The moment we're born we're already dying.

The proverbial clock is ticking away...counting down the seconds until our last.

Yet, our human instinct is to try and stop the inevitable.

We're so scared of death we spend a good portion of our lives trying to prevent it. As though the grim reaper himself was lurking around the corner...ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

From an early age, parents inform their children of all the bad things that could happen. All the ways they could die.

Don't cross the street without looking both ways—you could get hit by a car. Don't go swimming by yourself—you could drown. Don't talk to strangers—they could murder you.

Parents warn their children of all those things, but assure them the monsters under their beds aren't real and there’s nothing to be afraid of.

No one ever tells children the truth.

The monster is real.

The monster could kill you.

And sometimes...they're the monster you should be afraid of.

Because some things are far worse than death.

Things like—the sheer terror that snatches you by the throat when you’re immobilized by a force much stronger than you and you realize there’s no escape.

The surge of helplessness that seeps into your psyche as someone painstakingly strips you of every ounce of your control piece by piece.

Or the overwhelming agony that follows when you finally succumb to the monster and beg and plead for him to stop…but he doesn’t.

Because you’re at his mercy, and he wants you to feel weak and powerless.

And you do.

Until finally…you don’t feel anything anymore.

You’re just a vacant cadaver. Lying face down on a bloody carpet until every drop of humanity is siphoned out of you.

I was seven years old when I found out the same man who laughed and told me the monster under my bed wasn't real...was the monster I should have been afraid of all along.

And every day since then has been spent wishing the bastard finished the job and killed me. Put me out of my fucking misery.

The only time I don’t feel like that is when I’m gambling. When I’m riding the high, calling the shots, and manipulating fate—I get some of my control back.

It enables me to have a few moments that aren’t weighed down by my past and all the things I want to forget.

Or the things I’ll never have.

Like the girl in my arms.  

“Hey.” Her pretty face is filled with so much concern when she looks at me it chips away at the block of ice in my rib cage. “You’re back.”

She makes it sound like I just returned from the store instead of the few hours I spent trapped inside my mind—reliving the most vile, unspeakable acts.

I can see the questions burning behind those hazel eyes, but she doesn’t start pummeling me with them like I thought she would. Instead, she throws her arms around me again, as if she didn’t just spend the last three hours doing exactly that. “I missed you.”

Fuck—this girl. She has a way of coiling herself around the dead thing inside my chest and jump-starting it back to life.  

Kit not only gives me glimpses of the person I was supposed to be…the man the boy could have been. She accepts the fucked-up remnants of what’s left behind.

She makes me feel less alone...a little more human.

Even still, Kit’s not a cure and she can’t fix me…she's merely life-support for my cadaver.

She’s my favorite illusion.

Despite my resistance, I’m hugging her back. “Does that mean I’m in danger of being handcuffed to your bed again?”

“No.” She squeezes me tighter. “I’m sorry. I never should have done that in the first place.”

A sharp pain infiltrates my skull and I close my eyes.

Being physically restrained and forced to do something I don’t want to—like interact with my shitbag brother—was pretty much my version of hell.

If I had any doubt about him turning out like our father and any hope I could move past this…I don’t anymore. And if I never see him again, it will be too soon. He can take his money, fame, and his threats and choke on them.

The faster I get my ass back to Vegas, the better it is for everyone.

Despite being a loose cannon, Campanelli’s fairly easy to manipulate and I know with the right words I’ll get my job back.

I let go of her and get off the bed. “Do you have a computer?”

I only have fifty bucks to my name, but I can use my frequent flier miles to book a flight back home.

After I make two pit stops first.  

“Yeah.” She scoots to the edge of the bed and I try not to focus on the way her shorts ride up her thighs. “Is a laptop okay?”

“Perfect.” I search around for my clothes but come up empty. “Have you seen my suit?”

She raises a brow. “In the laundry room. I haven’t gotten around to having it dry cleaned yet though.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

I amble toward the door, but she tugs my arm.

“Hold on. Why are you acting like you just woke up after a one-night stand with a taxidermist and can’t get out of her house quick enough?”

To say she’s piqued my attention is an understatement. “That’s quite the picture you’re painting.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I was nineteen. She was older, cute…a bit odd. Long story short, I got drunk and we went back to her place for the night. I woke up in a room full of stuffed cats and birds and hightailed it the heck out of there. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find my clothes, so I had no choice but to grab the bearskin rug we had sex on and hide behind a large oak tree until Breslin picked me up.”

I open my mouth, but words strike me silent. I’m not sure there’s anything one can say after hearing that.

She waves a hand. “Yeah, I know. But enough about me, why does it sound like you’re leaving?”

“Because I am leaving.”

I start to walk away again, but she runs in front of me. “Wait, hold your horses, cowboy.”

I brush past her. “Unlike your taxidermist, I have no horses. I do, however, have some things to take care of and hopefully; a plane to catch in the next forty-eight hours.”

“Plane to catch where? Campanelli said he’d kill you if he sees you in Vegas again.”

I look around for the laundry room. “Let me worry about Campanelli.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

When I don’t answer, she huffs out a breath. “Not only are we married, which automatically puts me on his radar…but my nanna shelled out thirteen million dollars to save your ass.”

“To save your ass,” I correct her. “Which she wouldn’t have had to do if you stayed inside.”

“You were in trouble.”

Christ almighty, she’s like the little lamb who follows Mary to school. Or in this case, follows me around. But, I’m no Mary, and if she keeps shadowing me, it’s only a matter of time before she ends up on the chopping block.

Just the thought of someone hurting her has my blood boiling.

I rub the throbbing spot on my head where a migraine is starting to form. “Look, I signed up for a quickie wedding and an even quicker trip to meet your nanna. Not a lifetime of being forced to talk to your friends or nagged about my whereabouts.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tack no sex to the end of that sentence, but I’d like to leave with my scrotum in one piece.

I breathe easy when I manage to locate my suit in the laundry room. I was hoping to make a getaway without any arguments or hard feelings. Then again, I suppose I kind of fucked that up with all the bullshit that happened earlier with my brother.

All the more reason to get a move on. If I leave now she won’t hate me like she did the last time I left.

Though it might be better if she does.

“You hugged me back.”

She’s lost me. “What?” I yank on my pants. “Hate to burst your bubble, but we’re not five. A hug doesn’t mean we’re lifelong friends or soulmates.”

I’m being a dick, but it’s the only way to cut the cord.

“I meant before…when you were going through…you know. You hugged me back. I know it’s scary to admit, but maybe you need someone—”

I spin around so fast she has no choice but to back up a few steps. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t need anyone.”

Anger races over my skin and it takes everything in me not to lose it. I don’t want to talk, let alone think about what happened before. Not now. Not ever. “You’re the one acting like a stage-five clinger who can’t take a hint. Not me.” And because I want to make sure she stops poking the beast I add, “No wonder your relationships never work out. You’re too goddamn needy.”

I regret the words the second I see the crushed look on her face. It’s as if I took the wind right out of her sails and threw her overboard.

“Does it feel good?” When I give her a look she says, “To cut people down to size and push them away whenever they get too close?”

Usually. Not with her, though.

She rubs her arms like she physically needs to warm herself up from the cold shoulder I’m giving her. “I wasn’t trying to make you talk about what happened earlier. I just wanted you to know you have a friend who cares and doesn’t want to see anything bad happen to you. A friend who’s here whenever you want to talk…or don’t want to talk.”

For the very first time, I tell her an outright lie. “I’m not going to Vegas.”

Maybe that will pacify her enough to let me leave without telling me crap that makes me want to stay.

Maybe if I treat her like every other girl who’s tried to implant themselves into my life…I can trick myself into believing she’s no different than they are.

Her brows knit together. “You’re not? Where else would you—” Her eyes widen and recognition crosses over her face. “Right.”

I’m not sure what’s going on in her head, but I know Kit’s not the type to try and manipulate me into telling her whatever she wants to know by pretending she already knows.

Kit places all her cards on the table for everyone to see. It’s a quality I admire and loathe.

Although with the way she’s glaring at me like she wants to toss me right out of her apartment, maybe it’s best I seize the opportunity. “Right. Take care.”

Evidently that was the wrong move because she turns on her heel and flips me the bird. “Have fun with your whore.”

I have no idea what’s she’s talking about. Or rather, who she’s specifically referring to. “Which one?”

I narrowly dodge the bottle of cream she launches at my head. “Thank goodness I didn’t have sex with you last night. God only knows what you could have given me from the little friend you visit whenever you’re” —she makes air quotes— “in town.”

Record skip. Two important things occur to me at that moment.

One—does this mean she was seriously considering having sex with me?

And two—my little friend in town? That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t have any…

“My little friend in town?” I repeat slowly, trying to process what’s going on.

Irritation flickers in her eyes. “Yeah. I spoke to her this morning while you were sleeping in my bed.”

I blink, still not understanding. “Spoke to her this morning?”

Guilt colors her face. “I went through your phone.”

I no longer have any doubt as to whether my heart works because it stops cold. “Kit, please, give me—”

“It’s in your suit pocket.” She crosses her arms. “And I know, I shouldn’t have. I just wanted to make sure you were telling the truth about not talking to any bookies.”

“I’m not mad.”

That’s another lie. I’m so mad I want to destroy everything in her apartment, light it on fire, and then piss all over it. I have one thing in this world besides gambling that prevents me from putting a bullet in my head… and she just took it from me.

I step closer, preparing to fence her in so she can’t escape. “I need to know exactly what you said to her.”

The look on my face must convey the rage I’m feeling because she turns pale. “I didn’t say anything.”

A black haze clogs my vision and I get so close to her face I can smell those fucking tapas she ate on her breath. “Don’t lie to me. You just said you spoke to her.” The thread I’m barely hanging on to is unraveling. I need to get out of here before I do something I can’t take back. Something I’ll never forgive myself for. “What the fuck did you say?”

“I didn’t talk to her,” Kit screeches. “She picked up the phone before I could get a word in and said since you were in town, you were welcome to spend the night at her place again. Even with her accent, her flirty undertone was undeniable, she obviously thought it was you. I felt stupid so I disconnected the call.”

Accent? Flirty undertone? None of that sounds right. Neither does inviting me to spend the night at her place.

Unless…

Relief slams into me so hard I nearly rock back on my feet. If what she’s saying is true, I just dodged the mother of all bullets.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Her face screws up. “Actually, there was one more thing.”

“What?”

White hot pain steals my breath when her bony knuckles sail into my already bruised ribs.

But it’s nothing compared to the pain I feel when she locks herself in the bathroom and I hear her cry.

I did this. I hurt the only person who’s never demanded anything more of me than I was capable of. The only person who’s taken my side over my brother’s. The only person who’s never treated me like a fuck-up.

I hurt the only true friend I’ve ever had. The one I never deserved.

If I was a good person, I’d leave like I desperately wanted to ten minutes ago.

If I was a good person, I wouldn’t be making my way toward the bathroom.

But I’m not.

I’m a liar. A thief. And I’m selfish.

Because for once, instead of leaving after I’ve destroyed something…I want to try and repair the damage first.

Because the thought of Kit hating me before I let her go again hurts me more than I care to admit.

Because I made a vow to cherish her until the day I die. And even though the wedding was utter bullshit…that part was real.

I don’t bother knocking before I enter.

When I find her on the floor of the shower; hugging her knees to her chest, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane—I want to take a sledgehammer to my cranium.

Unable to resist, I turn the shower off, drape an oversized towel around her, and pick up the mess I made.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve heard that from you before.”

The dull ache in my chest is back with a vengeance. “Yeah, but this time I mean it.”

I feel it.

“You should leave,” she chokes out as I start walking us to her bedroom. “Go hang out with your girlfriend. The one who makes you so happy.”

I have no idea how she’s getting all this from a phone call in which she didn’t even speak to anyone. “I—”

“You must really love her,” she whispers. “I’ve never seen you so furious before…not with me.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “You could have told me about her, Preston. You could have told me you were in love and didn’t want me interfering.” Her tears come faster now. “You could have told me you chose her instead of me. You didn’t have to hurt me like you did. You didn’t have to save me and then leave me like they did.”

Oh, fuck. It’s not so much her words that punch me in the heart. It’s the broken look in her eyes.

She’s not looking at me like Kit—my quirky, lovable, angry girl I’d do anything for. Right now, she’s looking at me like Kit—the little girl who lost everything.

She’s looking at me like I’m another thing she’s going to have to grieve and mourn.

The realization that I have another tough decision to make punches me in the heart.

Lying to her would be the easy choice. The most humane.

But Kit deserves honesty. She deserves someone who will think about what’s best for her.

I sit down on the bed, but I don’t let her go. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you want her to be, right?” She sits up on my lap, adjusting the towel around her petite form. “That’s why you were so irate. You didn’t want her to find out about me—”

“No.” I swallow, and it feels like nails going down. “I’d have one hell of an Oedipus complex if that was the case.”

“I don’t—”

“She’s my mother.” I take a breath, inhaling that addicting scent of hers instead of the shame that’s swirling around me like a fog. “But you’re right, I’d rather her not know about you. I don’t need her hounding my rich wife with a heart of gold for money.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know, probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me you went through my phone.”

“I meant to, but Breslin and your brother showed up and everything…I was going to tell you.” Her nose wrinkles. “It was wrong of me to do it.”

I tip her chin. “Why did you?”

“I told myself it was because I wanted to make sure you were safe…but I think my curiosity got the best of me and I just wanted to know more about you.”

I brush the damp tears from her face. “You know more about me than anyone else, Kit.”

“I thought so, too, but…” Her voice trails off and she gives her head a shake.

“But what?” I urge.

On some level, I register it’s probably not fair to demand she tell me given everything I’ve kept from her, but I don’t care. Our relationship has never been symmetrical. Kit gives…and I take.

Because naturally, we both know I have nothing good to contribute.

Her hand goes to her necklace. “I don’t care about your stupid booty calls…but this…I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is she felt like a threat to us…our connection. I didn’t like it.”

Ignoring the sick feeling snaking up my spine, I kiss the top of her head. “And here I thought you were crying because I was an asshole, not jealousy.”

She scowls, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to throw her on the bed and kiss it off her lips…and then do something to put it right back again.

“I wasn’t jealous. Jealousy implies I want something someone else has.” She fiddles with the poker chip. “But I already have it.” Her gaze sharpens. “You can stick your pecker in whoever you want. It doesn’t bother me. Just don’t give someone else the part of you that’s already mine.”

If this wasn’t such a serious moment, I’d tease her about the little green-eyed monster poking out and marking her territory. However, I need her to know that no one will ever take her place or the part of me that belongs to her.

My arms find her waist, tugging her closer. “That will never happen. It’s me and you, angry girl. Until the end.”

She wraps her arms around my neck. “Does this mean you’ll stay?”

I start to answer, but she places her finger over my lips. “Before you say no, hear me out. If your mom is bad news, you shouldn’t be around her.” She grabs my cheeks. “We don’t have to talk about you zoning out before, your brother, or the fight we had, okay? We don’t have to talk at all…just stay.”

I don’t have it in me to deny her right now. “Just for the night.”

“We’ll take it day by day,” she counters as if she’s already prepared tomorrow’s negotiations as well. “Now turn around so I can put some clothes on. After, we can order pizza and snuggle.”

“I don’t—” I clamp my mouth shut. It doesn’t matter what she calls it—Kit will be in my arms, which is exactly how I want to spend my last night with her.

There’s a crushing weight in my chest as I slide into her bed. A hefty awareness creeping into all the crevices I thought were sealed tight.

Kit deserves every good thing life has to offer. She deserves someone who makes her laugh instead of cry.

Someone who will put their selfish needs aside and think about what’s best for her and only her.

She deserves someone who would never lie to her.

And I hope like hell she finds them one day.