CHAPTER TWO

---

- THEN -

Five years ago

I WIPED MY HANDS on a dish towel, and hurried to the front door as the doorbell rang. Ducking quickly into the bathroom on my way, I glanced at the mirror.

My lip-gloss was still in place, my hair smooth, and the mascara I’d coated on my eyelashes emphasized my green eyes. Not that he would even notice. Or care. I was an excited ball of energy, and had been for hours now – ever since Dad had mentioned that we’d have an extra guest for dinner.

Exiting the bathroom, I opened the front door, feeling a little breathless. And there he stood in all his glory.

Kellan Reed.

I hadn't seen him since I was twelve. Nana had passed, and Dad had finally been able to put some money towards hiring someone to take care of me after school. To say that I’d been devastated would have been an understatement. I’d become accustomed to seeing Kellan every week.

My ballet classes had never resumed, so I’d spent a lot of days waiting outside of Dad’s classroom after school. I’d always kept an eye out for Kellan – who was in detention more often than not. I’d see him most days as he was leaving the building. Sometimes he'd stop and talk to me, and it would make my entire day. 

I'd always seemed to amuse him – like a little puppy doing tricks. Me? I'd looked at him with stars in my eyes.

Two years had passed, and I'd all but forgotten about Kellan. I’d certainly never expected to see him again. Dad had quit his job at the school several months ago, and Kellan had graduated. Then Dad had run into Kellan randomly at the local park today, and had ended up inviting him to dinner.

I’d thought that my little crush had long since faded, so I was surprised by the nervous excitement that had filled me at hearing Dad’s news.

The flutter in my stomach, as I saw him for the first time in years, was also unexpected. He was hotter than I remembered. Older. Taller. His shoulders broader. He’d filled out in the years since I’d seen him last, and it suited him well.

His eyebrow piercing was gone, but his eyes were still that piercing grey. The dimple in his left check was something I’d never appreciated before, but it was sexy as hell now.

"Wow, ballerina. You've sure grown up," he said, his eyes wide as he took me in. He wasn't checking me out – unfortunately – it was just a quick, disbelieving glance that expressed his surprise. Not at all admiring, or even appreciative. Damn.

But really what had I expected? He was... what? Eighteen? I was fourteen years old. Just a kid to him.

"Well, it has been a few years," I said, feeling oddly bashful. I stepped aside to let him in, trying to dispel the small burst of pleasure that had gone through me when I heard the old nickname. Ballerina. He’d remembered. "You look..." I trailed off, not really knowing what to say. Hot?

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little self-conscious. "A little rough around the edges? Haven't exactly been staying at the Hilton these past few months. It's taken a toll."

"I was going to say that you look good, actually," I told him, wondering where he'd been staying. Now that I took a closer look, I could see that his clothes looked a little worn, and that there were deep circles under his eyes. He was still hot, just a little tired looking. If he’d been twenty years older, Mom would have said he was ruggedly handsome.

He looked ridiculously uncomfortable right now as he stood in our hallway, glancing around the house. I imagined that this probably wasn't his scene. He had bad boy written all over him, which made me wonder why he'd even accepted Dad's invite.

I led the way back to the kitchen, sneaking a glance at him over my shoulder. How was it even possible for someone to be so good looking?

Mom was putting some potatoes into the oven when we entered. She looked up and straightened with a welcoming smile.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. My husband’s told me a lot about you." She stepped forward, shaking Kellan's hand.

"It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Mansten," he said, looking bashful. Mrs. Mansten?

He seemed so different from the cocky, careless boy of my memories. He’d walked around with a massive chip on his shoulder back then. He seemed more cautious now. Polite. Or at least he was behaving that way for the time being.

"Please call me Louise, Kellan," Mom told him, nudging me a little. "Why don't you go find your father, sweetheart, and let him know that our guest is here?"

"Okay." I left the kitchen reluctantly, still in a state of disbelief that Kellan was in our house. In our kitchen.

I found Dad in his study, looking pensively through a folder. He snapped it shut when I walked into the room, looking at me inquisitively.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

"Kellan's here," I told him, eager to get back to the kitchen.

He looked pleased. "Lead the way," he said. Putting the folder away, he followed me out of the room.

A strange sight greeted us as we entered the kitchen... Mom had put Kellan to work. He'd pushed back the sleeves of his black shirt and had tied an apron around his waist. He chopped vegetables on the chopping board in front of him, his shirt straining against his broad shoulders as he wielded the knife.

Mom stirred a pot on the stove, chatting to him amiably. It always made me pause; seeing her like this. She'd been sick for so long that it was amazing to see her looking so radiant. She’d had surgery several months ago, and it had done wonders for her. Her hair – the exact same blonde color as mine – had grown to her shoulders for the first time in years. She had a nice blush on her cheeks. A light in her eyes. She looked beautiful, radiant, and above all, she looked healthy.

Clearly Dad thought so, too. He walked up behind her, and put an arm around her waist. "I'm glad you made it," he said, smiling at Kellan. I realized then that he hadn't actually expected Kellan to come. How odd.

It was another twenty minutes before everything was fully prepared, and we made our way over to the dining table. We never really ate at the table – hadn’t done so for years. First, Mom had been sick and in and out of hospital. Now, she was well, but Dad had quit teaching and his bounty hunting hours were long and unpredictable. Family dinners were few and far between, but very much cherished.

The conversation through the first half of dinner was light and pleasant. I watched Kellan relax more and more as the dinner went on, the tenseness in his shoulders, and the weary look in his eyes, fading. Until the conversation turned to Kellan.

"So, how've you been, Kellan? It's been a while since graduation," Dad said, taking a sip of his wine.

"Good. I can't complain." Kellan shrugged, reaching for his own drink. His words were nonchalant, but I could see his guard go up.

"Oh, are you working?" Mom asked, distracted. She put more vegetables onto my plate, and I made a face at her. I hated vegetables, but knew I’d be facing a losing battle if I protested. Kellan watched the exchange with intrigue.

"No. I'm currently... between jobs at the moment." He looked highly uncomfortable and maybe a little embarrassed. "I mean, I'm currently between living accommodations too. I have no address, which makes filling out job applications a little difficult," he said, a hint of defensiveness entering his voice.

Judging by Dad's expression, he wasn’t surprised to hear any of this.

Mom, on the other hand, looked really concerned. "Where are you staying, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Here and there,” he said vaguely.

“Somewhere in town?” Mom persisted, even though it was obvious he wanted to change the subject. I could tell her maternal instincts were in high gear.

After some further prodding from both Mom and Dad, Kellan finally put his knife and fork down with a clank, giving up any pretence of eating. "I've been staying at these shelters, okay?" he said, not really meeting anyone’s eyes. Then something in him shifted and he raised his chin, looking all of us in the eye. "Sometimes they don't always have space... and I end up sleeping wherever I can." He looked at Dad. "I should've known that you didn't buy my story about the picnic."

I realized with a jolt that he'd been sleeping in the park, and my hand flew to my mouth in horror. I couldn't even imagine it… having nowhere to live. How did someone end up in that kind of situation?

I recalled that Kellan had been in the foster care system, but honestly didn’t know too much about his circumstances. Maybe that was why Dad had taken such an interest in Kellan – it sure seemed as though Kellan had fallen through the cracks. Maybe Kellan even reminded Dad a little of himself. He, too, had grown up in foster care.

Mom and Dad looked at each other, an unspoken message seeming to pass between them. It wasn’t until dinner was over, and Dad invited Kellan to spend the night – with not a hint of surprise from Mom – that I realized what they’d communicated.

Kellan didn’t even hesitate to flat-out refuse the offer. I could hear him arguing with Dad in the hallway while I helped Mom with the dishes in the kitchen. Their voices were muffled, but I could tell Dad's voice was measured and calm while Kellan's remained heated. I heard the word 'charity' flung into the conversation and shook my head, not understanding Kellan at all.

Who in their right mind would rather stay in a shelter than here?

Despite Mom and Dad’s best efforts, Kellan left that night.

But they didn’t give up on him.

Both Mom and Dad remained persistent over the following weeks, and he ended up coming over for dinner a few more times. Though he never stayed. There was always an invitation to stay at the end of the night, followed by rationalizations, bargaining, and even pleas from Mom. I'd also thrown in my two cents over what an idiot I thought he was.

Finally, three weeks later, he’d relented.

He may have done it reluctantly, and even a little resentfully, but he’d still given in. He ended up staying with us for several months. Dad got to know him really well, and Mom positively doted on him.

It was like he became another member of our family.