CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Theresa awoke in darkness, noticing for the first time that her head, which had felt like it was going to explode for the past two days, actually only ached a little bit. Her body still creaked with pain, but it felt more like she’d been run over by a bicycle than a tractor trailer. She felt sticky and gross from sweat, her pajamas clinging to her. For the first time in three days, she thought she might actually be able to take a shower. It was a mistake. She’d eaten next to nothing since coming down with this, and as soon as she leaned over to turn on the hot water, the world spun as dizziness overwhelmed her. She sank onto her knees next to the claw-foot tub, knowing there was no way she was going to be able to get herself in and out of it without falling. Theresa had not cried—really cried—for a long time. There’d been a few bouts of tears when things ended with Wayne—mostly of the self-castigating sort—because she’d allowed herself to get close enough to him fo
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT “You’re going next door again?” Galina looked up from her laptop, her reading glasses perched low on her nose. She’d been typing away there for an hour or so. Ilya hadn’t asked her what she was doing. “She’s still sick?” “She’s feeling better, but yeah, I’m going over.” He held up a takeout rotisserie chicken and sides he’d picked up from the grocery store. “We’re going over the menus. Talking about staffing. That sort of thing.” Galina made a noise low in her throat. “Hmm.” “Hey, Mom. You know, we could use your advice on some things. About the diner,” Ilya said. He wasn’t expecting her to look so affronted, but she did. Deliberately, his mother removed her glasses and looked down her nose at him. She closed the laptop lid. “The diner? Why on earth?” “You’ve worked in one,” he said. Her scowl flashed into something else for a moment before she smoothed her expression. “I’m not going to come waitress for you, Ilya.” “I’m not asking you to be a waitress. I just thou
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE For the first time in nearly two weeks, Theresa felt good enough to put on clothes that were not pajamas and throw in a load of laundry, run the vacuum, and clean up the piles of books, magazines, and empty tissue boxes that littered the den near the couch where she’d been spending most of her time. Her in-box had been filling up with messages from her freelance clients, and while she’d been able to keep on top of a lot of it, there were some things only in-person meetings could handle. There were also the long lists she’d been making with Ilya to take care of. There was also Ilya, in general. She paused while stripping the sheets from her bed, her arms full of cotton, to bury her face in the pile and let out a muffled squeal. It did not turn into a bout of throat-ripping coughs, so that was a relief. It did end up with her turning to sit on the bare mattress to fend off a wave of dizziness that she had to admit had nothing to do with her recent illness. It was the
CHAPTER FORTY “So, we need to have a little talk.” Those were never the words a guy liked to hear from the woman he was dating. Or maybe dating. Or wanted to date. Theresa smiled at him from across the kitchen table. “Ilya?” “Not about the diner, huh?” “It’s about us. And Dina Guttridge.” He groaned. “Shit. Look, it was a stupid thing that happened once, two years ago. You can’t get more stereotypical than that whole thing. I delivered a package to her that they’d dropped off by accident at my house, she invited me in for an iced tea . . .” “Spare me the details, please.” Theresa held up a hand. “I don’t care.” “No?” He wanted to be relieved but eyed her cautiously. “I don’t care about your previous poor judgment. No.” Ilya blew out a small breath. “Okay . . . ?” “She came over here earlier, warning me off you. Because you were not to be trusted.” Theresa raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair. God, she looked gorgeous. Hair pulled up, minimal makeup, tight T-shirt, and jeans.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE It had been months since he’d lived in this house alone, and it still startled him a little to walk into the living room to find the television on and his mother on the couch. Most of the time she also had her laptop with her, typing away at whatever it was she’d found to keep herself occupied. Tonight she had the sound turned down low enough that she couldn’t have been paying much attention to the black-and-white movie scrolling across the screen. “I heard from your brother. He sent pictures,” she said without looking up. “Yeah. I got them, too. Looks like they’re having fun.” It had been a little hard to see Alicia’s smile, his brother’s arm around her. She’d never looked that happy with him, not that he could ever remember. It bothered him, although he didn’t want it to. His mother tipped her head to look at him over the rims of her reading glasses. “Where’ve you been off to all day long?” “Working.” She laughed softly. “It’s good for you, to have something to do.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO The notice came in Theresa’s e-mail from the credit reporting company she’d been subscribing to. A credit inquiry, made in her name, had triggered it. It had been refused, thank God, although that only reminded her of how long it would be until she could get credit on her own. “If I can’t get a credit card because of this mess you put me in, what made you think you could get one? What made you think it would be anything close to okay for you to pull this shit again, Dad? Why would you do this?” Theresa tossed the printout she’d made of the message onto his shabby kitchen table, highlighting the part pointing out that her score had dipped once more. Her father gave her a pleading look. “I was behind on some bills—” “Join the club!” She whirled on him, sick with fury. Devastated. Hating him but not enough. Not quite enough. “I told you. If you ever pulled this again, I would report you. I would turn you in to the police.” “No, no, honey, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE All their hard work had—well, perhaps not—come to fruition. Not yet. But they were well on the way. The staff had been hired, the menu perfected, the diner redecorated. There were a few glitches to work out, but that was the purpose of the soft opening. Theresa bent over the desk in the tiny diner office to go over her checklist. She was going to forget something, she knew it. “You okay?” Ilya came up behind her to press a kiss to the nape of her neck in the spot guaranteed to send a thrill all through her. “Nervous?” Theresa turned to kiss his mouth, her fingers linked loosely behind his neck. “A little. Not too much.” “You don’t look nervous. You look gorgeous. Like you should be on the menu under dessert.” He nibbled at her neck, making her giggle and twist away from him. “We’re not alone,” she said. “And, hey, only dessert? I thought I would at least be a full entrée with two sides, including your choice of soup or salad.” “Super salad. Comes with a cape.” Ilya
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR Galina and Barry had shown up at the same time. Ilya had seen them come through the front doors together. They didn’t look like they were making this a date, and so long as neither of them made a scene, he wasn’t going to complain. He was more relieved than he realized he’d be to see her. “Mom.” He kissed her cheek, noting the faint scent of perfume and the lipstick she wore. She’d dressed up, and he wasn’t sure why that made him feel sentimental, that she’d made an effort for him, but it did. He shook Barry’s hand. “Glad you could make it.” Ilya took his mother to Niko and Alicia’s table to take a seat, and Barry excused himself to use the restroom. Ilya, relaxing a little as he looked around at everyone enjoying themselves, decided to play the part of restaurant owner and walk around to make sure everything was all right. “I don’t want you here!” Theresa’s voice rang out, turning heads. Ilya’s stomach sank as he turned, already knowing what he’d see. He hadn’t expe
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE “We had a nice little thing going, Barry and I. I took the pills. He sold them. Eventually, he recruited that girl to help him. I told him it was a bad idea,” Galina added with a weary wave of her hand. All of them were hovering in a combination of exhaustion, rage, grief, and another entire collection of emotions Niko couldn’t begin to describe. The staff had been sent home. The doors locked. Ilya had broken out a bottle of champagne, but the rest of them had switched to coffee or nothing at all. “He didn’
t tell me, by the way, when she started skimming the money, either. I didn’t find out any of that until after she died, and by then he owed me thousands. So I kicked him out. And you,” she added, to Theresa. “But honestly, what else could I have done? Kept you? You weren’t mine.” “You made that abundantly clear,” Theresa said in a cold voice. Galina gave each of them a harried, defensive stare. “None of you can understand what it was like. Struggling the way I did.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX “We need to talk about this!” Theresa frowned. “Don’t shout at me, Ilya.” He held up the second bottle of champagne he’d been holding back for all of them to share after the other guests left, but Niko and Alicia had taken Galina out of there, and Barry, thank God, had gone and not come back. Ilya popped the cork, spraying foam, then splashed a glass full. Only one. He lifted it. “Cheers. What a goddamned mess of a night.” Her phone had buzzed four times in the past forty minutes, and she didn’t have to look to see that it was her father calling. She watched Ilya down the glass of champagne and pour another, again without offering her some. It would’ve been a kind gesture, if it was because he remembered her preferences instead of blatantly trying to deny her something that had been meant to be shared in celebration. She thought about reaching for him but didn’t. “You broke a promise to me, Ilya.” He faced her with a sneer. “Yeah, I broke a promise. Make this my fault
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN Alicia had stopped crying an hour or so ago, but her eyes still ached and her throat itched. Beside her, Nikolai’s slow breathing soothed her, though not toward sleep. It was going to take her a long time before she’d be able to do that. He hadn’t said much, but now he stirred to press his lips to her hair. “You okay?” “I don’t know.” She’d already told him she’d found the tin of pills in the crawl space and how Theresa’s reaction to the sight of it had made so much sense once Galina had spilled the truth. Alicia closed her eyes and let herself nestle into the curve of his shoulder. “I keep thinking how I knew something was wrong with her. I knew that she’d been getting into things over her head. I had no idea . . .” “You couldn’t have. None of us did.” She pushed up on her hand to look at his face. “Are you okay?” “Because I found out that instead of quitting her job at the hospital, I found out my mother was fired and sent to prison in South Carolina for stealing
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT Barry Malone was one pathetic son of a bitch. The moment he’d opened the door to see Ilya standing on the other side, he’d burst into blubbering, terrified gasps and pleas, begging Ilya not to kill him. “I’m not a murderer, Barry.” Ilya pushed past Theresa’s father and through the doorway into the dank apartment. It smelled like cat piss and sour milk. Light came in through the broken blinds in stripes like bars on a prison cell. The kitchen looked clean enough, but it didn’t take a detective to spot the garbage pail overflowing with beer cans and empty wine bottles. The guy couldn’t even be bothered to recycle. “No, no, of course not. I just meant, please don’t hurt me.” Barry closed the door behind them and followed so close on Ilya’s heels that his toe kicked Ilya’s boot when he stopped and turned. Barry put his hands up at once, flinching. “Like you hurt Jenni?” Ilya shoved his hands in his pockets, his fists aching to connect with Barry’s face. “I didn’t. I nev
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE There’d been no further confrontation with her father. Theresa had refused to see him or to answer his calls, and he’d left close to a dozen. She hadn’t bothered to listen to the messages. They’d all be the same, she thought. First, he’d beg her to forgive him. Eventually he’d start to accuse her of being in the wrong, and finally, at the end, he would cry that she hated him, and there would be no good answer for that. She probably did hate him. She had not spoken to Ilya for two days. She had left him a single voice mail, which he hadn’t answered, and one text he hadn’t replied to. She’d been careful to spend as much time away from the house as possible, leaving Alicia and Niko their space. In the aftermath of the huge reveal, Theresa had tried to talk to her, but Alicia had refused. Politely, with tears thick in her throat, but making it clear she was not going to discuss anything with Theresa, at least not right away. Theresa wasn’t sure where it left their friend
CHAPTER FIFTY Theresa would always remember the quarry best in the early autumn, when the leaves had started to change color but had not yet begun to fall. They’d been a quintet all those years ago, and now were only four, but they were good together, all of them. She and Ilya. Niko and Alicia. A lot had happened over the past year. Loss, renewal, beginnings, endings. Most of all, though, love. They’d all found love. With her fingers linked in Ilya’s, she let him lead the way over the small curb of asphalt that ridged the cul-de-sac and to the small patch of scrubby grass beyond. Then into the trees, all of them ducking as they pushed through the line of evergreens to get to the path Ilya had made. Behind her, Alicia and Niko were also holding hands. Ilya held a golden-leafed limb out of the way so they could all pass. The path beneath their feet was uneven and curving, but none of them stumbled or fell. Alicia paused at the spot where the old equipment shed had once stood. Only for a
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Photo © 2014 Whitney Hart Megan Hart writes books. Some of them use a lot of bad words, but most of the other words are okay. She can’t live without music, the Internet, or the ocean, but she and soda have achieved an amicable uncoupling. She can’t stand the feeling of corduroy or velvet, and modern art leaves her cold. She writes a little bit of everything from horror to romance, though she’s best known for writing erotic fiction that sometimes makes you cry. Find out more about her at meganhart.com, or if you really want to get crazy, follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/megan_hart and Facebook at www.facebook.com/readinbed.
OTHER TITLES BY MEGAN HART
All the Lies We Tell
Lovely Wild
Precious and Fragile Things
The Favor
All Fall Down
Little Secrets
The Resurrected
Passion Model
Driven
Beneath the Veil
Seeking Eden
Exit Light
Beg for It
Perfectly Restless
Hold Me Close
Vanilla
Flying
Stumble into Love
The Space Between Us
Collide
Naked
Deeper
Switch
Stranger
Tempted
Broken
Dirty
Tear You Apart
Captivated (with Tiffany Reisz)
Taking Care of Business (with Lauren Dane)
No Reservations (with Lauren Dane)
Order of Solace series
Pleasure and Purpose
No Greater Pleasure
Selfish Is the Heart
Virtue and Vice
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2017 by Megan Hart
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503942783
ISBN-10: 1503942783
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant
This book is for the hungry ones. Feed yourselves.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
&nbs
p; CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Theresa Malone had made a lot of mistakes in her life, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of making a few more. One of them was sitting across from her right now with a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him and a smirk that looked like every kind of bad idea. She’d invited Ilya Stern to Dooley’s tonight, so she had nobody but herself to blame. She ought to have known he’d be no different with her than he was with anyone else. Charming and difficult.
“You are bound and determined to make my life miserable, aren’t you?” She frowned. “C’mon, Ilya. Why? What good is any of this going to do? You’re delaying the inevitable.”