Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Kat walks past me, careful not to brush against me, to stand beside Lydia and motions to the stairs at my right. The instinct to slip my arm around her waist and pin her against the wall is only stopped by her statement when she says, “The guest room is ready for you.”
Thump, thump. I want nothing more than to hold her but instead I’m paralyzed where I am. A fucking guest room?
A chill flows through me, keeping me where I am and threatening to take her away again if I say or do anything at this moment.
Reed clears his throat and Kat crosses her arms, refusing to look at him. A beat passes and I finally speak.
“You two not friends anymore?” I motion between the two of them, although my gaze traps Kat’s and my pulse rages against my veins. She swallows thickly before answering me with a gentleness that tells me she’s feeling the same thing I am. That all of this is balanced on a cord wound so tight it may break.
“He didn’t tell me you were coming,” she says and licks her lower lip before adding with a sigh, “I had to find out from Lydia.”
It’s only now that I realize I’m far too drunk for this. Fuck.
I stand there, time ticking away, just taking her in. My eyes roam down her body and back up and although I want her more than anything, I can’t help but to notice how her bottom lip wobbles and she catches it between her teeth. It’s telling me the same thing that her glossy eyes and her defensive posture are.
Two strong hands press against my back. “We had a lot to drink, so,” Reed states, pushing me forward but I’m far from ready. Even if the alcohol is wearing on me, making my head spin and throwing off my balance.
The question comes out without my conscious consent. “You don’t want me here?”
“I didn’t say that—” She raises her voice for the first time, her gaze piercing through mine with thinly veiled desperation.
Reed shoves at my back. “You’re drunk, man, come on.”
My grip loosens and the duffle bag drops to my feet. “I need to hear you say it,” I blurt out and then catch myself. Fuck, she makes me weak. She has me under her thumb and doesn’t even know it.
“Say what?” she’s quick to ask and that eagerness promises she’ll say what I want to hear, but I’m too much of a bitch to risk it.
“Tell me you want me to stay here,” I say instead and then I’m quick to amend it. “That it’s all right that I stay with you.”
Reed bends at my side, picking up the duffle bag and not looking at either of us.
Lydia looks anywhere but at us too and all the while, I wait.
“Of course you can … I’m just,” she says and glances down, then back up at me, “… I’m just surprised you want to.” Her voice nearly breaks and the corners of her lips turn down.
Fuck. I hate this. I hate every moment of it as a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
It kills me how she looks as if she’s on the verge of breaking down. Lydia must see it too because she’s quick to tell me to get my drunk ass upstairs. “Welcome home,” she adds before stepping between Kat and me.
I can’t help myself, though. I ask her, “Did you think I forgot about you? I know you haven’t forgotten about me.”
“Let’s go,” Reed says and grabs my arm, pulling me to the stairs as Lydia takes Kat’s hand, taking her away from me.
In all the ways I imagined coming back to her, this sure as hell wasn’t the reality I expected. That’s all I can think as I climb up the stairs, wishing I’d had enough beer to pass out at the fucking bar so I could have avoided all of this.
At one point I was strong for her, but after four years, all I feel is broken or pissed off and there’s no in between until I look at her …
I barely know who I am anymore, but all I want to know is whether or not she could love me again.
Kat
Seeing the two of them together is surreal. Reed … and most notably Cillian. My heart is all sorts of crushed yet still able to beat. Furiously and nervously at the same time. With my fingers numb and barely able to breathe, I watch, unable to say a word.
Although I grimace as Cill stumbles and my chest flips with an ache. My Cillian. My rock and my ride or die … he’s a shell of the man he used to be.
He’s still handsome and every bit of how I remember him … but four years in prison aged him, obviously so. He doesn’t seem to have slept a bit, given that darkness under his eyes. He’s more than toned now. The muscles that ripple in his shoulders and down his arms pull at the cotton of his shirt as his leather jacket falls to the floor.