by Anne Malcom
Shit. Each of the boys hated press. Well, Sam loved it, but mostly he said stupid shit that made Jenna’s head explode. And he didn’t like it when it interrupted his post show schedule, which was drinking too much and sleeping his way through L.A.
I took care of most of the press, the designated mouthpiece of Unquiet Mind. The boys were always there, mostly to add in comments every now and then, but mostly to look pretty while I did most of the work. It wasn’t usually a big deal. Apart from the cover of a couple of big-deal publications like Rolling Stone a few years ago, we had a reputation of not doing too much press, which of course meant we got interview requests all the fricking time.
“Sam said, and I quote, ‘There better be fucking muffins in this for me. Baskets of them,’” Mark said dryly.
“Okay, muffins, got it,” I replied, getting up to start on said muffins this instant. I skirted around the sofa, on the opposite side to where Killian was standing, to head to the kitchen.
The boom of his motorcycle boots thundered on the wooden floors as he followed me.
I ignored this.
“And you’ve got a music video to film before the end of the week. I’ve got multiple producers interested and possible studios on hold.”
I set a mixing bowl on the counter and paused. “No producers. No studios,” I said firmly.
Of their own volition, my eyes crept up to meet Killian’s from where he stood across the breakfast bar. I knew he’d been watching me this entire time. Now I was trapped in his gaze, frozen by it, my phone at my ear.
Images of earlier tonight surged into my mind. His mouth on mine. The way he slammed me into the wall with barely controlled ferocity. Him inside me, thrusting mercilessly like his survival depended on being wrapped around me.
I swallowed and heat erupted between my legs.
“Lexie—” Mark began.
“No, Mark. We don’t do commercial shit with our videos. You know this. You’ve always known it. We’ll do them our way and the way our fans like. We do them the way we do our music. No bells or whistles. Just us, a camera, and whatever we feel suits the song,” I said, my eyes still locked on Killian’s. His face changed at my words.
We’d always done our videos ourselves. At first we’d done it because we had immediately hated the label’s suggestions and the thought of it being commercialized and stripped of our identity. So we’d gotten out Sam’s phone, decided on a road trip, and filmed it while singing and goofing around on a three-day trip down the coast.
We’d gotten a music video award for that one. And the next one, filmed on tour. It was what we were known for. It was authentic. Real.
Another sigh on the other side of the phone. “I’m going to send you the bill for my blood pressure medication,” Mark said.
I smiled. “Love you too, Mark. Got to go. Muffins to make and all that.”
“Seven, Lexie,” Mark instructed.
“Ten four, rubber ducky.”
I hung up on him and quickly looked down at my phone to see the multiple missed calls, text messages, and voicemails.
Sam: Dude, where are you? Are you okay?
Noah: Lexie, call me. Let us know you’re okay.
Wyatt: What Sam & Noe said. Also, you fuckin’ rocked that show.
Sam: If you’re okay, you should be feeling very bad about the fact my worry for you has me unable to completely appreciate the company of Tatiana and Lucinda. Twins, Lexie. Twins.
And so on. I quickly typed, not looking up but feeling Killian move to my side.
Me: I’m okay. Sorry, I just wigged out a bit. Forgive me? Sam, muffins are in progress. Give Tatiana and Lucinda a kiss from me. xxx
I barely had the message sent before the phone was out of my hands and set on the counter and my body was turned to face Killian’s. His hand went to my chin to tilt my head up.
“We got to talk, freckles,” he murmured
I sucked in a breath at having him so close, at him using that name. At the memories of earlier tonight. His mouth on me. Being inside me.
I stiffened. “Yeah, we do,” I agreed. “Tell me you don’t have anything,” I said, my voice flat.
Shutters went down on the eyes that had been bursting with emotion seconds before. “What?”
I forced myself to keep his gaze. I itched to yank out of his grasp, but his grip was tight and I didn’t like my chances. Instead, I did my best to keep my stare cold and my voice the same. “We didn’t use a condom earlier. I need to know whether I need to get to the doctors tomorrow.”
The hands around me flexed. “Lexie—”
“I know it’s probably too much to ask, considering your lifestyle,” I interrupted him. I couldn’t be in his arms anymore, so I stepped back, way back. By some miracle, he let me. I backed away. “But tell me you use protection with the… other girls,” I barely choked the words out, the thought of him with anyone else causing me physical pain.
Killian flinched. He stepped forward, as if to come to me, but I scuttled back. I prayed he didn’t force it. If he chose to, he could come at me, use his strength against me. I had no chance to fight against him. But he sensed it. My desperation. So he stopped.
He ran his hand through his close-cropped hair, his jaw granite. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured looking up. His eyes were glassy. Tortured. “Lexie—”
I held my hand up. “Answer the question. Do I need to get tested?”
Killian’s face went blank. “Fuck. Baby, no.”
I nodded. “Good. And I’m….” I trailed off, looking sideways. “Me too. And I’m on birth control. You’ve got nothing to worry about in that department.”
At this, he surged forward, despite my obvious distress. His hands went to my neck. “You think I’m worried about that? About putting a baby in you? You think that would ever be somethin’ I considered bad?” he asked, his eyes blazing.
I flinched at the emotion in his eyes, in his voice, at the meaning behind the words.
Unbidden, the image of a dark-haired baby with ice blue eyes assaulted my mind. I chased it away before I latched onto a fairy tale.
I struggled out of his grasp. “Let me go, Killian.”
Ice blue eyes held me captive. “Never.”
Before I could think too hard, get held hostage by hope, I tried to struggle out of his grasp. His hands tightened, hampering any effort I made.
“Freckles, we’re gonna talk about what happened tonight with you and me.” His eyes flared. “We’re going to do more than talk about it. We’re going to recreate it. Repeatedly.”
My stomach cartwheeled at the erotic promise of his words and my traitorous body reacted.
“But first, we’re going to address you leavin’ and putting yourself in danger. Then we’re going to talk about that song.” He rested his forehead on mine. “Fuck, baby. That song.”
I couldn’t do it. No. I couldn’t do this, be in his arms after he’d seen me lay my soul bare. After everything, I couldn’t stand this tenderness and promises of things that I’d abandoned for the sake of my soul.
I stepped back. This time he let me.
My eyes met his. “Tonight was a mistake.” Lies. Lies.
“I’ve made a fuck of a lot of mistakes when it comes to you, Lexie. Ones that will haunt me till the day I die.” He paused. “Tonight was not one of those mistakes.”
I sucked in a painful breath. “You need to leave.”
He regarded me. “Can’t do that.”
I resisted the urge to stomp my foot or squeal. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was a strong, independent woman. I went for sarcasm instead. “Why? Do you enjoy this?” I pointed to myself. “Have you turned into some emotional sadist over the years? You like causing me pain?”
He flinched. I should have liked that. Felt better knowing my words had stung. Affected him. But I didn’t. I felt worse. The thought of him being in pain, of me causing it, hurt me. What the heck? The boy, no wait, man in front of m
e had broken my heart, and I was worried about his feelings? I should have been hoping he fell over and cut his dick on a pair of rusty gardening shears.
I glanced around hopefully. “Dammit, no shears,” I whispered to myself.
Killian frowned. “What?”
My head snapped up. “What?”
He regarded me, maybe gaging my sanity. Whatever. Me and my voices were none of his concern.
“This hurts you?” He gestured between us.
I resisted the urge to snort or shoot some sarcastic remark. I also stayed standing at his question, the fact that he obviously didn’t feel that same pain from being in the same room as his soul mate nearly ripped me apart. Who was I kidding? He probably wasn’t feeling anything under that cold façade. Who knew if he ever felt anything.
That’s a lie. You know he felt something. That’s what makes all of this that much worse.
“Yes,” I said simply, my voice and heart not allowing me to say more, to tell him that his mere presence was tearing me to pieces inside. Shredding me. But the thought of any distance between us made that pain increase tenfold. Catch 22. Something had to give. This had to end.
He didn’t flinch this time, but I saw something behind his eyes, something that wasn’t dark pits of nothingness.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. Those two words were so full of pain I had to restrain my flinch.
I gave myself a second then met his eyes. “You’re sorry?” I repeated, my voice even.
He stepped forward. “So fuckin’ sorry, freckles. Every inch of me. Every cell in my body hurts with the knowledge of how much damage I did. Hurts with the bitter agony of regret.”
I stared at him, then nodded. “Okay.”
I didn’t waste time on his surprised look, just turned on my heel and walked calmly around the breakfast bar. I could hear his motorcycle boots echoing on the floor, so I knew he was following me.
“Lexie—”
I held my hand up to silence him, reaching to grab the bowl I had laid out for Sam’s muffins. I turned around slowly, meeting his ice blue eyes, which flickered to the bowl.
“What…?” he started to say, but he silenced the moment I threw the bowl at the floor, where it shattered around us.
He watched the pieces scatter around the floor in shock. I kept my blank face on his. He finally brought his tortured gaze back up to mine.
I looked to the ground, to the shards. “I’m sorry,” I addressed them. I looked back up to Killian. “Look, I apologized. Just like you did.”
“Lexie,” he ground out, understanding and pain mixing on his beautiful face.
“I apologized,” I continued, ignoring him. “It’s still shattered. Nothing’s changed. It’s still broken. It’ll never be repaired.” I blinked away the tears that came with the broken edge to my voice. “So thank you for your apology, Killian. But it doesn’t mean a fucking thing after you’ve shattered me into a million pieces. It’s sure as shit not going to change anything. Words can’t act like glue to perform some kind of reverse lobotomy. So don’t waste your breath,” I instructed. Then I didn’t wait. Didn’t let the utter agony on his face penetrate as I turned on my heel and walked out of the room, the broken china crunching underneath my boots as I did so.
I wished I could rise above, and let the mantras of my morning yoga become a true part of me, practice love and light and forgiveness as I thought was the best thing a human could do.
Forgive.
I wished I could do that. Forgive him for everything he did to make me the person I was, maybe even take some of the responsibility of the hurt for myself. I wanted to do that, to let go of this anger that was slowly consuming me. But I couldn’t. Because if I let go of that anger that spilled over in his presence, only sorrow remained, the broken skeleton that remained of my soul. Without anger to hide behind, that’s what he’d see. I’d most likely collapse under the weight of that sorrow.
He watched her tiny form retreat and every nerve ending in his body screamed in protest as he held himself stock-still. He wanted to go after her, chase her down, and bring her into his arms and never fucking let her go.
It was a physical hurt not doing that.
But he couldn’t. He saw it in her eyes, in the words drenched in pain that she’d yanked out of her soul. If he didn’t give her space now, he’d have no chance at all.
So he didn’t move. Though the stillness was torture, he stayed like that long after her door slammed and the huge house settled into silence.
The house settled into silence, his mind didn’t. Her words reverberated through his skull and rattled it so pain erupted at the edges of his temples. The melody of that song was on replay in his mind. He imagined it might be there for the rest of his life.
That and the sounds of her hitched breath as she clenched around him when he’d fucked her against that wall. As he’d come home. That’s what she was. She was home. But she was damaged, that was fucking clear. Not just from him, though that was a huge chunk of it. Events from the past still haunted her. The ghosts of Steve and Ava lingered, as did the demon of her father. Add onto that all the shit she was going through with her stalker and you got this beautiful, broken girl who had laid that beautiful, broken soul bare to thousands of people earlier tonight. Who had laid it at his feet.
He planned to repair it. He’d make sure of that.
But for that he needed patience. And as much as it caused him physical pain to leave her to her own despair, especially after he’d finally tasted the sweetness of coming home in her, he did it.
He spent the rest of the never-ending night chain smoking and staring out at the waves.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, a presence joined him. He prayed it was Lexie coming to him, but he knew it wasn’t. He could sense her presence, as fucked up as it was. When the other half of you was around, you knew it.
Noah stood beside him, staring at the waves.
“You gonna give me one of those?” He nodded to the smoke in Killian’s hands.
Surprised, Killian reached to his pocket to hand him one and the lighter. Noah lit it wordlessly.
This was the first time Noah was in his presence voluntarily and hadn’t threatened murder.
They both stared at the sea for an indeterminate amount of time. Noah finally broke the silence.
“You see now, after that song, how deep her hurt goes?”
Killian flinched and nodded.
Noah took another drag. “Know why you did it. Why you created that being that you saw tonight. Know that you did it ’cause you thought you were doing what was best for her.”
Killian glanced at him. “It was what was best.”
Noah met his eyes. “What you saw tonight, you think that’s best? You think that’s better than what you could have given her?” his voice rattled with fury.
Killian’s jaw hardened. “She’s born to do this, you know that.”
“Girl like that, she’s born to have a beautiful life full of happiness and laughter, not what she’s had. Not have to breathe and not actually live. Smile but not actually be happy. Not to live broken.”
Killian ground his teeth. “Yeah. I fuckin’ know that.”
Silence descended once more. This time Killian broke it. “You fuckin’ her?” he asked, the words physically painful for him to say, but he had to know. He’d hopefully find a way not to kill Noah if the answer was what he feared. Of all the responses he expected, laughter was not one of them.
That was what he got.
When he was finished laughing, Noah’s face turned stoic. “You’re actually serious?”
Killian nodded once, taking another drag to calm himself.
Noah shook his head. “Lexie’s not my type.”
“Lexie’s everyone’s fuckin’ type,” Killian growled, offended that Noah was implying she was less than perfect, as fucked up as that was.
“Guess you could say that,” Noah agreed.
“Not mine.” He paused. “I’m fuckin’ gay, bro.”
Killian was a hard person to shock, but that’s what Noah just did. Shocked the utter shit out of him. Yeah, even in high school he didn’t jump from girl to girl like Sam and Wyatt, but Killian just thought it was ‘cause most of the girls in their school were empty headed and superficial and Noah was like Killian, he wanted substance. He never once thought it was because he didn’t like girls, period.
“Okay,” Killian said finally.
Noah turned to him. “Okay?”
Killian shrugged. “Means I don’t have to worry about killing you for putting your hands on Lexie.”
Noah choked out another laugh and threw his smoke into the sand. “Just because I don’t wanna fuck her doesn’t mean I don’t love her. That I wouldn’t do everything in my power to stop her from getting hurt. Any more than she already is.” He eyed Killian with a hard gaze. “Despite your intentions, I think that’s gonna be the result of you being here, so you better watch your fuckin’ back if you hurt her again. You won’t be walking out of here.”
Killian held his gaze. “Not gonna hurt her. Never again.”
Noah let those words float out into the ocean air. “That remains to be seen.” He walked back into the house without another word.
“You do realize that’s your fifth coffee for today?” Noah asked, nodding to my cup as we got out of the car.
I tightened my grip on it, just in case he had any ideas about stealing it. I needed it. I had no sleep last night. None. How could you get sleep after fucking the man you’ve been in love with for six years against a wall after singing a song to thousands of people about how much he broke your heart?
Seriously how? I was looking for suggestions because I was no closer to being over it than I was before. I’d managed to write three songs in that sleepless night. I’d half expected Killian to come through the door I had slammed shut right after our argument. I half hoped for it and half dreaded it.
It didn’t happen.
I’d gotten up to Mark and Hannah in my kitchen, as well as Killian smoking outside the French doors.
I wondered if he ever slept. I made it a point not to go anywhere near the room that he’d been given since his arrival a week ago. Fortunately, I hadn’t been home enough to go near it. We had been cleared by the police to go back to the Calabasas house, but I couldn’t do it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The blood might have been scrubbed off the floor, but I’d always know it was there.