31. Kali

CHAPTER 31

Kali

Knock. Knock.

I turn to Paxton, trying to stop the panic rising in my chest at an alarming rate at the mere sound of a knock on the door. Calm down, Kali, the bad guy won’t knock on a cop’s door. “Expecting someone?”

He nods and pushes off the chair, offering no explanation. He’s been giving me space, not sitting right beside me, not touching me, and keeping the conversation formal. The distance feels strange, but I appreciate it.

I curl up in the blanket, my nerves still raw. Riggs walks in sync with him and sits when Paxton opens the front door. My position on the couch hides the visitor from view, but when Paxton closes the door, he’s holding a brown bag. I tilt my head, questioning, but he returns the gesture by holding a finger in the air. Riggs settles at my feet, my silent guardian.

“I’ll be right back,” he says with a devilish grin.

He disappears into the kitchen, and I listen as he opens cabinets, hearing the subtle clinks of silverware. The paper bag crumples, and I assume, by the sound, that he’s taking out whatever was in the bag. I hope he didn’t order dinner. I’m still stuffed from the pizza.

In the ten minutes we’ve been here, he showed me around his small two-bedroom apartment, and we only settled on the couch right before the knock. This is the first time I’ve been here. On one of our dates, I asked him if he was hiding away a wife, and that’s why he never brought me here. Now, sitting here in the typical bachelor pad, devoid of any personal effects other than the one photograph of his grandparents, it tells me where his priorities are. The ranch and his work, not this small temporary space he stays at during the week.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Still not into surprises,” he teases, sticking his head out from behind the kitchen wall. I wrinkle my nose at him. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss this. He’s still wearing his security shirt.

“Why were you working security if you got your job back?”

“A buddy of mine has a used car lot. He’s been having his cars broken into at night, so he asked me if I could work a couple shifts off duty until he can get something permanent in place. So, Liam and I were working tonight,” he explains from the kitchen.

“Sorry I took you away from your job.”

He peeks out again. “Don’t be. They knew we were there. They might be shitheads, but they aren’t dumb shitheads. They weren’t going to touch the cars tonight.” His head disappears again.

“If I’m going to stay here, we need to talk about things.” The panic from the night is settling, leaving behind a dust of unanswered questions and wondering if I made the right decision to stay here.

He comes strolling into the room holding a plate. Riggs’s head lifts, his nose in the air. When Paxton settles next to me, I see what he’s been up to, and my tension eases. He hands me a spoon, understanding my weaknesses too well. I stare at the cherry pie with a dollop of vanilla ice cream on top and glance up to him with a smile.

“A pie is not going to fix everything,” I say.

“No, but it’ll make you feel better.”

It already does.

Only the people close to me know the key to my heart is cherry pie. I hold the spoon out to dive in, but then pause. “We need to talk,” I repeat, making sure he heard me this time. No amount of pie will erase his lying. He has some explaining to do. He nods in agreement but still waits for me to grab a spoonful. When the warm pie hits my taste buds, my eyes close in bliss. Damn, that’s good. So, so good.

“What was it you wanted to discuss?” he teases.

I shake my head, chewing. It can wait. He’s not going anywhere. I take another generous bite, and he chuckles. “Are you not going to eat some?” I ask, gesturing to the pie that has more than enough for two people on the plate. If he doesn’t, I’ll eat the entire thing. And I’ll have zero shame. So much for being stuffed from the pizza.

“I’m almost scared to take a bite,” he confesses, watching me devour it. “You’re like a bear eating to stock up for hibernation.”

I roll my eyes, paying no attention to how I appear as a pig—or bear—and continue to take another bite. “You can’t like pecan over this perfection,” I mumble, covering my mouth with my hand since I forgot all my manners. Wait a minute. I point my spoon at him. “Admit you made that up because you didn’t want me to figure out you were the pie guy.”

He takes a hefty spoonful and puts it in his mouth, eating it with an exaggerated shrug.

“No, you don’t get off that easy,” I say, elbowing him in the side.

“Actually, with you, I do.”

A thrill of arousal travels down my spine and settles between my legs as his words carry a hint of something more, throwing me back to a month ago—to the first time I experienced him losing control, when his eyes would squeeze shut and his jaw would tighten and he’d roar “fuck” as his orgasm ripped through his sweaty body. It was raw and real. It was exhilarating. Until everything changed. He lied.

I shake from the memory, and reality slams into me.

Dammit.

This is why I should’ve found somewhere else to go. “I need a drink,” I blurt out, rushing to get up, not wanting him to see my flushed cheeks. I snatch a bottle of water from the fridge and press it against my cheeks before opening it and taking a long drink.

When I get back to the couch and plop down, he murmurs, “Sorry.” He slides the plate on the table and sits back against the pillows, resting an ankle on the other knee and his arm draped over the back of the couch. I take another long sip of water to wash down the pie and lingering desire. “That was out of line. It’s tough pretending there is nothing between us.” He sighs. “Let’s talk.”

I had prepared a list of questions, but now, in this moment, with my head reeling from tonight’s events, nothing is coming to mind except one thing. “I saw the police report.” The words tumble out, dragging an icy chill over my skin. I pull the blanket around me, still not okay with finding out that my dad killed my mom and Paxton’s brother. “I’m sorry.”

“Kali, you were eight. What are you sorry for?”

“Not believing you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. I should’ve been honest with you from the start. I just…” Uncertainty creeps into his expression. “I didn’t realize I’d fall for you so quickly.”

“I could never hate you,” I whisper, fiddling with the label on the bottle. As the silence stretches between us, my swirling thoughts settle. “You mentioned you came back to the diner but saw me come outside mad. When was that?” I’ve been racking my brain trying to pinpoint that day, wondering why I’d been so upset. Enough to make him not want to talk to me.

He hums. “It was a few weeks later, maybe. You burst outside, looked up at the sky, and started cursing.” He snaps his fingers as if a lightbulb just turned on. “We were getting bad weather that night. I remember sitting in the car and the radio announced that there were possible tornadoes. But I was certain you weren’t cussing at the sky.”

I remember that day.

The day just Ann came in, and the night I bought the lottery ticket. “You were in the parking lot?”

He nods. It’s crazy how a single decision in time could alter your entire life. If he had gotten out of his car and came up to me, I wouldn’t have bought a lottery ticket.

“So why? Why search for me after all these years?”

He picks at a spot on his jeans for a moment and then lifts his gaze with an uneasy expression. “After the accident and the initial shock of my brother’s death, my dad was worried about you. He kept in touch with child protective services to see what was going to happen. When he found out they put you in a group home, it gutted him.”

I stare at him, blinking, unsure what to say to that. Why would his dad care about the child of the man who murdered his son?

“He talked my mom into adopting you. They always wanted a girl.”

I gasp, recalling a family that wanted to adopt me. The family that never showed up. Were those his parents? “Were they the ones that said I wasn’t a good fit?”

He reaches for my hand. “Kali, it wasn’t because of you. My mom just couldn’t…”

“Paxton,” I say, stopping him. “I can’t even imagine…” I pause, shaking my head, still in disbelief at our connection. “I understand. Your mom was still grieving the unimaginable loss of her child. I don’t imagine anyone could ever get over that. Let alone expect her to stare at the same eyes as the man who took her child every day for the rest of her life.”

“But you’re not him.”

“Still. That’s a lot.” I wouldn’t want to grow up with that guilt. It makes me sad he doesn’t talk to his mom. She’s lost everything.

I feel as though a dump truck backed up and dropped its load on me. I might not be buried alive, but the weight of everything is suffocating. We almost became brother and sister. Nope, that is one idea that never needs to be mentioned. A shiver runs down my spine.

“You okay?” he asks, watching me with intense eyes.

I nod, remembering the broken-hearted little girl sitting on the hard wooden bench for hours. “Just thinking about unanswered prayers.”