Chapter 55
"I BEG YOUR FINEST PARDON?"
We're in the kitchen of my house and my parents have yet to emerge from their bedroom. They're awake, though. Dad crashed into furniture earlier – I think he stubbed his toe – the thud and his pain-filled "Ouch" waking Mom up and I heard them laughing through the walls.
Sky decided that he needed to step away because if he stayed in my room any longer, he'd never stop touching me.
It's a mutual feeling. If he didn't literally pry me off of him, we'd still be rolling around in my bed, hoping to make as little noise as possible.
I can only gawk and gape, my jaw nearly dislodging while watching him putter around the kitchen, dishing fried bacon strips onto a paper towel-covered plate.
His nonchalance is unnerving. All of it. Prepping breakfast and making fresh orange juice as if he didn't divulge there was a break-in attempt last night which he thwarted single-handedly and chucked the perpetrator into the police station. He explained it like a new recipe he wants to try out.
I'm stunned. Worried for myself, my parents, and for him – especially him – that I have to put the coffee cup on the counter before it falls and shatters.
"What?" comes his confused reply, eyebrows furrowing as though he can't think of a possible reason warranting my reaction.
Nose scrunched, my face, hands, and arms make incredulous animated gestures I can't begin to name. "What?" I laugh. "He asks, 'What?' If I didn't know you at all, I'd think you do stuff like this all the time."
Running a hand across my face, I lean against the counter behind me. When I look back at him, Sky's expression softens considerably and I'm once more swept away by how he can go from looking focused and tense and dangerous – even while cooking – to soft and struck by love in a matter of heartbeats.
It's the kind of look that steals my breath, the kind most people wish to see directed at them because it says, 'I can never get enough of you.'
"You're worried."
"Great observation, Detective Holmes."
Sky laughs. A delicious, deep rumble that I've grown fond of listening to. Despite myself, and the worry currently coursing through my veins, pumping my blood hot, I smile in return but as quickly as the moment turns light, it's dampened by a thought that creeps in.
It's nerve-wracking and troubling. Sky must see the conflict on my face because he steps around the island counter and turns to lean against it, facing me.
"What's with that face?"
I can't begin to explain how much I appreciate him. He has a way of making it easy to talk to him about anything – most things, that is.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I study him. Since he walked with no change of clothes, I've given him a spare jersey and sweatpants to use.
The dark gray material is stretched tight over his shoulders and torso since he's larger than I am, but it hugs him well enough that it's projecting, into my head, desires sinful enough to have my heart pounding and breath shorting.
The sweatpants fit fine, except that the seams reach inches above his ankles.
It looks odd yet somehow, he's making it work.
A sly smirk pulls at his lips, blue eyes darkening considerably. "Conner, if you don't want to spend the next hour with your face buried in a pillow, stop looking at me like that and answer my question."
"You're vulgar, Daniels."
"That's tamed," he retorts. "If I were vulgar, I'd spread you across the counter and keep going when your parents walk in."
"Sky!" My eyes are bugging out, and my jaw drops in horror so suddenly, I'm surprised my face doesn't dislocate. To add to the horror, he bursts out laughing, bowing over and clutching his sides. "That's psychotic thinking! Oh my god," I chide, smiling, nonetheless.
He laughs more and it's almost a full minute before he sobers up and is able to continue with the conversation before my hormones crashed it.
He shrugs. "Maybe, but at least I got a smile to start my day."
The charming smooth-talker.
"So, what's on your mind? Is it about the break-in attempt?"
My lips twists as I ponder my question, thinking through the possible outcomes in regard to his reaction. Still, I preface with, "Don't get mad or offended, okay."
I pause, waiting for him to say something, a quip or witty remark that's just like him to do. Instead, silence awaits accompanied by the smallest tilt of his head.
"You and your dad," I start, reluctant and hopeful that I'm not overstepping, "you're not involved in anything...illegal, are you?"
Sky blinks. Stares. Blinks some more.
Then slowly, a humorous smile covers his mouth and he laughs. "No. What makes you think that?"
Well, that's a considerable relief but now I have to worry about his reaction to learning what I've been keeping from him and everyone else, including the police, since the break-in last week.
He'll no doubt get angry. I just hope he'll at least understand why I've kept it to myself.
"There's something I haven't told you. Or the police. About the break-in."
Rubbing the back of neck, I chance a furtive glance expecting to see his face contort in controlled irritation or something of the like whenever I don't give him the full truth.
More silence.
I can tell he's disappointed, but he thankfully doesn't call me out on it or reprimand me. He's giving me a chance to come clean.
Here goes nothing. The worst that can happen is he gets angry and storms out. Maybe cancel our first date until he cools off.
"Before that guy knocked me out, I asked him if he was going to kill me."
It's your boyfriend we want. And his dad.
The man's words ring clear and loud in my memory. My breath shorts and I bring my hands together, nervously rubbing at my fingers. My mouth is suddenly too dry. I lick my lips and swallow hard, slammed back into those minutes just before I was knocked out.
It may have been less than minutes, but they were the longest, most terrifying moments I have ever survived. And that's saying a lot when just the night before, I received an official diagnosis confirming that the cancer had rapidly progressed and was untreatable.
I remember the adrenaline and fear that hit so hard, it frayed my mind. The struggle in the kitchen, the sprint across the living room that felt like running through quicksand, the pain in my head and face from when that man smashed me into the door.
I recall the thoughts that spiraled through my mind. The what ifs. The fear that I would die without seeing Sky again, and without knowing what would become of my parents.
The memories hit a wall, and I'm pulled to the present. Warm hands wrap around mine, strong thumbs rubbing the backs of them. My gaze snaps up to meet Sky's concerned blue eyes.
He looks at me with such tenderness that truly, it feels like nothing can harm me in his presence.
"Tell me, baby. What did he say?"
"He said –" My voice comes out a croak. It's your boyfriend we want. And his dad.
"It's okay. Take your time," he assures and coaxes all the same, brushing hair out of my forehead and tucking strands back beneath the hood of my sweater.
"He said he wanted you. And your dad."
His gaze wavers, flickering to a random spot somewhere above my head.
His eyes darken for a second time but this time, it's for a different reason.
A spark of familiar rage I've seen before, once directed at Blake in the school's parking lot when he tried stopping me from leaving, but it's shadowed by something I've never seen on Sky Daniels before.
Fear.
At least, that's what it feels like when his grip tightens for a heartbeat on my hands. He licks his lips and clears his throat, a muscle thumping in his jaw.
"I see why you thought so," he says quickly, before I get another word out. His smile is easy but shadowed now by a worry that was previously absent.
"But you and your dad aren't involved in shady business, right?"
"Would you worry if I am?"
I scoff. "Don't change the subject. I'm asking a valid question."
"So am I," he retorts, grinning that boyish grin that's made him get away with too much and we've only been together for about four days. Officially. He raises an eyebrow, challenging in nature. Daring me to answer as if he genuinely wants to know.
"Of course, I'd be worried. I wouldn't want you getting hurt."
His grin is gleeful. So bright that I swear, I almost lose my eyeballs from how hard I roll them.
"You wouldn't leave me?"
I avert my gaze. The wicker basket filled with fruits on the island counter is suddenly the most interesting item in the kitchen.
I wouldn't leave him. I'm too deep into my feelings for him. Plus, I must be twisted because his aggressive side is strangely hot.
Sky laughs, gauging my reaction. He leans in and drops a kiss on my cheek, rounding back to the other side of the island to check that all the food he prepared is secured under covers.
"We're not," he replies after sobering his laughter. When he finishes up neatening the counter, piling dirty dishes to be washed in the sink, he turns to look at me. His expression is hard, meaning business and the shift in conversation is swift.
"But the Daniels name is one of the oldest families in town," he continues.
I know this already. Their house doesn't scream generational wealth as one might expect with gilded palaces furnished with paintings and furniture that easily costs more than my life, or even the cars they drive, it's demonstrated in other terrifying ways.
Power. Control. Influence.
Daniels. McKenzie. Hayes, and Stone. All powerful names. Even Dalton – which admittedly, makes me despise Blake more than usual. He's a rich asshole.
"We have enemies, Jace. Dangerous people who would enjoy watching our downfall and they'll hurt anyone we care about to weaken us."
"Oh."
"But hey, as long as my dad and I are around, nothing will happen to you and your parents."
I frown. "Except, it's already happened. We were attacked in our home." I cross my arms over my chest, nibbling my lower lip in a fit of repressed anger. Sky's not to blame for what I feel.
It's the world I'm angry at, and people who hurt innocents to get back at someone else. Still, I can't help but worry for Sky too. And his dad. If this is his life and I've gotten a small taste, what's it like for him living it every day?
"You know," I say with a small shake of my head, "I haven't been able to sleep properly since moving back in. This house doesn't feel as safe as it used to."
"I'm sorry, baby. I never thought you'd be targeted."
"It's not your fault. I just wish there was something I could do to make sure it doesn't happen again."
His smile is charming. Full of an admiration that bolsters a sweep of confidence within me. "You will. Soon."