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Thirty-One
Connie
It’s takenme two days to get my head around everything Malakai told me and to make sense of the tumultuous emotions that have erupted since I found out about his return. He might not have returned for me, but knowing he’s here is a balm to my soul. When he left last summer, the same morning he handed me over to Grandma, there weren’t any goodbyes. I didn’t send him any text messages in the intervening months either. I needed the time and the space to recover.
Besides, how could I reach out to a man who I’d forced to murder? Despite the almost offhand way he had admitted to killing Abel, as though it didn’t affect him, I knew it had. I also knew that I was partly responsible for that and that’s quite a burden to carry. One I’m still struggling with. In the end, I gave him the space I believed he needed, even though, deep down, I’d known that’s what I needed too.
Grandma keeps telling me to leave the island, that I’m not safe and honestly, I believe her. But how can I leave Grandma knowing how unwell she is? How can I leave the man I love to face his biggest enemy alone? What kind of person would that make me?
Knocking on Grant’s front door, I wait for an answer. Just like the other night, Grant is the one to let me in. Of course, I expected as much, given Malakai’s still hiding out and can’t be seen. Lola has no idea he’s staying here and this time I’ve agreed to keep that fact a secret, understanding more clearly now just what’s at stake. The less she knows, the better. Ironic really, given how strongly I’d fought to be informed about their plans.
Grant greets me with a smile. “Evening, Connie. Here to see my guest?”
“I am.”
“You’d better come in then.” He keeps the door open behind me and grabs his coat off the hook by the front door.
“You’re not staying?”
“As much as I enjoy watching that brute squirm, I think you need privacy, don’t you?” He chuckles as my cheeks flame. I’d rather he’d stayed, actually. I’m not sure I can trust myself around Malakai right now. We’re like two combustible stars just waiting for the moment to collide. It might be a beautiful thing to witness but destructive, nonetheless.
“Where…?”
“Upstairs in the shower. Make yourself at home. Don’t worry, I won’t be back for hours.” He winks, then slips outside, closing the door behind him.
Upstairs in the shower…
I shake my head free of the thought that upstairs Malakai is naked. As much as I want him, first and foremost, I’m here to talk. It’s time to face whatever this is between us, head on. The fact of the matter is, I’m not prepared to let Malakai act without him knowing how I truly feel about him. It’s time.
Ten minutes later, I hear Malakai coming down the stairs and try to calm the erratic beat of my heart. Smoothing my hands over my jeans, I wait for him to enter the living room, only he walks straight past, heading towards the kitchen.
“Grant, I’m going to be heading out in an hour or so. One last recon. I need to find a good spot to enter the Palace when the time’s right...Grant?”
“He’s gone out,” I say gently, stepping out into the hallway.
Malakai stills, his body tensing. Water slides from his still wet hair down his back, wetting the top of his white t-shirt. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turns to face me.
“Why are you here? You should be on the mainland,” he says, lifting his gaze to meet mine.
“I’m not going.”
“The hell you are!” he snaps back.
I sigh, knowing that this would be his reaction. “I’m not a child. You can’t tell me what to do, Malakai. I want to help.”
“Well, you’re barely an adult, Connie!”
“You didn’t seem to think so when you had your face and fingers between my legs,” I counter, folding my arms across my chest. He growls, his fists clenching and unclenching. “Look, we’ve got past that now, our age difference. Jesus, Malakai, that was forgotten the second you touched me and made me feel like a woman, so don’t throw that back in my face now just to serve your own purpose.”
“No. Just fucking no!” he shakes his head, fuming.
“Just listen to what I have to say…”
“I should’ve taken you to the mainland myself!”
He spins on his feet and storms into the kitchen. I watch him as he opens and shuts several cupboards before he finds what he’s looking for. Pulling out a tumbler glass and a bottle of Bourbon, he pours himself a generous shot, knocking it back in one go. I watch him pour another, knocking that back too.
“So you’re just going to get drunk now, is that it?” I ask, stepping into the kitchen, frustrated with his need to obliterate all and any sense with alcohol. “We need to talk. There are things I need to say.”
