Ledger has a contemplative look about him when he says, “I feel guilty.”
Welcome to my constant state. “Why?”
“For building this house. I feel like Scotty would be disappointed in me. Diem gets so sad every time we bring up the fact that I’m putting my other house up for sale.”
“Why did you build this house, then?”
“It’s been my dream for a long time now. I bought the land and started drafting the design back when Diem was just a baby. Before I knew how much I would love her.” He cuts his eyes to mine. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved her then, but it was different. She started to walk and talk, and develop her unique personality, and we became inseparable. And over time, this place started to feel less like my future home and more like . . .” He tries to come up with the word, but he can’t.
“A prison?”
Ledger looks at me like I’m the first person to understand him. “Yes. Exactly. I feel like I’m locked into it now, but the idea of not seeing Diem every day is really starting to weigh on me. It’ll change our relationship. With my schedule, I’ll probably see her once a week if I’m lucky. I think that’s why I’ve been taking my time building it. I don’t know that I’m really looking forward to moving out here.”
“Then sell it.”
He laughs, like that’s an absurd idea.
“I’m serious. I’d much rather you live across the street from my daughter than clear across town. I know I can’t be in her life like I wish I could, but there’s some comfort in knowing you are.”
Ledger stares at me for a long beat after I say that. Then he stands up and reaches out for my hand. “We should get to work.”
“Yeah. Don’t want to piss off the boss.” I grab his hand and stand up, and when I do, I’m suddenly way too close to him. He doesn’t back away or let go of my hand, and now he’s looking at me from just a few inches away with an intensity I feel slide down my spine.
Ledger threads his fingers through mine, and when our palms touch, the feeling that surges through me makes me wince. Ledger feels it, too; I can see it in the way his eyes fill with torment.
Funny how something that should feel so good can feel so painful when the circumstances aren’t right. And our circumstances are definitely not right. But I squeeze his hand anyway, letting him know I’m feeling exactly what he’s feeling, and I’m just as torn as he is.
Ledger drops his forehead to mine, and we both close our eyes and just silently breathe through whatever this moment is. I can feel everything he’s not saying. I can even somehow feel the kiss he’s not even giving me. But if we slip back into the moment we shared last night, it would rip that wound open even wider, until that’s all I am.
He knows just as much as I do that this isn’t a good idea.
“What are you gonna do, Ledger? Hide me in your closet until she’s eighteen?”
He looks down at our hands still linked together and shrugs. “It’s a huge closet.”
There’s only a beat of silence before it’s sliced in two by my laughter.
He grins and then leads the way through his dark house and back to his truck.
CHAPTER THIRTY
LEDGER
I’m in my office processing payroll, processing my thoughts, processing all the mistakes I’ve made in the last few weeks.
Roman was right when he said I could have paid her off if I really wanted her to leave. Maybe I should have, because the more I’m around her, the more false hope I’m giving her.
The Landrys won’t come around to the idea of accepting her anytime soon. And if she stays here and continues to work, it’s putting us both at risk of getting caught.
I don’t know what I was thinking hiring her in the first place. I thought she could hide out in the back, but Kenna isn’t the kind of girl you can hide. She stands out. Someone will notice her. Someone will recognize her.
And then we’ll both feel the consequences of this lie.
I take out my phone and text Kenna. Come to my office when you have a second.
I stand up and pace for the entire thirty seconds it takes her to make her way back to my office. I close the door behind her and then walk over to my desk and sit on the edge of it.
She stands near the door, and her arms are folded. She looks nervous. I don’t mean to make her nervous. I point to the chair in front of me, and she walks hesitantly toward it and then sits.
“I feel like I’m in trouble,” she says.
“You aren’t in trouble. I just . . . I’ve been thinking. About what you overheard Roman say. And I feel like I should let you know that you don’t have to come to work anymore.”