Page 52 of Shattered Fate

“If Max would have told you something horrible about your dad, would you have believed it?”

That stops me. I want to say yes, but I can’t. Max and I grew up almost strangers, and I don’t think I would have believed one word he said if they were black marks against my father.

“People blame me, blame Stella, because we didn’t come forward. I hear the nasty things they say about her—letting Ash take her instead of exposing him. One day watch Ash’s and Clayton’s speeches at the party we threw Zane when he took over the company, and then tell me how someone would believe two young girls over two of the most powerful men in the world.” She sucks in a huge breath and rubs some color into her cheeks. “Are you ready to go?”

Her words shake me. Had Zarah really had no recourse? The Blacks had half the KCPD in their pockets, and who knows how many businessmen who made nice to Kagan’s face really hated him. Add a brother she hadn’t seen for four years, two deceased parents, and maybe Zarah really did have no one she could go to for help. It’s clear now why Max wanted me to protect her. Zane may have seen the light, but besides that, not much has changed. If Zarah needed help, who would she run to?

I grab her wrist, and startled, she tries to pull away. I’m scaring her, but I don’t let her go. “You know if you need someone, you can come to me, right? I will believe you, no matter what.”

She jerks away and scrambles out of the booth. Wedging her tiny body between me and the table, she launches herself into my lap. “Why?” she breathes into my neck.

I wrap my arms around her and rake my fingers through her soft hair. “Because I’m falling in love with you, Zarah, and I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep you safe.”

She lifts her head. “I’m not ready.”

“I know. I’ll wait.”

“For how long?” she whispers.

I stare into her eyes, her pupils dilated in fear and possibly, hope. “For as long as I need to. Let’s get out of here. Where’s our waitress?”

For the first time since we sat down, Zarah smiles. “She’s not coming back. There’s no bill. We own this place.”

I chuckle. “Why am I not surprised? Let’s go.”

There are twelve movies at the multiplex to choose from, and I read all the summaries and let her decide. She picks a romantic thriller and I hope the thriller part isn’t too much for her.

The bright red fake leather recliners delight her, and I push up the armrest between us. Tomydelight, she cuddles into my side. I gambled, telling her my feelings, but I want her to trustme. I want her to know that no matter how small her problems are, I will be there in any way I can be.

Halfway through the movie, she whispers who she thinks the killer is. The ending proves her correct, and I’m proud of her for figuring it out.

“How did you know?” I ask.

Though the lights have brightened, a sad song plays during the credits. It’s nice to be alone with her, the music winding around us. I don’t want the evening to end, and there’s nothing I want less than to bring her home.

And not because it’s eleven-thirty and I have two hours on the road ahead of me.

“Gut feeling,” she admits, “but there were a couple of clues. Did you like it?”

“Yeah, it was good.” I look around the empty theater. A young staff member dressed in black starts gathering the garbage people were too lazy to throw away. “I suppose, huh?”

I hold her hand as we walk out of the theater, and we feel like a normal couple. Nine-to-five jobs, a pet at home. A house. Even when I dated Viv, I never wanted a yard to mow, a driveway I have to shovel in the winter. We both lived in apartments, and the convenience suited me, nothing I wanted to change, but I think of it now, with Zarah. Laying new tile in the kitchen, painting a bedroom that would become a nursery. It’s stupid. I’m thirty-six years old, practically middle age, and these feelings are just hitting me. Gripping her hand, opening the theater door, and stepping into the cold, I want those things. I want to be going home with her, watching her wash her face, change into pajamas that I’ll slide off in the middle of the night to make love. Getting married.

It took me long enough, but God, the woman I chose to do it with...

It could be that she’ll never be able to live a life like that. She might always need Zane and Stella and her therapist. If her life is always going to be about recovery, where will that leave me? Can Zane ever look at Stella and not feel regret? Can he ever be happy in the moment? Or is the past always going to hang a black cloud over his future? If Zarah and I have a relationship, will his life be mine?

For the past six years her life has been nothing but trauma, and there’s no guarantee that when she’s completely off the drugs she’ll be okay. I can love her through that, but that doesn’t leave me much space. Maybe I’m looking too far ahead, but I see a future with a woman who won’t let me touch her, loving a woman, who, in all reality, I can’t have.

I told her I’d wait, but for how long? Can I wait forever like I said? I’ve known her a handful of days and I already want the rest of her life.

It’s not fair.

“Zane said we could stay at the penthouse if you don’t want to drive me home.” Her voice is quiet, and I turn down the blasting heat.

“The penthouse?” I ask blankly. My mind wasn’t where I’d spend the night.

“Yeah, if you want.” She’s staring at her gloves.

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