Chapter 8

eight

Nevaeh

Candace throws a piece of popcorn at Kane. “I’m going to tell Ian how bad you’ve been this week. No joke, he’s going to give it to you.”

“Like to see him try.” Kane ups the ante and tosses a couch pillow at Candace. It hits her square in the face, and she lets out a roar I’ve come to associate with Candace alone, before a string of potty-mouthed curses flies from her tongue. I’m honestly not sure what all she said, but I’m confident I heard ‘pussy-ass-cunt’ somewhere in the middle. The woman talks like a trucker and smiles like a dark angel.

I love it.

On her feet now, pillow in hand, Candace swings her arm back before she lets the pillow fly. Kane catches it easily. He’d been teasing her about how her patients in the ER must want a taste of Nurse Candy. A long lick and a little nibble of the night-nurse-delight. That’s what he’d said to make the popcorn fly.

“I’m gonna sic Bells on you.”

“He loves me,” Kane tosses back.

I have no idea who Bells is, but I can’t deny I’m curious, considering.

“He loves biting you,” Candace sasses.

Kane snaps his teeth. “He’s not the only one.”

“Ew.” She scrunches her nose in a look of pure disgust before she throws her gaze in my direction. “Don’t let this one get to you. He’s rabid.” Her lip curls. “And he’s probably got an STI.”

“Hey.” The teasing is gone from Kane’s tone.

Candace shrugs, unbothered. “You’ve been with enough groupies.”

“Candace.” There’s a warning in Kane’s voice now. I can’t help but shift uncomfortably.

The last week with the two of them in Kane’s secluded house has been good, mostly. Nights are hard, but Candace has taken to sleeping with me. Having someone close helps to keep the nightmares at bay, but she’s going onto night shift tonight—and her man, Ian, comes home from helping his grandmother get settled in her new home in New York tomorrow, so she won’t be here anymore.

During the day, I’ve mostly been alone. Kane has, mostly, been out of the house, working.

I’m not even sure what he does. I haven’t gone snooping through the rooms in his house, and I haven’t been alone with him enough to ask.

Candace looks between me and Kane before she huffs. “Sorry.”

I blink up at her from where I’m snuggled in the big chair in Kane’s living room. The house is a big two story. Before seeing his house, I’d have thought Kane would live in something sleek and modern with cool, hard tones.

How wrong I’d been.

Kane’s home is a dream. An oasis. With its warm tones and rich wood accents, it’s a place for comfort and relaxation. There’s nothing high strung about this environment, which has made it a frigging dream to heal in.

After a week, my bruises look a lot better. They aren’t gone, but I wouldn’t have expected them to be. The bruising tenderness I’d struggled with in my ribs is now faint enough to let me move forward with average day-to-day activities, and my voice is no longer raspy, my throat no longer burns when I speak. It’s amazing what a week of relaxation can do for a girl, but it’s time to get back to reality.

Candace moves from the living room with a two-finger salute to me before blowing a middle-finger kiss at Kane. He catches it, pretending to give it a real good lick before tossing it over his shoulder. Candace barks a high laugh and calls, “You kids have fun. I’m off to work.”

I catch a quick look that passes between them before she disappears from the room. I want to ask what that had been about, but I think better of the urge. I probably don’t want to know, anyway.

When we hear the front door slam closed—because every time Candace leaves a room she slams the door—Kane stands. I can’t help the quickening flutter in my chest as I take him in. As always, the man is draped in black. Black jean, tight black t-shirt, black ink. He’s devilishly gorgeous.

“How do you feel about pizza?”

I stop checking him out to answer, “It’s a favorite.”

“Think I’m gonna order in tonight.”

My brows lift high, and my tone rises, too. “You’re staying?”

Kane has been off doing whatever Kane does—all the time. If I haven’t been with Candace, I’ve been alone. At first, I’d wondered if my presence here had been putting Kane out, but Candace assured me he’s just a busy man. Clearly, the man works hard for the life he has.

I glance around his space again. It’s gonna suck when I have to leave it to go back to my very low-glam life. As it is, I’m in an even bigger financial pickle now than I’d been in before the attack. I haven’t worked in a week, so I haven’t made any money.

The thought has a wave of anxiety prickling my spine.

“Thought we could spend some time together.”

I swallow that anxiety and force a smile. “Sure.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and asks, “What kind of pizza?”

“I like it all,” I tell him and then amend quickly. “No anchovies. Shouldn’t need to be said, but yuck.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t laugh. “Olives?”

“Love em.”

He taps the screen, placing an order before he slides his phone back into his pocket and hits me with his full attention.

Kane’s full attention is a lot. It’s enough to melt a girl.

“You look good.”

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I shift in place. “Thanks. I don’t feel too bad.”

He moves across the room to me, pulling the coffee table closer before he sits on it. The man spreads thick thighs before he plants his elbows on his knees, leaning into my space.

Oh boy, he looks serious.

I’m unnerved.

“Gotta talk, Sunshine.”

At the firm way he informs me of this, I know I’ve overstayed my welcome. I don’t want to put him in a place where he has to tell me that. I also don’t want to hear it from him, so I rush to interrupt, “I know. It’s time for me to go home. Totally cool. No hard feelings. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

A single brow raises. “You have?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I bob my head. Boy, I’m a poop liar. “What’s that saying about a smelly houseguest?”

“I have no idea.”

I’m snapping my fingers like it’ll help it come to me. It doesn’t, and I loose a sound of distress. I’m not the kind of girl that breezes through awkward situations with integrity and grace intact. No, I’m always the girl that stumbles flat on her face, skins her knees, and ends up with leaves and twigs in her hair. A hot mess, Mom likes to tease. At least she says it with love.

“Well, damn,” I mutter finally. “I have no idea, either.”

Amusement flickers through Kane’s blue eyes at the expense of my pout. I want to tell him that’s not nice when he says quietly, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t?” I frown. It’s automatic and entirely at odds with the flipping of my over-excited—why is it excited?—heart.

“No.”

“Okay.” I twist my lips to the side, trying hard not to do the same with my hands in my lap. I’m nervous. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I want to know what happened.” His eyes darken at my flinch, but he insists, “All of it, Sunshine.”

“Oh boy.” Wiping my palms on my leggings—or Candace’s leggings—I draw in a deep breath. Then I start from the beginning. “I’m a media designer.” His brows furrow, but he nods. “I went to school for it, and I’m pretty good. I work on stuff for bands. You know, album covers, logos, designs for merch. I do the same for indie authors with book covers, logos, banners and designs for swag. Anyway, I went to school with a girl who went a more political route with her media degree. She was working on Senator Diaz’s last campaign and became acquaintances, I guess, with his son, Antonio. She’s married and has been for forever—high school sweethearts. Anyway, it was through her that I met Antonio.”

“She set you up with him?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I met her for lunch, and he happened to be there. He asked to join our table and we said yes. He was very attentive with his attention, flirty, but not the gross kind. When he asked me to go out with him, I said yes. That first date just the two of us was good. Good enough for me to agree to another and another. And then we were a couple. I guess I fit the mold he needed for a wife, because he proposed. I thought I loved him, so I said yes.” Pulling the corner of my lip into my mouth, I pause for a moment. I’m so ashamed for the last part of my story, and I just don’t know why that is. It’s ludicrous, really. I know that and yet…

“Sunshine?”

“He asked me to move in with him. I refused. I told him I wasn’t comfortable living with a man until marriage. Mostly, that was true. But in reality—I just—I think I knew intuitively—” I tap my belly. “That something was off.”

“How’d he take that?”

“He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t force me. He did try to move up the wedding, but again, I refused.”

“When was that supposed to happen?”

“Next summer.”

Kane swallows, nodding. There’s nothing but shadows in his eyes now. “Go on.”

“Antonio cancelled dinner plans with me one night because he had a sore throat, or so he said.” I can feel the sick beginning to roll in my belly now as I near the part of my story that makes me want to weep my heart out while also committing acts of extreme violence. I force myself to continue, “I made him Mom’s homemade chicken soup. I boiled bone broth and everything.” I drop my head into my hand, rubbing my brows. “I feel like such a fool.”

“You’re not.”

I let my eyes connect with his. “I walked in on him getting a blowjob from my best friend, Kane.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. He says nothing.

“Do you know how much that hurt me? He could have chosen anyone else. Any other woman in this world, but he went for her—and she let him. She was my person. My soul-sister. The one I called for everything. She knew everything about me.” The breath I suck in rattles in my lungs. “I was so hurt, so mad, I didn’t think. I threw the entire pot of soup on him when he came for me. Then I tossed my ring at him, told him it was over. Screamed I never wanted to see either of them again—and I ran.”

“What happened after?”

“He stalked me. Called all the time. Showed up in places where I was. Told the media the engagement was still on.”

Between his knees, Kane’s big hands curl into one big fist. “And your friend?”

“Kate? I haven’t spoken to her since.”

“Has she been trying?”

“Every day.” I hold his eyes and say firmly, “I won’t forgive her. Not ever. I’ll never talk to her again.”

“The attack? What was that?”

I close my eyes and see him there above me—the man in the mask. I can feel his hands around my throat, cutting off air—and I gasp.

Kane’s hands fall on my thighs, rubbing slowly up to my hips. My eyes drift open and I look at him through the blur of tears that have yet to fall. It’s amazing how I can be so close to losing myself in the trauma only to be grounded by the touch of his big, hard hands.

Then I tell him everything. I replay every sordid detail. Every disgusting word the masked monster said to me that night. It’s not hard, I’ve replayed the nightmare every night while I slept since.

When I’m done, Kane’s lip curls as he growls, “Your ex is a piece of shit.”

“He is.”

After a long beat, where I honestly think Kane is working to control the beast he houses under his own flesh, he asks, “If you go home, what do you figure will happen?”

My cheeks flush with shame. The whispered confession drips with shame as it rattles into the space between us. “I’ll marry him.”

He jolts, but he doesn’t pull away. In fact, his hands tighten on my thighs. “Say again.”

I shiver at the darkness in his tone. “I don’t have a choice. He’ll send that man back to teach me another lesson. The man said as much before he left me there, bleeding on my bed.” Ice daggers in his eyes threaten to spear anyone who dares to come close. I press on. “The public won’t believe me if I even try to tell the truth about what happened—about what he did. I have no other way to get out of this. I can’t hide here forever, and I have no other escape, Kane.”

“Marry me.”

I jolt in shock, whispering, “Sorry?”

“If you marry me, you can’t marry him.”

My laugh sounds unhinged. “You’re joking. You can’t be serious. You don’t know me. I could be—I could be crazy.”

His eyes never leave my face, but the corner of his lip twitches. “It’s the perfect plan. If you’re married to me, you can’t marry someone else—so his plan to force you into marrying him won’t work. Besides, my mother’s been harassing me to find a wife, anyway. Looks to me like this will kill two birds with one stone.”

“But—marriage—” I stutter, breathless. “Marriage is serious, Kane.”

He dips his chin. “It is.”

“We don’t know each other. We don’t love each other.” I’m starting to panic now. I’m pretty sure he can see it like paint splattered across my face. I sputter, “W—we don’t know if we’re even compatible.”

He smirks. “You talkin’ sexually?” My mouth drops and that smirk travels to his eyes. “I’m sexually compatible with everyone.”

I think my jaw unhinges. I work to close it before I cough to clear my throat. “If we did this—if we were to get married—it wouldn’t be real.”

“Why not?”

I blink. He’s nuts. Loony-toons nuts. A freaking Tasmanian Devil kind of nuts.

“Because you’re marrying me to appease your mother, and I’d be marrying you to keep my crazy ex from forcing me into marrying him!” I’m losing it. Who proposes something like this?

And why am I considering it?

What does that say about me?

“Alright, so say we did this thing and got married, we’d have to make it appear real.” He peers at me, studying me. “You know that, yeah?”

“Of course. We’d have boundaries, though. Things only we’d know.” I don’t know how, but I’m starting to really come around to this. Maybe I’m crazy, too. “It’d be like those crazy movies where the couple fake dates.”

“But we’d really be married.”

“Right.” I frown. “But we’d need an expiration date. A day we agree to divorce.”

A brow rises. “You want the divorce on the calendar before we even schedule the wedding?”

Chewing on my lips, I think. “A year should be enough, right? You’ll get some peace from the pressure your mom has on you to marry, and a year should be enough time for Antonio to forget about me. It’s a win-win.”

He leans back just a bit. If I’m not mistaken, that’s amusement I see on his face. “Tell me more about these boundaries.”

“Well, we’ll just be really good friends who are married on paper. I’ll live with you, of course.” His eyes track my frown as I glance around his house. “I won’t be able to split things fifty-fifty. I don’t make nearly what you do, but I’ll do what I can to pull my weight.”

He lifts a hand. “I’ll provide for my wife.”

My shrug is a little on the uncomfortable side. “I won’t really be your wife.”

“We’re married, you’ll be my wife.” His accent sounds suddenly thicker. “I will provide for my wife.”

“Okay.” I sense it’s best to just let that one drop for now. “Essentially, we’ll live as roommates. No one needs to know that what we are is fake.”

“I’ve got a few issues with that plan of yours,” he says as the doorbell chimes. “That’s the pizza. Gonna have to press pause on this, Sunshine.”

I stand, swallowing down my nerves and hope. “I’ll get the plates.”