Chapter Eleven
Kenna
I’ve avoided him for the past two days. I’ve binge-watched Below Deck marathons, played countless hours of video games with Amelia, and walked to and from the nearby park no less than two times every day just to let my daughter expend some energy.
Carter’s nightly invitations for dinner have gone unaccepted. I have my own food. After all, he’s just being a gentleman. Surely he would extend the same courtesy to anyone staying in his basement.
Who am I kidding?
There was a moment Tuesday night when I was sure he was going to kiss me. Did I want him to? I honestly can’t answer the question. Which is why I’m keeping my distance.
I like it here. Not necessarily in this basement, although it’s not bad. I like the town, or what little I’ve seen of it. I like the neighbors. I ran into Allie at the small grocery store on McQuaid Circle. She’s someone I feel like I could have been friends with were circumstances different.
Too bad I didn’t find this town three years ago. Before Cyrus. Before… a lot of things. There’s so much possibility here. And then there’s Carter. He’s kind and chivalrous and hardworking. And obviously a great dad. In another life, he’d have been the perfect man for me.
Then again, would he have? I’m the first person to admit I’m a terrible judge of character. I always pick the wrong guy. Always. Like the way wrong guy. By huge, colossal leaps and bounds.
The guy I lost my virginity to ghosted me the next day. Amelia’s father bolted the instant he found out I was pregnant. And then there’s Cyrus…
All of them were just like Carter. Kind. Generous. Caring.
At first.
But I’ve learned my lesson. True colors don’t come out until people know everything about each other.
Their past. Their secrets. And regardless of my growing feelings for the gorgeous guy upstairs, I’m quite possibly holding the biggest secret of them all.
Which is why I shouldn’t be around him, or any man.
No matter how much fun we had building the snowman.
Regardless of how many times over the past four nights he’s invaded my dreams. Despite the countless hours I’ve laid on the bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what he’s doing when I hear footsteps overhead.
“Mommy, I’m bored.”
It’s a statement I’ve heard a dozen times a day.
Having been the primary source of my daughter’s entertainment for almost a year, I’m used to it by now.
Would I love a little break in the monotony?
An opportunity to introduce some variety and new friendships into her—our—lives?
Of course. I just haven’t been able to trust that she’d be safe with anyone but me.
I thought my neighbor, Ms. Kinney, was safe. Based on the text Cyrus sent, I was wrong. Then again, he didn’t mention her by name, just that he knew who Amelia’s babysitter was. Was it simply another veiled threat? Or did he actually know?
I shudder thinking of the answer. Would he really do anything to Amelia? Hurt her? Take her? Or like the others who came out of nowhere and threatened me, is his intimidation just a means to get what he wants from me?
Because Cyrus doesn’t want her. Never did, despite his initial declarations to the contrary.
That thought scares me even more. At least if he wanted her, she’d probably be safe from physical harm.
But in the months after we married, she became nothing but a bother to him.
He started raising his voice. Yelling at her, even.
Looking back, I was a fool to think he’d eventually fall in love with her. Looking back, I’m ashamed of myself for staying in a relationship that didn’t prioritize my child. Looking back, I’m relieved all he ever did was raise his voice and not his hand.
But verbal abuse is still abuse. I only hope Amelia is young enough that she’s forgotten it.
I’ve questioned many times why I stayed. My only answer is that it was familiar. I knew the rules because I was raised with them. I knew that in order to be loved, I had to follow those rules. But Amelia didn’t know. And she never ever will.
I’m not sure Cyrus would ever act on his ultimatums where Amelia is concerned. He just knows she’s my Achilles heel—the best and quickest way to get what he wants. And damn it, if it didn’t work on me once.
But shame on me for giving in to his demands. Because when he came back with more of them, I knew I’d set myself up for a lifetime of capitulating to him if I didn’t do something about it. I was stupid and na?ve to think he’d simply go away.
“Careful, Kenna… you’d hate for Daddy to know the truth about you.”
Even now, I can still hear the glee in his voice knowing he had power over me.
My uber-conservative father would not be happy knowing about my sordid past. Just the thought makes my heart pound.
But it’s better than the threats against Amelia.
Anything is better than threats having to do with my daughter.
Blackmail. That’s what this is, pure and simple. I know it. He knows it. And the fact that I gave into it once proves how weak and foolish I really am.
I’m not going to be that weak and foolish again.
Which is why I’m avoiding going upstairs.
“Momm-eeeeeeee!” Amelia tugs on my arm.
“What is it, baby? I know you’re bored.” I pull out a deck of cards. “How about we play Go Fish?”
The corners of her mouth turn down. “You don’t play it like Christian and Bug.”
“Okay, then. Want to read one of your books? How about Dr. Seuss?”
“Carter talks like Dr. Seuss.”
I close my eyes, because, yes, I like it too.
“I want Carter to read it to me.”
“I’m sorry, baby. Carter is just the man we’re renting this room from. It’s not his place to play with you.”
“But we built the snowman. And he plays tic-tac-toe. And he colors.”
I sigh. How do I explain to a four-year-old who thinks the world revolves around her, that it doesn’t?
Music blares from upstairs. Loud music. Taylor Swift music.
Amelia runs to the stairway, clearly excited. “Mommy, it’s Taylor Swift.”
“Yes. And we can listen to it down here if you want.”
She sits on the bottom step, arms crossed, clearly pouting.
“I’m going to get your pajamas. Get ready for your shower, okay?”
She pretends she doesn’t hear me.
Not wanting to fight with her, I go into the bedroom and get her pajamas. Before I’m back in the living room, the music gets exponentially louder. Amelia is also no longer on the steps, and there is light coming down the stairway.
I toss the clothes onto the couch and shake my head. “Amelia!” I yell on my way up, even though the music is too loud for her to hear me.
I follow the increasingly loud beat through the kitchen into the living room, where it appears Bug, Christian, Carter, and now Amelia are all having a… dance party?
Bug’s blue hair is a blur as she shakes her head to the beat. Christian is standing a respectable distance from Bug, supporting himself on his crutches, moving his shoulders to the beat.
And then there’s Carter.
Carter is twirling my daughter around like she’s a little ballerina. I can hear her delighted squeals even over the music.
My anger at her defiance melts away as I take it all in. There’s a longing in my gut that I try to push away. I want to ignore it—need to ignore it. Because this is all an illusion. It’s not real. It can’t be real. Not for me. Not for us.
The only reality I know is the one that has me taking Amelia and disappearing.
Maybe then we can attempt to live a normal life.
Change our names again if we have to. Maybe then we’d be safe.
Maybe then, my dad won’t have to suffer the humiliation Cyrus has been threatening.
And if he does, at least Amelia and I won’t be around for the fallout.
Before my mind races with other ways Cyrus could get to me, I’m being pulled from the doorway by Bug. “You don’t watch a dance party,” she shouts. “You dance at a dance party.”
I’m at a complete loss. If I go over and pick up Amelia and drag her downstairs, I’ll be the mean mom. If I stay, I have to suffer through watching Carter be all charming and fatherly as he spins my daughter around while she giggles.
The song ends and I have a brief second to ask, “Do you have these often?”
“First one,” Bug says, still attached to my arm. “Come on, Kenna. Live a little.”
First one? I look over at Carter, who tries to act all innocent as the next song starts up. The song happens to be one of my all-time favorites. “Dancing Queen.”
“Dance, Mommy!” Amelia screams from across the room.
I roll my eyes. I shake my head. I sigh big time knowing she’s got me over one hell of a barrel. I laugh at the whole situation and then say, “Oh, what the heck.”
Bug smiles when I start dancing next to her. I may not have a fancy degree. I don’t have a ton of hidden talents. I can’t play sports to save my life. But the one thing I can do well is dance.
“You’re really good,” Bug announces a minute later. Then she dances over to Amelia, takes her little hand out of Carter’s, and pulls her off to the side, showing her some ‘boogie’ moves that make Christian and Carter fall into fits of laughter.
I get lost in the song, feeling a sense of peace in the music.
It’s a feeling I haven’t felt since… well, since being on the ground in the snow the other night.
I close my eyes and let the music envelop me.
I try to let all my worries, fears, and disappointments fall away. Even if just for a moment.
My eyes fly open when a hand touches my shoulder. Carter is staring at me.
“Dance with me.”
It’s not a question. More like a command. One I should definitely not follow.
But my body completely betrays my mind when I step closer and put my hand in his proffered one. He leads me into a dance that’s a cross between a waltz, tango, and swing. I step on his feet more than once because I haven’t a clue where he’s going with this.
He clearly has no idea what he’s doing either, yet he appears to be having the time of his life.
He lifts my arm and twirls me underneath his. I trip and fall smack dab against his chest. He steadies me against him and holds me there long after I get my footing.
Heat passes between us. And probably a few more things I’m trying to ignore. Because being this close to him—his scent permeating every cell in my body, feeling his muscles press against me, having his strong hand around mine—is waking a sleeping beast inside me.
I look up into his striking hazel eyes. “Did you do this just to get me out of the basement?”
The expression on his face is somewhere between a smirk and a gloat. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“You’re not even going to deny it?”
His hand squeezes mine as he arches a brow. “Are you?”
And I don’t think we’re talking about the dance party anymore.
Electricity flows through me as if I’m standing on a live wire. He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive. And not in a predator/prey kind of way. More in an I’ll give you four orgasms and then make you breakfast kind of way.
Amelia shoves her small body between mine and Carter’s, oblivious to what’s going on between us.
“Dance with me, Mommy!”
I swallow hard, my gaze still tethered to his. Then I pull away, take my daughter’s hand, and we dance our asses off to Taylor Swift’s “Shake it Off.”
Thirty minutes later, sweat trickling down my back, it dawns on me that while Carter and I haven’t shared another dance, we’ve never really taken our eyes off each other.
Bug holds up her phone. “I have to go.”
Someone turns the music off.
“I promised to help with the twins’ baths,” she says, then turns to me.
“I almost forgot. Allie wanted me to ask you and Amelia to come over for dinner tomorrow. That’s actually why I came over.
I had no idea about the dance party.” Her eyes momentarily flit to Christian.
“That was an unexpected bonus. We’re making hot dogs and hamburgers. ”
“Hot dogs?” Amelia asks. “Please can we, Mommy? I want to see the babies.”
I’m wavering. We shouldn’t. What’s the point in making friends when we’ll be gone in a matter of days?
The thought has me glancing over at Carter, suddenly mourning the fact that I might never again experience the feeling I had while in his arms.
Carter crosses the room toward me. “Say yes, Kenna. Asher’s barbeque skills are as good as your dancing. It’ll be fun.” He inches forward and whispers, “I take it back. Nothing is as good as your dancing.”
Christian and Bug snicker quietly as my cheeks flame.
I didn’t realize the invitation was also extended to Carter and Christian, but I guess it makes sense.
Why do I feel like this is a bad idea? But Amelia is tugging on my shirt, begging me to go. She’s been complaining about not being able to play with Christian and Bug. And after hearing so much about the twins from Bug, she’s truly itching to meet them.
“Mommeeeeeeee,” Amelia whines. “It’s hot dogs.”
It occurs to me that in a few days, hopefully a week at most, we’ll be on the road, and she might not get a chance to be around other kids for a while.
It’s been a hot minute since she’s gotten this much attention.
Pretty much since I pulled her out of preschool last spring, when all the threats started coming in.
It’s only fair to her to let this happen.
At least that’s what I tell myself when I take another glimpse at Carter before I say, “Tell Allie I’ll bring potato salad.”
“Yay!” Amelia dances around even though there’s no music.
Carter’s smile overtakes his entire face. “Tell your dad I’ll bring wine.”
Bug looks at him like he’s crazy.
He laughs. “Oh, right. Make that beer.”
“They don’t drink wine?” I ask.
“They drink it alright. Allie’s family owns a winery.” He rolls his eyes. “Forgot for a sec.”
“She’s like a gazillionaire,” Bug says matter-of-factly.
My brows slam together. “And they live… there?” I quickly realize that what I said might be perceived as a dig against Carter’s house. “I mean, this neighborhood is great, but...”
“Believe me,” Carter says, not taking offense in the least, “their house is a lot bigger than this one. Largest in the neighborhood. But Allie has never been one to flaunt her money. In fact, she lived in an apartment above her parents’ garage until she moved next door a few years ago.”
That makes me want to like Allie Anderson that much more. I may even feel a slight twinge of excitement about getting to socialize with another woman closer to my age.
I take Amelia’s hand and head for the basement stairs. “I guess we’ll see you all tomorrow.”
My eyes land on Carter before I’m through the door. Every time I’ve looked at him tonight, he’s been looking at me. The only exception was when he was dancing with Amelia and his full and complete attention was on her. Damn it if that doesn’t tug at my heartstrings just a little more.
He lifts his chin and gives me one of his oh-so-charming smiles. One of his panty-melting smiles. One of his I should definitely close this door and lock the chain smiles.
So why, then, after I walk through, do I leave the chain dangling, just as I have ever since he installed it?