Nothing made sense. Not one single fucking thing. I knew about Killian—we all did. The high-powered attorney. The golden boy of the Banks family who could do no wrong. The silver-spoon, boot-licking bastard who had fucked Tucker’s fiancée while he was learning to live in a new body that had been irreparably changed forever.
So what the fuck was he doing with a tattered bag of clothes, soaking wet, on my front doorstep? And what the fuck had he been doing broke and starving at a club four weeks ago?
I made a decision—maybe the wrong one, but in the moment, it felt right. Shoving my hand into my pocket, I dug out my keys, then looked him in the eye. “I think you’d better come inside.”
The relief on his face was enough to break me. There was a lot I needed to know, and I wasn’t going to let him rest until he gave me answers.
CHAPTER
NINE
FORD
For all thatKillian did deserve to suffer, I wasn’t going to let him go hypothermic. Not only was that not in my nature, but that would probably come with some kind of murder charge. Manslaughter? Whatever. I was not a killer, even if I kind of wanted to punch him in the mouth for what he did.
Without either of us saying another word, I bustled him into the guest bathroom, shoved a mostly fresh towel into his arms, then slammed the door shut. “Shower!” I called against the wood.
When I heard the water turn on, I hustled into my room and dug around in my drawer for a pair of sweats. I had an old, beat-up set of Hanes—ugly as sin but warm as fuck. The inside cotton was beading, but it was my comfort outfit, and something told me Ian—no,Killian—needed it.
Fuck. Killian was in my house.
Dropping the clothes in front of the bathroom, I made my way into the kitchen and took out a pot,filling it with water and shoving it on the stove. I wasn’t Boden’s smarmy, fancy ass with his electric kettle, but I also wasn’t a heathen, and I did have tea.
Tea was the thing you made when someone was shivering on your doorstep, right? Not sure there was protocol for that, but I needed to do something.
As the water began to heat, I pulled out my phone and zeroed in on my Favorites list. Tucker’s name was glaring back at me. Daring me to call. Daring me to tell him who was currently washing his butt crack in my shower.
Christ, this was…this was…my vocabulary was shit, and I regretted not having an SAT-level education because I needed words for what this whole thing was.
I heard the door creak open just as the water came to a rolling boil, and I leaned back to call out, “You can put on those sweats.”
I heard another rasp that was possibly a thank-you, but it was obvious Ian—fuck, I had to stop calling him that—Killian’s voice was screwed. The tea would help. And honey. I had honey! I always used my store discount to buy the fancy, local farmer shit we sold at work.
Dropping a tea bag into the mug, I added a liberal scoop of honey and then poured water over it. I spilled half of it all over the counter but found it hard to care. My paper towel holder only had the cardboard tube attached, and I wasn’t about to dig around in the closet for another roll.
It was water. It would dry.
“Mrow.”
I felt a nudge against my shin and looked down to see Nugget staring at me. “This is a bad time.”
She blinked. Yeah, even if meteors were falling from the sky, the princess needed her dinner. It was a nice distraction, and I dug into the grocery bag I didn’t remember bringing in with me to pull out the can of salmon.
She chirped and spun in several circles, performing her dinner dance as I scooped half the can into her dish and held my breath. She bowed her head, sniffed, then looked at me flatly.
“I can’t go to that evil shop again, Nuggs. They refused to let Jonah adopt a kitten.”
As though she understood, she took a nibble, hesitated, then dug right in.
Fuck yeah! Success. The cans were twice as expensive as the other store’s, but fuck it. I could eat fewer pizzas and have fewer lattes if she’d accept this and not make me go back to that monstrous, ableist joke of a pet store.
The sound of a throat clearing had me jumping half a foot. I’d almost forgotten I had an interloper in the house.
Was interloper the right word?
I didn’t care.
Turning, I eyed Killian up and down. He looked a little better now that he wasn’t freezing. He was less pale, his fingertips were no longer blue, and his hair had been towel dried. The sweats were a little long on him, but the shirt fit okay, and he seemed happy enough as he wrapped arms around his middle and let his fingers brush over the soft fabric.
