Unstable (25 page)

He has no idea how poignant that question is, but he’s about to. I can’t fathom why my eyes are watering as I type my answer, and I refuse to acknowledge or scrutinize what it means.

Me: Yeah Keaton, you did.

And with that, I turn off my phone and finish my wine.

YOU KNOW THE FEELING
, even in the very back of your subconscious, say…when you’re
sleeping,
that sets off your protective instinct sensors?

That’s what wakes me up in the morning. The sense of eerie discontent sounding off the alarms in my head.

I startle fully awake and bolt upright, spotting the source of my problem—sitting in the chair across the room, staring at me with a stony expression, one leg crossed over the other knee, fingers steepled under his chin.

Keaton.

Just Keaton. He doesn’t deserve the whole name I was starting to think of as reminiscently cute.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?
How
did you get in, and on what planet do you think it’s okay to break in and watch me sleep?”

“You left the back door unlocked, which pisses me off. Lock your fucking doors. And your final text last night pissed me off even worse. So I was waiting for you to wake up and tell me to my face just exactly what the fuck it is you meant.” His tone isn’t cold, like mine, it’s…scarily even and direct.

“Don’t make it worse, Keaton. I owe you a lot, you’ve helped me in more ways than you know, and for that kindness I’m grateful. In fact,” I crawl to the end of the couch and grab the box off the end table, “here, I got you a thank you gift.”

I throw it across the room and he catches it in one hand. “Take it and go, with my thanks for many things. We can still have an amicable parting, unless you continue to sit there and look me in the face like you have no clue what could’ve possibly gone wrong. Your choice.”

He says nothing, instead opening his gift. He takes it out, examines it, then traps my gaze with his softened one. “You bought this for me?”

“No, I
stole
it, for somebody else, but it didn't fit,” I sigh with a huge eye roll. “Yes, I did. Did I not just say that? I mean it,
thank you,
for all you’ve done. I don’t want to hate you again, Keaton, I really don’t. We’ve come too far, and I don’t want to go back to that place. So please, be the man I still want to believe you are, accept it, and leave.”

“So you’re not even gonna give me the decency of
asking
me? Just jumping straight to conclusions? No trust, no benefit of the doubt, huh?” His face flushes an angry shade of red.

“So you weren’t even gonna
tell
me? Just hope you got away with it and pretend nothing’s changed?” I retort, my own cheeks every bit as hot, my voice lit up too.

“I texted you that we needed to talk as soon as possible, Henley. So yeah, I
was
gonna tell you.”

“Okay,” I shrug. “Fine, thank you for that. But no need, I can fill in the blanks myself. You don’t owe me the details, and I don’t particularly want to hear them. Now if you’ll excuse me,” I stand, “I have to give Bourbon his pill and start my day. You can see yourself out.”

I don’t make it out of the room before I’m caught from behind, unrelenting arms wrapped tightly around my waist and hot breath on my neck.

I
think
I stiffen, rejecting his embrace, but apparently not, ‘cause he says differently, in a warm, deep seduction on my skin.

“You put on a helluva show, baby, but you’ve got one problem with your act. I can
feel
it, every time we touch, that you far from hate me. Your body won’t lie for you. And I have no plans to stop touching you every fucking chance I get, so cut the shit. We have
it
, Henny. No denying our connection.”

“Means nothing,” I whisper, though I meant it to be forceful. “Natural reaction. And I don’t hate you, I just told you as much. But we’re done, with whatever I stupidly almost let begin. Let go of me, Keaton.”

He does, kinda surprising me, and I scurry away to go grab the pill and then search for Bourbon.

“Hey boy,” I find him in his bed, in the room I dare not enter…unless it comes to caring for my dog. “I got your hot dog. I’m done with tricks and deceit, so I’m gonna tell you something. There’s medicine in it, for your own good. I just wanna be honest, because, I love you, Bourbon.”

He gobbles it up and I shake my head at myself. I’m a loon, projecting the things bothering me onto my dog…but I’m an honest loon.

“Why didn’t you sleep in here last night?” Keaton asks from the doorway, startling me.

I stay facing away from him, rubbing Bourbon’s back. “I think we’ve danced close enough to the subject to answer that. Didn’t feel right. And why are you still here? Seriously, Keaton, I do believe you care about me, so why are you prolonging my humiliation?
Please
, you’ve never outright hurt me, why start now?”

“I don’t dance. So I’m gonna put it out there. We’re talking about Addison, right? Do you
honestly
believe anything happened with me and her?”

I flip around so fast I have to catch my balance with one hand on the chair. “I saw you! On a date, in a bar, faces inches apart! So I
know
all
that
happened. And I don’t want or need to know anymore.”

Damn, the amount of anger in my screaming surprises me. So
this
is what really caring feels like. And jealousy. Also new for me.

Can’t say as I’m a fan of either.

They both hurt. A lot.

“You see me touch her? Kiss her? Fuck her?” He challenges with equal rage, both eyebrows raised as high as they’ll go. “Yeah, didn't think so,” he quips when I don’t reply, “because none of that shit happened.”

I stand up and raise my chin, pushing back my shoulders. “O, fucking, kay! It doesn’t matter,
geez.
We didn’t have…anything. I get it now. Couple kisses, few pet names, not exactly a commitment. It’s fine, we don’t have to fight about this. Just drop it.”

“Didn’t have anything, huh?” He stalks toward me, primal surety scorching in his eyes. “Then why are you so upset at what you
think
you saw, Hen? You
know
Merrick cheated and you couldn’t care less. But you see me having a drink with a girl and you flip your shit?”

He’s right in front of me now, and his fury has morphed into a low, sexy rasp and molten stare. “I didn’t betray you, Henley. I called you last night to tell you everything,
before
I knew that you already knew. We
do
have something, and you know it as well as I do.
Something
I plan on pursuing until it’s
everything
.”

“Then, why were you with her?” God I hate the misery I hear in my voice.

“For you,” he reaches up and grazes my cheek with the back of his hand. “Always, for you. What I have to tell you is a lot to take in, so you get your shower while I make breakfast and we’ll discuss it then. Okay?”

I rapidly shake my head, refusing to fall for this. “I have to let Bourbon out and check the horses. Put some hay out for the cows. Then—”

He covers my lips with a finger. “I'll take care of Bourbon, then help you with the rest.
After
we eat and talk. Take a breath, grab a shower, and meet me in the kitchen.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Go.”

“I'm gonna go take a shower. But only because
I
want to. You’re not off the hook, Keaton, so you definitely aren’t anywhere near bossing me around territory.”

“Whatever you say, baby,” he laughs. “I’m just happy to hear I was, and still am,
on
your hook. No place I’d rather be.”

I…can’t even with this man. I don’t recognize myself. Up is down, left is right, and he’s got some kind of spell he keeps casting over me that has me in constant knots.

I lasted
eight years
in a stupid, stubborn bubble yet just like that, I’m about to eat breakfast with him? Hear him out?

You can’t fight something you don’t understand, and I’m not anywhere close to understanding what it is he does to me, so…I go and take a shower. My stomach churning the entire time. Wondering what this “talk” is going to entail.

And why, more than anything, I want it to be something that exonerates him…and that I believe.

NEVER LET IT BE
said,
again
, that I don't think things all the way through. Because now, I do.

By the time I get out of the shower, my feet are pruned. That’s how long it took me to evaluate, flip it over, spin it, and then reevaluate the issue that is Keaton.

Currently in my kitchen. Supposedly armed with an acceptable justification for his
rendezvous
with Addison.

And after taking more time than needed getting dressed and drying my hair, I’ve settled on my final answer.

I’m not even going to give him a chance to spew some spun bullshit at me—because I no longer trust my good judgment when it comes to him. I can’t be objective when he penetrates straight into my core with those magnetic blue eyes. I can’t stop my body from responding in heavenly ways when he gives me that cocky smile of his. And my heart? It doesn’t listen when I specifically tell it
not
to listen to his suave words spoken in a spellbinding timbre.

Keaton.

The boy I pretended to hate. The pretense—my sister. The truth—I knew from day one I had to fight or I’d fall.

I slink into the kitchen as quietly as possible and start spouting out my forceful demand before he has a chance to spin around and cast his net that’s sure to capture me.

“Keaton, you have to go. I don’t want to discuss things. We can be friends, but that’s it. No more ‘baby,’ no more touching me, and
most definitely
no more kissing.”

He turns around slowly, a coy curve playing on his mouth, misplaced triumph shining in his bold stare. “Ah baby, it’s precious that you still think you call any shots over how I choose to love on you. Means I’m not being
too
bossy.”

I don’t roll my eyes. My jaw doesn’t drop…nothing. Unbelievable. He’s managed to shock me into a state of frozen non-reaction.
While wearing a fucking chicken apron.

“Now have a seat, your plate’s ready.”

Are you kidding me? I am truly, completely dumbfounded. I’d probably still be standing in the same place if not for the knock at the door.

Saved by the distraction, I sprint to answer it.

“Gatlin, morning! Do you want to come in?” I more beg than ask, more scream to be overheard than talk.

“No, but thank you. I just stopped by to let you know I won’t be around today. Need to go take care of some things. If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” I smile in understanding despite inwardly cringing. “I can handle it. You go do what you need to. Are you
sure
you won’t have some breakfast first though?” I try once more.

“I’m good,” he lowers his voice, “unless you’re not?”

His worried expression asks everything else. Do I need his intervention or am I alright with Keaton being here? Of course he saw his truck outside.

I nod in reassurance and whisper. “He wants to
explain
. He’d never physically hurt me. He’d just as soon die first.”

“I never doubted that. So, are you gonna let him? Explain?”

“I’m almost positive Keaton has no idea what the word
let
means,” I stop shy of a snicker. “So yeah, he’ll be talking. Despite my speech to the contrary five minutes ago. Might as well listen I suppose.”

He chuckles, patting my shoulder. “Good for you. Sometimes, one sentence can change a lifetime.”

The man has a way with words. I should let
him
write the ending for me.

“I gotta go. Good luck, and I’ll see ya later.”

“Bye, Gatlin. Have a good day.” I wave and shut the door, taking my time to walk back to my awaiting “talk.”

I trudge to the table and sit across from him, my eyes on my food. I do notice he’s removed his manly apron though. “Looks great, thank you. That was Gatlin at the door. Wanted to tell me he has stuff to do today.”

“I know. Heard ya.” He takes a bite. After he swallows, he continues. “Works out perfect, already said I’d help you.”