You Know I Need You: Book 2, You Know Me duet (You Are Mine Duets 4)

by Willow Winters

  He’s always been a damn good liar. I know that much about him. But I’m better with tells.

  He adds, “If I wanted you dead … well, I know how to use a gun.”

  “You want to know what I think?”

  “Sure, you can say that I’m intrigued,” he retorts.

  “I think you’re greedy,” I tell him as I lower the gun.

  “Greedy?” he repeats with a crooked smile.

  “I think you wanted to prove a point to your wife.” I lay it out there for him. I’m not messing around; I want this prick to know that I’m fully aware of what he’s doing.

  “That bitch has got nothing to do with this.”

  There’s a skip in my pulse. With a slight cock of my head I ask, “Who does then?”

  His mouth parts, but then slams shut a second later. “Fuck you.”

  “I won’t stop until I find out everything. Until every bit of dirt I can get on you is dug up and exposed.”

  “You know how much shit I’ve got on you, Thompson?” He seems to find his strength as he leans forward on his desk.

  “This is a warning to stay away. From me and Samantha.” I almost bring up Kat. I almost say she’s pregnant. Every ounce of my being craves to demand that my family’s off-limits. But that would only give him that much more of a reason to hurt her. So I keep her name out of the conversation; I keep her safe.

  I’ll do anything for her. Anything and everything. Fear stirs in my blood at the thought of her being on his radar. It’s gone as quickly as it came, eased by his next line of questioning.

  “So, it’s true then?” he asks with a snort. “You two are together?”

  It takes me a moment before I realize he’s talking about Samantha and referring to the rumors. “She came to me for help.”

  “I always knew she’d cross me. I didn’t think you’d be the dick she picked to go down with her.”

  I raise the gun and take a step closer. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you right now. You and I both know you deserve it.”

  He shrugs. “I have the evidence that proves you lied to the cops, for one. I have evidence on both you assholes.”

  “A dead man can’t do shit with evidence.”

  “The cops will find it, and you know it. You don’t want them poking around in here.”

  “What are you doing back here, baby?” A high-pitched voice rings through the hallway and I look quickly over my shoulder. I hear the door open and James smiles.

  “Oh yeah, there are two other reasons. In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never put your hands on a woman. Well, other than Sam, I mean.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I say, gritting the words through my clenched teeth.

  “Come on back, sweet cheeks!” he yells out. He’s calling my bluff and I’m quick to lower the gun, hiding it behind my leg.

  My heart beats slowly and I can see it all playing out. Killing this fucker and the two girls from the back room screaming, running. I can see the red and blue lights reflecting off the glass.

  “Are you ready for us?” A young woman walks in, skinny as a rail with a sharp blond bob. It looks so perfectly straight, my guess is it’s a wig.

  The smell of perfume floods the room as she enters, swaying her hips and wearing light blue ripped shorts that ride up her ass.

  Hookers.

  “Let me just finish this conversation really quick,” James tells her as the second girl walks in a bit behind the first. The blonde rounds the desk, peeking at me, but stalks toward James to perch on the corner of his desk.

  “Whatever you want. I’m not in a rush.”

  “Hi there,” a little brunette says. Her voice is softer, sweeter even, which matches her look. She’s got a look that’s more innocent, with clothes that actually cover her ass. She might sound sweet, but there’s a devil in those baby blues of hers. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she can barely walk straight. She tries to lean against me but I take a step back, and when I do she sees my gun.

  Her eyes widen, and she stumbles backward with a gasp. The two girls exchange a look while holding their breath, both on edge and realizing they shouldn’t have walked back here.

  “I was just on my way out,” I reassure them. I tuck the gun back into the waistband of my jeans.

  “I want to ask one question before you leave, Thompson,” James says to my back as I turn away. “Wives aren’t off-limits anymore, are they?” My blood rushes into my ears and I almost do it. I almost kill that fucker, consequences be damned.

  “Ah, I see not all the rumors are true. Are they, Evan?”

  “Leave her the fuck alone, James.” My blood pumps hot as I stare into his beady eyes, but all he does is smile.

  Chapter 13

  Kat

  It’s been three days now.

  Evan hasn’t come back or even texted. Just the thought makes my throat tight. My eyes are filled with sadness that I can’t shake. A piece of me feels like it’s mourning, but not ready to let go of hope.

  I’ve texted and called, remembering how he said he loved me and this was only going to last for a short while. It was pathetic of me.

  I’m lonely, emotional, pregnant. I was desperate to believe he still loved me.

  The text was simple. It’s really hard without you. I’m sorry; I was wrong to give you an ultimatum. Please forgive me. I miss you and I really need you. That’s what being lonely does to me. It makes me weak and wish he’d just come back to me.

  Brushing under my puffy eyes, I stare down at my phone. It’s my raw heart and the very last pieces of the shattered thing that bring me down this low. I never heard anything back.

  I thought it would get easier, but somehow Evan refusing to talk to me is making it harder. He doesn’t return my calls, doesn’t text back. Nothing. The only contact I have with him is an excerpt from the Page Six column quoting him as saying that we’ve split.

  I remember how he said it was just for a “short while.” Maybe that’s how he got me. He left me with hope.

  That fucking bastard.

  It’s like my body doesn’t want to hate him and instead, the blame is falling on me.

  It’s my fault I pushed him away.

  My fault I gave him an ultimatum.

  Why am I the one hoping he’ll forgive me?

  Why am I the one praying he’ll write me back, leaving voicemails saying he’s sorry?

  At least at night. And only late at night.

  The days are so much easier. Although I know I’m to blame too. I know I contributed. If only I could take it back, I would.

  After the unanswered texts, I started packing everything of his to place into storage. Starting with his clothes from a basket of clean laundry. Removing those clothes from my sight didn’t make any bit of difference with the sadness. The harsh tears and sobs came when I started ripping the photos off the wall and throwing them into a box.

  It was my breaking point, the moment I knew I’d lost it and couldn’t stay here, surrounded by pieces of him.

  So I moved out and into Jules’s guest room.

  I don’t know if I’m insane, hormonal, or how the hell I’m supposed to react to all this. The only thing I really know is that I’m not the first woman to have a man leave her. I won’t be the last, either. It is what it is, and every second that goes by with Evan not saying a word is one more layer added to my armor.

  “What about her?” Jules questions and I lift my gaze to her, trying not to show how messed up I am. It’s not her fault.

  She’s cuddled up on the couch, a soft cream and brown striped throw over her legs with the computer in her lap. She turns it toward me so I can check out the profile and résumé she’s looking at.

  Personal Assistant – Angela Kent

  She has experience and an impressive résumé. My gaze scans down the lines on the screen, but it’s hard for me to focus. Interviews are a must at this point; I have to hire someone to help me. Or take on less work from the agency. Both are viable options.
I only need to pick one. Hopefully sooner, rather than later. I’m drowning in work, but struggling to do any of it.

  “Maybe,” I tell her and lean back into the sofa. I let my head fall back and wish I had one thing figured out in my life. Just one.

  It seems like nothing can go right anymore.

  The doubt only lasts seconds and with a deep breath, I find myself glancing back to the screen to read the applicant’s résumé again.

  “Hey, come on,” Jules says, attempting to console me. She places the laptop on the ottoman so she can scoot forward and lean against the armrest of my chair. “It’s going to be okay. No matter how dark the night gets, the sun will come up in the morning.” She gives me a soft, encouraging smile to cheer me up. It’s one of the lines from her first book she gave me as her agent. The memory takes me back to the high point of my life and then it crushes me.

  “I’m sorry … It’s just that the nights are hard.”

  “I get that,” she says, her kind tone adding extra comfort to the small words. “Do you want me to make you some tea?”

  I shake my head. “I think I just need to sleep,” I answer her but I really don’t know what I need, and that’s the problem. There’s no solution to this because it’s out of my control.

  “If he said he’s coming back, I guess the real question is: Do you wait for him?”

  “I told him it’s over.” I sniff and absently pick at a snag on the corner of the throw. “I told him if he walked out, I was done.”

  “I know what you said. But it’s obviously not over, not for you.”

  I mutter softly, “I would be stupid to take him back.”

  Jules smirks at me as she says, “We’ve all done stupid things. Haven’t we?”

  She continues the conversation as she stands, letting the throw fall to the floor so she can stretch her back and adds, “Besides, forgiveness isn’t stupid, and neither is love.” She speaks so confidently and in a lighthearted tone as if they’re so obviously true.

  “Can I beat the crap out of him first?” I peek up at her with a half grin, feeling a bit upbeat just from her being with me. She’s a damn good friend and I hope one day I have the chance to be as good of a friend back to her as she is to me.

  “I think I’ll allow it,” she responds as her own smile grows.

  Mason’s footsteps can be heard approaching from down the hall. He’s not quiet in the least and part of me wonders if he wants us to know he’s coming. “Sweetheart?” he calls out and we both turn to the open doorway before he enters.

  “You wanna come to bed?” he asks Jules, bracing his hands on either side of the door jamb before leaning just his upper half into the room. Like he’s checking to see if he’s welcome.

  “I don’t know,” Jules answers him, but her last word is distorted by a yawn. She’s never been a night owl.

  “Go to bed, I’ll be fine,” I tell her, knowing darn well she’s only staying up for my sake. I wave her off. “I’m tired too.”

  “It might be silly,” Jules says as Mason strolls toward her and wraps his arm around her waist, “but I’m really happy you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” I reply and mean it. Such a simple admission makes my heart swell. That’s how badly I need someone right now. “I’m lucky I have you,” I tell her. “And I guess you too,” I say to Mason, suddenly feeling awkward that he’s in the mix of this chick lovefest.

  “You staying up?” he asks me.

  “Nah, I’m exhausted. I think I’m just going to watch something and pass out.”

  “I can stay up with you,” Jules offers, and her voice is even peppy. She’s eager to help me, but she’s not the one I need.

  “I’m good. Seriously,” I tell her easily and for a moment I think I will be when she yields and they say good night. As their footsteps slowly quiet to nothing, the television proves useless as a distraction, because the memories of what happened only nights ago come flooding back. It all haunts me, refusing to let go.

  How I opened my heart to Evan, when it was raw and damaged from his doing.

  How accepted I felt when he said he was happy we were having a baby. Not just accepted, but complete and whole and like everything was going to be better than okay.

  How loved I felt when he held me and kissed me.

  How I didn’t want to be anything other than his when he laid me down in bed.

  I think that’s the part that hurts the most. I would give up everything to just be his.

  And he can’t be bothered to text me back. Not even today, and I really could have used his support today. It was hard enough to keep my composure for the full two hours. I didn’t say anything the entire time. But on the way back home, I felt a pair of eyes on me. It was like a prickle at the base of my neck, like a sixth sense that told me someone was following me.

  I hailed a cab and texted Evan immediately. It was out of habit more than anything else.

  I was probably just crazy with paranoia and all the hormones and raging emotions coming with the pregnancy. At least I’m honest with Evan, open and raw. If nothing else I’m giving him everything I have to offer. He can’t even send me a reassuring text.

  Absently my hand falls to my belly. It’s been doing that. Reminding me that there’s another small life in the mix. I focus on taking deep breaths in and out. More than anything, I need to stay calm.

  I pick up my phone, intent on texting everything.

  He can ignore me all he wants, but I’m going to tell him everything I feel. I deserve that much. To at least be able to tell him what’s on my mind. I’m not the one who keeps secrets. I’m not perfect, I text him. I’m slowing down at work. I have to, I’m so tired. I love being pregnant, though. I love knowing we’re going to have a baby.

  I’m afraid I’m hurting him by being this way. I don’t know how to get better, though.

  I delete the last two lines and stare at the ceiling as tears threaten to come.

  I used to do this when my parents passed. I used to write to them like I did when I was a kid at camp. After they died, I’d write to them telling them how angry I was. I begged them, pleading with them to come back.

  It’s not fair that Evan is alive and says he wants me, when a very large piece of my heart feels like I’ve lost him forever.

  Please, Evan. Please come back to me.

  Just as I delete all the words, not sending him a single message, my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize, and I let it ring again in my hand before answering it. “Hello?”

  “Hello. This is Dr. Pierce. Is this Katerina Thompson?”

  “Yes, can I help you?” The nervousness wracks through my voice at the knowledge that there’s a unfamiliar doctor on the line.

  I’m so sorry to call you, but Mr. Thompson’s phone has you listed as his daughter. Is that right?”

  I’m confused at first, imagining that Evan’s in the hospital, but then I realize it’s his father, Henry, who the doctor is referring to.

  “Is he in the hospital?” The question comes out hurriedly as I sit up straighter, my mind waking up from the fog it was just in. Rather than correcting the doctor and telling him I’m Henry’s daughter-in-law and soon-to-be ex-daughter-in-law at that, I rush the next question out without waiting for a response to the first. “Is everything all right?”

  The doctor exhales on the other end of the line, but it’s not out of exhaustion or boredom. It’s the type of sound that accompanies bad news. The kind of sigh that says, I’m so sorry, I wish I didn’t have to tell you.

  No. No, no, no. Denial overwhelms me.

  “I would like to first apologize for having to break this news to you over the phone,” the doctor says, and I’m taken back to middle school. Sitting down in the principal’s office, wondering what I did. I sat there, my legs swinging nervously as he brought in the secretary, then gave me such a sad look before leaving the room. He was so sorry to tell me. They’re always so sorry to tell you.

  No one wants to be in the
room when you learn your parents have died. No one wants to be the person to tell you. I could see it in Mrs. Carsen’s eyes.

  “Sorry to tell me what?” I ask with caution, but my body is already prepared for it. My heart feels both swollen and hollow, and my head light with denial. I lower myself to the floor, my hand shaking as I hold the phone to my ear.

  “Mr. Thompson suffered a blood clot, and unfortunately it traveled to his lungs.”

  I remember the way the bell rang as I cried and the other students ran through the halls, going about their lives and not knowing my life had changed forever in that moment.

  The same agonizing pain rips through me and tears fall freely as I end the call.

  He can’t be dead. Not Henry. I just talked to him; a voice in my head whispers the reminder.

  He was the only dad I had, and I threw him away. He was supposed to be with me tonight. Like he wanted.

  If I had met with him, if I hadn’t blown him off … Regret consumes me.

  I can hardly breathe as the phone drops next to me and I cover my face. He didn’t deserve to die. It’s an odd thing to think because it means others do. But Evan’s father should still be here. He wasn’t supposed to go. Not yet.

  My body shudders as I hold back a sob.

  I’ve cried so many tears over the past weeks. So many shed on my pillow, in my hands, soaking into my heated skin.

  These tears are different.

  It’s not from a fear of loss. It’s not because I’m disappointed in myself. It’s not even because I’m hopeless.

  When you shed tears over something that’s truly gone, those are the tears that never leave you. They drown your soul and take a piece of your heart. That’s what death does.

  I have to force myself to text Evan once I’ve finished speaking with the doctor. Call me as soon as you can, please. It’s urgent, Evan. I can’t help that I add, I love you. I’m not conflicted about adding it either, because I do.

  I can’t tell Evan the news over the phone, though. I want to be there for him. To hold him and ease the pain. Even more, I need him to hold me right now.

  I hesitate but then add, It’s about your father.