“I’m not the same guy, Stella. You don’t know who you’re messing with. You don’t know who I am now.”
“I don’t care.” I tried to break away from his hold to claim his taunting lips, but he held fast to my hair.
“You should. The boy—the one you knew—he died in that prison cell, and he’s never coming back.”
My heart ached with a pain greater than anything I’d ever felt before. “You blame me. I get it. I blame myself. It’s okay if you hate me. I hate me too.”
“I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe.” He released my hair, but he didn’t deny hating me. With gentle hands, he pried my arms from his neck and put distance between us. The little girl inside me folded on herself. Everyone rejected me eventually. I could take it from anyone but him.
The water, which had been refreshing in the beginning, sucked at my legs as I sloshed toward the bank. Owen grabbed my bicep to stop my retreat. His touch seared my skin. Without looking back, I said, “If you cared so damn much, then why did you send me away when I came to see you at the prison?” I broke loose and kept wading. Part of me wanted to hear his answer, but the cowardly part feared what he might say. I’d thought I was over his rejection, but being with him had reopened the wound.
“I had to. If they thought we were together in any way, they might have come after you, and I couldn’t have allowed it.”
“You don’t know that.” With short, angry jerks, I stabbed my legs into my shorts and yanked the tank top over my head.
“My confession closed the door on the investigation. I took a plea deal for a reduced charge of voluntary manslaughter instead of murder. They were satisfied to have a Henry in custody.” The water hissed and splashed as his footsteps followed me.
I retreated a few paces toward the house then turned back to him. The hurt and anger I’d been repressing for the past eighteen years exploded. “It was a stupid thing to do. Stupid.”
“Don’t talk to me about stupid. I did what I had to do, and because of me, you’ve got a beautiful life.” His words brought me to a complete standstill. My mouth dropped open. I placed a hand on my chest, feeling like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air. He stepped into his boxers and pulled them up to his hips before capturing my gaze. “You were always destined for greater things, and I knew that.” His voice dropped, becoming tender, underscored by sadness. “Look at you, Stell. You came from nothing, and now you’re a great photographer. You’ve circled the globe.” He took a step forward to sweep a tendril of hair from my temple. “I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
The anger melted from my body. I stared at him, flexing my fingers, warring between the desire to punch him or kiss him. After a beat, I growled, releasing my frustration, and shoved his chest. “You broke my heart.”
“Then I guess we’re even,” he said.
I ran back to the house, heedless of the sharp gravel and my bare feet. The screen door banged shut behind me. I thundered up the stairs and into my bedroom. Owen didn’t follow, but I knew he was close by. I could feel him in my bones, in my heart, and in my soul. Like it or not, we were bound to each other forever, bound by our secrets and the death of his brother.
We didn’t speak to each other at all the next day. When Dad and the boys arrived, I set up a table on the back porch and served coffee and donuts to the crew. Owen stayed by the garage, staring at me with dark, pensive eyes. His brooding gaze made me want to scream. The tension between us escalated until I couldn’t do anything but fret about his confessions. For distraction, I threw my anger and frustration into cleaning.
In my heart of hearts, I knew Owen hadn’t killed Chris, and that meant the killer was out there somewhere. While I worked, I ran through the events leading up to the murder. No matter how hard I tried to remember, the details remained fuzzy. The pain of those days stayed with me, however. The ache of Marianne’s death, Stan’s illness, leaving Owen without the chance to say goodbye—all those things tumbled around in my head, the facts distorted and confused by emotions and time.
Only one other person could help reconcile the situation. I called up Lanie’s number in my phone. She answered on the fourth ring, sounding out of breath and irritated. “Hey, Sis, can I call you right back?”
“No.” After eighteen years of misery, I didn’t want to wait another second.
“Hang on.” She put me on hold before I could draw breath to continue.
With a sigh, I took a seat on the third stair. Humidity coated the walls and my skin. I dragged a clean rag over my face. A fly buzzed in lazy circles around the room before taking refuge on the ceiling, out of my reach. After five minutes passed, I hung up. Lanie called back immediately.
“Sorry,” she said without greeting. “I had the landlord on the other line. He’s hounding me for rent. You never sent that check.”
Lanie’s financial situation had been the last thing on my mind over the past week. I rolled my eyes. She wasn’t going to change unless I forced her to take responsibility for her life. “Seriously, Lanie. You need to figure out a way to handle this on your own. I can’t keep cleaning up your messes.” Her anger transferred through the phone in the form of silence. Even though my chest ached for her situation, I held my ground. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
“Obviously, not anything,” she huffed.
I ignored the jab and tried to soften my tone. “If the kids need clothes or school supplies, I’m happy to buy them. Do you need food? I’ll send you a gift card for the grocery store.”
“They’re fine. I’ll manage.” Her clipped tone signaled the end of the topic. “What’s up with Owen? Did you get rid of him?”
Owen. The sound of his name awakened butterflies in my stomach and a throb in my center. I pressed my thighs together. “That’s why I’m calling. He’s outside, working on the back porch.”
“Seriously! What are you thinking?” The pitch of her voice climbed higher.
“Look, we talked about Chris last night. He didn’t do it.”
“Jesus, Stella. Of course, he’s going to say he didn’t do it. You’re so gullible.”
During my lifetime, I’d been called a lot of things but never gullible. I snorted while fighting back anger at her insult. “Says the girl who believed her first baby-daddy worked for the CIA.”
“Okay, well, I’ve made some mistakes. I’m not going to deny it.” I heard her fingernails tapping on the table, one of her most irritating habits. “Does he know who did it?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t get that far in the conversation.” I twisted a loose strand of hair around my finger. “Do you remember anything about that night? Anything at all?” Over the years, I’d avoided the topic to protect her, but I needed answers now, answers that only she could provide.
“Not really. You know I don’t like talking about it.”
“Come on, Lanie. Think. This is important.” I pressed further. “Did you see Chris that day?” More silence. “You and I had a fight that day. You had borrowed my favorite shirt and didn’t give it back. And you had a bruise on your chin, one that Chris had given you.”
“I don’t remember,” she said, obstinately.
“You said it was an accident. That you tripped and fell on the back steps. Is that true?” The only answer was her uneven breathing. “Lanie, did you see him that night?”
“Yes.” My mouth dropped open. She sighed, sounding tearful. “As soon as you left for your date with Owen, I waited for Stan and Marianne to go to bed, then I went to meet him.”
My heart lurched. I bit my lower lip and grimaced. Why hadn’t she said anything before now? “But you didn’t tell the police.”
“No. I didn’t want to get in trouble for sneaking out, and you were already furious with me. I didn’t say anything because nothing happened. We met. We argued. I went home. That’s all there is to it.” The stubborn edge returned to her voice. “Look, I need to go. I’ll call you if I remember anything important, okay?”
17
Owen
Present Day…
I loved everything about construction, from the weight of the tools in my hand to the smell of sawdust. Nothing gave me more pleasure than taking a piece of wood or sheet metal and molding it into something useful. During my prison sentence, I’d earned a degree in business, but once I got out, no one would hire me. To pay the rent, I’d taken odd jobs like roofing and framing. Hard work had never frightened me. In fact, intense physical activity eased the pent-up anger and frustration.
After last night, I couldn’t think about anything but Stella. I’d come so damn close to kissing her in the river. The pain on her face had twisted my guts into tight knots, and all I wanted to do was take away the hurt. Banging a hammer helped, but I still couldn’t shake her from my thoughts. Everything I’d done up to this point had been for her protection. Although I had loved my brother, I’d loved her more. One look into her eyes told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t a murderer. Her eyes could never lie to me.
Now I felt guilty for ever doubting her. Life behind bars changed a man, his perception of life and his trust in others. I lined up a nail with one of the boards, swung the hammer, and missed, banging my thumb. My curses drew the attention of the other guys. Usually, I stayed silent and kept to myself. To ward off their stares, I turned my back to them and focused on the nail. On the second swing, the nail sunk into the wood.
Through the open kitchen window, Stella’s voice floated on the stale breeze, arguing with Lanie. I didn’t want to listen, but I couldn’t help it. Her questions made my blood pressure skyrocket. What was she doing? If she aroused interest in Chris’s death, the wrong people might start asking questions, and I couldn’t have that. When she ended the call, she moved into view. Our eyes met through the window. She drew her lower lip between her teeth.
“What the are you doing?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice at a reasonable level.
A blush climbed up her neck, all the way to her hairline. “That was a private conversation.”
I dropped the hammer and opened the door between us. She blinked up at me, lips trembling, and nostrils flared. The sight of her heaving tits stirred my cock. Her gaze darted to my mouth. I cleared my throat, stepped inside the kitchen, and shut the door behind me. “Stay the fuck out of it, Stella.”
“I can’t. If Lanie knows something, she needs to come forward. Maybe we can clear your name.”
A growl of frustration scratched my throat. I shoved both hands through my hair then scrubbed my face. “Have you thought this through?” A furrow formed between her brows. She cocked her head to one side, studying me intently. Warmth spread through my chest. Her scrutiny turned me on in a number of different ways. I took a step closer to her, lowering my voice. If Lanie had seen Chris that night, there was a very real possibility that she had something to do with his death. “You’re asking for trouble. Let it go, Stella.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to.” The ache in her voice renewed my regrets. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop hurting her. I swept a hand over her cheek, brushing the dark hair from her face. The softness of her skin tickled against my clumsy fingers. I bent my head to capture her gaze.
“I won’t.” She lifted her chin, defying me. Unshed tears brightened her eyes.
“Damn it, you’re hardheaded.” I flexed my fingers, warring against the urge to kiss the rebellion out of her. Instead, I grabbed her by the bicep and pulled her further into the kitchen, away from the open window. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to walk away right now. I’ll deny anything you say to the authorities.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me.” We glared at each other. With each passing second, my attraction to her grew. Her anger acted as a catalyst, heating my desire. She wouldn’t act this way if she didn’t care for me, and I wouldn’t respond to her emotions if I didn’t still love her.
“I need time to think. I can’t deal with this—with you—right now.” The torture in her voice broke me for the thousandth time. I loosened my hold on her arm and dropped my hand to my side. “Please, Owen.”
We were trapped in a cycle of regrets and apologies. I wanted to move forward, to get on with my life, while she kept dragging us into the past. I opened my mouth to speak, but Cindy’s voice called to Stella from the front door. We sprang apart, retreating to opposite sides of the kitchen. I took one last look at her, memorizing the slope of her nose, the delicate point of her chin, and the turbulence in her eyes before slipping out the back door.
18
Stella
Present Day…
The conversation with Owen had left me shaken. I forced a smile for Cindy but avoided her eyes. She arrived with buckets, rags, and a variety of cleaners. After a short greeting, we went straight to business. I admired her work ethic and appreciated her willingness to help. Ten minutes into the job, she stopped to watch me with hands on her hips and raised eyebrows.
“You might want to ease up a little on that woodwork,” she observed. “You’re going to wear the finish clean off.”
“What? Oh.” At her admonishment, I stopped scouring the wood panels of the parlor walls and frowned. I’d been so deep into my own head that I’d lost track of what I was doing. I tossed the rag onto the floor and dabbed the sweat from my neck with the hem of my tank top.
“Wanna talk about it?” she asked.
“Not really.” Even though I needed an impartial ear to hear my plight, I’d never been in the habit of sharing my feelings with anyone. After gathering my composure, I resumed wiping, washing, and wringing. The mindless repetition kept me from punching a fist through the wall.
“Alright. Suit yourself.” She gave me a sideways glance. “Owen didn’t come home last night.” Despite my anger, the heat of embarrassment climbed up my neck. I kept scrubbing. “Dad thought maybe he was here.”
I huffed out a breath, ruffling my bangs. I still hadn’t reconciled the previous night with Owen. He said I’d broken his heart. How was that possible? After I’d been released from the system, I’d gone to visit him two more times: once on my twentieth birthday, and again a few years later. Both times, I’d sat in my car outside the prison, rubbing sweaty palms over my jeans. As much as I’d wanted to see him, I hadn’t been able to face the possibility of another rejection. Instead, I’d stared at the razor wire fences and the armed guards in their towers, imagining the hell of his life. If he’d wanted me, I would have run to him with open arms. I would have taken him anyway I could get him, but he didn’t.
And now? Looking into his turbulent eyes stirred up the feelings I’d managed to suppress for the past decade. With a stiff brush, I scrubbed at a stain. The longer I stayed in this house, the more convinced I became that I’d made a mistake. Maybe I needed to sell this place and move to the other side of the country. Running had always been my answer to any problem and the main reason I’d been around the world twice. However, there was no distance great enough to erase him from my heart. The past week had proved it.
“He didn’t want me to worry about the burglars returning,” I said when I’d found my voice again.
“Owen’s as loyal as they come. Once he’s got you in his sights, he’ll never let you go, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” She continued to talk as she wiped cobwebs from the corners with a broom. “His family disowned him after all his trouble, but he came back here anyway when his gran got sick. Said he wanted to be around in case she needed him. When she died, they banned him from the funeral, but he went to the cemetery anyway. Broke my heart to see him standing all by himself, griev
ing. If you ask me, those people ain’t nothing but trash. I don’t care how big their houses are or how much money they have. His mom drives around town in that big Cadillac of hers like she’s the Queen of England. I don’t know how a woman could turn her back on her kid, no matter what he’s done.”
“It happens.” Her words hit a vulnerable spot in my heart. I dropped the brush and took a seat on one of the stair steps, too weary to continue. “My mom dropped me and my sister off at the orphanage when I was twelve and Lanie was ten. She said it was just temporary, until she got her shit together, but she never came back.” Unable to meet her gaze, I stared out the window, at the expanse of backyard and the sliver of river visible through the trees. “Not all parents are good ones.”
“Oh, hon. I had no idea. I thought maybe you were Stan’s niece or something.” Cindy set the broom in the corner and swept me into a bone-crushing hug. Numbness climbed from my toes to my chest, dulling the pain of my childhood. “I never really knew him. He stayed kind of to himself, and then he went to the nursing home, so we never got to talk.” She held me at arm’s length to study my face. The delicate scent of her perfume reminded me of summer. Her mouth pressed into a stern, straight line. “Well, you’ve got family here. You’re welcome at our house anytime. Do you understand me?”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Her concern only embarrassed me more. I didn’t know why I told her about Mom. I never told anyone, not even Michael. Lanie knew, of course, and Owen. Our fucked-up parents were one of the things that had drawn us together.
“From what Dad tells me, Stan was a good egg, even if he liked his beer. I think they went to high school together. Did you live with him long?”
Monster Love Page 10
