Page 84 of One Touch

I gently pulled my arm from his grip. I closed my eyes, calling forth every shred of composure I had left. “Declan, I just had a meltdown in front of your entire family. In front of cameras. You destroyed me. You let me believe that we were in a committed relationship foryears. When I came to surprise you, your friends had no idea who I even was.” Seething rage dripped from my voice as I recalled how utterly humiliated I had been when I had shown up in Chicago, with hope in my heart, to surprise him.

“It was a misunderstanding.” He clasped his hands. “I can make it up to you.”

“You’re here with a date.”

He scoffed. “A placeholder.” My stomach went oily at the way his eyes moved over me. “I can’t believe I ever let you slip away.”

I turned, blinded by buried hurt and embarrassed anger. “Nothing you could ever do would make up for how small and insignificant you made me feel. Fuck you, Declan.”

Through furious tears I stomped down the hallway.

Before I hit the bottom step, Beckett was turning the corner, searching for me. I crashed into him, pulling him closer. His arms banded around my back and squeezed me tighter.

I looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

A smirk lifted his cheek. “I’m not.” His finger toyed with a strand of hair framing my face. “That fire is one of my favorite parts of you.”

I buried my head into his chest again, melting into his strong embrace.

“Get your things, Kate. We’re leaving.”

* * *

It waslate by the time we pulled into the driveway to his beach house. We’d both agreed heading back to Outtatowner was better than staying another second in Chicago, and I was surprised at the wave of relief that washed over me as we pulled up. The car ride was spent in strained silence, both of us lost in thought, figuring out what the hell happened at the world’s most uncomfortable family dinner.

In his bed, I stared at the ceiling, listening to Beckett’s slow, even breathing.

When I rolled, I saw he was awake too. I studied his profile. “How did you know I don’t like mashed potatoes?” I whispered.

He glanced at me and shifted to his side, the ever-present serious line across his lips. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

When I only stared at him, he rolled his eyes and continued: “I noticed once that you mostly push them around your plate. It’s just one of those things I ... I don’t know ... noticed. Then I couldn’tnotnotice it.”

A slow smile spread across my face as his words sank in. “You’re a stalker,” I teased.

His long fingers reached for me and laced together with mine. “Nah. I just couldn’t help but pay attention when it came to you. You were a mystery.” He scoffed. “Still are, really.”

“Me?” I laughed. “Says the broody contractor who builds literal walls for a living. I’m not a mystery. I’m the most boring girl on the planet.” I ran my hand up his muscular thigh, and he shifted in the bed to drape his heavy leg over me. “I like when you let me peek over all those walls you build.”

My hand reached across to run my fingers through his hair. His low groan was intoxicating. Tingles danced up my spine.

“I’m sorry my family ruined Thanksgiving.”

My smile was weak. “That wasn’t Thanksgiving.”

The entire ride home I couldn’t help but wonder how the day had gone for my own family. It was my first holiday back in Outtatowner, and once again I’d chosen the Millers over my aunt, father, and brothers.

Shame washed over me, and my heart squeezed tightly.

“It’s okay.” I pinched my eyes closed.

He scooted closer. “Hey. Look at me. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

I buried my face in his chest, too ashamed of myself to admit what I was feeling. “I don’t know.”

“Try,” he pressed.

I sighed. “Just wondering what everyone here was up to. I haven’t been to a Sullivan Thanksgiving in years. Declan always wanted us ...” His brother’s name was vile on my tongue.

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