Chapter 3
Chapter Three
THE SOFT MORNING LIGHT landed in the room in a way that was both familiar and different, casting Kate in an ethereal glow that made her seem somehow so much more vulnerable.
Even when it was patently obvious that she wanted to project an image of strength, her every word reinforced a sense that she needed help.
That she needed protecting.
Every time he glimpsed her bruised face, he felt a new stab of rage for the assailants, and what might have been.
“Coffee?”
She stared up at him as though he’d started to speak in a foreign language, then nodded slowly, pressing her fingertips to her temple.
He moved into the kitchen and poured two cups, texting Garrett as he did so.
“Right.” He placed a mug in front of her and watched as both hands lifted to cup it, curving around the warm edges as though it were a talisman. “Talk to me, Kate.”
His voice was all raw intensity. He took the seat beside hers, shifting his body so he was facing her, his much larger frame almost feeling like a cage to her far smaller one. But she didn’t startle, nor pull back. If anything, she almost imperceptibly leaned closer to him.
“Do you remember what I said last night?” She sipped her coffee.
He continued to stare at her, waiting for her to continue.
“I don’t trust anyone.” Her eyes stayed latched to the table. “And you’re asking that of me.”
He frowned. That wasn’t untrue. “You need help.”
She glanced up at him, frowning. “You’ve already helped me.”
“Not enough.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“I understand people. I think I particularly understand you.”
She looked around, an expression of disbelief on her beautiful face. “I highly doubt that.”
She had every reason to doubt. This was the home of an unashamed billionaire, a man whose life was surrounded by wealth and ease. There was no way to tell, just by looking at it, that he’d grown up not knowing where the next meal—or drunken beating—was coming from.
“What brought you to America?”
She worried with her fingers in her lap, and stayed silent for so long he wondered if she was going to ignore his line of questioning altogether. Eventually, though, her throat shifted and she lifted her big, clear eyes to his and said, “I’m looking for someone.”
Memories slammed into him, unwelcome and urgent. Looking for Grace, when he realised she wasn’t safely travelling abroad, but rather lost to the dark fringes of this city.
“And you haven’t found them yet.”
She shook her head slowly. “I thought three months would be enough, so I applied for a normal tourist visa. But I’d barely scratched the surface by the time it ran out. I arrived in New York two weeks ago, and I’m…”
She lifted one shoulder, almost apologetic.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she muttered, cheeks flushing with a welcome hint of colour, making her look more spirited, less vulnerable, so he was instantly glad. “But this isn’t exactly the best city to be in with dwindling savings and no legal way to work.”
He grunted his acceptance of that. His family had travelled everywhere, and in his opinion, there were very few cities that took pity on a person with no resources.
“You said you were working last night.”
“I met someone through the hostel. He helped me get some cash jobs. Babysitting, waitressing private functions, that sort of thing.”
Roman kept his face blanked of any emotion. The last thing he wanted was to imply a values-based judgement of her life choices, when he understood that people would generally do whatever they needed in order to survive.
“I’ve only been in New York a couple of weeks.” She swallowed visibly. “I need more time.”
“To find this person?”
Her eyes were huge when they latched to his. “Yes.”
“Who is it?”
She fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, then turned to the view. He stayed very still, studying the tense lines of her face and body, the shadowed bruising on her otherwise flawless skin.
“My father.”
She kept her gaze averted.
“I found out, about a year ago, that he was American. I hired an investigator who tracked him to LA, so I spent a few months looking for him out there. Turns out, he’d moved across to New York. But that’s where I’m stuck.”
“Why would your father run away?”
“He doesn’t know about me.” She turned to face him then, her features defiant, just daring him to say something soft and sympathetic. “He never did. My mum decided to raise me on her own.”
“And then changed her mind? Told you about him after all?”
He couldn’t help the hint of judgement in his tone, then. The idea of a child being kept from a parent was particularly callous, in his opinion.
“She died,” Kate said, voice clipped. “A long time ago.”
Roman’s brows creased. “How old were you?”
“Does that matter?”
Defensive, protective, boundary-seeking. He heard all of that in her sharp response, and not only did he understand it, he recognised it as one of his own core traits.
“Young enough that I barely remember her.”
There was a whole world of things she wasn’t saying.
Such as, who raised her after that. Then again, if his parents had died when he was a boy, it would likely have saved him a world of hurt.
The thought of still supporting their drunken asses, after what they’d done to him, and Grace, was like salt constantly in his wounds.
Only these wounds were too deep and too raw to ever heal.
“So how did you find out about your father?”
Her brow furrowed. “My aunt died a year and a half ago. I didn’t even know I had an aunt.
She was my mother’s sister, but I guess they weren’t close.
She died and left me some papers; one was my birth certificate, which had my father’s name, and another was a photo of my mother with a man who has my eyes.
” She lifted her shoulders. “It wasn’t a lot to go on, but it was something. ”
He’d seen a lot of shitty parenting in his life—his own parents, and Tia’s, and any number of the people they associated with.
But he recognised in Kate someone who’d almost walked in his shoes.
She had a brokenness about her that instantly resonated with him.
Maybe he’d recognised it even the night before.
It was the sort of vulnerability that could calcify and form hardened knots of resilience, because the alternative was to be so demoralised and destroyed that you wouldn’t go on.
“So you uprooted your life to look for him?”
Another shrug, her slender shoulders so fragile that a part of him tightened with an unwelcome sense of anxiety.
Anxiety that she be okay. Anxiety that no harm come to her.
“I’m alone,” she said, but the words shook with defiance, as though she were just daring him to feel sorry for her.
“I’ve been alone for a very long time. And then… ”
“You weren’t.”
Her smile was tight. “It must sound stupid. I mean, he doesn’t even know I exist. He may not even believe I’m his child…”
“But you need to know.”
“I’d like to know,” she said, in a manner that comes easily to a person who’s used to disappointment.
Cautious, judicious expectations rather than unfettered hope.
“But I can’t stay here indefinitely. I used all my savings to book a flight and rent a place in LA.
I didn’t think it would take this long.”
Money was no object for Roman Hayes. He could give her a fortune and not even notice a difference in his lifestyle, but he knew Kate wouldn’t take it. She was fiercely independent—life had done that to her.
A knock sounded at the door and Roman stood, striding across his apartment while processing what he’d just learned about Kate, and how he might help her. Because it was no longer a question of ‘if’.
Grace’s death eight years earlier had sent shockwaves through his life, and always would. Kate was one of them. Or rather, how he felt about her, his need to protect her.
He pulled open the door and Garrett stood on the other side. “Mr Hayes,” he said. “How’s the patient this morning?”
“See for yourself,” Roman said, opening the door wider. Kate sat, the sun streaming through the windows backlighting her so she looked as though a halo of gold surrounded her.
“Good morning.” She sounded self-conscious and shy. Nervous.
“Kate,” Garrett said, moving over to her. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a log. It should be illegal for a bed to be that comfortable.”
Roman didn’t want to think what the bed at her hostel was like.
“How’s the head?”
“Sore, but in a bruised way, not a brain damage way.”
Garrett grinned at the description. “And the ankle?”
She grimaced. “Not great. Roman’s been acting as my sherpa, carrying me around everywhere.”
Garrett flicked a glance in his direction and Roman stood completely still, not betraying a hint of emotion in his features nor with his body language.
“An x-ray would be the best course of action.”
She looked up at Roman, expression showing concern. “I really can’t.”
“We can organise it, off the books.”
She blanched. “No. It would cost a fortune.”
Roman compressed his lips and ignored Kate’s protest. “Can you take care of that, Garrett?”
“Of course. Give me a moment.” Garrett was already pulling his phone from his pocket and leaving the room, so he could speak in privacy.
“I can’t afford this.”
“What will you have for breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry. Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m bored of arguing with you.”
She gaped, and he was glad. He liked it when they argued, in truth, because she went from vulnerable to hellfire and he much preferred the latter.
“So you’d rather just…dictate things to me?”
“Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Eggs or fruit?”
Indignation showed on her features. “No, thank you.”
He moved to the fridge and removed a dozen eggs, eyes locked to hers as he began to crack them single-handedly into a bowl. Daring her to say something. Daring her to argue with him.
When the bowl was full, he removed a fork and began to whisk, still watching her.
Garrett returned. “All arranged.” He turned to Kate. “When you’re ready, I’ll take you.”