Chapter 14 The Long Way Home （Kane）
THE LONG WAY HOME (KANE)
As the kids peck away at their history papers, Margot and I head outside to check the cameras one more time.
I bought the best stuff money could buy, Enguard grade units shipped in from a world-class security firm out of California. They’re damn near bombproof and impeccable with their AI-backed night vision, but the bells and whistles still don’t stop my gut churning.
If the Babins were behind all this, they’re persistent.
They also planned their break-in, watching the house so they knew when we left.
Also, let’s face it, people gab in this little town, so they easily might’ve known where we were, how far away.
And I left us wide fucking open.
I download the app on Margot’s phone and set it up for her. She frowns as she searches for the signal, waiting impatiently for it to connect.
“There!”
“Is it working now?” I eyeball the last camera discreetly mounted above the front door.
Having them peppered across the property makes me feel a smidge better.
No, they aren’t armed. They won’t magically stop anyone hell-bent on breaking in, but if they do detect movement, at least I’ll catch them in the act.
I chose the subscription plan that saves all footage uploaded to the cloud for two weeks before deletion.
That’s enough to hand rock-solid proof to the police if this prick makes a third visit. And if they come, I will nail their asses to the wall with charges, assuming Margot doesn’t beat me to it.
No one threatens my kids or my woman.
No, I don’t care if I’m talking her up into something she isn’t.
The way she frowns, her bottom lip twisted in a pout as she focuses, just makes this too real. Headstrong or not, she’s a rich girl with zero experience dealing with nasty fucks willing to break the law and get physical.
She’s lucky I’m here, and I’m going to make sure her luck translates into action.
If anyone wants to get to her, they’ll go through me, and they will need a hell of a lot more than mere fortune. They’d better come fucking dripping four-leaf clovers.
“One more sec. Looks like I can flip the first few streams. We put up eight cameras, right?”
“Yeah, eight.”
“Okay.” She swipes through her livefeeds, then turns her screen to face me. “Number eight. Looks clear. I think we’ve got it.”
Once I’ve confirmed all eight feeds work on her phone, I go through and help her label them the same way I did so we’ll know where they are.
“Thanks for your patience,” I say, glancing up.
“No, thank you. I should’ve been the one buying these cameras.” She teases her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what you guys came here for.”
“Duchess, stop. You shouldn’t be apologizing.”
“But being here puts you guys at risk. You can’t just kick back and enjoy yourselves, and it’s because of me. I just know it. The bad blood here…”
“Shut it,” I say gently. “The Babins made their choice, or whoever the fuck. Nobody twisted their arm. You can’t blame yourself over something your grandfather never let you in on.”
“Well… maybe.” She clears her throat.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I glance down to see Daria calling.
Damnation.
She always did have the world’s shittiest timing.
Margot’s eyes widen when she sees the name on my screen. I’m sure the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up like thorns, and I don’t blame her.
“Um, it’s okay, Kane. You should probably answer that,” she whispers, stepping back.
“Right.” I’m practically vibrating with tension, but we have an agreement never to ignore each other’s calls.
I texted her about the trouble in Maine a couple hours ago.
The kids want to stay, of course, but I’m not set on keeping them around in a situation that’s less than secure. No matter how much they hate staying with their material girl mom, I’d rather have them annoyed than hurt.
“Daria?” I press the phone to my ear, unclenching my jaw.
“Really, Kane? Is it always such torture to speak to me?”
Yes.
“Did you get my message?” I ask flatly.
“Duh. Why else would I be calling? You have the cupcakes.”
My shoulders go rigid, watching Margot fiddle with her phone. She’s pretending not to listen in, giving me plenty of space, but I know she’s in earshot.
I’d do the same thing if the roles were reversed.
I’m no damn saint, whatever my name says.
I wonder what she’s thinking. If she regrets hooking up now.
Somehow, I doubt the other men she’s dated are single dads dealing with their ex-wives.
Shit, are we dating?
No, too far.
But I’ve always been bad at labels, especially with this casual stuff.
Becoming romantically illiterate must be the price of marrying young.
“Right. And that’s a problem with everything going down in this house.” There’s a long pause. “Daria?”
“Hang on,” she mutters. Her voice goes distant as someone speaks behind her before she comes back on the line.
“Sorry, I only have a few minutes. The photog wanted some late-night shots by the fountain. But yeah, if they’re in danger, just get them out of there!
Go home. Like, it’s not that deep, right? ”
“Daria.” I forget how damnably annoying she is, always expecting easy solutions. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You need to take them if I have to send them home. You understand? I already gave their tutor the week off, thinking we’d be on vacation.”
“What? Me?” She makes a strangled sound.
“Jesus, I can’t just take them when you snap your fingers, Kane.
I’m leaving LA for a shoot in Cabo and it’s totally not kid friendly.
I mean, what would they even do all day?
You know how stir-crazy they get, and the beaches are rough this time of year.
They’ll be safer with you. You can just check out early, right? ”
Not if I want to throw Margot to the wolves.
I can’t.
I won’t.
“That’s the problem, Daria. I already told the owner I’d step up and help secure this property, at least for a little while. I can’t just ghost her and—”
“For fuck’s sake!” she hisses under her breath. “Dude, why aren’t you taking them back to New York? You can figure out a sitter and then go back or whatevs.”
She doesn’t get it.
She doesn’t get a lot of fucking things.
But when it comes to their safety, she has a point.
My blood simmers.
I glance at Margot, unable to help myself.
No, I’m not stranding her in this house to face whatever the Babins have planned with nobody but the lazy-ass Mayberry cops around to stop them. If she got hurt or—
No. Not happening.
Fuck this entirely.
“Hold up. Is this a woman thing?” Daria inhales sharply. “Holy shit, are you seeing someone, Kane?”
Her scorned giggle splits my ears.
“It’s not like that,” I lie.
She laughs again like she can see right through my pathetic words.
Damn.
It’s not that Daria cares about me dating.
She’s had more boyfriends than I care to count since we split—and probably before, too. And even if she wasn’t okay with it, that wouldn’t matter.
Trouble is, Margot’s right in front of me, listening to every word.
This thing with her is so new, so fragile—and it’s not really a thing, definitely nothing that I care to share with my ex.
“It’s complicated, Daria. I can’t go just yet and you need to trust me on that,” I say. “There’s crap to sort out here, and I’m the best man to do it.”
“Oh, yes. Right. I forgot you need someone to feed your big hero complex twenty-four seven, and I guess you’ve found her. Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t have them right now. I’m going to be in Cabo for almost a week. Kyle has a pickleball tournament, too.”
My jaw pops hearing Kyle’s name, her surfer-dud boyfriend.
That joke of a relationship won’t last—they never do—and her awful taste in men remains unmatched.
It’s not jealousy, I just hate the thought of the kids being around the one-dimensional losers she brings home. Last time, Surfer-dud yelled at Dan for drumming while he slept off a hangover.
Burnout piece of shit.
“It’s not fair to spring this on me last minute,” she whines. “My schedule is so busy lately, Kane. Can’t your mom—”
“Forget it,” I snap. “I should’ve known better than to expect you to step up.”
“Hey, I—”
“No, you’re right. I’ll have my mom on standby instead, just like I figured. She’s having a spa weekend with her friends, but I’m sure she can reschedule, under the circumstances.”
Then I end this worthless call.
Margot stares at me in stunned silence, this compassion in her gaze I don’t deserve.
At some point I started leaning against the wall, raking a hand through my hair until it’s twisted like a bird’s nest.
Goddamn, how did that marriage last more than two years?
“Are you okay?” Margot asks carefully.
She walks up and lays a hand on my arm. Hesitantly, like she’s not sure if I want her touching me.
There’s nothing I want more.
That may be the scariest surprise today.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that. Daria can be… difficult sometimes.”
“Mm-hmm. How’d you guys meet? Just curious.”
I snort, winding my arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “You mean, you’re wondering how I was ever dumb enough to wind up with a woman who puts her own children last?”
“…am I that obvious?” She bats her eyes and tips her head back innocently. “She just doesn’t seem dedicated. Not like you, I guess, and that’s weird.”
“She’s not. I wish it were different. Not for my sake, but for the kids.” I find bare skin where her sweater rides up, and I run my fingers along it absently, tracing the waistband of her jeans until my fingers slip under the fabric. “It was a young marriage. Very young and incredibly stupid.”
“I guessed that. If you have a couple nine-year-olds at your age, I mean.”
“I’m over a decade older than you, duchess.”
“I know.” She doesn’t sound fazed by the age gap and she kisses my jaw. “But to have met her and married and had kids—that still makes you about twenty-seven when they were born?”
Yes, a fucking lifetime ago.
“Twenty-six,” I say. “One year older than you.”