Chapter 37 - Kate
Morning comes, dragging with it a cocktail hangover from the club last night. I want to rewind to then, dancing with August, him dropping his guard and handing me control. Back in his bed, tangled in his sheets, stealing more hours where betrayal softens at the edges, forgiveness on the horizon.
Alas, fun never lasts, and we’re back to reality. Today, I’ve got to ignite the explosive to blow the Romans’ secret wide open. We’re back in the bunker, servers humming instead of speakers, the air stale with recycled heat and the scent of tin coffee.
I hover over my laptop, the article I wrote yesterday staring back at me, waiting to be loaded like a bullet in a revolver.
August sits beside me, a hand on my knee, staring at me without the pressure to light the fuse.
Grayson’s in the background, typing so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t hack time itself.
“If we hit publish, we can’t take it back,” I tell August, needing to hear the weight of it aloud.
“Second thoughts?” Grayson pauses whatever code he’s programming.
I swallow. “Not enough to chicken out.”
“Go scorched earth, Glitter Bomb,” August coaxes me with a pat on my thigh.
We lean into the trackpad, holding our breath, his arm brushing mine, making my pulse kick in my throat for more than one reason.
“On three,” I say, finger poised over the mouse.
We count down, and his hand wraps over mine, supporting me as I click. The screen refreshes with our byline on the front page of my blog.
Oh, shit.
“It’s live.” I breathe, staring at the screen.
“Cue the hacking genius.” Grayson starts pumping the story into the veins of Shadow Lake, getting it out to as many citizen journalist outlets, influencers, and content creators with enough clout to make the Romans sweat.
August and I take a minute, sit there and listen to the hum of servers and the clicking of Grayson’s keys. I feel equal parts fire and dread but breathe through it.
“You’re so fucking brave, Glitter Bomb.” He praises me, claiming my hand and squeezing it, steadying me. “We’ll handle what comes next together.”
“Team Grumpy Glitter Bomb,” I say, trying to stop the tremble in my voice.
“I’m starting to like color,” he replies.
I turn and lean into him, needing to lean into the way I felt last night, my back curled into his chest, his arm over my waist, and mouth shy of my ear.
He holds me for a long time and then leans back. “It feels like a celebration is in order. Cheesecake and tea?”
The corner of my mouth tugs up. “My morally orange stalker knows the way to my heart with salted caramel.”
“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” It’s a loaded question disguised as a joke.
“Oh, don’t push it, Grovel Daddy.” I run my finger down his nose. “I can’t think on an empty stomach and zero orgasms.”
Zero orgasms past breakfast… just for clarity.
Grayson spits out his cold coffee all over his monitor, curses under his breath, and furiously scrubs the mess with a rag.
August chuckles and shrugs on his jacket. “Stay here with Grayson. You’re safe here with him. I’ll be back in thirty. Call me if the Romans pull the articles.” He pockets his phone and leans down to drop a kiss to my hair. “And no dirty talk.”
“I’m officially morally gray now and can’t make those kinds of promises.” I wink and win a smile that I’m coming to love more by the day.
“Back soon, Princess Brat.” He spanks the side of my leg and backs away.
I watch him head for the stairs, a flicker of warmth melting the dread coiled in my gut.
He flips Grayson the bird as if sensing him smirking at the back of his head. Spoiler alert—he totally is!
Grayson gets up from his chair to make a fresh coffee, appearing moments later with two steaming coffee mugs like he’s been expecting me to need one. He passes me a plain mug, keeping the one that reads World’s Best Hacker, and settles in a chair opposite me.
“Christmas present from four years ago.” He thumbs the worn gold lettering that’s seen a lot of use. “Back before the man I called best friend decided to vanish off the map and take half my sanity with him.”
His eyes flick to the photo of them taped to the computer. Two teenagers, grinning like idiots, arms over each other’s shoulders. Taken before life burned and scarred them.
“Figured if he was going to erase himself, I’d keep one thing they couldn’t scrub.” He straightens the photo that’s sagging to the left. “Even if it’s just a damn mug and photo.” His voice holds that brittle edge of when people glue themselves back together in the aftermath of tragedy.
For a moment, I question whether he means himself or the wreckage August left behind.
“Did you follow him?” I ask softly since it’s a touchy subject. “Or did someone make sure you didn’t have a choice?”
Grayson’s hand stills. “I didn’t want to build cages for people. The Romans don’t like that kind of attitude.
I cup my mug to trap the warmth that threatens to recede at the mention of them. “They came after you?”
He exhales a slow breath. “They offered me everything. Money, clout, endless resources with no questions asked. Said a mind like mine shouldn’t be wasted on security upgrades.”
“What happened?” the reporter in me probes.
“I said no.” He taps the edge of his mug twice like it’ll solve a glitch in his program. “So they erased me. Made me look unstable. Created false allegations that I was a danger to myself and clients.”
“That’s kind of their thing, huh?” I say, shifting in my seat.
His eyes flick to mine, then away.
Grayson braves a sip, then tackles a new topic. “So, he fucked up?”
“Yep.” I rub my throbbing temples. “We’re working on it.”
Last night I was influenced, not just by alcohol, but also atmosphere, adrenaline and the whisper of danger in the air.
I said fuck it and took what I wanted, both at the club, and later at August’s loft.
I don’t regret a thing, but I know I have a lot to consider now that my first article is out of the way and Burt is gone from my life.
Like how we move forward and what conditions we both agree on.
Rational me says that August’s willingness to work this out, grovel, and win back my trust ought to count for something.
Book Girlie is screaming to forgive him.
Both gang up on me to turn the page instead of slamming the book shut.
Wanting to forgive and being ready aren’t the same thing. He’s earning inches back, not miles.
Celine Dion joins the piling on. Cue the big budget romance with me leaning on a ship bow’s railing, arms spread wide, wind in my hair, promising My Heart Will Go On. Instead, I’m in a high school basement, cradling a coffee, discussing heart life support with August’s colleague.
“I warned him to nip that in the bud.” Grayson cups his mug in his palm.
“Clearly, he doesn’t listen to either of us.
” I blow on my coffee, using the steam as a cover while I weigh up whether to try again with August, or go back to where it was colorful and safe.
Before I met him. Before I was reckless and threw myself at him.
Before I fell deeply for the man under the helmet and his shadows spilled into mine.
“For what it’s worth, he never got over you,” Grayson says gently, like it’s meant to explain the way August is willing to burn the world down in my name. “Time doesn’t change anything. Neither does his quest for vengeance. You were always tattooed on his heart.”
The coffee’s scalding and terrible, but it’s nothing compared to the new heat blooming in my chest.
I take another godawful sip, letting the caffeine slowly defrost my frozen veins, and pretend I’m not halfway to writing my grumpy stalker a redemption arc in my head… and not without some serious groveling and crawling on his knees, begging me.
Thoughts of my complicated love life fall away as my gaze catches on Grayson’s computer terminal. An open photo of Charlie.
I tilt my head and do another sweep of him. Computer nerd. Seems shy. Quiet confidence that mirrors my friend’s. Someone who doesn’t get out much, judging by his color and affinity for technology. OMG. They’re perfect for one another, and I wriggle my little Cupid fingers.
“Huh,” I mutter. “Didn’t have you pegged as the stalker type.”
Grayson’s fingers snap over the keys and close the window. “Occupational hazard.”
“Uh-huh.” I narrow my eyes. “Want to try that again? I’ve just been lied to for nine weeks by August and am not in the mood for more.”
Grayson stares into his coffee.
“Tell me the truth.” I deserve it. All of it. “What’s going on? She hasn’t said a word about a stalker.”
Grayson’s shrug is too casual to be innocent. “Guess we both have friends who keep secrets.”
That one lands harder than it should. I’m tired of all this fucking secrecy.
“Wait until Murder Spice confesses hers,” Grayson mutters over his mug.
“What?” I lean forward.
He chokes on his coffee. “Yeah, not going there. She and Katar frighten me.”
Names I’ve never heard before. Sounds like a weapon. Another of August’s soldiers, perhaps. Harper and I will have a long chat once August returns, and I’ve eaten cheesecake.
Grayson relents and gives me the truth. “August assigned me to watch Charlie and determine her connections to the Romans. She’s become an… obsession.”
“You think?” I retreat into my coffee before I can read too much into his face. “Does she know you exist?”
“Yes.” His smile lifts above the mug—the kind of expression that doesn’t belong on a man on surveillance duty.