by Lexi Ryan
“Where are you from?”
“LA. I was a homicide detective out there before I took this position.”
I frown. Big-city homicide detective to small-town Indiana cop. “Why the change?”
His lips press into a thin line. “What about you?” he asks instead of answering. “Where are you from?”
“A lot of places,” I answer. I can dodge a question as well as the next guy. “I grew up in the Midwest, then when I finished my residency, I decided to come back this way.”
We work our way toward my house, silent for a while, and when I slow in front of my drive, Cade puts his hand on my arm to stop me. “Wait. The house with the weird lawn fire was yours?”
“It’s not a big deal. Just kids, probably.” God, I’m so sick of lying, but I’m not ready to say, Yeah, I’m pretty sure my psycho ex-boyfriend from thirteen years ago is stalking me. “Good night, Cade.”
When I start toward my driveway again, he pulls me back. “Do kids around here typically use kerosene and tied bundles of wood to burn symbols into yards?”
I pull from his grasp and cross my arms. “I don’t know, but I’m not worried about it, so you don’t need to be either.”
Cade arches a brow. “Don’t know many cops, do you? I’m escorting you to your door.”
“Fine.” I lead the way to the front door, unlock it with my keys, push it open, flick on the lights, and disarm the alarm. “See? All good.”
He looks over my shoulder. “Want me to go in and check the place out first?”
Yes, I do. “No, Cade. I just want to go to bed.”
He nods, his face grim, and I close the door behind him as he leaves.
As I watch him go, my phone buzzes with a text message.
Unknown Number: I never thought you’d cozy up to the police.
The strange message makes my stomach twist painfully, and my hands shake as I reply.
Nix: Who is this?
Unknown Number: A friend.
Nix: If you’re a friend, you’ll tell me your name.
Unknown Number: Do you really think he can protect you?
Nix: Who do you think I need protection from?
Unknown Number: Be careful who you trust. You never were very good at choosing your allies.
I put my hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut.
“I will never let you go. You’re my phoenix. I need you. Without you, I’m as good as the ash under the flame.” I once took comfort in those words, but tonight they ring in my ears. Tonight, they haunt me.
* * *
Thirteen years ago . . .
My family has eaten dinner at the commune before, but this is our first night as one of them. Before we were outsiders, and even though we were made to feel welcome, it was clear we were seen that way—outsiders no one should trust.
After dinner is over, I follow the lead of the other girls my age and help clear the table, wash the dishes, and put the leftovers into the big, commercial-grade refrigerator.
They watch me as I work, and I’m not sure if they’re looking down on me because I’m new or if they’re simply fascinated by someone from the outside. Maybe both.
I want to hate this place. I wasn’t happy when Mom told me we were moving. But I don’t. I can’t. There’s food on the table without me putting it there. There are clothes on my sister’s back that I didn’t have to make sure were clean. And the community here is like the big family I never had but always dreamed of.
Even feeling like an outsider, and even worrying about what it’s going to be like to live with a lot of rules when I’m used to none, I’m cautiously optimistic.
We’re wiping down the counters when Patrick comes into the kitchen, and all the eyes go to him. One thing that’s been clear from the beginning is that all these girls have a thing for Patrick. Maybe because he’s Vicar Jeremiah’s oldest son, and therefore the next in line to lead Camelot. Or maybe because he’s so gorgeous you just want to look at him.
Their obsession with Patrick makes me feel special. All these girls to choose from, and he picked me.
Their eyes are glued to our every move as he approaches and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Go on a walk with me?”
“Um . . . okay.”
I put my dishrag into the laundry bin and follow him outside. The commune sits on eighty wooded acres between Terre Haute and Lafayette. The church and the other common areas are in the center, with all the tiny homes set around them in two circles, one that sits inside the other. Behind the homes there are gardens, and behind that nothing but forest trails for hiking.
“What’s wrong tonight?” he asks when we’re alone on the trail. “You were so quiet at dinner.”
“Nothing.” I smile at him. I don’t want to offend him by explaining all the ways his world seems weird to me. “I’m just not used to this life yet.”
“But it’s better, isn’t it? Better than having to take care of your mom and sister alone?” He squeezes my hand. “I was worried about you.”
The way he looks at me sends a rush from the bottom of my tummy through my toes. “I know you were.”
The night is cool but not cold, and I relax into the sounds of the wind in the trees and the crunch of woodchips under my feet.
I’m not sure if this is against the rules—a boy and a girl on the trail alone together—but I am sure that it would be frowned upon at the very least. That’s all the more reason I like that we’re doing it.
All the rules of this place are starting to creep up on me, like a thick blanket being pulled over my mouth and nose little by little until no air can make its way in. There’s a security in rules I never had when it was just Amy, Mom, and me, but I still don’t know that I understand them all, and part of me wants the rules and the freedom to break them.
“You’re going to love it.” He rubs the back of my hand with his thumb as we walk along the trail, and the moment is so nice and so normal that my worries fall away.
A log cabin appears at the curve of the trail. “What’s that?” I ask.
“It was there before my dad bought this property, so now it’s the honeymoon cottage.”
“The honeymoon cottage?”
“Yeah.” He grins. “I mean, newlyweds don’t necessarily want their neighbors close enough to hear everything, you know.” He winks at me, showing me the Patrick I fell for—the one who’s a little mischievous, a little rebellious.
“Hmm. Is anyone in there now?”
“Nope.”
I smile and rush to the door, pushing it open when I find it unlocked. Evening light filters in through the windows of the rustic cabin, giving me enough light to make out the small fireplace and the four-poster king-size bed. “It’s kind of romantic.”
He follows me in, shuts the door behind himself, and leans against it. “You like it?”
“I like it,” I murmur, leaning against the bedpost. I bite my lip, something buzzing in my belly and sinking lower. I’m not sure if I like the cabin or if I like the idea of what happens here. “Will you bring all your wives here when you’re vicar?”
Patrick straightens and stalks toward me slowly, something in his eyes I don’t recognize. Maybe this is what the books are talking about when they talk about the “heat” in the hero’s eyes? “Does it bother you that my father has so many wives?”
I shrug. “It’s different, but they all made the choice on their own, so who am I to judge?” What bothers me is the idea of Patrick someday wanting me to be one of his. Not that I’m ready to think about marriage or anything like it yet. But when I do marry, I won’t want to share my husband. I know that much about myself.
“I can’t change anything now,” he says, as if he knows my thoughts. “It’s not my place. But things will change when I’m vicar, Phoenix.”
When I’m vicar. I don’t want a future as vicar to be in his plans. I wish he would leave this place with me, go to college, get a job, and have a normal life.
“There’s only one
woman I want as my wife.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, and the buzzing in my stomach sinks lower—a lot lower—as his eyes dip to my mouth. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”
We haven’t done more than kiss and a little outside-the-clothes-and-above-the-waist touching. My mom wasn’t the type to have such talks with her daughter, but I’ve read enough that I know about more. And I’ve definitely wanted more. Though I’ve been afraid to ask.
His mouth drops to mine, and his tongue sweeps across my lips. I open, and tilt my head to give him better access, and the kiss turns hard and deep in an instant. His hand slides into my hair and he presses his body against mine.
High on the idea of what we’re doing and where we are, and feeling bolder than usual, I slip my hand between our bodies and rub my palm down the length of his erection.
He gasps and tears his mouth from mine, his eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t, Phoenix.”
“Am I hurting you?” I start to pull my hand away, but he grabs my wrist and presses it back against him.
“You’re killing me,” he murmurs, guiding my hand up and down the length of him so I’m stroking him through his pants. “We shouldn’t.”
“It’s okay.” God, what a thrill. I did this to him. He’s breaking the rules—or at the very least pushing their boundaries—because of how he feels about me.
“They’ll judge us.” His breathing is heavy, his body pressing into my touch.
I’m not sure who “they” are. All I know is my body is tight with need and want and feelings I don’t understand but desperately want to explore, so I repeat, “It’s okay.”
He shoves me back onto the bed and lies on top of me, kissing me hard. Before I can get my bearings, he’s unzipping my shorts and yanking them down my hips. I moan with equal parts lust and surprise.
Then—oh, shit. I cry out because it hurts. He’s thrusting his hips and grunting on top of me, and I have to bite my lip so I don’t cry, because I didn’t mean for it to go here, and definitely not so quickly. But it’s my fault, isn’t it? I’m the one who goaded him on when he wanted to stop. I’m the one who insisted.
I squeeze my eyes shut and tell myself not to cry.
The hurt subsides, but then it’s over. Patrick jumps off me—his eyes wide, his jeans and boxers around his thighs.
“What did you do?” he whispers. “What did you do?” He yanks up his pants and drags a hand through his hair. “What have you done to me?”
I climb off the bed and pull up my shorts. My breath catches at the blood on the mattress—bright red and blossoming on the bedspread like a flower in a Monet painting. “Patrick,” I whisper.
He punches the wall, and the plaster crunches as his fist breaks through it. “What have you done?”
“It’s okay,” I say instinctively. His anger terrifies me. I’ve only seen him like this when he was angry with his father, but it’s never been directed at me. “Please don’t be mad.”
He spins on me, his eyes dancing with anger that scares me. “Your mother was right,” he whispers. “You’re dangerous. The devil’s fire runs through your veins.”
Ten
Max
It was all I could do not to follow Cade and Nix to make sure he didn’t make a move on her, but I stayed at the bonfire for another fifteen minutes after they left before I walked home.
I want to sit on my porch with a beer and look at the stars, but I smell like smoke from the fire, so I take a quick shower and tug on my sleep pants before grabbing a couple of bottles of beer and heading out front.
“Have another one of those?” someone asks as I take a seat.
I look up to see Nix climbing the steps to my porch.
“Sure.” I twist the top off both bottles and hand one to her.
She takes a long pull from the bottle and looks out into the night. “Is Claire in bed?”
“She wanted to stay with her nana one more time before she leaves for Paris.”
She spins to face me. “Your mom’s going to Paris?”
“No.” My heart tugs painfully just talking about it. “My daughter is going to Paris. Her mom wants her for a few weeks.”
“I’m sorry, Max. That sucks.”
“It’ll be okay.” I shrug, then lean forward in my chair and prop my elbows on my knees. “Her mom hasn’t been around much the last couple of years, and I’ve gotten used to having Claire to myself. Hell, take this house. It’s all about her. I chose this house for its proximity to her grandmother. For the backyard, where I’m going to build a kickass tree house. For the basement that I’ll convert to a rec room before she’s old enough to have friends over. My every reason for buying this place centered around my daughter.”
“Not for the crazy doctor chick next door?”
I grin, and my gaze drops to her legs. I can’t help it. “I sure as hell don’t mind the view.”
“I never thought you bought this house because of me, you know,” Nix says, “just for the record. But I guess I didn’t realize how close you are to your daughter either.”
“She’s my world. I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend. I have my gym and I have Claire. Hell, when Hanna broke it off, I wasn’t even interested in dating for a long while. I figured maybe I didn’t get the typical family—the wife and the two-point-four kids—and I decided that was all right with me because I got Claire.”
She gives me a tentative smile. “You won’t lose her just because she spends a few weeks in Paris.”
“It’s not that I don’t want her to have a relationship with her mother. And it’s not even about the three weeks.” I sigh and take another long pull from my beer before I admit the truth. “I’m so fucking scared Meredith is going to realize what she’s been missing and take her away from me.”
Nix sinks into the chair next to mine and rolls her beer between her hands.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
The corner of her mouth twitches up into a sad smile. “I was thinking how lucky Claire is to have a dad like you—you’d fight for what was best for her. Not all little girls have dads who are so concerned about their wellbeing. Not all dads are willing to raise their daughters alone.”
“I’m guessing yours didn’t.”
She tugs her lip between her teeth and sighs. “My father died in a fire the night I was born. Thirty years ago next month.”
“Jesus. That sucks. I’m sorry.” Then it clicks. “Is that why your mom named you Phoenix? Because of that fire?”
“Something like that.”
It’s not much as far as opening up goes, but it’s more than she’s ever shared before.
She tilts her bottle back, polishing off her beer. “I don’t suppose your offer stands? Maybe that fire freaked me out more than I thought, because I really don’t want to stay alone in my house tonight.”
That surprises me even more than her sharing information about her family. “You’re welcome to stay here. Anytime.” I touch my fingers to her cheek and nudge her to look at me. “And I hope I don’t need to say this, but I will just in case. You’re welcome to stay here anytime and without any expectations. Okay?”
She nods, and those emerald-green eyes drop to my lips. Then she shocks me by giggling.
“What?”
She shakes her head and bites her lip, but more giggles slip through.
“What?”
“I was just . . .” More giggling. And damn, but I like that sound. “I was just thinking . . .” She laughs again and then takes a deep breath as if to calm herself. “Did Hanna ever tell you about the conversation I had with her before she left the hospital? You know, after the accident? When you were still engaged?”
My frown is inspired more by that little trip down memory lane than by confusion, but I say, “No. I don’t think so. What conversation?”
She giggles again, then throws her hand over her mouth and clears her throat. “Okay. Um. Promise you won’t be mad?”
I arch a brow. “I’m not sure
that’s ever a wise promise when you have no idea what the person is going to tell you.”
“Fair enough.” She bites back a smile.
“Nix?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just so ridiculous now that I know you. I thought . . . well, I was worried that maybe you were the one who pushed her down the stairs.”
“Say what?”
“I’m so sorry! And if it helps, Hanna never believed it was a possibility, but to me you seemed . . .”
“Like an abusive asshole trying to kill the woman he loved?” Suddenly I’m glad I didn’t promise anything, because Jesus Christ. “My God, Nix, I—”
She leaps out of her chair and throws a hand over my mouth. “You seemed too good to be true. To me. Which says way more about me than it says about you. I’m the screwed-up one who didn’t believe guys could be both insanely sweet and . . .” Her gaze slips down my body and back up.
Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I remove her hand from my mouth. Her pulse jumps under my fingertips. “Insanely sweet and what?”
“Are you fishing for compliments, Max Hallowell?”
“I’m trying to feel better about the fact that you thought I was like my asshole father.”
All the humor drains from her face. “Your father . . .”
“Was a fucking worthless piece-of-shit asshole.” I soften that news with an attempt at a smile. “Now tell me. You didn’t believe guys could be insanely sweet and what?”
She licks her lips. I wonder if she has any clue how crazy it makes me when she does that. If she’s trying to tempt me into kissing her when she’s more or less told me to fuck off, romantically speaking.
“I don’t think it’s any secret that I’m attracted to you.” Air puffs from her lips in a humorless chuckle. “Hell, who isn’t? But I’ve been with attractive men before, and I believed they were representative of the whole—pretty on the outside, ugly on the inside. Don’t you see? That’s why I think it’s so funny now. You’re not just a pretty face, and you’re not just a good guy, Max. You’re . . . great.” She tugs her lower lip between her teeth, and I want to bite it next. “Are you mad?”