Page 33 of Reckless Love
He goes very still, and he stares at the board. His long fingers pick up one of the game pieces, and he plays with it. Tension hangs in the air while I wait for him to say something, anything.
“You can’t help. Your husband is employing me to keep you safe. That’s the only connection we have.”
“Okay.” I put up my hands, surrendering. “I won’t suggest it again. Can we just—can we keep playing?”
He lets out a deep sigh and drops the piece back on the board with a dull thud. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll be a good girl and not bring up any topics that are off limits.”
“A good girl, huh?” he eyes me, and there’s the faintest hint of teasing. “That’d be a first.”
“Don’t make me beg,” I say.
His nostrils flare, and there’s a hint of recognition at my word choice when his eyes darken. It wasn’t deliberate, but he has a point about me being unable to be good in any capacity. The devil didn’t used to just sit on my shoulder—she lay all over me, coated me so completely I didn’t even realize the things I was saying and doing were wrong. I fear that version of me might be in the middle of a resurrection.
He releases a deep breath and slides back into his seat, setting the board up again. “One game so I can redeem myself.”
“Deal,” I say.
Game after game, he wins. But I’m winning too. The hard shell he’s tended so carefully is starting to crack, and although it’s wrong, I can’t help seeking more, wanting more.
When I’m finally too exhausted to function, he walks me to the foot of the stairs.
“You’re not getting your ten hours tonight,” he says.
“Not sure how I’ll survive tomorrow,” I say, but even as I make the claim, I know I’ll be pushing my limits all week, trying to cajole him into more time, more stories, all his secrets.
“You might have to take a nap on that couch in your office,” he says.
“I’ll order an IV therapy to my office instead,” I say, “or mainline a bunch of heavily caffeinated drinks.”
He searches my expression. “A few games of checkers aren’t worth making yourself ill.”
“I didn’t stay up this long for checkers.” I stand on the bottom stair to give the illusion of distance, to stop myself from doing something stupid. We stare at each other, but I’m rusty at reading him, unsure whether my comment landed like the truth or a taunt. “Sleep well.” It takes all my resolve to turn and head up the stairs alone.
The heat of his gaze sears me, branding me, until the stairs curve, and then even if I look back, he’ll be gone from my view, but the ache of remembrance remains.
Chapter Twelve
Stephen
By the fourth night, we’ve established a worrying routine. Once Kiara and her team leave the estate, Landon and I raid the fridge and freezer for whatever we can find to bake or cook. Cookies. A banana cake. Spaghetti and meatballs from scratch. Basic stuff, but he seems thrilled with each process from start to finish.
While we’re doing that, Ava sits on the couch, reading one of her romance novels, occasionally setting it down to watch us or participate in whatever conversation Landon and I are having.
As soon as we have a finished product, the three of us eat dinner at the small table, and Landon regales the two of us with all the exciting things that happened at school. I’ve taken a page from my parents’ book, and I ask him for the best moment of his day. It’s a remarkably good way to get him talking, which often leads to anything that didn’t go well that day.
Ava then fills me in on Bellerive’s gossip and whatever plot twist has occurred in the book she’s reading. If Landon wasn’t sitting at the table with us, if that big rock wasn’t on her finger, it would be like time had been erased.
Or maybe, more accurately, like life swerved onto the path of “what could have been,” but I can’t let myself consider that idea too much or too long. What-ifs and if-onlys are fruitless branches that’ll merely rot with unhappiness.
After we eat, I do all my security checks around the property and in the house while Ava spends time with Landon. Last night, she taught him how to play checkers, and my fucking heart almost burst out of my chest to see the two of them bent over the board. A flood of bittersweet emotion.
When we were younger, Ava’s certainty she’d be child free made sense, even though I wanted them and wished she did too. She didn’t gravitate to kids or babies, and she didn’t appear to have much of a mothering instinct in any environment.
Landon has unlocked some secret door. She’s amazing with him. Now, I’m wondering why she’s only had one. How much she loves him and being a mom is obvious, but I can’t ask her.
The idea of her and Raul together in any way makes me want to punch something until my knuckles are bloody, black and blue, and that physical pain is all I can feel. That’s how intensely I’m starting to wish things were different. I’d welcome the physical pain if it dulled the sharp edges of emotional turmoil.
