Chapter Twenty-three
Carter
It’s well past midnight and she’s not here. Was it the phone call? Dinner was not the time to ask her about it, and she made excuses to rush off right after.
I must tap my phone screen every five minutes, checking the time. When it hits one o’clock, I put on a T-shirt and sweats and go to the basement door. Did she lock it like she did the other night?
My body shudders in relief when I pull on the door knob and it swings open with nothing more than the slight resistance I’m used to feeling.
Padding down the stairs, I’m careful to bypass the fourth step from the bottom that always squeaks. This is wrong on so many levels. I’m invading her private space. I look between the bedroom and the stairs, two consciousnesses battling inside my head over which path I should take.
The one that has me seeing Kenna wins. Because she’ll be leaving soon. Because she was so sad at dinner. Because… I can’t get her out of mind.
The bedroom door is open, and I stand in the doorway for a moment.
It’s not hard to see down here. Kenna installed several nightlights around the whole apartment.
My eyes fall on the air mattress up against the far wall with Amelia’s small form curled around a stuffed Horton, sleeping as peacefully as a child should.
A sound pulls my attention to the bed. Kenna is tossing and turning, and I can’t tell if she’s awake or asleep. I assume the latter, or she probably would have screamed at the shadow of a man in her doorway.
I shouldn’t be down here.
Despite the warning in my head, I cross the room to the bed and sit on the edge of it.
Her eyes open at the shift of weight. She blinks repeatedly, probably expecting to see Amelia beside her, not me.
Her gaze immediately darts to her daughter’s side of the room then back to me.
When she goes to speak, I put a finger on her lips.
“Shhhh.” Then my hands snake underneath her and I hoist her off the bed and into my arms.
Part of me expects her to protest. Squirm out of my hold. Slap me across the face even.
She doesn’t do any of those things. Probably because Amelia is a mere six feet away.
When her head nuzzles between my neck and shoulder, however, I feel like the most powerful man in the world. I kiss the top of her head and carry her upstairs to my bedroom.
Only the dim light from my bathroom makes her visible to me as I place her on my bed.
I go around and crawl in beside her. Not on top of her.
Not straddling her. I’ve never had a more gorgeous woman in my bed, one I’ve wanted with every fiber of my being, yet surprisingly, at this moment, I’m not craving sex.
I just want to look at her. Be here for her.
Her eyes are open and she’s staring right back at me. There are no words exchanged. No touches shared. No expectations.
With the bathroom light behind me, I’m not sure she can see my eyes. But I sure as hell can see hers. And they tell me the opposite of what her words have. That she wants this. Wants me. That she’s comfortable in my home. My bed. My embrace. That she doesn’t want to leave, but must.
It’s the last thought that has me breaking the silence.
I rub her soft-as-sin shoulder. “You want to talk about it?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“Okay. Tell me something else then.”
“Tell you what?”
I shrug. “Let’s start with an easy one. What’s your favorite movie?”
Her mouth morphs into a sleepy grin. “Wow, you’re really crossing the line there, Carter.”
“I’ll go first then. The Hangover is great. It’s my feel-good movie when I need a laugh. Then there’s Shawshank Redemption. It’s the one I always stop and watch when I’m flipping through channels.”
“I have one of those. Thelma and Louise.”
“The one about the two women on the run who drive off a cliff at the end? That’s your favorite movie?” I shake my head. “I don’t know, Kenna. That’s pretty twisted.”
“It’s not about the plot or the ending. I’ve just always wanted a friend like that. The ride-or-die friend I read about in books. I’ve never had someone I was that close to.”
Me, my head screams. I want to be that person.
It would be idiotic to say, and would for sure have her racing back downstairs, so instead, I ask, “What about Tina? The friend from the dance parties?”
Her eyes become sad. “We had a falling out last year.”
“I’m sorry. And there aren’t any others?”
“Are you asking me if I have any friends, Carter?”
“Maybe. I mean, I have noticed that you’re never on your phone. I figured you for kind of a loner.”
She huffs. “I never set out to be. It just sort of happened.”
“Back to movies,” I say to lighten the mood. “Is Thelma and Louise your feel-good movie as well as the one that stops your channel surfing?”
“No. That one is The Idea of You.” She sighs.
“I haven’t heard of that one. Is it super funny?”
“It’s not funny at all.”
“Then how can it be your feel-good movie?” I smirk. “Do I need to explain the rules, Kenna?”
She smiles briefly before her face relaxes back into an easy gaze. “I don’t know. It just…” She swallows. “It just gives you hope that maybe the perfect person is out there, even if you meet them at the wrong time.”
My heart swells and shatters all in the span of one moment. Because no way is she talking about the movie now. She’s talking about us. We’re each other’s perfect person.
I scoot closer. “If you ask me, I don’t think there’s ever a wrong time. I mean, maybe if you’re both married.” I scrunch my brows. “Or if one of you is on death row.”
She giggles, and fuck, the sound lights up my whole goddamn world. “That would put a damper on things.”
“Good thing neither of us falls into one of those categories then.” When she averts her eyes guiltily, I add, “Do we? Kenna, are you still married?”
“No. No. Of course not. I told you last week I was divorced, and I meant it.”
I put a finger under her chin and guide her head back to me. “Then what is it?”
“It’s pretty much why my dad called. My ex reached out to him and told him about the divorce.”
“Wait. Your dad didn’t know?”
She averts her eyes again. “I’d already disappointed him in so many ways. He’s a man of God, Carter. He doesn’t believe in divorce.”
“But even he must understand some marriages are irretrievably broken.”
“I guess. But he’s upset we never went to counseling.”
“Do you think it would have helped?”
“Cyrus didn’t need counseling. He needed a twelve-step program or whatever.”
Ah, shit. “Drugs or alcohol?”
“Neither. Well, he did drink every day, but I’m not sure he was an alcoholic per se. It was gambling. I had no idea he’d gotten into so much debt until his bookie told me.”
Something clicks in my brain. “Jesus, Kenna. Did the bookie come after you? Is that it?”
“No.”
She doesn’t elaborate. Once again, she’s shutting the door on that particular line of questioning. So I go back to the previous conversation.
“Why do you think it was important that Cyrus told your dad?”
“I think it was a warning.”
My eyes widen. “A warning about what?”
“He’s bitter. Threatened to out my less-than-savory past to my father.” An arm covers her face. “I regret telling him about it. But I trusted him.” Her head shakes. “I was so stupid.”
I remove her arm from across her eyes. “You weren’t stupid, Kenna. You were in love. Listen, why not beat your ex to the punch? Don’t give him the satisfaction. You already have a strained relationship with your father, what could it hurt to tell him in your own words?”
“It’s not just about telling my father. Cyrus has threatened to do it publicly. To humiliate my dad in front of his entire congregation.”
“Aw, damn. Is that why you left New York? To protect your dad?”
Her hesitant shrug tells me maybe not.
“Still. You could tell him. That way he’d at least be prepared. I’m happy to go with you if you need moral support.”
She tucks a hand under the pillow, lying on her side. “Mind if we don’t talk about my ex or my dad anymore?”
“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”
“You think my car will be done on Friday?”
I nod. I know it will. The mechanical issues have already been fixed. The bodywork started today.
At least she looks as sad about it as I do.
“I suppose I should start packing our things.”
I put a hand on top of hers. “Or you could stay.”
Her eyes become glassy. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
“Is it Cyrus? Tell me, Kenna. Are you running from him? I can take the truth.”
She slides across the mattress, closing the gap between us, and lays her head on my shoulder, her hand on my chest. “Can we just lie here and talk about stuff that doesn’t mean anything?”
I close my eyes and run my hand over her hair. “Sure.”
For the next hour, I learn a lot about the woman I’m now sure I’m in love with. Her favorite colors. Her hobbies. Her dreams for Amelia.
When she falls asleep in my arms, I relish the feeling. I don’t move for an hour. Maybe two. Then I slip out from under her, pick her up, and carry her back down the stairs.
As I’m putting her in bed, she sleepily turns and looks at me through slitted eyes.
I lean down and kiss her forehead. Then I do what I couldn’t do earlier… I put my mouth next to her ear and whisper, “I could be your ride-or-die, Kenna.”
I pull back and we stare at each other for so long I start to wonder how much time has passed. Tucking her hair behind her ears, I smile at her, and walk away.