I’ve turned into a pitiful mess.
I take another sip of my coffee, going over yet again what Katie’s sister said to me yesterday. She hurled the same accusations at me that I’ve thought of many times. Brenna tapped straight into my own deepest insecurities and unrelenting worries, things I’ve tried to avoid.
Things I can’t avoid any longer.
Katie expressed some of those same concerns when I last saw her. Knowing that if anyone found out about our relationship, they would think it twisted—and it is. One man links us together forever—my father, who raped her and tried to kill her. I can’t deny that he’s my father. I can’t deny that he’s the one who kidnapped her, either.
I shouldn’t have these feelings for Katie. They’re wrong. I know they’re wrong but I can’t stop them. Just like I couldn’t stop looking for her. I couldn’t stop following her. And once we made contact, spent time with each other . . .
I couldn’t stop that, either. I’ve tasted her. I’ve seen her naked. I’ve been inside her body. And I want that again.
Yet she doesn’t want me.
Being with Katie makes me feel complete. Whole. Comfortable in my own skin, when I’ve moved through my life uncomfortable as hell with just about everything I’ve ever done.
There’s something to be said for forbidden fruit, wanting what you can’t have. Is that why I want to be with her? Because I shouldn’t be? If that’s the case, then that’s sort of fucked up.
Really fucked up.
If we were to try and make this work, our past, our connection, would have to be kept a secret. And if the truth were discovered, no one would understand. The public would think we’re sick. If Lisa Swanson caught wind of us being together, she’d blast the story everywhere.
Talk about a scandal.
Sighing, I scrub a hand across my face, along my jaw. My skin is like ice, prickly with stubble since I finally attacked it with a razor a few days ago. At least my near-beard would have kept my face warm.
My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket and I reach for it, surprised that anyone would text me this early on a Saturday morning. I freeze when I see the name flashing on the screen. Even wonder for a moment if I’m dreaming.
Katie.
I miss you.
I close my eyes briefly. This . . . is the last thing I need. I’m trying to do the right thing. But she texts me out of the blue on an early Saturday morning and I want to cave in. Text her back. Unload how I feel all over her.
I shouldn’t but I do.
The second text comes in on top of the first and I can almost hear her say the words in her soft, sweet voice. Christ, I miss hearing her talk, seeing her smile. The strands of wild blond hair that always seem to wisp about her face. I’d tuck them behind her ears, my fingers grazing her soft skin . . .
My phone buzzes again.
You’re probably asleep, which is good. If you were awake I might be tempted to invite you to breakfast.
I sit up straight, nearly dropping the coffee mug on the ground. With a shaky hand, I set the mug on the wide armrest of my chair and furiously type out my reply.
I’m awake. Couldn’t sleep.
Nerves eat at my gut as I wait for her answer. It’s damn cold outside yet my palms are sweating.
Me either.
Her simple response leaves me confused. How should I respond? What do I say? Do I wait for her or is it my turn to play true confessions? I wish she were here, looking right at me. Sitting in the empty chair to my right. I could stare into her eyes, feel her calming presence and know that I’m safe. I could say anything to her.
And she could say anything to me.
I miss you too. And I shouldn’t either. I’m not good enough for you. I never will be. You deserve better.
I hit send before I can second-guess my reply.
Do you want to meet for breakfast?
She ignored what I said and I’m—glad. My heart is racing. Feels like it could leap out of my chest. She’s giving me another chance. I don’t deserve it, but something must have happened for her to feel this way, to make this gesture. She’s reaching out to me, when the last time we met face-to-face she pushed me away. Seemed almost angry.
Not that I could blame her. What I did, the enormity of my lie . . .
She shouldn’t give me another chance.
Where? I ask.
Rising to my feet, I grab my mug and walk into the house, locking the door behind me. I’m already dressed. Only need to grab my keys and wallet and then I’m gone. Wherever she wants to meet, I’ll be there.
My house? You can pick up doughnuts and coffee.
I frown at the screen. She . . . she can’t be serious. She wants me in her house? How can that be? I broke her trust, the most important thing to Katie in the world. She trusts hardly anyone and after what I’ve done? She should trust no one.
Especially me.
Are you sure?
I stuff my wallet in the pocket of my sweats and grab my keys. Heading out the door toward my car when I get her next message.
I’m positive. I just—I’d like to see you. Talk to you.
Her honesty is cracking my heart wide open. Another text buzzes through.
Chocolate with sprinkles is my favorite doughnut, by the way.
The smile I’m wearing can’t be contained. There’s a bounce in my step that I haven’t experienced since . . .
Ever.
How many?
A dozen.
I’m climbing into my car when I receive the next text.
Oh, and get whatever you want too. ☺