Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

And it hits me then. He seems content with the way I cut off our physical relationship.

He seems content with being Uncle Nate again.

Those thoughts have kept me awake at night—aside from my concerns about Dad—and no amount of lying upside down has helped me sleep.

Because even now, as I get swallowed in Dad’s severe gaze, I can feel the pieces of my broken heart digging into my ribcage as I choke out, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Why are you clinking your nails then?”

I flatten my sweaty palms on the counter, but that gets me more narrowed eyes from him.

“It’s nothing, Dad. Really.”

“When I was in a coma, I heard voices.”

“Voices?” Holy shit. Does he remember everything I talked about while he was in a coma? While I didn’t mention Nate’s name for fear of agitating him, I did talk about us and about how much of a jerk he is and how much I love being in his company. Not to mention the conversation Nate and I had the night he woke up.

“They’re still chaotic up here.” He taps the side of his head. “But I’m organizing them.”

“You don’t need to. They were probably nothing.”

“On the contrary, I believe they’re important. So if there’s anything you have to tell me, do it now before I find out on my own. And I will find out, Gwen. I always do.”

Shit. Shit.

My hand goes to my bracelet and it’s like I can feel Nate through it. As if there’s a presence there. He said he’d take care of it and I believe him. Even if I hate him right now.

“There’s really nothing, Dad. Come on, let’s take a walk.”

He doesn’t protest, but there’s tension in his shoulders and stiffness in his strides.

After lunch, he goes to take a nap in his room. He does that now, napping, and the doctor said it’s normal.

I kiss his forehead, then I hurry downstairs to keep from having an epic meltdown in front of him.

The ball in my throat grows bigger and harder as I pace the edge of the pool, my sneakers slapping against the concrete with each step.

I’m clinking my nails again, and my palms are sweaty and cold. A million thoughts about how this will be disastrous sneak into my head, crowding it with my dark ones.

What if Dad will never forgive me? What if I lose him because of my stupid crush that ended before it even started?

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about jumping again?”

I come to a screeching halt and whirl around so fast, I nearly fall backward. A strong hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me forward.

My sneakers make a squeaking sound as my head bumps against a solid chest. The same chest I hid in when I slept. The same chest I think about when I try to fall asleep and fail.

His scent hits me hard, its masculine notes of spices and woods turn my head dizzy and seep through my bloodstream so that it’s the only thing pumping in and out of my heart.

It must be because it’s been some time since I felt this or him. It’s been a long time since he’s been this close, surrounded me with his warmth, or touched me.

God. His hand is on my wrist. And it’s like a blazing fire is about to spread all over my skin.

It doesn’t, though, because as soon as I can stand on my own, he releases my wrist and steps back. There’s always some sort of safe distance between us now.

And I hate the distance.

I hate space.

But what I hate the most is the man standing in front of me, looking as handsome as ever in his dark suit, with his hair styled, and his face as hard as granite.

It’s because of him that I gambled with my heart and failed.

Or maybe it’s because of that stupid vanilla heart that’s still trying to revive itself back to life at the mere sight of him. Hearts don’t understand, do they? All they care about is staying alive, even if it hurts.

Even if it’s being slashed open in the process and all that’s left is blood with his scent mixed in it.

Then it hits me.

Nate is here.

Dad is also here.

Oh, shit.

“What are you doing here? Dad’s upstairs and you have to leave before he wakes up. He asked me if there’s something he should know about and he even said something smells different. No idea why he has that sensitive nose, but he does, and I nearly lost it and he knows, Nate. He knows something’s wrong, because he’s Dad. He knows things and I can’t lie to him. I can’t do this—”

“Hey. Deep breaths.”

I inhale, then exhale harshly, staring at him from beneath my eyelashes. “I…I’m scared. I’m scared of making him mad or losing him after I’ve finally got him back. It’s a miracle that he’s home and has recovered so fast, and I can’t…I can’t think of losing him.”

“You won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Really?”

“Have I ever made a promise and not kept it?”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Then trust me one final time.”

“Are you…going to talk to him?”

“It’s about time I do. I waited for him to recover, but I need to be the one who tells him before he goes back to battling with Susan and finds out on his own.”

“Yeah, okay. I get it.”

“We’re going to be realistic here, Gwyneth. He’s probably not going to take it well.”