Tragic

by Devney Perry

  I whirled back to Kaine, fury taking the place of fear. “What were you thinking?” I shrieked. “You could have killed yourself!”

  His eyelids drooped closed as he shrugged. “That chair was too short.”

  “Too short?”

  He nodded. “Half an inch.”

  “I see.” I frowned. “And that meant you had to hack it to pieces like a crazed serial killer? Should I call you the Chair Chainsaw Murderer?”

  He chuckled, flashing me his white teeth. “You’re funny.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Meh,” he muttered.

  “Shit.” I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple.

  Kaine sat on the porch, disheveled but no less gorgeous. His words weren’t slurred, but he was most definitely intoxicated.

  “Just . . . stay there.” I held out my hand in a stay gesture, though I doubted he’d get too far in his state.

  I hurried inside the cabin, my feet skidding to a stop at what I saw. The place was filthy. There were dirty dishes all over the kitchen and even some in the living room. The foul odor hit me next, making my face sour.

  Kaine had always impressed me with his cleanliness, both here and in his shop. But it was like he’d purposefully tried to trash his home over the last two weeks.

  From the living room, I could see down the hall and into his bedroom at the rear of the cabin. His bed had always been made whenever I’d been here before, but now the ugly green quilt was on the floor. The blue sheets were in a tangled mess on the bed.

  I went to the kitchen, gagging as the smell got stronger. I risked a glance at the overflowing sink. The plates at the bottom appeared to be broken.

  Was this disaster because of me? I went to the cupboards, searching for a clean glass. The shelves were mostly empty, but I rummaged around on the top shelf and found a dusty beer mug.

  I rinsed it out, then filled it with water, taking it back outside.

  Kaine had scooted across the porch to the stairs and was propped up against a post. Both of his legs hung loosely down the steps, his booted toes pointing up to the sky at different angles.

  “Here.” I sat next to him and held out the mug. “Drink some water.”

  He blinked slowly, his face lazily turning my way. With an unsteady hand, he took the water from my hand and gulped. Dribbles fell down his chin, leaving droplets in his beard. But when the glass was empty, he handed it back.

  “I threw it out,” he muttered.

  “Threw what out?”

  “Your cake.”

  My cake? He had to be talking about the cake he’d made for our dinner. The one I hadn’t tried because I’d been too busy running out the door when he’d ordered me to leave. “I’m sorry.”

  He waved a hand. “It’s fine. Over now.”

  Yes, it was over now. “Are you okay?”

  He let out a low groan that sounded like no.

  But I didn’t ask for more. I wasn’t comfortable leaving his side, not with the chainsaw within reach, so I scooted over to the opposite post and leaned against the wood.

  The evening sun was setting, and with the tall trees surrounding us, the light faded quickly. I let my eyes drift closed as I listened to the sounds of the forest and Kaine’s heavy breathing. If he fell asleep out here, I’d have a hard time getting him inside. But I’d deal with that after five minutes of quiet.

  “It was three years ago.”

  My eyes flew open. “What was three years ago?”

  “They betrayed me.”

  Who? And what was their betrayal? I wanted to ask so badly, but Kaine was drunk. It wouldn’t be right to push for information in his drunken haze.

  “She died on Memorial Day weekend.”

  I winced. It wasn’t just pain clouding his tone. It was misery. It broke my heart to see the anguish he worked so hard to hide, out in the open. I didn’t know who she was, but I could venture a guess. Kaine had lost someone he loved, and that loss had created the shell of a man at my side.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t feel anything.” He let out a long breath, then he shifted. He laid back on the porch boards while at the same time twisting so his head rested in my lap.

  My body froze, waiting to see what he’d do next. But he sighed and relaxed, the weight of his neck and head on my thighs. Of their own volition, my fingers found their way into his silky, dark hair.

  “I can’t feel anything.” Kaine’s eyes held mine. “But I can feel you.”

  “I feel you too,” I whispered.

  He turned away, staring off into the trees. “I don’t want to feel.”

  My fingers stopped threading his hair. His tone was sharp but it didn’t sting. It was born of fear.

  This would all be easier if we could turn off those feelings like the toggle on the chainsaw. But here they were, circling us with the evening air. There was nothing more to say, so I resumed toying with his hair and watching the sun’s light fade.

  Until Kaine and his broken heart fell asleep on my lap.

  I was having the best dream about eating homemade cinnamon rolls when someone woke me up by pounding on the front door. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing them to go away, but the noise only got louder.

  And more painful.

  I jerked awake and groaned.

  No one was at the door. The pounding was in my head.

  “Oh, fuck.” I buried my face in my pillow.

  Hangovers were a bitch. I’d partied quite a bit in my younger years, enjoying late nights out with the guys, boozing and picking up women. After a heavy night of drinking, I used to be able to wake up the next morning, guzzle some water, pop a few pain pills and be good to go.

  But at thirty-three years old, my body didn’t recover as quickly. The last time I’d been drunk, my headache had lasted for days.

  My stomach rolled as I sat up and took a deep breath. I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday, but at least I’d kicked off my boots.

  I looked around the room for some water, but all I found were three empty glasses on the nightstand. Something had died in my mouth, and my throat was screaming for a drink. When I stood, I fought a dizzying wave but managed to stumble my way to the bedroom door.

  I yanked it open and was immediately hit with a smell that nearly sent my ass to the floor.

  Cinnamon rolls.

  Mom used to make us cinnamon rolls on the weekends when she wasn’t working. I hadn’t eaten one in over three years. And since Mom didn’t know where I lived, there could only be one person who’d brought that smell into my house. Piper.

  I shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen. Under the smell of cinnamon, sugar and yeast, I caught a hint of bleach as I passed by the bathroom. I ignored it. First thing on the docket was drinking a gallon of water. Then I’d find out what Piper was doing in my kitchen.

  Given my rumpled clothes, I doubted we’d had sex. Though it wasn’t impossible. My brain was still too fuzzy to remember everything that had happened last night.

  The light in the kitchen and living room was blinding. I groaned as I entered the main room, taking a break to lean on the fridge so I wouldn’t pass out from the pain behind my temples.

  “Morning.” Piper was propped up against the counter with her phone in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

  “Got any more of that coffee?” My voice was hoarse and using it made my head throb even more.

  She nodded, setting her mug aside to get me one of my own and fill it from the coffee pot in the corner.

  I pushed off the fridge and stumbled toward the dining room table. I collapsed into a chair, rocking the legs a bit. Piper delivered my coffee and took the seat across from me.

  I grunted my thanks before taking a first sip. The coffee scalded my tongue, so I set it down to cool. Then, with my elbows digging into the table, I propped my aching head into my hands.

  “Are you going to live?” Piper asked.

  “Maybe,” I muttered, closing my eyes. �
�I just need a few minutes.”

  I kept my eyes closed as she stood and walked across the room. The unmistakable rattle of a pill bottle filled the kitchen, and at that moment, I would have married her.

  She brought me some pain pills and a tall glass of water, setting them on the table before returning to her seat.

  I forced my eyes open, popping the pills in my mouth and gulping the water. I still felt like shit. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I went back to my coffee, leaning back in my chair as I sipped it slowly. When that cup was empty, Piper got up and filled it for me along with my water. By the time I’d made it through my refills, I was nearly human again.

  “Thanks for the coffee. And the water.”

  She shrugged. “Technically, it was your coffee and water.”

  “Still appreciated.” My eyes wandered around the kitchen. “You cleaned?”

  “Just a little,” she spoke into her own cup.

  It was more than a little. The dishes that had been piling up for two weeks were all cleared away. The counters were gleaming and the smell from the garbage can—the one that had driven me to the shop for countless long days—was now gone.

  “I made cinnamon rolls.” Piper smiled. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Yup. They smell great.” I took another sip of my coffee, the ache behind my temples beginning to fade. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since about five. After you passed out, I went home but couldn’t sleep much. So I came over to make sure you were alive.”

  “The jury’s still out,” I groaned, dropping my head back into my hands.

  “Breakfast will help. My cinnamon rolls aren’t magic, but they’ve been known to cure a hangover once or twice.”

  My stomach growled, then churned when I caught a whiff from my underarms. “Do I have time for a quick shower?” And to brush my teeth?

  “Go for it. The rolls still need about ten minutes.”

  Taking my coffee cup with me, I disappeared into the bathroom, showering quickly, though my movements were all clumsy. My fingers fumbled over my bar of soap, dropping it twice, and I squirted way too much from my bottle of shampoo. There would be no working in the shop for me today. I didn’t trust myself around power tools or sharp objects.

  I climbed out of the shower and swiped a towel off the hook. That towel had been on the floor yesterday, but Piper must have picked it up. I dried and wrapped it around my waist, then raked my hands through my hair as I inspected myself in the mirror.

  I looked like hell. My beard was scraggly and overdue for a trim. My eyes were bloodshot and my cheeks a little green.

  But things weren’t all bad. My shoulders weren’t tense and balled up at my ears. My jaw was unclenched for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t the hangover’s doing.

  It was Piper’s.

  Having her back in this house was settling.

  I’d been a grumpy bastard ever since our dinner because I’d missed her dimpled smile. I’d missed her witty comments and knowing smirks. I’d missed the way she looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes.

  I’d missed her.

  The ding on the oven’s timer pulled me away from the mirror and out of the bathroom she’d cleaned this morning. I went to my bedroom and pulled on some jeans and a gray T-shirt, then walked out with my coffee mug, surveying the living room with a more careful eye.

  She’d picked up in there too and wiped away the accumulated dust. Under the cinnamon roll smell, there was a hint of my furniture polish.

  “You didn’t have to clean. But I appreciate it. I, uh . . . kind of let shit go these last couple of weeks.”

  Piper glanced over her shoulder. “I didn’t mind.”

  My mouth watered at the pan resting in front of her on the stove. It was loaded with golden-baked rolls, oozing with cinnamon and sugar. Piper was drizzling white frosting over the top.

  “You went to a lot of trouble.”

  She shrugged. “Not really. I’ve been wanting an excuse to make these. You’ve got a much better space to knead and roll dough than I do at the camper, so I decided to intrude on your kitchen. And since they took a while to rise, I just picked up. It wasn’t much.”

  It wasn’t much? I scoffed. “You cleaned my bathroom.”

  She smirked. “I had to pee. Cleaning it was necessary before I could go.”

  “Sorry.” I grimaced. “And thank you. Again.”

  Someday, I’d make it up to her. Someday when my head wasn’t swirling with whiskey fumes and my stomach wasn’t growling like a bear. I hadn’t eaten dinner last night, or lunch for that matter. It was no wonder I’d gotten so drunk off a half bottle of Jack.

  “Want more coffee?” she asked.

  “I got it.” I carried my mug to the coffee pot, filled it and looked to hers between us. “Do you need a warm-up?”

  “Sure.” She smiled and pushed it closer at the same time I went to pick it up.

  Our fingers brushed on the handle, sending an electric zing up my elbow. Her breath hitched and her cheeks turned rosy. But she didn’t take her hand away.

  The room got blurry before disappearing around us as our hands lingered on the warm ceramic. If I took one step, she’d be in my arms. She’d fill the hole I’d been missing for two weeks.

  If I took one step, we could be naked on the couch in seconds.

  But before I took that one step, she slid her hand free and tucked it into an oven mitt.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, staring at her rolls.

  “It’s okay.” I took her mug and filled it up. This morning wasn’t about sex. Our casual relationship had burned us both. And this morning was her peace offering. “I get it.”

  “I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Casual didn’t work out. But how about something different? How about . . . neighbors?”

  I nodded. “Neighbors.”

  Pushing down my attraction to her would take some getting used to. But it was better this way. Wasn’t it? That’s what I’d been telling myself for two weeks. I didn’t need her in my bed. I’d just keep repeating it over and over until it stuck.

  “I have a proposition for you,” Piper said, dishing up her enormous cinnamon rolls on two plates.

  “I thought you wanted to just be neighbors.”

  She giggled. “Not that kind of proposition.”

  “Damn.”

  She laughed again. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in building me a dining room table. I’m not sure what your availability is, but I wouldn’t need it for a while. But you know how I feel about your furniture. A custom Kaine Reynolds piece is something I just can’t live without.”

  I walked over to the table and sat down, sipping my coffee. “My wait list is two years out.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders fell. “I’m not surprised. Can you add me to it? I can just get something temporary in the meantime.”

  “Sure.” I sipped my coffee again, hiding a grin.

  I’d finished her table three days ago. I might have been doing my best to ignore her, but that table had called to me, begging to be finished. It was currently covered in a canvas cloth in a corner of the shop.

  Maybe I’d wait until her house was done, then show up with a surprise delivery.

  A stir of anticipation ran through my body. I hadn’t given anyone a gift in years. I used to love giving presents, especially to Mom. She’d sacrificed so much, working long hours so we wouldn’t go without. As soon as I’d been able to afford decent birthday and Christmas gifts, I’d always gone above and beyond. Usually, all Mom had wanted were pieces of my furniture, so I’d set aside time in my schedule to craft my finest.

  I would have done anything for Mom.

  Which was why it hurt so much that she’d chosen him instead of me.

  “Here you go.” Piper set a plate and fork in front of me, then sat with her own.

  With the aroma of soft bread, sugar and spice wafting into my nose, all thoug
hts of the past and my mother disappeared. It was steaming, but I cut a huge piece of the cinnamon roll and shoved it in my mouth.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I groaned after swallowing the first bite and digging in for more. “This is going to save my life.”

  Piper giggled, covering her full mouth with one hand. “I’m glad.”

  I demolished that first cinnamon roll, then went back and polished off two more. “Magic. Maybe even better than the cake.”

  “No way,” Piper scoffed. “But a close second.”

  “Where you’d learn to cook?” I asked, neither of us in a hurry to leave the table. The dirty dishes rested between us as we drank the last of the coffee. “You’re good at it.”

  “Lots of places.” She shrugged. “Most of my food comes from things I’ve tried and tweaked. Magic cake I learned to make from my aunt. The cinnamon rolls are my mom’s recipe. In high school, I took a cooking class and learned how to make the best pie crust I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Pie?” My ears perked up. I’d take pie over cake any day of the week.

  “If I promise to bring you a pie on a regular basis, will that move my dining room table up your waiting list?”

  I chuckled. “It can’t hurt.”

  The right thing to do would be to tell her no and not make her my pie slave. But there was no way I’d be turning down regular pies. Especially if they were anything like the rest of the food she made.

  Piper settled deeper into her chair, bringing her coffee mug to those soft lips. I bet they tasted like the cinnamon roll frosting. The idea of running my tongue over the contours of her mouth made my cock jerk.

  Even with a hangover, he was raring to go.

  But that’s not what we were anymore. We were neighbors, nothing more.

  Piper looked so comfortable today. She was wearing green leggings and a loose-fitting long-sleeved black tee. Her legs were crossed, and instead of those fancy heels she normally wore, today she was in some plain, white tennis shoes.

  She was even slouching for a change, and it was nice to see her so relaxed in her chair.

  Her chair.

  Her. Chair.

  “Oh, fuck!” I flew out of my seat, spinning around for the front door. I ripped it open and stepped out into the mess on my porch. My hands dove into my hair as my eyes bugged out.