Crossing Lines (23 page)

He shifted so he could see her better. “I guess what I’m saying is this… I’ll try anything you’re up for. Here or at the club. If it works, we can keep it. If not, we say we tried and leave it be. Deal?”

She had a drawer full of toys she played with alone, and the prospect of sharing them with someone else had her shaking her head in agreement before her mind could come up with a list of reasons why this plan was a bad idea.

“Did you just con me into seeing you on a regular basis?”

His grin was wicked, his laugh genuine. “I believe I did.”

K
evin spent the rest of the night wrapped up with Sam in her bed, sleeping as soundly as he’d ever slept. At least until five thirty when the alarm pulled him from an amazing dream, which turned out to be true, and Sam shooed him out the door like an unwanted burglar.

He and Marianne agreed they’d be foolish not to scoop Sam up while they had the chance, so he ran the idea by Sam before they went to sleep. She was interested, although concerned their personal relationship might interfere with their professional one. He tried to reassure her they would be able to run the two concurrently, but also made sure she understood, even if their personal relationship went down the shitter, her job would be secure. Working out the final details was the last step.

He’d needed to stop by the Vanguard subdivision and Bellamy project on his way to work, so they’d pushed their meeting with Marianne back to eleven. Even at that, he was running thirty minutes late and hoped Marianne and Sam had started hammering out the fine print without him.

Something round and shiny sitting on the lower step caught his attention as he crossed the lot to the front door of Mazze Builder’s Myrtle Beach headquarters. He squinted, trying for better focus, and this time it actually worked. His step faltered as he made out the mud pie—white stones, like Sam had at the base of her gutters, ringing the outer edge and larger flat stones forming a K in the middle. Michy must’ve made it for him last night, or this morning before school, and Sam brought it when she came for their meeting.

Tears stung the back of his eyes as he knelt down and picked up the tin pan as carefully as he would the little treasure who made it.
Dio,
he loved that little girl. He sank down as he struggled to understand his feelings. How could he love someone he’d only recently met?

Regardless of the hows or whys, the facts remained the same. He loved Michaela as much as he loved Spencer, which, he supposed, meant he loved her like his own. And her mamma? He glanced over his shoulder to Marianne’s office window.

Yeah, he’d fallen in love with her mamma too.

Things with Sam wouldn’t be easy. Time and patience would be necessary to make her understand he wasn’t like the other men in her life. He would treat her with kindness and respect and love her with all his heart. Hopefully, over time, she would realize he was the real deal and wouldn’t let her down.

The sound of crunching gravel drew his attention to the entry gate. He blinked once, twice, a third time and still, the scene remained the same—horrifying.

In all the time they’d dated, Lizbeth had never made the three-and-a-half-hour trip to Myrtle Beach. She’d never been to his home, and she sure as hell had never been interested in seeing his place of business. How had she found him? More importantly, what the hell was she doing here?

He tried to reach her all day yesterday and she hadn’t returned a single call. After getting the
we’re done
message, she shows up?

On the same day Sam sat in his office.

Panic ripped through him, seizing his brain like an engine without oil. Survival instincts kicked in and propelled him off the steps and toward her car, cutting her off before she exited.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She wore large, Hollywood-style sunglasses, but even though they hid most of her face, her red lips and nose and puffy face indicated she’d been crying. A lot.

“Miranda doesn’t want to get married. The wedding, their engagement… everything is off.”

Relief at hearing her presence was about Wade and Miranda, not the two of them, caused him to let his guard down. As he worked to switch gears and process this new information, he stumbled backward, away from her car.

Taking advantage of his retreat, Lizbeth slung her door open, and, despite the mud pie in his hand, flung herself at him. He palmed the pan and shot his arm out to the side, protecting the precious pie and preventing them from being accessorized with mud.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Through her sobs, she said, “She met some guy a few months back and has been seeing him on the side. She said she’s too young to get married and doesn’t want to settle for Wade.”

None of this came as a surprise, and while it sucked she waited until two weeks before the wedding to have her revelation, it was much better than after they were married. However, that wasn’t his concern at the moment. He needed to get rid of Lizbeth. Now.

“Okay, Lizbeth, calm down.” He tried to put some distance between them, but she clung to him for dear life.

“What am I going to do?”

Get back in the fucking car and follow me out of this lot.
Hell, even if he only managed to get her back into the car, it would be infinitely better than her glued to his front like a papoose.

“Lizbeth, get in the car. Let’s go somewhere else and talk.”

While she rambled about everything being ruined—not just Wade and Miranda’s wedding, but her career as well—he eased her back toward the open car door. “Get in the car.”

“Please, please don’t do this.”

As the pleading words continued to trail from her mouth, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He didn’t have to turn around to know Sam had made an appearance on the steps behind him. The alarm shredding through him was proof enough.

He peeled Lizbeth off and spun around, praying his gut instincts were wrong.

They were never wrong, and he found not only Sam, but Marianne standing on the steps, shock and dismay registering on their faces.

Oblivious to the audience—or uncaring—Lizbeth continued with the dramatics. “I’ve put so much into this wedding, and Mother and Daddy have already paid for everything.” Even though he stood at an angle to her, she fisted the front of his shirt and shook him, trying to regain his attention. “Please work this out with me and help me through this disaster. I need you more than ever. Don’t quit on me now.”

Her words acted like jabs to the gut, each one knocking a little more breath out of him until no oxygen remained and his heart barely beat. The agonizing gasp and despair twisting Sam’s beautiful face was the final blow that practically cut his legs out from under him.

With a harsh grip on Lizbeth’s arm, he jerked her off him and turned to Sam. “Please let me explain.”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach as if the pain threatened to tear her apart and she needed to hold herself together. Without saying a word, she struggled down the steps, then walked across the gravel lot to her car. She didn’t limp—she was too fucking proud for that—but the flinch around her eyes and mouth, as well as the tightening of her shoulders, showed how much each step cost.

Still holding his precious pie in hand, he reached her car at the same time as her. “Please, Sam, hear me out.”

She stared him straight in the eye, anger, despair… hatred filling her expression. “Are you still involved with her?”

“No.” Thank God he’d gone to Riverside to end things. Even though Lizbeth had avoided him, he’d left a message and could answer Sam honestly and without hesitation. “Things with us have been over for a while…”

Mother fucker!
The second the words left his mouth he wanted to snatch them back. He sounded just like her ex-husband, something Sam would tweak to immediately.

“Did she know it was over?”

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There were all kinds of ways to justify the situation or bullshit his way around the truth. Yes, Lizbeth had to know they’d reached the end of the line, same as him. But since he hadn’t broached the subject, neither had she, and they’d maintained the status quo.

And that’s what Sam was looking for. Bottom line, he hadn’t officially ended his relationship with Lizbeth before he started seeing Sam. Jesus, he didn’t want to tell the truth and hurt her further, but he didn’t have a choice.

He closed his eyes so he didn’t see the disgust in her face and shook his head. “No.”

The mud pie caught him squarely in the chest with enough force to know she’d sent it flying with quite a punch. “Don’t ever come near me or my daughter again.”

“Sam, please. In the name of everything holy, don’t do this. Let me explain.”

She shook her head and bit down hard on her bottom lip. “I’ve heard everything I need to.” She slammed her car door shut, revved the engine, and roared out of the lot.

As the pie dripped onto his pants, he fought the urge to draw the plate to him, using it to fill the gaping hole left in his chest by Sam’s departure. He turned and caught sight of a bewildered Lizbeth and a highly pissed-off Marianne. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this kind of deep, aching grief where every fiber of his being ached and cried out in wrenching pain.

He needed to put as much distance between himself and everyone else as possible. It was entirely probable he would completely burst from the pain and no one needed to lay witness to that kind of destruction.

He pivoted on his heel and walked to the end of the lot, circled the back of the office building, and headed toward the shop. Everyone was out on a job, so the shop would be empty. He could sit in there and mourn his loss without any interference.

“Kevin.” Footsteps pounded behind him. “Kevin.”

Fury swelled within him and he struggled to keep it contained, rather than turn and take it out on Lizbeth. He wanted to be angry with her and blame her for everything, but it wasn’t her fault. He had no one to blame but himself.

“Not now, Lizbeth. For your sake, leave me alone.”

Stopping to unlock the shop door slowed him down long enough for her to catch up. “Who was that?”

The only thing preventing him from losing his shit and committing murder was Lizbeth’s tone. She didn’t sound angry, or even hurt. She sounded concerned. He lifted his gaze to hers and was surprised to find she’d removed her sunglasses and was searching his face for answers, truly concerned about him and not herself for a change. The soft, caring hand she rested on his shoulder backed up the concern in her eyes.

“Please talk to me. Who is she?”

“That,” he said, swinging the door open, “was my life.”

Lizbeth drew in a deep breath and swallowed hard. “I’ve known for a long time I wasn’t the one for you, but I tried to put off the inevitable as long as possible.” She stepped into the shop behind him and glanced around. Greasy rags lay on the counters. Five-gallon buckets were stacked all around. Whiffs of gas and oil mixed with sawdust and filled the air with a stench he found calming.

A stench Lizbeth struggled to breathe through. Rather than turn and run from the building, she searched under the workbench and found an old, metal barstool. After shifting around and getting as comfortable as possible, she said, “I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m also sorry for my part in that. Will you tell me about her?”

* * *

Sam spent the rest of the day trying—unsuccessfully—to get her head on straight. No matter what she did, where she stopped, who she spoke with, she thought of Kevin. The worst came when she closed her eyes to try and contain her pounding headache. The second her eyes closed, Kevin’s face appeared, just as he’d been last night, nose to nose with her, asking,
“Do you trust me?”

Anger and hurt, at him as well as herself, made her skin feel like it would boil off. She should’ve read the warning signs—the constant phones calls, easily explained away as Lizilla—but she hadn’t. Maybe she’d just refused to examine things too closely for fear of what she’d find.

The ringing doorbell made her jump and she nearly launched her pizza right off her plate. She hadn’t been up for cooking—turns out she wasn’t into eating, either—so she’d taken the easy way out and ordered pizza. Michy had been thrilled to have pizza twice in one week, so the arrangement worked well for both of them.

She set the plate and untouched slice on the coffee table and limped to the door. An Angelina Jolie lookalike with dark eyes and gorgeous black hair stood on the stoop. Lizilla was supermodel gorgeous—exactly the kind of woman she envisioned Kevin with. The two of them certainly made more sense than he and Sam. Faced with the full reality of the situation, a fresh wave of anger and hurt pressed against her chest and nearly buckled her knees.

Not seeing a need to play dumb—she’d played that part for long enough—she said, “You’re Lizbeth.”

The Angelina lookalike smiled, not in an evil I’m-going-to-cut-your-heart-out way, but with soft sympathy. “I am.”

Before Sam dove into the apologies and explanations, Michy ran to the door, curious about their visitor. She skidded to a stop, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. She didn’t know who Angelina Jolie was, so she probably thought the princess from
Beauty and the Beast
had landed on her doorstep. “Wooowww… Who are you?”