Page 13 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

Declan

L ock your door, Lily?

What the actual fuck?

Well, Lily, you are staying in the house of a creep who has filthy thoughts about you. But he’s a decent man, and he warned you. Kill. Me. Now.

Rooted to the ground in front of her room, I wait for the click of the lock, but only silence follows in the few beats while I try to gather my wits.

I fail miserably, because instead of crossing the floor to my bedroom, I pull out my phone and log into my security system.

Yeah, I’m officially a stalker. And my poor, innocent victim is probably regretting that she helped me out this week.

Lily sits on the bed, staring at the door. I look back, like the solid wooden plain is transparent, before I tiptoe away. Rational much tonight?

Why is she so still? I must have freaked her out after I completely lost my mind. I came home hoping to reclaim my sanity with her gone forever.

Instead, I spent the evening squashed beside her on the sofa—if she files a harassment claim, I wouldn’t even be surprised—and then I offered her a room.

What is wrong with me? Can I even blame it on tonight’s whiskey?

I should lock my door and throw the key out of the window. Fuck.

Okay, I couldn’t let her go out there in the middle of the night with everything she owns under her arms. Is that everything she owns? I need to pay her more. She’s not your employee, asshole.

At least I was sane enough to put her in the spare room, as far away from me as possible. It doesn’t do much for me, because my pants are tenting, and the primitive part of my brain is suggesting I go over there and declare my confusing feelings to her.

Thank God there are more mature, logical parts of my brain that rule my life, so I don’t end up being interrogated by the police. That would play into Kendra’s cards.

Fuck. My ex-wife. The custody battle threat. It was nice to forget about that little clusterfuck for an hour while talking to Lily.

She stands up and starts pacing. Only then do I realize I’ve been doing the same. Two people caged.

Me with an insane pull toward my young, no-longer nanny.

Her? Probably scared to shut her eyes and considering fleeing this place. She should.

I march to my closet and shed my clothes, before going into my bathroom and stepping under the rainfall of my shower. The arctic-cold water sobers me up—literally and figuratively.

Lily will be gone tomorrow, and I can go back to my routine. Hopefully the new nanny stays long enough to bring some peace and order to this house before the kids start their summer school.

I will return to my latent ignorance of Lily during any future meetings. I’ve been good at that. Only she’s no longer just an enigmatic beauty.

She is a real person who made me smile. Who cared for my kids, and they took her in like no one else before.

A real, intriguing woman, who made me feel tonight like I may not be failing my kids completely.

Who is delightful company, bringing lightness into my life. Something I haven’t experienced in the longest time .

A real woman who broke several dishes in her five short days here… Fuck, that was a close call. I almost admitted I’ve been watching her.

Who wears non-prescription, unattractive glasses. It was just a mindless tic to put her glasses on… It’s a weird accessory to have, but even weirder was her need to flee after I asked her about it.

She’s hiding something, and to my chagrin, it only makes her even more intriguing.

But yeah, ignoring her from now on won’t be as easy as before, but with the summer coming, I might get lucky and not see her for months.

Good. Everything will be okay. Maybe I’ll go on a few dates, just to get her out of my mind. I cringe at the idea as I wrap the towel around my waist.

I would miss her grace and lightness. Even her noisiness, giggles, and chattiness. My Seagull.

No, not mine. Fuck. She’s eleven years younger. She has her life in front of her. I might be a selfish bastard, but I’m not going to ruin that for her.

Done. Tomorrow, this is over.

I check the feed and see a small form under the blankets of the guest bed. My mind immediately starts forming a new fantasy, but I shut it down before it has a chance to bloom.

I turn off the app and pull on my pajama pants. Sliding into my bed, I fold my hands under my head and close my eyes.

In some strange—and very unfortunate—way, this week was one of the most eventful in a long while. If I didn’t have good, legitimate reasons to resist the temptations, it could have been quite an exciting week as well.

But any chance for joy left with Kendra. I stare at the ceiling while I think about resolving her third reappearance in my life. The first two cost me a lot of money.

They would have resulted in a lot of emotional damage for the kids if they remembered: The first time, she pretended at the revival of her maternal instincts. The second time, I paid her off before she could get near them.

It’s not like they won’t be dealing with the abandonment issues as it is, but I won’t allow anyone to add real memories to those mental scars. Over my dead body.

She left them when they were only three months old. Who does that? She should have been automatically erased from their birth certificates. And if I wasn’t up to my neck trying to figure out how to survive her betrayal and protect the babies, I would have made that happen.

We had a day nurse and a night nurse back then. I used to pay for a housekeeper, a cook, and a shopping assistant. I could have been home more, but my busy schedule doesn’t compare with her decision. ‘This life is not for me,’ as she put it.

And there goes my sleep. Thinking about my evil ex does that, with a hundred percent reliability.

Those first months when the babies were newborn, I spent a lot of time blaming myself. For sure, there is a responsibility I will carry for the rest of my life, but at least my therapist helped me see things for what they are.

My guilt trip wasn’t what Zoya and Zach needed from me.

I sit up and walk to the bathroom to have a drink of water. I shouldn’t have had that last whiskey. But sharing a glass with Lily was irresistible. Forbidden fruit. My demise.

I gulp down a glassful, and before I think about it, I leave my bedroom. To check on the kids.

To check on my daughter and my son who are sleeping peacefully, not realizing what a creep their father is.

Lily is only a few feet away. She is at my house. Sleeping, and equally unaware of my perverted mind.

Zoya sleeps, splayed across her bed. The girl travels around the mattress while she sleeps. A grin pulls at my lips. Is it horrible that seeing my children sleep is one of my favorite parenting moments?

I peek into Zach’s room. My son has his hands behind his head, frowning even in his sleep. I read somewhere that newborn mammals resemble their fathers the most right after birth, to make sure he sticks around to protect them.

Zach is a mini version of me, and has been growing into that resemblance with an alarming dedication. It makes me proud, and marginally concerned for him.

Checking on my kids usually brings me serenity after a busy day. Tonight, the looming danger from their mother, and the sleeping beauty down the hall, take up my mental space, and any hope for calm disappears.

I’m about to return to my room when a sound stops me. Is Zoya crying? I glance back, but she is fast asleep.

Another sob reaches me, followed by a whimper. From the direction of the guest room.

Fuck. Is Lily crying? Did I make her cry?

It’s none of your business , I tell myself while I stay still.

“No.” A muffled cry presses against the silence.

My legs move before I even fully comprehend what the sound is. After two knocks—insistent but careful not to wake my kids—I turn the doorknob as another strangled cry seeps through the air .

I turn the handle, cursing myself for telling her to lock it. But the door gives way easily. She didn’t lock it. She didn’t.

“Lily, I’m coming in.” Adrenaline pumps through my veins.

The lamp beside the bed is on, and I immediately see Lily thrashing on the bed, chanting, “No, please, no.”

Fuck. A nightmare. I approach her gingerly. My kids usually wake up from their bad dreams. Should I wake her? Or is that a bad thing? No, that’s more dangerous with sleepwalkers. Or?

In a millisecond, my mind also offers other useless trains of thought before I finally put my hands on her bare shoulders. “Lily, wake up. It’s just a dream. Lily.”

A wail leaves her small body before she lunges at me, and piercing pain sears through my arm.

“Oh my God.” Lily stares at me, eyes wide. “Declan?” Her face fills with horror.

My head spins a little; it’s like the adrenaline is pumping and wearing off at the same time. A strange, wet warmth spreads down my arm. My mind scrambles to catch up with my body’s signals.

The burn. The throb. The pulsing sting.

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, instinctively gripping my biceps. The pain is hot enough to make my vision blur for a beat .

“Declan—oh my God—oh no, no, no!” Lily’s voice rises, breathless and panicked, as she scrambles back against the headboard, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Her eyes dart from my arm to my face and back again, wide and glassy with horror. “I didn’t… I didn’t know—it was—oh no, no, no… Are you okay? I… Oh God, you’re bleeding.”

Bleeding? I glance down. My hand is slick, crimson seeping down my forearm. The sight of the blood feels surreal, like I’m watching someone else’s arm. What the hell just happened?

“Shit,” I mutter, pressing my palm harder against a wound I can’t explain. “What’s going on?”

Her hands fly to her hair, yanking it into fists as she stammers, “I-I didn’t mean to—I swear to God… I thought… I thought you were—I-I’m so sorry… So, so sorry… Oh no, Declan, you’re hurt… What do I do? What do I do?”

“Just stop talking,” I snap.

She plasters her hand over her mouth, shaking. Fuck. Despite the sudden onset of nausea and a mother-fucking level of pain, I feel guilty about scaring her.

“The kids are sleeping.” My voice is hoarse, caught somewhere between a warning and disbelief. I don’t know if it’s the blood loss or her rambling, but the pieces don’t fit.

“I didn’t know it was you!” she cries, her words tripping over each other. “I-I was having a dream—no, a nightmare… And then I woke up, and you were there, and I thought… Oh God! I didn’t mean to… I just… I’m so sorry, Declan!”

Her voice breaks at my name, her hands trembling as she fumbles toward me like she wants to help, but is too afraid to touch me.

The bed creaks under her shifting weight, and for a moment she’s just staring at me, her mouth opening and closing like she’s trying to find the right words to undo whatever just happened.

The pain throbs again, cutting through my haze. I take a step back, blood still seeping through my fingers. “But—” My words stall as my gaze lands on the bed.

A knife. A small, gleaming blade glints in the lamplight, its edge stained dark red.

I exhale sharply, a bitter laugh escaping despite myself. “You stabbed me?”