So why do I feel so restless? Why does it sometimes seem like something vital is missing, like I’m only living half a life despite all I’ve accomplished?
I push the thoughts away as I pull into my driveway and cut the engine. Tonight has been confusing enough without adding existential angst to the mix. All I want now is to kick off these heels, pour a glass of wine, and curl up with my cats.
The house is dark as I unlock the front door and step inside, flicking on the entryway light. I hang up my wrap and purse before calling out, “Mochi! Charlie! You would not believe the day I’ve had.”
Neither cat appears to greet me, which is unusual. Typically, they’re both winding around my ankles the moment I walk through the door, demanding dinner with indignant meows even though I know for a fact that their automatic feeder dispensed food at 6 PM sharp.
I kick off my heels with a sigh of relief. As I do, I hear something from the back of the house, a sharp sound, like glass breaking or something being knocked over. My heart jumps into my throat, but then Mochi comes tearing out of the kitchen, his white fur coated in what looks like… flour?
“What did you get into now?” I mutter, heading toward the kitchen to assess the damage. Mochi is notorious for jumping onto counters and knocking things over. Last week it was a vase of flowers. The week before, a bag of potting soil and a potted plant I’d carelessly left on the kitchen table.
I’m halfway down the hallway when a large man in a ski mask falls backward out of the kitchen doorway, landing flat on his back at my feet. I scream, stumbling backward, my mind not quite processing what I’m seeing. A man. In my house. In a mask.
Fight or flight kicks in, and I turn to run toward the front door, toward my phone, toward safety. But before I can take more than two steps, strong arms wrap around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I thrash wildly, kicking backward, trying to remember the self-defense moves from the class I took after moving to Billings. But the grip holding me is like iron.
“Sunshine, it’s me,” a voice whispers in my ear, low and urgent. A voice I would know anywhere, even after all this time.
I stop struggling immediately, though my heart continues to race. When I go still, the arms release me, and I turn slowly, already knowing who I’ll see.
“Roman?” His name comes out as a question, though there’s no doubt in my mind. He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him at the courthouse two years ago, maybe a bit more weathered, a few more lines around his eyes, but still undeniably, heartbreakingly Roman.
He’s wearing all black, his hair longer than I remember, falling over his forehead in a way that makes my fingers itch to brush it back. His blue eyes scan my face hungrily, as if searching for something.
“Sorry about this,” he says, gesturing to the unconscious man on my hallway floor. “You came home from your date sooner than I expected.”
I gape at him, my brain struggling to catch up with what’s happening. There’s a man unconscious in my hallway. Roman is in my house. Roman knew I was on a date. Roman has been watching me? None of this makes any sense.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, finding my voice at last. I point to the masked man. “And what is he doing here? What’s going on?”
Roman rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says, looking almost sheepish. “I guess I should explain what’s going on.”
“You think?” I say, surprised by the steadiness of my voice. “Start talking, Roman. Now.”
25
Chapter 25
Roman
I can’t tear my eyes away from Kayla’s face. It’s been two years since I’ve been this close to her, close enough to count the freckles across her nose, to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, to watch the way her cute nose scrunches up when she’s angry. And she is definitely angry. Her mouth is set in that familiar line that always meant trouble for me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she waits for an explanation I’m not sure how to give. Every cell in my body screams to grab her, to pull her against my chest, to bury my face in her hair and breathe in the scent I’ve been dreaming about for two long years. But I can see the fury radiating off her in waves, and I know touching her now would be like grabbing a live wire.
“Roman,” she says between gritted teeth. “I’m waiting. What the hell is going on? Why is there an unconscious man in myhallway, and why are you in my house?”
I open my mouth, then close it again. How do I even begin to explain? Sorry, I’ve been watching you for two years to make sure my psychotic enemy doesn’t come after you again? Yeah, that’ll go over well. To buy myself time, I search the unconscious man on the floor. No ID. Nothing identifiable on his clothing. I pull the mask off, but he isn’t anyone I recognize.
“It’s complicated,” I start, wincing at how pathetic that sounds.
“Complicated?” Her voice rises; the word sharp enough to cut glass.
I take a deep breath, but before I can launch into the explanation she deserves, I notice the masked man on the floor starting to stir. That’s not good. I need to deal with that first.
“Hold that thought,” I say, pulling out my phone. I need backup, and I need it now.
“Hold that—“ she cuts herself off, sputtering with indignation as I turn away slightly, already dialing Dragon.
“This better be good,” Dragon’s voice comes through, low and irritated. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“I need a cleanup team,” I say without preamble. “Kayla’s place. One package, alive but unconscious.”