by Shayla Black
Logan took the opportunity to sidle up to him. “You back?”
Besides Brea, here was the other person he needed to talk to. Might as well get it over with. “Temporarily, but—”
“I haven’t heard from you in a fucking month. Want to fill me in?”
Before he could, Hunter and Joaquin joined their conversation, glaring daggers.
“You can’t come to work, but you can show up to a Christmas party?” Hunter challenged.
Oh, fuck you. He didn’t have the patience for this. “We all know how much I love social occasions, especially when it involves your sparkling company.”
The older Edgington replied with a snarl and an obscene finger gesture.
“What’s going on in Mexico?” Joaquin asked, trying to be the voice of reason. “Is it done? Is Montilla dead?”
One-Mile prepared to launch into his rehearsed speech when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cutter waving to the small crowd. Did the asshole think he was leaving?
“I’ll catch y’all later. Merry Christmas.” Then Bryant turned, extending a hand toward their host. “Thanks for everything, Sean. Your wife did an amazing job. I had a great time.”
One-Mile shoved his half-eaten plate of food aside. If the Boy Scout was heading out, he damn well intended to follow.
He wouldn’t rest until he knew Brea was all right.
“Can you stay for three more minutes?” Sean asked Cutter. “Callie hosted this party for a reason.”
Cutter hesitated, then caved. “Sure.”
When Tara returned with his bottle of water, One-Mile thanked her and released the breath he’d been holding. Callie gave a heartfelt speech about everyone in the room being a member of the family the Mackenzie-Thorpe trio had chosen.
“Hear, hear!” The party guests raised their glasses before hugs began all around.
One-Mile knew he wasn’t included in that group, and he tried not to care. Would it be nice to have a circle of tight-knit friends? Maybe. He’d never had such a thing. But for Brea’s sake? Yeah. Some of the unconventional relationships like Callie, Sean, and Thorpe’s, not to mention the freak flags everyone in this group openly flew, would shock his pretty girl. But once she got past that, she would love their close sense of community.
If fate decided that she should spend her life with Bryant, she’d get it.
People hugged and guys slapped each other on the back. The happiness in the room was palpable. He tried to shove down his resentment and envy. All these men were sure of their futures, secure in the knowledge they would spend the rest of their days with the woman they loved.
One-Mile hated that he might have to let his girl marry another man. But for her safety, he would stand back and let her—no matter how much it killed him.
Hell, the odds weren’t good that he’d even be alive by then.
Speaking of which, he didn’t have any time to lose.
When Cutter headed for the exit again, One-Mile tossed his half-empty plate into the bin, then turned to Logan. “I need to talk to you. I have to regroup, and I need a hookup on more supplies, but I’ll have to call you later.”
“What? No, goddamn it. You owe us some fucking answers,” Logan shouted.
But One-Mile was already across the room, trying to block Bryant from leaving. As he barreled closer, the Boy Scout stiffened.
Former British MI5 agent Heath Powell stopped a conversation with his wife mid-sentence and grabbed Cutter’s arm. “Let it go, you two.”
One-Mile reached them and glared at Powell. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“It’s fine,” Cutter assured. “I’ve got to go anyway. Great to see you, Heath. Let’s get together soon.”
Powell nodded but he clearly wasn’t buying Bryant’s aw-shucks bullshit. “You have my number.”
One-Mile watched from the corner as Cutter circled the kitchen shaking hands, hugging some of the women, then finally brushing a kiss across Callie’s cheek before heading down the long hallway—straight for the exit.
Did this asshole seriously think he was leaving without telling him where Brea was and if she was all right?
“Hey, fucker! You’re not marrying Brea.” There. He’d said what every other person at this party expected him to. Bonus, it should get Bryant’s attention.
But no. The Boy Scout simply slammed the front door between them.
Maybe he could have been less flippant…but what the hell? Weren’t they both on Team Save-Brea anymore?
They had to be. Cutter might be a lot of asswipe, but he’d never let anything happen to her.
If you want a different response, maybe you should be less of a flaming asshole.
Blaming his month of isolation and frustration, he jerked the door open and followed outside—just in time to watch Cutter peel away from the curb. One-Mile chased him down the sidewalk to no avail, cursing a blue streak.
Fuck. He’d screwed the pooch. Now what?
Reluctantly, he whipped out his phone, which he’d retrieved from his Jeep earlier, and dialed Cutter’s number.
The asshole answered on the first ring. “What were all the growls and death stares about?”
Who the fuck cared? “Where’s Brea?”
“At my apartment. Her day at the salon ran long, and she was too tired to come to the party.”
“But she’s otherwise all right?”
“Yeah. Everything’s good. Pregnancy is all fine.” Cutter hesitated. “She’s even doing a lot better with her dad.”
That made him damn glad on her behalf.
“Great. Thanks.” One-Mile jogged down the street toward his Jeep. “Sorry for being a douche back there.”
“You mean you’re sorry for being you?”
“I don’t want to do this with you, man.”
“Fine.” Cutter sighed. “Did you come to the party all the way from Mexico just to see her?”
“More or less.”
“Is Montilla dead?”
“No. Long story. I’m following you back to your place. I need to see her.”
Hold her. Kiss her. Love her.
One-Mile needed that so fucking bad.
“You don’t know where I live.”
Um…I’ve fucked Brea in your bed. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I’m still not convinced you’re good for her.”
“That’s not your decision.”
He had more questions, but he’d far rather talk to Brea herself than the Boy Scout, so he hung up and hunkered down for a long drive.
The trip back to Lafayette was long and dark and seemed to last forever. He stopped once for strong coffee but otherwise caught up to Cutter quickly and maintained his position on the guy’s back bumper for the majority of the ride.
As they drew closer, his palms turned damp. Would Brea be happy to see him? Would she welcome him, even though he hadn’t yet slayed her beast? Or had her feelings for him changed?
One-Mile tried to compartmentalize his worries as he parked a few spots down from Cutter, locked his Jeep behind him, then trailed the Boy Scout across the lot and up the steps to the front door, all the while wondering what Brea would do when she saw him. Welcome him with open arms…or say that she’d realized he was a bad bet and decided to move on?
Brea set aside the pregnancy book she’d been reading, then rose and stretched with a forlorn sigh.
Every time she was in Cutter’s kitchen, she remembered the night she’d spent here with Pierce. The way he’d stood across the darkened apartment with righteous fury and lust burning in his eyes. The moment he’d swept her off her feet—literally—before he’d worshipped her pregnant belly, then ravaged her to boneless satisfaction all night.
And now he was gone.
For the millionth time, Brea wondered how he was faring and if he’d made any progress in ending Montilla’s threats. But as the days dragged into weeks, which had now become a month, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering if he was even alive.
S
ince it hurt too much to believe he wasn’t, she bowed her head and prayed to God for mercy, for some sign that Pierce was well.
As she lifted her head and swiped at the tears slowly rolling down her face, a light knock rapped on the front door. She glanced at the clock and froze. Past ten thirty. If Cutter had returned from Callie Mackenzie’s Christmas party, he would have simply let himself in. So who was dropping in to visit unexpectedly at this late hour?
In Pierce’s absence, Cutter had drilled situational awareness into her head. She’d learned a lot from her gun safety and self-defense classes, which made her feel more prepared to handle a potential threat. But Pierce’s friend Matt had been a blunt-force eye-opener. After spending an incredibly patient nine hours with her, installing her new home security system and showing her how to use it, he’d stuck around to ensure she understood the skills everyone else had taught her. At the end of the day, he’d given her his number, said he had a few weeks of free time coming, and that he’d be staying in Louisiana both to keep an eye on her and to avoid returning to Wyoming, where he’d freeze his balls off.
Since then, he’d checked in regularly. He’d promised he could come running if she ever needed him. And he’d be beyond infuriated now if she didn’t raise a red flag, especially when Cutter was probably on the freeway, potentially hours away.
She shot off a quick text to Matt. I’m alone at Cutter’s. Someone’s knocking on the door. I’m going to peek through the peephole.
Instantly, he replied. Gun handy?
Yes.
Let me know who’s there. I can be at your location in ten.
Thanks.
He was a very good friend to Pierce.
She darkened her phone and shoved it in the hidden pocket of her yoga pants. Then she made her way to the door and set the Beretta on the hall table, just beyond her fingertips, accessible if necessary, before she peered out the peephole.
A woman stood under the circle of the porch light, wearing a blue peacoat, head-to-toe black, and high-heeled boots. She looked familiar but… No. It couldn’t be. Yet the longer Brea looked, the more she was convinced that she was right.
Gaping, she pulled open the door and stared.
“Brea?” the stunning blonde asked.
“Mercy me. Shealyn West?”
The woman nodded sheepishly. “Hi. Is, um…Cutter here?”
Wow, the famous actress was really standing on his porch. But this wasn’t the time to be star struck. The woman had broken his heart. True…but she had also traveled here from Los Angeles, found Cutter’s apartment, and knocked on his door late on a Saturday night for a reason. Brea intended to find out why. If the blonde had ventured here simply to stamp all over his heart again, she’d stop Shealyn cold.
“No. I expect him soon, though. Come on in.” She stepped back, inviting the woman inside.
“That’s all right. I can come back when he’s available.”
“No, really. Come in. I think you and I should talk first. He hasn’t said a lot about what happened in California.” Just enough to make me madder than a wet hen at you. “I know what the press said, of course.”
“Half of that isn’t true.” Shealyn took a tentative step inside and looked around.
It probably wasn’t anything like her fancy digs in California, but it was homey and comfortable, and the woman better not have come here to judge. Thankfully, nothing on her face indicated she was.
Brea shut and locked the door. “I figured the rumor that you and Tower Trent had never had a relationship was hogwash.”
Shealyn clutched her purse nervously. “Actually, that’s true. It was good PR for the show, and we were friends. I meant the bit about the secret lesbian fling Jessica and I supposedly had that led to her jealous rage.”
“I didn’t even give that tripe the time of day. But I know whatever happened between you and Cutter changed him.” Let her stew on that… “Coffee? Iced tea?”
“Tea, please. Sweet?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Not in my book.”
Darn it all, despite Shealyn being a star and a heartbreaker, there was something down-to-earth about her. She was likable. Seemingly sweet. Girl-next-door, like her image. Could she really be the sort of woman who took pleasure in ripping out a good man’s heart?
“So you really are a Southern girl… Please, sit.” Brea waved her to a little round table adjacent to the kitchen as she headed for the refrigerator. “Since I just made a pitcher for Cutter before lunch, the tea is fresh.”
As Shealyn slid into a chair, Brea sent Matt a clandestine text that all was well, then turned back to the starlet, who was biting her lip, looking both uncomfortable and uncertain.
Wondering what was on the woman’s mind, Brea poured the glass of tea and set it with a coaster in front of her.
“Thank you,” Shealyn murmured, stare lingering on her hand.
Looking for an engagement ring? Brea frowned as she slid into the opposite chair, tucking one foot under her thigh. “You’re welcome. I wish I could have some. But too much caffeine and sugar isn’t good for the baby.”
Shealyn’s smile faltered into a wince of pain. “Congratulations. You and Cutter must be very excited. I’m happy for you two.”
The actress said the right words, but her talent in front of a camera was failing her miserably in real life. Shealyn looked anything but thrilled.
Suddenly, the puzzle pieces fell into place.
Brea scowled. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”
“Tell me what?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course he didn’t. That stubborn, stubborn man. Ugh! You don’t know why he and I are planning this wedding, do you?”
“I presumed it was because you loved each other and were excited about your coming child.”
It was all Brea could do not to shake her head in frustration and call Cutter screaming. “Would a man madly in love with a woman and looking forward to starting a family with her give his heart to someone else? Scratch that. Some men might. Would Cutter do that?”
“The man I thought I knew? I’ve been trying to reconcile that in my head.”
“He would never do that. Ever since he stood next to my daddy the day I was born, he’s been the big brother I never had. It’s a long story, but when I got pregnant, Cutter blamed himself because I got close to my baby’s father while trying to help him escape a hostage situation.”
Shealyn blinked, looking utterly stunned. “You mean…the baby isn’t Cutter’s?”
“Heavens, no. We’ve never…” Brea shook her head. “Ever. He really is like my brother. Anyway, I worked up the nerve to see a doctor right before Cutter went to California to protect you. When we found out for sure I was pregnant, he proposed so I wouldn’t have to face my daddy—he’s the local preacher—and admit my sin as a fallen woman. I’m sure that sounds silly in this day and age.”
“No. I’m from a small town, too.”
“So you understand why that thought terrified me. Heck, at the time I was more than a little afraid of the man who got me pregnant, too. Pierce is…overwhelming. Cutter kept threatening to kill him, but it was my fault. I knew I needed to be honest, face him and my father—”
“You’re saying Cutter offered to sacrifice his future for you?”
“Exactly.”
“My question sounded rude. I-I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s the truth. And I was such a coward that I agreed to let him.” That was an oversimplified version of events, but the rest was too personal and painful. And Shealyn didn’t need the details in order to forgive Cutter so he could move on. Or hopefully decide she loved him and wanted to spend her future with him.
The blonde reached across the table and took Brea’s hand. “I’m sure he understands.”
“It’s Cutter, so of course he does. But I should tan his hide for not explaining our ‘engagement’ the moment he realized he was in love with you. I’m not surprised he didn’t,
though. He wouldn’t have spilled my secret to anyone without a—pardon my French—damn good reason. And he would never have put his own happiness above my fears.” She huffed. “I’m going to have some words with that man.”
Shealyn stared for a very long time, clearly mulling everything over and making some decisions. “Thank you for explaining. It’s none of my business, and I hate to just barge in or ruin your plans—”
“Do you love Cutter?”
“With all my heart.” Shealyn’s face said that, without him, the organ beating in her chest was broken.
Brea smiled big. “Then you just muck up every last plan. I could never make him happy, but I think you can. And no one deserves it more.” If Pierce came back to her, he might be furious that Cutter had started a future with Shealyn, but Brea could still pretend she wasn’t One-Mile’s girl without having Cutter in her life. “He has always had a chip on his shoulder about being the town drunk’s kid. But he’s so much more than that.”
“Except for my grandfather, he’s the best man I’ve ever met. You really don’t mind if I steal him from you?”
Was she kidding? Brea probably wasn’t going to get her own happy ending, but if Cutter could have his with the woman he loved, she’d be thrilled.
“So you can make my best friend ecstatically happy? Goodness, no. My life has gone to heck in a handbasket, but that’s my own doing. Even so, I can’t tie Cutter down. Just…if you’re going to take him back to California, let him visit every so often. My baby will need an uncle.”
Shealyn smiled. “Of course. I’d never try to keep him from seeing you two. And I’m sure—”
The jiggling of the lock startled Brea. At the sound, Shealyn fell silent and stood, nervously wringing her hands.
Seconds later, the door opened and Cutter walked in, palming his keys. He walked in—then stopped in mid-stride. Brea watched his stare climb up Shealyn’s body and saw their gazes lock. His expression twisted with pain and need. The air between them sizzled. She felt their mutual longing like a physical pang.
It was obvious Cutter loved Shealyn with every ounce of his being.
“What are you doing here?” He sounded as if someone had stolen the breath from his chest.