by Krista Holt
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hung up the phone and glared at the brick wall outside the restaurant. I knew she was waiting for me in there. Oblivious to the fact that everything had just changed. For good.
Of course, not everything she doesn’t know is bad. I saw her graduate. A simple lie about the stomach flu, and I had forty-eight hours to make it to California and back to NYC.
I kept to the back, far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to spot me. She walked across the stage, and I cheered with everyone else as she took her diploma from the dean. I even caught her embracing the mother she’d talked about occasionally but I’d never met. Her father didn’t show.
She was smiling, happy, and I wondered if she wasn’t better off without me. Then she looked around the crowd, like she was searching for someone. I swear she saw me. I thought the jig was up, until her gaze moved on. I was safe, but never more defeated. I got back on the plane later that day, hoping it wouldn’t be much longer, but it ended up being six months before I saw her again.
Sunlight slowly filters into her apartment, brightening the room. Carefully, I slide out from underneath her, and then tuck the blanket back around her.
I grab a glass of water and walk around the apartment, looking at the few pictures they’ve left out. There’s a framed shot of Reagan and Becca on graduation day, and another of them in front of the bar I picked her up from last night. They look happy, drunk, but happy.
Her room beckons me, but I stay in the doorway, looking around. She’s still as neat and tidy as she was back at Stanford. Everything is in its place, and the only thing that’s wrinkled is the bed I laid her on in the middle of the night.
Last night. I take a deep breath. When she called, I’d been dead asleep. It didn’t matter though. I had to get to her. I’ll always get to her. And that’s dangerous. If anyone discovers that . . . I shake my head. It’s too nice a morning for such dark thoughts.
I wander back to the living room to check on her. She’s still asleep, so I grab my phone and step into the other room to make a call.
CHAPTER 22
Reagan
A soft thud wakes me up. My front door.
I sit up quickly, trying to untangle the blanket from my legs. He’d better still be here. “Nic!”
“Yeah,” he replies.
I almost choke with relief. “Who was at the door?”
“Breakfast.” He appears over the back of the couch. His brows pinched. “I told you I wouldn’t leave.”
“I know.” I tug at the work clothes I fell asleep in. “I guess I’m still a little gun shy.”
He exhales loudly. “Let’s eat, and then we’ll talk.”
“I want to change first. I’ll be back.”
Closing my bedroom door, I lean against it, my heart pounding. I take a deep breath and shed my clothes then pull on some leggings and a long sweater.
I quickly brush my teeth and wash off my makeup from last night. I don’t bother doing anything with my hair before heading back out to the kitchen.
“Your coffee’s there.” He gestures toward the paper cup on the counter close to my right hip.
“Thanks.” I take a sip, tasting cream and sugar. He remembered.
“Sit.” He motions to a barstool at the kitchen island before unpacking a few foam containers from a paper bag.
I sit, taking another sip of my coffee. “You’re awfully alpha this morning.”
He smirks as he takes a seat beside me, nudging a container toward me.
I open it and grin. French toast and a few strands of bacon lay inside. So maybe he remembers a lot of things about me.
I slather on the butter and pour syrup on my toast, catching him angle his body toward me.
“What?”
“I’m trying to think of the last time we tried to have a meal together.”
I still as it comes rushing back. That last night. When I knew something was wrong, but he swore he was just tired. When he lied to me.
He clears his throat. “I just stepped in it, didn’t I?”
I shove the container away, my appetite gone. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?” I watch his face intently, anxious for his response.
“That might be difficult.” He stares back at me with the same intensity. “I’m not able to talk about my work. The same way I imagine you can’t.”
I nod slightly, my eyes dropping to my breakfast.
“Reagan, look at me.”
When I don’t, he drags my stool over to his, turning it so that my legs as pinned in between his.
“Sweetheart, look at me,” he says again, stroking my check with his hand.
I lift my head, and his dark eyes search mine.
“I don’t want to dance around this, so tell me what you want. What do you want from me? Do you want me to grovel, beg for your forgiveness? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
“Why are you being so reasonable?” I groan. “I want to be mad at you,” I insist. “I really do, but I can’t. Not anymore.”
“Spell it out for me. Am I getting another chance here?”
“Explain something to me first.” He jerks his chin up, which I take as an okay. “How do you know where I am all the time? Between showing up at the bar last week and that double date, it’s not a coincidence.”
He stares at me for a second, and I can tell he’s conflicted about what he’s going to say.
“You told me you’d tell me the truth,” I remind him.
“And if you don’t like the answer, are you going to cut me off and run?”
Unease uncurls in the pit of my stomach. “Am I not going to like it?”
He shakes his head, and I take a deep breath. “Tell me anyway.”
“I had someone watch you.”
I sit there, dumbfounded. Surely, I heard him wrong. “What?”
“I had someone nearby. While I was gone. He just watched you, made sure nothing happened to you.”
“He just watched me,” I repeat his words. And then it sinks in. “You had me followed?” I knock the barstool over in my haste to stand up. “That’s insane. Please tell me you’re joking?”
From the expression on his face I can tell it’s not a joke. “Get out!” I shout.
“Reagan.” He stands, throwing his hands up like he’s talking to a cornered animal. “Listen—”
“I don’t want an explanation,” I cut him off. “I don’t care. Get out. Now!”
“Listen to me.”
“No!” My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t know what he’s seen, what he knows from the last year, but I know this isn’t normal. This isn’t healthy behavior. “Out! Now!”
He moves swiftly, rounding the island I’d put between us. I retreat until my body hits the counter. His hands bracket my face, tilting it up.
“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, shoving him away.
“Hey,” he says sharply, snapping me back from the spiral his confession caused. “I didn’t have you followed. I had someone watch you.”
“Semantics.”
“Reagan,” he says, stepping even closer. His hands drop to my shoulders, his touch preventing me from pulling away. “Think about it . . . that night . . .” His gaze narrows. “Do you remember the night you were almost attacked?”
I inhale sharply. He shouldn’t know about that. It happened months after he left. I’d been leaving a bar alone, passing a dark alley when a hand had reached out and grabbed me. The stranger had pulled me into the darkness, clasping a hand over my mouth before I could scream. I fought, but he was stronger. Kicking, biting, and struggling did nothing. His hands fumbled with my clothes, almost groping me, when he was jerked back and flung into the gutter. A man dressed in dark clothes rounded on him, kicking him in the face, but I didn’t stick around, I ran.
“Th-that guy,” I stammer, “he stopped it.”
“Yes, he did. Barely.” Nic steps away from me, running his hands forcefully through his hair. “I was so mad at you for ri
sking your safety like that. Drinking and then leaving by yourself, you know better. That doesn’t excuse the bastard. But he is so damn lucky I wasn’t there that night.” He draws a shaky breath. “If I had been, he wouldn’t be breathing.”
“That was your guy?” I ask. “The guy who stopped it?”
“Yes.”
The magnitude of what he just told me hits me hard. My legs give out underneath me. I grab the counter edge but miss, hitting the floor hard.
He follows me down, landing on his knees. “Look at me.” He palms my face gently. “Take a deep breath. Don’t pass out.”
I inhale slowly. “That night could have ended so much worse.”
“I know, but it didn’t.” He squeezes my hand. “Are you okay? Do you want to lie down?”
“No.” I stare at his hand swallowing mine. “I just want to sit here for a second.”
He sits on the floor next to me, leaning against the cabinet. Still holding my hand, he rests both of ours on his leg.
From thousands of miles away, he saved me. But, I’m not okay with him hiring someone to follow me around, especially without even asking me.
“Does someone follow me around now?” I look at him.
“No,” he says firmly. “Not now. That night is the closest I ever want to come to losing you.” He squeezes my hand again. “I’m not going to apologize for what I did.”
I draw my knees toward me, crossing my free arm over them and resting my chin on top.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I tell him. “I’m not going to fall apart.”
“Does it still bother you, what almost happened?” A flare of anger accompanies the last word.
“I don’t think about it.”
He studies me, like he thinks I might be lying.
“Really,” I insist. “It was scary, but nothing happened. It could have, but it didn’t.”
“No nightmares, no panic attacks, nothing?”
“No. I’m fine.”
He exhales loudly.
“You thought I might?”
“A little. I didn’t know how you felt. I wasn’t there, and I should have been.”
I don’t know what to say to that, it wasn’t his fault. It was no one’s fault other than that asshole’s. “What did your guy do to him?”
“It’s probably better you don’t know.”
I close my eyes. “Is he dead?”
“If he is, it isn’t because of you.”
That doesn’t really answer my question. I tilt my head to the side as the silence settles between us. “You were trying to protect me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It should be obvious, Reagan, but in case you need it spelled out, I’ll say it now. You are very important to me. I need you. Alive. Healthy. Happy. You’re mine, and I protect what’s mine. Always.”
I relax at his words, and the tight knot in my stomach loosens as I slowly uncurl from my earlier position.
“Okay, Nic.”
A slow grin spreads across his face.
“Don’t screw up your second chance.”
He kisses me quickly. “I swear I won’t.”
He’d better not.
CHAPTER 23
He hasn’t let me out of his sight for the past hour.
I can’t blame him. Things between us are still a little tentative. Uneasy, even. I reach out to touch him like I used to but retreat at the last second, uncertain of how it might be received.
He notices though. It would be impossible not to given the way his eyes have been glued to me. His quick glances when he thinks I’m not looking aren’t exactly subtle, and even when I catch him, he’s not deterred.
“I get it,” he says finally.
“What?”
“It’s a little . . .”
“Awkward,” I supply for him.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I thought saying something would make it easier, but . . .”
“Nope, still weird.”
“Yeah.” His hand runs along his jaw, brushing against the facial hair that came in overnight. “Come here.”
“Why am I the one always making the concessions?”
He smirks and then stalks toward me, planting his hands on the countertop behind me, cutting off any means of escape. “Happy?”
I shrug, aiming for indifference. “It’s not horrible, I guess.”
His lips spilt in a grin, showing off perfectly straight teeth. “You’re a horrible liar.” He bends down, brushing his lips lightly over mine. There’s just enough distance to frustrate me. Close, and yet, too far. I push up on my toes, intending to stop his teasing, but then his phone rings.
“Ignore it.” His hands grab at my hips.
My hands rest on his chest, willing to do as he says, when it rings again.
“You should get it,” I sigh.
He curses under his breath, pulling back and tugging the phone from of his pocket. “What?”
He stalks out of the kitchen and seconds later the door to our small outside balcony clicks open. I quietly follow after him. Despite the cold December weather, he leans against the railing talking in hushed tones.
My stare must be heavy because he turns around, giving me a questioning glance. I smile tightly before walking away, heading into the living room. I grab a magazine and sit down on the couch, flipping through the pages.
“Sorry about that.” His voice makes me jump slightly. I thought he was still outside.
“It’s fine.” I look over my shoulder at him. “Do you have to leave?”
“Not right now. Later, possibly.” He sits down beside me.
I stare at the open page. A glossy lifestyle article is printed on it, but I’m not reading it. My mind is still replaying his earlier confession. “How did you know about that night? I’m assuming whoever it was told you.”
He nods. “I got a call from him afterward. He told me what happened. I spent close to two hours on the phone with him, having him tell me second by second how you spent your day. Eventually, I realized how weird that must be for him. You weren’t his usual type of job.” He shifts on the couch, pulling me closer. “I was up all night, at war with myself. I wanted to call you. I almost booked a plane ticket.” He clears his throat.
“Why didn’t you? I probably would have forgiven you.”
“I wasn’t ready.”
He wasn’t ready?
“Let’s talk about something lighter.” He rests his hand on my knee, squeezing lightly.
“Do we have any of those topics?”
“We used to,” he says. “For the life of me, though, I can’t think of any now.”
“Tell me about your work,” I volunteer.
“I don’t want to talk about work with you.”
“But, what are you doing? Do you have an office?”
“I thought we agreed not to talk about this.”
“If you can’t tell me, I get it, but those are pretty basic questions.”
He sighs in defeat. “It’s the family business, I told you that, and I work out of my apartment.”
“Doing what?”
“I use my father’s connections to ensure no legislation gets in the way of our business.”
“How often are you in New York?”
“Whenever he needs me. He calls, I come.”
“Oh.”
“Not what you expected?”
“I guess not.” I study him. “I thought you’d want to work outside your father’s company. You never seemed to like it that much.”
He shrugs. “What is a family business without the family?”
“So that’s it?”
“For now.” His brow arches. “Is that all your questions?”
“For now,” I repeat his words.
“So lighter topics?”
“I’m fresh out, your turn.”
“Let’s talk about how much you missed me the last couple of days.”
“Or we could not,
” I tease him.
“No, too late. You had your chance to pick the topic, but you passed the opportunity to me.”
“I think the better question is, did you miss me?”
He stills, looking at me. “I miss you every second of every day. Now, tell me the truth.”
I can’t say anything, unable to find the words after his declaration. He shakes his head. “So, I have to force it out of you?”
“Please, like you could ever do that.”
“Oh. I have my ways.” His hand drifts down to my foot, shoved underneath me. “I remember everything about you, you know, but this stands out.” His finger brushes against the sole of my bare foot.
I shoot off the couch, but he pulls me back down, unable to hide his throaty laughter.
“Stop,” I squeal as he tickles me. “Nic!”
“Tell me and this ends.” His finger touches my foot again.
My body twists and turns, trying to break free from his torture, but he’s too strong. He holds me in place easily.
“Nic, please!”
“Tell me.”
“Fine.” I shove his shoulders, gasping for air. “I missed you.”
He stops his torment, moving in for a kiss. The second he stops restraining me, I try to get away from him again. Pushing too hard, I miss the couch and fall to the floor.
“Reagan,” he gasps, sliding off the couch toward me, “are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, fiend.” I inhale, trying to replace the air the impact knocked out of me. His merciless tickling didn’t help matters either.
Leaning against the couch, he stares down at me, lying flat on my back. I regard him with comical suspicion, waiting for him to tickle me again. He doesn’t, instead offering his hand. I take it, pulling myself up and pushing him down in one fell swoop. My hands bracket his shoulders as he lies on his back, staring up at me, all amusement gone.
“You’re so beautiful.” He runs a finger along my jaw.
I take a shuddering breath as he keeps touching me. My face. My arms. It’s as if he’s reacquainting himself with me, and I’d be lying if I said my heart wasn’t going crazy in my chest. Beating harder with every touch, every stroke.
I drop to my elbows, resting my body on top of his. His hands grip my waist. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I missed you,” I whisper against his lips. “It’s like a piece of me was missing.”