by K. L. Kreig
Those shadows I thought were gone are back. Maybe they never left and she simply hid them like an expert. Like Violet. Like me. I want to pull her down into my lap and stroke her hair. Tell her she has a whole life ahead of her of her own choosing and not to give in to them. I want to beg her to not end up like Violet, breaking everyone who ever loved her into invisible pieces they’ll never find again.
“Do you love him?” I’m trying to figure out which him she’s referring to when she adds, “My brother. Do you love my brother? If I had to guess I’d say you do but I want to be sure.”
She’s a miniature Shaw. Fierce protection must be a Mercer trait.
“Yes,” I reply. “More than I thought possible.”
“Will you love him no matter what?”
I shake my head at her Spanish Inquisition. It’s sweet. “We all have flaws, Annabelle. When you love someone, you love the whole package. The good and the not so good. You don’t get to choose which pieces you want. You take them all.”
Moving her chin to knees, she stares ahead in our small space. “What if he did the worst thing imaginable but he did it to protect you? Would you still love him then?”
I roll her strange question around for a few seconds. Does she know something I don’t or is she only trying to determine how deep my love for her flesh and blood goes? “I can’t imagine he could do anything that would make me stop loving him,” I tell her truthfully. “But if he did, you can’t just turn love off with the flip of a switch. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I know,” she mumbles before falling quiet. Two more women who are chatting excitedly about meeting the governor enter, barely acknowledging us as they pass by and head through the swinging door into the restroom. I make it a point not to look for Shaw this time.
I think the twenty questions are over when she asks, “Have you ever done anything you regret?”
She can’t see my sardonic grin but it’s there. “Too many to count,” I admit quietly. Take now, for example. I should be out apologizing profusely to the man I love that I kept such a big part of my life from him, yet here I am—hiding in the restroom like a coward instead.
“Do you think some mistakes are unforgivable?” Her question is softly spoken, almost inaudible.
I study her. She’s still staring forward, eyes barely blinking as if she’s in a trance. My gut screams this is no longer about Shaw. “Nothing is unforgivable.”
She lays her cheek on her knees again, eyeing me. “Do you really believe that?” The skepticism in her tone makes me think that’s not what she expected.
“Yes. I really believe that. What kind of world would this be if we didn’t forgive each other for our mistakes?” Blue eyes blink back at me. They hold mysteries and a deep well of darkness she fights falling into. “Do you believe that, Annabelle?”
I haven’t spent a lot of time with Annabelle, but it’s easy to recognize she works overtime trying to convince everyone she’s happy and fine. I know the tactics. In this moment, though, she seems young and fragile and incredibly vulnerable. I think about asking her a few questions of my own, wondering if she’d trust me enough to answer me, but the moment comes and goes in a blink and that cocky attitude she dons like a second skin is back and in my face.
“Do you want to marry him?”
I laugh before I realize she’s serious. “I—” I pause, contemplating how I’m going to field this one. There’s no other answer but yes, yet I certainly don’t want Shaw thinking I’m planning a wedding with his sister behind his back in the ladies’ room of the Four Seasons the same week I told him I loved him. “He would have to ask me first.”
“If he asked you, what would you say?”
This is like having a conversation with Sierra. They would get along splendidly, a modern-day Thelma and Louise.
I inhale deeply and consider my next words carefully. “If he asked, I suppose I would say yes.”
“You suppose or you know?”
I toss the now warm paper crumpled in my hand into the garbage can beside me, chuckling. Shaw failed to mention his sister is a Rottweiler with a bone. I eye her and go for it. “Yes. The answer would be yes.”
Her smile reaches her eyes. She pats my leg. “Good to know.”
“Did I pass?” I ask as she slips on her shoes, one by one.
“With flying colors.”
With her hands pressing on the bench, she stands, turns, and gazes down at me. “My brother is probably five seconds away from storming in here to check on you himself.”
Yes. Then I’ll have some explaining to do. Will he ever believe I meant to tell him about my sister tonight? I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. “I’m sure he is. Can you…”
“Yeah. I’ll tell him you need a minute.”
She holds out her hand and helps me up. “Thanks, Annabelle.”
“Thank you for making my brother crazy. It’s…” she pauses as if swallowing a snarky comment. “I’m glad he has someone.”
My lips turn up gently. “Thank you.” I’m making my way into the restroom when I hear my name called softly behind me. “Yeah?” I turn around.
Annabelle throws her gaze to the ground quickly, then back to me. She presses her full lips together in a nervous gesture. “I’m really sorry about your dad…and whatever happened with your sister to make you look so sad.”
A lump grows in my throat. Pinpricks bite behind my lids. “You remind me of her,” I croak.
A weird look crosses her face. “How?”
I swallow, stalling for time. I don’t want to tell her how I see the same caverns I saw in Violet and I’m worried about her falling into one, so instead I say, “She was musically gifted, like you. She was funny and gregarious and outspoken. Spontaneous and sensitive. Observant. Misunderstood, I think. And smart. Incredibly smart.”
She looks away but not before I see her eyes glass over. Smiling a tight, quick smile, she mumbles something and exits, leaving me standing there, alone.
I walk to the mirror and take stock of the woman looking back. The blood has returned to her face, though she still looks a little sallow. Faint red streaks the whites of her eyes. A lifetime of sorrow pulls down the corners of her mouth. She looks like she could end up sad and alone with twenty-three cats, crocheting tiny hats for tiny newborns if she doesn’t cut the shit.
When I talked to Shaw about my father, it was a relief of sorts. When I let everything out about Reid, I felt the same way. So why I’ve been holding back the most impactful loss of my life, I don’t really know. Change is hard, even if it is needed.
After a few minutes of putting myself back together, I step into the hallway. My heart pounds when I see Shaw pacing, stabbing a hand through the side of his hair. His attention zeros in on me and he freezes. A few people pass between us but he never takes his eyes from me. He’s breathing hard. His lips are pressed in a hard line.
“I’m sor—”
“Not now, Willow.” His gruff demeanor makes me want to bawl. “My father is giving his speech any minute.”
“Oh.”
In three strides, he’s at my side. Gently taking me by the elbow, he walks quickly. With his long legs and my heels, it’s hard to keep up but I’m not going to complain or slow him down. We’re here tonight, two-and-a-half weeks from the election, to support his father’s last fundraiser. With the latest poll results, along with the outpouring of support Preston Mercer has tonight, I’d say there is no way he’s not winning this race.
But all I care about right now is mending fences with Shaw.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him before we spill from the relative quiet of the hallway. Regardless of the fact he just told me he doesn’t want to talk about it, I can’t keep my apology inside. “My sister…it’s, she’s—”
He stops so abruptly I run into the back of him and stumble. His fingers wrap around my biceps, steadying me. Once he’s sure I’m not going to fall flat on my face, he walks me backward until my spine bumps with a coarse wa
ll. He comes flush with me.
Palming my nape, he hooks his thumbs under my chin and holds me prisoner in his power. His blue gaze grips me hard. It’s intense, a little scary. The dark stubble he left on his jawline only serves to add an extra edge of sharpness to him. He’s magnetic. I’m soaking.
“She’s one of those sacred secrets it’s hard to share,” he says in an oddly even voice.
My exhale comes out in a rush. Blinking fast, I nod, not feeling as if I deserve his understanding but glad I have it anyway.
“I’ll wait as long as you need, Goldilocks. Whenever you’re ready, say the word and I’ll drop everything.”
I breathe his name in relief and the mixed emotions I’m grappling with start oozing out of their lockbox. “I was going to tell you about her tonight. I swear. After…” My gaze flits to our right where all the activity abounds.
He clamps his jaw together and moves his head in agreement, though I’m not sure if he believes me or not. But I don’t get an opportunity to ask because in the background we hear someone announce Preston Mercer a second before the crowd goes wild, clapping, cheering, whistling.
“We need to go.” His lips settle on my forehead a brief moment.
“I love you,” I whisper before letting him step back.
His thumb comes under my chin, pressing up until my head tilts all the way back. Resolve burns into me. “I’m not going anywhere, Willow, okay?”
I sag in relief and let him drop a sweet kiss to my mouth before we’re off once again.
When we ease in at the front of the crowd beside Shaw’s siblings, Noah is there, seemingly without a date. He gives us both a questioning once-over before wrapping me in a quick hug. He asks me if I’m okay. I tell him yes.
It’s so loud all I can do is wave to Lincoln and Gemma who are to Shaw’s left. Shaw’s younger brother looks uncomfortable in his snazzy vest and fitted pants and is standing next to a handsomely dressed man several inches taller than him who is paying him all kinds of attention. It appears Gemma is trying to wrangle three unruly children by herself, her husband nowhere in sight. She hands Eli off to Annabelle so she can pick up Cora, who is tugging relentlessly on her skirt. Shaw scoops up Nicholas and sets him over his shoulders allowing him to clearly see his grandpa. He beams and starts bouncing up and down until Shaw tells him to sit still.
It’s utter chaos and I love that I’m part of it.
“Thank you for coming,” a loud voice booms over the melee.
My attention goes to Shaw’s father who is standing on the main stage, which is raised a few feet above us. He’s behind a makeshift podium grinning, waving, letting his supporters go wild. Just to his right is Adelle, hands clasped demurely in front of her. Reserved pride is written on the fine lines of her face as she gazes at her husband, knowing it’s his time to shine but also knowing she’s the invisible backbone behind a great man’s success.
And off to the mayor’s left stands Reid. He’s clapping along with the group, but he’s not looking at the crowd or at his candidate. His hawklike stare is homed in on Shaw. If hate had a color, he’d be wearing it.
As if he feels me, his eyes flick from Shaw to me, and the air in my lungs freezes. The hate quickly dissolves but he has this look about him that’s hard for me to decipher at first.
But then I see it. Clear as day. He wants me back. He’s told me as much. But now it appears he doesn’t care who knows anymore. It’s dangerous, what he’s doing. Not only is it dangerous, it’s not at all welcome or appropriate, given his station with the Mercer family. He’s supposed to protect them from scandal, not create one.
People continue to clap. Reid continues to stare. Sheer determination is mixed with unmistakable proprietorship. A triple dose of barefaced yearning is thrown in for good measure. It’s there, simmering. A noxious combination that’s ready to boil over and scald everyone around him.
It’s coming. Fast. Without warning. And when it does, no one will be sheltered from the damage it will cause.
No one.
Chapter 22
“Smug bastard. If I could rip off his balls and feed them to him one by one without going to jail, they’d already be sliding down his throat.”
Taking a swallow of my Lagavulin, even the smokiness of the pricey aged Scotch does little to wash away the tang of rage lining my mouth. I don’t take my eyes from him for a split second. Standing next to my father like he belongs there. Shaking hands with businessmen, housewives, the people of Seattle like they are his people. Fucking pompous prick.
“Did you see the way he looked at Willow when my father was giving his speech?”
“I saw it,” Noah replies tersely. He’s as indignant as I am. “Fucker’s getting bolder and bolder.”
Fierce protectiveness fires every neuron inside me until they’re pinging violently against the walls of my veins. I scan the room for Willow. My mother dragged her away more than a half an hour ago to parade her around. Don’t think I haven’t noticed Mergen tracking her every move, either. As much as I’ve not taken my eyes from him, he’s barely taken his eyes from her, though the last few minutes he’s been engrossed in conversation with a US senator and one of my father’s closest friends.
“She’s over there,” Noah’s low voice drawls.
I follow his line of sight, and sure enough, spot Willow with a small group of my mother’s closest friends. My mother apparently says something that brings blood rushing to her fair skin because even from this distance I watch her cheeks redden. That gorgeous, sassy mouth I love sinking my cock into breaks into a sheepish smile, and she quickly throws a glance around the immediate vicinity as if she doesn’t want someone to overhear their conversation.
I wonder what made my girl blush so beautifully.
“So, you two were arguing earlier.”
I slip my eyes to Noah for a moment and go back to watching Willow. He wasn’t around for the awkward scene. One guess as to who filled him in. Bluebelle is like his baby sister, too. “First a dead father I didn’t know about, then a fiancé, and now a mystery sister.”
“Ex-fiancé,” Noah clarifies.
“Whatever. Ex-fiancé. The point is I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever extract all of her secrets or if they’ll just blindside me when I least expect it.”
“Isn’t that part of the fun?”
“Is it? It doesn’t feel fun sometimes.” It feels like extreme sports, actually. One brutal hurdle after another, wondering if I’ll ever make it to the finish line or be forced to tap out. And with the way Mergen’s blatantly displaying his feelings for her—publicly now—I don’t think I’m too far off the mark. Hence why I’m keeping him in my crosshairs.
My time’s almost up. I feel it vibrating in every cell in my body. And that means I have to make my move before he does. That means every second with Willow is more precious than the one before it.
That means I have to tell her tonight. Fuck.
Noah draws in a gulp of air and blows it out loudly. He swallows a mouthful of his rum and Coke and turns to me. “I don’t know, Merc. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t mind finding someone like her to twist me all up.”
I should be more stunned than I am, but the truth is I’ve seen a change in Noah since I started dating Willow. A good one. My lips slide up. “Really? Is that why you wanted me to talk to a certain statuesque brunette who wouldn’t give a second thought to pulling out your short hairs with sharp tweezers?”
He shrugs but the gleam in his eye gives him away.
I thought it would be fun to set the two of them up, watching sparks detonate like the Fourth of July, but Noah surprised me. He’s clearly taken interest in Willow’s best friend and roommate, though I’m not sure she reciprocated. And I’m not sure she’s the woman he should be fixated on.
“I thought you were kidding the other day.”
“I wasn’t,” he says, testily.
“Wouldn’t let you in her pants, huh?”
“Fuck off, Merc. That’s
not it.”
“I think maybe it is.”
“It’s not, okay? She’s…God.” He scratches his stubble, contemplating. “So fucking wild all I can think about is taming her.”
“She hates men,” I tell him, throwing back the last of my drink.
Another lift of his shoulders. “No. She hates the thought of men. Big difference.”
I bark a laugh. “She thinks you’re a manwhore.”
He simply grunts and slams the rest of his drink, too. “A leopard can change its spots.”
“I think you have that phrase backward, my friend.” I set my empty on the tray of a passing young waitress who can’t be more than twenty, tops. She gives me the once-over and smiles. It’s flirty and forward. A blatant invitation for a ride on my cock later.
“You didn’t,” he says rather casually, handing our waitress his own dry glass. He doesn’t even bother to look at her. She stands there for long seconds, hoping for something more than blind dismissal. When she sees she’s not going to get it, she walks away.
“I didn’t what?” I scrunch my forehead, confused.
“Have it backward. You set your sights on her.” He nods toward Willow. “You fought for her and now you have her.”
But for how long, I’m getting ready to ask when commotion and a familiar voice screeching behind me shift my attention.
I spin around to see Annabelle storming toward us, the boy she brought in tow close on her heels. She’s carrying her shoes in one hand, holding up that long skirt of hers with another as she powers forward.
She’s yelling obscenities behind her at…what was his name again? Drew? Dan? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. What does matter is the scene she’s making. While most of them are gone, a few members of the press still linger, probably hoping for this exact moment. Something juicy to print alongside a picture of my father doing something philanthropic. Bloodsuckers. All of them.
