Page 86 of Fool Me Twice

He ignored the buzzing in his head, the nagging sense that something wasn’t right, fixated on one thing only. Getting back to Cane.

Because how could that be wrong?

Chapter 18

Cane

Cold sheets that smelled like Hart. Fucking typical, Cane thought when he woke up and stretched across his bed, body aching from exertion, skin still sticky, and the burn on his chest smarting from the night before.

He groaned and threw the covers off, hoisting himself out of bed and picking up some discarded clothes. He pulled on his jeans without bothering with underwear or a shirt, exiting his bedroom and conducting a search of his apartment.

Hart was nowhere to be seen.

He looked out his window and down at the curb.

Hart’s car was gone. One step forward, two steps back with that man. Constantly.

Last night had felt like the step forward. Hart opening up. Revealing the corners of himself Cane hadn’t seen before. Putting meaning behind some of his actions. Like leaving Cane. Like disappearing without a trace. Like being wound so tight it felt like he’d snap at any given moment.

And then the empty bed in the morning. The two steps back in their fucked-up dance.

Gritting his teeth in agitation, he patted his pockets in search of his phone, until he remembered it had died in a wall collision after his rage-filled tantrum. He had a spare one somewhere, he was pretty sure, and he knew Hart’s phone number by heart. He could call him, but he didn’t know whether he wanted to open that can of worms yet. The need to know where Hart was right now was strong. The need to grab him by the shoulders and demand a clear answer about where they stood.

But he fucking knew Hart, and he didn’t respond well to pushing.

After last night he probably needed space. Cane had never laid it out so clearly to him before. They’d never talked like that, ever. And putting a timeline disguised as an ultimatum on their relationship or whatever the fuck it was probably had Hart’s panties in a twist.

Maybe Cane needed some time to clear his head too.

He sighed, walking to the fridge. He pulled out a beer and opened it, taking a gulp as he walked back to his bedroom and through to his bathroom. He turned the shower on, the handle squeaking and the showerhead sputtering out water before it ran into a continuous stream. Cane smoothed a hand over his hair and chugged the rest of his beer, eyeing himself in the mirror once he put it down.

He grasped the sides of the sink hard as he stared into the eyes of a fourteen-year-old with nothing. A fourteen-year-old who had gotten sick of his father’s shit and set out on his own. A fourteen-year-old who had slept in the gutter for years before clawing his way out.

He saw smiling blue eyes and a hand. A pink mouth smiling, whispering, “Just you and me, Cane.” They’d been in it together. He’d finally had someone. Something to call his own after years of fighting for scraps.

He’d felt invincible then, as only young kids could, the feeling electric and addicting as he faced the world with her at his side. His heart had been so tangled up he couldn’t see straight.

Couldn’t see it coming.

He blinked and saw himself at twenty-three. Behind bars. Betrayed. Reduced to nothing again.

It was too familiar a feeling.

Having nothing.

It was why he craved so much. Held on so tight. Fought so hard.

He looked at the scar on his stomach, round and stretched taut under the image of a skull. He could still feel the white-hot sting of the bullet making contact, lodging in his gut and making him collapse.

She’d stood over him then, the same way she had when they’d first met. Only those blue eyes had turned hard. The offered hand she’d reached out with had aimed for his neck instead. That smiling pink mouth had sneered instead of smiled. Only the whisper had been the same.

“Just you and me, Cane.”

He shook the visceral image away, his heart hammering despite how hard he fought against it. He wouldn’t react to her anymore. She wouldn’t haunt him.

But her ghost was standing behind him, laughing as history repeated itself.

Whoever this was didn’t want him to come back this time. He could feel the intent in the air. They wanted to put him back in that gutter and have him stay there. To finish what she had started. Cane could already feel himself on the brink.

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