Chapter 4
HOME SWEET HELL (KANE)
Too much goddamned bacon.
I’ve got the meat sweats in spades, but that’s not the only reason I’m burning up on a crisp autumn morning like this.
Only our first morning here, and while the kids are inside doing their homework, I’m out here scrubbing the hell out of this dock, erasing years of grime and mildew. I want to see how the boards look underneath.
It’s a pleasant autumn morning, the sun still as warm as a summer’s kiss but the air cool. The leaves are unholy, tinged with every shade of red, and the reflections on the water make me feel like I’ve stepped into a watercolor painting.
Maine is fucking incredible at its peak.
For a second, I stop working the brush, tilting my face up to the sun. I breathe out half my soul, feeling the stress melting away.
That’s rare as hell, especially considering the situation.
This morning at breakfast, I should’ve known nothing would come easy with this strange woman around.
And now some neighbor wants to buy this place. That couple talked like they wanted to start negotiations immediately.
So much for a peaceful vacation, let alone figuring out what’s next.
But there’s a lot to love about this moment, just me and the whispering lake and not a video conference with people I hate in sight.
It’s an excuse to get outside and do nothing important.
Best of all, despite the coolness in the air, my old leg injury isn’t flaring up.
I usually dread the cold when temperatures plunge.
Like always, I stretch it out, but something stops me from going through the entire stretch routine my physical therapist drilled into my head.
No, not something.
Her.
Margot damn Blackthorn.
There’s a prickling sensation at the back of my neck. I resist the urge to turn around.
If I do, I know I’ll catch her watching me again.
She’s up there now, creeping away from the big bay windows on the first floor, making me feel like the unwelcome party crasher I am.
Just my luck we’re stuck with her—a dash of extra chaos the Saints didn’t need on their first real family trip in years.
I call her type the Evil Blonde.
Bratty, affluent, annoyingly hot in that cool, sophisticated way, with long legs and big blue eyes that hypnotize men who let their guard down.
She’s a human cobra masquerading as a minx.
The sort of wicked witch who breaks hearts and doesn’t think twice about it before moving on to her next sucker.
She’s also an heiress to billions, which does make her different.
I’m no slouch in the money department, but I’m damn sure not old Blackthorn money. Much less Maine royalty.
Danger, my mind warns.
All my nerves bristle with the knowledge that being stuck with her has the potential to get all kinds of shitty.
Hell, the way she looked at me after breakfast when I rescued her from a blueberry bone fracture keeps replaying in my mind.
“Fucking stop that,” I growl, slapping my cheek.
She’s taking up too much real estate in my brain.
Annoying.
Everything I’ve been through, and the dumbass boy inside me still simps for a pretty face.
But she’s attractive in all the wrong ways, like she was made to wreck my defenses. That extra splash of feistiness that hooks under my skin doesn’t help.
Thank fuck the kids are around.
If I’d come up here on my own, just me and Little Miss Fancy Heels, it could’ve been catastrophic.
Exactly the kind of drama I don’t need.
Not after Daria, the divorce, and ten thousand glass shards ripping my life to pieces. If I have my way, I’ll be a monk for the next few years.
Absolute celibacy.
If that goes well, we’ll see about the rest of my life.
I turn my attention back to the dock, still feeling Margot’s eyes on the back of my neck.
By the looks of it, plus a few good stomps, the structure feels sound, though it’ll need some fixing before it’s totally safe.
I grab a cloth and run my hand over a rough-looking board.
Splinters peel off from a small rotted area around a nail, trying to jam into my skin.
Damn.
This thing needs a full sand and restaining, plus maybe a few boards replaced for good measure.
And all these nails—some are popping out after years of neglect.
I’ll tap them down, I decide.
It’s quicker and easier than trying to put new ones in, and although they’re rusty, the structure feels solid enough to keep anyone from falling through it.
Especially with Sophie and Dan around.
Trouble is, the kids won’t look for splinters or uneven nails before they go pounding along on the wood barefoot.
Somebody will wind up hurt if I leave it like this.
New rule: no screwing around on the docks until I’ve fixed it up. If there’s time, I’ll treat it, too.
Winter’s coming.
Future proofing never hurt.
That’s a mistake I’m never making again. I yank at some splinters, ripping them from the docks and leaving fresh, pale wood behind.
At least Dan and Sophie can get some fresh air out here.
They’ve always wanted to live somewhere like this, born lovers of the great outdoors, just like me.
For now, that’s fantasy, but this getaway should be good for the soul.
Grabbing this rental was spur-of-the-moment, and it was the right call. The best call to take the sting out of the past couple years leading to our divorce judgment.
But fuck—if I could’ve prevented that sting in the first place, I would have.
If I could’ve spared them the pain, the anger, the uncertainty, I would’ve given up my next fifty vacations.
My chest cramps, and I grit my teeth.
No matter how much Daria’s bullshit hurt—and yes, it fucking did—the thing that kills me the most is how the kids were caught in the middle.
How couldn’t they be?
Their mother went out ugly.
There’s only so much you can do to protect two intelligent nine-year-olds from the wreckage. They’ve heard the fights and felt the long absences for years.
They knew what was coming, and although they seem fine lately, I can’t let anything slide.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, dragging my mind up from the pit of despair.
I shouldn’t turn down the distraction.
But when I pull out my phone, I see the number on the screen and stop cold.
Why the fuck didn’t I block her already?
I frown at the screen, wondering if I should even answer.
Every muscle goes rigid with the urge to break something. Starting with this iPhone, which I’d love to skip over the water until it disappears forever.
Still, curiosity gets me by the throat. I snap and swipe the green icon.
“What?” I snarl.
“Hello, Kane. Do you have a second?” Her voice is pleasant and razor-sharp, just the way it always is. Nothing’s changed, and it takes me right back to failure.
“No.” My voice is stone-cold.
“Aw, come on. Just for old times’ sake.”
“You know I want nothing to do with old times, Mallory. Much less the present.”
“Kane.” My name lashes me in the face as her voice softens. “It’s the Harley-Farview conference,” she hisses. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but it would be so deeply appreciated if you’d make the briefest appearance to—”
“You’re right. It is a lot, and the answer is no.”
“You… you wouldn’t have to be there physically,” she stammers. “I know you’re out of state. Just a video call will do.”
“To do what? Trick your investors into believing I haven’t dropped this shit show? Because in case you forgot, I have.” I inhale sharply, shaking my head. “What the fuck is this, anyway? Calling and asking for a favor?”
“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you,” she says, placating. “And I know things didn’t end on the best terms, but—”
“No. No more buts, Mallory. How many times do I need to fucking tell you? I’m done with OptiSynth, and you’re done using me for PR puff horseshit.”
She sighs, the rush of static going straight through me like ice.
“I’m not asking for the world. It would just be one little brief—”
“No,” I snap. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not fucking ever. Not after the shit you pulled.”
“Now listen, we had a sincere difference in vision and—”
Bullshit.
I hang up, swiping with more force than necessary. I miss the days when you could demolish a phone by slamming it back in its cradle.
Breathing roughly, I stare at the trees on the other side of the lake, adrenaline pelting my veins.
Why did I think they wouldn’t have the gall to contact me?
Especially like this, cold-calling out of the blue to ask for a favor they sure as hell know I don’t owe them.
“No, you go back and shut it!”
Sophie’s voice.
I stuff my phone back in my pocket, trying to shake my anger.
Just in time to see the kids racing downhill to the docks. The back door swings shut as Dan closes it, then races toward me, right behind his sister.
“Careful!” I call, my arms splayed wide to catch Soph. She stumbles into me with a squeal, and I grab her, swinging her around before setting her back on her feet. “What have I told you about running down hills?”
“Only run if you wanna fall over?” She grins, her glasses tilted. “But that’s why you’re here, Dad! You’re my brakes.”
Munchkin logic.
That’s why it’s impossible to stay mad at my angel.
Luckily, Dan brakes himself and bumps into my side dramatically.
“We finished our homework. English is easy. Can you believe they let me pick Narnia for the dumb paper?” he yells. Birds erupt from the nearby trees, and Sophie giggles.
“Pipe down, we’re not the only folks here,” I say, even though from here, it looks like we are.
Another reason I picked this place when Bar Harbor was a bust.
“It’s just birds.” Dan settles beside me. I steer them both away from the dock. “Are we taking the boat out? Or do we have to clean first?”
“Yeah,” Sophie says, beaming up at me. “You promised you would.”
The explosive pressure in my chest eases as I look down into their faces.
The prickling sensation of being watched has faded. If I look up, I’m sure I’ll see Margot drawn back behind the earthy curtains.
This is what I need after that call, though.
An excuse to get us out on the canoe, away from the world.