Page 30 of Keeping Kaitlyn

“I can’t.” I give my head a tight shake even though he can’t see me. “She doesn’t want me to.”

“Kait is desperate,” he reminds me. “She doesn’tknowwhat she wants.”

“Well, she knows she doesn’t want to marry the piece of shit who tried to rape her,” I inform him, struggling to keep my tone as even as I can. “And she sure as fuck doesn’t want to spend the next couple of decades getting kicked in the teeth by her father, every chance he gets—that’s good enough for me.”

“What are you doing, Went?” he asks on a frustrated sigh. “Her father will be home in a few days and when he gets here, he’ll just come get her and?—”

“He’ll be too late.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Frustration bleeds away, replaced by apprehension.

“It means we’re getting married.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the ring box and squeeze it in my fist. “I asked her last night, and she said yes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Damien barks it out on a bitter laugh. “Just like him. You’re justfuckinglike him. Just take what you want in the moment and who gives a shit about the consequences, right?”

There’s no need to ask whoheis.

I already know.

Heis our father.

“I’m in love with her.” I didn’t mean to say it. Didn’t even know it until the words fell out of my mouth but the moment I hear them, I know they’re true. I’m in love with Kait. I think I have been since the moment I met her.

The revelation only makes him laugh even harder. “Like I said—just. Fucking. Like him.”

He’s said it to me more than once, so I don’t know what makes hearing it this time any different, but it does.

“Did you know he blames Kait for her mother’s death?” I snarl it at him like a wild animal. “Her own mother died giving birth to her and thatmotherfuckerblamesher.”

“What are you talking about?” Damien seethes at me, his anger and frustration heavy on the line between us. “Her mother?—”

“You don’t even know, do you?” Now it’s my turn to laugh. “The woman who raised her isn’t the woman who gave birth to her—her birth mother’s name is Emma Garrett.” The name must hold some sort of familiarity for him because Damien doesn’t say a word. “Ask the Missus—or better yet, ask Big Daddy Barrett when he gets home.” I tell him, my tone low and hard. “And then ask yourself this—are you so desperate to get Kait back because you’re afraid I’m going to hurt her, or are you wanting to get her back before your fucked-up father figure finds out she left with me because you’re terrified of disappointing that piece of shit?” Before he can answer me, I push forward, determined to finish what I started. “I’m sure Dakota’s called you by now so, you know where we are. When Mr. Barrett gets home, you be sure to tell him and that I’ll be right here, waiting for him.”

SEVENTEEN

KAITLYN

I stareat the price tag attached to the pair of jeans I picked up from a deceptively casual looking display table for a moment, eyes bulged slightly.

$750

The store specializes in western wear so I thought this would be the cheapest option. I guess I thought wrong.

Feeling slightly nauseous, I move to put them back.

As soon as I do, Dakota does what she’s been doing for the past forty-five minutes.

“Nope.” She shakes her head at me while rerouting my hand to push the folded pair of jeans against my chest. “My orders were,if she touches it, she buys it,” she reminds me, palm flat, holding the pants in place while I wrestle with indecision. This is only our first store and I’ve already spent so much of Went’s money, my stomach hurts.

“I’ve already boughtsixpair.” I plead my case, silently begging her to have mercy on me.

“Well, now you’ve bought seven.” Giving me a sweet smile, she pulls the jeans out of my lax grip and holds them out to the hovering saleswoman. “Put these on the buy pile.”

“Absolutely.” Ignoring my obvious distress, the woman grabs the jeans from Dakota and speed walks them to the register like she’s afraid I might tackle her for them.

“She works on commission—they all do.” Reaching out, Dakota claps a commiserating hand on my shoulder before offering me a flat,sorry not sorrysmile. “So, if you’re expecting one of them to heed your cries for help, you’re out of luck.”

Determined not to touch anything else or indicate in any way that something I see has piqued my interest, I fold my arms over my chest and jam my hands into my armpits like a sullen toddler. “What do you think she thinks is going on here?” I ask quietly while I watch the saleswoman happily fold the pile of jeans and shirts in Dakota’s buy pile into a neat stack, all the while, discreetly checking each price tag so she can do a quick tally of her commission.

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