Part 32 (2/2)

I thought for sure she'd slap me. The look on her face told me she wanted to. Her lip was curled back so far I could see her teeth and the glint of disgust in her eyes was like the edge of a blade gleaming in the sun. But Parker only pulled free of me and set her jaw, smoldering with defiance.

”You're acting like a d.i.c.k,” she said. ”Is that how you treat people when they start getting too close?”

I shook my head. ”Sweetheart, I'm like this all the time.”

”No, you're not,” Parker insisted. ”You weren't just a minute ago. A minute ago, you were charming and sincere. I was interested.”

I threw up my hands. ”Yeah, well, maybe this is the real me. s.h.i.+t, don't you know anything about men? We're all pigs at heart.”

Parker watched me as I fished my wallet out of my jeans. ”I don't believe that.”

”Doesn't matter what you believe,” I said, leaving enough cash for our drinks on the bar. ”The reality is you and me wouldn't work anywhere but between the sheets. So go back to your old men in fancy suits and leave me the f.u.c.k alone before you get hurt. Because that's who I am: the guy who hurts people.”

I stood up and left her behind, never once risking looking back. I knew that if I did, I'd stop and apologize for acting like such an a.s.s. I couldn't do that. Not when it was for her own good.

The chill in the air hit me like a slap as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Finally, I felt like I could breathe, like the world wasn't closing in on me from all sides. Sitting there with Parker made me feel like there wasn't enough oxygen for the two of us. She took my breath away. No woman had done that since... well, ever.

The h.e.l.l is wrong with me? I wondered as I hailed a cab. I can't put a girl like her in the middle of all this. She wouldn't last two seconds. I can't be responsible for ruining her. I'd never forgive myself.

I didn't deserve her.

A cab pulled up to the curb, splas.h.i.+ng my boots with gutter water. I paused to shake them off before getting in, and that's when Parker's fingers closed around my wrist.

”Kellan, wait...”

I whirled on her. Before I could read her the riot act again, she said, ”I know we don't know each other. Not very well, anyway. But I've known a lot of soldiers, and I know what it's like to come home and feel like you don't have a place here anymore. So if you ever want to talk...”

I pulled away hard, making her almost lose her balance in those cute little heels. ”You don't know a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing,” I snapped as I flung open the door to the cab and got in, slamming it shut to block out the sound of Parker's repeated protests.

Doesn't she get it? I thought as we pulled away. f.u.c.k, doesn't she see how messed up I am?

”Rose Street,” I told the driver, but my thoughts were still on Parker, on those big, puppy dog eyes of hers and the softness in her voice. Why the h.e.l.l is she trying so hard, anyway? Why does she care so much?

I ran my fingers through my hair. It didn't matter. Everything I touched turned to s.h.i.+t, and if she got too close, she was at risk of getting hurt. Seemed like it was in my nature: first I'd hurt my sister and our parents by turning into a drug addict. Then I'd hurt people for a living in the Marines. And now I was here, hurting people all over again. All I knew how to do, all I was actually good for, was causing people pain.

I slumped in my seat and shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. The cabbie wasn't a fan of turning on the heat, apparently. My fingers unexpectedly touched paper and I pulled it out, unfurling the napkin that I definitely hadn't put in there myself.

It was Parker's name and phone number. She must have scribbled it down when I walked out and snuck it into my jacket when she grabbed me. There were a few beer stains on it. Was this one of the ones she'd used to wipe up the drink I'd spilled all down the front of her blouse?

I lifted the napkin to my nose and inhaled deeply, allowing myself one brief moment to remember what could have been. Then I rolled down my window and tossed Parker's scent and memory into the cold wind whipping past the taxi.

~ Four ~

Parker

”Ms. Jones, may I speak with you in my office?”

f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k. That was Melanie Cartwright, Editor-in-Chief of The Spill. She was my personal Miranda Priestly-you know, from The Devil Wears Prada?-and if she wanted to see me, it meant nothing good.

I glanced over at Thom, sitting a few feet away at his desk. He was our sports columnist and very popular. He rarely had to deal with any bad news from Melanie Cartwright, and when I'd first started working here, I'd hoped cozying up to him would grant me some kind of immunity, too.

No dice. I did come away from it with a pretty great friend, though. Right now, he was giving me a look of both sympathy and intrigue. We were reporters, after all. Schadenfreude was in our blood.

”You'd better go,” he said. ”It's only going to be worse if you keep her waiting.”

I sighed and stood up, smoothing down my skirt. I was lucky she'd called me in today and not two days before when my blouse would've been covered in beer stains. I didn't need to look any more incompetent than she already thought I was.

My mind drifted to Kellan as I walked down the long hall toward Melanie's office. He hadn't called. With the way he'd stormed off, that was hardly a surprise, but I'd hoped he'd see reason and drop the tough guy act. I mean, it wasn't all an act. Kellan really was strong and obviously could hold his own in a fight, and what he'd said about being dangerous didn't feel like a lie to me. But that was just the physical stuff. Kellan was like the rest of us, emotionally speaking, and maybe even a little more damaged than that. The way he pushed me away, how I bet he refuses to let anyone get close-it betrayed a deep-seated fear in him, one that wouldn't be easy to cast aside.

I wasn't just disappointed for personal reasons, though. I was disappointed because without Kellan, I'd entirely lost track of my story. I hadn't been able to get Senator MacFarlane alone since then, and my deadline was looming in the not-so-distant future. I might've been able to keep Melanie at bay if I had Kellan's human interest story in my back pocket, but since I didn't, I was bringing her nothing. And Melanie didn't like her reporters strutting into her office empty-handed.

Ever.

I paused at her door for a deep breath before knocking. It was open, but I knew better than to enter unannounced, even when she'd summoned me.

”You rang?” I said with a tentative smile.

Melanie flicked her gaze up over the wire rims of her gla.s.ses. She was one of those women who only got s.e.xier and more intimidating with age. Her full-bodied, wavy brown hair had a single streak that had gone gray, making her stormy eyes all the fiercer. She looked like she'd been poured into her devil-red dress, and when she gestured for me to take a seat, her body moved with all the elegance of a swan.

Being in Melanie's presence was petrifying and awe-inspiring all at the same time. I admired her almost as much as I feared her. She was probably the only person in all the world whose bidding I did without a second thought.

I sat down in front of her and watched as she stood, arms crossed, heaving a sigh. ”I don't suppose you've made any headway with the senator, Ms. Jones?”

Slowly, I shook my head, then cringed at the disappointment in her eyes. ”But my deadline's not until the end of the month. I'm sure I'll have other opportunities...”

”You'd better make yourself some opportunities,” Melanie said, gingerly closing her door. ”I didn't want to have to pull this card with you, Parker. I really didn't. But you should know that your readers.h.i.+p has been dropping like a stone, and what's more, I'm running out of bones to throw your way. You've got to take some initiative if you plan on continuing your career here at The Spill.”

I swallowed hard. I knew she was telling the truth, at least about my readers.h.i.+p. My online articles were pulling in abysmal numbers and getting worse with each new article I wrote. I knew the problem was their content. I hadn't had anything interesting to say in a while, which was largely because nothing much ever happened here, and n.o.body wanted to read my drivel when they could spend their time on one of Thom's articles or vlogs instead. Sports never went out of style. Lucky him, I thought bitterly.

”I am taking initiative,” I a.s.sured Melanie, a low flame of frustration flaring in my gut. ”This story is going to be big. Huge. I can feel it. It's got everything our audience wants.” I thought again of Kellan, of the angle I'd lost by offending him at the bar. ”Heck, it might even run deeper than I originally thought.”

Melanie narrowed her eyes, her winged liner nearly touching the tail ends of her perfectly coiffed brows. ”So you do have something.”

”Nothing concrete,” I replied, wringing my hands. Was it really wise to be telling her this? But if my job was on the line...

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