One year later
“You said you would keep him safe,” Katie choked, glaring at the tall shadow standing in the door of her bedroom. “You lied to me!”
She didn’t know how he got into her house in the middle of the night. She didn’t care. She wanted to hurt him as badly as she was hurting inside. And she knew each tear that dripped down her face was like a punch in the gut to him. She could see it written on his normally emotionless face. His hands were fisted at his side. Clenched as though he’d gladly enjoy every second of the agony he would cause the ones that dared to give her pain.
They had barely spoken since that day on her family doorstep, but she saw the 21-year-old gangbanger her brother drove around with more and more often. Hanging out in the shadows, watching. For her part, Katie ignored the big, frightening man. Not always an easy task when her mom, a bleeding heart, seemed determined to coddle her oldest son’s best friend. Luckily, Roman wanted none of Mrs. Pullman’s affection and rarely accepted the many invitations she extended to the ‘poor’ orphan boy. Not unless Katie was going to be home as well. And she did her best to stay out of Roman’s way, disturbed by the way his eyes followed her every move, whether there were others in the room or not.
Katie’s dad seemed indifferent toward Dexter’s friendship with Roman. Not that he had a choice. Mr. Pullman was a bookie who’d worked for the mob for more years than Katie even knew. It was how Dexter got involved in gang. They did dirty work for the guys her dad worked for. She resented the hell out of the connection, but what could she do? She was terribly afraid that Wendell, her next brother in line, would get sucked into the abyss of gang or mob life next. She just wished the entire family could move away and start fresh somewhere else. Some place safer.
Now Dexter was dead and Roman had somehow known to come to Katie in her darkest moment. She wanted to cling to his strength, but she also wanted to scream at him and beat him. Her brother was dead and he couldn't make it better.
Her anguished eyes never left his face as his long legs ate up the steps between them. Her body was collapsed in on itself on the bed, where she spent most of her time these past weeks since the funeral. There was no one to stop her. Dexter’s death had devastated the entire family. Her mom rarely left her own bed, lost in a world of prescription sleeping medication. Her dad almost never came home from work. Wendell was hanging out more and more with Alan Bancroft, finding comfort in the cars Dexter had loved. She was glad for him.
Roman reached out and touched the top of her head, stroking her blond hair. He tugged several wet strands away from where they stuck to her flushed cheeks and tucked them behind her ear. She knew she must look awful, yet he looked at her as though she were beautiful. He always did, she realized. She didn’t know when he started looking at her that way, just that he did.
“You need to eat, chica. And to sleep,” he murmured huskily.
“I…” her voice cracked on a sob. She licked her lips and tried again. She whispered into the dim light of her bedroom, “I can’t… Dexter can’t do any of those things anymore. I just don’t want to, Roman.”
His hand clenched over her head for a second and then he opened it to cup the back of her skull. His fingers were so long they slid into her hair and enveloped her completely. She closed her eyes and leaned into the comfort with a sigh. He stood so close to her that she could feel his chest moving as he breathed. She thought of how this man had protected Dexter, of how they had talked together, laughed together, driven around the city together. She was certain that Dexter was the only person that could draw out this side of Roman. The human over the killer. Just as she was sure Roman would have traded his life for Dexter’s.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, fresh tears springing to her eyes. “I know you couldn’t have done anything. You wer… weren’t there when they got him.”
He stiffened next to her. “I wish I was.”
She shook her head, her hair pulling sharply in his fingers. She savoured the pain. It was the first thing she felt after weeks of numbness. “No, Roman, if you were there, you might have been killed to.”
“Fuck,” he growled, his fingers tightening in her scalp to a painful degree. She knew that he didn’t realize. “I wanted to die with him. He was my best friend.”
She reached out and touched him. Putting her hands on him for the first time since that day on her doorstep, winding her fingers in his T-shirt as though she would never let him go. She looked up at him, her eyes pools of blue sadness. “I don't want to lose you too,” she whispered, the tears flowing freely once more.
“Katie,” he groaned, dropping his heavy frame onto the small bed next to her. He pulled her onto his lap and held her while she sobbed for her dead brother, soaking his T-shirt through.