She crosses her arms, instantly on the defensive and I’m quick to add, putting on a bit of a show, “I’m worried about him. About the loss of his father and how he’s handling it.” The words are the truth and the emotion that comes with them is genuine. But I just want an in so I can get a better grip on exactly who this woman is … and maybe details on her estranged husband.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she responds tightly, still looking me up and down as she considers what to do with me.
“I know you’ve spent a little time with him and I was just hoping you could tell me how he is.”
She nearly flinches then has to take a moment before she can answer. As if she has no idea how he’s doing. Or maybe she’s shocked that I know she’s seen him, but it’s all over the papers, so why wouldn’t I?
Evan’s told me one side of this story, but there are always three sides … sometimes even more. In this case I’ll stay away from James, for Evan’s sanity, but I’m sure Samantha will have a thing or two to gossip about.
“Did you guys talk at all?” I ask her. My throat tightens as I add, “He doesn’t talk to me at all anymore.”
“Oh, God,” Samantha says, sounding exasperated and then tells me, “We didn’t talk about his father. I’m sorry.” She struggles to gather a response. “I’m sure it’s difficult and I understand you two are going through something, but I assure you that I’d like to stay out of it.”
With the creak of the heavy door, she attempts to close it, but I’m quicker.
My palm smacks against the door and I plead with her, “I just need someone to talk to. Please! If you could just let me in.”
My blood rushes in my ears as I wait, the door remaining right where it is, only slightly cracked. She opens it again cautiously, pursing her lips and appearing more irked than anything else. As she lets go of the door, it opens with my weight and she nods her head, letting me in.
“What is it that you want?” she questions as she walks with her back to me inside of the apartment. I close the front door myself and take the place in.
It’s a barren disaster.
I nearly ask her if she was robbed, but looking to my left at a cluttered kitchen I can easily spot a potential cause of the state of her place. Three small bags of white powder and a line wait for her. Right next to them is a colorful bag of pills. A mix of what could be Adderall and pain meds.
She turns with a smirk on her lips. “Like the place?” she asks sarcastically. “My prick of an ex made sure to sell all my belongings when I went out of town.”
“Oh my God,” I say, the words coming out in a whisper of disbelief and pity, neither of which truly resonate with me. There’s only a sofa in the living room, a sleek gray contemporary sectional. I imagine it would look beautiful if the living room itself wasn’t devoid of any other piece of furniture. She settles down onto one end and I take the other.
Glancing up at the chandelier I tell her, “I’m so sorry. I’m sure it was beautiful …” my voice trails off and she doesn’t say anything.
“You could go to the cops,” I offer her, and she laughs with ridicule. If she weren’t so arrogant, I’d feel sorry for her. With her cheeks sunken in and the silk pajamas baggy on her slim frame, she appears far less beautiful and enviable than I remember her.
“He’s got them all on payroll, sweetheart. I’m barely surviving.”
“I am so sorry,” I say, at a loss for words and feeling so much more uncomfortable than I anticipated. I even feel bad for her to some degree.
“Divorce isn’t always a bad thing, love,” she says and then takes in my expression. “I’m sorry for you two, though, I really am.”
It’s hard to judge her tone, so I’m not sure how to take it.
“I actually had something to ask you about your husband.” I shift on the sofa, preparing to question her. Samantha reaches for a pack of cigarettes and slips one out.
She lights it then asks, “What’s that?”
There’s a glint in her eyes and her back stiffens slightly.
“Evan doesn’t like him much anymore,” I offer her, gauging her reaction and she lets out a small laugh that’s accompanied by smoke.
“I don’t much like the asshole either.”
“Can’t blame you,” I say, keeping my tone agreeable as I set my purse down beside me and feign a casualness I don’t feel.
“He told me weeks ago he thinks James is trying to hurt him.” I hold her gaze as I say, “I think he’s paranoid, but he’s worried about his reputation since leaving the company.”
Samantha takes a long drag of her cigarette, ignoring the question until I tell her.
“I was hoping that if I talked to you, you could tell me the truth. Evan’s just being crazy, isn’t he?”
Every nerve is on edge in my body. There’s something about how she looks at me. It’s as if she’s wondering what to do with me.
I don’t trust the look, and I don’t trust her.
“Evan told you what, exactly?”
“Evan told me that James tried to kill him, thinking he’d do coke left out for him.”
“Did he?” she asks condescendingly. “I’m surprised because from what he told me, he didn’t want you to know.”
I hate her in this moment. I hate the expression of disinterest.
I hate that Evan was with her when he should have been with me.
I hate that she knew he was keeping secrets.
More than that, I despise that she has any hold over my emotions at all. How could this woman affect me so much? My inner voice hisses, because you let her.
“It was a mistake on his part,” I lie to her, my fingers tensing as I grip my purse harder. “He got drunk one night a few weeks ago and lashed out at me. It’s the last time we spoke.” Her expression changes slightly, but only slightly, with a raised brow and the hint of a smirk. Amusement. I fucking hate her.
“Maybe it was a mistake to come here. I thought you’d know or maybe get a sense of how Evan’s doing since you were with him.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Leaning forward, she puts out the cigarette in a mug that’s sitting on her furnace. It’s then that I know she’s not going to tell me a damn thing. She’s far too stiff and closed off.
“My apologies for coming then,” I say, shrugging it off. There’s some piece of me that wants to confront her about the affair years ago. A part of me that wants to tell her I know.
She’s a liar, though. It’s so very clear. There isn’t anything I need from this woman.
“It was a mistake on my part,” I say then offer her a sad smile, taking in the room once again. “I hope you get everything you want from the divorce.” I leave her with that false sincerity. The only thing I hope is that I don’t have a reason to ever think of her again. She’s nothing more than a waste of time and breath. Every second I’ve wasted on her is one I’ll never get back and this woman isn’t worth my time.
Chapter 26
Evan
“What’d you do today?” Kat asks as I turn on the stove, listening to the clicks before the gas lights.
“Not much,” I answer her as I look over my shoulder. Just hunting down the identity of a drug dealer.
“What do you think you want to do?” Kat asks me as I pour olive oil into a pan. Chicken marsala for dinner. My throat goes dry as I remember how Pops taught me how to cook it; it was one of his favorites.
“Like do for work?” I ask to clarify and put the chicken in the pan. The sizzle is perfect.
She shrugs and hops up on the counter, setting her ass down and letting her feet dangle. “I know you have some investments.”
“‘Some’ is putting it lightly. If you’re worried about money, don’t be. We’ll be fine.” I haven’t checked in a week or two on some of the stocks, but the savings account is more than enough. We’ve been here so long, both of us working and not doing much of anything else, the money piled up. “I promise we’ll be fine, baby. You d
on’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m not really worried about money, it’s more about what you’re going to do with yourself.” She’s kept her distance in an odd way I haven’t experienced before. She’s careful with me. Every question seems planned, every touch cautious. It’s obvious that she’s still scared.
I flip the breasts over and pick up the pan, making sure to spread the oil before setting it back down. Just like how Pops used to do.
“We have a baby coming and you want to move,” I answer her and stride over, my bare feet padding on the floor as I go. Standing between her legs with my hands resting lightly on her hips, I tell her, “That’s all I’ve been thinking about for now.”
There’s a small hesitation before she speaks and a tension that flashes between us. That and James. His name is always on the tip of my tongue for any conversation we have. The threat of him lingers, even though we pretend it doesn’t.
“The baby won’t be here for a while,” she finally says and threads her fingers through my hair. I love it when she does this. When she loves on me. I missed this. “I’m worried about you,” she adds and I back away slightly, but she keeps me there, tightening her legs around me.
“Don’t be upset,” she says and her tone begs me to listen.
“I’m fine,” I respond stiffly and even I know it’s a lie.
“You just lost your father, and …”
“Stop worrying about me.”
“You scared me last night with the night terror. And the ones you’ve had before,” she adds.
“It’ll be over soon,” I reassure her and get back to cooking. “I have sleeping pills and that’s going to help. It’s quiet for a moment, but that doesn’t last long. Kat’s not the best at giving up on what she wants.
“What about seeing someone?” she asks.
“What, like a shrink?”
“They aren’t called shrinks,” she says, reprimanding me. Some days I think she thinks it’s all in my head. Like maybe I’m crazy.
“I’ll see one. I promise.” It’s on my to-do list. It’s just at the very bottom of it for now.
The tension clears as I reach for the Italian mix of spices. With just a pinch of cayenne.
“Thank you,” she whispers and before I can respond, she asks again, “So what do you want to do?” At least she moved on from talking about Pops, the nightmares, and seeing a professional about all the shit going on in my head.
Peering back at her and wiping my hands with a kitchen towel, I note the devotion in her gaze. It’d bother me, if I didn’t know how damn much she loves and needs me.
“I’m not worried about keeping myself busy.”
She purses her lips and nods, but she doesn’t seem convinced.
“I’m going to be fine,” I say and stir the sauce before layering it onto the cooked chicken.
She murmurs in that sweet voice of hers, “You better be.”
“You know what I’m going to do?” I ask her as I continue cooking and ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach about everything currently going on. “I’m going to move us out of here and into our forever home. I promise,” I say, and she rolls her eyes.
“For the love of God, hire a moving company this time,” she states with exasperation and I give her the laugh she’s after. The move here was … something for the books.
“I’m going to find a house you love and help you make it ours.” I tap the tongs on the side of the pan as I pull it off the burner and then walk back to her. “I’m going to set up our baby’s room and make it perfect with all the little details.”
She likes that. Kat sways on the counter like she’s giddy at the thought and a genuine smile lifts up her lips. Making them that much more kissable.
“I’m going to make sure the two of you have nothing to worry about and that the three of us are happy and healthy, and all that good stuff they write about in fairytales.”
She lets out a small laugh and wraps her arms around my shoulders. That’s what I’m after. That’s all I’m after.
“I love you, babe,” I tell her, and she leans in for a small kiss.
“I love you too … I just hate seeing you anything other than happy.”
“I’ll be better when this is over with,” I say, bringing up the one thing I don’t want to speak about. She kisses me soft and sweet, and it feels right. She’s a balm to my soul, but it doesn’t take the pain away.
She doesn’t release me like I think she will. Instead she holds on tighter.
“I’m worried about you,” she whispers against my lips.
I brush my nose against hers. “It’s not supposed to work that way.”
Her green eyes peek up at me through her thick lashes and she says, “Yeah it is. It works both ways. Don’t you know that by now?”
Chapter 27
Kat
“I thought we were just going to order out,” Evan says from across the table. The silverware clinks in his hand as he picks up the white cloth napkin and lays it on his lap.
The Savinga Grill has always been one of my favorite restaurants since I first discovered it years ago. With exposed dark red brick, raw wood beams, and high ceilings, it’s rustic, it’s cozy, and it’s only a cab ride away.
That’s what I told Evan to get him here when he asked where I wanted to go. Just a cab ride away.
I shrug and say, “I wanted to go out.”
“It makes me nervous,” he tells me. I know it does. I realize this is a risk and one he didn’t want to take, but time is not on our side and I’ve waited long enough.
I lay my hand on the table, palm up, and wait for him to take it. “Mason said you need to be seen.”
“Me, not us.” He emphasizes the word “us.”
“It’s part of us moving forward together.” The smile on my lips is small but it’s still there. “I won’t let someone keep me from you or us from our lives.”
His lips twitch with a response, but he doesn’t say anything. Two weeks have passed since I told him we were pregnant. Two weeks came and went, and I’m officially in our second trimester now.
“We tried this your way, now we try it mine,” I tell him, and my words come out hard.
“And your way is to go out and risk being seen?”
“I want us to go out, yes … like we used to.” My answer is blunt as I pull my napkin across my lap. “I’m not going to hide away in some dark room and let my fear cripple me.” My voice is stern but also sympathetic. “If someone wants to know if we’re together, let them know.” He woke up last night with sweat pouring down his face. He was screaming in his sleep. I refuse to play this psychological game. I’m going to be there for my husband. I’m going to do everything I can to make him better. And that means not hiding and not being scared.
I’ll be strong for him. I’ll be strong for us both. At this point I don’t know what to think of his ex-boss or how Tony died. I know my husband is letting his fear kill him, though. It’s shoved itself between us and I can’t let that happen anymore. He refuses to go to the cops. He’s not ready to see a psychologist. I’m okay with that, but I’m not okay with nothing changing for the better.
“I won’t let a single person keep us from moving on with our lives. That means being together and going to my favorite restaurant to celebrate.”
I flash him a smile as the waiter walks over to us. Like this conversation doesn’t put me on edge.
It’s quiet while the water is being poured, and stays that way except for the waiter informing us of specials and handing us a pair of menus.
It’s only when he leaves us that I continue what I was saying.
“Yes, I want us to be seen. I also want to celebrate being pregnant. I want to buy a new house, a bigger one closer to the park.” My fingertips play along the stem of the water goblet and I rest my elbow on the table as I talk while reading the menu, even though I already know what I want. “I want to slow down with work and I want the world to know it all. I want to
move forward, Evan. I want everything that happened to stay in the past.”
He only responds with a tight smile.
“I’m not going to let this change us and who we are.”
“I don’t want you to be in danger,” he answers me, leaning back in his seat and casually glancing to his left and right. I recognize a man sitting alone a few tables away. Occasionally he glances up at us. It was Evan’s concession and I allow it.
“Too late, baby,” I say and my smile falters.
“I feel uncomfortable being here,” he says and guilt digs its claws into me at his admission. I’m trying to do what’s right. That’s all I want to do.
“I feel like”—taking a deep inhale, I steady myself to continue, meeting his concerned gaze—“like you’re perpetuating your fears by hiding away and only focusing on them. Not just focusing, but allowing them to dictate everything.” My voice cracks with the confession. I have to take another sip of water to calm myself down. “I hate that you’re constantly on edge when we leave the house.”
“You don’t understand,” he tells me with a frustrated sigh that pisses me off.
“It felt like you’d died when you left me,” I say. “So, I think I do understand.” I take another drink of water and ask, “What if the cops stop looking into what happened? They have no leads.” I stress the basic truth. “What if James gets away with it all? What then? Will you carry on like this?”
He doesn’t answer, although I can see his will to fight me has left.
“I just want us back,” I say. “That’s really what it comes down to.”
This time it’s Evan who puts his hand on the table and I’m more than happy to reach for him. He kisses my knuckles then my wrist. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against my racing pulse.
“I know you are, but what am I?” I give him a joking response to lighten the mood and it works somewhat.
You Know I Need You: Book 2, You Know Me duet (You Are Mine Duets 4) Page 15
