She sighed. “And then… well, my parents didn’t want to admit that what had happened was real. They’ve spent their whole life trying to get as far away from the Order as possible because my dad blamed them for his father’s death. Anyway, they accused me of taking drugs and took me to see a counselor.”
She gave a small shrug, like it meant nothing, but he could tell the wound still hadn’t entirely healed. First, she’d been painfully bullied at school, and then utterly betrayed by her parents. It had hurt her—a lot—and she was sharing it with him. Sharing it with him in such a low, sad voice that it made his heart ache.
He had thought that she was fearless, but for the first time, he realized that she had all the same fears as everyone else. She just faced them differently. She wasn’t fearless, she was brave.
“My gran had a vision about what was happening and arrived in London in a fury to get me,” Kay continued softly. “She took me to live with her in Wales. James and Zach were there already. We were angry, lonely, sad kids thrown together as a triad of Guardians. We supported and looked out for each other.” She gave him a tired half-smile. “And they’ve been like my brothers ever since.”
God. She was even stronger than he’d imagined. It didn’t stop him from wanting to take her into his arms and protect her. Or wishing that he hadn’t ripped open the old wounds with his doubts and fears. He settled for wrapping his hand over her much smaller one. “I’m sorry.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear with her free hand and gave him a soft smile. “Don’t be sorry. My parents did me a favor. I was much happier in Wales. I made friends, and now I’m a Guardian, which I love.”
He cupped her face with his free hand and ran his thumb slowly along her cheekbone. He respected her, he liked her, and slowly, he was starting to trust her. And he needed more. He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her forward, meeting her across the table to close his mouth over hers. She opened for him, welcomed him, and he angled her head to deepen the kiss. He lost all awareness of the pub and the crowds around them in the drugging rush of need, and—for the first time—awareness of how his Shadows surged up through him to wrap themselves around hers.
He groaned as he pulled away. It wasn’t enough, but she was smiling as she settled back into her seat. The sadness in her eyes had faded and he couldn’t help smiling back.
He was still smiling when she asked, “Since we’re having this conversation, and you said you don’t date, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a girlfriend that I need to know about?”
“No. No girlfriend,” he agreed, wondering exactly what to tell her.
“A wife then?” she teased, lifting her glass.
Without thinking about it, he pulled his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest while he tried to form some kind of sensible response. Whatever they had between them was new, fragile, and he wasn’t at all sure he was ready for this conversation when he already felt overwhelmed and disoriented. He never talked about Amanda. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened, and he particularly didn’t want to discuss it with Kay.
The silence dragged, solidifying around them. Kay’s face shut down as her beautiful gray eyes slowly lost their sparkle. She pulled out her wallet and started to throw cash down on the table as she stood up. “God. You’re married,” she muttered. “Hypocrite.”
He reached out a hand, ignoring the way their Shadows sparked and twined. “No. Please wait—”
“But you have a wife?” she demanded.
“No. Sort of. Fuck….” He groaned, wrapping his free hand around the back of his neck. “I’m handling this badly.”
They both ignored the hot surge of connection running between them as she stood beside him, captured by his hand, body poised to run. She shook her head, watching him with those huge, clear eyes. “Yes, Ethan. You are.”
“I have… had… a wife. We’re divorced.” He held her hand tighter. “Please sit down.”
Kay slowly sat back down, but she pulled her hand back to cradle it on her lap as if it hurt. She watched him for long painful moments, considering, until eventually she asked, “So why is that such a big drama?”
God. He would’ve laughed if she hadn’t looked so pissed off. And she was right. He’d turned it into drama when really, it was pretty simple.
“It ended badly. I try not to think about it, and I never talk about it, to anyone. Even my parents don’t ask about it. When she left, she took our home, our friends… our whole life.” Amanda had taken his trust in other people, and even worse, his trust in himself, but he didn’t say that.
“I got used to being alone over the last three years, and I never expected to be in this situation again.” He released his grip on the back of his neck. “Your comment threw me.”
She didn’t look at all convinced. And she had every right not to be. She had opened up to him, but when the time came for him to show her the same level of honesty, he’d frozen.
“I’m sorry, Kay. I couldn’t think of what to say.”
A waiter passed their table and Kay ordered two new beers, then sat quietly drinking hers, watching him, but not prompting or asking anything.
Somehow the fact that she hadn’t pushed made him want to explain, and, for the first time since his divorce, he found himself telling someone the story. “Her name is Amanda. We met in college, got married when we were twenty-three. Divorced when we were twenty-five.”
He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, looking away. He didn’t want to see the look in Kay’s eyes when she thought about how short his marriage was. What a failure it had been. What a failurehehad been—unable to see the truth when it was right in front of him.
“Mmm, I’m guessing there was more to it than that,” she said quietly.
“She cheated. She worked in advertising, so her hours were long, and I was on shifts. She was friends—best friends—with her boss.” He looked back to meet Kay’s eyes. “We were trying for a baby. God. Imagine if she’d been pregnant?”
He remembered the horror of it all. The sickening betrayal. And then the overwhelming relief when they knew she wasn’t pregnant, and he could walk away. He’d been walking away—from everyone—ever since.
