2015
Teagan
“Damn, that’s beautiful. Where did you find that?” The rosewood French Napoleon rolltop desk that Simon found was from the mid-1800s, I would guess, the leather inlay with nailheads in pristine condition.
“Some farmhouse in Concord. They were spring cleaning.”
“How much did you pay for it?”
“Three thousand.”
“You stole it.”
“I gave them their asking price.”
“Well, why not? We’ll get fifteen thousand for it easily.”
“You know it. Who’s the king of antiques?”
I bowed, like I did every time he made a great deal, which was fairly often. “You are, O mighty one.”
“I think you should take me to dinner.”
“Absolutely, anywhere you want to go.”
In the five years since we’d graduated, Simon and I had built a wonderful antique business located on Massachusetts Avenue in the Back Bay of Boston. For the past two years, we’d run firmly in the black. The store was set up like a home, with furniture arranged in clusters, and every part that made up those clusters—the rugs, the lighting, the knickknacks—was for sale. A large glass case where our ancient brass cash register sat was filled with vintage jewelry, some real, most high-end cosmetic pieces.
Simon and I had upgraded our apartment to a nice two-bedroom on Harrison Street in the South End, walking distance to the shop. It was a community and, though we didn’t socialize often with our neighbors, it was nice to know they were there if we wanted to. Life was good, maybe not where I had once hoped it would be, but I thought I had done really well at picking up the pieces.
The phone rang, pulling me from my reverie.
“Teagan.”
My heart dropped into my stomach, “Mrs. Marks, hi.” Bitterness burned through me because despite the fact that she and the others had tried countless times to reach out, they were still keeping a secret from me.
Silence for a beat or two. “Teagan, I need to talk with you. There’s something you need to know, and I’ve kept quiet about it for far too long.”
So she was finally willing to give up the secret. I couldn’t deny I was curious, especially since I knew it related to Kane, but so much time had past that it was really of no consequence any more and yet I found myself agreeing. “Okay.”
“Will you come home? What I have to say cannot be spoken over the phone. It’s very important.”
The idea of going home was not pleasant, but then again, neither was the tone of Mrs. Marks’s voice. “Is next weekend okay? We have a big sale going on this weekend.”
She signed audibly. “Yes, next weekend would be fine.”
“Is everything okay?”
“It will be, honey. I think it will be. Maybe you could bring Simon. I would really like to meet him.”
“I’ll ask him.”
“I won’t keep you. I’ll see you next weekend.” She hesitated before she added, “I love you, Teagan.”
My heart, the one I didn’t think could be reached, squeezed hard in my chest, but the words flowed easily out of my mouth, because they were true. “I love you too.”
Colin’s name flashing on my phone’s screen made me excited—the man knew his way around a woman’s form.
“Hey, stranger. You home?” I asked. Colin was a photographer for National Geographic, and was usually all over the world for work. We’d met through a mutual friend. When he was in town, we usually got together. It was fun, casual, and comfortable, because he didn’t want anything more from me than I wanted from him.
“Three days and then I’m off to Paris.” He paused for a moment. “As much as I want to see you, I want you naked and under me more. If I showed up on your door step, would you let me in?”
How I managed to answer without panting was beyond me. “Yeah. I’d welcome you in.”
“I’ll see you this afternoon. Oh, and Teagan?”
“Yeah?”
“Rest up, sugar, it’s going to be a long night,” he said before hanging up.
The urge to fan myself almost made me do so. Simon appeared with a pint of ice cream and a spoon. Dropping down next to me, he handed it over. “Colin?”
“Yep.” Shoving a huge spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, I handed it back to him.
“You getting lucky tonight?”
“Yep.” I was going to be getting lucky, quite a lot of lucky since Colin was a stallion. Just thinking about it was getting me hot.
“I guess I should make myself scarce.”
“You don’t have to. We’ll be quiet.”
“You shouldn’t need to be quiet.”
“Are you going to stay at Michael’s?”
“No, Michael and I called it quits.”
“What? When?”
“Two days ago. He was just too damn needy and jealous. He was even jealous of you.”
“I know. He never liked me. I always had the sense he thought I was going to turn you straight and steal you.”
“If anyone could, it would be you.”
“Well, now, I don’t want to kick you from the apartment.”
“I’ll go hang with Sunshine. Maybe I can get her to bake some brownies.”
I smiled every time I thought about our neighbor. She looked like a Sunshine: long blond hair that reached her ass, faded jeans, and tight T-shirts with her Birkenstock sandals. “If you do, I want one. No, two.”
“You got it. Have fun. Tell Colin I said hi.”
“Will do.”
Hours later, I was dressed in a simple black dress minus undergarments, since I didn’t have anything sexy clean. A knock at the door signaled Colin’s arrival. Pulling it open, I had only a second to enjoy his messy blond hair and green eyes before he stepped into me without a word and sealed his lips over mine. His hands moved to my hips, pulling me close. He was hard and ready, pressing into my stomach, and immediately the place between my legs swelled. His hands moved around my back to cradle my ass; he pulled his mouth from mine.
“You’re not wearing anything under this.”
“Surprise.”
In the next second, the front door had closed and I was pressed up against the wall with my dress around my hips and my legs around his waist. While Colin spread hot kisses down my neck, his hand moved to between my thighs to stroke me in just the right spot. I moaned.
“Front right pocket,” he whispered against my lips. My hands moved over him, lingering a moment on the hard bulge, before my fingers brushed against the condom wrapper.
“You come prepared.”
“I’ve been hard since our phone call.”
“That couldn’t have been very comfortable.” My fingers worked his button and zipper before slipping in and finding him—hard and velvety smooth. It was his turn to moan, and when I pulled him free and ran my hand up the length of him, squeezing as I went, he actually whimpered.
He pinned me to the wall as I ripped open the condom wrapper, and, with our eyes locked, I slowly covered him with it.
“This is going to be fast.” And I couldn’t have agreed more when I moved the head of his dick right where we both wanted it. With a shift of his hips, he buried himself deep inside of me. His body froze, his muscles tensed, and lust took over his expression. “So fucking tight.”
My legs pulled him even deeper. “Move, handsome.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He was hitting just the right spot with each thrust that, in only a manner of seconds, my body started tightening before my orgasm ripped through me. He pulled me closer, moving harder and faster, until his body jerked with his own release. Resting his head on my shoulder, he gave himself a minute before he said, “That was a good start, but we’re far from finished.”
By two in the afternoon the next day, I was still in bed. Colin had left earlier after spending nearly twenty-four hours with me as we worshiped each other’s bodies. Dear God, the mouth on that man should be bronzed. And yet, as crazy good as Colin was in the sack, he wasn’t the best I’d had.
We were kids and really had no idea what we were doing, and yet I had never experienced anything even close to as good as my first. Not that my bedroom had had a revolving door, but I couldn’t lie, I wanted to feel what I had felt with Kane, and knew I never would again, because none of them were Kane. It was a vicious circle. I suppose the difference was that I had loved Kane.
I tried not to think about him, but sometimes, like now when my mind was mellow, I couldn’t help it. Five years, that’s how long it had been since I’d last seen him. Remembering that night always caused a pain that was hard to breathe through. How he became the man he did, when he had been such a beautiful soul when he was younger, I didn’t know. I missed him, missed the boy who used to slip into my bed and hold me close, the boy who brought me chocolate milk and whipped cream every morning, the boy who knew when I needed a hug or to have my hand just held. I hated myself for that, that I could be so weak as to still hold a torch for him after everything he’d done. My therapist tried to explain it using technical terms, but I didn’t really care. It was what it was: My cross to bear.
Most of the time I was successful at pretending that he never existed, but sometimes, like now, memories of him seeped through. I didn’t feel emotion like I’d used to, like most people do, because my mind had shut it down. Remembering him was too much, too painful for me to handle. My therapist reasoned that Kane had become a surrogate family to me, that the pain I felt at his loss wasn’t just about him but about what he had come to represent. When our relationship died, it was symbolic of the grief I had felt after losing my parents. And the pain was staggering. Sometimes I feared what would happen to me if I let it in, if I really processed the pain I had so successfully banked. I’d probably go mad.
Life went on, and I came back to Boston and buried myself in the shop. Long hours, late nights, and weekends, focused on nothing but making at least one of my dreams come true. Simon was my anchor; without him I would have been unreachable. Our business was a success, our friendship was top rate, and if there was an emptiness in me that nothing could fill—not success, Simon, or even the men I distracted myself with—what was to be done? Life happened, sometimes it sucked, sometimes you had to start again, and maybe you headed in a direction you never saw coming. The trick was to make it work regardless. I had. But late at night, I cursed Kane for showing me that glimpse into perfect and then taking it away. I hated him as much as I loved him. My therapist was having the time of her life with that conundrum.
I sat in my living room the following night reading through the classifieds while eating one of the brownies Simon had brought home from our neighbor. Sunshine really did like her pot. I wondered if it was the pot that made her baked goods so moist.
Having never smoked pot, I found eating it baked in a brownie was awesome. Feeling mildly giddy since I had eaten two, I giggled as I read. I couldn’t believe there was an ad looking for a lady of the night. They used more subtle language, but the “assistant needs to be available in the evenings and open to trying new things” made it pretty damn clear. My eyes nearly popped out of my head at the salary: a grand a week. Sure, I’d probably have to work weekends, but I’d only have to work in the evenings and I could literally lie down on the job. I wondered what Simon would say if I told him I was considering changing careers from coowner of an antique store to prostitute.
“Are you eating all the brownies?” Simon asked, coming from the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Was I supposed to save you one?”
“It would have been nice.”
“Sorry. They’re just so good.”
He laughed, pressing a kiss on my head. “What are you looking at?”
“I was thinking about becoming a lady of the night.”
“What?”
“There’s actually an ad looking for one. Can you believe it? It pays a grand a week.”
“Shit, for a grand a week, I’ll become a lady of the night.”
I turned around more fully to look at him. “You’re not a lady.”
My cell rang and I let Simon get it—I so wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.
It was a very short conversation, and, when Simon disconnected the call, he walked over and sat down next to me on the sofa. “That was Mr. Clancy. Mrs. Marks has had a heart attack. She’s in critical condition.”
Suddenly I was sober. We were leaving in two days to visit and have the sit-down that she had seemed so adamant about. I jumped up from the sofa and ran to my room.
“I’ll drive and you get us a flight,” Simon called after me.
I poked my head from the room. “What about the shop?”
“I’ll tell the team there’s a change of plans—we’re leaving two days earlier. It’ll be fine.”
He was right, of course. We had wonderful employees.
“Get packed, I’ll call.”
“I love you, Simon.”
“Ditto, now go.”
Nearly twelve hours after the call from Mr. Clancy, Simon and I were driving a rental car through the town I had called home for so long.
“I’m scared, Simon. What if she doesn’t get better?”
“From what you’ve told me about her, she’s a fighter.” He reached for my hand, and my fingers tightened around his.
“I stayed away for so long, and now she could die and she’ll never know how much she means to me, how she saved me, how much I love her.”
Simon pulled the car onto the side of the road. He barely had it in park before he folded me into his arms. “She knows, Teagan. Family always knows.”
The tears fell. “I shouldn’t have stayed away.”
He pushed me back so his eyes could find mine. “Hindsight, Teagan. It’s very easy to fall into the ‘should have/would have’ game. Don’t do that to yourself. What would Mrs. Marks say?”
Wiping at my eyes, I tried to pull it together. “You’re right.”
“You were hurting, they all know just how much, they understand.”
He was right, and I didn’t need to say it again since he knew me well enough to know I knew. He asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. And thanks for coming with me.”
“There was never a question.”
Pressing a kiss to my head, he settled behind the wheel and pulled the car back onto the road. Before long he was making the turn down the long drive for Raven’s Peak. I waited for Simon to get his first view of it. As an adult, I appreciated the house in a way my younger self never had. It came into view, the Gothic Revival asymmetric house with its arched doorways and windows, the deeply pitched roof, gables, and decorative bargeboards. The soft yellow light that glowed from the glazed windows looked very much like candlelight and gave the illusion that we had stepped back in time.
“Babe, you did not do this place justice with your description of it. And your description was fabulous. This place is unreal.” After parking, Simon climbed out and stared his fill before his gaze sliced back to me.
“You okay?” he asked.
It was hard being back here, but worry over Mrs. Marks trumped every other thought. “Yeah.”
The door opened and Mr. Clancy appeared. Nostalgia filled me, and the tears that were still burning my eyes threatened to fall again. I had missed my family. Hurrying up the steps, I threw my arms around him just as a huge German shepherd came barreling out of the house.
“Who’s this?” Surprise hit me, since Mrs. Marks had always wanted a dog but feared one would destroy her house. Kane and I had always wanted a dog too. Excitement crept up on me.
“Zeus. He’s Kane’s.”
Ouch. A direct hit.
“It was good of you to come.”
Hunching down, I rubbed Zeus’s head. My worry for Mrs. Marks extended to Mr. Clancy, because he looked so tired and old. “How is she?” I asked.
“She’s moved up to stable condition.”
“Thank God. How are you?”
“Rattled, but better now that she is no longer critical. Come in, please. Before I show you to your rooms, I want to bring you to a visitor in the study.”
Before I could ask him who, he started down the hall, leaving Simon and me to follow him.
Walking through the house, I really saw it, maybe for the first time. As a child, I didn’t appreciate what I was seeing, and the last time I had been there, despite having studied art history at BU, feeling heartsore over Kane continued to keep me blind to the treasures surrounding me. The staircase—five large men could comfortably stand shoulder to shoulder on it. It was constructed entirely of polished mahogany with hand-carved balustrades and newels. As the stairs ascended, it split, curving away from the center to either side of the grand hall. The walls, too, were wood, a paneled wood with a warm patina that seemed to gleam in the light from the cut crystal chandelier that hung three stories above.
“I don’t think I ever appreciated just how beautiful this place is,” I said to Simon. “And it’s so organized. Where are all of Mrs. Marks’s knickknacks, Mr. Clancy?” Every room had had assortments of objects encroaching on the floor space, but instead of looking sloppy, it worked.
“She stored them away. She wanted a change,” he said and then added, “you’re seeing the house with a more practiced eye.” He pushed the door to the study open. The study was done completely in a dark burled wood, including the tray ceiling. Built-in bookcases lined the room, the floors were that same dark walnut, and since I’d lived there, several desks had been artistically arranged around the room so that multiple people could work there together. There was one man in a black suit feverishly writing, the sound of his pen scratching over the paper almost comical. He looked up from his work and stood.
Simon stepped into the room, took a turn, and then his focus zeroed in on me. “This is a fabulous room.”
“You’re not wrong,” I said.
“Miss Harper. I’m so happy there is good news for you,” said the man.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
He reached for my hand, squeezing it a little too tightly, and replied, “I’m Dimitri Falco, Mrs. Marks’s lawyer.”
Suddenly I felt dirty. He screamed ambulance chaser—the kind who ingratiated himself with his clients to get a piece of the pie and then waited eagerly for them to kick so he could claim it. The fact that he was at Raven’s Peak now stirred my temper, because he was likely doing just that. Mrs. Marks was fighting for her life, while he sat comfortably in her home waiting with bated breath. Mr. Sleazy was a more fitting name for him. He turned then to Simon, but he didn’t offer his hand, just gave him a passing glance as if he was of no importance.
Simon, being Simon, grabbed the man by the hand with both of his and shook vigorously.
“Nice to meet you.” And though it would appear Simon was being friendly, I’d bet money he was squeezing Falco’s hand just a bit too hard. If riled, Simon could be, in a word, intimidating.
And Mr. Sleazy was not immune. He took a step back, his demeanor clearly shaken. “I’m relieved to hear she is doing so well.”
“Why are you here?” I asked bluntly.
“Mrs. Marks recently made some changes to her will.”
“What changes?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Mr. Clancy cleared his throat from his spot just inside the door. “I’ll show you to your rooms now.”
“Why did you want us to meet him?” I asked as we started down the hall.
“I wanted your opinion, because something is not right with that guy.”
“He certainly seems slimy. How long has he been here?”
“A few days, and what he’s doing is a mystery. One wouldn’t think it would take days to make adjustments to a will.”
“You think he’s up to something?” I asked.
He turned. “Not sure, but he’s acting suspiciously.”
Interesting. “I’ll keep my eye on him while I’m here.”
Mr. Clancy moved the conversation on. “I was going to put you in your room, unless that’s too . . .”
He remembered the last time I’d visited—how I hadn’t been strong enough then to handle the memories. I was now. “I’d like to stay in my room.” Touching his arm I added, “But thank you.”
Contentment settled near my heart when I saw my old room again—the huge canopy bed that was covered in silk and dozens of pillows. After my studies, I now knew the makers of the furniture that filled my room, furniture I had thought belonged in a museum when I was younger—and I hadn’t been wrong about that. A Hepplewhite lady’s writing desk rested between the massive windows and a Chippendale dressing table was situated on the wall by the fireplace, which was already filled with an impressive blaze. The only change I had made was papering the walls in blue silk, the color of Kane’s eyes. I had begged Mrs. Marks to let me change it when I was fifteen. Didn’t have to beg too hard. Kane had loved it and, as often as he shared my room, I wanted him to like it. Of course, none of that mattered anymore.
“Breakfast is served starting at eight thirty a.m. in the kitchen, as you remember.”
“It’s nice that some things stay the same.”
The oddest look covered his expression in response. What was he thinking? He turned to Simon.
“Now, for you, Mr. Dale. Your room is this way.”
“Oh, I’m coming too,” I said and followed. Simon’s room was down the hall. It wasn’t, thankfully, Kane’s childhood room.
Done in a pale-gold damask swirl wallpaper, the room had William and Mary–style furniture—cherry, old, and exquisite. The bedding was navy-blue silk, and the walls were covered in landscapes done in oil colors.
“I could totally get used to this,” Simon said as he dropped onto the bed.
“Thank you, Mr. Clancy. We’ll be down later after I’ve given Simon the tour.”
“See you soon. Mrs. T is making one of her cakes especially for you.”
My heart hitched; Kane had loved her cakes. I hope he choked on them now. “Yum.”
As soon as the door closed, Simon rolled off the bed. Reaching for my hand, he pulled me out of the room. “Show me this place.”
The sensation that I was seeing the house for the first time lingered as I gave Simon the tour, my education putting a whole new light on the place I had called home for so long. The wall sconces in the large foyer carried the theme of the arch, with beveled glass carved and trimmed ornately in bronze. Their dim ambient light spotlighted the artwork on the wood-paneled walls. The pieces were mostly oil paintings of turbulent seas. Kane and I used to make up stories about the ships in the paintings: One was a foreign princess coming to the New World to marry, but her ship was lost at sea; another was a pirate ship that had just made an impressive haul after raiding ships from the East India Company. Now, looking at the paintings, I recognized the artists—Ivan Aivazovsky, Thomas Moran, Frank Vining Smith, and Thomas Birch—and could appreciate that Mrs. Marks had a very impressive collection. Down the hall from the entrance, the walls were sponged in a muted gold with plaster relief depicting birds on delicate tree branches. The exquisite detail perfectly represented how Mrs. Marks thought of her home. Hopefully she would see it again.
Moving down the hall, we entered the library. As a child, this room had been my favorite, because this was where Kane and I often escaped to. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the perimeter on three sides, the huge stone fireplace taking up most of the fourth wall. The small sofa in the corner was the same one that Kane and I had slept on the first night I’d arrived, and in truth many, many nights after, and still it screamed for occupants to curl up with a book and get lost for a while.
“Amazing. I understand now why you have a love of all things old. This place is incredible. How long has this been in her family?”
“Five generations. Apparently her ancestor had done quite well for himself in the shipping business during the Gilded Age right along with Vanderbilt. He had the house built in the late 1800s.”
I answered him almost absently, because his comment about this house and my love of all things old was not one I had ever really thought about. He was right, though. This house, and my life here, had directly affected what I wanted to do and be when I grew up. “I guess I never realized how big an influence the house had on me.”
“More than the house, babe, but it definitely played a role.”
We toured the entire house, taking far longer than I thought we would, because Simon wanted to see everything—the wallpaper, the woodworking, the paintings, and furniture. We spent almost two hours in the library trying to guess how many books were shelved there. And remembering Kane admitting to doing the same when we were younger sent pain slicing through me. We ended the tour at the cliff. Simon looked down at the crashing surf, and I noticed the shiver that went through him.
“Interesting, see the way the rocks create a sort of wading pool? Would make for a nice place to swim. You ever swim there?”
That had been Kane’s and my favorite place. “Yeah, when I was younger.”
“With Kane.”
“Yes.”
His focus moved beyond us to the water that stretched out before us. “What a view.”
I wasn’t looking at the view, only at the little island where a house stood. It was concealed mostly by trees, but I knew it was there. Did Kane and his wife still live there? Did he have children now, had he then? The thought of seeing little Kanes walking around almost made me step off the edge. God, I needed to make sure Mrs. Marks was okay, and then I had to get back to what was safe and away from Kane Doyle.
“Let’s eat, I’m starved.” I really wasn’t, but I couldn’t look another second at Kane’s love shack.
We stepped into the large kitchen, the scents making my mouth water, just as two heads turned in our direction.
“Teagan!” I had never seen Mrs. T move so fast to pull me in for a hug. “We are so glad you’re home. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
My heart moved into my throat. I loved Mrs. T, but I couldn’t deny there was a part of me that was bitter that her grandniece was married to Kane, living in my house, living my dream. I suspected she felt that same awkwardness. When she studied me, so many emotions flew across her expression, but they were gone so quickly that I was having a hard time distinguishing them. “We’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you.” And, despite my bitterness, I really had.
She stepped back but kept her hands on my arms. “You have grown into a beautiful woman.”
My cheeks burned.
Reaching for Simon’s hand, I drew him closer. “This is Simon Dale, my close friend and business partner.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Mrs. T said, and I noticed she stood just a little bit taller.
Simon took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. She almost swooned. “The pleasure is mine.”
What a ham.
“Are you hungry?” Mrs. T asked while walking back to the stove to check on what she was cooking, which smelled divine.
“You will never eat as well as you will while you’re here. This woman, we should steal her and bring her home with us.”
“Really? Well, I do love to eat. Seems like a match made in heaven,” Simon purred.
Mrs. T was actually blushing—I couldn’t believe it.
A half an hour later we were sitting at the large kitchen island eating rosemary encrusted lamb, roasted potatoes, and freshly picked string beans. Mr. Clancy had even selected a lovely Cabernet from the wine cellar.
“We missed seeing your smiling face. It’s so nice to have you home. It just hasn’t been the same without you,” Mrs. T said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come home earlier. I should have. I shouldn’t have turned my back on all of you, because you’re my family. That was wrong of me.” Truth was, with Mrs. Marks in the hospital, it kind of put everything in perspective. Despite my feelings for Kane, these people were my family and they deserved better from me.
“Don’t. Teagan, what you went through, how Kane behaved, we get it. He hurt you. That’s on him regardless of why.”
“What do you mean regardless of why?” As if there could be a reasonable explanation for why he’d hurt me.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say more, but she didn’t. Instead she turned her attention to Simon. “So tell me, Simon, how did you meet our Teagan?”
“It was a chocolate chip cookie, we both wanted it, and it was the last one.”
“Who got it?” Mrs. T asked.
“I did, but I shared it with her.” Simon winked at me, his hand finding mine under the table.
Later, Mr. Clancy stopped me from leaving the kitchen with a light touch on my arm. Simon, sensing we needed a moment, continued out of the kitchen to give us some privacy.
“You asked me once why we didn’t come with you to settle you in at school but went with Kane. There’s more to the story, Teagan. You didn’t hear it all. I must encourage you to seek that boy out while you are here and listen to what he has to say, and then you’ll understand why we all acted as we did.”
“What could he possibly have to say?”
“Please, Teagan. It’s his story to tell, but you really need to hear it.”
That night, Simon and I sat in my room. “I want to go pound the life out of him. Teagan, give me this. I kept my mouth shut for nine years, but fucking shit, I’m done with this asshole now.”
Simon and I were in my room, several bottles of wine later. We were both drunk. I didn’t want to feel—feelings sucked. I didn’t know what Kane could possibly have to say to me, but realizing I wouldn’t be leaving here without seeing him, alcohol was awesome.
“I watched you that first year, a shell of a person, a ghost walking among the living. You pulled yourself out of that, but not by much. He did that to you because he wanted a clean fucking break. I’ll give him a clean break when I snap the motherfucker’s neck. And now he has something to tell you. Really? I want to be there, so he can astound me with whatever the hell he has to say to you after all this time.”
Bending forward, I pressed my forehead into his chest. “God, it hurts. I’ve done so well at denying this, but being here, even five years later, I can’t believe how much it hurts.”
“Asshole.”
“I’m glad you’re here. It will all be a little bit easier with you here.” Exhaustion, probably from the nerves that were going crazy in my stomach—fucking feelings, damn them—slammed into me. “I’m tired. Stay here tonight?”
“I wasn’t going anywhere.” Climbing under the covers, Simon pulled me close. “Sleep. We’ll kill Kane tomorrow.”
“Painfully.”
“Very painfully.” He looked down at me. “You can’t avoid him. You are going to have to listen to what he has to say.”
“I know.”
“And after, I’ll kill him. Beheading has a nice ring to it.”
“Guillotine style or with a large broadsword?”
“Sword, but I don’t want to use one of the good ones from our shop. Maybe an old rusty one.”
“We could always cut him in several places and drop his body in the water for the fish.”
“And let them eat the evidence. Now you’re thinking. Love you, Teagan.”
The memory of Kane saying those same words to me, especially being back in my old room, stabbed me in my already aching heart, but I forced the words from my throat. “Love you too.”
I tried to sleep but I couldn’t. Being careful not to wake Simon, I climbed from bed and pulled on my robe. Stepping into my slippers, I headed to the kitchen. Mrs. T had flashlights in a drawer by the back door. Grabbing one, I started outside. With as many times as I’d made this walk, I could probably do it with my eyes closed. Reaching the edge, I noticed a fence had been added, a simple split rail that sat about twenty feet in from the edge. I wondered why it was there, not that it took away from the view, but it seemed unnecessary to me. Taking the path, I noticed another addition, a railing had been installed—wood with square rungs. It was safer, definitely, but again it seemed unnecessary.
Settling on the sand, I switched off the flashlight and looked out at Kane’s island. A light was burning, probably his bedroom. Being home, all the memories I had tried so hard to forget were right there, so vivid it was as if they had happened just yesterday and not all those years ago. Was he awake? Was his wife? Were they even now making love? Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to remember how it felt when he touched me, the taste of him, the way our bodies so perfectly fit together, how it felt when he slid into me. I had fooled myself believing I would ever be free of him. He had been there for too many of the moments that forged the person I became. And deep down, despite everything, I loved him—deeply and completely. He was the reason why every man since only ever touched my body; my heart wasn’t mine to give and hadn’t been for a very long time.
And even loving him, I hated him. Hated that he walked away from something so precious and rare. Not just walked away—never looked back. In the years that came, I wasn’t sure how all of this would work. Mrs. Marks was sick and when—because I wouldn’t think if—she recovered, how many more years did she have? I didn’t want to miss any more special moments, but thinking about holidays and birthdays, of seeing Kane living the life I had so much wanted to share with him, made me ill, so how the hell would I ever live through it? Seeing the smiling faces of his children, the look of love he’d give his wife, knowing that once upon a time that look had been solely for me. For Mrs. Marks I would do it, I would suck it up and watch the family dynamic as an outsider again, but I knew I’d die a little bit every time I was forced to. Resting my chin on my knees, my focus stayed fixed on that light, and like a star I wished on it: wished it was me with him, not her, living our dream.