Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (28 page)

“No, I’m sorry. I never should have asked you to keep it a secret.” She takes my hands. “At least he wasn’t mad at you. I think he saved it all for me.” She winks and, with a laugh, turns to the kitchen. “He’s in the living room. You go on in.”

“Don’t you need help?”

“No, thank you. Go sit down.”

All right, then.

I go into the front room, where Drake is sitting forward, twirling a beer bottle between his knees. He looks up when I drop my purse on the coffee table and fall onto the cushion next to him. He raises one eyebrow, his lips tugging up on the same side.

“What?” I demand.

“That was dramatic.”

“Hardly. Not if you knew the day I’d had.”

“Considering it started at three a.m., I’d say I’m pretty up there on the knowledge.”

I bat my hand at his arm. “Hush, you. I’m tired and stressed.”

“What did you find out today?”

“Nothing,” I huff. “Carlton is looking into the business finances for me.” I recap my conversation with Alison, keeping one eye on Rat Dog on the other side of the room.

“Good thinking. Did he get anything yet?”

“No. I did ask for five years’ worth though. I’m hoping there’ll be a change between when Wally was running it and when he handed it over to Kat.” I run my fingers through my hair. “Then I’ll have an ironclad motive.”

“A potential one, at least.”

“Which is more than I have on anything right now. I’ll take what I can get. How’d your talk with your mom go?”

He rocks his head from side to side and swigs from the bottle.

Well. That tells me everything I need to know about that, doesn’t it?

“Didn’t go well,” he admits in a low voice. His jaw tightens briefly before he visibly forces himself to relax and turn his full attention to me. “Basically told her what I told you. And then asked her to tell me what she’s keeping secret.”

“What she and Wally were fighting about?”

“Yes, that. She refused—and still is refusing. It’s frustrating as fuck. She said she hasn’t even told Sheriff Bates and she won’t tell anyone until she’s damn ready to, but I’ll be the first to know. Whoop-de-fuckin’-doo-dah.” He leans right back and rests the beer bottle on his thigh. “What’s so fuckin’ bad she can’t tell me?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you. Whatever it is has to be really important to her or it wouldn’t be such a big deal. She’s stubborn like you are.”

“You mean like you are.”

“Oh yeah, because you’re Mister Agreeable.”

“I am.”

“Shut up, Drake.” I shake my head. “Just give her time to tell you. I made her promise that she would.”

“What if it helps you though, huh?” He angles his body toward mine and pushes hair from my face. “What if it helps you help her? I’m so damn helpless right now. I can’t help her because I can barely help you, but I can’t help but feel that the information she’s hiding will unlock all of this.”

“You don’t know that.” Although I can’t deny that I haven’t thought the same thing myself. “It’s not like we can force her to tell us. Just leave it until she’s ready to share it with you.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“True. But you know I’m going to say it anyway.”

“Of course you are. Did your filter break again?”

“I forgot to put it in place today.” I smile and take his hand. “She’ll tell you, okay? Just let her do it when she’s ready.”

“What are y’all talking about in here? Food’s ready.” Gianna sticks her head around the door.

“Nothing,” Drake responds. “Just discussing your refusal to share important information.”

She rolls her eyes as we get up and follow her into the kitchen. “And I already told you that what I was talking to Wally about has nothing to do with his death. It was an unfortunate timing—or fortunate, depending what side of the coin you’re on, of course.”

“Whatever.”

I want to tell him that he sounds like a petulant teenager, but I’m not sure it’ll go down too well. And to think, I thought I’d left my filter at home...

We all take seats at the table, and Gianna serves the steak and vegetables. I’ve become accustomed to this new diet: Italian on Fridays, steak on Saturdays or Sundays. To say she’s Italian herself, she can grill a mean steak. I guess that’s where Drake gets it from.

It’s also where I get the extra thirty minutes a week on the treadmill from.

“Drake Nash, you remember your manners.”

Drake takes a deep breath but doesn’t respond. I guess that’s how he’s minding his manners today... Not saying a thing.

It works, I guess.

Dinner passes in an oddly tense manner. No one really speaks until our plates are clear, and even then, it’s only murmurs of help that could easily be ignored as heavy breathing.

It doesn’t fail to occur to me that Wally’s death is affecting Holly Woods in ways beyond just the obvious. The investigation it requires is, quite literally, tearing relationships apart.

“Well, that was nice,” Gianna says, settling into the armchair with a glass of wine. “What have you been up to, Noelle?”

“Just working. Trying to see what I can figure out.” I smile tightly. “Nothing much yet. I wish I could say I had more.”

So it’s a lie. It’s a nice lie. I don’t want her to think that the woman who used to be her stepdaughter is responsible for her father’s death when I don’t actually know that myself.

“In light of the recent evidence, it’s a little harder than previously thought to prove your innocence, Mother,” Drake bites out. “Anything else you think we should know? Any saliva likely to be found on his body?”

Oooh, dayum.

Gianna looks him dead in the eye as she says, “He grabbed my arms, so don’t be shocked if they find my skin cells beneath his fingernails. The man never did cut them properly.”

“Fucking hell. This just gets better.” He rubs his hand over his forehead. “Do you not think this is somewhat of a wild-goose chase?”

“Sometimes,” she admits, “but I know I didn’t do it.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Ooookay,” I say, pushing myself to stand. “I think we should leave. Drake?”

He hesitates, but I give him the kind of look that says
move your damn ass
, and he does.

I mouth a, “Sorry,” to Gianna, but she waves me off and picks the remote control up from the coffee table.

“Yours or mine?” Drake asks when we get outside.

“Wherever,” I say, unlocking my car.

“Mine,” he responds. “Not that it matters,” he adds under his breath.

I stop. Before I can ask what he means, he slams the door to his truck and starts his engine. I have no idea what’s up with him, but he’s in one hell of a bad freaking mood, and I’m not even sure I want to go to his place. But, then again, I also want to know what’s got his ballsac in a twist, so I know I will.

I do. I follow his truck almost the whole way to his house on the other side of town. He drives quite a bit faster than I do, which is why it’s only almost. He disappears for the last few minutes of the journey, and when I reach his house, he’s already inside with the lights on.

I pause at the front door before I go in. I know, realistically, I should leave him to calm down. I should go home and call him tomorrow when he’s had a chance to breathe and work through whatever is bothering him. I should not walk into this house and demand he tell me what’s up.

Which is exactly why I open the door and slam it behind me. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

You know what they say about the best laid plans... That’s right. They’re too busy getting laid to do anything.

“Just... everythin’.” He rubs his hand over his face and yanks the fridge open. He pulls out a bottle of Budweiser and uncaps it using the opener on the fridge before slamming the door shut. He looks at me and shrugs. “Mom, work, you.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He swigs from the beer and walks through into the front room.

My heels click across the hardwood floor as I follow him. “Oh, no. Not at all. That’s why you’re in the foulest mood known to man.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m just stressed. I can’t work, my mom could be arrested, and you’re in the fuckin’ middle of a goddamn murder investigation. I can’t do a thing about any of this.”

And he thinks I’m the one with control issues.

In all fairness, though, I understand. I tease him, but he
is
the definition of an alpha male. He’s bossy and instructive. He needs to know what’s happening, where it’s happening, and when it’s happening. He’s not good on letting the people he cares about do their own thing if he can’t be there to hold their hand.

But he’s mine. And I love him that way.

“Then tell me what I can do to help you.” I perch on the arm of the sofa. “That’s what this is about, right? Being in a relationship? I love you and I want to help you.”

“Right. You love me so much that, the moment I elude to us living together, you freeze up.” He meets my eyes. “Like you are right now.”

“I think we missed a point or two of conversation, because I’m lost.”

He’s right. I am frozen. Can’t move.

What?

That escalated quickly.

Too quickly.

“Friday morning at your place. You lost your shit when I insinuated that we should live together and went off on your commitment-phobe train. Probably stopped off at Fuck That Ville.”

Not gonna lie. I’d kinda like a one-way ticket there right now. Maybe with a pit stop at What The Fuck Bay.

“That’s an exaggeration. I had no idea what you were talking about and you refused to tell me. Are you honestly trying to tell me this is what’s bothering you?” I stand up. “Or are you trying to deflect your annoyance at life in general onto me because I’m an easy target?”

“Both. Both are fucking pissing me off, Noelle. Life and your aversion to commit to me. I didn’t even propose it or anything else. Just eluded, and you went off on a rocket like you’re fuckin’ Buzz Aldrin.”

“At least, on the moon, I wouldn’t have to deal with the shit I normally do,” I mutter. “What do you want me to do? Pack my bags and move in here?”

“Did I say that?”

“No.”

“Then why would you ask that?”

“Because I’ve seen calmer screaming fits at a daycare center?”

He sits on the sofa, slamming his bottle on the table. “Noelle, we’ve barely spent a night apart for a month. It is pointless to go between our houses all the time. Half of your shit is in my bedroom, and the half of mine that was there is in yours. You do my laundry, and I do yours. You filled my fuckin’ fridge two weeks ago, for the love of God.”

“You had no cheese. How can I stay here if you have no cheese? And that trip wasn’t planned. It just escalated.” My heart beats quickly. “Why didn’t you just say if it was bothering you? You’ve just let this build up until now.”

“Because I know, if I say it, you’ll run—just like you have every single fucking time it’s felt like we’ve moved to the next level in our relationship. And, fuck, I don’t need you to run right now. I need you to be here.”

Heaviness settles in my heart, and I sit on the edge of the sofa. I take the beer bottle away from him and look down. “It’s not as easy for me as it is for you. It’s not just one-two-three and a decision is made. We both own our houses, and we have our own space right now. Could you really live with me twenty-four-seven without knowing we had places to go that the other doesn’t have to go?”

“Yes,” he admits, turning his face toward mine.

The emotion in his ice-blue eyes hit me hard, and I feel the vibrations of his rawness as they tingle across my skin.

“I could, Noelle. I don’t think about going home when I’m at your place, and you can’t tell me you wanna go when you’re here.”

“Does right now count?”

“No, but only because I already know you’re more of a flight risk than a flock of birds in migration season.” The tiny upturn of his lips has mine doing the same thing.

“Why does it have to change?” I whisper, my hand falling to his thigh. “Why can’t it just stay as we are?”

“Because we live together, just in two places. You have to see that.” He turns, cupping my cheek. “If you want to stay this way, then fine, but paying two mortgages seems pointless.”

“I don’t want to sell my house.”

“You wouldn’t have to. If you really didn’t want to. You have more bedrooms, your house is bigger, and your yard is better. Plus, you have a double garage.”

“Ah! Now it makes sense. You don’t want to live with me. You want to live with my double garage.”

“Shit. You caught me.”

We laugh together, and I link my fingers through his.

“Taking away our freedom is scary, Drake. If we fight, we can go to our own houses until we’re calm and want to talk again. We’re both so strong and independent. What if we lived together and it was too much and everything fell apart?”

“Is that what worries you? That living together would break us apart?”

“A little, yeah. I piss you off over the phone, so imagine that constant presence in your life.”

His chuckle is low and deep, and thankfully, his bad mood is all but gone. Or hidden. Probably hidden. “Noelle, I already know there’s no one more perfect for me than you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you whether you like it or not, so get used to it.”

“That’s a bold statement for a man who washes my panties,” I breathe, my heart clenching.

Do I want this?

I don’t know.

Where would girls’ night happen? Who’d come bursting through my front door in a rage? Would I have to change the message on my answering machine? Would I need to put his name on some bills? Would he pay some bills? Would we split the bills? Mortgage? Electricity? Heating? Grocery bill? Would we do the laundry together? Who’d do the vacuuming? Who’d decide what to have for dinner? Who’d put up shelves?

“Stop panicking.” He taps my nose. “Think about it. Will you at least do that?”

“Will it make you feel better if I said yes to that?”

“Are you just saying yes to make me feel better, or are you actually going to do it?”

I pssh at him. “Like I’m going to be able to stop. You know my mind. Thoughts dig in there like a colony of termites until they’ve eaten me alive.”