Page 14

Stevie

We walk into the house through the garage, and I slip off my shoes. I’m starting to drag and can’t wait to lie down.

We stop in the kitchen to get a couple of bottles of water and I pause to make sure I didn’t forget anything. It’s weird to live here and feel at home even though it’s not technically my home.

Ivan and Chey’s house is beautiful, and now that I’ve been living here for months, I’m starting to get that urge to have a place of my own. I’ve been looking but I just don’t know what I want or where I want to live. I have the money from selling my Brooklyn brownstone, so it’s not a financial thing—I honestly just don’t know where to start. Condo? Duplex? A Beverly Hills mansion? I keep changing my mind.

And I’m too tired to think about this now.

“Would you like a bottle of water?” I ask Marty, grabbing one for myself.

“Thank you.” He takes it, and we pad up the stairs.

Now that we’re here, in my cool, dark bedroom, I’m suddenly exhausted.

“I need a few minutes to take off my makeup,” I tell him. “Would you like to use the bathroom first?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and I strip out of my clothes, pulling on an oversized T-shirt. Normally, I sleep naked, but now that I live here with Ivan and Chey, I’ve started wearing T-shirts to bed, just in case. I don’t know what I’m afraid will happen, but it seems polite since I live in the house of a man who isn’t my lover.

I have a momentary fantasy about what it would be like if this were our house—mine and Marty’s—the two of us coming home after an evening out. Kissing in the kitchen before we come upstairs. Making love before we fall asleep, with me nestling into his arms. His arms tender as he holds me close.

Fuck .

I can’t afford to have these kinds of fantasies.

I’m kidding myself with all of this, and never should have invited him in.

No matter what I want, or what he thinks he wants, I can’t be the woman he needs. The woman who’ll make him happy. The woman who can give him more children.

I probably have to tell him that, before things go any further, but I think I’ve been subconsciously clinging to the fantasy since we danced at Henrik and Autumn’s wedding.

He’s such a good guy, so handsome and kind and gentle.

The kind of man I should fall in love with.

The kind of man who might actually be good for me.

Except it’s too late for a man like that. For me anyway.

I’m damaged goods—and he can have almost anyone.

When he comes out of the bathroom, he’s wearing nothing but his boxers and I swallow. I’ve seen him half-dressed before, but this is different.

This time, he’s in my bedroom.

This time, we’re alone.

And I’m more attracted to him than ever.

His torso is lean and strong, with a six-pack that makes my mouth water. His shoulders are wide, his waist and hips narrow, and the dark hair on his chest is raw and masculine.

“It’ll take me a bit to do my nightly routine,” I say, forcing myself to avert my gaze. “I never go to bed with makeup on, but you don’t have to wait for me.”

“I’ll wait,” he says gruffly, his eyes searching out mine.

Almost like he’s thinking the same things I am.

And for some reason, that makes me happy.

I don’t understand it, but I really want us to fall asleep together, and my gut tells me he feels the same way.

It makes no sense, because nothing is going to happen one way or the other, but it’s been a long time since I fell asleep with a man next to me.

Is it wrong that I want to enjoy it?

I think it over as I remove my makeup, brush my teeth, and go through a condensed version of my skincare routine. And it all boils down to the same thing: I like him. Maybe a little too much. If we don’t have a future then I want to take advantage of a few stolen moments like this one.

I walk back into the bedroom and the sight before me almost takes my breath away. He’s on the bed—Marty Nadeau is in my bed, and that’s incredibly hot despite the boundaries I’ve set—casually doing something on his phone.

“Letting my mom know I won’t be home for a bit,” he says, looking up with a faint smile. “I am so getting the third degree when I get home.”

I chuckle. “Well, that’s the price for your live-in babysitter.”

“My mom is awesome,” he says, putting his phone on the nightstand. “And she loves the kids.”

“You’re lucky you have that.”

“I am.”

“What about Brenna’s parents?”

“They love the kids, but they live in Maine and don’t like to fly. They always expected us to bring the kids to them, which we could only do in the summer.”

“Ugh.” I stretch out beside him and slide under the covers. “You can get under the blanket if you’re cold.”

He smiles. “I’m pretty hot-blooded. I think I’ll be okay. But thank you.”

“Thank you for hanging with me last night,” I whisper sleepily.

“It was my pleasure.”

I reach out my hand and wait, hoping he’ll take it.

I smile to myself as he wraps his fingers around mine.

Then, before I know it, I’m fast asleep.

* * *

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

I whirl, hand on my chest, staring at Damien.

“You think you’re going to take my child and leave?” he demands, advancing up the stairs, his eyes black as coal.

“I don’t…” My heart thumps wildly.

How did he find out?

The only person who knows I’m pregnant is Chey, and I know she didn’t tell him.

“Answer me—where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He gets to the top of the stairs where I’m standing with my suitcase, frozen in place.

He’s not supposed to be home yet.

We were so careful to try and leave before he got back.

“There’s a casting in L.A.,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” He grabs me by the arm, shaking me.

“I f-forgot.” Fear washes over me.

The look in his eyes is frightening. No, it’s beyond frightening—it’s terrifying. I’ve never seen him so angry, and I don’t know what to do. His temper has been getting worse lately—one of many reasons I’m finally ready to leave.

That and the baby I’m carrying.

A baby I cannot bring into the world.

Not when its father is a monster.

Abusing me is one thing, but I could never forgive myself if he hurt a child. My child.

“Let her go.” Chey comes to stand beside me, hands on her hips as she glares at him.

Damien snorts. “Don’t tell me what to do in my own house. Take your snooty little ass and get the fuck out.”

“It’s not your house,” she replies. “In case you’ve forgotten. It’s Stevie’s house.”

She’s right, but I can’t seem to find my voice or defend myself.

Why can’t I say anything?

When did I become so afraid of him?

“You and me, we need to talk.” He points to the bedroom. “Move. Now.”

Somehow, I dig deep, scrounge up a modicum of courage, and manage to shake my head even though I’m so scared I feel like I might puke. “N-no. We’re leaving.”

He laughs, but there’s no mirth to the sound. “That’s cute. You really think I’m going to let you take my baby and just walk out that door?”

“What are you talking ? —”

He grabs me by both arms this time and shakes me—hard. “Stop lying, you little cunt!”

“Leave her alone!” Chey shoves him, though it’s not very effective.

“You both need to learn a lesson about respect,” he hisses, glaring at her. “And I guess I’m the one to teach you.”

He tries to grab Chey, but she dances out of the way.

Then he grabs me by my ponytail, pulling so hard I’m afraid he’s going to yank out most of my hair. I stumble and fall to my knees, gripping my head to stop the painful assault.

“Damien, please! Stop! I won’t go, okay? I promise.”

“Too late now, you little bitch. Anyone who crosses me gets taught a lesson.”

“Leave her alone!” Chey throws herself at him, but he doesn’t release the death grip on my hair. Instead, he tries to use one arm to keep her at bay while continuing to drag me by the hair.

“Damien!” I scream in pain and terror.

“Stupid cunts, don’t know how to respect a man…” He fends off Chey’s assault and then backhands her.

“Chey!” I hear Ivan’s voice and a tiny part of me is relieved.

He’ll help us.

Help me.

“Get the hell away from her!” Ivan yells, racing up the stairs.

“Fuck you!” Damien jerks on my ponytail and grabs on to the back of my pants, lifting me right off the ground. I kick my legs and swing my arms, trying to get him to put me down but he’s not letting go.

“Call 9-1-1!” Ivan pushes Chey behind him and lunges for us.

“Damien!” I cry out as he shoves me toward the railing. “No!”

“Stevie!” I hear Chey’s scream and then an explosion of pain…