Page 49 of The Murder Between Us
“Katie…”
A floorboard creaked overhead, in Noah’s bedroom, where Cole must be getting dressed. Katie’s eyes whipped up.
Noah buried his face in his hands.
“Dad, who’s here?” Katie backed up, sliding down the kitchen counter. Sliding away from him. “Who is here?” She was almost yelling now. Panic sliced over her features, filled her eyes. Her hands gripped the dish towel, practically tearing it in two.
“Katie…” His voice broke. His hands fell to the counter as he roared through his clenched teeth. Spinning, he punched the fridge, once, twice, a third time, until his knuckles split and warm blood flowed over his hand.
Katie screamed. Noah grabbed the fridge before he fell. He pressed his forehead to the stainless steel. There wasn’t enough air—Jesus, there wasn’t enough oxygen to breathe. He suffocating, he was going to pass out—
Hands grabbed him and guided him down. His vision swam, but as he fell to his ass, a shape formed in front of him. Tall, dressed in chinos and an undershirt. Blond, messy hair. Both hands holding him steady, repeating his name.Noah. Noah. Noah.
Cole. Cole was holding on to him. Cole was saying, “Noah. Noah, look at me.” Cole was in his kitchen.
Which meant Katie had seen Cole now. His gaze shifted over Cole’s shoulder. There she was, standing by the island, both hands covering her mouth as she stared at him.
He’d never wanted to see that look in her eyes. Never.
Noah’s eyes slipped closed as he heard her take off, heard her run up the stairs and slam the door to her bedroom so hard the walls shook. Cole’s hands squeezed his shoulders. “Noah…”
“You need to leave,” he croaked.
The hand stroking his arm stilled. “What?”
“Take my keys and take the car.” It was almost impossible to speak, to force the words out through his clenched throat and his broken heart. “I need you to leave. Right now.”
Cole inhaled. He dropped his hand from Noah’s shoulder. “Um…”
He pushed himself up, the blood on his hand making his grip slick. He stared at Cole, the man he wanted so desperately to love, and raised his chin. “I need to talk to my daughter.Please.” He wanted to love Cole, but he already did love Katie, and now she was hurting. Hurting because of him.
Cole turned, grabbed the keys from Noah’s bowl, and walked to the door.
It closed behind him with a soft, almost silentsnick.
Noah’s legs gave out, and he slid to the kitchen floor again, gasping, screaming into the tile as he squeezed his eyes closed and his heart ripped in two.
16
He showeredbefore he spoke to his daughter.
It was one of the most humbling experiences of his life, bracing himself against his shower wall, face buried in his elbow as he scrubbed at his sore asshole with a bar of soap. Another man’s come was inside him, covering him, and he needed to talk to his daughter.
His eyes were red and puffy when he saw himself in the mirror as he quickly dried off. He left his hair disheveled. No time. He threw on jeans—gingerly; Jesus, he really was sore—and a T-shirt and headed down the hall to Katie’s room.
It was like walking to his own execution. Not even walking into the courtroom when he and Lilly got divorced was as bad. Not half as bad.
“Katie?” He knocked softly. “We have to talk.”
Silence.
“Katie, I’m coming in.”
She was sitting on her bed, arms and legs crossed, her old teddy bear tight to her chest. Her own eyes were red and puffy, and the sleeves of her sweatshirt, pulled down over her hands, bore long streaks of wetness, as if she’d been rubbing her eyes and nose. Seeing her made his heart break all over again, and he nearly retreated, nearly backed away and fled to Alaska to bury himself in the wild where he could be eaten by a bear and never have to see his daughter’s brokenhearted expression turn his way ever again.
But no. He sighed and walked in, trying to look braver than he felt. He pulled out the pink plastic swivel desk chair with the ridiculous shag back that she’d wanted and sat down. They’d gone shopping the weekend it had become semiofficial that she was going to be living with him full time, at least on a trial basis. She needed a new bedroom, something that was hers, something that was home. The more he’d made fun of that chair, the more it seemed she’d had to have it.
He plucked at a long string of neon pink fuzz, twirling it between his fingers. “Katie—”
