“All pink or should we try the ombre this time?” Katelyn turned to face Missy, who was perched on the edge of the couch, watching curiously. She’d pretty much stayed away from the painted furniture after she’d rubbed up against a still wet dresser and come away six shades of green. The bathing process hadn’t been pretty, but she’d been able to get most of the paint out thanks to the fact it was water based.
Missy meowed softly in response. “Right. I think all pink too.”
Katelyn was just about to pick up her brush when her phone rang. It was a muffled sound, going off from inside her purse, which she’d dumped down on the coffee table as she’d walked in the door little more than an hour before.
She set down her bottle of paint and her brush, on top of the ancient, battle scared seventies nightstand and rushed over to her purse. It was probably one of her clients calling to ask her this question or that, or someone new wanting to set up a meeting.
When she finally located her phone, Katelyn frowned at the number on the screen. She recognized it instantly as a London number. Strange. She hit the answer button without a second thought.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” a soft voice with an accent so very much like her own, echoed back. “I’m calling for Katelyn Anderson, please.”
“This is.” Some part of her body, something deep inside of herself, jammed in the center of her chest, began to tremble. It was irrational, but she couldn’t stop the feeling of impending doom.
“My name is Lila Hartford. I’m sorry to call so late.”
“It’s only eight,” Katelyn mumbled. Her mind fumbled over itself, trying to grasp where it was that the name sounded so familiar. Right. Lila Hartford. “You’re my sister’s lawyer. We came to your office years ago, after my niece was born. Dinah wanted to make sure everything was taken care of should anything ever happen to her. She was a single mom and that scared her.”
The line went dead for a minute of dreadful silence. Katelyn’s breath trapped itself in burning lungs as she waited. Her heart began to beat harder, painfully, rapid pulses that slammed and knocked against her ribs out of time.
“I’m sorry to have to make this call, but I have to. You’re correct. I am your sister’s lawyer. As such, I have to inform you that your sister passed away twelve hours ago. I’m aware that you are no longer in London, but it is critically important that you come into my office as soon as possible, regarding the care of your niece.”
It had never happened before that Katelyn completely blacked out. It was like her mind flipped a switch, blew a breaker and that was it. Lights out. When she came to, she was staring up at the ceiling from unblinking eyes, black spots dancing at the corners of her vision. A voice, a strange, high pitched female voice with the same accent as hers, blared over her phone.
Her hand felt like it belonged to another person. Her head was stuffed with cotton, her vision swam back and forth. She slowly raised the phone to her ear. She could almost watch herself doing it, as though she was staring at herself from above, lying there on the floor in a prone position. So helpless. So very helpless.
“What?” she croaked out. “I’m sorry, what are you saying?”
“I’m the one who is sorry, Miss Anderson. Your sister passed away from a brain aneurysm very suddenly. Your niece is being kept in care right now. She’s safe. It is imperative that you come back to London though, as soon as possible. There are arrangements that have to be made. Your sister, in her will, left custody of her daughter to you.”
“I… I’m sorry,” Katelyn mumbled. Her tongue was thick and useless in a mouth that tasted like old metal, as though she’d bitten her tongue when she’d hit the floor and wasn’t even aware.
“I know this is very shocking. I’ll leave my name and number and you can call me back one you’d had time to process everything.”
“What about my- my mom,” she stammered.
“She’s been notified. Your sister was implicit in her will that your mother not be allowed contact with your niece. She left everything to you.”
Everything. As though a lifetime of twenty-nine short years allotted to something to be left behind. Isabella. My god, that poor little girl.
“I’ll catch a flight as soon as I can,” Katelyn said thickly. It was a marvel she was even able to form words and push them out to make a coherent sentence. Of all the things that should be happening at the moment, she didn’t expect to find herself this rational. There were no tears. No breakdown. Other than finding herself on the floor through a moment she couldn’t recall, there was nothing. Her heart still went right on beating as if she hadn’t just found out that her sister was no longer alive.
Shock. I’m in shock.
“Thank you. Let me extend my condolences once again. This isn’t the type of phone call I normally make. Considering you’re overseas though, the hospital contact your mother first. It was then left to me… well. I can explain everything when you get here. I’ll leave my name and number and the address of our office.”
“I remember it.” If anything her voice was growing clearer, more stable with every passing second. Where are the tears? Where are the fucking tears? Why don’t I feel anything but coldness inside? “I’ll try and catch a flight tomorrow. Expect to hear from me soon. Please, in the meantime, can you help me with whatever arrangements have to be made to take Isabella back to America with me? I live here now. I want to stay here.”
“Of course. We will do everything we can for you, Miss Anderson.”
Katelyn screwed her eyes shut. She wished that the lawyer wouldn’t say her name like that. It’s Katelyn. I just want to be Katelyn. She mumbled a thanks anyway and hung up the phone. It fell from her fingers a minute later. Her hand tingled as the warm metal left. It thumped to the floor, a dull thud as the plastic case broke its fall.
None of this is real. It can’t be real. My sister can’t be gone. She was all I truly had left. And Isabella… what could I of all people possibly do for her?
Behind closed eyes, the first face she saw wasn’t her sister’s. It wasn’t her mother’s or John’s or anyone else from her past. It was Kian’s.
She hadn’t seen him in over a month. Since that morning she’d woken in his bed and found that other woman in his house, sitting on his couch, a possessive gleam in her eyes. She’d let him go, after the fight they’d had in her entrance way. She’d let him go. Avoided him. They came from different worlds. He’d warned her. He’d tried to push her away to keep her safe. She didn’t listen and she’d been burned. In the days following that fight, she’d rationalized with herself. She’d decided that even if he was telling the truth, it didn’t matter. They weren’t meant to be together. She wasn’t ready. She’d tried so hard to break free from John. She didn’t need another man in her life, especially one she couldn’t trust.
Yet it was his face, his bronzed skin, dark eyes, black hair and beard, his tattooed neck and his black t-shirts and leather jacket, even his bike, that swam before her eyes.
I need him. It was irrational. Hopeless, even. It didn’t make any sense, but neither did the fact that her twenty-nine year old sister had been taken from her.
She barely registered her movement as she picked herself off the floor. The silence in her house was oppressive. She didn’t know what she was doing. She walked as though in a trance, in a nightmare or a dream. Some other life force, something that was not her own, animated her, drew her on, pushed her forward. She flew out the front door, not stopping to put on shoes even. She dimly registered the fact that Kian’s bike was parked in front of his condo. She managed to drag her heavy, wooden body up the steps to the front door. She raised a numb first and knocked quietly.
Something inside of her snapped at the contact. All of a sudden she was beating the door with her fist, her open palm, smashing her hand into it over and over again in a series of desperate pleas.
She didn’t stop. Not even when it was pulled open and the solid wood changed to very real, living fles
h. She didn’t stop until a set of rough, large hands blocked the blows, until a set of steel arms wrapped around her shoulders and she was smothered, trapped against a wall of hard, muscle covered by thin, warm cotton.
And then the tears came. Like a flood. She didn’t even bother to try and stop them.
Chapter 22
The Promise
Kian
Kian had waited for weeks and in that time he’d curled back inside his shell. He’d sewn the messy, shredded parts of himself back together. He’d pretty much given up hope of Katelyn ever contacting him again, which made the fact that she haunted him even worse. He was pretty damn sure that she’d been his last chance for redemption, for a future that involved someone other than himself.
It was even more astounding, then, to open his door after a series of frantic pounding and receive the missile that flung itself into his arms.
Katelyn. She was crying, no- sobbing, though he had no idea why. She cried as though her heart was breaking, clung to him like he was her last hope, a lifeline in a sea of destruction and sorrow. He’d seen grief like that before. Too many times, when he was a cop. He’d delivered news, the worst kind, and watched people crumple under the blow.
Fear built up inside of him like a rising tide.
Oh no. Please no. Katelyn was crying, shaking, wailing in his arms. Her pitiful moans of grief scorched his ears and blurred his own vision. After a long while he was able to draw back a little. He held her apart, so he could look into her face. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut and what he could see was so haunted his heart ached. She reached up and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her skin was blotchy and puffy.
“I’m… sorry,” she gasped. She swiped at her eyes as well.
“No…” Kian coughed loudly to clear his throat. It hurt. Scratched somewhere deep in his chest. His heart felt like lead. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ll… I- I…”
“It’s alright. Take your time. Why don’t you come in. I’ll make us a cup of coffee or get you some water or tea. Whatever you need.” He tried to use a soothing tone of voice, like when he was as a cop and had to deliver those heart crushing messages that a loved one had been killed or injured.
Oddly enough she laughed. The sound was sharp, high pitched, not at all right. God, he hated that sound. He knew it too well. Shock. So often shock and grief went hand in hand.
Finally Katelyn nodded. She pushed the long strands of her blonde hair back behind her ears, away from her sweat dampened forehead and tear strained cheeks. A few strands stuck and she left them, oblivious to their presence.
Kian slipped an arm around her waist and guided her woodenly into the living room. His eyes dropped to her feet and he realized she wasn’t wearing shoes. It wasn’t normal. None of this was normal. She’d stayed away for a month after that fight and then, bam! She was on his doorstep, in his arms, her entire world shifted. He could already feel it, as though the axis on his also tilted wildly, out of control.
“Do you want anything?” He asked after he helped her sit down on the couch. Her haunted, red rimmed, puffy eyes strayed back to his face.
“Water. Please. Do you have any tissues?”
Did he indeed? “Probably not,” he admitted, feeling like the worst kind of human being. Who didn’t have tissues? Only some hard ass, soulless individual… “I’ll find something.”
Katelyn nodded. She brought her hands up to her face and scrubbed at her eyes. He left her, in order to give her some space. She looked like she could use a minute to try and get herself together.
In the kitchen, Kian poured a glass of water from the tap. He wished he had something better. He wished, most of all, that he could spare Katelyn from the worst of whatever she was going through. He didn’t know what the hell had happened, but whatever it was clearly wounded her deeply. He’d been there, he’d been through it. Hell, he still hadn’t come out on the other side.
An image of his wife’s face, blood dripping from the wound on her forehead, leaching down her pale skin, into sightless eyes, chilled his blood. He remembered turning around in the seat, remembered the lightning bolts of pain that shot through his body at even the small movement. He tried to drown out the vision, but it was too quick. It played straight through his mind like the worst kind of graphic horror. His son. His two year old son, who had been so full of life and light. He could tell he was dead even though his eyes were closed. The caved in side of the vehicle was crumpled all around him, over him, crushing him…
He shut out the rest of the image and barely managed to bite back a howl of pain. He’d done it then. In the car, before the sirens came, before he was ripped from his vehicle by an EMT. He’d screamed, like a wounded animal. He’d cried out over and over again, screamed the names of his family, the names of the dead. He’d begged a god he wasn’t sure if he believed in, over and over again, to somehow take him and bring them back. Of course there was no exchange of life. He’d had to live.
Sometimes it was worse than dying. Sometimes it felt that way. Sometimes he was sure he already had.
Before he returned to the living room, he ducked into the bathroom and brought out a roll of toilet paper. He set both the poor substitute for tissues and the glass of water down on the coffee table.
Katelyn had turned herself into a little ball on his leather couch. She’d pulled her knees and legs into herself and wrapped her arms around them. She looked scared, pale, lost. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, envelope her in his strength and let her lean on him, let her draw on whatever good parts of him were left. He didn’t. Instead he sat down a few feet away, on the opposite end of the couch. He wanted to give her space, time to process and time to think. He didn’t want to force her into his touch, a touch she’d made it pretty clear through her absence she didn’t want.
She slowly turned her head, as though she’d just noticed he’d come back into the room. Her lashes were soaked and they clung together in thick clumps. They looked darker, when they were wet.
“My sister died.”
The words were so matter of fact, said without hesitation, thrust into the room, into a land of terrible being, that Kian was momentarily taken aback. He leaned against the couch cushions, letting them support the burden of his weight while his head spun.
“I’m sorry… what?”
Katelyn laughed again, that horrible short burst of sound. “That’s what I thought. All it took was a few minutes. The call. Some lawyer, my sister’s lawyer just called me. One minute I was standing, the next I was on the floor. I don’t remember it happening. She said Dinah had an aneurysm. That was it. Just one day my sister is there, the next she’s not. And I didn’t even know it. I didn’t know anything was wrong. Didn’t sense one damn thing. And even now… it’s so hard to feel like it’s real. I can’t… process it.”
Fuck. He knew it was bad, but this? Katelyn didn’t deserve this. No one did. No one should have to walk through the death of their loved ones, losing them when they were so young.
“Katelyn, I…” his tongue swelled up and his mouth was suddenly stuffed full of an unrelenting thickness that refused to be swallowed. “There… aren’t any- words,” he finally forced out lamely.
“No,” she whispered, lost. Her eyes took on that spacey, faraway look, like she was already retreating inside the shell of herself. “I’ve become a mother now. At least, some kind of pseudo parent.”
That floored him. “What?” He pushed out the word on a hard rush of air, aware how utterly unintelligent and uncompassionate it sounded.
“Yes. My sister had a daughter. My niece. Of course she’s my niece… it was the lawyer calling me. I said that. God. Dinah left Isabella’s care to me. I’m her guardian. A poor substitute for her own mother, for the mother she’ll never have back. Whatever you want to call it. She’s three. She probably doesn’t even understand what happened any more than I do…”
“Katelyn…”
She held up a h
and, stemming his flood of pity. Or empathy, condolences. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it. “No. I… I remember saying something to you, when we fought. I accused you of making up that story about the accident to… get laid.” She blinked hard and a fresh sheen of tears started in her red tinted blue eyes. “Jesus. How could I have said that? How could I have been so cruel?”
“No…” Kian shook his head. “Sometimes people say shit when they’re angry.”
“That doesn’t excuse it. If someone ever said something like that to me- about- Dinah… I would- I don’t know what I would do.” She turned to him, eyes begging, begging him for something he couldn’t give. She needed him. The look in her eyes made it so very damn clear. She’d stayed away because she needed him so very badly.
As badly as he needed her.
He froze when she moved closer. Her hand reached out. It was a wooden, mechanical motion. His hand rested on his lap and slowly, her palm covered it. Her hand was so damn cold and he felt the heat leave him, get sucked up into the vortex of her body.
“I’m so alone, Kian.” That little lost girl look was back. Her voice was so very small. He barely got the upper hand of the fierce desire that ripped through him. Not a sexual desire, but a desire to protect her. To fight her battles, to keep her safe from the pain and unfairness of life. “How am I supposed to replace Dinah? How am I supposed to just become a mother? I feel like my entire life has changed for the worst.”
“I know, honey,” he said softly. He lost the battle then. He gave up fighting and shifted, wrapping his arm around her thin shoulders. There was strength there too, under that fragility. She just had to find it. “I might be the worst person on earth for you right now. I might be fucked up, but I sure as hell know what you’re going through.”
“Going through,” she echoed. She turned into him and stared up, a little of the vacant space starting to fill up in those sweet blue depths. “Yes. You’ve gone through it all. I… I hung up the phone and I came over here. Despite everything, you were the first person I thought of. I need you, Kian. I need you in my life. Maybe it’s not right. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense. Who fucking cares? I’m done with trying to figure it out. My sister is… dead. She was alive and now she’s just- gone and no one has years and years to try and make up their minds or unfuck the mess they’ve made of everything. I just…”
Hot Ink: All 3 Tattoo Shop Romance Books + 2 Exclusive Bonus Stories Page 12
