The Better Part of Darkness

swept through me and made my stomach flip like some lovesick teen. God, he looked good—another spoonful of ice cream made it to my mouth—really, really good.

Will was six-three, athletic, and had a smile that could melt snow. From his working outside, the sun had lightened his brown hair and streaked it golden in places. He kept it short, complementing the faint stubble that grew along a strong jaw, stubborn chin, and surprisingly soft lips.

He must’ve been out at a job site because there was dirt on his khakis and light blue button-down shirt. The two top buttons were undone, and the sleeves were rolled to just below his elbows. Jesus, I loved when he did that. It was like the cherry on a man-sundae to see his tanned, muscled forearms and his strong hands.

He shut the door and walked up the driveway.

Heart thumping wildly, I darted into the house, ran to the sink, set the bowl down, and then hurried to the front door, opening it before he could knock and trying to not seem out of breath. For a brief second, a flash of surprise went through his stormy gray-blue eyes. The sun had begun its descent over the park, a beam bathing me in a wash of heat.

Will’s blunt gaze swept over me as I blocked the doorway, my blood pressure rising. He let his eyes linger on the parts of me he’d always loved, and I wanted to shrink away because my nipples chose that moment to turn as hard as glass beads. Thanks a lot, ladies. With an evil eye, I crossed my arms over my chest and stood aside.

“Charlie,” he said in a deep Southern drawl, bestowing a wonderful blend of faded cologne and masculine skin on my sense of smell as he passed by.

I padded behind him into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced around the space, checking on things, making sure everything was in order; that nothing needed to be fixed. Then he turned to me, leaning his hip on the edge of the granite countertop and crossing his arms over his chest. I could almost hear the sounds of a construction site, and it gave me a sudden flash of Will standing in front of a two-by-four frame of a new house with blueprints spread across the hood of his truck.

Now he was a successful builder and architect and had just started his own firm. Just like he’d always dreamed. And he must be doing pretty well if the new truck was any indication. My mistrust came to the surface. Had he earned the truck and the success on his own merits … or was he dabbling in black crafting again?

“I can’t come by just to check on you?”

I swallowed, trying to temper the loud buzz of awareness gripping me. “You never come by to ‘check on me.’” I walked past him to the fridge to get two bottled waters, handing him one and then taking a stance on the other side of the kitchen table. His Adam’s apple slid up and down along his throat with every swallow. He had such a nice throat.

Snap out of it, Charlie!

After the day I’d had, I was exhausted, beaten, and at my weakest. And I knew it. Damn Will and his timing. Irritated, I asked, “So, where’d you get the truck?”

His lips thinned, and he let out a tired exhale. “How many times do I have to say it, Charlie? I haven’t practiced since that night.”

That night was eight months ago when he’d boasted to a Master Crafter that no one could use coercion on him—that he’d become too skilled and strong. The stakes: his marriage oath.

Guess who lost?

She had him naked and in bed in under two minutes.

He came clean the next morning. He’d called it black crafting’s version of rape. I called it cheating and lying and a damn good reason to divorce.

“Ever hear of letting go?” He faked a lightbulb moment. “Oh, no, wait. Then you’d actually have to forgive me. God forbid.” He tossed his head back and swallowed about half the bottle. “It’s not my fault you went and beat the shit out of her. And it’s not my fault she tried to have you killed for it.” Immediately, the mistake of his words spawned a weighty silence that broke only when he scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

Tried? I blinked at him and forced my jaw not to drop. I did go and confront her, but she threw the first punch; I just finished things. And she didn’t just try to have me killed, she succeeded. The ghoul I’d chased down the back alley in Underground eight months ago had been working for her, and he’d completed his job with all the finesse of a brutal killer. I died that night because, in a roundabout way, of Will’s addiction to black crafting. The man I loved. The man I trusted.

I ignored the comment. “So again: What are you doing here?”

He rubbed the inside corners of his eyes and then pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a loud sigh. My hard outer shell cracked just a little. He seemed beat.

“Look, Charlie …” He fidgeted with the water bottle, looking down as though he was nervous.

Will, nervous? I studied him more closely. He opened his mouth, got out one syllable, and then closed it. Instantly, alarm bells sounded in my head.

He cleared his throat. “I heard about the Mott case. Does Emma know?”

There was no doubt in my mind he’d changed the subject. Will had something that he didn’t know how to say, and the only thing that could make him this nervous was … a disturbing sense of numbness dropped into my gut. “Oh, my God, are you getting remarried?”

Awkward silence filled the room. Will blinked, floundering for a second to make sense of my left-field outburst. Heat stung my cheeks. Great. My shoulders hunched, and all I wanted was to slide underneath the table and disappear. Will had practiced black crafting right under my nose for years because, when it came right down to it, he was insecure. And now here I was waving my insecurities around like a giant Yellow Jackets flag at a Georgia Tech basketball game.

His entire body had stilled. All of his focus zoned straight in on my sudden revelation. “What did you just say?”

“Never mind.” I rubbed my face.

“Why would you think I’m getting married?”

I peeked at him over the tips of my fingers. “Let’s just drop it, okay?”

“Nuh-uh. You don’t get off that easy.” He pushed off the counter and then pulled out the chair across from me, turning it around to sit and rest his arms across the back. “What made you say that?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “You just seemed like you had something to say, something that bothered you. I thought …”

The bastard had the nerve to grin the smile that could melt snow. In fact, his utter pleasure at my expense lit up his entire face. “Charlie, I’m not engaged. I don’t have a girlfriend. I’ve seen a few women here and there, but nothing serious.”

“Great. Wonderful. Good for you,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Conversing with my ex was obviously a bad idea. My emotions were going haywire, and I couldn’t seem to think straight. It was perfectly normal to miss him. I mean, we were together for twelve years. Totally normal to miss being close, to miss wanting that kind of connection. “Emma should be home soon.”

“Charlie.” His voice came out low and serious. I didn’t want to look at him, but he waited until I finally lifted my gaze to his. He stared at me from across the table for a long moment, his expression wide open and honest as hell. “I still love you, you know.”

The world came to a screeching halt.

I shot up from the table. All the old hurts came rushing back, constricting my chest so that breathing took more effort than it should. “God dammit, Will. You can’t say things like that.”

He stood. “Why not? It’s true. I’ve never stopped, not even when—”

I held up my hand, not wanting to hear or think about the night he’d risked our marriage out of pure male pride and a gigantic helping of stupidity.

“Fine.” He grabbed my arm, making me face him. “But I know what I did, Charlie. And one day you’ll see beyond all this pain I caused you. And as much as you try to deny it, you know, in my heart, I never wanted to cheat. You know I believed so much in us, in our promise, that I’d pit it against—”

“You never should have! That’s the whole point! You don’t risk something so important. You don’t bet on our vows. And you sure as shit don’t lie and hide what you’re doing!” I jerked my arm away from him. “Especially when it’s wrong. Black crafting is wrong, Will, no matter what spin you put on it. And you hid it, lied to me, for years. You knew how I felt about it, that those guys who killed my brother were black crafters. I