6. Kane
Chapter 6
Kane
I don’t plan to stop by Grace’s office. Not really. But here I am, standing outside her door, a manila folder in hand and an excuse so thin it might as well be made of air.
The hallway smells like stale coffee and industrial cleaner, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. It’s the kind of environment that should strip away any sense of purpose or charm, but Grace? She makes it electric.
There’s no one at the reception desk but I can see Grace sitting at her desk with her office door open, so I walk over. I take a breath, stealing myself, then knock twice before stepping inside.
She’s at her desk, head bent over a stack of papers, her dark hair pulled into a messy knot that somehow makes her look even more stunning. Her blouse clings in all the right places, and the way her brow furrows in concentration sends a jolt of something dangerous through me.
“Kane,” she says without looking up, her voice clipped. “Unless you’ve got donuts or a million-dollar check, I’m not interested.”
The sharpness in her tone should bother me, but it doesn’t. If anything, it fuels me. I grin, leaning casually against the doorframe. “No donuts, but I did bring you something even better.”
That gets her attention. She glances up, and the sharpness in her eyes nearly knocks the air out of my lungs. “If it’s more work, you can turn right back around and leave.”
I step closer, holding up the folder like a peace offering. “Wedding paperwork. Kate wanted me to drop it off so you can bring it to the dress fitting for her.”
Her eyes narrow, suspicion flickering across her face. “You couldn’t give it to her yourself?”
“She’s busy,” I say with a shrug. “Besides, I figured it’d be safer in your hands.”
Grace snorts, leaning back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. “Safer, huh? You do realize the last thing I want is to babysit your half-assed contributions to this wedding.”
I can’t help but grin. Her sharp tongue is like a shot of adrenaline, and I’m a junkie for the way she gets under my skin. “Now, Gracie, don’t sell yourself short. You’re clearly the brains of this operation.”
“Don’t call me Gracie,” she snaps, her tone laced with irritation.
“That’s what you’re latching onto?” I tease, dropping the folder onto her desk with a satisfying thud. “Not the part where I just complimented you?”
She rolls her eyes, flipping the folder open and scanning its contents. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Kane. You should know that by now.”
“Who says I was flattering you?”
Her gaze snaps to mine, and for a moment, the air between us tightens, electric and heavy. There’s a spark of something in her eyes—annoyance, sure, but also heat. A flicker of the fire that’s always there, just beneath the surface.
She breaks the stare first, her attention dropping back to the folder. “This is useless,” she mutters, flipping through the pages. “You couldn’t even bother to organize it?”
“I thought I’d leave that to the expert,” I say, my voice low enough to draw her attention back to me.
Her lips press into a thin line, and I can tell she’s biting back a retort. “Why are you really here, Kane?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy and loaded.
I could tell her the truth—that I needed to see her, that she’s been in my head nonstop since that night, and it’s driving me insane. But instead, I shrug, keeping my expression easy. “Just doing my duty as best man.”
She snorts again, but there’s something softer in her eyes now. “If this is your version of duty, remind me never to let you plan anything important.”
I lean against the edge of her desk, close enough to see the way her pulse flutters at her throat. “You wound me, Gracie.”
“Stop calling me that,” she says, her voice sharper now, like she’s trying to regain control.
“Why?” I ask, tilting my head. “It suits you.”
Her glare could cut glass, but she doesn’t move away, and that’s the thing about Grace—she’ll push back, every single time, but she’ll never back down.
“Anything else?” she asks, her tone cold even as her gaze flickers to my mouth for the briefest second.
I should leave. The smart thing would be to walk out of here and keep my distance, but I’m not smart when it comes to her.
Instead, I reach out, my fingers brushing hers as I tap the folder. “Make sure Kate gets this, will you?”
Her breath hitches, her eyes flick up to meet mine, and for a split second, I see it—the crack in her armor, the way her resolve wavers. For a second, there’s a flicker of something beneath the sarcasm. Something softer, unguarded. Then it’s gone, replaced by the usual razor-sharp edge .
“Fine,” she says, her voice tight.
She flips through the papers in the folder, but her focus isn’t there. Her movements are distracted, her shoulders tense. Her pen taps against the desk like she’s trying to ground herself.
“You good, Gracie?” I ask, keeping my tone casual even as my chest tightens at the sight of her so... unsettled.
Her head snaps up again, her eyes narrowing. “What’s with the sudden concern? Trying out a new personality?”
I shrug, holding her gaze. “Just an observation. You seem... off.”
She hesitates, the pen stilling in her hand. For a moment, I think she might say something real, something honest, but then her walls snap back into place.
“Maybe I’m just allergic to bullshit,” she says, her tone light but pointed. “And you’re giving off strong vibes.”
I chuckle, even though her deflection twists something in my chest. “Good to know I still have an effect on you.”
She rolls her eyes, pushing the folder toward the edge of the desk. “Is that all? Or are you planning to loiter here all day?”
I push off the desk, taking a step back, but I can’t resist one last jab. “By the way, you look great. Maybe a little tired, though. You should take a break.”
Her eyes flash, and for a moment, I think she might throw something at me. “Get out, Kane.”
I chuckle, raising my hands in mock surrender. “I’m going, I’m going.”
But as I walk out the door, I can’t help glancing back. She’s already looking down at her desk, but the tension in her shoulders hasn’t eased.
Something’s eating at her.
And for reasons I don’t fully understand, I want to know what it is .
I’m halfway down the hall before I let out a slow breath, the air punching out of me like I’ve been holding it hostage.
She is the human embodiment of a live wire, all sharp edges, and electric shocks, and somehow, I keep walking straight into her current like a damn fool.
The satisfaction of watching her squirm when I called her out for being “off” lingers, but it’s tangled up with something else. Frustration, maybe. Because as much as I loved watching her bristle and fire back, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was more beneath her surface today. Something she didn’t want me, or anyone else, to see.
I should let it go. Whatever’s eating at her, it’s not my business, but the memory of her tapping that pen against the desk, her fingers trembling just slightly, won’t let me.
The way her eyes softened for that split second when I asked if she was okay? Yeah, that’s sticking with me too.
I push through the doors to the parking lot, the cool air doing little to clear my head. The satisfaction of our verbal sparring match fizzles out, replaced by the same knot I’ve been carrying around since that night at Hooplas.
Because here’s the thing about Grace, she’s under my skin. It has been for a while now, if I’m being honest, and I’m starting to realize that no matter how much I needle her or how many walls she puts up, I keep coming back for more.
I stop at my truck, leaning against the door, the folder no longer in my hand. It’s not like I planned this visit just to see her. Okay, maybe it’s exactly like that, but the truth is, being around Grace feels like stepping into a fight I can’t win—and I don’t know if I want to.
She’s exhausting, infuriating, maddening…and yet, I’d be lying if I said this isn’t the most alive I’ve felt in years.
I rake a hand through my hair, letting out a low curse. “What the hell are you doing? ”
The question hangs in the air, unanswered because I already know the truth.
Walking away from Grace today felt like a small victory—watching her fume, knowing I got to her, but it’s a hollow win. Because the second I walked out that door, I was already thinking about the next time I’ll see her. The next excuse I’ll find to get close.
And that realization? It’s like a punch to the gut.
I climb into the truck, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. I don’t want this. I don’t want to be the guy who keeps chasing after someone who clearly wants nothing to do with me.
But wanting something else and actually doing it are two different things.
No matter how much Grace pisses me off, no matter how many walls she throws up between us, I can’t seem to stay away and that scares the hell out of me.
It’s a few days later and I’m meeting with Chance to interview a potential witness. The moment I step into Hooplas, Chance is right behind me, I can see his nervousness in the case bearing down on him like a lead vest. Fires don’t just start on their own, especially not with the kind of precision we’ve been seeing. There’s a pattern, a methodical approach, and if Chance’s hunch is right, we’re dealing with something far more dangerous than a string of isolated arsons. I’ve been chewing on this for days, but now it’s time to start getting some answers.
We spot the witness we’re meeting sitting in the back, hunched over the table with a beer in his hand. Alan “Moe” Davies, a janitor at one of the abandoned warehouses that went up in flames last week in Cedar Grove, claims he saw something suspicious that night. What exactly, though? That’s what we’re here to find out.
“Ready?” Chance mutters, nodding toward Moe.
“Yeah,” I say, though my mind is already half focused on the conversation we’re about to have. “Let’s see what this guy has to say.”
We approach the table, and Moe glances up, his eyes darting between us like he’s not sure if he should stay or bolt.
“Hey, Moe,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Mind if we sit down?”
Moe nods, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle. “Sure… sure, whatever you need.”
Chance pulls out a chair, and I take a seat across from Moe, trying to gauge his level of nervousness. The guy’s definitely skittish, but that could just be the thought of talking to two investigators about a fire that cost him his job. Can’t clean a place that has burnt to the ground.
“You said you saw something the night the warehouse went up,” I start, my voice calm but firm. “We need you to walk us through what happened.”
Moe takes a long swig of his beer, his gaze shifting around the bar before finally landing on the table. “Yeah, I saw something,” he mutters. “But I don’t know if it’s gonna help.”
Chance leans in, his voice smooth. “Everything helps, Moe. Just tell us what you saw.”
Moe fidgets with the label on his bottle. “It was late… like, way past when I should’ve been there. I had to lock up, but as I was heading out, I saw this guy hanging around near the back entrance. He wasn’t supposed to be there, you know? Didn’t look like anyone I’d seen before either.”
My attention sharpens. “What did he look like?”
“Tall,” Moe says, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to picture the guy in his mind. “Real tall. And he had this… jacket. A dark one. Maybe leather. He kept looking around, re al shifty and having a heavy jacket like that on in Florida just hit me as odd.”
Chance takes a few notes, his pen scratching across the paper. “Did you get a look at his face?”
Moe shakes his head. “Nah, it was too dark. He was wearing a baseball cap; kept it pulled low. I didn’t want him to see me, so I slipped out the other way. Next thing I know, the whole place is up in flames.”
I exchange a glance with Chance. This lines up with what we’ve suspected…whoever’s behind these fires is careful and deliberate. They know how to stay out of sight. But this… this is the first real lead we’ve had.
“Anything else?” I ask, trying to coax more out of him. “Anything you can remember about the guy? The way he moved, the car he drove, anything?”
Moe squints, as if he’s digging through his memory. “I don’t know… he walked kinda fast, like he didn’t want to be seen, but then, when the fire started, I saw him again. From a distance. I think he was watching.”
Watching. That sends a chill down my spine. Whoever this guy is, he’s not just setting fires…he’s sticking around to see his handiwork.
“We’ll need you to come down to the police station,” Chance says, his voice steady. “Make an official statement.”
“Yeah, sure,” Moe nods, but his unease is still there, thick in the air. “I’ll do whatever you need.”
Just as I’m about to press him for more, my attention is pulled to the bar area, and then I see her. Gracie. She’s sitting at the counter, her back to me, but I’d recognize that silhouette anywhere. Her blonde hair cascades down her back, and even in the dim light of the bar, she radiates this effortless beauty that’s impossible to ignore.
Then, I see him. The guy next to her…sitting too close. Handsome. Confident. Laughing at something sh e said, his hand casually resting on the bar, a little too close to hers. I grit my teeth, my pulse kicking up a notch as I watch them interact. Gracie smiles—one of those genuine, radiant smiles that lights up her whole face—and for some reason, it stirs something in me that I can’t quite shake.
“Hey, Kane,” Chance snaps his fingers in front of my face, pulling me back to the present. “You still with us?”
I blink, refocusing on Moe. “Yeah, sorry. Just… distracted.”
Chance gives me a look, but he doesn’t press the issue. Moe continues talking, going on about some other details, but my attention keeps flicking back to Gracie. She hasn’t noticed me yet, which is both a relief and an annoyance. I can’t help the way my eyes keep drifting over to her, watching as she leans in closer to the guy at the bar.
Who the hell is he, anyway? A friend? A date? Does it matter?
Of course, it matters.
I try to focus on Moe’s words, but they’re drowned out by the steady thrum of irritation building inside me. Every time I look at Gracie, I remember the way she feels, the way her lips taste, and the way she’s been avoiding me like the plague ever since that night. And now, seeing her here, looking all casual and happy with some guy who isn’t me… well, it’s making it damn hard to concentrate.
Gracie suddenly laughs, her voice carries over the noise of the bar, and I feel my jaw clench. The guy says something else, and she leans in even closer. The way he’s looking at her… it’s too familiar. Too comfortable.
And it’s pissing me off.
“Kane,” Chance says again, this time with more emphasis. “You good, man?”
I drag my gaze away from Gracie, forcing myself to focus on the job. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Let’s wrap this up.”
Chance nods and finishes up with Moe, scheduling a time for him to come in for his official statement. But as we stand to leave, my eyes can’t help but find Gracie again. This time, she glances in my direction, and for a split second, our gazes lock as if we are remembering together what happened just in the other room.
Her smile falters, just for a moment, then, as if she’s decided to ignore my existence altogether, she turns back to her conversation with Mr. Perfect.
“Let’s go,” Chance says, nudging me toward the door.
But as we go to walk out of Hooplas, my mind is still stuck on Gracie, the handsome stranger, and the fact that, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I’m not done with her.
We’re not done.
I just need to figure out how to convince her of it.
I watch Chance drive out of the parking lot of Hooplas with Moe, on their way to the police station, the tension rolling off me in waves. My mind is spinning after the interview with Moe. Something about his story lines up with what I’ve been piecing together, but it’s like I’m missing a critical detail—a piece that’s just out of reach. I should be focused on the investigation, but instead, all I can think about is her .
Gracie sitting at the bar. Gracie laughing with some guy who’s clearly enjoying every second of it. Gracie ignores me like I don’t even exist. How is she not drawn to me like I am to her? Is this all in my head?
I grind my teeth as I cross the parking lot, trying to shove the image of her and Mr. Perfect out of my head. Who the hell is he, anyway? And why the hell does it bother me so damn much?
Just as I’m about to unlock my truck, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see Hudson’s name flash across the screen.
“Yo,” I answer, leaning against the truck, trying to steady my thoughts.
“Kane, what’s up, man?” Hudson’s voice is casual, like he’s already kicked back for the evening. “Kate’s busy with wedding stuff, and I’m sitting here bored as hell. You wanna come over and shoot some hoops? Clear your head?”
I let out a long breath, the thought of shooting some hoops sounding exactly like what I need right now. Something physical to burn off this frustration. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
Hudson hangs up, and I slide into the truck, feeling the tension in my shoulders loosen just a fraction. Shooting hoops with Hudson is always a good way to take the edge off, and right now, I need all the distraction I can get.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull into Hudson’s driveway, the sun just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across his large property. As I step out of the truck, I hear the familiar sound of paws hitting the pavement, and before I can even react, Hudson’s English Mastiff, Pepper, comes barreling toward me, her massive body wiggling with excitement.
“Hey, girl,” I laugh, crouching down as she nudges her giant head against me, her tail wagging so hard it’s like a whip. “Miss me, huh?”
Pepper slobbers all over my arm, but I don’t care. She’s a beast of a dog, but she’s got the heart of a puppy, and for some reason, she’s always had a soft spot for me. Hudson follows behind her, grinning as he watches the greeting unfold.
“I think she loves you more than she loves me,” Hudson jokes, tossing a basketball toward me.
“Yeah, well, why wouldn’t she,” I question, catching the ball, throwing it back to him, and giving Pepper one last pat before standing up.
We head toward the hoop in the driveway, the pavement still warm from the day’s sun. Hudson dribbles the ball a few times before passing it to me. I take a shot, sinking it effortlessly, but there’s no satisfaction in it. My mind is still stuck on Gracie.
“You alright? You seem off,” Hudson says after a beat, taking the ball and dribbling around me. “You still helping Chance with the case?”
I shrug, trying to play it off. “Yeah. We’ve been trying to piece together this arson stuff. It’s all over the place.”
Hudson gives me a look—one that tells me he’s not buying it. He knows me too well. We’ve been through too much shit together for him to fall for that weak ass excuse.
“Come on, man,” he says, tossing the ball back to me. “It’s me you’re talking to. What’s really going on?”
I hesitate, holding the ball in my hands, staring at it like it holds the answers to all my problems, but of course, it doesn’t. Nothing about this situation is simple. I toss the ball back to Hudson.
Finally, I let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s Gracie.”
Hudson stops dribbling, raising an eyebrow. “Grace? As in Kate’s best friend, Grace? You’re still thinking about her?”
“Yeah, her,” I say, my voice tight. He takes a shot, the ball bouncing off the rim this time. “We, uh… we had a thing a couple weeks ago. It was… intense, and ever since, I can’t get her out of my head. I keep telling myself it was just one night, but?—”
“But it wasn’t,” Hudson finishes for me, his tone knowing.
I nod, feeling the frustration bubble up again. “Yeah. It wasn’t…isn’t, and now, I just saw her at Hooplas tonight, laughing with some guy. Mr. Perfect, all smooth and charming, and I know it’s stupid to be pissed about it, but… hell, I am. ”
Hudson dribbles the ball a few times before taking a shot, sinking it easily this time. “Look, man, I’m not gonna pretend I know what’s going on between you and Grace... never could figure it out. You two fight like cats and dogs, but I do know this—if she’s stuck in your head like this, it’s for a reason.”
I don’t respond right away, just watching the ball roll across the driveway. Hudson’s right, of course, but admitting that out loud feels like giving in to something I’m not sure I’m ready for.
Hudson crosses his arms, leaning against the hoop. “You care about her, Kane. Whether you want to admit it or not. I’ve seen the way you two are around each other…you love to hate each other. It’s not just tension. There’s something real there.”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling his words settle in. “I don’t know, man. She told me it was a mistake. That it never happened. Her words, not mine.”
Hudson laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, and you bought that shit? Come on, dude. Women don’t just hook up with a guy they know and then ‘pretend it never happened’ unless they’re trying to protect themselves. Grace is probably just as freaked out by whatever’s going on between you two as you are.”
I stare at him, my chest tightening with the truth of it. Gracie and I have been dancing around this thing for so long, I never stopped to think about what it might mean if we stopped fighting it. If I stopped fighting it.
Hudson picks up the ball and passes it back to me. “Look, I get it. You’re focused on the arson case, work, and all the wedding stuff. You’ve got a lot on your plate, but don’t let that be an excuse. Don’t let the right person slip away just because it’s messy or complicated. Trust me, man, you’ll regret it.”
I dribble the ball a few times, the thud of it against the pavement grounding me. Hudson’s right. If I keep pretending like this thing with Gracie doesn’t matter, like I don’t care, I’m gonna regret it for the rest of my life.
I nod, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course, I am,” Hudson grins, grabbing the ball from me and taking another shot. “Now, come on. You gonna stand there and brood all night, or are we playing ball?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Let’s play.”
But even as we get back into the rhythm of the game, I can’t stop thinking about Gracie, about what Hudson just said, and about how maybe it’s time I stop running from whatever this is between us and start figuring out what the hell I’m going to do about it.