1. Addison

Iknew when I came back here that I was making a choice. I was choosing Daniel over everything. Over the life I’d live without him and where I’d live it — far away from here and these memories.

Men like him come with those kinds of complications.

Men like him are… There are many words I could use to describe him. The most fundamental statement, though, is so easily admitted and it’s the very reason I chose him.

Men like him need to be loved or the damage will consume them. More than anything. In this cruel world he’s cemented into, with a tragic past and ruthless tasks ahead, he needed to be loved. He still does…

My gaze lingers on what looks like carrots or sweet potatoes, some sort of orange mush in tiny little glass jars. The packs are stacked high on the shelf. The black and white silhouette of a smiling baby stares back at me and I have to push my cart forward, listening to the quiet squeaks of the turning wheels as I think about how I ended up here.

I was reckless, that’s how.

Grocery shopping with Daniel wasn’t one of the things I was considering when I returned to where I grew up. I was thinking of the drugs, the violence, his brothers, and how powerful they’ve become. It wasn’t like this back then. Not at all. It wasn’t this bad. Back then, I thought they’d grow out of it one day. At least that’s what I’d hoped. I didn’t think they’d eventually come to rule this merciless world.

It’s all surreal. Every day since I’ve been back has brought a fear and tension that’s seeping into my every waking moment.

He knows. That’s why I’m here.

Shopping for milk and orange juice feels like a sham. Like for a moment, I can maybe pretend this past week didn’t happen. As if the white noise from the man on the intercom can drown out the sounds of the last six months.

“Feel like you’re playing house, now?” Daniel quips as I stop and watch him settle a jar of salsa, two bags of tortillas, and a case of something else into the half-full cart. His tone is optimistic.

“I didn’t say ‘playing house,’” I correct him and note how cold it feels along with how dull my heart beats.

I wish I could fix my face right now; I wish I could smile and pretend like it’s all fine, like they all do, but it’s not and I’m finding it difficult to hide it from him. Especially after what just happened. I could deal with it; I was dealing with it. But things change. And the past month changed everything.

He doesn’t hide a damn thing from me anymore, so it’d be unfair to hide from him. But what’s left for him to see isn’t what I want to be there.

I’m still staring blankly at the case beneath the bags of chips when his muscular forearm cuts off my vision. His strong hand wraps over mine on the handle of the cart and his other grips my chin, lifting it up. I have to look away from his rolled-up sleeve and into his dark eyes. With his rough stubble in need of a shave, and his hair messy on top, he looks as rough as I feel. Rough looks damn sexy on Daniel Cross though. It always has; it’s who he’s meant to be.

“I know it’s been hard,” he says, and his voice is low and calm, his gaze soft and comforting.

“Hard?” I force a smile to my lips as the bottom one wobbles and he looks past me, dropping his grip on my chin. I’m quick to reach out and take his hand though. I just need to feel him. “I’m sorry,” I tell him quickly. That’s what I am: sorry, pathetic, weak. The list goes on. I knew what he had become. What they had become. And I still chose to come back. I did this. It was my fault. But a lie slips out instead. It’s easier to deal with it if I lie to myself the way he lies to me. “I didn’t know what I was coming back to and it’s been…”

“Hard,” he answers for me.

“Stressful,” I correct him and the tension grows tenfold between us. I look up to my right when I notice motionless figures and feel their eyes on us. My own are pricking, distraught from what’s happened and how much I’m losing.

I can hear the harsh swallow Daniel makes and I watch the cords in his neck tighten as he holds my hand in his. He lifts my hand to his lips and then kisses my knuckles. One by one.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers against my skin, and all the warmth from those words travels through me, calming me. Making me feel lighter, as if I believe him wholeheartedly.

It doesn’t change what happened.

Nothing can ever change what happened, but we have a choice about how we handle it. I’m starting to think I made the wrong one.

That’s why I hold his hand longer than he holds mine. That’s why I stand there watching him leave when he tells me he’s getting the rest of what’s on the list and says for me to just get the bread. I don’t miss the depth in his eyes, the distance that lingers. Every day, he’s farther away from me. He knows. He can feel it too. It’s like the slow unraveling of thick twine. It’s obvious and torturous to watch.

It wasn’t this way when we were just teenagers. It wasn’t like this at all.

The power he and his brothers now have comes with violence I’ve never seen before and a harshness that’s required to survive. Shopping for fucking groceries is his way of showing me it’s normal, it’s okay, that life is more than that brutal side of the Cross brothers and what they do.

I can’t look past the darkness though. It’s never going to feel “okay.” This sense of danger that lingers in my blood is always going to be there.

I have to find my place with it. That’s not something he can help me with. I have tried. I thought I was there. I was wrong.

It’s caused damage I can’t take back. That’s what hurts the most. I can’t take this last month back.

“You all right?” A deep baritone voice from behind me startles me. With a quick intake of breath and my hand reaching up to my rapidly beating heart, I turn around to see a man standing there. He’s older, maybe in his late forties. Kind eyes with gentle lines surrounding them meet mine.

It takes me a moment to realize when he arches his brow that he’s waiting for my response.

With a few blinks to bring my mind back to the present and a shake of my head, I tell him, “Fine, sorry.”

I push my cart forward thinking I’m blocking his path, but he doesn’t have a cart and he doesn’t seem to have any intention to move either. His boot-clad feet are firmly planted and my eyes move from them, up his dark-wash jeans and button-down white shirt to his questioning gaze.

“I’m fine.” My voice is stern and carries a harshness I don’t like to use with strangers when I repeat myself; this guy needs to stay the hell out of my business.

When he crosses his arms, I can tell he has some muscle to him. The cotton fabric tightens around his biceps, just as my hands do on the handle of the cart. There’s an air to him that changes, a knowingness about him that sends a chill down my spine.

It’s a look I recognize. It’s a look I don’t like. The type of look that makes me want to run.

“I don’t think you are fine,” he challenges and the bitterness of having this man judge me creeps into the snide response I’m ready to spit out at him. He continues, stopping my words and any breath I was daring to take. “I know he’s a murderer. I know he killed your foster father. And it looks like you’re having a difficult time dealing with things… just from my perspective, Miss Fawn.”

That prick that has crawled slowly down my spine flows over my body in a single wave, nearly buckling my knees. I can feel the color drain from my face. Slowly, just like the twine fraying and unraveling. I don’t know who this man is, but I know damn well I shouldn’t be talking to him.

I have to concentrate on keeping my breathing steady — in and out — and focus on not reacting.

Murderer.

My foster father.

Daniel didn’t kill him.

My eyes dart to the man and I try to hold his prying gaze.

My head wants to shake just slightly, it wants to deny what he’s saying, but it can’t. I can’t react. I can’t show him a damn thing.

Daniel didn’t murder him though. That happened years ago. Before I ever even thought of leaving this place, before everything else happened. I want to speak the words, the need to defend Daniel pushing the words toward the tip of my tongue.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek instead, screaming in my head to stay silent. But silence brings questions. Not just mine but also this man’s.

I’ve never questioned my foster father’s death. It was a burglary. That’s what the news said.

The Cross brothers are good at covering things up. I’ve heard and seen things though. Especially recently.

I know what Daniel’s capable of and what he’ll do out of anger. I know he loved me back then. What my foster father did… That’s the second reason I stay bitterly quiet, even as the questions choke me. I hate even thinking of that man. I was only a child and he was a predator. I’d rather spit on his gravestone than mention his name.

The third reason I keep biting the inside of my cheek until I taste a tinge of blood is the most important. The man who stands silent in front of me knows more than I do. I may be the sorry excuse for a woman Daniel’s chosen to be his wife, but I’m not stupid. I’m smart enough to know when to keep my mouth shut. So I do. I stand there, waiting to see if a threat comes.

Near silence reigns with only the steady hum of the coolers behind us as I stare back at him.

After a moment, his lips kick up into an asymmetric smile. “Did you not know?” he questions but doesn’t wait for a response. “Maybe you didn’t know then, but you know now.” His eyes narrow as he nods, persuading me to believe him.

“Who are you?” It’s the first question I imagine Daniel asking when I tell him what happened.

“Cody Walsh. Your boyfriend knows who I am.”

“Fiancé,” I correct him.

His forehead scrunches when he stares down at my hand, the one lacking a ring, and subconsciously, my thumb runs over my ring finger.

“Congratulations,” he comments. His demeanor has completely changed with every passing minute that he scrutinizes me, trying to determine where my place is in this world.

Truth be told, I have no idea what he’ll find; I’m still trying to figure that out myself.

“Addison Fawn … soon-to-be Addison Cross,” he says but doesn’t infuse any type of emotion into the statement. It’s only matter-of-fact. “Any relation to Bethany Fawn?”

Confusion travels over my face as I try to recall a Bethany of any sort.

“Oh, you don’t know that either? She’s the woman Jase, your fiancé’s brother, has been seeing.” Again, I don’t answer, and I try to keep from giving him any response in my expression. He only smirks as he walks past me, letting me know to tell Daniel he said hi.

“Will do,” I manage to bite out without an ounce of resentment as I accept his challenge.

I didn’t know Daniel’s brother was seeing anyone. I sure as hell don’t know a Bethany Fawn. Apparently, I don’t know a lot of things.

What I do know is already destroying me.