Chapter 13
SYDNEY
Shit. Damn. Fuck.
In my ordinary world, I would have run from the shelter and straight to my car to text my two best friends.
But this is not my reality.
I’m Sydney. An IT professional interested in falling in love with Cy Darby.
And I just kissed him like I was out of oxygen and he was one of those stupid yellow masks that drops from the airplane ceiling.
I’d like to plead temporary insanity. Instead, I suppose I’ll be honest with myself.
I wanted to kiss him. To see if his lips were as soft and pliable as I used to imagine they were.
And what I discovered? They were even better.
But it was more than that.
Cy’s outward persona is just that. A persona. This Cy, the real Cy, is human.
It’s way too fucking easy to forget who he is when I catch glimmers of humanity. Like when he talked about who his favorite person is. And now this story about his childhood dog.
But I need him to remain a douchebag.
Then maybe I won’t want to kiss him again.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Asher says, his expression rivaling that of the excited lab mix who’s looking up at me from my feet.
“You didn’t.” Crouching, I run my fingers over the soft fur of the lab’s ears and am rewarded with a sloppy kiss.
“The food bowls are filled. Water too.” Cy turns his attention to the handful of dogs that crowd him and fishes treats out of his pocket.
Yeah, he’s definitely a regular here.
Asher whistles and all the dogs perk up, waiting.
“Time to eat.”
Paws scrabble on linoleum as they all move to their various bowls like they’re taking part in a choreographed dance.
“They all know where to go?” I ask over the crunching and clinking of kibble against bowls.
“They’ve been here the longest,” Asher explains. “They know the drill.”
My heart melts a little more.
It’s obvious from how Asher and Cy interact with the dogs, how Cy moves with such familiarity around the shelter, that they care about their longer-term residents. The animals nobody else wants.
“When my dad adopted a dog, he picked one who’s older.
There must be other people out there interested in less exuberant dogs.
My dad wanted a companion who still had some life left, but he didn’t have the energy to house train a puppy.
He found him at an adoption fair that was specifically advertising mature dogs for those looking for company not chaos. ”
Asher and Cy both gape at me, their eyes wide.
My stomach sinks. “What? What did I say?”
“Say that again,” Asher says.
“Which part? About the fair? I don’t know who put it on, but their marketing was all about how puppies are all chaos and energy, but older dogs make great companions.”
“Can you call him and ask him about it?” Asher asks.
“I…” Fuck. I can’t admit to having a cell phone, can I?
Cy has no idea who I am. Admitting to contraband would get me eliminated from the show. While Cy and I have both broken the rules today by sneaking out, it was necessary on my part—I really thought he could be in danger—and I don’t really want to add to my list of sins.
“She’s a contestant. They’re not allowed to have phones,” Cy explains, unaware of the internal debate I just waged while I considered owning up to the contraband tucked next to my left boob.
“Isn’t that a double standard? You have your phone,” Asher points out.
I huff a laugh. I knew I liked him.
Cy shrugs. “I’m not a contestant. No one on the show made it seem like it was out of the ordinary for me to keep my phone.”
Exactly. Double standard, just like Asher said.
“Could I have your dad’s contact info? I’d love to ask him some questions about the adoption fair and the process of adopting …” Asher trails off.
“Mork. He’s a Morkie.” It’s hard to keep a straight face while I fill in the details.
Cy laughs. “That’s fucking awesome. Like Mork from Mork & Mindy?”
“Aren’t you a little young to know that show?” I ask. The only reason I know of its existence is because Dad pulled up a clip when he explained his dog’s new name.
“I stumbled on an episode on one of those rerun channels several years ago,” he says. “I thought it was funny, so I found the whole series.”
“And made the rest of us watch it,” Asher grumbles.
Cy pins him with a look. “What else were we doing on the tour bus between cities?”
“Fair point,” Asher concedes. “So, how about it, Sydney? Can I get your dad’s contact info?”
Internally, I cringe. Dad doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He knows a lot about my work at SAFE Haven, but I didn’t mention the undercover gig.
If I had, he wouldn’t have believed me. I’m not exactly a joiner.
I like isolation. The company of my computers is usually enough.
And going undercover is not part of my normal job description.
Add in that Dad knows exactly how opposed I am to settling down and, well, if he found out that I’m on a dating show, it would raise some serious questions.
Ones I don’t necessarily have answers for.
“Can I see your phone?” I ask.
Asher pulls his from his back pocket and quickly unlocks the screen, then hands it over, no questions asked.
Way too trusting.
If I were doing security for him, I’d advise against it.
Instead I pull up a secure web browsing tab and log in to my system remotely.
From there, I send Dad a quick email explaining who Asher is and why he’ll be contacting him.
I end the note with a line ensuring him that I’ll explain more later.
Done with that, I open Asher’s email app, add Dad’s email address to a new message, and hand the phone back.
“I emailed him.” I peek over the top of the phone. “And that’s his email address. Sorry, I don’t know his number off the top of my head.”
Liar, liar.
I’ve had Dad’s number memorized since I was a kid.
“I appreciate this. A ton.” Asher looks down at the black and white dog who now sits at his feet. “I’d love to find a home for these guys. Wouldn’t I, Katie girl?”
The name, that name, slams into me and steals my breath.
Breathe.
Getting air into my lungs is nearly impossible with the lump of emotion that suddenly weighs on my chest.
Grief.
Rage.
Guilt.
They coalesce, forming a boulder the size of the one Sisyphus was responsible for rolling up the hill.
“I should probably get back before I’m missed.” How I force the words out is a mystery. They escape me awkwardly, with weird pauses between them that make me want to scream.
“Do you need a lift?” Cy asks.
I want to decline. I want to be alone. To shove the wound that is Katie closed all over again.
“I can grab a rideshare. If I can borrow that phone again,” I say.
Asher holds his cell out, but before I can take it from him, Cy snatches it out of his hand.
“I insist. It’ll be easier to get back inside the gate if I take you. A rideshare will have to buzz through.”
My gut sinks. Fuck. I didn’t consider that.
With a deep breath in, I count to three. Then I release it. “Okay.”
“Is that how you got here? A rideshare?” he asks.
I nod. “Fortunately I ran into a neighbor who let me use their phone to order an Uber.”
A neighbor? That’s the best you can come up with?
Lucky for me, neither Cy nor Asher questions my response. Asher, I understand. He probably doesn’t realize how isolated the mansion is. Cy should, but I’m not going to waste time considering why he takes my explanation at face value.
As we say goodbye to Asher, the dog at his feet, the one he called Katie, looks at me with sad, knowing eyes.
Fuck.
I can’t get out of here fast enough. The second I step outside, the urge to run overwhelms me. Guilt, rage, sadness—they fill me, making it hard to breathe. Harder to move. Dragging me back to a dark place.
Even if running were the best option right now, I couldn’t. My legs are weighed down with five hundred pounds of emotional baggage. It takes all my strength just to make it to the passenger side of Cy’s dark sedan.
He brushes past me, and I flinch slightly, the casual touch adding to the rising flood of sensations. His breath tickles my neck as he opens the door, sending a shiver down my spine.
Keep it together.
I blink, focusing on the present. On the cool handle and the click as the passenger door opens. The scent of leather mingling with that new car smell, the rough texture of the seat belt as I snap it into place. All the while, my breathing is harsh.
Cy walks around the car and opens his door, the overhead light illuminating and the air filling with the scent of his cologne.
I’m tempted to grab him, to use the pleasure of a kiss to drive out the emotion overwhelming me. Or sex. To hide behind it.
It’s what I did once upon a time.
It took a long time to understand that it didn’t actually help. Not permanently. The emotions always came back. And I can’t muddy the waters or put my job at risk by continuing to kiss the person I’m responsible for helping. Even if he doesn’t know who I am.
As I’m struggling to compartmentalize, stowing away each thought and impulse in and locking it down, Cy is silent. It isn’t until we’re a mile or so from the shelter that he speaks.
“Are you okay?” His words are barely audible above the music playing in the background.
“I’m fine.”
It was so long ago.
I should have moved past it already.
I’ve told myself the same thing hundreds of times. I’ve tamped it all down and powered through.
So why isn’t it working now?
“Bullshit.” Cy gives me a quick once-over, then focuses on the road again.
“Excuse me?” I ask. This would be the perfect time to engage the anger I use as a protective cloak against him.
Only that emotion has died down.
“When we were talking about your dad, you were fine,” he says without looking my way. “And then all of a sudden, you went white as a ghost.”
I suck in a sharp breath and almost choke.
Ghost.
He couldn’t be more accurate.
Tell him you were worried you’d get caught. That you’re worried you’ll be kicked off the show because you left.
“I…it was the name. Katie.” The words leave my mouth without permission. “My best friend in high school. That was her name.” My stomach twists itself into a knot. What the fuck? Those were not the words that I planned to say.
“Okay.” He side-eyes me, waiting for me to elaborate.
“When we were sixteen, she…” My throat gets tight again, making my next words rough. “She passed away.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up. Tears well in my eyes and my chest aches.
Cy finds my hand where it’s clenched in my lap and coaxes it open. Then he interlaces our fingers, squeezing gently.
He’s so fucking warm and I feel like a goddamn ice cube.
“I’m so sorry, Sydney. How did she pass?”
The memories swim to the surface, each one a physical blow.
Our stupid argument.
Her disappearance.
Her parents’ desperate attempts to find her. The day they brought her laptop to me, asking me to look for clues.
I worked for hours, finally finding the messages between my best friend and a person claiming to be a senior at a neighboring high school.
A person, it turns out, who didn’t exist.
A person she went out to meet so she could prove me wrong.
So she could argue that she wasn’t a goody two-shoes.
It was my fault.
All the emotions I’ve spent the last several minutes boxing up spring out, creating a tidal wave so big and so powerful I can’t fight it.
“I killed her.”