Lost In Between: Finding Me Duet #1

by K. L. Kreig

  “There you two are. Shaw, I’d like you to meet my campaign manager.”

  The man turns our way, and as his profile comes into focus, time pushes down on me. I hear the squeal of brakes. Feel the g-force of momentum as the second hand grinds to a halt, and I know now my sixth sense was not wrong.

  His gaze lands first on Shaw. I see his mouth move, his hand extend, and Shaw firmly shake it. Everything is long, drawn out, clicking along frame by agonizing frame. I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience, watching this scene unfold at a snail’s pace through someone else’s eyes.

  This can’t be happening.

  This can’t be happening.

  This cannot be happening.

  “And this is Shaw’s girlfriend…”

  Preston continues talking, but all I hear is his sharp intake of air. I feel the moment his gaze lands on me. I see the shock and confusion in his emerald eyes. I may even hear his heart stutter a few beats.

  If I weren’t stunned to the floor, I would have reacted differently. I would have covered it up. Feigned indifference. Held out my hand and shook his as if the very air between us wasn’t woven with history and heartbreak.

  But all my acting skills went out the door when I heard him softly whisper my nickname in utter disbelief. “Summer?”

  It’s the one that stuck after hot summer nights spent on the rocky banks of Lake Union, listening to crickets, waves splashing, drinking cheap wine from a box in plastic cups. Falling slowly in love.

  The one I’d purposely used at La Dolce Vita, not to remind myself of him, but to remind myself of all I’d lost for throwing him away like he never mattered, when in retrospect, he was all that did. It reminded me of mistakes not to make again.

  I try to swallow through the past now lodged tightly in my throat, but it doesn’t budge. I’m hyperaware of both Mercer men’s eyes on me, and while all I can think of is how it would be very convenient if the floor opened up and took me whole, I know I won’t get that lucky.

  So, I stand firm, maybe a little less tall than before, and croak out a hello to a man I once thought was my forever. The one I left sleeping in our bed as I snuck out in the dark of night because I couldn’t see past the bleeding agony of grief in my soul.

  Hurting him is the one colossal regret that drags me down to this day.

  “Hi, Reid.”

  25

  What the actual fuck is going on?

  He’s looking at Willow as if she’s a fucking hologram flickering in and out of focus.

  His face is screwed up in surprise and disbelief.

  He called her Summer.

  Summer.

  The same front she uses at La Dolce Vita.

  As.

  An.

  Escort.

  That can’t be coincidence.

  Is he another “coworker”? Former client? Lover? More?

  As everyone stands mute, trying to solve this little riddle, only a clueless fuck would miss the invisible thread of history linking these two. And I think we’ve already established that I’m not clueless, and I’m certainly not a clueless fuck.

  When I see him eyeing the necklace she always wears, a pained look flashes lightning fast over his face. I tuck Willow into my side and aim a death glare at the competition across from me, wondering how they know each other. Wondering how well they know each other. Wondering who the fuck this guy is or was to her.

  The thought that he’s tasted her addictive flavor or heard her sighs of pleasure when she’s coming undone makes me absolutely feral. Bloodthirsty.

  Jealousy and possessiveness seethe black and white-hot through me, leaving dark, sticky, tarry hate in its wake. It’s an unfamiliar, unsettling, unwelcome emotion, just like last time. I want to stop it. It has no place between us. This is fleeting. We are fleeting.

  “You two know each other?” I ask with a distinct bite that tastes foul and hateful.

  Reid’s—or fuckface as he’s now known to me—stunned eyes volley like ping-pong balls between Willow and me, his face contorting even further.

  “Uhhhh…”

  And clearly, he’s not articulate either. How my father ever hired his sorry ass to manage his campaign, I’ll never know. But unless he wants a big, fat “L” on Election Day I think it’s time he give this guy the boot. Or perhaps a giant shove off Ballard Bridge.

  “Yes, we were in theater together a few years ago,” Willow answers softly. “It’s nice to see you again, Reid.”

  Theater? Is she telling the truth, or is this just another fucking act, because I gotta be honest… sometimes it’s hard to tell with her.

  “You, too, Willow,” he mumbles. Dumbly. But that’s just my humble opinion.

  “Will you gentlemen excuse me? I need to visit the ladies’.”

  “Of course, dear,” my father replies.

  My hand catches hers before she can sneak away—again, I’m not a clueless fuck—and I pull her back into me. When her eyes drift up to mine, they’re blank. Those goddamn shields dropped down like impenetrable steel shutters. Closed for business lit in flashing neon blue.

  It guts me.

  I need to bring her back to me before she drifts further.

  Just like earlier, I don’t give a shit who is watching. I ignore the widening of her eyes and let my mouth find hers, kissing her rigid lips until I feel them relax. I admit I want to piss on my territory in front of every male, one in particular right now, but as soon as we make contact, it became about her. Just her. I want her to know she’s wanted by me in so many ways.

  “You okay?” I whisper only for her ears.

  “Yes.” She tries to smile, but it falls flat. Then she’s gone, and I’m left standing there watching her walk away from me. Running from him.

  When I pivot back toward this unwelcome interloper, I read my father’s face perfectly. Not here. Not now. Normally that would be enough but tonight, Fuck. That.

  My turf. My woman. My rules.

  “So, how do you know Willow again?” I ignore my father’s groan.

  Yes, I didn’t miss how he covered up his error by calling her Willow. So now this situation stinks fouler than Pike’s Market before dawn. The thought he knows both sides of her when I fight for every bit of her makes me burn wild.

  “As she said, we met at theater.”

  I take this guy in. About an inch taller than my six-one frame. Maybe a few more pounds on me. Wrinkles starting to show around the eyes and mouth. No gray mixed in his sandy-brown hair. Early thirties, if I had to guess. Fit. Clearly successful if his tailored suit and the way he carries himself is any indication. I don’t generally go around judging men’s looks on a scale of one to ten because I’m into women, but if I had to rate him, I loathe that he falls toward the higher end.

  “Which one?” I challenge his bullshit lie.

  His eyes sweep me. Sizing me up, too. Finally, I see a hint of balls. His eyes turn flinty, his lips thin, and if we weren’t standing in the presence of his employer right now, he’d probably have taken a step toward me. Hell, I would have already been up in his face.

  “Seattle Public.”

  “What did you do there?”

  He debates, deciding on if he’ll answer. “We were in a play together.”

  “Really? A play, you say? And you were…what? Friends? Cast mates? Love interests?”

  “Jesus, Shaw.” My father’s voice is tight and carries a warning. I ignore it.

  Reid’s jaw ticks furiously. He’s trying to remain steady. He’s as flustered as Willow is, but he can’t run. He can’t hide. If he so much as moves an inch, I will hunt him down like a fucking rabid dog.

  Then a thought hits me, and oh, the irony. This guy right here is responsible for me being with Willow in the first place. His brilliant plan for Preston’s eldest son to divert the media’s attention from the less savory parts of the Mercer family may be backfiring on him a bit.

  I breathe deeply and smile, pleased with this outcome.

 
“How did you two meet?” Reid asks pointedly, crossing his arms. A bushy brow cocks in unspoken challenge. My hackles rise. I swear if I had fangs, they would have dropped and been buried in his neck by now.

  And I’m not giving him shit. He is a temporary thorn in my side, and I don’t owe him a goddamn thing. Whatever I have with Willow is none of his business, regardless of how it came to be.

  I throw back the rest of the Scotch I’ve been nursing, setting the empty glass down on the counter next to me. “You know,” I start, pinning him with a glare, “fate is a funny thing. She sets people in our paths when we least expect them but when we need them the most…even if we didn’t realize we did at the time.”

  I’ve never once in my life believed that to be true. Until now. Until her. Regardless of what our future holds, she will be forever embedded in me.

  His face is as dark as I imagine mine is. Protectiveness hemorrhages around him, pooling at his feet. It becomes crystal clear to me that whatever past he shares with Willow, he cared deeply for her. Maybe still does.

  I want to bleed him out.

  I decide I’m done with whatever this is and leave to find Willow. She’s been gone longer than she should, and somehow I doubt she’ll return on her own. When he finally speaks, I’m two steps toward the hallway that leads to the bathroom. To my woman.

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  That statement is ripe with connotation. My gait falters, but I don’t turn. If I do I will drop him where he stands, crowd or not. Election or no.

  My father had better keep this fucker far, far away from me, or I’ll be creating a bigger scandal than a few unscrupulous threesomes.

  26

  “Willow, open up, beautiful.” I rap my knuckles on the door separating her from me. I hear shuffling but don’t see the knob turn. I test it. “If you think a flimsy lock is going to keep me from you, Goldilocks, you’re dead wrong. I mastered picking every lock in this house by the time I was nine. Now, open up.”

  I hear her huff a second before the door flies open. I half expect tears. I’m relieved not to see any. I see a myriad of other emotions, though, but right now what’s front and center is anger. Directed at me.

  “Jesus. Can’t a girl get any privacy around here, Drive By?”

  “No,” I gruff, stepping inside before closing us back in. And you’re no girl. You’re my girl. I want to say it, but the words won’t come. Christ, how has this woman gotten to me, making me think thoughts I’ve never entertained when no others could?

  “You’ve been gone a long time.” I lean against the oak, my hands tucked behind me. I’m afraid if I get any closer to her, I won’t be able to control myself. Fucking her in my parents’ guest bathroom while a party is going on only feet away is probably considered bad form. I almost don’t care. In fact, the thought of Reid hearing her scream my name actually sounds quite appealing, making me rethink my restraint.

  “I’ve been gone for less than five minutes,” she pipes back.

  “That’s four minutes too long.”

  After a heavy sigh, she says, “I was just coming back. The wine didn’t sit well.”

  I study her.

  Her eyes. Her demeanor. Her breaths.

  Her lies.

  “Who is he?”

  I swore with every step I took toward this room I would not do this again. That I’d learned my lesson after the other day. I seethe green, but I have no valid reason to. She has a past. I have a past. This is a business deal. Yes, my conscience whispers…a business deal that’s suddenly spun on its fucking side. I may have different feelings for Willow than for anyone else, but that doesn’t mean we have a future. It doesn’t mean I need to unearth every skeleton she has. I remind myself this is not my business.

  Unless he’s a threat to what we’re doing. Which he very well may be.

  Yeah. My irrationality jumps on board that justification train lickety-split and I forge ahead.

  “I told you already,” she says evenly.

  “Was he a client?”

  “No,” she replies adamantly.

  “Another coworker?”

  “No.”

  “Was he your lover?”

  “Shaw. Stop.”

  Fuuuuck.

  “Was he more?” I press, deciding I don’t care if I shouldn’t be jealous. I am.

  Did he love her? Did she love him? Does he know things about her I want to know? Does he hold her memories, her dreams, her secrets, her fears, her regrets? Does he know the Willow who hides behind the shroud? Does he have everything I didn’t really know I wanted until this very moment?

  She cocks her head, her face unreadable. “I thought we already talked about this.”

  Nice nonanswer.

  “About what? About the fact that my father’s campaign manager, the same one who suggested…this”—I wave my fingers back and forth between us—“happens to be a long-lost buddy? A scorned lover? That’s pretty convenient, don’t you think, Summer?”

  Her eyes harden. Her jaw sharpens. Her body stiffens like a board. The blood in my ears roars so loudly I barely hear her say, “Nothing about this is convenient.”

  “I’d say.”

  The quiet that bears down on us is nearly suffocating. By the way her chest heaves, I can tell she’s trying hard to hold herself together. I’m having the same problem, but for very different reasons.

  She wants to run. I want to chase. I want to pounce, devour, control, own. I want to fuck his memory out of her and lodge myself into his empty spot. The things I want from her should frighten the fuck out of her because they sure as hell frighten the fuck out of me.

  Breaking away from my angry stare, she turns toward the mirror, leans her hands on the granite top, and hangs her head in defeat. “I didn’t know. I swear,” she says with unmistakable pain lacing her tone.

  My hostility deflates. I believe her. Another thought crosses my mind. Is this the guy who destroyed her? Is he the one who turned such a vibrant woman full of fire and passion into one who masks her true self for fear of being hurt?

  The thought is almost debilitating, raising every protective instinct I have.

  I step behind her and cage her in with my much larger frame. One hand on the outside of hers, I let my thumb lightly rub the sensitive flesh of her pinky while I move her long, golden-spun hair off the opposite shoulder. She shivers at my light touch.

  “Is he the one?” I ask lowly in her ear.

  If he is, I will not rest until I ruin him. He won’t even be able to get a job at the county landfill when I’m through.

  Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. They beg me to let this go. I wish I could.

  “Only my future can unlock my past.”

  “What does that even mean?” I ask, baffled as all hell.

  “It means, Shaw, that I have to draw the line here somewhere. I’ll admit that I’m attracted to you, but I’m just doing what you said. Defining what this is and isn’t. I see the end. I know it’s coming. And as much as I like you, I can’t go handing over hurts and secrets and mistakes like they don’t mean something to me, because they do. It’s another thing you’re asking me to give you, to give up, to empower you with. They make me vulnerable and scared. They make me, me. And if I give them to you, then I lose another part of me to you. And don’t you see? If I do that, you’ll end up with all my pieces, and I’ll end up with nothing, broken at the end of this whether you’ll mean for me to be or not. I can’t go through that.”

  I’m speechless. I never thought of it in those terms, but apparently, I’m bastard of the year because the only thing I latch onto is “As much as I like you.” Like you. Not, how much I want you. That simple word penetrates a place I didn’t know I had. Dozens of women have said the same thing, even professed love, but not one of them shone a fraction of daylight into that unknown abyss like Willow’s single, innocent word just did.

  “What if I want more than that now?” The question falls from my mouth before I think it all t
he way through. She’s as surprised as I feel.

  “Do you?”

  Hope. It’s all I hear, and it should stop me dead in my tracks. I don’t want to lead this incredible woman on, hurting her when I can’t commit. Because I never commit. Only I can’t make myself take it back.

  “I…I don’t know, Willow,” I admit. Fuck. I don’t know anything about now, except I hate this place we’re in. I spin her and cup her face, trying to make sense of the jumbled thoughts in my head. “I don’t want to promise anything, but I also know I don’t like this arm’s length you hold me at. Don’t spill every secret; I’m not asking that. But bend your damn elbow once in a while, because when you do, Willow, when you let your guard down—even a fraction—you are absolutely irresistible. Give me more. I just want…more.”

  I hate it when a woman cries, but it’s never felt like this. Each individual drop of water filling her eyes is a fresh slice to my soul. “How much more?” she asks tentatively.

  Everything. I unfairly want all of you. “Whatever you’ll give me,” I answer softly, wiping away a single trail of moisture.

  For long heartbeats, our eyes search each other’s. That cloak she covers herself with slips. I see vulnerability. I see into her bruised soul. I see her. I want nothing more in this moment than to be back at my house so I can lay her on my bed and devote myself to worshipping her for hours. I want to soothe and reassure her. I want too many things to name.

  “Tell me if he hurt you. Please,” I plead, swallowing hard. “Please at least tell me that much.” I won’t let this go until I know how many ribbons I need to shred this asshole into.

  I prepare myself for the worst when she shifts her gaze.

  “No. I hurt him.”

  When her barely audible confession hits my ears, I breathe a sigh of relief. But it’s brief, at best. I now have confirmation that she did, in fact, have a relationship with this guy, and I don’t like it. At. Fucking. All.

  I don’t like that he’s touched her. Whispered her name. Probably made love to her.

  And I sure as fuck don’t like that he’s going to be around for the next several months and I’ll have no way to completely skirt around him. There are two fundraisers scheduled between now and Election Day. He’s sure to attend, not to mention he will literally be in my father’s front pocket until then, practically stroking his dick.