22. Mary
Twenty-Two
Mary
I'm still floating on air when I walk into school Monday morning.
Which is ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
I'm thirty-four years old, not fourteen.
And yet here I am practically skipping through the halls of Our Lady of Grace Academy an hour and fifteen minutes before first bell because that's my routine.
Always early.
Always prepared.
Always responsible.
Only this morning, I can't stop smiling.
Mom certainly noticed.
Good Lord, did she notice.
The second she got home from Atlantic City yesterday afternoon she'd started in on me.
Questions.
So many questions.
Who is he?
How long have you known him?
Does he have a job?
Is he Catholic?
Is he nice?
Can he fix things around the house?
That last one nearly killed me.
But then Kai arrived.
And my mother—who has intimidated every man I've ever dated since college—opened the front door.
And my gorgeous bodyguard boyfriend—wait.
Boyfriend?
No.
Not boyfriend.
Not officially.
Right?
Oh dear Lord.
Anyway…
Kai showed up wearing dark jeans and a black sweater that fit him entirely too well and carrying flowers.
I thought they were for me.
Naturally, I started blushing like an idiot.
But no.
The sneaky genius handed them to my mother.
“For putting up with me stealing your daughter tonight,” he'd told her with that wicked grin of his.
And just like that?
Gone.
Years of my mother's suspicious nature vanished into thin air.
A few jokes.
One smile.
Some ridiculous story about Ego and toaster waffles.
And suddenly she was laughing.
Actually laughing.
I hadn't realized how much I'd missed hearing that sound.
After losing Dad, it happened less and less.
Seeing Mom smile again made my chest ache.
Then Kai took me out to dinner.
Some tiny Thai restaurant I'd never even noticed before.
We shared dishes I couldn't pronounce.
He fed me bites from his plate.
I stole noodles from his.
We laughed.
Talked.
Held hands beneath the table.
Afterward he brought me back to his penthouse condo in Edgewater.
And oh my goodness.
The view.
He has floor to ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan.
And a terrace.
The city lights reflecting across the Hudson River look like a million diamonds scattered across the water. They shine like stars.
Beautiful.
Everything about this is beautiful.
Him.
The night.
The way he looked at me.
The way we made love in his room—seriously, like oh my fucking God, who even am I that this is my life?
And the way he kissed me goodbye on my front porch around midnight?
Reluctantly.
As though leaving me physically pained him.
That memory alone heats my cheeks.
I mean honestly.
It's absurd to want someone this much.
We don't even have titles.
No labels.
No promises.
No real claim on one another.
And yet—I can't stop thinking about him.
I settle into my classroom.
Turn on the lights.
Set out worksheets.
Check my lesson plans.
And then glance at the clock.
Nine minutes have passed.
And yes I’m counting them.
Because every morning Kai arrives with coffee.
And usually something delicious.
A muffin.
A pastry.
One day it was donuts.
Another time he'd brought banana bread.
The man apparently believes carbohydrates are a love language.
And honestly?
I support that philosophy wholeheartedly.
My cheeks heat again when I remember how I'd been his dessert last night.
“Mary Donahue,” I mutter to myself. “Get a grip.”
Unfortunately, my imagination seems to have left the building.
I glance at the clock again.
Another seven minutes.
Then—I hear something.
Clomp.
Clomp.
Clomp.
The unmistakable sound of orthopedic shoes charging down the hallway.
Fast.
Very fast.
My smile disappears.
Because nobody wearing orthopedic shoes should move that quickly.
“Sister Agnes?” I ask as she practically bursts through my classroom door.
“Miss Donahue! Mary! Oh, thank heavens you're here.”
She's out of breath.
Flustered.
She definitely doesn't look happy.
My stomach immediately drops.
“Sister?”
“You know the trouble we're already in.”
My smile vanishes completely.
“And this hit the front page of the Patch this morning. I mean, Mary, what on earth?”
My heart stutters.
“What?”
“Can you explain any of this before Father Peter arrives?”
She drops the local paper onto my desk.
I stare.
And stop breathing.
Because there—splashed across the front page—is me.
And I’m with Kai.
Only we’re locked in a kiss—that same kiss I was daydreaming about a moment ago—right outside my house.
He has one hand on my waist, the other on my ass.
My arms are wrapped around his neck.
Not a hair’s breadth of space is between us.
And I feel—I feel violated.
This was a private moment.
We were inside the gate surrounding my house. The one with six-foot arborvitae—privacy shrubs—all around us.
We shouldn’t have been visible from the street.
We were certainly not standing in a place where someone could have casually snapped this picture.
“Just look at this headline!” Sister Agnes wails.
And I do,
I feel sick as my eyes scan the headline’s giant bold letters:
FIRST GRADE TEACHER'S WILD WEEKEND WHILE OLG FIGHTS FOR SURVIVAL
For a second, I hear nothing.
Not Sister Agnes.
Not the hum of the ceiling fan.
Nothing.
Just rushing in my ears.
No.
No.
No.
This can't be happening.
“Mary?”
Sister Agnes sounds far away.
My hands start shaking.
How?
Who?
Why?
Before I can answer, another familiar voice cuts through the panic.
There’s a tightened and more emotional version that keeps Mary's fears centered on Kai and lets him reassure her:
“Mary? Are you okay?”
It’s Sabrina.
I look up.
She's standing beside my desk, concern written all over her face.
Behind her is Claire, my classroom aide and student teacher.
And judging by Claire's expression?
She's already seen the article too.
“Oh my God,” Sabrina whispers.
That's when I notice she's holding two coffees.
One in each hand.
And behind her—towering over both women—is Ego.
He looks concerned, then angry.
But he’s not who I’m looking for—my heart pounds, my pulse races, anxiety is taking hold—then I see him.
Kai.
My Kai.
He's wearing a dark shirt and carrying a white bakery box, and immediate relief washes over me.
“Kai,” I whisper.
“Hey, what is all this?”
He comes closer.
His gaze drops to the newspaper.
He reads the headline.
And I watch every trace of warmth disappear from his face.
Uh-oh.
I've seen that expression before.
It's the same look he wore when he punched Joel Jonas.
The exact same one.
Only this time, my stomach drops for a different reason.
Because whoever did this didn't just come after me.
They came after him.
Kai’s reputation.
His career.
Sigma.
He's already on administrative leave because of me.
What if this makes things worse?
What if they fire him?
What if he decides I'm too much trouble after this?
And suddenly I feel sick.
Because Joel Jonas is definitely behind this and he didn't just smear me.
He targeted Kai.
And men like Joel never think about consequences.
Never think about who gets hurt.
“Can we have the room, please?” Kai says quietly.
Everyone leaves, though Sabrina does so reluctantly. I see Ego murmur something to her and she follows him, leading Sister Agnes out as well.
Then Kai rounds my desk and kneels in front of me.
He takes my face in his big hands.
“I'm so sorry, Firecracker. Are you okay?”
“What? Me? Yes, but what about you?” I blurt out, my hands catching on his shoulders. “You're already on administrative leave. What if you get fired? What if this hurts Sigma? What if—”
“What?” He actually looks confused. “Nah. That's not happening.”
“Kai—”
“Mary, stop.”
“But this could hurt you!”
His expression softens.
“Baby, you really think that's what I'm worried about right now?”
“Well, somebody has to be!”
He smiles then.
Not amused.
Tender.
Like I've said something sweet instead of panicked.
“You don't have to worry about me.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
He brushes his thumbs across my cheeks.
“This?” He nods toward the paper. “This is personal now, and I swear to God, I'm gonna fix it.”
“You don't have to fix it, Kai,” I whisper. “But... you're not mad at me?”
“Mad?” His eyebrows shoot up. “At you? Never. Come here.”
He moves, pulling me up and then he takes my chair and tugs me down, onto his lap.
Then, he kisses me.
Just like that—my nerves calm.
And I don't know what to do because I like this man.
No.
More than like.
Kissing him feels like breathing.
Like something essential.
I need it.
Need him.
But we haven't had the big conversations.
Haven't put names on this.
And suddenly this problem feels bigger than whatever we are.
“Kai…”
He rests his forehead against mine.
“Listen to me, Mary Donahue.”
His voice is low.
Steady.
“I don't know where you're getting all these crazy ideas, but I need you to hear me.”
I swallow.
“Okay.”
“I'm in this with you.”
My heart skips.
“And I know it's probably too soon to say all the things running around in my head, and my heart, so I won't. Not yet. Not until you’re ready to hear them.”
Something warm unfurls inside my chest.
“But I'm here, Firecracker.”
He squeezes my hips gently.
“I’m with you.”
“Together?”
He smiles.
“Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Dating. Whatever label you want, Firecracker, I'm there.”
My eyes sting.
“And this?” He taps the newspaper. “This is my problem to handle. Not yours.”
“Kai—”
“Understand?”
He’s staring at me with laser like focus and I exhale the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.
Then, I answer.
“Yes, Kai.”
“Good.”
He reaches out, grabs the bakery box he left on the floor, and places it on my desk.
“Now here's your breakfast.”
I laugh weakly.
“Kai—”
“Eat it like a good girl and get ready for all those first graders coming in to see you in a few, okay?”
“Kai—”
I try again.
His grin turns wicked and he kisses the corner of my lips.
“Go on now. It’s gonna be fine, Mary. Oh, and I'll go have a chat with Father Peter on my way out.”
“Okay,” I reply because what else can I say?
The crazy part?
Somehow, impossibly, I believe him.
Because Kai Montego looks like a man preparing for war.
And all I know is I’m very, very glad he’s on my side.