chapter thirty-four
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CHARLIE
I so badly want to pick up that phone.
My hand falters, picturing the other end pressed up against Cain’s stubble.
The slow but heavy rhythmic beat of my heart speeds up with thoughts of him, of what happened between us, of seeing him with China. He claimed it wasn’t what it looked like—and it looked like China was giving him a lap dance while her tongue was down his throat. I almost buckled, the sight like a punch to my stomach.
I feel like a fool.
Has that happened before, between them? Has that happened since he’s been with me? My arms curl tightly around my body at the crushing thought. Has he been lying to me this entire time?
Do I have a right to be angry with him, given all the ways in which I’ve lied to him?
Maybe Cain would be better off with China. Or a woman like China. Or anyone other than me, really. Anyone who wouldn’t be putting him in danger as I have, by being so selfish, and so stupid as to believe I could have a future with him. My cluster-fuck of a life feels ready to explode, right here in this gas-station parking lot.
I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. Cain would track me down and then I’d fall apart into a mess of sobs. Maybe I’d even be brainless enough to tell him everything.
And that would put him in real danger.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
chapter thirty-five
■ ■ ■
CAIN
“I hope you enjoy it,” the young woman behind the counter offers, flashing me a teasing smile as she hands the key lime pie to me, intentionally grazing my fingers. She’s pretty, but she can’t be more than eighteen years old and that’s way too young for me. Plus, I highly doubt I’m what she’s looking for, unless she has daddy issues.
“Thank you,” I offer politely. I don’t recognize her, but I haven’t been to this café in months. It has the best key lime pie in the city and I’m on my way to see Storm. I don’t know what to do. Charlie’s not at her apartment, she’s not at my condo. She’s not answering her phone. I’m going out of my fucking mind.
As I walk out the front door and pass by the patio, I note the newly occupied tables.
A pretty doll face catches my eyes.
It’s Charlie’s twin.
She has the same nose, the same big brown eyes, the same wide mouth. Only her hair isn’t blond and curly, it’s jet black and long, like China’s. My feet slow of their own accord as I blink several times. I’ve finally lost it. I’ve finally become so obsessed with Charlie that I’m seeing her everywhere.
She’s hunched over at a table, sipping a lemonade, opposite a large graying man in a red golf shirt. I can’t see his face, but whatever he said must be funny because she tips her head back and laughs.
Just like Charlie does.
I know I should move on, but I stand there and watch as she slides that straw into her mouth for another drink, letting her eyes skitter over the tables around her, to a television up in the corner, to the walkway.
To me.
All the color drains from her face. Her jaw drops as recognition flashes in her eyes.
And I instantly know that I’m staring at Charlie.
chapter thirty-six
■ ■ ■
CHARLIE
This can’t be happening.
Of all the places in the world for Cain to be right now, the goddamn café where I’m meeting Jimmy should not be one of them. This is beyond bad. The only thing that could make this worse is . . .
This.
My pulse begins pounding in my ears as I watch Cain step onto the covered patio. It takes everything in my willpower not to squeeze my eyes shut and pray. Pray that he’ll keep walking. That this is all an illusion. That Cain’s not really here. That I’ve finally gone crazy.
“Charlie, how are you?” His tone is so smooth, as if there’s nothing at all unusual about this situation. That I’m not at a café, wearing a wig, clearly trying to disguise myself, instead of at home with a hot water bag and a bottle of Midol. He’s used my name and there’s no inflection, so there’s no question. He recognizes me.
“Hi,” I manage to get out, unable to pull myself together to act blasé about this entire situation. There’s nothing blasé about this situation.
This could blow everything apart.
There’s a pause and then Cain shifts his attention to Jimmy, who, though I can tell by his sudden shifting in his chair and his sidelong glance at me is uneasy, is not downright disturbed, as I am. Sticking his hand out, he gives Cain a toothy grin. “Hi, I’m Jimmy. Charlie’s uncle.”
Cain’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uncle . . .” It’s a moment before he accepts Jimmy’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”
“Dylan.” It comes out in a shout. When I speak again, I make sure that I adjust my tone. “Uncle Jimmy, this is Dylan.” I hazard a glance up at Cain to see steely eyes on me.
Please go along with it.
“Yes . . .” Cain says, the word drifting off as his mouth twists slightly, his eyes never leaving my face. “Though some people call me Cain.”
My heart spasms in my chest. I should have known. Cain is not afraid to give his name out. He’s not afraid of anyone.
I wonder if he would be afraid of Sam.
Without prompting, Cain leans back to grab a chair from the table next to us. Swinging it around, he takes a seat. I finally notice the key lime pie in his hand as he sets it down on the table. It makes me think of Storm. He must be going to see her tonight.
“Do you live around here, Jimmy? Or are you in town for a visit?” Cain’s voice is so smooth. He doesn’t seem at all awkward and I don’t know why, seeing as I want to peel my own skin off and run away right now.
Jimmy gives that jovial chuckle of his. “Oh, just in from New York for the week on business.”
Nodding, Cain asks, “And what is it you do?”
“I own a construction company down here. Focused mainly on commercial sites.”
I watch as the two of them casually chitchat back and forth, Jimmy fluidly lying to Cain and Cain accepting each lie without any expression at all, though I know he doesn’t believe a word. I wonder if the real Charlie Rourke even had an uncle. I have no clue. But I’ll bet Cain will find out, if he doesn’t already know.
All I know is that this conversation needs to end now. I just don’t know how to end it. Lying just isn’t coming as easily to me as it used to. Not since I met Cain.
Jimmy is as aware of the clock as I am. The hotel drop site is ten minutes away and I need to be there in twenty minutes. There can be no delays. I don’t want to give Bob another reason to be angry with me. He slurps the last of his lemonade rather rudely and then announces, “Well, it was nice to meet you, Cain.”
Yes, Uncle Jimmy knows I was lying about the name. He’s mentally sizing Cain up right now, noting his height, his weight, his hair color, eye color, the scar on his brow, the tribal tattoo on his bicep peeking out beneath the gray golf shirt.
Maybe even the one on his neck. If Jimmy tells Sam about that one . . .
That was a farewell from Uncle Jimmy if I ever did hear one. The problem is, Cain isn’t accepting it. He slings his arm over the back of my chair and stretches his legs out, as if getting comfortable. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was fully aware of the attempted dismissal and is politely giving Jimmy a “fuck off.” I’m surprised he hasn’t handed him a business card.
“Yes, it was nice to meet you too, Jimmy.” He turns to look at me, his eyes rolling over my wig for a moment before settling on mine. As if he’s letting me know that, yes, he’s noticed my wig. In case there was any doubt. “Let me give you a ride back home?”
I’m going to be sick. I feel the blood draining from my face. “No, I’m good, I drove here,” I answer in clipped tone. I’m not even allowing myself to feel the sting of the China incident right now. I just need Cain to be gone. Him being here, talking to Jimmy, is enough to cause me a seizure.
“So, how do you two know each other, again?” Jimmy asks, cold, flinty eyes drifting between me and Cain’s arm on my chair.
I clear my throat, scrambling to think of something. I can’t give Cain a chance to answer. All Sam has right now is a name. He can’t find out about Penny’s.
“We have a mutual friend,” Cain answers before I can cough up a lie. It’s not a lie, but it’s such an intentionally vague answer. Thankfully, Cain has no more interest in Jimmy knowing about him than I do.
“Oh, really . . .” Jimmy scratches his wiry beard as if in thought. “What’s this friend’s name? Have I met him? Her?”