Page 19 of Wanting What's Wrong

That my shadow has caught up with me.

That the ghost that haunts me has found me at last.

In some ways, it’s a relief. A terrifying relief. Because I knew, one day, this day would come.

And now it has.

I glance down at the note, read the words one final time, and then slip the paper into my purse.

Now, more than ever, I need to put things right with Trent. I have no one else to protect me, nowhere else to turn. But the very thought of him makes my heart swell. A rumbling volcano.

Edward pulls up into the circular drive and I get out, making my way to the front door, which I find unlocked.

The feeling of the knob on my hand, the smell of the new house with its perfect furnishings, it confirms what I have known in my heart since the second I read that note.

Trent and I are going to have to talk.

Wecannotbe more than brother and sister. Step or no step.

Because right now, I need my brother more than anyone in the world.

Eight

Kat

The lights on the first floor are off, except for the light above the stove. Somehow, I know that he’s upstairs, so I tiptoe up the curved staircase, gathering my courage with every step. I make my way down the hallway and peek inside the main bedroom. He’s sitting in one of the chairs that looks out on the lake. On the table beside him is a half-finished beer.

“Trent…” I’m not sure what to say, but I need to start somewhere.

He doesn’t answer, but stands up, squaring his broad shoulders to me, his hands in the pockets of his camo pants. He hasn’t changed, hasn’t taken that shower. His body is still naked from the waist up, belt still hanging open. His muscles flex and move the shapes of his tattoos, shift the bandages. Ripples and bulges.

I swallow hard, struggling to find the words.

There’s a heat in his eyes. A molten desire. It takes my breath away.

He glances at the white tape and gauze sitting out on the bed. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and try to turn it on. All I get is thecharge batterysymbol. “You don’t even have a phone you said.”

“There’s a fucking landline in the hall. When I call, I expect you to answer,” he growls, and my hackles raise even as a throb starts between my legs. “You keep your phone charged, got it? And you go somewhere, you tell mefirst.”

“I’m sorry. I just…I thought we needed some space. I shouldn’t have left without telling you.”

“No. You fucking shouldn’t.”

“Next time…”

“There isn’t going to be a next time because I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He picks up the fresh tape and bandages, and leads me toward the ensuite bathroom, so sure that I’ll follow. He blinks once. His long lashes dusting his cheeks. “It’s fine. But I need your help. Now.”

It’s beautiful inside. Immaculate. White marble and gleaming fixtures. The wealth and plenty of it all stands in such sharp contrast to a lifetime of never enough. “This place really is out of a dream.”

He smiles at me. That white smile, mirrored back at me a hundred different ways from the mirrors that surround us. His powerful manner. This way he has about him. His presence. It always puts me at ease. But his smile shifts briefly into a wince, and I see that on each bandage are tiny pinpricks of blood from his wounds underneath.

“Oh, Trent.”

“It’s fine, Kat. Let’s just get them changed.”

For now, for this moment, I decide to forget abouteverything—about the heat between us, about Rominovski, about the sketches, the notebook. The lies I’ve told. All of it.

---