One
Catalina
When Heath hung up on me, I didn’t try to call back.
I didn’t know what to feel. I was relieved that I’d called Heath before it was too late, that his heart was still beating when he took my call, that he was still the strong man who looked into my eyes as if there’d never been anyone else.
But I hated myself for what I did to Damien.
My own fucking brother.
I betrayed him. I betrayed my family.
For what, exactly? For sex? For some man I vowed never to love?
I sat against the headboard with my knees to my chest, the phone beside me, the screen dark. I was too nervous to turn on the TV or open my device to read. I chose to sit in the dark and wait for any subtle sound in the hope he would approach my door any moment…safe and sound.
Then I heard it, distant and faint, the heavy footsteps of a man coming down the hallway. The only reason I noticed was because I listened for it, waited to hear the sound. There was no one else awake at this time of night, so there wasn’t any noise from my neighbors, no cars passing on the street outside my window.
Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, but I jumped out of bed and headed to the front door anyway. I unlocked all the bolts and swung the door open, hoping to see that man on my doorstep.
And he was.
He took the last few steps to my doorway, his blue eyes focused on mine, not blinking, not sharing a single thought. He didn’t seem angry, happy, anything. He was just…cold.
I was so happy to see him that tears formed in my eyes. But I had to ask something first. “Is Damien okay?”
He cocked his head slightly, as if the question offended him, as if he was annoyed I felt I had to ask at all. “Yes.”
“Thank god.” I stepped into his chest and wrapped my arms around him, my cheek moving to his heartbeat so I could feel it thump against my body. My ears could listen to it beat, listen to the way it was so slow and steady.
His hand slipped into my hair while his arm wrapped around my waist. He backed me into the apartment so we wouldn’t be in the hallway any longer. His foot kicked the door shut behind him. He held me tight in front of the door, his fingertips lightly playing with my hair as I continued to grab on to him, to feel my aching heart start to heal now that he was there in the flesh. That was the hardest decision I’d ever had to make, and now that I was deliriously relieved by his return, I realized I had made the right one.
“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered into my hairline before he released me. It was almost five in the morning, so he was probably tired after the long day and night he just had. His fingertips slid down my cheek before they finally broke contact.
Then I was cold.
He entered my bedroom and got undressed. His shirt fell to the floor along with his jeans. His phone and wallet were left on the nightstand next to the right side of the bed he had subtly claimed as his.
We got into bed, and once we were under the sheets, I snuggled into his side, my head preferring his shoulder as a pillow, my arm gripping him like he was a teddy bear and not an enormous, hard man. My leg tucked between his, and I closed my eyes, my anxious heart finally slowing down now that the worst was over.
A quiet breath escaped his lips as his fingers gently slid into my hair, his lips near my forehead. His arm moved over mine, his fingers interlocking with mine on his stomach. There was never a time when he walked through the door and didn’t want me. That was usually his only reason for coming at all. But now, sex seemed to be the last thing on his mind, either because he was too tired or just didn’t care about it at the moment.
That was fine with me. I just wanted him right now, to know he was alive at my fingertips.
I expected him to question me about what I did, to grin and make a smartass comment, to remind me that I broke my own promise just a few weeks after I made it.
But he didn’t.
I woke up to the sound of him getting out of bed.
The bed shifted then sprang back up once his weight had left the mattress. He was quiet as he left the bedroom, but his heavy footsteps became audible once he stepped onto the hardwood floor.
My hand reached for him even though I knew he was gone, and when I felt nothing but the warm sheets he’d left behind, I opened my eyes, my vision blurry, and saw that he was really gone. He told me he would never leave without saying goodbye, so the panic dispersed and I turned back to the clock on my nightstand to see the time.
It was noon.
I wanted to go back to sleep, but now that I knew he was gone, I was too uncomfortable. I went into the bathroom and washed my face and brushed my teeth before I fixed my hair and joined him in the kitchen.
He opened my cabinets and searched through my groceries until he found pancake mix. Then he opened the fridge and grabbed the almost empty carton of eggs along with the carton of milk.
I stared at his muscled back and the way his boxers hung low on his hips. His enormous arms effortlessly lifted the carton of milk that sometimes required both of my hands to lift when it was completely full. “Morning.”
He finished turning on the burners on the stove before he looked at me over his shoulder. “Hey, baby.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder, the thick muscle that was dark with ink.
His hand reached back to grip my ass, and he kissed my hairline. “You need to go shopping. If you’re gonna have a man like me, you’re gonna have to feed him.”
“You sound like a bear.”
“Because I am.”
When I turned away, I noticed a pile of cash on the counter. “What’s this?”
“For groceries.”
I raised an eyebrow then turned back to him. “I can afford my own groceries.”
He poured the batter into the pan, the food sizzling as it cooked, and then turned back to me. “I’m the one eating everything.”
“So? You’re my guest.”
He turned to me, his good mood fading as he grew annoyed. “Take the money. That’s final.”
“That’s final?” I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow, appalled by the way he laid down the law like a dictator—in my own fucking home.
He quickly flipped the pancake before he came toward me, making me step back automatically as he cornered me between the two sets of cabinets. When there was nowhere else for me to go, he raised his arms and gripped both edges of the countertop so I really couldn’t escape. “I’m your man. I take care of you. Not the other way around.”
“I thought a partnership was equal.”
“Not with me.” He turned back to the stove and finished cooking. “How many pancakes do you want?”
I let the argument die because he really did eat a lot, and I simply didn’t have the disposable income to feed him all the time. But I was so stubborn that I wouldn’t admit that. “One is fine.”
“Grab some plates. And get these eggs ready.”
I rolled my eyes as he bossed me around, but I did as he asked. We fell into quiet harmony as we worked together, making breakfast at lunchtime. We had scrambled eggs and pancakes and left all the dirty pans on the stove as we sat together at my cheap table.
He poured syrup over his high stack of pancakes and sprinkled pepper into his eggs. With elbows on the table, he ate like he was starving, shoveling food into his mouth with his eyes on his plate.