Even at Your Darkest Read online

  I shake off the thoughts and focus my attention back on the AC unit in front of me. The whole system has driven me fucking crazy for days, but today is the first time I’ve been able to get a hold of my neighbor. Every time I’ve seen her this week, she’s either been rushing out the door or wearing a face that made her look like she’d drop if she had to use any more energy. I didn’t want to add more to her day although I get the sense that she would let me. I get the sense that she isn’t the kind of girl to deny anyone anything. But I’m not a complete dick. Not that I’ll ever let her know that. I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. It’s not the usual fear I’m used to seeing in her eyes. Now it's curiosity mixed with attraction. It’s dangerous, because if I ever give in to it, I’ll destroy her. I’d suck her into the dark web inside me and it would ruin her, the same way it ruins me. I can’t let that happen. It’s bad enough that I have to live with it myself, live with the consequences of my actions. Well, the guilt of not facing the consequences of my actions is probably more accurate.

  Sometime later, I feel her behind me. She’s fidgeting, waiting for me to acknowledge her. I finish taking out the screw I was messing with, then turn to put her out of her misery. “What's your name?” I ask.

  “Oh, of course. I probably should have offered that information, sorry. Layton Parks.” She clears her throat. “Do you, uh, want a drink or anything?”

  I repeat her name in my head. Layton Parks. It suits her. I don’t know why, it just does. “I’m Kane. Kane Thatcher,” I offer. “Coffee would be cool?”

  She snorts. “Yeah, it’d be more than cool,” she shakes her head. “My machine broke this morning. I can run to the little cafe down the street if you want?”

  I rub my hand over my face. Seriously? “So that’s your window, your door, the AC, and your coffee maker, all broken? Is there anything in here that’s working?”

  “Just me, apparently.”

  “Don’t worry about the coffee,” I say. “Do you have somewhere to be tonight?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Okay,” I breathe. “This is going to take longer than I planned. I need to go to Home Depot to pick up a couple of things to finish it.”

  She nods, looking almost resigned. “Okay,” she says on a long breath. “How much do you need from me?”

  I raise my eyebrow. “I don’t remember asking for anything from you.”

  She coughs quietly. “I know, but it’s my AC that’s the problem, right? So, it’s only fair that I pay for it.”

  She’s shifting from one foot to the other, obviously worried about paying for any of this. I study her, annoyed that she is assuming I’m the kind of guy to come into her home uninvited, mess with her shit and then charge her for it. I can see her mentally trying to do the math of finances in her head, while trying not to give away that she’s concerned. It’s obvious that she isn’t packing a bunch of cash. This building is a shit heap. I’m only here because I know no one will look for me here. I stand from my position under the unit, towering over her frame. She isn’t short, but she’s no match for my 6'4" height. I look down at her, slightly hating the way she physically recoils from me. It’s probably for the best, but it makes me feel like a monster. But isn’t that exactly what I am? A monster.

  A murderer.

  “I don’t want your money,” I mutter, taking steps away from her, feeling closed in. “Right, I’ll be back soon.”

  I don’t offer her any sort of goodbye and leave.

  In my own apartment, I grab the keys for my truck, my cell, and then head back out. I glance at Layton’s door, shaking my head at the way it’s not fully closed. That’s just fucking asking for trouble. How many times has she fallen asleep with her door like that, thinking that it’s closed? Anyone could get in. I force my concern down and make my way down to my truck.

  I call Nolan on my way out of the Home Depot in town. He answers on the third ring.

  “Hey, Thatch. What’s up, man? Something wrong with the electrics?”

  “No, nothing like that. You fancy making a couple of bucks and helping me out with something today?”

  “Always,” he laughs. “What do you need?”

  I shove my purchases in the trunk, then jump into the truck. “Okay, I’m trying to fix my AC, but the whole fucking unit is a joke. I have to fix the shit in my neighbor's apartment before mine will work, and then I,” for some reason I’m a stuttering fucking fool now. “I’m gonna fix some other shit for her.”

  “Her, eh?” He laughs again.

  “Don’t start. Her whole place is a fucking joke. Look, you game or not?”

  “Yeah, Thatch. I’m game. Want me to meet you there?”

  “Nah,” I start the engine. “I’m just leaving Home Depot now. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

  “Gotcha.” I hang up the call and head in the direction of Nolan’s place.

  The drive is short, but I’ve still been out longer than I wanted to be. It’s beginning to get dark. I hope Layton hasn’t disappeared. She said she wasn’t going out anywhere, but the girl has a habit of never being home at night. She either has the best social life in Texas, or she works far too fucking much. I probably should have taken her number, so I could let her know when I was coming back, but then that’s not really my style. She’ll either be in, or she won’t. Either way, I’m still gonna go into her apartment and fix her shit. I can’t do another night of no AC.

  When I reach the building, I hand Nolan half the shit and lead him up to the apartment. Layton’s door is still mostly open, so with my hands full, I kick it wide and walk inside.

  The smell of spicy garlic hits me almost immediately.

  “Holy shit,” Nolan sighs from behind me. “That smells fucking amazing.”

  Layton appears from where she’s been crouched behind the kitchen counter. She looks at me, then over at Nolan, before bringing her eyes back to me.

  “Hey,” she says.

  I look at her. She looks rattled and worn out. Wispy brown strands of hair are falling around her head, some of them sticking slightly with sweat against the side of her face. She bats them away nervously, wringing her hands on the tank she’s wearing. My gaze drops to where she’s tied it in a knot at her belly button. I can see a red rose tattooed on her hip, disappearing into the waistband of her shorts.

  I pull my eyes away and drop my things onto the small coffee table, gesturing to Nolan.

  “Hey. This is Nolan. He’s gonna help me get the AC sorted. That cool?”

  She nods. “Yeah, of course,” she offers him a smile. “Hey.”

  Nolan drops the stuff he was carrying and strolls over to her. “Hey yourself. Layton, right? What’s that smell?”

  She laughs a little as he leans over the breakfast bar. “Yeah, Layton. And Sausage Jambalaya,” she answers. “I made way too much so you’re both welcome to have some.”

  Her eyes lift back to me again, the same time as my stomach rumbles. It feels like it’s been forever since I ate something home-cooked. I’ve been too busy with the shop to actually make something proper for dinner, and I’m not exactly a strong cook. Truthfully, I should say no to this food and get on with working, but Nolan is already accepting a dish from her and heading over to the table. I shake my head slightly and accept the dish she hands to me.

  “I have beer if you guys want one?” She offers.

  “Hell, yes,” Nolan cheers, then nods to me. “He wants one too, he just doesn’t know how to use all his words yet.”

  I hit him with a hard glare, but the soft chuckle she lets out as she opens the fridge lightens my mood a little. I like it when she makes a sound other than her usual defeated sigh. I find I like it a lot and for some reason I’m already trying to think of ways to get her to do it again.

  She comes over to the table and hands us both a bottle of beer before bringing over the Jambalaya and sitting down with her own dish and drink. “Help yourself,” she says, then sits back and waits for us to fill
our dishes before touching her own.

  “This is fucking awesome, Layton,” Nolan says around a mouthful of food.

  I squash the urge to kick him for ill-manners and swallow my own bite. If my ma was here, she’d kick his ass down the stairs and back again for it. Tommy and I were raised with a firm hand when it came to manners. Ma was really strict on making sure we said 'please' and 'thank you' and looked after women. Hell, she’s still strict on it now. She’d have my ass if she knew how rude I have become. I focus my attention back on Layton, ignoring the familiar memories threatening to take over.

  “Yeah? I grew up in Louisiana, so Jambalaya is about the only thing I can cook well,” she laughs nervously. “My mom forced me to learn when I was a kid. I make it every time I have a night off.”

  “You work a lot, huh?” Nolan asks.

  “Well, I have two jobs,” she answers. “So yeah, I guess so.”

  I fight back my scowl. I’ve lived next to this woman for over two weeks, and in the five minutes that little fuck has been in here, he knows more about her than I do. Then again, Nolan has always been overly friendly. Everywhere he went as a kid, he found someone new to talk to. The fucker should work for the CIA. He’s always been able to get people to tell him every little thing about themselves without having to say much. He caught me off guard a few times when we were kids.

  “Two?” He exclaims. “Seriously?”

  “Well how else would I afford to live in such a high-class apartment?” She responds, with sarcasm that any teenager would be proud of.

  I snort. “Yeah, it’s practically The Ritz here.”

  “At least your front door works,” she laughs, then rolls her eyes. “Nah, it’s not so bad. I’ve lived in worse places.”

  “Well,” Nolan starts, again around a mouthful of food. “I’m an electrician so if you need anything looking at, just let me know, darlin’.”

  She offers a timid, “Thank you.”

  “So, what brought you to White Caps?” Nolan asks. “It’s a fair cry away from Louisiana.”

  For a second, Layton looks a little pale, but recovers quickly. “A friend from home recommended it. I was looking for a change after leaving college. What about you? Are you native?”

  Nolan shakes his head. “Not to White Caps, no. But we’re both Texan boys.”

  She smiles. “You guys grow up together?”

  “Yeah,” Nolan laughs. “Though Thatch used to be a nicer guy then. He wasn’t always a grumpy fuck.”

  He finishes on a wink and I practically growl at him. That only causes him to laugh more. “So, what do you do in your spare time, Lay?”

  I narrow my eyes on him slightly. Is he about to ask her out? He better fucking not.

  “Spare time?” She smirks. “What’s that?”

  “You can’t work all the time. What do you do when you’re not working?”

  Layton shrugs. “Not much. I work, I eat, I run. I go to yoga. I sleep. That about sums me up.”

  Nolan looks between her and me and laughs. “You’re as boring as he is.”

  Nolan keeps on at her, asking her questions about herself and the area while we eat our food. It’s like being sat in the middle of a fucking mother’s group with these two clucking at each other. When we’re done, I help carry the leftovers and dishes to the kitchen whilst Nolan heads to the AC unit to start. Layton moves around the kitchen, humming to herself as she cleans off the dishes in the sink. I lean back against the counter and watch her, mildly amused at the way she seems to have forgotten she isn’t alone. I glance around the room, noticing her sewing machine in the corner again. This gives me an idea.

  “So,” I start, causing her to jump a little. I hide my smirk when she turns to face me. “Remember how we were talking about payment for the AC work?”

  She swallows visibly and nods her head. “Yeah? How much?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want money. I want something else instead.”

  Her jaw drops open, eyes bugging out of her head. It’s the perfect reaction. I laugh. “Calm down, sweetheart. I don’t mean that.” Her instant relief is a little insulting, but I continue anyway. “You any good on that thing?” I ask, motioning to her sewing machine.

  She looks, then turns back to me. “I’m not bad. I made all the curtains and stuff in here, why?”

  I smile. “That’s exactly what I need. If I get you the fabric or whatever, could you make me some?”

  “You want me to make you curtains?”

  I nod.

  “In return for you fixing the air conditioning?”

  Again, I nod,

  She releases a breath. “Okay, yeah. That I can do.”

  This time I don’t bother to hide my smirk as I lean in close to her. “Oh, and if I had expected something else in return for helping you out, what would you have said?”

  She gasps slightly. “I’d have told you that I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “And exactly what kind of girl are you, Layton Parks?”

  “Not one with any kind of significance, Kane Thatcher.”

  I frown. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  She shrugs. “I’m not sure it matters.”

  Well then. She’s got me there.

  Layton

  Why do I do this to myself?

  I groan inwardly as Jackson pulls my hand and leads me into the local community center for yoga class. Jackson loves taking classes: cooking, yoga, crafts. It’s his favorite thing. It’s not, however, mine, though the yoga has helped me with work. Still, I’d rather not spend my night off doing it. He’s already had me on a five-mile run today and is now forcing some green sludge down my throat before I get to spend an hour bending my body into shapes it really doesn’t want to go in. Why can’t he just let me eat pizza and nap all day? I should have known he had something planned when he suggested coffee after work. Jackson O’Toole is the sneakiest asshole I know, and I know plenty assholes.

  “Come on, Lay. It’s not that bad,” He laughs as we drop onto the benches outside waiting for class to start.

  I frown at him, taking another gulp of the drink. “Does this have kale in it?”

  “Stop complaining,” he scolds. “If you insist on working yourself into the gutter then this will help stop you from falling flat on your face.”

  I snort. I don’t really have a response other than that because he’s probably right. I need all the help I can get to stop from falling. Forcing down the rest of the drink, I pull out my cell when I hear it beep. I smile as I read the text from Mellie telling me she received her dress and loved it.

  Happy Birthday, I type back.

  “Who’s that? A new man in your life?” Jackson's eyebrows wiggle.

  I wave him off. “My little sister, creep. She’s sixteen today. I sent her a dress.”

  “One of yours?”

  I nod. Jackson is fully aware of my love for creating and has me make him things often. The majority of his wardrobe consists of things I’ve thrown together for him. I don’t even question it anymore when he shows up at work with a bunch of fabric and some half-assed drawings.

  “You should quit the club and sell your shit. It’s good shit.”

  Again, I snort, with no other response. Wouldn’t that be nice? Never happen, though. I’ll never make enough capital in order to run my own business selling stuff. I might have the stock to start me off, but I would never be able to find room for all the crap I’d need to keep it going. Plus, where would I find the money to buy all the fabric? And could I really have people coming into my home to buy things? It would hardly look professional. Besides, I don’t think I’m even close to being good enough. I’ve always treated it as a hobby. It’s something my grandma taught me forever ago and it stuck. Now that woman knew how to sow, and how to keep a person in line. Lettie-May Parks had balls of steel, but I suppose she would have to live with my grandpa. He wasn’t always a saint apparently and put them through hell in their younger years. I never could imagine that
though, remembering only the way Grandpa would still try to dance with Grandma in the kitchen while she cooked. God, I miss them. My grandma would have been right by my side when I decided to take my independence. Hell, she’d have paid for the flight. But losing Grandpa was too much for her, and she followed him to the grave only days after.

  Movement to the left pulls me out of my head. I look to see Brenna, the instructor, standing with her hands on her hips glaring at us. There’s another woman that knows how to keep people in line.

  Jackson and I stand, then move into the room. We position ourselves at the back and set up our mats. I’m focusing on my breathing as instructed when Jackson nudges me. His eyes are alight with humor and he looks like he’s about to burst.

  “What?” I whisper.

  He inclines his head toward the front of the room. I look through the people before my eyes settle on a familiar face. My insides drop, a sick feeling taking hold of my stomach.

  “Good God,” I breathe. “Is that Karl? What's he doing here?”

  “I don’t know,” Jackson giggles. “But this is brilliant.”

  I don't agree. The last thing I wanted to do today was stare at my boss’ ass all day while he bends over.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  After the longest hour of my life, I leave Jackson to embarrass Karl alone and rush from the building with the promise to call him later. I’m beat and looking forward to an early night. I’ve been dying to get into bed and sleep since I dragged myself out of it this morning. It was a late one, thanks again to McKenna, and the sun was coming up by the time I got home. The early shift at the store this morning dragged like a bitch, and with Jackson making me work out right after, I’m about ready to drop. It’s nice to have friends, or rather a friend, but I don’t know how much longer I can cope with his enthusiasm for life and living healthily.