Page 47 of Broken Boss

Don’t worry, I type back, already missing chatting with her in our living room. He’s got a few frying pans at least. I’ll keep one under my pillow.

It’s a joke, but only half a joke. Taking a quick look around the guest bedroom, I try and figure out what could realistically be used as a weapon. Not that Kieran could ever get in here—Chris, unsurprisingly, has a state-of-the-art security system that I now have the code to. I’m not too worried.

The room is actually pretty cute, considering the rest of the house. Maybe it has to do with his family. I wonder if they ever stay over here…where they live. If the kids love coming to see Uncle Chris or if he’s a bore.

I highly doubt it; the hot chocolate alone sucked me right in.

Leaning back on the queen-size bed, I take in the matte white dresser and nightstands, as well as the beautiful but simple doors to the walk-in closet. Another set of doors—white again—leads to a decent sized bathroom. No tub, only a shower, but I’ve never really had the luxury of a bathtub, anyway. Who has the time? Or the money? All that hot water.

Actually, now that I’m focused in the moment, it hits me that this room contrasts starkly with the rest of the house. Everything else, including Chris’s bedroom, is dark in color. Dark wood or paint. Blacks, navy, woody browns, and forest greens. This bedroom, though, is creams and whites with a hint of gray-blue. Calming.

I actually do feel safe here. It’s frustrating but comforting at the same time.

The past few days have been so exhausting that I lay back and curl up around Frank, fully intent on taking a nap.

Instead, the rest of yesterday’s tension-fraught conversation comes back to me.

I can’t help you if I don’t know what happened.

Unbidden, a tear slips down my cheek, into the curve of my ear. I wipe it away angrily and blink my eyes open.

Kieran. What a mess. What a nightmare. I’ve worked so hard, let memories of him slip away over the years.

And now he’s back.

Chris, true to his reputation, caught my lie. As much as I want to believe it—because it would be the lesser of two evils—there’s no way Kieran is here to win me back.

When I broke things off with him, he went down fighting. I was surprised. In the weeks that followed Stephen’s trial and sentencing, Kieran and I barely interacted. He disappeared. Right when I needed someone, which wasn’t surprising, but was still disappointing. His noticeable absence made me sure that he wouldn’t even spare me a second glance when I told him I was leaving…

Luckily, I trusted my instincts and didn’t tell him where I was leaving to. Law school. Down south, where I got in on an almost full ride and could get away from my roots, becoming the woman I needed to be to help my brother.

Somewhere in the house, a door opens.

Panic races through my veins.

With Kieran’s face still in my mind, I illogically think it could be him.

But then Chris calls out.

“Autumn, I grabbed dinner on my way back. I don’t know what you like to eat. Hope you don’t mind pub food.”

His words, and footsteps, fade away as he goes somewhere else—upstairs, maybe? It’s cold today, and windy, the leaves rattling on the trees. I imagine him standing on the outdoor patio chilled to the bone, and my heart aches.

The past flashes back, interrupting my sadness and replacing it with anxiety. Kieran’s raised voice when I told him I was leaving. The slap that cracked across my cheek. His hand on my throat, right before I hit him over the head with an empty beer bottle and ran.

If he’s back here for me, it’s not because he loves me. It’s something more dangerous than that.

No. Don’t go back there.

I pull myself out of the memories and sit up, shaking them off like water on a raincoat.

“Here boy.”

I get up, fill Frank’s food bowl, check that he has water. It’s late—a little past 6 p.m. My stomach roils, with nerves or hunger, I’m not sure, but I step out of the bedroom, determined to live in the moment instead of in the past.

Standing in the hallway, I listen, trying to pinpoint where in the house Chris is. Maybe I can ask him about the Waters case. Take my mind off things. I want to forget, and that draws me farther down the hall, toward the sound of…a shower.

Chris’s bedroom door is ajar. It always is, and I wonder if privacy doesn’t matter much to him. He’s here alone all the time, though. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with me being in his space.

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