Page 26 of Shattered Vows

Kol stands with his back to me, hands interlocked on his shaved head.

I’m not sure what to say or whether I should say anything at all. I opt for the most obvious question. “Are you okay?” My voice is soft, tentative.

He blows out a stream of air. “I’m fine.”

There’s a bite to his tone, but I decide to press on anyway. “What Anabelle said upset you for some reason. I don’t under?—”

“Just leave it alone, Rapsody.”

“If you can’t talk to me, you should talk to someone.” I want to be the one to bring him comfort, but if it can’t be me, all I care about is that he finds someone.

“I said, leave. It. Alone.” He whips around to face me and steps forward. His arms land on either side of my head, caging me against the doors.

He stares down at me, those caramel eyes that once looked at me with such softness and love now filled with turmoil. Both our chests heave for breath. A flash of panic ignites in his eyes. The thought that I’m responsible for his rage because I brought up his mother in the painting makes the cords in my throat tighten.

“I’m sorry if I upset you when I asked about the painting.”

Pure pain flashes on his face. “You didn’t know.”

“Still…” I reach toward his face on instinct but drop my hand before I connect with his skin. I don’t think he wants me to touch him, even though we’re only inches apart. The look on his face reminds me of an animal after he’s cornered his prey and is deciding whether to attack or not.

“Do you miss your mother?”

His question catches me off guard, and it takes me a beat to respond. “I…I mean, a bit. I miss the comfort of having her there, knowing she loves and cares for me, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying having some space from her.”

God, guilt lies heavy on my shoulders, saying that after all she’s done for me, but it’s true.

“I miss mine every fucking day.” His voice is a quiet rasp as though it pains him to speak of her out loud. “I was the one who found her.”

My entire body draws tight. I don’t know how old he was when his mother died, but I remember he said that he was young. “You must’ve been just a child.”

“Ten.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I was ten when I found her in the garden with a set of gardening shears plunged into her chest, blood seeping out.”

A pained sound leaves my lips, and I bring my hands up to cover my mouth, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. He was so young. So young to have seen such a thing done to his mother. “Who… who did it?”

“A man she was having a long term affair with. He murdered her when she told him she wouldn’t leave my father for him. So he stabbed her and left her for dead like she was a piece of roadkill. Like she meant nothing. But she was everything to my brothers and me.”

“Kol…” There are no words to say. Sorry is too small a word for the trauma they must have all endured.

“I think about that all the time. What her last moments must have been like. How much pain she must have been in. Was it slow, and she knew she was dying? Or did she die instantly?”

My hands tentatively slide around his taut waist. I step into him, leaving no space between us, and press my cheek to his chest, squeezing him in a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I’m prepared for him to push me away, but he doesn’t. Instead, his arms wrap around me and tuck me into him, his cheek lying on the top of my head. He shudders a breath and tucks his face in my neck, breathing me in.

All traces of the cold, calculating billionaire are erased, and in its place is a vulnerable son, a man who misses what could have been if his mother hadn’t been murdered.

“She’s at peace now, Kol. I truly believe that.” My attendance at church taught me that I do believe that when our souls leave our bodies, we move on to a better place.

He squeezes me harder, and I wish I’d never run off on him. I wish I had stayed and confronted him, and maybe we’d have had more of these moments. Maybe I’d know the real Kol Voss underneath the bridled exterior. If I would have talked to him, maybe we’d be more than whatever we are now—strangers, adversaries, certainly not friends.

But there’s no use going down that line of thought. Kol may be letting me stay here until I figure myself out, but his romantic interest vanished the day I decided to run. He’ll never give me another chance.

“I hope you’re right,” he says and pulls away from me, hands clenched at his sides.

He stares at me, gaze coasting over my features. That string pulls taut between us, as if neither of us has the energy or desire to pull apart.

His gaze drops to my lips, and they tingle, my belly fluttering low in my abdomen. Blissful memories of what his lips felt like on mine rise to the surface. The way I’d lose track of anything that wasn’t him. The way I’d crave more and more of him. The way I’d think dirty things I’d never thought of before.

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