Chapter 20
Kieran
KIERAN
what are some of Layla’s favorite books?
SISTER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
why…?
KIERAN
research
SISTER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
what the hell are you up to
KIERAN
I’m going to make her yearn for me
SISTER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
what does that mean?
KIERAN
you would know if you read books
SISTER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
you don’t even read books
KIERAN
precisely why I’m asking for Layla’s favorites
Ispent the entire evening awake, wracking my brain over everything she said to me, going over it in my head along with how I could make her fall for me.
I’m not going to take this “teaching” situation lying down. I will use every opportunity I can to make Layla see me for me. Because now after she whispered those words, those words I’ve been daydreaming about hearing…I want her.
And it seems she wants me, too.
She just thinks I still want everyone else. I need to prove to her that I’m good enough, that this isn’t an ego trip because she rejected me. This is solely because I’ve spent too long watching her from afar, and now that she’s in my life, I never want her to leave.
I adore every facet of her that I’ve learned, not only through Bella but on my own merit. Hence why I’m now standing on her front porch, knocking on her door and praying she doesn’t find out.
The famous Momma Bear Carson opens the door.
“Kieran! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here, sweetie?” She looks past my shoulder. “Bringing that darling daughter of yours for me to finally meet?”
“Sad to say it’s just me today.”
She waves me off, not the least bit deterred. “Nonsense! You’re more than enough!”
Bending down as her arms stretch up, I soak up this tiny woman’s small yet mighty hug. I never understood how someone could be known for their hugs until I met her during Trisha Stratford’s funeral.
“Would you believe me if I said I was just in the area?”
She clicks her tongue. “Not at all. Come out with it, young man.”
Rocking back on my heels, I give her my most charming smile that never seems to fail me. “Is there any chance you’d show me Layla’s book collection?”
She returns the smile, yet while mine is trying to persuade, hers is a knowing one. “And why would you want to see that?”
Shrugging, I feign nonchalance. “Just thought I’d look at some of her favorite books. You wouldn’t happen to know any of them, would you?”
Charlotte gives me a look. “Do I even want to know why?”
Should I explain that her daughter asked me to fuck her but I secretly think I’m falling so deeply in love with her that I’ve agreed to a friends-with-benefits arrangement in the hopes of making her fall for me too, and the best idea I came up with was to read her favorite books to see what she likes?
“Best not to know,” I say with a chuckle.
She opens the front door farther. “All right then, come on in. How’s Emmy?”
“She seems to be settling in well. She and Layla have a special bond.”
“And Bambi I hear too.”
“Oh yes, if those two are in the same room you can’t tear them apart.”
“God bless them,” she says with awe.
Charlotte leads me in. To the left sits a warm and welcoming loungeroom, filled to the brim with family photos on every wall. To the right is a staircase, no doubt leading to the bedrooms.
The house emanates a warmth I can’t help but feel jealous over, for the childhood Layla experienced.
Until I remember that it was tarnished with sickness, and then all I feel is guilty.
But if given the choice of the childhood I had, with abuse and the endless houses I was bounced back and forth from until landing at the foster home with the she devil…
I would choose to be sick, just to experience the love of someone taking care of me.
Perhaps Emmy isn’t the only one who needs therapy.
“You should stop by, come and meet her,” I offer.
She turns to me, her hands cupping her mouth as she tries to hide her brimming smile. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“Emmy would be a very lucky little girl to experience one of your famous hugs.”
She all but squeals, and I can see how Layla turned out so soft-spoken and kind. She may talk to me like a firecracker, but that’s just for me, everyone else gets the quiet, endlessly kind woman.
I’m more than happy with my firecracker.
“I’d love to meet her,” she gushes as she continues up the stairs and down the hall. “I have to be honest, I’ve been going through Layla’s baby boxes in the attic and pulling out bits and bobs.”
“That’s more than generous. You didn’t have to do that.”
Charlotte turns, placing her small hand on my forearm and squeezing. “Please, it feels odd not to have someone to take care of.”
Her gaze takes on this faraway look and it makes me realize that while she no doubt is happy her little girl doesn’t need to be nursed back to health anymore, she maybe misses having a sense of purpose.
“You know what, Layla and I have some things to talk about—” I stop mid-sentence, stumbling over the fact that I know exactly what we need to go over and her mother certainly should be none the wiser.
“Um, scheduling things and all that. Why don’t you come to the house and take care of Emmy?
Grayson’s mom Allie is in town and she’s been begging for a night with her as well.
You two got on like a house on fire when you met. ”
Her eyes glow with joy. “I’d love that more than you could imagine.”
I dip my chin. “It’s settled then. You’d be doing me a favor. It means I can take Layla out…for a business dinner.”
Charlotte pauses before a door in the hallway. “A business dinner.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And this dinner doesn’t have anything to do with you wanting to know her favorite books, does it?”
I shrug innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She all but rolls her eyes as she turns and opens the door, revealing Layla’s bedroom.
I can’t help but suck in a sharp hiss of air.
“It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? She’s managed to cram a book into every free space available.” Charlotte leans over, whispering conspiratorially, “There’s another mountain of books in the attic.”
“Extraordinary doesn’t begin to cover it,” I whisper, awe coating my voice as I step inside what feels like a library.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, a double bed crammed in the middle, but even the bedframe has shelves along the bottom, floating shelves mounted above.
The spines are well loved, cracks and creases in almost all of them, and there’s small figurines and decorations neatly and precariously placed throughout.
“It’s just so evident,” I say.
“What is?”
“The love and care she has for her books. I’ve never been able to articulate the love I have for hockey but if I could, it would be this.” My eyes are tracking everything, taking in every miniscule detail. It’s all her. This is Layla’s heart laid bare.
“She’s very special,” I hear Charlotte whisper.
“Very,” I agree.
Feeling eyes on my back, I turn to find Momma Bear Carson leaning against the doorframe, taking me in. I can tell she wants to ask. What boss shows up asking for their employee’s favorite books? But she doesn’t, and I don’t push her to.
“You know, I never said thank you for what you did while she was away.”
The seriousness of her expression, the gratitude in her eyes, ones so similar to her daughter’s, makes me rip mine away and toward the spines as I try to figure out which one is Layla’s most loved book.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do.” She sighs, with weariness, not frustration. “My husband and I don’t know how to repay—”
Turning to Charlotte. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I repeat, “but if I did, I’d swear on my heart and on Emmy’s that you don’t need to repay a single cent.”
Her lower lip wobbles, her eyes turning glassy. “But it—”
“Helped,” I cut in. “An anonymous donor helped.”
Even Grayson doesn’t know what I did.
Doesn’t know that one day I overheard Bella pushing Layla for information until she cracked and broke down over the phone that her parents were going to take out a second mortgage on their house to help pay for her treatment in Berlin. That it wasn’t just their retirement they were giving up.
I knew in that moment, in that split second of hearing her desperation and heartache over her parents’ sacrifice, that I had to do something.
Layla’s parents are everything I prayed about having. Every night I’d wish that a lovely couple would come into the foster home, take one look at me, and say, Him. We love him.
To hear such adoring, kind-hearted people suffer, to hear them so willingly put themselves at financial risk…it was a shock to me that people like that even existed.
I couldn’t let their love ruin them.
It’s beautiful, but a secret nonetheless.
“I knew it was you the moment Layla called and said she was selected to receive the funds she did.” Her smile is full of warmth and something else—a mother’s knowing.
“That, and all it took was one call to the university to find out there was never an anonymous donor randomly selecting those in the treatment to cover their plan.” She laughs.
“My sweet daughter is very na?ve sometimes, but I am not.”
I shrug, my heart beating wildly. “Again, I don’t—”
“Know what I’m talking about.” She smiles at me, finishing my sentence.
“Well, if you did, my husband and I—” She chokes on her words before standing taller and giving me a watery smile.
“We’re grateful beyond words and we don’t take their generosity lightly.
Whoever they are, they’re very special to have done what they did and not take credit. ”
My cheeks heat.
“Sounds like your family has been through enough and deserved a windfall of luck.”
“Windfall it was,” she murmurs before pushing off the doorframe and coming to stand beside me. “Now, what exactly do you need from her books? It may look overwhelming but if one book is even so much as moved an inch she’ll know.”
Relieved that she’s changing the topic, I let my surprise show. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, I can’t even dust in here. Apparently she has a system.”
I snort at that. “Well I won’t touch or take anything then, but I was wondering which are her favorites?”
She walks over to the right side of the bed toward one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The books are all artfully placed, some matching with all the covers facing forward, others with large maps and artwork printed beside them.
“This is what I call her trophy shelf. It’s all the special editions of her favorites.”
“Special editions?”
“Apparently if a book is popular enough, they’ll release a special cover.”
“I never knew this was such a big thing.”
“Neither did I. My husband and I don’t read. I couldn’t tell you where her love of words comes from.”
Something tells me I have a hint as to where it came from.
Perhaps Layla loves to read for the same reasons I used to watch TV shows of happy families.
Spotting a paperback, clearly having been read a hundred times, I step forward to take a closer look. Colored paper sticks out along the edges.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing, but careful not to touch anything.
“Those are her annotations.”
“Anna…what?”
A small chuckle escapes her as she points to a box with various colored tabs. “Annotations. If she likes a book, she’ll highlight and color code her favorite passages and lines.”
I whistle low before asking, “What’s the chances I can take that copy without her realizing?”
“You want me dead?”
My head throws back on a laugh. “No, not at all. I’ll just take a photo of it.”
“Wise choice, she’ll castrate you if you touch it.”
My lips twitch as I try to stop myself from smiling but it’s useless. I take a photo of the trophy shelf and any book that looks as well loved as the one in the middle.
Later that night, I order a copy of the book and download the audiobook. As I put Emmy to sleep, sitting in her rocking chair, I switch out parenting books for what I’m learning is a dark romance read.
One that, to my utter delight and surprise, has a trigger warning list a mile long at the beginning.
You would never know by looking at Layla, the sweet, adorably sexy woman that’s all smiles.
My sunshine likes it a little dark.