“Come on. You should sit down.” Kyle tucked Pen into his side and guided her down the hall to a row of chairs in the waiting room. As he helped her sit, her anxious gaze swept over him, stalling on his bare chest, then she noticed his arm.
“Kyle, you’re bleeding.”
It looked worse than it was. Blood stained the white t-shirt wrapped around his forearm, but he barely noticed the injury. The adrenaline coursing through his veins muted the pain.
“I’m fine. It’s just a small cut. When we’re done here, I’ll go to the hospital and get it stitched up.”
She canted her head to check out the broken glass. “The door was locked?”
He nodded.
“I had it open.”
Which explained how the guy got in. “You didn’t see anyone enter?”
“No, but I was in Vi’s office packing up some of her things after I cancelled the appointments for the day.”
So, anyone could have walked in and Pen wouldn’t have known it. Fabulous. He refrained from pointing out the obvious—that she had no business being in there alone with the doors unlocked. What good would it do now? They’d had a close call, but Pen was safe and that was all that mattered.
The officers came back a few minutes later, both breathing hard and empty-handed. But still the question had to be asked. “Did you see him?” Pen’s hopefulness was as palpable as her disappointment when the first officer shook his head.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Whoever it was is long gone now.”
She bit her bottom lip, struggling to hold back her tears—tears that gutted him because she’d finally reached her breaking point. After all the shit he’d been dealing with, worrying about Pen, Willow’s accident, the parole hearing, and his knee, Kyle was well past his own.
“I just want this all to stop.” She buried her face in her hands and began to cry. The officers exchanged concerned looks then turned their gazes toward Kyle. He took the chair beside Pen and slipped his arm around her, pulling her against him.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Grady and my partner here is Officer Martinez.” The cop pulled a notepad from his pocket and flipped it open, then extracted a pen from his pocket. “Officer Martinez will be taking a look around the offices to make sure it’s safe while we talk, okay?”
Pen nodded and Kyle snagged a few tissues off the end table beside him, handing then to her.
“Is your arm all right, Mr. Scott? Do you need medical attention?”
“I’m fine. I just want to get this report made so I can get Pen home.”
“I understand. How do you know Ms. Cantrel?
“She’s my girlfriend.”
Pen’s teary gaze darted to him and he briefly wondered if she’d dispute his claim. When no objection was voiced, Kyle proceeded to explain to the officer what had been happening over the last few weeks. After Pen rallied, she filled in the gaps with more details, and by the time she’d finished, he knew the officer was thinking the same thing Kyle had been. Why in the hell hadn’t she reported this sooner? But that was neither here nor there, he supposed. What was done was done, and although he didn’t understand or agree with it, she seemed to have her reasons for not wanting to involve the police.
“I’ve thought about changing my cell phone number—”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Officer Grady cut in. “We can use these messages for evidence once he’s caught, and changing your number won’t make him stop. It might anger him and escalate the problem. Save any further correspondence, but do not respond to him. I’ll get your case assigned to a detective who specializes in this type of crime. They can advise you on how to proceed. Do you have someplace safe to stay? I wouldn’t recommend going home.”
“She’ll be staying with me,” Kyle cut in, fully expecting a battle on his hands. When he didn’t get one, he knew she was scared shitless. Then again, getting locked in a closet and nearly abducted would do that to someone. “I’m having a security system installed at her place, but she won’t be staying there. Not until this guy is caught.”
The officer nodded his agreement and before leaving, he took Kyle and Pen’s contact information. Pen offered to go with him to the hospital, but Kyle wasn’t sure if it was out of concern, or fear of being alone. Either one was fine with him. After her close call, he wasn’t too keen on letting this woman out of his sight. At least not until he got her moved into his place and settled in safely.
Which apparently wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon, because they’d been sitting in the ER for over an hour and he’d yet to see a doctor. It wasn’t that he was some pretentious asshole who thought his emergency was more important than someone else’s. It was that this hospital—this emergency room—held bad memories for him. Down the hall and three doors on the left was the trauma room where Willow had been taken the night Campoli had plowed into the family car and then slit Willow’s throat.
A part of him was almost looking forward to facing that bastard. He wanted to see the look on his face when he realized he wasn’t getting out of there. And he wouldn’t be, not with an open investigation on Willow’s accident. The hearing was just a formality at this point. The detective working Willow’s case had told him an eye witness had come forward and the driver of the vehicle was an employee of Campoli’s father. Goddamn criminals…the lot of them.
Kyle had been in the family room across the hall with Regan when he’d discovered his parents hadn’t survived the crash. No…this place held nothing but bad memories for him, and the ghosts of Christmas past were haunting the fuck out of him. He’d erroneously thought he could handle being here. He’d underestimated the emotional impact the ER would have on him. Shit he’d buried a long time ago kept rising, and every time the memories came, so did the nausea. How swell would it be to start puking in that trash can over there? It might be worth the humiliation if it would get someone in here to sew his arm up so he could get the hell out of here.
He was growing more restless by the second. Pen must have picked up on his agitation, because she cast him frequent glances from where she silently sat in the chair, seeming lost in her own thoughts. She hadn’t spoken more than a few words since they’d gotten here. He wished she’d talk to him, tell him what was going on inside that complicated head of hers. And truthfully, he could have used the distraction.
Kyle studied her, watching her pick the clear coat of polish from her French-tip manicure. He wanted to hop off the bed where the nurse had him soaking his arm and go to her. He craved touching her for his own comfort almost as much as he wanted to give it. Being here was messing with his head and he could feel the imminence of his sprawling descent boring down on him.
“I’m sorry about your arm.” She spoke softly, her gaze stayed down, refusing to look at him.
“Hey, Pen.”
No response.
“Pen, look at me.” After a moment, her dark eyes flickered up to lock on his and he swore to God he’d been sucker punched in the gut by an invisible fist. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You understand me? None of this is your fault.”
Her eyes grew glassy as she watched him, her bottom lip trembling until she trapped it between her teeth. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rolled the stand with the soaking tub closer. “Come here.” He held out his hand. After a moment, she took it and he tugged her to her feet, guiding her over to sit beside him. With his good arm, he hugged her against him and rested his chin on top of her head. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her scent as her arms slipped around his waist and clung tightly to him.
He tried to forget the grief that stole the air from his lungs and made every beat of his heart agony. He tried to ignore the ache in his soul that had once been full of life, full of promise and joy. The bone-deep suffering that had once consumed him returned with a vengeance to claim him. If he didn’t fight it, didn’t get the hell out of here and soon, he was going to be lost.
As he’d done with Willow time and time again, when the loss became too r
eal and the pain threatened to overtake him, he turned his focus away from himself and onto someone who needed him. And Pen, this beautiful woman trembling in his arms…she needed him.
“Talk to me, sweetheart. You’ve hardly said a word since we left the office.” He needed her to speak, needed the distraction. But silence answered him. His heart began to beat faster as the memories began to churn in a cyclone of suffering—his…Willow’s… When would it ever stop? Even now, he feared that bastard Campoli would win in the end, because his sister was still in the ICU fighting for her life—again.
“I don’t want to want you,” she confessed softly.
The riotous pounding of his heart made it nearly impossible to hear. But as she continued to speak, the storm raging inside his mind began to calm at the sound of her soft, sweet voice.
“Everyone I’ve ever depended on has either abandoned me or hurt me. I told myself I couldn’t trust you, that you would do the same thing. But you’re different. You saved me—again. If you hadn’t gotten there when you did, who knows what would have happened? I’m scared to need you, Kyle, but I’m more scared of doing this alone.”
“Shh,” he hushed when she began crying again. “You’re not alone.” He knew exactly how she felt because he needed her just as much as she needed him—only for different reasons—but it made the necessity no less great. She was the glue holding him together, because the grief he’d been holding at bay for the last five years was threatening to shatter him.
“That’s why I act the way I do. Why I push you away. It’s not because I don’t like you, Kyle. I do. More than I probably should. When this is all over, I don’t want to get hurt when you go back to your old life, your fighting career, and your cage-bangers while I’m stuck here living mine.”
“Who said this is going to end?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Is it?” he challenged, planting the seed of thought and knowing if he pushed any harder she’d get spooked and run. Maybe not physically, because where would she go? She needed him to keep her safe. But emotionally? She’d pack her bags and adios before he could even say sayonara.
Before she could respond, there was a knock on the door and the doctor finally entered. Kyle couldn’t decide if this guy had the best or the worst timing ever.
Chapter Eighteen
Pen startled awake at the sound of something banging downstairs. Ripped from slumber, a blast of adrenaline sent her heart and her mind racing. Was someone breaking into Kyle’s house? Had her stalker found her? Kyle had been so careful coming here, taking her through a pattern of twists and turns to ensure they hadn’t been followed. He promised her she was safe. But what if…
She needed to get to Kyle, to warn him someone was downstairs. Tossing back the covers, she didn’t take time to dress beyond her mid-thigh nightshirt and grabbed her pepper spray off the nightstand. Attempting to move silently through the foreign house, she made her way down the hall to Kyle’s room. Pen thought about knocking, but didn’t want to risk making any more noise. She turned the knob and winced when it announced her presence with a loud creeeak.
The house was aged, but eclectically cute and well-kept. It certainly wasn’t what she’d been expecting when she pictured the type of home Kyle would live in—especially someone who made the kind of bank he did. This middle class suburban residence was the kind of home you’d imagine raising a family. The one with a white picket fence and a tire swing in the front yard. This was the kind of place she would have dreamed of as a young girl, when she’d been full of hopes, dreams, and happily ever afters.
“Kyle,” she whispered, slipping inside his room. “I heard someone downstairs.” In the darkness, it was impossible to make out his shape. When he didn’t respond, she felt along the wall for a switch and flipped it on. Light illuminated his empty room, the bed was untouched. He hadn’t gone to sleep? It was 3:30 in the morning. Why was he still up? More concerned for him than frightened about an intruder, she followed the rustling sounds down the stairs, through the living room and past the dining area. There she found him, sitting at the small breakfast table in the country-style kitchen. The only light illuminating the space came from the soft glow above the stove. Kyle’s head was in his hand, forehead braced against his palm, fingers threaded into his hair. His other hand clutched a glass filled with ice and an amber liquid. A quick glance at the counter behind him identified the mystery beverage.
“Kyle?”
His head shot up at the sound of her voice. Momentary surprise and another emotion she couldn’t quite decipher flashed in his vibrant blue eyes—eyes that shone a little bit brighter and were slightly bloodshot. Was he drunk? It was hard to tell. He took his time dragging his gaze over her and she felt everywhere those stunning eyes stalled. He wasn’t usually so obvious about his interest. In fact, most times she felt like the lecher in their relationship. As he studied her, she became acutely aware of her nakedness beneath the thin cotton nightshirt. Her breasts felt heavy in their unbound freedom, nipples puckering beneath his hungry stare. As his gaze traveled lower, so did the heat.
Then his mouth lifted in a crooked grin that made him boyishly handsome. “You planning to use that on me, then?”
She followed his gaze to the pepper spray still clutched tightly in her grip. “You never know,” she quipped, coming forward and pulling out the chair next to him. “You keep looking at me like that, I might have to.”
He grunted as she took the seat, angling the chair toward him. “I never took you for a scotch drinker.”
“I’m not. It’s my father’s. Left a full bottle of it when he died. Five years later, I’m only half through it.”
“What’s the occasion?”
His brow arched, like he didn’t understand the question, but he knew. He was just trying to decide if he wanted to tell her. While he made up his mind, she lifted the glass from his hand and took a sip. As the liquid passed her tongue and bit the back of her throat, she grimaced. “Yuck. It tastes like a burnt cork.” But it did warm her stomach nicely.
Kyle chuckled, the throaty chortle lacking humor. “And this is the expensive stuff.” He retrieved the glass from her and tipped back another swallow, ice cubes tinkling in his glass.
“I’ll take Patrón any day. The only thing this is good for is getting shitfaced.”
He pointed his finger at her and winked. “Exactly.”
She studied Kyle as he returned to his mission, and if she had to wager a guess, she’d have said he was well on his way to accomplishing that goal. “Are you gonna tell me what’s got you down here drinking your father’s expensive scotch in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t want to burden you with my problems, Pen. You’re dealing with enough of your own shit.”
“Yeah, and you’re taking that on too. So, tell me what’s going on. Is it Willow?” She grabbed his glass and tipped back another big swig. Her throat was still burning from the first swallow, so this one went down a little smoother.
She pushed the glass toward him and was surprised when Kyle took her hand instead. His grip was gentle, the calluses in his palm a reminder of his strength. These were a fighter’s hands, powerful and dangerous. Of all the people who possessed the ability and knowledge to harm her, it was this man, and yet he was the only one she trusted with her life.
He studied her hand as he seemed to ponder what to say. His thumb slowly brushed over the top of her knuckles, his marred with multiple scars. Even this simple touch woke those butterflies low in her stomach, but she tried to quell the little buggers because that’s not what this was. Kyle wasn’t making a move on her. He just wanted to hold her hand, nothing more than the comfort of human contact.
Companionship was a foreign concept to Pen. Men always wanted something from her—and it wasn’t friendship. From early on they’d used her, and so she’d started using them back because if she took control of the game, then she could make the rules and they would no longer be the ones taking advantage of her.
But this thing with Kyle…it felt different. He was different. And losing that sense of control frightened her almost more than her stalker. Not that she’d ever have admitted as much to him. Today in the hospital had been as real and honest as she could get without him discovering the secrets that lay in the shadows of her past. But it had been the truth. She didn’t want to want him, and yet here she was, wanting him more than her next breath.
Wow, she was a mess.
“I told you my parents were killed in a car accident, and Willow was in that car. What I might not have said was that the guy who caused the accident was high on coke at the time. When he realized he’d caused the accident and two people were dead, he panicked. He didn’t want any witnesses. Willow was trapped in the back of the car, and Sean Campoli took a piece of glass and cut her throat.”
Pen gasped, her free hand flying up to cover her mouth as Kyle paused to toss back another swallow of scotch.
“He took off and left her for dead. She nearly died, but she’s a fighter. They arrested Campoli and charged him with vehicular homicide and attempted murder. He was sentenced to fifteen years.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep. His father is Stephano Campoli. We’re lucky Sean got any prison time at all, and he probably wouldn’t have if Willow hadn’t gone to his trial and testified. In this state, once you’ve served one-third of your sentence, you’re eligible for parole. Several months ago, Willow got a letter from the DOC informing her of Campoli’s upcoming hearing and she told them she wanted to appeal his early release. I tried to talk her out of doing it. She’s already been through so much. I worried seeing him again would undo all the progress she’s made.”
Pen sat silently as Kyle opened up to her. He was so real as he sat there telling her his deepest feelings, baring his soul to her.
“But Willow needs him in there,” he continued, taking another gulp of scotch. “—for her own peace of mind and I understand that. Campoli must have found out that Willow was going to appeal the parole, because that accident a few days ago was not an accident. A witness came forward and said she was run off the road. Campoli tried to kill her again—or his father—they’re both corrupt pieces of shit. The police are investigating the accident. Either way, she won’t be there at the parole hearing now. They think they’ve won.” He drained his glass and set it on the table with a loud clap. “I can’t wait to see the look on that bastard’s face tomorrow when I walk in there.”
In for the Win Page 15