Never Let You Go (Never #2) Read online

  Direct quote.

  He snatched that poor yowling thing right out of my hands, threw open the front door, and tossed it outside. Reared his arm back, the kitten clutched like a ball in his hand, and then threw it with all his might. I heard the kitten make this weird screaming noise as it hit the sidewalk and I started to cry. I was eight.

  I never tried to bring an animal into our house again.

  Taking a deep breath, I glance over my shoulder at the shelter employee. “I’ll take her.”

  He nods and smiles. “She’s had most of her shots, so she can go home with you today if you wish. Unless you need a few days to prepare for her arrival—get your place pet ready.”

  “I can take her home now,” I say, looking back down at Molly’s face. I swear she’s smiling at me. I can feel Katie watching me, too, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Whether she regrets coming with me today and helping me pick out my dog. “I can’t leave without her,” I say to Molly.

  But I’m saying it to Katie, too.

  It’s been a long, exhausting, crazy day, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Ethan and I didn’t talk about our past, our troubles, his deceit, my anger—none of it. Instead, we acted like two regular people—two friends—who made Saturday plans together to find him a dog.

  And we did. After choosing Molly and going through what felt like endless paperwork, Ethan paid for his new dog and we left the shelter with her walking in between us on the very short leash the shelter provided. She kept jerking hard against it, her feet scrambling so much she nearly tripped. Like she was trying her hardest to break free, and I could relate to her.

  I was always yearning to break free from myself throughout the years. I just couldn’t ever figure out how to do it.

  After we loaded up Molly in the backseat of Ethan’s car, we went and grabbed a quick lunch, sitting outside a local hamburger spot—both of us feeding Molly fries, though Ethan insisted this was a one-shot deal—before we ended up at a chain pet store. Where Ethan proceeded to load up an entire cart with everything his new pet could ever want or need.

  Molly is going to end up one spoiled dog.

  On the drive back to my place, with the sun slowly sinking into the ocean and Molly still with us, curled up sleeping in the center of the backseat, I marvel at how easy our day had been. How we got along so well, laughed together, made decisions together. There was never any tension, no arguments, no uncomfortable silences. It was . . . nice.

  When we’d first started seeing each other, there was always this whisper of nervousness running through me, and I couldn’t shake it. I’d never been interested in a man before, and spending time with Ethan made me feel unsure. He seemed a little on edge, too. Always on his best behavior, treating me as if I were a delicate little flower he didn’t want to bruise or break.

  Today, there was none of that. We finally seemed to find that comfort level we were always searching for but could never quite capture. Is that because Ethan’s not hiding from me anymore? Because I know he’s Will and so I feel more at ease with him?

  I don’t know. I’d love to discuss it with him, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. So I keep the thoughts to myself.

  “Do you regret not leaving her at your house?” I ask. The radio’s playing softly and I can hear an occasional snort come from Molly in the backseat. Otherwise it’s quiet, the late afternoon darkening at a rapid pace, lulling me, making me sleepy. My eyelids are heavy and I have to fight to keep them open.

  “Nah. What was I going to do? Leave her locked up in my house so she could potentially tear everything to shreds? I couldn’t put her in my backyard, because what if she broke free and ran away? I’d never forgive myself. And I wasn’t about to tie her up.” Ethan glances in the rearview mirror and I know he’s looking at his dog. “She’s happy back there. I’m glad she’s with us.”

  I like how he said us. “I wish I could be there when you set up all of her new stuff,” I murmur.

  He laughs, the sound soft and warm, a little rusty. I like making him laugh. I know he doesn’t do it nearly enough. “It’s going to be an early Christmas for Molly this year.”

  We’re quiet for a moment before Ethan speaks again.

  “You should come over tomorrow and hang out with us. I’ll be in full-on training mode by then, I’m guessing.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, my chest aching at his request. He’s so sweet, but . . . “I don’t want to intrude.”

  He makes a noise. “Please. Intrude on what? Me and my dog? I think I’ll need you to help us out. She might be driving me insane by the time you show up.”

  “I could bring the doughnuts,” I suggest with a little smile.

  “You still have plenty,” he says wryly.

  We both lapse into silence once more, and I stare out the window unseeingly before I slowly close my eyes. It’s warm in Ethan’s car. I swear I hear Molly snoring, and Ethan taps his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music coming from the radio. His scent lingers in the air, spicy and clean, and I take a deep breath, enjoying the moment.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt more content.

  “I want to thank you for today,” Ethan says a few minutes later, his deep voice startling me awake. Not that I was actually asleep, though I was definitely drifting.

  My eyes pop open and I swivel my head to look at him. “Thank you for taking me with you.”

  “I’m glad you reached out to me this morning, Katie. I’ve . . .” He presses his lips together, as if struggling with what he’s about to say next. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I whisper. If only I could reach out and touch him. His hair. His face. His hands. I want to feel his skin, touch his lips. Press my face against his chest and breathe him in.

  But that would be asking for too much, taking too much. I don’t know where I stand, how exactly I feel. I’m still hurt. That he would trick me so easily cuts deep. I want to try and heal our relationship. I’m not sure if we can take it any further than this, though.

  Maybe all we can be is friends.

  He sends me a quick look, but I can’t see his face or read his expression. It’s too dark. “I’ve been missing you for years. And when I finally found you again . . .”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it,” I say, cutting him off. Though I’m desperate to hear his words, the explanation. I want to know exactly how much he’s missed me. More than anything, I want to go back to the beginning. To when he first saw me at the boardwalk and rushed to my rescue from the would-be purse snatchers.

  What possessed him to interfere with my life and become a part of it again? Did he hate having to continue the lie? Or was it easier to pretend to be someone else? Were his intentions pure when he first started to track me down? Or was he after something else?

  And what could that something else be? I almost don’t want to know.

  So many questions, and only Ethan has the answers. I don’t think he’s ready to divulge all of that information yet. I’m not sure if I want to hear it, either.

  “You’re right,” he says, his jaw clenched tight. I don’t want him angry with me, so I hope he understands. “We should just—enjoy the day.”

  “Exactly.”

  We remain quiet for the rest of the drive back to my place, right until he pulls his car into my driveway and shuts the engine off. Molly emits a little growl, but otherwise, that’s it. When I glance into the backseat, I see her head is resting on her front paws, her eyes almost closed but not quite as she stares at me through the little slits.

  “Want me to walk you to your door?” Ethan asks as he reaches for his door handle.

  I shake my head. “It’s not necessary. But thank you so—”

  He’s already got his door open, turning to look into the backseat and saying in a firm voice, “Stay, Molly. Be a good girl.”

  As if she has anywhere else to go.

  He slams the door and I exit the car as well, tugging my
purse strap over my shoulder as I follow him up the sidewalk to my front porch. He scans the area, his hands in his jacket pockets, still wearing the beanie he had on first thing this morning.

  Ethan looks good in a hat. He looks good in anything.

  “This is a safe neighborhood,” he says as I stop beside him, my keys in my hand. “I like knowing you’re here.”

  “I have my nosy neighbor, Mrs. Anderson, to keep watch, so I always feel protected,” I joke as I insert my house key into the lock and turn the deadbolt.

  “I don’t like the woods, though.” There’s a forest of thick redwoods just beyond my backyard. At first it used to scare me, my imagination running wild and coming up with all sorts of imaginary boogeymen lying in wait for me just outside. I had a hard time going into the backyard, even in the daylight.

  But eventually, I got over it. Now I love the forest that’s right behind my house. There’s nothing better than the scent of pine greeting you every morning. I can smell it now, fresh and exhilarating, reminding me of Christmas.

  “They’re fine. Nothing ever happens there,” I reassure him as I undo the second lock before I turn to smile up at him. “Thank you again for today. I had—an amazing time.”

  “I had a good time, too.” He lifts his hand, almost as if he’s going to touch me, and I go completely still, silently urging him to do it. To touch me just once, just so I can feel his hands on me one more time.

  He drops his hand instead, the disappointment welling inside of me almost crushing. Why do I care? Why do I still want him so much? I should be furious with him, right? “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  I nod, licking my lips, noting the way his gaze tracks my every movement. Heat flares in his eyes and I wish we didn’t have all of these past barriers, the lies and the bullshit built up between us. I’d do what I want versus what I should.

  That I can go from angry to wanting him in a matter of approximately forty-eight hours is mind blowing. I’m so confused, so torn up by this weird situation that’s become our lives.

  “I’ll text you first, and let you know when I’m coming over,” I finally say.

  He nods, looking like he wants to say something else but is unsure. I wish he would keep talking, to not end this moment between us, when he clears his throat, parts his lips, and seems to go for it.

  “I wish I could kiss you,” he murmurs, his voice low, so incredibly deep I feel it reverberating in my bones, my blood. I wish he could kiss me, too, but we can’t do that. Not yet. I’m not ready.

  I’m still too damaged and fragile, and I’ve been in this state for what feels like forever. And I’m too hurt by his lies—and his lies dig deep. I bared my body and my soul to him all while he was too busy keeping secrets and losing track of his lies.

  “You can’t,” I tell him, the flicker of disappointment in his gaze obvious. “I’m just—I’m not ready. I’m sorry.” The last words leave me in a harsh whisper.

  “Jesus, Katie. Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should say I’m sorry. I wish you knew . . .” His voice drifts and he shakes his head, as if he could get rid of his thoughts.

  “You wish I knew what?”

  “How I feel about you.” He hangs his head, as if he doesn’t want to look at me. Is he ashamed of making this confession? “How I’ve always felt about you. I’ve been wandering through my life like I’m in search of a missing piece and when I finally found you again, everything seemed to click into place.”

  My voice has left me. There’s so much I want to say to him. I feel the same way. The same exact way, but I’m scared to tell him. He could use it against me.

  “It’s too soon, I know it is,” Ethan continues. “I get it, I totally get it, and I would never push you to do something you’re not ready for.” He makes a frustrated noise. “But having you so close right now, hell, spending the entire day with you, has been a slow form of torture.”

  “I know what you mean,” I say breathlessly, snapping my mouth shut the moment the words leave me. Even the smallest admission feels like too much.

  He lifts his head, his gaze imploring. Almost pleading with me to understand. “Can I at least . . . hug you? As a thank-you for your help in picking out Molly?”

  We stare at each other in silence. I’m hesitant, unsure. Letting him touch me would be such a relief. Yet giving in would feel like a failure, too. I need to be strong. I need to hold on to my anger over his betrayal and make him suffer.

  But when he suffers, I suffer, too.

  Giving in, giving up, I walk into his arms. They close around me as I wrap my arms around his middle, rest my hands on his back. He places his mouth on the top of my forehead, a sort of half kiss that lands right along my hairline, and I close my eyes. Clutch the back of his fleece jacket, marveling at how soft it is.

  He’s big and warm, and being in his strong arms makes me feel safe. Protected. He presses his face into my hair, seeming to breathe in deep, and I close my eyes, resting the side of my head against his chest so I can feel the constant boom, boom, boom of his heart close to my ear.

  “You should go,” I finally say, my voice muffled against his chest. I don’t want him to leave. I’d rather he stay, slip into my bed and just hold me. I don’t want anything else. Just to know he’s with me is enough.

  Though eventually he’d want more. And I probably would, too.

  Slowly I disentangle myself from his grip and he releases his hold on me, his arms hanging loose at his sides. He takes a step back, appearing so forlorn and sad I almost want to ask him to stay the night at my place.

  Almost.

  “Yeah. I should go.” He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “See you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll text you,” I remind him.

  “I’ll count on it,” he says.

  I’m sure without a doubt that he will.

  I was seventeen when I went to the tattoo shop. Saved up some money I earned working various odd jobs, all of them under the table. Had a fake ID in case they questioned my age and told me I needed to get my parents’ permission. I didn’t have parents. The people who ran the group home didn’t count. Not that they’d sign anything that had to do with a tattoo.

  Not that they cared what I did with my body, either. They didn’t care about me at all. I was just another number, another punk kid they had to feed, make sure he did his homework and kept his shit together.

  The girl who sat at the front desk hadn’t asked to see my ID, let alone mentioned a parental permission slip. She just checked her appointment book while I checked her out. She was a few years older than me, her right arm covered in a tattooed sleeve, her eyebrow pierced, as well as her lip.

  Cute, but not my type. Her hair was too dark, her body too curvy, her eyes too knowing.

  She looked up, her ruby-red lips curved into a sultry smile when she told me to sit and wait. The artist I made an appointment with was wrapping up his previous appointment with another client.

  I fell into a skinny chair that was right next to the window and grabbed a magazine, flipping through it and checking out all the various tattoo designs. Some of them were badass, some were hideous, but most of them were pretty cool. I already knew exactly what I wanted to get. I had the piece of paper tucked into an envelope after making a copy of it at school. I wasn’t too excited about letting a needle touch my skin, but I’d already suffered through enough pain in my life to know I could stand it.

  What was taking a needle for a few minutes?

  After waiting for almost fifteen minutes, I was finally called back into the studio. The artist ran through all the prep, I handed over the piece of paper, and the artist—his name was Otto—looked at it, then lifted his head to look at me.

  “Where you want it?”

  I tugged my T-shirt over my head and pointed to the spot on my side, right below my ribs. “Right there.”

  Otto nodded and sketched out his own interpretation of the drawing I showed him, while I hung over his shoulder w
atching him work. He was a great artist. The wings seemed to come alive, each individual feather perfectly detailed. Way better than the original sketch.

  Of course, a scared thirteen-year-old had drawn those original angel wings, so I couldn’t knock them too hard. I couldn’t. That drawing came from the heart. From a girl I still missed.

  So bad I never wanted to forget her.

  “I don’t want them to look too different from the original,” I told Otto, and he nodded in answer.

  In the end, the wings looked perfect. Similar to the drawing Katie had sent me, but much more detailed. The script he chose for the words below the wings was almost feminine, but without being too flowery. Not that I wanted some girly tattoo on my side. But I did want it to be a proper representation of Katie.

  “You like it?” Otto asked when he was done. His steady gaze met mine. “You ready?”

  It was my turn to nod my answer and he instructed me to get into place. He didn’t take long, spending most of his time on the wings, etching and shading every little feather into my skin. I winced. Gritted my teeth. Never uttered a sound as I powered through it. I could handle this.

  I could handle fucking anything.

  When Otto was finished he shut off the needle, glancing up at me. “So tell me.”

  I raised a brow, waiting for him to continue.

  He was cleaning off my skin, wiping at it with a white rag and making me flinch. “Are you doing this for a girl? Or for you?”

  Sighing, I stared straight ahead, trying my best to look cool but most likely failing miserably. “For a girl,” I admitted, my voice low.

  “Yeah.” Otto sighed, too. “It’s always for a girl.”