“Dad says he’s gonna come to Atlanta at the end of the summer. For good,” Matt told me excitedly as he walked by my side toward the security checkpoint almost two days later. Those last thirty-six hours had flew by in a blur that had left me dizzy and breathless, and I felt a giant lump forming in my throat the closer we got to the cut-off.
“Can you believe that?” he asked, his small voice breaking into my thoughts. I looked down at him and gave him a smile that cut me in two.
“It’s because you’re awesome,” I said, my words coming out on a shaky breath that rattled my chest. God, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to say goodbye to Matt or Emmett, even if it was just for a little while. The last several days had gone by too fast, and so much—everything, to be honest—had changed.
I dreaded stepping onto that plane and landing in Atlanta.
When I swallowed hard, Matt gave my hand a squeeze. He stared up at me with his head tilted to one side and his moss green eyes—Emmett’s eyes—curious. “You okay, Ma?”
“I’m fine, baby,” I said, but he didn’t look too convinced. Giving me a pointed look, he held up his pinky finger. I linked mine with his. “I promise I’m okay.”
“Good. I don’t want you to be sad without me.”
“Psshh, I’ve got your zombie games and Grandpa Rich to keep me company.” Kneeling down, I ruffled my fingers through his dark brown hair. He responded in his typical fashion by ducking and weaving, but then he shrugged and threw his little arms around me. Dear god, why did it hurt this much to say goodbye?
When I pulled away from him, I tapped the bill of the baseball cap Bryce had signed for him. “You just have a good time with your dad, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I will. I’m pretty sure I’ll have enough money saved up in my swear jar by the end of the summer to buy my own cleats for baseball next year and two new games for my Vita.”
“You are relentless, you little shark,” I teased, and he threw his head back and laughed.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Emmett slowly approaching us, and my legs were unsteady as I climbed to my feet and brushed my palms over the back of my jeans. “Hey, baby, make sure you go say goodbye to Lyra, okay?” I nodded to where she stood holding up traffic as her fingers flew across the screen of her phone. Based on her gooey-eyed expression, she was probably sexting the baseball player and making him promises of all sorts of creative, gymnasty positions. “I bet she owes you a few dollars for your jar.”
His little face spread in a wide, missing-toothed grin. “Probably. Aunt Lyra cusses a lot.”
“You’re right about that one,” I said, but he didn’t hear me as he strutted toward her. At first, she beamed at him as she shoved her phone into her bag. Then I watched as her gray eyes narrowed and her hand went to her hip. I almost wanted to yell to her that negotiating with him was futile, but judging by her stern look, she was doing a damn good job presenting her own case.
I was grinning when I turned my focus to Emmett, but that expression quickly slipped away as I took in the resignation in his green eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, Hudson,” I breathed, and he pulled me to him, his fingers on the small of my back as he rested his forehead to mine.
“Can’t help it,” he said, his warm breath fanning my face when he exhaled. “Fuck, I wish you weren’t leaving. Not now. Not when everything is right and we’re finally where we should’ve been all this time. I’ve wanted you for eight goddamn years, and now that you’re mine, you’re leaving. Doesn’t seem right.”
I wished he wouldn’t say things like that because it made a dull ache spread across my chest. That ache threatened to consume me, but I swallowed hard, refusing to let it. I’d let that kind of feeling overwhelm me for far too long and now it was time to breathe.
Time to be happy.
Time to move the hell on from the past that had left us with so much hurt.
“It’s not forever,” I said, but it sounded like a question because there was still a tiny shred of doubt gnawing at the pit of my stomach. “You’ll be moving to Atlanta at the end of the summer, and when you come back from your tour—”
“We don’t have to wait ‘til the end of the tour to be together, Angel.” He feathered the pad of his finger over my cheek, and I rubbed my face against his open palm. I committed the roughness of his skin and the scent of his cologne to my memory. “You and me don’t end at summer, remember?”
“I remember,” I whispered. He had told me that so many times eight years ago. Had written it for me in a song. And he’d whispered those same words just last night, and the night before that, as I fell asleep in his arms.
“I love you, McKinsey.”
“I love you too.” I said, my voice catching on the final word because the look in his green eyes and the way he held on to me was almost too much. “Just … kiss me before I have to go, okay?”
He nodded and slanted his lips over mine, and I didn’t give a damn who might see us or what they might say because his mouth told me that everything would be alright. That this was just the beginning. That, this time when we parted, there’d be no force on this planet that would keep us apart in the long run.
After we moved away from each other, I hugged our boy again. Matt promised that he’d behave himself and wouldn’t eat too many chicken wings, and I swore I’d call him if I really did get bored and decided to play his zombie game.
“Love you, Ma,” he said, motioning for me to bend down so he could give me a quick peck on the cheek.
“Love you most,” I said.
As I headed through the security checkpoint, listening to Lyra as she talked about the impending doom that was visiting her mother in Savannah, I was quiet. I was silent as I kicked off my flip-flops and loaded them in the worn gray tub along with my purse and laptop bag. And I was still quiet when I retrieved my belongings, giving my best friend a slight bend of my head after she frowned and asked if I was okay.
But when I looked back one last time before stepping into the pathway that led to the terminal, I saw that Matt and Emmett were still on the other side of the checkpoint. Matt waved his arm high above his head, grinning at me, and Emmett simply lifted his hand and offered me a sad nod.
I waved back. Tried to smile. Tried to breathe. And at last, I whispered, “I love you guys.”
* * *
After we landed in Atlanta, I did absolutely nothing for the rest of the day except binge watch a new show that Lyra claimed I had to check out on Netflix. By the next evening, though, I was restless. Lyra had moved along to visit with her mother for a few days in Savannah. Matt and Emmett were in Dallas—my son had excitedly told me they had big plans scheduled for tonight when I had spoken to him earlier during the afternoon. And my father was in Jacksonville with his new girlfriend so even challenging him to a game of cards was out of the question.
At first, I tried the binge-watching routine again. But after about five episodes of a show that would normally have me on the edge of my seat, I was in a state of turmoil from watching the chaotic romance unfolding between the gorgeous businesswoman and the douchebag of a married politician she was in love with. I needed to get the hell out of my house before I drove myself crazy.
So, I headed to the gym.
I spent an hour and a half on the treadmill, releasing every bit of steam and frustration that pulsed beneath my skin and tuning into a rerun of the very show that had made me leave the house.
After I was done with that, and came to terms with the fact I still did not want to go back home to be alone, I found myself over at the Broad Street renovation. I showed up at the property half-expecting to discover that my father and the guys hadn’t done a lick of work since I left, but I quickly discovered that my assumptions were, once again, dead wrong.
A smile curled the edges of my lips as I walked through the freshly-painted rooms. In my absence, they’d sanded and stained the cabinets in the kitchen and restrooms—cabinets Dad had sworn up and down couldn’t be repaired. Now the old, worn oak was a rich, gleaming cherry with brand new satin nickel hardware.
The guys had also replaced the peeling laminate countertops with the simple, amber-colored granite we bought in bulk and installed the new tubs and commodes.
Hell, they’d even started to clean the place up so we could put it on the market, but their housekeeping had ended on the first floor. Upstairs, there was still a thick coat of dust and grime and nails littering the carpet.
Which was good for me because it was exactly what I needed in my life to take my mind off of everything.
“Good job, guys,” I whispered. “Good fucking job.”
After texting Clarissa to let her know we’d probably be ready to put the house on the market next week, I grabbed my car keys from the kitchen counter. I drove around the corner to the dollar store, taking my time as I picked out housekeeping supplies—everything from bleach to the lemon-scented stuff I cleaned my own bathrooms with and gloves and sponges.
Determined to spend my Sunday night with music blaring from my headphones and dirt disappearing as I scrubbed my disappointment away, I drove back to the house. As I turned into the driveway, I startled at the sight of the white sedan parked where my car had sat not even twenty minutes before.
The surprise I felt quickly gave way to another emotion—pure rage—because it didn’t take me very long to place the owner of that sedan. In fact, I remembered sitting in its heated front seat on the way to the first of a very short series of dates.
“What the actual hell?” I hissed, stalking toward the white car. The driver’s seat was empty, and when I lifted my gaze to the front door, my heart sank to my stomach. It was wide open. I reached into the shallow pocket of my workout pants for my phone, quickly discovering that it was neither there nor in my car.
I tried to remember if I’d left it at the store, but I’d only taken a twenty dollar bill inside with me. Which meant that my phone was inside that house. With a complete moron who was probably pissing on the freshly-painted walls or purposely tracking red mud across the new carpet in the bedrooms or god knows what else.
With my luck, by the time I reached the police station to complain, he’d probably burn the whole goddamn place to the ground.
“Not today,” I growled under my breath.
That part of myself that was so like my mother marched ahead of all logical thought, and before I could stop myself, I stalked into the house. I left the front door open because he would be taking himself out of it very soon.
“Dylan?” I yelled, feeling my face growing warmer. “Are you in here? Dylan!”
I found him on the second floor, running the tip of his finger along the crown molding and nodding his sandy brown head in appreciation. “Y’all really do, do good work, Kinsey,” he said, glancing up at me. “You know, my brother’s looking for someone to—”
“Stop right there.” Dear god, was he really trying to hire me for his brother? “I’ve called the cops. So you might want to go,” I said, and he cocked his head to one side and gave me a funny look.
“I just came here to talk.” I bit the inside of my cheek because he was using his Mr. Hyde voice. The question was, how soon would it be before the other half of his personality poked its crazy head out? When I pointed at the door, tapping my foot impatiently, he reached into his back pocket and held up a black phone case decorated with a quote that was written in shimmery gold cursive.
I knew that quote well—it was Mr. Darcy’s proposal from “Pride and Prejudice”—because the case, and the phone inside of it, belonged to me.
“Why the hell do you have that?” I demanded.
“You left it on the kitchen counter. I didn’t want anyone to come in and take it because I know how much you need it for your job.” His lips thinned in a smile. “I’d be lost without my phone.”
I motioned my hand for him to return the phone, but he just stood there staring at me. “How did you even know I was here?”
“I was up the street taking care of … something and saw your car as you were leaving. You’d left the front door open, and I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Though I’d forgotten my phone, I vividly remembered closing the front door before I left for the store. In fact, I’d made a note to bring my tools by tomorrow so I could fix one of the house numbers that had fallen off.
Glaring at a rung on the ladder by the window, I clenched my hands by my side until my nails created deep indentations in my palms. “Dylan, please give me my phone and leave.”
“I just came to talk to you,” he told me again, moving closer to me. He held the phone out to me like it was a peace offering, and I jerked it from his grasp. It wasn’t an offering. It was another belonging of mine he’d probably set out to destroy. “Damn, Kinsey. You don’t act like this with Emmett Hudson, do you?”
I gritted my teeth into a smile as the part of him that made my blood boil started to rear its ugly head. “Emmett Hudson doesn’t stalk me or come in uninvited.”
His gaze wandered down the length of my body, pausing at the juncture of my thighs in my compression gym pants. “I bet he doesn’t,” he said as I flinched and sucked in my cheeks at his obvious filthy thoughts.
“Dylan, go home. I’ve told you before that I’m not doing this with you. We went out for—what?—a month or two. You acted like a child and then you screwed me over. There has to be some other woman who can deal with that, but I’m not the one.”
“I’m sorry.” He reached out for me, and I slapped his hand away, the sound echoing through the unfurnished house. “McKinsey, come on, don’t be like that.”
“Don’t touch me, just leave.” But he took yet another step in my direction, and a burst of panic flared through me. My phone was locked, so I jabbed my finger against the emergency call button. Ever since my trip to juvie and then the seven-month shitcation Hazel had sent me on, interacting with the police made me nervous, but there was no way in hell I was going to let this man stand in a house I owned and intimidate me.
“McKinsey,” he said in a low voice as I turned toward the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Since asking you nicely doesn’t work, I’ll—”
He knocked the phone from my hand. It shattered against the wall, denting a small hole in the drywall, before it fell facedown on the newly laid carpet. Stunned, I blinked up at him. “I told you I wanted to talk, so we’re going to talk. You can’t just send me away and treat me like I’m garbage.”
“Are you—” I croaked, but he jerked me against his body hard. The scent of gin filled my nostrils, cluing me in on exactly where he’d been before coming here—and my chest tightened with fear. He snaked a hand around me to grab my ass. I struggled against him, punching his chest, but he tightened his grip.
“Dylan,” I said, struggling to keep my voice calm. “Let. Go.”
“You liked this before,” he accused, and I shook my head, regretting the day I’d ever let this man touch me.
“I was stupid before; now let go of me or I will fucking kill you.”
He laughed. “You’ve always liked it rough.” He squeezed my ass harder, his fingers harsh and bruising, and the breath whooshed out of my lungs. “Is that how he is? Is that who I have to be for you to give me the time of day?”
“You are insane!” I gasped, my knee connecting with his thigh when I forced it up toward his groin. He looked stunned for a moment as if he couldn’t believe I’d even think to knee him in the balls, but that look was nothing compared to the shock that rang through me when his palm collided with my cheek. He had hit me.
He had just hit me.
My head reeled and a harsh sound escaped my lungs as I reached behind me toward the ladder by the window. He was panting something against my cheek, but I could hardly hear him over the blood pumping in my ears because he. Had. Hit. Me.
Finally, my fingers brushed over one of the rungs, then another, before they closed around the edge of the metal paint tray. Swinging it around, I knocked it across Dylan’s head as hard as I could.
Twice.
He hit the carpet, and the thud that resonated through the house went straight through my chest like a bullet. Oh god. I nudged his knee with the toe of my tennis shoe. He didn’t move. Numbly, I stared down at his limp body until the edges of my vision began to blur and some of the feeling came back to my legs and hands.
Dear god.
I had really killed him.
I threatened to kill him, and now—
But then, he made a pitiful groan and his fingers twitched. Some of the fear grinding against my ribcage dissipated. It quickly returned because he wasn’t making an effort to get up. He just lay there, moaning on the floor and mumbling something incoherent. There was a deep gash on his temple that dripped crimson onto the beige carpet. What had I done?
What the hell had I just done?
My legs felt as if they were tied down with bricks when I backed away from him. Tugging my hands through my hair, I released a breath that burned my stomach and chest. Because I knew. I knew what had to happen next, and it terrified me.
Keeping my gaze on Dylan, I kneeled down to grab my phone. I discovered the screen was broken when my finger sliced across glass while I dialed 9-1-1, but I didn’t even feel the cut even as a few droplets of blood dripped onto the shattered glass.
I didn’t feel pain because all I felt was fear.
When the emergency operator answered the phone and told me to state my emergency, I barely recognized my own voice as I whispered, “I need an ambulance…”