Page 126 of Friends Don't Kiss

“Shhh. Kiara!” Mom says.

“Was he?”

“Hiswife,” she says with spite, “she was what you would call…” she whispers, “aMafia princess.” She breathes audibly. “Her father had financed your daddy’s car dealership, and he was tied to them in ways he couldn’t tell. Ours was supposed to be just an affair—I for sure didn’t know he was married. When I was pregnant, he came clean to me. He loved me, I know he loved me. He cried. But he stayed with me as best he could, helped raise you two. He managed to keep this hidden from them. But there was no way he could ever leave her. That would have been our death sentence, you understand? Literal death.”

My father’s two-timing suddenly takes another dimension. “Did he… was I the reason he disappeared? After…”After I exposed him.

It’s almost like I can feel the weight of the silence between us.

“Daddy was scared it might… it might get out. We were pretty private, obviously. Careful never to be seen in public. You never know. But he said you were hysterical, in Burlington. Yelling all sorts of things. Last thing he needed was the police involved, or anybody who might recognize him. He felt it was safer to just disappear.”

Was it safer, or was it the easy way out? Somehow this version of my father, this supposed explanation, doesn’t make it better for me. “How did he die?”

“Honey, I… we… there’s no way we can know or should dig into that.” Her voice is stranded—no—scared. She’s totally telling the truth, and a small shiver runs down my spine.

I’m not sure what to say, or even think—or feel, for that matter. It’s a lot to process when I’m still coming to terms with his death. Colton covers my free hand with his and strokes it. “Okay,” I say softly.

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll let you go.”

Colton gives my hand a soft squeeze.

“Mom? Thanks for calling.”

We hang up without saying goodbye, much lessI love you. It’s too early for that, and frankly, it might never come. And that’s okay.

“You alright, sweets?” Colton asks. His facial expression tells me he heard the whole conversion.

I shake my head in disbelief. “I guess?” My voice is strained, my throat constricted.

He stands, starts on the eggs again, and pours me a hot coffee. “This calls for breakfast.”

“Does it?”

“Absolutely. Need to take care of you.”

Emotion overcomes me, and I round the kitchen island to wrap my arms around him. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He turns the range off to return my hug. “For what, sweets?” he whispers.

“For being you.”

“Mm,” he grunts.

Our mouths find each other, he reaches under my tee, and somehow, I find my legs wrapped around his hips.

“I love you,” I say from the depth of my soul. It’s never been so clear.

He tightens his embrace and answers, “I love you too.”

I smile against his mouth. “No but I think I love you more.”

“That’s impossible,” he growls, nibbling on my lower lip.

I wiggle against his midsection, trying to satisfy the fire in my center. “Not for me it’s not.”

He takes us to the couch, sets me flat on my back, gets us naked, then flips us so I’m on top of him. “Show me how you love me, sweets.” He tightens his grasp on my hips and his breathing becomes labored. There’s a mix of possessiveness and expectation in his gaze that’s easy to get addicted to. I suspect he’s doing this to get my mind off the shit I just heard, and he’s spot on. I’d do anything he asks, just so he looks at me this way. He’s all that counts right now, and the more that happens, the more my perspective on life in general shifts.

I dip my face to his neck, kiss his stubble, lick my way down his chest, kiss his happy trail, then take his cock in my mouth, settling between his legs. He groans, his hands on my head featherweight. “Like that?” I ask him. Colt has made me feel so comfortable about what I don’t know that I have zero inhibitions and no self-consciousness about asking how I’m doing.

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