Chapter 12

12

MERRITT

T he usual background noise was easily drowned out by the incessant ramblings of my boss on our video call. I nodded along, making sounds of agreement every now and then as he rambled about the latest business reports. Half my attention was now on Kannon, who had just walked in. Somehow, he managed to look even more ruggedly handsome covered in sweat and dust.

“Merritt? Merritt, are you listening?”

I snapped my attention back to the screen, realizing I had been caught daydreaming. “Of course, sir,” I said quickly, praying he believed me. “I agree.”

Getting to see Kannon in this raw, natural state was exciting. It struck a primal need within me. He was a masterpiece, a statue chiseled by the gods and brought to life. Despite the chilly air, I could tell he’d been sweating. My eyes drank in the sight of his muscular torso. I should have felt guilty for staring so blatantly but the sight was too captivating.

“Great. Now make sure you go through all the details and send me an updated report,” my boss’s words broke through my musings, taking me back to my sad reality. “Can I count on you?”

I dragged my gaze away from Kannon, forcing myself to focus on the call. “Yes. Of course.”

The call ended with a polite thank you and a professional smile that no one on the other side of the screen would guess was fake. The moment I closed my laptop, the smile slid off my face. I reached for my coffee and tried my best not to look at him.

What was he doing here? I had been sitting here all morning, trying to keep my head above water with work, and then he just appeared. It felt like the universe was playing some kind of cruel joke. First, he shows up at my house before sunrise, looking way too good for anyone at that hour. I thought I had escaped him. Now here he was, ordering a stack of sandwiches and coffees, looking all hot and distracting. The jerk.

I couldn’t shake him. Of all the cafes in Dallas, he had to walk into mine.

I looked over to the counter where he was leaning casually, hands in his jacket pockets. He looked like trouble, like he always had—dark hair that was a little too long, jaw shadowed by stubble, broad shoulders that stretched out his shirt. But it wasn’t just how he looked. It was the way he carried himself, like the rules didn’t apply to him. He had an air about him that was dangerous, like he was giving off a silent challenge. Like he wanted someone to fuck with him just so he would have an excuse to fuck them up.

He was bad news. He didn’t try to hide the fact. No, he made sure everyone knew he was trouble. It was a dare to the world. Come at me, motherfucker. Only the dumbest or bravest people would try.

And the worst part? I knew better, but some part of me still responded to him like I was seventeen again. I was the moth to his proverbial flame. In my case, it was more like I was the moth being beckoned to a giant bug zapper that would fry me. He had that capability. Been there, done that.

I had to look away or it was going to lure me in.

I tried to refocus on my emails, but the sound of his voice carried across the café. It tugged at something deep inside me, a thread of memories I wasn’t ready to unravel. When he finally turned away from the counter, I looked down quickly, pretending to be busy.

“Got room for one more?” His voice was closer than I expected.

I glanced up to find him standing at my table, a faint smirk on his lips. Before I could answer, he slid into the chair across from me.

“Guess so,” I said dryly, closing my laptop. “Can’t say I expected company. In fact, I know I left your company and came here to get away from you.”

He leaned back in the chair, stretching out his legs like he owned the space. “Didn’t think I’d see you here either. Guess it’s your lucky day.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “What do you want, Kannon?”

“Just waiting on my order,” he said, shrugging. “Figured I’d keep you company in the meantime.”

“Yay,” I said flatly.

He sat forward and looked into my eyes like he was staring into my soul. “I wanted to check in. Wasn’t sure if you planned on hiding all day or not.”

“I’m not hiding,” I shot back. “I’m working. I don’t know the first thing about what you guys are doing to that house. I would be in the way.”

He nodded as if he couldn’t care less what I had to say. “The house isn’t in as bad a state as it could’ve been. No mold, no infestations, no faulty wiring. We’ll be able to keep things moving.”

“That’s good,” I said, my tone neutral. “What about the leak?”

“It must have been fairly new,” he said. “I’ll replace a couple of studs but it was more mildew than mold. It didn’t spread. You won’t need remediation.”

That was a relief. When I left the house, it looked like they were on their way to bringing in a wrecking ball. To hear it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought was a huge relief.

“Good,” I said. “Small things, right?”

“How are you holding up, Merritt? Really?”

The question hit harder than it should have. I laughed but it came out bitter, like the coffee that had long since gone cold in my cup. “Everyone keeps asking me that. What do they expect me to say? That I’m fine? That I’ll get through this? That I miss my dad but I can feel him close to me?”

His expression didn’t change. He just waited, patient and steady, the way he always had when we were younger. I would always word vomit and he would just sit and wait. “I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to tell me the truth.”

The words stirred something in me I’d been trying to keep buried. I looked away, but it was too late. Vulnerability crept in, unwelcome and impossible to ignore. Kannon was the one person I used to share everything with. He always made space for my feelings, even the messy, inconvenient ones. He held me through the worst moments of my life, stroking my hair like my mom used to when I was a little girl.

That memory brought a sharp ache to my throat. My chest tightened and the tears I’d been holding back for days—maybe weeks—started to slip free. I was an orphan. I know I’m a grown woman, but I feel like a lost little girl. Adrift without a paddle.

“I’m not okay,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’ve never been worse. I miss my dad so much it hurts. I feel like I owe him a hundred apologies—for not being here sooner, for not doing more. I wish I could tell him I loved him one last time, hold his hand, watch his favorite Christmas movies, lie to him and say the dinner he made was actually good…”

My voice broke completely. I swiped at my cheeks angrily. “Damn it, Kannon. I’ve been holding it together since I got home. Why did you have to make me fall apart?”

He reached across the table, his rough hand covering mine. “Because you needed to,” he said simply.

I wanted to pull away but his warmth grounded me. My anger faltered, leaving only the raw, aching truth of how much I missed my dad and how lost I felt without him. Kannon didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough.

“Crying and being sad doesn’t solve anything,” I said. I was angry. Mad at the world. Mad at my own weakness.

But as those thoughts rolled through my mind, Kannon squeezed my hand again. I could feel his strength. “It doesn’t solve anything, but it does let some of the pain out. It’s okay to not be okay, Merritt.”

I looked up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that it might be true. That I didn’t always need to be strong or hold it all together. Maybe I could just be sad and that would be enough for now.

Kannon let go of my hand and leaned back in his chair, giving me space yet staying close enough to remind me he was there. I took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to breathe through the wave of grief. It was the same thing I’d been doing for a week. I would be drinking coffee and minding my own business and a tidal wave of sadness would wash over me. It came out of nowhere. Sometimes it would be a smell that triggered a memory or I would see a young girl with her father. Good memories and not-so-good ones could make me cry.

I hated it, hated feeling out of control of my own emotions.

After a few seconds of silence, Kannon cracked a smile. “Come on. Play hooky for the rest of the day. You don’t need to sit around and think about this stuff.”

I blinked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“Skip work,” he said, his lips curving into a small, almost boyish smile. “You’ve been doing too much, carrying too much. Let it go for a few hours. Let me take you somewhere. You need to blow off some steam.”

I hesitated, torn between the mountain of responsibilities waiting for me and the temptation to run away with him. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to know,” he said, standing and holding out a hand. “Just trust me.”

That did it. With a deep breath, I closed my laptop and packed up my things. He collected his order and together we walked out of the cafe. I followed behind him in the rental car. We dropped lunch off with his crew—who all gave me knowing looks that I pointedly ignored. I left my laptop bag at the house before I climbed onto the back of his motorcycle, quickly fastening the helmet strap.

The engine roared to life. I clung to him instinctively as we sped away from the house. He exuded confidence as he guided the motorcycle along the winding road. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a flicker of freedom.

Kannon didn’t say much as we rode, but his presence was steady, solid. I rested my cheek against his back, letting myself feel safe, just for a little while. The weight of everything—the house, my dad, the expectations—lifted, replaced by the thrill of the ride and the comfort of being with someone who understood me in ways no one else could.

The landscape blurred by. The rush of air felt like it was sweeping the cobwebs from my soul. Kannon took us further out of the city and into the open countryside. I stopped thinking. I just allowed myself to be in the moment.