Page 49 of Unhitched

Chapter thirty-one

Kace

“This is illegal, you know,” I tell Mya as I grab my sweatshirt off the hook in the entryway.

“Says the hacker,” she sasses over her shoulder from where she’s making a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

I roll my eyes even though she’s not looking at me. “The good kind.”

She turns with two cups of to-go coffee in her hands, reaching one toward me in the entryway. “So you’re telling me you’ve never done anything you ‘shouldn’t do?’ Like ever?” She smiles, and it’s so fucking pretty. “You never made a mixed CD using Limewire?”

It’s a surprisingly beautiful day in the Pacific Northwest, so she’s wearing a tight jean skirt with an oversized sweater.

I don’t think I’ve seen anyone wear a jean skirt in years, but fuck can she pull it off.

I’ve had to constantly remind myself all damn morning to stop staring at where her lean legs disappear under the denim–to lock up the vision of my dick disappearing inside her in an unreachable purgatory.

Reliving that memory won’t do either of us any good.

“I’ll take your silence as admittance. ”

I shoot her a look as I take the coffee. “No.”

She hums, bringing the cup to her pink lips, and for the hundredth time since I fucked up the first kiss, all I can think about is wanting to do it again.

Every time she’s sitting at the breakfast counter eating cereal.

Every time she pops her head into my room to let me know she made us dinner or asks a random question because she wants to talk to me.

Whenever she’s so focused on a project that she chews on her cheek.

When she rubs her lips together nervously during a movie she’s already seen like she doesn’t know the problem will be resolved.

This is why I’ve temporarily sent my feelings toward Mya to a purgatory that only the Winchesters could break into.

I was able to snag a therapy session for the day after tomorrow, and I hope it magically changes my need for that.

I draw my focus from where her lips press against the opening of the coffee cup to her eyes, full of amusement. “What?”

She takes another small sip before pulling the drink away. “I was watching you ride a thought train. What were you thinking about?”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. Think, Kace. “ Supernatural. ”

Her brows scrunch. “Like the show?”

“Yup,” I confirm, wondering if she thinks I’m full of shit.

She brushes it off like it wasn’t weird at all.

“You know what is so annoying to me?” Apparently it was rhetorical because she doesn’t let me answer.

“The producers of that show knew that Sam’s name was Dean on Gilmore Girls .

They could have given Supernatural Dean any other name, but they had to make it confusing for no reason. Like why?”

I chuckle. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“You know, Kirk would take this job for us.”

“I have zero idea who you’re talking about.” Not like it matters. She could talk about dirt, and I’d still listen to her all day. She’s interesting solely based on how excited she gets .

“Kirk. From Gilmore Girls . That man has a killer work ethic. He can do any job in the world. If I ever have to write a resume, I’m adding that. Work ethic of Kirk Gleason. Anyone who knows anything would automatically hire me.”

“Good thing you seem to have no problem being an entrepreneur.” I chuckle. I highly doubt that would fly on any resume. “Are you ready to do this or…”

“Yes!” She reaches for her daisy fanny pack on the counter. Once it’s secured across her chest, she pauses, staring at me.

“If you're waiting to bump our fists and let our twin powers activate, you will be waiting a long time.”

A bright smile graces her face, her straight blonde strands framing it perfectly. But then it falls a little, and she chews on the corner of her lip. “Kace?”

“Yeah?” My heart thumps against my chest like it has no respect for the fact that I’m supposed to be a thirty-one-year-old man with his feelings under control.

“Never mind.” She shakes her head, taking away what’s left of her smile. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

I want to argue with her, to pry, but we have a small window for our job today. “Lead the way.” I nod toward the door, grabbing my keys from the leather bowl on the counter. Temporarily ignoring the tension, I follow her out and focus on our task–this time, I’m actually part of the plan.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.” The brunette woman stands on the other side of the now open door in a navy blue pantsuit. “Do you have a moment to speak with me?”

“What is this about?” Her brows furrow. I don’t know why I agreed to this.

Maybe because I feel guilty about sleeping with Mya when I knew we wouldn’t be in a relationship and rejecting her again after that.

She said this job would be better coming from me so it didn’t seem like a mistress situation.

The things I’ll apparently do for Mya… besides be with her.

“May I come in?” I glance behind her toward the office. It was easy enough to find her. She works at a local bank as a loan officer, and I didn’t want her to feel unsafe by showing up at her house.

“Yes. Do you have an appointment?” She opens the door for me to step inside.

“No. I’m here to make a delivery.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything.” Her face lights. “Is it from my boyfriend?”

Her boyfriend. According to him, they aren’t together.

He’s been trying to break up with her for six months, and she won’t take no for an answer.

No matter how often he turns her away at his door or how many calls he declines, she persists.

She’s hitting stalker level, but when I asked him why he didn’t file a restraining order, he said he doesn’t want to ruin her life like that.

I’m not convinced this solution is any better, but here we are. “Yes, it is.” My stomach flips as if I’m the one who should feel guilty about this.

She doesn’t take note of my lack of enthusiasm as she reaches for the envelope in my hand. I didn’t want to read the letter, but Mya wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything criminal in it–you know, more than the action itself.

The woman tears open the envelope, pulling out the typed letter on forged government letterhead. I want to leave, but I promised Mya I’d stay to ensure she reads it and understands. I watch her eyes read line by line, flicking from side to side as she follows the words.

“What?” she mumbles to herself. “Witnessed a murder?” Her eyes go wide at that.

“In witness protection?” Her mouth falls open.

“You cannot contact me.” She shakes her head as the words leave her lips, and I watch a tear fall straight from her eye to the paper in her hands. She glances up at me. “Is this real? ”

I nod, not wanting to taste the lie on my tongue.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “I hope he’s okay.” Silent tears run down her cheeks. I’m uncomfortable as fuck but also alarmingly angry. This girl seems so normal. Nice. Hurt. Does she deserve for the guy she loves to take off like this?

He got offered a job out of state, so it’s not like she can show up at his house anymore. He also changed his number. But he said he wanted her to move on and not waste more of her life chasing after someone who doesn’t want to be caught. It’s almost reassuring, but it’s still fucked up.

“I can’t even say goodbye?” she asks with glassy eyes. If someone was actually in witness protection, they could contact their loved ones through secure channels, but it doesn’t matter if she figures that out because there won’t be a way to reach him.

“I’m sorry.” I reach for the letter. “I’ll also need to dispose of this properly.” This part was my idea–partially to help the entire scenario feel realistic but mostly to save our asses if she tried to get a hold of anyone in WITSEC.

She hands it over without arguing and falls back on her desk, braced by the palms of her hands. “Thank you for letting me know,” she whispers with one final glance up.

I nod and leave her office, closing the door behind me.

Once I’m outside, I slide into the driver’s seat of my truck. Mya has it running with Nickelback playing. I’m surprised she knows them.

She reaches for the dial and turns down “Far Away.” “How did it go?” she asks, focusing her bright green eyes on me. We’re close enough that I can see a lemon-lime shade marbled with the emerald.

“Do you like Nickelback?” I blurt.

“What? Uh. Yeah,” she responds with a tilt of her head.

“It’s not what you usually listen to.”

She cracks a smile. “I know. But everyone’s gotta have their favorite emo band.

” She shrugs. “I love Chad’s voice, and I especially love their new song.

It’s so nostalgic. My favorite part about memories is that no matter what is happening in the present–regardless of whether the people or places still exist–no one can take away the snapshots of your life that make you happy.

Songs that remind me of glimmers are my favorite. ”

Her mind is the most fascinating place, and sometimes when she speaks, I want to jump inside it and live there. For as different as we are, she’s able to put feelings I suck at showing into words that make sense. I must stay silent a beat too long because she asks, “Do you hate Nickelback or?”

“I saw them live for my fourteenth birthday.” I hesitate before saying the next thought aloud. “It was the best birthday I can remember. My parents were so excited I asked for something they could relate to, we made an entire weekend trip out of it.”

The brightness of her smile makes me want to reveal a million more insights into my life. “That sounds like the perfect birthday. I love live music.”

“So do I,” I admit, realizing I haven’t been to a concert in years. Ruby didn’t like the music I did, and she’d never sacrifice for a night.

“Okay, so how did the job go?”

Right. “Fine.” I stare out the dash, watching the sunlight struggling to break through dark gray clouds. “It’s finished.”

“Just fine?”

I arch a brow. “As opposed to saying it’s great that we broke some woman’s heart?”

Her eyes shift to the dash. “Well, when you put it like that.”

All the lightness in the car a moment ago is overshadowed. “It wasn’t fun. I can tell you that.”

“What happened?”

“What do you mean, ‘What happened?’” My hands tighten around the steering wheel. “We ruined someone’s life with a letter. A fucking letter.”

Mya’s eyes widen like my words physically slapped her. “It was a nice letter,” she whispers .

My stomach churns as I stare straight ahead.

“You knew what the job was, Kace…”

I glance sideways long enough to see her hands in her lap, playing with the hem of her jean skirt. “Yeah. I know. But there’s a difference between some Hollywood movie plot in theory and watching it play out in real life. That one piece of paper crushed her, Mya.”

“But he wrote it because he cared about her. It was the nicest way out,” she defends the guy we met once .

My fists clench. “If he cared about her, he wouldn’t have dismissed her like that.”

“I don’t think it was a dismissal.” Her brows pinch. “Maybe the premise was a lie, but it's clear that he cared about her.”

“Then why didn’t he tell her in person?” My teeth grind.

“You heard what he said. It was his last option. He could have filed a restraining order.”

“Or maybe we don’t know the whole story,” I shoot back even though we talked to the guy for over an hour and his details felt true.

But there’s always more , and who knows?

Maybe he just realized he could take an easy way out by pawning off the job after seeing Mya work her “magic” at the wedding.

This town feels too fucking small sometimes.

“Or maybe finding the best words is easier when someone isn’t in front of you clouding your thoughts,” she snaps.

If only she realized how much she clouds my thoughts. Fuck, it’s frustrating. Why the hell is she so worked up about this? It’s like I’ve personally offended her. “Well, no one will ever know the whole story when it’s all cut off and summed up in a letter.”

“Okay. Okay.” She holds her hands up in defense.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this upset you so much.

I promise I won’t make you help me again, okay?

” Reaching into her fanny pack, she pulls out a Blow Pop.

She takes off the white and green wrapper and plops the candy into her mouth.

My gaze catches on the way her cheeks suck as she leans back in her seat.

She pulls the Blow Pop from her lips with a pop , and it sets me more on edge.

“What?” She gives me a look before twisting the sucker on her tongue.

Jesus fuck, she’s hot. With everything else I love about her, it’s the milk on top of the cereal.

But it’s like I’m too damn scared to take a bite knowing there could be a moldy Froot Loop in the bowl.

Is that even a thing? I doubt it. Too many dyes and preservatives for them to ever go bad.

But that’s not the point. The point is that Mya has a bad track record, and even if I could ignore that, she slips in little pieces of her mindset that worry me.

Like this job. She genuinely thinks it’s fine that he just wrote a letter.

Maybe it’s my fucking fault for agreeing to help her in the first place.

With this job, and the way the guy sold this girl being a crazy stalker, I thought it would be easier.

But watching that girl feel like her world was falling apart, realizing she’ll never get to be with the person she loves–fuck, that was rough.

Looking over my shoulder, I shift into reverse and back out of the bank’s parking lot. “Are you okay?” she asks, reaching across the console and touching my forearm as I shift into drive.

“Fine,” I mutter but feel her staring at me like she wants more of an answer. I’m hoping the therapist can help me find one the day after tomorrow. “I want to get home before the rain starts,” I add, feeling like a douche for literally weather-convoing her.

She transfers her hand from me to the dash, leaning forward to look out the windshield as I pull up to a stop light. Gray clouds are scattered in every direction. “I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes still focused on the sky.

“For what?”

“I don’t like when we argue.” She sighs, sitting back in her seat. “I know we’re just roommates and all, but whether you hate it or really hate it, I like spending time with you. The last thing I want is for you to be mad at me.”

The last thing I want is for us to be just roommates. “I don’t hate it.”

She glances over, holding my stare for a second before she sticks her Blow Pop back in her mouth and turns her focus to the passenger window.