Chapter 6 Lies That Built This House #2
A cold, hard clarity began to crystallize in her mind.
This wasn't bad timing for any building authority.
This was calculated. She stalked through the aging, historic building, her boot heels striking the marble floor with sharp, angry clicks.
Her all-black leather ensemble—a suit of armor she'd worn for confidence—seemed to ripple across the grand, antique mirrors lining the lobby, her reflection multiplying into an advancing army.
She was only speculating, a voice in her head cautioned, but she crushed it. This was no time for doubt.
As much as she dreaded the very thought of it, a conversation with Maureen needed to be had. Immediately. This sudden, convenient roadblock, this unseen hand pulling strings to put a monkey wrench in the project, had the unmistakable, toxic signature of her future mother-in-law written all over it.
PAULA STOOD NAKED in her bathroom mirror and examined her reflection, her own eyes looking back at her like those of a stranger.
Her nerves weren't just scattered; they felt like live, thrumming wires just beneath her skin.
Her hand instinctively went to her stomach, rubbing the soft, almost imperceptible swell.
She tried to imagine the life growing in there, this impossible, terrifying secret.
She hadn't told a soul other than Garett, and his reaction killed her.
The memory of his face on FaceTime when she told him—the forced smile that didn't reach his eyes, the immediate, cold distance—was a fresh stab of pain every time she replayed it.
At a time when she should be screaming it from the rooftops, or at least sharing the crazy, joyful news with her mother, she couldn't. The thought of telling Maureen was laughable; her secret would be spilled all over town before she even finished getting the words out.
And the timing... God, the timing was just cruel. With Kayden and Lana’s recent, devastating loss, and the entire family still reeling from the fallout with Kim, announcing a pregnancy felt less like joy and more like another gut punch her brother and best friend didn’t deserve.
Paula pulled her plush robe over her still-damp body, the fabric feeling too heavy, too concealing.
She walked out of the bathroom, the weight of the unsaid already pressing down on her.
How long could she hide this? The morning sickness was just starting to creep in, and the bloating was undeniable.
Kayden and Lana would be heading to New York for a bit, which was a small, guilty mercy.
It would help buy her time. It was also an excellent reason for her to travel home to LA to escape the suffocating atmosphere of Hamby for a while herself.
She desperately missed Garrett, even if their last call had been strained.
It felt like forever since she’d seen him, and she needed to look him in the eye and see what his real feelings were.
Tonight, she’d be staying at the Spence Hotel.
She'd already packed an overnight bag, eager to give Kayden and Lana some desperately needed privacy. They hadn’t had a single quiet moment alone together since the hospital, and when Kayden had awkwardly, almost shyly, asked if she would split for the evening, she had been more than happy to.
She hoped, with a desperate ache in her chest, that they could make it through this.
This rough patch didn't even begin to cover it. Lately, the odds looked bleak. They’d both gone through absolute hell and back, fighting through lies, manipulation, and near-death to find their way to each other.
She prayed, for both their sakes, that they didn't let all that pain and all that love fall apart now.
SHANE WESTWOOD KNELT in the small, dank apartment and clasped the monitoring device around Kim’s ankle. A loud beep rang, then the red light turned green and stayed solid. He stood and glared into her face as he spoke.
“If you tamper with this in any way, you will return to jail to finish your sentence. If you walk more than ten feet away from this building outside of the allotted times, you will return to jail; if you cause any trouble to the residents in this building, you return to jail...,” he started.
“Yeah, I got it,” Kim interrupted rudely.
Shane was her probation officer, and he was just her type. Tall, bulging muscles, dangerous features—she felt her mouth water.
“Personally, I hope you do. I would love nothing more than to bust your ass and send you back,” Shane barked, his brows pinched tight.
“Please tell me that’s a promise,” she asserted, winking at him.
He was so hot, and she loved rough talk.
“Soliciting sex from an officer, you return to jail,” he deadpanned, then stomped out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him.
The thud of the apartment door closing, followed by the definitive click of the deadbolt, was the only sound.
The probation officer was gone. Kim stood motionless for a second, feeling the hard, alien weight of the ankle bracelet.
A constant, humiliating tether. She took a long, shuddering breath, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and old grease.
She smoothed her greasy hair back, her nails digging into her scalp.
Her gaze swept over the dingy space—peeling linoleum, water-stained ceiling, a single, flickering bulb. This was her cage.
A bitter, silent laugh escaped her. She could have demanded that Maureen have her sent home to New York, back to civilization.
But that would be retreating. That would be letting her win.
Letting Lana win. No. She needed to be close.
Close enough to watch them. Close enough to dismantle, piece by piece, everything that bitch had stolen from her.
She was nowhere near done. This was just an intermission.
Her eyes landed on the ugly, brown, stained couch. It was ripped in one corner, spilling yellowed foam. She wrinkled her nose but walked over and lifted the center cushion. A slow, triumphant smile split her chapped lips.
The laptop and a burner cell phone, nestled in a plastic bag.
Just as she’d requested. Her smile widened into a grin.
Maureen followed directions beautifully when you had her by the throat.
And Kim had that old witch clamped in a vise.
She snatched the machine, carried it over to the wobbly Formica dining table, and flipped the top up. The screen remained black. Dead.
No bother, she thought, her mind already racing, calculating.
She bent over, found the power cord in the bag, and plugged it into the grimy wall outlet.
A small, red charging light flicked to life.
Kim sat down, her eyes fixed on the device, and thought of everything she would have access to once it sprang back to life.
As soon as she tracked down Clint, he would help her figure out how to remove her dog leash and could finally get to work.
Kim stood and stretched her arms above her head.
She was exhausted from the long process of being released and was also starving.
A few feet from her, an old refrigerator sat in the grimy kitchen.
She opened the door and, as she demanded, the stocked interior had her favorites, courtesy of Mrs. Capshaw.
At this rate, she could probably ask anything of Maureen now.
Maybe even Kayden, finally. She grabbed a bowl of huge black cherries from the fridge and flopped down on the couch.
As she crammed a few into her mouth, the tangy, sweet juice burst on her tongue, and the first thing Kim had eaten she considered edible in weeks.
Jail was not a place she planned ever to find herself again.
With that thought, she propped her feet up on the rickety coffee table and finished the bowl before passing out on the couch.
LANA BOUNCED INTO the house, but inside was dim. The last time it looked like this was the night she caught Kayden in his boxers back when she couldn’t stand his guts. She flipped the light switch on near the door, flooding the house with light.
“Hey, hey, now, don’t ruin my atmosphere,” Kayden called from the dining room.
She lowered the dimmer switch, and when Lana stepped further into the house, a warmth that had nothing to do with the thermostat enveloped her.
The living room, usually bright and open, was now a sanctuary bathed in the soft, flickering glow of dozens of candles.
Their gentle light danced across the walls, casting intimate shadows.
The aroma of something delicious and savory, distinct from the mustiness of Arthur Spence's office, wafted from the dining table, where a meticulously prepared dinner awaited.
And Kayden... he was dressed to kill, a vision that momentarily stole her breath.
A bottle of her favorite Cabernet sat chilling in a bucket of ice beside the spread, a final, perfect touch.
Everything looked beautiful. So utterly, heartbreakingly perfect.
For a fleeting second, her lips curved into an unbidden, genuine smile—a rare visitor lately.
The harsh fluorescent glow of her recent discoveries about Maureen began to recede, just for a beat. She looked around her and took it all in—the romance, the care he took to do this—and smiled as she walked toward him, her footsteps soft on the hardwood.
He was a picture of effortless elegance in black slacks and a rich black cashmere sweater that fit his broad chest snugly, emphasizing the powerful lines of his shoulders.
His arm was still in the sling, a stark reminder of his recent trauma, but save for the lingering sling and the faded bruising around his collarbone, he was looking like himself again. More than himself.