“I came to see if you’re all right. You’ve had a rough couple of days and I thought you could use a friend.”
Tears pooled in her eyes for the briefest second just before she blinked them away. Once she’d harnessed her control, Kit met my eyes with the friendly but distant expression I recognized from countless interviews.
“Super Kit” was in the house.
Only her voice, a little shaky, gave away any inner turmoil.
“Thanks, but I have lots of friends as you can see.” She waved a hand around the room at the clusters of people surrounding her. “I’m good. No need for you to worry.”
She wasn’t going to make this easy on me and I didn’t blame her. I took a half step closer, gathering enough of my balls to reach out and run a finger along her arm. She inhaled sharply at the contact but didn’t move away. The big guy standing next to her moved a little closer—not a direct threat, just making sure I knew he was there.
“I’m glad you’re good.” I sounded lame and stupid and I cursed my sudden attack of nerves. Their future depended on this moment and I was scared shitless—not of saying too much, but of not saying enough of the right thing.
I decided to go for broke. “I screwed up. I never should’ve ended things with you, and now that I’ve got my head out of my ass I’d like another chance.”
No taking it back now. This was agony. While I stood there, her expression changed from surprise, to confusion, and then my least favorite—stubborn resistance.
Shaking her head, Kit backed away from my touch as if she were trying to become a part of the table behind her.
“Look, I don’t know what the shelf–life is on feeling obligated to a person once you’ve saved their life, but we’re even. You don’t have to worry about me. I pay a lot of people to do that.”
When I inched closer, she bit her lip and groaned in frustration. “Max, you need to go. I heard what you said loud and clear. This was just a fling and it’s over.”
Anger at her words, her denial, made me impatient as I stepped even closer, bracketing her body with my larger frame and blocking out everything else. This needed to be about us and only us for at least the next few minutes.
“This was always more than a fling between us and you know it. What we had—” I corrected myself. “What we have is something real and I’m done running.”
Kit’s gasp mingled with those of Bridget and the large man, but my eyes never left her face. I didn’t care what the others did as long as they didn’t get between me and this woman.
Kit was scared, her breathing shallow and frantic and she swallowed convulsively. I could see her mind churning out excuses but she leaned towards my body in an unspoken expression of need, her body betraying her deepest desire. She wanted me, too.
The moment was broken when a man approached and signaled to Kit with the “five–minute” sign.
I was out of time.
I brought the conversation back to where it belonged—on the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Kit.” She turned her attention back to me and I leaned in close so she couldn’t look anywhere else. “I’m not asking for you to make a choice right now, but I am going to stay here and help you through this and then I’m going to prove to you that we belong together.”
I grabbed her hand and waited as the long moments stretched between us. If I had to get down on my knees and beg, I was prepared to it.
“You can stay.” Kit’s voice was quiet and shaky as she withdrew her hand. “Let’s see if you feel the same way after the press conference.” She nodded at me and turned to follow Bridget out of the room.
I smiled like a goofball and didn’t even try to pretend it wasn’t for her. I was done hiding how I felt about this woman.
She slipped back into “Super Kit” mode right before my eyes. Shoulders back and focused control on all of her facial expressions. Now that I knew the real Kit, this persona was understandable, but very unsatisfying. I wanted the girl who laughed at my stupid jokes, seduced me at a bonfire, and soothed me on a picnic blanket.
A big hand landed on my shoulder.
“Paul Brandt. I was Kit’s manager and I’m filling in since she kicked the weasel to the curb.”
I laughed at Paul’s reference to Ron. I couldn’t have agreed more.
“Max Butler. Kit’s…” I struggled with the right words to describe my relationship with Kit.
“I heard what you said, son. I think I have a pretty good idea of what you are to Kit.” He looked me up and down with an assessing glance and then motioned for me to follow him. “That took balls. I wasn’t inclined to like you, but that impressed me.”
I shrugged off the compliment. “I run into burning buildings for a living.”
“Uh huh, and I bet that’s easier than what you just did.”
Walking briskly in the same direction Kit had taken, Paul pushed through a door and suddenly I could hear the rumble of the crowd gathered at the press conference. I spied Kit talking to Liam Connor just behind the side curtains on the stage. He was waving his arms around, clearly agitated. Kit, on the other hand, was focused and ready for the battle.
Paul was watching the scene as well. “That’s our girl. Tough as nails when she has to be. The label pinheads are mad at her. They want her to read a prepared a statement, but she insists on going off–script and speaking from the heart.” His laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “It’s the right call. She connects with her fans like nobody’s business.”
I nodded but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Kit. “Yes, she does. She doesn’t give them every part of herself, but what she does let them see is genuine.”
But, nobody knew what a big secret she had carried around. I shifted uncomfortably with the knowledge that she hadn’t shared it with me.
Paul seemed to read my thoughts. “She didn’t trust anybody with the secret of her mama, son. I was with her two years before she let me know about it. She’s so used to being the boss that she doesn’t know how to lean on other people.”
I wearily rubbed the back of my neck. “I get that, I really do. But, I don’t understand how she does it.”
Paul huffed. “Kit had to grow up fast with very little stability in her life. Believe it or not, this craziness is where she’s the most comfortable because she created it and controls it. It’s become her safe zone and she is terrified to do anything that’ll rock the boat.” He leaned over, lowering his voice as people gathered around them. “You seem real determined to stick around so here’s a little advice: she thinks being happy—having something for herself—is selfish because it distracts her from her responsibilities. If you want her, you’re gonna have to convince her that she can have it all.”
I was interrupted from responding as Liam walked to the podium and kicked off the press conference. Every eye in the room was on Kit and I was no exception. I examined her—looking for signs of stress, nervousness, fear—as I willed her to know that I was there.
As if she sensed my focus, Kit turned her head just enough to meet my gaze and my heart stuttered to a stop in my chest. I lifted a hand to wave at her and she did the same to me. A small gesture between us but it was enough for her to know that I was here. If I had my way, we’d have lots of time to talk, to say all the things that needed to be said.
Maybe she didn’t think she deserved it all but I wasn’t going to stop until I’d changed her mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY–SIX
Kit
Max was here.
Twenty minutes ago, I couldn’t imagine anything making this ordeal bearable, but now Max was here and I felt peaceful, almost calm. The fact that my entire outlook was changed by his merely walking through the door should’ve scared the hell out of me but the moment my fist connected with the nose of that reporter, something inside me had broken free. Other than the absolute conviction that I would not let this moment destroy my career, the rest of my life was up for grabs.
I was shocked, and thrilled, at the
way Max maneuvered his way in here and insisted on staying. I had considered fighting him for a moment, but who was I fooling? It was exactly what I’d been hoping, aching for. I just hoped that when he heard what else I was going to reveal at this press conference, that he would want to stay.
Liam finally stopped yapping and signaled to me that it was show time. I scanned the crowd, noting many familiar faces, most of them wearing expressions of concern and encouragement.
I took a deep breath and began. “Thank ya’ll for coming here today. I’m sorry for all of the trouble this has caused and hopefully I can make it right. My mother, Elizabeth Landry, is not dead as I have previously let everyone believe. She is alive and has been in a private nursing home since I signed with my label. Her current condition is the result of a drug overdose six years ago during which she suffered severe brain damage. She functions at the level of a three–or four–year–old child and has seizures when placed in stressful situations.”
I gripped the podium, not even looking at my notes. I knew what I wanted to say. “I would like to tell you that I lied about her being dead solely because it was in her best interest, but that would be untrue. Yes, I wanted her to be safe and in a healthy place, but I lied because I was embarrassed.” Tears gathered in my eyes so I dipped my head and wiped them away before pressing forward. “My mother is bipolar. Her mental illness was undiagnosed and untreated for a very long time and even after we knew, she refused to stay on her medication. To make the situation worse she became an alcoholic, an addict, and she sold her body for drugs. She’d leave for a while and then show up strung–out and broke. The pattern was always the same: she would clean up, make promises to stay straight, and then go back on the street. It was bad enough when my father was alive but when he passed, her care fell on my shoulders. As you can imagine, it was a heavy burden for a fifteen–year–old girl.”
It was so quiet in the room I could hear the air rushing in the vents. For someone who was used to crowds of singing fans, this was a little unnerving.
“My life was consumed with dodging the foster care people and surviving as best I could. Early on, a reporter assumed she was dead and I let the lie continue. I was embarrassed. I was tired of having to explain that my mother was a junkie. It was more convenient to let everyone believe she was dead.”
I paused and looked around, meeting every eye squarely. I was done with the shame. This was way off script and Liam Connor was going to have a fit. He’d have to get over it. I wasn’t going to have any more secrets hanging over my head.
“If you know anything about bipolar disorder then you know it is hereditary and after my episode a year ago, I started treatment with a psychiatrist and was diagnosed as suffering from hypomania. It is a form of bipolar disorder that causes those of us with the illness to have manic or depressive episodes. When I had an episode after my break–up with Jake, I started drinking heavily, forgetting my obligations—you all reported on it so I will spare us all the gory details.” I paused to take a breath when the crowd laughed quietly. “I do not require medication and I am treating my illness with diet and exercise with the help of my physician. Of course, I am under constant medical care to treat my mental illness and my alcoholism. I am truly sorr…”
I heard a loud scuffle behind me and I turned around. The voices got louder; the activity just off the stage became chaotic and people jostled to see the cause of the disruption. The press started mumbling, most of them rising from their seats to get a better look. I had no idea what was going on until the source of the noise was rushing towards me.
“You bitch!” Ron, disheveled and drunk off his ass, lurched onto the stage and headed straight for me. “You stupid bitch! You can’t fire me!”
Stunned by his appearance and his venom, I stumbled backwards and tried to dodge his fists. Ron grabbed my arm and ripped the sleeve of my jacket before I could get away from him. Stumbling, I fell down and my head hit the table. I was conscious but so disoriented that it was impossible to differentiate between the stars in my eyes and the flashes from the cameras.
Ron followed me down, yelling at me with breath rank with alcohol and I curled up in a ball to avoid his blows. I was getting desperate when Ron’s weight was suddenly lifted off me. Struggling to catch my breath, I grabbed a chair and stood up just in time to see Max hit Ron squarely in the stomach.
Ron staggered back two steps, shook it off and lunged towards Max—spewing filth and hate about me. Flailing wildly, his fist connected with the side of Max’s mouth, drawing blood. Max wiped at the blood, glanced at his hand, and with a smirk hauled his fist back and nailed Ron right upside the head. Ron went down like a tree and, just like that, the circus was over.
My ears were ringing from hitting the table. I was swept up by Max as Josef and the hotel security staff descended upon the fallen form of Ron. Max murmured in my ear, “I’ve got you” and the chaos of the press shouting and cameras flashing faded into the background as he carried me off the stage and towards the back of the building.
I hung onto Max, as Paul and Bridget led us through back offices and down the stairs to the back entrance of the building.
“Are you okay? Can you stand?” Max peered down into my face, his hand reaching up to smooth back my crazy hair.
I nodded, holding on tightly as he lowered me to the ground; his arm looped around my waist, holding me firmly at his side.
Liam Connor appeared at my side, his face flushed but his suit impeccable. Apparently he’d avoided the drama.
“Kit, you weren’t supposed to talk about your mental illness,” he said.
“Nice security detail dickhead,” Max said, putting his body in between us. “I’m getting her out of here.”
“We need to talk,” Liam insisted but Max cut him off with a shove to the chest.
“Not now.”
“Don't put your hands on me,” Liam growled.
“Fucking leave her alone.”
Paul stepped up and inserted himself between them, his voice the only calm in the middle of all this crazy. “We aren’t going to do this now. You hear me?”
I watched as the two men faced off, Paul’s bulk beating Liam by about forty pounds and three inches.
“Fine. I want her in my office tomorrow.” Liam gave up more easily than I thought he would but he couldn't resist giving Max a dark look as he turned to go. He was not happy and I wasn’t looking forward to our chat.
Bridget fished her keys out of her pocket and handed them to Max. “You take my car and get her out of here. She can’t go home, and the usual places will be mobbed. You have somewhere in mind?”
“Yeah,” Max grabbed the keys. “I’ll take her home with me. It’ll take them a while to figure it out and she’ll be safe there.”
“Kitten, you okay with this plan? You feel safe going with Mr. Butler, here?” Paul asked.
I don’t want to be anywhere else. I tightened my grip on Max. “Yes.”
Paul nodded and swatted Max on the shoulder. “All right then. You get going and we’ll take care of this mess.”
Max loosened his hold and looked down at me, his gaze concerned and tense and filled with something else I was afraid to name. He hauled me up in his arms and planted a swift, hard kiss on my mouth. “You ready?”
“Yes.” I looked up at him, biting my lower lip before making my request. “Can I get you to take me somewhere else first?”
CHAPTER TWENTY–SEVEN
Max
The sign at the entrance read “Shady Grove Assisted Living Facilty wasn’t what I expected at all. In my head, I envisioned something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest complete with Jack Nicholson yelling at us as we walked the hall to her mother’s room with scary medical equipment lining the hallways.
This place was more like a resort. Security gates at the beginning of the compound opened when I asked Kit for the code—the only thing she’d spoken since we’d left except for answering “no” when I asked if she need Shannon to come
by and look her over. I was uncomfortable with the silence, my gut tight and muscles taut with everything that had already gone down today and what I knew was coming.
I had no idea what to expect. No idea what kind of shape Mrs. Landry would be in. And I was scared. This was important, these moments would determine if I got the chance to be with Kit or whether we were over. This was a test and I’d never had the chance to study.
I followed the way Kit pointed with a shaking hand and that pretty much wrecked my soul. My White Knight syndrome was in overdrive when it came to this woman and I was amped up enough to fight whatever dragon showed its face. I would slay anyone and anything to wipe that tremor from her muscle memory.
We passed a large building with a sign that told me it was the social hall and surrounded with tennis courts and a pool. This was not a nursing home—I remembered from the search for Grandpa Butler that this place consisted of separate villas purchased by the resident where they could have live–in help to assist them with day–to–day living. I also remembered that it was as expensive as fuck.
“This is it. Number 22,” Kit said and pointed me towards the two–car garage. Whoever was inside knew we were coming because one of the doors went up and I pulled in.
“Wait.” Kit laid a hand on my harm when I reached for the door handle. “Wait until the door is completely down.”
“Is that how you avoided being seen?” I asked.
She nodded. “Nobody saw me coming or going. It was crazy enough to work.”
“What about visitors?”
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