Cruel (The Buck Boys Heroes 2)

Staring into the fire, my beautiful love is deep in thought.

A blanket is wrapped around her body, but her legs are twitching. The rhythmic movement is a sign that she’s focused on something.

I saw it before when I glanced into her office to find her typing away on her laptop.

“Juliet,” I call out to her softly.

She doesn’t respond so I step closer. “Juliet.”

Still nothing, her gaze is pinned on the flames as they dance in the darkness.

I don’t say another word until I’m less than five feet from the couch. “Juliet, are you all right?”

The answer doesn’t come from within her, or perhaps it does.

No words leave her perfect lips, but they quiver and as she turns to face me, I see her tear stained cheeks.

Rushing toward her, I stop short of where she is. My hands fist at my sides, and I exhale. “Who did this to you? Who has made you feel this, Juliet. Tell me. I’ll...”

When my voice trails she glances up and into my eyes. “You’ll what, Kavan? What will you do?”

I’ll kill them.

Those words – those three fucking words – sit unspoken on my tongue.

She darts to her feet and with the blanket in her hand trailing behind her she walks barefoot across the room toward the bank of windows.

I follow behind her. “Tell me what’s wrong, Juliet. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she whimpers. “You would never hurt me.”

She can’t know how much those words mean to me.

“Let me help you.” I scrub a hand over the back of my neck as she slows her steps. “Juliet, let me help you.”

She turns to face me, dropping the blanket at her feet.

I approach her with cautious steps because I don’t know how to comfort her.

“Kavan.” My name comes out of her wrapped in a sob. “I need to tell you something.”

Dear God, please don’t let it be that she’s in love with someone else. Please.

I move closer so I can cradle her delicate face in my hands. “Tell me, Juliet. You can tell me anything.”

“You can tell me anything,” she repeats.

I stare into her eyes. Is that what she needs? Does she need me to speak my truth before she will?

I kiss the corner of her mouth softly before I feather kisses over her forehead. “Trust me, Juliet. I’m not the man you think I am. You can trust me. I trust you.”

Her hand moves to my chin. It’s the gentlest touch but it soothes the pain that has lived within me for so long.

The urge to speak is almost too much. I want her to know my truth and I want it to be now, before she trusts me with hers.

“I didn’t kill him, Juliet.” My voice breaks. “I swear to you that I didn’t kill my father.”

Tears fall from her eyes. “I know, Kavan.”

I nod as I swipe the tears from her cheeks with the pads of my thumb.

“I know because I’ve looked in the eyes of a murderer, and that’s not what I see when I look at you.”

Chapter Forty-One

Juliet

His brilliant blue eyes lock on my face.

I see pain in the depths of them, when there should be relief.

He confessed what I’ve always suspected, and I confessed what he never could have known.

“Juliet,” he whispers my name. “What does that mean?”

To tell that story takes more strength than I have, but I need to do this.

After we made love, I got out of the bed and checked my phone.

There was a text from my sister, and a missed call, and three more calls after that.

So I put on Kavan’s shirt, snuck out of his bedroom and went into my office.

I called Margot and for the first time in ten years she didn’t ask where I was or who I was with.

She cried.

I cried, and then we cried together because we are finally free.

I take Kavan’s hand to lead him back to the couch.

I sat there, staring into the fire for so long I lost track of time.

He takes a seat next to me with his body turned to face me. He reaches for my hands. “Start from the beginning.”

I nod. “I was fifteen.”

He shifts his ass so he’s even closer to me. “Fifteen?”

“It was ten years ago.” I take a deep breath. “Margie was eighteen. It was the middle of summer. Our parents left for vacation. A cruise. It was a cruise in Greece.”

Those details don’t matter, but they are part of the tapestry of that moment in time. They all weave together to form the memory that I’ve never been able to shake.

He squeezes my hands.

I glance at the fireplace. “It was raining, so Margie turned on the fireplace that morning. It was electric but gave off a little bit of heat. She had summer school so she left to go to class. I forgot to turn the fireplace off.”