Brynne

I was worried when I moved in that Kane would be suffocating, but with his schedule, he hasn’t been around much. The trouble is, when he is around, he’s…perfect. And almost always shirtless.

I know he’s doing it to piss me off, because who the hell walks around without a shirt on all the time? Kane Madden, that’s who.

Not that I don’t enjoy the view. I enjoy it too much. And he knows it.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Kane leans against the doorframe with a smirk, watching me.

I follow his gaze back to the canvas I’d been working on, heat rushing to my cheeks when I recognize the similarities between the male form I’d been sketching, and the man standing behind me.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“If I was, I’d add a little more definition around the abs.” He’s wearing a t-shirt, a rare occurrence. He lifts it, exposing his stomach, and runs a palm over the perfect six-pack.

I roll my eyes at him. “What do you want, Madden?”

“Noah’s asleep.”

“Already? But it’s only…” I reach for my phone, eyes widening when I see the time.

“Nine-thirty,” he says, still grinning. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“I stuck a lasagna in the oven. It should be ready if you’re hungry.”

My stomach growls. “Starving.”

“Me, too,” he says, his gaze dark as it roams over my body, then lands hungrily on my lips.

I suppress a shiver.

“Rules,” I warn.

“Come on, Jacobs.” He grins, then turns. “Time to eat.”

I sit down at the kitchen island and watch as he pulls the lasagna from the oven. My mouth waters, and not just for food. But I settle for the lasagna, because as much as carbs are not my friend, they’re a lot less dangerous than the alternative.

“It’s good,” I say, shifting under his gaze.

“Thanks. It’s Jane’s recipe.” I’d only met his foster parents once before they passed away. But they seemed like good people. They had to be for putting up with Kane all those years.

“You made it yourself?”

“You sound impressed.”

“I am.” My own culinary skills stop short at boiling a pot of water for Ramen Noodles.

He chuckles. “I have a few hidden talents up my sleeve.”

“When you wear a shirt,” I mumble, making him laugh harder.

“Come on, Jacobs, admit that you love it.” He leans on the island, fingers entwined, muscular forearms resting in front of him.

I shake my head, glancing down at my plate so he doesn’t see the truth in my eyes. “Just keep your pants on and we’ll be good.”

He laughs, going to the wine cooler and taking out a bottle of Chardonnay. Pouring two glasses, he places one in front of me.

“I’ve missed this.”

“What?” I take a sip of the chilled wine.

He leans against the counter and takes a sip before answering. “This. You. Your snarky comments-”

“I’m not snarky.”

“-and the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. You always have.” He leans on the island and whispers, “But want to know a secret?”

“No.” Yes.

“I watch you, too.”

“That’s not a secret.” I take a sip of my wine, trying to hide the warmth that creeps into my cheeks.

Deep dimples cut into his cheeks when he smiles. “No. I guess it isn’t. Even Sam knew-”

We both freeze, and he winces.

After a few seconds of silence, Kane takes my plate and places it in the sink.

“Sorry.” His back is to me, but I hear the remorse in his voice.

“It’s fine. Maybe it’s worse if we don’t talk about him.”

He turns, but there’s a wariness in his expression. “Or maybe it’ll just bring up things neither of us are ready to face.”

“Maybe.” I take a deep sip of my wine.

“He asked me to take care of you.” Leaning against the counter, he crosses his arms.

“What? When?”

“The night he died. It’s why I knew something was wrong. Hadn’t spoken to him in a few months. He’d been…” His voice cracks, his eyes going distant.

He finishes his glass of wine, then refills it.

“I’d been busy. Not an excuse. I know that. Not when I knew he needed help. I did try…once. Took him up to Summerville to the rehab clinic. He was clean for a few months. Thought he was getting better…”

I listen to him. His forced confession. Hear the truth in his words. The guilt.

“You really think he did it on purpose?” I know the answer, but I’ve never wanted to believe it.

I knew it when he’d called me that night. It’s why I’d driven across the city in my pajamas. Praying I was wrong. Hoping I could talk some sense into him.

“He’s right, Brynne,” Sam had said, his voice void of emotion. “I’m weak.”

“Dad’s an asshole. He doesn’t know you. Not like I do. You’re stronger than whatever you’re dealing with.”

“Love you, dork.”

Those were his last words before he’d hung up.

“I just can’t believe he’d be that selfish,” I say now, running my finger across the condensation on my glass.

“He was struggling with a lot. It wasn’t just the drugs.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What else was there?”

He exhales heavily.

“Kane?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t change anything. He’s gone.”

“And I want to know why. If you know-”

“What? You think it’ll make you feel better knowing his secrets?”

“Maybe.”

“It won’t.”

I push off the stool, causing it to screech across the marble floor. “Maybe it’s your secrets you don’t want me to find out about.”

“Right.” He chuckles again, but this time there’s no humor in it, just bitterness. “Because it’s always my fault. FYI, Brynne. I didn’t force him to take drugs. I didn’t do half the shit you keep telling yourself I did. But you know what I did do? I watched as my best friend slowly, painfully rotted away in front of my eyes because he was too damn afraid to get help. Too afraid to look weak in your eyes.”

His words slice straight to my heart. Because as harsh as they are, I know there’s a sliver of truth to them.

“Fuck.” Kane rakes his fingers over his face, then leans with his palms on the counter, back slouched forward in defeat. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

I sit back down on the stool, my body trembling. “Did he say that to you?”

“No.”

He’s lying.

I suck in a shaky breath.

“I know you don’t want to believe me, but no one except Sam is responsible for what happened. Not you. Not me. Not Coach.”

I glare at him. “You don’t know what he did. How he treated Sam.”

“I was there, Brynne. I saw the way your dad acted around him. Heard the arguments. Sure, he was an asshole, sometimes. And he didn’t know how to deal with…” He rubs the back of his neck. “He didn’t deal with Sam’s illness well. None of us did.”

“It wasn’t an illness. It was an addiction.” I slap my palms on the counter, anger burning my throat. “And he wouldn’t have touched the stuff if you hadn’t-”

“Screw that,” he yells. “You want to blame anyone but the one person you’re really angry with.”

His breathing is harsh, and so is mine. We stare at each other, anger simmering between us.

“You want me to take the blame?” I ask, my voice hoarse, tears burning the back of my eyes. “Of course, I’m angry with myself. You think I don’t regret not being there for him? For missing the signs?”

He moves around the island towards me and pulls me against his chest. “I wasn’t blaming you.”

I want to hold on to the anger, the hatred that has been my anchor, but it too easily dissolves when he touches me.

He pulls back, cupping my jaw and forcing me to look at him. “You want to be angry at someone, then be angry at Sam.”

I hate that he’s right.

Heavy arms wrap around me, but I don’t want to be held. I don’t want his comfort. Or maybe I do. Maybe I’m just so damn scared of what it’ll mean if I accept it.

I push him away, but he doesn’t release me.

“Be angry, Brynne. But be angry at the right person.”

“I can’t.” A damn sob chokes my words. “I’ll never know why he did it. Why he destroyed his life. You think I don’t want to be angry at him? I do. But he’s not here.”

“No. But I am.” He cups my face again, his thumbs stroking away the tears that spill over my cheek. “So, if you need to yell or cry, or whatever it is that’ll make you feel better, then do it. I’ll be your fucking punching bag, Brynne. Give me your best. But when you’re done, you’re going to finally admit that you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I whisper. “But…”

He rests his forehead against mine. “I’m angry with him, too. Angry with myself. With Coach. But it’s time to let it go.”

“I can’t.” Because it feels like I’m letting Sam go if I do.

He exhales, his breath warm against my lips. My body melts into his, and my fists tangle in his shirt.

We stand like that for a long time. I take his strength, his heat, clinging to him.

I should walk, no run, away. But I can’t. I don’t want to.

“How can something feel so right and yet so wrong at the same time?” I whisper.

“It’s not wrong,” he breathes into my hair, his palms pressed firmly against my lower back. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but we’ll make this work. We’ll make us work.”

“There is no us, Kane. It was one night, and-”

“Bullshit.” His body tenses, but he doesn’t let me go.

I place my hands on his chest and push back. “You really think we’d be standing here right now if it weren’t for Noah?”

“Yeah, I do. Maybe not here or now. But we’ve been fighting this thing between us for too damn long. Sam saw it. You know he did. And he didn’t care. You think he’d care now, when we need each other more than ever?”

“I don’t need you.”

“God, you’re so damn stubborn.” His mouth crashes down on mine, almost painfully, his kiss filled with a tsunami of emotions.

Despite the warning bells that blare in my head, I kiss him back.

His fingers tangle in my hair, and his tongue darts out against my lips, pushing forcefully into my mouth. Taking. Devouring. It’s filled with devastation and ruin. Promising things that we can never be. That neither of us can ever have. At least, not together.

There’s too much between us. A chasm of mistrust and misunderstandings.

But he’s right. I need him. His body. His touch. And I know I’m seconds away from making the same mistake I made a year ago.

His phone rings on the counter beside us.

He flinches.

“You should get that,” I say breathlessly, as his mouth skims frantically across my neck, his hands dropping to my waist, tugging me firm against his hard erection.

“They’ll call back,” he growls against my ear.

My self-control is a puddle in his hands. “Don’t you want to see who it is?”

“No.”

I manage a quick glance at the name that pops up.

Coach.

My father.

Ice rushes through me, turning the lava that was pumping through my heart a second ago to stone, and giving me the strength I need to push away.

I reach past Kane and grab his phone, pressing answer before he has a chance to stop me.

“What are you-”

“Hey, Daddy,” I say with all the false sweetness I can muster.

“Brynne?” He hesitates, and when he continues, there’s uncertainty in his deep baritone. “I thought I called-”

“Kane? Yeah, this is his phone. I’m living with him now.”

Kane’s mouth drops open, his face draining of color.

“Oh, and we had a baby. Surprise.” I hang up, and toss the phone at Kane, which he just barely catches before it crashes to the floor. “Happy now?”

His initial shock lasts about two-point-four seconds, before his face goes from chalk white to blood red. And I swear if we were in one of those cartoons, steam would come out of his ears.

“What the hell did you just do?”

Something I have a feeling I’m about to regret.