“Fine, Samira! Damn!” He rubbed his arms again. “I don’t even know why you moved all the way out here to Cold-As-Balls Land anyway. Get me next to a fire. I’m freezing.”
I stifled a laugh as he moved past me and he smirked.
“Let me go get my bags from the driveway.”
* * *
Kell apologized to Roland, but not with much enthusiasm. Honestly, I don’t think it helped much of anything. Roland was clearly still disappointed and hurt by me. He accepted Kell’s apology and they shook hands over hot coffee in the kitchen, but he could hardly look at me. After Kell’s apology, Roland said he was going out for a while, went to the mudroom for his coat and shoes, and was out the door in a matter of seconds.
I felt horrible, both for how I made Roland feel, and for having Kell panic like that and fly all the way out here. I admit, the night before, I’d panicked, and I sent my brother that text without thinking about the consequences. I could have responded, but deep down I wanted Kell to show up, I just thought he’d arrive subtly.
I realized I could use Kell being around to my advantage. His resources were good. His job dug up dirt all the time, and if one of his clients had skeletons in their closet, their agency made magic happen and often made it disappear with settlements and nondisclosure.
His people could find Miley if no one else could.
“Despite all of this, I did want to see you in person,” I said as we sat in the den. A fire was going and Kell was on his second cup of coffee.
“Well, you should’ve just said that, not have me thinking the worst and spending money to fly all the way out here.”
I fought a smile. “How’s Ana?”
“Pregnant as hell and driving me fucking crazy,” he muttered, then sipped.
“And you really don’t want to know the gender early?”
“I do, but she’s dead set on finding out when the baby is born.” He shrugged.
“What are you hoping for?”
“A boy. As you can see, girls have way too much drama for me to keep up with.” He eyed me and laughed.
“Ha. Ha.” I laughed with him while waving my middle finger in the air.
He placed his coffee mug on the table as his phone vibrated in his hoodie pocket.
“Oh, shit,” he said after a while.
“What?” I asked.
“You remember Lola Maxwell?”
“Yeah, of course. I did a gig for one of her parties once and I went to her gala with Roland when we were only dating—a few weeks before we decided to get married and all. He didn’t want to go because we were trying to hide, but he also didn’t want to miss such a huge event, so we went. We purposely avoided taking pictures, but it was fun.”
“Yeah, well TMZ just reported that she and her husband were found dead in their home.” He picked his head up, looking me in the eye. “They think it was a homicide.”
“What?” I gasped, sitting upright. “Who would do that?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t say who yet, but it says they already have a suspect in custody. I’m sure they’ll release that information soon.” Kell shook his head and rubbed his face. “See, I come across news like this and I think the world is too damn evil for a baby to be in. Lola Maxwell was a good person and this is way too close to home.” He shook his head again. “Always some crazy shit happening in Miami, man.”
“Aw, Kellan,” I cooed.
“Don’t use my whole name on me, Samira.” He pressed his lips, shutting the screen of his phone off and sliding it back into the pocket of his hoodie.
“You know . . . you can’t prevent the evil that happens outside your home, but you can make a difference by raising your baby to be good. You’re good, and even though Ana gets on my last fucking nerve, she’s good too.” I laughed as he battled a grin. “Your baby will be okay.”
“I know, I know. Just nervous about becoming a father.” He collected his coffee mug and took a long sip, taking a look around the den. “Anyway, this isn’t weird to you?”
“What?”
“His first wife—Melanie, or whatever—she used to live here, right?”
“Yeah . . .”
“You don’t feel weird about that? Living where she used to? Same bed, probably the same furniture. Same floors, even. Hell, some of her hair is probably still in the crevices of this place”
I took a look around and I hadn’t noticed it before, but the den did have a hint of a woman’s touch. I could tell Roland tried to cover it up with masculine furniture and rugs and portraits, but there were little things that screamed a woman had been here before, like the roman numerals clock on the wall, the glass ornaments on the bookshelves, and even the window nook with its green and white cushions and pillows. Green was her favorite color. How had I not realized it before? I supposed I only realized now because of the damn journals. Prior to reading them, I didn’t pay any attention to that stuff. Now it was all in my face, glaring at me, taunting me.