Never Tear Us Apart (Never Tear Us Apart #1)

by Monica Murphy

  A crack of thunder sounds in the near distance, making me jump, and he steps toward me, his hand going to my elbow and giving it a squeeze, like he can’t not offer me comfort. My skin warms where he touches me and I both want to withdraw and throw myself at him. What I feel for him, how I react when he touches me, looks at me, it’s confusing.

  Conflicting.

  Exhilarating.

  “You should go to your car,” he murmurs, his deep voice plucking at my nerve endings, making me achingly aware of how close he’s standing next to me. “You’re getting wet.”

  “So are you.” A shiver moves through me, causing a tremor in my voice, and he slips his fingers around the crook of my elbow, steering me around. “What are you doing?”

  “Where’s your car?” He ignores my protests as we start walking, Ethan taking command and leading the way. “I’ll take you to it. Make sure you get in safe.”

  Always a gentleman, always polite and protective. I run from him like a fool and he still treats me kindly. I’d think any other guy would have given up on me by now. “I’m okay, really . . .”

  “Stop.” He gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “Where did you park?”

  I point and he steers me toward my car, his long strides eating up the pavement as I try my best to keep up with him. The rain is falling harder now. My clothes are sticking to my skin, my leggings and sweater clinging heavily. I blink hard against the water coating my eyelashes and wipe away the rain that dots my skin, my other hand shooting out with my keys clutched in between my fingers as I hit the remote to unlock my driver’s-side door.

  Ethan opens it for me and I dive inside, turning my head so I can look up at him. He looms above me, a dark figure against an even darker night, his scent mixed with the damp, stormy air intoxicating. “You okay?” he asks. “You seem a little shaky.”

  I nod, not wanting him to leave yet. Reaching for his hand where it rests on top of my car door, I grab it, clutch his cool fingers in mine. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  “You sure about that?” He’s watching me, his long fingers curling around mine and giving them a squeeze. I squeeze back, thankful for the way his touch anchors me, confused by the tight feeling in my chest, my breaths coming in shuddery exhales, the quivering that moves just beneath my skin. It’s not from the cold, though.

  It’s from him, from his touch, from the way he studies me, like I’m the only woman in the world, like it doesn’t matter that I ran out on him. He’s okay with it.

  He’s okay with me.

  “I’m sure.” I nod firmly, turning so I grip the steering wheel, sticking the key into the ignition and starting the car. “Thank you again,” I say when I look back up at him.

  Ethan smiles, pushing his damp hair away from his forehead. “Drive carefully.”

  “I’ll text you when I get home.” I pause. “Or you text me when you get home, whoever makes it first.”

  “I will.” He starts to shut the door. “Good night, Katherine.”

  I hate how he’s calling me Katherine. Like we’ve gone back to formalities, now that there’s a boundary between us after my freak-out in the movie theater.

  “Wait a minute.” I withdraw from the car, causing him to step back, his hand still gripping the top of my car door, his arms boxing me in.

  “What—” he starts but I wrap my arms around his neck, slide my hands in his rain-wet hair, and press my mouth to his in a lingering, soft kiss.

  One strong arm comes around my waist and he pulls me closer. I let him, go to him willingly, my arms tightening around his neck, fingers clutching at his hair. I hope he understands what I’m doing, why I’m kissing him in the rain. My kiss is an apology, a request for his forgiveness, a hope that he’ll give me a second chance.

  He growls softly against my lips as we break apart and everything inside of me flutters at the sexy sound. “What are you doing to me?” he asks, his voice pained and so low I can barely hear him above the rain.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I murmur close to his mouth just before I withdraw from him, letting my arms fall from around his neck. He lets go of me and I slide back into my car, smile up at him, and offer a little wave before he slams the door shut for me, enclosing me in the quiet darkness, alone with my thoughts once again.

  My lips tingle the entire drive home as I relive the moment again and again. The exact moment when I grabbed hold of Ethan and kissed him. Me. The girl who’s terrified of men.

  Ethan doesn’t scare me. More like it’s my body’s reaction to him that terrifies me—and fills me with curiosity. He touches me, kisses me, and I want . . . I want to melt. I want more.

  As I spend more time with him, he also makes me feel safe. Protected. There’s something about him that I find so incredibly comforting and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  I frown, wishing I wouldn’t overthink so hard. Worry so much. Maybe I’m not supposed to understand. Maybe I should just go with it. And I’ve never just gone with anything in my life. Not anymore at least.

  The one time I did . . .

  It cost me. Almost everything.

  The nice detective came on a Thursday, twenty-six days after my rescue. The reason I knew was because I kept count on a calendar, marking off each day with a red slash, wishing for some sort of sign that he wanted to reach out and talk to me.

  But no sign ever came.

  Detective Green appeared in front of our house in the afternoon, before Brenna came home from where she volunteered at the community pool. Dad hadn’t wanted her to go when I came back. He was too afraid something might happen to her and Mom finally had to put her foot down, explaining to him that lightning rarely if ever struck twice.

  Great. So they referred to what happened to me as lightning. How . . . weird. They didn’t seem to know how to talk about it, what to say about it. I didn’t either.

  So none of us did. Not as a family. We pretended everything was back to normal. Or as normal as we could make it. No one came over. Brenna tiptoed around me like I might shatter and I sort of loved it. She’d never treated me that nice before.

  Dad, on the other hand, refused to look at me. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I’d done to make him hate me. I’d already cried enough tears at night to soak my pillow straight through, which was exhausting.

  In the daylight, though, I acted like everything was fine.

  When she answered the door, Mom was flustered to see Detective Green on our doorstep. I thought she found him handsome, because he was. I also thought any detective made her nervous, because she was always afraid they were going to deliver more bad news.

  The good news had already come a week ago, in the form of one Aaron William Monroe being apprehended in Nevada. Las Vegas to be exact, hanging out in front of the Circus Circus Casino and trying to entice a cute teenager to go with him. She got uncomfortable and reported him to a nearby security guard. He took off in chase of Monroe, who fled the scene immediately, but the guard caught him, tackling him right there on the Strip in front of approximately one hundred spectators.

  Quite the catch. Hard for me to believe he was actually in jail. Not that I felt better knowing he was locked up . . .

  “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Watts. But actually, I came to see Katie.” Detective Green’s warm gaze lit upon me and I turned away, uncomfortable. I knew he meant no harm, but it didn’t matter. All men made me uncomfortable after what happened. The bruises had faded and my ribs felt a lot better, but I hadn’t forgotten.

  I would never forget.

  “Oh. Really?” Mom twisted her clutched hands in front of her as they stood in the living room. I was at the entrance to the hallway, watching the two of them, wondering whether I wanted to talk to the detective or not. “What’s going on?”

  He offered Mom a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Watts. Everything is okay. I just have a few things I’d like to discuss with Katie. Privately of course.”

  “Of course.” Mom turned to look a
t me, the strained smile on her face almost painful to look at. She hated that he said privately, I knew. She loved nothing more than to hover around me, making sure I was all right. “Katie, come over here and talk to the nice detective.”

  We ended up outside in the backyard, the sun warm upon our backs, and I wondered how Detective Green hadn’t broken out in a complete sweat yet, what with wearing his dark blue detective suit. The summer air was stifling and I wished I had something to drink.

  “How are you?” he asked, his voice soft, his concern . . . genuine.

  I met his gaze for the first time since he arrived. “I’m all right.”

  He raised a brow. “Really?”

  I shrugged. He was too perceptive. “I’m trying.”

  “That’s all you can do.” He reached into his suit and withdrew a white envelope from a secret pocket he must have had in there. “I have something for you.”

  He set the envelope onto the table between us and I stared at it like it was a poisonous animal about to strike. “What’s inside?”

  “Open it and see.”

  I grabbed the envelope and studied the unfamiliar writing. My name was on it, nothing else. I glanced up at Detective Green in question, but he didn’t say a word in response, merely tipped his head toward the envelope, waiting for me to open it. So I did.

  I tore into the envelope carefully, withdrawing a folded piece of white paper. Something heavy wrapped in white tissue fell out and I grabbed it, giving it a shake. It had weight, and I heard something jangle, but I had no clue what it was.

  Curiosity filling me, I set the tissue-wrapped object on the table and opened the letter first, frowning at the writing, which looked like it was scratched across the surface of the paper, black and slashing, almost aggressive.

  Dear Katie,

  I’m just going to come out and say it. I miss you. A lot. And I never miss anyone, trust me. I’ve had no one in my life that I want to miss, you know?

  Until I met you—and helped you. No one understands what we went through together and I feel like everyone’s trying to keep us apart. I get it. You’ve been through a lot, way more than I ever have, and they think I’m bad so I know that’s why they don’t want us to see each other.

  But I wish I could see you. Make sure that you’re okay, that you’re healing and that you’re not mad at me. I never wanted to hurt you. I hope you know that. I only wanted to take care of you and make sure you were safe. It just sucks that the person I was trying to save you from was my dad.

  I don’t know how to feel about it, how to talk about it, so I just don’t.

  I’m in a foster home with a bunch of other dudes my age while I wait for them to place me. I don’t trust anyone. It’s awful. But it was worse living with my dad, so I guess I can’t complain.

  There’s a little something with this letter for you. I wanted to find you a gift, for you to remember me by. I hope you like it. It’s not much, but when I saw it, I knew I had to get it for you.

  It would be great if you can write me back but I understand if you can’t. Just know that I miss you a lot and I hope you’re okay.

  I hope you’ll always be okay.

  Will

  I stared at the letter, tears blurring my vision, blurring his words, his wonderful words that I wanted to read again. Later. When I was all alone and could savor exactly what he said to me.

  “There’s something else for you, too,” Detective Green reminded me.

  Refolding the letter, I set it on the table and reached for the tissue-wrapped gift, carefully undoing the tape and peeling back the layers of white paper. A silver bracelet lay nestled within, the band thin and solid, a tiny charm hanging off of it.

  I lifted the bracelet from the paper and turned it this way and that, admiring the charm, my heart aching when I saw what it was.

  A guardian angel sitting on the ground, her head bowed over her bent knees, her giant wings folding over her as if protecting herself from . . . everything.

  I turned the charm over. Two words were engraved on the back.

  Healing. Strength.

  Without thought I slipped the bracelet on and shook my arm, the charm twisting back and forth. “If I wrote him a letter, would you make sure he got it?” I asked the detective, not meeting his gaze. What if he said no? I would be devastated.

  He paused for a moment, hesitation shimmering in the air, and I closed my eyes and held my breath until I heard his answer.

  “Yes.”

  Opening my eyes, I studied Detective Green, saw that there was an ally sitting in front of me, and relief flooded through me, making me weak. “Let me get a piece of paper and a pen.”

  I tore into the letter, my hands freaking shaking I was so eager to read what she wrote. Disappointment crashed into me when I saw there was only one page. It was unfair to have so many expectations on her when the letter I wrote her was barely one page, too.

  But I couldn’t help it. For whatever reason, when it came to Katie, I wanted more. I wanted . . . all of her. It made no sense but the connection between us was so strong, I still felt it. Tethering me to her, an invisible string that tied us together no matter how far apart we were.

  Completely insane, but undeniable.

  Detective Green dropped off the letter at the foster home with a smile and an apology not even fifteen minutes ago. He couldn’t stick around, he said. Had somewhere to be, a case he needed to work on. Guess I wasn’t important to him anymore.

  Again, I was being unfair. I should have been glad he brought me the letter from Katie. He took the time out to help me and I appreciated it.

  Dear Will,

  Thank you so much for writing me. It meant a lot that you did this. It was such a nice surprise to hear from you. I’ve thought about you a lot, wondering where you were, how you’re doing, and I was worried. No one would tell me anything when I asked about you. I asked about you a lot.

  I’m okay. Doing the best that I can. My family treats me weird. I haven’t seen any of my friends, not even my best friend, and I don’t know why. It’s like they’re all scared to see me, like they don’t want to look me in the eye because they know what happened to me and they don’t want to face it.

  So I sit at home and watch a lot of TV. I read a lot. Spend time with my sister, which is nice because she always ignored me before. My mom won’t let me go on the Internet and that sucks. I’m already bored and wish I could go back to school, but then again, I don’t want to go back.

  I’m scared. Scared of everything. Scared of what people might say, what they might think. That’s why it feels good to wear your bracelet. It makes me feel strong and I need that right now. So thank you, Will. The bracelet means a lot to me and I really love it. I’m wearing it right now and plan on wearing it forever. So I will never forget you.

  I don’t want to forget you, Will. Ever. I wish I could give you a gift but I don’t have any money and I wanted to get this letter to you right away before Detective Green left my house. My mom would be suspicious, so this is the best way for me to communicate with you.

  That means I might not be able to write you again. I hope not. I hope we can keep in touch. Like you said, no one else understands what happened. Only us. You’re the only person who I fully trust, who knows what I’ve been through and doesn’t care. Everyone else, they don’t know how to treat me.

  But you do. You’re my friend, Will. I wish you were here right now. I’d give you a big hug as my thank-you.

  Instead, I’m going to draw you a little picture. This is what reminds me of you.

  Love,

  Katie

  My fingers were still shaking as I studied the picture she’d drawn. A set of angel wings—the intricate details were there despite the rough sketch. I could make out the individual feathers in the wings, was impressed by her drawing skills, and I glanced up, saw the word love before her name, and had an inexplicable pang in the vicinity of my heart.

  I rubbed at my chest, glaring at the pack
of idiots that walked by me as I sat outside in front of the house. They lived in the same foster home, angry guys a little older than me and always looking for a fight. I refused to play their games, kept to myself, and they didn’t mess with me.

  Fairly certain that was because they knew who I was, who my dad was. They thought I was guilty, too, as guilty as him.

  For once, I really didn’t give a shit.

  I fold the letter and slide it back into its battered envelope. I’ve handled this letter a lot over the years. Unfolded and refolded it, reading over the words she wrote me, her girlish, curling script that’s faded over time, the paper thin and worn from my constant handling. I still stare at how she wrote Love, Katie at the end of the letter and the words only us. Those words, they hit me like a punch in the gut every single time I read them.

  And I’ve read them a lot.

  There are other letters we shared over the years, but the first one means the most to me. It felt the rawest, the most emotional, and I know the first letter I wrote her was in the same vein. As time passed, I became more guarded, until I finally had to give her up completely.

  I still have so much regret over that.

  Placing the letter back in my top dresser drawer, I shut it quietly and stretch my arms above me, my knees popping. The minute I got home from the movie theater I shed my soaked clothes, leaving them in a heap on the bathroom floor. I took a hot shower, warming my chilled skin after driving for over an hour in the pouring rain, my head filled with thoughts of Katie. The taste of her lips, her slender arms curled around my neck and holding me tight, the sweet smile she offered me before I shut her car door and watched her drive away.

  All are thoughts I shouldn’t have. Thoughts that are wrong. I need to stop. I need to let her go and live her own life.

  But I can’t. I still can’t. She felt like mine long ago and I want that feeling again. I need her in my life, though I know it’s completely selfish of me, especially because I haven’t told her the truth. I’m still shocked she hasn’t recognized me, but I’m a totally different person now.