“Your mother?”
I nod. I take a deep breath, summoning strength. “Yeah. She’s in her seventies and not doing too well. She hasn’t been doing well ever since my father died. That was seven years ago. I’m really the only one in the family that seems to worry about her. That seems to care. My brothers, they’re all older and have their own lives—most of them have their own families. She just isn’t on their radar. They all assume that I’ll take care of her forever, like it’s my job. And it’s not my job. I do it because I love my mom more than anything—I do it because she took care of us. I do it because she deserves so much more than to be a widower, all alone in that same house.” I pause my rambling, remembering to breathe. “She’s happy with me, with the job I have. It’s steady. It’s reliable. I want to be as steady and reliable for her as I can. I’m not sure how much time she has left and the thought of losing her…it only adds to it. It ruins me.”
Lachlan doesn’t say anything for a moment. Far in the background, there’s drunken laughter, but then it disappears. The night grows still again.
“That’s commendable,” he finally says. “You’re a good daughter, Kayla, and she knows that. But I’m sure your mother would want what’s best for you. What makes you happy.”
I feel the question burning on my lips and I do everything I can to hold it back.
But he can sense the change in my body. He cranes his head to look down at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You can ask me,” he coaxes.
I swallow. “Did you know your mother?” I ask softly, holding my breath, thinking he might blow up at me.
He stares at me, deep into my eyes, and I gaze further into his, barely visible in the dim. He slowly licks his lips, gives a single nod. “My mother gave me up when I was five. She was all I had. I like to believe that she wanted what was best for me. I don’t think she realized what it would do to me. What I would become.”
What I would become.
The words echo in my head, sharp and potent in the dark, in this isolation.
Who had he become?
Who is this man, this beast, I am holding onto?
More than anything in this world, I want to find out.
I stare up at him, craving so much more than he’s given me. He looks away, frowning, almost if he’s in pain, head hanging down.
“You know, I’ve never told anyone that much about what happened,” he says gruffly, the depth of his voice making the skin on my arms prickle.
I press my fingers into his skin, relishing the feel of him against me. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell a soul.”
He slowly turns his head to look at me. His eyes are deep, intense pools that pull me in. They welcome me to drown in them, tell me I might even enjoy it.
I’m such a fucking goner.
I was from day one.
“I know you won’t,” he murmurs. “You’re not like the rest of them. I don’t think you’re like anyone I’ve ever met.”
I raise my brows. “You mean you don’t have a slutty, immature, loud friend back at home?”
It’s a joke but he doesn’t smile.
He puts his hand on my chin, tilting my head up further. “That’s not you. That’s not what I see.”
I want to tell him that it is, that it’s all anyone ever sees of me.
But for once in my life, I keep quiet.
He runs his thumb over my bottom lip.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.
Oh Jesus, is this happening? I’m not going to survive this.
“Please tell me you’re not joking,” I whisper.
His fingers grip my chin tighter and he lowers those gorgeous lips toward mine, his expression still caught in that frown, as if he can’t quite believe it himself.
“I’ve never been more serious,” he says.
Coming from a man like him, I know that’s saying a lot.