Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(118)

It’s finally, truly over.

“Your hair smells like French fries,” Cain murmurs, and I feel his lips touch the top of my head.

“Sorry. I was just about to get into the shower.”

“Really . . .” I catch the playfulness in his tone and my knees automatically buckle. I want nothing more right now. But, wait. I pull away, though I’m unwilling to release my grip around his ribs. “Cain. What about . . .” I exhale deeply. “Do you know that I used a fake ID?”

He studies me for a moment, as if deciding what he wants to say. And then that lip curls up. “You certainly have more talents than any eighteen-year-old I’ve ever met, though your dietary choices should have been a dead giveaway.”

I duck my head slightly. “Are you okay with that?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll survive.” The backs of his fingers graze my cheek and I instinctively turn to catch them with my lips. “Besides, I never did live out my twenties like a normal person.” Dipping down, Cain’s lips brush mine as he whispers, “Maybe we can do it together.” And then there’s no more talking, as Cain claims my mouth as if no time has passed.

As if it belongs to him and him alone.

And it does. I should have known, from that very first kiss, I had fallen into another trap.

The difference is that this trap is one I have no desire to escape from. Ever.

“But . . .” He pulls back slightly and my mouth instantly feels cold. “I’m in love with a woman and I don’t even know what name to call her by.”

My breath hitches. Did I just hear that right? Pressing my fingers into his lean muscles, I take a moment to compose myself before I burst into tears. Again. “I mean, when Dan showed me a copy of your real ID . . .” His voice trails off as his eyes widen in exaggerated shock. What went through his head when he found out, I wonder. Did he immediately see it as I did? Fate playing its own strange little game?

He’s watching, waiting.

“I think I’ll always see myself as Charlie with you, but . . .” I begin, my fingertips tracing the ink on the side of his neck. So coincidental.

Or maybe not at all.

“. . . I’ll also answer to Penny.”

Epilogue

CHARLIE

February 14

All I can remember is that front porch.

But it’s exactly as it was in my memory, right down to the ornate carvings along the tops and a set of stairs off the end. The house itself is a nice shade of blue. Black shutters frame the windows and the front door. Apparently it’s a “shotgun” house, a style that is common to New Orleans.

And apparently I wasn’t born in Las Vegas.

A strong, warm hand weaves itself through mine. “Are you sure you’re ready?” I look up to see Cain’s encouraging smile. He surprised me with a trip here. At the time, it was presented to me as a birthday weekend getaway. But then this morning, Cain explained the real reason he picked this destination.

John had helped him locate my grandparents. They’re still alive and living in the same house that my mother grew up in.

And I’m about to see them again.

“Yes.” With hesitation, I add, “Do you think they’ll recognize me?”

Leading me until we reach the front door, he gently prods me ahead of him. With a light kiss against my neck, he whispers, “Only one way to find out.” His finger finds the doorbell.

I listen with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as the loud gong sounds inside. A moment later, the door creaks open, revealing a much older, grayer version of my mother in a simple white blouse and a pair of olive-colored trousers, a tea towel in her hands. “May I help you?” she asks, but her eyes are already narrowing as they scrutinize my features. Suddenly her hands fly to her mouth with a gasp. “Penny? Is that you?” After a pause, she cries, “It is you!” Without another moment’s hesitation, she’s pulling me into a tight embrace, just like I remember my mom used to, her cheeks instantly wet with tears. “Happy birthday.”

“Just a quick stop in and then we’ll head home,” Cain promises as he shuts off the Navigator in the parking lot at Penny’s. Leaning in to steal a kiss, he adds, “I’m looking forward to our own bed tonight.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to sleep. Those old folks are exhausting,” I reply with a playful wink.

We extended our plane tickets and spent an entire week with my grandparents. They insisted on us staying in their home instead of a hotel. I was afraid that might be too much for Cain to handle, but he and my grandfather seemed quite content to sit out on the porch every evening with a glass of that pricey cognac.

That first day was extremely emotional. They had no idea that their daughter had died. The last words spoken to each other were full of anger, fear, and later, regret. It was the day I remember. My mom announced that she was taking me and moving to Las Vegas to become a showgirl. They begged her to leave me with them—I was only three years old and didn’t belong in Vegas—but she refused, for the simple fact that I belonged to her.

When weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, my grandfather flew to Vegas. He searched every production house in the city, picture in hand, with no luck. No one with that face or name had ever worked as a showgirl in Vegas. So he moved on to the strip clubs. Finally, he found out from a dancer at The Playhouse that Jamie Miller had married some rich guy and moved away.