“You got some flowers.” Claire’s eyebrows arched as she nodded to the large vase of blood-red roses on the counter.
“Oh.” The air escaped Kat’s lungs as the blood drained from her face. She stepped up to the flowers and plucked the card from the petals. She licked her lips once and then set the card on the counter. “They must have been sent to the wrong person,” she finally said, her voice a little higher than normal.
“Who are they from?”
“Don’t know.” She shrugged and moved around the desk. I plucked the card from the desk and scanned it.
Merry Christmas, baby. I’ll miss you this year. J
“Who the fuck is J?”
“Lane.” Her eyes darted over to Claire.
“That boy’s always had a potty mouth, doesn’t bother me.” She waved a hand and then grabbed a stack of books and shuffled off down an aisle.
“Is this your ex?”
“What? No.” She swiped the card from my hands and threw it in the garbage. “I told you, I don’t know who they’re from.”
I fingered a thorny stem as I ran through the possibilities in my head.
“Should send them back, then,” I murmured as I watched her face for any sign of deceit. Anything to tell me there was something she wasn’t telling me, that she did know who’d sent them and who’d be missing her this Christmas. The thought of her spending Christmas wrapped in another guy’s arms made my blood boil.
“Yeah, I’ll call the flower shop,” she said as she sifted through a stack of papers on the counter.
“Okay. Well, I’m headed to the marina. If you need anything . . .” I trailed off as her eyes darted up to mine. They’d lost that playful sparkle they’d had when we’d walked in. They were dark, anxious; she was unmistakably hiding something and it ate at my fucking guts. I couldn’t handle deceit. Mia had done that to me; I had no use for it, no time or patience. Tell me what the fuck is on your mind so we can get past it, or split ways and move on, whatever is best.
“Okay. Have a good day.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. I leaned over the counter, pulled her chin to me, and placed a searing, hot kiss on her lips. I wanted to remind her where I’d been, what I could do, the way I’d marked myself on her.
“Be a good girl,” I murmured as I nipped at her ear.
“I thought you liked me naughty?” she whispered. I narrowed my eyes at her; the little she-devil was teasing and torturing me, forcing me to walk around with a boner for the rest of the day.
“You’re right. I like you bad.” I placed one more kiss on her lips and then turned and walked out of the library. I drove over to the marina and stepped out, turning back just in time to see Kat dumping the vase of roses in the dumpster. There was no way she’d had enough time to call the florist, and anyway, who throws away fresh flowers?
The cold air whipped around my body. Ice formations had formed along the dock, creating abstract sculptures that were oddly beautiful, but still so cold. Somehow, it reminded me of Kat. The nights we were together, she was so warm and open to me, but in the daylight, she closed off.
I ducked into the warehouse where a schooner was lifted and stored for winter. I started gathering what I would need to get started on the boat as my thoughts wandered off to Kat. The message in the flowers had seemed simple and straightforward, but for not knowing the sender, her reaction had been a little ominous. She had secrets, but we all did. I’d just convinced myself that the secrets of her past didn’t involve me or what we had, whatever it was.
I thought of the possibility of her ex coming back into her life. Maybe she’d take him back, he’d convince her how good they were, and she’d leave. Leave me here, without her in my arms, without waking up to her curves pressed up against me, her strawberry hair fanned across my pillow. My heart ached at the thought.
I broke for lunch a few hours later and my brain pounded with exhaustion, thinking about Kat. Her reaction this morning hadn’t set well with me. Something was off about it, about her.
I ripped open a protein bar and chugged a bottle of water as I sat down at the computer in the back office. I searched her name, and variations of it, but found nothing. I searched the name Kennedy in Portland, where she’d said her mother was from. No hits. I continued to search, clicking on different articles when I finally hit on an obituary.
Katherine Lorraine Kennedy-Bishop passed in a fatal accident two years ago one rainy November night. I clicked on the article and found exactly what I’d been searching for. Suddenly, the darkness in her eyes all made sense.
***
Chapter Twenty-Three
Later that night, we ate dinner at her house. Neither one of us was talking much before I flipped on the TV and turned the Bruins game on low. She busied herself in the kitchen before finally curling up at the other end of the couch with an old book. She sat quietly, her eyes scanning the pages, but she hadn’t flipped a page since she’d sat down ten minutes ago, so I knew she wasn’t reading.
“How was your day?” I asked her, just to break the silence that had become stifling. Kat and I were never at a loss for words.
“We’re going to talk pleasantries?” She arched an eyebrow flirtatiously.
“Something’s on your mind, Kat. Sick of you hiding it.”
Her face fell and her eyes narrowed.
“It’s about the flowers, I know it is. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want me to know, but I’m here. I’m here and I’ll protect you from anything that needs protecting. You’re not alone, and you shutting yourself off only makes you more vulnerable.”
“Where did this come from?”
I worked my jaw back and forth before setting my beer down on the table and silencing the TV. “I did some research. I know who you were married to.”
“What?” Her hands dropped the book in her lap and started to tremble. Her beautiful green eyes blinked repeatedly before she clutched her fists at her thighs. “Why would you do that?”
“I was worried. I knew those flowers meant more than you let on. Saw the fear in your face. You tried to hide it, Sugar, but you can’t hide from me.” I inched across the couch to her and placed a fingertip along her jaw.
“Don’t touch me.” She jerked away and stood from the couch. “You had no right, Lane. That’s my past, my business. I’m dealing with it the best way I can.”
“By running out here? From Chicago?”
Her head whipped around, her eyes flashing with anger.
“I know you’re not from Ohio, at least that’s not where you were before you came here. I saw the article about your mom.”
Her tongue came out and licked at her lips nervously as her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides. She paced across the room and stood at the window that overlooked the water.
“Why are you running, Sugar? If you’re afraid, I’ll help you, let me help. Move in with me. We spend all of our time together anyway. I’ll take care of you. I don’t like you out here alone. It’s no place for a woman by herself.”
“You’re nuts,” she scoffed. “I’m fine out here. I feel safe out here.”
“You don’t even know how to start a fire, Kat.” I took long strides to her.
“Fuck you.” She turned and seethed, pushing a hand against my chest. “You had no right to do that. No right to go digging. I’m done, Lane. And I don’t need you.”
“You do, Sugar. The way you’ve been locked up. You do; you need someone. I’d like to be that person, but if not me, it needs to be someone. Losing a parent is hard, especially unexpected like that—”
“Stop, Lane. You don’t know: what the media reports and what’s the truth are two very different things.” She laughed sarcastically and my heart clenched at the pain so palpable in her eyes.
“Kat.” I ran my thumb along her cheekbone and wove my fingers into her hair. She rested her cheek against my hand for a moment. Her eyes fluttered closed and I took in the delicate features of her face. Suddenly, I knew w
hatever I had to do to protect her and keep her safe I would do. I could feel the pain coming off her in waves. This girl had been hurt so deeply, it was like there was no coming back.
“Let me take care of you,” I murmured as I placed a kiss on her temple.
“No. You need to go. I’m sorry, Lane. We can’t see each other anymore.” She turned and opened the door. My eyes flashed with confusion as I searched her face, trying to figure out the meaning behind her words.
“What the fuck, Kat? I told you that you can’t push me away.”
“I’m not pushing you away, Lane. We’re done. This isn’t working for me anymore. When you searched me on the Internet, tried to find out about my past from another source, you breached my trust. Broke it, and trust is the most important thing to me. It’s all I have.”
“You wouldn’t fucking tell me anything, Kat. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”
“Ask me. Or respect me enough not to ask. But not fucking Google me.”
I licked my lips, my throat suddenly so fucking parched I couldn’t swallow. She arched an eyebrow, the anger burning sharp in her features. Maybe if I gave her some time, she would calm down. Maybe she was getting burnt out on me and all the time we were spending together. That thought tightened my chest because getting burnt out on her was the last thing on my mind. In fact, asking her to move in with me had flitted across my mind a few times before now.
“I’ll give you time, Sugar, but I don’t regret what I did. If me finding out, whether you told me or not, means I can protect you, I don’t regret that.”
“I don’t need protecting, Lane. I need you to leave,” she bit out. The muscles in her jaw were tight as she stared me down. I pulled on my boots and shrugged on my coat. I glanced at her one last time, imploring her not to shove me out like this, but her gaze was firm. Her jaw was set and one arm was on her hip.
“I’ll leave for now, I’ll give you some time, but this isn’t it for us.” I stepped out the door and heard it slam behind before locking.
I’d give her time and I could give her space, but I wasn’t going to give up on her. I needed her too fucking much for that. I needed her smile and her laugh; I needed her. Because as much as it twisted my gut to say it, I fucking loved her, and her pushing me out just now was like a fist to the balls. I wanted to rage and throw up all at the same time.
***
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kat had been married to a senator out of Illinois.
I’d seen the wedding announcement from eight years ago accompanied by a small and grainy wedding picture. Her hair was different, much darker, and she was younger. She’d filled out some since then. She was rail thin in the picture. Now she was curvier, her smile brighter, as if she enjoyed life more, laughed more. The spark that was lacking in her wedding picture was the one I woke up to every morning.
But it didn’t mean that she still hadn’t been carrying a secret.
Kat’s husband had been found with his hands dirty more than a few times. He had some suspected ties to organized crime. Accusations flew around him, but witnesses always seemed to disappear, charges dropped, never enough evidence, always something.
I understood now why Kat had been fearful, why the darkness seemed to pervade her inherent light. She was running, from what I wasn’t sure, but I sensed that it had something to do with him. The little knowledge I had of him, pieced together with the little information I’d gleaned from her, had me questioning everything she’d ever said.
I also understood her comment about being a trophy wife. That was exactly what she looked like. His stiff demeanor, at least ten years her senior, as he posed for pictures. Her beautiful, sad face staring out from beside him. I understood why she’d wanted to keep this from me—I’d want to escape that life too. It didn’t look like her at all; not only was her hair a dark chocolate brown, but her smile was lifeless, her cheeks hollow, her eyes dead. The beautiful girl who woke up in my bed each morning, smiling and giggling, wasn’t the same girl that had shared a life with this douche bag.
I only wished she’d given me the explanation herself.
I sighed as I ran my hand through my hair. It’d been three days since our fight. Three days since she’d kicked me out of her place.
I was going insane.
I’d tried to call her repeatedly after the first day, but her phone always went straight to voicemail. She was avoiding me, or had lost signal out there in the sticks. Regardless, I was doing my best to respect her.
I looked over at the Christmas tree we’d set up together a few weeks ago. We’d made a night out of decorating it—Christmas tunes, eggnog, and tree decorating. It felt good to share the tradition with Kat. She’d hypnotized me when she’d swayed her hips to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” After that, I’d laid her down on the floor and sunk into her, caressing her body, kissing across her skin. Feeling and tasting her before she came undone around me, and thrusting my way to the slowest and most satisfying release I’d ever had under the soft glow of the tree lights.
I looked over at it now and my heart clenched with pain.
I fucking loved her and I needed her and I wasn’t going to be pushed away anymore. It was Christmas night and the sun had already set. I’d skipped Christmas dinner at the Barton’s after Claire had told me Kat wouldn’t be attending as we’d planned. I wanted to wallow and wait in silence or agony for Kat to finally answer my calls or texts, but I was breaking.
The wait was over.
I was going to her. I wouldn’t let another night go by without laying my eyes on her pretty face. The face that lit my fucking life and had the ability to squeeze my heart so tight it was nearly painful.
I pulled my jeans over my legs and shrugged on my jacket before stuffing the small, wrapped box into my pocket, and headed out the door to go get my girl.
I made my way out the old frozen dirt road to her cabin. Bumps and ruts lurched my truck around. We’d had a fresh snow last night, but the road was still blanketed, no tracks in or out. That meant Kat must have been home all day. Just like I had. My gut twisted at the thought of her moping just like I’d been. Or maybe she wasn’t; maybe she’d moved on, maybe what I’d thought was between us had been a figment of my imagination. Maybe she was serious when she’d said goodbye.
I pulled into her rutted driveway and my eyes narrowed. Her car was absent. Nothing, no tracks, she wasn’t home. Where the hell else would she be? Maybe she’d gone back home to spend the holidays with family. The only thing was, she’d never mentioned any, so I didn’t think that was likely. But as it had turned out, there was so much more about her than I’d ever realized.
I launched out of my truck, pulling my hood over my head and hunching my shoulders against the wet snow falling around me. I took the steps two at a time and unlocked the door with my key. I stepped inside to find the place empty. Not that Kat had that much; the furniture was all still there, plates drying on the counter. It looked lived in, but so empty at the same time. I poked through the house, looking for any sign of her. No shoes at the door. I hit the back bedroom and frowned to find it devoid of anything Kat. I flicked on the light and my eyes landed on a note on the bed.
I stalked over and opened the lined paper, finding it made out to me.
My eyes shot across the words in a hurry. I finished and reread. My eyes scanning, words jumping out.
Leaving.
Home.
Sorry.
She’d gone back to Ohio, or Chicago, I wasn’t sure, she hadn’t said. I didn’t know she even considered herself to have a home. Between Ohio and Chicago, I wasn’t even sure where to go first.
But could I even do that? She’d left. Asked me not to follow her.
She’d kicked me out and left shortly after. I sucked in a quick breath and folded the paper up into pieces and shoved it in my pocket. I chewed on my lips as I headed back out to the living room. Everything was gone. Kat had left me, left Maine, left everything. Kat had left just like s
he’d left Chicago when she’d come here. She had a history of leaving and I’d been a dumb ass to think anything different.
It didn’t matter what I felt. I didn’t factor in. She’d been hurt, something so fucking painful had happened in her past that she wasn’t able to set down roots. I stomped out the door and slammed it behind me, not bothering to lock it.
Dark winter clouds blanketed the sky as I stalked to the shoreline. I propped one booted foot on the rock we’d sat on earlier this fall and my eyes scanned the water. Battered chunks of ice hit the shoreline, frozen into deformed ice sculptures around the crevices of rock. Light was slowly fading as I shoved my hands in my pockets and pondered what was next. I wanted to go after her, wanted her so fucking bad I could taste it. I fingered the box in my pocket that held her Christmas present.
I kicked at a chunk of ice and watched it break off and succumb to the waves battering the sharp granite. I tipped my head to the sky, felt the cold wet snowflakes landing on my cheeks and eyelashes before I shoved my palm over my face, wiping them away. The anguish of losing her settled into my bones like the wet winter temperatures.
I tugged off my hat and ran a hand through my hair, giving it a tug, before my eyes landed on the lighthouse down the shore. It was historic and no longer in use, the light shut down for years now. I watched giant waves crash against the old pier as a storm kicked up. A wave cleared the broad side of the building and a light fluttered in a small window. My eyes narrowed as I squinted to see if I was really seeing it or if it were just a reflection. I continued to watch as the light played peekaboo with the crashing waves. A light hadn’t been on in that lighthouse for ages. I knew because we used to sneak in there in high school and party. The place was decrepit on the inside, dangerous and rambling and difficult to get to, making it the perfect place for a bunch of teenagers to booze it up.
Exposed: An Anthology Page 138