Shallow

by Cora Kenborn

  “Somewhat,” I answer vaguely, my stare never moving from Shiloh’s face.

  “A long time ago,” she adds, tilting her chin to the side. I’m not sure what’s going through her head, but it doesn’t escape me that she’s hesitant to elaborate. “Good to see you again, Carri—I mean, Cary.”

  “I somehow doubt that.” Picking up the letter from the state of California, I wave it in the air like a prize.

  “Did you arrange this?” she asks, narrowing the eye not covered by her hair. If she didn’t seem so antsy, I’d probably be amused. Instead, I’m intrigued.

  “What if I did?”

  “You don’t have that kind of power.” Shiloh holds my stare, but her fidgeting betrays the confidence in her tone.

  She’s right. I don’t. I’m just as shocked she’s here as she is, but a direct challenge like that can’t go unanswered.

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of now, Starshine.” Folding my arms behind my head, I lean back against my chair and throw her a cocky glare. At the mention of my old nickname for her, she sucks in a sharp breath. That one word holds more weight than anyone could ever understand—my way of waving a red flag at an already irate bull.

  It works. She’s ready to charge.

  “Neither do you.” The rebellion in her eyes fucks with me for a minute as I see a flash of the confident woman I remember. The self-indulgent posture. The flickering eyes you know are judging you. The sexy curve of her lips.

  My pants involuntarily tighten, and I bite back a curse. It pisses me off that my body still reacts to her bullshit. Tension crackles in the small room as I try to temper down my hard-on. I suppose I’m a dick for feeding on her nerves, but after all this time, it’s the least she owes me.

  “Shiloh, can you wait outside for a minute?” Will gently touches her elbow, and I have to grip the armrests of my chair to keep from jumping out of it. I recognize the look in his eyes. Normally, I don’t give a shit what woman he targets—our tastes are hardly ever the same. However, something about the sudden familiarity between them sets me on edge.

  “Outside?” Her gaze snaps toward the open door where Frankie still stands, his arms braced against the wooden frame like a hell hound. “You mean, out there by myself with those criminals?”

  “Watch the stone throwing, sweetheart. You know what they say about those who live in glass houses.” I’ll put up with a lot, but disrespecting my boys when she’s been shipped across the country against her will isn’t one of them.

  “Shiloh, go,” Will instructs.

  Her eyes darken as Frankie steps back and motions her through the doorway with a dramatic sweep of his arm. Shiloh moves at a snail’s pace and his eyes follow every sway of her ass.

  “Don’t worry, sweet thing,” he assures her with a wink. “Will’s my probation officer too. We have a lot in common.”

  Shiloh swallows, her gaze hopeful. “Did you wreck a car too?”

  “Nah, more like stole one,” he says, closing the door behind them.

  Once we’re alone, Will places his palms flat on my desk. “Cary…”

  I’m in no mood for a lecture. “Stay away from her, Will.”

  He shakes his head. “Not possible. According to the state of California, I’m responsible for her sentence.”

  I trap a sadistic laugh in my throat.

  And I’m responsible for her destruction.

  “She’s bad news. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to see her drag you down too.”

  “I remember someone telling me the same thing about you five years ago,” he says, his dismissive chuckle pissing me off. “Look, I’m her probation officer, Cary. She’s not going to drag me down. We had a nice talk,” he admits, shrugging one shoulder. “She’s a little uppity, but she seems harmless.”

  “Yeah, so does a boa constrictor until it wraps itself around you and squeezes the life out of you.” The blatant contempt in my voice surprises me a little.

  So much for a poker face.

  “I don’t know what went on between you two or why you both looked like you’d seen a ghost when we walked in, but Shiloh West is my job now. I take my job very seriously, Cary.”

  My head starts to pound. I’ve never considered a scenario where my best friend would run interference between a living nightmare and dead dream, but then again, anything’s possible when Shiloh is involved.

  “Will, don’t insult my intelligence. I saw the way you looked at her. I know how every guy looks at her. For God’s sake, I thought Frankie was going to have to go jerk off just to redirect blood flow back to his head.”

  “Hell, man, I’m not blind. She’s Shiloh West. It doesn’t mean I can’t do my job and be professional. Besides, I can tell there’s something more to you two than you’re letting on.”

  He doesn’t ask what that something is, which gets under my skin even more. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’m not. I’m worried about her.”

  “Shiloh can handle herself. She always has.” Then, just because he’s my friend, I offer a warning. “Be careful. That woman has a way of getting under your skin, and before you know it, she’s fucked you over. Then you’re ruined and you’ll spend your life dreaming how many different ways you can fuck her back.”

  “Whatever she did, it’s over,” he says in a pitying tone I don’t appreciate. “She’s paying a penance.”

  “There aren’t enough lifetimes for her to pay for all she’s done.”

  Dismissing me, Will glances at his watch. “I have to go. I need to track down a few deadbeat parolees. Don’t overschedule her, she has classes she has to attend.”

  “Rehab, of course.” I smirk, settling back into my chair.

  “You have no room to talk, Cary.” Reaching for the doorknob, he pauses and glances over his shoulder. “Don’t let a personal vendetta cloud your judgment on this.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You told me you built this center from the ground up for your sister. Do you really think she’d approve of you using something bearing her name to hurt someone else?”

  I should let it go, but hearing Ellie’s name stirs up unresolved bitterness. “Don’t drag old history into this.”

  “Yeah,” he counters, swinging the door open and turning his back to me. “Why don’t you listen to your own advice.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes of composing myself does nothing to quell the mix of opposing feelings swirling in my head. I stand up and sit down at least half a dozen times, trying to hold on to the hatred while ignoring any trace of affection I had for her.

  I expected her to glide in here on her golden throne, and when she didn’t, something short-circuited in my brain. Something’s different about her, and it doesn’t fit in with my plans. I need that fragile look on her face to go away. Deep down, I know it’s fake. Nothing about Shiloh is genuine. It never has been.

  With a new resolve, I kick my office door open and head straight for her. I have to bite back a laugh when I find her huddled in the corner like some wounded animal, her palms pressed against the wall as the boys circle around her. She looks like a fish out of water—her mouth opening and closing like she’s gasping for air, just hoping someone pushes her back into familiar waters.

  Not today.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I nod toward the herd of testosterone staring at her like she’s the final crust of bread at a soup kitchen. “Boys, has Shiloh kept you entertained?”

  A slow smile builds on Tiny’s face as he steps forward and presses a sweaty palm next to her ear. “Not yet, boss. Looks like princess here thinks she’s about to get a train run on her or somethin’.”

  Although his size gives Tiny the appearance of a predatory linebacker, I’ve worked with him enough to know he’s all talk. However, the horror that crosses Shiloh’s face is priceless. I can see her wheels turning as she glances toward the exit and back to me. She’s weighing the consequences of saying fuck it and ma
king a break for it. Like an asshole, I watch the entire scene play out without budging. She’s in a no-win situation. She loses either way.

  “A train?” Shiloh shifts shocked face in my direction. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

  “Nope.” I have no intention of elaborating. With a quick assessment of the room, I settle on what’s closest, grabbing the broom and a dustpan resting on the wall behind me. Fascinated by the inquisitive arc of her brow, I’m in front of her within a few steps and hold them out like an offering.

  “What the hell is that?” she says, staring at the broom with disgust.

  “For you, it’s probably your go-to mode of transportation.” A wave of laughter comes from behind me as I shove it against her chest. “But around here we call it a broom.”

  She either doesn’t notice my hand pressed between her breasts, or she doesn’t care, because the timid tick of her jaw turns deadly. “I’m not a moron, Carrick. I know what the hell a broom is. What do you expect me to do with it?”

  “Cary,” I remind her. “Although, since you’ll be reporting to me for the next three years, Mr. Kincaid is a little more professional, don’t you think?” Unable to stop myself, I crook a finger and brush her long blonde hair off her face. My hand barely grazes her cheek when her arm flies up out of nowhere and slaps it away.

  “Hands off, Mr. Kincaid,” she warns, drawing my name out with such contempt that all the blood pounding in my head immediately rushes south.

  “Don’t worry, Starshine. No one around here gives enough of a shit to touch you. You’re here for work and decoration.” Before she can object, I pry open her fisted hand and shove the broom in it.

  “You expect me to clean?” she whispers, her fingers loosely wrapping around the wooden handle. “In this outfit?”

  I roll my eyes at her designer jeans and beige t-shirt with a pretentious sequined pocket on the corner. “Unless you plan to take it off, then yes, I expect you down on your hands and knees in that outfit.”

  A streak of disappointment rushes through me when she doesn’t come back at my taunt. Instead, she grabs the broom and jerks it out of my hand.

  “When did you become such a crude asshole?”

  That’s it. Anger is the emotion I want from her. I crave it. It drives me, and the more she spouts off at the mouth, the more my mood improves. Pride is such an unattractive trait, and I’ve forgotten how well she wears it.

  Violating my own rule, I shove the inside of my left wrist in her face and whisper through her blonde waves. “Let’s see, right about this time.”

  It’s almost a rush to watch the immediate crack in her stoned expression. The pale gray in her eyes glitter with flecks of violet the more she stares and my body’s reaction is involuntary.

  I’ve waited for this moment.

  I watch her selfish brain decipher the first tattoo I marked myself with. The symbol of the medical profession stretches from the base of my wrist up to my elbow. Two winding snakes wrap around the caduceus wand, flanked at the top by a set of elaborate wings.

  The moment her eyes land on the pinnacle, my heart pounds a revengeful beat. The meaning is unmistakable, and if she had any doubts as to what she’d walked into, the faded ink explodes them into oblivion.

  Sitting on the top of the staff, in between the flared wings, a brightly colored star erupts into a ball of flames. Embers rain down, ripping the flesh off the snakes in a gruesome display of pain and suffering.

  “What’s that?’ she whispers in a tone so low I’m not sure she meant to speak at all.

  “Skyfall.”

  The final stage in a star’s reign—a dramatic and catastrophic explosion, destroying everything in its path.

  Her.

  Shiloh can never unfuck the lives she’s ruined. After she pays her penance to the world, Ellie will still be dead. So, I’ll spend the rest of her time here making her wish she was too.

  Six

  Cary

  I spend the next half hour introducing my boys to the woman they’ve only dreamed about. Shiloh’s an ideal in their head—a living fantasy dropped on their doorstep. For me, she’s a nightmare wrapped in a candy-coated shell.

  Although she’s cordial, she keeps her distance to ensure a wall of security stays between her and those beneath her. After getting their fill, the boys file out one by one, Frankie being the last to leave. The kid has his issues, but he’s one hell of a judge of character.

  The slow scan he gives Shiloh before closing the door isn’t sexual. He has her number.

  She continues to sweep on autopilot, and the sight sets my world on fire. Watching Shiloh West clean my dirty floor is enjoyable, but knowing I’m the reason sweat drips from her brow is damn near orgasmic. Now that we’re alone, she pauses to stare at the enormous picture of Ellie hanging on the wall. Part of me wants to shake her until she looks away, but the other part waits to see what she’ll do next. Either way, my response will be the same. Ellie is off limits to her.

  “You opened this center for her?” She poses it as a question, but there’s no inflection to her voice.

  “She deserved a legacy.” I run a hand through my hair and pull at the strands, the conversation pissing me off. “It’s all I had left to give her.”

  Shiloh doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t have to. Both of us know why I’m here and not saving a thousand Ellies. I see remorse pass over her face, and I give zero fucks. Ellie doesn’t need her guilt, and neither do I.

  “She was such a good—”

  “Don’t tell me what a good person she was.” I sneak a sideways glance at her, refusing to buy the devastation on her face. Shiloh’s a master of her own emotions. I’m no idiot, and I don’t fall for the same act twice.

  “Ellie is better off.” It’s all I can say to her.

  “You’re not the only one who lost someone, Cary.”

  “Yeah? Well, newsflash, sweetheart. I didn’t kill anyone. Can you say the same?”

  I don’t want her answer. I’ll never not blame her for still being stuck in South Carolina. She’s the reason I wasn’t there when Ellie took her last breath. She’s the ticking time bomb who blew my world to hell and back. However, as she lowers her head and brushes her hair forward again, my curiosity is piqued. It’s not the first time she’s done it.

  My stare doesn’t go unnoticed, and she pulls away from me. I smell her fear. It’s melted with shame, and I breathe it in like fucking oxygen. She bends to my rules in my house, so I ignore her desperation and brush her hair away from her face. She recoils, but not before my fingers trace the jagged scars that span across the left side of her face. The crude C shape has destroyed her flawless skin. I shouldn’t stare, but as much as I hate her, I can’t stop myself.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me.” Knocking my hand away, she turns and props the broom against the window.

  “I didn’t plan on it.”

  “The doctors say they’ll fade with time.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I guess that’s good since time’s all I’ve got.”

  Beautiful Shiloh.

  Perfect Shiloh.

  Memories blend with reality as she quickly brushes her hair forward again. The boy who loved her battles with the man who hates her as I almost snap the broom in half while returning it to the corner.

  “No one here will be looking at your face. The boys will be too busy staring at your ass since you’ve shown it off so many times.”

  She whips around, her shame fading. “Did you see my magazines, Cary?”

  “I have to eat, Starshine. It’s hard to miss your tits in every supermarket check-out line.”

  She raises an eyebrow, hiding a smirk as if we’ve just had some big revelation. “Did you buy one of them?”

  Nope. I bought all of them.

  “No,” I lie. “I swore when you left I never wanted to see your face again. That includes your ass.”

  Show and tell time is over. I feel her watching me as I open the supply closet and pull out a faded
red bucket and a mop. I slide them across the floor and shove the handle toward her.

  “What now?” she asks, eyeing the mop.

  Pointing down the hall, I take more pleasure then necessary in ripping the privilege off her like a badge. “Locker room, Cinderella. Suds and scrub. It’s pretty ripe in there, so I’d wear gloves if I were you.”

  “Is this for real?” she balks, her eyes widening in horror. “What the hell do you expect from me?”

  “Penance.”

  For me. For Ellie. For Kirkland Maynard. For every sucker who’s fallen for her plastic smile and cheap words.

  And this is just the beginning.

  We stare at each other, close to a decade of unfinished business resting on our tongues. I push the mop toward her, and she hesitantly takes it, inhaling deeply as she accepts her fate. I try to hold in a laugh as she lowers her eyes and heads down the hall.

  Then the front door slams and ruins my moment.

  “Well, well, well. Look what the court dragged in.”

  Shiloh freezes and grips the mop. I should probably say something. Maybe do some shit to intervene, but I don’t. You can’t buy this kind of entertainment.

  The demon from my past breathes out the one name she probably never expected to. “Taryn.”

  I watch them interact, feeling like a referee at a mud wrestling match. In the short time I had before Shiloh’s arrival, morbid curiosity made me wonder how my past would blend with my present. From the lack of shock in Taryn’s eyes, I have no doubt she knew about Shiloh’s return and kept it from me on purpose.

  They communicate with heated glances, one look speaking a thousand words. Friends, enemies—with Shiloh and Taryn, the distinction is about as clear as a stained-glass window.

  “How the mighty have fallen.” Taryn is the first one to speak, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder.

  Shiloh’s fingers tighten around the mop. “I’m surprised you’re still in town. I thought you were heading to New York after graduation for that acting career you were always talking about?”

  Shiloh’s face is stone, but I have to bite my tongue to not laugh. We both know although Taryn’s acting skills are her finest quality, her only path to stardom would be on her knees.