It was such a blunt, ugly word. As much as I hated the man for trying to kill me and so many people that I loved, I didn’t want him—or anyone—dead. Shifting uneasily, I looked back at my father. “Then, when that car was found in the water, you weren’t ever in it.”
His laugh was gritty. “Oh, I was. The hit man Brick hired was a cheap one, some upstart punk desperate for money, I’d guess. He came out of nowhere on the road, shot at me through the window—and he missed. But the shattered glass got me.” Tilting his head, he combed back his hair to show off the reddish scarring. “It was the last straw. I realized then that as long as I was around, whoever was after me would keep trying. It put you and your mother in danger. So when my car went off that edge and I managed to swim to shore without anyone seeing . . . I let everyone think I was gone.”
The reminder made me shiver.
Reaching out, he took my fingers and squeezed. “I’m so, so sorry you had to go on so long suffering like this, Sammy. I thought I was doing what was right.”
“I’m kind of tired of everyone trying to do what they think is ‘right’ for me,” I mumbled. Kain’s eyes went downcast at that. “Listen, I’m still struggling here. How did you run the Deep Shots for so long without me ever knowing?”
“How could you even guess? I went by a different name, I made sure to keep my private life and my family life apart. Until Brick decided to make sure I never tried to come back and take control from his father . . . it was working.”
Turning, he said to Kain, “I never expected your family to get involved with Sammy. I always kept the Deep Shots away from the Badds, didn’t want to start a gang war we couldn’t win, but I did meet your dad once—only once.”
Kain blinked. “When?”
“It was years and years ago. I used to take Sammy riding at this farm—”
“White Rose,” he whispered.
My dad smiled kindly. “That’s it. Anyway, usually your parents sent you there with a nanny. But one time, you were completing this course. Your father showed up to watch. I knew who he was, of course. He didn’t speak to me, but my wife, Jean, she went right up to him and scolded him for letting you pick on Sammy.”
That memory was so fuzzy. I gripped my forehead, trying to recall it. “Huh,” I said. “I guess you were a jerk as a kid.”
Kain wasn’t listening, he was busy staring at my dad. “Jean said that?” Something crossed his face. “That’s why she acted so strange when I introduced myself. She knew who I was.”
“Speaking of Jean, I should call her and tell her everyone is fine.” My father stood with a brief wince. At my nervous glance, he waved me away. “I’m just sore. I hadn’t fired a gun in a long while.”
I suspected, from how he looked, that it was more than that. A man who’d been hiding out for so long, watching his family from afar . . . of course he’d suffered from it. The bags under his eyes gave his stress away.
The door clicked shut as he left; I turned toward Kain. “That did just happen, right? I’m not still dreaming?”
“It happened. That, or I shook the hand of a very firm ghost.”
“You shook his hand?” I asked, stunned as I tried to picture that. “Why?”
“Well, he did save my life, for one. But you don’t remember, do you? Back at the jail, I joked about your looks and manners and . . . never mind.” Sitting beside me on the bed, he grunted. I noticed how he favored one leg. Before he could stop me, I sat up, pulling at his belt.
“Whoa!” he laughed, eyeing me closely. “Down, girl, I don’t think you’re ready for this ride just yet.”
Ignoring him, I yanked his pants down so that I could see the top of his thigh. The bandages were thick, the sight of them made me freeze.
“Sammy,” he said insistently.
Reaching out, I snatched the hem of his shirt and ripped it over his head. His hair stuck up in places; it would have been funny, but the padding on his left shoulder sobered me. We were inches away, I snapped my eyes to his. “Your dad was right. You got hurt because of me.”
“Yeah. I did get hurt.” He said it so crisply that I did a double take. “Before you came into my life, things were much easier. I didn’t struggle as much, I definitely didn’t make as many risky decisions.”
His honesty wasn’t making me feel better.
“But you know what else?” Kain asked, leaning into me. “I also didn’t smile as much . . . or feel as much. I didn’t try to make sure someone else—someone besides me—was having the time of their life.” His eyes twinkled, silver flecks set deep in crystal. “My world is a much better place since you came along.”
The center of my heart stretched and strained. It couldn’t fit inside of me, this sensation of expanding was too much for anyone. A small sound fled my lips; a hiccup, then a sniffle.
“Sammy, are you all right?”
Pushing my hands into his chest, I laughed and smiled and welled with tears, all at the same time. It was the only way to keep from shattering into pieces—my love for this man pushed my body to its limits.
Sobbing, I said, “Stop making me cry!”
Kain bent over me, kissing the corner of each of my eyes. “Is this that ugly cry you were telling me about?” Grabbing his shirt, I flapped it into my face. He chuckled, snatching my wrists, forcing my arms down. “Don’t hide.”
“You literally just called me ugly!”
“No, not at all. I was going to say if this is your ugly cry, then it’s not so bad. I don’t know why you acted like mine was so impressive.” He smirked sharply. “Or do I need to make you cry more to see the real thing?”
“Please, no.” I laughed softly, dabbing at my eyes. “You’ll get more snot, that’s all.”
Snuggling me against his bare chest, he slid us more comfortably onto the hospital bed. Well, as comfortably as one could ever get on one of these hard things. But truthfully, in Kain’s arms, I could have sat on jagged rock and felt wonderful.
My eyes tracked over his naked torso. His tattoos glimmered in the hospital lights, the red-and-black crown a heavy reminder of who Kain was.
But it wasn’t his history that had caused our conflict. It was mine. A past I knew nothing about. What would happen from here? Was my father going to return, would things get easier . . . or would they get worse?
How could things get worse? I asked myself, studying the old scar on his stomach. We’ve already been nearly killed. “We match now,” I said suddenly.
He blinked. “What?”
Lifting my pale green gown, I touched the gauze and padding that was strapped over my belly. “We’ve both got bullet wounds on our stomachs. It’s kind of neat.”
At first he was silent. The initial shakes of his laughter startled me, but his full-on bellow turned me to stone. Calming himself, he took my hand, placing it on his old scar. “It’s from having my appendix removed.”
My eyes ached from how wide they were, they were drying out as I considered this revelation. “You mean . . . that for weeks, I’ve been thinking that you had this old wound from some wicked gunfight . . . and it was just . . .”