CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – CONFESSIONS #2
She cocks her head, a gesture I know too well. “Then why didn’t you say something? Why not chase after me?”
My voice drops, barely a whisper. “Because I was a coward. Because I thought I didn’t deserve you. Because I’d been in the scenario a dozen times previously, and the narrative was going off the rails. I didn’t know what to do.”
For a second, I think she’ll soften. Maybe even reach across the table. But then she leans back, arms wrapping tighter around herself, and the ice sets in again.
“You could have just told me,” she says. “You could have let me decide if I wanted to be your research subject, your sex toy, or something else.”
I swallow, throat burning. “You’re right.”
She nods, as if confirming a data point. Then she bites her lip again, harder, and I almost groan out loud. Even now, she can wreck me with one gesture.
“You know what’s crazy?” she whispers, almost to herself. “Even after all this, I still want to be with you. Even if you’re the world’s biggest asshole.”
I choke out a laugh. “I’m not proud of it, but the feeling is mutual, sweetheart.”
We sit there, letting the silence ring loud between us. The bookstore is empty now, the only sound the distant thrum of the espresso machine winding down for the night.
She leans in, just enough that I can smell her perfume—sweet, with a hint of her feminine musk underneath. “So what do we do now?”
I grip the edge of the table, knuckles whitening. “Whatever you want, Kitten. I’m done making the rules because I want this to be about you.”
She doesn’t answer right away. But her eyes are different now—wide, baby blue, and maybe even a little bit hopeful.
I wonder if she can see that I’m trembling.
The coffee’s gone cold in my mug, but my chest is on fire.
I stare at my own hands—big, bronzed, useless—and realize I have no more secrets to give.
Kat’s waiting, delicate features impassive, but I can tell she wants me to keep talking.
Maybe she’s waiting for me to finally say something real.
So I do.
“I didn’t know how to handle it when you left,” I admit. The words scrape on the way out. “I thought I’d done the right thing—let you go clean, no messy fallout. But then it was like the air in the cabin turned toxic. Every page I tried to write felt like poison.”
She watches me, one eyebrow arched. It’s both skeptical and curious, and for some reason, it makes me want to confess everything, even the ugly parts I’ve never said out loud.
“I didn’t finish the book I was supposed to,” I say. “Didn’t even come close. I ghosted my editor, missed every deadline, and spent three weeks straight just pacing the house, drinking and rewriting the same fucking sentence.”
Her pink lips twitch. “That’s almost romantic, if you ignore the alcoholism.”
I snort, and the tension in my neck loosens by a fraction.
“Yeah, well. After a while, I gave up on the thriller. I opened a new file and started writing our story—yours and mine. I didn’t even start with the cabin porn, or the roleplay we did.
I wrote what I wish I’d said when you were still there. ”
Kat’s eyes soften, and for the first time, I see the edge of a smile. She doesn’t say anything, just waits me out, so I keep going.
“I wrote it all down. The truth, the lies, the way I wanted you so bad it scared me shitless. I never meant to publish it, at first. I just wanted to see if I could make it make sense. If I could find some way to fix what I’d fucked up.”
She leans forward, elbows on the table, the neckline of her top sliding just enough to give me a flash of pale cleavage. Her big bust is lush and tempting, and the sight makes me ache with longing, but I force myself to ignore the fire igniting in my groin. This moment is too important to fuck up.
“So when did you realize you had an actual book?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. “And why did you publish it?”
I look down, embarrassed, and trace a crack in the tabletop with my finger. “Because I didn’t want to hide. Not from you, not from anyone. I wanted to announce to the world how much I adored you because I couldn’t get through via any other channel. Maybe, just maybe, the book would be enough.”
Her mouth falls open, and she blinks hard, as if that wasn’t the answer she expected.
I rush to fill the silence. “I know it’s stupid. I know it doesn’t undo anything. But I wanted you to see it, to see yourself in the story, and to see how the tale is a homage to you, Kitty Kat. To us. Not as a joke, or a plot device, but as the best thing that ever happened to me.”
There’s a pause, and in it, the universe seems to hold its breath.
Kat reaches for her mug, and her fingers brush against mine. The contact is light, accidental, but it zaps through me like a live wire. I freeze, waiting for her to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, her thumb grazes the back of my hand, once, twice, like she’s testing the texture of old scars.
“Is that why you changed the dedication? I saw that the initial draft had my initials,” she murmurs, her voice different now—gentler, uncertain.
I nod. “I wanted to put your name, or at least some acknowledgment. But I didn’t want to out you either. Didn’t want the world sniffing around, trying to figure out who K.V. was. I thought… if you ever wanted to tell people, it’d be your choice. Not mine.”
She lets out a slow breath. Her hand is still on mine, and I can feel her pulse through the thin skin of her wrist.
“You really thought that far ahead,” she says, shaking her head. “Jesus, Talon. For someone who claims to be a disaster, you sure know how to engineer a moment.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. The sound is rough, rusty, but real.
“Yeah, well. I was out of other ideas.”
We sit there, our hands still touching, the silence not as sharp as before.
She’s looking at me, really looking, and for the first time since I saw her walk into the bookstore, I feel hope rising in my chest. It may be misplaced, or even futile, but I stare at the golden goddess like a puppy dog, waiting for a sign from its mistress.
Her eyes flick to my mouth, then back up. “So what now?”
My heart is beating so hard I think she must hear it.
I want to say: anything you want. Everything you want. I want to say: I’m yours, if you’ll have me. But I don’t trust myself to say any of that without screwing it up.
Instead, I squeeze her hand, just once, and let the moment hang.
“We could start with another coffee,” I say, voice low. “Or you could punch me in the face. Either way, I’m not going anywhere.”
Kat grins, and there’s something wicked behind it. “Tempting.”
She takes her hand back, but not all the way. “You know, if you’re going to make me the heroine of your next book, I want to have super powers. Something akin to Wonder Woman or maybe Batgirl.”
I lean in, matching her grin. “I will. Next time, I’ll get the superpowers right because you have them, sweetheart. You have no idea how powerful and magnetic you are, Kitten.”
The tension eases, and for the first time since the night exploded in the cabin, it feels like maybe—just maybe—we’re writing a new story after all.
The bookstore’s emptied out, the lights at half-power, and the barista is stacking chairs with the slow, deliberate movements of a union worker who knows they can’t be fired.
Kat’s hand is still a ghost on my skin, my own heart hammering so loud I’m sure she can hear it.
I want to freeze time here, keep her in this moment where I haven’t ruined everything yet.
But I owe her more than words.
I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket, fingers clumsy with nerves. The manila envelope is thicker than it needs to be, the weight of it ridiculous in my hand. I set it on the table between us and slide it over with two fingers, like I’m afraid it’ll bite.
She raises an eyebrow, but takes it. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” I say. My voice is rough, half a growl.
She peels it open, lifts out a crisp sheaf of papers. Her eyes flick over the headers—Legal, Royalty Statement, Trust Agreement—then up to me, confusion blooming in her face. “Is this a contract?”
I shake my head. “Not a contract. It’s your cut of the proceeds.”
She stares at me like I’ve just offered her a live grenade. “You’re giving me money?”
“Half the royalties, half the film rights, half of any translations. Everything the book earns. It’s in your name, sweetheart. You don’t even have to talk to me again. It’ll all go direct to your account.”
She blinks, lips parting, and to my consternation, I see the start of something angry in her eyes. “Are you trying to buy me off? Is this some kind of hush money?”
I wince, but keep my hands open, palms flat on the table. “No, Kitten. It’s not a bribe. It’s just… I couldn’t have written a single fucking word without you. It’s as much your story as it is mine. I wanted you to have something for that. Something real, not just a vague line in the dedication.”
She looks down at the papers, fingers running over the fine print, the notary stamp, the blue-ink signatures. Her hands are shaking, too.
The silence grows. I let it. I want her to see I’m not backing down, not hiding. I suppose this could be seen as a payoff, but it’s also something more. I want to take care of her, and this is one way of fulfilling my need to protect and provide.
She looks up, and her eyes are sharp. “You’re an asshole, but you’re not an idiot. You know most people would kill for this kind of check.”
I nod. “Yeah. But you’re not most people.”
The golden girl licks her lips, the motion slow, distracted, and my whole body tenses. “You really think this makes up for everything?”
I shake my head, quick and hard. “No, not at all because nothing could. But hopefully this tells you how much you mean to me, Kat. How much you’ll always mean to me because this isn’t a one time payout. You will receive royalties for as long as this book is making sales.”
For a moment, her mask slips, and I see a flicker of something old—longing, or maybe forgiveness, or maybe just exhaustion.
The overhead lights go down, and then come up again, a warning shot from the staff. Five minutes.
Kat gathers the papers, stacks them with the care of someone folding an origami secret, and tucks them into her messenger bag.
“I’m not saying yes,” she says. “I’m not saying anything.
I need time to process, Talon. This is so much, with the revelations about your M.O.
, how you dedicated the book to me, and now, all this money. ”
I nod. “Take all time you need, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting.”
She stands, gathering her things, and I watch the long line of her body, the way her hips roll in those jeans. I want to follow her out, drag her into the alley, beg her to let me start over. But I know better.
At the door, she pauses, glances back. “You gonna stalk me if I walk out of here?”
I laugh. “Never again.”
She seems to consider this, then reaches for the handle. As the bell above the door jingles, I blurt, “Wait—”
She turns, one eyebrow cocked.
I pull a card from my wallet, scribble a number on the back. “I just want to make sure you have my number if you ever want to talk. Or if you need a partner for crossword night.”
Kat takes it, tucks it into her pocket without looking at it. For a second, the whole world goes quiet.
She gives me a crooked smile, then steps out into the night.
The air outside is wet, the sidewalk slick with spring rain. I watch her walk away, the rhythm of her boots on the concrete fading, her hair a gold flame in the streetlight.
I don’t know if she’ll call. I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.
But I know that, for once, I did the right thing.
I stand in the doorway until I can’t see her anymore. Then I turn back into the empty bookstore, the world already a little smaller, a little grayer without Kat in it.
And for the first time since I lost her, I think maybe I could stand to write another chapter.