Page 61 of Tragic (Lark Cove 3)

“I threw it out,” he muttered.

“Threw what out?”

“Your cake.”

My cake? He had to be talking about the cake he’d made for our dinner. The one I hadn’t tried because I’d been too busy running out the door when he’d ordered me to leave. “I’m sorry.”

He waved a hand. “It’s fine. Over now.”

Yes, it was over now. “Are you okay?”

He let out a low groan that sounded like no.

But I didn’t ask for more. I wasn’t comfortable leaving his side, not with the chainsaw within reach, so I scooted over to the opposite post and leaned against the wood.

The evening sun was setting, and with the tall trees surrounding us, the light faded quickly. I let my eyes drift closed as I listened to the sounds of the forest and Kaine’s heavy breathing. If he fell asleep out here, I’d have a hard time getting him inside. But I’d deal with that after five minutes of quiet.

“It was three years ago.”

My eyes flew open. “What was three years ago?”

“They betrayed me.”

Who? And what was their betrayal? I wanted to ask so badly, but Kaine was drunk. It wouldn’t be right to push for information in his drunken haze.

“She died on Memorial Day weekend.”

I winced. It wasn’t just pain clouding his tone. It was misery. It broke my heart to see the anguish he worked so hard to hide, out in the open. I didn’t know who she was, but I could venture a guess. Kaine had lost someone he loved, and that loss had created the shell of a man at my side.

“I’m sorry.”

“I can’t feel anything.” He let out a long breath, then he shifted. He laid back on the porch boards while at the same time twisting so his head rested in my lap.

My body froze, waiting to see what he’d do next. But he sighed and relaxed, the weight of his neck and head on my thighs. Of their own volition, my fingers found their way into his silky, dark hair.

“I can’t feel anything.” Kaine’s eyes held mine. “But I can feel you.”

“I feel you too,” I whispered.

He turned away, staring off into the trees. “I don’t want to feel.”

My fingers stopped threading his hair. His tone was sharp but it didn’t sting. It was born of fear.

This would all be easier if we could turn off those feelings like the toggle on the chainsaw. But here they were, circling us with the evening air. There was nothing more to say, so I resumed toying with his hair and watching the sun’s light fade.

Until Kaine and his broken heart fell asleep on my lap.

I was having the best dream about eating homemade cinnamon rolls when someone woke me up by pounding on the front door. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing them to go away, but the noise only got louder.

And more painful.

I jerked awake and groaned.

No one was at the door. The pounding was in my head.

“Oh, fuck.” I buried my face in my pillow.

Hangovers were a bitch. I’d partied quite a bit in my younger years, enjoying late nights out with the guys, boozing and picking up women. After a heavy night of drinking, I used to be able to wake up the next morning, guzzle some water, pop a few pain pills and be good to go.