Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1)

by Elizabeth Miller

  “Maisie Walker,” I say on autopilot at the desk.

  The clerk clicks her nails on the keyboard—click, clack. Click, click. Clack, clack. They tip my nerves to the other side of panic and my pulse scatters somewhere near hysteria. “Please.” I hang my head and prayers slip from my lips. Dear God. What have I done?

  “This way.” She motions for me to follow and I do, along the hall, passing patients to the left and right in various states of dress and health, some covered in blankets, some partially obstructed by curtains hanging from the ceiling. I focus on my feet, the same shoes I wore to the Wilson two days ago. Two days.

  So much has happened. And now this: Maisie in a coma.

  At the end of the hall we turn left. These are rooms, not cubicles, a private haven for the desperately ill. All the way at the end, a man familiar to me from the theatre steps into the light. White coat, stethoscope, concerned scowl: Henry Bennett.

  I hold my hand out when I approach and he takes it in a firm grip. “Thank you for calling. I—”

  “She’d want you to be here.”

  “She would?” I ask, because I’m not so sure.

  “I listened to your message. All of it. I heard the desperation in your voice, the sincerity. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be standing here. You’d be lying in the morgue downstairs.”

  I close my eyes and nod, holding back a sad grin at his threat. It’s a lot like something I would say if someone hurt my sister. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “I also know Maisie. Well, actually. She’s one of my favorite people.”

  Mine too. Instead of debating who loves her more, I nod so he’ll continue.

  “I saw her before and after the show. The hope and then the crushing disappointment. I know you’re here to make it right.”

  “I am, if she’d let me. If I can. Is she?” Awake? “Will she—what happened?” I stutter.

  “Mugging, as far as we can tell. There’s been a slew in the neighborhood. Her lobby was breached.”

  “Goddamn it.” I fume and he places his hand on my shoulder, just like I did to alleviate Lucas’s guilt an hour ago. It doesn’t do a thing.

  “Yeah, well. Her head got bashed against a metal row of boxes.”

  “Fuck.”

  “That’s not the actual medical term, but yes. I agree. She incurred a TBI—basically her brain struck her skull with force and she was rendered unconscious.”

  “A concussion?” I clarify.

  “Exactly. A rather severe one.”

  “And she’s unresponsive?”

  “She was.”

  Holding on to his every word, I wait, desperate for an ounce of good news. “She’s not in a coma?”

  Dr. Bennett shakes his head, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I can’t kick your ass, it goes against the Hippocratic oath. But I wanted to hurt you for putting her through the ringer, so I may have exaggerated.”

  “Fuck,” I say again, using his shoulder to hold me up as relief rushes through me. I think I hate this man, but I also want to kiss him.

  “Don’t do it again or I’ll find a way to hurt you worse.”

  “Already done. You’re devious, doctor. And I can promise you I won’t be on the receiving end again. I’m going to make this right.”

  “I trust that you will.” He points to the closed door and I push my way to the other side of hell.

  Or maybe I’m just walking into another version of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Act Like You Love Me” 3:26

  Maisie

  “DO YOU THINK they serve peanut butter and jelly for breakfast?” I ask anyone who’ll listen.

  I can’t look for help. God, no. The lights hurt my head like a son-of-a-biscuit. Even though they’ve been turned down to a low glow, I keep my lids closed and angle toward sounds. A flutter to the left has me talking in that direction. The doorway—that’s over there if I recall the setup of the room.

  It could be Piper. She was just standing in the near vicinity. So was Caden and a sleeping JT. What a surprise. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Turned out, it was their plan to shock me all along—a late Christmas present. They just didn’t envision they’d drop their one-week-vacation bomb while I was holed up in the hospital.

  Could be Mom or Dad. They made an appearance. A bit strained on Mom’s part, but she did show a modicum of concern. And Dad—he’d have stayed all night but he has work. I kicked them out so he could rest before morning hit. They could have come back.

  Or maybe it’s Lily. She’s been here since I woke. Henry too. Great doctor, that one. He gives really, tremendously good intravenous medications. Oh, how they make me happy. And hungry.

  “What about that sandwich? I know it’s early. But come on. Slap some jelly on a piece of bread. Toast. That’s it. Put it on toast. It’s totally a breakfast food. They’ve gotta have peanut butter. It’s a pantry stable. Or maybe not. It might be a no for hospitals? There are serious allergies and we need to remain diligent not to—I lost my train of thought. What was I saying?”

  You could hear a pin drop. At least, I can. Without your sight you’d be surprised what you discern in a room. Something smells good. Like leather and cinnamon.

  “Is that a statement or a question?”

  “Oh.” Shit. I know that tone. The deep, rough, gravelly tone I love. “Mr. Kavanagh?” The monitor beeping out my pulse spikes, giving my heart away.

  “Peach,” he whispers.

  Tears rush my eyes. I can’t help it. They’re here and then so is he, gripping my hand, sandwiching it between his. Forget peanut butter and jelly. This is better. He is better.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  “I didn’t do . . . do . . . do . . . what Drake s . . . s . . . s . . . said.”

  His forehead touches my thigh. At least, that’s what I think it is. I dare to peek through my lids just a smidge to find him bent over me. Then he looks up. His irises glow like the sun, but they’re coated with rain just like mine.

  “I know. I know,” he implores. “Not for one second did I ever believe that was the truth.”

  “Thank you.” I nod and then groan. My brain, it didn’t like that very much.

  “Shhh,” he hushes me, smoothing my hair from the bandage on my forehead.

  I point to it with my free hand. “Stiches. Ten of them. Talk about badass. I almost took the bad guy down with my knee, but he got to my head before I could get in a second pass.”

  “Yeah? Got in a good hit, did you?”

  I’m proud of the fact that I did, but Mr. Kavanagh? He sounds rather pained by the whole idea.

  “Jayce,” I whisper. “Are we alone?”

  I imagine he nods as he confirms, “Everyone stepped out.”

  “Good.” I lick my lips. They’re dry, and before I can ask, a straw touches them and I take a long drag of water. “Thanks. We, you and I, have some things to talk about.”

  “We do. But they can wait for however long you need. Take your time. I’ll be here.”

  “That’s just it.” I struggle to sit up. It hurts, but I need to say all the things and lying on my back to do it seems cowardly. He helps, and after some moaning and groaning on my part, and protests on his, we work my bed into a slight incline.

  “Okay,” he says, reaching for my hand. “You’re up. Now what?”

  “Mr. Kavanagh.”

  “Yes, Ms. Walker.”

  I smile because it’s so easy with him. It always has been. He returns it and my heartbeat spikes so high the nurse pops in. I bite my tongue through her lecture to take it easy and keep smiling at my former boss. When she leaves, I sigh and play with the sheet with my free hand. I do anything to avoid the train wreck rolling down my tracks.

  “Tell me, Mais.”

  I sniff. The tears are back. I’d blame the drugs, but they’re just par for this course. “You hurt me.”

  “I did. Peach. I’m so, deeply sorry. Can I explain?”

&nb
sp; “You don’t have to.” I hold up a hand to his objection. “I listened to your voice mail. Henry didn’t give me a choice really. He pumped me full of morphine and held the phone to my ear.” I smile and then I don’t, because the whole two days have been painful. “I know everything—Ash, Carla and Quinn, Blume. I’m glad I do.”

  He lowers his head to my shoulder. I feel his lips through my gown, pressing and then just open to breathe. My cheek falls to his hair. I like it there. It’s all very comforting. My hand in his, his mouth on me, the hold I have on him. “This is the hardest thing I’m going to ever do.”

  “What’s that, sweetheart?” He rises. I’m thankful for that, for his eyes that connect with mine. He’s present and I’m not so high I’ll forget this moment.

  “I love you with my whole heart, Mr. Kavanagh. I love you. Madly, deeply, powerfully. I’m so in love with you it hurts. But I’m walking away.”

  “Peach.” Talk about pain. God, his voice. It rips through my chest and leaves me gasping for a breath.

  “I have to, Jayce.” Squeezing his hand doesn’t help ground me. These feelings, these out-of-control and explosive feelings rip through me, needing to be heard. “I don’t know what’s real, or what was part of a contract. Did you just act like you loved me?”

  “No.” He shakes his head, wrecked and trembling. “Don’t ever think that. Maisie.”

  “The thing is, and the thing I’ve learned over the last few months is, I don’t need to be saved. I can do that all by myself. But what I really need is to be found, discovered, and appreciated for exactly who I am. I don’t want to be anyone’s secret.”

  “I did that,” he whispers with the same level of agony he held before.

  “No, you didn’t. Well, you did. Just not in the hurtful way I made it out to be. That was my mom in my ear. But you’re cautious and I need to be seen. We were so close in Hamilton. That weekend was as near to perfect as I’ve ever experienced. Then we came home and I needed the same assurance. That you were proud of me, proud to be seen with me.”

  “I am. Jesus, Maisie. Had I known—had I known it injured you so deeply I would have done everything differently.”

  “I know. These insecurities are on me. And they’re deep-seated. Something I have to work on.” Like Lily did. She had to explore her inner workings and so do I. It’s not fair to whomever my partner is if I don’t. Neither is keeping my feelings hidden. So I let them out. “Seeing you with someone else—God, that hurt. That it was at an event I’d dreamed of attending with you, hurt worse. That I didn’t know the kind of relationship you had with Ash was something else altogether. I was in the dark about so many things and that wasn’t fair.”

  “Agreed. I promise you a hundred percent disclosure from here on out.”

  I swallow my sorrow and push on. “I need a fresh start. Away from the firm. Away from you and our history. I need to figure me and my future out.” And I think he may need to do the same. We both have work to do.

  He nods, but stays silent. A horrible, heartbreaking silence that weighs us both down. Enough said.

  I want him to talk, to argue his point, to tell me I’m wrong, but if he did he wouldn’t be listening to me. I need the freedom to explore who I am without his intervention. I need to learn that what we have is real, or maybe it’s an exciting chapter in my life that closed with a wild, unpredictable ending.

  Time will tell.

  “I don’t expect for you to wait for me.”

  He looks up from our latched hands, his thumb stroking mine lightly. What I see is regret. Apology. A whole lot of love.

  He confirms it a minute later. Never taking his eyes from mine, he says, “I’ll wait an eternity for you, peach. I had waited what felt like one before you walked into the firm and my life. Giving you time seems only fair. And my heart won’t change. ‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.’”

  I’ve never been heartbroken before. Nathan has nothing on Jayce. He’s not even on the same Richter scale. And when Mr. Kavanagh kisses me, the monitors flare again and I don’t care. Let the world come in and witness what this man does to me. Even the simplest press of his mouth to mine has my pulse break out in wild beats.

  His lips find my bandage next. He stays for a few seconds and I relish the time. My free hand stays limp on the sheet, afraid if I grab him I won’t let go. And then he stands, his fingers pulling slowly from mine. One last touch.

  At the door he stops and pivots to face me, a dark shadow in the dim light. “I was an asshole.”

  I smile, but nod. “Only some of the time, with some of the things.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “I hope through your journey you find that what we have is real. Everything was for me. Every word. Every touch. Each breath. I love you too, Ms. Walker. So much it hurts.”

  “Oh.” Shit. I bite my lip and nod. What else can I do?

  “Okay.” He sucks in a deep breath and turns. His hand rests on the doorjamb as if he needs it to prop himself up. “I’ll send in that peanut butter and jelly sandwich on my way out. You deserve everything, peach.”

  He’s right. I do.

  And after I cry a bazillion tears, I’m going to get out there and find everything I’ve been missing.

  THE FIRST THING I do post-Mr. Kavanagh, is go home. Well, home to Lily and Henry’s. Piper, Caden, and JT come too. We have a full house. The first forty-eight hours are on repeat and in no particular order. Eat. Sleep. Cry. Laugh a little, and then hold my aching head.

  I have a lot to do, a lot to think about, and it starts with my apartment. Everyone agrees it’s not the best place to live. Yet, I don’t want to give up my independence. Without a job and a measly bank account, I don’t have much of a choice.

  Henry saves the day. Lily agrees. They offer up the spare room on a permanent basis and just like that, I have a new pad. One on the Upper East Side, a stone’s throw away from He Who Shall Not Be Named. They assure me the room’s mine for as long as I need. Two-hundred-and-twenty square feet of completely renovated living, with a doorman and twenty-four-hour security that happens to be located smack-dab in the middle of Parsons and Columbia Law.

  School. Life. The future. Mr. Kavanagh. All of the topics hurt my brain and send me to bed early one night. Piper joins me, fresh-faced and scrubbed clean from a recent shower. The pink tips of her platinum hair skim her tank-covered shoulders. Her pajama pants, sprinkled with pastel cupcakes, match mine. Climbing onto the full mattress I took so they could have the king in the bigger spare room, she squeezes in for a hug.

  “Hey, Pidge.”

  “What’s going on, Lollipop?” She gathers me close, gingerly placing her forehead against my smaller but still-present bandage. It pays to have a doctor in the house. Henry can treat me from the kitchen table rather than the hospital.

  “It’s been seven days since I’ve seen him. Nothing feels good. Nothing tastes good. I’m sleeping like shit and yet all I want to do is dream.”

  Nighttime is the best and worst. Sometimes it’s a repeat of the attack, dark and scary. But inevitably, Jayce is there. His deep, gravelly voice is in my ear and his filthy mouth turns me on. I wake in a cold sweat and heartsore. And then it’s his sweet words that sooth the ache. Punching my pillow alleviates nothing. Neither does my hand between my legs. I miss him.

  Thank God for Piper. And Lily. They’ve kept me busy and my mind occupied. Lil came through in a big way. Besides opening her home, she opened her heart to my friends and me. She’s been kind and accommodating.

  We’ve had more movie marathons and takeout. A low-key New Year’s with champagne and board games. Then she planned a day in the city. The Met and an early dinner at Morini. From a luxury suite at Madison Square Garden, we saw the Rangers play the Red Wings. Hockey was JT’s first sporting event and we all loved it. Today, Lil surprised Piper and me with a closed-door bridal session at Kleinfeld’s
.

  The week should have been spectacular. Should have. Guilt consumes me because although I have so much to be thankful for, something is missing. Someone is missing.

  “I’d like to say it gets easier. But the pain doesn’t go away; it just gets different.” Piper is all too familiar with grief and mine is nothing compared to hers. I snuggle in closer, hoping she knows how damn sorry I am about Justin. After a while, saying so seems to lose its meaning and I find the best thing I can do for her is listen when she needs me—hold her up when she stumbles, squeeze her when it’s called for. “And it really hasn’t been that long,” she points out. “You’ll go through stages. You’re sad right now; it doesn’t seem real. Anger’s next. Feelings are good, though, Mais. Don’t shy away from them.”

  One thing I envy about Piper: she gives her whole heart fully, and without fear. She’s resilient. Where I’m always afraid. I worried the whole time I was with Jayce. Worried I wasn’t good enough. Worried I was his secret. That I always would be. It’s like I worried it into existence instead of living each moment. Doubting myself is unfamiliar territory, yet I’ve been tripped up since the second I met my boss. Then I signed that idiotic contract. “Why are men stupid?”

  “What’s that?” We both turn toward the hall where the deep voice came from. Caden leans against the doorjamb, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other reaching to hold onto the molding. His plaid shirt is unbuttoned. The worn, white tee underneath is glued to his abs and not doing a thing to hide his tattoos. I whistle, because damn. Six-foot something of pure muscle and man. I can’t help myself.

  “You ladies have room to make me the jam in your sandwich?” he asks, sauntering in. He’s smooth, and before I know what’s happened, there’s an arm around my shoulders and my nose is pressed to his neck—cypress and pepper. I inhale a calming drag.