“Then I’ll go get ready.” I climbed out of the bed, trying to ignore the way Blane’s gaze dropped to the length of thigh I’d unwittingly exposed.
An hour later, I’d forced down a bagel that Mona had brought me—my stomach was still not feeling normal and I didn’t know if the nausea was from the pregnancy, Kade leaving me, or a combination of the two. I’d pulled on a black sleeveless dress and black heels, pinning my hair up into a French twist.
Checking myself over in the mirror, I frowned at the drawn, pinched look to my face. The shadows under my puffy eyes were immune to makeup. An oversized pair of black sunglasses would help that, though.
My gaze caught on the gold heart-shaped locket that hung between my breasts. Kade had given it to me at Christmas. I’d said that the reason I’d hardly taken it off since was because it held a photo of my parents, but I was through lying to myself.
I kept it on because Kade had given it to me.
Lifting my hands to the catch, I hesitated, then lowered my arms. I couldn’t take it off. I knew I should, but not yet. I wasn’t ready.
My stomach knotted and I thought the bagel was going to make a reappearance. I grabbed the bedpost to steady myself as a wave of anguish rolled over me.
Kade was gone, and this time he wasn’t coming back.
That black hole threatened to engulf me and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was pregnant, with the baby of a man who’d lied to me, then walked out on me.
What was I going to do? I was a bartender with no money, no family. School was out of the question now—no way could I afford an education and a baby. Who would take care of it while I worked? I could barely feed myself, so how was I supposed to feed a baby?
I couldn’t breathe, the air choking in my lungs. Black spots danced in front of my eyes as I clutched the bedpost.
“It’s okay. Kat, it’s okay. Just breathe. Look at me.”
Blane’s hand under my chin forced my head up until I met his green gaze.
“Breathe, okay? Look at me. Breathe.” Blane gently pried my hand from its vise grip on the bedpost, moving it to his shoulder. “Hold on to me, okay?”
My hand fisted the black suit coat he wore, and I focused with difficulty on the rhythm of his breathing, forcing myself to echo it. Gradually, the spots cleared, the weight against my chest easing.
Blane’s face was grim, his mouth set in a tight line. “You need to lie down,” he said.
“No, I’m fine,” I protested, resisting his tug on me. “We’ve got to go, right? Can’t be late.”
His brows furrowed. “Maybe it’s not a good idea for you to come.”
“I’m fine,” I said again, my voice stronger this time. “I just . . . had a moment, that’s all. It’s been a rough few days. Let’s just go.”
I grabbed my purse off the bureau and headed for the door, feeling Blane’s eyes on me, but he didn’t say anything more and followed me.
It was sunny outside and I dug my sunglasses from my purse. Blane held the door of the Jaguar for me and I slipped inside. A moment later, we were heading north on Meridian.
“You want to tell me what the panic attack was for?” Blane asked.
I glanced at him. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but the hard set of his jaw raised a red flag.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just a little . . . overwhelming.”
“I’m not mad,” Blane clarified. “But if you’re panicking because you think you’re alone, you’re not. You have me.”
I shook my head, turning to stare out the window. “I’m not going to do that to you, Blane,” I said. “You deserve better. I’ll be fine on my own. I just need a plan, that’s all.”
Blane pulled into the cemetery, finding a place to park among the cars already there. Once he had, he turned to face me.
“I don’t want you on your own. I want you with me.”
Stunned, I didn’t have an opportunity to reply before he was out of the car, rounding to my side and pulling open my door.
There were people walking by, also clad in black, so I refrained from saying anything as I got out of the car. Blane offered his arm and we walked up a sloping hill to where a large number of people were gathered.
We stayed toward the back and a little bit apart from the others. Though Blane had been cleared in Kandi’s murder—the real killer had confessed and was now behind bars—I could tell he was trying not to draw any attention to us.
Another freshly dug grave was nearby, and I realized it was for Kandi’s father. I couldn’t feel remorse for his death. He’d tried to kill Blane, had nearly killed Kade instead.
The service started, though we were too far away to hear the words spoken. After a while, someone began playing a melody on a flute. It sounded ethereal and lonely, a stark contrast to the sunny day and the flowers that dotted the lush, green landscape. Members of Kandi’s extended family passed by the casket, placing pink roses on top.
Blane stood stiffly beside me and I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together. He said nothing, but his grip was tight.
When the service was over, we turned to go, but someone blocked our path.
“You’ve got some balls, Kirk, showing your face here.”
I sucked in a breath. It was James. He was also dressed in a black suit, and he looked livid.
“I’ve known Kandi all her life,” Blane said evenly.
“It’s because of you that she’s dead,” James spat.
Blane gripped my hand so tight it hurt. “Every time I speak to you, I find fewer and fewer reasons for you not to be in a grave, Gage.”
“Speaking of which, so sorry to hear about your buddy Dennon getting shot,” James retorted in mock sympathy. “Was a close call, wasn’t it?”
Blane lunged and I shoved myself between them. “No, Blane!” I said, trying to push him back. It was like trying to move granite. “Not here!”
“Better listen to her,” James sneered. “Tell me, does she screw both of you at once, or does Dennon fuck you in the ass while she watches?”
I spun around, my fist coming up and crashing into James’s nose. There was a crunching sound, a look of shock on James’s face, then blood began pouring. He stumbled back, his hands flying up to cover his nose.
Blane grabbed my arm and hauled me none too gently back to the car, moving so fast I had to run to keep up. In no time flat, we were in the Jaguar and speeding away from the cemetery.
I glanced at Blane, trying to read his expression. Shit. He was pissed.
“Listen, Blane—” I began, wanting to apologize. Well, not really. James had deserved it. Maybe I couldn’t shoot him, but apparently I had no qualms about punching him. Yet I’d made a scene at Kandi’s funeral and that was just wrong.
“That was fucking incredible,” Blane interrupted. “You’ve got one helluva right hook, Kat.” He shot me a grin.
I laughed, relieved he wasn’t angry.
“So were you defending my honor?” he teased.
I thought about it. “I guess so.” Huh. “James is disgusting,” I said. “He deserved it.” And now maybe he’d finally leave me alone.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Blane said. “How’s the hand?”
I realized that my hand was killing me. “Hurts like hell,” I said. “But worth it.”
Blane drove us back to his house, opening the car door for me when we arrived. His hand settled on my waist as we walked up the drive.
He led me to the den, then went to the kitchen. When he reappeared, he was carrying an ice pack wrapped in a thin dish towel.
“Come sit down,” he said, and I perched next to him on the sofa. He took my hand, gently laying the ice on my aching knuckles. I hissed a breath. I’d seriously have to rethink it if I ever wanted to punch someone in the nose again.
Blane raised his head and our gazes met, his eyes a stormy gray, the green mere flecks now. The black suit he wore was expertly tailored, like all his suits, encasing his wide shoulders in the expensive fabric. He still wore his tie, silver-and-black-striped silk knotted perfectly at his throat. His blond hair didn’t have a strand out of place. He was so perfect, I was momentarily without words as I studied him. When had I started seeing Blane as ordinary? When had I begun taking him for granted?