by RC Boldt
“Oh, really?” Simone interrupts, and her voice climbs in volume as she continues. “You didn’t do anything wrong?”
Simone’s mother’s eyes turn mutinous, her lips twisting in an unattractive frown, and I suddenly feel like I’ve just inserted myself in a hornet’s nest.
“If you hadn’t been so—”
“Ma’am,” I quickly interject, cutting the older woman off. “I think you should—”
Simone shoves against my arm, pinning me with a furious glare. “Oh, no. It doesn’t matter what you think anyone should do right now, Mr. Windham. You opened this can of worms, and now you get to experience all the slimy nastiness.” Each word, every syllable drips with pure venom as she turns her gaze to her mother.
“This woman here”—she gestures to her mother—“decided that it was okay to steal from me. And we’re not talking like fifty bucks here and there, are we, Ann?” With a hard shake of her head, she adds, “No. We’re talking millions of dollars that I worked my ass off to make.
“Money I made sacrificing my social life by not going to prom or homecoming, by foregoing college because that’s what you and the record producers thought was best. And you didn’t even ask.” Her next words are spoken from between clenched teeth. “You just took. And took. And took.”
I have no words. Because…fuck.
Simone’s mother takes this moment to speak up, defensiveness in her tone. “If you had just—”
“If I had just what? Asked you if you wanted to blow the money I’d set aside for—the money I’d promised—St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital instead? I should’ve asked you if you wanted the money because oh, you know, who the hell should care about a bunch of innocent children who are suffering from cancer? Or dying from it? Is that what I was supposed to do, Mom?” Disdain drips from every word. “Oh, of course.” Simone presses her palm to her forehead. “How silly of me!”
“There’s no need to be nasty.”
Simone stares back at her mother for a beat before turning to me. “In case that wasn’t enough of a reason, here’s another.” Her mouth unleashes what must be the biggest and fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “Mommy Dearest decided it would be fun to go through my phone and share photos I’d taken privately when I was in a committed relationship.”
Her sugary sweet tone has my muscles going rigid with unease. “She thought TMZ would take super good care of those by posting them everywhere online.” She snaps her head around to glare at her mother. “And to encourage others in slut-shaming me after I found out about her stealing from me.
“I think that just about sums it up, don’t you, Ann?”
Ahh, fuck me.
14
Simone
I’ve become skilled at shutting off my emotions. One could even say I have a PhD in it. God knows it’s helped me get through a lot of shitstorms, but there’s something to be said about the therapeutic quality of yelling at someone face-to-face. Especially when it’s someone who’s betrayed you. When it’s an individual you inherently trusted.
I end up sitting on my bed, one of the large pillows clutched to my chest, staring sightlessly out the windows. I don’t even recall walking in here. I trusted Kane to clean up the mess—i.e., see my mother to the exit.
Now, I simply sit and work on calming myself. Hopefully, I didn’t strain my vocal cords with that whole interaction. It would be just my luck, though.
So caught up in my thoughts, it takes me a moment to register Kane’s presence. He stands in my open doorway, and when I turn to peer at him, his shoulders stiffen, broadening, as if he’s preparing for the worst.
“I’m sorry, Miss King. She said she was your aunt. The name she gave—Mrs. Cline—wasn’t on the list.” His tone is heavy with remorse. “I apologize for not bein’ up to speed with Jed and Vance both out sick. I just verified with Parker and William that they checked her ID.” The crease between his brows grows deeper, more cavernous, and he rakes a hand through his hair. “Not only that, but I’m sorry for stickin’ my nose where it didn’t belong.”
Emotionally spent, I expel a long, slow breath. “This was a situation I really hoped wouldn’t come up while David was away. He had concerns about this exact thing.”
“Why was she not on the list David gave me?” Kane’s tone has a slight edge to it, his eyes narrowing. “If she’s a security risk, she should’ve been on there.” He drags a hand over his face, clearly agitated. “This is a dangerous oversight on his part. Especially if she’s a threat to you.” Tone demanding, jaw tense, he asks, “Do we need to reevaluate the list I have?”
“No. She’s not a threat or security risk to me. My mother won’t physically hurt me.” A harsh laugh bubbles up, and my lips curve into a derisive smile, my voice muted. “She just hurts me in other ways, by going to the press and selling shitty stories about me.”
I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “Jed and Vance know the drill. Know her tricks.” Holding his gaze firmly, I implore him to understand me. “Look, David said he trusts you implicitly, but I don’t know you. My trust is hard-earned.
“And I trust Jed and Vance, but I didn’t want to run the risk of the others possibly leaking the fact that I blacklisted my own mother from visiting to the press. David had concerns about her, and he’d wanted to alert the rest of the team and make you aware.
“But I’m the one who requested he not do that. I was adamant that my mother not be mentioned anywhere, on any list, because if that were to get out, it’d be more fuel igniting the shitstorm the press loves to shower me with. So, the blame falls on me for keeping you in the dark.”
I exhale a slow breath. “She hasn’t tried getting through to me in quite a while, but it figures she’d do it while David’s away. Not surprised she used a fake ID, either,” I finish with a mutter.
Kane steps forward in an almost tentative way. I lift my eyes to watch him, his gaze now averted to the floor as he scrubs a hand along his jaw wearily. “I just… I’m sorry, Miss King. I can’t imagine goin’ through any of that.” Blue eyes lift to mine. The troubled expression, coupled with the crease between his brows, emphasizes the sincerity of his words.
“Do you, uh, want your phone?” He glances around, searching for my cell. “I reckon you probably wanna talk to Matthias.”
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
Hesitance lines his features as he takes another step toward me, his eyes wary. “Look, I know I’m the last person you probably want around, but…” He tips his head to the side. “If you wanna go and let me have it, I know I deserve it.”
A harsh-sounding laugh bubbles up. “That’s magnanimous of you, but it’s over and done.”
He draws closer to where I sit on the bed and leans against the wall opposite me. His hands slide into his pockets, and his eyes turn gentler, offering me a glimpse of the man behind the polite gruffness I’ve become accustomed to. Those blue eyes skate across my features as though he’s attempting to assess me.
“Regardless, if you wanna vent or take it out on me, I’m here. And I promise it stays between us.”
My eyes flick across his face as I try to figure him out. I ponder internally, realizing that since Kane’s begun working for me, nothing new has been leaked to the press. That at least serves as a slight indication that he might actually be trustworthy like David claimed.
When I don’t immediately speak, something flickers across his face, and I can’t quite decipher whether it’s worry or disappointment or…or maybe I’m just reading too much into this.
Tugging his hands from his pockets, he crosses those thick, muscled arms against his broad chest, biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt. With that deep crease between his brows, he speaks, but his voice is hushed, gravelly.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. My mother would’ve laid into yours if she’d been here.” There’s a hint of a smile in his tone, the affection evident. “Dad died a while ago from colon cancer, and I think a lot of people thought the grief
would take her soon after.
“But she fought through it for me and my sister. She’s always been in my corner, my number-one fan, even when I’ve done some really stupid shit.” He pauses briefly, eyes intently watching me. “Like today.”
These are simply words, and in this industry, words are worthless. Except Kane’s aren’t just empty sentiments. They feel strong, solid, and powerful with the weight of meaningful emotion behind them. This man and his words are formidable, as though he’s offering me a temporary life raft to help me survive the sea of shittiness that encompasses the many people who’ve hurt me.
I’m embarrassed. Not so much for him witnessing what went down with my mother, but because of this. This, right here, with him seeing me vulnerable. It’s at this moment that I wish I had someone to hold me, to comfort me, but I can’t. I don’t let myself crave a soothing touch or ever seek it out. Not even with Matty.
It’s not that he wouldn’t, of course. It’s just that… Perhaps I’ve experienced so much hurt that I’m even holding back from my best friend. Subconsciously afraid that one day, he’ll follow suit like all the others. And because it’s him, my best and only real friend, it would devastate me on a whole other level.
“When will it stop hurting?” The words are out before I realize it, and I stiffen, mortified at not only voicing them aloud but for how weak, tiny, and vulnerable they sound. I honestly hadn’t intended to say it, but the question has plagued me for the past few years.
Kane’s voice is soothing and calm. Deep and masculine. “I wish I had the answer.” He lets out a sigh. “I think, sometimes, the more we wish the pain would stop, the more it hurts.”
His phrasing and the melancholy lacing his words pique my curiosity, but it’s not my business. The man is simply offering me comfort, not opening himself up for my intrusive and probing questions.
“So…” I trail off, unsure of what to say, yet I’m desperate for the conversation to continue. For the moment not to end. I just need a little more time like this while I rebuild my defenses. I curl my knees to my chest and lean my cheek against one. “What’s your family like?”
He hums thoughtfully before telling me about his mom first; the awe threaded in his tone when he speaks about her never seeming to let herself get swamped by the grief from his father’s death. Then about his sister, who has a six-year-old boy.
His entire body appears far less tense, and the love, the evident adoration coloring his words, makes me yearn for that sort of family. To have more than one person in my life I can truly trust.
“Where do they live?”
“Back in Texas,” he answers. “My mom and sister run a business together, so that keeps them busy, but I try to visit as often as I can.”
“And you don’t live in Texas?” I try to rack my brain, wondering if David or Kane mentioned anything about this, but come up empty.
“I live in northeast Florida now.”
“What—um, do you mind if I ask what brought you there? A job?”
“Kind of.” He pauses, and when it drags on, I wonder if he’ll expand. Finally, he exhales a long breath. “I battled a wicked TBI—traumatic brain injury—at the tail end of my career in the military. It was hard to leave that part of my life, that job, because bein’ a Green Beret was somethin’—is somethin’ I’m proud of.
“But Texas had never been where I’d wanted to go back to, to really call home. When you bounce around a lot, it’s hard to get settled again. But a buddy of mine I’d crossed paths with while servin’ offered me a job with the private security consultin’ firm he was startin’, and I couldn’t say no. And I ended up beside some of the best guys I’ve come to know and respect.”
A wistful smile tugs at my lips at the image. “They sound pretty wonderful.”
“They are,” he answers softly. “They’ve become my extended family.” There’s a slight pause, and his voice grows faint. “Always have each other’s backs, no matter what. And they meddle even when it’s the last thing you want ’em to do.” A little sigh escapes him, and his next words are murmured so softly, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself more than me. “Because they care.”
Lowering my eyes, I allow his words to wrap around me and imagine what that must be like to have people in my life like his friends. The center of my chest aches so intensely at the idea that I press my fingertips to it as if to stifle it somehow.
“I’m sorry, Miss King.” His voice rumbles in the silence of the room. “It won’t happen again.” There’s a steely undertone of promise in his words. “She won’t get anywhere near you as long as I’m around. You have my word.”
I nod, relishing in the promise, in the certainty that this man is unlike the hordes of others I’ve come to know because Kane will stand by those words.
Clearing my throat, I brave a look at him. A whimper nearly escapes me at the sight of his eyes awash with remorse, a breathtaking depth of emotion visible in the depths. It’s both pathetic and embarrassing that it took him witnessing the humiliating showdown with my mother to put more life back in them. But more frightening is how badly I yearn to continue doing it. To keep trying to see what I can do, to see just how much more beautiful those eyes can be if they were completely alight with life.
Oh shit. This is dangerous, Simone. Back away. Back away now.
“Um, thank you for”—I gesture back and forth between us—“this.”
Carefully, I slip off the bed and walk toward my door. Resting a hand on the handle, I don’t have to wait for him to pick up on the hint. He steps past me and over the threshold, then turns and pauses, his heavy gaze centered on me.
“I’m going to take a shower and get some rest.” My smile is forced, and even if I didn’t already know it, the tight press of his lips at the sight alerts me to this. “Good night.”
He doesn’t move. The only indication he heard me is his slight nod.
Gripping the handle, I close the door softly, and the click sends a jolt ricocheting through me. I rest a palm on the door and lean my forehead against the cool surface, closing my eyes.
When his husky voice drifts through the door, the tone faint and so softly spoken, I wonder if I’m imagining it.
“Good night, Miss King.”
15
Kane
Nashville, Tennessee
Late June
“Miss King? What’s on the agenda for two o’clock?” I frown at the updated schedule on my phone. “And why wasn’t it on here earlier?”
When she doesn’t respond, I raise my eyes and find Simone staring out the window of the hotel. She looks a million miles away, lost in her own thoughts.
My gaze rakes over her face, skimming her features, and the way her bottom lip juts out, so pink and soft looking, snags my attention. Her barely audible sigh jerks me from the crazy trance her damn lips sent me into. Lips, for fuck’s sake. Jesus.
Clearing my throat, I prompt again, “Ma’am?” She jumps before turning to face me, and I can practically hear the clink of all her defenses falling into place.
“Uh, yes, that’s one of those things we do just in case anyone happens to see or overhear talk of it. I add it last minute so the press doesn’t catch wind of it.”
“It bein’…?”
Her lips flatten as if she’s preparing for me to be pissed at whatever she’s about to divulge. “Every time I’m here, I visit the Woodsen Children’s Hospital.” Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. “Mainly to see my goddaughter, Zoe, but also for the others.”
Ah, her former drummer’s little girl who’s sick with cancer.
Simone steps closer, and her expression turns fierce. “I don’t go there for the press, so I don’t want it to get out and have them make it look like some publicity stunt. Because I go there for her. For those kids.” She averts her gaze to focus on her black boots. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Then we’ll make it happen.”
Her head snaps up as if my response surprised her
. Relaxing her features a fraction, she nods. “Thank you.”
As soon as we arrive at the hospital, promptly at two o’clock, we’re escorted through the rear entrance by Beth, who leads the hospital’s administrative team. She hugs Simone like they’re old friends and thanks her profusely for stopping by.
Simone starts right in. “How are things? Do you need any—”
Beth waves a hand dismissively. “Oh my gosh, no. Your donations have helped us so very much.” After a brief elevator ride, we step onto the fourth floor. “This visit is just what everyone needs.” The older woman beams at Simone like she’s just arrived with the miracle cure.
“I can’t wait to see my girl.” Simone strides over, guitar case in hand, and stops at a nearby room whose door is slightly ajar.
Beth speaks in a hushed voice. “Isaac’s here with her right now. Lauren just left to run to the store.”
Simone knocks on the door, and a man’s voice calls out, “Come in.”
She strides into the room with me at her back. “Where’s my favorite girl?”
“Simone!” A little girl with a bald head grins from ear to ear. She’s tucked in the hospital bed, appearing frail and far too pale.
Simone sets down her guitar case to blow the little girl a kiss and immediately raises her hands. “I need to wash up really quick, okay?” As if remembering my presence just now, she adds, “Oh, and this is Kane. He’s filling in for David while he’s on his honeymoon.”
“Hi, Kane,” Zoe greets me with a smile.
“Hello, Miss Zoe.”
Simone gestures to the bathroom, directing me to join her. “We’ve got to wash up. Germs are dangerous.” I follow suit, scrubbing my hands with soap and drying them before we rejoin the girl and her father.
Isaac rises from his chair beside Zoe’s bed and holds out a hand to me. “I’m Isaac.” He tips his head in Simone’s direction with a hint of a smile on his lips. “Thanks for bringing the diva along.”
