Thirteen
Shaw’s heart was knocking against his ribs like it was trying to break out of his chest and run back out into the street. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. He was already mentally packing all his belongings as he led Taryn up the stairs to his apartment. He’d thought he’d have longer here in Austin. He’d thought he could simply avoid people and stay under the radar. It was a big town. Fourteen years had passed. He could disappear into a new life for a little while. But karma had other ideas. He had a feeling that no matter where he went in town, he’d end up face-to-face with Taryn Landry.
Maybe this was part of his penance. To find a woman he wanted to get to know, who made him feel like he was the guy he used to be, who made him nervous and made him laugh, and made him want with a ferocity he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember. And then to have that woman be someone he could never touch or even be friendly with without feeling like a complete scumbag.
He couldn’t keep doing this. He owed Taryn the truth. Then he had to leave town. Because she was going to freak out—legitimately so—and be angry and feel betrayed. She’d have no reason to keep his secret. Instead, she’d have every reason in the world to out him. Why did he deserve a normal life after what his family had taken from hers?
He didn’t. That was all there was to it.
This was the end here in Austin. Rivers was going to kill him, but Shaw had no choice. He couldn’t keep lying to Taryn. He unlocked the door to his apartment, flipped on the light, and let Taryn walk in first. “It’s not much.”
She glanced around at his simple furniture and absent decor, hands hugging her elbows. “It’s nice. Modern minimalist.”
He smirked. “Is that what you call ‘haven’t had time to shop yet’?”
A half smile touched her lips. “Yep.”
“Got it.” But now he wouldn’t need to shop. He’d be gone. “You want something to drink? I have water and iced tea.”
“Tea’s good.”
He went into the kitchen and busied himself with pouring her a glass. He ran through scenarios in his head, trying to come up with a gentle way to tell her who he was, but he knew there was no such thing. This was going to be fucking traumatizing. They’d kissed. He’d had his hands on her. More than once. The first time, he hadn’t known who she was. Maybe she could forgive him for that, but tonight, he had no excuses. He’d let himself get wrapped up in the moment and had kissed her with full knowledge of who she was and who
he was to her.
Unforgivable.
He returned to the living room, finding Taryn on his couch, her hands wrapped around her crossed knees, her leg bouncing as she looked out his window toward the bar. For a second, he let himself imagine what it would be like to have no history, to wipe the slate completely clean and start fresh, to simply be bringing a drink to a woman he’d invited over to get to know better. To be the kind of man who could take her out to dinner and not be paranoid about who looked his way.
But he could never be that man, especially not with her.
He cleared his throat and she turned his way, offering him a look of open curiosity, of trust, which made him feel even worse. God, she was so damn pretty that it made his bones hurt. She didn’t wear much makeup, but she didn’t need to. Her brown skin seemed to have an inner glow, and her smile alone could knock a guy on his ass. And that was all before she opened her mouth and revealed how freaking smart she was.
“I bet it’s not sweet tea,” she teased. “That wouldn’t be gym-approved.”
He handed her the glass. “You’d lose that bet, professor. Everyone deserves a splurge sometimes, and my grandmother would roll in her grave if I was serving a guest unsweetened tea. I even make my own simple syrup for it.”
“Wow.” She took the glass and sipped, giving it a nod of approval. “Mmm. That’s good. Color me impressed…and surprised.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You don’t seem like you indulge in much.”
He sank into the armchair catty-corner from her. “I’m guessing we’re not talking about sweet tea anymore.”
She shrugged but kept her eyes on him as she took another sip. “Just calling it like I see it. The Lucas…” She paused, lips parted, and frowned. “I was going to say the Lucas Whoever I’ve met seems pretty strict with himself, but I just realized I don’t know your last name.”
His mouth went dry, and he suddenly wished he’d poured himself a glass of tea—or something much stronger. He wet his lips. Now or never. “Shaw. It’s Shaw.”
“Oh, okay. Lucas Shaw,” she said resolutely. “The Lucas Shaw I know—”
“No.” He shook his head, cutting her off. Words tumbled around in his head and wrecked any chance at coherence.
“No?” She frowned and set aside her drink. “Am I pronouncing it wrong?”
Sweat gathered along his back, blood pounding like a waterfall in his ears. He stared down at his hands, which were clasped loosely between his spread knees. “It’s not Lucas. It’s Shaw.”
She gave a small, nervous laugh. “Uh, maybe it’s the two margaritas, but I’m confused.”
Shaw looked up, meeting her eyes, gathering every ounce of courage he had as armor. “That’s why we needed to talk. That’s why I stopped things that night at the gym. You called me Lucas. That’s not my real name.”
A deep line wedged itself between her brows, and her relaxed posture tensed up. Her gaze darted quickly toward the door as if she was noting her escape routes. She was probably checking off boxes in her head on the list of Signs Your Date Is a Serial Killer. “Your name’s not Lucas.”