FindingKyle
By
SawyerBennett
AllRightsReserved.
Copyright©2016bySawyerBennett
KindleEdition
PublishedbyBigDogBooks
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitherareproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.
Anyresemblancetoactualevents,localesorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
Nopartofthisbookcanbereproducedinanyformorbyelectronicormechanicalmeansincludinginformationstorageandretrievalsystems,
withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionoftheauthor.Theonlyexceptionisbyareviewerwhomayquoteshortexcerptsinareview.
ISBN:978-1-940883-71-7
FindSawyerontheweb!
TableofContents
PROLOGUE
Kyle
M
Y
ASS
HITS
the couch cushion, but no sooner do I twist the cap off my bottle of beer, then there’s a
knockatthedoor.Withasigh,Ipushbackup,setmybeerontheblacklacqueredtabletop,andmovemy
waythroughthesparselyfurnishedapartment.It’sdoneinwhites,graysandblackswithplentyofleather,
chrome,andglass.It’swaytoocontemporaryformytaste,butwhatdoIknow?I’veprettymuchlivedthe
pastthreeyearsinashithole.
Afteraquicklookthroughthepeephole,I’munlockingthedoortopullitopen.JosephKiznerstands
therewithaworriedlookonhisface.
He’salwaysfuckingworriedaroundme,andit’sgratingonmynerves.
“I’mfine,”Isaybeforehecanask,steppingasidetolethimin.
“Youlooklikeshit,”hereturnscasuallyasheshrugsoffhisheavywoolovercoat.WinterinChicago
isnofuckingjoke,butIwouldn’tknowasI’mnotallowedoutsidethisapartment.Thewallsareclosing
inonme,andallIcandoisrideitout.
Idon’taddresshiscommentonhowIlook.Instead,Iwalktothefridgetopulloutabeerforhim.He
followsmeintothemodernizedkitchen,whichisdoneallinstainlesssteelandgranite,andacceptsthe
bottlefromme.Hetwiststhecapoff,settingitonthecounter.
IwaitpatientlyasKiznertakesasip.Afterheswallows,hegetsrighttothepoint.“Thewiretapshave
beenapprovedandaregoingintoplaceaswespeak.”
Inodinunderstanding.Thatmeansshit’sgettingreal.
“We’regoingtogoaheadandmoveyou,”hesays,andthenwatchesmecarefullyformyreaction.
I’veknownJoeKizneralongtime.Overtheyears,he’slostalittlemorehairontopandgottenafew
morewrinklesaroundhiseyes,but,otherwise,he’snotchangedmuch.WeworkedtogetherattheATFon
averydangerousandhigh-profilecasethatstartedagesago,butthatdoesn’tmeanwe’vespentalotof
timetogether.That’sbecauseIwentdeepundercover,immersingmyselfintoasinistermotorcycleclub
namedMayhem’sMission.Theclubwaslongsuspectedofrunningdrugs,guns,andsexslaves.Joewas
myhandlerontheoutside.
Thecasestartedjustoverfiveyearsagoafterseveralinformanttipsstartedaddinguptoaplausible
decisiontogoin.IvolunteeredandmovedtoJackson,Wyoming,settlingintoanewlifeasnothingmore
thanamotorcyclemechanicatalocalshop.Overthenextseveralmonths,Igottoknowsomeoftheclub
members who would bring their bikes in for work. Eventually, I was invited out to some parties at the
club.Iwentonsome“charity”runs,whichwerenothingmorethanfrontstomaketheclublooklegit.I
fuckedclubwhoresandsnortedcokewithmynewbuds.Idevolvedfrommybasichumannature,andI
becamejustlikethem.
Astimewenton,Isawthings.
Isawillegalshitgodownattheclubhouse,andIkeptmymouthshut.Ididthisallunderthewatchful
eyeoftheirleader,Zeke,until,afteralmosttwoyears,heapproachedmetopatchinwiththeclub.
I’dbeentested,ofcourse,beforetheoffercametome.
Atestthatwillprobablycontinuetohauntmeasitinvolvedconveyingaverydirectmessagetooneof
Zeke’s enemies, and while said enemy was a lowlife piece of criminal shit who had just gotten out of
prison for raping a sixteen-year-old girl, I still see rivers of blood on my hands because I became his
judge,jury,andexecutionerinonefellswoopjustsoIcouldpassZeke’stest.
That’swhenIbecamearealcriminalaswell.
Forthreeyearsafterthat,Irodewiththeclub.Ifacilitateddrugdeals,helpedtotransportwomensold
intoslavery,andIhurtcountlesspeoplewhotheclubfeltdeservedtobehurt.Iparticipatedingangbangs
withmynewbrothers,andIlivedwithoutasinglefuckingregardforthelawthatI’dsworntoprotect.
ButIdidallofthiswiththesanctionoftheU.S.government.Asadeepundercoveragent,Iwasgiven
absoluteautonomyinmyactionstohelpsolidifymypositionwithintheorganizationsothatI’dbegivena
positionoftrust.Itwassortofa“don’task,don’ttell”typeofpolicy,andJoewillneverknowthetrue
extentoftheheinousthingsIdidtoplaymypart.
Thereafter,itwasamatterofcollectingevidenceandinformation,andthenpassingitonascarefully
as possible to Joe. We barely saw each other over the three years I was deep because it was just too
dangerous,butIdidmyjobanddiditwell.Igarneredenoughevidencethatjustafewshortmonthsago,
theATFwasabletobringdownMayhem’sMissionandtheiroperation,whichwasspreadoutoverthe
entirewesternpartoftheUnitedStates.
ThiswasoneofthemostremarkabletakedownsinATFhistorybecauseanagenthadneverbeenthat
deepbefore,orstayedthatwayforthatlong.Buttherealfeatherinmycap,whichwillearnmeahefty
promotion,apayraise,andprobablysomepresidentialmedalorsomeshit,isthatIwasabletolearnthat
oneveryhigh-rankingU.S.senatorfromColoradowasdeepintobusinesswiththeclub.Thesenatorhad
state-level cops in his pockets. They were able to pull strings all the way down to local police so that
blind eyes were turned to most of the criminal activity. The club made millions of dollars on their
enterprises,andthatmoneysurgedupwardtorewardthesenator.
WhileIwasabletoprovideplentyofdirectproofagainstZekeandtheclub,I’dneverbeenprivyto
any actual exchanges between the club and the senator. As such, the ATF was quietly moving to get
federal wiretaps in place, because while Zeke headed the largest chapter of Mayhem’s Mission in the
UnitedStates,itwasn’ttheonlyone,andtherewasplentyofshitstillgoingdown.
WhichbringsmebacktoKizner’svisittothisapartmentthatI’vebeenholedupinforalmostthree
monthsnow.
“Movingme?”Iask.
“We had to disclose you as a witness when we sought the wiretaps,” he returns. “You’re now
officiallyatarget.”
“NotgoingintoWITSEC,”Itellhimadamantly.NowayamIgivingupeverylastvestigeofcontrolto
theU.S.Marshal’sandtheirwitnessprotectionprogram.
“Stupidfuck,”hemuttersinreturn.
WhentheATFtooktheclubdownbackinOctober,Iwasstillindeep.Theywereabletosecurethe
compound and make their arrests without one Mission gang member knowing I was a rat. When they
bustedinwiththeirflash-bangsandSWATgear,Itookoffrunningaswastheplan.Iwentouttheback
door,alongwithtwoothergangmembers,andwefledintothebackwoods,allthreeofussplittingupin
variousdirections.
IstayedhiddenuntilIwaslaterextractedwithsuchsecrecythatonlythreepeopleintheentireATF
knewofmywhereabouts.ItlaterwentdownintheofficialreportthatI’dbeenexecutedbyZeke’sright-
handman,aMissiongangmemberwhohadtakenabulletbetweentheeyesduringtheraidandcouldn’t
sayanythingtothecontrary.
So,onOctobertwelfth,IwasofficiallydeclareddeadandwhiskedawaytohideoutinChicagountil
theATFcouldfinishbuildingtheircaseagainstthesenatorandthelawenforcementofficialswhowere
onthetakeaswell.
“WITSECisyoursafestoption,Kyle,”Joeremindsme.
“It’sawastedresourceonme,”Icounter.“Icantakecareofmyself.”
“Butyou’dhaveaddedprotectionuntilthisgetstotrial.”
“You mean, I’ll have watch dogs that will curtail my freedom,” I tell him with a pointed stare. I’d
been locked up here in this tiny apartment for almost three months, and I was going stir crazy. I wasn’t
abouttostayinthistypeofsituationgoingforward.
“To help keep you alive until trial,” he again pushes at me. “And we need you for the trial. Every
singlefuckingarresthingesonyourtestimony.”
“Well,gee,Joe,”Isaysarcastically.“I’mgladyou’reworriedaboutmepersonallyandnotjustasa
valuableasset.”
Joesighsandrubshishandalonghisbaldinghead.“I’mnotevengoingtoaddressthat.YouknowI’m
worriedaboutyoupersonally.”
Isighaswell,rakingmyfingersthroughmylong,blondhair.It’stakenonafewextragraysoverthe
lastfewyearswithalltheshitI’veseenanddone.“Iknow,andIappreciateit.Ifyou’lljustgetmeanew
identityandsendmesomewhereremote,I’llhandlemyself.Icankeepmyselfsafeuntilthetrial.”
“There’smoretoitthanjust—”
“I know,” I cut him off. “So set up bank accounts under my new name, move my monies in there
becauseGodknowsI’vesavedafuckofalotofmoneyoverthelastthreeyearstheATFwaspayingme,
andIdon’tknow…getmeajoborsomething,soIcanstaybusy.”
Joestaresatmealongmomentbeforehesays,“Youknowifyoudon’tgointoWITSEC,you’reon
yourown.Andyouknowhe’llsendpeopleafteryou.”
“He”beingthesenator,andInod…becauseyes,Iknowthisisadistinctpossibility.
“Then make sure you send me somewhere he’ll never find me, and then cover my tracks,” I say
simply.Thegovernment’sbeenhidingwitnessesfordecades,andthey’regoodatit.
Joetakesalongslugofhisbeerbeforesettingtheunfinishedbottledownonthecounter.“Alright.It
willtakeafewdaystogeteverythingsetup.I’llbeintouch.Untilthen—”
“Stayintheapartment,”Imutter.
Itsuckeddonkeydickbeingdeadandhavingtohide.
CHAPTER1
Kyle
S
HE
’
S
HAD
ENOUGH
.
Shesitsonthecoldconcretefloor,slumpedforwardasfarasshecanbecauseherarmsaretied
behind the four-by-four post and her legs are sprawled out in front of her. Her head hangs low,
stretchinghernecktoitslimitsandcausinghermattedandblood-crustedhairtohangoverherface,
soIcan’tseethemiseryinhereyes.Yeah…she’shadenough.
Kaylathrowsanicybucketofwateroverthewoman,butshedoesn’tevenflinch.
Notsatisfiedbythatlackofreaction,Kayladrawsherfootbackandkicksthewomaninthethigh.
Noreaction.
Bendingover,Igrabahankofhergnarledhairandpullherheadup.She’scompletelylax,eyes
closedandmouthhangingslightlyopen,butshe’snotfeelinganythingatthismoment.Islidemygaze
overtoKayla,wholooksatmeexpectantly.
“She’shadenoughtoday,”Itellher.
“Maybeanotherbucketofwaterwillwakeherup,”shesuggestspointedly.
I shake my head and release my hold on her. Her head flops back down, and I ignore the roil of
acidgurglinglowinmybelly.Shakingmyhead,Itellher,“Nah.Tryagaintomorrow.Maybeusinga
knifeonheragainwillgethertoloosenhertongue.”
Kayla gives a cackle of glee over my suggestion, and her eyes turn darkly clouded with wicked
desire.Desiretocontinuehersicktortureordesireforme,Ican’ttell.Shelicksherlipsasshelooks
atme,andIhavetorepresstheshudderthatwantstoovertakemybody.
Instead,IliftmychinupatherasifIshareherdelightintormentingthiswoman.Kaylagivesme
amischievouswinkandsays,“Tomorrowthen.I’llstartwiththeknives.”
Myeyessnapopen,buttheydon’tseeadamnthing.Theroomispitchblackatfirst,butthenthesoft
glowofmoonlightofftheAtlanticOceanstartstolightenmysurroundings.Iscrubmyhandsovermyface
brieflybeforekickingoffthecoversandrollingoutofmybed.TheflooriscoldbecauseIdidn’tbother
turningtheheatonlastnight.Eventhoughit’sMayandspringisinfullgear,itstillgetschillyatnight.My
heartrateisonlyslightlyelevatedfromthatnightmare,butmyskinfeelslikeit’scrawlingwithants.
Idon’tdreamofMaggieoften,butwhenIdo,it’sthatparticulardream.I’mnotsurewhythatdream
plagues me because while it was definitely horrendous what we did to her, it’s certainly not the worst
thing I’ve done. On top of that, I broke every protocol in the book for an undercover agent by rescuing
MaggiefromthatbasementwhereKaylawastorturingher.Ididitinthedarkofthenightwheneveryone
was asleep, and I did it knowing I could be blowing three years of undercover work just to save one
woman’slife.
Inhindsight,itworkedout,butalsoinhindsight,itwasprobablyastupiddecision.ThatiswhatI’m
havingahardtimereconciling.ProbablywhyIkeepdreamingofit.
Ipadoutofthesmallroomtothebathroomjustonedoordown,flippingonthelightandmomentarily
blinkingagainsttheharshglare.Bendingoverthesink,Iturnthecoldwateronandletitrunforafew
secondsbeforecuppingmyhandsunderit.It’sicyandabrasiveandexactlywhatIneed.Isplashthree
handfulsonmyfaceandgiveahardrubtomyeyesbeforeIstraightenupandlookatmyselfinthedingy
mirrorabovethesink.
Dead,bleakeyesstarebackatme.Thelightestofblues…practicallycolorless.Theyhadneverheld
much warmth in them to begin with, but coming out of the dregs of my memories, they seem to almost
shimmerwithafrostinessthatmatchesthecoldfeelinginsidemyveins.
ThemanstaringbackatmeisnamedKyleSommerville.
Well, that was his name as of last October, but then he was shot, execution style, in the back of the
head.That’stheofficialstorythatwasgiventomyonlylivingrelative,mysister,Andrea.Shewastold
her brother was an undercover agent, a hero, and that he sacrificed his life to take down Mayhem’s
Mission.ThedayafterI“died,”Ibecamesomeoneelse.IkeptmyfirstnamebecauseIwastolditwould
makeitaneasiertransitionforme,butIhadnosay-soinmynewlastname.
Andfrankly,Ididn’tcare.
Itwasjustaname,soIbecameKyleHarding.
The“new”KylewhostaresbackatmelooksnothingliketheoldKyle.I’velostalittleoverthirty
poundsoverthepastsevenmonths—bydesign—andthegauntanglescausedbytheweightlossandthe
removalofafuckofalotofmylong,blondhairandbeardleftanewmaninitsplace.Manypeoplewho
gointohidingcolortheirhair,butallIdidwasremoveit,sonothingisleftbutveryshortstubblethat
actuallyappearsdarkagainstmypaleskin.PutarecentpictureagainsttheoldKyleandnobodywillseea
resemblance.I’mhidinginpracticallyplainsight.
My gaze drifts down past my jaw to halfway down my throat. Tattoos rise above the collar of the
white t-shirt I’d worn to bed. Now those tattoos… those would identify me as Kyle Sommerville, so I
keep them hidden as much as possible. I moved to Maine from Chicago in February. Those first few
months were bitterly cold, and it wasn’t a problem to hide my tats. But it’s May now. The weather is
startingtowarm,sothey’llbepartiallyvisible.
Oh,well.
IseriouslydoubtanyonefromMayhem’sMissionor,evenworseyet,acertainsenatorwhoprobably
didn’ttakekindlytohisarrest,aregoingtolookformehereinMistyHarbor,Maine.Thisisaboutasfar
offthefuckinggridaspossibletoget,andItrusttheU.S.Marshal’soffice,inconjunctionwiththeATF,to
havecrossedallt’sanddottedalli’swhenitcametocreatingmynewidentity.
I’dlovenothingmorethantoreturntobedandfallbackasleep,butI’vehadthatnightmareonetoo
manytimestoknowthatwon’tfuckinghappen.Withasigh,Iturnthefaucetoffandblotmyfacewiththe
handtowel,decidingtoheadoutforalate-nightdrink—orten—andmaybeforsomethingelsethatwill
helpmesleep.
♦
T
HE
L
OBSTER
C
AGE
isadivebarthatsmellslikeseasaltandfish.That’sbecausemostoftheinhabitants
workthenumerouslobsterboatsthatprowlthelocalwatersbyday.ThejukeboxisplayinganoldJohnny
Cashtune,butit’sturneddownlow.Themenherearen’tinterestedinloudmusicorentertainment.They
wanttogetdrunk,andpossiblygetlaid,thenthey’llgotosleepbeforetheyhitthewaterstomorrowfor
anotherhardday’swork.
Thepungentscentofcheapperfumehitsmynosebeforethescantilycladasshitsthebarstoolbeside
me.It’sgettinglate—orrather,earlymorning—andthereareonlyahandfulofpeoplestillhere.I’vegota
goodbuzzgoingasInursemyfourthwhiskey.
“Hey stranger,” the woman purrs beside me, but I don’t even bother turning my head. Her perfume
identifiesherclearly.“Haven’tseenyouaroundinawhile.”
That’strue.ImovedtoMistyHarborinFebruaryandsincethattime,I’veonlybeenhereahandfulof
times.Still,I’vecomeinenoughtimesthatI’mknownbythebartenderandafewoftheotherlocals.
“What’sup,Barb?”IreturngrufflyasIstaredownintomyliquor.IfIweretolookather,I’dseea
womanwhohasthepotentialtoreallybepretty.Butshemarsthatupwithtoomuchmakeupandtoomuch
hairfrizzedupallovertheplace.She’sgotadecentbody.Eveninthewintermonths,it’salwaysonfull
displaywithlotsofcleavageandlegsshowing.ShehasnoclueI’veseensomuchofthatinmylifetime
thatit’ssortoflikelookingatthesamepieceofarteveryday.Nomatterhowfantasticorbeautifulitmay
be,whenit’sseenoverandoveragain,itjustceasestobespecialanymore.
She’snothingspecialatall.
“Lookingforagoodtimetonight?”shepurrs,herhandgoingtomythighashernailspressdowninto
thedenim.
Goodtime?
Yeah,thatisnotwhatthiswillbe.
Achancetobustanut?
Absolutely.
Ipickupmyglassandtossbackthelastofthewhiskey.Settingtheglassbackonthegrimybartop,I
shootalookattheold,grizzledbartender—aretiredlobstermannamedGus—andgivehimaslightshake
ofmyheadtolethimknowIdon’twantanother.Hemerelygivesashortnodandletshisgazegobackto
theTVabovethecashregisterwhereanoldblack-and-whitemovieisplayingsilently.
Pushingoffthebarstool,ItakeBarb’shand.“Let’sgo.”
Ipausebrieflyatthedoorsoshecannabherjacketofftherack,andthenweheadoutsideintothe
chillynight.
♦
I
T
TAKES
LESS
thanfiveminutestogetmyfix.
Less than thirty seconds to lead her around to the rear of the building that’s completely darkened
because Gus is too lazy to replace the back door light. If there was a light, I’d see that the gravel and
hard-packeddirtarelitteredwithemptybeerbottlesandusedcondoms.
After another thirty seconds, Barb’s got my dick her in her hand and her mouth on my neck as she
worksmeup.Ileanbackagainstthebuildingandclosemyeyes,concentratingonthefeelofasofthand
onmycockratherthanmyowncallusedpalm.
It’snice.
Iguess.
Afewmorestrokeshasmerockhard,thenshe’supagainstthedirtybrickwallandI’mliftingupher
shortskirt.We’vedonethisatimeortwo.Withpracticedhands,shegetsacondomonmeandthenI’m
inside,herlong,skinnylegswrappedaroundmywaist.Shemakesamovetokissme,butIturnmyhead
andburymyfaceagainsthershoulder.
Ihavenoclueifshegetsoff,but,inlessthanfiveminutes,Ido.
Overanddonewith.
Ifeelslightlybetter.
♦
B
ACK
IN
MY
bed,justbeforeIturnoffthelamp,Inoteafewwaterstainsontheceiling.I’llneedtocheck
the roof boots to make sure they’re adequately caulked. It’s time to start getting the cottage and tower
repairedforthesummertouristseason.Thatwillbegood.AtleastI’llbebusy.
Thiswinterwasharshandtherewasnothingtodo.WhileIamindeedhidingout,itfuckingsucked
beingstuckinsidemostofthetimebecauseoftheweather.
Istarttogetdrowsy.EventhoughIdon’twantmyattentiontogothere,ithappensanyway.
Sevenmonthsagowasmydeathday.
IbecameKyleHarding.
Istartedanewlife.
I’minhiding,waitingforthedaythatImightbeabletoresumemylifeagain.
Turningmyheadslightlytotheleft,Ilocatethesmallbedsidelampandreachouttoturnitoff.When
theroomisplungedintodarkness,Istareupwarduntilmyeyesgrowheavyandmybreathingturnsslow.
ThelastthingIthinkaboutbeforeIgotosleepisthelookinKayla’seyeswhenIsuggestedsheuse
theknivesonMaggieagain,andIknow,withoutadoubt,I’llbedreamingofthatagain.
That’sokay.
Iconsiderittobeapartofmypenance.
CHAPTER2
Jane
L
EANING
MY
STOMACH
againstthecounter’sedge,IstarethroughtheopenplantationshuttersasIsipmy
coffee.Itshouldbeacrimeforamantolookthatgood.No,actuallyasin.Itshouldbeasintolookthat
good, and it should be addressed in the Bible. Or maybe it is, because I’m pretty sure the way I’m
covetingmyneighborhasprobablybeenwrittenaboutatimeortwo.
It’srelativelymildforthemiddleofMayinMistyHarbor,andIsawtheforecastisactuallygoingto
hittheuppersixtiestoday.Itwillstilldipbackdowntothefortiestonight,but,fornow,I’mlovingthis
weather. It means my window is open to let in the spring breeze, my shutters are thrown wide, and my
neighbor across the private lane that separates our properties has his shirt off as he power washes the
lighttower.
It’satrulymarvelousday.
Inhaling deep, I take in the smell of sea spray and the viburnum that’s started to bloom under my
kitchen window, and my lips curve upward. I love spring so much—the way it represents renewal and
hope. The winter this past year in Misty Harbor was brutal, but it’s over now. I’m looking forward to
spendingasmuchtimeoutdoorsasmyschedulewillallow.
My little cottage sits on the west side of Cranberry Lane, just across the dusty road from my new
neighbor,amanI’veyettomeetinpersoneventhoughhe’sbeenhereafewmonths.There’dbeenarumor
thatthetowncouncilwaslookingtoreplaceoldmanBoggsasthekeeperoftheGrayBirchLighthouse,
ashe’dletthetowerandattachedcaretaker’scottagefallintohorribledisrepair.Inaddition,thecouncil
wantedtoopenthelighthouseupfortouristsinthesummerasameanstobringinalittlebitofincome
into our small town. We didn’t quite have the influx of people visiting the way Bar Harbor did across
Frenchman’sBay.
TherumorwaslaidtorestwhenoldmanBoggsactuallyfelldownthespiralstaircasethatledupto
thetowerinJanuaryandsufferedabrokenfemur.Aquickhuntwasontofilltheposition,and,beforeI
knewit,IsawmynewneighbormoveinonasnowynightbackinearlyFebruarywhenhisoldpickup
truckrumbleduptothecaretaker’scottage.Hehadnothingbutalargeduffelbagthathecarriedin,andI
knowthisbecauseIwatchedsilentlyfrommykitchenwindowwhileImadeacupofhotchocolate.
Nowthatthecoldweatherisgoneforgood,IexpectI’llbeseeinghimoutsidealotmoreashemakes
repairstotheproperty.Iwillnotbeaverseifit’sdonewithouthisshirtonlikehe’sdoingnow.While
he’sagoodhundredyardsaway,Icanseethatthetophalfofhisbackiscoveredwithtattoos,aswellas
his ribs on his right side and most of both arms. He turned toward my house once to adjust the power
washer, and I saw a large tattoo over his chest that crawled slightly up his neck. The details weren’t
ascertainable—itwouldrequirebinocularstoseesuchathing—butI’mnotthatmuchofastalkeratthis
point.
MyiPhoneringsandwhenIglancedowntowhereitsitsonthecounter,Iseeit’sMirandacalling.I
pickitupandanswer.“Goodmorning.”
“Whatchadoin’?”shesortofmumbles,andit’sclearshe’seatingwhiletalking.
“Spyingonmyhotneighborashepressurewashesthelighttower,”Itellherasmygazenarrowsback
inonsaidman.“Whatchaeatin’?”
“Corn Flakes.” I hear her take another slurping bite, after which I think she asks, “What’s he
wearing?”
“Jeans,”Itellher.“Faded.Wellfit.Workboots.Oh,andtattoos.He’swearinglotsoftattoos.”
“I’monmywayover,Jane,”shesays,herspeechnowremarkablyclear.Ihavetosmileathertrainof
thoughtbecausewhilemybestfriendMirandaandIareaboutasoppositeasnightandday,webothshare
ahealthyappreciationforahotmaninourlittleout-of-the-waytown.
“Can’tspywithmetoday,”Ishootherdownnotsogently.“Margery’sgoingtobehereanymoment
forherlesson.”
“PissonMargery,”Mirandagrumbles.
“She’stenyearsold,”Ichastiseherwithalaugh.“Youcan’tsaythataboutakid!”
“Icanwhenshestandsbetweenmeandoglinghot,tattooedmancandy,”sheretorts.
“You’resobad,”Ireprimandher,butshe’salltalk.MirandalovesMargeryasmuchasIdo.“Wantto
grabsomedinnerwithmelater?”
“Can’t.I’mworkingtonight.Butyoucouldcomehangoutforadrink.”
Iwrinklemynose.Mirandaworksthreejobs,oneofwhichisslingingdrinksataseedybarherein
Misty Harbor called The Lobster Cage. She only works a few nights a week there, but it helps to
supplementhermainjobasahairdresser.Sheisalsoawaitressatoneofthepopularrestaurantswhen
she can manage to pick up a few shifts. While Misty Harbor’s population will swell somewhat in the
summer months, it’s hard to stay afloat doing haircuts and highlights for a town of less than a thousand
permanentresidents,particularlysinceshe’snottheonlyhairstylistaround.
“Haveyoumethimyet?”Mirandaasks,turningthesubjectbacktothemanI’mstillstaringat.
“Not yet,” I say glumly. I’d left a basket of baked goods on his doorstep a few weeks ago with a
handwrittennotewelcominghimtoMistyHarbor,butIhadn’theardapeepoutofhim.Hedidn’teven
havethegoodgracestoreturnmybasket.“Imadesomemuffinsandleftthemathisdoorstepafewweeks
ago,buthe’snotcomeovertothankmeyet.”
“Probablybecausehebrokeatoothononeofthem,”Mirandasaysbluntly,andwhilemostwouldbe
offended,I’mnot.Sometimesmybakingleavesalottobedesired.Notevenpausingtoseeifshehurtmy
feelings—whichshedidn’t—shesays,“Justgooverrightnowandintroduceyourself.”
“Can’t,”Ireturnquicklyandremindher,“Margery’scoming.”
“Well,afterMargery’slesson…gooverthere.”
“Maybe,”Ihedge,becausewhilethere’ssafetyandsecurityinleavingabasketofmuffinsthatmayor
maynothavehadtheconsistencyofbricks,I’mnotsureI’dhavethegutstoactuallyapproachhim.
“Okay,” Miranda says firmly. “I’m coming over tomorrow. We’ll both go over and introduce
ourselves,okay?”
“Maybe,”Isayagain,andI’mprettysuremyhesitationmeansI’mjustcontenttooglefromadistance.
There’ssomethingaboutthemanthatseemsabitdarkanddangerous—whichisprobablyjustthelarge
amountoftattooshe’ssporting—andthatissonotmytype.
“Alright,chicky,”Mirandachirpsintothephone.“I’mgoingtogohopintheshower.Talklater?”
“Sure.Talklater.”Idisconnectandsetmyphonedown,resumingmyleanagainstthecounter.Iwatch
myneighborandwonderwhathisstoryis.
After he arrived in February, I hardly saw him emerge from that little cottage during the winter,
although I know he must have as he needed groceries at the very least. I never saw him around town,
though, and that was nearly impossible to do because Misty Harbor was tiny. Its entire length could be
walkedintenminutes.Everyonekneweveryone,andwhilethefishermenandlobstermencouldbecrusty
bastardsattimes,mosteveryonewasfriendlyandoutgoing.
Miranda did tell me that she’d seen my strange neighbor come into The Lobster Cage on two
occasions. By her accounts, he just sat at the bar and quietly drank, not engaging in conversation with
anyone.He’sdefinitelyalonerandisn’therebecauseofanytiestothearea.Thismakesmewonderhow
heevengotthejobasthelighthousekeeper,becauseit’saprettyplumassignmentfromwhatIhear.
TendingtheGrayBirchLighthousedoesn’ttakemuch.Thelightthatwarnsboatsoftherockyjettyand
shallows that must be traversed around before entering Misty Bay runs on electricity with a backup
generator,soit’sprettyself-sufficient.Pastthat,thekeeperalsohastokeepthetowerandcottageingood
repair, but those are mostly patch jobs and spring cleanings that are done once a year. The job’s pretty
cushy.Iimagineitdoesn’tpayalot,butI’veheardtherentonthecottageissupercheap.
Asoftknockatmydoorstartlesme.Withonelastlingeringlookatthehotguypressurewashingthe
lighthouse,Isetmycoffeecupdownandheadtomyfrontdoor.
WhenIopenit,littleMargeryDennisonbeamsupatmewithabrightsmile.“Hi,MissCresson.”
“Goodmorning.”Ibeambackatherasshewalksin.“Youreadyforyourlesson?”
Shenodsenthusiastically.“I’vebeenpracticing.”
MysmilebrightensbecauseMargeryhasalotoftalentandtakesherstudiesseriously.Istartedgiving
herprivateartlessonsaboutthreemonthsagowhenitwasclearshewasheadsandshouldersabovemy
otherstudentsatSchoodicMiddleSchool.AfterItalkedwithherparents,theygladlysenthertomefora
weeklyprivatelesson.Iwasmorethanhappytosupplementmyteacher’sincomewiththelessons,even
thoughIalsotaughtartatthejuniorandhighschoolsaswell.OurschooldistrictwassosmallthatIhad
toteachatthreeschools,andIwasstillstrugglingtomakeendsmeet.Theprivateartlessonswerethe
perfectwayformetohavesomebreathingroom,soIwouldn’thavetoworkatTheLobsterCagewith
Miranda.
Margeryshrugsherlightweightcoatoffandstartstotugatthehoodieshehasonunderneath.Whileit
mightgetupintothesixtiestoday,it’sstillabitbrisk.
“Keepyourhoodieon,”Itellher.
Herheadtiltstothesideinquestion.
“We’regoingtositoutsideonmyfrontporch,”Itellher,hopingI’mnotgoingtogotohellforusing
thistimetocontinuetooglemyneighbor.“We’llworkonawatercolorofGrayBirchLighthousetoday.”
“Cool,”shesaysinresponse.
Iturntowardmystudio,whichisnothingmorethanmysparebedroomconvertedintoaplaceIcan
workonmyownstuffwhenIhavetime.“Comehelpmegetallthematerials,andwe’llgetsetup.”
Andmaybe…justmaybe,ifmyneighborseesussittingoutfrontpaintingthelighthouse,hemightbe
inclinedtocomeoverandthankmeforthosemuffinsIlefthim.
CHAPTER3
Kyle
I
REST
THE
tip of the shovel into the ground, put my boot on the edge, and punch it down into the soil.
Pushingonthewoodenhandle,Ipopupachunkofearth,liftitup,andturnitovertodumpitbackdown
again.Irepeatthisprocessdowntheentireflowerbedthatrunsthelengthofmybackporch,andwhen
I’mdonewiththat,Iusetheshoveltobreakuptheclodsofdirt.
Standing up straight when that’s finished, I wipe the back of my gloved hand over my forehead and
huffoutabreathoffrustration.
Thisfuckingsucks.
WhileIdidn’texpectthere’dbeanythingglamorousabouthidingoutfrommyenemies,Ireallydidn’t
envisionalifethatconsistedofgardening.Andyes,whileIknewtheparametersofthejobJoehadfound
forme,IguessIdidn’trealizejusthowmuchI’dhatesomeofthedomesticshitI’vehadtodoaroundthis
place.Imean,itwasonethingtopressurewashandpaintthelighttowerlastweekbecausethat’samanly
job,butcomeon…plantingaflowerbedwasnotonmybucketlistofthingsIwantedtotryout.
Iknewfuckaboutgardening,butbecausemakingthelighthousegroundsprettyandinvitingtotourists
was part of the job description, I had to man up and learn how to do it. I spent a few days watching
YouTube videos because I didn’t want to go to the local library to check out how-to books, and then I
madeaquicktriptoalocalgardeningcenterandnurserythatGusrecommendedtomelastnightwhenI
stoppedinforadrink.
AndhereIam,fuckinggardening,andtheonlythingthatwouldmakemelookmoreridiculouswasifI
werewearingoverallsandmaybeastrawhat.
Snickeringtomyself,IimaginewhatanyoneofmyMayhembrotherswoulddoiftheycouldseeme
now. Well, the obvious answer is they’d kill me since I was an undercover agent, but, outside of that,
they’dprobablystomptheever-lovingshitoutofmetoknowthatoneoftheirtough,badassbrotherswas
gardening.
What really blows about the work I’m doing is that, in a few weeks, the town of Misty Harbor is
goingtoopenupmyhometotouristswhowanttoseethelighthouse.It’sonlyonSaturdaysfromtento
four,andIdon’thavetobeherebecauseoneofthemembersofthetown’shistoricalsocietywillgivethe
tours,butstill…thisismyhomeandit’sbeenmysanctuary.Thethoughtofstrangerstramplingthrough
pissesmeofflikenothinghasinaverylongtime.OnthoseSaturdays,IfigureI’llbespendingmytime
gettingshitfacedatTheLobsterCage.
Myphonestartsvibratinginmybackpocket,soIshovethespadeintothegroundtofreemyhands.I
don’tevenbotherglancingatthecallerIDbecausethere’sonlyonepersonwhohasmynumber,andhe’ll
becallingmefromaburnerphoneanyway.
Myhandler…JoeKizner.
“What’sup?”IaskasIconnectthecall.
“Justcheckingin,”hesayscordially.“CasehasbeensetfortrialtostartonSeptemberninth.”
That’salittleoverthreemonthsaway.Hopefullythen,Igetmylifeback.
“What’sthescooponLatner?”IaskasmyeyesdriftpastthebackofmycottagetotheAtlanticOcean
that’sassmoothasglasstoday.
“He’slookingforyou,”Joesayssoftly.
Thisisnosurprise.SenatorLyleLatnerofthegreatstateofColoradohadbeenimpeachedfromoffice
once he was arrested and charged with a list of crimes that involved conspiracy, collusion, money
laundering,andawholehostofotherchargesthatwouldensurehewenttojailfortherestofhislife.If
he’sconvicted,he’sgoingdownandnevercomingbackupagain.
SinceI’makeyelementtohisconviction,Iexpectedhe’dputhislistofcriminalcontactsinusetotry
tofindmesohecouldeliminateme,whichwouldsolvemostofhisproblems.WhileIwasnotdirectly
privytohisdealingswithMayhem’sMission,Iamthemainwitnesswhowillbringtheclubdown.Once
theygodown,thesenatorisgoingdownaswell,particularlybecauseofthewiretaps.
“Yougood?”Joeasks,andIknowwhathe’sreallyasking.Mythoughtsgotothecacheofweapons
I’vegothiddenaroundmycottage,aswellastothesecuritysystemI’dinstalled.IwasasreadyasI’d
everbeifsomeonecameafterme.
Ofcourse,they’dhavetofindmefirst.Iwasn’tsurehowthatcouldhappen.Again,onlyJoeandtwo
othersintheATFknowwhereIamhidden,thetwoothersbeingbossesaboveJoe’spaygrade.
“I’mlockedandloaded,”Iassurehim,becauseIdoknowheworries.MyrefusaltogointoWITSEC
meant I was protecting myself with no other agents to watch my back. “You think the trial will start as
planned?”
Joe huffs out a breath. “You know how it goes. Everyone’s saying they’re ready to go, but
continuanceshappenallthetime.”
Icandoanotherthreemonths,butthethoughtofmuchlongerhereisnotsettingwell.“Thenyourelay
totheprosecutornottoagreetoanycontinuances.”
“Youknowthat’snothowitworks,brother,”Joechastises.
Myfrustrationboilsover,whichdoesn’ttakemuchnowadays,andIgrowlbackathim.“I’llgiveita
fewmoremonthshere,Joe,butthenI’mcomingoutofhiding.Iwantmyfuckinglifeback.IwantAndrea
toknowI’malive.”
“Take it easy,” Joe says in his attempt at a soothing voice. “There’s a process, and we have to go
throughit.”
“Igaveoverthreeyearsofmylifetoourgovernment,”Isayinalowvoicebristlingwithanger.“I
wantitback,andIwantitASAP.Don’tletthemcontinueit.”
“It’soutofmyhandsandyoudamnwellknowit,”Joeretortsback,losingpatienceaswellsinceI’m
being a dick. “Besides… you’re in a good place, Kyle. Think of this as a much-needed vacation. It’s
beautifulthere,right?Howabouttryingtoenjoyit?”
Yeah, it’s fucking beautiful all right. Beautiful ocean, beautiful spring weather, and a goddamn
beautifulneighborwhonevermissesanopportunitytogivemeacheerywaveandabreathtakingsmileif
wehappentobeoutsideatthesametime.Ineversmileorwavebackasthatwouldencourageher,andI
don’tneedanycomplicationsinmylife.
Icertainlydon’tneedanymoreofhermuffins,whichwereawfulandhadtobetossed.Ishouldhave
keptthemasweapons,butIfiguredthey’dattractants.
“I’ll check back with you in a few weeks,” Joe says, jarring me out of my thoughts. “Sooner if
anythingelsehappens.”
“Yeah,man.Talktoyoulater.”
After I pocket my phone, I head back around to the front of my house. My truck is in the gravel
driveway, loaded with flats of flowers that I need. When I turn the corner, I stop dead in my tracks.
Crossingthedirtroadthatseparatesourpropertiesismyneighbor,andshe’swalkingstraighttowardmy
cottage.
Mymotherfuckinggorgeousneighbor,who,asshegetscloserandcloser,isevenmorebeautifulthanI
was able to discern from a distance. She’s got golden-yellow hair that hangs in loose curls past her
shoulders.Whileshe’sdressedsortofprimlyinaflowereddressofpinksandyellowsalongwithawhite
cardigan,it’soffsetbythefactshe’swearingapairofbeaten-upgrayChuckswithoutanylaces.
Igetallofthatinacursoryglance,becauseI’mtrainedtoabsorbdetailsquickly,andthenIturnmy
backonherasIgotomytruck.Maybeshe’llgetthehintandveeroffhercurrentpath.
Determinedtoignoreher,Istalktomytruckandgrabthefirstflatofflowers.Myshoulderslocktight
whenIhearhersayrightbehindme,“Hey.”
I grit my teeth for a brief moment before unclenching them to mutter a return, “Hey” without even
lookingather.
WhenIturntowardthebackofmyhouse,Ihearascrapingsoundbehindmeandimmediatelylook
overmyshouldertoseehergrabbingasecondtrayofflowersfrommytruck.
IcurseundermybreathandpracticallystomparoundthehousetotheflowerbedI’djustturnedover,
dropping the tray in frustration. When I turn around, she’s right there, giving me a big smile that does
nothingtodiminishthefullnessofherlips.“Needsomehelp?”
“I’mgood,”ImutterasIpullthetrayoutofherhandsanddropitbesidetheotherone.
Istarttobrushpasther,butshestepsintomypathandIcomeupshort.
“I’mJaneCresson,”shesaysasshesticksoutherhand.“ThoughtI’dintroducemyselfsincewe’re
neighbors.”
Myeyesflickdowntoherhandbeforecomingbackupagain,buttheonlythingIgiveherismyname.
“Kyle.”
“Well, pleased to finally meet you, Kyle,” she says cheerfully, and fuck… she almost emanates
goddamnsunshine she’s soperky and radiant.“And actually… I cameover to getmy basket back from
you.”
“Basket?”Iaskdumbly.
“Basket,” she affirms with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “The one I left on your doorstep eons
agowithhomemademuffins.I’msureyouremember.”
Yeah,Irememberthem.Theminiatureassaultweapons.
“SoI’dliketogetitbackifyoudon’tmind,”sheprodsmegently.“Andthen,Idon’tknow…maybe
youcouldaskmeouttodinnerorsomething?”
Myentirebodyjerks.Iblinkatherseveraltimes,tryingtofigureoutifIjustheardwhatIthoughtI
did.“I’msorry…what?”
“Well,youknow,”shesaysassheclaspsherhandsinfrontofherandlooksatmesweetly.“Imade
youhomemadetreatstowelcomeyou,andIthoughtyoucouldthankmebytakingmeouttodinner.Orjust
coffeewouldbefine,too.”
“I’mnotfollowing,”Isay,mymindactuallyreelingwiththethoughtthatshe’sessentiallyaskingme
outbygoadingmeintoaskingherout.
Janegrinsatme.“Whatwe’vegothereisafailuretocommunicate.”
Ijustblinkather.
“CoolHandLuke,1967,”shesaysasshewaitsformetorecognizethemovieline.
Iignoreherattempttowinmeoverwithherpersonalityandcute-as-fuckquoteofaveryappropriate
movielinebymovingpasthertoheadbacktomytruck.“Sorry.Notgoingtotakeyououttodinner.Or
coffee.”
IfIthoughtthatwouldputheroff,Iwassorelymistaken.ShefallsintostepbesidemeasIwalk,and
Christ…Icansmellherperfume.Thescenttotallyfitsher.Itsmellslikecoastalsunshine…saltairand
sweetcoconutoil.
“Well,Ithoughtyoumightsaythat,”shesaysslyly,andIdon’tdarelookather.Instead,Ireachinto
mytruckandpulloutanotherflatofflowers.Shedoesthesame,andwebothturnbacktothecottage.“So
I’minvitingyoutodinneratmyplacetonight.I’mmakingapotroast.”
“Nothanks,”Imutterevenasmystomachgivesaslightgrumble.Ihaven’thadadecentmealsince
I’vecomeherebecauseIcan’tcookworthafuckandI’venotreallyventuredoutmuch.
“Dinner’satseven,”shesaysfirmly.
Iturntoherandglare.“Isaid…nothanks.”
Shebeamsthatsmileatme,andInoteherteetharewhiteandherlipsadelicateshadeofpink.
Fuck…whendidIstartnoticingorevencaringaboutthosethings?
Janestepsintome,hersmilestillwideanddazzling.Sheleansuponhertiptoesandwhispers,“This
isthebeginningofabeautifulfriendship.Casablanca,1942.”
Goddamnit,she’scute.Thatmakesherseriouslydangeroustoamanlikeme.
Taking a step back—for her preservation or mine, I’m not sure—I ask, “What’s up with the movie
quotes?”
Sheshrugs.“Justahobby.Ilovemovies.SomeIlovesomuchthatIwatchthemoverandoveragain,
soItendtomemorizelines.”
“Well,Houston,”IdrawlasInarrowmyeyesandgivehermyfiercestglare.“Wehaveaproblem.
I’mnotcomingtodinner.Now,ifyoudon’tmind,I’vegotafuckofalottodotodayandI’dliketoget
backtowork.”
“Sure,”shesayssweetlywithanodofherhead.“Butdinner’satseven.Hopetoseeyouthen.”
Igrowllowinmythroatbutdon’trespondtoher.Instead,Itosstheflatofflowersdownandstalkto
thesidedoorofmycottagethatleadsintothesmalllaundryroom.It’sjusteasiertoleavethebattlefield
thancontinuetoengagewithher.I’llfinishplantingwhenI’massuredshe’sgone.
♦
A
SOFT
KNOCK
atmydoorhasmetensingup,andIclosethebookI’mreading.Thepriorcaretakerhada
prettygoodcollectionofclassicsthathelefthere,andI’vebeenreadingthemintheevenings.Tonight,
I’mdoingare-readofCalloftheWildbecauseitwasmyfavoriteinhighschool.
Settingthebookdownonthecushionbesideme,Iglanceattheclockonthewallthatsitsadjacentto
thefireplace.
Eight-thirty.
Leaning forward, I reach under the couch and grab my Ruger 9mm pistol, but I don’t make a move
frommyseat.Ilistenandwait.
Afterafewminutes,withnotanotherknocksounding,Ipushoffthecouchandgotomyfrontdoor.I
alwaysleavetheporchlighton.AsIpullthecurtainaway,Idon’tseeanyone.
Iunlockthedeadboltandpullthedooropen,leaningoutslightlytolookleftandright.
Noone.
AsIstarttoshutthedoor,Inoticesomethingonthestoop.
Abasket,coveredwithared-and-whitecheckedlinencloth.
Bendingover,Ipickitupandfliptheclothback.Insideisaplastic-wrapcoveredplatefilledwith
whatlookslikepotroast,potatoes,andcarrots,withanothersmallerplatebesideitwithwhatlookslike
chocolatecake.
I turn my head to look at Jane’s house and can just make out her form moving across her darkened
frontyard.
Withasigh,Ibackintomyhouse.Takingthebasketwithme,ofcourse.I’mnotabouttopassupa
home-cookedmeal,thoughIcanonlyhopeshecooksbetterthanshebakes.
CHAPTER4
Jane
M
Y
ALARM
CLOCK
goes off, and I come out of a dead sleep. Reaching out, I slap at the “off” button,
managingtosilencethealarmonmyfirsttry.I’mnotonewhomakesrepetitiveuseofthe“snooze”button,
and that’s mainly because I’ve always been a morning person. I’ve also got a very structured routine
duringtheschoolyearthatletsmewakeup,haveacupofcoffee,shower,drymyhairandputonmakeup,
andgetdressed—allinunderanhour.Themiddle,juniorhigh,andhighschoolallsitonthesamepiece
ofpropertyontheoutskirtsoftown,soit’safifteen-minutedrive.Ieatmybreakfast—usuallyatoaster
pastry—alongtheway.
Irolltomysideandsituponthesideofthebed,archingmybackandlettingoutahugeyawn.The
sunlooksbrightoutsidemyblinds,andIcanalmosttastethesummerthat’sjustaroundthebend.Thisis
thelastweekofschool,andI’mactuallygiddyoverhavingthenextfewmonthsoff.
I’m in mid-stretch/yawn when I hear a weird clanking sound from somewhere in the house. This
doesn’tnecessarilyalarmmebecausethislittlehousewasbuiltintheforties.Thereareusuallyclanks
andgroansfromsomepipeorventthatoccurperiodically.I’mrentingthehousefornowbecauseithasan
amazingviewofthelighthouseandtheAtlanticOcean,andIdon’twanttobuyunlessIcanfindsomething
equallyascharming.Andthere’salwaysthepossibilitymylandlordwouldselltomeatsomepoint,but,
fornow,I’mcontenttojustrent.
Ipopupoffthebedandignoremyrobe,whichislaidacrosstheendofthebed.Eventhoughit’sthe
firstweekofJune,thetemperaturesstilldiplow.IalwaysturnthefurnaceonsoI’mcomfortableatnight.
Aftermyshower,I’llshutitoff,preferringtoopenmywindowstotheniceoceanbreezethatwillkeep
theplacesufficientlycooledduringtheday.Anairconditionerjustisn’tneededintheseparts.
AsIexitmybedroom,Iheartheclankingsoundagainandturnleftoutofthehallwayasit’sclearly
comingfromthefrontofthehouse.Withmyheadtiltedtotheside,IlistenasIstepintothekitchen,and
thereitis…Ihearitagain.Aclankingsoundthatlastsforjustafewsecondsbeforeitgoessilentagain.
Ilooktowardthekitchensinkandwait.
Andthereitisagain.
Exceptthistime,theclankingdoesn’tstop.Iwatchindazedamazementasthekitchenfaucetactually
startstoshake.Theclankinggetslouder,andItakeatentativesteptowardthesound.Thefaucetrattlesin
place,almosttothesamebeatoftheclanking,andIhearahissingnoise.Itaketwomorestepsthatputme
rightinfrontofthesink,andIreachoutahandtotouchthespout.BeforeIcanevenmakecontact,the
hissingnoisestops,theclankingfallssilent,andeverythinggoesstill.Iletoutasighofrelieffollowedby
anervouslittlelaugh,butit’scutshortwhenaloudnoisethatsoundslikemetalbeingshearedpiercesthe
quiet.Ageyserofwatershootsupwardfromwherethefaucetsits,blowingthedamnthingclearoffits
mounting.
I let out a shriek of surprise as the faucet falls into the sink with a clatter. My hands go out
automaticallytotrytostemthefountainofwaterthat’ssprayingupsohighthatit’shittingtheceiling.I’m
sodiscombobulatedthatmysinkjustexplodedIcan’tthinkwhattodo,soIpushmyhandsdownontothe
geyserofwaterlikeI’llmiraculouslymanagetoputitallbackwhereitbelongs.Thisonlyservestoshoot
thewateroutatvariousangles,includingstraightatmyfaceandchest.Withinmoments,I’mcompletely
soaked.
Perhapsit’stheicywaterhittingmyface,ormaybeit’seventhefactthatI’manaturallybrightperson
withgoodreflexes,butithitsmeallofasuddenthatI’vegotaburstpipeandIneedtoshutoffthewater.
Iimmediatelydroptomykneesaswatercontinuestoshootupwardbeforerainingdownonmyback
as I pull open the cupboard doors below the sink and start pulling out the barrage of cleaning supplies
I’vegotunderthere,franticallytryingtoclearapathtotheshut-offvalve.AsIpullawayahalf-empty
bottle of Lysol that I throw over my shoulder, my eyes go to the pipes and the shut-off valve that… is
fuckingmissingtheactualknobtoturnit.AllIcanseeistheendofabolt-lookingthing.Iquicklyprocess
I’mnotturningoffthewaterthisway.
Butagain,I’maquickthinker.Withamutteredcurse,Isurgeupward,onlytoslipandslidemyway
acrossthewetlinoleumaswatercontinuestospewoutofmysink.Iturnintothehallway,usingmyhand
onthecasingaroundthekitchendoortokeepmybalance,andsprinttothebackdoor.Iburstthroughit,
turning to my immediate left to a door that leads into an outside utility room. I open the door and
immediatelylooktotheredhandleoftheshut-offvalvefortheentirehouse.It’suphigh,butIalsohave
aneight-footladderleanedagainstthefarwall.Igrabit,pullthelegsopen,andscrambleupit.Grabbing
ontotheredhandle,IpulldownwardwithanexpectantsurgeofreliefthatI’vefoundawaytosolvethis
probleminwhatwasreallyonlyafewseconds.Lessthanaminutedefinitely.
Unfortunately,thehandledoesn’tbudge.Itrypushingitupward,butIknowthat’snotright.Ithasto
comedown,andIdubiouslyeyetherustaroundtheboltthatholdsitinplace.
“Fuck,”Imutter,whichisuncharacteristiclanguagefromme,butit’swarrantedinthiscase.
Igrabthehandleagain,laymyotherhandontopforextraleverage,andliterallystarttopullwithmy
entirebodyweightasIletmykneesbendsoIstarttosinkdownwardfrommyperchontheladder.
Ihearacreak,andthisbolstersme.
Ipullharder,givinganunladylikegruntwithmyeffort.
Withascreamofrustandmetal,thehandlemovessoswiftlyIalmostfallofftheladder,butImanage
togainmybalance.IttakesmeseveraldumbblinksofmyeyesasIstareatthehandlethatbrokeoffandis
nowsittinginmyhandstoregisterwhathappened.Iliftmyheadslowlyandgazeupatthevalve,still
wide open and now with no clear way on how to shut it off. I can still vaguely hear the hiss of water
sprayingfromthekitchenthat’sfilteringthroughtheopendoors,andIfeelmymindcompletelyshutdown.
In an instant, I become a totally helpless female, and there’s only one man close enough who could
potentiallysalvagemyhouse.
WithoutathoughttothefactI’mbarefoot,soakedthroughtothebone,andlookinglikeadrownedrat,
Iscrambleofftheladderandjetoutoftheutilityroom.Irungingerlyalongthesideofthehouse,thelawn
startingtosoftenwithnewgrassbutalsostillhavingpricklywinterbladesbeneath,andslowabitfurther
asIcrossoverthedirtlanethat,whilemostlydirt,alsohasrocksandsomegravelmixedwithin.It’sback
toacautiousrunacrosshisyardanduphisthreeporchsteps.
I’mnotsurprisedtoseeKyle’soldtrucksittingoutsidehiscottagebecausewhereelsewouldhebeat
6:45inthemorning?NeitheramIreluctantintheslightesttostartbangingonhisfrontdoor,franticwith
thethoughtthateverypassingminuteprobablymeansanotherinchofwaterinmykitchen.
It’s probably after only about seven bangs on the door, which are hard enough to rattle the small
squarepanesofglasswithin,thatIhearaverygrumpyvoiceyellout,“I’mcoming,forfuck’ssake.”
Myhandfallsawayfromthedoor.IbouncefromfoottofootwithanxietyasIwaitforhimtoopenit.
I’mpracticallyhoppingwitheagernesstogethelpatlastwhenIhearthelockturning.
Kyle pulls the door open. His eyebrows shoot high when he sees me there. He holds my gaze
impassivelyforasecondbeforehelooksslowlydownmybody,takinginmywethair,soakednightgown
anddirtyfeet.
“Pipe,”Igaspout,realizinghowoutofbreathIamnotonlyfromtheadrenalinecoursingthroughme,
butalsofromthemaddashoverhere.“Burst.Watereverywhere.”
Hiseyessnapbackuptomine.“What?”
Andthen,completelunacyburstsforthfrommylipsasIholdouttheredvalveforhimtosee.“Help
me,Obi-WanKenobi.You’remyonlyhope.StarWars,1977.”
Hedoesn’tlaugh.
Hedoesn’tsmirk.
Hedoesn’trollhiseyes.
Buthedoesoffermeaid.“Letmegetmytools.”
Kyle turns away from me and walks back into his house, leaving the front door open. I stay on the
porch,continuingtorockfromsidetosideonmyfeetwhileshootingcautiousglancesbackatmyhouse,
afraidI’llseeageyserburstthroughtheroofatanymoment.
“Let’sgo,”Kylesaysashereappearsholdingatoolbag.Forthefirsttime,Inoticehedoesn’thavea
shirton.Justapairofjeans—fadedandwellfit—alongwithapairofunlacedworkboots.I’mthinkingI
mighthavewokenhimup.Whilethiswouldbeprimeopportunityformetocheckouthistattoos,Ican’t
eventhinkaboutthatnow.
Idon’twaitforKyle.Iturnaround,practicallyflyoffhisporch,andstartrunningbacktomyhouse.I
canhearKyle’sheavybootshittingtheearthrightbehindme,clearlyimpressedwiththeurgencyofthe
matter.Theminutemyfeethitthedirtandgravellane,Islowconsiderablyandcursetomyselfwhenthe
rocksdigintomyfeetasIstarttohobbleacross.
I’msurprisedwhenanarmwrapsaroundmywaistandI’mliftedoffmyfeet,whichdanglejustabove
therockydirtroadasKylecarriesmeacross.
Howgallant.
Howverysweet.
Hepracticallydumpsmetothegrasswhenwereachtheotherside.
Howbarbaric.
Butstill,he’scomingtohelp,soIcan’ttakehimtoomuchtotask.
Wejogalongmyhouse.Justwhenwenearmybackdoor,Kyleasks,“Didyoutrytoshutoffthewater
anywhereelse?”
HeclearlyrecognizedthatthemainvalvewasbrokenoffwhenIhelditupforhimtoobservejusta
fewminutesago.
“Yes,” I huff out at him as I point my finger toward the open back door. “It’s the kitchen sink. The
valveunderneathdoesn’thaveaknobonit.”
“Let’s start there,” he mutters and heads into my house. I follow behind, but he doesn’t need my
directions.HejustfollowsthesoundofOldFaithfulblowingsteadilyinmykitchen.
Icringeasweenter,particularlybecausethere’sagoodtwoinchesofwateronthefloorthat’sstarted
runningintothelivingroomandpartiallydownthehallway.Kyledoesn’thesitate.Hejustwalksstraight
intothewaterfallthat’srainingdown,droppingtohiskneesinfrontofthecupboard.Hepeersinashe
setsthebagontheground.Afteronlyamoment’sperusal,he’spullingoutanadjustablewrench.
IknowIshouldprobablybedoingsomethingconstructive.Likegatheringtowelsandblanketstosop
upwater,orevencallingtheschooltotellthemIwillmostdefinitelynotmakeitinontime.
Instead,Isuccumbtoacaseofthestupids as Kyle turns onto his back and scoots under the sink to
manipulatetheshut-offvalvewithhiswrench.Igetthestupidsbecausehisabscontractasheholdshis
headupandhisthighmusclesbulgeunderhisjeans.Igetanabsolutelyunimpededviewofthetattooson
hischest,andnowIhaveamomenttoreallylook.
Well,reallyit’sjustonetattoothatstartsinthecenterandspreadsoverbothofhispecs.Frankly,it’sa
little terrifying. It’s a hollow-eyed skull with sharp, pointed teeth that drip blood, and eye sockets with
flamespouringoutofthem.Theflamesarepulledupward,almostasifbyasilentdraftofair,andthen
lickafewinchesuphisneck.Belowtheskull,whichcomestomidsternum,thewords“FearMe”are
written in capital gothic letters. To the left of the skull, running right along his collarbone, is the word
“Mayhem’s.”Ontheotherside,runningalongtherightcollarbone,istheword“Mission.”
Iwonderwhatthatmeans.WhileIreallyknownothingaboutKyleatallotherthanhe’ssurlyandrude
inadditiontobeinghot,Igetthedistinctimpressionthathe’snotamantobetrifledwith.Infact,I’dbet
he’snotsomeoneyou’dwanttocrosspathswithatall.
Kylestartstoscootoutfromunderthecabinet,andIblinkrapidlytodispeltheimagesofwashboard
absandscary,freakytattoos.Ialsorealizethatthewaterhasbeenshutoffandisnolongerspraying.
Whenheemergescompletelyfromunderthesink,hesitsupandrestsanarmonhisknee.“Youneed
togogetsomeclotheson.”
“Huh?” I ask dumbly as I stare at him, trying to see if those tattoos perhaps make him a merciless
killerthatI’veunwittinglyinvitedintomyhouse.
Kyle’seyesflickdowntomychest,andthenbackupagain.
I slowly lower my eyes and immediately flush hot with embarrassment as I see my very wet white
cottonnightgownisabsolutelysee-through,andthereisnoroomlefttotheimaginationastowhetheror
notthecoldmakesmynippleshard.
MyarmsflyupandIcovermychest.SpinningawayfromKyle,Imutter,“I’llberightback.”
Withmyfaceflaming,Islidemywayacrossthefloorandscurrytomyroom.WhileI’dverymuch
like to crawl into bed and hide away from that man until he leaves, since he just practically saw me
naked,IforcefullypushmydiscomfortasidesoIcangetdressedquickly.Istillhaveaverywaterlogged
housetodealwith.
CHAPTER5
Kyle
C
HRIST
,
SHE
’
S
A
mess.
Asoggy,hard-nippledmess.I’mgladshe’sgone,soshedoesn’tseethefactIgothardtheminuteshe
showedupatmyfrontdoorandIsawherlikethat.
Assoonasshedisappearsdownherhallway,Ipushoffthefloodedfloorandpickmytoolbagup.
Tossingthewrenchinside,Ilayitonthecounterandlookaroundtosurveythedamage.
It’snotoverlybad.Itappearssheactuallyreactedprettyquickly,andwithastraighthead,bytrying
firsttoshutthewateroffunderthesinkandthenattemptingthemainvalve.There’salotofwateronthe
floor,butifitgetscleanedupquickly,itprobablywon’tcauseanyfloordamage.
Islidemygazeintothelivingroom,seeingaquiltdrapedoverthebackofthecouch.Isloshthrough
thewaterylinoleumandnabthequiltbeforedroppingittothefloorrightwheretheopenkitchenmeetsthe
livingroom.Thewaterhasalreadystartedstreamingpastthelinoleumandontothehardwoods,andthose
needprotectedthemost.Luckily,thequiltislargeenoughthatitquicklyabsorbsthebitofwaterthathad
reachedthewoodenflooring,whiletemporarilystoppingthestreamfromgoingfurther.
I turn back into the kitchen, intent on raiding her drawers for at least dish towels, when I hear her
gasp. I turn to see her standing just inside the kitchen—adequately dressed, so I can’t see her breasts
anymore—herarmsloadedwithtowels,buthereyesarepinnedonthequiltI’djusttosseddown.
“Youdidn’tjustthrowthatquiltontothewater,didyou?”sheasksindisbelief,hereyesroundingin
horror.
“Yeah,why?”Icounter,quitegrumpilybecauseathankyouwouldhavebeennice.
Janeturnsandstompstowardme,splashingwaterasshecrossesthekitchen.Shethrewonapairof
graysweatpantsandanavysweatshirt,butherfeetremainbare.Hernailsarepaintedaprettylightpurple
color.
Sheshovesthetowelstowardme,actuallypushingthemhardintomychest,asshesnaps,“That’sa
quiltmygrandmothermademe.”
Fuck.
Just…well,fuck.
Icautiouslywatchasshescoopsthesoddenquiltfromthefloorandjuststaresatit.IhavenoclueifI
ruineditornot,butitlooksokaytome.Just…wet.
Withoutanotherword,Janeturnstothefrontdoorandcarriesthequiltoutside.Ibusymyselflaying
downthetowelssheunloadedonme,soppingupthemess,whilethrowingglancesatherthroughtheopen
door. She takes the quilt and stretches it across the front porch rail, which is already bright with the
easternsunthatjustroseabovetheAtlanticnotlongago.
TheminuteIgetallthetowelslaidout,Iturntothefirstoneandpullitup.Itakeittothesinkand
wringasmuchofthewateroutasIcanbeforethrowingitbackdowntosopupmore.Irepeatthisprocess
afewtimes,andthenJanecomesbackinandstartstodothesame.Weworksidebysideinsilence,andI
have to wonder why I’m still in this house helping her. I fixed her immediate problem, and she’s well
equippedtodealwiththerest.
“Thankyouforhelpingme,”shesaysquietly,butIdon’tbothertolookather.Imerelypickupanother
soddentowelandtakeittothesink.“AndsorryIsnappedatyouaboutthequilt.”
“DidIruinit?”Iaskgruffly,notlikingthisfeelingofguiltbubblinginmystomach.
“Idon’tthinkso,”shereturns,andIriskalookather.Shegivesmeanencouragingsmileandsays,“It
shouldbefine.”
“Good,”Imutterandwringoutthetowel.“Youownthisplace?”
“Irent,”shesayslightly.“I’llhavetocallthelandlord.”
“Thepipesprobablyneedreplaced,”Iobserve.“Thisplacelooksprettyold.”
“That’sgonnasuck,”shemumblesasshepullsupawettowelandwalkstowardme.“Butafterall,
tomorrowisanotherday.GonewiththeWind.1939.”
She gives me a cautious smile, filled with hope and optimism that this mess won’t be as dire as it
seems.
“Didanyoneevertellyouthatquotingmovielinesisannoying?”Iaskbluntly,becauseIsuckatpolite
conversationwithanormalperson.
Janechucklesatmeassheputsthewettoweloverthesinkandwringsitout.“Allthetime.”
Ifeelmylipsstarttocurveupward,soIturnawayfromherbeforeshecansee.Ishouldjustthrowthe
toweldownandmakemyexcusestogo,yetIfindmyselfpullinganotheroneupfromthefloor.
“I’m just glad it was confined to the kitchen,” Jane says. It’s clear she has no problem making
conversation.“I’dbedevastatedifmyartsupplieshadbeenruined.”
It’spainfullyclearshe’sthrowingoutinformationtome,probablyinanefforttogetmeinterested.I
clampmymouthshutanddon’tbothertoinquire.
Jane’snotdauntedthough.Shecontinuesrighton,andhonestly…hervoiceissweet,cheerful,andnot
atallhardtolistento.“I’manartteacher,bytheway.Teachmiddle,junior,andhighschool,andItutor
parttime.Ialsopaintandsellsomeofmystuff,butyouknowhowitgoes…starvingartistandallthat.”
No, I really don’t know how it goes. Never met an artist. Never been interested in art unless the
qualityofmytattooscounts.
There are several minutes of silence that seem awkward to me as we continue to work, but I bet
Jane’snotfazed.Sheseemsthetypetotakethingsinstridewithanunfailingwellofoptimismtobolster
herself.
Whenwegetupmostofthewater,IplacethetowelI’djustwrungoutontothekitchencounterand
decidetomakemyselfscarce.“I’mgoingtoheadout—”
“Sowhat’syourstory?”sheasksatthesametime.
Mybodytightensasmywallsgoup.“Nostory.Justmovedhereseekingsomesolitude.”
Janethrowsawettowelinthesinkwithasplatandshakesherhead.Hereyesareknowingwhenshe
says,“No.There’sastorythereforsure.”
“Don’tknowwhattotellyou,”IsaydismissivelyasIgrabmytoolbag.
“Whereyoufromoriginally?”shethrowsout.
Thewordscomeoutinvoluntarily,andIcringeovermylackofcontrol.“Maryland.”
“Didyoualwayslivethere?”
“No.”
“Whereelsehaveyoulived?”shepushesatme.
“Allover,”Ihedge.
“You’resortofvague,”shepointsout.
“Exactly.”
“Andtaciturn.”
“Alsotrue.”
“Yeah,”shesayswithachuckleashereyessparklewithamusement.“There’sastorythere.Butdon’t
worry.Iwon’tprodatyoutoomuch.Irespectsecrets.”
Igiveagruntofacknowledgmentandnodmyhead.“Well,Igotworktodoatthecottage…”
“Sothere’sanartandmusicfestivalintownthisweekend,”shesaysinanabruptchangeofsubject.I
bracebecauseIsenseanotheroneofherspontaneousattemptstogooutwithme.“Youshouldcome.I’ve
gotabooththere,andyoucanseesomeofmyartwork.”
“Notreallymything,”Isay,tryingtosoundgentle.
AndwhyinthehellamIbeinggentlewithher?
I’mnotagentleman.
IeasepastJanetowardthefrontdoor,givingherawideberth.Ineedsomespacefromher.
“There’sgoingtobesomegreatmusictoo,”shecallsafterme.Idon’teaseuponmystrides,because,
inthelasttwentyminutesorso,I’vecometolearnthatJaneisaverytemptingwomandespiteallofmy
sensesscreamingatmetostayawayfromher.
“Nothanks,”Isayloudenoughthatshecanhear.
I’matthedoorbutstillcloseenoughIhearhersighwithsomethingthatbordersbetweenfrustration
andresignation.“Okay.Well,thanksagainforhelpingmeout.”
Istoprightinthemiddleofthedoorway,myhandontheknob,preparingtopullitshutbehindme.
Lookingovermyshoulderather,Imakemyselfsmileather.Ittakesgreateffortandfeelsforcedonmy
face.I’msuresheseesthataswell.
“Thanksfordinnerlastnight,”Itellher.“Itwasreallygood.”
Shebeamsthosepearlywhitesbackatme,andfuckittohell…Iseehopeblossominginhereyes,
whichareastunningshadeofmeadowgreen.“I’mglad.I’llmakeitagainsometimeforyou.”
Fuck.
I turn away from her and start to pull the door closed, but I’m stopped when she says, “Oh… and
Kyle?I’lldropbysometimesoontogetmybasketsbackfromyou.”
Yeah,Ihavetoshutthisshitdown.Icannothavehergettingattachedtome.Ican’thavehertryingto
wormherwayintomylifethat’sbuiltupondreadfuldeedsandalitanyoflies.Idon’tknowJaneatall,
butIknowshe’swaytoogoodtogetmixedupwiththelikesofme.NomatterhowmuchI’mattractedto
her—nomatterhowintriguedIambytheverylightthatradiatesfromherpersonality—Icannotgothere.
Ever.
“I’llleavethemonmyporchstepwhenIgethome,”Itellherpointedlywithadullvoice.“Youcan
getthematyourconvenience.”
Andthattotallyworked.Thesmileslidesrightoffherfaceandhereyesgoflat.Shegivesmeaslight
nodandmurmursincompleteresignation,“Okay,sure.That’sfine.”
Inodbackather,contentI’veputheroff,andyetoddlydissatisfiedatthesametime.I’mcompletely
miserablehereinhidingandwantnothingmorethantogetbacktomyoldlife,butI’vejustmanagedto
cutouttheonethingIfindtobegoodrightnow…andthatsortofseemsstupidasfucktomeforsome
reason.
CHAPTER6
Jane
“Y
OU
TOTALLY
UNDERPRICED
that one,” Miranda says lazily as she nods her head to the painting. It’s a
thirty-by-thirtywatercolorinasimplewoodenframepaintedadistressedgray.I’vegotitproppedona
tabletopeasel.It’sbyfarthebiggestpaintingI’mdisplaying,and,frankly,it’smybestonetoo.Ihavesix
othersremainingonthedisplaywallbehindus,withthehopeIcantemptsomeartenthusiasttogivemy
workashot.
The Misty Harbor Music and Art Festival is a great way to start summer and serves as the official
openertotheshorttouristseasonwehavehere.We’renotbigenoughtohavejustamusicfestival.Even
lesspeopleareinterestedinartthanmusicsotheygotthrowntogether,butit’saprettyfuntime.Various
artisanssetupboothswhereeverythingfromarttocupcakescanbeboughtwhilebandsalternateonan
elevatedstageonthetownsquare.
I’ve participated in this event as an art vendor for the past six years—ever since I graduated from
college.ItwasonlythenIfeltIhadthenecessarychopstoexhibitmywork,becauseeventhoughI’dbeen
paintingsinceIwasakid,itwasonlyhavinganartdegreebehindmynamethatgavemetheconfidenceto
showmystufftothepublic.Eachyear,I’vemadesomemoney.Someyearswerebetterthanothers,butno
artisttrulydoesitforthemoney.Imean,it’sgreattohavetheextracashbecauseteachersmakesquat,but
IknowI’llneverberichfrommyart.Andthat’sfinebyme,asIneverhadthoseaspirations.Forme,life
isexactlyperfect.IliveinacommunityIlove,havefamilyandfriendsclosebyandakick-assjobwhere
Igettopursuemypassioneverysingleday.Icouldn’twantformore.
“Underpriced?”IaskasIturnmyheadtoMiranda.“It’snotevenbeenseriouslylookedatallday.I
shouldbecuttingtheprice,particularlybecauseIdidn’tglassitinandtheframeisprettycheap.”
IhadopenedforbusinessattenAM.Mirandametmehereatninetohelpmesetup,sonowwe’re
justrelaxinginapairofrattybeachchairsshe’dbroughtalong,waitingformymorepotentialcustomers
toperhapssaunterby.I’dsoldfourpaintingssofar,buttheyweresmallandonlythirtybucksapiece.It
wasgettingclosetodinnertime,though,andthingswouldreallystarttogetbusysoon.
“It’smagnificentandyouknowit,”shereturnsdryly,hereyesflickingtothepaintingandbacktome
again.“Andglassiseasytoadd.Peoplearen’tpurchasingthatframe.They’repurchasingtheartinside.It
ismerelyfordisplaysoitcanrestontheeasel.”
She’srightaboutthat,andit’salotnicerlookingthanjustthepainting,whichisdoneonwatercolor
papertapedtoaboard.Rightnow,itlooksprettyniceasitsitsontheeaselatanangle,soIcanclearly
seeitfromwhereI’msitting.Andtruthbetold,it’sprobablymybestworksofar.It’softheGrayBirch
Lighthouse.Ididitafewweeksago,inspiredperhapsbythefactI’dstaredatthatoldlighthousealot
knowing that it was now inhabited by a sexy, mysterious man. But he really has nothing to do with the
painting itself, for he’s not in it. I just happened to catch it one morning as the sun was rising on the
Atlantic, so there are swirls of orange, pink, and yellow stacked on top of a grayish-purplish ocean.
That’sallinthebackground.Thefocalpointisthelighthouseasthewhitestuccoexteriorsoakedupthe
colors of sunrise, even reflecting off the glass panes surrounding the light at the top. I made the frame
myself, including the distressed gray paint job, and priced it for one hundred and fifty dollars, which I
thoughtwasreasonable.Sadlysofar,noonewasinterestedinshellingthatout.
“Ibetnooneisevenlookingatitseriouslybecauseit’sunderpriced,”Mirandasuggests.“Youneedto
giveitapricethatproclaimstotheentireworldthatthebuyerisgettingapricelesspieceofart.”
Istareatherforamoment,seeingshe’snotbullshittingme,andIfigureshemightbeontosomething
andIreallydidn’thaveanythingtolose.
Scramblingoutofmyseat,Iroundthetableandpluckupthelittleindexcardrestingatthebaseofthe
easel where I had carefully printed the price in black sharpie. As I crumple the card up, I move back
around the table, sit on my chair, and reach under the table where I’d put my purse. Nabbing my black
sharpieandsomeextraindexcardsout,Icarefullyprintoutanewpriceaftertossingtheoldcardintomy
purse.
“Howabout…twohundred?”IaskjustasIfinishthelastzeroontheprice.
“Stilltoolow,”Mirandasays.
Withahuff,Itossthatcardintomypurseandpoisethemarkeraboveafreshone.Turningmyhead,I
looktomybestfriendintheworldandaskher,“WhatshouldIaskforit?”
“Threehundredandfiftydollars,”shesaysearnestly.Firmly.WithtotalbeliefthatIcangetthatformy
work.
It’soneofthemanyreasonsIloveher.
MirandaandIwenttoschooltogetherfromkindergartenup,butwehadn’tbeenclosefromthestart.I
mean, we knew each other because our school was small, but she had her friends and I had mine. We
wereacquaintances,Iguess.
ThatallchangedinthemiddleofoureighthgradeyearwhenMiranda’sparentswentthroughavery
bitter and nasty divorce. Worse yet, it was public fodder because Miranda’s mom had cheated on her
father…withanotherwoman.Ourtownissosmallthatitwasn’tasubjectthatwouldgetsweptunderthe
rug. People whispered and hypothesized about what could drive her mom to become a lesbian, and
sadly…allthosewhispershitMiranda’searsbecausekidstendtobemorevocalthanadults.
Mirandagotmercilesslyteased.Shegotviciouslybullied.
Thentheworstthinghappened.Ifoundmyselfinagroupoffriendswhostartedbullyingher.Iwas
quietatfirst,usuallyawkwardlywalkingawaywhentheystartedinonher,becauseaslongasIwasn’t
sayingthosenastythingstoherface,she’dsurelyunderstandIwasn’tapartofit.
Itwasn’tuntilIwalkedbyMirandainthehalloneday—aloneandwithoutmyfriends—thatIsmiled
atherandaskedhowshewas.Sheglaredatme,tuckedherheaddown,andspedpastme.ItwasthenI
realizedIwasguiltybyassociation.
Theverynextdayduringourlunchbreak,IspiedtwoofmyfriendsstandingbehindMirandainthe
lunchline.Theywereclearlyharassingher,astheywereleaningintowardherandhershoulderswere
hunchedforwardalmostprotectively.
Ididn’teventhink.
Ijustwalkedstraightuptomyfriendsandlaidintothemgood.Ididitloudlysoeveryoneheard,andI
diditwithasmuchderisionasIcouldmustersotheywouldhavetheunequivocalrealizationthatIwas
disgustedbythisbullying.
ThatwasthedayMirandaandIbecamebestfriends.Icouldnarrowitdowntothatexactmomentand
thewayhereyeswatchedmewarilyasItoldmyfriendsoff.ItwasalsothedayIlostthoseotherfriends
andwasshunned,butthatwasfinebyme.Mirandawasenough.Shewasahandful,infact,andtothis
day… I still have no clue what those other girls were saying. As far as I know, they could have been
discussingtheweatheratthemomentIwalkeduptothem,butIdon’tregretamomentofmyactions.
The funny thing is… Miranda and I are like night and day. She’s a pessimist, and I’m an optimist.
She’s wild and crazy, and I’m calm and sedate. My humor is quirky and adorable, hers is biting and
sarcastic.She’sgothairthecolorofmidnight,whilemine’sthecolorofthesun.Buttheonethingwehave
in common despite all those differences is love and loyalty, and it’s never wavered since eighth grade.
Even when I went away to college—which was really only forty miles away so I was home often—
MirandaandIneverdriftedapart.Imadenewfriendsatcollegewhileshewenttocosmetologyschool,
butweneverletdistanceornewinterestsdriveawedgebetweenus.
Sowhenshelooksatmeandhonestlytellsmethispaintingisworththreehundredandfiftydollars,I
totallybelieveher,becauseshebelievesitaboutme.
“Threefiftyitis,”IsayasIneatlyprintoutthenewpriceandthenrestitagainsttheeasel.
When I’m seated again, Miranda says, “This is pretty fucking boring, Janey. We’ve been here for
hoursandonlysoldfourpaintings.”
Chuckling, I lean over and nudge her shoulder with mine. “I know, and I love you for keeping me
company.”
“Let’stalkaboutKylethen,”shesays,andmyinsidesimmediatelygowarmatjusthearinghisname.
Of course, because Miranda is my bestie and I tell her everything, she’s very much aware that I’m
crushing on my elusive neighbor who I haven’t seen hide nor hair of since he helped me with my pipe
problemearlierintheweek.
Obviously,IhadtoheareverydirtyinnuendofromMiranda,butmyfavoritewas,“SoJaney…didhe
reallyplowyourpipes?”
Sadly,hedidnot,andIdidn’tlearnmuchabouthimatall.Thenextmorning,mytwobasketswere
sittingonmyfrontporch,soheeffectivelyremovedanyreasonformetogooverandknockonhisdoor.
Thiswasdisheartening,andIknowit’sfoolishtoevenbethinkingonthesethings.He’stotallyoutofmy
league,ascompletelyscaryasheissexy,andwouldprobablyhurtmeverybadlyinthelongrun.
Still,Ican’tresistheroffertogossiplikesillygirls.“So,Itoldyouabouthistattoos,right?”
Mirandashakesherhead.Clearly,Imissedsomecrucialdetails.“Aretheybadass?”sheasks.
“So bad ass,” I tell her. “He’s got this really scary-looking skull on his chest with the words ‘Fear
Me’writtenunderneath,soI’mthinkingthat’sprobablyavalidwarning.Ishouldstayaway.”
“Noway,”Mirandasaysknowingly.“Asyouwellknow,I’vebeenwithlotsofmen—”
I roll my eyes at her because she really hasn’t… I mean, not comparatively to some of the looser
womeninourtown.
“—and men who have tattoos just know how to fuck. And they know how to do things with their
mouths.Oh,andthey’reusuallyreallyhung.”
JustasMirandasaysthat,anoldercouplestrollsbymybooth.Igiveherasharpnudge.Webothturn
ourheadsandgivethemawelcomingsmile.Theyinturnglareatusastheywalkrightby,notevengiving
mypaintingsaglance.
“Okay, we are changing the subject,” I hiss at her. “You’re going to drive away any potential
customers.”
“Nah,”shesaysdismissivelywithawaveofherhand.“Justtheprudes.Anyway,menwithtattoosare
whereit’sat.Trustmeonthis.”
“Itrustyouonmosteverything,butIdon’tknow,”Itellherdubiously.“It’sseriouslynotnormalfor
someonetobethatreclusiveandshutofffromsociety.Whatifhehasmentalissues?”
“Whatifhehasabigdick?”shecounters.
“Okay,wearenowabsolutelychangingthesubject,”IgrowlatherasIpushoutofmychairandturn
tofaceherwithamockglare.Shejustlooksbackupatmewithaknowinggrin.
KnowingthatI’llnowbewonderingaboutthesizeofhis—well,youknow.
“Andwhatwereyoutwojusttalkingabout?”Ihearadistinctlymale,distinctlyannoyingvoiceask
frombehindme.
I slowly turn around and stiffen my spine as I lock eyes on my ex-boyfriend, Craig Bartles. My
assholeex-boyfriend,Ishouldclarify.
Andtruetohissleazyform,he’sstandingtherewithPattyDubois,thefloozyhewascheatingonme
with. He’s got his arm draped casually over her shoulder, and she’s pressed into his side with her arm
clingingtightaroundhiswaist.Shegivesmeanastysmileasshesmacksathergum.
WebrokeupoverayearagowhenIfoundhiminmyhouse,inmybed,givingithardtoPattyDubois.
WhenIgavehimakeytouse,Ihonestlydidn’tthinkhe’duseitlikethat.
Weirdly though, it wasn’t a difficult breakup. At least, not in the long run. While I had fashioned
myselfreallyinlovewiththeman,itwasaboutthreedaysafterourbreakupthatMirandaobserved,“You
know…you’renotevensadthatCraigisgone.”
AndIrealized…shewasright.
Iwasmadatwhathedid.And,asawoman,Iwasveryhurtthathebetrayedme.ButIdidn’tpinefor
him.Infact,Ialmostfeltlightandfreeafterwepartedways.
Imovedonanddidn’tlookback.
Craigcouldn’tseemtodothesame.
Becausethisisasmalltown,werunintoeachotheralot.Andeverytime,hehassomethingnastyto
say.Mosttimes,he’swithPatty,andheenjoysflauntingherinmyface.Ican’tfigureoutwhatIdidto
deservehisire,otherthanbreakingupwithhim,butIalwaystriedtotakethehighroad.
So I lift my chin up and prepare to polite the two of them to death when Miranda sneers at them.
“Sorry…youtwoaregoingtohavetomoveitalong.Wedon’tservepatronswhohavecrabs.”
Craigjustsmirks,butPattytakesgreatoffense.“Idonothavecrabs.”
“Yes, you do,” Miranda says. “Henry over at the pharmacy told me that you routinely have to get a
prescriptionmedicationforyourproblem.So,ifyouwouldjustmoveitalong…Idon’twantyourcreepy
crawliesanywherenearme.”
Pattyscreechesinoutrage,butCraigmerelyremoveshisarmfromhershoulderandstepsuptothe
table.HisgazegoestotheGrayBirchLighthousepainting,andhestudiesitforamoment.
“Nicework,”hesaysashepicksitupfromtheeasel.Mybodyimmediatelygoestightasheputshis
grubbyfingersonmywork.Heturnstolookatme,holdingthepaintingup.“I’llgiveyoufivedollarsfor
it.”
Idon’ttakethebaitbecausehewantsmetoverballyclashwithhim.Histongueissharperthanmine,
andheknowshe’llcutmedown.Instead,Isteparoundthetable,pushpastPatty,who’sglaringdaggersat
Miranda,andIjerkthepaintingoutofCraig’shands.Themoveissoforcefulthathe’scaughtoffguard,
anditeasilycomesfree.
“It’snotforsaletoyou,”Itellhimfirmly.
Andthatshouldhavebeentheendofit.ButI’mcompletelystunnedwhenhishandfliesoutandhe
jerksitrightbackoutofmyhands.Hegivesmeasuperiorsmile,andthenpurposefullyletsitdroptothe
ground.Iwatchittumbleendoverenduntilitfallsfacedownonthedirtypavement.
“Oops,”hesayswithashrugofhisshouldersasheraiseshiseyebrowsinnocently.“Mybad.”
Normally,Mirandawouldbetheoneinthissituationwhowouldgoapeshit.Instead,awaveoffury
and frustration sweeps through me and I slam my hands into his chest, pushing him back a step. “You
asshole,”Ihissathim.“Youmotherfuckingasshole.”
“Tellhim,girlfriend,”IhearMirandaeggingmeon.
Craig’s eyes narrow at me, but not so much that I don’t see a glint of malice shining through. I’m
unpreparedwhenhishandshootsoutandgrabsmebymyupperarm.Hejerksmetowardhimandsnarls,
“Betterwatchoutwhoyouhit,Janey,becauseI’mlikelytohitback.”
CHAPTER7
Kyle
I
ARGUED
WITH
myselfthattherewasnosoundreasontogotothegrocerystorethismorning.Myfreezer
wasstockedwithenoughfrozenmealstolastmorethanaweek,andIhadbeerinthefridge.
Iwasgood.
It absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that the Misty Harbor Music and Art Festival, that just
happened to be set up on Main Street, coincidentally intersected with Haven Street where the grocery
storewaslocated.
Iwentinwithoutsomuchasaglanceoveratthefestivalboothsthatlinedthestreetfortwoblockson
bothsides,allthewaytothetownsquare.Didn’tcareaboutitoranyonethere.Iboughtsomebananasand
orangejuicebecauseIjusthappentolikebothofthosethingsandwalkedbackoutofthestore.Butrather
thanturnrighttowheremytruckisparallelparkedafewspotsdown,Iturnleftandscanthebooths.
The one closest to me seems to be hawking wind chimes made of seashells and other various little
knickknacksinacoastaltheme.Theoneacrossfromthathaspottery.
Andtheonenexttothatone…hasJaneCresson.
Ijuststandandwatchforamomentasshesitsinachairbehindatableandtalkstoanotherwoman
whoIvaguelyrecognizeasmaybebeingawaitressatTheLobsterCage.Notsure.
TheonethingIamsureaboutisthatJanegetsmorebeautifuleverytimeIseeher.Orperhapsit’sthe
more I stay away from her, the more beautiful she gets when I finally do see her again. I watch like a
completecreeperassheseemstochangehermindaboutsomethingonhertable.Shepullsacardaway
fromapainting,writesoutanewone,andputsitbackinplace.Iwatchhersitbackdownandappearto
haveanamusingconversationwithherfriend,theirbodiesleaningintowardeachotherastheyspeak.
I’matotalcreeper.
ThenmyhacklesrisewhensomeassholeandhiswomangouptotheboothandhavewordswithJane.
Ican’thearwhat’ssaid,butIdon’tneedtoeither.Theguy’spostureiscockyandJane’sisstiff.Herface
isguarded,andIevennoticeherfistsareclenchedastheyexchangewords.
It’s when I see her fists tighten that I decide to walk that way. I cut across Main on the diagonal,
walkingstraighttowardherbooth.IwalkfasterwhenIseetheguypickupherpainting.Janetakesitright
backfromhim,clearlynotwantinganythingtodowithhim.Iwalkevenfasterwhenhejerksthepainting
backoutofherhand,andIbreakintoatrotwhenhedropsittotheground.Istartchargingbythetimeshe
slamshertinyhandsintohischest.Whenhereachesoutandgrabsherarm,I’monhim.
Myhandlatchesontohisscrawnythroatandmyfingerscurlviciouslyinwardaroundhiswindpipe,a
movethat’snotonlypainful,butalsobreath-robbing.HeimmediatelyreleasesJane,whostumblesback
insurprise.IvaguelyhearJane’sfriendsay,“Fuckyeah…thisisgoingtobegood.”
InmydaysasabrotherofMayhem’sMission,Iwouldhaveproceededtobeattheshitoutofsomeone
whowoulddaretouchawomansuchasJane.Sweet,funny,andunbearablyalluring.Iwouldhavebeaten
himtounconsciousnessandneverthoughttwiceaboutit.
Butthosedaysareover,andIcan’taffordtocallattentiontomyself.SoImerelyturnthedouchebag
aroundandmarchhimbackwarddownthesideofJane’stent,upontothesidewalkborderingthestreet,
andrightintothebrickwallofChib’sHardwareStore.Leaninginclosetohim,Isayinaquietbutno
bullshittingvoiceofmenace,“Getyourtrampandgetoutofhere.IfIseeyouevenlooksidewaysatJane
again,Iwillendyou.”
Ireleasemyholdonhisthroat,andtheguyfranticallynodshisheadinagreement.Iwatchasheleans
to the side and holds his hand out. His woman runs up to him, takes his hand, and they start scurrying
downthesidewalktogether.
IwatchuntiltheyroundthecornerandareoutofsightbeforeIturnbacktowardJane’sbooth.Iwalk
along the side and find her squatting down to retrieve her painting. Her hair has fallen forward as she
leansover,andIwatchassheturnsthepaintingfaceup.
Janeletsoutagaspofdismay,andIletmyeyesslidetothepaintingsheholds.It’sbeautiful.Imean,
stunninglybeautiful.Whilesereneseascapesaren’treallymything,Idefinitelyhaveanaffinitytowardit
sinceit’sapaintingofmycurrenthome.
Ialsohappentotakeinthefactthatthere’saholeinthebottomofthepainting,probablyfromarock,
anddirtissmearedovertheleftside.
Shestandsup.Ashergazeliftstomeetmine,Iaskher,“Youokay?”
“It’sruined,”Janemurmursashereyesslidebackdowntothepainting.“Ishouldhavetakenthetime
toputglassonit.”
“But are you okay?” I ask her, because I saw the way that dude grabbed her. It was done violently.
Man, what I wouldn’t give to have kicked the shit out of him. Hearing the despondency in her voice,
though,maybeanasskickingwasn’tgoodenough.
Janeliftsashakyhandandtucksherhairbehindherear.“Yeah.I’mfine.”
Jane’sdark-hairedfriendcomesoutoffrombehindthetable.Whensheseesthepainting,shecoos,
“Oh,honey…I’msosorry.Thatmotherfuckingasshole.”
Idon’tknowthiswoman,butIreallydolikeher.Couldn’tagreewithhermore.
“It’s no biggie,” Jane says, but the tone of her voice says otherwise. She’s devastated her work is
ruined.“Ithinkweshouldgetpackedupandcallitaday,Miranda.”
Shedoesn’tsparemeanotherglance,justturnstothetableandtossesthepaintingontopofitnextto
theeaselithadbeensettingon.Mygazegoestoawhiteindexcardsittingtherewiththepriceofthree
hundredandfiftydollars.
RenewedragesweepsthroughmeasIrealizethatmotherfuckernotonlyhurtherfeelingsandherarm,
buthejustfuckinghurtherlivelihoodwithhismaliciousactions.Ihavetofighttheurgenottotrackhim
downandgivehimatasteofmybrandofjustice.
Instead,Isetmygrocerybagdownonthetablebesidethepaintingandreachintomybackpocketto
fishoutmywallet.Iopenitupandflipthroughthecash,pullingoutfourone-hundreddollarbills.While
thispaintingisaluxuryIwouldnotnormallybuy,particularlynotinmyimmediatepastlife,itiscertainly
oneIcaneasilyafford.IwaspaidverywellbytheATFwhileIwasundercover,andeverybitofthat
moneywassockedawayintosavings.
“I’ll take the painting,” I say gruffly as I set the cash down on the table and pick up the framed
watercolor.
Janespinsaround,hereyeswidewithsurprise.Hergazeflicksdowntothecash,uptothepaintingin
myhand,andfinallyuptomeetmine.“Absolutelynot.Noway.It’sruined.”
“It’sgotalittledirtonit,”Isayinabrush-off.
“It’sgotdirtonitandaholeinit,”shegritsout.
“Itgivesitcharacter,”ItellherwithashrugasIlookdownatthepaintinginmyhands.Itreallyis
beautifuldespitethedirtandhole,andbesides…lookingatitwillremindmeofthesatisfactionIhadby
nearlycrushingthatguy’swindpipe.
“Kyle,”Janesaysinexasperation.“It’sridiculousforyoutospendmoneyonaruinedpainting.”
I’mnotgoingtositaroundandarguewithher.However,Idogetthedistinctimpressionthatdespite
howsweetandbubblysheismostofthetime,she’dbeahelliontoarguewithifshereallygotmad.On
top of that, I had no intentions of crossing paths with Jane again, and this certainly went against said
intentions.
Ituckthepaintingundermyarm,grabmygroceries,andturnawayfromherboothtocrossbackover
totheothersideofMainStreet.
“Wait,”shecallsout.
Istopandlookbackovermyshoulderather.
“Ineedtogetyourchange,”shehuffsatmeinexasperation.
“Keepit,”Itellher,towhichIimmediatelygetaneyerollback.
Iturnmybackonheragainandcrossthestreet.Shecallsoutaftermeagain,“Kyle…seriously…it
isn’trightformetotakethis.”
Idon’trespond,andIdon’tlookback.
CHAPTER8
Jane
I
DON
’
T
EVEN
bothertounloadmycar.IleavetheleftoverpaintingsIhadn’tsoldandmypridesittingin
there.Instead,allItakeismypurseandthesixpackofbeerI’dpickedupatErnie’sGrab-N-Gothree
minutesago.
Mydrivewayrunseastalongthesideofmyhouse,soafterIclosemydoorandlockit,Iwalkstraight
pastmyhouseandacrossmyfrontyard.IcrossoverCranberryLaneandenterKyle’sfrontyard.
ButIdon’tgouptohisfrontporch.Iwalkalongthesideofhislittlecottage,pastthewalkwaythat
veersofftotherightthatleadstothelighthousedoor.Beforeturninglefttowalkuphisbackporchsteps,I
noticethattheflowersheplantedtheotherdaylookreallynice.Atthetopoftheporch,hehasasmall,
roundwoodentableflankedbytwoAdirondackchairsthatfaceouttowardtheAtlanticOcean.
Perfect.
Isetmypursedownontheporch,thebeeronthetable,andsmoothmyhandsovermyhair.I’dworna
summerdresstothefestivaltoday.Ipaireditwithmystandardwhitecardigan,whichisappreciatedright
thismomentasachillyeveningbreezeiscomingofftheocean.
Reaching an arm out, I sharply knock on his back screen door, then immediately clasp my hands
behindmybacktowaitforhim.
I hear movement inside and can see his form moving toward the door through the sheer curtain that
covers the glass panes. Just like when I disturbed him a few mornings ago with my water pipe
catastrophe,heanswerswithoutashirtbutinthosereally,reallygreat-fittingjeans.
Hedoesn’tsayanything,justcocksaneyebrowatmethroughthescreendoor.
Itiltmyheadtotheright,indicatingthebeeronthetable.“I’mcommandeeringyourbackporch.I’m
goingtodrinkafewbeersandenjoytheamazingoceanviewthat’sblockedbyyourhousewhenI’mon
myfrontporch.Joinmeifyou’dlike.”
Idon’twaitforananswer,justturnandserenelywalktothefurthestAdirondackchairfromthedoor.I
easedownintoitandperchmyfeetonthebottomoftheporchrail,tuckingmyskirtinaroundmyasssoit
keepsmylegscovered.
IhavenocluewhatKylewilldo.IfIgoonpastexperience,he’llshutthedoor,lockit,andignoreme.
ButIcan’tworryaboutthat.ItrulyamheretoborrowhisoceanviewanddrinkafewbeersbecauseI
fuckingdeservethemafterwhathappenedwithCraigearlier.
Reachingintotheplasticgrocerybag,Inababeerandtwistthetopoff.I’mnotabigbeerdrinker,and
mostdefinitelynotaconnoisseur,soIwentwithMillerLitebecauseitwasonsaleandIdon’thaveall
themoneyintheworld.Iwouldnormallybedrinkingwine,butindeferencetoKyle,whodoesnotseem
likeawinedrinker,Iboughtbeer.
I’msurprisedwhenIhearthescreendooropenwithacreak.IturnmyheadtotherighttowatchKyle
step through. Sadly, he put clothes on his upper body—a white t-shirt with a red-and-gray flannel shirt
overit.SamethinghewaswearingalittleoveranhouragowhenherescuedmefromCraig.
KylemovestotheAdirondackandsitsdownwithasigh.Heleansover,pullsabeerfromthebag,
andgivesaslightgrimace.“Youhaveshittasteinbeer.”
“Beggarscan’tbechoosers,”IreplysoftlyasIwatchhimopenthebottle.
“So,youjustthoughtyou’dcomeoverandshareaneighborlybeerwithme,huh?”heasks,andIfeel
like that’s amusement in his voice. And that’s very nice, because he normally speaks in short, clipped
tonesthatarecompletelylackinganyhumor.Infact,thatcouldbethelongestsentencehe’seversaidto
meunprompted.
Ireachintothebreastpocketofmycardiganandpullthemoneyout.Slidingmyhandacrossthetable,
I hold it out to him. “Actually, I came by to give you your fifty dollars in change for that ridiculous
paintingyouboughtfromme.”
He ignores the money and looks out over the ocean. “I told you to keep the change, and it’s not
ridiculous.”
“Kyle,” I say in exasperation as I wave the money at him. He refuses to look at me. “It’s a ruined
painting.Itshouldgostraightintothegarbage.Ifeelterrible—”
“Look, sunshine,” Kyle growls as he turns and pins me with a fierce glare. “I’m not in the habit of
throwingmymoneyaway.IboughtthefuckingpaintingbecauseIlikeditandIwantedit.It’shangingover
mygoddamnmantelrightnowifyoudon’tbelieveme.”
MyjawdropsasIjuststareathimindisbelief.First,becausehesoundspissedandthatscaresme
justabit.Butsecondly,andmoreimportantly,becauseheactuallyhungthatstupidthingup.Imean,Ijust
thoughthewasbeingchivalrous,butmaybehe’sbeingmorethanthat.
“Andputyourfuckingmoneyaway,”hesnapsatmeashisgazegoesbrieflytothefiftydollarsinmy
handbeforecomingbacktome.“Andletmedrinkmydamnbeerinpeace.”
“God,you’regrumpy,”ImutterasItuckthefiftydollarsbackinmypocket.
Idon’tmissthefacthislipscurveupwardovermysentiment.
Wesitinsilenceforafewmomentsaswesipatourbeersandwatchtheocean.ButIdidn’tcome
heretojustsitquietly.AndIreallydidn’tevencomeheretomakesurehegothischange.Icamehereto
trytolearnmoreabouthim,andIdidsoonthehope—slimasitmaybe—thatsincehewassoenraged
overwhatCraighaddonetome,thatperhapshe’snotascoldasheseems.Clearly,hehassomecapacity
tocare,and,unfortunately,thatmadememorecuriousabouthimthanever.
Italsomadehimsuperiorlymoreattractiveaswell.
“So, bet you’re wondering what the deal was with that guy, huh?” I ask out of the blue to make
conversation.
“Notreally,”Kylemuttersbeforetakinganotherswigofhisbeer.
Iignorethatcomment.“Well,itturnsoutwehaveaverysordidpasttogether.Weweretogetherand
reallyinlove.Engagedtobemarried.Buthegotmeinvolvedindrugs.Soonafterthat,itwaspettytheft.
Mylifewasjustspiraling—”
Kyle’sheadsnapstowardme,hiseyesnarrowed.“You’refuckingkiddingme,right?”
“Yes,”Isayteasingly.“I’mjustkidding,butitprovestomethatyou’reatleastinterestedenoughto
listentomyramblings.”
“Nutty as a fruitcake,” he mutters, but his lips are definitely tipped upward as he turns back to the
ocean.
Andbecausehe’satleastlistening,Idotellhimthetruth.“Actually,webrokeupalongtimeago,but
hejustcan’tstopbeinganassholearoundme.Imean,Icaughthimcheatingwiththattramp,yethehasthe
galltobepissedatmeforbreakingupwithhim.How’sthatnotthedefinitionofinsanity?”
Kyledoesn’trespondforamoment,butthenhesaysinalowtone,“Iimaginehisinsanityisinthefact
hecheatedonsomeonelikeyouwiththattramp.”
And wow… just wow. That was really nice. And sweet. His voice was all kinds of sexy with that
deeprumble,anditreallysoundedlikehemeantit.
I want to hear more, so I prod him. “You can’t say that. I mean… you don’t really know me or
anything.”
“Knowenough,”isallhesays,whichdoesnothingtocontinuetostrokemybruisedego.
“Well,Iknowabsolutelynothingaboutyou,”Isay,takingtheopeningthathejustgaveme.“Except
thatyouwereborninMaryland.”
Tomyimmensesurprise,heasks,“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
“Areyoumarried?”
“Nope.”
“Everbeenmarried?”
“Nope.”
“Doyouspeakinmorethanone-wordsentences?”
“Sometimes.”
Igiggleandthenask,“Okay,seriousquestion…howoldareyou?”
“Thirty-four,”hesays,andthenactuallyextendshissentence.“Howoldareyou?”
“Twenty-six,” I tell him, pleased he’s interested in something about me personally. “I’ll be twenty-
seveninNovember.”
“Ababe,”hesaysgruffly.
“Notreally,”Idisagreewithhimprimly.“Iknowthings.”
Forthefirsttime,Kylegivesmeagenuinesmileasheturnstomeandasks,“Oh,yeah?Likewhat?”
“Hmm,” I ponder thoughtfully, tapping my index finger against my chin. “Well, you’re a very
interesting guy. You’re dark and mysterious. Reclusive yet very intriguing. I’d say you’ve got a haunted
past,andI’mkindofdrawntothat.”
Kyle’seyesburnintomine.“Whywouldyoueverbedrawntothat?”
Ishrug.“BecauseIwantgoodthingsforgoodpeople,Iguess.”
“Youwanttotrytofixme?”heasksblandly.
“Maybe,”Isaywithagrin.“CanIborrowyourtools?”
The minute those words are out of my mouth, my face flames red at the innuendo I just innocently
uttered.“Oh,shit…Ididn’tmeananythingdirtybythat.Imean…well,youhavetools.Youusedthemto
shutoffthewater.Iwastalkingaboutthosetypesoftools,notlike…yourtool.Andoh,God…I’mgoing
todierightnowfromembarrassment.”
ImustbepositivelyadorableinmyembarrassmentbecauseKylejustshakeshisheadwithasmirkon
hisface,andwelapsebackintosilenceforawhile.
Ifinishmybeerandopenanother,becauseI’vemaderealprogressheretonight.Hedoesthesame.
Thesun,whichisbehindusinthewest,fullysets.Ourviewoftheoceangraduallydeclinesuntilwe
seeonlyafaintglimmeralongthewatereverytimethelightinthetowerspinstoalertboatsofthejetty.
It’snice.MaybeabitawkwardsinceIlikeconversation,butIcan’tthinkofanotherplaceI’dwantto
berightnow.
“Jane?”Kylesaysquietly,andIletmyheadrolltotherighttolookathim.“Justsoyouknow,Ican’t
befixed.Sodon’tevengothere,okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur to reassure him of my good intentions, but now I’m committed more than ever to
figuringoutthismysteriousman.
CHAPTER9
Kyle
M
Y
SHOULDERS
BURN
andache,butstillIgoharder,runningthesandingpaperbrisklyoverthelastpicket
onthefencethatbordersthewalkwayfrommycottagetothelighthouse.Thefenceneedsanewcoatof
paint.Icouldhavetakentheeasywayoutandjustpaintedovertheexistingpaint.Itwasinfairlygood
shape,butitdefinitelyneededfreshenedup.ButbecauseI’mboredandfeelinglikeaslug,Idecidedto
sandtheentirethingdownbyhandfirst.Icouldhavealsotakentheeasywayoutandrentedanelectric
sanderfromChibatthehardwarestore,butitfeltlikeadaywhereIshoulddosomethingtoexpendall
thisexcessenergyIhave.
I’mfeelingrestlessfrombeingcoopedupforthefewwintermonthsIexperiencedhere.
AnxiousoverthefactI’vegotafewmoremonthsleftofhidingout.Thedaysseemtogobyslower
thanever.
AndI’mfuckingwoundupovermyobnoxiouslywittyanddrop-deadgorgeousneighborwhodoesn’t
seem to be scared off from me and my surly ways. Moreover, she’s managed to dig her way under my
skin,notinatotallybadway,butinawaythatmakesmewanttohandsandanentirepicketfence.
Even though I doubt the temperature is past the mid-seventies right now, in between my vigorous
sandingandthehotnoonsun,I’mfuckingroasting.I’dditchedmyshirtlessthananhourintothework,
andthenaboutthirtyminutesagoIwentinsideandditchedmyjeans,optingforapairofoldswimtrunks
I’dbroughtalongwithmewhenIheardfromJoemynewdestinationwasthecoast.
Eventhoughmymusclesarescreamingandsweatispouringoffme,IcontinuetoscrubashardasI
can against the paint, operating under the theory that tonight I’ll be too exhausted to think about the shit
stormthatismylife.
AndaboutJane.
MostlyJaneasI’myearsintothisshitstormandusedtoitbynow.Itiswhatitis.
ButI’mnotusedtoJane.I’venevermetawomanlikeher.I’vebeensurroundedbytrampsandclub
whoresforthelastfiveyears,soI’mnotevensureI’dknowwhattodowithsomeonelikeJaneinmy
bed.
Butfuck…thethingsI’dliketodotoherinsaidbed.
Goddamnit,youstupidmotherfucker.Donotgothere.
Which is exactly why she will never—and I mean ever—be there. I would tarnish her horribly,
probablyscarethecrapoutofherandtraumatizeherforlife.I’vebecomesoroughenedovertheyears—
socriminalized—IfeellikeIbarelyresembleanormalhumanbeing.SowhatlittlebitofmoralityI’ve
seemed to keep deep down inside is demanding that I forget Jane Cresson. Fucking bar tramps in back
alleysisallI’mgoodforandI’lljusthavetobesatisfiedwiththat.Although,Ican’texplaintomyself
whyIhaven’tbeenbacktoTheLobsterCagetotakeadvantageofwhatBarbhastooffersinceImetJane.
Andasifjustthinkingabouthercauseshertomaterialize—
“I’vebeenwatchingyouworkyourassoffallmorningfrommyporch,soIthoughtI’dcomeoverto
help,”Janesaysbehindme.
Myheaddropsforward,andIclenchmyteethinfrustration.
Temptationkeepsputtingitselfinmypath.
I don’t stop sanding the last picket, even though I can’t see a speck of white paint left. “Funny you
showupwhenIjustfinishedthelastone,”Imutter.
Shegivesatinklinglaughthatjusttwodaysagowouldhaveannoyedthehelloutofme,butinstead,it
soundslikemusic.“Well,ofcourseIwasn’tgoingtohelpyouwiththesanding,silly,butyoustillhaveto
paintitandwell…I’mapainter.”
“You’reanartist,”IpointoutasIpushupfrommykneesandturntofaceher.
“Whopaints,”shesaysbrightly.
Andyep…she’sglorious.Whiteshortsthataren’ttooshortbutstillshowagoodbitofleg,afaded
navy-bluet-shirtthat’sseenbetterdays,andflip-flops.Herhairispulledupintoahighponytailandher
lipsareshiny.
Whythefuckaretheyshiny?
“Imadeyoulunch,”shesaysassheholdsoutabrownpaperbagthat’sneatlyfoldeddownatthetop.
I blink at her a moment before my eyes drop to the bag. Just two days ago, that would also have
annoyedthehelloutofme,butforsomereason,itfuckingdelightsme.
Notgoingtoletherknowthat,though,soImerelytakeitfromherwitharough,“Thanks.”
IwalkovertomypickuptruckthatI’dbackeduptotheedgeofthefencenearesttoCranberryLane,
andshefollowsmethere.Iopenthebagup,reachingintofindaneatlywrappedsandwichthatlooksto
be thick and piled high with turkey, lettuce, and tomato. Tossing the bag onto my tailgate, I unwrap the
sandwichasIaskher,“AnychanceourworkcanbedoneincompanionablesilenceifIletyouhelpme?”
“Asif,”shesayswithanexaggeratedwhineinhervoice.Iknowshe’squotingamovie,butIhaveno
cluewhichone.Sheaddson,“Clueless.1995.”
“Never saw it,” I say before I take a bite of my sandwich, and damn… that’s good. Just a simple
sandwichmadeforme,becauseshe’skindandthoughtful,andI’mprettysureitmightbethebestthing
I’veevertasted.
Iwonderwhatshetasteslike?
Igivemyheadahardshakeandswallow.Shelooksatmecuriously,butI’mprettysureshehasno
cluewhatIwasjustthinking.
“Icouldbeverycruel,youknow,”shesayswithaslygrinasshehopsuptositontheedgeofthe
tailgate,“andtellyouthatCluelessisamust-seemovieforyou.”
“What’sitabout?”Iaskbeforetakinganotherbite,andwell…sortofenjoyingthisconversation.
“Oh,trustme,”shesayswithalaughandashakeofherheadthatmakesherponytailswingjauntily
backandforth.“You’dhateit.”
Idonothingbutgruntmyacknowledgmentandtakeanotherbite.I’mhalfwaythroughitanddyingfor
anotheralready.
I’malsostrangelynotputoutbyJane’spresence.EversinceMayhem’sMissionwastakendownandI
reenteredthemainstreamworld,it’sbeenhardformetoconnectwithnormalpeople.Conversationwas
hard.Listeningwashard.Justbeinginthepresenceofotherpeopleandlookingathowverydifferentthey
werefromme,notsomuchontheoutside,butmostlyontheinside,andit’sallsometimestoomuchto
handle.
ButwithJane…it’seasy.
Well,easier.
“Sinceyoudon’tseemtoliketogetintodeepconversation,IthoughtI’djustentertainyouwhilewe
paintwithsomerandommoviequotes.Reallymyfavoriteones.”
“Whywouldyoudothat?”Iaskher.
“Because I don’t think you can truly appreciate my talent based on the little interaction we’ve had.
Andsinceconversationwithyouisn’ttheeasiest,I’lljusttosssomerandomonesouttoyou.”
“For entertainment purposes only?” I ask as my lips do this very weird motion where they curve
upwardratherthandownward.
“Totallyforentertainmentpurposesonly,”sheassuresme.
“Okay,”IchallengeherasIpointmyhalf-eatensandwichherway.“Letmeseewhatyougot.”
Jane pinches her chin between her finger and thumb, and then looks upward in contemplation for a
moment.Hereyesbrighten,andshebringshergazetomine.“Okay…thisisseriouslyagoodone.”
Iwaitandwatch.
Shejumpsdownfromthetailgateandclearsherthroat.Turning,shepacesafewstepsawaybefore
spinningbacktomeandsaying,“MynameisMaximusDecimusMeridius,commanderoftheArmiesof
theNorth,GeneraloftheFelixLegions…”
Sheturns,stalksbacktowardme,andinanimperiousvoice,continues,“…andloyalservanttothe
trueemperor,MarcusAurelius.Fathertoamurderedson,husbandtoamurderedwife.AndIwillhave
myvengeance,inthislifeorthenext.”
Ismileinappreciationforherwit…hercompletelackoffearinputtingherselfoutthere…forher
absolutelynuttypersonalitythatgotanhonest-to-Godsmileoutofme,and,trustme…thosedon’tcome
easy.
“Verygood,”Ipraiseher,andshit…Iwanttohearmore.“Gladiator.Notsurewhatyear.”
“2000,”sheprovideswithagrin.
I nod my head to the back of my pickup truck. “How about you start to unload the paint materials
whileIfinishthissandwich,andyoucanthrowafewmoremovielinesatmeifyouwant?”
“Sure,” she says merrily as she reaches into the truck to grab the first gallon of paint. “And there’s
anothersandwichintheretoo.”
Thisdaywasgettingbetterandbetter.
♦
T
HE
SUN
IS
hanginglowonthewesternhorizon,andit’sstartingtocooloff.We’reonourlastsectionof
fence.I’mononesideandJane’sontheother.Thesoundsarerelaxing.Brushesslappingagainstwood,
seagullscrying,andthewavescrashingagainstthejetty.
AndJane’svoice.
“Okay,here’sanotherone,”shesayswithoutpreamble.“Justkeepswimming,justkeepswimming.”
Shedoesthisinasingsongvoiceandsortofbouncesupanddownalittlefromherkneelingposition
ontheothersideofthefence.Itrynottonoticethewayherbreastsmoveunderthatt-shirtofhers.
“Noidea,”Isay.
“Seriously, your movie knowledge completely sucks,” she says with a huff. “We’ll have to rectify
that.”
“Whatmoviewasthat?”Iask,becauseI’vebeensilentlycommittingthesemoviesIdon’trecognizeto
memorytogivethematry.NotevensurethelasttimeI’veseenamovie,asitwasn’tagenerallypopular
activitytodoinabikergang.
“FindingNemo,”sheanswers.“2003.”
Hmmm.ThatwasdefinitelybeforeIwentdeepundercover,butitstilldoesn’tringabell.
“What’s it about?” I ask, because while Jane has indeed been quoting lines, it’s led into other
conversation,andthat’sbeen…well,nice.
Definitelycomfortablesincetheconversationisn’texactlypersonal.
“Oh,it’sawesome.It’saboutthisfish,Nemo,whogetscaughtbyadiverandputinafishtank,and
then his dad sets off to find him along with this really nutty fish named Dory that was voiced by Ellen
DeGeneres.It’sabsolutelyhilarious—”
“Wait,”Iinterrupther,mybrushcomingtorestagainstthepicket.“Isthisacartoon?”
“Well,yeah.Imean,it’sanimated.”
“Idon’tdocartoonmovies,”Itellherseriously.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Yeah, I kind of got that from you when the only movie line you’ve
recognizedinthelasthourwas‘Yippee-ki-yay,motherfucker.”
Isnort.“DieHard.”
“1988,”sheaddsasaremindertome.
And I remember that movie well because it’s one of my last great memories of my sister Andrea.
She’djustgraduatedfromtheFBIAcademy,andIwenttovisither.Ratherthangoouttocelebrate,we
stayedinatherapartmentandrentedDieHard.Wedidthisbecausewehadn’tseeneachotherinforever
and with both of our parents gone, we’d only had each other and valued the little bit of time we had
together. I’d already moved out to Wyoming to start the hard task of infiltrating Mayhem’s Mission. In
order to do that, I had to separate myself from Andrea a bit. She had no clue I worked ATF in special
operationsundertakinganundercovermissionwiththehighestofstakesandthemostextremedanger.
ThetriptoseeAndreaforherFBIgraduationwassomethingIhadtodo,though,becausesheshould
havehadafamilymembertheretosupporther.Ialsoneededtoseeher,becausethechancesweregreat
thatonceIwasindeep,Imightnotbecomingoutagain.
Webothlovedthatfuckingmovie,andthatlinehasbeentossedbackandforthbetweenmysisterand
mewheneverwe’dtalktoeachotheronthephone.
It’sanicememory.
Withjustafewmoredipsofthebrushesintothepaint,somequickstrokesonthelastpickets,andwe
aredonewiththepainting.IpushupfromwhereIwassquattingandlookdownthelengthofthefence.
It’sshinyandwhiteandlooksprettyfantastic.
IturnbacktolookatJaneacrossthefenceasshe’salsostoodup.Shearchesherbackalittleina
stretch,andIknowshe’llprobablybereallysoretomorrow.“Wedidgoodwork,”shesayswithafirm
nodofherhead.
“Thatwedid,”IsayasItakeherin.She’sgotpaintonherrightcheekandaboveherlefteyebrow,
with a little bit in the end of her ponytail. Not even sure how that happened. “I really appreciate your
help.”
Shebeamsbackatme.“Iwashopingyou’dbeappreciative.Youowemedinner.”
“Ican’tcook,”Itellherflatly,mywallsimmediatelygoingup,blockingheroutandpushingheraway.
It’sforherowngood.
“Evenbetter,”shereturnswithanevenbiggersmile.“Youcantakemeout.”
“Jane,”Isayinalow,warningvoice,intentontellingherthatitisnotgoingtohappen,becauseas
much as I’ve enjoyed this day with her and the ease with which it played out, dinner out together is an
entirelydifferentmatter.It’stoofuckingpersonal.It’sadateforChristsake.“Idon’tthinkthat’sagood
idea.”
Shejustrollshereyesatmeandsays,“Waitforit…frankly,mydear,Idon’tgiveadamn.Gonewith
theWind.1939.”
“Youdidnotjust—”
“Pulloutthemostawesomemoviequoteever?”shesuggestsashereyestwinklewithtriumph.“Sure
ashelldid.Pickmeupinanhour.”
Withthat,sheturnsandstartsflouncingbacktowardherhouse.
Atleast,Ithinkit’sflouncing.Isn’tthatthewayScarlettO’HaramovedinGonewiththeWind?
I’llcallitflouncing,becauseherponytailswingsbackandforthasshecrossesbackoverCranberry
Laneandmarchesintoherhouse.OnlyafterherdoorclosesdoIstarttocleanupthepaint.
Anhourisplentyoftimetogetready.Infact,I’llneedaboutfiveminutesintheshowerandI’llbe
readytogo.
I think about Jane and that smile, those perfect breasts that stared at me through the picket fence all
afternoon,and…maybefifteenminutesintheshower.
CHAPTER10
Kyle
“Y
OU
CLEAN
UP
nice,”Janesaysaswemeanderdownthesidewalk,headingsouthwestfromherhouse
and through a section of Misty Harbor I’d not seen yet. I drove my pickup truck to her house, but she
advisedmewe’dbewalkingtodinnerinstead.
I didn’t question her, because I’m terrified to even open conversation up with her. My repeated
attemptstokeepheratbayaren’tworking,soI’mthinkingifIkeepmylipssealedformostofthenight,
she’llfinallygetthehintI’mnotinterested.
Liar.
You’reinterested.
“Didn’t realize you even owned something other than jeans,” she says conversationally. And maybe
justwithalittlechallengetogetmetotalk.
Iremainsilent,althoughIglancedownatmyoutfitaswefollowthesidewalkthattakesusthrougha
prettyresidentialarea.Ididn’tbothertoshaveaftermyshower,butIdidthrowonapairofkhakipants
that had been bought for me after my “death.” When I’d been put in that apartment in Chicago, I didn’t
have a stitch of clothing other than the outfit I’d been wearing during my supposed execution. That had
consistedofablackHarleylong-sleevedt-shirt,apairofjeans,bikerboots,andmyleathercut.Allofmy
pre-undercover clothes were in storage and wouldn’t be fetched for me until my new destination was
determined,soI’dhadtomakeduewithavarietyofclothesthatJoeKiznerboughtme.
Thatincludedapairofkhakipantsandalightbluebutton-upshirtthatIpairedwithapairofdark
loafers.Ilookedlikeafuckingmoron,oratleastIthinkIdid.IthadbeensodamnlongsinceI’dworn
anythingotherthanbikerclothesthatIwasn’tquitesure.
“AndthisisthetimethatwouldbeappropriateforyoutotellmethatIlooknicetooandthisoutfit
doesn’tmakemyasslookbig,”Janesayswithnosmallamountofsnark.
“Youlooknice,”Isayautomaticallyandwithnochangeinmyinflection,eventhoughI’dliketotell
her she looks beyond amazing. When she’d opened her door five minutes ago, the breath was almost
knocked out of my lungs. She was wearing a white, gauzy-looking skirt with lace on the edges, and it
floatedaroundherlegstojustbelowherknees.Hershirtwasaprettyshadeoflightgreenandhungoff
oneshoulder.Withherhairlooseandwavy,shelookedlikeabeautifulgypsy.Theentirelookwassweet,
butitwasalsomostdefinitelysexy.
Shetrulydeservesmorethanjust“youlooknice,”andyetIcan’tmakemyselfsayit.Anythingtodraw
herclosertomemeansI’llmostlikelybeequallydrawnbacktoher,andthat’sjustnotoptimalwiththe
fucked-upmessthatismyliferightnow.
“Well…I’mjustonestomachfluawayfrommygoalweight,”shemuttersunderherbreath,butnotso
lowthatIcan’thearher.
“What?”IaskasItiltmyheadtolookather,notreallysurewhatthatevenmeans.
“TheDevilWearsPrada,”shesaysassheglancesatmebriefly.
Devil?Prada?Whatthefuck?
“Ihavenocluewhatyou’retalkingabout,”Isayirritably,feelingcompletelyoutofsortsbecauseshe
wantsatruecomplimentfrommeandshedeservesone,butIcan’tseemtogiveit.
“It’samovie,”shemurmursaswecontinuetowalkdownthesidewalk.“2006.”
And for some reason, this immediately lessens the tension for me. She’s quoting movies and this is
somethingshe’sdonesoincessantlysinceI’vemether,thatitactuallyfeelscomfortable.Oddly,italmost
centersmeandthefeelingissoappreciated,Istopandreachouttotouchherarm.Sheturnstolookatme
curiously.
“Youlookbeautiful,”Itellhertruthfully,needingtogivehersomethingifonlyforthefactthatshehas
theabilitytomakemefeelokayinthisstrangeworld.
Andyourassisslammin’,bytheway.
Janebeamsasmileatme,tuckingherhairbackbehindoneear.“Thankyou.”
“You’re welcome,” I say as I pull my hand back and turn to start walking again. Before I can even
helpmyselfortalkmyselfoutofit,IopenthedoorforconversationbecauseI’mapparentlyagluttonfor
punishment.“Thisisaprettyneighborhood.”
“Itis,”shesaysinagreement.Idon’thavetolookathertohearthefondsmileinhervoice.
ToourleftisthestartofMistyHarbor,theactualbodyofwaterforwhichthetownisnamedandthe
reasonforalighthouse.ItstartsontheendofthelongjettythatseparatesitfromtheAtlanticandcutsinto
themainland.Toourrightarehousesthatsitontiny,well-manicuredlots,theirfrontporchesfacingthe
harbor waters with a view of the Atlantic just beyond the jetty. The houses are small, but I expect the
pricesareatapremiumbecauseoftheviews.
InbetweenthewaterandthesidewalkisFrontStreet,andI’massumingit’snamedsosinceitfronts
thewater.ButIcouldbewrong.
Weapproachawhitehousewithamatchingpicketfencearoundit.Theporchhasblackrockingchairs
thatmatchtheshuttersandpottedplantsofvarioussizes.Atinydarkblurshootsdowntheporchstepsand
chargesatusdownawalkwaythat’slinedonbothsidesbyflowers.Irealizeit’sasmalldogasitstarts
yappingatus,runningalongthefencelineaswecontinuetowalk.
Jane…beingJane…turnstothedogandcurlsherhandsintoclawswhileshecackles,“I’llgetyou,
mypretty,andyourlittledogtoo.”
Thedogisunfazedandcontinuestoyapather.
Janegivesasoftlaugh,andthenreachesoverthethree-footfenceasthelittledogcomesuponhis
hindlegs.Hestopsbarkingandhistailwagsbackandforthasshescratcheshishead.“Hi,Bilbo.You
protectingtheneighborhood?”
Thelittledog’stailwagsevenfaster.WhenJanestraightensandremovesherhandfromhishead,he
turnsaroundandrunsbackupontothefrontporchwhereheplopsdownonhisstomachandwatchesus.
Janeturnstowardme,andwestartwalkingagain.“ThatwastheWizardofOz.”
“Yes,”Isaydryly.“ThatIknew.”
“1939,”sheaddson.
“ThatIdidn’tknow.”
Jane chuckles. As we start walking past the next yard, she throws her arm up and waves. I turn my
head to see a couple sitting on rocking chairs on their front porch. It’s a pretty two-story house with
gabledpeaksandgrayshakershingles.
Thecouplewavesback,smiling.Theylooktobeintheirmid-fiftiesorso.
“Hey,Jane,”themancallsout.“Whereyougoing?”
“OvertodinneratTheBlackSwan,”shecallsbackaswecontinuetowalkalongthefrontoftheir
property,ourpaceslowingassheconverses.
“Who’syourfella?”thewomanasksassheleansforwardinherchairabit.
Janejerksherthumbatme.“Kyle.He’smyneighbor.Nocluewhathislastnameis.”
“Harding,”Iprovidetoherinalowvoice.
“Harding,”shecallsback.
“Howdoyoudo,Mr.Harding?”theladysayswithawaveatme.
Iwavebackandgiveheranodofmyhead.
“Youtwohaveanicedinner,”themansayswithasmile.Bythistime,we’vereachedtheedgeoftheir
yardandarewalkingpastthenexthouse.
“Seeyoulater,”Janecallsback,touchingherfingerstoherlipsandblowingthecoupleakiss.
Whenwemakeitpastthenexthouse,FrontStreet—andthesidewalk—startstocurveslightlytothe
right,andtherestoftheharborstartstoopenupinfrontofus.I’dnotbeentothispartofthetown,not
havingventuredpastMainStreet,whichiswherethegrocerystoresitsononeendandTheLobsterCage
ontheother.
“Youknoweveryoneintown,”Iobserve,thinkingofherfamiliaritywiththelittledogandtheeasy
exchangeoffriendlybanterwiththecouple.
“Prettymuch,”shesaysmerrily,andIcanheartheloveforhercommunityinhervoice.“Thatcouple
backtheremorethananyoneasthatwasmymomandmydad.”
Istopdeadinmytracksandlookbacktotheirhouse,seeingthatthey’rebothstillwatchingJaneand
me.WhenIturnbacktofaceJane,Iseehereyessparklingwithamusement.
“They’reyourparents?”Iaskincredulously.
“Yup,”shesayswithagrin.
Icockaneyebrowather.“Andtheydidn’twanttomeetorlearnmoreaboutyourneighborwhoselast
nameyoudon’tevenknow?”
“Oh, they want to meet you,” she says with a nod of her head and mischief in her voice. “I’ll be
expectedtocallthemlaterandtellthemallaboutit.Yousee,Idon’tdatealot,andthey’llbechompingat
thebittofindoutallaboutyou.Butthey’realsonotintrusive,sothey’llbecontenttowaitformetotell
themthedetails.”
“Ofcourseyou’lltellthemthatthisisn’tadate,”Isaygrufflyaswecontinuetowalk.
“SureIwill,”shesaysassheloopsherhandthroughmyarmandgripsmerightinthecrookofmy
elbow. She pats my bicep reassuringly with her other hand and says, “If it makes you feel better, I’ll
totallytellthemthisisn’tadate.”
“Because this is a thank-you gesture only,” I say sternly, but even I can hear amusement seeping
throughinmyvoice,completelyunwanted.
Shejustpatsmybicepagain.“Whateveryousay.”
“Seriously,”Iinsist.“Notadate.”
“Notadate,”sheagrees,butherlipsaretippedupinawaythatclearlysaysshethinksshe’sona
date.
IresolvetomyselfthatwhenIwalkherbackhometonightthatI’mnotkissingher.I’mgoingtoshow
herthatthisisjustafriendlydinnerbetweenneighborsandnothingmore.
Wewalkalonginsilence.Jane’sarmremainstuckedintomine,butIdon’tmakeamovetodislodgeit.
It’stheclosestI’vebeentoherphysically,andI’mpainfullyawareit’sbeenalongfuckingtimesincea
woman’s touched me in such a sweet way. Despite every fiber of my being screaming at me not to get
involvedwithher,Ilikehertouchtoomuchtopushherawayrightnow.
And the realization is almost shattering as it becomes clear I’m probably in a losing battle with
myself.
CHAPTER11
Jane
M
Y
FINGERS
DIG
slightlyintoKyle’sarmaswestepuptothedoorofTheBlackSwan,butthenIrelease
him.Hehadn’tutteredawordfortherestofourwalkhere,buthealsodidn’ttrytodistancehimselffrom
meeither.
Tomysurprise,Kylereachesanarmbehindme,hisotherhandcomingtorestlightlyonmyshoulder
ashegentlypushesmetothesideabitsohecanopenthedoorforme.Istepthroughandhishanddrops
awayashewalksinbehindme.
“Hey,Jane,”thehostess,KileyGrimmons,greetsmefrombehindapodium.“Twofordinner?”
“Yes,please,”Itellherwithasmile.Kileywasthreeyearsbehindmeinhighschool,soIdon’tknow
herallthatwell,butherfatherownsthehardwarestoreandeveryoneknowsChib.Heusedtobeadeep-
seafisherman,butlosthishandinatragicaccidentwhenitgotcaughtinthegearsofthewinchsystem
usedtohaulinthecatch.Heretiredfromthatbutwasn’tdeterredfrommakingalifeforhimself.Instead,
heopenedupahardwarestoreonMainStreetthat’sdonesurprisinglywellforsuchasmallcommunity.
“Rightthisway,”KileysaysashereyeslingeronKylecuriouslybeforeshegrabsthemenus.
Wefollowherthroughtherestaurant,andsheputsusatalovelytablebyalongwallofnothingbut
glassthatoverlookstheharbor.
“Mirandawillberightwithyou,”Kileytellsmewithasmile,andIgiveheranappreciativenod.I
knew Miranda was working tonight, which is her preference since she gets way better tips than at The
LobsterCage.Mirandawouldactuallypreferthistobeher“second”job,butit’shardtogetonhereasa
part-timeemployeebecausethemoneyisfabulousduringthetouristseasonandreturnsummeremployees
get preferential offers. Still, she keeps her foot in the door by covering people’s shifts if they have an
emergencycomeup,andGus,whoownsTheLobsterCage,neverseemstogetbentoutofshapewhenshe
can’tworktherebecauseshepickedupanimpromptushifthere.
IchosethisrestauranttonightnotonlybecausethefoodwasfabulousandIworkedmyassofftodayto
helpKylesoIdeservedagreatmeal,butalsobecauseMirandawasworkingandIwantedheroutside
observingeyestogivemefeedbacklater.Kyle’ssodamnhardtoread,andMirandaisagreatjudgeof
character.She’llbeeyeballingthehelloutofhimtonighttotrytodenotebodylanguageandsuch.
Isnickertomyselfovermydeviousways,andthatcausesKyletopromptme,“What’ssofunny?”
“Oh,nothing,”Isay,smirkingasIpickupmymenuandopenit.“Theshe-crabsouphereistodiefor
soyoushouldtrythat,and,ofcourse,ifyoulikelobster,that’sagreatchoicetoo.”
“Do you like lobster?” he asks, and I raise my eyes to him. I think that might be the first genuinely
curiousquestionhe’saskedaboutmepersonally.
“Iloveit,”Itellhim.“You?”
“Neverhadit,”hesays.
“Whatthewhat?”IaskdramaticallyasIclosemymenuandsetitdown.“You’veneverhadlobster
before?”
“Nope,”isallhesays.
“Thenyouhavetotryit,”Itellhimfirmly.
“Okay.”Heputshismenudownanddoesn’tevenopenit.
“Butit’sexpensive,”Ifeeltheneedtoprovide,ashedidn’tevenbothertolookatthemarketprices
forthedaythatwouldbeprintedonapieceofpaperinthemiddle.
“Thenyoushouldhaveittoo,”hesaysgruffly.
“Well,okaythen,”Isay,givinghimatentativesmile,silentlymarvelingtomyselfthatforamanwho
doesn’twantthistobeadate,hesureispullingoutallthestopstoimpressme.
“Ifitisn’tmyfavoritepersonintheentireworld,”IhearMirandasayfrommyleftasshewalksupto
thetableandpourswaterintomyglass.Iglanceupather,butshe’sstaringacrossthetableatKyle,who
sitstomyright.Thensheturnstolookdownatmeandgivesmeawink.“Oh,andhey,Jane.Goodtosee
youtoo.”
Igrinather,butthengiveheramockpout.“IthoughtIwasyourfavoritepersonintheworld.”
“No,” Miranda drawls out as she puts her free hand on her hip and waves the mostly empty water
pitcheratKyle.“He’snowmyfavoritepersonafterthatepicsmackdownhelaidonCraigtheotherday.”
Ipursemylipsandgiveheranaccommodatingnod.“That’strue.Itwasepic,andIcanseehowyour
loyaltieswouldchange.”
Miranda laughs and blows me a kiss, then sticks her hand across the table to Kyle. “We weren’t
formallyintroducedtheotherday,butI’mMiranda.BestfriendtoJanehere,andwell,shereallyismy
favoritepersonintheworld.Butyou’reaclosesecond.”
KylesmilesatMiranda,andIhavetoadmitit’sabeautifulsmile.Heshakesherhandandsays,“I’d
havelikedtohavegivenhimmoretheotherday,butdidn’twanttocauseascene.”
Miranda laughs as she releases his hand, and then leans over to pour his water. “Okay, you’re my
favoriteagain.Janewilljusthavetobesatisfiedwithsecondbest.”
Andtomysurprise,Kylechucklesandthat’sevenmorebeautiful.Hisfaceactuallychangesandhis
eyeslightenup.HeactuallylooksapproachableandIhavetoresisttheurgetoleanoverandkisshim.
Instead,IlookbackupatMiranda.“We’regoingtobothhavetheshe-crabsoupandfulllobsters.”
“Whattodrink?”Mirandasayswithefficiency.
“I’mfinewithwater,”Isay.
“Whateveryouhaveondraft,”Kylesays.
“WehaveagreatsummerseasonalfromalocalbreweryoverinBarHarbor,”Mirandatellshim.“I’ll
goputyourordersinandberightbackwiththesoupsandyourbeer.”
IwatchforamomentasMirandawalkstothenexttabletocheckonthembeforeIturnbacktoKyle.
“AndthatcrazygirlisMirandaGale,trulymybestfriendintheworld.”
“She’sfunny,”Kyleobserves.“Andsheclearlyadoresyou.”
“Notasmuchassheadoresyouapparently,”Isaydryly.“Butthefeelingismutual.”
“Twopeasinapod?”heasks.
“Actually,no,”ItellhimasIcrossmyforearmsonthetableandleantowardhimabit.“We’realmost
likenightandday.She’scrazy,wild,anduninhibited.Shedoesn’thaveafilteronhermouthandcantalk
toanystranger.Mirandalikestoflybytheseatofherpantsandiscompletelyspontaneous.”
“Then that means you’re sedate, cautious with your words, introverted, and goal oriented,” Kyle
throwsatme.
“Somethinglikethat,”IsayasIpickupmyglassandtakeasipofwater.
“You’renotintrovertedthough,”Kylesaysashecocksaneyebrowatme.“Youpushedyourwayall
upinmybusiness.”
IlaughasIputmyglassbackdown.Staringatit,Irunathumboverthecondensationontheoutside.
“Well,I’mmoreintrovertedincrowds.Mirandawouldbethetypewhowoulddanceonthetabletopsata
party;I’dbeinthecornerbymyself.”
“Life-of-the-partytypeofgirl,huh?”
“Let’sjustsayI’vehadtopullheroffatableortwoatapartytopreventhertopfromcomingoff,”I
tellhimwithalaugh.“She’scertifiablycrazy,butIloveherlikeasister.”
Kylenodsandthenasks,“Youhaveanysiblings?”
Ishakemyhead.“Nope.JustMiranda,whomightaswellbe.Shehadaroughtimegrowingupand
spentmostofhertimeatmyhouse,somyparentssortoftreatherlikeshe’stheirdaughter.”
AndbecauseIwanttolearnmoreaboutKyle,Iaddon,“Whataboutyou…doyouhaveanybrothers
orsisters?”
I’m not sure if it’s my imagination or not, but something painful flickers in Kyle’s eyes before he
lowershisgazetothetableasheplucksattheedgeofthetablecloth.Heshakeshishead,“Asister,but
we’renotclose.Wedon’ttalk.”
“What about your parents?” I ask, choosing to leave the sister thing alone. “Are they still back in
Maryland?”
“They’redead.”Hiseyesliftbackuptomine,andthey’reclear.Nohintofpainoranything.Infact,
theyarealittleflat,andIdon’tlikethat.
“I’msorry,”IsaysoftlyasIreachmyhandouttotouchhis.
“Don’tbe,”herespondsgruffly,quicklymovinghishandawaysowedon’tmakecontact.“Itwasa
longtimeago.”
Hismessagetomeisclear.Hedoesn’twanttotalkabouthisfamily.Ihavetorespectthat,atleastfor
now. But I’m not willing to give up on this opportunity where I have him pinned to that chair for the
durationofthisdinner.
“WhydidyoumoveheretoMistyHarbor?”Iaskhimcuriously.“Ican’timagineit’sbecauseyou’ve
alwayswantedtobealighthousekeeper.”
I’msurprisedwhenKyleactuallygivesmeaslightsmile,causinghimtoappearrelaxedagain.“Just
wanted a change of scenery and no… I didn’t really want to be a lighthouse keeper, but it sounded
interestingandIthoughtI’dgiveitatry.”
“Yousaidyou’velivedallover,”Imention.“Wherewereyoubeforehere?”
“Chicago.BeforethatWyoming,”hesayswithoutgivinganymoredetail.
“Neverbeentoeither,”Itellhimwithasigh.“Infact,neverbeenmuchofanywhere.WenttoNew
YorkCityonceforaclasstrip,butpastthat,I’msadtosayI’venotstrayedfromMaine.”
“Notevencollege?”heasks.
“Wenttoaschoolaboutfortymilesaway,”Itellhimwithalaugh.“I’mnotveryadventurous,Iguess
youcouldsay.”
“Idon’tknowaboutthat,”hesays,hisvoicealowrumble.“Youcertainlykeptpokingatthisbear.
That’sprettydamndaring.
“You’reabear?”Iaskteasingly,myheadtiltedtotheside.
Henods,hiseyespinningmeinplace.“Ihaveclawsandteeth,Jane.”
“Isthatawarning?’Iask,nowmorecuriousthanever,evenasasmallrippleoffearrunsupmyspine
overhiswords.
“Wouldyouheeditifitwas?”hecounters.
“Nope.”Istareathim,refusingtoletmygazedrop.Hestaresrightbackatme,hiseyesflickingback
andforthbetweenmine,perhapstryingtofigureoutifI’mbeingbraveorfoolish.
BeforeIcananswer,Mirandacomestothetable,settingKyle’sbeerdownbeforehim,andourgazes
disconnect.Kylelooksuptoherandsays,“Thanks.”
“Surething,hotstuff,”shesaysbacktohimwithagrin,andthenproceedstolayourbowlsofsoup
downbeforeus.
When she leaves, Kyle picks up his spoon and gives the creamy soup a try. I watch him carefully,
wonderinghowIcangettheconversationbacktowhereitwas,becauseIwanttotesthim.Iwanttosee
ifhereallywantstopushmeawayorperhapsifhewantsmetodisregardthewarningbellstokeepafter
him.
But the moment is clearly broken when he asks me the most dreadful question imaginable after he
swallowshisbiteofsoup.“So,what’syourfavoritemovie?”
Really?
We’regoingtotalkaboutmovies?
We’regoingtohaveaboring,lame,andnon-invasivediscussion?Hewantsstupiddetailsaboutme
thatdon’tmeananything?
IsuppressaneyerollasIpickupmyspoonbeforetellinghim,“ForrestGump.What’syours?”
AndIwaittoseeifdiscussingmovieswillprovideanopeningsoIcantrytolearnmoreabouthim.
Tofindoutifhe’sreallymoregrizzlythanteddybear,butIsuspectIalreadyknowtheanswertothat.
CHAPTER12
Kyle
I
DON
’
T
WANT
ittobe,butthisisdefinitelyadate.
I came to this brutal realization about ten minutes after we finished our lobsters. Somehow, while I
was busy cracking the shiny red shell of a huge claw, it hit me that Jane had managed to completely
captivatemewithsomegoodfuckingconversation.
Despitemybesteffortstokeepustalkingaboutimpersonalshit,Janemanagedtomakememoreand
more curious about her. Learning her favorite movie led into a conversation about the fact that there
wasn’tadecentmovietheaterinthisarea.Likeadumbass,ratherthanaskaboutwhereshewouldgoto
seehermoviesandkeeptheconversationimpersonal,Imadethemistakeaboutaskingwhatshelikedto
doinherfreetime.Thatstartedanavalancheofinformationflowingtowardmeatabreakneckspeed.
AndIwasfuckinghooked.
IalreadyknewthatJanewasquirky,funny,andI’llevenadmit,practicallyirresistible.Itgoeswithout
sayingthatshe’sgorgeousandsexy.ButIalsofoundout,throughstoriesshetoldmeaboutherlife,that
she has an amazing sense of self. If you don’t look too deep, it would be easy to believe that Jane is
merelycomfortableinherquietlifehereinMistyHarbor.Therewouldbemanypeoplewhowouldlook
atayoungwomanwithallofhernaturalbeautyandcleargiftsandwonderwhyshewouldbecontentto
live in a very small town with no real possibilities to be anything other than a favorite daughter, a
wonderfulbestfriendandawell-lovedartteacher.
Butbythetimewehadfinisheddessert—whichwascheesecakeforJaneandanotherbeerforme—I
knewwithoutadoubtthatJanewasmorethanjustcontentinherlifehereinMistyHarbor.Rather,she
adoredeverythingaboutitanditmadeherinsanelyhappy.Ilearnedshe’sincrediblyclosetoherparents,
hasacompletelyfulfillingrelationshipwithMirandathatresemblesmoreofasiblingnaturethanjustbest
friends,andshehasacareerthatbringshersuchjoy,shewouldneverthinktodoanythingelsewithher
life.
Somewouldcallhersimplemindedandlackinggoals,butIseesomeonewhoisincrediblycentered
andhasachievedeverythingshecouldeverwantinlife.
Thisfascinatesme.
Thismorethanfascinatesme,becausedespitethefactthatIalmostsingle-handedlybroughtdowna
majorcriminalorganization,whichisanaccomplishmentmostpeoplecouldneverevenhopetoimagine,
I’msittinghereinMistyHarborwonderinghowI’vewastedsomuchofmylife.I’minatown,hidingout,
andremovedfromeverythingimportantinmylife.AsIreflectbackonthelastfiveyearsIgaveupsoI
couldbringapackofcriminalstojustice,Ifeelstrangelyunaccomplished.
IlookatJaneCressonandrealizeI’vebeenmissingoutontherealityoflife.I’vebeencompletely
withoutthoselittlethingsthatmakelifeworthliving.Goodfriendsandfamily,asenseofbelonging,anda
joy-filledlife.Mylifesofarhasbeennothingbutsubsistence,andnotaveryfulfillingoneatthat.
WhileIadmitthisisadate,Istilldon’thaveafuckingcluewhatI’mgoingtodowiththisrevelation.
IfIwasakindandgentleman,I’ddropJaneoffatherhousewithahandshakeandwishherwellinlife.
I’dthenbarricademyselfinmycottageandmakesureInevercrossedpathswithheragain.
ButI’mnotkindorgentle.Moreoftenthannot,I’vebeencalledasupremeassholebymanypeople,
and they wouldn’t be wrong in their beliefs about me. It would be completely repugnant to encourage
Jane.Itwouldbealmostmorallydeviantofmetodoanythingotherthanchaseheroff.
Andyet,I’mdebatingrightthisveryminuteasIwalkherbackhomewhetherI’mgoingtokissheror
trytofuckherwhenwegettoherhouse,becauseatmycore,I’maselfishbastard.I’vegotsomanyyears
oflivinglifeasamorallyandsinfullyaspossible,Ialmostbelieveit’swithinmyrighttodirtyJaneup.
It’scertainlyallIreallyknowanymore.
“So,whatdidyouthinkofyourfirstexperiencewithlobster?”Janeasksasshenudgeshershoulder
into my arm playfully. The push doesn’t move me off course, and I keep my hands firmly tucked in my
pocketsaswewalkalongthesamepathbacktoherhouse.Upaheadinthedistance,Iseeherparents’
house,theporchlightglowingbuttherockingchairsthankfullyempty.Ibreathealittleeasiernothaving
tofacehermomanddadagain,or,Godforbid,receivinganinvitationtocomeinforcoffeeorsomething.
WhileI’veconcededthisisadate,Iamnotgoingtobemeetingherparents.
Ever.
“Itwasfantastic,”Iadmitaboutthelobster.“Outsideofbeingapainintheasstoeat.”
“Youcanorderthemtobecrackedandthemeatpulledoutforyou,”Janetellsme.“Butyou’dlook
likeatotalpansyassatthatpoint,andIdon’tthinkthatwouldbeagoodlookonyou.”
My lips twitch as she’d be totally right about that, but I don’t respond. Despite Jane’s knack for
keepingconversationflowing,Ialsofindthatmomentsofsilencewithherarejustascomfortable.
So comfortable, in fact, I almost trip over my own feet when she startles me with her next crazy
proclamation.“Ithinkthiswasanicedate,andI’mwonderingifyou’regoingtokissmewhenwegetto
myhouse.”
“It’snotadate,”Isayautomaticallyandwaytoovehemently,andJanejustsnickersatme.
“Ofcourseit’sadate,”shesays.“Youpickedmeup,tookmetoanicerestaurant,wehadamazing
conversation,lingeredlongoverdessert,andwe’retakingatotallyromanticwalkbacktomyhouse.”
“Itwasathankyouforhelpingmepaint,”Istatefirmly.
“Thatwouldhavebeenbeerandapizza,notaromanticrestaurant,”shecounters.
“Youpickedtherestaurant,”Iremindher.
Sheignoresthatverypointedreminder.“Soareyougoingtokissme?”
“JesusChrist,”Imutter,completelywantingtotellher,No,I’mnotgoingtokissyou.Notnow.Not
ever.Butnothingelsecomesout.
Shesnickersagain.“Youtotallywanttokissme.”
“Wringyourneckmorelikeit,”Igrowlather.
Shelaughsatmeagain,andmylipstwitch…again.
“Seriouslythough,”shesayssolemnlyasshestopsmid-strideandcurlsherhandaroundmyforearm,
whichcausesmetostopandturntoher.Hergazeistroubled,alltracesofamusementgone.“I’mgiving
youahardtime.Youdon’thavetokissme.”
Istareatherathoughtfulmoment,myeyesmovingoverherbeautifullyinnocentface.Herheadtiltsto
theside,almostasifshe’stryingtofigureoutwhat’slurkinginsidemyhead.
“I’llthinkaboutit,”Ifinallytellher.“Andletyouknowwhenwegettoyourhouse.”
She beams a smile up at me. It causes my stomach to tighten and my skin to tingle, in a not wholly
unpleasantway.SoI’mguessingIalreadyhavemyanswer.
Janemovesherhanddownmyforearm,pastmywrist,andslidesherpalmagainstmine.Herfingers
curlaroundmyownasshesays,“Thesuspenseiskillingme.Ihopeitlasts.WillyWonka,1971.”
Smiling internally but never showing her that she amuses me, I don’t bother pulling my hand away
fromhersbecauseitfeelstoodamnnice.It’ssoftandwarmandsecureagainstmine,unlikeanythingI’ve
feltinmygraspbefore.
Instead,Ijuststartwalking,thistimeabitquickerandwithourhandsfirmlyclaspedtogether.
We walk past her parents’ house in silence, and the yappy dog the next house down is thankfully
inside.Otherwise,Janemightbetemptedtopullawayfrommetopetthatridiculouslyloudthing.
WhenwereachJane’shouse,sheletsgoofmyhandandreachesintoherpursetopulloutasetof
keys.Ratherthanunlockherdoor,sheturnstomewithherchinliftedinchallenge.“Doyouwanttocome
inforadrink?”
“Notreally,”Itellhertruthfully,because,inmymind,ifIstepthroughthatdoor,it’sgoingtobemore
thanjustakiss.I’mnotagentleman,andI’musedtotakingwhatIwant.Janewillbeinveryrealdanger
ifItakeheruponheroffer.
She cocks an eyebrow at me skeptically. “I know no man who won’t accept an invitation in for a
drink.”
“Isthatreallywhatyou’reofferingme?”Icounterinalowvoice.
Sheblinksatmeinsurprise.“Well,ofcoursethat’swhatI’moffering.Isthatwrong?”
“Ithoughtyouwantedakiss,”Iremindher.
“Ido,”shesayswithherchintiltinghigher.“ButIfiguredwecouldhaveadrink…talksomemore.”
God,shecan’tbethatfuckingnaïve.Andifshereallyis,Ineedtoeducateherabitonthedangersof
assumingnicethingsaboutme.
I step toward Jane, crowding her space and forcing her to step backward until her back flattens
againstthedoor.Itakeanotherhalfastepuntilourbodiesareseparatedbyjustafewinchesofairand
vibratingtension.AsIpeerdownather,Itakeinthefactherbreathinghasgottenfasterandhereyelids
havedroppedslightly.Hergazelowersslowlyuntilshefocusesonmymouth,andfuckitalltohell…she
licksherlips.
Ittakesamassiveamountofsheerwillpowernottotouchher.
Grabher.
Fuck…maulher.
Iwanttofuckingmaulherlikeadamnsavage,butthat’snotmeanymore.
Iswearit’snotme.
Takinginaslowbreaththroughmynose,IletitoutquietlythroughmymouthbeforeItellher,“Jane…
inmyworld,youinviteamaninsideyourhouse,andheexpectsyoutospreadyourlegsforhim.”
Ihopetoshockherandpissheroff,soshe’lldowhatIcan’tdointhismoment,andthat’storealize
thishasdisasterwrittenalloverit.Iwanttooffendhernotionsofromanceandsensibility,andsendher
scurryingawayfromme.
Instead, she raises her gaze to meet mine and whispers, “That wasn’t what I was offering, Kyle.
Maybelater…afterIgettoknowyouabitmore,butfornow…Ireallyonlywantakiss.”
Goddamnit.
I fucking want it too. And I’ll be more than happy with just a touch of her mouth on mine with the
promiseofnothingelseinreturn.Icanbesatisfiedwiththat.
Ithink.
I’moverwhelmedwithaburstofangertowardherforhertenacityandignoranceofthewaysofbad
men, and I’m turned on beyond measure that, despite my scary attempts, she still wants something from
me.
IbringahandupandtouchmyfingerstohercheekinamovesogentleIdon’trecognizemyself.She
letsoutasmallgustofairthatsoundsappreciativeandaccepting,butitturnsintoatinygaspwhenmy
handslidesbackintoherhairandIgripitinmyfist.It’snotenoughtohurther,butitholdshertightlyin
placeasIlowermyfacetowardhers.
“I’mnotaniceguy,Jane,”Iwarnher.
“Youseemniceenough,”shesaysinalowmurmur,butthere’senoughsassthereIhavetosuppressan
involuntarysmile.
“I’llhurtyou,”Isayominously.
“Rightthisverymoment?”sheinquiressweetly.
“Eventually,”Imutter.
“I’lltakemychances,Kyle,”shewhispers.Thosefivewordssealherfate.
“Sobeit,”Isayonaregretfulsigh,andthenIgiveherwhatshewants.
CHAPTER13
Jane
I
WASH
MY
handsinmybathroomsinkandglanceintothemirror.I’mprettysurethelookonmyfaceis
justasdopeyasitwasthismorning.I’vefeltitallday.Thewaymycheekspullupalittle,thewaymy
mouthhasbeencurvedinasmile,andtheslightflushtomyskin.
IwenttobedlastnightthinkingaboutthatkisswithKyleatmydoorstep,andIwokeupthinkingabout
it.Hell,there’sevenaslighttinglingtomylipsthathasn’tgoneaway.
Turningthewateroff,Idrymyhandsonthecutelittlehandtoweldoneinlemonyellowwithwhite
laceedging,andlookintothemirroronelasttime.Yup…brighteyesthatImayhaveaccentuatedwith
some smokier than I normally wear eye shadow, along with a volumizing layer of mascara, and decide
thatI’mreallygoingtodothis.
Iheadintothekitchenandsaiddopeysmileremains.Icanfeelit.Ifanyonehadseenmetoday,they
wouldhavelookedatmewithknowingeyes—thatgirlwaskissedandkissedwell.ButI’dbeenathome
by myself today, doing some cleaning and a little bit of painting for purely pleasure purposes. It was a
casual,summerdayoffforme,oneofthethingsIlovedaboutbeingateacher.
I’d relaxed today, ruminated about that kiss, and around three o’clock this afternoon, made the
decision that I’d see Kyle tonight. This may or may not be a surprise to him. When he walked off my
porchlastnight,heleftmewithoutasingleinnuendoorhintthathewantedtoseemeagain.Perhapshe
thinkshe’smadethingsclear.Ontheotherhand,I’veneverreallyletKyleputmeoff,andthatseemstobe
agoodplayrightnow.
Icookdinner—aroastedporkloin,candiedcarrots,andfreshbakedbread.Granted,thebreadfeels
likea rock, so I throw it awayand pack the rest up in a basket.After I top it off with a red-checkered
linencloth,I’mgoingtobringittohimandinsistweeatittogether.
MaybeI’llgetanotherkiss,althoughI’mnotsureitcouldtoptheonehegavemelastnight.
Kyletoldmehewasn’tagoodman.Heprettymuchassuredmehe’dhurtmeatsomepoint.Sowhen
his lips came down on mine, I actually braced for him to be rough with me. Let’s face it… he’s crude,
withdrawn, gruff, and anti-social. He’s all angled planes and tattooed skin with scary designs. I’d
watchedhimgrabCraigbythethroatandsingle-handedlydispatchthecreepwithoutbreakingasweat.
AndeventhoughIwantedthekiss,IknewtherewasaslightpossibilitythatKylecould,infact,bea
dangerouslydarkman.Evenmoreso,IknewIcouldhavebeeninactualdanger.Afterall,heprettymuch
toldmeheconsideredaninvitationintomyhousetoequatetoaspreadingoflegs.
Oh,butthatkiss.
HewasnoneofthethingsIhadsomereservationsabout.
Itwassosoftandgentle.Hismouthmovedsoslowlyoverminewithoutanyrush,butwiththeintent
toseekeverythingIhadtooffer.Kylewasabsolutelyunhurried.IfIhadtoguess,I’dsayhewassavoring
itasmuchasIwas.Hewascontenttojustroamataleisurelypace,anditdrovemeabsolutelybonkers
withneedingmore.SoImadethenextboldmovebylettingmytonguehesitantlyreachouttotouchhis.
AndIgotareaction.
Asoftgrowlfromdeepinhischestashishandtightenedslightlyinmyhair,anditsoturnedmeon
thatmybodyinvoluntarilyleanedintohis.
But then… he was gone, releasing me suddenly and taking a full step backward. His eyes were
hoodedandhisfaceimpassive,andIwouldhavethoughthewasunaffectedbyitall,excepthisvoicewas
veryhoarsewhenhesaid,“Goodnight,Jane.”
Withoutanotherword,hespunaround,boundeddownmyporchsteps,andjoggedacrossmyyardto
CranberryLane.Iwatchedhim—lipsinfulltinglemode—untilhewentinsidehishouseandshutthedoor
behindhim.
Ididn’tstruggleallthathardinmydecisiontocookandbringhimdinner.IknowIshouldheedhis
warningthathe’sa“bad”man,butI’msorry…thatkisswaswaytoogentleforthattobetrue.Assuch,
I’m going to see what else is lurking under his carefully layered facade that’s designed to keep people
away.
Afterpickingupthebasket,thedopeysmileonmyfaceremainsasIheadovertoKyle’shouse.Ihave
toconcentratetowipeitoff,puttingonmycharming,quirkysmilewhenIknockonhisfrontdooratsix
o’clockonthedot.
When Kyle opens the door and stares at me, he doesn’t look surprised to see me, but, truthfully, he
doesn’tlookhappyaboutiteither.Onecouldarguethathedoesn’tlookpissedofforputout.Notcurious
orresigned.Hejuststaresatmewithoutgivingmeasinglehintastowhathemightbefeeling.
Andthat’sokay.
I’mstandinghere,pushingmyselfintohislife,becausesomethinghappenedlastnightwhenhekissed
me. It was an epiphany of sorts because my entire life has sort of been settled. I had a charmed life
growingup,followedmydreamstogotocollegeandbecameateacher,andIwakeupeverydaylivingin
atownthatIadorewithwonderfulfamilyandfriends.Butwhenhekissedmelastnight,therealization
wasclearthatIhadtrulybeenmissingsomethingIhadnotrealizedIwasmissinguntilthatmoment.Kyle
Hardingpresentsmorethanjustexcitementandintrigueintomyorderedworld.Heisanabsolutepuzzle,
andI’menjoyingtheprocessoffiguringhimout.Perhapshe’sevenabitbroken,andwhileIdon’twantto
betheonetofixhim,IdowanttobeanintegralpartinpeelingawaytheouterlayerssoIcanfindout
whohetrulyis.I’veseenenoughgoodnessandgentlenessinhimtoknowthathe’snotwhohethinkshe
is.Whileheactslikehewantsnothingtodowiththeworldasitexists,I’veseenenoughcuriositywithin
himtoconsiderthepossibilitythatperhapshecouldhavethingshe’dneverthoughtwerepossible.
“Hi,” I say with a shrug since my hands are full. But then I nod down to the basket in my hands.
“Broughtusdinner.”
Hisgazedropsdowntothebasket,andthenbackuptome.“Us?”
“Well,yeah,”Ichastise.“Ididn’tcookallthisfoodjustforyoutoeatitbyyourself.Igetsomeofthe
rewardstoo.”
“Are there any baked goods in there?” he asks dubiously, and I know I’m moments away from him
openingthedoor.
Good thing I threw that bread away. “Nope. Just a pork loin and some candied carrots. I’m a good
cook.”
“But the baking leaves a lot to be desired,” he adds on, and I can’t help but grin—not over his
backhandedslightthatwassaidallingoodfun,butbecausehisarmshootsoutandheopensthescreen
doortoletmein.
Ipushpasthim,takingintherusticdecorofhiscottage.It’stotallyaman’splaceasthere’sminimal
decorativetouches.Thelivingroomissmallandboastsonlyaloveseatandaratty-lookingreclinerthat’s
crowdedaroundanoldwood-burningfireplacewitharedbrickmantle.MyheartwarmswhenIseemy
paintinghangingoverit.
Beyond the living room is a small kitchen. I walk into it, setting my basket on the old, chipped
countertop. As I pull out the two casserole dishes—one that contains the pork loin I’d already cut into
thick slices and the other holding the carrots—Kyle wordlessly pulls out plates and flatware before
turningtothefridgeandpullingouttwobottlesofwater.
Idishupourdinners.Bysilentagreement,webothtakeseatsathiskitchentablethathasseenbetter
days.It’sbatteredwoodwithnicksandscratchessurroundedbyfourmismatchedchairs.
Iwatchhimcarefullyashecutsintothepork,takesabite,andchewsslowly,hiseyesfocusedonhis
plate.ButI’mnotgoingtosithereinsilencewhenthisisprimeopportunityforconversation.
“Anygood?”Iask,andhetiltshisheadtolookatme.
Heswallowsashenods.“Verygood.”
Ibeamasmileathim.“Thanks.I’dactuallymadesomebread,butwell…you’dbethrowingmeout
ofyourhouserightaboutnowifI’dofferedittoyou.”
“Youmorethanmakeupforthelackofbakingskills,”hemuttersbeforespearingacarrot.
“Mymom’sagoodcook,”Isaybywayofexplanation.
“Howissheatbaking?”heasks.
“Suckslikeme,”Iadmit.
Hegivesmeanamusedsmileashecutsanotherpieceofporkloin.Iusethisopportunitytogoforit.
“So you said you lived in Wyoming,” I say as I work at cutting my food up into bite-sized pieces.
“Whatalldidyoudothere?”
Iexpectsullensilence,soI’msurprisedwhenhesays,“Workedvariousjobshereandthere,butdida
fewyearsworkingintheoilfields.Eventually,Ibecameamechanic.”
“Wyominghasoil?”Iaskcuriously.
Henods.“Mostlyinthewesternpartofthestate.”
“Andwhattypeofmechanicwereyou?”IaskasIpunchmyforkdownintoapieceofpork.
“Motorcycle,” he says, and I’m surprised when he elaborates without me being pushy or nosy.
“Startedoutasahobby.BoughtanoldTriumphandfixeditupmyself,thenrealizedIlikedworkingwith
engines. Eventually moved over to the eastern part of the state and became a full-time motorcycle
mechanic.”
“Icantotallyseethat,”Iobservethoughtfully.
“How’sthat?”Hisexpressionisdoubtfullycurious.
“Well,Imeanyou’rehandy,”Itellhim.“Goodwithyourhands.Knewexactlywhattodowhenmy
waterpipesbroke.Somepeoplearenaturallygiftedwithstufflikethat.Ialsosawyouworkingonyour
truck’sengineafewweeksago,soIfiguredyouknewwhatyouweredoing.”
“Enginessortofmakesensetome,”hemuttersashisgazegoesbacktohisplate.“ButasgoodasIam
withmechanicalstuff,Itotallysuckatelectronics.”
“But aren’t most modern engines full of electronic components?” I ask, enjoying this simple and
unstiltedconversationwherehe’snotholdingback.
“True,”hesays.“Alwayslearningsomething.”
I nod. “Pretty big change you’ve made, going from a motorcycle mechanic out west to a lighthouse
keeperontheEastCoast.”
“Youcouldsaythat.”
Hedoesn’toffermore,andthesilencebecomesinstantlyoppressive.SoIveeroffthepathalittleand
tryforsomethingabitmorepersonal.
“Sowhatdoyouliketodoforfun?”Iaskashecontinuestoeat.“Imean,youcameinthedeadof
winter.There’snotalottodoaroundhereunlessyou’reintowintersportslikesnowmobilingorskiing.
Youhadafewmonthswhereyouwereholedupinhereallbyyourself.”
He raises his gaze from a piece of carrot on his fork to me and gives a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t
know…Ireadalot.”
Myeyesbrighten.“Really?Ilovetoreadtoo.Whattypeofbooks?”
“Crimestuff,”hesays.
“Likerealcrimeorfiction?”
“Both actually,” he says. “I like the classics too. The guy who lived here before me left a nice
collection,andI’vereadthroughallofthemalready.”
Youknow,forallofKyle’sgruffways,Icantotallyseehimreadingtheclassics.I’velearnedenough
abouthimtoknowhe’sasmartguy.
“Didyougotocollege?”Iaskcuriously.
Hisgazedropsquicklytohisplate,andIsenseanimmediatevibeofdiscomfortintheair.Iwonder
whythat’sasoresubject,butthenhelooksrightbackupatme.“Yeah,Idid.Workedmywaythroughat
night.Tookmesixyearsgoingparttime.”
“Wow,”Isay,completelyimpressedbutnotsurprised.Kyleseemstobeagoal-orientedtypeofman.
“What’syourdegreein?”
He hesitates only slightly, as if it might go against the rules to admit it to me, but then offers up.
“Criminaljustice.”
Ismileinunderstanding.“Henceyoulikingcrimebooks.Sowhydidn’tyoueverdoanythingwiththat
degree?”
“WhatmakesyouthinkIdidn’t?”hechallengesme,andyes…hiseyesflashwithsomethingIcan’t
quitedescribe.
“Didyou?”Iaskbluntly.
He holds my gaze steadily for a moment before he says quietly, “No. Found out I was more apt to
commiseratewiththecriminalsratherthancatchthem.”
Myjawdrops.Hesoundsserious,andyet…there’sanuntruthinthatstatement.Icanhearitandit
confusesme,becauseIalsohearsomeelementsoftruthaswell.
“Idon’tbelievethat,”Isaysoftly.
“WhywouldIlie?”hecounters,hiseyescontinuingtoboreintome.
“Areyouacriminal?”Iask,notansweringhislastquestion.
Heshakeshisheadwithouthesitation.“Ihaveaspotlessrecord.I’msureyoucanlookitup.”
“No, I trust you,” I say automatically, and I have to wonder why that popped out so easily. I don’t
know him at all, but, for some reason, I believe what he just told me, despite the fact he’s clearly a
secretiveman.
Kylemerelygruntsatme,andI’llhavetoassumethatmeanshetakesmeatfacevalue.Buthedoesn’t
offer me anything else, and I’m suddenly feeling off kilter. I feel like he was telling me something
importantabouthimself,butIcan’tfigureoutthedeepermessage.
♦
K
YLE
FINISHES
HIS
mealwellbeforeme,andthat’smerelybecausehefocusedoneating.Ithinkthatwasa
calculatedmovetodiscourageanyfurtherpersonalconversation,andIrespectedthat.
Soinstead,Ithoughtaboutthatkisswe’dhad,andIwonderedifitwouldhappenagaintonight.
ThenIbecameobsessedaboutitasIateapieceofpork,thenacarrot.
Pork.Carrot.Pork.Carrot.
WhenIfinishthelastbite,IlookupatKyleandfindhisplateempty.He’swatchingmeacrossthe
tablewithhisarmscrossedoverhischest.Hischairispushedbackabit,onelegcockedwithhisfoot
flat on the floor, the other one pushed out straight with heel to the floor, so he’s slouched a bit lazily.
“Dinnerwasgreat.Thanks.”
Andthattotallysoundsdismissive.
So I try to stall. “I’ll help you clean up the dishes. After that, maybe we can watch a movie or
something.”
He’sshakinghisheadinthenegativebeforeIevenfinishmysentence.“Don’thaveaTV.”
“You can come to my house,” I offer, and then I blush, because I remember what he thinks about a
womanwhoinvitesamaninside.“Youknow…Imean,I’vegotalotofDVDsandsuch.”
He’sstillshakinghishead.“I’msortofbeat.Goingtocallitanearlynight.”
And yep… that was a total brush-off because it’s barely six-thirty. I’ve been here a grand total of
thirtyminutesandhe’shadhisfillofme—andwell,myfood.Myheartsinksasit’sclearhewantsnothing
moretodowithme,andI’mthinkingthatkisslastnightmayhavefeltamazingonlyfrommyperspective.
Thisembarrassesmegreatly,givingmeincentivetomakeaquickexit.
“Well, okay,” I say as I push up out of my chair. Kyle does the same and shoves his hands in the
pocketsofhisjeans,juststaringatme.“I’ll…um…getthedishesfromyoulater.”
I expect him to fight me on that. Perhaps insist I take them right now. But there’s still more food in
them,andthatwouldrequiremetostayabitlongertopackitallup,soI’mnotsurprisedwhenhenodsin
agreement.
ThisheartensmeslightlyasIrealize,attheveryleast,I’llseehimagainwhenhereturnsmystuff.
Unlesshejustleavesthemonmyporch,whichcausesmystomachtosink.
Thetug-of-warthismanplaysonmyemotionsfromsecondtosecondisdisorientingtosaytheleast.
Iturnandheadthroughthelivingroom,Kyle’sbootsthumpingsoftlybehindmeonthewoodflooring.
WhenIreachthedoor,hereachespastmeandopensit.Mymindraceswithsomethingtosay.
Anythingthatwillkeepanopeningbetweenusasmypulsefiresonallcylinders.
I’msurprisedwhenhepushesopenthescreendoor,hisshoulderbrushingagainstmine,andwhenI
stepontohisporch,hefollowsmeout.
Lookingovermyshoulder,Igivehimatentativesmile.“Well,goodnight.”
“Goodnight,Jane,”hesayssoftly,andthatrightthere…it’sregretinhiseyes.Iseeitclearlyandit
causesmetofreezeinplace.Isthatanopening?
ShouldIpressanadvantage?
But before I can even think what that might look like, he says, “Thanks again for dinner,” and then
turnsbacktowardthescreeneddoor.
Myshoulderssagatthecoldbrush-offandIturnaway,tellingmyselfwithabsolutecertaintyIneedto
giveuponhim.He’sjustnotinterested.
IgetnomorethantwostepstowardthefirstporchstepbeforeKyle’shandclampsonmywristand
he’sspinningmebacktowardhim.Mymouthfallsopeninagaspofsurprise,onlytobecoveredwithhis
ashepullsmeroughlytohim.
Heputsahandtothebackofmyhead,anotheratmyhipwherehesqueezesoncebeforepullingme
flushagainsthisbody,andthenhekissesmelikeI’veneverbeenkissedbefore.
Never,everkissedlikethisbefore.
Certainlynotlikelastnight,whichwasgentleandexploratory,hesitancyabarrier.Butthisisafull-on
assault on all of my senses. His mouth is urgent, rough, and demanding. His tongue immediately claims
mine,andIgiveituptohimwithoutasecondthought.
Myhandsreachblindlytogripintohist-shirt,andthenclawinwardsoIcanholdhimtightlysohe
can’tgetawayandIcan’tfalldownbecausemykneesaresoweak.
Almostasifhe’ssatisfiedthatIwouldneverinamillionyearsthinktopullmymouthfromhis,his
handdropsfrommyheadtotakemyotherhipandhepressesmeintohim.
AndIfeeleverything.
Everyinchofhishardbody.
Mostimportantly,Ifeelhiserectionpressingintomystomach,andIgodizzyfromhowquicklythis
hasescalated.
A tiny moan flutters up from my throat and doesn’t even hesitate before it slithers into his mouth.
Kyle’sfingersdigharderintomyhipsasIpressmybodytightlyagainsthis,myarmsnowsnakingaround
hisshoulders.Myfingerstouchthebackofhisneck,slidingupwardtothebackofhisheadwherethey
rub against the stubble of his shorn hair briefly before gliding back down and around to lie against his
chest.
I can feel the mad hammering of his heart, and mine seems to gallop at the same speed within my
chest.Myentirebodyisonfire,mylimbsfeellikejello,andanachethrobsbetweenmylegs.Inthisvery
moment, I’ve never been more turned on in my entire life by a man, and if we were in my house, I’d
indeedbespreadingmylegsforhim.
Notadoubtinmymindthat’swhatI’dbedoing.
But then Kyle hesitates, his mouth pausing and his grip loosening. His forehead touches mine as he
muttersalmostpainfully,“Youneedtogo.”
“No,”Isayautomatically,myfingersdraggingoverhischest,downhisstomach,andpausingatthe
waistbandofhisjeans.
Kyleliftshishead,andhistroubledeyesboreintomine.Hiswordsareclippedandharsh.“Youneed
togo,Jane.”
“No,”Isayagain.Okay,itcomesoutalmostlikeawhine,andmyfingersboldlyskimdownwardto
brushoverhiserectioninaverydesperateandperhapspatheticmovetokeephiminthemoment.
Tonotlosehim.
KylehissesandhisbodyjerkswhenIpressmypalmagainsthim,andholymotherofGod,it’shuge.I
wanttofeelmore,soIstarttocurlmyhandaroundhim,assuredhewon’tbeabletoresist.
I’mwrongthough,probablyabouteverything.
Kyle’shandsshootupward,roughlygrabbingmyshoulderssohecanpushmeaway.It’snotahard
push,butinananosecond,heputstwofeetofspacebetweenusandthendropsmelikeahotpotato.
Istareathim,mychestheavingwithhardenednipples.Asilentpleaonmymouthforhimtotouchme
again.
Heshakeshishead,buthisvoiceissurprisinglygentlewhenhesays,“Youneedtogo,Jane.Thisisn’t
happening.”
“ButIdon’tunderstand,”Iwhisper.
Kylescrubsahandoverhisheadandhuffsoutwithfrustration.“There’snothingtounderstand.I’m
notgoodforyouandIjustcan’tgothere,okay?”
“No,it’snotokay,”Iargue,andeventhoughmybodyisstartingtocool,Ifeelmoredrawntohimthan
ever.Ifeelabsolutelycompelledtoadmittohim,“Ilikeyou.”
Kyle’seyesgentleashegivesmeasadsmile.“Ilikeyoutoo,Jane.Butitcan’tgopastfriendship.I
reallyshouldn’teventakethat,but…”
“But?”Iprompthim.
“Butnothing,”hesaysfirmly.“I’mnotgoingtobeherelong,soI’mnotabouttostartanythingwith
you. So it’s just friends, Jane, and frankly… I won’t make a very good friend so take that for what it’s
worth.”
My eyes drop to the porch, and I try to make sense of the emotions warring within me. So much
disappointment,andahugepoolofsadness,thatKylefeelstheneedtostaysoclosedoff.
“I’msorry,”hesays,andmyeyessnapbackuptohis.
Andheissorry.Hisgazeisfilledwithregretandpain,notforme,butforhimself,anditcrashesinto
mehard.
“Metoo,”Imurmurwithanodofmyhead.“Iguessit’sjustfriends.”
“Justfriends,”heagrees.Heevenattemptsasmilethat’scompletelylackluster,causingmyheartto
squeezelikeit’sbeenlockedinavicegrip.
“Well,goodnight,”Isaywithasmilebackathim.
“Goodnight,Jane,”hesaysandturnsawayfromme.Iwatchhimwalkthroughhisdoorandshutit
behindhim,thememoryofhisregretfulgazeburnedvividlyintomybrain.
Most women would take him at face value and give him what he just asked for. But I’m not most
women, and I’m sure Kyle has that figured out. I know he thinks he needs space, probably to protect
himselfandmeatthesametime.
Iseesomethingdifferentthough.
Iseeamanwhowantssomethingforhimselfbutistooafraidtotakeit.He’safraidoffailure.
So I throw my shoulders back, determination forging my spine into steel, and I vow to myself I’m
goingtogetthroughthosewallshejustputuparoundhimself,nomatterwhatittakes.
CHAPTER14
Kyle
I
TAKE
ONE
last glance around the living room, my eyes purposely avoiding Jane’s painting, and I’m
satisfied. I’ve always been a bit of a slob when it comes to my living quarters, and I guess that comes
fromthelastthreeyearsprettymuchlivingintheshitholeoftheMayhem’sMissionclubhouse.
Butinthislittlehousethatattachestothelighthousebyacoveredwalkway,Ihaveadutytokeepit
neat and clean, not only because it doesn’t belong to me, but also because the stupid fucking historical
societywantstogivetoursduringthesummer.I’mnotsurewhyatourincludesmycottage,becauseit’s
just that… a cottage. I’m guessing for the five dollars they charge for admittance, they have to include
somethingotherthanthethirty-threestepsofspiralstaircasethatleadsuptotherotatinglight.Probably
wanttoshowthecharmofcoastalseasidelivingorsomeshitlikethat.
TodayisthefirsttourandI’vegottogetlost,whichisfinebyme.WhenJoearrangedforthis“job”
for me, I was asked to be the one to give the tours. I think my answer was something like “no fucking
way.” However he got this job nailed down… however he got it all worked out… all I have to do is
ensure the cottage is clean and tidy every Saturday for the rest of the summer. I figure that’s the least I
coulddosincethisjobisacakewalkanyway.Outsideoftherepairsandmaintenance,whichareallpretty
muchdone,allIhavetodoisensurethelightstayson.Withabackupgenerator,thatprettymuchensuresI
havesquattodowhilewatchingthelighthouse.
Pattingmybackpocket,InotemywalletisinplaceandIsnagmycarkeysoffthesmalltablebythe
front door. No clue how to keep myself busy all day away from the cottage, but figure it will include
multiple beers at The Lobster Cage. Pulling the front door open, I start to push at the screen door and
cometoadeadhaltwhenIseeJanestandingontheotherside,herhandraisedandpoisedtoknock.
“Hey,”shesaysinsurprise,andI’mstruckforamomentjuststaringatherbeauty.Hairinaponytail,a
pairofcutoffjeanshorts,andavintageorangeCrusht-shirt.She’sgotasatchel-likepursehangingonthe
diagonal across her chest, the canvas strap cutting through her cleavage, and I have to force my eyes
upward.
Shesmirksatmewhentheylandonherface.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”IaskasIpushthroughthescreendoor.Shetakesastepbacktogiveme
room.
AsIturntolockthedoor,shesays,“ThoughtI’dcomeseewhatyouweredoingtoday.Figuredmaybe
you’dliketotakeaferryrideacrossthebaytoBarHarbor.”
Isecurethelockandturnbacktoher,steppingtothesidetoletthescreendoorswingshut.“Iwason
mywaytoTheLobsterCagetohaveafewbeers.”
Sheholdsherwristoutandglancesdownatherwatch.“It’s9:30inthemorning.”
“Theyopenateight,”Ipointout.Ifoundsincemovingherethatfishermanliketodrinkandthatmeans
Guskeepsthebaropenmostofthetime.
“Seriously, Kyle,” Jane says in exasperation, and I’ll admit… it’s cute. Even that eye roll she just
gaveme.“Youtotallydon’twanttowasteyourdayinabarwhenyoucouldbespendingitwithme.”
Iraiseadubiouseyebrow.
“Because,”shefinisheswithanimpishgrin.“AsI’myouronlyfriendhere,it’smydutytoshowyou
thesurroundingsights.BarHarborisamazing,andthere’sagreatbookstorethereIthoughtI’dshowyou,
andthen,ifyouwanted,wecouldhikeabitoverinAcadiaNationalPark.”
Andfuckifthatdoesn’tsoundahellofalotbetterthansittinginadrabbarallday.
Butstill…Ihavetoconsiderthiscarefully.First,Idon’twantJanetogetthewrongimpressionifI
agreetospendthedaywithher.Itwillhavetobejustasfriends.Andsecond,Ihavetoweightherisk.
While there’s no proof that anyone is really looking for me, there is safety in being in a small town. If
someonehadlocatedmeandwerewatching,they’dbealoteasiertorecognizeherethaninBarHarbor.
“Come on, Kyle,” Jane says with an exaggerated whine. “I don’t want to go over there by myself.
Miranda’s working and my parents are doing yardwork, so if you don’t go, I won’t, and I’ll be stuck
plantingpetuniasalldayattheirhouse.”
Hmm… well, it does sound like she’s only viewing me as a friend. And apparently a friend who’s
lowonthelist,asshe’dconsideredspendingthedayfirstwithMirandaandsecondlywithherparents.
NowI’mnotsurehowthatmakesmefeel.Ishouldberelieved,butpartofmeisalittleputoutby
that.Imean,itwasjustfourdaysagoshe’dherhandpressedupagainstmydickanditfeltsogoodIwas
afraidI’dmakeafoolofmyself.
Whatever.
“Alright,”Igrudginglysay,althoughI’dbelyingifIdidn’tadmittoatleastmyselfthatIwasexcited
abouttheprospectofspendingthedaywithJane.WhileIstillbelieveImadetherightcallinpushingher
away the other night, it didn’t mean I was happy about it. Jane has brought a tremendous amount of
brightnessintomylifethelastfewweeks,andshehasmadethehidingoutandwaitingatleastbearable.
AslongasIcankeepmyhandstomyself,whynottakeadvantageofthatbrightnesstoday?
♦
I
PEER
OVER
theedgeofthebookIhaveopenedinfrontofmeandlookatJane.She’ssittingacrossfrom
meinabig,mushy-lookingchairwithherbackpressedupagainstonearmandherlegsthrownoverthe
other.She’sreadingabookshe’dboughtaboutfifteenminutesago.Afterwebothpurchasedcoffees,we
decidedtohavesomequiettimetoreadinthisprettyamazingbookstoreshebroughtmeto.It’smassive
withrowsandrowsofbooks,butithaslittlealcovesittingareasallaroundwhereyoucanenjoyyour
spoilsorperusepotentialpurchases.Janehadalsoboughtabigcinnamonroll,andIwilladmititmay
havebeenalittletorturouswatchingherlickherfingerswhenshewasdone,butthenshesettledintoher
chairquietlyandshe’sbeenignoringmeeversince.
ItdoesappearthatshetookmeatfacevalueandisacceptingthefriendshipboundaryIputinplace.
Sheseemstobeherusualquirkyself,throwingmovielinesatmewhenthesituationpresents.Thefirst
onecameontheferryaswegotoutofmytruckthatwasparkedwithseveralothersthatwerecatchingthe
ride across Frenchman’s Bay to Bar Harbor. She’d put her sunglasses on her face, pushed them up the
bridge of her nose, and said, “Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads. Back to the Future.
1985.”
I couldn’t fucking help it. Of course, I laughed. She gave me back a sparkling grin, and I thought
perhapsthismightbeaverygoodday.
Butsadly,themoreI’maroundher,themoreI’mhatingtheboundaryIputinplace.Icansmellher
subtleperfume,whichisaslightandairyasherpersonality,andIcanseethebareskinofherlegsand
howitglows,andIknowdamnwellitwouldbeassoftassilkifItouchedit,andJesusfuckingChrist…
thisjustsucks.
Jane’sheadtiltstolookatme,andshetotallybustsmestaringatherovertheedgeofmybook,which
issomecrimethrillerI’dpickedup.
Beforeshecanevensayanythingtotrytoembarrassmeformybluntperusal,Inodatherbookand
ask,“Whatareyoureading?”
Keepingherthumbinsidethepagestoholdherplace,sheturnsitaroundandshowsmethecover.It’s
ofabare-chestedmangivingasmolderinglooktothecamera.
Ilookbacktoherandsmirk.
“What?”sheasksdefensively.“Ilikeromancebooks.Sowhat?”
Iholdonehandup,palmraisedtoherindefense.“Hey.Ididn’tsayanything.”
“No,”shemutters.“Butyouhadthatlook.”
“Whatlook?”Icounter,butIknowdamnwellwhatlookIgaveher.
“Thattotallyjudgeylookpeoplegiveyouwhenyoureadromance,”shehuffs.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I tell her truthfully. I merely thought it funny she was
readingabookwithahalf-nakedguyonthefront.“Whydopeoplejudgeyouforreadingromance?”
Jane swings her legs off the chair arm and plants her feet, leaning toward me a bit. “Many people
thinkthisstuffisjustfluff.It’snotliterary.Wasteoftimetoreadandit’sforsimplemindedpeople.”
“Youareinnowaysimpleminded,”Ipointout.That’sthehonestfuckingtruthasIthinkJane’sabout
asbrightastheycome.
Janeholdsthebookoutandwavesit.“Ireadthisbecauseitmakesmefeelgood.Ittransportsmeout
ofmyrealityandgivesmeallthefeels.”
Ieyethecoverdubiously.“Allthefeels?”
“About love and romance,” she says dreamily, and I have to force myself not to grimace. “I know
that’sagirlthing,buttheauthorswhowritethisstuff?Theyreallyknowhowtoreachyoudowndeepinto
thecenterofyourchest.”
“Ifit’sallaboutloveandfeelingemotion,”Ihavetoask,“thenwhydoesitlooklikeit’saboutporn
onthecover?”
Jane’seyesflickdowntothecover,andshegivesashrugasshelooksbackuptome.Holdingthe
bookoutformetoinspectthecoveragain,shesayswithagrin,“Yougottoadmit.It’seyecatching.”
Igiveashortbarkofalaugh,cognizantthoughthatI’minabookstore,soit’snotoverlyloud.“Icould
seewhyitcaughtyourattention.”
Janeleansalittleclosertomeandsaysinanalmostconspiratorialtone,“WhileIreadthesebooks
fortheromanceandtherelationship,notgoingtolie…therearesomesmokinghotsexscenesinsomeof
thesebooks.”
Andifthat’snotapunchtothefuckinggut.ThinkingaboutJanereadingaboutsex.Abouthot,sweaty,
dirtysex.Andwonderingthenwhatshemightdowhenshe’salone,readingabouthot,sweaty,dirtysex.
Ishiftuncomfortablyinmychairandgiveanothernodtowardthebook.“I’veneverreadaromance,
andwithoutadoubtneverwill,butreally…howmanywayscanalovestorybetold?”
“Oh, hundreds and hundreds,” she says quickly. “No, probably thousands and millions. I mean, the
charactersaredifferent,settingsdifferent,plotsaredifferent.”
I’m betting the sex is different too, as I personally know there are hundreds of ways to have an
orgasm.
“Youbelieveinthatstuff?”Iask,anothernodtothebook.
“Youmeanlove?”shereturns,herheadtiltedinconfusion.
“Love,romance,soulmates,”Isayinadismissivetone.
“Ido,”shesayssimply.“Don’tyou?”
“Nope,”Ianswerquicklyandwithutterhonesty.Myviewsonrelationshipsaresofuckingwhacked
based on what I’ve been immersed so deeply in over the last several years. I don’t have much faith in
peopleorinlove.
“Ah,”Janesaysknowingly,hereyesturningsoft.“You’vehadyourheartbrokenbefore.”
Iblinkatherinsurpriseandsitupstraighterinmychair.“Actually,Ihaven’t.”
Never had my heart broken… but it had absolutely turned to stone fairly early on in my days with
Mayhem’s Mission. It was a necessary means to survive because I’d have never been able to make it
throughallthoseyearsofcrimeanddepravityifIleftopenanysoftspotstoknockmeoffcourse.
“You’ve never been in love?” Jane asks softly, pity written clearly on her face over my suspected
answer.
ButIdecidetodeflect.“Why?Haveyou?”
Hermouthopenstoanswer,thenitsnapsshut.Hereyesseemconfused,andsheglancesdownatthe
book.
“Jane?”Iprompt,becauseshelookslikesomeonekickedherbestpuppy.
Hergazeslowlyslidesuptomine,andshelooksatmesheepishly.“Iwasgoingtosay‘yes,’Ihave
beeninlovebefore.WithCraig—thatcreeperyouhelpedmewiththatdayatthefestival.ButthenIjust
realized…whatIfeltforhimisnothinglikewhatIfeelwhenreadingthesebooks.”
“Maybebecausewhatyou’rereadingisfiction,”Isuggest.Becausethatmakesthemostsensetome.
Jane shakes her head adamantly. “No. I mean… yes, this is fiction, but it’s also real. This is what
love’ssupposedtofeellike,anditjusthitme…that’sneverwhatIfeltwithCraig.”
While it is absolutely none of my business what Jane had with her ex-boyfriend, for some weird
reason, I feel strangely fulfilled by her proclamation she never loved that douche. And also a bit sad,
becauseJaneisthetypeofwomanwhoshouldexperiencewhateveritisinthosebooksthatbringssucha
smiletoherface.
Sheabsolutelydeservessomethinggood.Becauseit’snothingbutapipedreamformetohopeIcould
betheonetogiveittoher,Ifirmlyputitoutofmymindandgobacktoreadingthecrimethrillerinmy
hands.
CHAPTER15
Jane
T
ODAY
WAS
A
reallygoodday,butitwaspainfultoo.IhadanamazingtimewithKyle,andIwatchedhim
comeoutofhisshellmorethaneverasweactedliketourists.Aftercoffeeinthebookstore,wevisited
several local artisan shops and galleries. We then had a lunch of thick deli sandwiches and decided to
drive Park Loop Road, which enabled Kyle to have a taste of Acadia National Park. The scenery, as
always,wasstunningandreinforcedoneofthemanyreasonswhyIcontinuetoliveinthisarearatherthan
gooutandexploretheworld.
Kyleseemedtoreallyenjoytheday.It’salmostasifhe“needed”torelax.Oncehegaveintoit,Igot
toseemoreofhiswitandhumorasthedaywenton.Nottosoundtoocheesy,buthewaskindoflikea
flowerthatbloomedunderthesun.
Butitwaspainfultomeaswell,becauseitonlymademelikehimmore.Ihadsuspectedtherewas
morebehindthosewallshe’derected,andthemoreheshowedittome,theworseIfeltbecauseI’dnever
gettoreallytouchtherealKyle.Becausehe’sinsistingwearenothingbutfriends,I’llonlyhavehimon
themostbasicandshallowlevel.
WecatchthelastferrybacktoMistyHarbor.ThesunissettingasKyledriveshistruckoffthedock.
I’mhungryandI’dliketosuggestwegograbdinner,butI’mhesitanttodoso.Idon’twanthimthinking
thisismepiningforanotherdate—whichmakesmelookpathetic—andIhaveafeelinghe’sprobablyhad
about as much friendship frolicking fun as he can handle for one day. He’s slipped back into his quiet
mode,nothavingsaidmuchontheferryride.
SoIremainquietaswedrivedownFrontStreet,staringoutthepassengerwindowatthepointwhere
Misty Bay meets the Atlantic. The sky still has some pale pink up high, but the horizon is already
purplish-gray, signifying dusk has arrived on the East Coast. The lighthouse comes into view, its
revolvingstrobewinkingatmeoneachhalf-turn.Thelighthousehasalwaysmademefeelalittlesadasit
standstallandalone,removedfromtherestofthetownbecauseitsdutyisfirstandforemosttoprotect
theincomingwatervessels.ItremindsmealittleofKyle,actually.
WhenKyleturnsontoGrayBirchStreet,whichbordersthesouthsideofmyhouseandintersectswith
Cranberry, I reach to the floorboard and grab my purse, preparing to exit the vehicle after a quick and
friendlygoodbye.Whileinmyveryownromancenovel,Kylewouldpullmebackandkissthehelloutof
me,Iknowthat’snotgoingtohappenbecausehe’sdrawnalineinthesand,andit’snotlikelyhe’llcross
it.Heseemslikeadeterminedmaninallthings,andwishy-washydoesn’tdescribehimatall.
Kylepullsintomydriveway.Beforehecomestoacompletestop,Igripthedoorhandle,preparedto
make flight. I’m totally shocked to inaction though when he shoves the truck into park and turns off the
ignition.
Whatthehelldoesthatmean?
“I’llwalkyouup,”hesaysashisgazerestsonmyfrontporch.“Youdidn’tleaveyourlighton.”
Oh,okay.Safety.He’sbeingagentleman.Agoodfriend,sotospeak.
Idon’trespond,justopenthedoorandhopoutofhistruck.Myhandsgointomypurseformykeys.
BythetimeIhavethem,I’veroundedthefrontofhistruckandweheadtotheporchstepsinsilence.
Kyle follows behind me, and even though I know he’s merely being polite, my skin starts to tingle
overthememoriesofourfirstkissthatoccurredrightherefivedaysago.
Idon’thaveascreenporchdoorthewayKyledoes,soI’mabletoquicklyunlockitandpushthedoor
openafewinches.Withmyhandstillontheknob,IturntoKylewithahammeringheartbecauseifhe’s
goingtodosomething,nowisthetime.
“Well,hopeyouhadsomefuntoday,”Isaywithacheerfulsmile,butI’msurewithundisguisedhope
inmyeyes.
Kyle’sowngazeissoft,andIknowheseeswhatIfeel.Henodsandgentleshisvoiceformybenefit.
“Yeah,Idid.Thanksforinvitingme.”
I wait, because if he’s going to kiss me, it should be now. But he only stares at me a moment more
beforetippinghishead.“Goodnight,Jane.”
My heart sinks in disappointment, because those words ring with finality. Still, I put on my bravest
smile.“Goodnight,Kyle.Seeyouaround.”
Igetalong,thoughtfullookbeforehegivesmeasmallreturnsmile.“Yeah,seeyouaround.”
Kyleturnsandjogsdownmyporchsteps.Istepinside,closethedoor,andleanmybackagainstit.
Shuttingmyeyes,Iletoutalong-sufferingsigh.Iamallkindsofstupidtoletmyselfgetcaughtupwith
him.Ireasontomyselfthatit’sonlybecausehe’sintriguing,incrediblyhot,andhe’dbeagreatsummer
diversion,knowingthosearealllegitimatereasonstocrushonsomeone.ButifI’mhonestwithmyself,I
know it’s because there’s something about him that speaks to me on a deeper level. While he’s still as
much a mystery as he was the day I met him, I realized something about him today as I tried to
unobtrusivelyobservehim.
AsIwatchedhimloosenup,starttounwind,laughalittlemoreeasily,IrealizedthatKylewaslikea
sponge, soaking up the goodness of a simple, yet ordinary day. We didn’t do anything more than visit a
fewshops,eatsomefood,anddrivearoundtolookatscenery.Itwaslowpressureandspontaneous,but
itwasjustordinaryliving.AndasIwatchedKylesoakitup…no,savorit…Irealizedthathe’snothad
thisinaverylongtime.Hell,maybeheneverhadit.
ButIcouldseeitwrittenalloverhim.
Hewanteditandhewanteditbadly.
Iopenmyeyes.Withanothersigh,Istarttopushawayfromthedoor.
Onlytobereally“pushed”awayfromthedoorasitopensuponme,someunknownforcepropelling
megentlyintomylivingroom.
I spin around and see Kyle standing in my doorway, his hand on the knob. “You didn’t lock your
door,”hesayswhilestaringatmewithveiledeyes.
“Iwasjustgettingreadyto—”
“Youdidn’tinvitemein,”hesaysgruffly,andthenstepsinsidemyhouse.
Myjawdropsopen,becauseheknowsdamnwellwhyIdidn’tinvitehimin.Becausewe’refriends
only,that’swhy.
Kyleshutsthedoorbehindhim,andthencompletelyconfusesmewhenhesays,“Didn’tevengiveme
achancetokissyougoodnight.”
MyheadspinsonefullloopbeforeIorientmyself.Placingmyhandsonmyhips,Inarrowmyeyesat
him.“Youknowdamnwellwhyyouweren’tinvitedin.”
He gives me a sage nod. Without taking his eyes off me, he says, “You’re talking about that whole
friendsthing,right?”
Irollmyeyes.“Yeah…thatwholefriendsthing.Youwereprettyclearaboutit.”
Kyle doesn’t say anything, but he never takes his eyes off me as he flips the lock on my door.
Somethingaboutthatsnickingsoundmakesmylegsfeelrubbery.“Yeah,well,Ichangedmymindabout
that.”
“What—”
ButIdon’tgetanotherwordoutbecauseinonelongstride,he’sgotbothofhispalmsagainstmyface,
pullingmehalfwayuptomeethismouthashetiltshisheaddown.Hestrikesfastandhot,immediately
seekingadeep,wetconnectionwithourlipsandtongues.AndIknowhelikesitbecausehegivesahalf-
groanofappreciationwithahalf-snarlofneedforsomethingmore.
Mybrainstartstoquestionwhetherornotthisisagoodidea,butmybodyalreadymadethedecision.
Myarmsgotightaroundhisneck,andIplastermyselftohisframe.Mytongueduelswithhis,greedyfor
more.
Asifhe’ssatisfiedwithmyholdonhim,hedropshishandsandtheygotomyass.Hispalmsarehuge
andhisfingersdiginagainstthatcreasethatseparatesmybuttfrommyleg.Withaneffortlessheave,he
picksmeup.Mylegsautomaticallywraparoundhiswaist,andthenKyleisspinningmetowardthesmall
hallwaythatleadstomybedroom.
To.My.Bedroom.
Itearmymouthfromhisandpant,“Wait.”
Kyleimmediatelystops,buthishandsgripmybutttighter.Hepeersdownatme…eyesdarkenedwith
needandfrustration.
“Whatarewedoing?”Ibreatheoutsoftly.
“We’regoingtofuck,”hegrowlsimpatiently.
Admittedly, even though those words are crude, the way he says them hits me straight between my
legs.I’mnotquitesurewhatthatsaysaboutme,butIgiveaslightshakeofmyhead.“Yousaidyouonly
wantedtobefriends.Thisisn’twhatfriendsdo.”
“Iwaswrongaboutthefriendthingthen,”hemuttersimpatiently.
“Sowe’renotfriends?”Ipresshim.
“Yes,we’refriends,”hesaysinexasperation.“Andsoontobeloversifyou’redonequestioningme.”
“Soisthisaone-timeonlything?”Iask,becauseeventhoughhe’stryingtoclarifythings,I’mnotsure
Ireallyunderstand,andthat’sbecauseKyleissofreakingcomplexandmysterious.Ican’tmakeanysense
ofmyfeelings,soperhapsifIunderstoodwherehe’scomingfrom,itwouldbeabitclearertome.
“Jane,” Kyle says gruffly. The heat in his eyes indicates perhaps more frustration than the sexual
promiseI’dseentherejustsecondsago.“Idon’tknowwhatthefuckthisis.IjustknowIwantyouand
I’mtiredoffightingit,soI’mnotgoingtofightit.I’mgivinginandtakingwhatIthinkyou’reoffering.So
doyoureallyhavetoknowmorethanthat?Becauseifyoudo,youneedtoknowIdon’thavetheanswers.
Idon’thavetheanswers,soI’lljustsetyoudownrightnowandgohome.We’lljustbefriends,andit
willbefine.”
Justthethoughtofhimputtingmedownandwalkingoutmydoorfreaksmeout,andIinvoluntarily
clutchmylegsandarmsaroundhimtighterwhileshakingmyhead.It’swithnoamountofurgencythatI
say,“No!Don’tputmedown.Idon’tneedtheanswers.”
That’sanabsolutelie.Isoneedtheanswers,butI’lljusthavetowaitforthem.
“Myroom’stotheleft,”IsayasIinclinemyheadthatway,becausehe’slookingatmedubiously.
“Jane,” he growls low. “I need to know you’re okay with this. I’m not promising you anything but
tonightandthatI’llmakeitsofuckinggoodforyou,Iswear.Butthat’sallIknowatthismoment.Areyou
okaywiththat?”
My head nods up and down furiously, my arms and legs tightening even more. “Yes,” I assure him
breathlessly.“I’mokaywithit.”
Immediately, the anger and frustration melt from Kyle’s face, and a look that I’d characterize as
immensereliefmixedwithextremehungerreplacesit,andthatcausesfluttersinmybelly.
Kylemaneuversmethroughthehallandintomybedroom,wherehiskneegoestothemattressandhe
lays me down. I release my hold on him and watch as he just stares down at me, one foot still planted
solidlyonthefloor.
“IknowexactlywhatI’mgoingtodotoyou,”hewhispersashiseyesstarttoburnhotter.Hishand
comesoutandtouchesthesideofmyleglightly,causinggoosepimplestospringup.“I’vespentsomuch
timetheselastfewweeksimaginingwhatI’ddotoyouifIhadyouinthispositionthatIknowdownto
thefinedetailshowthisnightisgoingtoplayout.AndIsweartoGod,Jane…it’sgoingtobesofucking
good.”
Acrampoflonginghitsmeintwoplacesatonce.Rightinmysexandrightinthecenterofmychest.
Thosewordsandthepromisesofpleasuretheyheldmayhavebeenthesexiest,mosteroticthingI’veever
heardinmylife.Thelookofstarkneedonhisface,andthereverentwayhejustspokethem,mademy
heartcontractwithhope.IknowwithoutadoubtKylehasbeenmissingsomethinginhislifebythewayin
whichhe’slookingatme,andknowingIcanfulfillwhateverthisvoidisgivesmeallthefeels.
It gives me the best kind of feels, and I know after tonight, my life is not going to be the same. I’m
prettysureKyle’swon’teither.
CHAPTER16
Kyle
I
JUST
PROMISED
JanethatIwasgoingtomakeherfeelgood,andIintendtokeepthatpromise.I’mrusty
asfuckwhenitcomestogivingawomanpleasure,butIdidn’tlietoherjustnowwhenItoldherI’ve
beenfantasizingaboutthisforsometime.I’veprobablythoughtupadozendifferentscenariosinvolving
Jane,allwhilejackingofftosaidfantasies,soIknowexactlywhatI’mgoingtodotohertonight.
Shestaresupatme…eyeswideandtrusting.MouthslightlypartedtowhereIcanbarelyseeapeek
ofherteeththroughthosefulllipsthathavestarredinafewofthosefantasies.
Ihavetoresisttheimpulsetostripherquicklyandtakeherhardandfast.It’sthewayI’vefuckedfor
solongthatI’veforgottenthenuancesandpleasuresofforeplay.
Buttonight,I’mmakingachange.Janeisadifferentclassofwoman,andwhatIknowaboutherIlike.
Shedeservestofeelgood,andIwanttobetheonetogivethattoher.Iwanttoownthatabouther.
Ibringmyotherkneetothemattressandplacemypalmsdownbesidehershoulders.AsIhoverover
her,Itakeineverytinydetailofherface.I’veneverseengreeneyesasbrilliantashers.Theyarenowas
dark as emeralds, but I’ve seen them lighten to the shade of mint when she laughs. Even though she’s a
blonde,herlashesarefairlydark,whichmakehereyesstandoutlikebeaconsbrighterthanthelighthouse.
Hernoseisnarrowbutslopesupwardslightly,makingherlooksassierthanIknowhertobe.Andwell…
thoselips.LikeIsaid,they’vehadtopbillinginafewfantasies.
Jane lies below me, completely giving herself over. She’s placing a huge responsibility on my
shoulders,butI’vehandledtougherburdensinmylife.
WhilemyfingersitchtotouchherandI’malreadyhardasarock,IneedtostartrightwithJane.
SoIdipmyheaddownandtouchmymouthtoherssoftly.WhileIhadintendedtogogently,thetouch
ofherlipsagainstmineiscompletelyelectric,andbothofusgroaninappreciation.
I press against her mouth harder before giving her my tongue. Again, she groans. A slightly rougher
soundrumblesinmychest,fillingmewithananimalurgencythatIknowisgoingtobehardashellto
keepatbay.IwanthersobadlythatIcanfeelmycontrolalreadystartingtoslip,eventhoughallwe’ve
doneissharedthebeginningofahotkiss.
In my mind, I know I should slow things down, but Jane doesn’t make it any easier by slipping her
handsundermyt-shirtandsnakingthemupmytorso.Thefeelofhersoftskinagainstmyabsmakesmy
headspindeliriously.Shemakesatinysoundoffrustrationasshetriestopushmyt-shirtup,butdoesn’t
knowhowtogetitoff.
Notwantinghertosuffer,Ipushup,goingtomyknees.Ipeelmyshirtoff,lovingtheeagernesswith
whichhereyesroamovermyskin.ShelingersonmytatsandIknowI’llanswerforthematsomepoint,
butthenI’mstunnedwhenhereyesdropdowntostareattheerectionpushingagainstmyjeans.I’mso
hardithurts,andherlookingatitmakesithurtevenworse.
Tentatively, Jane’s hands come to the top button. She looks up at me for a moment, maybe for
permission,I’mnotsure.ButmythroatissodrythatallIcandoisswallowhardasIstarebackather.
Shemusttakemysilenceastacitapprovalforshepopsthefirstbutton.Mycockjumpsandtightensas
shepopsthenext,revealingtheheadofmydick.Iwatch,mesmerized,assheslowlyrunsherthumbover
theexposedskin.
Jane lets out a stuttering breath and pops the next button, giving some relief to the ache, but I can’t
standthisslowtortureshe’swreakingonme.Inaburstofenergizedneed,IbatJane’shandsawaybefore
reaching down and hauling her up with my hands under her armpits. I pull her right up to her knees so
we’refacingeachother.
InotevaguelyJane’sflushedcheeksandeyesglimmeringatmedarklybeforeIroughlypullhershirt
overherhead.Itossitovermyshoulderasmygazegoestoherchest,andIgetmyfirstreallygoodlook
atherbreasts.They’refuckingfantastic.Bigandroundwithhernipplespokingouthardagainstthelace
ofapalebluebra.Thecupssitlowontheglobesofhertits,pushingtheminwardandteasingmewith
cleavagemeanttobefucked.
WhichisfunnyasI’mnotreallyabreastman.MyidealfuckistakingawomanfrombehindsoIdon’t
havedealwithkissingher.Justbendingherrightoverapieceoffurniture—
—I walk back into the clubhouse and the scent of sex and pot smack me hard in the face. I’m
buzzedasfuckfromthejointI’djustsmokedoutsidewithBridger,butIfeellikegettingreallyfucked
up tonight. The pressure of maintaining this lifestyle, and the stress of being undercover, have made
alcohol and drugs a necessary balm. While I can drink like a fish, I at least keep my drug use to a
minimum, terrified that type of addiction could impede my long-term judgment. So I look for other
ways to get relief, and the best I’d found so far was to fuck myself into oblivion. Luckily, there are
enoughclubwhorestokeepmydicksatisfied.
My gaze slides to the pool table. One of the whores is naked and bent over it, her legs spread
obscenelyandhertorsotieddowntothefelttopsoshecan’tmove.Shelayshercheekonthegreen
baize that’s covered with cigarette burns, a blissed-out look on her face. One of my club brothers is
fuckingherfrombehind,hipspumpingfuriouslyasheracestogetoffasfastaspossible.Afterall,he’s
gotseveralotherguyswaitingbehindhimtotakeachance.Notellinghowmanytimesthisgirlhas
already been fucked tonight, but she loves this shit and asked for it. My brother thrusts hard a few
moretimesbeforepullingout,snappingtherubberoff,andcomingalloverherass.Myotherbrothers
allyellandcheerhimon,andanotheronestepsup—
Agroanofdisappointmentslithersoutofmythroat,andIgiveahardshaketomyheadtodispelthat
memory.NoideawhythefuckI’deventhinkaboutthatdisgustingshitwhenIhavethebeautyofJanein
frontofme.Thedisappointmentisinmyself,notonlyforthinkingofthatcrap,butalsobecausemydick
wentevenharder.Itdidn’tneedtogetharderbecauseJanewasreallyallIwanted,yetitdidasIthought
abouttakingawomanfrombehindbecausethat’showyoukeepdistance.
A searing hot flash of doubt courses through me, and I almost push Jane away. But I’m sidetracked
whenherhandscometotheclaspatthefrontofherbra.Myeyeslatchontothosedelicatefingerswith
palepinkpolishastheyflickopentheclaspandpeelthelaceapart.
AndChrist…herbreastsaresofuckingperfectasthey’rerevealedtome.Almostasifshe’snever
revealed them to anyone else, or I’ll choose to think of it that way, at least. She’s offering me the most
perfect gift in the world right now, and the last oily feelings of guilt for being sucked into that terrible
memoryvanish.
“Kyle?”Janewhispers,andmyeyessnapuptohers.“Youokay?”
“Yeah,”IsayinaraspingvoiceasIlookbackather,butI’mstillfeelingalittleoffbalance.
Jane must sense it, because she takes control. She takes my hands in hers and pulls them upward,
pressingmypalmsgentlyagainsthertits.
Andfuck…just…
“Goddamn…you’reperfect,”ImutterasIsqueezethefleshandherhandsfallaway.Mythumbsgraze
overhernipples,andJane’sheadfallsbackasshemoansinpleasure.
Apparently,mydickwasn’tashardasitcouldget,becausethatmoanrightthereslamsintomewith
brutal force, making me swell so painfully hard I have to drop a hand and tear at the fly to release the
remainingbuttonstogivemerelief.
Assoonasmydickspringsfree,IslipahandtothebackofJane’shead,theothermovingfromher
breast to her lower back, and I pull her back to my mouth. I want to kiss her again, because it’s Jane.
She’snotawomanwhoIeverwanttofaceawayfromme.
Our mouths connect, teeth gnash, and our naked torsos press into each other. We kiss like savages,
locked tightly against one another. I can feel her nipples pebbled hard against my chest, and my cock
jumpsasit’spressedintoherbelly.Icanfeelmypre-cumwettinghersoftskin,andthere’saveryreal
possibilityImightjustspontaneouslyexplode.
NeedingatinybitofspacesoIcanslowthisdown…soIcansavorthisabitmore,Ipullmymouth
awayfromJane’sandpushhergentlyawayfromme.Hereyesopenslowlyandareglazedandfeverish
looking.Herlipsarewetandswollen,and,fuck,Iwantthemwrappedaroundmydick,butthat’sgoingto
havetobelater.I’dneversurviveherblowingme.
“Layback,”Iorderhergruffly,placingapalminthecenterofherchest.
“Okay,”shewhispersinacceptance,lettingherbodydropgracefullybackdowntothemattress.
Iscrambleoffthebedandremovemyjeans,followedbyaquickgrabofacondomoutofmywallet.I
throwthatonthebedandthenlookbacktoJane,whoissadlywearingfartoomanyclothesstill.
My palms go to the mattress and I bend over her, placing a tiny kiss to her stomach. Her muscles
clenchinresponse.Ilookupbrieflytofindherheadtiltedbackandhereyesclosed.Withoutevertaking
mygazeoffher,Iclosemylipsoverhernippleandhavetosuppressagrinashereyesshootopen.She
groans,andIgiveaswift,hardsuckfollowedbyagentlelick.
Jane’shandsflytomyhead,almostasifshehasnocontrol,andsheholdsmetoherbreast.
“Justlikethat,”shemurmurs.
SoIletmytongue,teeth,andlipsexplorethesoftskinofhertitsandthehardpebblednipplesthatare
balledtightinpleasure.Janeclaspsmyhead,unwillingtoletmego.Shemoansandwrithesunderme,but
Ifindmyselfwantingmorefromher.
Myhandslidesdownherbelly.Ifeelhermusclesonceagainleapandbunchundermytouch.When
myfingershitthewaistbandofhershorts,Jane’sbodygoesutterlystillwithanticipation.Iliftmyheadup
tolookatherandfindherwatchingmeintently.Idon’tletmyeyesdrop,butholdherpinnedwhilemy
fingersworkatherbutton,thenherzipper.Istareintothoseemeraldorbsthatareblazingwithdesireand
slipmyfingersintoherpanties.
Ourgazesstaylockedasthepadsofmyfingersskimthroughherhairbeforedragginglightlythrough
herfolds.Janesucksinabreathandholdsitdeep,neveroncelettinghereyesdropasshewaitstosee
whatI’lldo.WhenIcirclejustthetipofmyindexfingeronherclit,herhipsshootoffthebedandher
neckarches.Shecriesout,andthatisjustthefuckingsexiestthingI’veeverseen.
Iwanttoseeitagain.
Allofit.
“Helpmegetyourshortsoff,”IorderherasIstarttopullthematerialdown,alongwithherpanties.
SheworksonesidewhileIgettheother,andsoon,I’mtossingthelastofherclothingtothefloor.Itakea
momenttoletmyeyesglidedownherperfectbodyasIpressmyhandbetweenherlegs.Itiltmyheadto
lookatJane,andIseeshe’swatchingmewithdarkeyes.Islipmymiddlefingerintoher,andIlovethe
wayhergreedyhipsarchintomytouch.
IloveitsofuckingmuchthatIcoulddothisalldamnnightwithher.
So I continue to use my fingers against her. In her. On her. She writhes and moans and her hand
eventually wraps around my wrist to try to make me go faster. I indulge in her whims. Within seconds,
she’sstartingtocrest.Itakeherrighttotheapex,butbeforeshecanfall,Ipullmyhandawayfromher.
Jane’seyesshootopen,andshelooksatmewithutterneed.“Why’dyoustop?”
“BecauseIwantyoutocomeonmydickandnotmyfingersthefirsttime,”Itellher,myhandnabbing
thecondomfromthemattressbesideus.
Janegroansinresponse.IsmileasIknowthatturnedheron,butfuckifitwasn’tthetruth.Iwantto
beinsideherwhenshecomesthatfirsttime.
I roll to my side, getting the wrapper opened with practiced fingers because I’ve used a lot of
condomsinthelastseveralyears.Ifuckedalot,butIalwayswrappedmyshittight.
AfterIgetthelatexrolledon,IturnbackintoJane,wrappinganarmaroundherwaist.Ipullherin
closetomeandgrazemylipsagainsthers.I’maselfishfuck,butthere’saveryrealpossibilitythatthisis
indeedaone-timeonlyevent,andIwanttopreservethebestpossiblememoryformyselftolookbackon.
Moreimportantly,Idon’twanttoriskthepossibilityI’dlosecontrolandhurther,soIrolltomyback,
pullingJanewithme.
Shesettlesintomybodyalmostasifbydesignedpurpose,herpelviscomingrightovermycockto
gyrate against it. My hands go to her ass, and I urge her movements along. Jane and I kiss like starved
beings,moaninginpleasureandunfulfilledneed.IskimmyhandsovereverysquareinchofherbodyI
cantouch.Sherotatesherhips,rubbingagainstme,drivingmemadwiththeneedtocome.
Andthen,finally,Janepushesahandinbetweenourbodiesandwrapsthosedelicatefingersaround
mydick.Igroanwithimmediatesatisfactionfollowedbyanticipationofwhat’stocome.Ormaybeit’s
miserybecauseit’spainfulnotbeinginsideher.
JustwhenI’matthepointofbeggingJanetofinishmeoff,sherearsupward,tossingbackherglorious
bountyofgoldenhair.Hereyesarestillcloudedwithlustasshelooksdownatme,onehandsqueezing
mydick.Mybreathfreezesinmylungsassheliftsupslightlytopositionherselfoverme.
Andwithoutgivingpauseorthoughttoheractions,whileholdingmyeyeshostageuponher,shesinks
slowlyontome.Iwatch,mesmerized,asIdisappearintoherinchbyinch,andthere’ssomethingalmost
poeticaboutit.Whileit’saneroticsight,it’salsobeautifultome.
And Jesus fuck… the feeling. It’s exquisite and torturous. I want to stop her. I want to propel her
along.
Whenshebottomsoutonmewithasoftgruntofsatisfaction,myhandsgotoherhipsandIholdher
firmlyinplace.Jane’sheadtiltsasshelooksatmecuriously,herlipstippingintoagentlesmile.
“Goslow,”Itellher,becauseIdon’twanttolosecontrol.Janehasthepowertomakemegooutof
mymindwithdesireandneed,andIdon’twanttoriskhurtingher.
“Okay,”shewhispers,rotatingherhipsalittle.Thatlittlesensationisalmosttoomuch,soIbitedown
hardintomylowerlipandloosenmygripsoshecanmovesomemore.
IresolvetomyselfIwon’tcomeuntilJanedoes,andthenafterIcome,I’llmakehercomeagain.ButI
needhertoridemeslowlybecauseIneedtosavoreverysecondofthis.Itmaybemyoneandonlytime
withJanebecauseIknowmyconsciencewillgetthebetterofmecometomorrowmorning.
CHAPTER17
Jane
I
STARE
DOWN
at Kyle, his jaw tight but his eyes burning as if possessed by a fever. His entire body is
coiledwithtensionasIsitatophim.
Fullofhim.
Sodamnfullofhim,anditfeelsamazing.
I’m not the most experienced girl when it comes to this, but I’ve had a healthy sex life and I’m an
adventurousspirit.Kylecommandedmeontop,andIwasn’tabouttobackdownfromthatchallenge.But
asIlookdownathim,Icanseethatyes…he’scoiledwithsexualfrustrationandtheneedforrelease,but
he’salsoworried.Icanseethatclearlyinhiseyes,andIhavetowonderwhythatis.
I mean, Kyle definitely knows his way around a woman’s body, but I also sense that he’s very lost
rightnowandunsureofhimself.SinceIknowthathasnothingtodowithsexsincehe’squitegoodatitso
far,thatmustmeanithastodowithme.Hemustbeworriedforme,orafraidofme.
Thismakesmesad.
Italsomakesmedetermined.
WhenIfeelKyle’sgriprelaxagainstmyhips,Ipressmyhandstohisstomachforleverageandpush
slowlyupwardtotesthisreaction.Kyle’sjawgoestighterandhiseyesburnhotter.
WhenIreachtheendofhislength,Isinkbackdownontohim,relishingtheglideofhisshaftwithin
meandthepleasureitproduces.WhenIpressmypelvisbackagainsthis,atinyshuddercoursesthrough
me.Kyleletsoutasofthissofbreath.
“Likethat?”Iaskhiminalowmurmur.Heaskedmetogoslowly,sothat’swhatI’llgivehim.
“Yeah,”hesaysinahoarsevoice.“Justlikethat.”
Inodandstarttoriseagain,butIfalterwhenheslidesonehandfrommyhiptowherewearejoined
together.Iwatchalmosthypnotizedashishandsplaysandhetoucheshisfingertipstomylowerbelly.He
moveshisthumbinwardandpressesitagainstmyclit,causingatremortoracethroughme.Iwatchand
waitforhimtodosomething,buthedoesn’t.
Myeyesslidetohis,andhe’ssmilingatmeinamusement.“Goon,Jane.Fuckme.”
Idon’tquestionhim,butmybodyimmediatelyrises.Kyle’shandmoveswithmesohisthumbstays
onmyclit,andohwow…oh,damn.IcanfeelthefrictionofhisdicktomyclitasKylepressesdown,
and my eyes practically roll in my head. I lose track of what I’m doing, so infatuated with this new
sensationthatIstartpushingdownagainbeforeIgettoofar.
AndohmyGod…thatfeelsevenbetter.
“Kyle,”IwhisperwithmyeyessqueezedshutasIbottomoutonhimagain.“Ican’t…whenyoudo
that…Ican’t…”
“Can’twhat?”hemurmursashisotherhand,whichisstillonmyhip,urgesmeupwardagain.Myleg
muscles cooperate and I glide up his shaft, but that pressure he keeps on my clit muddles my head. It’s
intenseandoverwhelming,andIknowitwon’ttakelongformetocome.
MyeyesflyopenasIstaredownathim.“Ican’tconcentrate.”
“Don’twantyouto,”hesaysinalowvoice.Hishandonmyhipguidesmebackdownagain.“Itold
youIwantyoutocomeonmydick,sothat’swhatyou’regoingtodo.I’mjusthelpingyoualong.”
Oh,God.
Thosewords.
Those dirty, filthy words that have never been spoken to me before by a man and which would
normallycausemynosetocrinkleindistaste.ButcomingfromKyle,inthismoment,whilehe’sdoingto
mewhathe’sdoing…
Mybloodisracingandmyclitisactuallypulsingwithagonizedpleasureasheholdshisthumbthere
tokeepthefrictiongoingwithmymovements.
Kylespeaksveryclearly,stillwithamusementthough.“Jane…baby…ridemycockandgetyourself
off.Iwanttowatchyoucome.”
“Oh, God,” I moan as I practically fall back down on him again. The force causes him to go deep
inside.Histhumbpressestightertomeandstarsstartwinkinginmyperipheralvision.
MyentirebodyisascoiledasInotedhiswasafewmomentsago,andIthinkImightgocrazyifI
can’t release this tension. Suddenly, I become obsessed with having this orgasm, knowing it’s going to
blowmewideapart,andneedingtogivethattoKylebecausethat’swhatheaskedfor.
In the dirtiest of ways possible, he told me he wants me to come on his dick, and even as my face
flamesred,Istarttomovealittlefaster.Imoveupanddown,mybreathnowcominginshort,staccato
bursts.IfeelthatlovelycrampingfeelingfromdeepinsideasIcoiltighterandtighter.Imovefaster,using
Kyle’sthumbanddicktocreateconstantfriction,andIcan’teventhinkabouthispleasurerightnow.AllI
wantistogivehimexactlywhatheaskedfor.
“So fucking beautiful,” Kyle murmurs, and I make the mistake of opening my eyes. Kyle’s gaze is
pinnedtowherewearejoined,watchinghisthumbandhisdickclaimme.Helooksrapturous,likehe’s
neverseensomethinglikethisbefore.LikeI’mamysteryandamiracleallatthesametime.
AndIexplode.
Justlikethat…becauseofthewayKyleislookingatme,Ijustburstapart.
Igiveoutacrythatsoundsalmostinhumanandmyentirebodybucksfromthepleasureasitripples
outward, tearing me to pieces. I fall unceremoniously back down onto him, his dick pressing in further
thanever,butI’malmostincoherentasI’moverwhelmedwiththeforceofmyorgasm.
“Justfuckingbeautiful,”Kylemutters,andthenhe’srollingmetomyback.I’maslimpasaragdoll,
whichmeansI’mpliant,andKyledoesn’twasteanytime.
Onehandgoesunderthebackofmylegandheliftsitup.Theotherhandplantsdownhardintothe
mattressnearmyribstoholdhimselfsteady,andthenhestartstomove.
Hard.
Andfast.
Andrough.
Igruntwhenhethrustsindeep.Whilehedoesn’tstopmoving,hedoesslowdown.“Youokay?”
Inodmyheadquickly.“Yeah.”
“Toohard?”
Ishakemyheadevenquicker.“No.Ilikedit.”
AndI’mnotsureifthoseweretherightwordsornot,butKyle’seyesflashintriumph.Heraisesmy
legevenhigher,propsitonhisshoulder,andwell…damn…didn’tknowIwasthatlimber.
ThatpositionopensmewiderandallowsKyletothrustdeeper.Hepicksupthepaceagainandstarts
toreallyfuckmehard.
Myhandsgotohischest,nottohelphiminanyfashionbuttojustfeelhim.Ipurposefullykeepmy
eyesavertedfromtheleeringskulltattooandthewordsofwarningthatIshouldfearthisman.Instead,I
watchhisfacecarefully,hiseyesalmostcompletelyfoggedoverwithlustandpassionashedrivesinto
me.Sweatbeadsathistemplesandhegritshisteethasharshburstsofbreathblowthroughthem.He’s
almostinafrenzy,andeverytimehethrustsintome,Icanfeelanotherorgasmstartingtobuildbigger.
Everytimehehitsmedeep,ananimalsoundofdesperationrumblesoutofmymouth.
I have never, ever been taken like this before. My entire body right now is completely enslaved to
him,notonlybyhisstrength,butalsobythewayhe’smakingmefeel.It’snotjustthefeelofhiminsideof
me,butbyhowmuchheneedsmeinthisway.
I watch in fascination, turned completely on, when Kyle pushes up to his knees, wrapping an arm
aroundmylegtoholdittighttohisshoulder,andthenhisotherundermyasstoliftmeupsoIcanmeet
his thrusts. He drives into me over and over again. I groan and writhe and when my orgasm can’t coil
inwardanyfurther,whenitbecomessopainfulformetoholditoff,tearsstartleakingoutofmyeyes.
Kyle doesn’t see this as his own are closed and he’s practically hurling himself into my body. His
fingersarediggingdownintomythighandass,andIcantellhe’scompletelylosttosensationrightnow.
HemightbethemostbeautifulthingI’veeverseeninthisworld.Rightnow,he’sstrippeddowntohis
rawestform,andthisistheclosestI’veeverbeentothetrueessenceofKyleHarding.
“Jane,”Kyleraspsout,almostasifhe’sinpain.
Ican’tevenanswerbecausehesurgesintomeonelasttimeashethrowshisheadbackandroarsout
hisrelease.It’sspellbindinganderotic,thewayhefallspreytopleasure,anditmakesmyownorgasm
fireoff.
“Ohhh,”IcryoutasIbuckfromtheinitialburstofpleasure.Kyle’sheadcomesdownandhiseyes
snaptome.They’restillfogged,buttheywatchmeinfascinationasItremblefromtheremainsofanother
climax,myinsidewallssqueezingagainsthisdick.
Kyle’sfingersrelaxandhedropsmylegdowntothemattressbeforecomingdowntolayontopof
me.Hekeepshisweightoffbydigginghiselbowsintothemattress,buthemoveshisfaceclosertomine.
“Areyoualright?”heasks,hiseyessolemnintheirneedforthisinformation.Myheartsqueezesasit
doesn’ttakearocketscientisttounderstandhe’sworriedhehurtme.Imean,hewasroughandthatwas
hard,butholyhell…thatwasthebestI’veeverhad.
Whoknew?
Iraiseahand,placingmypalmtohischeek.Hesucksinasoftbreathandleansslightlyintomytouch
eventhoughhisgazeispinnedonmeasheawaitsmyanswer.
“I’m more than alright,” I tell him with a reassuring smile. “I mean, I came twice, so yeah… I’m
totallyalright.”
“You’dtellmeifIhurtyou,right?”hepresses.
Ibringmyotherhandtohisoppositecheek,pullinghimdowntome.Iplacealightkissonhislips.
“I’dabsolutelytellyouifyouhurtme,butKyle…Ilovedthat.Thatwasamazing.”
Heletsoutarelievedsighandsmilesbackatme,andI’mgladtoseethatit’sgenuine.“Good.Ijust…
I’msorryifitwastoorough.”
“Itwasn’t.”
Kyle’seyesholdmineforamoment,thenhegivesalittlenod.“Okay.”
Iexpecthimtosettledownforsomepost-sexcuddling,butinstead,hepullsoutofmeslowly,which
causesanembarrassingmoanfromme.Kyledoesn’tseemtonoticeasherollsrightoffthebedandwalks
outofmyroom.Ihearthebathroomdoorcloseafewsecondslater.
Rollingtomyside,Icurlanarmundermyheadandwaitforhimtocomeback.Iassumehe’scoming
backasIdon’tthinkhe’dwalkhomenaked.
Lessthanaminutelater,Kyle’sbackinmybedroom.Hewalksstraighttothebed,hisfaceimpassive.
Ipushuptooneelbow,awareandself-consciousthatwe’rebothnakednowthattheheatofpassionhas
cooled.Hiseyesslidetomybreastsforabriefmomentbeforereturningbacktome.Hesitsontheedge
ofthebed,completelyunfazedbyhisnakedness,andsays,“Weneedtotalk.”
Iletoutagroanoffrustrationandsitupfurther.“Letmeguess…thisisthepointwhereyoutellme
this was wrong, you shouldn’t have crossed that line, and then you’ll give me the let’s-be-friends line
again,right?”
“Wrong,”hesaysquietly,andthatgivesmepause.Hisvoicegetsalittlefrostierthough.“Ididcrossa
lineIdidn’tmeanto,butIcan’tfinditwithinmetobesorry.”
“Oh,”Isay,completelyconfusedbythis.“Thenwhatdoweneedtotalkabout?”
Kylestaresatmealongmoment.Icanseewhateverhe’sgettingreadytotellmeisgoingtotakesome
courageonhispart.
Isitupstraightandlookathimwithpanickedeyes.“Oh,God…wasIbad?Andthat’swhyyoudon’t
wanttoseemeagain?”
“Jane—”
Iflopbackdowntothemattressanddrapemyarmovermyeyestoshutthesightofhimout.“Oh,this
ishumiliating.Ijust—”
“Jane—”
Iremovemyarmfrommyeyesjustassuddenlyandpleadwithhim.“Youjustneedtogo,Kyle.We
don’tneedtohavethattalk.Igetit.”
“Jane,”Kylesnapsatmeharshly,andIjerkfromthetoneofhisvoice.Butthenhishandreachesout
andheslowlystrokesmycollarbone.Hewatcheshishanddrawalightpatternonmyskinforaminute
beforelookingupatme.“Youwereamazing.That…whatwejustdid…wasbeyondamazing.”
Pure,unfilteredjoypulsesthroughme,andIgrinathimimpishly.“Sowe’llhavesexagain?”
“Maybe,”hesaysslowly,andIdeflate.
“Maybe?”
“Hencethereasonweneedtotalk,”hesayspointedly.
“Okay,”Isayhesitantly,andIfeelcompletelyvulnerable.Isitupagainstthepillowbutreachoutto
theedgeofthecomforter,pullingitovertocoverasmuchofmybodyaspossible.
ButKylecoversmyhandwithhisandstopsmymovement.“Don’t.”
“Don’t?”
“Don’tcoveryourselfaroundme,”hesaysgrufflyasheholdsmygaze.“Just…letmelookatyouas
muchasIcan,okay?”
“So,”IsayslowlyasIreleasemyholdfromtheblanket.“Youjustwantmetowalkaroundnakedall
thetime?”
“IftherewasaGod,”hemuttersashiseyesslidedowntomybreastsforamoment.Whenhelooks
backupatme,hesays,“Ijustmeandon’thideyourselffromme.You’rebeautifullikethis.Whenwe’re
together,don’thideit.”
“Whenwe’retogether,”Irepeat.“Sothiswasn’taone-timeonlything?”
Kyletakesadeepbreathandrubshispalmoverthebackofhisneck,hiseyesscrunchingabitinwhat
lookslikeguilt,butIcan’tbesure.Hefocusesbackonmeandsays,“Jane…I’mnotgoingtostayhere
forever.Infact,I’llprobablybeheadingoutinafewmonths.”
“Wherewillyougo?”Iasksoftly.
“Ihavenoclueyet,”hetellsmebluntly.“ButwhenIdo,itwillbealone.”
Afterwhatwejustshared,afterhecalledmebeautiful,andafterhesaidwhatwehadwasamazing…
well,I’llhavetoadmitthisisacrushingstatementtohear.Imean,it’snotlikeI’malreadyplanningmy
life with him, but his words are clear in their meaning that I am nothing more to him than a temporary
measure.
Adiversion,Iguess,towhileawayhistime.
“Igetit,”Isaysoftlybutwithacceptance.“Thisisjustafling,sotospeak.”
“Labelithowyouwant,”hesaysgently,butthereisnomistakinghiscommitmenttowhathe’ssaying.
“ButyouneedtoknowI’mleavingsoonand,becauseofthat,thishasanexpirationdateonit.Ifthat’snot
somethingyouwanttogettangledupin,I’dunderstandthat.”
I hate this conversation, but I ask for clarification, “So we’ll have a sexual relationship with an
expirationdate?Ithinkwhatyou’resayingisthatyou’reafraidmyheartwillgettiedupinthis,soyou
wanttopreparemerightoffthebatthatyou’vegotnothingtogiveinthatdepartment,right?”
“Pretty much,” he says bluntly, but then tempers it with, “But we’re friends, Jane. That hasn’t
changed.”
“Oh,youmeanthetypeoffriendswhowon’tstayincontactonceyouleave,right?”Mysarcasmis
unmistakable.
Kyledoesn’trespond,juststaresatmeguardedly.Yes,theblushofpleasureisgoneandKyleisdown
tobusiness.WhichmeansIneedtopullmyheartoutoftheequationrightnow.Ihavetogivehimsome
smallmeasureofcredit…atleastheistryingtopreventmefromgettinghurt.
AndIknowKylecouldtotallyhurtmedowntheroad.
Forthatreason,Ineedtousecautionandcareful,reasonedthought.
“Letmethinkaboutit,”Itellhimwithtruthfulcandor.“Thisisalotformetoconsider.”
Heblinksslowlyashetakesinmywords,andIcantellhedidn’texpectthat.Infact,Icantellhefully
expectedmetoopenmyarmstohimandtellhimI’mfinewithhimhavingsexwithmeforthenextfew
months,thenwe’dbothsortofignorethefactIwasfallinghardforhim.Webothknowthat’sprobably
howhethoughtitwouldgodownbecause,let’sfaceit…I’mtheonewhohaspursuedhimfromthestart.
But I’m really not sure I can handle the limits he’s put in place. While I’ve acted quite impulsively
whenithascometoKyle,Ineedtoheedhiswarningandthinkveryhardaboutwhatitwouldmeantobe
involvedwithhimandtheboundarieshe’slayingdown.It’snotgoingtobeaneasydecisiontomake,and
I’mgoingtocarefullyguardmyheartthroughoutallofthis.
CHAPTER18
Kyle
I
WALK
INTO
TheLobsterCage,andmyeyestakeafewmomentstoadjusttothedimness.Therearen’tany
windowsinthisplace;halfthelightsareburnedoutandtheonesthatarelitareontheirlastleg.Thebest
illumination comes from the handful of neon beer signs hanging on the walls around the joint, casting
glowingpatchesofredandbluedependingonthebrandofbeertheyadvertise.
It’sstartingtogetcrowdedasTheLobsterCageactuallyservesdecentbarfood.Thesinglefisherman
willeatherewhilepoundingafewbeersafterahardday’swork.
That’swhyI’mhereactually.
Togetasemi-decentmealandpoundafewbeers.
Orforty.
It’s been three days since I walked out of Jane’s house and she said she’d think about what type of
relationshipshecouldhandlewithme.Inhindsight,I’mprobablyastupidmotherfuckerforevensaying
anything.Whatwehadthatnight…whatwedidtogether…itwassomeamazingshitunlikeanythingI’ve
hadbefore.I’mprettysureitwasthesameforher.IfI’dhavekeptmymouthshut,I’dprobablybewith
herrightnowinsteadofinthisdingybarwithtwentymenwhosmelllikesaltandfish.
Itakeanemptybarstool,andGusmeandersovertome.
“Haven’tseenyouaroundinawhile,”hesaysconversationally.
Idon’trespondtohisobservationbecauseI’mnotfeelingconversational.“I’lltakeadraftbeerand
somenachos.”
Hegruntsinacknowledgment,notintheslightestputoutbymybrush-off.He’susedtodealingwith
alltypesofpeople,includingthesurly,anti-socialtypes.Hequietlypoursmybeerandsetsitinfrontof
me,thenheadsofftoputmyorderintothebackkitchenwhereIthinkhiswifeworksthegrill.
IwatchthemutedTVabovethebarwhileIwaitformyfood.It’sabaseballgame,whichisn’treally
mysport,butIwatchitinsilenceandsipatmybeer.
Thenachoscomeandthey’renotbad.MuchbetterthantheplainhamsandwichesI’dbeenhaving.I
haveasecondbeerwithmymeal.
ThenIhaveathird.Andafourth.Andafifth.
Bythesixth,GustakesmykeysandIknowI’mwalkinghome,butthat’sfinebyme.ItjustmeansIcan
addshotsofbourbonwithmybeers.I’mfeelinglose,relaxed,andcompletelynotonedgewhenIthink
aboutJane.Infact,onecouldsaythatthealcoholissortofnumbingthefeelingsofdesperationthathave
beenslowlymountingthepastthreedaysofnothearingfromorseeingher.Imean,forgetaboutthesex.
I’malittleputoutthatIjusthaven’tseenher,andthat’sbeenpissingmeoff.
Imean,really…whatmoredoesshewant?Ipurposelydidoutsideworkthelastthreedaysaround
thecottageandlighthouse,givingherampleopportunitytoseemeandcometalk.Yetnotapeepoutof
her.Tonight,IrealizedIprobablyhadmyanswerfromher.
Shewasn’tgoingtoacceptmyconditionsonarelationship,andfrankly,Ican’tblameher.
I hold my hand up to get Gus’s attention. When he looks at me, I say, “Just keep them coming all
night.”
Gusgivesawrysmileandnods,thenturnshisattentionbacktothecustomerhe’dbeentalkingto.
Istareatmybeer,takingperiodicsipsandwonderingwheninthehellI’llbeabletogetoutofMisty
Harbor.Notforafewmonthsasthetrialwouldn’tstartuntilthen,andIconsiderperhapsaskingJoeto
movemeearlier.
MaybetoPuertoRicoorsomething.
“Hereyougo,”Ihearafemalevoicesay,andanotherdraftbeerslidesintomyview.Ilookupandsee
Jane’sfriend,Miranda,standingontheothersideofthebar.“Gussaidyouwantedtokeepthemcoming,
sohere’syournextone.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. My tongue feels like it’s glued to the top of my mouth. I also note that unless I
squint,thereareactuallytwoMirandasinfrontofme,andbecauseIdon’tthinkshehasatwin,Iknow
I’monmywaytogettingstinkingassdrunk.
“Whyareyouinhereallbyyourselfgettingshitfaced?”sheasksassherestsherforearmsonthebar
andleansintowardme.She’sgrinningandcrackingbubblegum.
Idon’twanttotalktoher,andyetIcan’tseemtostopmyself.“Yourfriend…Jane…”
She grins even bigger, chews her gum with exaggeration, and waits me out. She makes me deliver
moreinformation.
I give a careless wave of my hand toward the direction I suspect is Jane’s house, but I’m not sure.
“She’stryingtodecideifshewantstohaveasexualflingwithmeornot.”
Miranda raises an eyebrow, but she’s still amused. This means she knows what happened between
Jane and me. It also means she knows Jane hasn’t given me her decision, and by that inaction, I’m
choosingtobelieveIknowwhatherdecisionis.SoIjustbendmyheadoverthebarandsullenlystare
intomybeer.
“Shedoesn’tknowwhattodo,”Mirandaoffersme,andmyheadsnapsup.Arushofdizzinesshits
me,andmyhandsslaptothebartokeepmybalanceonthestool.
“Shetellyouthat?”Iask…well,maybeslur.IhopetoGodIrememberthisconversationtomorrow.
“Well,ofcourseshetoldmethat,”Mirandasays,thenblowsabubblewithhergum.Iwatchasshe
sucksitbackinandsays,“Shetellsmeeverything.”
“Everything?”
Mirandaleansinclosertomeandnodsherhead.“Everything.”
Mymindraces.SheclearlyknowsI’veputoutsomeboundarieswithJane,butdoessheknowabout
thatamazing,hot,beautiful,andmind-blowingsexwehad?Andifshedoes,doesthathelporhurtme?
WouldMirandahelpJanemakethedecisiontostickwithmewhileI’mhere?
You’resuchaselfishfuck,myconsciencescreamsatme.BecauseI’mtryingtobeagoodguywhere
Janeisconcerned,andmakesurethatIdoeverythinginmypowernottohurther,Ibendmyheadback
overmybeeranddecidetoignoreMiranda.It’snotgoingtodoanygoodtogetherinvolved,andbesides
that…I’mdrunk.Ihavenobusinessdoinganythingbutgettingmyasshomeandintobed.
Except,Idoneedtofinishthisbeer.
“Wantmyadvice?”Mirandaasks.
“Nope,”Isaywithoutlookingupather,becauseifshegivesmethatknowingsmirklikeshe’sprivyto
Jane’sinnermostsecrets,Imightcontinuetoengageher.
“Suityourself,”shesaysasshepushesawayfromthebar.“I’llkeepaneyeonyourbeer.”
I watch her walk away, telling myself not to call her back so I can pick her brain about Jane. She
heads out from behind the bar and starts clearing a table, and I turn back to my mug, taking a huge sip.
Yeah…IthinkIneedJoetogetmeoutofhere.Mytestimonyisimportantenoughandmyactsofservice
formygovernmentshouldeasilygetmerelocated.I’llcallhiminthemorning,he’llgetmetransferred
somewherefaraway,andIcanputJaneCressonoutofmymind.
Someone bumps into me before I feel them slide into an empty stool on my right. I don’t bother to
look,preferringinsteadtofinishoffmybeerandperhapsorderanother,butmyhandfreezeshalfwayto
mymugwhenIhearJanesayverysoftly,“Hey,Kyle.”
Hervoiceisgentleandhereyesareknowing.Ihateshe’sseeingmelikethis.Thismakesmepissy.
“Whatdoyouwant?”
Shenodsherheadslightly,asifshe’snotsurprisedbymyattitude.Butthen,shenudgesmyshoulder
withherownandsays,“You’resupposedtosay,‘Ofalltheginjointsinallthetownsinalltheworld,she
walksintomine’.”
Iblinkather,mybrainfeelinglikesludge.“What?”
“Casablanca,”shemurmurs.“1942.”
“Neversawit,”Imutterandpickmybeerup.
It’sstoppedbyherhandonmywristwithagentlepressure.Iturntolookather,andsheleansinto
whisperinavoicesolowIcanbarelyhearher,“Comeon.Whydon’tyouletmetakeyouhome?You’ve
hadenoughtodrink.”
“Whyareyouwhispering?”Iaskherwithnarrowedeyes.
Shepullsbackfrommequickly,droppingherhandfrommywrist.“Idon’tknow.Ijustdidn’twant
youtomakeascene.”
“Ascene?”Iask,confused.“WhywouldIdothat?”
“Well,you’redrunk,”shepointsout.“AndMirandacalledmewhenshefirstcameonshifttotellme
youwerehereanddrunk,andfiguredyoucouldusealifthome.”
“Yes,Iamdrunk,butI’msureIcanwalkoutofherejustfinewithoutfallingonmyass,”Itellher,
pleasedthatactuallycameoutsoundingsemi-coherent.“AndIcanwalkhomejustfinetoo,sonoworries
I’d’causeascene’.”
“I’m not worried about that type of scene,” she says in exasperation. “I didn’t know if you’d be
pissedIcameorthatIaskedyoutoleave.”
Igiveherasardonicsmileandleantowardher.“Well,youdon’thavetoworry.I’mnotpissedyou
askedmetoleave.”
Shegivesmearelievedlook.“Alright.Thenlet’sgo.”
“Notleavingeither,”Itellheradamantly.“I’menjoyingmyselfrighthere.”
“Kyle,”shesayshesitantly.“Letmetakeyouhome,getyoutobed.Sleepitoff,andthenwecantalk
aboutthistomorrow.”
Oh,nowshewantstotalk?
“Nothingtotalkabout,”Isaystubbornly,ignoringthesmallcrampinmychestwhenIseeherfacefall
indisappointment.
“There’snot?”sheaskssoftly.
“Nope.Nothingtotalkaboutatall,”Iconfirm,ignoringthecrampasitgetsmorepainful.IknowI’m
being a dick, but really… it’s best to cut this off right here and right now. Jane will never be able to
handleallthewaysinwhichIcanbreakher.Idon’tconsiderforasecondthatshecouldbreakme.
Liar.
Jane’seyessearchmine,tryingtorevealmytruefeelings.Iholdhergazeandremainsilent.
Her shoulders slump and she gives a small nod before sliding off the stool. “Alright. Take care,
Kyle.”
Mychestfeelslikeit’scavinginwardasIwatchherwalkawayfromme.SheheadsovertoMiranda,
whoisstandingnearthedoor,andtheytalkquietly.Mirandalooksoveratmeonceandglares,thenturns
backtowhateverJaneistellingher.
Ahandslidesupmyspine,startlingme,andfingerscurvearoundthebackofmyneck.Lipstouchmy
earandasexyvoicesays,“Kyle…baby.It’sbeenalongtimesinceyou’vebeenin.Wanttohavealittle
funtonight?”
Leaningtotherighttopullawayfromher,Igiveherabrush-off.“Notinterested,Barb.”
ShepoutsatmeandhopsonthebarstoolJanehadvacated,puttingherhandonmythighandslidingit
upwardtomycrotch.“Comeon,sugar.YouknowIgotwhatyouwant.”
Myhandclampsonherwrist,stopsitsascentupmyleg,andmygazecutsoverhershouldertoJane.
Andfuck…she’sstaringrightatus,eyeswideandfacepale.Thensheshootsmethatlook…theonethat
saysI’manunbelievableasshole,rightbeforesheturnsaroundandjetsoutthedoor.
“Christ,”ImutterasIthrowBarb’shandoffmeandlurchoffthebarstool.Ialmostcareenintoasmall
table where two patrons sit closely together, but gain my balance for a fraction of a second before I
stumbletowardthedoor.
Mirandameetsmethere,andIgrowlather.“Don’teventhinkabouttryingtostopme.”
“Wouldn’tdreamofit,”shesayswithawinkassheopensthedoorforme.Shegivesmeaheartypat
onmyshoulderbeforeshovingmeforward.“Gogether,tiger.”
Fuck, I’m drunk. I practically fall through the door, immediately going down to one knee on the
concrete, which hurts like a son of a bitch. I manage to catch a glimpse of Jane as she walks quickly
towardhercar.
“Jane,”IcallouttoherasIpushmyselfup.“Wait.”
ShewalksfastersoItakeoffafterher,intentonrunningherdown.
Except…I’mreallyfuckingdrunk.Istumbleandcrashrightbackdowntothesidewalkagain.
“Fuck,”IyellatthetopofmylungsasIrolltomybackandstareattheskyandstarsaboveme.It
mightbemyimagination,butIthinkthemoonismockingme.
AndthenJane’sfaceispushingintomyfieldofviewaboveme.Shelooksdownatmewithguarded
concern.
Shecamebackforme.
“Areyoualright?”sheaskshesitantly,crossingherarmsprotectivelyoverherchest.
“Yeah,I’mfine,”IassureherasIrolltomyside.
“Well,okay…good,”shesaysassheturnsawayandstartswalkingbacktohercar.
“Wait,”Icallout,hopingmyvoicedoesn’tsoundaspatheticasIfeel.Shestops,andImanagetoget
upononeknee.“Jane…Icouldactuallyusealittlehelp.”
Slowly,sheturnstofaceme,herfaceclosedoffandfilledwithdistaste.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her… well, slur. What can I say? I’m drunk. “But I’d gladly take that ride to my
housenowifyoustillwouldn’tmind.”
Shetakesafewstepsbacktowardme.“I’msureBarbwouldgiveyoualift.”
“Idon’twantBarbtogivemealift,”IgritoutasIstandup.Iswaytotheleft,thentotheright,and
finallyseemtosteadymyselfforabit.“Iwantyoutotakemehome.”
Jane just stares at me. I can see the war going on within those eyes that I dream about practically
everynight.Finally,shegivesaresignedsighandjerksherheadtowardthecar.“Canyoumanagetoget
inbyyourself?”
IfthewayImanagedtogetwhereI’matisanyindication,probablynot,butItellher,“Yeah.Sure.”
Shenodsandturnsaway,walkingtohercarwithoutabackwardglance.Imanagetosomehowmakeit
thereand,aftertwoattempts,Igetthepassengerdooropen.Isortoffallintotheseat,pullmylegsinwith
greateffort,andshutthedoor.
Laying my head back against the headrest, I give a long-suffering sigh, close my eyes, and pass the
fuckout.
CHAPTER19
Jane
I
FEEL
OPPRESSIVELY
hotanduncomfortable,almosttothepointIcan’tbreathe.Myeyespopopen,andI
immediatelyrememberI’minKyle’sbed.Theclockonhisbedsidetablereflectsit’sjustpasteightinthe
morning.
Well, not exactly in the bed—more like lying on top of his bed. I’m hot and can barely breathe
because he’s wrapped around me tightly. His chest is to my back with one arm under my head so it’s
restingatanoddangle.Theotheriswrappedaroundmywaistwithhishandcomingtorestinthecenter
ofmychest.
Even though I’m not in the most comfortable of positions—I’m sweating like a pig because of the
bodyheatKyleisradiatingandmyneckhasakinkinit—Ilieperfectlystillandsavorthisexperience.
Kyleiscuddlingwithme.
EventhoughI’dseenasoftersideofKylebreakthroughonourdayoutingtoBarHarbor,andhesaid
somesweetthingslastnightwhenIgothimtobed—althoughthattechnicallywasthealcoholtalking—I
never once would have thought Kyle was the snuggling type. Even after we’d had sex the other night, I
neverexpectedhimtogetbackintobedandcuddlewithme.
Iknewhewasn’tthattypeofman.
OrperhapsI’mwrongaboutthat.
Regardless,I’mcontenttolayhereforjustafewmomentsandfeelwhatit’sliketobewrappedup
securelyinhisarms.
Eventually,though,myneedtopeeoutweighsmydesiretocuddlewithKyle,soIattempttobreakfree
ofhishold.Thistakessomedoingandisn’teasy,ashe’sstillclearlypassedoutandnothelpingmatters.
Somehow,ImanagetogethisarmaroundmetoloosenandI’mabletoslitherout.Irolloffthebedand
lookdownathimsleeping.Hisfaceissopeacefullooking,soanti-Kyle,thatIhavetojustwatchhimfor
abit,whichI’msureisn’tascreepyasitsounds.
Butthenmybladdercallsouttome,soIwalkquietlydownthehallwaytohislittlebathroomwhereI
domybusiness.IhavenointentionofgoingbackintoKyle’sroombecauseIhadnotintendedtosleepin
the bed with him last night. However, once I got him in the house and managed to get him into his
bedroom,hehadfallenbackwardonhismattressandpassedoutcold.Hehadmumbledsomethinginthe
car when I woke him up about “hoping he didn’t get sick,” and that worried me enough that I felt
compelledtostayandmakesurehewasokay.Icouldn’thandlethethoughtofhimdrowninginhisown
vomitorsomething,soIreasonedtomyselfthatIwasbeingagoodneighborbylyingonthebednextto
himincaseheneededhelp.
Icertainlyhadn’tintendedtofallasleep.
Not bemoaning that fact either, but there’s no reason to stay now. Kyle is fine, and there’s really
nothingthatneedstobesaid.Hemadethatclearlastnightatthebar.TheicingontopwasBarbPrivett
coming onto him—in a very familiar way that made it clear she had carnal knowledge of Kyle. That
thoughtrighttherecausesacidtosurgeinmystomach,andIwalkquicklythroughhishousetothefront
door.There’snotadoubtinmymindthathadInotshoweduplastnight,Kylewouldhavegonehomewith
her.Infact,I’mnotreallysurewhyhecameafterme,becausehe’dtoldmenottwominutesbeforethat
therewasnothingtotalkaboutbetweenthetwoofus.
Yes,it’sbestIgethomeandleaveKylefarbehind.
Toomuchtrouble.
Toomuchdrama.
NotenoughoftherealKyletokeepmeinterested.
♦
I’
M
STARTLED
SO
muchbythebangingsoundthatmypaintbrushslipsalittleinmyhand,butnotenoughto
ruinthestroke.Itiltmyheadtolisten.Itseemstobecomingfrommyporch.It’sdefinitelynotaknocking
onmydoor,butsomethingisdefinitelystrikingwood.
Bang,bang,bang.
“What the hell?” I mutter as I stand up from my stool and arch my back to loosen it up. I’ve been
sittinginfrontofmyeaselforthelastthreehours—eversinceIleftKyle’shouse—andmymusclesare
screamingatme.
Ifollowthebangingsound,whichleadsmefrommybackroom/studio,throughthelivingroom,andto
thefrontdoor.IopenitupandseeKylekneelingonthefirstporchstepclosesttothegroundwhilehe
bangsanailintothetopstep,whichhe’sreplacedwithanewboard.
Istepoutandwatchdumbfoundedashepullsanailhe’sholdinginbetweenhislipsandhammersit
in.
Threestrikes.Bang,bang,bang.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask,andhisheadslowlyrises.
Hepullsthelastnailoutofhismouth.“Penance.”
“Penance?”Isaywithafurrowedbrow.
“Yeah,forgettingdrunkandactinglikeanasslastnight,”hesayssheepishly.“AndInoticedthetop
stepwasweaktheotherday,sothoughtI’dreplaceitforyou.”
“Sofixingmystepispenance?”
“No, hammering nails when my head is already pounding is the penance part,” he corrects me, and
thentoprovehispoint,hedrivesinthelastnailwhilegrimacingtheentiretime.
“Didyoutakeanyaspirin?”Iask.
Hestandsupandshakeshishead.“Nope.Gotup,showered,andwentstraighttothehardwarestore
togetthematerialstofixyourstep.”
Ishoothimanexasperatedlookandjerkmyheadtowardthedoor.“Well,comeoninside.I’vegot
someaspirin,andI’llcookyoubreakfasttoo.”
I expect him to decline because Kyle never seems to want to accept anything from me, but to my
surprise,hemerelyclimbstheporchstepsandsays,“Thanks.”
KylesitsdownatmykitchentablewhileIpulleggsandbaconoutofmyfridge.It’sclosertolunch
thanbreakfast,butthisisaneasy,fastmeal.
“I’vegotaspirininthemedicinecabinetifyouwantsome,”ItellhimasIputthepanonthestoveand
turntheheaton.
“I’mgood,”hesays,andIcanfeelhiseyesonmybackasIlayslicesofbaconinthepan.
Whiletheystarttosizzle,Ipullsomeorangejuicefromthefridge,aglassfromthecabinet,andtake
themtothetabletosetdowninfrontofKyle.AsIturnbacktothestove,Kylegrabsmywrist,haltingmy
momentum.
Ilookathimquestioninglyandhemerelynodstothechair.“Let’stalk.”
“I’vegottocookbreakfast,”Isay,suddenlynotwantingtohaveatalkwithhim.Hesoundsfartoo
seriousatthismoment.
“Itwon’ttakelong,”hesayssolemnly.
Hmmm.Aquickbrush-off.Quickisbetterthandrawnout.
IsteptothestoveaftertuggingmywristawayfromKyleandturntheburneroff.Ithenpulloutthe
chairadjacenttoKyleandsitdown.Claspingmyhands,Iplacethemonthetableandgivehimapolite
smile.
Hedoesn’tsmileback,butI’mstunnedwhenhesays,“I’msorry.”
Tiltingmyheadtotheside,Iask,“Forwhat?”
Because I truly have no idea what he’s apologizing for. I’m thinking there are several things, but I
couldn’tprioritizethem.
“Forlastnight,”hesayssoftly.“Forgettingdrunkandtellingyoutherewasnothingtotalkabout.That
wasn’ttrue.IonlydiditbecauseIwasfrustratedandpissedoffIhadn’tseenyouinafewdays.”
Myheartswellsabit,feelingwarmandbubbly.
“Pissedoffyouhadn’tseenme?”Ishamelesslyfishforacompliment.
Hegivesmeapainedsmile,droppinghiseyestothetablebriefly.Whenhelooksbackup,I’venever
seensuchaclearlygenuinelookinhiseyes.“Jane…Ilikeyou,and,apparently,Ireallylikebeingaround
you.Soyeah…Iwasalittlepissedyouwereabsentforsolong,whenpriortothatyou’dbeenallupin
mybusinessconstantly.”
Itrynottobeaminpridethathelikedmebeingsopushy,soImerelynodinunderstanding.
“Butthingschangedtheothernight,”headdson.
“Whenwehadsex?”Iasktoclarify.
Henodsstiffly.“Wecrossedalinethatchangedthings.IfIwasastrongerman,Icouldhaveresisted
you,butnowthatI’vehadatasteofyou,Ican’tregretwhatIdid.”
Ihavenocluewhatanyofthatmeans,soIholdmytongue,figuringhe’llgettohispoint.
Kyleswallowshard,andIknowwhateveriscomingnextishardforhimtosay.“Istillstandbywhat
I told you that night. If we continue, it has to be with the knowledge that I’ll be leaving and this will
eventuallyend.”
Thathappy,warm,bubblyfeelingfallscompletelyflat.
“But,” he says softly. “I also have to let you know that I’m a selfish motherfucker, and I really am
hopingyou’llacceptwhatlittleIcanofferyou.I’mleaving,butI’dreallyliketospendmydaysherewith
youasmuchaspossible.SoI’mnotsureifyou’vemadeyourdecision,butIwantedtoletyouknowthatI
docarewhatyourdecisionis.Ididn’twantyoutothinkafterlastnight…whatyousawinthebar…thatI
didn’twantyou,ordidn’tcarewhatyoudecidedtodo.”
It’satthispointIrealizeI’vebeenholdingmybreath,anditcomesoutinoneforcefullylongexhale.
Hewatchesmecarefully,andInotehisshouldersarestiffwithtension.Iknowmydecisionisimportant
tohim.Thismakesmyheartstarttowarmbackupbecausethatisabigadmissionfromamanwhopretty
muchtoldmetheotherdaythatitwas“hiswayorthehighway.”
Andthat’snotgoingtoquiteworkforme,soIhaveacounterproposal.
“Iacceptyourboundaries,”Itellhim,andthere’simmensesatisfactionthatcoursesthroughmewhenI
seehisshouldersdropwithrelief.“Butwithacaveat.”
Kyle’seyebrowsdrawinwardinconsternation.“Whatcaveat?”
“I’mgoodwithusmovingforward.We’llseeeachother,sleeptogether,whateveryouwanttodoto
spendtimewithme.AndIpromiseI’llhavenoexpectationsofanythingfromyouwhenyouleave.”
Hiseyesnarrowdubiously.“But?”
“Butyouhavetopromisethatyouwon’thaveanyexpectationsthatyou’llactuallyleaveasyousaid
you’regoingto.Ithinkyouneedtoleaveopenthepossibilitythatyoumightwanttostay.”
Kyle’seyesimmediatelydarkenwithobviouspain.It’srightthere…clearlywrittenonhisface.I’ve
justaskedhimtodothemostimpossiblethingintheworld,andIknowhebelievesthatrightdowntothe
veryfiberofhisbeing.Forwhateverreason,Kyledeeplybelieveshehasnochoicebuttoleave,andthis
confusesme,becausethere’salwaysachoice.
Butratherthandenymyrequest,hegivesmeasmallsmileandliesrighttomyface.“Okay…I’llkeep
thepossibilityopen.”
CHAPTER20
Kyle
I
HAVE
NO
clueifJanebelieveswhatIjusttoldher,butherexpressionissweetandaccepting.It’sallthe
affirmationIneedbecauseIwanttosealthissortofdealwejustmadeintheonlywayIknowhow.Ipush
outofmychairandhaulJaneoutofhers,sweepingherupintomyarms.Shehuffsoutinsurprise,buther
armsimmediatelywraparoundmyneckasIstartheadingtowardthehallwaythatleadstoherbedroom.
IknowIshouldbeoverwhelmedwithguiltbecauseI’maskingalotofJaneandnotgivinganythingin
return,butfuckifIcanmusterupanounce.ItwasnoliewhenItoldherIwasaselfishmotherfucker.At
leastIfeelsomeredemptionaboutthefactI’mbeingupfrontandhonestwithherthatI’mleaving.
Ofcourse,thatredemptioniscompletelynegatedbecauseIdidjustlietoherwhenItoldherI’dkeep
an open mind about staying. That’s just not an option, even if I wanted to. When I leave, I’m heading
straightforacriminaltrialthatwilllastweeks.I’llprobablybesequesteredforsafetypurposes,andif
allisrightinmyworld,we’llultimatelygetconvictionsonallthedefendants.Afterthat,I’llbetakingthe
tinyscrapsleftofmylifeandtheghostofmyformerself,andI’lltrytofigureouthowtoliveagain.How
totakeafreshstartandtrytomakesomethingofit.
Freshstart.
FunnyI’deventhinkI’ddeservesomethinglikethatafterthethingsI’vedone.
IenterJane’sroomwithherclingingtightlytome,seeminglyokaywithmejustdraggingherbackhere
like a caveman. I take a moment to actually look around, something I didn’t do the other night when I
fuckedher,andasmiletugsatmylips.Ihadn’tnoticedbefore,butinthebrightlightofday,herwallsare
a buttery yellow and white lacy curtains grace her window. Her bed is old-fashioned looking, made of
brassandcoveredwithamultitudeofpoofypillowsandaflower-embroideredspread.
It’ssoJaneandIcan’twaittolayher—throwher—onthatperfectlymadebedandmessitup.Partof
mewondersifI’masickbastardforthat…forwantingtodirtyherupabit.
Tilting my face so I can look at Jane, I find her eyes shining with equal parts of hope and
determination that I said I’d keep an open mind about staying, but, more to my satisfaction, they’re
shimmeringwithdesire.ThatIcandealwith.
With great restraint and counter to original plans, I lower her slowly to the floor so she gets her
footing.Herhandscometomychest,fingertipspressinginslightly.She’ssodamngorgeousandearnestin
herdesiresthatIknowI’mnotworthy,butsheisalsostandingbeforemebecauseshewantstobehere.
“Youdowantthis,right?”Ipressher,becausewhilehereyesmaytellonestory,Iknowtheheartcan
betrickier.
Janeslidesherhandsupmychestandclaspsthembehindmyneck.Shestepsinclosertomeandtilts
herheadbackabit.“Kyle…Iwantthis.Iknowandunderstandyourterms.I’magrownwomanandI
knowtherisks.Soyes,Iwantthis,butwhatIalsowantisforyoutoacceptthatsowedon’thavetohave
thisconversationeachtime.Frankly,it’sadowner.”
Relief courses through me, along with a tremor of amusement. I can’t help but chuckle. “A downer,
huh?”
Shegrinsandnods.“Totaldowner.”
Ibendinandbrushmylipsagainstherjaw.“Let’sseeifIcanrectifythat,okay?”
Janepressesincloserandwhispers.“Soundslikeafantasticplan.I’veneverhadsexlikethisinthe
middleofthedayandsospontaneously.”
I jolt because this surprises me. While on one hand Jane is definitely a wholesome type of girl, I
personallyknowshe’sgotspunkandadventurewithin.
Shejustshrugsatmewithasheepishgrin.“WhatcanIsay?Craigwasn’tallthatcreative.”
I wince, because I don’t want to think about her with another guy. In fact, I want to obliterate that
douchebagfromhermemory,andit’stimetostartthatprocess.
Myhandscomeuptoframeherface,andIbringmymouthdowntohers.She’swaitingforme,open
andaccepting,andtheminuteourtonguestoucheachother,everycellinmybodybecomeselectrified.It’s
asensationI’veneverexperiencedbefore.I’vefuckedalotofsexywomen.Donealotofdirtyfucking.
Hadwomenbendoverbackwardtopleaseme.
Butneverhasonetouchedmelikethisonacellularlevel.OnlyJanehasmanagedtomakemefeel
somethingsouniqueandmysteriousthatIalmostdoubtwhatI’mfeelinginthismoment.Ideepenthekiss.
Thetinglesofneedsweepingthroughmybodymagnify,andyes…it’smysterious,butit’sreal.
She’smorerealthananythingI’veeverknownbefore.
“Yoooo-hoooo,”Ihearawoman’svoicecallingoutfromJane’slivingroom,andmybodyfreezes.A
slightmoanofdisappointmentslidesfromJane’smouthintominebeforeIbreakthekiss.
Jane lets her head fall forward onto my chest, only to lift it back up and bang it softly there a few
timesinfrustration.Myhandautomaticallycurlsaroundthebackofherneck,andIgiveherasqueezeof
understanding.
“Nowthat’sadowner,”shemutters,thenlooksuptomewithapologeticeyesandexplains,“You’re
abouttomeetmymother.”
“Fuck,”Imutterback,thenlookhopefullyoverhershoulderatthefrillywhitecurtains.“CanIsneak
outthewindow?”
Shesnickersandtakesmyhand.“You’refunny.”
“Wasn’t being funny,” I tell her truthfully as she leads me out of her bedroom. With my free hand, I
adjustmyselfdownbelowandhopehermothermaintainseyecontactwithme.
Janeholdsmyhandallthewayintothelivingroomanddoesn’treleaseitwhenshesays,“Mom…
whatareyoudoinghere?”
Hermomisstandingjustinsidethedoorway,holdingalargegrocerybaginonearm.Asetofkeysis
danglingfromherotherhand.Withwideeyes,shestaresatmebutaddressesJane,“Oh,dearLord…I
guessIshouldhaveknocked,huh?”
Janesqueezesmyhand.“Mom…yourememberKyle,right?”
“Hetookyoutodinnerawhileback,”hermomsaysasshenodsatmewithasmile.
Abig,smug,knowingbuthappysmile.
Yes,shelooksoddlypleasedthatherdaughterisleadingmeoutofherbedroom.Infact,I’dsayshe
was actually basking in that knowledge, which is totally fucking weird in my book. If her mom really
knewwhoIwasdeepdown,she’dbescreamingatherdaughtertorunintheoppositedirection.
Janemakesadisapprovingsoundinherthroat,andIlookdownather.She’sshakingherheadather
momandhasachastisinglookonherface.Ateacher’slook.Ibetmanyastudenthascoweredfromthat
lookfromMissCresson.
“Mom,”Janesayswithcensure.“Kylewasfixingthatrottedwindowsillinmybedroom.”
Hermomdoesn’tmove,buthersmilegetsbigger…moreknowing.Shedoesn’tbuyJane’slieatall.
“Surely you saw his tool box out there on the porch,” Jane points out, and I have to marvel at her
quickthinking.
Jane’s mom raises her eyebrows and smirks at her daughter. It’s clear she’s still not buying it. To
provethat,shesays,“Yes…oddplacetohaveatoolboxifyou’refixingsomethinginside.”
Iduckmyheadandhidemysmile.IseewhereJanegetshersnarkandquickwit.
Janesighsincapitulation,andhermommovesacrossthelivingroom,stalkingtowarduslikewe’re
prey.SheshovesthegrocerybagatJaneandsticksherhandouttome.“Hi,Kyle.It’snicetoofficially
meetyou.I’mMeredithCresson.”
Inadditiontohersass,Janeclearlygotherlooksfromhermom.Meredithhasthesamegoldenhair
and meadow-green eyes, and she is strikingly beautiful like her daughter. I take her hand and shake it.
“Nicetomeetyou.”
Shegivesmeasqueezeandawink.“I’msogladtoseeJanegettingbackintothedatingworld.”
“Mom,”Janesaysonalmostawhineassheshiftsthegrocerybaginherhand.“KyleandIaren’t—”
“She’sbeenlivinglikeamonk,Itellyou,”Meredithsayswithrelish,andIcantellshe’stakingsome
pleasureoutofembarrassingherdaughter.
Janetriesinvaintosethermomstraight.“We’renot—”
Meredithignoresherandtugsonmyhand,leadingmetowardthekitchen.“Kyle…sheneedstoget
outmore.Experiencenewthings.Allshedoesisteachherkidsandpaint,notthatthat’sbad,youknow,
butsheneedsmore,right?”
“Mom,”Janesaysinexasperationasshefollowsus.“Pleasedon’t—”
“Now,Kyle,”MeredithsaysasshepushesmetowardthechairI’dvacatednotfiveminutesago.“I
wantyoutotellmeallaboutyourself.”
Idothemannerlythingandsitdown,actuallyenjoyingJane’sdiscomfortalittlebit.She’salwaysso
annoyingly confident about everything that it’s actually funny to watch her be a bit discombobulated. I
wanttomakeherthatway,andIhaveaverygoodideaonhowwithmymouth,butthat’sclearlynotgoing
tohappenrightnow.
Meredith sits down in the chair next to me and waves a hand over her shoulder at her daughter.
“Honey…there’sanapplepieinthereImade.Whydon’tyoucutussomeslicesandmakesomecoffee?”
“Mom,”Janesayswithevenmorefrustration.“Thisisn’tagoodtime.”
Meredithignoresherdaughterandlooksatmewithavidinterest.“Sohowlonghaveyoutwobeen
dating?”
“Mom,”Janesnaps,andhermomgivesalittlejumpassheturnstolookatherdaughter.“Wearenot
dating.”
“You’renotdating,”hermomrepeatsdisbelievingly,andmychesttightenswhenIseethebrightness
ofJane’seyesflattenjustabit.
“Whatshemeansiswe’renotdatingseriously,”Isaymuchtomysurprise,butthenfigure—whatthe
fuck—I’mgoingwithit.“Andbythat,whatshemeansisthatit’sprettynew,butit’sexclusive.”
Meredithturnsbacktolookatmeandlevelsadazzlingsmileofrelief.Icanseethisisawomanwho
lovesherdaughterverymuch.
I return her smile confidently, but then my gaze slides past her to Jane. She looks back at me with
narrowedeyes,probablywonderingwhatinthehellI’mdoingbystringinghermomalonglikethat.But
fuck…whatwasIsupposedtodo?Tellhermomwewerejusttemporaryfuckmates?
Becauseno…thatisnotwhatJaneistome.
Imeanyes…therewillbefuckingandlotsofit,Ihope,butthatisnotallthereis.Infact,there’sso
muchmore.
ButIsaiditright.We’redating.It’snotserious.Itmadehermomhappyandwasn’tanoutrightlie.
Thisisasmalltownandweareprobablygoingtobeseenaround,asIintendtotakeJaneouttodinner,
perhapsforbeersatTheLobsterCage,andmaybeevenbacktoBarHarborforsomemoresightseeing.
Those are all things we’ll be doing over the next few months, and I find myself looking forward to
everybitofit.AndwhenIleave,I’msureJanewillfigureoutsomethingplausibletotellhermother,but
in the meantime… I don’t see why everyone can’t just be happy about the way things are right in the
present.
CHAPTER21
Jane
M
Y
EYES
FLUTTER
open,andIwaitforthemtogetaccustomedtothedarkenedroom.I’mwideawakeand
feelstrangelyrefreshed.Iturnmyheadtolookatmyclockandnoteit’sjustshyofthreeAM.
Iturnmyheadbacktotheright.Inthemoonlightstreamingthroughmywindows,IcanseeKyle’sface
partially lit. Again, he looks so peaceful and relaxed, despite the harsh angles of his cheekbones. He’s
lyingonhisside,hisheadinchesfrommineandhisarmrestinglaxacrossmynakedstomach.We’vebeen
asleepforseveralhours.
Idon’tmoveforamoment,insteadstaringatmyceilingthathasbecomemorerevealedinthenatural
ambientmoonlight.There’sarustyceilingfanthatrattleswhenIturniton,soIdon’treallyuseit,afraidit
mightfallonme.
AsIlaythere,Ithinkaboutthenakedmansleepingbesideme.
Andthethingshedidtometonightwithhismouthandhishandsandthenwithhis…
My skin tingles at the memory, and an ache of need forms low in my belly. It’s a need for sure,
becausewhatKyleshowedmetonightmademerealizewhatI’vebeenmissing.
He left my house after having a slice of apple pie and making small talk with my mom, carefully
avoidinganypersonalinformationabouthimself,muchthewayhe’sdonewithme.Hedidthismasterfully
bydivertingmymomwithquestionsaboutourfamilyandme.Afterthepie,hemadehisexcusestoleave,
sayinghehadsomethingstodo,notevenbotheringwiththepretenseof“fixing”mywindow.Iwalkedout
ontheporchwithhimwherehewrappedahandaroundthebackofmyneckandpressedakissagainstmy
temple,promisinghe’dgetupwithmelater.Iofferedhimmycellnumber,butheshookhishead,stating
hedidn’tevenownacellphone.Ishouldhavefoundthatodd,butifthere’sonepersonintheworldwhoI
couldseeshunningacellphone,itwouldbeKyle.
IspenttheafternoonshoppingwithmymomwhereshetalkedincessantlyabouthowhandsomeKyle
was.NotlongafterIreturnedintheearlyevening,Kyleshowedupatmydoor.Withinmoments,wewere
inmybedroomandnaked.
While the clothes may have come off fast, he kept the pace of things very slow. As I remember the
detailsoflastnight,theachedropsfrommybellytobetweenmylegs.Hepositionedhisfaceinbetween
mythighsandstayeddownthereforever.Longenoughtohavemewrithingandmoaningandcallingout
hisname.Hemadelowsoundsinhisthroatashismouthworkedme,almostasifheweresavoringafine
sipofwine.Icametwice,onlythendidheputacondomonandfuckme.
Itwasonceagainfastandrough,andGodhelpme…Iloveditlikethat.Hisfingersdugdeepintomy
flesh,hishipsslammedagainstmine,andKylemadeanimalisticsoundsofpleasurewithhisfaceburied
inmyneck.Andthere’snodescribinghowitfeltwhenheliftedhisheadupashesurgedindeeponelast
time,hiseyeslockedonmine,andsaidinarough,lowtoneoneword.
Jane.
Atinyshiverofpleasureskittersupmyspineoverthatmemory,andIsmileintothemoonlitroom.
I can tell Kyle is deep asleep by the pace of his breathing, but I feel like I’m ready to take on the
world.
Energized.
Filledwithspiritandcreativity.
There’sonlyonethingformetodo.
♦
I
HAVE
A
badhabitofstickingmytongueoutthesideofmymouthwhenI’mconcentratingreallyhard,and
whilepaintingisnormallysomethingthattendstoflownaturally,I’vebeenplayingwithnewtechniques,
soit’srequiringsomeattentiontodetail.Myartforteisdefinitelywatercolors,butI’vebeenplayingwith
mixedmedialately.Ihopetostartworkingonitwithmyhighschoolstudentssoon.Tonightspecifically,
I’m working on a piece I started with a basic drawing done with my graphite pencil, and then filled in
withacrylics.
Thedrawingissimpleandslightlyabstract.Twocatswithelongatednecksandtriangularheadsthat
makethemlookslightlyalien.I’mpaintingoneingrayandtheotherinblack,andIthinkit’sturningout
nicely.It’sfartoomodernformypersonaltastes,butMirandalovesstufflikethis,soitwillbeagiftto
her.
Iputaslightdabofwhiteintotheirisofoneofthecat’seyessoastocreatereflectivelight.Turning
tolaymybrushonasidetable,Ijoltwithfrightoverthefigurestandinginthedoorwayofmystudio.I
immediatelyrecognizeKylethere,actuallyleaningcasuallyagainstthedoorjambashewatchesme,but
myheartisstillthundering.IknowthathastodowiththescareIjusthad,butitcontinuesonbecauseof
how hot he looks in just a pair of jeans hanging low on his lean hips and his muscular and tattooed
expanseofabsandchestformetobehold.
“Howlonghaveyoubeenstandingthere?”IsayalmostbreathlesslyasIpressmyfingerstothecenter
ofmychest.
“Not long,” he says and pushes off the doorjamb. He walks into the room and looks around. It is
mostlyfilledwithfinishedpaintingsandafeweasels,rowsofshelvingononewalltoholdmysupplies,
andatinydeskagainstanotherwallwhereIdostufflikereconcilingmybankaccountorsurfingonlineon
mylaptop.
“I’msorryifIwokeyouup,”ImurmurasIwatchhimprowlaroundtheedgeoftheroom,takinga
momenttopausebytheshelvesandperusemypaintsupplies.
“Youdidn’t,”isallhesayswithoutlookingatme.Instead,hepicksupabrush,inspectsitbriefly,and
thenputsitdown.Ifindthisreservedattitudeabitdisconcerting.Imean,it’salwayssortofawkwardthat
nextmorningaftersomeamazingandintimatesex,butIwasn’treadyforhimtoinvademylittlestudio
thatissortoflikeahavenforme.
Heturnstome,hiseyesslidingtomycanvaswherethecatsarealmostcomplete.“Nicepussies,”he
sayswithasmile.
Irollmyeyes,butI’mimmediatelyrelievedtohavehimjokewithme.“Juvenile,”Ichastise.
Kylechucklesashisgazeslidestome.“Nowherenearasniceasyours.”
Iblushhot,whichmeansmycheeksareprobablyblazingred.Hesmirks,whichmeanshenotices,and
thenaddsoninalowvoice.“Iknowwithoutadoubttheydon’ttasteasgoodasyours.”
Myfacegetshotter,butImanageasnappyretort.“Acrylicpainttastesterrible.”
Kyle grins at my rejoinder and turns to my desk. To my surprise, he grabs the small wooden chair
nestledunderneathandpullsitacrossthefloortositrightbehindmystool.Hetakesaseatandhislong,
jean-cladlegsframetherearofmystooloneitherside.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iaskcuriously.
“Goingtowatchyoupaint,”hesays.
Myentirebodytightensatthethought.“Idon’tthink—”
Kyle’s hands go to my hips. He turns me on my stool, so I’m facing my canvas again. “Paint,” he
orders.
“Kyle—”
Hischingoestomyshoulder,andhesoftlyrepeats,“Paint.”
A tiny spasm of adrenaline rockets through me at his seductive tone, but also because he wants to
watchmedosomethingthat’sapartofmyverybeing.
“Okay,”Iwhisper,andKyleliftshischin.
Icontinueusingwhitetoaddhighlightandcontrastshadingalongthebodyoftheblackcat,myown
bodyinastateofhyperawarenessofKyle’sjustinchesbehindmine.IswearIcanfeelheatradiatingoff
him.
“Wheredoyougetyourideasfrom?”Kyleasks,andIgivealittlejumptofeelhisbreathontheback
ofmyneck.I’dpiledmyhairupwhenI’dquietlyslippedoutofbed,onlybotheringtoputonmypanties
andthet-shirtI’dbeenwearing.
Igiveatinyshrug.“I’mreallynotsure.SometimesI’llseeanobjectthatwillsparkanidea,orI’ll
readaboutasceneinabookandfeelcompelledtopaintit.”
“Thecolorsinthisaredeeperthanyourwatercolors,”heobservesastutely.
InodasIcontinuewithmybrushstrokes,feelingmoreateaseaswetalk.“Goodeye,andthat’sthe
benefitofacrylics.I’mnotusedtopaintingwiththis,butI’llgetbetterwithpractice.”
“Whyareyouusingthemifit’snotwhatyou’reusedto?”heinquires.
Idrawathinwhitelineofpaintalongthejawlineofthegraycat.“Ilikelearningnewthings,andI
needmorethanjustwatercolorstoteachmystudents.”
“Makessense,”isallhesays.
Kyle’ssilentashewatchesmeforafewmoments,andjustasIstarttoreallyrelaxintomywork,his
hands come back to rest on my waist. I can hear him scoot the chair forward until it bumps against the
back of my stool. He leans forward and presses his chest to my back, his chin coming back to my
shoulder.
Mybrushfreezesonthecanvasandmybreathgoesstillwithinmylungs.
Kyle’shandsslidedownovermyhipstomyouterthighs.Hisroughenedpalmscausegoosepimples
toriseashestrokesthemalongmylegs.
“Ihavetosay,Jane,”hesaysgruffly,hislipsmereinchesfrommyear.“Yousittinghereinthatt-shirt
andjustyourpanties,hairallpiledupandthatlittletonguestickingoutthesideofyourmouth…Well,I
hadnefariousintentionswalkinginhere.”
Kyle’shandspivotandhisfingersglideovertheinsidesofmyknees.Withverylittlepressureneeded
atall,hepullsmylegsslightlyapartandthenstartsslidinghishandsupmyinnerthighs.Igodizzyfrom
histouch,hissexyvoice,andperhapsthefactI’mstillholdingmybreath.Ashishandsslidehigher,my
legspressinalittlejustfromthenervousanticipation.
“Relax,baby,”Kylewhispersasheputspressureonmylegssotheyopenagain.
Mybreathcomesoutinsmall,stutteringhuffs,andIsuckanotherlungfulinashisfingertipsskimthe
elasticedgeofmypanties.
“Wanttoknowwhatmynefariousintentionsare?”heteasesmeasherunsjustonefingeralongthe
edge.
Inodfranticallybutnowordscomeout.
“Letmeshowyou,”hemurmurs,hishandsfallingawayfrommebriefly.
I almost call out in distress over the loss of his touch, but then he’s banding an arm around my
stomach, pulling me back so my ass presses against his crotch. His other hand glides slowly down the
frontofmypanties,hisfingersslidingthroughmywetnessbeforepressinginsideofme.
My hips buck hard against his delicious invasion, my head falls back to his shoulder, and my
paintbrushfallsfrommyhand.Itslapsagainstmythigh,leavingawhitepaintstreakandlandingonthe
floor,butIdon’tcareonetinybit.
“Don’tstop,”Imoanashefindsmyclit,circlinghisfingerarounditgently.
“Justgettingstarted,”heassuresmeashecontinuestracinglazypatterns.
“More,”Idemandgreedily,plantingmyfeetintothefloorhardandpressingmyhipsup.
Kylegivesalowgroanoftriumph.“That’smygirl.”
Myheartconstrictshardoverthosewords.
Mygirl.
“Liftupabit,”Kyledemandsofme,soIdo,raisingmyassoffmystool.Kylequicklydispensesof
mypanties,leaningtothesideabittopushthemdownmylegs.Oncehefreesonefoot,heignoresthem
andstraightensbackupinhischairbeforeonceagainpullingmebackagainsthim.
Hebringsapalmdowninbetweenmylegs,cupsmeintimatelyforamomentasheagainleanstothe
side.
I’mconfusedwhenhesays,“Watch.”
Kyledipshisfingersinsidemebrieflybeforedraggingthemupwardtorevealmyclit.Hepullsback
onthetinyhoodcoveringit,andI’menthralledbyhowswollenandneedyitlooks.
Then I’m absolutely stunned when I see that Kyle has one of my paintbrushes in his other hand. He
musthavenabbeditoffmysupplyshelf,butit’sonethathasluxuriouslysoftbristles.
IsuckinmybreathandwatchasKyletakesthebrushandswirlsthebristlesalongtheinsideofone
thigh.Ijerkbecauseitticklesandlaughnervously.
But my laugh dies down when he slowly drags the brush in between my legs, and ever so gently
swipesitrightupmycenter.Myhipsflyupward.Kyle’sarmholdsmetighterasheuseshisotherhandto
holdmeopen.
“Watch,Jane,”hemurmurs,hisvoicethickwithwonderandlust.
AndIwatchasheusesthedampbristlestocirclearoundmyclit,andthesensationisindescribable.
MyentirebodystartstotrembleasIwatchhimgettingmeoffwithmypaintbrush.Hecarefullydipsthe
tip inside of me just marginally… enough to get it wet, and then he makes light strokes against my clit,
overandoveragain.
MybodytremblesharderandmyhandsturnintoclawsthatIsinkintohisthighs.
Thestrokesaresofeatherlight,andhe’spurposelygoingslowlytodrawthisout,whereasIonlywant
tocomeandcomeandcome.
“God,thisissexyasfuck,”Kylemuttersinmyearashetwirlsthebrusharoundmyclit,goingalittle
faster.Myentirebodygoestight.“WeneedtotrythiswhileI’mfuckingyou.”
Andjustlikethat,Iexplode.
Igroanoutmyreleaseashecontinuestoswirlthebrusharoundme,whisperingwordsofpraiseand
encouragement,andwhenIdon’thaveanymoretogive,hetossesthebrushtothefloorandmerelyplaces
hislargepalmovermycrotchtogentlysqueezemepossessively.
“Kyle,”Imurmurinrepletion,stilldizzyfromthatclimax.
“Get up,” Kyle commands me gently, his hands going to my hips to push me up from the stool. The
minutemylegsstraighten,he’sturningmetofacehim.Myhandsgoouttohisshouldersforbalance,andI
watchashequicklyunfastenstheflyonhisjeans.Heliftshishipsalittle,pullingthemdownjustenough
tofreehimself.Iwatchwithwideeyesbecausethatpartofhimisjustasbeautifulastherest,marveling
athowquicklyhegetsacondomoutandrollsiton.
IgiveatinygaspofsurpriseasKyle’shandsgobacktomyhipsandhejerksmeforward.Helooks
upatmewithfeveredeyesandadmitssomethingIthinkshameshimbythetoneofhisvoice.“Ican’tget
enoughofyou.”
Before I can even respond, he surges out of the chair and spins me toward the nearest wall, right
beside my desk. He pushes me right up against it, my breasts flattening and my heart racing with his
forcefulness.
Kyle’smouthcomestothesideofmyneckandhebitesmegentlybeforegivingmeasoftlick.His
handspullmyhipsbackwardandIfeelhisbodybend,thenhe’spushinginsideofme.
Straightinside,onelong,fluidstroke.
“Ooohhh,”ImoanasIturnmyheadandplacemyheatedcheekagainstthecoolwall.
Kylegruntsinpleasurebeforehepullsoutandthrustsbackinhard.Mybodyjarsagainstthewallas
hestartsasteadyrhythm,andIrealize…thisisnewaswell.SomanythingsthatKyleisshowingmethat
inmytotallyboringprevioussexlifehadseemedlikeprettygoodstuff.
Butnow…nowthatIknowthis…
IthinkImightberuinedforanyoneelseafterKyleleaves.
CHAPTER22
Kyle
I
PULL
A
smallcoolerfromthebackofmytruck,keepinghalfaneyeonJaneasshespreadsoutanavy-
blue blanket on the grass. She’d suggested a drive over to Acadia again. When I picked her up, she
surprisedmebycomingoutofherhousewithapicnicbasket.Sheannouncedasshejumpedinthetruck
thatwe’dhavetostopforsomedrinks,andsowegracedarundown-lookingminimartbeforewehitthe
ferryandpurchasedacheapStyrofoamcooler,asmallbagofice,andasix-packofCoke.
Here I am, a man in hiding, having spent the past several years selling my soul to the devil, getting
readytositdownwiththesweetest,sexiestwomanI’veeverknowntohaveamotherfuckingpicnic.
IfeellikeI’mintheTwilightZone.
It’sfeltlikethatforthepasttwoweekssinceJaneandIhavebeenregularlyseeingeachother.Andby
seeingeachother,Imeanthere’sbeenawholelotoforgasmsdishedout,intermixedwithwhatyoucould
call“dates,”Iguess.ThatincludedgoingonadoubledatetodinnerwithMirandaandsomedudeshe’s
banging,butit’stotallynotserious.ItalsoincludedatriptothecountyfairwhereJanescreamedanddug
hernailsinmylegduringeveryride,exceptfortheFerriswheel,wherewemadeoutliketeenagersatthe
top.Wethengorgedourselvesoncorndogs,cottoncandy,andelephantearsuntilmystomachhurtsobad
Ididn’tthinkI’dbeabletofuckherthatnight.
Idid,however,persevere.
Janealsoconvincedmetogotodinneratherparents’houseonenight.ThiswassomethingIinternally
balked at, as I genuinely liked Jane’s mom, Meredith, and didn’t want to string her along by letting her
thinkthiswassomethinglastingwithherdaughter.Ihadahardtimesittingatawoman’stable,eatingher
foodandknowingIwasprobablygoingtohurtherdaughterinthelongrun.
Didn’tmatterthatherdaughterknewthatgoingintothisandhadagreedtoit;itstillmademefeelbad.
I only agreed because Jane sensed my reluctance before I could even accept the invitation, and she
quicklybackpedaled.IsawthecleardisappointmentandsadnessinhereyesthatIcouldn’tgiveherthis
littlebitofnormalcyinthiscrazyrelationshipwehad,andevenasshewassaying,“NevermindIasked.
I’llcomeupwithagoodexcuseformyparents,”Iwassaying,“Ofcourse,I’dbegladtogo.”
Turns out, it was nice and her parents are great, but it only served to remind me how different my
world is from Jane’s. She adores her parents and has a natural and easy relationship with them. I can’t
imaginehowthatmightbeaffectediftheyknewwhatwasreallygoingonbetweentheirdaughterandme.
Icarrythecoolerovertotheblanket.Aftersettingitdownonacornersoit’snotliftedbythebreeze,
ItakeaseatononesideasJaneremovesitemsfromherbasket.
“I made some fried chicken and potato salad,” she says as she pulls out some paper plates. “And I
wasgoingtomakesomecookiesbutdecidedtobuytheminsteadatthebakery.Nosenseinruiningthis
outingforus.”
Chuckling,ItakeaplatefromJaneandputapieceofchickenontoit.Itsmellsphenomenal.There’s
somethingaboutthefactthatJanemadeitthatmakesmebelieveitwillbethebestchickenI’veeverhad.
Todaywillnodoubtgodownasoneofthebestdaysever,whichIseemtothinkalotwhenI’maround
thiswoman.
AsJanedishesmesomepotatosalad,Itakeabiteofthechickenandgroan.Hereyessnaptome.
“That’sfuckingamazing,”Imumblearoundmyfoodbeforechewing.
She ducks her head almost shyly, which is not like Jane, but I’ve come to find out that she actually
doesn’ttakeacomplimentverywell.She’salmostembarrassedwhenIdo.Ifindthatcharmingandsadat
thesametime.Isuspectthat’sbecauseshe’snothadalotofgenuineaccoladesfrommenbefore,whichis
totallyoddgivenhowamazingsheis.AlsooddisthefactthatIhandoutcomplimentstoher.Neverbeen
thatkindofdude,butshebringsitoutofmeandIcan’tfuckinghelpmyself.
“Miranda’sthinkingaboutdumpingJim,”Janesaysoff-handedlybeforelickingabitofpotatosalad
offherthumb.
“Theguywhowenttodinnerwithusafewnightsago?”Iask,thentakeanotherbiteofchicken.
Janenodsassheselectsadrumstickfromthecontaineroffried,spicygoodness.
“Thought his name was Tom,” I say after I swallow and put my chicken down on the plate. I reach
overintothecoolertopullouttwoCokes,poppingthetopononebeforehandingittoJane.
“Wasit?”sheasksassheacceptstheCokeandtakessip.
“Yeah,”Itellher,andthentryabiteofpotatosalad.“Anddamn…that’samazingtoo.”
“Thesecretistoaddalittlepoultryseasoninginit,”shesayswithanoddowntothecontainerbefore
lookingbacktome.“Tom,Jim…whatever.Thepointisshewantstodumphim.”
“Didn’t care for the guy anyway,” I say as I continue to eat. “And I could totally tell he wasn’t
Miranda’stype.”
WhichalsoseemstosaysomethingabouthowI’veintegratedintoJane’slifesinceI’veevengottento
knowherbestfriendquitewell.I’vebeenaroundherenoughtoknowthatsheneedsagoodguywitha
strong hand who won’t take her bullshit. Apparently, though, she either gravitates to assholes with low
self-esteemorwimpswholiketokissherass.
Janesnickers.“HesowasnotMiranda’stype.Andthatthinghedidwithhisnose…”
“Thatsnufflingnoisewheneverhefinishedasentence?”
“Whatwasthat?”Shelaughs.
“Nofuckingclue,butitwasdrivingmebatty,”Icommiserate.
“Oh,myGod,”Janesaysasshecontinuestolaugh.“Canyouimaginetheminbedtogether?‘Ohbaby,
thatfeelssogood.’Thenthatgod-awfulsnufflingsound.”
Iwatch,chickenpoisedhalfwaytomymouth,asJanelaughswithabandon.Withsuchradiance.Green
eyes shimmering whimsically. Completely in the moment… with me… sharing something that we both
foundfunnyashell.
SharingsomethingwithmethatIdon’trememberhavinginforeverandaday.
Idropthechickentothepaperplateandreachacrosstheexpanseoftheblanket.IleantowardJaneat
thesametimeIcupthebackofherheadtopullhertowardme,andIlayaswiftbutsoftkissonhermouth
beforeIreleaseher.
Her eyes are wide with surprise when I pull back, because I’m not the most spontaneously
affectionateperson.
“Thatwasdifferent,”shesays.
“Itwas?”Iask,feigningignorance.
Shenods.“Youusuallyonlykissmewhenyou…well,youknow…youwantsex.”
Thatwouldbetrue.IlovekissingJane,whichleadstofuckingtentimesoutoften.
Butthatwasn’tmyintentjustnow.Hell,I’mnotevensurewhatmyintentwas,butIwasfilledupwith
agloriouslywarm,euphoricfeelingthatwasduesolelytothewomansittingacrossfrommeand,beforeI
knewit,Iwasgivingherakiss.
Itrytoplayitoffthough.Lookingaroundatthepicnicarea,Icasuallysay,“WhosaysIdon’twantto
havesexhere?”
Janerollshereyesatme,andIgrin.Crazyhoweasymysmileshavebeencomingthelastfewweeks.
Likethispicnic.
I couldn’t imagine doing something like this… all normal and romantic. It’s a completely foreign
concept, and yet I’m drawn even stronger to these things with Jane. My curiosity about this laid-back,
normalwayoflifeisstirring,andperhapsI’mevenrememberingabithowtolivethisway.
It’shardtodescribetoanyonewhatitmeantformetogoundercoverwithMayhem’sMission.Hell,
it’s even hard for me to understand it at times. But in order to do it, I had to let go of every bit of my
humanity,andIhadtoembracealifebankruptofanymorals,decency,orkindness.MyMissionbrothers
werearuthlessganginvolvedinseriouscriminalenterprisefromdrugsandillegalgunstosexslavery.
Andthatwasonlythetipoftheiceberg.Itwasthe“business”partofwhattheydid.
Buttherewasanotherpart.
Adarkerpart.
ItwaswhereIhadtoconvincethemthatIwascutfromthesamecloth.Ihadtodoterriblethingsto
peoplethat,withouttheimmunitythegovernmenthasprovidedme,wouldlandmeinjailfortherestof
mylife.Ihavesomuchbloodonmyhandsthatitwon’tevercomeoff.
Soyeah…Igetwhyshewassurprisedbythislittleactofaffectiononmypart.Givenmypast,I’m
justassurprised.
But goddamn… she is crawling under my skin, invading my senses, and turning me inside out. She
makes me laugh, which is a practically unheard of accomplishment. She’s witty and funny and full of
personality.Janeisaforceofnaturethathasthestrengthofahurricane,andfuckifshedidn’trollright
overme.
Hell…evensexwithJaneisfun.I’dthoughtshemightbealittleshyorreserved,butshe’snot.She’s
anincrediblysensualwomanwhoperhapsneededjustalittleencouragementtoexploremoreofthatside
ofherself.OncesheunderstoodthatIfounditincrediblyeroticforhertobevocalaboutwhatshewanted,
thesexbecameevenbetter.
Nottosayshecouldn’tthrowmeoffmygameeverynowandthen.
Justlastnight,IthoughtI’dnearlyhaveaheartattackwhenJanedemandedIfuckherfrombehind.I
thinkIactuallymissedastroke,butIquicklyhadherflippedoverbeforeIplungedbackin.Itwasthen
thatIrealizedwewerefacingthelargemirroronherdresserandJanewaswatchinguswithdark,lust-
filledeyesasIrodeherhard.Itmademyballstightenandtheneedtocomewasalmostpainful.Myhand
pushedintoherlonghairandIgrippedithard,andthatgotherattention.Herglazedeyesslidtolookat
meinthemirror,andweheldeachother’sgazeforjustabriefmoment.Thenherlipscurledupwardand
a mischievous glint sparkled back at me. She then turned to look back at herself, and, in an imperious
voice—whileIwasstillfuckingherhard—shesaid,“Magicmirroronthewall,whoisthefairestoneof
all?”
Icametoadeadstoprooteddeepwithinher,andhereyesslowlyraisedtofocusbackonme.
Shegrinnedatmeandpanted,“SnowWhiteandtheSevenDwarves,1937.Nowgetbacktobusiness,
baby.”
AndIcouldn’thelpit.Ifuckingthrewmyheadbackandbustedoutlaughing.IlaughedsohardthatI
collapsed on top of Jane, and then rolled us to our sides. Jane laughed with me as I wrapped my arms
aroundhertight,thatorgasmIwassoclosetocompletelyforgotten—although,admittedly,Iwasstillhard
asarock.
Westartedtalkingaboutmovies.
Justlikethat,IwentfromfuckingJanetoleavingorgasmcitybehindandtalkingaboutmovies.
Iwasfinewiththatbecauseitwasreal,anditwasJane,andjusthavingthatwithherappealedtome
onalevelIdidn’trealizeIneeded.
♦
T
HE
RINGING
PHONE
startles me awake. For a brief moment, I’m disoriented. Then my eyes land on the
mantle with Jane’s painting above it, and my heart immediately settles. I sit up quickly from the rust-
coloredcouchwhereI’dbeenlayingdownandimmediatelygrabtheburnerphonefromtheoval-shaped
coffeetable.
“What’sup?”IanswerwhenIconnecttoJoeontheline.Istandupfromthecouchandwalktothe
front windows, peering through the blinds toward Jane’s house. It’s completely dark, but I’m not
surprised.Shewashavinga“girls”nightoutwithMiranda,which,accordingtoJane,meantthatshehad
tomakesureMirandadidn’tgetintotoomuchtrouble.
I’mhopingJanewillcomeoverhereaftershegetshome.
“I’vegotsomebadnews,”Joesays,andmybodytightensovertheominoustoneofhisvoice.
Pullingbackfromthewindow,Iopenthefrontdoorandwalkoutontotheporch.Isitdownonthetop
stepandstareatJane’shouse.“Whatisit?”
“Oneofourservershasbeeninfiltrated.Thetechteamjustfoundthebreach,andtheywereableto
shutitdownfairlyquickly.”Joe’svoicetrailsoffslightly.
“But…”IpromptJoe,becauseIcantellhe’swalkedmeuptothecliff.
“Yourinformationwasinthere.Newnameandcurrentaddress.Itdoesn’tlooklikethatinformation
wascompromised,butwecan’truleitoutjustyet.”
“Fuck,”Ibarkintothephoneandrunmyhandoverthestubbleonmyhead.“Whythefuckwasthatin
there?”
“Comeon,Kyle,”Joechastises.“Youknowwehavetohaveaccountabilitysomewhere.Ittakesfunds
tosetupthistypeofthing,andwehavetoanswerforthat.ButCamdenhashistoptechsworkingonit
rightnow.”
Bart Camden is Joe’s boss—and technically mine, for that matter, since Joe and I were effectively
partneredupthelastseveralyears.
“Thereissomegoodnewsthough,”Joeaddson.IletmyeyesdriftfromJane’sdarkenedhouseover
toFrontStreetwhereherparentsliveafewblocksdown.Suchnormalpeoplewhohavenoclueabout
me.
“What’sthat?”Iask.
“AfewoftheMissionhigher-upshavereachedouttotheprosecutoraboutcuttingsomedeals,”Joe
says, and this causes me to sit up a bit straighter. This is surprising because there’s a code among the
membersofMayhem’sMission.Youneverratoutyourbrothers,butifyoudo,bepreparedtodieforthat
action.
This is good news indeed. It means convictions will be easier to secure. It could mean a domino
effectwiththerestofthedefendantswhowereindicted,andperhapsthiswillgoawayfaster.
“DoIhaveanythingtoworryaboutatthispoint?”IaskasmyeyescutbacktoJane’shouse.Idon’t
careaboutmyself,butifsomeone’scomingforme,Iamnotgoingtoputherindanger.I’llpackmyshitup
tonightandhightailitoutoftown.
“Webelieveyou’regoodfornow,”Joesays.“LikeIsaid…itdoesn’tlooklikeyourinformationwas
compromised,butIwantedtoletyouknowbecausenothing’severonehundredpercent.Ifyouwantto
relocate,we’llmakeithappen.”
Myguttwists,notknowingifI’mmakingtherightdecision.I’mhopingtofuckthefedshavemyback
becausepartofthisdecisionisformyownneeds.“I’llstayfornow.Butifyoufindoutthatthebreach
wentasfarasmyinformation,youletmeknowimmediately.”
“Willdo,buddy,”heassuresme.“Talklater.”
“Later,”Isaybeforedisconnectingthecall.
CHAPTER23
Jane
“H
ONESTLY
… I
JUST
couldn’t stand one more night of that snuffling noise he made with his nose,”
Mirandagrumblesasshesipsathercoffeeacrossthetablefromme.
Kyle—who’sseatedbesideme—lightlyknockshislegagainstmineinsolidarityofamusement,andI
havetorestrainmyselffromlaughing.
MirandaandIdidn’tgethomeuntilafteroneinthemorning,andthiscameafteraverymessybreakup
withher“snuffling”flame.Shewasextremelydrunk,andwell…shewasextremelyhonestwithhim.She
didnotlethimdowngently,butherdecisionwasatleastratifiedsomewhatwhenhesaid,“Ican’tbelieve
you’rethatshallow,Miranda,astoletsomethinglikethatbotheryou.”Thenhesnuffled.
Mirandapointedathimandsaid,“See.Youjustdiditagain.Ican’ttakeit.”
It was not a fun night for me, not only because of Miranda’s drama and drunkenness, but mainly
becauseIwouldhaveratherspentthetimewithKyle.
Tick,tockgoestheclockonourrelationship.
We’rehavingbreakfastthismorningatTillie’sShinyDinerandattheinvitationofKyle.Heshowed
upbrightandearlyatmydoor,wakingbothofusup—Mirandahadpassedoutonmycouch—andoffering
to buy us breakfast. I was all over that, because even though I’d had only about six hours of sleep, I
wantedtospendwhatevertimeIcouldwithKyle.
HesaidhewasleavingatsomepointandIbelievehim,despitethefactweseemtobegettingcloser.
Tillie’s is a popular hangout and is indeed a shiny diner. The outside is done in bright, reflective
silver aluminum, and the inside has red vinyl booths, a black-and-white tiled floor, and a long counter
withspinningstools.There’savintagejukeboxononeendthatcarriesmusicfromthe40s,50sand60s.
Tillieservesbreakfastatallhours,andshemakesakillerfriedegg.
“Miranda,”Isaywithabitofbrutalhonestymyself.“Allbodilynoisesaside,youneedtostopgetting
charmedbyaman’sprettyfaceandtakecloserstockofwhattheybringtothetable.”
“YougotsidetrackedbyKyle’sprettyface,”sheretortsatme,andKyleactuallysnickerseventhough
hisheadremainsbowedoverthenewspaperhe’sreading.“Actually,ifIrecall…itwashisbody.You
weregoingonandonabouthowhothisabswerewhilehewaspressurewashingthelighthouse.”
“Miranda,”IexclaimindignantlyatthesametimeKyle’sheadwhipsmyway.Idon’tbotherlooking
athimasIglareatmybestfriend.Shegrinsrightbackatme.
“ThoughtIwashot,huh?”Kylesays,andIturnmyheadtolookathim.
“Oh,shutup,”Isnarltomaskmytotalembarrassment.“Youtotallyknowyou’rehot.”
Kyle’seyescrinklewithamusement,andifI’mnotmistaken,alittlebitofpride.Heshakeshishead
andgoesbacktoreadinghisnewspaper,buthishandslipsunderthetabletorestonthetopofmythigh.
It’s a bold move, but it’s equally sweet, and there’s nothing but a gentle intimacy to the action. It’s
something that Kyle has apparently been getting more comfortable with, as evidenced also by the
spontaneouskisshegavemeyesterdayduringourpicnic.
“Anyway,” I say as I turn back to Miranda. “Don’t you think it’s time you started looking at what’s
underneaththehoodratherthantheexterior?”
Mirandasnickers,totallyreadingmywordsasdirtyratherthanmetaphorical.“Ican’thelpit,Janey.I
lovemeahotman,andit’sevenbetterifhe’sabadboy.Ipersonallydon’tcareaboutanythingpastthat
otherthansnuffling.Ican’tdealwiththatapparently.”
Isigh.IloveMirandasoverymuch,butIdon’tthinkshe’llevergrowup.I’mprettyconfidentshe’ll
neversettledown,andI’moutrightpositiveshewon’tgetinvolvedwithaguyseriously.Afterwhather
parents went through and the public spectacle it made, she’s about the most anti-commitment person I
know.
Well,otherthanKyle.
“Forexample,”Mirandasaysdramaticallyandnodsherheadatsomethingbehindme.“Thatguyright
theretotallyneedstobewarmingmybed.”
Irollmyeyesbutturnintheboothtolookbehindme.There’samansittingattheendofthecounter,
drinkingacupofcoffeeandlookingrightbackatMiranda.Hequirksapairofsexylipsandnodsather.I
canfeelKyleshiftintheboothashelooksbackaswell.
Webothturnback,Kyle’sheadtippingdownagaintoreadthenewspaperandmerollingmyeyesat
Miranda.“Seriously?”
Mirandaisstillstaringattheguyandherlookisblatantlyinviting.Withouttakinghereyesoffhim,
she addresses me, “Oh, come on, Jane. I get you got your own hottie sitting next to you, but that guy is
perfectlydelicious.Leatherjacket,goatee,tattoos.Totalbikerbadass,andthatisrightupmyalley.”
“He’snobiker,”Kylesaysinalowbutauthoritativevoice,neverlookingupfromthepaper.
“Excuseme?”Mirandasays,hereyesnowslidingovertoKylewithcuriosity.
Helooksupandshrugs.“He’snotabiker.Notlikewhatyou’rethinking.Allroughanddangerousand
slightlycriminal.Sure,hemightriderecreationally,buthe’snotthetypeofbadassyou’relookingfor,if
that’sreallywhatyou’relookingfor.”
Mirandaharrumphsandhereyesgobacktotheguy,notwillingtoletKylerainonherparade.
Butnowmycuriosityispiqued.“Howdoyouknowthat?”Iask.
Heturnstowardmeinthebooth,hisarmgoingaroundthebackwherehisfingersbrushagainstmy
shoulders.Hegivesaslight,nonchalantshrug.“I’vehungaroundmyfairshareofbikers.”
Hissmileisopenandhiswordsarelight,butIseesomethingdeepinhiseyesthattroublesme.Ihave
nodoubthe’shungaroundhissharebasedonhowconfidenthesoundsandIheartheringoftruth,butIget
thefeelingthathisexperiencewasfarfromgood.
“Didyouridewithagangorsomething?”Iask.
Adark,painfulflashinKyle’seyes,butbeforehecananswerme,acellphoneringingpiercestheair
aroundus.MyeyesimmediatelydropdownasKyleleanstotheside,extendsaleg,andfishesasmall
phoneoutofhisfrontpocket.It’snotasmartphone,notevenaflipphone,butasmall,plainblackunit
withadigitalscreenbigenoughtoonlyholdperhapsaphonenumber.
Hebringsthephonetohisearashestartstoslideoutofthebooth.“Talktome,”ishowheanswers.
My hand shoots out and I touch his forearm, my head tilted and my gaze questioning. Kyle tells
whoeverisontheotherline,“Holdonjustasec.”
Thenhecoversthephonewithhishandandraiseshiseyebrows,indicatinghe’swaitingformetoask
aquestion.
Sliding my gaze to the cell and then back to him, I say, “I thought you said you didn’t have a cell
phone?”
There’snopause,nostutter,andnoguiltinhiseyes.Hesimplysays,“Justgotittheotherday.”
“Oh,”Imurmur,acceptingit,butwonderingwhyhedidn’ttellmeorgivemehisnumber.
“Igottatakethiscall,”hesays,andthenleansoverandkissesmeonthetopofmyhead.“Beright
back.”
Kyle turns and walks out of the diner, the phone back to his ear. I watch as he heads down the
sidewalkabit,onehandtuckedinhispocketwhilehelistenstowhoeverisontheotherend.
“Doesthatbotheryou?”Mirandaasks,everobservantofme.Sheknowsmealltoowell.
Ishrug.“Maybealittle.Iwonderwhyhedidn’ttellme.”
“Did you see how basic that thing was?” she says as she comes to his defense. “He’s clearly not a
techietypeofguy,andI’mbettinghepreferstojustwalkovertoyourhousetotalktoyou.”
That’salltrue.Hecomesoverwheneverhewantstobewithme,althoughIhaven’tquitehadtheguts
tojustmeanderovertohisbecauseIwanttoseehim.Yes,Igetthat’scontrarytothefactthatIregularly
showeduponhisdoorstepbackinthedaywhenwewerefirstgettingtoknoweachother,butnowthat
sexisinvolved,IguessI’mjustbeingalittleoldfashioned.I’mnotsureI’mreadytomarchoverthere
witha“dome,baby”typeofcome-on,althoughI’msureKylewoulddefinitelytakemeuponit.
“Hell yeah,” Miranda murmurs in a low, sexy tone of appreciation. She’s looking back over my
shoulder. Before I can even turn to see what she’s looking at—presumably the hot-biker-not-actually-
bikertypeguy—he’satourtableandMiranda’sslidingovertolethimin.
Itrynottoletmyjawdropasheturnsslightlytofaceher,completelyignoringme,andsaystoher,
“I’mSteve.Andyouaretoobeautifulformenottocomeoverhereandletyouknowthat.”
Irollmyeyes,whichIcandobecauseneitheroneofthemislookingatme.
Mirandafluttershereyelashesandholdsherhandout.“Miranda.”
Steve pulls it to his mouth and kisses her knuckles, and I shake my head. I’ve seen enough Sons of
AnarchyandIcantellyouforsurethatJaxTellerwouldneverdothat.He’stotallynotabikerlikeKyle
says,butMirandaeatsthatshitupanddoesn’tseeitforwhatitis…justawaytogetintoherpants.
To my surprise, Steve releases her hand and reaches across the table toward me in an invitation to
shakehishand.Heholdsitoutpalmsidewaysandsaysinamorebusinessliketone,“Andyoumustbethe
warybestfriend.I’mSteve.”
Ishakehishand,alittlemollifiedthathewantstoimpressMirandabyseekingmyapproval.“Jane.”
Stevegivesmeaquickshakeandletsmegoasheasks,“Hopeyourboyfriendisn’tgoingtobepissed
Icameoverherelikethis,”hesaysashenodsoutthewindowtowhereKyleisstilltalkingonthephone.
“Notgoingtokickmyass,ishe?”
ThisguyStevehasadecentbuild.MightevenbeaninchorsotallerthanKyle.Butifhewastrulya
badassbiker,hewouldnotbeworriedaboutanyonekickinghisass.SeemsKyletotallycalledthatone
correctly.
IgiveSteveareassuringsmile.“Noasskicking.He’scool.”
AlthoughIknowwithoutadoubtthatKylewouldnotbecoolifSteve’sattentionsweredirectedmy
way.Kylemaynotbealong-haultypeofman—athoughtwhichsaddensmewitheachpassingday—butI
do know he’s proprietary. He’s given the evil eye to a few guys who have looked at me a little too
appreciativelywhenwe’vebeenoutandabout.
SteveturnsbacktoMiranda.“I’minabitofarushtogettowork,butIwaswonderingifIcouldcall
yousometime?”
Miranda’seyes,whicharesurprisinglycleardespiteherdrunkennesslastnightandthankstoVisine,
sparklewithinterest.“Onlyifyoupromisetouseittocallimmediately.Iamontheprowlformynext
boy-toyafterall.”
“Goodgrief,”Imutterundermybreath,butbothofthemignoreme.
I sip at my coffee, my gaze wandering to look out the window at Kyle. His back is to me, but his
posture seems stiff and defensive. My imagination runs wild as to who it could be, since while we’ve
beenveryintimatewitheachother,abouttheonlyrealthingI’veseemedtogleanfromhimisthathehas
no real family and no close friends. This should make me happy because I am what I believe to be a
friendtohim,butInotonlyfinditsad,Ifindittobedisconcertingaswell.Iknownoonewhoisthat
muchaloneinlife.
MirandaandSteveexchangecontactinformation,andafterStevepromisestocallMirandathatvery
nightafterhegetsoffwork,hemakeshisexit.Fivesecondslater,Kyleisslidingbackintheboothbeside
me.
“Whatdidthatguywant?”heasksashelooksatMiranda,andI’msurprisedhowkeenlyawarehe
musthavebeenofwhatwasgoingoninsidethedinerwhilehewasonthephone.
“Mybody,”shesayspertlyandgiveshimawickedgrinovertheedgeofhercoffeecup.“Andhejust
mightgetluckytonight.”
IactuallyexpectKyletosaysomethingatthispointinthewayofawarning,becauseshe’smyfriend
andIassumehe’dbealittleprotectiveofher.I’ll,ofcourse,readhertheriotactlater,butitwillfallon
deafearsasitalwaysdoes.
ButKyledoesn’tsayaword.Instead,hereachesintohisbackpocketforhiswalletasheasksme,
“Youaboutreadytogo?”
“Um,yeah,”IsayguardedlyasIsneakaquickglanceatMiranda.
Sheshootsmeasmallshrug,andthenlooksoveratKyle.“What’syourrush,bigguy?”
Kyleslidesfromthebooth,grabsthecheckthewaitresshadleftaboutfifteenminutesagoafterwe’d
eatenandwereenjoyingmorecoffee,andthenholdshishandouttome.Itakeit,andhepullsmefromthe
boothashegrinsdownatMiranda.“AppreciateyoulettingmeinonthatlittlesecretthatJanewaslusting
aftermybody,”hetellsherwithamischievousgleaminhiseyes.“She’sbeenalittleshywithmesofar
inbed,andIthinknowistheperfectopportunitytoletherexploreabit.”
“You…you…”IsputterwithembarrassmentasIyankmyhandawayfromhis.“Youdidnotjustsay
thattoher.”
Miranda, at this point, is laughing, clearly enjoying my torment. I’m not anywhere as sexually
liberated as Miranda is, and I tend to let my partner lead. Now, granted, a flush of excitement went
through me when he said I was going to get to explore, but I didn’t want him to make a billboard
announcementaboutit.
“Comeon,Jane,”Kylesayshuskilyashetakesmyhandagainandbringsituptohislips.Hegrazes
the back of my knuckles, and I realize my perception may be wrong about bikers. I can totally imagine
Kyleinabikergang,butthatsoftkissonmyknuckleswasnotintheslightestbitoutofplace.
Ikeptmyswooningsighinternalized,andIgladlylethimleadmeoutofTillie’sShinyDinerandback
tohishouse.
CHAPTER24
Kyle
“Y
OU
HAD
TO
knowI’dfindyou,”Itellthemanwhostaresatmewithterrorfromwherehe’slyingon
the floor. One eye is already purple and swollen shut. There’s a cut on his left cheekbone that’s
bleeding profusely and the area along his jawbone is swollen. My knuckles on my right hand are
shreddedfromtherepeatedblowsIdeliveredbut,unfortunatelyforhim,I’mjustgettingstarted.
“Please,”hebegs,abubbleofbloodformingonhislips.“Notinfrontofthem.”
Ishakemyheadslowly,denyinghiswordsasIlookdownathim.“Ithastobeinfrontofthem.
Otherwise,thelessonwon’tbeappreciated.”
Astrangledsobsoundsbehindme,butIdon’tbotherlooking.IalreadyknowI’dseehiswifeand
sonhuddledtogetheronthelinoleumflooroftheirkitchenthat’snowsplatteredwithhisblood.
“He’sjustalittleboy.”Themanbegsme,hopingtoappealtoanybitofhumanitywithinme.
Ireachmyarmbackwardwithouttakingmyeyesofftheman.Myhandisimmediatelyfilledwith
the smooth wood of a baseball bat that’s passed to me from one of my brothers. Zeke ordered me to
impart this particular message, but I didn’t ride alone tonight. He wanted witnesses along to make
sureIdidthejobanddiditright.
“And now, that little boy is going to watch his daddy pay the consequences for double crossing
Zeke,”Itellhimquietly.“Consideritalearninglessonforhim.Itwillprobablyevensavehimsome
painofhisowninthefuturebecauseitwillteachhimthatyoukeepyourword.”
Themancoughsandmorebloodbubblesfromhismouthbecausehisribstookapoundingfrommy
bootsaswell.
He wheezes and, as I raise the bat, I hear his little boy start to cry. The man raises his hands
defensivelyandbegsonemoretime,“Please.”
It falls on deaf ears as I bring the bat down hard on his kneecap. The man shrieks, and his wife
startstocrypiteously.Idon’tturntolookather.Instead,Imarkmytargetforhisotherkneeandbring
thebatdownhard.Themanscreamsagain,clutchingathiskneeswithbloodyfoamfrothingoutofhis
mouth.
“Learnedyourlessonyet?”IyellasIbendoverhim.
“Yes,”hemoansashecurlsinward.“Yes,yes,yes.”
It sounds genuine to me, but I know every detail of this will be relayed to Zeke, so I’m nowhere
nearabletoquit.I’mexpectedtomakethispainful,butmorethanthat…I’mexpectedtotrulyprove
myloyaltytotheclub.
Iraisethebatandbringitdownagain,thistimeagainsttheman’sribs.Hisbackarches,andthen
hecurlsinwardagain,tryingtoshieldhimselfasbesthecanasIraindownblowafterblowuponhim.
Sweatispouringdownmyfacefrommyefforts,andmyMissionbrothersbehindmeareeggingme
onharder.Ionlystopswingingthebatwhenhelosesconsciousness.
Thekitchengoessilent,andIwipemyforeheadonmysleeve.Idropthebatonthefloorbehindthe
man I just beat to a pulp, perhaps even killed. I’m satisfied that it will get me full privileges into
Mayhem’sMission.
It’sjustajob,Itellmyself.Ihavetodothisforthegreatergood.I’mdoingthistobringthisclub
down.
Iturnawayfromthecarnagetowalkoutofthekitchen,myeyesslidingpastthewifeandsonstill
huddledonthefloor,knowingIwon’tbeabletobearlookingatthem.
Justasmyboothitsthethresholdofthedoorwaythatleadsout,Ihearthesmall,terrifiedvoiceof
thelittleboyask,“Didyoukillmydaddy?”
Bile roils within my stomach, rises quickly up my throat, and, for a brief moment, I think I may
compromise this whole undercover operation by spewing vomit all over. Instead, I swallow it down,
hardenmyheart,andturntolookatthelittleboy.Hisbrowneyesswimmingwithtears,helooksatme
pleadinglytotellhimthatitwillallbeokay.
Ishrugmyshoulders.“Notsure,kid.MaybeIdid.”
Ivaguelyhearthewife’ssobs,butI’llneverforgetthewaythatlittleboylooksatme,tearsnow
spillingdownhischeeks.Eyesaccusingme,hatingme…fuck,Idon’tknowwhatthey’redoing,butto
me,they’recondemningme.
Turningmybackonthelittleboy,hissobbingmother,andthecarnageIcreated,Iwalkoutofthe
houseandresignmyselfthatifIhadn’tbefore,I’djustearnedmyone-waytickettohellnomatterif
thismissionisultimatelysuccessfulornot.
Mybodyfliesstraightuponthebed,asilentscreamheldstillinmythroat.I’mfrozenforamoment,
notdisorientedbutcompletelystillimmersedinthememory.
Asofthandtouchesmyback,andJanesitsupinbedbesideme.“Kyle…what’swrong?”
Ishakemyheadandgivealittlecoughtoloosenmyvocalcords.Still,I’mpracticallycroakingwhen
Itellher,“Nothing.”
“You’resoakingwet,”shemurmurs,herhandslidinguptomyshoulder.Sheshiftsinthebed,comes
toherknees,andbringsherpalmtomyforehead.“You’renotrunningafeverthough.”
Jane is naked in front of me in the moonlight, her breasts full, her stomach flat, her hips rounded. I
shouldwanttopushherdownontothebedandfuckawaymymisery,butallIwanttodoisburymyhead
inherchestandcry.
Jane’shandscometopalmmyfaceassheleansintowhisper,“Baby…what’swrong?”
Ishakemyheadagain,andmyvoiceisalittleclearerwhenIadmit,“Baddream.”
Shetiltsherhead.WhileIcan’texactlyseethedepthofthesympathyshehasinhereyes,Icanfeelit
when her arms come around my shoulders and she presses her body into mine, locking herself in tight.
I’veneverneededconsolationbefore.Shunnedit,actually.
Butwithnoshameinme,Ibandmyarmsaroundherandpullherdownintomylap.Myfacegoesinto
herneck,andwejustholdontoeachotherforaninfinitelylongtime.Hernakedskinonmine,thesweet
scentofherhair,andtheevenmoredeliciousscentofuscombinedtogether.
Myheartrateslowsandtheimageofthatlittleboyfinallydisappears.
Finally,Jane’sfingersslideup,andshemassagesmyscalpgentlyassheobserveswithblunthonesty,
“Thisisn’tlikeyou,Kyle.”
“What’sthat?”Imumbleintoherneck,butknowingdamnwellwhatshemeans.
“Beingvulnerable,”shesayssimplyanddoesn’telaborate.Shedoesn’tneedto.Shehitthenailonthe
head,andIalsoknowJanewellenoughtoknowthatshewon’tbelaborherobservationeither.She’sthe
typewhowouldn’twanttoembarrassmeforwhatI’dperceiveasaweakness.Shewon’tpushatmeto
knowwhatwokemeupinasweat,andshewon’tseekdetailsunlessIgivehersomereasontobelieveI
wanttosharethem.
Soshejustletsmeholdherinsilence.
Sheleavesituptomewhattodo.
Sheopensthecagetotherestless,dangerouslydisturbedanimal,andshewaitstoseeifitwillwalk
outandtakealittlebitoffreedom.
IpullJanebackdownintothebed,rollingsowecometorestonoursides,facingeachother.Before
shesettlesfully,IthrowanarmbackandleantowardthelampsoIcanturniton.WhenIrollbackto
Jane,hereyesaresquintedslightlyassheadjuststothelight,butwithabsoluteacceptanceinhergazefor
whateverIwanttogiveherinthismoment.
It’snotmuch,butIwanttogivehersomething.
Scootingclosetoher,Islideahandoverherwaistandholdhertherelightly.Idon’tpullherintome
becausewe’regoingtotalkandIwanttoseeherface.
Hergazeistrustingandpatient.
“Mylife…beforeIcamehere,”Ibeginwithallthevaguenessintheworld.“Itwasbrutal.”
Jane’s fingertips come to the skull tattoo on my chest and stroke the ink. It confirms to me that she
suspectedwhatlittleI’mgettingreadytoshare.
“I’ve done things that are heinous,” I tell her. “Unforgivable, really. If you knew who I was, Jane,
you’ddespiseme.You’dbedisgusted,andyouwouldneverlookatmethesamewayagain.”
“Notpossible,”shewhispersindisbelief.
I won’t debate it with her. I’m never going to give her details because I don’t want her to have the
same nightmares that I do. But after my talk with Joe today, when he called me while I was enjoying a
normalbreakfastdatewithawomanwhoI’vecometocaremoreaboutthanIeverthoughtwaspossible,I
knewitwastimeIhadtomoveon.
Joe’sinformationwasn’tclearoroverlyrevealing.He’dadvisedmethatnothinghadbeenfoundto
believemylocationhadbeencompromisedbytheATFserverbreach.Thiswasheartening.However—
and there was always a ‘however’—the few members of Mayhem’s Mission who had been previously
clamoringtoexplorepleadealsinexchangefortestimonyhavenowallofasuddenclammedup.Notjust
one or two of them. Every single one who was in a plea deal negotiation suddenly put the brakes on
everything.
Thiswassuspicious.
ThiswasmoreconcerningthanabreachintotheATFserver.
Thismeantthatthosemenwhowererunningscaredandwantedtoavoiddecadesbehindbarswitha
pleadealwerenowsuddenlyfeelingconfident.
AndJoe’sconcernwasthatiftheywerefeelingconfident,thatprobablymeantI’dbeenfound.
Now it’s time for me to pave the beginning of the roadway that will lead me out of here. I knew
tonightwouldbemylastnightwithJane,andIspentthelastseveralhoursmakinglovetoheruntilwefell
intoanexhaustedsleepnotlongago.
IguessmynightmarewasaninternalsignfrommyconsciousnessthatIneededtostartmybreak.
RollingJanetoherback,Isettlemyselfbetweenherlegs.WhileIholdmostofmyweightoffher,I
giveherenoughofitsothatwe’retouchingeverywherepossiblethatwecanfornow.
I give her a soft kiss and rub my nose briefly against hers. When I lift up, I look into her beautiful
greeneyesandIgiveittoherstraight.“I’msorryIcan’tbecompletelyhonestwithyouaboutwhoIam.
Youknowmesomuchbetterthananyone,andyet,youdon’tknowalltheimportantthings.”
“Kyle,”Janesayswithsuchsweetempathythatmycheststartstoache.
Ishakemyhead,silentlylettingherknowthatsheneedstohearmeout.“I’mleaving—”
“No,”shesaysadamantly,cuttingmeoffashereyesflashwithdefiance.
“Jane…baby…Ihaveto,”Icajole.
Iexpecthertoargue,cry,lament,plead,beg,andnegotiatewithme.
Instead,herheadliftsfromthepillow,onehandgoestothebackofmyhead,andshepullsmetoher
forakiss.Ahot,wet,passionatekissfullofdesperationandneed.
Idon’tresist.
ThisIcannotresist.
Janeensuresthisconversationisputonholdasherotherhandslipsbetweenourbodiesandshegrabs
ontomycock,whichhadalreadystartedtohardenwhenherlipstouchedmine.
Janeshiftsherhips,widensherlegsabit,andstrokesmeswiftly.Mybodyreacts,andIgroanintoher
mouth.
Shekissesmelikeshe’sneverdonebefore,pouringeverybitofpassionlacedwithmiseryovermy
declarationthatI’mleaving.Itrytopullmyheadup,justsoIcanlookintohereyesandseehowbadly
she’sbrokendespitewhatshe’sdoingtomycockrightnow.
But Jane isn’t having any of it. Her fingers grip into the muscles of my neck, and she shifts again,
tiltingherhipsunderme.Witharoughtugofherotherhand,shepullsmydickrighttoherentranceand
rubsthetipofmethroughherwetness.
“Christ,Jane,”Igrowlintohermouth,becausethatfeltgoddamnamazing.Hersoftskinagainstmine
withnothinginbetween,asensationI’veneverfeltbefore.Myheadswimswithconfusionandmybody
rageswithlust.Imanagetogritout,“Letmegetacondomon,honey.”
Heransweristokissmeharder,growlingintomymouthandpullingmeintoher.Islideafractionof
aninchin,and,foramoment,myheartactuallystopsbeatingasItakeitallin.
Janedesperatetomakeourbondcloser.
Myneedtoseparatefromher.
The unbelievable feeling of having every single barrier between our bodies removed, even if I’m
keepingonefirmlyinplacearoundwhoIreallyam.
“Please,”Janebegsasshepullsslightlybackfrommymouth.“Fuckme,Kyle.Rightnow.”
Iwanttotellheritwon’tchangeanything,butbecauseI’mselfishandIwantthismemoryofhermore
thananything,IgiveintomybasicurgesandfalldeeplyintoJane’sbody.
Onepush.
Asurgingforceintoallthatsweetness.
Totallyclaiming,althoughitcouldneverbeapermanentone.
She’sthebestthingI’veeverfeltinmyentirefuckinglife.Forasecond,IthinkImightactuallyhave
beenforgivenbyGodforallmysinssinceI’vebeengiventhemostperfectgiftI’lleverreceive.
CHAPTER25
Jane
M
Y
FISTS
CLENCH
inhardangerasIstompacrossthedewygrassofmyfrontyard,leavingthegrassof
Kyle’sbehindme.Justhalfanhourago,KyleandIsharedsomethingI’venevergiventoanotherman—
myunprotectedbody.Iknowitwasafirstforhimbecausehetoldmesoafterwe’dcomedownfromthe
high of what I felt was the most euphoric lovemaking I had ever experienced in my life, and would
probably never experience again. Kyle knew I was on the pill as he’d seen them in my bathroom. For
somereason,despitethefacthe’sheldahugepartofhimselfinreservefromme,Itrustedhimnottohurt
meandneverhadaqualmabouttakinghiminsidemewithoutacondom.
Stupid,stupid,stupid.
Tothinkthatexperiencewouldchangeanythingwithhim.
I was desperate, no doubt. He said he was leaving and it was imminent. I was grasping at straws,
literallygraspinghisdickandtryinganythingIcouldtomakehimunderstandhesimplycouldn’tleaveme
behind.
I thought for sure… just absolutely for sure, that while he was inside of me, moving so slowly and
whispering words he’d never said to me before, that it would be okay. That he realized I was more
importantthanwhereveritwashefelthehadtogo.
Iwassowrong.
Asmyfoothitsmyfirstfrontporchstepwithwhatfeelsliketheforceofasonicboom,Icanfeelmy
angercontinuetoriseratherthandissipateasIputdistancebetweenus.
A half an hour ago, I’d been thrown from the summit of Mount Hopeful down into the abyss of
CrushedDreams.AndKylewastheonewhothrewmedownthere.
Stupid,stupid,stupidtohaveeverbelievedhecouldgivememorethanwhathe’dpromisedme.
IhadorgasmedtwicebeforeKylejoinedme,anditwassobeautifulandsodeeplyintimatethatIfelt
completelyfulfilled.Therewereseverallongmomentsthathestayedinsideofme,holdingmetightand
runninghislipsalongmyshoulderandjaw.Itwasallgoingtobeokay.
I stomp up the remaining steps of my porch and throw a viciously angry look over my shoulder at
Kyle’shouse,whichisablazewithlights.
He’spackinguphisstuff,afterall,andneedstoseewhathe’sdoing.
That’sright.
Kylepulledoutofmybodyand,withhissemenleakingoutofme,toldmethathewasleavingright
then.
HetoldmeIhadtoleavehishousesohecouldpack.
Hetoldmehewasn’tgoingtodiscussitwhenItriedtoquestionhim.
Hewouldn’tevenlookatmeaswedressed.
And most humiliating of all was the light kiss he gave me on top of my head right before he said,
“Trustmeonthis,Jane.Thisiswhat’sbestforyou.”
Stupid,stupid,stupidforeverhavinggivenanounceofmyhearttohim.
Thatwasitforme.Itoremyselfawayfromhimandranoutofhishouse.Hecalledafterme,butI
didn’tstop,becauseIneverwantedtoseehimagainaslongasIlived.
I’msoproudofmyselfthatnotasingleteardrophasfallen,andIexpectthat’sbecauseI’msomadthat
my body is shutting down. I angrily jam my house key in the lock and storm into my house, intent on
perhapsthrowingsomeglassitemsandeasingmyfrustrationsthatway.
Instead,alargehandclampsovermymouth.Ajoltoffearripsthroughmesoforcefullythateverybit
ofangerandbetrayalI’dbeenfeelingtowardKyleimmediatelyvanishes.
A gun appears before my eyes, and my intruder says to me, “I’m going to move my hand from your
mouth,butifyouscream,shout,ordoanythingcontrarytowhatItellyoutodo,I’mgoingtoputabulletin
yourbrain.Gotme?”
Inodmyheadfuriously,despitethefactIseemtobeparalyzedinterror.Ican’tfathomsomeoneinmy
housewithagun.Ihavenothingofvaluehereexcept…myself.
Immediately, tears fill my eyes and start to leak down my cheeks as he removes his hand from my
mouth.Hishandgoestomyshoulderandheturnsmetohim.It’sdarkandIcan’tmakeoutmuchexcept
he’slarge.Idon’tknowifIcanfighthimoff,especiallysincehehasagun.
“Turnonthatlamp,”heordersmewiththegunpointedstraightatmyface.
Idoasherequests.Whentheglowoflighthitshim,Igaspinrecognition.
Steve.Fromthedineryesterday.
Steve,whoaskedforMiranda’snumber.
“Whatdoyouwant?”Imanagetopushthewordsoutpastmythroat,whichisconstrictedtightlyin
fear.
“Iwantyourboyfriend,”hesayssimplywithanodofhisheadtowardKyle’shouse.
“What?”Iask,dumbfounded.
“Callhim,”Steve—ifthat’shisrealname—saysashewavestheguntowardmyfrontdoor,beyond
whichliesKyle’shouseacrossthestreet.
“Whatfor?”Iask.
Stallingmaybe,Idon’tknow.
“Callhim,”hebarksatme.Heswingsthegunbackmyway,theholeofthebarrellookingominously
bigasitsitslessthanafootawayfrommynose.
“Idon’tunderstand.Whatdoyouwanthimfor?”
“Iwanthimtocomeoverhere,andIdon’twanthimtosuspectafuckingthing.Iwanthimwalkingin
hereunpreparedandunarmed,andyou’regoingtocallhimrightfuckingnowandgethimoverhere.”
“Ican’t,”Isayonasob,mylifeliterallyflashingbeforemyeyes.
StevemovesfasterthanIcouldhaveeverimagined,andhelungesatme.Grabbingahandfulofmy
hair,heviciouslyyanksmyheadbackandpushesthebarreloftheguntomyforehead.“I’mnotgoingto
fuckingtellyouagain…callhim.”
“I don’t know his phone number,” I cry out. This is absolutely true. I only found out he had a cell
phoneyesterdaymorning,andIneverdidgetachancetoaskforhisnumber.Andthejerkneverofferedit
tomeeither,Ithinkbitterly,butevenifIknewit,Iwouldn’tevercallhim.IwouldneveraskKyleto
comeoverhereintounsuspecteddanger.
Andoh,Kyle…whathaveyougottenyourself,andnowme,into?
“Howcanyounotknowhisfuckingphonenumber?”hesnarlsatme,yankingmyheadbackfurther.I
canfeelhairrippingfrommyscalp.
I cry out in pain, but I manage to stammer, “He just got the phone. I hadn’t had a chance to get his
number.”
This doesn’t enrage him as I suspected it would, but it doesn’t pacify him either. With his fist still
grippingahunkofmyhair,heshovesmeviciouslyawayfromhim,causingmetogocrashingtomyfloor.
“Fuck,” he curses in frustration, and, for once, his gun points downward and away from me as he
seemstobethinkingupanalternateplan.
IsupposeI’llneverknowhowKyleknewwhatwasgoingonorhowtocapitalizeonthefactthatthe
gunwasnolongeronme,buttobothmyastonishmentandSteve’s,Kylecomesburstingthroughthedoor,
bellowinginrageandchargingatmyattacker.
Iwatch,horrified,asSteveswingshishandwiththeguntowardKyle,buthe’snotquickenough.Kyle
barrels into him—his shoulder to Steve’s chest—with one hand locking around Steve’s wrist. They go
crashingbackwardovermycouchinatangleoflimbs,andKyleactuallyyellsouttome,“Getoutofhere,
Jane.”
But I’m frozen in place as they disappear from my sight, hitting the floor with such force the house
seemstoshake.Iheargrunting,cursing,ascufflingsound,andthenthecrackofagungoingoff.
I scream and push myself off the floor, disregarding Kyle’s order to run and scrambling around the
couchinstead.I’mimmediatelyrelievedtoseeKylepushinguptohisknees,thegunnowinhishandwith
adarkredstainofbloodspreadingacrossSteve’schest.Hiseyesareclosed,andhe’snotmovingatall.
Kylestands.Hiseyesroamoverme,headtotoe,beforeheasks,“Youokay?”
“No,”Isayinashakyvoice.
“Areyouhurt?”heaskswithconcernedeyesashestepstowardme.
Iholdmyhandsouttofendhimoffandtakeastepback.Shakingmyhead,Itellhim,“Nothurt.”
Kylegivesasadsmileofacknowledgmentandtellsme,“Dial9-1-1.Tellthemyouhadanintruder
whohasbeenshotandkilled.Tellthemthere’sanarmedATFagentinthehousewhentheyarrive.”
“Anarmedwhat?”Igaspinsurprise,butKyleignoresme,insteadpullinghisphoneoutofhispocket.
Iwatchashedialsanumberandputsthephonetohisear,completelyshockedbywhathasoccurred
andnotunderstandingadamnthing.Hewalkstothewindow,gunstillinhishand,andlooksoutintothe
darkness.Whensomeoneanswersontheothersideofthephone,hesays,“I’vebeenfound.Ineedyouto
getherenow.”
Kyle’seyescuttome,andthenhecoversthemouthpieceofhisphone.Inafirmvoice,hesays,“Call
thepolice,Jane.Now.”
Thisjoltsmesomewhat…thebusinesslikecalmhe’sexhibitingdespitethefactIthinkhejustkilleda
man.Ipullmyownphoneoutofmypocketwithashakinghandandcallthepolicelikeheaskedmetodo.
♦
“I
DON
’
T
GIVE
ashitwhatyousay,”Igrowlatthecopwho’sbeensittingwithmeforthepasthour.“I’m
done.I’mgoinghome,andyoucan’tstopme.”
“MissCresson,”themansayspatiently.“Yourhouseisstillbeingprocessed.Youcan’tgohome.”
Ihavenocluewhothisguyiswith.I’vegotlocalpolice,statepatrol,FBI,andATF.IswearIeven
sawpeoplewalkingaroundwithjacketsthatsaidHomelandSecurity.
I give the man a sarcastically sweet smile and tell him, “Well, I guess it’s a good fucking thing my
parentslivewithinwalkingdistanceofme,huh?”
Ipushupfromthetable,thechairscrapingonthetilefloor.I’vebeeninthisroomlongerthanthehour
thismanhasbeentalkingtome.Iwasbroughthereinthebackofoneourlocalpolicecruisers,drivenby
ChanceDawson,atotalgooberIwenttoschoolwithwhoI’msurehadneverseenadeadbodybefore.
Heactedlikehewasdrivingacelebrityorsomethingtothestationwhenhewastoldtobringmethereby
anFBIagentwhoshoweduponthescenenotlongafterIcalledthepoliceandKylehadfinishedtalking
towhoeverwasonthephone.
We had been immediately separated, each being interviewed by men who had clearly identified
themselvesasFBI,althoughIwastoldvaguelythatI’dbeinterviewedlaterbyATF.Ihavenocluewhat
thefuckisgoingon,butInoticewithanoddsortofdetachmentthatKyledidn’tseemedwiggedoutby
anyofthis.
NotthatIwasheldatgunpoint.
Notthathekilledaman.
NotthathewassurroundedbyflashingpolicelightsandwastellinghisstorytotheFBI.Infact,he
hadbeencasuallyleaningupagainstoneoftheunmarkedcarswithhishandsinhispockets,cuttingshort
glancesofworryatme.Iglaredbackathim,becausetheonethingthathadbecomepatentlycleartomeis
thatKylehadbeenbeyonddeceitful.Imean…I’mnotstupid.Iknewhehadsecretshewaskeeping.ButI
didn’tknowtheyinvolvedmurderandlawenforcementandJesus…willIbeabletogetthebloodoutof
mycarpetwhenIgethome?
“Miss Cresson, I urge you to please wait,” the man says. “I know Agents Kizner and Sommerville
wanttospeaktoyou.”
“Ihavenocluewhothosemenare,andIdon’twanttoknow,”IsnapathimasIwalkforthedoor.
“They’reATFandthey’reheadingupthisentireinvestigation,”hesaysasmyhandclosesaroundthe
knob.
“Well,goodforthem,”IsneerasIjerkthedooropen.“Iwishthemthebestofluck.”
I step out of the small room I’d been put in at our dinky Misty Harbor police department and run
smackintoKyle.Hishandscomeouttosteadymyarms,andIimmediatelytearfreeofhim.
“Don’ttouchme,”Isnarl.
Heflinchesslightly,buthisfacehardensintostonyresolve.“Weneedtotalk.”
“Youneedtogotohell,”Ihissathim,soangrybyhisduplicitythatIcanbarelylookathim.
“AgentSommerville,”themanwhohadbeensittingwithmesaystoKylefrombehindme.“Itriedto
keepherinplace.”
“It’sokay,”Kylesaystotheman,buthedoesn’ttakehiseyesoffme.“CleartheroomsoIcantalkto
her.”
InarrowmyeyesatKyleandpracticallyspitoutmydisbelief.“Sommerville?AgentSommerville?
Whothefuckareyou?IsyournameevenreallyKyle?”
Witheachofthesequestions,myvoicegetsmorehysterical.
Kyletakesmyarm.Myimmediatereactionistopullaway,moreindisgustthananything,butI’malso
fartoocurioustofindouttheexactreasonsKylehadbeenplayingme.
Andultimately,almostgettingmekilled.
Ilethimdirectmebackintotheroom.Luckilyforhim,hereleasesmetheminutewe’reinside.Idon’t
bothertakingaseatbecauseIdon’tplantobeherelong.Assoonasheclosesthedoorbehindus,Iwhirl
onhimanddemand.“Speakandspeakfast.Iwanttogetoutofhere.”
Kylenodsinunderstanding,andthencompletelystunsmewhenhesays,“Yourparentsareoutinthe
waitingroom.Icalledthem.”
“Youcalledthem?”Iaskindisbelief.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he walks away from me to stand in front of the window that looks out
overthedarkenedparkinglotofthepolicestation.Withhishandstuckedinhispockets,healmostknocks
myfeetoutfromundermewhenhesays,“Iwasanundercoveragentwiththefeds…ATFtobeexact.I
wasdeepundercoverwithaverydangerousbikergangforafewyears,andjustaboutninemonthsago,
webroughtthemalldown.”
“Those tattoos,” I murmur, the very first thing coming to mind. I could never reconcile the man I’d
cometoknowwithsuchanevil-lookingskullonhischestandawarningthatheshouldbefeared.
“Partofmycover,”heprovides.“Sincewemadearrests,I’vebeenlayinglowbecauseI’mthekey
witnesstoallofit.Thetrialwillstartthemonthafternext.”
My jaw, which had previously dropped down to my chest, draws upward and I ask, “Like witness
protection?”
“Sortof,”isallhesaysasheturnstofaceme.“Themaninyourhousetonightwassenttoputahiton
me.Iassumehewasgoingtouseyoutodrawmein.”
“Howdidyouknowhewasinmyhouse?”Iask.
“Ididn’t,”hesaysflatly.“Iknewyouwerehurting.Iwenttoseeifyouwereokay.”
“IsyournameevenKyle?”Iaskinapitifullysmallvoice.
“Yes,” he says gently and takes a step toward me. I take a step back, but he continues. “It’s Kyle
Sommerville, and most of what little I told you about me personally was true, except for the fact that I
haveasisternamedAndrea.ShehasnoclueI’mevenalive,asmydeathwasfakedwhenthearrestswere
made.”
Myeyesfalltothetilefloor,unabletolookatKyleanymore.OfallthethingsIthoughthemightbe,it
was never law enforcement. But it explains his reticence to get involved with me and his continued
resolvethathewasgoingtobeleavingatsomepoint.
Still,Ifeelso…so…deceived.Eventhoughhetoldmehewasleaving,hedeceivedmeaboutwhy.
And yes, I get that even his sister was kept in the dark, but what we had was different. We shared the
deepestofintimacies,andhesurelyhadtoknowthatI’dneverhavegivenhimup.
MynosestartstostingattherealizationthatKylewouldhavenevertrustedme,andIuseeverybitof
mywillpowernottoletmywellingemotionsturnintotears.Isquaremyshouldersandlookbackupat
him.He’swatchingmecarefully…warily.
Iliftmychin.“IsthereanythingelseIneedtoknow?”
Kylesighsandtakesafewstepsuntilhe’sstandinginfrontofme.“OnlythatI’llberelocatedtonight
and held somewhere until the trial starts. Technically, you’re not supposed to know any of this, but I
insistedthattheyletmetellyouthetruth—”
“Thetruth?”Ipracticallyshriekathim,myangerovertakingmycommonsense.Istepintohimandjab
a finger in the middle of his chest. “Why tell me the truth? Is it because you trust me, Kyle? Is that it?
Becauseyoudidn’ttrustmeenoughjustafewhoursagowhenyouwerefuckingme.WhydoIgetthetruth
now?”
Kyle’shandcomesup,perhapstotouchmyface,butIknockitaway,tooenragedtoevengivehima
chancetomollifyme.“I’lltellyouwhyyou’regivingittomestraightnow,”Isayinalowvoiceseething
with accusation. “Because you’re leaving and you know you don’t have to look at me again. You can
leavethisallbehindwithalittlesalvetoyourconsciencethatyoufinallycamecleanwithpoorlittleJane
Cressonwhospreadherlegsforyouwhilelookingatyouwithstarryeyes?”
“Jane,that’snot—”
Myhandscomeup,slamintohischest,andthetearsfillmyeyes.MychestheavesasIlayitallout.“I
caredforyou,Kyle.Imean,Ireally,reallycaredforyou.Andyounotonlyusedme,butyoualsoputme
indanger.Yougotyourrocksoffwhilehidingout…justbidingyourtime.”
“It’snotlikethat,”hegritsoutinanger.
“It’sexactlylikethat,”Isaysoftly,suddenlycompletelydefeatedandfeelingwipedout.
“No,”hesaysharshlyashishandscometomyshoulders.Heholdsmetightlyinplaceandputshis
facenearmine.“Icareforyoutoo,Jane.Morethanyoucouldeverevenimagine.Iwasleavingtonight
becausemypartnerhadalertedmethatmylocationmayhavebeencompromised,andIdidn’twantyouin
danger.ButwhatI’vejusttoldyou…aboutmebeingundercover?Thatdoesn’tevenscratchthesurfaceof
mystory,andifyouknewthethingsthatIhadtodotoachievemyobjectivesinthisoperation,you’dbe
disgustedbyme.You’ddespiseme.
“Idespiseyoufornotbeinghonestwithme,”Iraspoutthroughthetearscloggingmythroat.
“You’ddespisememoreifyoueverknewtherealme,”hetellsmeflatly.“Allofthisthathappened
tonight…whatI’vetoldyousofar?That’snotme.It’sgotnothingtodowiththereasonsIheldmyself
back from you. Why I never fully gave in to you. There are things that your beautiful soul could never
comprehendaboutme,andbeitcowardlyornot,Icouldneverbeartoseethelookofhateyou’dhavefor
meifyoureallyknewitall.”
ForthefirsttimesinceIarrivedhereatthepolicestation,myangertowardKylevanishes.It’ssimply
gone.Initsplaceisanapprehensionthatfeelsalmostominousinnature.Kyle’sstillkeepingdeepsecrets
from me, but he talks about them as if they’re so horrific that they will change everything. It will mar
completelythewayIfeelaboutKyle,andwhileIknowit’sover,andIknowI’vebeenbetrayed,there
weresomeverybeautifulmomentswiththisman.Idon’twantthosetoturnugly.Ican’tstanditifthey
weretobetarnished.
Andsuddenly,Idon’twanttoknowanymore.IwantKyletokeephissecrets,andIwanttoleavethis
room, go to my parents, and let them take me home where I know they’ll baby me. Miranda will come
over,andshe’llholdmewhileIcryformylosses.Idon’twanttoknowthedeep,uglytruthsaboutKyle.
Instead,Iwanttoholdontomyangerforhisdeception.ItrulybelieveifIdothat,Imightjustbeableto
healmybrokenheartwithtime.
MyeyesfocusinonKyle’s,andIlockthemtheretight.Itakeonelastlookathim,tryingtobestrong
soIdon’tdissolveinfrontofhim,andItellhimfromthebottomofmyheart.“Goodlucktoyou,Kyle.I
wishyouthebest.”
Kyle’sfacecrumbles,butIcan’tletitdeterme.Iturnandwalkawayfromhimwithoutabackward
glance.
CHAPTER26
Kyle
Twomonthslater…
T
HE
GRAVEL
CRUNCHES
underthetiresofmyrentedsedanasIpullintothedrivewaytomysister’shouse.
ShehasnoideaI’mcoming,butshewon’tbeoverlyastonishedatseeingmealive.AfterIwaspulledout
of Misty Harbor that night Jane got attacked, I insisted Andrea be told what had happened. The trial
wasn’tveryfarawayand,afterfuckingthingsupwithJanesobad,Ijustcouldn’tgoanothergoddamned
day with my sister thinking I was dead. It was one lie I simply had to rectify. So I had Joe visit her,
because telling her I was alive after she’d mourned me was not something that could be done over the
phone.
Fromthatpointanduntilthetrialstarted,Iwasseriouslysequesteredaway,butJoearrangedforme
totalktoAndreaandwe’vehadafewconversations.They’vebeenshortandhavefocusedonnothingbut
goodstuff,whichincludesmostlyherjoyI’maliveandmyjoythatshehasababyontheway.
Thatallchangesasoftoday,forIamnowafreeman.
Thetrialsdidnotgoallthewayasexpected.Iwascalledasthefirstwitnessandmytestimonylasted
four full days. It was solid enough that attorneys representing defendants asked the judge for a half-day
recess so they could “discuss things”. Within just a few hours though, Zeke Powell, the president of
Mayhem’sMission,wasacceptingapleadealthatwouldgivehimashotatparoleinthirtyyearsversus
lifeinprisonwithnopossibilityofparole.Forthatdeal,hegaveupSenatorLatner,andfromthere,all
thedominoesstartedtocrumble.
Theonlythingleftunresolvedwasprovingwhoputthehitoutonme.ThemanwhobrokeintoJane’s
housewhoIsubsequentlykilledwasn’tanyknownkillerforhire.Therehadbeenacashdepositintohis
bankaccountforfivethousanddollarstwodaysbeforeheshowedupinMistyHarbor,butitcouldn’tbe
tracedanywhere.There’snodoubtinanyone’sminditwasSenatorLatnerwhowasbehindit,anditwas
apitifulattempttosnuffmeout.ButnoneofitmattersbecauseLatnerwillbespendingtherestofhisdays
behindbars.
Thefinalpleadealswereallexecutedandapprovedbythejudgejusttwodaysago.Thedayafterthe
deals were finalized, I gave my notice to the ATF that I was quitting. While my actions were vile and
inhumane much of the time I was undercover, I know deep in my heart I’ve ultimately saved lives by
completingmymissionand,forthat,I’mproud.
Butdespitethat,Ireallyneedtoleaveitallbehind.Thescarsruntoodeep,thememoriesarenothing
butbitter,andIdon’thaveapassionforjusticeanymore.
As soon as I exit the car, the front door of the stilted beach cottage that belongs to Andrea and her
husbandWyattfliesopen.TheyliverightonthesandydunesoftheOuterBanksinNorthCarolina,and
it’shotashelleventhoughwe’rebreachingtheendofSeptember.
Andreatrotsgingerlydownthesteps,onehandontherailandtheotherholdingherswollenbelly,but
hereyesarepinnedrightonme.
“Jesus Christ, slow down, Andrea,” I hear from the top of the stairs, and I look up to see Wyatt
coming down behind her. I’ve only been around him twice, but he’s a decent dude. Works for the local
police department while Andrea practices law. Ironically, they met while on an undercover assignment
whenAndreawasworkingfortheFBIpriortohermovinghere.
Idon’tbothertolookatWyattagainthough,becauseIonlyhaveeyesformysister.Solikemewith
thesameblondhairandblueeyes,andevenourpredispositiontoworkinlawenforcement.Butwe’re
differentinthatshe’salwayshadthesunny,bubblypersonalityandI’vealwaysbeenmorecircumspect
about things. Over the past few years, while Andrea has been settling into married life and setting her
eyes on raising a family, I’d been running drugs, guns, and selling women into slavery. Her sunny
dispositionhasonlygottenbrighter,whilemyglassrunslessthanhalffullandmainlyhasathicklayerof
sludgeonthebottom.
“EventhoughI’mseeingyouwithmyowneyes,”shesayssoftlyasherflip-flopshitthegraveland
shewalksintomyarms,“I’mjusthavingahardtimebelievingyou’rereallyalive.”
I engulf her, pull her as tight as that pregnant belly will let me, and lay my cheek on the top of her
head.MyvoiceisgruffwithemotionwhenItellher,“Believeit,sis.”
WestaylikethatforseverallongmomentsuntilIfeelWyatt’shandonmyshoulder.Iliftmyheadand
turntofindhimlookingatmewithrespectandappreciation.I’vetalkedtohimafewtimesonthephone
aswelltheselastseveralweeks,andwe’vetalkedaboutthesacrificesthathadtobemadewhileworking
undercover.
Andrea is the first to pull away, and her eyes are shining with happy tears that she unabashedly
ignoresasshesmilesatme.“Ihopeyoupackedalotofclothessoyoucanstayforareallylongvisit.”
“GotnowhereelseIneedtobe,”Itellher.
Andthat’sthesadtruth.
♦
“A
LL
THOSE
YEARS
,”Andreamurmursaswesitonherbackdeckthenextmorning,watchingthewavesroll
in.It’sjustdawnandthesunispeekingoverthehorizon.Shefoundmeouthereabouttwentyminutesago,
andwesharedourcoffeetogetheraswewatchedthesunrise,turningtheskypink,orange,purple,and
thenblue.“AndIneverknewyouwereundercover.”
“Isn’tthatthepoint?”Isay,mytonematteroffact.
“Well,ofcourse,”sheadmitsfreely.“ButIwasFBI.Ishouldhaveknown.I’mtrainedtoknowthose
things.”
I reach over and pat Andrea’s knee to commiserate. I had told her last night the long and involved
storyabouthowIbecameanATFagent,andwhatledmetogoundercover.SheknowsthatIjoinedthe
ATF with the sole purpose of infiltrating Mayhem’s Mission, so she was purposely kept oblivious to it
all.
“Did you love her?” Andrea asks, and the question should feel awkward because we’ve not been
closeinyears.IabsolutelycouldnotletusbeclosebecauseIneverwantedZekeoranyoneinthatclub
thinkingtheycoulduseAndreaagainstmeifthingswentsouth.
ButheraskingmeifIlovedherisn’tawkward,andIanswerherwithbrutalhonesty.
“No,”Itellhersoftly.“ButIcaredforheragreatdeal.”
The“her” is JacquelineMartin, a womanI’d dated for severalmonths while Iwas working the oil
fieldsineasternWyoming.ItwasgoodmoneyandIwasabletoworkonmycriminaljusticedegreeat
night. I was close friends with Jackie’s brother, Darren, who was a local deputy sheriff. It sort of
naturallyhappenedthatIstarteddatingherand,becausesheandherbrotherwereclose,weallhungouta
lot.WhileIwasn’tinlovewithher,Icaredaboutherdeeply.
When she went missing, it hit me hard, but it hit Darren and his parents harder. She was a dental
hygienist and had gone to work one morning, left at her normal time, and never made it home. Three
months after her disappearance, when the local law enforcement ran out of leads, a miraculous turn of
eventshappened.TheATFshowedupwithsomelooseinformationtheyhadaboutanotoriousbikergang
knownasMayhem’sMission,whoweresuspectedofnumerouscriminalactivities,oneofwhichwassex
slavery.TherewassomeconsiderationthrownaroundthatJackiecouldhavebeenkidnappedbythem.
“Ican’ttellyouhowthatmademefeel,”ItellAndreaaswestareoutovertheocean.SheknowsI’m
talking about Jackie’s disappearance. “But there I was… sitting with a degree and no real direction in
life,andIjustknew…whenDarrentoldmeabouttheATF’sinvolvement,IjustknewthatIhadtojoinin
onit.”
“YouthoughtyoucouldsaveJackie?”Andreaasks.
“Notreally,”Iadmitwithaheavyheart.“Ihadacceptedthatifshe’dbeentaken,shewasprobably
longgonefromthearea.ButIhopedIcouldfindanswersthatcouldleadtoher.Morethananything…I
wantedtobringthemdown.”
Andreaturnsherheadandlooksatme.“Allthoseyearsofyourlife…committedtothatonecause.”
“Wasn’teasy,”IsayasIreachoutandtakeherhand.Webothturnbacktolookattheocean,andit
fillsmewithsomemeasureofpeace.“IhadtogetonwiththeATFfirst,andbecauseDarrenhadalways
keptmeinvolvedwiththeinvestigationofJackie’sdisappearanceatthelocallevel,Iwasnostrangerto
itwhentheATFgotinvolved.”
“Was it your idea to go undercover?” she asks softly, and I sense the hesitation in her voice. She’s
askedthequestion,butIcantellpartofherdoesn’twanttoknowtheanswer.
“Yeah,”Iadmittoher.ForawomanIdidn’tlove,butdidcarefor,Ihatchedaplantotrytoachieve
justice.“Ipresentedittothemandofferedtodoit.Ihadtotaketheirentranceexamandmakethecutasan
agent,justlikeanyother.Butaftermyinitialtraining,Iimmediatelywentundercover.”
“It’s when you relocated out to Jackson, Wyoming,” she says in remembrance. “You told me you
wantedtobeamotorcyclemechanic.”
“Well,thatwassortofthetruth,”Isaywithachuckle.
She’s silent for several moments, but then she gives my hand a squeeze. “I’m proud of you, Kyle. I
honestlycannotimaginethehorrorsyou’vefaced.AndIknowthatyouhadtosacrificeyourselftogetthe
jobdone.Youeverwanttotalkaboutit,I’mhere.Youwantmetomindmyownbusiness,it’sdone.I’m
hereforwhateveryouneed.”
Isqueezeherhandbackingratefulacknowledgment,andmylackofwordstellsherclearlyI’mnot
readytotalkaboutanyofit.
Except,well…maybeonething.
“ImetsomeonewhileIwaslivinginMainethissummer,”Isayinanabruptchangeofsubject.
Andreasitsupstraightinherdeckchairandturnstome.Hereyebrowsareaimedhighasshegives
measmirk.“Really?Tellmeallaboutit.”
Ishrug.“Iwasinhiding.Usinganalias.Couldn’tbetruthfulwithher.”
“Notexactlytherighttimetogetinvolvedwithsomeone,right?”sheasks.
Ilaugh,becausedamnifthatwasn’ttheentireproblem.“Shegotundermyskin,”Iadmittomysister.
“Justkeptpushingatme,andfinally…well,Ijustsortofwentwithit.”
“What’shername?”sheasks,andIhearthatdreamy,romantictoneinhervoice.Wyattadmittedtome
lastnightafterAndreawenttobedandweweresuckingdownafewbeersthatshewasoperatingonpure
hormonesthesedays,whichmeanswhateveremotionsshewasfeelingwereintensified.
“Jane,” I say softly, and I’m truly surprised that it hurts as much today to think of her as it did two
monthsagowhenIwalkedoutofherlife.
Andreasettlesbackinherchair,andIreleaseherhand.Islouchdown,proppingmyfeetuponthe
railingthatrunsthelengthofherbackdeck.
“Tellmeabouther,”Andreapromptsme.
AndwhileIhavenodesiretoevertellAndreaaboutthehorrorsofmylifewhileIwasindeepwith
Mayhem’sMission,I’moddlyokaywithspillingmygutstoheraboutJane.
MaybebecauseIhavenothingtoloseatthispoint.
“She’s an artist,” I begin my story. “A good one at that. Mainly watercolors. I have one of her
paintingsinthebackseatofmycar.NocluewhereI’llendupsettling,butthatwillbethefirstthingthat
getshung.”
Andreasmiles,hertonesoundingdreamyagain.“Icantotallyseeyouwithanartist.Ibetshe’squirky,
isn’tshe?”
“Soquirky,”Iadmitwithasadsmile.“Butshealsoremindsmealittleofyou.”
“Ofcourseshedoes,”Andreasayswithahuff.“I’mfabulous,afterall.Tellmemore.”
AndIdo.
ItellAndreaeverybitofit.
TheinitialandswiftattractionItriedtofight.
ThewayJanepursuedmeinthatincrediblysweetway,inchingherwayundermyskin.
Theattemptatfriendshipwhenwebothknewthatwouldneverwork.
Vaguerdetailsabouttheintimacywedeveloped.
ShamefullyadmittingtoAndreathatIneverintendedtomakeanythingpermanentwithJaneandthatI
usedher.
Andfinally,theself-hatredI’vebeenbearingtheselasteightweeksthatIbroughtdangerintoJane’s
lifeandalmostgotherkilled.IadmittomysisterthatIcouldn’tgetoutofMistyHarborfastenoughafter
allofthatwentdown.Janerightfullyreactedbadlytobeingattackedinherownhomeandthenfindingout
thatI’dbeenlyingtoherallalong.Shehadeveryreasontopushmeaway,andwhenshedid,Itookthe
opportunityandran.Iletthegovernmenthidemeaway,andItriedtoputheroutofmymind.
“Youaresototallygoneforthisgirl,”AndreamurmurswhenIfinish.
“Iam.ButIfuckedituptoobadly,”Itellher.“Ruinedit.”
“Youdon’tknowthat,”sheoffershelpfully.
“Ido,”isallIsay.IcanrecallwithkeendetailthelookonJane’sfacewhenshefoundoutthetruth
aboutme,anditwasn’teventheentiretruth.Shedidn’tknowaboutanyofthebadstuff.
“You don’t,” she pushes back at me. “You haven’t even had a meaningful conversation with her to
knowthat.Youabsolutelycannotassumeyouknowherfeelingsjustbasedonthatoneinteractionafterit
allwentdown,atatime,whichI’llremindyou,musthavebeenincrediblystressfulforher.”
“Whatareyousaying?”Iaskguardedly,tryingtokeepanyhopefromfilteringintomyreasoning.It’s
self-preservation,really.
“I’msayingthatyouneedtogotoherandtalk,”Andreasaysassheturnstolookatme.Sheshiftsin
thechair,reachesout,andputsahandonmyshoulder.“Kyle…youdeservesomethinggood.She’sthe
thingyoudeserve.Butyou’regoingtohavetogoafterit.”
CHAPTER27
Jane
“I
’
M
ALREADY
SO
sickofpumpkinspiceandit’sonlybeenoutoneweek,”IlamentquietlytoChristaasI
makeapumpkinspicelatteattheespressomachine.
Christasnickersasshewipesdownthecounter.“Itoldyou…comeOctober1st,peopleseemtojust
gorabidforthestuff.Butdon’tworry…inanothermonth,you’llbesickofpeppermintmochas.”
I’msurethat’strue.
The morning rush is over, and I look around the small coffee shop where I’ve been working as a
baristaforthepastmonth.IthadbeenmyhopetogetateachingjobwhenI’dmovedtoBoston,butI’dnot
hadanyluckyet.SoIwasdoingwhatIcouldtomakeendsmeet,workingatthisboutiquecoffeehouse
duringthedayandpaintingbynight.I’dsetupanonlineshoptosellmyart,butit’sbeentoughgettingit
upandrunning.Ihaven’tquitefiguredoutyethowtogetvisibility.
“Any plans for this weekend?” Christa asks as she leans a hip against the counter. I finish off the
pumpkinspicelatteandhanditacrossthecountertothecustomer,whodoesn’tevengiveasimple“thank
you.”I’vefoundthatpeopleinthebigcityaren’tnearlyasfriendlyasinMistyHarbor,andIthinkthat’s
becauseeveryoneisjustintoomuchofarushtogetplaces.I’vebeencompletelyoverwhelmedbythis
transitionfromsmalltowntobigcitylife,butitwassomethingIhadtodo.
TherewassimplynowayIcouldstayinMistyHarborafterKyleblewmyheartapart.EverythingI
always equated to happiness in my hometown was stripped away when he left, and I felt completely
disconnected.Thatwarm,settledfeelingthatkeptmetiedtoMistyHarborwasgone,anditwasbecause
itwastheplacewhereIfellinloveandthenwasleftfarbehind.
Granted,IknowIreactedharshlytoKylethatnight.Iwascompletelywiggedoutbybeingattacked,
andI’dfeltcompletelydeceivedbyhim.Butthenthepersonwhoisalwaysmyvoiceofreasonsatme
downandgavemeastrongtalkingto.
Mirandahadfinallysaidtome,afteranothereveningoflisteningtomevilifyKyle,“Jane…getyour
headoutofyourass.Themanwasafuckingundercoveragentwhoinfiltratedadangerousbikergangand
hewasinhiding.Don’tyouthinkthat’ssomethinghehadarighttokeepsecretfromyou?”
I’dstammeredandtriedtoarguewithher,butsheheldherhandupandIsnappedmymouthshut.Then
her eyes softened and her voice was uncharacteristically kind when she said, “I know your heart is
broken.Maybehisistoo.Everthinkofthat?”
Andwell,no…Ihadn’tthoughtofthat.Iwastoomiredinmyownmisery.
SoitwasallMiranda’sfaultthatIstartedtothinkhardaboutit.AbouthowunluckyKyleandIwere
inourtiming,andhowthingsmighthavebeendifferentwithjustaslightchangeincircumstances.
Thenthatgotmethinkingofachangeincircumstances,andIrealizedthatIcouldn’tsitbackandwait
forhappinessandlovetofindmeagain.Ihadtogooutandmakemyownway,becauseonethingwasfor
sure…Kylewasn’tcomingbacktoMistyHarbor.Thatwasonethinghehadbeenhonestwithmeabout
fromthestart.
ThemovetoBostonsaddenedmyparents,becausetheynotonlylostme,butalsoMirandaaswell.
Nowayshewaslettingmegoonmyownbecause,inherwords,“Youneedprotecting,Janey.You’retoo
naïve.”
Thiswastrue.
Miranda got a good job bartending and makes way better money than I do. After we split rent and
utilitiesfifty-fifty,shehasmoneyleftovertodofunthingswithwhileIhaveenoughtogetmaybeonecup
ofpumpkinspicelatteifIwassoinclinedtodrinkone.
“Hello?” Christa calls out to me, and I blink my eyes rapidly, realizing I’m staring at the empty
counterspacewherethecustomerhadbeenwaitingforhislatte.“EarthtoJane.Comein,Jane.”
“Sorry,”IsayasIfocusinonher.“Whatwerewetalkingabout?”
“Iaskedifyouhadanyplansfortheweekend,SpaceCadet?”shesayswithagrin.
Igiveasmalllaughback.IhititoffamazinglywellwithChrista,andwe’realotalikeinourhumor.
“Um, by plans do you mean do I intend to splurge on Velveeta Mac and Cheese over the powdered
Kraft?”
“ThoseweremostdefinitelynotthetypeofplansI’dbeenaskingabout,”shesaysasshewrinklesher
nose.“ButI’mgoingtogoseeafriendofafriendofafriendwhoplaysinabandSaturdaynight.Wantto
come?”
IfI’dletmyconscienceanswerforme,I’dtellherImostcertainlydidn’twanttogo.Iwasfarmore
comfortablehidingoutinmysmallapartmentwhenMirandawasgonefortheeveningbartending.WhileI
hadhopedtobustoutofmyboxalittlebymovingtothebigcity,I’dbecomeevenmoreintroverteddueto
how overwhelming everything was. My monstrous plan to leave little Misty Harbor behind to find my
happinesswasn’tquitepanningoutforme.
AndwhowasIkidding?Ireallymisseditbackhome.Imean,Ireally,reallymissedit.Imissedmy
momandmydad,andmystudents,andmylittlehousethatoverlooksthelighthouseandocean.Imissed
knowingeveryoneandreceivingfriendlysmilesandbeingabletowalksafelydownMainStreetatnight.
ButIhadtopushpastthat.ThatwaswhatIleftbehindtoseeksomethingbetterformyself.SoIsquare
myshouldersandtentativelyaskChrista,“Iswherethey’replayingfarfromhere?”
“Aboutthreeblocks,”shesayswithexcitement.“Soyou’llcome?”
“What’sitcosttogetin?”Iask,mentallycalculatingwhetherIcanevenaffordtodothis.
“We’llgetinfreesinceweknowtheband,”shesaysconfidently.
“Youmeanthefriendofafriendofafriend?”Iaskwithaneyebrowcocked.
Christalaughsandwavesahandatmedismissively.“Relax.We’llgetinanditwillbeablast.Think
Mirandawillwanttocome?”
This was an odd invitation as Christa and Miranda don’t get along all that well. I think Miranda is
jealousthatI’vedevelopedafriendshipwithChrista,andChristaisjustplainintimidatedbyMiranda.
“She’sgottowork,”Isay,knowingthatwillimmediatelyputheratease.
Andyup…Iseehershouldersrelaxandlinesoftensioneasefromherfaceassheliestome,“Well
damn…thatsucks.Ibetshe’dbealotoffuntohangoutwith.”
Isnort.“Onlyifyouwanttomakesureshedoesn’tstriponthestagewiththebandorthrowuponyou
attheendoftheevening.”
“She’swild,huh?”Christaasks,butIknowshe’salreadysuspectedthisaboutMiranda,whoblatantly
andaggressivelyhitsonanysingle-lookingmanwhenshecomestohangoutatthecoffeeshop.
“She’swildalright,”Isayfondly,becauseIloveMirandajustthewaysheis.Withnoothercustomers
toattendto,Idecidetoreplenishsomestockitems,soIturnfortheswingingpass-throughdoorthatleads
tothebackstorage.“I’mgoingtoorganizeforarestock.Yougoodoutherebyyourself?”
“Yup,”shesayscheerily.“Gotyoucovered,soyoucantakeabreakfromthepumpkinsmell.”
Chucklinginagreement,Iheadintothestorageroomandbegintowork.Mostofthecoffeematerials
are purchased in bulk, so I line up large bags of coffee beans and jugs of flavored syrup, mentally
calculating which bottles and canisters I’ll need to fill up front. I grab some plastic-wrapped tubes of
coffeecupsandtheaccompanyinglidsfromanotherbox.Idoallofthiswhilelettingmymindwanderand
wonderingifI’mreallydoingtherightthingformyselfbybeinghere.
Thishasbeenanadventureforme,andnotonethatI’veenjoyedoverlymuch,butsomethingpositive
has come from it. I’ve grown over the last few weeks as I’ve learned to exist in a very different
atmospherethanwhatI’musedto.There’sadoubtfulpartofme,however,thatwondersifItrulyneeded
thistypeofgrowth.Wasn’tmylifedamngoodbackinMistyHarbor?
Theanswerisclearly“yes”BK.
BeforeKyle.
AfterKyle,thingswerecomplicated,andmaybeI’mjustrunningfrompainfulmemories.
♦
“D
O
YOU
WANT
Chineseorsubsfordinner?”MirandaasksassoonasIwalkinthedoor.
I’mstarved,sotheansweriseasy.“Chinese.”
“Shrimplomein,potstickers,andhotandsoursoup,”shesaysinconfirmation,proofwearethebest
offriendsbecausesheknowsmyChinesefoodpreferences.
Still,Ican’taffordallofthat,soItellher,“Justlomein.”
Mirandaignoresme.She’llordereverythingIlikeandshe’llpayforit,claimingthatshewantedto
havesometoo.
“I’mgoingtogoputonsomeLuLaRoeandtakemybraoff,”Itellher,whichisunnecessaryreally
sincethat’smyhabiteveryevening.Igetinmycomfyclothes,weeatdinnertogether,andMirandaheads
outtoherbartendingjob.
Mybedroomissmall,butwewereextremelyfortunatetofindatwo-bedroomplaceinafairlydecent
partofthecityand,bestofall,onlyafewblocksfromwherebothofusworked.Igetundressedquickly
andchangeoutofmyworkuniform,thenIheadintothebathroomtowashmyface.I’mbentoverthesink,
rinsingmyfaceoffandfantasizingaboutpotstickers,whenMirandacallsouttome.
“Jane,”sheyellsfromwhatsoundslikethelivingroom,andIjumpslightlybecausehervoicestartles
me.
Igrabthesmallhandtowelhangingbythesinkandpressitbrieflyovermyfacetodryit.WhenIpull
itaway,Iyellback,“What’sup?”
“Needyoutocomeinhere,”isallshesays.
Withasigh,Ihangthetowelbackupandwalkoutofthebathroom.Thehallwaythatleadsintothe
livingroomisshort,withasmallefficiencykitchenjustbeyond.IseeMirandastandingthere,lookingat
mewithanoddlookonherface,butIpauseonlybrieflyonher.ForrightbesideherissomeoneI’mnot
preparedtosee.
Aghost.
Afigment.
Amanwhoshouldnotbestandinghererightnow.
God, he looks good. Different, but really good. His hair is growing in, and it’s blonder than I had
realized.He’salsostartedabeard,whichhehasneatlytrimmed,andheseemstohavefilledoutabitorit
couldbethathe’sjustwearingtightershirts.
Helooksatmewarilyfromacrosstheroom,andIcanseehimswallowhardbeforehesays,“Hello,
Jane.”
Ijuststandthere…completelyunabletodoadamnthing.Ican’tspeak.Ican’tmove.Ican’tdecide
whatitisIwant.
IneverthoughtI’dseeKyleagaininmylife,andIwentthroughamourningprocessforhim.Andnow
I’minundatedwithallthesedifferentemotionsrangingfromangertorelieftobitternesstojoytoloveto
hateto…
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”ImanagetowhisperasIcrossmyarmsovermychestprotectively,not
becauseI’mbraless,buttoprotectmyheartfromthismanwhoisprovokingmyworldintochaosagain.
Kyle’seyescuttoMiranda,whojuststandstherelookingbackathimasifhe’sastrangephenomenon,
buttheysliderightbacktome,seeminglyuncaringthathehasanaudience.Hisvoiceislowandrumbling
whenhesays,“IcametoseeifIcouldmakethingsrightwithyou.”
Mylimbsgoweakwithconfusionandmyheartpoundserratically.Miranda’sheadsnapsmywayto
seewhatI’lldo,andIknowifIlookather,I’llbuckle.She’sbeenarockandanimmensesupporttome
overthelastseveralweeks,butshe’salsobeenclearlyonTeamKyle,becauseasshekeptremindingme,
“Therewereextenuatingcircumstancesthatyouhavetoconsider,Janey.”
AnirrationalfeartakesrootinthemiddleofmychestasIrememberthepainofhimlyingandleaving,
andIknowIcan’tgothroughthatagain,despitethefactthatMirandaseemstoseethisinamuchclearer
light.
So I tell the brutal truth in a soft whisper. “There’s nothing to make right. I understand why you
couldn’t share things with me, and I’ve accepted that. So honestly, this was probably a wasted trip to
comeheretoseeme.”
Kylewinces.Iwaitaterrifyinglylongmomenttoseeifhe’llleave,buthedoesn’t.Instead,hesays,
“There’sstillalotyouneedtoknow.ThatIwantyoutoknowifyou’llgivemejustalittlebitofyour
time.”
CHAPTER28
Kyle
T
HERE
WAS
A
time months ago… just before we took Mayhem’s Mission down… that I thought the
president,ZekePowell,wasontome.Helookedatmealittledifferentand,withthatsneakingsuspicion
Ihad,Ibracedmyselfforimminentdeath.IfZekethoughtinanywaythatIcouldhavepossiblybetrayed
himandhisclub,hewouldhaveputabulletrightbetweenmyeyes.
SotherewasaperiodofweekswhereIwaitedforit,tryingtoactlikenothingwaswrongandyet
completely resolved that I was going to die. It was a wretched feeling mainly because at that point, I
wasn’tincontrolofmyowndestiny.
It’showIfeelrightnow.
All I can do is tell Jane the things I’d been keeping from her, and then it’s out of my hands. She’ll
eithertellmetogotohell,whichwouldbetheultimatedeathformeandafarworsefatethanZekecould
everbestow,orshe’llforgiveme,whichwillatleastkeepthatsparkofhopealivethatAndreaplantedin
methreedaysago.
Luckily, that spark hasn’t diminished in the three days it’s taken me to get to her. With promises to
AndreathatIwouldcomebacksoon,IleftthedayafterourtalkandheadedtoMistyHarborviaplane.I
hadtwolayovers.Thelastlegwasonasmallpropplane,butitwasthequickestwaythere.
Iwascompletelystunnedtofindherlittlehouseemptyandabandonedwitha“ForRent”signplaced
at the end of the driveway. My immediate fear was that something bad had happened to Jane. Without
anotherthought,Ijumpedintotherentalcaranddrovethethreehundredyardstoherparents’houseon
FrontStreetbecauseitwasfasterthanrunning.IknowIscaredtheshitoutofMeredithandAllenwhenI
bangedfuriouslyontheirdoor,butIwasimmediatelysettledandrelievedwhenMeredithsmiledbigat
metheminuteshesawme.
“Iknewyou’dcomebackforher,”shesaid,beamingatmeproudlyassheopenedthedoorwideand
invitedmein.SheclearlyhadknownsomethingIhadnot.
IwentingladlyandwaspreparedtodowhateversuckingupIhadtodowithherparentssothatI
couldfindoutwhereshewas.Turnsout,Ididn’thavetodomuch.IonlyhadtotellthemthetruthofwhoI
was, what I’d done, and what I wanted with their daughter. They accepted my intentions at face value,
and,forreasonsIcannotevenbegintofathom,theyputtheirtrustinmethatIcouldmakeJanehappy.
IreceivedtheirblessingalongwithJane’snewhomeandworkaddressinBoston.Itwastoolateby
thistimetomakethetrip,andtheykindlyinvitedmetostayintheirguestroom.WhileIverymuchlike
her parents and felt comfortable enough with them, that was just a little too awkward for my liking. I
declined,insteadchoosingtogetaroomattheoneandonlymotelinthearea,TheMistySlumberInn.
Itookoffbeforethesunwasupthenextmorningandwasparkingmyrentalcarafewblocksaway
fromthecoffeehousewhereherparentssaidsheworkedbyten-thirty.Ididn’tapproachherthough,asI
knewwe’dneedprivacytotalk.SoIjustwaiteditout,watchedherwalkhomefromwork,andmademy
move.
Shestandsbeforeme,lookingasconfusedasIamterrified,andmorebeautifulthanIcouldhaveever
remembered. Doesn’t matter she’s wearing some funky-looking leggings that are electric blue with big,
yellow saxophones over them or a threadbare New England Patriots t-shirt. She is simply the most
gorgeous creature I’ve ever known, and there is no other for me. There was a time I didn’t believe I
deservedher,butI’mtiredofthatwayofthinking.Tiredoflivingmylifewithouthappiness,hope,and
ambitionformyfuture.
“Willyougivemesometime?”Iaskhersoftly.“Justtotalk.”
MyheartskipsamadbeatwhenIseeheractuallystiffenupatmysuggestion,butthen,justasquickly,
sheletsoutalongbreath.I’mnotsurprisedwhenshelookstoMiranda.Icanseethequestionswrittenall
overherfaceasshesilentlycommunicateswithherbestfriend.
ShouldIlisten?
Willhehurtme?
Isthisevenreal?
WhyshouldItrusthim?
Mirandagivesheranencouragingsmilebeforeshesays,“Listen…I’mgoingtoheadintoworkabit
earlyandgrababitetoeatthere.Letyoutwohavesomeprivacy.”
Jane and I both watch in silent acceptance as Miranda grabs her coat from a hook by the door and
scampersout,leavingusverymuchaloneandfacingofffromoppositecorners.
Withanawkwardgesturetowardthecouch,Janesays,“Doyouwanttositdown?”
It’salegitimateofferconsideringthiswillbeaveryseriousdiscussionthatcouldtakeawhile,butI
don’tthinkIcanevenwaitthefewsecondsitwouldtakeusbothtogetsituated.Soinstead,Iwalkright
uptoher,puttingmyhandsonhershouldersandtippingmyfacedowntohers,soshe’slookingmedead
intheeye.“Iamsosorryfordeceivingyou,leadingyouon,andtakingadvantageofyou.Ishouldhave
toldyouthetruthfromtheverybeginning.”
Tomysurprise,Janeshakesherhead.“No,Miranda’sright.Youhadtokeepthosesecrets.Youwere
inhidinganddidn’tknowmewellenoughtotrustmewiththat.”
Mygriptightensonhershouldersslightly,notbecauseI’mafraidshe’llpullawaybutbecauseIwant
hertounderstandhowseriousIamaboutthis.“ButIdidknowyou,Jane.Fromthefirstmomentyouleft
meyourhorriblemuffinsonmydoorstep,Iknewexactlywhoyouwere.Iknewyouweresweet,andkind,
andpersistent.Youkeptafterwhatyouwanted,andI’mjusthopingyou’llremember…therewasatime
youwantedme.Atimeyouwouldn’tgiveup.”
“Kyle,”shesaysonashakybreathashereyessoften.
“Butfirst,”Isaycautiously,becausethisisreallywhereI’mputtingeverythingontheline.“Ihaveto
tellyoueverythingaboutme.”
Jane’seyebrowsfurrow.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean,Ihavetotellyousomebadstuffaboutme,”Itellher.TheonethingIknowforsureisthatI
can’tholdanythingbackwithJanefromnowon.
ShegivesmeatinysmileasifsheknowssomethingIdon’t.“Oh,Iknowaboutyoubeingundercover.
Youhadtoplaytheparttogetintothemotorcycleclub.AgentKiznertoldmeallaboutit.”
“No,Jane,”Isayaroughly.“Itwasn’tapart.Itwasn’tanact.Ididdespicablethingsofmyownfree
will.”
“I’msure—”shestartstosay,butIjustcan’thavehertakingmygoodnessatfacevalue.Forherto
acceptI’mgood,shehastounderstandthedepthsfromwhichI’veclimbedbackup.
“ThefirstbadthingIdid,”Itellherwithoutanypreamble,“wassellherointoapregnantwoman.No
cluehowmanymonths,butshewashuge.Probablyclosetogivingbirth.”
Jane’seyesgoround,andsheblinksatmeinastonishment.
“Butthatwasn’tenoughtodevelopthetypeoftrustIneededtogetintotheclub,”Icontinuebefore
she can stop me. “That night I woke up beside you… bad dream and all, it was about this man I beat
nearly to death. In fact, I might have killed him. I’m not sure. But I did it while his wife and little boy
watched.”
Janemakesasmallsoundofdistress.Iholdontohertighter,soshewon’trunawayuntilIcanmake
suresheunderstandsIhadabsolutelynoboundariesIwouldn’tcrosstogetmyjobdone.Myvoicecracks
whenItellherthemostbrutaltruthofall.“Jane…IwouldhavedoneanythingthatIwastoldtodobythat
club.Thinkofthevilestthingyoucanimagine,andI’mtellingyou,baby…Ididit.Ididitall.”
Janedoesn’trespondforamoment,stillstaringatmewithowl-likeeyesandjustblinking.Ilookat
her,tryingtoreadintoherexpression,wonderingifshe’ssodisgustedsheliterallycan’tsayanything.
Thenshesurprisesmewhensheputsherpalmstomycheeksandsays,“Youdidajobtosavepeople.
Idon’tneedtoknowthedetails,butifyouwanttounburdenyourself,I’llgladlytakethem.ButallIreally
needtoknow,Kyle,isthatyoudidsomethingforthegreatergood.Youdidsomethingthatyoubelievedin
withsuchpassionthatyougaveupyourentirelifetoseeitthrough.Now,youmaybemiredinguiltand
maybeyou’refeelingtheneedforpenanceorsomething,butyou’renotgoingtogetthatfromme.Justlike
yousaidyouknowwhoIam…well,Iknowwhoyouaretoo.Youareagoodman.You’rethebestkind
ofman,really.”
My body reacts so quickly that I’m not even sure what I’m really doing. Before I know it, I’ve
snatchedJanetomeandI’mwrappingmyarmstightlyaroundherasreliefcoursesthroughme.Reliefthat
shedoesn’tdespisemeformytransgressions.
“Kyle,”Janesayssoftly,andIpullmyfacebacksoIcanlookather.“I’vetalkedtoJoealotsince
thatnightyouleft.Hetoldmestuffaboutyourundercoveroperation.Whyyouvolunteered,therisksyou
took,andhowyourlifewasindangereverysingleday.”
IshrugbecausenoneofthatwilleverassuagetheguiltIhaveforthethingsIdid.
“HetoldmeaboutMaggie,”Janesayssoftly,andtheairinmylungsfreezes.“Yousavedher.”
Ibowmyheadandclosemyeyes,thankfulforthatonebrightshiningspotineverything.Ihadindeed
savedher.Afteroverthreeyearsofdoingdespicablethingstomaintainmycover,Iriskeditalltogetone
singlefemaleoutoftheclutchesofthatclub,knowingitcouldmeanmydeath.
“Yousavedher,”Janerepeats.
“Savingonedoesn’tabsolve—”
“You saved hundreds,” Jane interrupts me. “Hundreds of women from being sold into slavery.
Hundredsofmen,women,andchildrenwhowon’tdiebyillegalguns.Hundredsoflivessavedbytaking
adrugsupplylineoutofcommission.Youdidoneofthebravestactsyoucouldforyourfellowcitizens.
Laidyourownlifeontheline.Gaveupallyourdreamstomakebetterlivesforothers.Idon’tbelieve
there’satit-for-tat typeofsystem outthere.No, ‘Ididthis onebad thingsoI needtoat leastsavethis
manylives.’Itdoesn’tworklikethat.”
“Thenhowdoesitwork?”Iask,myvoicecloggingwithemotion.
“Itworkswhenyourealizethatonceyouforgiveyourself,youcanstarttomoveonwiththerestof
yourlife,”shewhispersbeforesteppingintomeandlayinghercheekonmychest.Iknowshecanhearthe
thunderingofmyheart,yetIcan’twillittocalmdown.
“Youalwaysfindthegoodinpeople,”ImurmurasIwrapmyarmsaroundher,liftingherfromthe
floor.
“I’mgladyoucameafterme,”shesaysquietly.“Imissedyousomuch.”
“I’m not even sure I deserve you,” I mutter, more to myself as I’m still a little confused that she’s
accepting me back, which makes me ask as I loosen my hold so I can look at her. “Why? Why are you
standingherelettingmeholdyou?”
Shedoesn’tanswer,justturnsthetablesquicklyonme.“Whydidyoucometrackmedown?”
Theanswerisabsolutelycrystalclear.“BecauseIloveyou.”
“Yes,”sheagreessoftlywithasmile.“BecauseIloveyou.”
Myfuckingheartswellsandexpands,rippleswithwarmth,andIfeelunbelievablylightinmysoul.
Joyradiatesthroughme,anditfeelslikearebirth.
Ifeelnew.
Ifeelimmenselygratefulforeverypossibilitybeforemerightnow.
“I’mgoingtodothisright,”IpromiseherasIletherslidedownuntilherfeettouchthefloor.
“Howso?”shemurmurs.
Ihookherbythebackoftheneckwithmyhandandgiveaslightsqueezeofpossession.“Iamgoing
tomakeyoufeellikethemostpreciousthingintheworldeverydayfortherestofyourlife,becausewhat
you’regivingmeisbeyondprecious.You’vegivenmeanotherchance,andI’mnevergoingtoforgetthe
valueofthat.Everyday,I’mgoingtoearnyourlove.Everyfuckingdayfortherestofmylife,I’mgoing
togiveyoutheverybestIhavetoofferthisworld.Itwillallbeforyou.”
Janeletsoutaquaveringbreath.“God,thatwaspoetic,andI’mcompletelyturnedon.”
“I’m serious, Jane,” I say, giving her another squeeze. I know what I just said to her was really
intense,butfuck…myfeelingsarereallyintense,andIneedtogetthemoutthere.Ialsoknowshe’strying
tomakelightofitsoIdon’tfeelawkward,butfucktheawkward.
“Jane,”IsayasIlowermyfacetowardhers.“TellmeyougeteverythingIjustsaidtoyouandyou
knowit’sfromthebottomofmyheart.”
Hereyesgetshiny.IfeellikeshitbecauseIdidn’twanttomakehercry,butthenshesmilesatmeso
brightlythatI’malmostblinded.“I’mnevergoingtoforgetasinglewordofwhatyoujustsaidbecauseit
wasthemostbeautifulthingintheworld.”
Mylipsfindherinasearchingkiss,bothofusseekingtovalidateourwordsandouremotionsnow
withtouchandphysicalintimacy.MybodycomesaliveatwhatthismeansasIkisshermoredeeply.
Jane’shandsslideupmychest,andshegivesaslightpushthatbreaksourkiss.Shegivesaquicklick
toherlowerlip,whichissexyashell,beforesheasks,“AreyougoingtomoveheretoBoston?”
“I’ll move anywhere in the world you want to,” I assure her. “I quit the ATF, so I’m extremely
mobile.”
“WhataboutMistyHarbor?”sheaskstentatively.
“Theystillneedalightkeeper?”Iaskwithagrin.
“Quitepossibly,”shesayswithalaugh.
“ThenMistyHarboritis,”Itellher,thedecisionabsolutelymade.
Butfirst…
IsweepJaneupintomyarmsandturntowardthehallwaythatI’massumingleadstoabed.Wehave
otherthingstodorightnow.
EPILOGUE
Jane
Twoyearslater…
I
WALK
IN
throughtheopenbaydoorsofTinker’sGarage,quicklyscanningthearea,butIdon’tseeKyle
oranyoneelseforthatmatter.There’sacarupononeofthelifts.IsuspectthatwasKyle’sprojecttoday,
althoughhe’smorethanlikelyintheofficedoingpaperwork.
KylehasprettymuchtakenoverTink’sbusiness,astheoldmanisfinallyconsideringretirement.He’s
beenspendingmoretimeinPennsylvaniawithhisdaughterandgrandkids,andIknowheandKylearein
talksforKyletobuyhimoutsohecan“officially”retire.Iaskedhimifhewouldchangethenameofthe
garage to maybe “Kyle’s Garage” or even “Sommerville’s Garage,” but he just grinned and shook his
head.“Baby…Tink’sisanestablishmentinthisarea.He’shadthisbusinessforoverfortyyearsinMisty
Harbor.Themandeserveshisnameonthegarageforeternity.”
Andthat’smyman.
He’scompletelysettledintolifehereasifhe’dbeenbornhere.Ittookhimawhiletofigureoutwhat
hewantedtodoforaliving,butwhenhesawthatTinkwaslookingforpart-timehelp,italljustsortof
madesensetohim.Hewasagoodmechanic,andhelikedworkingwithhishands.
Oh,dearLord,didhelikeworkingwithhishands.Hewassogoodwiththemlastnightthathemade
mescream.
Adeliciousshiverrunsupmyspinejustrememberinglastnight,andsomanyoftheothernightsI’ve
spentwithhim.Hetoldmemany,manymonthsagothatitwashisjobtoearnme,andhedoes…justso
verynaturally.
IknoweverythingthereistoknowaboutKyle.He’stoldmeeverysinglesordidandinhumanething
he did while undercover, and he did it while we laid in bed with his head resting on my chest and my
fingersinhishair,whichhe’dletgrowabitlongerthanhisbuzzcut.Ican’textinguishallofhisguilt,but
ImakesureheknowseverydayhowproudIamofwhathedidandthesacrificeshemade.
Honestly,IwishI’dknownthatKyleorhadapeekofhim.NotbecauseI’mcuriousorthere’sathrill
knowingheusedtobeadangerousbikercriminal.No,I’dliketohaveknownhimjustabitsoIcouldsee
howmuchhe’schanged.Icanonlysuspectbecauseofthewayhewaswhenwefirstmet,butitwarmsme
toknowthathe’sveryhappywithhisliferightnow.Iknowthisbecausehetellsmealmosteverysingle
day.
IheadintothebackofficeandimmediatelyseeKylethroughtheglasswindowcutinthewall.He’s
bentoversomedocumentsonthedesk.TheminuteIstepintothedoorway,hisheadpopsup.Theminute
herecognizesme,hisfacetransforms.
Eyescrinkleandshine.
Gorgeouslipsnowframedinasexygoateedsmile.
Huskyvoicethatsays,“Hey,beautiful.”
I force myself not to preen under his compliments that cause pure elation to run through me. You’d
thinkaftertwoyearsthattheromancewouldwearthin,butfarfromit.Igetasmuchofathrillfromseeing
KyletodayasIdidbackthen.Maybeevenmoreso…particularlytodayofalldays.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”heasksashesetsthepenheheldinhishanddownandpushesthepileof
papersbacktogivemehisattention.“IthoughtyouweregettingyourhairdoneatMiranda’s?”
“Iam,butyouforgotthelunchIpacked.”IhandhimthebrownpaperbagI’mcarrying.Hetakesit
frommewithhislefthand,andIsmilewhenIseethepalelineofskinacrosshisringfinger.Henever
wearshisweddingbandatthegaragebecausehedoesn’twantittogetcaughtonsomethingandruined.I
justdon’twanthimtoloseafinger.
Kyletakesthebagandgivesitaquestioninglook.“Youdidn’tbakeanything,didyou?”
IlaughasIleanagainstthedoorjamb.“No,smartass.Justatunafishsandwichandsomechips.Ifyou
wantbakedgoods,you’llhavetogoovertoMargie’sBakery.”
Kyle throws the bag on the desk and pushes his chair back. Opening his arms, he says, “Don’t you
haveakisstogowiththatlunch?”
“Idoindeed,”Isaywithagrin,andthenI’mstraddlinghislapandhe’skissingme.
WhenKyle’shandsgotomyass,Iswatthemawayandpullmylipsfromhis.“Stopit.”
Hishandsgorightbackashegrinsupatme.“C’mon,baby.Littlelunchtimenookie.”
Athrobbingformsbetweenmylegsbecausethatsoundsamazingindeed.Anditwouldnotbethefirst
timeI’dgottenitonwithmyhusbandinthisoffice.Justafewweeksago,hebentmeoverthatdeskand…
Shakingmyhead,Ireachovertothedeskandgrabthebag.Handingittohim,Isay,“Eatyourlunch.”
Heignoresit,handsgentlysqueezingmyass.“Nothungryforthat.”
Ishovethebagagainsthischestandinsist.“Eat.Your.Lunch.”
Heagainignoresme,sittingupstraighterinhischairsohecanbringhismouthtomycollarbone.He
givesitalightkissand,damnitalltohell…Imoan.
But then very quickly, I regain my senses. “For Pete’s sake, Kyle… will you just look in the damn
bag?”
Myhusband’sbodygoesstillasheliftshisheadtolookatmewithcuriouseyes.Igivealittlepush
on the bag against his chest, and he finally takes the hint. Scooting back a little on his lap, I watch
expectantlyasheopensthebagandlooksinside.
Hisbrowfurrowsbecausethere’snosandwichorchipsinthere—onlyabox.
Hepullsitout.Whenherealizeswhatitis,hislipsstarttotipupwardatthecorners.Heopensthe
flapsontheend—whichhadobviouslyalreadybeenopenedbymeandrefoldedback—andpullsoutthe
littleplasticstick.
Turningitovergentlywithhisfingers,asifhewasholdingthemostpreciousthingintheworld,he
lockshiseyesrightontothepositivesigninthedigitalwindow.
Hisheadslowlyrises,andhisgazeisfilledwithwonder.“We’repregnant.”
I nod quickly, unable to contain it anymore. Bouncing slightly on his lap, I clap my hands and
practicallysqueal.“We’repregnant!”
“Holyfuckingshit,”hebarksoutbeforehetossesthestickoverhisshoulderandjerksmetohimfora
hugehug.Wewrapourarmstightlyaroundeachother,andIcanfeelhishearthammeringagainstmychest
asIburymyfaceinhisneck.
Afterafewmoments,Kylepullsbackandlooksatmemischievously.“Wearesogoingtohavesex
rightnowtocelebrate.”
“But Miranda’s waiting on me,” I point out. And yes, Miranda moved back to Misty Harbor right
alongwithKyleandme.Shewasmymaidofhonoratourwedding,andyes,hertopcameoffattheend
ofthenightasshedancedonthetabletop.
“You would seriously rather go get your hair cut than let me lay you out on this desk and eat that
gorgeouspussyofyours?”Kyleasksashepushesupfromthechairwithhishandssupportingmeunder
myass.Heturnsandsetssaidassontheedgeofthedesk,hishandsgoingtothebuttonofmyjeans.
“TohellwithMiranda,”IsighasIleanbackandlethimdohisthing.
Buthishandsgostillandhiseyesturnserious.Kyle’svoiceisroughwhenhesays,“Ican’ttellyou
howhappythismakesme.I’vefeltthatI’msocompletesinceyoucameintomylife,butnowthis…this
justmakesmefeellikethere’smore.”
“Thereis,”Imurmurathimwithasmile.“Somuchmoreforus.”
“Iwouldn’thaveitwithoutyou.”Hiseyessoftenashesmilesatmeknowingly.“Youhavethisgift
whereyoubringoutthebestinothers,andifyoustruggletofindit,youhelpthemcreateit.That’swhat
youdoforme.”
“Oh,baby,”Isayonasigh,myheartmeltingevenmoreforthisman.Myhandsgotohisface,andI
kisshimsweetly.“Iloveyousomuch.”
Hisreturnkissisjustassweet,butonlyforamoment.Oneofhishandsfistinthebackofmyhairand
his kiss deepens. He pulls back and practically growls at me with hot eyes. “Now I’m going to put my
mouthbetweenthosesexylegsofyoursandmakeyouscreammyname.”
Iwigglemyhipsonthedeskandtellhim,“Goahead.Makemyday.SuddenImpact,1983.”
“Jesus,you’readork,”hesayswithcompleteadoration.“It’sagoodthingIloveyou.”
“And I love you,” I assure him, but then look down pointedly at my zipper. “But you mentioned
celebratoryoralsexandI’mreadyforit.”
“Metoo,baby,”hesaysbeforehekissesme.“I’mreadyforeverythingwithyou.”
TheEnd
WanttoknowalittlemoreaboutKyleSommerville?YoucanfindappearancesfromKyleinthe
followingpreviouslyreleasedbooks,whichcanbereadasstandalones:
ShakenNotStirred(LastCall,Book#5)
WickedBond(WickedHorse,Book#5)
AndifyouwanttoknowmoreaboutKyle’ssister,AndreaSommerville,youcanreadherstoryasa
standalone:
NEWSLETTERSIGNUP!!!
Don’tmissanothernewreleasebySawyerBennett!!!
newreleases,giveaways,bookreviewsandsomuchmore.
IfyouenjoyedFindingKyleasmuchasIenjoyedwritingit,itwouldmeanalotforyoutogivemea
reviewonyourfavoriteretailer’swebsite.
ConnectwithSawyeronline:
Website:
Twitter:
Facebook:
OtherBooksbySawyerBennett
TheOffSeries
TheLastCallSeries
LastCallSeriesCompleteBoxedSet
TheLegalAffairsSeries
(Book#1ofCalandMacy’sStory)
StandAloneTitles
TheSugarBowlSeries
TheColdFuryHockeySeries
(RandomHouse/Loveswept)
4BookBundle–Alex,Garrett,Zack,Ryker
TheWickedHorseSeries
AbouttheAuthor
Sincethereleaseofherdebutcontemporaryromancenovel,OffSides,inJanuary2013,SawyerBennett
has released more than 30 books and has been featured on both the USA Today and New York Times
bestsellerlistsonmultipleoccasions.
AreformedtriallawyerfromNorthCarolina,Sawyerusesreallifeexperiencetocreaterelatable,sexy
storiesthatappealtoawidearrayofreaders.Fromnewadulttoeroticcontemporaryromance,Sawyer
writessomethingforjustabouteveryone.
SawyerlikesherBloodyMary’sstrong,hermartinisdirty,andherheroesacombinationofthetwo.When
notbringingfictionalromancetolife,Sawyerisachauffeur,stylist,chef,maid,andpersonalassistanttoa
veryactivetoddler,aswellasfull-timeservanttotwoadorablynaughtydogs.Shebelievesinthegoodof
others,andthatabaddaycanbecuredwithagreatwork-out,cake,oracombinationofthetwo.
Document Outline
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Table of Contents
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Epilogue
- Connect with Sawyer
- Other Books by Sawyer Bennett
- About the Author
Wyszukiwarka
Podobne podstrony:
Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll Sawyer Bennett
(Cold Fury Hockey 05) Sawyer Bennett Hawke
Popular Mechanics Finding And Fixing Water And Air Leaks
PRZYGODY TOMKA SAWYERA STRESZCZENIE
Test sprawdzający znajomość treści lektury Przygody Tomka Sawyera, Testy z lektur SP
test - Przygoda Tomka Sawyera, Klasa 4, przygody tomka
SHSBC 270 TALK ON TV?MO FINDING RR's
Przygody Tomka Sawyera test z lektury, Testy z lektur i polskiego
SHSBC 228 3GA GOALS FINDING, PART II
Celtic Woodcraft, Authentic Projects For Woodworkers G Bennet
finding formulating cosmic word
IEEE Finding Patterns in Three Dimensional Graphs Algorithms and Applications to Scientific Data Mi
Finding laptop perfection Lekturka
Przygody Tomka Sawyera
Test sprawdzający znajomość treści lektury Przygody Tomka Sawyera1, Testy z lektur SP
przygody tomka sawyera, konspekty
Przygody Tomka Sawyera, Lektury Szkolne - Teksty i Streszczenia
Przygody Tomka Sawyera- streszczenie lektury
Engine Management Fault Finding
więcej podobnych podstron