Found Underneath: Finding Me Duet #2

by K. L. Kreig

  She will never know the truth about what happened that night. It will absolutely kill her like it does me.

  She presses her lips together, and her gaze falls to her lap. She’s quiet for such a long time I’m sure she’s slipped away from me again, but then she asks the same question she always asks when we talk about him in the present tense. “Was anyone else hurt?”

  She wants details. I don’t have them.

  She wants answers. I don’t have those either.

  The ever-present guilt I’m married to rears her ugly head. Are we both living without my father because I was too caught up in my own life and missed something? I can’t bear the answer.

  “No. No one else was hurt.”

  Her lip quivers. “I get scared sometimes. I forget things. Why can’t I remember? I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

  I don’t understand either.

  I slide from the couch and kneel in front of her, my heart clogging my throat. I take her hands in mine and give her all my strength. “I know, but I’m here. I’ll always be here for you, Momma. I promise. I love you.” I’ll never leave you like Daddy did.

  Her trembling lips turn up. She strokes my cheek, pinching it at the fullest part like she always used to do when I was little. Then she blinks, drops her hand, and I watch our precious moments together evaporate. She studies me blankly for several beats and turns her attention back to the TV. I head to the bathroom and take the next few minutes to pull myself together before spending the rest of the afternoon bingeing on Jeopardy while she naps.

  Later that evening, I’m back home cooking dinner when Sierra makes an appearance. No doubt the smell of food drew her out of her cave. I swear she’d starve if it weren’t for me. I’m not sure how she survived those few months I lived with Reid.

  “How’s the hot toddy?” she jibes. Picking up a stack of pancakes with her fingers, she drops them onto an extra plate I already set out. Don’t like breakfast for dinner? Uh-huh, right.

  It’s been almost a week since I’ve last seen my roommate. I’ve been spending more and more time at Shaw’s, but tonight he’s visiting with his dad. He asked me to wait for him in his bed and while it was more than tempting, for some odd reason I wanted the comfort of my own house. And my friend.

  “He’s fine.” I hand her the syrup, which she generously pours and I wait with bated breath. Sierra’s not much of a paper reader and I’m not about to bring up the article in the 7-Day if she doesn’t. I’m still trying to mentally bleach the lingering vision from behind my eyeballs. The last thing I want to do is talk about it.

  “Really?” Her eyes find mine. They challenge.

  Dammit, she knows.

  “Really.” I shut my mouth. Try to keep cool.

  “Hmmm.” She licks the stickiness from her fingers, and I wait for it. Unapologetic Sierra. “So…how was your trip?”

  I watch her cut a perfect triangle through her pancakes and stab them with her fork. She swipes them in the syrup spreading on her plate before bringing her fork to her mouth and her gaze back to mine.

  Well, let’s see: I had a hedonistic dream about a threesome with Noah and Shaw. Later there were professions of love (minus Noah), damning pictures made public (including Noah), and a life-altering connection against the bathroom vanity where Shaw made it perfectly clear there would be no Noah. So, yeah…it was weird and exciting then devastating all in a span of twenty-four hours.

  “Uh…it was fine.”

  She observes me while she finishes chewing a huge bite. “Fine?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” I shrug, going for nonchalant. The mound of pancakes in front of me is enough to feed an army. I flip off the griddle. I may have gotten carried away.

  “Lots of fines,” she says impassively.

  I laugh, setting the large bowl still filled with batter in the sink and turning on the water. “Yeah. Lots.”

  “Mmm.”

  This is so not over. Not by a long shot. I give her five seconds, tops.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Tw—

  “So, that picture of your boy toy and his slutty friend doing the blonde didn’t bother you then?”

  “Jesus Christ, Sierra,” I scold. That barb she threw jabs and wounds me deep.

  “What?” She shrugs. She can be utterly clueless sometimes.

  “What? That was a little harsh, don’t you think?”

  “You know, I told myself this morning I was turning over a new leaf. That I was going to test run this ‘filter’ thing that everyone is so goddamn convinced makes this world a better fucking place because God forbid we hurt someone’s feelings by saying what we’re really thinking even if it’s the truth.”

  “Well, I think you need to try a little harder.”

  She smashes her bee-stung lips, the color of them like ripe strawberries even without any tint. She stands and dumps her half-eaten contents in the garbage, then puts her plate in the dishwasher. “Back to your hot coffee and the bimbo in the pic.”

  “Stop,” I tell her firmly as she takes her next breath. “It’s not what you think, Sierra.”

  “Not what I think? He was with another woman when he was supposedly with you.”

  He wasn’t, though.

  I finally made myself read the article earlier today when my mother was napping. It basically insinuated that Shaw had been caught cheating on his “girlfriend” with a waitress from an exclusive club. True, the date time-stamped on the picture was mere days after he rear-ended me, but it was before we started “officially dating,” only that’s not how the reporter portrayed it because that’s not what we told her when she interviewed us last month.

  We essentially dug our own hole with the lies we’ve spun, and while I’m not happy with the whole situation, my guess is this reporter thought she was doing me a weird sort of favor since she thinks Shaw cheated.

  “That’s not how it was, Sierra. It was all lies.”

  “Says who? Him?”

  Irritation crawls on me like bedbugs. “Says me,” I pipe back, irritated. “It was before we started seeing each other.”

  She snorts. “He’s paying you to be his girlfriend, Low.”

  But everything has changed, I want to scream. We love each other. I’m a blank page he wants to write our life on. But none of that will matter to Sierra. She sees what she wants and she’s stubborn as hell about it.

  “Nothing happened with that woman while we were together.”

  We stand on opposite sides, a chipped counter between us. She crosses her arms over her ample chest, her protective stance almost comical. Her unerring love for me shines as bright as a diamond. Her approach is harsh and direct but her friendship is limitless.

  “But it’s happened with plenty others, I bet. This is the reason he had to hire you in the first place. Am I right?”

  Bull’s-eye.

  I feel sick. “It’s different now.”

  “Is it?” she challenges, head cocked.

  “Yes.” I pick up the remaining pancakes and place them in a Ziploc bag, my appetite ruined.

  “Willow.” She sighs. “I’m not trying to be a negative Nancy here. I’m just worried about you. I’m worried he’ll hurt you.”

  I set down the bag with a huff. My heart’s pounding. I’m angry with her and where this conversation has gone. Her concern is valid, but the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced she has the shoe on the wrong foot.

  It’s me who could hurt Shaw and it’s not that I don’t love him. I do, with everything in me. But I’m still holding critical pieces of myself back. I said he was in, but…is he? Really? Am I keeping certain parts to myself because I’m unconsciously preparing for the worst and when that happens, at least I won’t have handed over everything I am? Is that why I haven’t told Shaw about Violet or the fact I was engaged? Have I conditioned myself to be so emotionally secluded I’m completely incapable of a real relationship and don’t realize it?

&nbs
p; What we have is unconventional and beyond complicated, but regardless of his past womanizing or trysts with Noah or the fact he hasn’t loved another woman before me, I don’t think he’ll be the one to hurt me. I think I’ll be the one to hurt him.

  I sit down on a stool, all the fight leaving me. She slides next to me, and I stare ahead silently while she stares at me.

  “What if it’s the other way around, Ser? What if I hurt him the way I did Reid?” I ask, turning my head her way.

  “So it’s too late then, huh?”

  I laugh, sort of. “That train has left the station.” I unzip the plastic bag and zip it back up again. “What if I can’t love him the way he deserves?” There. I said it. My deepest, darkest, biggest fear caught wind.

  “You have a big heart, Low. I don’t think that’s the problem.”

  “No. I have a guarded heart, Sierra. That’s the problem.”

  Her head moves back and forth. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it. “God, woman. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, and I don’t want to watch you sink back down into that pit of despair again. You’re finally happy and content.”

  And apparently I am an even better actor than I realized. I’ve fooled the one person who’s known me since I was eight. The one person who knows me better than anyone else in the world.

  I am not happy.

  I am not content.

  I am lonely. And reserved. And worst of all, I’m a giant poseur who has everyone snowed. Except for Shaw. He didn’t fall for my act for a minute. He challenged me on this very fact after our first date when I told him I’d managed quite well without him my entire life. He always saw my lies for what they were.

  “That’s the thing, though, Sierra. I never crawled out of that pit until Shaw gave me his hand. And now that I have it, I’m not sure I know how to hold on to it.”

  Blowing out a long, stoic breath, she gauges me. “Know what I think?”

  The edges of my mouth lift. “I think I can’t stop you from telling me.”

  She barks a short laugh. “You know me so well. It’s simple, really. If you love him and you think this has a real shot at working, hang on to that hand like your life depends on it. Just don’t let go. Not for any reason.”

  If only it were that easy.

  Maybe it is. What would I know?

  “I haven’t told him about Violet yet. Hell, I haven’t even told him how serious Reid and I were. Every time I go to do it the words kind of get stuck.”

  Sierra lays her hand over the top of mine, squeezing. “It’s a gritty process to lay yourself open, Low, even if that’s what you want.”

  It is.

  “It’s terrifying,” I agree.

  “It doesn’t have to be all at once, babe. If he’s the right one, he’ll wait as long as you need. One step at a time.”

  “It’s uncomfortable.”

  “Trying new things usually is,” she says as the doorbell rings.

  We exchange knowing looks. My belly flutters. The only person ringing our doorbell this late would be—“Your boyfriend’s here,” she singsongs sarcastically.

  Pushing herself up, she pulls me in for a quick hug. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. Sincerely. I know I’m a mother hen and cynical, but—”

  “I get it. I do,” I interrupt. “If someone tries to fuck with you I am the same way. I appreciate it, but I need you to cut him some slack.” The bell chimes again, this time twice. “I love him, Sierra.”

  Her reply is slow and resigned and maybe a little sad. “I know.” With a kiss to my cheek, she takes the stairs up to her room, two by two, leaving me to let in our impatient visitor.

  I cross our small living room in a few strides. My hair is a mess and I’m wearing lounge clothes. I didn’t expect to see Shaw tonight, but I don’t care how I look and I doubt he will either.

  Excitement replaces anxiety with every step I take. A smile splits my face by the time I turn the knob, only it falls flat the second my gaze lands on him.

  “What’s wrong,” I ask, opening the door wider to let him enter.

  But he doesn’t. He stands there looking all twisted up, his face a mixture of shock and…hurt? No. It’s not hurt. That’s too mild. It’s devastation, and it’s a mirror of the other night.

  “Shaw?” I reach for him. Fear pinches my chest when he flinches away and utters four words no woman wants to hear from the man she loves.

  “We need to talk.”

  Chapter 19

  Jesus, she is beyond beautiful. So breathtaking it makes my heart weak.

  I watch the smile fade from her lips and feel like a piece of shit for making that happen when all I want to do is put it there.

  I’m upset. Fine, I’ll admit it. I realize she is not an open book and I accept that about her. Or I thought I did until tonight. The part of me that uses reason and logic in my daily business ventures knows I have no right to be a gnarled mess of emotions because she was practically married and didn’t tell me. But the possessive man in me who is in love with her is.

  It would have been a blow to hear it from her lips but the reality is this news should have come from her, not him, and tonight I need more from her than I ever have before. I need her to strip herself to the bone. I need her raw and real and more open than she’s ever been. I need it all and I fucking need it like air.

  You can’t beat your enemy if you don’t know your enemy and all I know is his weakness, but that’s not enough. His weakness is my weakness, too.

  She reaches for me, but before I can think better of it I draw back.

  “We need to talk.” Fuck, that felt like acid crawling up my throat.

  I brush past her. It shreds me up inside not to take her into my arms and kiss her senseless or quell the worry I now see in her eyes. I take a seat on the couch, my jacket still on. She stands by the open door, considering me for long seconds.

  Wordlessly she shuts it and slowly walks my way. She eases into an armchair right across from me, sitting on the edge, silent, as if she’s waiting for a bomb to drop.

  I have a bomb, all right. But I’m not ready to drop it quite yet.

  “Tell me about Mergen.” It’s a rough command. Leading but chock-full of knowledge she’d be a fool to miss.

  She begins twisting her fingers but never looks away from me. Point to her. But I swear by all that’s holy if she starts beating around the bush, I am going to fucking lose it. And I’ll be taking it out well and good on her hide.

  “Well,” she starts—sassily I might add—“by the look on your face, I’d say you already know the answer to your question.”

  And a fool she is not.

  “Don’t fucking play with me, Willow. I am standing on razor’s edge right now.”

  She drops her head, eyes going to the floor. Her chest expands deeply before she stands and paces to the opposite side of the room. She looks out a small window that faces the front yard, that sexy nose ring of hers winking at me from the rays off the streetlight.

  Oh, how I want to march over there and drag her back over my knee, spanking her ass until she spills every goddamn truth she buries inside. But I do that…she shuts down. She has to do this on her own. It’s an excruciating process to watch and even more so to be on the receiving end of. And I can’t even say I get it, why she’s like this. I simply have to accept it if I want to be with her. Which I do.

  “Nothing I’ve told you has been untrue,” she says softly.

  I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood. I’m trying to keep from spewing caustic words, but…

  “Except for the fiancé part. You conveniently left that out.”

  Okay, so I am being a giant fucking bastard, but no one can rile me like she can. No one. She causes every emotion I have to be intensified by a thousand.

  At my snarky comment, she twists her head my way, not even bothering to turn her whole body. I expect her eyes to be alight with fury and that signature fire embedded in her DNA but the only thing the
y’re full of is sadness.

  I’m crushed all over again. My hand goes up to my chest. God, it aches.

  “Yes, Reid was my fiancé and yes, I probably should have told you when he showed up out of the blue at your father’s house.” She faces me fully now. “But in all fairness, Shaw, up until this past weekend, I didn’t even know what you and I really were. Our contract ends in a little over a month now and I just…”

  Ah. Her mistrust in us rears its ass-ugly head yet again. I wonder if I’ll go to my grave fighting for every single scrap of her. I have her body, I know I have her heart and soul, but the one thing I want most I don’t even deserve right now.

  Her trust.

  I’m sitting here accusing her of being dishonest when I have done the same damn thing. I kept the real reason I hired her in the first place a secret, and I’m doing the same thing with this devastating news about Annabelle and her father.

  Yeah. I suck. I know it.

  Yet that doesn’t stop me from claiming her, here and now. She is mine. It’s barbaric and primitive and wrong on so many levels, but at the moment, I don’t give a million flying fucks.

  “We will never end, you and I. Never. That piece of shitty paper doesn’t hold any power over us and honestly, I’m not sure it ever has. You’ve had that from day one, Goldilocks. Day one.” What I don’t tell her because she’ll balk is that contract is already gone. Destroyed. I’m taking care of her. Of everything she and her mother need. Money will never be an issue for her again whether she ends up wanting me or not.

  Her lips slip up. It’s brief before somberness returns, but I watch her muscles visibly ease in relief.

  Satisfied we’ve resolved that issue, my eyes travel over her lush curves for the first time since she let me in. She’s wearing a pair of crazy multipatterned leggings and a loose-fitting gray top that slides down one shoulder. Her feet are bare, still painted that blinding pink from the other day. She’s casual, yet chic. She looks like royalty.

  My slow trek back up her body ends at her face. My breathing slows. We hold each other’s eyes, tied together with this invisible string neither of us will be able to sever. I have to believe that. I’m aching with the need to pull her onto my lap and cup her face in my hands. I want to eat her up. I want to kiss her and love her until she curls into me, warm and sated. I’m not sure I’ve been in her presence this long without touching her in…ever.