong.

  All of her caught his attention. She was softness and curves. Her thick thighs and curvy hips were accentuated by the black bodysuit clinging to her like a second skin.

  And her breasts…

  A muttered curse slipped out beneath the harsh breath he finally released.

  Her eyes were on his in an instant, narrowing just as quickly as they had widened in alarm.

  “Now you’re spying on me?”

  “I wasn’t spying. I was trying to apologize.” He held up his hands in an attempt to look innocent.

  “Telepathically?”

  Cash shook his head. His brain was stuck on stupid as she drew closer. “I didn’t mean to stare. I just didn’t expect all of this—all of you…” He waved his hand over her body.

  Her squinting brown eyes turned furious.

  “That sounded wrong…” His attempted explanation fell on closed-off ears as she advanced on him, jamming a finger into his left pectoral.

  “You made me look like a complete loser in front of the Caleb Kennedy. Then, instead of apologizing, you come after me to tell me I’m fat?”

  “Whoa, I didn’t—”

  She shoved a hand in his face. “Stop talking!”

  He was still in shock when the door slammed in his face.

  TWO

  Kenadi

  KENADI WINCED AS she pulled the big t-shirt over her head, last night’s embarrassing fail replaying in her mind for the umpteenth time. She’d barely slept, fearing that the moment she closed her eyes, someone would upload a video of her in a pool looking like a mess next to Cash “screw up Kenadi’s life plan” Latham.

  She should sue him.

  Her foul mood hung around as she ate her bowl of oatmeal with a side of ibuprofen. She was attempting to get ready for the gym when she finally saw the missed message on her phone.

  Unknown: Is this Kenadi?

  Kenadi: Who is this?

  Unknown: Cash Latham…from the party last night.

  She rolled her eyes at the unnecessary explanation. Who didn’t know who Cash Latham was? If he wasn’t splashed over the gossip blogs with a girl, she still had to see his face on nearly every sports channel, right next to her beloved Caleb.

  Unknown: I didn’t get a chance to apologize.

  Kenadi: How did you get my number?

  Unknown: Candice. I told her it was important.

  Candice was her brother’s fiancée. Kenadi rolled her eyes as she struggled to pull her sports bra over her head.

  Unknown: Can I apologize over a cup of coffee?

  Her plan to ignore him for the rest of her life was failing. A post-workout caffeine fix did sound good, and no apology was truly complete without a scone.

  Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

  Kenadi: I’ll meet you at the coffee shop on Rosser and Ivy at 10. I have spin class across the street. I’ll be there after. I’ll take an iced coffee with almond milk and a raspberry scone.

  Unknown: See you soon.

  Her hand paused on the door handle as she caught sight of her reflection in the glass of the coffee shop. All the gumption she had left in her body released in a heavy sigh at the sight of her oversized, well-worn t-shirt and exercise spandex. She’d forgotten to factor in how completely sweaty and gross she would be when she met with him.

  She wondered if she was ever going to pull it together enough to make a good first impression on a football player she wasn’t related to.

  Finally entering the café, she scanned the room in search of him, fully prepared to add his tardiness as fuel for her attitude, when a hand shot up.

  He actually came.

  His eyes were fixed on her as she walked over and slid into the empty seat across from him, letting her gym bag slip from her shoulder.

  “Hope you don’t mind sitting all the way back here. The paparazzi have been pretty relentless lately.”

  Kenadi shrugged as she applied a healthy glob of sanitizer to her hands. “Right. God forbid someone sees you with me.”

  “It’s not that—”

  She loudly stirred the ice cubes in her drink. It was weird to have a desire to hear what he had to say while also not wanting to talk to him.

  “You said something about an apology.”

  “Right. I really didn’t see you until it was too late. I shouldn’t have been acting like an idiot at your brother’s house. Are you okay?”

  “Not even close.”

  His remorseful face punctured the bitter grudge bubble she had been walking around in.

  “I took some ibuprofen. I’ll survive.”

  “Good.” There was a hint of relief in his smile. He folded his hands before he continued. “I…uh, spent some time thinking about how you like C.K.—I mean, Caleb…”

  Her cheeks flamed.

  How could she have let her most important secret slip? And to Cash, of all people.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d really appreciate it if you would delete that information from your mind and
never tell Caleb.”

  “Why haven’t you told him yourself?”

  “It’s not so easy.”

  “But it is.”

  “It may be easy for you and the kind of girls y’all are used to. But me?”

  Kenadi shook her head emphatically, picking at the corner of her scone before putting a crumb on her tongue. “Caleb is beautiful. You saw me last night—heck, you see me now! I’m not his type. No matter how hard I try or how badly I want to be.”

  Cash barely blinked as he looked at her.

  CASH

  “What if I helped you?”

  The way she swung from sassy to a heap of insecurity baffled him. The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

  “Helped me?” She stopped stirring the straw of her drink long enough to look him in the eyes again. Those dark eyes and long lashes of hers were intense.

  “You like Caleb—”

  “Shhh!” She shot forward in her chair, clasping her hand over his mouth.

  Cash rolled his eyes and waited for her hand to fall away.

  “He is my best friend. I could help you shoot your shot with him. You’d have a major advantage.”

  “For normal people, maybe, but I’m not good at dating. I have no experience. The idea of going from zero to Caleb is unlikely, even if I wish otherwise. I blamed last night on you, but it was probably my fault. It usually is.”