taken us downstairs in the first place…yet he was passed out and at peace.
The nightmares. The buzz. The constant refusal to go back to Seattle—to real life. The insatiable need with which he reached for me in the middle of the night, often pulling me from sleep with his mouth and hands…
You naïve little fool.
He’d replaced one addiction for another.
I’d become his fix.
My sleep was restless, and when I woke for what felt like the hundredth time and the sun was already up, I slipped from the bed, careful not to wake Nixon. He looked younger when he slept, peaceful in a way he never was while awake, which only seemed to make his nightmares even less fair.
I dressed in my own room, though it really wasn’t mine anymore. It was just where I kept my clothes. Nixon and I hadn’t spent a night apart since October.
How could I have been so complicit I didn’t think to press pause—to pump the brakes? I’d challenged the house, sure, but I hadn’t refused it. I’d accepted everything he’d given and thrown my heart into these last few months with the knowledge they’d come to an end.
I’d tortured myself with the question of whether Nixon wanted me. If he needed me the way I did him. I’d never asked myself if he should.
The full cups of tea were the only evidence of what had happened last night, and within a few minutes, I had them in the dishwasher, my body on autopilot while my mind raced.
“I didn’t hear you get up,” Nixon said as he came up behind me and enveloped me in his arms, and like the lovesick girl I was, I pressed a kiss to his bicep, just beneath where his sleeve began.
The doorbell rang.
“What the fuck? It’s seven o’clock in the morning. I’ll get it.” He kissed the top of my head, then headed for the door.
I put my coffee mug under the Keurig and pressed brew.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Nixon shouted from the entry hall.
I abandoned my coffee and raced for the door.
“I’ve got it,” he called over his shoulder at me, his back filling the majority of the doorway.
“Is that her? Maybe she can talk some sense into you!” a woman shouted.
My stomach pitched.
“You don’t get to speak to her. Not now. Not ever,” he snapped. “Get the hell off my property.”
“I’m not going to hurt her, for Christ’s sake,” the woman argued.
“Mr. Winters—” a deep voice interrupted.
“I’m not giving you a chance to hurt her. Get. Out.”
I eased to Nixon’s side, getting my first clear view of the porch. A tall, well-dressed man grimaced behind a middle-aged woman with curly blond hair.
“Tacoma,” I whispered, then looked up at Nixon.
Blatant horror stared back at me.
16
ZOE
“Zoe,” Nixon begged.
I wasn’t sure what for. Did he want me to walk away? To ignore that the very fan who’d tried her best to claw her way past Chris was now standing on our front porch in the middle of Colorado?
“Zoe,” the woman said with a shaky smile, a plea in her eyes.
Guess everyone wanted something today.
“Ms. Shannon.” The man stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “I’m Richard Howell.”
Attorneys at Law. A mental picture of the envelope flashed before my eyes—the envelope I’d never finished opening.
“What can I do for you?” I asked the man, avoiding the woman’s beseeching stare as my brain gave me rapid-fire answers I didn’t want.
Nixon had lost his shit when he’d first seen Ashley. He’d denied knowing this woman even though he’d clearly met her. Same hair.
“Do you have a kid?” I asked Nixon, my eyes narrowing.
His flew wide. “No!”
Wide but honest.
“I’m his mother,” the woman blurted, earning my surprise.
“Stepmother,” Nixon corrected through gritted teeth.
What the hell?
“If we could just come in for a moment,” Richard addressed me, not Nixon.
“Over my dead body.” He moved to shut the door.
I stepped forward, blocking him.
“I represent his father,” Richard told me.
“His father is dead,” I retorted, only to be met with two very confused faces…and one very guilty one. My stomach did a dive roll and my cheeks heated. “His father isn’t dead, is he?” I asked Nixon’s stepmother.
“No.” She shook her head, her gaze darting between Nixon and me. “Please, Nixon. It’s been ten years—”
“I don’t know how you found me, but you’re not welcome, and the answer is no.” Wrath shone from his eyes as he moved, positioning himself slightly ahead of me.